The black spear of Storm's End was so thin at this distance, but it was the most welcome sight she had ever seen. She fell to her knees, her fingers digging into the mud, the dirt squeezing up around the digits. She tasted salt on her lips and her shoulders were shaking.

"Princess," Richard placed a hand on her shoulder, "we've nearly made it."

"We have made it, it's right there, look Richard, it's right there!"

Her knight knelt beside her. "Princess, come now, we can't stop now, we're nearly there."

She nodded, clutching Richard's hand and he pulled her up.

"Let's go," she said, lurching stumbling forward and making for the castle. They wouldn't make it that day, in her heart and her soul, she knew, but seeing it there, seeing it so close… she would dream that night of Storm's End, of the great tower and view of all the lands sworn to it from the top. Of the great chamber holding the seat of Durran and the dungeons and caverns beneath, where the storm god tried to punch under the foundations of the great castle of Durran but couldn't breach the barriers of the great fortress.

The Storm Kings ever since Durran had always held Storm's End. At times they'd held nothing but the castle and its immediate holdings, or expanded all across Westeros, planting banners on the shores of both the narrow and sunset seas. Like the storms themselves they rose and they fell. The greatest of them were the very best that could be, builders, justiciars and the most devout, and sometimes they were the very worst, tyrants, murderers and heretics. Often, they were both and they all came from Storm's End, and gathered around Storm's End was a host to remake those glories or terrors. Tomorrow they would arrive at that castle. Her father had fallen silent and she had to awaken him, to make Storm's End once more a place where the greatest of Westeros resided.

As they settled on the edge of a small wood, Shireen deposited a pile of sticks in a circle of stones that Aeriel had made. "Thank you, princess, I'll handle the fire," Allard knelt down and drew his longknife, now chipped from use, and started to make a spark.

Shireen sat down beside Aeriel, who was sat with her back to the fire looking into the gloaming where Storm's End was still shadowy against the sky. "It's so big," she breathed.

She reached out and stroked Aeriel's hair, thick with filth and rough with knots. "It is, old and big."

"How old?"

"No one knows for certain, older than Valyria and the Dragonlords. Older than Pentos and Dragonstone. For thousands of years Storm's End has stood and produced the Kings of the stormlands."

"Is this where you come from?"

"No, not me, but my family came from here. I was born on Dragonstone, but my father was born here, and his father before him."

"And he's back here now?"

"He is, and we've come to find him."

"What's he like?"

She frowned. "Did you never see him at Dragonstone?" Aeriel shook her head. Shireen wouldn't have been surprised if she had just been a servant, her father preferred his own company as much as possible, but Aeriel had been her servant, had she really never seen her father? "My father. He's a great man. He's not a nice man."

"How can that be?"

"Because… he's my father... It's how he's always been" She'd never had to explain before, everyone she'd ever met knew who her father was, they all knew he was a great, if cold man. How do you describe Stannis Baratheon to someone who had never heard of him?

"But if he's great how can he not be nice?"

Shireen smiled, if only that were true. "Because he has lived a life of unthanked hardship. Most of his life he hasn't been shown kindness, so he struggles to show it in return." Even to his own children.

"But why would people not be nice to him if he is a great man?"

Shireen thought back to her father's rants, the letters her mother received from her father's staff in the capital, and her own experiences of it. "Because my father extol's virtues that the rest of Westeros shuns. He believes in justice in a capital ridden with corruption, that everyone should be punished for their crimes when the enforcers of justice commit the worst of crimes; he believes that sexual corruption should be outlawed, when most of those in power profit or partake in see the attitude they have forced upon him with their treatment of him, they see that he opposes their filth, and so they call him cruel and cold and ignore his council. If they hadn't all of this could have been avoided."

"How?"

"If they'd seen my father for what he was, if they'd accepted his dedication to justice for what it was, then he'd have been able to reveal the Lannister lies and none of this would have come to war. But no, they are so wrapped up in the lies that they cannot see the truth. He will make them. When he wins this war, father and Lyonel will make them see the truth."

"What will he do to them?"

