"I'm not going to a wedding," she said, her face flushed as the dresser held various jeweled bracelets and necklaces in turn against her blue dress and white sash. The sash was more than she'd thought she would need, but the dresser insisted.
"A good thing too, or I would need far more time." Miralion rubbed his temples and sighed, "princess, if you're going to ensure the household respect your authority you have to dress for it," Miralion looked her over, a hand to his lips and a disapproving frown on his face. "No, that doesn't go with the pearls," he said, snapping his fingers and one of his assistants took the gold bracelet away.
"That looked okay," she said.
"It doesn't have to look okay to you princess, it has to look exceptional to everyone else," Miralion was a tailor from the Weeping Town, the Stormlands' main port on the southern coast of Cape Wrath. He was well regarded and often utilised by the ladies of the Stormlands. "And from the outside, it clashed, too many colours, too many!"
He went over to the table where the jewellery was laid on a pure white cloth, and tutted as he looked over them. "This," he held up a chain of emeralds and sapphires, meant to wrap around the palm loosely.
"I need to be able to use a pen, this is an official meeting, not a social event," she reminded him again.
"Fine," he dropped it back on the table and reached out to pick a slim band of silver. "This, try!"
One of his assistants brought the bracelet back and Shireen held out her wrist again.
"Not perfect, but probably as good as we could hope for with this selection."
Shireen sighed in thanks as the bracelet was placed over her wrist.
"Honestly if I'd known how limited this selection was, I'd have brought a jeweller with me."
Shireen looked over the table. The jewels, silver and gold on it was worth more than a few villages. They were all the jewels that remained in Storm's End now. Most of them were her grandmothers, Cassanna Estermont. A few still remained from Rhaelle Targaryen before her, but many of these had been gifted away. But not since Cassanna had died alongside Steffon had there been a lady of note in Storm's End, Robert was first in the Eyrie, then King's Landing, with a wife who had all her own jewels already. Stannis was on Dragonstone and, apart from one of his mother's necklaces he had gifted Myrielle on her wedding day, he took nothing with him. Renly had no women of his own, but had gifted the jewels to many who's favour he desired. Shireen hated the thought of the traitor queen from Highgarden wearing her grandmother's jewels. If she was she would rip them from her when her father took King's Landing.
"These are my family's pieces, master Miralion, these are the ones I will wear." Miralion must have noted her tone, for he bowed his head in humility.
"Of course my princess, I meant no offence. The jewels are fine, very fine, they just don't go as perfectly as I would like with your dresses."
She nodded. "That's quite alright. Shall we look at earrings?"
Miralion's face lit up. "Yes, now here I think we have some very nice options." He picked up a pair of shining obsidian stags, with gold drops for eyes. "These ones?"
Shireen pulled her hair back carefully and let Miralion gently loop them through the holes in her earlobes. He stepped back and looked her over, his large lips broadening into a smile.
"Good?" She asked.
He kissed his fingertips. "Magnificent."
She felt all too small sat in her father's carved mahogany chair. She shifted awkwardly, drumming her fingers on the armrests. Her mouth was dry so she reached for her glass.
"Princess if you drink too much you'll have to excuse yourself during the meeting," Ser Richard pointed out from her shoulder.
She pulled her hand back, forcing it into her lap. "You're right," she said.
"Relax princess," Aerial said with a smile, "this will be easy."
Shireen smiled at the girl, who would serve as her cup bearer this meeting. "Thank you Aeriel."
The door opened and Shireen sat up straight, taking three gulps of air to steady herself. The guards outside had been told to open the door as soon as the four other councillors were approaching, just to give her those few seconds more to steel herself before facing the men her father had left to give her council.
The first was the Captain of Storm's End. Ser Gilbert Farring, a grizzled veteran of her father's army. At the Blackwater he had landed one of the first ships on the northern shore, led three sorties against the Mud Gate and had been the first of her father's host to make it onto the walls, before a determined counter attack led by the Kingsguard had forced him back down the ladder. She'd have thought he would balk at being left behind when the host finally departed for war, but he accepted the command without complaint, for his son, Bryen Farring, now squired at her father's side. Alongside Gilbert was the Seneschal, Lord Elwood Meadows. Lord Elwood had been Ser Courtnay Penrose's second in command, learning the art of ruling in Renly's lordship, but he showed no less dedication to her father's cause. He was a green man, only a few years older than Shireen herself, and far less travelled. But there was something to be said for his lack of ambition. He wanted to be good. A good soldier, a good servant and a good lord, and he never lacked a kind word. He made her smile.
