Shireen didn't like that the priestess carried her father's banner to the peace talks. A dozen knights rode behind them, all men from the islands of the Narrow Sea, father not wanting to reveal that knights from the Stormlands had been supplementing his force, or to open them to Renly's chivalric charisma. Her father himself did not come to the talks armoured. His new, glowing sword, Lightbringer, was at his hip, but otherwise he wore a studded leather jerkin, roughspun, brown breeches and worn boots. The crown on his head was forged of Red-Gold, the tips like lapping tongues of fire. She didn't like it, no more than she liked the banner fluttering above their head in the hand of the Priestess. Gone was the gold of House Baratheon, and gone was the proud black stag. In their place was a field of yellow with a flaming heart in the middle. If one strained hard enough, they could make out the head of a black stag, engulfed in the flames, but Shireen knew most would not care to look so hard.

Renly would come with the pure Baratheon banner, she knew. Renly. Why had the gods made it that the true Baratheon king bore a false banner, and the false Baratheon king the true banner? They reached the meeting point to find it deserted. Not that she was surprised. Renly would no doubt be only mounting his horse now, having seen them arrive, he wasn't one to wait. Her father had been denied what was his his whole life, he was well enough practiced at waiting.

"Brother!" A hatefully cheerful voice sounded. Renly was coming to the grassy knoll, seven men behind him in different coloured suits of armour, with different coloured cloaks at his back. This would be his rainbow guard then, uncle Renly's more colourful version of the Kingsguard.

The traitor Baratheon was splendid in his green velvet doublet and satin cloak trimmed in vair. A crown of golden roses girded his temples, with a jade stag's head rising over his forehead, long black hair spilling out beneath. Jagged chunks of black diamond studded his swordbelt, and a chain of gold and emeralds looped around his neck. Sure enough, atop a twelve foot lance, the chosen knight who bore the banner bore the gold and black of House Baratheon. "A dozen knights, Stannis, if you can call them that," he jested. "One might think you scared to meet with me."

She felt anger rise. How dare he, he, who had never fought a battle in his life, accuse her father of cowardice! "At least father doesn't surround himself with yes men to tell him pretty tales," she told him.

"Your daughter has quite the tongue, brother," Renly replied, not harmed at all by what Shireen had said. "Perhaps you should have brought your son instead."

"My daughter is more of a son than you will ever have," Stannis replied simply, and she felt a smile grace her features.

"At least you've had the foresight to change your banners," Renly said, brushing off the subject of children. "If we both used the same one the battle would be terribly confusing. But there needn't be a battle," he continued. "And I must confess, I didn't think there would be one here, at Storm's End. Why are you here, Stannis?"

"The Iron Throne is mine, by rights and laws," her father replied at once. "All those who deny that are my foes."

"The whole of the realm denies it, brother," said Renly. "Old men deny it with their death rattles, and unborn children deny it in their mothers" wombs. They deny it in Dorne and they deny it on the Wall. No one wants you for their king. Sorry."

Her father clenched his jaw, his face taut. "I swore I would never treat with you while you wore your traitor's crown. Would that I had kept to that vow."

"I recommended that father come talk to you, uncle," Shireen said. She may have jibed at Renly before, but it was wrong, she should have been persuading him to see the right. "Do the right thing, accept that you are the younger brother, and my father's bannerman."

"I will let you keep Storm's End, and your place on the Council," her father added. "You can even keep your bride, whatever your interest is. I wonder, was it you she married, or that crown above your head."

"Oh, she married me, that much is certain," he replied simply.

Stannis scoffed. "We both know your wedding was a mummer's farce. A year ago you were scheming to make the girl one of Robert's whores."

"A year ago I was scheming to make the girl Robert's queen," Renly said, "but what does it matter? The boar got Robert and I got Margaery. You'll be pleased to know she came to me a maid."

"In your bed she's like to die that way."

"Oh, I expect I'll get a son on her within the year," Renly dismissed. "And if we talk of proposals, I have one myself. I propose you dismount, bend the knee before me and swear me your fealty."

Her father ground his teeth. "I will not bow to you. That will never happen."

"No?" Renly asked. "And why not? You bowed to Robert easily enough."

"Robert was the elder brother, you are the younger."

"Younger," Renly admitted. "Bolder, and far more comely."

"And a thief," Shireen said. "And a Usurper besides."

"The Targaryens called Robert a Usurper, he could bare the shame, and so will I." He sighed. "I tire of this talk, Stannis. Your claim may be better than mine, but my army is larger than yours. Here." He reached inside his cloak, and father went towards his sword. Shireen held her breath, but Renly only drew out... a peach? "Would you like one, it comes from Highgarden, the sweetest peach you will ever taste."

"I am here for your fealty, Renly. Not your fruit," Stannis replied angrily.

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." Stannis ground his teeth. "Ah well," Renly continued, taking a large bite out of his fruit, wiping away the juice with the back of his glove. "A fruit may be a blessing for your tongue, but perhaps it is your eyes that need help. Look across the field, brother, you see all those banners?"