She reached out and took Aeriel's hand. "He will punish the liars, and make a better Westeros." Aeriel's expression was fearful, so she squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll show you the best side of my father, it just needs coaxing out sometimes."

"The fire is ready, princess," Allard said, calling them over.

"Come on, let's sleep, then tomorrow we'll meet father."

They lay down beside the crackling heat, letting it waft around them, burn the air and drive away the cold. I'll be there soon father, I promise.


"Get up!" A sharp pain jabbed through her side, dragging her from sleep.

The dawn was pale and grey, the embers of the fire black and dark and the spears of the soldiers silver and sharp as they pressed against them.

There were a dozen of the soldiers, most crowded around Allard and Richard, but one of them held Aeriel tightly by the arm, dragging her to her feet against her protests while the other was holding her down, the deadly tip of his weapon inches from her chin.

Her breathing came fast and sharp. "What's happening?" she whispered.

"That's my question, not yours," said a voice from above her. She angled her head and saw a knight sitting atop a courser, his cloak falling around him and his greathelm imposing and dark. "Get them up." The spear tip pulled back and a hand seized the front of her robe and pulled her up. The knight swung his feet over the saddle and slipped to the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to see King Stannis," Shireen said. Allard groaned audibly.

The knight laughed, "and what business could you have with the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, is it fair, or foul?"

"If we're to tell you anything, I would first know whom we address."

The knight turned to Richard. "I am ser Lynas Farrow, sworn sword to Lord Eldon Estermont, the King's grandfather." He squared against her knight. "And what name do you go by, so that I might teach you how to address your betters?"

Richard growled. "I am Ser Richard Horpe, sworn to the King himself on Dragonstone, with him from the very beginning, not leaping to his side when the usurper Renly died."

Lyans balled his fist and drove it into Richard's stomach, the two men holding him let him go and he collapsed, gasping. "Ser Richard!" She cried.

Ser Lynas didn't look away. "Speak carefully ser Richard, if that is even who you are. You come claiming to serve the King directly, and yet you come here with only a sword to hint at your rank. The King would never keep a knight so close to his service without allowing him to be armed properly, so I would call you a liar, or so pathetic a knight that you allowed someone to take your armour."

"Give me a blade and I'll show you how pathetic I am," Richard's coughs hacked into the air as he struggled to his hands and knees.

"Now why would I do that?" Lynas gestured and Richard was dragged to his feet again.

"Please, ser Lynas, I swear we mean no harm to my - king." She spoke desperately.

"And how can I believe that? Someone has already tried to kill the king at a parley, why should I let another so close to him? Especially your little collection. A queer collection the four of you make, two septas," he looked at Aeriel and Shireen, still in the robes given to them at the motherhouse, "a robber knight," he glanced at Richard, "and an ungainly brute," his eyes came to rest on Allard."

"You-" Allard lunged but his throat met the steel of the spear at his neck.

"Proving my point, why should I let you approach Storm's End?"

"Because I'm his daughter!" She yelled, finally breaking.

Lynas glanced between her and Allard. "Why should that mean anything?"

"Not master Allard's daughter, my name is Shireen Baratheon, daughter of Stannis Baratheon and Myrielle Caron."

Everyone froze. Then Lynas drew his blade and placed it against her belly.

Fear crawled through her as she desperately tried to pull away. "I should gut you where you stand you lying whore," he hissed at her. "Are you even a septa, or did you steal those robes as well as your name?"

"What are you-?"

"The King's daughter is dead. We received word that she had taken ship here, but storms have wracked the bay ever since. My lord and lord Caron both sent men to search the coast, I was among them, only wrecks and bloated corpses could be found. You are an opportunist with a very poor sense of timing. You clearly don't know the King very well if you thought he would fall for a charlatan trying to profit from the death of his princess."

"No, I was wrecked! I was! Up near, up near, where was it?"

"Dewberry, it was Dewberry!" Aeriel squeaked.

Lynas murmured "there was a shipwreck near a village on the coast." Then he shook himself. "You've clearly put a little thought into this, but if you truly were on that ship why didn't we encounter you on the road?"

"We avoided the roads, we wanted to avoid any contact with the Lannister army."

