"It's okay, it's okay," she said soothingly, holding Aeriel's bright hair back from her face as the girl was hunched over the bucket. The ship slammed back onto the wave and Shireen felt her own stomach spin cartwheels. If she hadn't travelled so much by ship as she went from Dragonstone to anywhere, she'd probably have needed her own bucket. A great crash of thunder rattled her skull and lightning sent blue light knifing through the gaps in the shutters.

"When will it end?" Aeriel asked.

"Soon I'm sure," she replied, masking her fear behind kind words.

"I'm going to die," Aeriel moaned.

She wrapped her arms around the girl's shoulders, rubbing her arm softly. "You're not going to die I-" her promise was cut off by another crash of thunder.

Her stomach lurched as the ship crested a wave and fell out as it slammed onto the water again, pushing down and juddering before it started rolling again. Gods above spare us the depths, she prayed, I beg you, spare us the fate of the Windproud.

Then she heard something, over the crash of waves and thunder and the distant cries of the crew as they tried to steer them through the cataclysm. A bell, ringing with urgency. Despite her nausea, Aeriel heard it too. "What's going on?" He voice was a croaky whisper.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she tried to reassure the girl.

"Can you go and see lady princess?" Aeriel asked, confusing her titles with the sickness. "Please?"

"I should stay with you."

"Please?"

More light sliced through the shutter slits and the bell kept on ringing. She could make out the pounding of footsteps and the thud of a body slipping and falling to the deck. She leant down and kissed the back of Aeriel's head. "I'll be back as soon as I find out," she said, getting to her feet and striding over to the door, keeping her legs loose and ready to roll with the rocking deck.

She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer before unlocking the door to her cabin and forcing it open.

Instantly she was slammed by a wall of wind that nearly carried her off her feet and a roar that tore into her eardrums and whipped her hair in a raging swirling mass around her face going in seconds from dry to sopping wet in seconds, but whether the water were poured from the heavens or churned up from the sea, she couldn't say. Over the torrent of sound she just heard the voice of Captain Allard Seaworth. "-NOT ESSENTIAL, GET BELOW DECKS WITH THE OTHERS NOW!"

She made out the figure of Lord Davos' son standing strong and defiant against the wind. She made to stagger over to him, but someone seized her arm and dragged her against the cabin wall, providing a little shelter from the storm.

"Princess, what in the Seven Hells are you doing?" Ser Richard demanded. His hair was plastered to his face and his clothes soaked through, his scabbard was rattling at his side, struggling to escape his belt.

"Why is the bell ringing?" She barely heard herself speak.

"What?"

She sucked in a breath and yelled into Richard's face. "Why is the bell ringing?" Despite her yelling so loud her throat burned, she barely heard her own words.

Richard took her arm and started to drag her towards the cabin door again. "We're handling it Princess, get back inside now, it's not safe out here."

"What's going on?!" She demanded. Another lurch made her grab Richard's dripping shirt and cling on tight. A scream made her look around in time to see a sailor hovering in the air before he spun over the edge of the ship and into the blackness of the sea. She screamed at the sight.

"Get inside Princess, please!"

The ship lurched and pushed down into the water, almost like it was nestling, the motion sent her sprawling. Pain jolted through her arms and knees as Richard grabbed her by the back of her dress. "We've been holed."

"What?" She barely heard him.

He leant in close to her ear but still had to shout to be heard. "We've been holed, princess, we're taking on water." The ship burst up and a great wave rose over it, opening like the jaw of a great leviathan before slamming down onto them, drenching Shireen to her bones with a wave of fear following after. Richard reached up and wiped water from his eyes.

"What do you mean 'holed'?"

"We hit something, we're taking on water but we're handling it, please princess, get in the cabin.

A crewman burst from the lower decks. "Captain!" He staggered over to Allard. She couldn't make out what was being said, but he was gesticulating wildly and Allard waved his hand up frantically. Get everyone up, he seemed to be saying.

Allard seized a hold of the rigging and leant out to look where the ship was facing. He looked back, caught sight of them and hurried over. Even he struggled in this storm. "Ser Rich- Princess, what are you doing out here, get back inside now!"

"What's going on?" She demanded, is the hole fixed.

Without time to soothe her, Allard hit her with the truth. "No, we've failed, the hole is getting bigger and we're going down."

"What?!" She looked up at Richard, the cold dread of terror chilling her far more than the seawater ever could. "You said it was being handled."

