The main thing that Shireen hated most about King's Landing was the stench. She had grown up with the smell of sea air in her nostrils but in King's Landing, even though it was right on the edge of Blackwater Bay, the air reeked of shit, blood and worse. They were nearly at the Red Keep which, at least, offered some respite from the stench. She wondered how Lord Stark's children, who had never been there before, would feel about it. She turned her head from the top of her horse and saw that Sansa, ever the young noble, seemed to think everything was made of gold and jewels. Shireen pitied her. She had never had that feeling, her left arm prevented her from having such notions, from the time she was a babe in arms, she had had to have a more truthful view on the world. Arya on the other hand, she seemed bored by it all, more fixated on the Red Keep itself, intrigued more than anything else. She would have a better chance of survival in this city of vipers than her sister.

"My Lady," Ser Richard moved his horse up besides hers. "Shall I head to the harbour, see if there is a ship available for us?"

Shireen shook her head. "Not today, Ser Richard, we shall spend tonight in the Keep, maybe tomorrow."

Richard nodded and remained silent as the two of them followed the wheelhouse carrying the royal children into the courtyard of the Red Keep. They dismounted when inside, Shireen dusting off her dress and looking up at the imposing form of Maegor's Holdfast.

"Lady Shireen," she looked over at Lord Stark, as he came over to her. An impatient courtier waiting behind him. "I apologise to ask this of you," he continued earnestly, "but could you help Sansa and Arya settle into their quarters in the Tower of the Hand?"

Shireen smiled. "Of course, Lord Stark." She did not mind, despite their naivety, both of them had rather inquisitive minds. She didn't mind indulging their curiosities, Sansa had begged her repeatedly to teach her how to sing, and Arya wanted to show her how to use a bow. But she couldn't really help either of them; without permission from her father, he could not teach Arya to fire a bow properly, and as for Sansa, Shireen had always been good at singing, she was never able to teach it.

She escorted the two girls and those of the household carrying their trunks, up to the Tower of the Hand. "Please, Lady Shireen," Sansa pleaded. "You have to teach me how to sing like you do."

"Who cares about your stupid singing?" Arya butted in. "I want to be able to shoot arrows like you do."

She laughed. "If you want to learn how to handle a bow, I told you, my brother is better than me. As for singing," she bit her lip. "I am not a very good teacher."

"But you could try," Sansa pleaded.

Shireen sighed, she could tell that Sansa was not going to give up, neither was her sister, judging by the looks on their faces. "Okay," she gave in. "I am not sure when my father will call me back to Dragonstone, but if we have time I will see about the singing."

"What about the archery?" Arya demanded hotly.

Shaking her head, Shireen chuckled. "I had my mother's encouragement and my father's acceptance, ask your father first," she told the little wolf.

Arya grumbled. "It's not fair," she kicked at the ground moodily.

"Arya!" Sansa chastised her sister. "I am sorry Lady Shireen," she said quickly and elegantly.

She held up her hand. "It is no matter," she replied. "I know what it is like to be denied what you want."

"It's not fair," Arya repeated.

"It's the way of the world," a voice said from behind them that made Shireen spin, "fighting against it is… difficult." Lyonel told the little Stark. "And it is the way of the world, fighting against it is… difficult."

"Lyonel!" Shireen gasped and, without any modicum of dignity, she threw herself into her brother's arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his temple fiercely. She felt his own arms wrap around her like the bark around the trunk of a tree and she closed her eyes, resting her head on her sweet brother's shoulder. "Gods," she whispered, "I have missed you."

"And I you, sister," he replied, not letting her go. Suddenly remembering their company, Shireen pulled away, reaching up to brush a loose strand of midnight black hair from her brother's face.

She turned back to the Starks, both of whom looked confused, and Sansa was also a little embarrassed by the display of affection. "Lady Sansa, Arya," she said, turning side on between them and her brother. "This is my brother, Lyonel Baratheon, heir to Dragonstone. Lyonel, this is Lady Sansa and Lady Arya."

"I am not a Lady," Arya interrupted stubbornly.

Shireen sighed. "Lord Stark's daughters."

Lyonel bowed his head in greeting. "Greetings Lady Sansa, Lady Arya."

Shireen glanced at the quiver at Lyonel's waist and the bow at his back. "Why do you have them?" She asked.

"I was practicing," he explained, stroking some of the feathers of his arrows. "But then I heard you were back," he finished, cupping her cheek gently. "So I came running."

"Why weren't you at Winterfell?" Arya asked.

"Arya," Sansa chastised again. "I am sorry my lord, my sister has few manners."

Lyonel lip curled up into the slightest of smiles, and that made Shireen bitter for a fraction of a second. He was only meant to smile for her, it was a part of her brother that would never be anyone else's. "There are people with fewer," he replied simply, "and many of them are wearing white cloaks." He turned back to Arya. "As to your question, my father had an errand for me to run, I couldn't come I am afraid."

"Like a quest?" Sansa asked, giddy with excitement.

"Yes," Lyonel replied shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the question. "I had to save a princess from a dragon."

By the way Sansa was gushing, Shireen wondered whether she actually believed her brother's tale.

Lyonel looked as though he were about to ask Shireen a question, but Arya had another of her own. "Is it true that you are a better archer than your sister?"

Lyonel shot a sidelong look at Shireen.. "Yes," he replied simply, but not harshly, her brother stated facts often, but never meant them to harm. "If you come to the archery contest, you may well see me."

"What archery contest?" Shireen asked. She hadn't heard of one.

"Our uncle's friend has come south," Lyonel replied. "Your father," he added looking at the Starks. "The King will no doubt be hosting a full tourney to celebrate." Sansa gasped in sheer joy, but before anything else could be said, Lyonel spoke across them. "Now, sister, our father needed me to pass some messages on… in private."

