The ships sliced neatly through the waves, the pushing the sails forward like a pregnant belly, swollen and ready to birth something beautiful. Lyonel leant on the foredeck, watching as Dragonstone, a great dark sword piecing the sky, grew larger and larger as they swept across the bay.
"Feels strange that this is going to be my home now." Lyonel turned to Rennic who was approaching him, his silver cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
"You'll find it different to Cape Wrath," Lyonel told his captain, "but it's welcoming in its own way." Rennic had been a hunter from a small village on the Cape, but his wide had been taken some years back, and they had never been blessed with children. Now he was to take up residence on Dragonstone, for as long as the war should last, perhaps longer. Rennic and his men made for surprisingly pleasant company, and company he could trust at that, it would pay to keep them on hand.
"As you say, my prince."
Lyonel turned back to the seas. "How many men do you have so far?" He asked the captain.
"Seven hundred took the offer my prince," he said. "More than I'd expected."
"Seven hundred," Lyonel mused. A small number, given how many archers there had been on the island. "How many recruited from Tarth?"
"A hundred and fifty, something like that anyway."
So, he would soon be facing the complaints of lords as to why he'd poached seven hundred of their archers for his own personal command. So be it, he was a prince of the realm and he could and would face that down when it came, for now, he had a victory to celebrate and more to help bring about for his family. "Are they loyal?"
"If you pay them."
"Pay them?"
Rennic nodded. "My prince, these men hardly know you, they've seen you walking in front of them in the camps at Tarth, they've seen you all impressive in your armour and riding your big horse, but that's it. We've already been called up to fight, we're already risking our lives, but with the lords they're already with they have the promise of going home to sustain them when this is all over, once the big men on big horses with big swords have finished deciding which of you is best, they can go back to their village with stories, scars and trinkets. They've already seen their lords die and new ones round them into line, no disrespect meant my prince, but you're no different, not now at least. So yes, to get the people I got, I told them you'd pay. Promises are smoke, coin is solid."
"Is that what it's like?"
"Yes, you'll have to pay them, at least until you win them."
"And how do I do that?"
Rennic shrugged, "if I knew that, I'd have won them for you."
Lyonel nodded, lips grim. "How much did you say I'm paying them?"
"I didn't," his captain replied, "but I'll warn you my prince, don't sell them short, or you'll lose them faster than you'll lose the coin you'd need to keep them."
"Mother will be delighted," he muttered as the ships passed into the shadow of Dragonstone."
His mother was waiting for him on the beach as the longboats carried him along the bay and up onto the sand. Her arms were folded across her stomach, her hair was wound up around a long golden hairpin in the shape of an arrow, two further silver pins kept it in place as it curled around her shoulder, and beneath the widow's peak of her brow, her eyes smiled at the sight of him.
He vaulted out of the boat as it ran aground, the seawater rushing around his boots as he padded onto the sand and approached the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms. "Mother," he bowed to her.
"Lyonel," she replied, beckoning him to his feet, pulling him into a quick but tight hug. "You're alright?" She whispered into his ear.
"I am," he said as they pulled apart. "Well, hole and bearing news of victory."
His mother smiled widely. "Then Tarth is ours?"
"It is," he nodded.
"And Lord Selwyn?"
"Dead," Lyonel replied. The old lord had tried to negotiate his safety from the cover of his battlements. Lyonel had made it very clear that he would not guarantee any safety to Lord Tarth, who had betrayed his rightful King. Lord Tarth had been defiant that he would hold for a dozen more winters if needed. His men didn't hold until nightfall, and threw open the gates that very evening, not wishing to die for their lord. A few diehards fought and died, most lay down their arms and averted their eyes when Lord Tarth was dragged before Lyonel and sentenced to death. One chop of the headsman's axe, and Tarth was theirs.
His mother's smile widened at the news. "Very good, Lyonel, very good. Are you needed to see the fleet in, or can you join me to discuss our next move?"
"I'll be there soon."
His mother nodded, "Very well, I'll be with the painted table, don't take too long, and bring those three that you wrote to me about."
"I won't," as his mother turned away, he asked the question, "where's Shireen?"
His mother paused and looked back to him. "Asleep," she said, her voice stiff, "she's been very busy so I let her rest. Do you want to wake her?"
He took a breath and shook his head. "No, let her rest."
Myrielle nodded. "Good." She turned and continued walking back towards Dragonstone.
He shook his head and turned back to Rennic. "Let's get the men disembarked and ready, I want all of my new archers ready." My new archers still sounded strange, but he would have to get used to it. His archers were all coming ashore on a wave of longships. Right now they still had their old livery and bows, the only reason he knew they were his was because they crowded around Rennic, Torne and Albrech. Once the lot of them were gathered, he told them to follow him and, as lords and knights started disembarking, led them up the mountain path towards Dragonstone.
In the dark courtyard, with a hundred carved dragons staring hungrily down at them, he turned to ser Gerold, who looked on bemused as the archers stared up in wonder at the castle they had never seen before. "Prince Lyonel," he said, bowing, turning away from his square were half a dozen men were drilling with spears against straw men, "I was glad to hear of your victory, sorry to have missed it." His eyes flicked to the archers still flowing into the courtyard, staring in wonder up at the castle, the likes of which none of them would have seen before, unless some happened to have come to Storm's End before, but even then, Dragonstone imposed like nothing else. "Who are they?"