"Princess I-"

"You said we were okay you sai-" A massive hand clamped over her mouth and held her fast to a hardened sailor's body.

"Unhand the Princess!" Richard demanded.

"No time, we need to act now if we are to have a chance. How good are you with climbing?" Shireen kicked against the deck but her feet skidded and slipped over the wet beams of the ship.

"Let her go!"

"Listen you dullard!" Allard roared. "We're taking on water and sinking fast, we have to act now, we can't play pretty princesses here. We need to cut the sails."

She thrashed and tried to prise Allard's fingers away from her mouth. "What do you mean?" Richard asked.

"We're sinking, but we're facing towards the coast now, if we cut the sails the wind may just carry us to shore, it's our only shot. You understand?" Without waiting for a reply Allard spoke directly to her. "You need to get back inside Princess, hold on tight, you may need to be ready to swim." He released her and she staggered forward taking rasping gasps of air. "Put her down then get on the ropes and start climbing."

He sprinted off before any reprimand could come and raced towards the rigging. Gesturing wildly and bellowing orders. Immediately the crew started swinging onto the ropes and scaling them in spite of the wind and rain and the wrath of the gods, they climbed.

"Princess, get back inside, grab a cloak and the girl and get ready for the worst. With that he raced off to the rigging and joined Allard and his crew on the climb.

Shireen stared in transfixed horror as the crew hauled themselves up the rough, damp, coarse rope, knowing that the only chance any of them had was to reach the top. One, she couldn't tell who, was caught by a wave and span out into the sea was it Richard, her heart froze, or Allard, she saw Ser Davos' face, wracked with grief. More sailors were carried off by wave or wind, or their fingers failed them in the cold and they toppled, twisted and tumbled into the sea.

Tearing her eyes from the sight, she turned and staggered back into the chamber.

"What's happening?" Aeriel asked, looking up at her, her cheeks gaunt and grey and eyes pleading and fearful.

"Get up little one," she said, staggering over to her trunks and wrenching them open. Grabbing the first cloaks she could find she tossed one to Aeriel, "put that on, quickly." She tore through the trunks, tossing clothes and small boxes aside until she found what she was looking for - her bow, hidden beneath her clothes. She pulled the weapon out of its case, the dragonbone hard and cool.

She knew that of all the things she may need, this was the last, money, a knife, another cloak, all would be more useful than this, but she couldn't leave it to be swallowed by the sea. Her bow, the sister of the bow borne by Lyonel, brother and sister, apart, but never lost. She slid the bow back into the case and fastened the lid, swinging the carrier around her body and tightening the strap. She raced over to Aeriel, who was struggling to pull on the cloak that was a little too big for her. She brushed the girl's fingers away and tied the strings herself. "Little one," she said leaning in. She tried to keep the fear from her own voice as she soothed the terrified little girl before her. She wanted to lie, to tell them both that everything would be alright, but lies would kill Aeriel if they meant she wasn't ready. "The ship is close to sinking, you need to be ready."

Aeriel, showing a courage inside her that surprised Shireen, took several breaths to calm herself, and nodded. "What do I do?"

"If you go underwater, you have to kick, kick like nothing you've ever done, and when you're above water, grab hold of something, anything you can find and hold on, never ever let go, whatever happens, never ever let go." Her father always told her that, every time they went to sea together. She'd never known why, not until now. He must have told himself that every time he went to sea after seeing Lord Steffon and Lady Cassanna be claimed by the storm.

"But-"

"Shhh," she cut Aeriel off. "Think of nothing else, kick and hold, kick and hold, repeat after me, kick and hold."

"Kick and hold, kick and hold, kick and hold." She focussed on the chant, letting it wrap around her beating heart and still it, let it fall into rhythm. She prayed that her father wasn't wrong. "Father above, protect us," she whispered, so quiet she wasn't sure if the words even came out of her mouth. "Crone, I beg you, please say you showed my father wisdom with these words, I beg you."

The ship caught on something and she nearly fell to the boards as the ship was dragged with sudden force through the water. She pulled Aeriel to her feet and hurried over to the door to the cabin. If the ship broke and they were stuck in the cabin they'd be dragged below the waves with no hope of escape.

Against the rain and the storm, she saw flapping wings of darkness, the skin roiling and folding and snapping. The sail, they'd got the said down. "By the gods," she whispered, "let us be facing land, please gods, let us be facing land."

Men were clambering down the rigging, fewer than had started climbing, far fewer. She squinted against the hailing torrent of rain, raising her free arm as a futile shield to try and cover her face. Some great mass was in front of the ship, still a ways off but closing every second. "Let it be land. Let it be land."

