The motions flower from one into another, like water over rocks. She picked up the arrow, notched it to the bow, drew the string back to her ear, released it and before the arrow had struck the target she was snatching up the next one. So many arrows protruded from the target it looked like a hedgehog, but still she loosed her arrows until her fingers reached down and grasped at air. That was it, fifty arrows released. The storms, the shipwreck and all the travel would have been too much for a yew bow staff, but with a new string, her dragonbone bow was as fine as ever. She carefully removed the arrows from the target. Now that the repeated shooting was done, the fingertips on her right hand were starting to burn. After she'd returned the arrows to her quiver, carrying those that wouldn't fit in her left hand, she returned to where she'd been standing before. She planted the arrows in her left hand in the ground and notched one to her bow, ready to shoot again, when a voice called over to her.
"That was an excellent round of shooting, princess." She turned to see Lord Tarleton Fossoway approaching. His red apple bright on his golden surcoat and his dark eyes hidden beneath his brow.
"Thank you, my lord, although I'm sure you've seen better" she replied, removing the arrow from her bow and sliding it back into the quiver.
He bowed at the waist. "I believe not, I have no archer in my service who could shoot fifty arrows and hit with all of them."
She blushed and looked down. "Well… I do the best I can." The quiver suddenly felt heavy on her hip. "My brother is the better archer though, I fear the other pursuits of a lady have not given me as much time to practice."
"Yes," Lord Tarleton said, looking her up and down. "Though you appear to wed archery to the woman's arts very well."
She glanced down at her dark blue dress, the sleeves flowing and skirts brushing her ankles. "Well, until I am wedded to a worthy husband, this bow has never let me down."
"Very clearly." He stopped a respectful distance away. "Princess, I was wondering if I could beg your favour."
She nodded. "You can have my ear my lord. I can promise no favours but I'll do the best I can to help you."
"Thank you, princess," he stepped a little closer, but no more than respect allowed. "I'm worried about my home."
"Your home? Cider Hall?"
"Indeed," he said. "Cider Hall sits at the confluence of the Cockleswhent and the Mander rivers, and as such it is on the front line of the war between the Starks and the Tyrells."
"I see," Shireen said, "and you're worried about your family?"
"Most of them are here," he said, "my two oldest sons, Tanton, and Bryan are here with the army. Edwyd, to his honour, fell in the name of the king at the Blackwater."
"I'm so sorry," she replied at once, her fingers going to her lips. She could only imagine the pain.
"Thank you, princess." He continued, "my wife holds Cider Hall with my youngest son and my daughter, I left her a hundred and fifty guardsmen and twenty knights to hold the walls, and in her last letter she told me she has hired twenty more guardsmen and called up a hundred levies. But even so-"
"With the war so close, will it be enough?" Storm's End could last with such a garrison, but Cider Hall was not Storm's End.
"I don't know, Princess. It might have been enough to dissuade the Starks from attacking. But the Tyrells sent such a large army into the Reach, and ever since the Longthorn, the Tyrells have ever seized their chance to attack those houses with a better claim to Highgarden."
"Lord Leo Longthorn?" She asked. He had been the Lord of Highgarden at the time of the Blackfyre Rebellion, the first and most dangerous of them. Some say he was the greatest knight House Tyrell ever produced, greater than the Knight of the Flowers even, the greatest knight to ever couch a lance.
Lord Tarleton nodded. "Yes. He didn't make it to the Redgrass Field in time for the battle. To be expected, given that he spent the rebellion attacking the lands of every Reacher lord who supported the Blackfyre."
"You think the Tyrells will attack Cider Hall?" Would they do that even with the Roseroad cut? Surely the threat of the Starks would see them ignore such base and cruel politics?
"I wish I could divine it, but I cannot say."
"Of course, no one can know, but the pain of not knowing can be greater, can't it." She stepped forward and touched Lord Tarleton's arm. "My Lord, I wish I could provide you proof of your family's safety, but I can't, and I don't know what I can do to help you."
"Princess, it's not just me who is worried," he told her. "All the lords of the Reach who remain true to your father do not know what to think, ever since the Stark invasion we haven't known, and now Lord Tyrell has marched into the Reach, all our lands are at threat from whoever should win that clash."
