"I've got to say, your last victory was much more impressive," Shireen said with a smile as Loren poured her a cup of wine. A small concession to his victory, however small it was. "I mean, a dozen prisoners?" She shook her head. "You brought hundreds back from Blackwater."
"If I judged everything against Blackwater, I'd constantly fall short," Lyonel said.
"We all fall short of our best," Shireen pointed out. "There will come a time when none of us are as beautiful, smart, fast, courageous or strong as we were at some point in our lives before, and despite our youth, you and I have lived a lot of moments."
Lyonel frowned. "Where did this wisdom come from?"
Shireen shrugged. "It must be the company I keep."
"Not here. My soldiers are many things, but not philosophers."
"Doesn't Amalia like listening to philosophers? Maybe I got it from her?" She teased.
Lyonel knocked over her glass of wine, staining the table red. After the shock of Amalia's parting words to her had lessened, she had now resorted to teasing him mercilessly about it. If only she knew what it was like to have a beautiful woman say that she loved him. Was it even true? He knew Amalia liked him and they enjoyed their time together, but love? Had she even meant it as love, 'give him my love' was a very different message to 'tell him I love him'. But the thought that she didn't love him hurt. Now that the question had been asked, it demanded an answer.
"That was unnecessary," Shireen pointed out, wiping the spreading pool of wine away from her table edge so she didn't get any on her dress.
"Perhaps, but it made me feel better."
"Men. Do you have to lash out like that?"
"Women. Do you have to toy with our emotions like that?"
Shireen opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Oh don't give me that look," she said.
"I don't know that the pain women inflict having a little harmless fun merits a violent response."
"Cersei Lannister."
Shireen opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again when none came. "I am not Cersei," she said finally, flatly.
"No, you aren't," he replied, reaching out and touching her cheek softly. "And don't you ever be."
She leant into his hand. "Never," she promised.
Lyonel stroked her cheek and then withdrew his hand. "Do you know if your ships are still here?" He asked.
"I believe so, I gave no orders that they should return."
"Good, in that case I want to send the prisoners we've taken so far in the campaign, the wives and children in particular, back to Dargonstone."
"Why so?" Shireen asked. "The supply situation is not so good on Dragonstone that we can feed hundreds more mouths, whatever the supply situation here."
Oh Shireen. Ever the pure one. She would be blessed if it wasn't wartime. "It's not a matter of supplies, well, not as much as the fact that I don't have huge numbers of men here on the point. Every one that is spending their time guarding prisoners is one fewer that I can take to the front line."
"Oh… I see," Shireen sniffed. "Okay, I'll see what ships are available to take them back to Dragonstone with me."
"You're going?" He asked, unable to keep surprise from his voice.
She nodded. "Much as I love you, Lyonel, and wish I could stay by your side forever, this is not my place. I have assured myself of your safety, and now I must play my own part for the war, but I cannot do it here. I must return to mother."
"When will you go?" He asked, hoping that his sadness did not show on his face.
She bit her lip worryingly hard. "In truth, I can find no more excuse to stay. I should make my way back to the docks now."
He nodded. "Stay the night, at least, it's getting late." It wasn't, not really, but it was late enough that the excuse could be accepted by two eager souls.
"Okay, I will. Although," she added, "I don't know if we'll be able to sleep with that racket going on outside."
He smiled. "They won a victory, small as it was, let them celebrate it."
"Well, since you're asking," she replied.
The celebrations didn't die down as darkness fell. Lyonel went out to congratulate his men again before turning in for the night in the requisitioned log house that served as their rooms. Shireen and he sat around the firepit in the middle talking of the old days and the days to come. But there was one serious topic that they broached before the dying embers made them turn in. "Amalia," Shireen asked. "What do you want me to tell her?"
He hadn't wanted to have this conversation, but it was necessary, the two would be living alongside each other again soon enough and Amalia would be able to weasel an answer out of Shireen, better it be an answer he gave her than force her to try and interpret his embarrased mutterings and silences whenver they had discussed it previously.
"Tell her what she told me. Give her my love."
"That's all?" The embers of the fire lit up her body and lower face, growing darker as it crept up to her hairline, with her eyes nearly cast in shadow.
He nodded. "There is nothing else to say. She cannot be my wife, she will never be my queen. My hand is too…" he swallowed, hating the next words he must say, "valuable for that. I can only have one queen, and I must choose wisely. The daughter of an exiled Myrish mercantile family will not suffice. Even in peaceful times it would have been hard, but now," he shook his head. "Impossible. I cannot marry her. Therefore I cannot love her."
"We both know that matters of the heart are not so easily decided by what is politically expedient."
"And yet it must be. House Baratheon is thinned out. Robert left no trueborn children, Renly left no children at all. Our mother is reaching the end of childbearing years even if father was inclined to sire us a sibling. That leaves only you and me, and only I can carry on the Baratheon line. All children I sire must be Baratheons, there cannot be another war caused by bastards, there can't. And I would not deny Amalia the chance to have children of her own if she wished it."
Shireen frowned. "Have you ever discussed it."
Lyonel stabbed at the fire with a bent arrow, the blunted head flickering sparklight. "No. But I've seen her with children."
"And?"
"She's perfect, like she is at anything she puts her mind to."
"Lyonel-" Shireen began.