The crew raced to grab something to hold onto. They'd expended themselves cutting the sails free, and now knew their fate was in the hands of the gods. She held Aeriel tight as they approached the darkening maw that she hoped to be their salvation. The ship still rose and fell, rose and fell, every fall sinking deeper and the jumps getting shorter and shorter. The water was holding them back. They had to stay afloat, just a little while longer... please.

One particularly violent wave lifted the ship high, let it teeter on the crest, then slam back down into the trough behind. And when it did, the Lady Marya split in half.

Like a great axe had carved into it from below, the ship folded, the planks of the upper decks not enough to sustain it and they shattered and splintered, nails breaking free, spinning through the air as the wood around them tore and kicked both halves of the deck into the air. Shireen felt herself carried into the air, Aeriel breaking from her grip. She screamed as she slammed back onto the deck and grasped at the sodden boards, fingers scraping, digging, trying to find purchase, failing. She broke free from the wall and the wind danced around her, carrying of her cries of terror before she slammed into the water.

Engulfed in silence and shadow she could only hear her heart beating around her chest like each of her ribs was a separate drum it wanted to beat a song on, she thrashed and kicked, kicking was important she had to kick, but was she going up, down, what was happening, she couldn't breathe, a she screamed again, an army of bubbles fleeing her mouth. Shapes fell past her in the water, crew or debris, writhing and sinking as they fell and fell and fell. She kicked, keep kicking, keep kicking.

She broke the surface and gasped, sucking in air and salty water. Flashes of lightning cast icy glowing light on the scene, illuminating the horror and beauty of it all in one. Swords of wood stood thrust from the sea and were slowly being drawn back beneath the waves. She kicked and twisted, trying to look, to see. But she was twisting herself in a knot, her dress and cloak were sodden and thick and cocooning around her body, threatening to trap her legs.

Another crash and flash lit up the sea. A great swell of water was rolling towards her, dark shapes scattered across the surface of the rise. Like a great beast of the deeps it swept towards her, opening it's maw feet and feet above her, and swallowing her whole.

The darkness took her into its embrace again, she'd just been able to suck in a little air before it caught and started pulling, and she used that strength to kick and kick and kick.

Her leg caught.

She thrashed, but whatever her leg had caught on wouldn't shift, wouldn't move. "Get off!" She screamed bubbles into the water. Whatever it was grabbed tighter. She kicked with her other leg, it wasn't enough. She reached down, trying to grab whatever was holding her, but the movement made her spin and spin. Salt water filled her mouth, darkness filled her vision.

And the seas held her tightly, refusing to let go.


Her feet made no sound as she walked along the floor of mist and darkness. She could feel something beneath her bare feet, not soft and sinking like sand, but not hard and sharp like gravel, but with every step sliding along the spectrum that she couldn't identify. Glancing down, she saw that she was dressed in a simple grey gown that wrapped around her, thin and soft, covering no more than dignity. Her body was warm, the kind of warmth that came from the summer sun, but at the same time, her breath frosted in the air in front of her. Walking, why was she walking? For some reason she knew it was important to walk, eventually her feet would carry her to where she needed to be.

As though a silver flame danced over her heard, a faint light shone out, holding back the darkness in a few feet in every direction. No matter how far or how fast she moved, the light illuminated the same distance, a small sphere in an ocean of blackness.

She knew she had to walk. She wasn't sure why. But she had to walk.

So she walked, her feet never aching, her breath never catching, not a bead of sweat on her brow. She walked until she saw a shimmering haze in the distance. Whatever she was meant to find, she'd found, and she approached, the ground becoming more real beneath her feet.

It was a fire, the smoke curling around and around as it rose into the blackness. The wood burned but never burned away, it was a fire that would never stop burning. Two wooden stumps sat two feet apart before the fire. A figure sat on one of them – hunched forward, staring at the flames that crackled before him. Shireen could feel the heat from here, but the man before the fire was wet, his clothes hanging heavy and sodden, droplets falling from folds and creases, his hair of midnight black was plastered to his scalp and his fingers were wrinkled and soft. She stopped just behind him. He made no sign that he was aware she was there, but she knew he was. They always were. "You're wet," she commented.

"I always am, you know that," Lord Steffon Baratheon replied, turning to her and smiling.

That was in many ways the worst thing about these dreams, the dead always appeared in a vein of how they had died. Her grandfather was no exception. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the stump next to him.