"The Lannisters have quit their push into the Stormlands, as everyone well knows."

They had? How much had changed. "How were we to know that? We avoided the roads and so avoided the news."

"Convenient, but I shouldn't be surprised a liar has a quick tongue."

"I can prove it!" She cried out, trying to move forward but there was still steel holding her back.

Lynas lowered his sword. "Please do, I'd rather not have doubt when I take your head."

"Lord Caron, my uncle, you say he sent men to find me?"

"Lord Caron did, yes, your uncle, I can't say."

"Bring him here, he'll know me by sight."

Lynas barked out a laugh under his helm. "Yes, I'll just go and get the hand of the king to drag him away from his work to where a vagrant claims to be his recently deceased niece."

"Lord Estermont then, your own sworn lord, he'll know me!"

"And be laughed out of his retinue while letting you into the camp, I don't think so."

Shireen felt her choler rise, her Baratheon fury. "Look in that!" She said, nodding at her bow case, still lying on the ground. "There's your proof."

Lynas slowly, not taking his eyes from her, knelt and snatched up the bow case. He opened it and pulled out the black bow inside. "What is this?"

"It's my bow, made of dragonbone." Please gods let him know that I had such a bow.

He examined the bow, running his fingers over it. "It's certainly not wood," he muttered, "and my lord has mentioned that the King's children bore bows of dragonbone." He raised his sword again, "but I don't know what dragonbone is like, I've never seen it, never felt it." He pointed at her with the blade, but didn't press it against her. Had his doubts been raised enough, she couldn't tell with his face hidden by iron. "I was at King's Landing for Prince Joffrey's twelfth name day celebration, to compete in the tourney there. I remember seeing the princess there. He lowered his sword again and strode over. She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, but it never came, only cold fingers against her cheek.

"Let her go!" Richard demanded.

"Silence," Lynas ordered.

"Please don't hurt me!" She begged.

"Open your eyes and look at me." Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into the shadowed eye slit of the greathelm. "Black hair," he muttered, "and blue eyes, pale. Could you be… The princess sang, it was the most beautiful voice. Prove you are who you say you are or I will kill you here and now."

"What?"

"Sing." He let her go and stepped back.

Sing, now, she couldn't sing now.

Lynas gestured and Allard was dragged before her. "I am Allard of House Seaworth, you will not treat me this way!" He was silenced by Lynas' blade at his throat.

"Prove yourself with your voice, or I will kill him first."

Shireen swallowed, her throat dry. "I… okay, I'll do it." Lynas took his blade away a few inches. "May I have a drink first, my throat is too dry?" One of the men retrieved a water skin and held it to Shireen's lips. The cold chill wetter her throat and she coughed a little relief into it. She hummed, warming her throat against the chill of the drink. Breathe Shireen, breathe. You can do this. She looked back at Lynas. "What song would you like?"

"Anything, I would recognise the voice, not the words."

She breathed deeply thought of Lyonel and her mother, the two who had encouraged her singing at every opportunity, always believed in her. She sang the song of the Mother's Tears, letting the melody swim from her lungs and fly away into the air. The lyrics were of the heavy rains that kept the mothers in their castles away from their sons at war, of the sons who waited for the next battle while keeping shelter beneath the trees. A song of sorrow and loss and approaching glory.

"Release them," Lynas said a minute after she had finished. He knelt before her, pulling off his helm to reveal a hard, clean face. "I ask your forgiveness princess, I'll take you to the castle at once."

They were released, Allard and Richard clambering to their feet, fury on their faces, while Aeriel hurried up behind her and clutcher her arm tightly. She wanted to shout at Lynas, to call him… "You were doing your due diligence, Ser Lynas, I can't punish you for that."

"Thank you, princess, please, take my horse," he offered her the reins to remount.

She wanted to, gods she wanted to, but she'd walked with these three for the whole journey, she wouldn't mount a horse and leave them to walk. "That's quite alright, Ser Lynas, take the horse, I'll walk."

"But Princess!" Richard protested.

"I will walk." She insisted, ending the debate. So the four of them walked, flanked by lines of footmen, Ser Lynas leading them on horseback.