"What do you want to know, Shireen?" He asked. "Do you want me to say that I love her? That I long for her touch when we are apart and can't bear to be separated from her when we are together. Or perhaps that she meant nothing to me, that she was only a passing fancy to satisfy my lustful desires. Is my shame that I could cast her aside as easily as a set of clothes, or that everything I should feel for my future bride I feel for her?"
"Brother…" she whispered.
"Not tonight," he said, the taste of salt on his lips. "I must sleep now. You know the message I would have you pass to Amalia, and I will speak no more of this while war still rages." He lay down and turned his back to the fire and his sister.
He was not asleep long before he was awoken by the sound of crackling embers and his sister whimpering where she lay. He had heard that before, she was having one of her dreams.
He quickly got to his feet, his cloak falling off him and hurried to her side. Shireen was wrapped in cloaks and blankets of her own. Her day dress hung on a nail on the wall beside her and she was much closer to the fire than he had been. Under her wrappings, she was wriggling, her head tossing and turning as she moaned in distress.
"Shireen," he said, kneeling down by her head. He reached out and touched her brow. She recoiled, but he felt the heat on it. "Shireen," he said again, more firmly.
"No, no no no," he made out through the sounds.
He took her by the shoulders and gently nudged her. "Shireen."
She gasped, her eyes snapping open. "I didn't-" she began, "Lyonel?"
"It's okay, Shireen, it was just a dream," he assured her.
"My ship," she whispered, sitting up, the covers falling off her to reveal her grey nightgown. "The crew, they-"
"Hush now," Lyonel said, touching her shoulder gently. "It was just a dream, no one can hurt you here."
Slowly, her breathing steadied and she made to lay back down. "Get back to sleep Shireen, you have a long day tomorrow."
He was about to get up when long fingers took his own in a gentle grip. "Can you stay?" She asked weakly.
"I'll be just over there," he said, indicating his sleeping position.
"I know but… can you stay?"
Lyonel knew he shouldn't. But he didn't want her to be disturbed again. "Nudge up," he said.
He lay down behind Shireen on the other side of her to the fire, so she was warmed from two sides, and wrapped an arm around her. Instictively, as she had so often before the war, she curled up against him and, just as instinctively, he brought around his other arm so she was fully held in his embrace. "Sleep now," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I'm here."
He was woken again, not much later, but this time by one of his soldiers urgently barging into the house. "Prince Lyonel!"
Lyonel snapped awake, disentangled himself from Shireen, who grogily blinked at the sudden noise. "What is it?" He demanded.
"We have news, My prince," Captain Torne said. "The Lannisters are closing on Pyle castle, the garrison requests urgent support."
The last of the sleep fog cleared and Lyonel recalled his position. Pyle castle was on the edge of his new front line and key to it's defence. If it fell, then all his conquests made since landing would be open to raids and potential reconquest. "How many soldiers man Pyle?"
"It was fifty, but they sent ten out for aid."
Forty men, not nearly enough. "How close are the enemy?"
"The rider said days, when he left."
Curse it all. Lyonel was two days away and the rest of his forces were further and dispsersed. "Rouse the men. Get them in marching order immediately."
The soldier paused. "My Prince, there are only three hundred of us."
Lyonel nodded. Two hundred and seventy archers and thirty knights. The rest he had dispersed to his other fronts. Little more than a bodyguard in the field, but more than enough to man a castle's defences. "And all three hundred are coming with me."
"At once My Prince."
"Lyonel, what's happening?" Shireen asked. She was pulling on her day dress again.
"Pyle Castle is about to be put under siege. It lacks the defenders to hold it, so I must go and reinforce the garrison before the enemy arrives."
"Yourself? You will put yourself under siege?"
"I must," Lyonel said. "If Pyle falls, then our conquests will be exposed, the people whom I have made safe, won to our side with the Commons' Courts, will be endangered."
"And if you are put under siege you will be endangered."
"And?" Lyonel demanded. "If I am not willing to put myself in danger to defend my people, then what kind of king could I ever hope to be? Pyle castle must be held. I am the only one close enough to reinforce it, and I will not send my men to be besieged while I flee. I will not."
He locked eyes with Shireen, her eyes bright with fear for him. And resolve too. "Then I will go as well," she said.
"You can't come with me," he began.
"Not with you Lyonel, I can't help you under siege. I will go and find your other men, the ones spread across these lands and I will bring them as fast as I am able. Every sword and every bow I can find will come to relieve you."
Lyonel wanted to protest. He wanted to send his sister to the ships and safety, but he knew she would never go.
"You know where they are?" He asked.
She nodded. "I've been sending supplies to your units remember, I know where they are. I will go to them, send riders, anything I can to get reinforcements to you."
Lyonel nodded. "Then there's no time to waste."
"You need to prepare," Shireen said, pulling her cloak about her shoulders. "I don't, I can ride at once."
Lyonel grabbed her as she hurried to the door. "Be swift, Shireen, I'll need whoever you can rally."
"You'll get them all." She leant up and kissed him on the lips. He didn't object. "Everyone I can find."
He pulled her back in and kissed her forehead. "I'll hold on for as long as I can."
She nodded and hurried out the door.
He took a breath in the silence, then snatched up his own cloak and bow and called for his armour. There was no time to waste, Pyle castle had to hold.