'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 HATED LONG JOURNEYS. Even as a child, she couldn't remain still in a place for long, whether it by carriage, horseback or ship, she hated travelling. The bumpy roads, the sickness that would grace her from the rapid motion, and how after hours of riding her legs would become stiff, her back sore and her attitude grumpy. She found it rather strange on how her father used to love riding from place to place, travel and enjoy anything that meant leaving Storm's End or Kings Landing, whereas Valencia despised it. In truth, she had wished to travel all over Westeros and beyond, but the off-putting thing about it was the lengthy travel. Boats made her feel sick, riding made her sore, and carriages made her claustrophobic. Perhaps that was why she had insisted Lord Umber find the quickest route to Oxcross, and he certainly had. It was a three day ride and relatively safe, but it was best to keep an eye out for robbers.
But as the third day arose, Valencia was met with no robbers, past or future. And she was safely escorted into the large Northmen camp untouched, at least not physically.
It was a joyful sight to her eyes, the dark that enveloped the area, the faint slither of snow beneath her boots and the chill in the air. She felt at home for a moment, like she had returned to Winterfell and was greeted by her bannermen. They had not thought much of her once, but now, they dropped to the knee at the sight of her.
She had opted for a black doublet, slick with silver embroidery that resembled vines, black leather pants, that were tucked into her grey boots. Her slightly shorter hair brushed out and hanging freely, waving in the air. Her crown was all that kept it from falling into her face, the golden and green metal weaving across behind her head and extending into antlers.
She felt proud of her achievements, the army she won over, the ships she had built, and the respect she had earned from Northerners and Southerners alike. But despite her wins, her newfound discovery still plagued her mind in such a way she had barely spoken to Lilith and asked her to ride with the 5,000 men she had brought with her. Lilith didn't seem impressed, but she rode back while Dacey Mormont and Astraea rode alongside the Queen of the North and South.
Even though her pride had increased, and her power had doubled, that was all swept away the moment she entered the command tent and found her husband's soothing blue eyes.
At first, Valencia felt the cool sweep of air behind her, pushing her hair in a way that would make any man swoon.
Robb Stark had changed much since she had last seen him.
His once stubble had turned into a thick beard, darker than its usual red. His hair, longer and curlier. His body seemed much more larger, his armour still the same but bulging with his muscles. His face seemed sterner, dark bags underneath his eyes, his lips pulled back with no colour but what struck out the most was how tired he looked.