First the crossed the picket lines, felled trees, their branches sharpened to points lay out in front, while behind them were archers and crossbowmen and outrider horsemen. At regular intervals, sturdy wooden towers were constructed, twenty feet high, lookouts on top. THey were accosted by one of these towers, archers and crossbowmen raising their weapons and taking aim at the group. Ser Lynas named himself and demanded they let him pass. "I have the princess Shireen with me. I must take her to the castle." At that the guards let him pass around the felled trees and inspected the group. Satisfied, the watch commander sent them on. The main defence of the camp was a sturdy palisade behind a steep ditch. Between the pickets and the palisade, blocks of infantry were drilling, even at this early hour, she saw sweat glistening on their cheeks and foreheads. Spearmen, heavily armed, guarded bridges lain across the ditch leading into the camp and once again they were halted for questioning. This time it wasn't a simple question of name and intent, a knight stood before them on the bridge and interrogated Ser Lynas. When he said that she was with them, the knight laughed. "And you're letting the princess walk while you sit on your horse, Ser Lynas?"

Lynas glanced down at her. "She refused my mount when offered, but I assure you this is the princess. Why would I lie to you?"

"I don't think you have lied, I think you have been played for a fool. If the princess is here, she can speak for herself.

She was this close, Storm's End loomed over the camp. Gods be damned she would not be stopped now. She strode forward, past Lynas on his horse and right up to the knight on the bridge. "I told Lynas to keep his horse, I have walked across half the Stormlands to be here, I do not need to deprive a knight of his horse a mile from Storm's End. I am Princess Shireen of House Baratheon. I am here to see my father. Now Let. Me. Pass." The knight stared at her, looking into her eyes, flicking over her dishevelled black hair, the bow case over her shoulder and the escort behind her. He stepped aside.

The camp itself was neatly ordered and organised, tents laid out in perfect rows, with a fire pit in front of each one surrounded by stumps of wood for chairs. Many soldiers, recently awoken, were sat on those stumps, bent over wooden bowls or spooning food into them. Beside ever tent were three banners, the banner of the lord the soldiers in it were sworn to, the banner of House Baratheon, black and gold, and the yellow field with the burning heart her father had taken for his own sigil. There was no doubting who commanded this army, why so many banners, he hadn't had this many already had he? Most of these soldiers had been with Renly originally and fought under his banner, then they marched to the Blackwater under her father after he had healed from his injury, had they been making banners while they were here, were they not meant to be making war? Patrols weaved their way through the camp, weapons bared. Unlike the men in the tents, they all wore the colours of Baratheon alone. Why were they patrolling the camp so heavily armed, not manning the outer lines?

Finally, they arrived at the gate to Storm's End, which was flung open, the portcullis raised, but protected by another line of spearmen. This line of spearmen were not levied men, but trained and paid guardsmen of House Baratheon, and they would not move easily. When Ser Lynas attempted to pass, they warned him that Storm's End was closed, by order of Lord Caron. Realising that they would not be intimidated, Shireen stepped forward, but didn't give her name. Instead she said, "then please inform Lord Caron that his niece has had a very long journey from the coast, but has come to see him." Telling them her name would likely arouse the same suspicion that Lynas had had earlier on.

Most of the spearmen held their ground, but one of them, at a nodded command from their officer, jogged away to find her father's Hand. Soon enough the door burst open and She smiled. Her uncle was racing down the steps from the main keep, cloak flying from his shoulders. "Move!" He commanded and the guards barely stepped away in time before he was on her, seizing her by the shoulders and staring at her with wild, hopeful eyes. "By the gods!" he gasped and pulled her into a hug. Pain, delicious pain of her ribs being squeezed filled her with warmth and she tucked herself into her uncle. "You're alive!" he whispered.

She nodded against his tunic, inhaling his scent. "I'm alive." She pushed on his chest and he pulled back, holding her at arms length. "Uncle. Where is my father?"

"He's up in his chambers, come, We'll get you cleaned up and I'll take you to him."

"No. I'll see him now."

"But, Shireen you…" He looked her up and down.

"I know I look like a mess, but I will see my father, now and then I'll wash."

