She'd been waiting for so long that she half expected to look down and see knots of wrinkles covering the back of her hands. But there were no wrinkles, no signs of age and her brother was home.
The fleet began as pinpricks in the distance, tiny blobs unmistakable from the rolling and crashing waves to the untrained eye. It was just like when she, Lyonel and their mother had waited for father from the Greyjoy Rebellion, only this time, Lyonel was out on the ships, and she was alone with her mother. They crawled closer across the ocean, getting larger and prouder with each passing moment. First she could see the sails, then the hulls, then the sigils on the sails and the flags flying atop the masts and the rigging, then the crews.
In perfect formation, just like brother. They were coming in in rows of twenty ships or more as they pulled into the harbour.
"Just like your father did," her mother commented, holding Shireen's hand.
The ships stayed the bite of the wind into the bay, floating shields against the elements themselves.
She saw boats being lowered into the water, complete with Men at Arms and archers before being rowed to shore. Why have your brought so many men back with you? She wondered, surely father needed the men. There were still rival armies in the field, the Starks, the Lannisters. Perhaps this was just an honour guard for his son. Yes, that would be it. It would explain why they didn"t have any loot or treasure with them, and why they were solemnly filing onto the beach, not cheering for victory or making a sound.
They could be more dutiful though, and better organised. Some of them were wondering around like headless chickens, others had picked up others" weapons or armour from the boats, archers milled with men at arms and knights, ignoring most of the others on the beach who had come to see the Fleet return. She hadn't organised a viewing of it, for she hadn't thought that the entire fleet would be coming, she'd thought most would remain and Lyonel would come to retrieve her himself. As for their lack of organised arrival, she could forgive that, no doubt her brother was reliving and enjoying his victory too much. She could forgive him that, she could forgive him anything.
Keep calm, she told herself as she saw him come into the dock in a rowing boat, his head held low, looking at the deck. He's probably tired, she reasoned. He had just fought a battle, an experience she would never hope to have.
The boat beached itself securely on the sand, driving up onto the surf, two of the men at arms aboard leaping ashore to pull it up. Lyonel was the last to disembark, fatigued limbs pulling him over the side of the boat and moving up the beach. Still he looked at the ground. "Lyonel!" She called as he approached. He glanced up with dead eyes, no light left in them, no joy, looking at her like he didn't see her, didn't care for her. "What's wrong?" She asked. He started walking again. She prepare for the hug she knew was coming. Felt his hand on her shoulder, ready to pull her in.
Then he pushed her aside and kept on walking.
She blinked. "Lyonel?" Something cold and wrong clamped around her wrist and her brother kept on walking. She tore her gaze away from the back of her brother's head, she couldn't see what was wrong with him through the midnight shield of hair. Instead she looked at what was holding her wrist. It was her mother. She dragged her gaze up the chain like arm and into her face. It was as hard an expression that she had ever seen on her father's face, but never on her mother's. She beckoned and Uncle Roland, who had just climbed from his own boat came over, blood caking his cloak and surcoat. His footfalls were heavy as rain in a storm, the sand crunching beneath his iron heel. "Sister," he said, bowing his head.
"What happened?" Her mother's voice was strong but flat. Unchanging from one syllable to the next.
"We lost," Rolland said at once. "We were on the cusp of victory... but then the Lannisters and Tyrells came, charging on our flanks while the army was divided, half north of the Rush, and half south of it. We were driven away."
Her heart was carried away in that instant. Her mother kept talking, Rolland replied. They spoke of riverbanks and lost soldiers, of Tyrells and Lannisters, of Lyonel and Stannis. But she had prayed. She had spent every moment she could spare in the sept, praying for success for her family. The gods knew that the Lannisters bathed in the black waters of sin. Why then would they grant victory to them? Unless they had been wrong, and Joff and the others were her cousins, that her uncle had fathered his supposed children. Was that not what the gods were saying here, the grand trial by battle proving that Joff was correct and they were wrong?
The cold and warmth railed against her skin like the breath of the gods at war with themselves, her feet gliding over stone and sand, dragging like heavy anchors were strapped to them by invisible chains, chafing at her ankles. Creaking doors drove nails through her ear drums and fires crackled with the cackling of callous gods.
"We lost," she muttered. "Lyonel lost."
"He did," her mother replied, setting her down in a chair. Her voice was empty, like a twig on the beach, swept away from the land on the inescapable rising of the tide.
