The cold hard stone normally hurt her knees when she was praying for this long, but pain was beyond Shireen now, for she was in the bosom of the Seven. "Mother above, please, shine your mercy down upon this world, protect the pure and innocent from the ravages of war and death that now tear across the land. I beg of you, please, have mercy for the people, have mercy for my brother, and have mercy for my father as they ride off to enforce the laws of men and gods on this world of sin and turmoil." She could feel the sweat slicking her palms as they were pressed together and begin to roll down her wrists like tears.
She knew that somewhere, the Seven would hear her prayers, but her eyes were drawn to the carved wooden statue of the Stranger, a carved grotesque looking more beast than man, and wondered if it would be he who heard; for it was likely to be he who would reap the greatest tally during the wars to come.
She went to wash her hands of the sweat and Septon Barre came over to her, his kindly face smiling. "My lady," he said. "You seem concerned about something, can I help?"
"If the Seven can't," she replied with a smile of her own. "I don't know that you can, Septon."
"They will always be listening, my lady," he replied, gesturing towards the statues. "the answers may be long in the coming, but they always hear you."
She nodded. She knew, and she had faith that they would answer her in time, but it didn't stop her wishing they would do so more quickly. Her brother would be sailing off to war soon, and with him gone, who could she turn to? Her mother would be running the island, and Ariel, for all her sweetness, was too pure, too innocent, even at thirteen, Shireen would not inflict her with the sorrows of war, or her own mind, not yet.
Her head turned as there was some kind of commotion in the corridor. "I shall tell them to be quiet," Barre said to her. But when he got within a few feet of the door, they burst open and more than a dozen men at arms entered with warhammers and longaxes in hand. "What is this?" Barre demanded, but was met only with an iron fist to his stomach, doubling him over with a gasp of pain.
"Septon Barre!" She gasped, racing over to them and holding the septon upright. "What are you doing?!" She demanded of the men.
"My Lady," the one who had punched her said. "We are only following orders." She heard the crack of metal on wood and turned, gasping as she saw one of the men hacking into the altar of the Crone, and one took his warhammer to the stained glass window behind it, shattering it and letting the cold sea air rush inside. "Stop this!" She shouted, "stop this now!" How could they, the Seven brought life to them all, had nursed them, guided them and protected them, why were they doing this? How could they? But her words were falling on deaf ears as the men at arms began bringing ropes around the statue of the crone, determined to pull it down. "Stop!" She screamed. Her prayers would never be answered, the gods would damn them, but not just them, her father and brother too, they had to stop, but she couldn't do anything except cower with the wounded septon.
"Do as our lady says," a voice called and she recognised Ser Hubart Rambton and his three sons arriving, swords in hand. "Stop this desecration at once!"
"Stay out of this Ser!" One of the men at arms said, as they started pulling on the statue of the Crone.
"Ser Hubart!" Shireen begged. "Please, do something!"
"Fear not, my lady, we shall deal with these men," he said, and he drove forwards, thrusting his sword through the man at arms who had punched Septon Barre. The man gasped and blood dribbled from his lips, dropping on the floor like rain. The men at arms stopped what they were doing and rushed over. Shireen held her head in her arms, to shield herself from the sounds of battle and death.
"Hold them," she heard a voice say. "We are to take the Sept, not the people."
When the fighting died down, she saw that the Rambtons had killed four of the men at arms but had been subdued and were being tied down with ropes to restrain them. "You have to stop this!" She screamed at the men at arms. "The gods will never forgive us!"
Then she looked at one of the dead men, his arms splayed out and his neck still pulsing blood, pooling on the floor and spreading rapidly. But on his breast she saw the red heart that was sewn there. Now she knew who had ordered this. The Red Woman.
"Stop this madness, now." Lyonel's voice was sweeter than any song she could sing.
"Lyonel!" Her brother entered carefully, five men of Lord Sunglass, a pious and mild lord Shireen had met in the sept many times, coming behind him.