Behind those two came maester Jurne, his chain almost hidden beneath the collar of his robes. Unlike almost every maester that Shireen had encountered, Jurne's form was wrapped in muscle, his jawline powerful. Many maesters got up in the morning and started reading, Jurne started each morning with exercise. He believed that a sharp body more easily kept a sharp mind.
These were the three men that her father had left to guide her as Castellan. But there was one more, one that she'd requested be added. He looked like a more handsome version of Lyonel. Where Lyonel was all jagged sharp lines and hardness, their cousin had all the handsome features of a Baratheon, a strong jawline, high cheekbones and his father's charming smile. Edric Storm was fierce and courteous, strong and proud. He was a year older than Lyonel, she knew, fathered by King Robert on a noble daughter of House Swann at her parent's wedding feast. Unable to deny the birth of a high born bastard, Robert had acknowledged Edric, and had Renly raise him at Storm's End. His mother was married off to a cousin of House Selmy, and rarely saw the boy. When he entered, Edric flashed her a wide smile and bowed courteously. "My lady," he said.
"Welcome cousin, I'm glad you could join us." She indicated the chair to her left and Edric graciously took it, sliding in beside maester Jurne, opposite Ser Gilbert, who sat with Lord Elwood to Shireen's right. "And you as well, Ser Gilbert, Lord Elwood, Maester."
"Princess," they all said, Ser Gilbert tersely, Elwood and Jurne respectfully, Edric cordially.
She sat forward, linking her fingers and placing her hands on the table. "Shall we begin?"
"You are the Castellan, princess, if you wish it we'll begin," Ser Gilbert pointed out.
"Yes, quite," she said, shuffling in her seat. Start with something small, something that is easily managed. "How go the efforts to refill our stores?"
Maester Jurne had the answer. "They're still largely empty, we are calling in more grain, and the smokehouses are filling out again, but we're going to have to hope that there are no immediate demands in the near future."
"We could get it gathered in more quickly if we were to send some of the men to do it," Lord Elwood said. Stannis had left a thousand men behind at Storm's End when he'd marched, of them about seven hundred were levied from the Stormlands. The former field hands would surely be able to help gather the grain.
"If we send them home now, there's no guarantee that they'll come back again, and I don't want to send what's left of our forces to round up errant levies. Defence of Storm's End comes first," Gilbert cut in.
"Have the Lannisters sent men against us then?" Shireen asked.
"Not that we're aware of, but with the army away, they could push down on us almost unopposed."
That was good, the villages to the north would be ravaged by war while they cooped here in Storm's End. They deserved better, but without the army, there was nothing Shireen would be able to do except send a rider to her father and pray he returned in time.
"Can we bring in more fish, from the bay, and more from the south?" Edric asked. Many bastards tried to fade into the background, but like his father, Edric could make the room look to him and listen.
"We are bringing in some, but the fishermen can't suddenly double their catches," Jurne said. "We need the fields working again."
"Which we can't do without hands on ploughs," Elwood added.
"And we can't defend Storm's End without hands on swords," Gilbert said.
"Storm's End could hold with five hundred, it did during my father's war," Edric pointed out.
"During your father's war, Lord Stannis led the defence, and Lord Mace the army outside. Now we have Lady Shireen and if an army comes it will be led by Tywin Lannister."
Shireen sat back, quiet, trying to work out what to say.
"Lord Tywin didn't leave when the ironmen threatened Lannisport, he won't come for us now."
"I'm not going to risk the defence of this castle by trying to judge what Tywin Lannister will or will not do. The Mad King did that, and the capital was sacked, the Reynes did it and they are dead. I was put in charge of this castle's defences, I will not half them for food."
"Food is just as important as sword in a siege," Elwood pointed out. "I was here when the king put Storm's End under siege."
"And you yielded when the prince slew Ser Courtnay."
Elwood got to his feet, red in the face. Ser Gilbert matched him a second later, they stared at each other, nose to nose. "That was unnecessary Ser Gilbert," Jurne said.
"Enough," Shireen said. No one heard her.
"I am the captain of the soldiers left behind."