She nodded. She remembered Robb Stark. He conducted himself at Winterfell with courtesy and grace, and she'd heard of his honour and that of his house. But honour was forgotten quickly in war. And House Tyrell. They leapt from King to King, traitor to traitor to snatch at power. Lord Fossoway's concerns were very real, and it was her family's duty to protect them from House Tyrell's predations.
"My lord I'm no war leader, I can't plan a march or fight a battle to save your home. But I'll speak to my father, tell him your concerns. I promise."
Lord Tarleton bowed. "That's all I ask, princess."
As he departed, Shireen called out to him. "My lord." He turned. "Your family will be in my prayers tonight," she promised.
He looked taken aback, surprised at her statement. "I… thank you, princess."
When he'd left, Shireen turned back to the target and withdrew an arrow. But instead of notching it to her bow, she twirled it between her fingers, her mind lost in thought. So many, the village, the motherhouse, now Lord Tarleton all asking for their protection. It had been a week since they'd returned from Dewberry. The army had been given orders to prepare to march, she could feel the excitement when she looked on them from the walls, but where would they go?
She slid the arrow back into her quiver and made her way over to the armoury. She passed the arrows back to the steward before returning to the castle. She needed help, she had to find the way.
As she walked by, she smiled and waved at the guardsmen who were drilling against practice dummies, at the farriers coaxing the warhorses into action. Not far from them, Aerial was being guided around a small square on a light brown pony, her bright blue eyes shining in joy. Shireen smiled herself, seeing the girl so happy, especially after what had happened on the march warmed her heart. She stepped aside as a teamster brought a large bundle of spears, leaf shaped points sharp and deadly, to load onto a wagon to be taken out to the army. Slipping past, she entered Storm's End proper. Inside the main drum, cooled by the shadows it cast, she didn't ascend the steps, instead she moved inside the keep, past two smaller chambers and an entrance hall before entering the main hall. The table in the middle was littered with maps and letters detailing the resources available to the army, requests for aid from the Stormlands and the Reach, scouting reports from the coasts and a hundred other matters of war. The rest of the room was filled with swords and shields and lances, and packs stuffed with nuts and oats. Near the door up from the cellar three barrels of water stood, with a pair of servants helping manouver another up the heavy stone staircase. Around the barrels were the pots and stands that would boil the water so that it was clean to drink after weeks on the march. This army may not move like thunder and lightning, but her father would ensure that even the lowliest levy would make it to the battle. Her uncle and his knights stood around the table, heads bowed and discussing the mundane essentials of war. None of them looked up as one knight passed on a request from House Selmy for an additional fifty bowstrings and two dozen mail shirts for their men at arms, and her uncle's terse reply offering half that number of each.
She moved past them to a heavy oaken door offset behind the high seat that led to the private chapel of Storm's End. It was a simple place, and when the door closed, nearly completely cut off from the sounds outside. No light found it's way in here. She didn't like it. A house of the gods in the seat of a Great House should be bathed in the light of the sun reflecting from crystals. She thought of the Great Sept of Baelor and the septs at Highgarden and Riverrun, beautiful places. Even the sept at Winterfell was grander than this one. But then, that was Durrandon stubbornness for you. It was said that Storm King Ormond III, the first to truly convert to the true faith, and likely not truly sincere, but due to the overwhelming pressure of repeated Andal invasions, had created this little chapel. It had been converted from an old store room, no doubt as a kind of spite. But Septon Arron, his septon, embraced the idea, using the fact that he had a chapel that led right into the great hall to always be at his King and Queen's ear. At some point the faith became true and a proper sept was built outside. But with so many lords and knights in Storm's End, that sept was nearly always full, and whenever she prayed there, she would also face the questions of her father's lords, be asked to pray for fathers and sons, which of course she did, everyone was worth a prayer, but it left her little time for her own contemplations. She felt guilty retreating to this little chapel to pray, she should be serving, but it was to serve the gods, so surely they would forgive her.
The altars around the chapel were small things. Previously there had only been small carved faces of the seven on the faces of the altars, with a soft white cloth and two candlesticks on top. But she'd had a small carving of each placed in the middle of each altar to give them a little more life. Lighting the candles she knelt before the altar of the Warrior and pressed her hands together.
