She rested her arms on the battlements as she looked down over the hard craggy points of Dragonstone and the roiling seas beyond. She could just make out movement on the beach, the tops of banners, the sand kicked up by marching men and flying horses as five thousand soldiers prepared to sail for Tarth to punish Lord Selwyn for his betrayal of her father. Somewhere down there, Lyonel was with them, training with the archers, talking with the lords or letting Ser Gerold forge him back into the warrior he had been before. She wanted to be there, but her mother had told her not to go. Lyonel had spent weeks in his chambers, and he needed to be strong, not hanging off his sister or his mother. So she spent her days praying for their victory, entertaining the daughters of knights and lords and fretting about what would happen if they failed again.
"My lady." She turned to see Ser Richard approaching her.
"Ser Richard, how can I help?"
"Your mother, the Queen, demands your presence at the chamber of the Painter Table, at once."
Shireen nodded. "I'm on the way." Her mother had gotten more and more demanding since the Blackwater, she couldn't even remember the last time her mother had asked her for something, it was always a demand. Is that what Queens are like?
She heard her mother a whole corridor away from the chamber, ringing through the crack left in the doorway. "If Magister Melios is prepared to donate the funds he promises, then we'll offer him the sanctuary he wants. Send four ships, remind him that slavery is not acceptable in the Seven Kingdoms, but if he is prepared to lose them we will offer him sanctuary. Understand? Good, now go, there are a great many matters that I need to attend to." A few seconds later the door opened fully and their chamberlain, maester Pylos and a flamboyantly dressed foreigner walked out. The chamberlain and maester Pylos bowed to her as a princess while the foreigner looked at her as a woman before they moved on and Richard stepped in to the chamber.
"Your Grace, the princess."
Shireen stepped in after Ser Richard. Her mother was sat alone at the far end of the table, dwarfed by the Seven Kingdoms, her hair, normally so neatly set was in disarray around her crown, and her dress was skewed out of place, a half eaten plate of food sat just off Bear Island in the north while water spilled along the narrow sea from her overturned cup. A pile of papers was balanced precariously on the Wall and various figurines representing the known armies of the Seven Kingdoms was spread across the south. King's Landing surrounded by lions and roses wolves around Riverrun and stags scattered between Storm's End and Dragonstone. Myrielle looked up her face flustered and hawk-eyes fierce, but they softened a little when they rested on her. "Ah, Shireen, come in, that will be all Ser Richard, you can wait outside now."
Richard bowed and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Shireen stood awkwardly beneath Dorne while her mother regarded her coolly from beyond the Wall. "You wanted to see me, my queen?" She bowed her head to her mother.
"Oh don't be like that," her mother beckoned her over impatiently. "There's no one else here and I'm still your mother."
Her face split in a wide smile and she hurried around the table, behind her mother's chair, and hugger her tightly from behind. Her mother hugged her arm back, caressing along the hard skin of her greyscale scars. "What do you need from me mother?"
"More than a hug, I'm sad to say," she said, tapping her arm to make her break her hug.
Up close she could see the hint of dark circles under her mother's eyes, barely hidden by makeup. "What's wrong mother?"
"Everything," Myrielle whispered. Then she sat up straight, shook her head and snatched up her cup, filling it with more water. "And it will get worse if we don't act. Which is why I need you."
"Me?"
Myrielle fixed her with a glare. "Yes Shireen. I'd hoped to spare you from this, I'd hoped that your father would be able to sail to King's Landing, sweep the Lannisters away in one fell blow and take the Kingdoms. No longer. Even if we could take King's Landing tomorrow, there would be more wars to fight as we bring the Reach, the Westerlands and the North to heel. This was will be hard and dangerous and will require more violence and sacrifice from us all. I can't have you keeping out of it any longer."
"Keeping out of it?"
"Yes, you will have to do more, more than provide distraction and relief and pray for our success. There is more to war than swords and lances, there are allies to court, friends to reassure, supplies to be managed and legitimacy to be gained. While your father and brother focus on the war, it will be up to us to manage these things."
"But... how?"