"You were appointed captain by the king," Shireen said, firmly. The others looked at her as though they had forgotten she was there. The way Ser Gilbert looked at her made her want to shrink back into her seat, but she was a Baratheon, she was her father's Castellan. She had to be strong. "Ser Gilbert, twice now you have referred to my father without using his title. You will have the decency to call him the king if you will not go so far as to call him his grace."
Ser Gilbert bristled. "Yes, princess."
There was a pregnant pause before Edric cleared his throat. "Maybe you should both sit down," he said.
Elwood quickly sat down, looking at Shireen apologetically. Gilbert was much slower in reclaiming his seat.
"What did you mean, ser Gilbert?"
"Princess?"
She leant forward. "You said that if we were under siege, the enemy would be led by Tywin Lannister and our forces would not be led by his grace, my father, but by me. What did you mean by that?"
"I meant that you are a young woman."
"I'm around the same age my father was when he commanded the last siege."
"But you're a woman. King Stannis had been taught war since he could walk, have you?"
"Of course I haven't, war is the province of men."
"So what would you do if you heard Tywin Lannister's army was coming this way?"
What would she do? Bring in food, that was a good start, or should she bring in the locals for protection first? Both, get the locals to bring their food in, then arm the garrison, or should that be first?
In the time she was thinking, Gilbert won. "You see, princess, you don't know what to do in a siege, and we are in a state of war right now. That's what I meant. It's no offense, you are of the fairer sex and lack the stomach for war."
"Lady Shireen has endured a very trying journey, Ser Gilbert," Edric said, glaring at Gilbert. "We cannot doubt her resilience or her heart. And she is the Castellan of Storm's End, by command of my uncle the king."
"Thank you Edric."
Jurne coughed lightly. "Princess, what is your order about the food situation?"
Shireen swallowed. "Keep bringing the food is as we can, but we will not weaken Storm's End to do so. The garrison remains at full strength. If everyone agrees?" She looked around to be sure, and Elwood and Jurne nodded their assent. That was the majority. "Then it's decided."
"Thank you, princess," ser Gilbert bowed his head to her.
There was another long pause before she realised she had to move on to the next issue of the meeting. She coughed. "Now, the castellan of Blackhaven, Ser Aldon Fell, reports that one of his villages has been attacked, and the fields burned. He suspects that the raiders came from across the Dornish Marches and requests aid in hunting them down."
"Blackhaven is the seat of House Dondarion," Jurne replied. "Lord Beric may have marched with King Stannis, but he surely left enough men behind to defend his home."
"Perhaps he didn't and now the Castellan is using the possibility of Dornish interference to disguise the fact that he is incapable of handling the issue alone," ser Gilbert said.
"Whether or not it's too much to handle, we have a responsibility to our bannermen, not just Storm's End," Edric said, looking at Shireen, "we should send some men to help."
"I've already made my position clear about the weakening of Storm's End's defences," Gilbert declared.
"That was to collect the harvest, the defence of our bannermen is another issue, replied Lord Elwood, "I agree with master Edric."
"This has to be investigated." They all turned to look at Richard who looked down at the table.
"You are not on the council ser," Jurne pointed out.
Shireen bristled. "Ser Richard is my sworn protector, he has stood by me through thick and thin. If he has something to say he may say it." She turned to her knight. "What is it?"
"My own family comes from the Marches, I know that land well. If these raiders are from Dorne, and the Dondarion forces are not sufficient to stop them, then House Selmy's lands are only a short distance beyond."
"House Selmy's lands have the greatest grain yield in the Stormlands," Edric breathed.
Shireen put her fingers to her mouth. "And we haven't refilled our grain stores yet. Ser Richard is right, we have to send soldiers.."
"Princess-" Gilbert began.
"We have to send aid."
"Princess, we shoul-" Jurne tried to say.
Shireen slammed her palms on the table, "we will send aid to the Dondarions!"
The councillors looked at her, concern on their faces. "I will ready some men," Gilbert said finally.
"Good," Shireen sat back and let her breathing settle. "What's next?" She asked. Then picked up her papers to see what was next.
She knelt before the altar of the Crone. Why hadn't she prayed before the meeting, too much time busy getting dressed in some sash and pointless jewels. She should have been here, asking for guidance. "What do I know about leading? What made me think I could do this?" It was arrogance, arrogance, cowardice and stupidity. She should have gone back to Dragonstone, left Storm's End to others to manage. Instead here she was, sitting in a seat that belonged to her father and trying to make it look like she was his daughter, not just some grayscale castaway that he'd taken pity on. Not that Stannis Baratheon was much capable of pity.