She did so, letting the heat of the fire warm her. "Am I dead?" She asked it every time, just to be sure.

Lord Steffon chuckled. "Why do you think that?" He asked.

"There was water," she said. "Our ship..."

"Ah, I see, perhaps that's why I came to you this time."

"Am I dead?" She asked again.

"Look at me," he said, spreading his arms out wide. "I drowned, and I am here, covered in water. You've seen Cassanna before, she's come to you, yes?" Shireen nodded. "Was she as wet as I am?" Shireen nodded again. "So, do you think you drowned?"

She glanced down at her distinctly dry clothes. "No."

"There you are then." He turned his attention back to the fire.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

Steffon looked up at her, the fire dancing in his dark blue eyes, the eyes he had given to Stannis and Stannis had given to her. "I'm here because you need me for something, that's always why we come."

They always said that. Whenever the dead came they always said that. They said, they insisted that she needed something from them, but she never knew what. Why would she need the dead, what could she possibly do that would mean disturbing their peaceful slumber, and if she did need them, why didn't she know why. She told Steffon and he laughed. "We say it because it's true," he replied softly. "What could you need me for, Shireen?"

"How to survive my ship sinking?" She asked.

"I doubt that on two counts. First of all, you haven't drowned, if you had you'd be as wet as I, and you aren't. Secondly, I didn't survive, I doubt I can help you to do so. No it's something else that you need from me."

"Well I don't know what it is." She said.

"Then let's find out, why are you on the ship anyway?"

She glanced at him. "I'm going to see my father." She said, as though she were only visiting him for a visit. "Mother says he's hiding in Storm's End."

"Storm's End is a good place to hide," Steffon noted.

"She says father needs me to get him to move. She says that I can get him to get back into the field. She says I can make him a king again."

"And you don't believe her?" She looked at him suddenly. He was staring right back, eyebrows raised. "Is that, perhaps, why I am here?"

"I..." She wasn't sure. Was it? "I don't know."

"If it is, I may be able to help you." Steffon sat back. "Tell me about my son, how has Stannis been since the he became the rightful claimant to the crown?"

She told him of her father's drive and zeal, of him bringing the Red Priestess into his court. Of him growing distant, harder, colder, even harder and colder than he normally was, all leading up to the Blackwater, where he came within a hair's breadth of achieving his goals, only for them to be snatched away. And of the silence that had followed.

"I see," Steffon said, nodding slowly. "Yes, that does seem like my son. And for him to have failed where Robert succeeded... yes, Stannis will be hurt by that... very hurt."

"And I need to soothe his pain?" Her mother hadn't said that, neither had maester Cressen.

Steffon shook his head. "No, Stannis deals with pain his own way. No the reason he needs you is to set him back on the right path."

"I thought fathers are meant to set daughters on the right path, not the other way around."

"Sometimes, we all need to be reminded of the right path, Stannis more than most."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever been told the story of Proudwing?" She nodded. The bird her father had rescued and nursed back to health, but despite all his efforts it never rose high or fast enough to hunt with, but still Stannis persisted, through all Robert's taunts (that was what she remembered the most about the story) until his uncle had told him that he was making a mockery of himself and to try a different bird. "If Stannis is set on the path of defeat, you must set him back on the path of victory."

"How?" Shireen asked. She wasn't victorious and she'd be the first to admit she rarely knew what she was doing. "I don't know how to fight or win a war, I don't know how to conquer a city."

"But you know right from wrong?" Steffon was fading, his form beginning to mist and his voice going pale and thin. "Your father knows how to fight, possibly better than anyone in Westeros. You must remind him why?"


She moaned in pain. All her muscles ached with hurt and cold, barely able to curl her fingers against the softness beneath her palms. Her hair lay plastered on her face, hard and crusty with salt and sand. Her throat was red raw, like someone had dragged shards of glass up from her stomach, a heavy weight rested on her legs and she felt the biting of a cold wind on her thighs and arms.

A crunching, something near her head, where was her head. For a moment of horror she wondered if it was attached to the rest of her, then she felt the wind on her skin again.

"It's her!" A voice exclaimed over the wind. "And the girl as well."

"Thank the gods, let's get them inside the cave, now!"

Strong arms lifted her up and started to carry her as something else lifted the weight from her legs. "It's okay princess, we have you." She tried to respond, but her throat was torn up and only a slight gargle emerged.

"Put her by the fire," the first voice said, we need to warm her through or she'll shiver to death.

