"Do you have to go, father?" She asked Lord Stannis who watched the ship preparing to leave the port with a hard jaw.

Lyonel sighed and took Shireen by the shoulders to try stop her from clutching to their father, but it was no use. "Yes Shireen," he said softly. "The king gave an order, and it is father's duty to carry it out."

She looked at him, with fear in her eyes. She was not sure that any other would be able to see it, but Lyonel would, he could always see. "But what about you?" She asked. "The girl is weak, and if Robert asks her how she got to Westeros, she will say that it was you, Robert will never forgive you."

"If that is how it is," he told her, stroking her hair. "Then that is how it is."

She clutched at his blue tunic. "But I don't want you to be hurt," she whispered to him.

More gently than usual for her father, he took her hands and gently prised the vice-like fingers from his arms. However she saw that Lyonel's jaw was clenched as he watched Daenerys Targaryen being loaded onto the ship. The ship would leave her birthplace and her home of a few weeks and head to King's Landing, to an uncertain, and unlikely very long, fate for her, and a completely unknown one for their father..

When the ship was almost ready to depart, his father approached. "We must be ready, my son," he said. "You must be ready. I do not think that Robert will believe the girl, should she say the truth, he hates Targaryens." Lyonel nodded. "But you must be ready. I will try to speak to Lord Stark, convince him of the truth; this may yet be resolved without war. But you must be strong. If the Lannisters interfere, if they come between me and Lord Stark and telling Robert the truth, and if I cannot depart to safety, it is up to you to continue this. The Baratheon bloodline must not be usurped by the incest-driven Lannisters."

"I understand, father," her brother dutifully replied. The ships in the harbour moaned in the harbour, like fat old men being told they couldn't have more to eat or their guts would explode.

"I'll help him father," she promised him. Lord Stannis looked at her with a rare softness in his eyes.

"You'll help each other. I could always trust you to do that." They were hardly the best departing words, they didn't touch the heart or leave a lump in her throat. But they were enough. Her father had no intention of dying. No intention of leaving them. No intention of visiting her dreams.

He boarded the ramp, his shoulders square and cloak hanging from his shoulders like a wing not yet taken flight. With a nod the ship cast off from Dragonstone harbour. Their father watched them from the back of the ship. He didn't wave; didn't call out a final farewell, but he was there. She pulled herself closer to her brother's warmth as their father drifted further and further out of sight.

"He'll be fine," Lyonel whispered, weather to her or himself she didn't know. "He took fifty guardsmen with him. They won't let any harm come to him."

"I know," she whispered. But still, she worried.

Her father had never been pious, but when they were done on the beach and had made their way back up the carved stone path, she went to the sept, to pray to the Seven.

The sept of Dragonstone was more than a modest thing, Aegon the Conqueror having spared little expense in demonstrating the truth of his conversion before his second coronation. The Seven were depicted here in statues of intricately carved wood, embedded with jewels that reflected the light coming in from the window.

Only Septon Barre was present, who sent Shireen a smile when she entered. He was a kindly man, quiet and pious. Shireen's daily prayers were no longer a concern for any more than a simple greeting between the two, although he was always happy to listen to her if she wanted to talk to a man instead of a god.

She made her way over to the statue of the Maiden, always her first prayer would be devoted to her. She knelt and clasped her hands in front of her, bowing her head and beginning to pray. "My lady, I know my father's actions can be harsh, that he is firmer than some would like, than sometimes he himself should be. But his actions this day cause him harm, I know it to be true, he does not wish to send Daenerys Targaryen to her death, but feels that he must obey his brother, the king anointed in the name of you all. Help him, guide him to the correct path, protect him from the whispers of the red witch, who would spread her heathen ways. And if my uncle does the girl harm, please help my father understand that he is not responsible for it."

Finishing her prayer, she moved over to the Warrior, the aspect of her brother. He stood proud and strong and true, like any true knight, like Ser Aemon the Dragonknight, the greatest of them all. "Good ser, my brother handles the bow like you yourself put it into his hands. But he cannot protect Daenerys Targaryen, and he fears that he must soon use the weapon in the savage reality of war. Help him survive the horrors that will last so that I may never lose the brother that I have. Protect him, as he assists father in taking the throne that by all law should pass to him."

Next she moved to the Mother. "My lady, extend your innocence to Daenerys Targaryen. She may have been born of incest and sin, but she has a kind heart, and has suffered enough for one girl. Look into the heart of my uncle, and show him how to be merciful to her." She finished with a prayer to the Father, asking him to show Daenerys true justice, and to aid her uncle in delivering it. She prayed to the crone, to light the way for her father, to show him the true way forward, and to the Smith to forge him the weapons of war should it come to that.