"My men," Lyonel said. Still strange.
"They're from here? Why are they wearing different colours?"
"They've only recently come to my side," he said to ser Gerold, "and so I will need some new cloaks and badges, something to identify them as mine now."
"I see." Gerold looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. "And I assume you'd like me to arrange this."
"Thank you for offering." He flashed a grin. It almost hurt.
Gerold smiled. "It's good to see your mood's lightened. So I suppose I can this one time."
"My thanks, Ser Gerold."
The Master at Arms waved him away. "Don't worry yourself, I'll handle this, your mother's waiting."
Lyonel waited for his captains to get measured for their cloaks and then led them up through the castle towards the chamber where his mother waited.
"Look at this place," Torne said, brushing his fingers along the stone, his grey-green eyes were wide with wonder, that expression, together with the freckles running across his nose and cheeks made him look about twelve years short of his twenty.
"No need to take it all in at once," Lyonel said. "You'll have plenty of time to see it all."
"I will?"
"Just stick with me, and you'll see all that Dragonstone has to offer and more."
"Just be careful your head don't explode," Albrech needled Torne.
"Easy," Lyonel said as they rounded the corner towards the painted chamber. "You're about to meet my mother."
The idea of meeting such a noble lady, alien in two regards, made his three captains fall silent. He opened the door and stepped through.
His mother was sat at the table, eyes staring at the carved wood, unseeing, elbows resting on the table and fingers gently steepled together. She looked up and smiled when she saw him, though the smile faded when she saw three strange men follow him in. In an instant she was on her feet, carrying herself with all the grace and poise of a queen. "Son."
"Your Grace," he bowed again. He gestured to his captains who were staring at his mother in awe and they awkwardly repeated the motion.
"Your Grace," they said clumsily.
She nodded at them. "Lyonel, who are these fine men?"
Lyonel indicated each of them in turn. "This is Torne, Albrech and Rennic, they are the archers I told you about."
She nodded. He had mentioned the attempt on his life on Tarth in his letter, and told her of the archers who had saved him. "I see," she said, stepping in front of the men. All of them were taller than her, yet all three were lesser. "I hear that you three saved my son from a would be murderer," she told them. "You performed your duty to your prince well, and you may rest assured that rewards will follow." She looked at Lyonel. "I trust you will show them the gratitude of a future king?"
"Of course mother."
She looked back at the men. "You have a mother's gratitude as well, stubborn as he can be, Lyonel is my only son." She turned and walked to the end of the table, and picked up a leather pouch. "Hold out your hands."
The three of them held out unsure hands, like they thought it was some prank. Instead, Myrielle pulled out three necklaces, cords of leather, with a solid silver stag at the end. She gently put one in each hand. "Wear them with pride, I had them made especially for you." None of the men had had so much wealth in their hands before, solid silver was more than they could hope for, if they'd ever used coin before it would have been coppers at best. The three of them garbled their thanks in awe at their rewards. "It is the least you deserve. Unfortunately, I must now ask you to wait outside, I must speak with the prince alone."
Rennic led the other two in shuffling out of the chamber, the door clicking behind them. When Lyonel turned back to his mother he was startled when she seized him and dragged him into a fierce hug. "Thank the gods you're okay," she whispered in his ear. "When you said someone tried to kill you I- I know you'll go into danger again but-"
"Shhhh," he whispered back to his mother. "I'm okay mother. Don't ever fear, I'm not going to sail off alive and return a corpse, I swear it."
His mother gasped a laugh into his ear, pulling back and shaking her head. "Kings shouldn't make promises they cannot keep."
"Yet parents do it all the time," he pointed out and she laughed out loud. "But I'm not lying mother."
They pulled apart. "Then I'll hold you to it. If you keep those three with you, I won't be too worried."
"Them and the others."
"Others."
Lyonel nodded and explained how he was gathering a group of archers to serve as his personal battle unit. She listened intently until he mentioned that they would need coin to keep them sweet.
"Payment?" She asked, brows raising. "They serve you, you are their prince, you shouldn't need to pay them."
"If I don't they go back to their lords, I need these men mother, men I can trust to be loyal."
Myrielle sighed. "We don't have access to the tax incomes of seven kingdoms," she reminded him. "But we have just received the donation of Magister Melios in return for his safety."
"He's going to stay then?"
"King's Landing would be his preference, but I made it clear to him that he could lose a third of his wealth or all of it and decided to stay here."
Lyonel laughed. "Then we have a little to spare."
She sighed. "Take what you need, don't overdo it, we need that money to fight the war."
"Thank you mother."
She nodded. "Now I need your input." She beckoned him over to the table.
"What is it?"
She tapped the icon of Storm's End. "It's your father. He hasn't moved since the battle. Your uncle Bryce has taken command as Hand of the King, but there's only so much he can do and his letters make it clear that he is struggling to maintain order. Most of our army is there and they are losing heart without their king."