"Sister," he said with a smile as he and the men behind him made a line between the men at arms around the Rambtons and the remains of the sept. He was in his chain armour, his bow in hand and his arrow notched. "Help Septon Barre to his feet Shireen, and you," he said to the men at arms, who had been joined now by more men and two knights, all with red hearts sewn on their breasts, "release those men, now!" Unable to refuse their lord's son, they cut free the knights of Rambton, who joined Lyonel in his line.
She helped Barre to his feet and led him over to his chair, sitting him down. "Are you okay, Barre?" She asked, concerned. He nodded, having got his breath back for the most part.
"My Lord, stand aside," one of the knights said. Lyonel was outnumbered, but he was not giving in. How she wished she had her bow at this moment, that she could stand at his side... but she had never killed a man before...
"No," Lyonel replied at once. "I know who you follow, and I do not recognise them as my own."
Then the men began to part, and the Red Woman approached. It was not hard to see why grown and trained knights feared her. She was tall, the tallest person in the room, with glowing red eyes, red robes and that ruby choker, most couldn't even pronounce her name properly and the way she held herself... it unnerved her, and she was here, with her gods around her... although under threat.
But Lyonel was not phased, even as his men inched backwards, he stood his ground, wrapping his fingers around his bowstring. "Prince Lyonel," she said, in her queer, otherworldly voice.
"Red Woman," he replied with a snarl. "Is this the so called great victory you saw in your flames, given to you by your red god? Four of your men are dead, and mine stand strong." She saw Lyonel's men take heart at that.
"They are not my men," she replied, unconcerned. "They are the Lord of Light's, they are all the Lord of Light's, as are you and I and every man, woman and child on this world. He is the one true god, worshipping to wooden pillars will not change that."
"These are my gods," he replied, his fingers twitching. Shireen knew his problem. Spilling blood in a sept, even in it's defence, could profane it, but that might be the only way he could protect it from this woman. "Yours is wrong and has no place here."
"You may close your eyes to the power of the Lord of Light, my prince," she replied, entirely unfazed. "You may close your ears to his words, but he will not disappear, and he will not be silenced."
Lyonel drew his bow back to his ear, his body in the perfect archer's stance and his arrow aimed for the red woman's heart. The red woman was slightly taller than he, but in that moment, Lyonel Baratheon, her sweet brother, looked like the Warrior himself. "I wonder if silencing you would suffice. Take your heresies elsewhere, witch, they are not wanted here."
"One day, my prince, you will open your ears to the Lord of Light's words, and then you will see the truth of your heart." How could she remain so calm? All of her men had flinched when Lyonel drew his bow.
"Still you speak witch. But nonsense repeated does not become truth."
Then more feet approached and Shireen watched her father, stern and strong, enter the sept. "What is happening here?" He demanded.
"They are destroying our sept, father," Lyonel said.
"They stand between us and the sept, my king," the Red Woman said, and Shireen's jaw dropped. Had father ordered this? How could he? His faith may never have been strong, but he knew that her faith and Lyonel's and mother's were.
"Father," she gasped, rushing over as Lyonel lowered his bow, a bewildered expression on his face. "You didn't... you can't destroy this sept."
Lord Stannis looked at her with his eyes that made her feel like a little girl again. "It is my sept" he replied simply. "It is in my castle, I can do with it as I wish."
"Father!" Lyonel gasped. "You can't!"
"I just said I can," he replied, looking at his son. "When this is your castle, you may rebuild it if you so wish."
"Father-" Lyonel made to object again, but Shireen placed her hand on his elbow and shook her head.
"Father, may we speak, in private?" She asked him.
He looked at her with the eyes he had given her, and nodded. "Lyonel, Shireen, lady Melisandre, you stay. The rest of you out." Slowly, the men filed out. The ones with the hearts on their breasts left at once, the others hesitated, glancing at Lyonel, before following them. When they were alone, he looked at her. "Well, what do you have to say, daughter?" He asked.
She took a breath. She loved her father, she didn't like opposing him, but she had to here. "Why are you doing this, father?" She asked. "Why are you burning the sept?"
He looked at Melisandre. "The Lord of Light requires a sacrifice," she told them. "An offering of these false idols will make him grant his blessing on King Stannis."
