Lyonel had been to Storm's End before, but when camped outside it with an army, it seemed a thousand times more imposing. His father had been busy, they had arrived a paltry five thousand men and arms, with supplies and tents, and now they had erected siege engines aplenty from the nearby woods of the Stormlands. Another lord might have arranged for battering rams, ladders and trebuchets, but not his father. Lord Stannis knew the defences of Storm's End, likely better than the lord of the Castle did, the wall was too tall for ladders, a ram would be destroyed before it got more than one blow against the gate and there wasn't a trebuchet that had been built that was capable of fracturing the walls of Storm's End. His father had built two great towers with which to assault the walls and overwhelm the garrison, draped in cured hides as protection from the hail of flaming arrows and bolts that would answer their approach.

However, his father had also constructed two man-made hillocks, facing out to the west. Two scorpions were on top of each of them, with enough room for many archers as well, and behind each one was a mangonel, ready to hurl stones at Renly's oncoming army. These hillocks had been surrounded by a ditch and stakes and were locked by a wooden redoubt on the right flank and a heavy wood to the left, forcing an approaching army to arrive down the centre, right where Lord Stannis would place his infantry, before which would be lain a dozen feet of caltrops. Uncle Renly was coming with a great host at his back, four times his number and all armoured knights, and still his father meant to break them. Or at least, four times as many as when they first landed, but they also no longer numbered that five thousand. More men had come to join them daily, men at arms and archers mostly, but even some knights in plate mail, and woodsmen from the hills, and when they arrived, his father analysed them and folded them into his plan to face Renly in battle.

"How goes fares the fleet, Lyonel?" His father asked him at the war council that evening.

"Well, father," he replied. "They maintain a close watch of the entrance." Ser Davos knew where the entrances by way of the sea were, and had advised Lyonel in setting up his watches there. "No one will deliver food that way."

His father's face was in a taut and hard. "My brother will arrive tomorrow," he told his lords. "He has rushed from Bitterbridge with his horse and has overstretched his baggage train. He will need to fight or flee when he arrives."

"One blow father," he replied. "He will likely entrust his vanguard to the Knight of the Flowers, to charge us first, we break them and send them reeling, and Renly's host may retreat."

"Or he may try again," Stannis said. "But he will have only one day. We remain a motley force in the eyes of his lords and knights. If we can repel him for but one day, his army should fall apart, if we cannot defeat him in detail." Lyonel remained unsure of that fact. Holding Reny off, or driving him to retreat would be possible, but a defeat in detail... short of capturing Renly or killing him in the battle, he didn't see that as possible. He shouldn't be thinking that, whatever his faults, Renly was still his uncle... his blood. "I intend to offer to speak to Renly," he said. "We shall talk when he arrives, and I shall give him a day to consider. If he refuses to bend the knee to his rightful king, then we face him in battle, and his men and horses may find themselves going to battle on empty stomachs. Renly will not dare have the realm him thinking that he is a coward, and attack me before then."

"And when dawn comes," Lyonel said. "He will be charging into us with the sun behind us." Lyonel knew that his father had not intended that. He had meant to fight Renly at once, had sworn that he wouldn"t treat with Renly while he called himself king, but Shireen had convinced him otherwise.

Stannis nodded. "His men will be half blind, and reeling from that when the arrows begin to fall, his army will break."

"A fine plan, Your Grace," lord Velaryon said robustly. "Who shall have the commands in the battle, should it come to that?"

"I will determine after my talks with Renly," Stannis said. "When I have time to gauge the strength of his host. Lyonel, you shall remain here during the talks, maintain a strong watch on the camp."

Lyonel felt his heart sink, he should be at his father's side. But if he needed him here... "Of course, father."

His father glanced to the Lady Melisandre, who stared at him. "Leave us," he said.

Lyonel bit back a retort. It was said only Melisandre could comfort him to sleep these days. Was it true? He hated it, hated the Red Woman for taking his mother's place, and could not help but resent his father for doing so. His mother deserved better than to have her place taken by a witch. But his father was his king and his king was his father, so he left the tent and returned to his own.

He walked through the camp, spread out as it was. He passed footmen roasting sausages and quail over fires, a few knights sparring and archers testing themselves at the butts. But the sun was dying, and so most were returning to their tents. For some reason, despite the fact that the news of Renly's approach seemed to be common knowledge, there was less fear in the camp than Lyonel expected. Perhaps the trickle of reinforcements had been enough to raise their spirits, or perhaps thisnew god that was infecting his father's soldiers, but whatever the reason they had faith that King Stannis would lead them to victory.

When he got to his tent he placed his bow on it's stand next to his quiver. His father would give him command of one of the hillocks of archers during the battle, he knew it, and just hoped he could shoot enough arrows at Renly's host to make a difference. He heard the tent flap rustle. "You're back," he said, turning to his sister.

She nodded, taking off her thick woollen cloak, protection against the sea breeze. "And so are you," she replied. She had slept in that morning, claiming to have had a bad night, so Lyonel left her alone as he went about his daily duties. "I'm sorry about this morning," she said. "I was... unnecessarily curt with you, you didn't deserve it."

"You're my sister," he replied simply "I'm not angry, And I think you had another dream, didn't you?"

She nodded. "Uncle Robert," she said. "He told me to avenge his dishonour, to see that Cersei, Jaime and their children die for this insult to him and his house."