She wanted to follow him at once, but first. "Before you do, my people need to be settled in, food, clothes, everything." She gestured back at Aeriel, Allard and Richard, "I'm only here because of them."

Bryce nodded. "Of course, they'll have whatever they need." He indicated for several guardsmen to come forward and escort the three of them inside.

Richard started towards them but Shireen stepped up to him and placed her palm on his chest. "Richard, please, I'm safe now, rest, eat, get some clothes on your back, I won't need protection from my father."

He stared into her eyes. "Are you sure you don't need me, princess?"

She smiled and pulled him into a hug, ignoring the immediate tension in his form. "I'll be fine and I'll see you soon. Thank you." She whispered into his ear. Then she hugged Allard as well, and Aeriel, thanking them and promising she would go right back to them once she had seen her father. Then, leaving them to follow escorts into the keep, Bryce led her to her father.

"How is my father?" She asked him.

"He's… worse, since we thought you had died, seeing you alive will bring life back to him."

"He's ill?"

"No, just withdrawn. It was bad after the Blackwater, after thinking you dead, worse. I've done what I can in his absence, but we need him back. We can't win this war with him so withdrawn, the camp is on edge, the lords, even more so." Was he withdrawn, or was he just his usual taciturn self. Her mother had sent her to peel away his layers and bring him back to the war. But she just wanted to see her father.

There was only one guard on the door leading to her father's solar. "He's inside," Bryce said, the guard standing aside at a nod from him, "I'll have food and a bath ready for you when you're done."

"Thank you, uncle." She waited on the balls of her feet, waiting for Bryce to be a respectful distance away. A few steps, that was enough, she shoved the door open and burst in.

"Father!"

The room was cold and dark, the curtains pulled, leaving only a sliver of light to cast a pale shadow around the room, the fireplace was empty, not even the ashes of a recent fire decorating the grate. The desk was scattered with paper and the chair pushed back like no one could be bothered to push it back in. A single chair was set before the window so one could look out at the sky.

"Father?"

There was a movement in the chair by the window, a dark outline sat forward and stood up. "Shireen?" Came a voice rasping from lack of use. Unsteadily, the figure stood up and turned to her. A dark cloud with a silver line.

She couldn't hold back the gasp. Her father's cheeks were sunken and gaunt, his eyes seemingly sunken into his sockets. His hair was thinner than before and the shape of his skull could be seen under his skin. "Father?"

"Shireen?"

She stepped forward uneasily, towards the revenant in her father's form. "What happened to you?"

Stannis looked her up and down. "What happened to you?" She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing tightly. Her vision watered with tears. His arms moved under hers, raising slowly before resting on her back and rubbing up and down. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm here," she whispered, tasting salt. He started to pull away. "No, please father, please."

"I need to sit," he said, pulling away from her. She didn't let him go fully, keeping her hands tight on his arm and following him back to his chair. She hugged him from behind, kissing his cheek softly.

"We were so worried about you."

"Me? I was worried, when I received a raven asking after you from your mother. I thought the sea had taken you from me, like it did my parents." She thought of Lord Steffon then, dripping and bloated. He needs to remember why? "Why were you worried about me?"

"Because… oh it doesn't matter," she pressed her face into his shoulder. "You're here, I'm here, that's all that matters right now."

"Shireen," he was commanding her.

She sighed and pulled away, moving until she was standing in front of her father. "It's mother, she's worried about you, we all are, ever since the Blackwater, you've been here at Storm's End, waiting, but doing nothing. We are still at war, and we still need you to fight it, but you aren't. Why?"

His eyes flicked up to her face, then out the window. "I don't need to explain my actions to my daughter."

The words hit her like a slap. She recomposed herself. "Father, do you know what's been happening? Tarth went into revolt in support of the Lannisters, Lyonel had to put it down with force. We are still fighting, we just want to know why you are not?" This wasn't going well.

"Who said I am not?"

"You are?" She sighed in relief. "Tell me how and I'll send a raven to mother and tell her."

"You'll do no such thing without my say so."

"But… father…"

"I will not march because I cannot."

"Cannot? Father, what do you lack, tell us and we'll give it to you."