"It's not as daunting as it sounds," her mother assured her, taking her hand and gently squeezing it. "It doesn't require more than you've been taught. Cressen has been teaching you your sums and the names and numbers of the nobility, and I've hammered a few courtesies into you over your childhood. But I don't have time to school you word for word, there is too much to be done, you're going to be carrying a heavy weight."
She swallowed.
"Are you willing to help?"
She looked at the strain her mother was under, remembered Lyonel's fears and his seclusion from the world, and remembered what they were fighting for. "I am."
Her mother reached out and took a sheet of paper that she had set aside. "You remember Lord Sunglass?"
Shireen nodded. Lord Sunglass was pious lord, as often found in the sept than seated in his hall. "I do?"
Myrielle passed her the piece of paper. "He has... concerns about the war. I need you to allay them."
"Me?" She flushed red at her squeak. "Why me?"
"Because Lord Sunglass knows of your piety, you have prayed with him in the sept haven't you? You can get through to him far more easily than I can."
"But I-"
Myrielle took her hand and squeezed it lightly. "You can do this Shireen. It's simple enough. Listen to his concerns, assure him that we are by no means beaten, and promise him reward for serving us loyally. If you can, get him to accompany your brother to Tarth, then he can remember what happens if we are betrayed." Just that, nothing too small then mother. "If you're worried, wear your green dress with the silver threads."
"Why?"
"It plunges my dear."
She'd been red before but now she was positively scarlet. "Mother!" She'd worn that dress only the once before, and had kept it out of sight ever since.
"But I'm sure you won't need it," Myrielle assured her, her lips curved in a half smile. "Lord Sunglass will be in the sept at midday, he will be expecting me, hopefully your presence will be a surprise. Keep him good and with us."
"I... yes mother." Still flushing after her mother's comments, Shireen hugged her once more before leaving the room.
Lord Sunglass was knelt before the altar of the Father, hands clasped tightly and lips moving silently. Shireen waited for him to finish, moving to the Altar of the Crone and bowing her head. Show me the path, my lady. As Lord Sunglass got to his feet, she stepped towards him. "My Lord Sunglass," she curtsied as he turned to her.
"Princess Shireen." He smiled. He was dressed in a woollen shirt, his sigil sewn on the front, with his cloak held by a simple clasp at his throat. "I'm glad to find you well."
"And I you, my lord," she replied. "Although, I hear that perhaps all is not well with you. You have written to my mother with a number of concerns. I hope that I can put them to rest."
The smile on Lord Sunglass' face faltered. Her mother had been right, he hadn't been ready for her. "I... yes... I was going to speak to your mother about this."
"My mother sent me to speak with you, I hope I can answer any concerns you may have." She nearly choked at how formal she sounded.
Lord Sunglass bristled. "Sent you did she?"
"I didn't meant that, I meant, I thought," she caught her tongue before it ran off completely. "My lord, if you have a problem with the way the war is being fought-"
"I appreciate your efforts, my lady, but I really did need to speak with the Queen about this." Lord Sunglass cut across her.
"My lord-"
"Princess, I would be happy to pray with you, but please, leave these matters for me and your mother."
Well that's it then, so much for what mother said. She nodded. "I understand, my lord." As Lord Sunglass knelt again before the Father, Shireen took her place at the altar to the side, the altar of the Mother.
She made to turn but her eyes caught on the carved altar, the empty place where the statue had been and the scuff marks caused by warhammers and longaxes. She'd been knelt on the floor as the horrors in red charged to desecrate the sept that hadn't fully recovered. Lyonel had come bursting through the door then, bow in hand, soldiers at his back. But he wasn't here now, he was outside, preparing for war, he couldn't come in now. Her mother was sat at the Chamber of the Painted Table, trying to hold everything together; she needed Shireen to help her, not the other way around. She felt so small beside them, but she could do this surely.
She whispered a plea for pardon to the gods before turning back to Lord Sunglass. "What do you pray for, my lord?"
He halts his own prayer and looks to her. "For my family, my land, my people, and a hundred other things."
So, family first then.