"What are you suggesting we do?"
"Not we, not me, and not you." She looked up at him. "I want to send your sister to Storm's End."
"Shireen?!"
She nodded. "Since you left I've set your sister to keeping the lords here on our side, and she is very good, despite what she tells herself. I cannot leave Dragonstone, you are needed with the fleet, that leaves her."
"I thought there was conflict in the stormlands?"
She nodded. "There is, the enemy is ranging south, but so far, the journey should be safe, and don't think I'll be sending her without an escort."
Lyonel nodded. He didn't want Shireen to go, he wanted her to be here, safe and true. But there father needed to act, and she was the one best suited to make him. Father couldn't say no to Shireen for long, no one could. She was his favourite, she was everyone's favourite. "She is the best for the task."
Myrielle nodded. "I want you to select her escort and get them ready, don't diminish all our strength, we still need to have strength here."
"I understand mother." But I will give her an escort more than worthy of her rank, enough to keep her safe from all harm. "Have you told her yet?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
"Will you tell her, or shall I?"
Myrielle fixed him with a look that could pierce plate mail. "Who do you think should?"
Me. "You."
"Me?"
He took a breath and nodded.
Myrielle nodded back, slowly. "Lyonel, sit down." She pulled out a chair for him and patted it for him to sit down. She rested herself on the table edge and looked down at him. "Lyonel. You and your sister..." She seemed to struggle with what to say, which was a first as far as he could remember. "I've noticed things, you're close to her."
"Of course I am, she's my sister."
"Lyonel, I think you know what I mean."
The way she was staring at him was just like the tutors did when teaching him sums, trying to edge him towards the right answer rather than just telling him when he was wrong. "I don't know, mother."
She sighed. "Lyonel, when the rumours started spreading, about just how close you are with Shireen, did it hurt, did it bother you?"
He felt his face flush in anger and embarrassment. "Of course it did."
"Why?"
"Because it's vile!"
She nodded slowly. "When I first heard it I laughed," she said coolly, "I laughed at how pathetic a lie it was and how ridiculous the idea of my children humping in the hay sounded. I laughed because it wasn't real. Why did you not laugh?"
He ground his teeth together. "Because I got my sense of humour from father," he replied.
"No Lyonel," she replied sadly. "That's not true. I've seen you laugh, I've seen you weep and shake in joy and merriment. You can laugh. You didn't that time and I noticed. I noticed that Shireen comforted you in your worries and had to stop her from joining you when you were weak. I have to wonder if the reason you didn't laugh when someone made some pathetic rumour about you and Shireen is because you wanted it to be true."
"Never!" He yelled, getting to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground behind him.
His mother didn't flinch. "Are you sure, the thought of your sister, naked and warm, writhing beneath your body, moaning in joy, does it entice you, does it make you long for her."
He buried his palms into his eyes, rubbing fiercely to drive away the horrific image of Shireen abed. "Stop it!" He said.
"Does my son long for my daughter, do you seek to bring incest back into the bed of kings."
"No!" He lashed out and his fist would've struck his mother's cheek if she hadn't slipped off the table and veered backwards. Her words burned into his mind like a brand. "Never!" He snarled advancing on her. He saw a flash of fear in his mother's eyes as he caught up to her and seized her shoulders. "Never make me think of that, never make me think of her that way, not with me, not with anyone. Shireen is- she should never- she can't." His grip weakened as the words slipped out. "Never, with no one, not Shireen, not ever." He thought of Shireen in a wedding gown, in a bedding ceremony, of a husband climbing on top of her. He shook his head, eyes pressed together, when he opened them he was staring at the floor. "Shireen is perfect," he whispered to the floor. "I need her to be perfect."
He felt warm hands cup his cheeks and raise his face. His mother was looking at him, smiling a mother's smile. "I'm sorry Lyonel," she said, leaning in and kissing his brow. "I had to know, I had to know if you wanted her, if..." She pulled him in to a fierce hug. "Oh Lyonel, Shireen is a wonderful girl, we are both blessed to say we are related to her, but she won't remain pure forever, she will know violence, darkness, she will have a husband, bear children, have a family away from us." He could feel the sorrow through her body.
"Not yet," he said. "Not before... not before..."
"Before what?" His mother asked.
"I need to confess to her," he said. "I need forgiveness."
"Lyonel, Shireen is not a septa," she said, pulling him apart and looking at him softly. "She can't pass your confession to the gods."
He nodded. "I know, I have already given that confession, but I have done something, something vile and heinous. It's what made the gods decide against us at the Blackwater. I know it. I need to tell her, but I can't lose her. I need to tell her so she can forgive me, I need to tell her when she is perfect, so that when I do, when I have repented through my actions and proven myself, she can absolve me. That's why I can't think of her that way."
"What is it Lyonel?" His mother asked, concern lacing her tone and etching her face. "What did you do?"
He looked into the hawk like eyes, so like his, so like hers. "I sinned, a sin condemned as much as any in the Seven Pointed Star. I killed my uncle under a banner of peace. I injured father to make it seem like an attack on both of us, and then I killed Renly."