"And we will," Lyonel reminded her, taking her in his arms again, where he could comfort her.

She squirmed. "I'll set up my own tent," she said. "I don't want to disturb you."

"You won't," he said. "And I know the real reason why you want to be in a different tent."

"Brother," she reminded him, looking up. "That rumour is vile and disgusting. No doubt the Lannisters are to blame, but I would not lend further credence to the idea of us... sinning that way... we would never... not incest... not us."

"No," Lyonel agreed. "We wouldn't, and we never have, and I would rather keep you safe by me for now than in another tent, where another might harm you. Your safety is worth a thousand scorns to me." He remembered vividly the day when they'd heard the rumour at Storm's End. Baratheons were famous for their fury, but it was their mother who had raged like a storm when she'd heard the news. She didn't normally scare him, but he'd wanted to scurry from the room like a whipped dog at her venting fury. Shireen had cowered behind him while she raged and it had taken much to calm her down. She'd wanted the heads of those who dare slander her children in that way. Lyonel had promised them to her, all of them. Shireen rarely showed her anger, but she had bee furious at the High Septon. That man was supposed to be the gods' representative on this earth, and yet here he was, pandering to the Lannisters and their sinful ilk. The faith may have to be purged as well, reminded what faith was. When they won, they would see to it all.

He felt Shireen surrender to his arms and wrap herself around him. "Are you ready?" She asked him.

"I don't know if anyone can ever be ready for their first battle, but I have practiced, I know the land and I know my archers."

"I believe in you," she whispered into his chest. "And I'll pray for you."

"Then I have nothing to fear."

She pulled back and smiled wryly. "I hope my prayers are so strong."

He gripped her shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure they are, I've never met anyone as faithful as you. But I want you to promise me something."

"What?" She asked.

"When the battle lines are drawn up, I want you back on the ship. Battle is no place for a woman, and I would have you stay safe."

Shireen bit her lip, but nodded. "As you say, but you have to promise to come back to me."

He nodded, hand on heart. "Always."

"That's all I need."

A rustling made them look over at the tent entrance. A page stuck his head through. Lyonel clenched a fist; he should have announced himself first, he suspected that the page's youth made him forget this, but he rather suspected that the boy may have wanted to see whether or not his King's Children were behaving according to the rumours. "What is it?" He asked, "why are you here boy?"

"F-forgive me, my prince, but your father wanted to see you."

He nodded. "Very well then, we'll come now."

They made their way to their father, who was standing atop one of the hillocks, Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre at a shoulder a piece. Looking beyond, Lyonel saw the whisps of smoke or dust twirling into the air, either cookfires or the dust kicked up by an army on the move. Either way, it could only mean one thing. Renly had arrived. The sun was low in the sky, so it was unlikely that he would commit to battle, particularly after such a ride to get here, but still. "Your uncle has come." Stannis said when they reached him. "As I suspected, he rushed ahead. His host is all mounted, no archers, no supporting foot soldiers, just knights, the only worthwhile soldiers according to my brother and he has brought nearly twenty thousand of them." He shook his head in distaste. "Lyonel, are the men ready?"

He nodded. "They are, father, or they will be."

"Good, see to it that they are, I will not be defeated by Renly. We'll show him what war is soon enough."

"Is that is, father?" Shireen asked.

Stannis glanced at his daughter. "What are you talking about?"

"Renly is still your brother, whatever else he is."

"Whatever else he is is a traitor," he replied at once. "I will not treat with him while he presumes to wear my crown, sit on my throne. It is Lyonel's throne before Renly's, it is your throne before his."

"And he is still our blood," Shireen insisted fiercely. "You owe him the chance to kneel before you. There is a chance that he may be willing to kneel, once he sees how committed you are." Stannis looked darkly over at the smoke or dust. "Please, father. If you defeat Renly and he is killed, you'll never forgive yourself."

"Shireen, has a point, father," Lyonel said. "I am confident, but battle is never a surety. Especially against a host so much larger than ours."

Stannis looked at them both. "You're brother can't fight now, your grace," Ser Davos spoke up. "And unless you plan to attack him, neither can you. It might serve to send a messenger, call for talks. He may be willing to surrender, and if not it doesn't harm you."

His father looked from Ser Davos, to Shireen, to him to the Red Priestess, who inclined her head in a half nod. "Very well then. One meeting, to give him the chance to kneel. If he doesn't then it is battle."

"As you say, father," Lyonel said.

"Shireen, Davos, Melisandre, you will accompany me, Lyonel, you will remain here, keep order in the camp until we return."

Having gotten the concession of a meeting, Lyonel didn't object. "As you command father."

He and Shireen returned to their tent as Stannis sent Davos to organise a messenger. "Twenty thousand knights," Shireen whispered, concern making her voice quiver like reeds in the wind. "Can we beat such a force?"

"It's... a lot," he said. She knew he was just as worried as her, she always knew. "But I'm worried about you, be careful at the talks."

"I'll be fine," she said, touching his arm gently. "If Renly tried anything, it would ruin him for Kingship, and Renly is all about his image."

Lyonel nodded. "I know, but... be careful."

The talks had to be a success, or Lyonel didn't know if they could beat Renly in battle. As he helped Shireen ready her horse for when she accompanied father, he couldn't help but feel troubled, he wished that there was something he could do to assist with these talks, but not if he was stuck here. As long as he was here, it was in his sister's hands. At least they were as good as they came.