After lighting a candle at each of the six alters, leaving the Stranger's one empty, she turned and left the sept, heading for the Maester's turret to see Cressen.

The gargoyles and grotesques that hung the walls had terrified Shireen when she was a girl. She had clutched tightly to the arm of anyone nearby, Lyonel, her mother, her father, Ser Gerold, Ser Richard, anyone. Lyonel had been scared of them to, although he never let anyone see it. Finally, when she was six, her mother had instructed her to walk the castle alone, that the guards were not to help her, and that Lyonel was not to be with her. Now she considered them beautiful, in their own ways. There were many of these carved wyverns and hellhounds on the path to the Maester's turret, and she admired the way they were carved. Many castles had gargoyles of some kind straddling the walls, but none could match the beauty of the Valyrian architects who forged these ones. She knocked on the door to the Maester's turret and it opened to reveal the young Maester Pylos, who had arrived recently. "My Lady," he said, bowing his head. He stepped aside to allow her entry.

"Thank you, Maester," she replied. Cressen was sat at the desk, looking tired, he looked that a lot lately. "How are you both?" She asked.

"As well as can be, when you reach my age," Cressen replied with a slight smile.

She looked to Pylos. "Busy," the young Maester said. "There is a lot to learn about this place."

Shireen giggled, that was certainly true. "You get used to the statues in time," she consoled him, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Then she turned to Cressen. "Cressen, I am out of the… potion you make for me."

"Ah," Cressen said, pushing himself to his feet and slowly approaching a shelf where he took a small bottle from it and gave it to her. "Have the nightmares been coming more frequently?"

Shireen was not sure. "I do not know, they don't come when I take the potion," she told him. "Sometimes they come when I don't, but sometimes they don't. I like to be sure."

Cressen did not look so convinced. "Well, maybe you should try to go a week without it," he told her. "We do not know what effects it could have on your body in the long term."

Shireen nodded, but took the bottle anyway. It could hardly be worse than having to speak to the dead when you slept. "I will consider it, Maester," she said as she turned to leave the room. As she left, she heard Pylos ask about the potion and Cressen say that he would say, because eventually he would have to learn how to make it himself. Shireen, thinking that Lyonel would be busy with father's duties, instead retrieved a quill and some paper from her chambers and left for Aegon's Garden. She regularly went there to compose new songs, she felt it was the easiest place to relax. Composing also helped her feel better about things, when Lyonel had been injured in training, she had composed a song about a valiant knight being maimed in battle. The facts were wrong, but the sentiment was correct, and that was everything.

She sat down on a stone bench and thought about what would be the best way to compose a song about a maiden going to what may be her death. A journey to a marriage was too happy and joyful, but to the executioners block, that was far too morose. She spun the quill in her hand and thought. Something that tugged at the heartstrings of the listeners, that was her aim. A maiden had to be involved, so she scratched the word onto the paper, and thought about what kind of story could be similar to that, if the maiden was clearly a Targaryen, then her Uncle might be driven to kill the girl if he heard it. The people of court loved the songs of the impossible love. The story of Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys always brought at least some to tears. So perhaps the story of a young maid, being sent away as a hostage to her father's rival, but her beauty and innocence moved him to mercy in all things. That was a simple and easy enough idea to work with, so she began writing a rough idea of how the song would go.

She had apparently gotten into the flow, because when she heard someone approaching and looked up to see that it was her mother, the sun had moved across the sky significantly. "Hello mother," she said, smiling at her as she sat down next to her.

"Shireen," she smiled back. "What are you doing?"She didn't reply, just handed over the beginnings of her song for her mother to look over. "I don't know where you got the talent," she said. "It certainly isn't from me."

"Please, mother," Shireen said, blushing slightly. "Everything that is good in me began with you and father. So what do you think?"

"I think," Myrielle said, faking a gesture of deep thought, but a smile broke through. "That you could make maidens weep with the bawdiest of tavern songs." Shireen smiled at the complement. "You should finish it and then, when your father is welcomed back into your uncle"s graces, after this mess with the queen is sorted, sing it for Daenerys."

"You think she would like it?"

Myrielle shrugged. "I do not know the girl well, but I think she would."

"Thank you, mother," she replied, softly. "How is brother doing?" She'd have assumed he'd want their mother there to help with the day's tasks.

"Well," her mother replied. "Not perfect, but he is able. Though he is a boy who thinks he is more a man, and men do not have their mothers by their sides. He doesn't say it, but he can't hide what he thinks from me. "After we were done, he said he was going to the hill," he continued, looking pointedly at Shireen, who smiled to herself.

"I should go to him," she got to her feet with as much grace as she could muster. "Unless you need me for anything, mother?"