Shireen could not help but scoff. She had hoped that by coming to talk, to listen to her father, Renly might be open to accepting his place. She had held back her tongue so that Renly would see her father as a king, rather than a set piece as his daughter, a being of the weaker sex, spoke for him. But it was clear Renly would never be convinced to remove his crown, nor would the notion come upon him alone. "Renly, bolts of cloth do not make you king."

"Tyrell swords will make me king. Rowan and Tarly and Florent will make me king, with axe and mace and warhammer. Tarth arrows and Penrose lances, Fossoway, Cuy, Mullendore, Estermont, Selmy, Hightower, Oakheart, Crane, Caswell, Blackbar, Morrigen, Beesbury, Shermer, Dunn, Footly... even House Caron, your own wife's brother, they will make me king." Shireen hated that her uncle had been forced to choose between his wife's family and the man to whom he owed his direct fealty. But it seemed he had made the wrong choice. Bryce was younger than her mother, and more like Renly than Stannis. She hoped he would see the truth. The only consolation they had had about this was a raven, come to Dragonstone after the letters had been sent out. Lord Caron had ridden with his liege lord Renly, but the majority of his strength remained at Nightsong.

But it seemed Renly was not done. "All the chivalry of the south rides with me, and that is the least part of my power. My foot is coming behind, a hundred thousand swords and spears and pikes. And you will destroy me? With what, pray? That paltry rabble I see there huddled under the castle walls? I'll call them five thousand and be generous, codfish lords and onion knights and sellswords. Half of them are like to come over to me before the battle starts. You have fewer than four hundred horse, my scouts tell me, freeriders in boiled leather who will not stand an instant against armoured lances. I do not care how seasoned a warrior you think you are, Stannis, that host of yours won't survive the first charge of my vanguard."

Oh how Renly heard what he wanted. They numbered closer to seven thousand men than five, and eight hundred horse than four. It was a little hope, but hope none the less. She reminded herself of her brother's face. Lyonel was confident, and if he was confident, she had no reason to be otherwise. He was her strength, and she was his.

"And that vanguard will gladly fight for me," Renly continued. "They all know your letter Stannis. Just as they all know the others. It would seem if they fight for the Lannisters or if they fight for you, they are only supporting those who would have incest in the bed of kings."

"Renly!" She screamed at him, as her father all but snarled.

"You will not insult my children Renly, not to my, face, do you hear me, never!" He drew his sword and several horses reared away from the light that came from the magic blade.

One of Renly's knights came between them. "Put up your steel!" He declared.

"I do not wish to slake Lightbringer in the blood of my own brother," her father declared, sliding it back into it's scabbard. "This is your only chance, Renly. I give you until dawn to strike your banners and accept me as your king. I will even forgive that slight and falsehood you sprout about my children. Otherwise, I shall destroy you."

Destroy him anyway, father, Shireen thought, her mind half clouded by hatred. It was good that Lyonel wasn't here, if he was, he would have drawn his arrow and put it through Renly's heart the minute he had uttered that hateful insult. Renly had been kind before. Foolish, but kind... how could he... "It seems our talks have been for nothing then, brother," Renly said. "We shall meet at dawn."

Shireen took her reigns in hand, about to turn her horse when a cry came from her right, and she spun around. "Father!" She screamed. Her father was clutching at the right side of his chest... and the arrow protruding from it.

"The king!" She heard one of the knights call and they rode forward, shields raised and swords out. One of them was just in time, putting his shield between her father and a second arrow, as another came to shield her from the ambush.

Shireen turned back to her uncle. "How could you Renly!" She screamed. Kinslayer... of all the titles Rely sought to claim, she never though kinslayer would be one of them. "We came here under a banner of peace!" But for once Renly looked flustered, the charm gone from his face, replaced with confusion. His knights had moved forward a little, but seemed as lost as their leader.

"I-I never," he said, tripping over his words. "Not I... not-" His words were cut out as he grunted in pain, his chest recoiling as an arrow punched through his heart, a dark liquid began to spread across his doublet.

"Your Grace!" His banner carrier screamed in a voice unlike any knight Shireen had ever heard. But they were not fast enough, a second arrow punched through Renly's chest and he slumped across his horse's neck before sliding off it and landing in the grass with a dull thud, the half eaten peach rolling out from his doublet and down the hill.

"Run!" Shireen screamed at the knights. "Protect father and run back to the camp, now!" They turned and raced away from the meeting spot, leaving Renly's rainbow guard in complete disarray. She reached out to steady her father as one of his knights did so from the other side. They had to find Lyonel; he would know what to do. He had to. What if the assassins had gotten to him too? No, not her brother, they couldn't. The gods wouldn't rob her of her father and brother at once. She looked back at Renly's host. Those men who had come here to undo her father and his claim to the throne were suddenly kingless. They have to come to us, she realised. The assassins had failed, Stannis Baratheon still lived, would still live, she was certain of it. Where else would these men turn but to the last branch of House Baratheon? King Robert was dead, all his children bastards and imposters put in the place of his trueborns. Renly murdered by assassins, with no children of his body to follow him. Only Stannis remained. Stannis and Lyonel. Her father and her brother. They were the men who Renly's army could rally behind to defeat the Lannisters. They had to see it for themselves, they had to.