"Warrior above, grant your blessing to these servants of yours, who go soon to war. Let your shield stand before them and weather the slings and arrows of our foes. Watch over my father and grant him the wisdom to see what must be done to bring this war, that spills blood and spreads terror across this land, to an end. And please watch over my brother as well, let him stay safe and strong in protecting the people he is sworn to. Allow his arrows to strike true and his blade sharp, let his feet and hands be strong and his limbs steady. Let his mind be clear and his resolve unquestionable. Please watch over the innocent Lady of House Fossoway, and the children who are too young to be knowing the pain and loss that war can bring." She continued her prayer until her knees burned with pain, pleading with god to watch over the people of the world and end the war soon. She struggled to her feet and bowed her head. "Thank you for listening," she said softly. "I remain your servant." She licked her fingers and pinched out the candles, leaving the chapel to it's darkness.
She touched her uncle's arm as she passed, asking how the preparations went. He told her that her father's orders were being carried out and that hopefully they would be on their way soon. She leant up and brushed his cheek with her lips before wishing him well and leaving to see her father.
The spiral staircase led to the upper floors of the castle and she followed them to the lord's chambers, knocking softly before pushing the heavy doors open. Her father stood at the window, arms folded across his chest as he looked out over the fields beyond and the army on it that was packing up it's camp. "They're nearly ready, father."
He nodded, not turning his gaze from the army. "They are, and so I must march."
She closed the door behind her and went to him, slipping her arm through his and holding it close. "Where will it march, father?" North.
"We've discussed this Shireen," he said, not looking at her. "I can't spare forces to defend Dewberry."
"They were terrified father."
He finally looked at her. "You brought me back to the war, daughter of mine, and you were right, I had been gone from it too long, but you do not know it's ways. You will let me fight it. Dewberry is too close to the enemy and lack the defences for me to protect them properly. If I split my army to defend every village we'll lose every one of them. No, the only way to defend our lands, to truly defend them, is to win the war now."
"You have a plan to do that then?"
"Perhaps," he said, turning away from the window and pulling his arm free. "Come, let me show you." He led her over to the table where a Westeros, rolled out from the Dornish Marches to the Trident lay. "Lord Tyrell has marched a large army into the Reach," he said, drawing his finger along the Roseroad towards Highgarden. He intends to confront Robb Stark, he will lose."
"You're certain." She knew her father thought little of Mace Tyrells battle abilities, but to judge it so easily.
"Not certain," he admitted. "But I do not believe he has the talent to defeat Robb Stark, or the wherewithal to surrender command to those who may. Either way, the campaign will take time, time to determine a victor, and time for that victor to truly be secure in their position. Time I intend to use."
"How so, father?"
Stannis drew another line with his finger, moving north from Storm's End to cross the Blackwater Rush, not at King's Landing, as he had last time, but out to the west, and then moving around to the north. "We move here, at the same time your brother lands what forces he can to the north of King's Landing and marches to join us. The forces around King's Landing will be forced to react to the gathering of such a force, but I remember the land from my time on the council. If they wait, I will strangle their supplies. If they march, I will bring them to ground of my choosing and defeat them. With the blows suffered to their regime, I believe one defeat will bring their false king's council low, leaving the way open for me to march into King's Landing, and restore what should be ours." A gleam flickered in her father's eye, a gleam she hadn't seen there before. It was a gleam of vindication, vindication for every thankless task and snide remark, for every act of unrewarded duty and disregarded advice. She didn't like it. She moved around and pushed herself into her father's body, holding him tightly. "Shireen, now's not the time."
"Father, you need to be careful," she whispered to him. "Remember why you fight. Not just because the crown is rightfully yours, but because you can make a better world. You must, for all this death to mean something." She looked up and the light was gone, replaced with iron. He nodded and carefully pulled himself away from her.
"You're right, of course," he replied, blinking away his vision of glory and looking back at the map.
She coughed to get his attention. "Father, I was speaking with Lord Fossoway," she started and the hardness in his eyes intensified, as it always had when mentioning the lords that sided with Renly. Not giving him a chance to grind his teeth and mutter, she continued, "he is worried about his home, and so are the other Reacher lords who are sworn to you. They worry about being caught between the Tyrell and Stark armies, both of whom seem set to destroy them."
"And what do they want me to do about it?"
"Protect their homes," Shireen replied, eyes narrowing, that was obvious. "They swore their swords to you, you owe them protection in return."
Stannis scoffed. "I was their second choice of king, maybe their homes should be my second choice to defend."