Lyonel scoffed. "Only fools and madmen can claim to be so certain of the will of the gods." Stannis held up a finger, and Lyonel fell silent at once.
"What can the Seven offer other than that?" He asked her. "They have only ever taken from me, they killed my parents before my eyes."
She wanted to say that if there was only one god, then that god was what killed her grandparents. But she couldn't say that, she knew that her grandparents deaths still haunted him. "Father, if you destroy the sept, you will lose men and support, and the people will not love you."
"They never loved me," he replied dryly. "How can I lose what I never had?"
She got closer to him and touched his arm. Father was uncomfortable with women, even her and mother, but he was her father, she had to comfort him. "Father, your men do not know this Lord of Light," she told him. "Let them keep their sept, allow them their prayers, and they will care less about your personal choice of faith." She felt like there was ash in her mouth, she hated that she was not fighting for her father's soul, but she knew these were not times of peace. She could convince him of the truth once the war was won.
"Without a sacrifice, the Lord of Light will not favour you," Lady Melisandre warned.
Father's face was often stiff, but it seemed stiffer than usual. "You may keep the sept," he said finally.
"Thank you father," she gasped, and wrapped her arms around him. He endured it for a little, then pushed her away. "Lady Melisandre can take the statues."
"What!" Lyonel replied.
"You may keep the sept," Lord Stannis repeated. "The altars and windows will not be touched," he glanced at the altar and window of the Crone, "any more... But the statues go with the lady Melisandre."
"Father," she begged.
"My King," the Red Woman said at the same time.
"Enough," he said. "That is my decision. And I don't hear either a Lord of Light or a Seven faced god saying anything differently."
He stormed from the sept. Shireen made to follow, but Lyonel caught her arm and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her. "That is as good as we'll get from him," he whispered into her hair. "We still have the sept, and we can build more statues. We have to know when to retreat."
She felt tears come to her eyes and nodded her face into his tabard on his chest. One day, her father would see the truth. She vowed it.
()()()
Shireen felt out of place at the war councils. But father had asked her there, so she would be there. Lyonel looked more in his element here, and she had moved her chair closer to his, to shield herself from some of the lords bannermen who looked too falsely at a woman at the table.
"The city is being fortified it is true to say," Ser Davos spoke. "We saw spitfires and scorpions being built on the walls, and the ships at the capital are patrolling the rush. But we more than match them in sea power, and the only men they can call upon in the city are the gold cloaks. Cersei Lannister has tripled their number, but most are green, more likely to drop their spears than use them."
"This is our chance, Your Grace," Lord Velaryon said, slamming his hand on the painted table. "We can take the city in one red swoop, seat you upon the Iron Throne."
Lyonel didn't look too impressed with that plan. "You have something to say, Lyonel?" Their father asked.
"It might be that we could take the city. But then what. Lord Tywin Lannister is known to be at Harrenhal with a great host around him. And... uncle Renly," Shireen felt her anger rise, saw her brother's knuckles whiten and heard her father's teeth grind. "He is marching up the Roseroad with a greater host still. We have but five thousand men. We could hold the Rush with our fleet but not the city.
"Mother's house, House Caron, father," she spoke up. Marriage agreements had to mean something, surely uncle Bryce could bring some strength to them.
"House Caron consented to a meeting, Princess," Davos told her, earnestly. "I was able to treat with them and many other Storm Lords, but I got only words from them all."
Her father's teeth ground again. "Of course you did," he said. "The bold lords see Renly as their liege, and flock to join his growing strength, hoping for a share of the spoils, but the craven sit to see who will win the conflict. None of them support me in this war. Besides, House Caron could add it's three thousand men to us but Renly would still have ten men for every one of mine." Shireen shook her head. Partly at the desperation of their situation, and partly in awe at how her father could speak the numbers of men that any house could call upon from memory.
"We may be able to get support," their mother said, she was sat on the other side of Stannis to Lyonel and herself. "Shireen and Lyonel, many would be happy to provide an heir to the throne should you win."