"My lady, forgive my impertinence for not coming to you sooner. Please, I ask that you give me the wisdom I need to serve my lord father and king as best I can." She would need an answer, she couldn't go through another council like that one. She couldn't.
She heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Who was coming to this hidden sept? No one else had come here while she'd been in before. She got up and turned to see a tall man, in grey robes enter. His head was shaved but a shadow of stubble covered his jaw. His woolen cloak was held at his collar by a rough iron star broach and his robes were tied at the waist with a rope belt. Was he a septon, he wasn't wearing the usual clothes of a septon, and lacked the crystal that often hung from their necks.
He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. "Princess, Shireen," he said, in a firm, fair voice. "Forgive me, I wasn't aware you were here."
"That's not necessary," she smiled at him. "If you need to pray master…"
"Alwyn, my lady, septon Alwyn."
"Alwyn, please feel free."
"That's alright, I can come back later."
"Don't feel like I'm obstructing you, please, you can pray here, that's alright. I've finished my prayers."
He looked over her shoulder at the altar she'd been kneeling at. "The Crone. An unusual patron for a young lady such as yourself to call upon."
"We all need wisdom, whatever our age, perhaps the young more than others."
"It's wise to say you need wisdom," Alwyn said, nodding almost approvingly. "But something tells me you haven't found the wisdom you seek."
"You could say that, I suppose. I'll come back tomorrow, perhaps I will get answers then."
"You could," he said, stepping aside to let her leave. "But if you wish to talk, I may not be the Crone, but perhaps I can give you an answer."
"I don't wish to impose," she said.
"It wouldn't be any trouble. Perhaps I can be a distraction for you, if nothing else. We all need to remove ourselves from the day to day at times."
Perhaps. He was a septon, and he seemed genuine, or was this all a ruse. "Are you really a septon, you aren't dressed in the usual white, and I don't see your crystal?"
He laughed. "Yes, princess Shireen, I am a septon. I was ordained in King's Landing itself. But I don't need to wear white or carry a crystal given by man in order to talk about the gods, and give advice to those who need it."
"If you were ordained in King's Landing what are you doing here?"
"I've been travelling the Seven Kingdoms since I was ordained, delivering the word of the gods to the people. I was in the Stormlands just after the Blackwater, travelling the Dornish Marches when I heard of your father's army gathering here. Men at war often have sins they need absolved, and so here I am."
"You didn't go with the army?"
"No, I have no desire to see more of war than I already have. I do what I can off the battlefield." That was clearly a sensitive topic for him, so Shireen didn't press, changing the topic.
"So why did you choose to travel the Seven Kingdoms."
"An interesting question," he said, sitting down on the floor. She sat down as well, folding her legs under her gently. "I suppose the answer is best explained by Baldrick."
"Who?"
Alwyn laughed. It was a good laugh. "You probably know him better as High Septon."
"You know the High Septon?" She gasped.
"I did, we were ordained at the same time, he and I."
"You're his friend."
"No," he said, keen to dismiss that notion, "never friends. He was always saw coin as a swifter route to the top than holy work. And perhaps he's right, he is High Septon now, after all, or he was, the last I heard. Politics can be a dangerous nest to survive, and Baldrick never had much more than a low cunning to him."
"You should call him High Septon," Shireen said disapprovingly. She'd seen the High Septon, overweight, indulgent, distant. Her father complained about his hypocrisy. But he was still the High Septon.
"Perhaps. But I don't know if anyone has been worthy of that title for some centuries. Our faith is not what it once was."
"What do you mean? My faith has never waivered."
"I don't mean our faith as in our own personal devotion. That will always depend on the individual. I mean our faith to mean the organised Faith of the Seven, the High Septon, the Most Devout. It hasn't been what it was for a long time."
"How do you know that?"
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a battered and worn book. "I haven't been travelling the Seven Kingdoms for nothing. While I've been going from sept to sept, I've been looking into the history of our religion, from the time of the Andal invasions up to the Targaryens."
"That's… quite an undertaking."
He chuckled."Yes, I didn't aim the bar low." He fingered the cover of the book. "One day, I hope to know enough to be able to write it up, but there's a lot I don't know yet."