"How does your family fare during these dark times?"
"Still at Sweetport Sound, and well, as far as I know, but I haven't seen them in some time, and much could have changed."
She wrapped her fingers around his clasped hands, pulled them to her face and kissed his fingers. "I understand my lord, my own father is at Storm's End and I have no idea how he fares. The horror of not knowing... I find what solace I can in the gods, but even that does not entirely warm my heart."
"I know," he sounded relieved, glad for Shireen understanding the trials of faith. So few of the lords or even septons of Westeros truly understood this, and it was welcome to speak to one who did. "I pray for the aid of the gods, and wish there was more I could do."
"I understand, I have to do everything I can for my father, even though I have no idea what state he's in, he could be dying and I don't know. But I will always keep going, for him, for my mother, for my brother, for all those who follow us."
He looked at her with surprise. "Why so? It is our duty to follow you."
"Because I cannot give less to my family than I would ask others to do. It may be your duty to serve us, but it is ours to protect you from the consequences of doing so. If you think that we are no longer doing so, then we are doing something wrong." He nodded, slowly, chewing over her words. "Do you think we aren't, my lord?"
"No I- no. You and your mother are taking my concerns to heart, and I am grateful for it. I only worry about the strength of the foe we face, what happens if we fail."
"I have the same fears, my lord, but because I know what happens to me if we fail. I die, my family dies, because we have committed ourselves to this cause, we will uproot the Lannister, restore the rightful throne, or we will die."
"And you would ask us to do the same, ask me to leave my children and wife to the mercies of the Lannisters."
In that moment, Shireen knew she had him. "No my lord, I would ask you to help us rid King's Landing of the Lannisters once and for all."
"We tried, princess."
"And next time we will succeed."
"Forgive me, princess, but I don't see that."
"Then we will show it to you, my lord," she got to her feet. "My brother is soon to sail for Tarth. Go with him, lend him your blade and you will see that we are still able to win this war."
"I-" Lord Sunglass paused, looking her in the eye, a curious glint in his blue gaze. "Very well, princess, you have earned that much from me." He bowed. "I will prepare."
She held her breath until he had passed from the room, then let it out in a single low hiss. She turned back to the gods, and knelt again, whispering her thanks to then for their guidance.
"You got to him then."She jumped as she stepped out of the sept, putting a hand to her breast as she turned to see Uncle Rolland waiting beside the door, arms folded. "And you didn't even have to use your breasts."
Her face burned. "U-uncle! I am your niece!"
He laughed, sauntering over. "I only jest child." He threw an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her close. Unable to resist a hug, she wrapped her arms around his muscled torso and squeezed him back, eyes closed. "You did well, your mother will be proud of you."
"Thank you," she felt her chest swell with pride. "Was there anything else, uncle?"
He nodded, pulling apart from her. "Your brother and I are set to sail tomorrow. He wanted to meet you once more before he went, he asks if you could join him on the hill."
"Of course I can."
Rolland smiled. "You always make time for him."
"Of course I do."
He shook his head. "Go on then."
She raced away from her uncle.
Lyonel was indeed waiting on top of their hill. He was filled out again, flesh and muscle cording around his bones, his cloak swished around his knees, his bow held lightly in his left hand, quiver at his belt, black hair rustling and hard blue eyes staring out to the east, away from Westeros.
"Lyonel!"
He turned and smiled at her softly, holding out his right hand to help her up. "How are you Shireen?" He asked.
"Me? I wasn't the one who couldn't get out of bed not so long ago."
What she hoped would draw a smile only made him turn away from her and she regretted what she'd said. "Everything is ready for the attack then?" She asked, trying to turn his attention away from where he'd been.
He nodded. "It is, as much as I can make it. Enough men and ships to make short work of Tarth and its rebel lord."
"The next step to victory," she said, stepping right up next to him, tentatively reaching her fingers out to his arm.
"With fortune and the aid of the gods," he replied, fingers tightening around his bow.
"With good aim and focus," she said, brushing her fingertips along the dragonbone.
He flinched, the bow slipping away. "Good aim... isn't everything."