"Should I win," Stannis repeated. "None will see that as a possibility. I had hoped the Targaryen girl might get me some support, but now she is gone. Who is there that can match the numbers I already face. Shireen is too old for me to consider betrothing her to the Arryn boy, on the off chance that he lives long enough to breed, and the Martells hated Robert too much to put their princess in Lyonel"s bed. I had hoped to possibly win the Reach, but they have joined with Renly, it seems. And Robb Stark is now pledged to a Frey girl, and as for the Greyjoys..." He grunted. Robb Stark, she remembered the handsome boy she had danced with in Winterfell. She could have married him and been somewhat content, or Willas Tyrell, but both chances were now gone. She well remembered her time back in the North. The Starks had seemed so happy, at peace, a castle full of laughter and joy. Then a boy had fallen from a window and the world had changed. She could understand seeking justice for the death of their father, Lords Tristan and Robb were two of a tight knit family, but seeking to rip two Kingdoms from her father... her father had never done anything to them. Perhaps they would come to their senses when they contacted them. She hoped so. It left a sinking feeling to think of such a family as traitors. But if they were then they were, and her father would see to them.
He sighed. "Enough of this," he said. "I will think more on it myself. Leave us," he said, and his lords bowed, getting to their feet to depart. "Not you," he said, and his family sat back down with Ser Davos and Melisandre, "you are us."
"Shireen, read the letter to me," he said.
Shireen coughed, picking up the letter.
All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm"s End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honour of my House that my beloved brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty. Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
"That is as you requested father," she said. She had a number of complaints about it, but she let her father speak first.
"Robert wasn't my beloved brother," their father said. "I had no love for him, nor he for me."
"Father," she said. "It is a harmless courtesy."
"A lie," her father said, flatly. "Take it out, and I believe Jaime Lannister is, despite all else, an anointed knight, put ser in there." She made the changes. She loved her father, and his desire for the truth. But this letter would be thrown out as a lie by most anyway, and to others is would be a passing curiosity. But Robert had been well loved; not saying that he did so as well might hinder her father.
"What of that last line, your grace," Ser Davos spoke up. "Done in the Light of the Lord?"
"What of it?" her father asked.
Davos chewed on his answer. "It sounds foreign," he said. Shireen agreed. But too say, done in the light of the Seven would be another lie that her father would not countenance. "Perhaps, done in the sight of gods and men."
"People do not love me, Ser Davos, I am not trying to win their love, only their fealty. Keep the truth about the Red God in there, then have Pylos and Cressen copy the letter. Have them send it out to as many holdfasts as we have ravens. Ser Davos, you will deliver letters along the coast, up the Crownlands and into the Vale and White Harbour. Have one of your sons do the same along the southern coast, all the way to Dorne, those who hear it shall spread the tale further. Let no man plead ignorance as an excuse. Don't send them at once though, wait for them all to be done. I want the realm to hear it before the Lannisters can come up with a response. Lyonel, have the fleet screen the Seaworth ships, do not let them fall to a royal force leaving the Rush."
"It will be done father," he said, bowing his head.
Lord Stannis got to his feet. "We're done for now," he said. "Come wife." Their mother passed them by, kissing them each on the top of the head on her way out, and Ser Davos followed his lord and lady, leaving Lyonel and Shireen alone.
Lyonel took her hand. "What Ser Davos said," he whispered, even though the door was shut. "Put that in instead."
She looked at him alarmed. "Against father's orders?" She asked.
"No," he said. "Father only said to tell the truth. What Ser Davos said, can you claim it untrue?"
She thought and then smiled, adding in the additional change. "Is that thinking like the son of a King?" He asked her teasingly.
"More like one than before," she agreed. "But when you were in the Sept... that was you as the Prince of the Realm, Lyonel, I was never more proud of you."
He looked down. "I should have done more," he whispered.
"You did as much as could be expected of you, you said it yourself, know when to retreat." She got to her feet, taking her letter with the corrections on it up as well. She wrapped her arms around Lyonel from behind, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "We'll set things to right," she said. "Once father has won the war."
He patted her hand affectionately. "Together," he replied. "Together we can save the realm... and father."