A warmth snaked around her like the arms of a lover, holding her gently in its embrace. She nestled into the darkness and stilled.

She opened her eyes to a dim light and a hard ache in her limbs. Groaning through a parched mouth she struggled to push herself up into a sitting position. As she did, her cloak fell around her waist, damp and stiff, it still gave her a little warmth.

They were in a cave of some sort, the mouth letting in an iris of light. Just to her side the remnants of a fire crackled and spat. "Aeriel!"

The girl was curled up under her own cloak, her head resting on Shireen's bow case. Shireen had been using another cloak, scrunched up and stuffed under her head. It wasn't hers, someone had put it there for her. Ignoring that for the moment, Shireen crawled around the fire until she was near Aeriel's head. She placed her hand on Aeriel's brow. "By the gods you're freezing!" She took Aeriel and pulled her unconscious form into her body, wrapping her up tightly in the cloak she'd been sleeping under and holding her tightly, ignoring the sudden sharpness of the cold on her exposed skin, still beaded with damp. With her arms still wrapped around Aeriel, Shireen scratched at her greyscale scars. They always ached in the cold, and the cracked skin formed neat little recesses for water to run into. It was fine for hot baths, but cold and salty seawater itched and burned and was nearly impossible to scrub out, even if she had a towel to hand. But Aeriel was freezing and shivering, so she cast such thoughts from her mind. She held out her hand towards the embers, warming her palm a little and then running it down Aeriel's cheek. "Come on child, please please please," she whispered, returning her hand to the fire and running it down Aeriel's other cheek. "Gentle mother, please, keep this child safe in your arms, save her, do not let the cold claim her where the sea failed, please."

As though the Mother answered, her father's voice echoes from memory. Warm your chest. He'd said it to her and Lyonel, out in a little rowing boat in Dragonstone's harbour having just fished them out of the water, shortly after throwing them in in the first place. Her mother had objected, but their father was determined that his children know what to do if they were ever wrecked at sea. So he taught them to kick, to swim, and to warm up your chest before the rest of you, keep the cold from your heart and lungs and your limbs will warm themselves. She held her hand closer to the spitting embers, keeping it there until the heat became nearly unbearable, then she slid her hand under Aeriel's clothes and started rubbing her chest. "Please please please," she whispered again, pulling Aeriel closer with her free hand, trying to create shared warmth between them.

While trying to rub some warmth into her charge, Shireen looked around her at the cave she found herself in. The floor was damp, but they'd been placed on a dry patch towards the back where the rocks were slightly higher. Wet footprints were heading both to and away from them. She looked around, apart from the cloak that had been stuffed under her head, there was nothing that wasn't hers or Aeriel's, nothing to say who had put them here. Did they mean her well, or ill? By putting them here it would seem to be the former, but Shireen wasn't a fool, she knew she was valuable to the right people. But there wasn't anyone guarding her, either for or from others. She reached back with one hand, fumbling for the bow case that Aeriel had been using as a pillow. She pulled it across them, opened the top and pulled out the bow. It seemed to have survived intact, so she pulled the little pouch from the bottom and opened it up. "No," she hissed. The string was wet and damp, pulling it out in hung heavy like a worm, there would be no wrapping that around the bow. Next she pulled over the quiver, the string holding the cover on had been ripped free, leaving the cover itself to hang loose. While the bow case was secure, the quiver was far less so. Only three arrows remained from a quiver of fifty, she assumed the rest were lost, and those three had sodden shafts. Nothing, nothing to defend herself or the girl with.

Her gaze was drawn back to the entrance. She had to hope now, pray that whoever had taken her was a friend. Drawing in a breath, she called out. "Hello, is anyone there?" Her voice echoed out like a ripple towards the entrance. She waited, her heart beating fast in her chest, waiting to see if anything would happen. Something came across the entrance, dark against the dim light. She pulled Aeriel close, praying for a friend.

It was a man, tall and muscled, a shirt sticking to his chest in the way only a damp shirt going dry did, the same with his trousers. They weren't the simple clothes of commoners either, and he had a sword strapped to his waist. "Princess?"

"Ser Richard," she gasped. Her sworn protector lacked anything to identify him, his hair was twisted and over his face, his surcoat was lost along with his mail and helm.

"You're awake," he breathed, rushing over, his boots squelching on the stone. He knelt down. "Are you well, we feared the worst."

"I'm fine I- wait, we?"

Richard nodded. "Captain Allard is looking for other survivors. But we found you first and brought the two of you in here."