She was in her mother's solar, a warm fire crackling and seeping warmth into the room, a vain shield against the cold punishment of defeat the gods had gifted them. She pushed herself to her feet. "I'm going to Lyonel."
"Stop!" Shireen jumped as her mother's tongue lashed at the air.
"Why?" She asked.
"You cannot go to Lyonel, not now," her mother insisted in an iron tone. "He must not become dependent on you. You will not always be there for him. One day you will be married, and in a castle far from him. And if he suffers a defeat as king, you won't be there. You both need to learn that you will be apart. If you were his wife, it would be a different matter. A wife may provide comfort and warmth for her husband in this matter."
"But Lyonel isn't married," Shireen replied. Surely her mother hadn't forgotten that? "There is no one else to provide him comfort." And her mother was wrong, if ever Lyonel needed her, she would be there. She'd be the King's sister, no one would dare stop her from rushing across half the world if he needed her.
"And I am not with your father," her mother reminded her. "Nor will I go running to him. Men must learn to stand on their own two feet. Mothers must allow sons to take up arms, sisters must allow brothers to grow strong and fast in battle and tourney, and wives must allow their husbands to ride off to war. Lyonel knows this, and you must learn it as well."
"But he needs me!"
"He needs you to see him as strong, not like this," her mother replied at once. Those words struck like a hammer blow. She thought back to their archery contest. Months ago now. His anger at missing, his plea not to help him. "Now he is weak. You would be doing him an unkindness to see his weakness. If you don't learn to be apart, then when the world pulls you apart, it will hurt all the more."
She bit her lip. "But he needs me," she said again as a whisper.
"He doesn't. Your brother is not so weak that he will fall apart without you." Her words were harsh, even as her intent was not. "And the same can be said for you. But you must learn that." Her mother glided over to her lightly, pulling her in to a soft embrace. "Go to bed now, daughter. Let your brother be for now."
"I- yes mother."
Her mother sat down at her desk once more. She'd been writing letters almost ceaselessly since they had come up here, sending them to the maester to be sent across the lands her father still claimed. Was she asking for aid, trying to learn truths lost in the muddiness of war, or something else. She didn't know, all she could think about was the back of Lyonel's head as he pushed her away.
She slithered from the room and made for her own chambers, which seemed so empty and cold in the darkness that was gathering. Looking out from her balcony she could see fires being lit on the beach, the telltale smells of cooking food, conversation fluttered up to her ears like butterflies, the words long lost.
She turned away and seized a shawl of sealskin, wrapping it around her shoulders gently and taking a lamp in her hand. Whatever her mother said, Lyonel needed her.
Her feet padded softly along the stone floor towards her brother's chambers, the lamp casting deep shadows onto the walls, twisted and laughing in cruelty and malice at their misfortune.
She turned the corner towards her brother's room and froze, the shadows still flickering. Two guards stood outside her brother's rooms, polearms held, the steel flickering red with the light of the torches in brackets and her own lamp. They turned to face her. "Princess?"
"This is a late hour my lady," the other one said, stepping forward. "You should be in bed."
"I need to see my brother," she said.
They glanced at each other. "Forgive me, my lady," the first one said cautiously. "But your mother has ordered that no one enter the prince's chambers."
Mother! "Well she didn't mean me, I'm your princess."
"I mean no offence, my lady," the guard replied. "But she told us that you in particular were not to enter."
How dare she! She rose up to her full height. "I am your princess, and you will let me pass!"
"Forgive me, princess, but I cannot. The Queen has spoken."
"Let me through!" She tried to pass them, but one of them held her arm fast but firm.
"Please Princess, don't do this."
"Go back to bed, my princess," said the other one. "Speak to your mother about the matter tomorrow."
"Let me pass! Now!" She yelled.
With a click the door to Lyonel's chamber opened. Her brother's face, dishevelled and worn looking emerged. "What's going on?" He asked in a dead voice.
"Lyonel!"
"Her Grace has ordered that you are not to be disturbed, my prince," one of the guards cut her off. "That even the Princess was not to disturb you for the night."
Lyonel's face was still for a second, then he spoke. "If it's mother's order... go away Shireen." Without another word, the door shut again.
"... princess?"
Lyonel had never turned her away before.
"-ling well princess?"
How?
"-to escort you back to your chambers?"
Why?
"My lady?"
She turned and hurried back to her chambers, tucking her chin to her breast to keep her tears hidden from the shadows on the wall, cackling in judgement.