"I can imagine. But why go for the time before the Targaryens, why not a history of the faith since Aegon's landing? That would be easier to write, and I'm not aware of one currently in existence."
Alwyn nodded. "That's true, but most of the problems we face as a faith today have emerged as a result of the Targaryen rule. I want to go back, to what we were before then."
"Explain that to me," she said, curious. What had the Faith done in the time of the Targaryens that was so bad.
Alwyn's reply was more energetic, it seemed he was glad to talk about it to someone. "What do you know of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism?"
"Only a little," she confessed. Exceptionalism was rarely taught by her mother and septas growing up, it wasn't needed anymore. "It was the ruling by which the Faith permitted the incestuous marriages of the Targaryens wasn't it."
"Indeed, and the lowest point of our faith."
"How so?"
"It was the first time that our official leaders, the High Septon and most devout, set aside one of the precepts of the Seven Pointed Star and bent it to the will of man. In all my travels and studies, I can't find a few examples of that happening before. And whenever they have, they were quickly expunged and denounced. This one was taken into the heart of our realm and allowed to fester. It shouldn't have been permitted."
Shireen thought back to the circumstances behind the doctrine. "What about the arguments about the Valyrians being made different to the rest of us?" She thought back to the Targaryen girl Lyonel had captured in the east. Her silver hair, her violet eyes. There was something about her.
"Yes, I know the quote of Septon Alfyn well. 'One god made us all, Andls and Valyrians and First Men, but he did not make us all alike.' Well, look at us," he gestured between them. "I was born in the Riverlands, you were born on Dragonstone. I am lowborn, you are the daughter of a king. I am a man and you are a woman. Of course god did not make us all alike. But there are some rules that govern all of us, highborn or low, man or woman. What's right and what's wrong. Whether it is okay to kill or acceptable to stand aside in the face of injustice. There is nothing in the original texts of the Seven Pointed Star that says that the rule against incest is circumstantial, that was a law made by man."
"But all laws are made by man, even if guided by the messages of the gods."
"I talk of a more celestial law than what is prescribed by kings and lords. I talk of the law that says children should not be left out to starve. The law that says that if someone you hate has done something good, they should be recognised for that. The law that says if someone is injured, you help them. Those laws are not written by man, but we follow them all the same."
"Oh I see. I call them truths rather than laws, but I agree with you that they are unbreakable."
Alwyn smiled. "Yes. And Exceptionalism is the idea that because of might, because of dragons, the Targaryens were able to change the fundamental law, or truth as you say it, that a man should not lie with, let alone marry, his own blood."
"But like you said, if someone you hate has done something good, you should recognise that. Jahaerys the Conciliator did a lot of good."
"And I do not deny him those accomplishments," Alwyn said simply. "And I know it makes me seem like a joyless stickler to complain about this one aspect of his reign in the face of it all, but these fundamental truths matter. If the Targaryens were able to be the exception to one rule, what stops them becoming the exception to another? Sometimes it is worth denying a good person what he wants in order to ensure that the bad people do not get what they want. Sometimes it is worth treating bad people better than they deserve to make sure that everyone is treated equally."
Shireen thought back to her lessons in history. "I recognise that last point. But the Targaryens didn't become the exceptions to any other rules. Not the fundamental rules of the faith, anyway."
"Didn't they?" Alwyn asked pointedly. "Perhaps, but we'll never know, because the Faith never stood up to them again. How could they, they had already caved in on this fundamental issue. They had already set aside the book of the gods itself, how could they use it against the Targaryens later. And what have they done when the Lannisters also set themselves above the rules of god?" He sat back and shook his head. "Now the High Septon might squeak complaints, but he eats at the same table and drinks the same wine. He gives them crowns and weddings without question, whether the king is saint or sinner."
"But there's only so much the Faith can do," she pointed out. "It is not the place of Septons, no matter their rank, to command men to fight and kill, another achievement of Jaehaerys' was to disarm the Faith Militant."
"Yesit was, but the duty of the High Septon, of all of the Faith, is to guide the people to heaven, to ensure that they live good lives, to be an example. That cannot be achieved if any and all wrongs are simply brushed under the carpet."
"So when the king does something wrong, what then?"
"The High Septon should remind them of the right path to take."
"But how would they force it?"