"That's it?" There were over a hundred crewmen on the ship. Four of us left, only four.

Richard sighed. "It looks like it, princess."

"Nothing else," came another voice. Captain Allard was slinking down the cave, his face hard, a longknife in one hand and two fish dangling from the other. He dropped the fish to the stone beside the fire with a wet slap. "No more survivors, it's just us."

"Show respect captain," Richard said, curt and hard.

"Oh I'm sorry, Ser Richard, I've looked at fifteen bodies, hacked through the wreck of my own ship to find more bloated swollen corpses of crew I've served with for years. I'm sorry I'm the first Seaworth to lose a ship out from under me, none of my brothers or father have lost so much as a fishing skiff, I'm sorry that we're in this gods forsaken cave and not disembarking at Storm's End. I'm sorry that-"

"You brought back fish instead of help?"

"That I brought us something to eat so we don't starve here!"

Richard got right up in Allard's face, forehead's inches apart, Allard clutching his knife tightly. Aeriel was stirring in her arms, twisting beneath the cover of the cloaks. "Stop it," she whispered, trying to rock the girl back to calm.

"A lot of good two fish will do!"

"I've survived on less!"

"Stop it, stop yelling just stop it!" She screamed.

They both froze and turned to her. Allard's face flushed red with embarrassment and he turned away.

Richard knelt. "I'm sorry, princess."

Allard hurried down to one knee himself. "Yes, forgive me, princess."

"It's okay," she said panting as though the scream had taken all her effort. "Just please, stay quiet, Aeriel needs to rest."

Allard slumped down next to his discarded fish, his hardened face ashen and sunken. "We all need to rest; we can't do anything in this state."

She nodded, looking up at Richard, who had his hand on his sword and was looking at Allard warily.

"Sit down Richard," she said, softly, gently clasping his leg and urging him to the stone. "Please, let's all breathe a little." They had to make decisions and they couldn't do that if they were on the verge of fighting. "Thank you, Allard, for the fish."

He looked to her then quickly looked away. "It was my pleasure, princess."

"Allard, is everything okay?"

"Yes," he said without looking.

"Allard?"

He looked at her again before looking away, a hint of red on his cheeks. "Princess, you... you're..."

"Yes?" She asked, suddenly self conscious.

"You're dress, princess."

She glanced down and gasped. There was a gash diagonally across the front of her dress as well as her arms and skirts, and with the material watered to her skin it offered a view that filled her with horror. Feeling her face burn and pulled up some of the folded cloaks to cover her modesty. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's no matter," Richard said. Now she looked he was also relieved by her covering up. He sat down. "We should look at what we have if we're going to try and get to Storm's End from here."

"How difficult can it be?" Allard asked, "we just move south along the coast until we reach Storm's End."

"It depends," Richard said. "Last we heard, Tyrell armies were ranging south but we don't know how far they've reached, if we crashed north of their position, we'll have to sneak or cut our way past them. And that all assumes we landed north of Storm's End anyway."

"I may have lost my ship, but I'm not that bad a navigator," Allard snapped back. "Trust me, we are to the north of Storm's End, the only question is how much."

Allard snorted. "With what, one sword and one longknife?"

"The princess has a bow."

"Not a useful one," she said, holding the bowstring up for Richard to see. "The arrows are sodden soft as well."

Richard's pox scared face glowered and Shireen struggled to keep the relief from her face. She'd taken up the bow with Lyonel, it was a time for them to be close, but the thought of actually aiming at someone, letting the arrow fly in the hope of killing them...

"Then we'd best hope that we are south of the Tyrell armies," she said.

"I don't know that it will be much better that way princess," Richard said. "Unless we had the fortune to land far south of the Tyrell positions we'll have to move fast to outrun them, I'd almost prefer my chances moving south behind them and slipping past than trying to outrun the hosts of knights and outriders available to the Lord of Highgarden."

They fell silent. Shireen rocked Aeriel gently, her handmaiden was still shivering and shaking and deathly cold. She had to recover, she had too. "It seems we can't proceed without first knowing exactly where we are."

Richard nodded, resigned resolve on his features. "I'll go," he said, getting to his feet. "Allard, watch over the princess, if I come back and find she has come to any harm..." he left the threat hanging, and Shireen felt warmed by her knight's words.

"You should eat something first," she began, but Richard shook his head.

"No, we need to learn fast, save me some food for when I get back. I'll not be long."

