'When you play the Game of Thrones,
You win.
Or you die.
There is no middle ground.'
In which the Princess of the Storm is spun into a whirlwind of chaotic events, all beginning with a single choice to choose Lord Eddard Stark as the new Hang to the...
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IT HAD BEEN WELL OVER A YEAR NOW. A year had passed since the Starks, Umbers, Mormonts, Karstarks, Boltons, and many other Northern Houses had marched South. Each day they pressed on, moving closer and closer to Kings Landing, but moving father and farther from the North. Despite the growing chill in the air, Valencia could already begin to feel the heat of the South. She didn't miss it, that was for sure.
During that year, two battles had been fought, including the battle at the Whispering Wood, and the siege to Riverrun. And no matter how hard Robb attempted to hide it from Valencia, she could tell he was becoming rather snobbish about it. Valencia understood that he was young and determined, but she prayed that he wouldn't get in over his head and start imagining himself as a conqueror.
He was no Aegon Targaryen.
It wasn't just the battles that he had let get to him, but his new title as the King in the North was something that was always evident in his mind.
And despite the length between his crowning and now, it still angered Valencia to the point she couldn't even bare to look at him. Sometimes, in the depths of night she would look upon him with the deepest amounts of hatred. She hated what he did, she hated that he had become King. In truth, Valencia was Queen, but she didn't hold the same power as Robb. The twenty thousand Northerner's and strength of the Riverlands weren't hers to command, they were Robb's.
Because of this newfound hate, Valencia avoided him. She would purposely go on long hunts, rides, or drink with Lilith in the older girls tent before returning to Robb late in the night. She knew that Robb wondered what she had been doing, but he never questioned. She was aware he was becoming frustrated, in the war, his want to go home, and his craving for her. She could tell Robb was becoming more restless whenever it came to sexual encounters with his wife, considering he had become much more handsy as of late, and more than once she had noticed him pleasing himself whenever she'd turned him down. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off her, nor his lips. But Valencia would hold back, not allowing for him to undress her, or undress himself. There was no sexual frustration on her part, for she no longer wanted to lay with Robb as she previously had.
And the want for a child had disappeared completely.
Valencia no longer cared for Robb, or the North, or the Stark's in general. Robb had hurt her, even if it wasn't his choice, but he did. He promised her the Seven Kingdoms, only to tear the North out from under her. And for that broken promise, she broke all of hers.
Her hate for him had grown so strong, that at night, when she would look upon his face, she would clutch Thunder so tightly in her hand her fingers ached. She wanted him dead for what he had done, Queen of the Six Kingdoms certainly didn't have a ring to it.
But from avoiding Robb, and Lilith training even more than usual; Valencia felt alone.
Most of the time, it felt like her only friend was the grey and white direwolf, Grey Wind. He wasn't as comfortable around her as Ghost was, but he still acted relaxed with Valencia.