"We cannot force, force is no sign of goodness."
"What do you mean?"
He raised his right arm. "If I swore never to take up a sword, then cut off my hand," he chopped at his wrist with his other hand, "what would that prove? Of course I won't take up a sword, I cut off my hand, it proves no devotion. Devotion is through swearing never to take up a sword, and then never taking up a sword. When the sisters of silence swear never to speak, they don't, despite the old wives' tales, cut out their tongues. If their tongues were cut out then of course they wouldn't speak, it proves nothing. So it is with the High Septon. They can incentivise, they can give sermons on goodness, personally advise the king and his court. At the most extreme they can refuse to perform coronations or weddings, or allow the king to enter the sept on a holy day, but they cannot force the king or his family to be good. Ultimate responsibility for that lies with them."
"But the king has swords around him, armies and knights," Shireen pointed out. "If the king will not listen to the faith, should the faith allow itself to be culled? Would that help the common people who are trying to be good and need the guidance of the septons?"
"No, it wouldn't," Alwyn admitted. "But so long as the faith ignores the wrongs of the king, the common people will not respect it. They will see that the laws are being broken and they will want the same. When that happens we are in very serious trouble. Just look where we're at right now," he said. "Joffrey's execution of Lord Stark has made his son rise in rebellion. The actions of his mother have made your father rise in rebellion as well. Had they followed the laws, or recognised the truths as you call them, we wouldn't be in this situation and thousands of people wouldn't have died."
"But as you say, that's the responsibility of Joffrey, of Cersei, not of the faith. If it was the faith I would agree with you. But even the High Septon spoke against the execution of Lord Stark, and the I know for a fact that the truth of Joffrey's parentage has brought men to our side to dethrone him. Perhaps the faith could have been stronger, but it couldn't make Joffrey or Cersei good, that's their own responsibility, one they have failed. And so my father will depose them and restore balance to Westeros."
Alwyn sat back and stared at her for several long seconds. "I must confess princess, I'm confused. You say you came here looking for wisdom, I would say that you have plenty."
"What?" What was he saying?
"You said you were praying for wisdom from the Crone. It's why you're here right now. You don't seem to lack wisdom from what I see."
She pulled her knees up to her chest. She didn't want to talk about that. But Alwyn had been a welcome distraction, and he knew his own thoughts, perhaps he could help straighten hers. "When it comes to ruling, I am ignorant," she said softly. "My father left me here to rule in his stead, but in our council meeting, I didn't know what I was doing, what I should be saying. I don't know about war or strife, and I have to make decisions about them both. Ser Gilbert asked what I would do if Storm's End came under siege, I didn't know. I didn't know that House Dondarion's lands bordered House Selmy's, or that House Selmy's provided most of our food."
"You didn't know much about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism," Alwyn pointed out. "Yet from what little you did know, you and I just had a whole conversation about good and evil and the role of the faith in our lives and affairs of state."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I know my faith, I don't know about siege warfare."
"You may not know the intricacies of supply management, where to deploy archers and catapults. But you know good and evil, right and wrong. Far better that our leaders know that than the torsion strength of catapult rope."
She looked at him. "But ser Gilbert was right, what would I do in the event of a siege?"
"What would you do, what is the very first thing you would do if you heard an army was coming to Storm's End?"
What would she do? "I would… see if we had enough supplies."
"Would you? You'd go and count the grains yourself would you?"
"Well no, I'd ask our steward."
"That sounds wise to me." Alwyn got to his feet. "There is nothing wrong with asking for advice from those who know the details better than yourself. You yourself hold the much more important and much harder position. You have to judge what is right and what is wrong and act accordingly."
"Right and wrong?"
He nodded, holding out his hand to help her to her feet. "Yes. Right and wrong. What is good for your people, and what is bad for them. Do that, and you could do a lot worse as a leader."
"But what about when I don't know. Like siege warfare, any warfare, what do I do then?"
"That's why you have advisors, so that they can tell you the details you don't know. But don't let them decide for you. You are the leader, the responsibility for decisions is yours. Own it, remind your advisers of it, and you will find you have the courage to speak with the wisdom I know you possess."
She nodded. Good and evil. She could do that, she knew that. "Thank you, septon Alwyn," she said. The final decisions were hers, she couldn't hide from that. She had asked to stay here and rule in her father's name, and so she would.
