Hello, may I request a prompt? Hugs - Stannis and Shireen. Thank you!
Stannis is watching the storm approach from his solar when he is disturbed by the sound of the door creaking open.
At first he mistakes it for the wind, but that is ridiculous- Durran did not build this keep so any stray breeze could slip inside. Not when it would mean permitting the wrath of the gods to slip in as well.
Stannis believes none of this, of course- this castle was built to withstand a siege, not to defy any gods- but he is disturbed nonetheless. More so when he realizes it is an intruder- his daughter, who seems to have slipped her nurse.
At five, Shireen would have a septa by now, but Selyse insisted she would teach their daughter herself, and Stannis agreed. The last thing he needs is another woman prattling in his ear about the grace and forgiveness o the Seven.
Thankfully, Selyse’s own prayers have been scarce and far between, of late. He could not stand her nagging worries that the gods were punishing them for his lack of faith by depriving them of sons.
If her own faith is slipping as well, all the better. It will be one less thing to argue over. If Robert had to order him married, he might have found a meeker woman.
“You should be abed,” he informs his daughter sternly as she hovers in the doorway. Still, he cannot quite bring himself to glower at the girl.
Shireen is quiet and reserved, unlike her outspoken mother. She will make any man a competent wife, but Stannis avoids thinking of that at all. She is only five. He will not sell his only child to the highest bidder.
“I had a nightmare,” she informs him, tugging at her dark curls.
“About what? Don’t just stand there, enter or leave,” he says, and is oddly relieved when she slips inside the solar, padding across the thick carpet to stand near him, though not quite beside him.
“You and Mother went away and left me,” her soft voice trembles slightly. “And a sea monster ate you up in your ship.”
Shireen is always dreaming of monsters. Maester Cressen blames it on the foreboding architecture of the keep and the foul weather of Dragonstone.
Stannis blames it on the wild tales of servants. If he finds any of them have been poisoning his child’s ears with this filth, he will have them thrown out immediately.
“There are no sea monsters here,” he says. “And why would we sail without you?” He ignores the fact that once something very similar happened to him. He would never leave his daughter behind.
“I don’t know.” She comes a little closer.
“Then you have nothing to fear. I am not going anywhere.” He glances down at her, and cautiously presses his palm to her rumpled hair.
She smiles up at him, then hugs him about the waist, or nearly- she is tall for five, a strong and sturdy child despite her illness as a babe.
Stannis moves his hand to her shoulder, and squeezes it briefly as she embraces him.