With that he made sure his sword belt was fastened, and made for the exit, leaving the three of them alone by the crackling embers.

Silence followed Richard's departure. "We'll need more wood," Allard said, getting to his feet, clutching his knife. "I'll be right back."

"Captain," she said, before he could go. Allard turned to her.

"Yes, princess?"

She swallowed. "I'm... I'm very sorry about your ship, and your crew. It was a fine vessel, and they were the bravest men I've ever seen."

Allard's face softened for a moment. "I know, princess, thank you."

"I wish they were still here," she said.

He shook his head, pain flashing for a moment. "Don't princess. Please."

"Sorry," she said, looking down at Aeriel. Idiot, of course the pain is too much. She could be so stupid sometimes. "I just... wanted you to know."

"Princess, they may have died, but their sacrifice got us close enough to the shore that you survived, every one of them would call that a worthy sacrifice."

"Why?" She didn't know them, she'd barely spoken to them on the entire journey.

"You are a princess," he replied, as though that explained everything.

That struck her. Her mother had said that men were dying for her father and brother. She'd prayed thanks for their sacrifice, but no one had sacrificed themselves for her yet. It pulled at her insides, it felt wrong, she may have been born to the rightful king, but did that make her so much better that someone she'd never met or done anything for would sacrifice their life for hers. It shouldn't. "I'll do right by it," she said after a pause.

He bowed his head. "Thank you, princess. I'll be back with the wood." He strode off before she could reply again.

She returned her attention to Aeriel, only looking up when Allard returned, several twisted pieces of wood under one arm. "Sorry it took so long," he said. "But finding wood that isn't beyond wet is nearly impossible." He put one plank on the fire , pushing it in to try and get the tinder to catch. "How is she?" He nodded at Aeriel.

"Bad," Shireen whispered.

Allard's lips thinned. "I wish there was more we could do, she needs a hot meal, more than this, and ideally a place to stay, inside and warm." He took one of the fish and placed it over the fire, resting it between two pieces of wood. "Still, it's a bloody miracle she survived, begging your pardons, princess."

She shook her head. "It's no matter," she said, forgiving his cuss, knowing that it wasn't important right now.

"Remarkable she found you in the water," he muttered. "I couldn't find anyone."

"She found me?"

He nodded. "Well I think so, when we found you on the beach, she was clutching your legs. Probably the terror making her grab the first thing she found in the darkness. She was lucky, and so were you, if she'd dragged you down, you'd both be dead, if she'd found a piece of the ship, she'd be dead. Instead, by some miracle, you both washed up on this stretch of beach."

"Why is that a miracle?"

He got to his feet and beckoned her to come with him. "Come, leave her by the fire for a moment."

"I can't leave her."

"She's not going to die because of one minute alone," he said. "Let me show you how fortunate you were.

Shireen nodded, she could spare a few minutes. She lay Aeriel as close to the fire as she dared, then leant over her and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "I'll be back soon sweet," she said. She got up and made to follow Allard. This was her first full and proper look at the ruination of her dress. The sleeves and skirts were torn to strips and hung off her like blue snakes and the opening on her front was even more prominent. From the feel of it, there was a cut going right across her left shoulder blade as well. She pulled the cloak tighter across her chest to cover the cut and followed Allard to the front of the cave.

At the mouth of the cave her mouth fell open. The bones of the ship were scattered across the beach. To one end half of the forecastle lay largely intact, ridden up onto the rocks, a part of the keep stretched for twenty metres, wooden spurs bending around from it like ribs from a spine and what seemed to be a thousand shattered and sundered planks were strewn like cobbles over the sand. And in amongst the wood lay the bodies, some half swollen with water, some half submerged in sand all dead. "By the gods, she breathed." The sight made her stomach churn.

"See how small the beach is," he said, pointing to the cliffs on either side, stretching north and south.

He was right, that broken piece of keep was over half the length of the beach, at the very ends the sand flowed around heavy rocks that carried on for a few feet before meeting the base of sheer cliffs that rose as high as a mast above them. The storm may have passed, but the waters swirling around the base of the cliffs still attacked like dogs at the feet of their master. If they'd hit those cliffs instead of the beach...

"The gods were with us," she whispered.

"Yes... they were."

The awkward silence ended when Shireen suggested they return to the fish and to Aeriel. But as she took Aeriel in her arms again, trying to keep her warm, she couldn't shake the image of the dead crew strewn among the opened belly of the ship, or the thought that they had all died for her.