"Well of course not, but it must help."
"Yes... I suppose it does."
Something was wrong with him.
"What's wrong Lyonel, why are you like this?"
"Have you ever wondered... do we deserve this?"
"Deserve what?"
"The throne." He turned to her, fixing her with a gaze that scared her because she'd never seen it in her brother before. "We've spent so long fighting for it, but, spilling the blood of Westeros, does that mean we deserve to rule it?"
"What's wrong with you?" She whispered. "It's not a matter of deserve, there is no proving worth for the throne, it is father's. That is written in law of men and gods, and once we break those laws there is nothing left."
"People have died, Shireen, people on both sides of the war, and yet, here we are, exactly where we started. No closer to father's throne."
"People must die, brother, for that I grieve and mourn, but I know it to be true. All we can do is swear to them, to all those who have died in true service to us and who serve Joffrey in the false belief that he is rightful, that we will make their deaths mean something. We have to swear to the living and the dead to rule well, to make Westeros better. The best we can do is the least that we owe them."
His lips parted as he looked at her, a look of almost longing in his eyes. "How are you so...?"
"So what?" She asked.
He shook his head. "I struggle to understand the gods at times," he said. "How is it that they made it law that I must succeed my father, when you would clearly be a better queen than I would be a king?"
The breath was knocked out of her. "Brother, don't doubt yourself so. You will be a fine king, I know it."
He reached out and gently brushed her hand with his fingertips. She seized them tightly. "You're wrong this time Shireen, you would be better. I would give my life to preserve your own, and that would be my greatest service to Westeros."
"You'd... die in my place?"
"Of course I would."
"Even if I were to commit a crime?"
"I- what?"
"Lyonel," she stepped in close, their breath mingling. "If I were to be as bad as Cersei or worse, if I stood between Westeros, would you still give your life for mine."
"You would never-"
"Just imagine it, please?"
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Don't make me imagine it?"
"You must!" She reached up and forced his head to look at her, opening his eyes with her thumbs. "Imagine it, me lying in a pool of blood, surrounded by the fresh corpses of the slain, clearly done by me, and for no other reason than the fact that I wanted to? Would you still give your life for mine then?"
Slowly, as though it were causing him great pain, he shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Then you'd no longer be you, and I would... be just."
"How?"
"I'd... judge you, fairly, but in full accordance with the law?"
"And if it found me guilty?"
"I'd... punish you," his voice was almost cracked.
She shook her head and rapped him over the head lightly. "You are so stupid sometimes. You'd give your life to protect me until I was a criminal, and then you'd treat me as the criminal I was. Can you not see that this is what makes you a good king?" His eyes widened as they stared at each other. "And if you extend that to everyone, great and small within your land, then you will be a great king."
He nodded, slowly as though the realisations were only just coming to him. He reached up and held her shoulders. "Just... promise me that you will never become that."
"What?"
"That criminal... promise me, you can never be that."
"Do you promise to be a good king?"
"I... will try."
"Then I promise."
He broke into a wide grin, all innocence and pleasure. She leant in to him, moving her lips up towards his face. But he pulled her in too fast, pulling her face into his chest and holding her close. He'd been like this since he woke up, since he got back from the Blackwater, refusing her kisses. Not this time. She twisted in his grip, leant up and kissed him on the cheek, as he squirmed away he loosened his grip and she snatched her hands up, cupping her face and bringing it down, kissing his forehead fiercely, holding him close. "Shireen," he whispered, trying to break free.
"Not escaping this time brother."
She giggled and pulled away, her kiss shining on his forehead.
He wiped at his forehead like he did when he was a boy and hated the idea of kisses from anyone, her or their mother, like he was trying to remove an ink stain. "Oh come now brother, if you're defeated by kisses what hope do you have on the battlefield."
"That's hardly the point, it not about winning or losing."
"Well, go and prove it then. Get ready, be with your men, and when you get to Tarth, lead them to victory."
"I will."
"And when you get back I'll give you another kiss just to prove it."
Lyonel groaned and she laughed out loud.