She nodded, bid goodbye to the Stark girls and followed her brother. They descended the steps in silence, she rested in the glow of her brother's presence as they emerged from the tower. She'd wished he'd been there in the north every day, he'd always been there, and here he was, alive, well, whole and wither. They moved down the corridors and out into the courtyards as he led her out to the archery butts, where he turned to her and smiled. There it was, the smile he wore for her. She hugged him again, gripping him tightly around the middle. She leant up and kissed him before pulling away in to look at him better, letting her left hand trail onto his right shoulder. Even under the leather he was wearing, she could feel the stone skin beneath. He gently removed her hand. "Does it ache?" She asked. Sometimes his shoulder could ache, but often only after great strenuous activity.

He shook his head. "No, I am fine, truly."

She nodded. "What messages did father want you to pass on?"

Lyonel looked around at that point, as though checking if there were any spies nearby. "Have you heard what has happened in the east?"

She nodded, their uncle Robert could not stop boasting about it on the Kingsroad. He'd been more drunk than she had ever seen him. If their father had been there his teeth would have ground down to the roots as he cheered the death of Viserys Targaryen. "The Targaryen girl was kidnapped, her brother killed and Pentos sacked by the Dothraki." She looked at him with sudden suspicion. He'd been gone, now he was back, and while he was gone a city burned "Did you have something to do with that?" She whispered.

He looked fiercely into her eyes, and she knew that he did. Lyonel nodded, unable to lie to her. "You'll learn the truth," he continued in a hushed voice, "when we return to Dragonstone, until then, keep Richard close, I can't protect you from everything, I can't always be there, he can." He reached out and cupped her cheek softly, she could feel the callouses in his palm and the scars on his fingers from his bowstrings. She reached up and held it to her cheek, loving the warmth from it. Whatever he said she knew h'"d be there. It would come to her through fire and death to save her, always. And by close," he continued at his usual volume, taking his hand away, his eyes lighting up with laughter. "I do not mean in your chambers."

Shireen felt her face flush. "Sh-shut up!" She cried, looking away. Lyonel was the only person who knew how Ser Richard affected her, and, when they were alone, he often reminded her of it. It was the one thing she regretted ever confiding in him. She composed herself again and turned back to him. "If there is a tourney," she said, looking at his bow. "I assume you will be competing in the archery?"

He nodded. "Of course, it"s one of the reasons father sent me here."

"Father actually sent you here to compete?" Shireen asked, surprised. Their father almost never openly endorsed competing in tourneys. She narrowed her eyes, her brother had been in Pentos, around the time the city was sacked, now he returned with an endorsement from father to compete in a tourney and he was telling her to take more care? Something was happening, and her brother knew what. "What's going on Lyonel?" She asked quietly, stepping up close to him. "What is happening?"

Lyonel's head bowed and he spoke into her ear. "All will be revealed on Dragonstone when we return. I promise." She believed him, she trusted him.

She wrapped her arms around him again, and rested her head on his shoulder, the one still possessing soft flesh. "Are you okay?" He asked her.

She nodded. "I'm with my brother," she whispered back to him. "How could I not be?"

He closed his arms around her back and they spent the next few moments enjoying the warmth of each other. Then he pulled away and looked down at her. "Oh yes," he said, as though remembering something. "There is someone for you to meet."

"Who?" Shireen asked, confused.

"I know you don't have any handmaidens as such," he said, taking her arm and leading her through the Red Keep and back to her chambers. "But I found a little girl... on my travels... who could become one for you, I should warn you," he said simply. "She is young, scared and not of high birth."

"A handmaiden need not necessarily be," she pointed out. They reached her chambers and opened them. There was a chair at the desk pulled back but empty, like someone had stood up. Lyonel paused and looked from side to side. "She should be right here."

"You're back!" A voice piped up.

She peeked around the open door to see a young girl, about seven years old, with dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes, so light they were almost see-through waiting for them. "Aeriel," Lyonel said softly, though not particularly reassuringly. "I told you to remain sitting." He shook his head. "Anyhow, this is my sister, Shireen, this is Aeriel."

"H-hello," the little girl said with a very slight accent. She was holding a simple ornament in her hands that she'd clearly taken from somewhere. Her brother knew very little about girls or women, or children; he should have known that if you bring a child into a new place and tell them to sit down the first thing they'll do will get up and walk about.

She smiled at her. "Hello," she said back. Then she turned to her brother, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "You don't need to be here," she whispered. "Go and practice, I shall see you at supper."

Lyonel nodded, turned and left. Shireen took a seat and beckoned the girl over. "So," she said softly, "Aeriel, how are you?"

She shrugged. "Okay," she said, "Lord Lyonel made me sit in that chair for too long." Shireen smiled and stroked her arm softly, she had been dressed in a gown, which she was unused to clearly.

"It doesn't surprise me, Lyonel knows very little about girls."

"I guessed that." She replied.

Shireen laughed, this girl was brazen, her mother's handmaidens had always been collected and calm, never uttering a word that any would consider misspoken. She took a strand of the girl's hair and ran her fingers through it, coming across at least a dozen knots in it. She tutted. "Who tied your hair?"

"Someone on the ship," Aeriel replied.

"Someone who didn't know what they were doing, clearly. She said, picking up her brush and getting up, sitting Aeriel down on the chair she was in. "Let's get it done properly shall we?"

"As long as you do it better." Aeriel cracked a small smile. Shireen liked this girl, she was an outsider, alone, much as she had been all her life, but unlike her when she was that age, she was strong, it hadn't gotten to her. She took the brush to the knotted hair and began to tidy it up, making it more presentable. This girl was very pretty, and likely to grow into a true beauty. Shireen would teach her strength to match it. She hummed a small tune as she got to work.