He would have meant that before, but she could hear he didn't now. Even so, she couldn't risk a cold jest becoming cold reasoning. "Father," she said sharply, "they only learned you had pressed your claim after they had already sworn themselves to Renly, what were they supposed to do, turn to him while surrounded by his loyalists and say, 'I'm sorry Renly, but now your brother has made his claim I'm just going to take my army over to serve him, thank you for everything'?" She made sure to hold his gaze, no matter how easy it would be to look away. "Even you didn't act so openly against the Lannisters in King's Landing, because you know dying doesn't help anything or anyone. Once the just are dead, there is no one left to stand before the corrupt."
"You think they're just? When they leap from one king to another?"
"Father. Even after you were defeated on the Blackwater they retreated with you. You locked yourself in your rooms, refusing to march for months and now you have emerged and they are still here. Don't hold their past mistakes against them, not now, when you need every man."
She wanted to keep the image in her mind forever. Stannis Baratheon, chastised.
"What do you want me to do, divert my entire campaign and throw it into the quagmire of the Reach's bloody war?"
"I don't know, father, I'm no war leader. But you said you planned to move out west before going north, yes?" He nodded. "So perhaps you could send some riders, if there's an opening to do something, you could take it. Prove to the lords of the Reach that you will defend their homes."
He fixed her with his iron stare for the longest moment, then nodded. "Very well, I'll try."
She smiled, darted forward and kissed him on the cheek before he could react. "I love you father," she whispered.
"Yes…" he replied stiffly. "I love you too, Shireen."
Her smile threatened to split her face. "I'll leave you to your plans."
"Before you go," he said and she turned back to him at the door. "We need to talk about you."
"Me?"
"Yes, what will you do when I march?"
"I-" She didn't know, she hadn't thought that far.
"You're not coming with me," he said matter of factly. "I will not risk it. The only remaining dilemma I face is whether to keep you here, or send you back to Dragonstone."
"I… I see," she said. She wanted to go back, to Lyonel, to mother, but to do that she'd have to get on a ship and right now." She shook her head, closing her eyes. No, not yet, she wasn't ready. "I'll stay here," she said.
His eyebrows shot up at her sudden boldness. "You will?"
She nodded. This was best, no boat, not yet. "With uncle Bryce joining you on the march, you'll need someone here, to hold Storm's End."
"And you think it should be you?" He cut in, incredulous.
It hadn't been what she'd intended, all she wanted was to stay off boats, but perhaps… no it was ridiculous, what did she know about running a castle? Apart from what her mother had taught her, and what she'd seen her parents do, nothing. "Yes," she said, standing taller. "You clearly lack lords you trust implicitly. You'll need as many with fighting experience with you on the march. But you can trust me, you know that."
He nodded. "I do, of course I do. But princesses are for marrying, making alliances, not for ruling."
Despite the statement of fact, she felt the hurt. "If you think I can't, then I will bow to your choice of castellan. But father," she took a breath, she thought of Lyonel, of her mother, "I know I can do this, and your most loyal castellan."
He looked at her, stared at her with the eyes he'd given her. "A year ago I wouldn't have considered it." He said through clenched teeth, barely considering it. "But you're a different woman now." He stepped around the desk and stood before her, tall, powerful and imposing. "Do you swear to me," he said, biting off every word, "that you will serve as my castellan, carry out your duties as best you can and in a manner that serves my interests as King of the Seven Kingdoms?"
She nodded. "I do."
"Do you swear to heed my advice and the advice of the men I leave with you when making judgements in my name?"
"I do."
"And do you swear, that should you receive my order, or you judge Storm's End to be unsafe, that you will remove yourself to Dragonstone and the safety of your brother?"
She swallowed. "I do."
He nodded slowly. "Then take a knee."
She bowed, lowering her head. She felt him place his hand on the top of her head. "I invest you as my castellan of Storm's End. You will watch over it in my absence. Get up." She stood up and looked him in the eye. "I'll have the steward prepare a ceremony for the household and my lords. We'll invest you in front officially in front of all of them, so all know my will."
She swallowed again, her throat dry, and darted her tongue out to wet her lips. "That's probably for the best," she whispered. She clutched her hands, they were shaking. "Father can I… would it be okay if I hugged you?"
He nodded. "As you wish."
She reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, standing on tiptoes to hold her face as close to his as possible. "I won't let you down father," she whispered into his ear.
"See that you don't, my child."