She shook her head. "No, go to your brother, but don't forget this," she held out the beginnings of the song. She took the song and gave her mother a quick hug. "Everything will be okay, with your father," she whispered as they pulled apart.

"I know," she said. I don't, she thought.

The hill was not too far from Dragonstone, indeed the fortress was easily visible from the west side of it, as was the harbour. But the east side looked out over the Narrow Sea, and that was the side that she was certain she'd find Lyonel on. She tied her horse up to a tree and moved around it on foot. Her brother was standing on the side of the hill, his bow raised and pointed towards a tree, a glance showed her that at least two dozen arrows were protruding from it. Another arrow landed with a thunk in the bark and Shireen called out to her brother. "Lyonel!"

Her brother, who had just notched his arrow, spun to her, and in a single motion released the bow string. She froze and the arrow shot past her. "Careful," she called to him, letting out a held breath. "You nearly hit me."

"Really?" Lyonel asked, approaching her. "Look behind you." She did. A snake was writhing in the grass, Lyonel's arrow pinning it to the dirt through it's head. After a few moments it stopped writhing and lay still. It was not a poisonous snake, Shireen knew, there were none of them on Dragonstone, certainly not poisonous enough to kill. She felt her face light up into a smile and rushed up to join her brother. "You should never doubt me with a bow in my hand," he reminded her.

"I know," she said, making her way to the fur that Lyonel always brought with him and sitting down. It was not that he didn't mind sitting on the grass, but that the cleaners had a fit whenever Shireen brought back a dress covered in grass stains.

Her brother joined her, slumping down on the grass, his bow resting on the grass. "How are you feeling?" He asked her. "I know Daenerys" uncertain fate concerns you but..."

"I was emotional brother," she said to him, sitting back on the large fur. "I know father is doing what he has to do, and you as well, but that does not mean she deserves what she may get."

"Maybe not," Lyonel said, scooting over to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She smiled and lay down, resting her head in his lap. "Men often don't get what they deserve, look at father; he deserves so much more than what our uncle gives him."

"Women suffer as well brother," Shireen reminded him. She felt his fingers come and run through her hair, teasing out knots as they went, rubbing relief into her scalp. "But father will get what he deserves when he succeeds Robert."

Lyonel chucked. "Please, with his virility, Robert will father a dozen trueborn children on his next wife once Cersei and her abominations are dead. He'll do it just to spite Cersei's corpse."

"Only if he discovers the truth," Shireen pointed out.

"I hope he does," Lyonel said, and then, sharply, he said, "and so should you. If Robert dies before learning the truth then it will come to war. Father always told me that war should be avoided if possible. The Seven preach peace, it is the ideal."

Shireen looked past her brother's face, watching the clouds pass through the sky. "What about the Red Woman's god?" She asked. "What does it preach?"

"Falsehoods and heresies," Lyonel replied at once, his hand coming down to direct her gaze back to him. "Take no heed, sister, following that witch will only lead to harm and hell."

"I know," she said, taking his hand and bringing it to her lips.

"Lord Lyonel!" They sat up and looked around at Ser Gerold Pyle approaching them in steel plate, helm under one arm. Behind him came two young squires, one pulling at a pack horse"s reigns and the other carrying two poleaxes.

"Ser Gerold," Lyonel scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"You skipped out on your lessons, my lord," he said, seizing one of the poleaxes and throwing it to Lyonel, who caught it in mid air. The poleaxe was Lyonel's other weapon, he had a shorter mace, for when he was mounted, the bow, which was his weapon of choice, and the poleaxe for fighting afoot. "I am here to make sure you know how to fight."

"But I have no armour," he said.

Gerold simply indicated the horse, which had Lyonel's polished grey plate mail slung over it. "No excuses my lord, the bow is all well and good, but you need to learn how to defend yourself better in close combat."

"What of his mace?" Shireen asked.

Gerold inclined his head to her. "A weapon that is effective, but short, it loses out to the sword in range, he needs another weapon to compensate."

Bowing to the superior knowledge of the Master at Arms, Shireen said no more as the squires approached with Lyonel's armour. She sat up, freeing her brother to change into his armour.

He sighed and began removing his heavier clothes to make way for the under armour and the sculpted plate mail. "Should you be so quick to change in front of your own sister, my lord?" Ser Gerold asked.

Shireen giggled. "We have no shame before each other, Ser Gerold," but she turned away at any rate. She thought back to that time, two years ago, when she had been riding with her brother amidst the trees and a sharp pain in her lower belly made her fall from her horse, her saddle and thighs coated with thick, spreading blood. Lyonel had been so afraid, so had she, but when they returned to the castle, their mother had explained what had happened. As Lyonel grew to say, it was difficult to have any shame in front of someone when they had seen you give your maidenhead to a horse.