'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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VALENCIA PLAYED WITH THE HEM OF HER CLOAK AS ROBB SPOKE. From inside his command tent, a Lannister scout was being held roughly in front of Robb. It was Ser Cleos Frey, son to Tywin Lannister's sister and son of Emmon of House Frey.
He was no lion, Valencia whispered to herself, looking down at the whimsy boy with his thin, straw hair. His mother may be a lion, but he was just some whimpering boy who cried at the feet of Grey Wind merely an hour before. "You're Ser Alton Lannister?" Robb spoke. All the other Lords, including Catelyn and Lilith were present. Cleos Lannister standing before them, sweating like a bitch in heat, with a nervous look in his eyes.
"I am, your Grace," he said with a curt nod.
Much to Valencia's displeasure, Robb spoke next. "I offer your cousins peace if they meet my terms," his voice turned low, the thick crown nestled atop his head. It was freshly forged, moulded from hard steel to resemble the crown that belonged to the Kings of Winter. It was an open circlet of hammered bronze, incised with runes that belonged to the Old Gods and the First Men. Iron spikes wrapped around his auburn mop of hair, and despite it indeed being a crown, there was no gold, nor jewels, or gemstones, just plain iron and bronze.
With his new crown, Robb looked older than he was, a beard had grown into his boyish features, all softness had melted like ice in the sun, leaving the cold stone that had become of his handsome features.
Valencia noticed how he constantly shifted the crown around his head, she had to restrain from scoffing at his discomfort, every King should know that being King would not be easy. Valencia knew this from all the times she had sat on the Iron Throne. She had lost count on how many cuts she received from that blasted chair, and the constant bruising on her behind was a reminder the burden that becoming Queen would bring.
She was warned, she was harmed, but still. She persisted.
"First, your family must release my sisters. Second, my father's bones must be returned to us so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts beneath Winterfell. And the remains of all those who died in his service must also be returned. Their families can honour them with proper funerals." Robb demanded, his blue eyes narrowed.
"An honourable request, Your Grace," Cleos replied with a nod, his voice quiet.
"Third, Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claim to dominion of the North. From this time, till the end of time, we are a free and independent kingdom." Cleos' eyes widened, the cuts on his face expanding causing him to wince gently.
"The King in the North," a few of the Northern Lord's announced.
Valencia didn't dare speak the words, having no need or care for them.
When Robb was crowned King, no glance was given to her, nor was she crowned as his Queen. All her hard work to earn the respect of her Lord's was wasted on Robb's moment. She was jealous, overly jealous of how easily Robb won his Kingship when he had only won one battle, nor did he lead the vanguard against over 30,000 men with only 2,000. Robb did not fight her battle, instead he fought with his thick calvary surrounded by his fifty or so guard while Valencia had merely thirty.