"The love or fear of the seven kingdoms." What? She couldn't even put words to that, her mouth moved but nothing came out. So her father continued. "The people of the Seven Kingdoms will never accept me as their king. Insipid, treacherous, disloyal the lot of them, they go from one king to another, my brother who offered them song and the Lannister inbred who offers them gold. All I can offer them, all I could offer them was fear. They never loved me, they never would, never could, but perhaps they feared me. Perhaps they would be right to. Every man would reap what they had sown if I sat the throne, and all the castles in Westeros wouldn't stop me. But fear falls with failure, and I failed on the Blackwater. Now there is nothing."

He still stared out the window, at the bay that had claimed his parents and almost claimed his daughter, almost daring the sea to come and take him to. "Father, you still have an army, you can still fight."

"Can I?" His eyes suddenly flashed to her, blue and burning. "They only follow me because they have no choice, why would they leave to join the Lannisters who have attainted them. But if they were to betray me to them, in the midst of battle, then they would claim a reward, they would keep their plush seat and their gold and their treasons while I rot away, unnoticed, uncared for." He looked back out of the window. "They cannot love me, and so they will not follow me into another defeat, and they will abandon me at first opportunity. Only Bryce has kept them here, and he's achieved that by keeping them away from me." He barked. "Robert would never have this problem. Robert could lose a hundred battles and men would still follow him. Me, I lose one and everything that ever made anyone follow me is gone. Robert would-"

"Enough!" She hissed through clenched teeth. "Enough, father!" Her fists were balled at her side. Was this what she had come to persuade to fight, this… this pathetic… She launched herself at him, but this time her fists were clenched and pounded on his leather clad chest. All the effort and pain of the journey, huddling away from storms, stealing cloaks and food, men drowned on a ship meant to bring her here safely. Being hunted for her greyscale or named a liar for her own name, all of it was for this pathetic… She punched Stannis. She punched him again, her fist jarring with pain as it connected with his shirt. And again. And again. "Is that all you care about father. Is that all you… you fucking care about! Robert. Robert!" She punched him again and again, he tried to speak but she didn't let him. "You self-indulgent… you blind… you loveless… you unappreciative-" She punched him. "How dare you! How dare you sit there and complain about not being loved you-" The door opened. "Get out!" she turned and jabbed her finger at the guard who stepped inside. "I said GET OUT!" She got up and marched towards him, planting her hands on his breastplate and shoving with all her might, the guard clearly wasn't ready for it as he stumbled and so she shoved him again sending him flying to the ground with a grunt of pain. She slammed the door and turned the lock.

Stannis had got to his feet and was staring at her, mouth hanging open like he'd just seem a ghost dance a jig. Good, it was easier this way. She punched him again, punched him through the salt of tears, the choking of her sobs and the pounding of the guard on the door. She was shrieking now. "How could you! Robert was a terrible man, a terrible brother and a terrible king, and you sit there and complain that he doesn't love you. You claim that the lords of Westeros don't love you? Of course they don't, you just sit there and brood and complain that they don't love you! You have an army of great power and groan that they don't love you. But what about us, father," no, this man wasn't her father, he was pathetic. "But what about us, Lord Stannis, what about your family, what about the people who always have and always will love you without condition or doubt. Mother loves you in her own way. Lyonel loves you, I love you!" Her punches slowed down on his leather jerkin. "And all you want is the love of a man who spent his days drinking himself senseless, who paid for harlots to come and say they loved him. Paid! He had to pay people to say that, you don't, you never did, you only ever had to come to us… come to me."

She fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands, her shoulders shaking fiercely. She felt fingers brush her shoulder carefully, awkwardly. "Shireen… I…"

"NO!" She slapped the hand away and scrambled to her feet. "You don't get to use my name like that, not like this." An hour ago she would have wanted nothing more than those arms around her, her name on his lips. But now. "You can call me daughter or princess until you earn the right to use my name again, the name a better vision of you gave me." She stormed from the room, right passed the guard who burst in when she opened the door, sword raised. She abandoned Lord Stannis to his room of shadow and darkness, still weeping for her father.