They said little while they waited, neither of them being able to broach a topic of conversation and Aeriel never stirring, even when Shireen tried to press some fish to her lips and nose to stir her.

It was a blessed relief when Ser Richard returned, over his shoulder was some rough, lumpy cloth and his face was dark.

"What is it?"

He dumped the cloth on a patch of dry stone. "Bad," he replied. "We are in the north of the Stormlands, I made my way to the highest point I could find, a tree atop a hill. From the top of that tree I could see the southern edge of the Kingswood. A few days ride away at most. I couldn't see anything of Tyrell armies, but the village I passed through said they hadn't pushed south just yet. So we're ahead of them at least."

"What are they?" Allard asked.

Richard kicked the cloth. "Cloaks," he said. "They may be peasant cloaks, but they're in better shape than what we have."

"What did you pay for them with?" Shireen asked.

Allard and Richard glanced at each other. "I... didn't, princess."

"But, that's thievery!" She exclaimed. How could her knight do that?

"It is necessary, princess," he insisted. "What we have will hardly protect us from the elements, and we'll stick out like a sore thumb across open ground."

"You are a knight, and you stole from the common people!"

"To ensure that we all survive," he swore. "Please, princess, I will go and return them if you insist, I may still have time before they notice that they are gone, but we won't survive if I do." So he didn't threaten the people for them. That was... something. No it wasn't, it was still stealing.

"He's right princess," Allard said, "A cloak can be returned or remade, a princess cannot, and what a sorry state it would be if you survived a shipwreck only to die of exposure on the way south."

"Die," she whispred. "No." She didn't want to die, she couldn't. They looked at her expectantly. "Do you remember the name of the village?"

Richard glanced to Allard. "Dewberry, I believe."

She nodded. "After we have gotten to Storm's End, we're going to return to Dewberry, and we're going to return those cloaks and pay for having borrowed them, am I clear?"

Richard nodded, relieved that she had not commanded him to return them at once. "Of course, princess."

"Did you learn anything else?"

Richard nodded. "Yes, we need to move, as soon as we can."

"Why?" Shireen asked. "You said there was no sign of the Tyrells."

"There isn't, but the village knows that there was a wreck now, scavengers will be here soon, looking for any spoils they can find. We must be gone by the time they arrive. I can't fight off an army of scavengers, and if they learn who you are..."

He left the sentence hanging, but she knew what he meant by it. "They will turn me over to someone."

"And the Tyrells are the closest to us right now."

She took a few steadying breaths. "How would they know who I was?"

"They wouldn't, unless any of them have seen you recently. But there is no disguising that you are a noble, even ragged and torn, that dress is worth more than they earn in three years. And whether they turn you over to the Tyrells directly or their local lord, someone will recognise you, no one else has scars like that," he pointed to her greyscale. "We have to go, as soon as possible, get everything we need together, pick a new cloak and get ready."

Shireen took two of the cloaks, they were roughspun, but were also dry and had a warmth to them. She took off the one wrapped around Aeriel and put the dryer material against her skin before wrapping the other cloaks around her as additional layers. She put her own on, tying it at the collar and adjusting it so the brown hemp covered the cut across the front of her dress.

She made to pick up Aeriel, but the eleven year old was heavy and her arms started straining immediately.

"Here princess," Richard made to take her, but Allard cut across him.

"No, ser Richard, I'll carry her, you're the best fighter among us, we need you fit if we encounter any trouble."

Richard nodded and Shireen gratefully passed her over to Allard who held her over one shoulder.

"That's not a good hold for her."

Allard turned. "Princess, we need to move, we'll likely be travelling all day, I can't cradle her like a baby all that time, this is necessary. I'll keep checking her though, you have my word."

Shireen pressed her lips together, wanting to retort but knowing that Allard was right. She pulled her bow case back on and the three of them headed back for the entrance to the cave. As they crossed the beach, Shireen couldn't help but look at the bodies on the beach. "What if others have survived?"

"We've looked, princess," Allard assured her from behind. Instinctively, Richard had moved in front and Allard behind, and she was grateful, she felt far safer for it. "There is no one else."

Shireen looked at the face of one sailor, pale and swollen. It made her want to vomit. She looked away.

Richard led them to a small path that curved gently up from the beach.

"Where does this lead?" She asked. Her face flushed. Up from the beach stupid.

"Up to the top of the cliffs," Richard said. "From there we do as Allard suggested, we move south along the coast, avoiding the roads and towns. We move as far as possible as fast as possible until we reach Storm's End."