'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 SAT QUIETLY IN HER CHAMBERS. After taking Storm's End as her seat, she had brought herself, as well as her Lords and commanders to remain at Storm's End before the coming battle. A raven had been sent before Valencia went to sleep the previous night. Her uncle and herself would fight outside the walls of Storm's End three days from now, and already, she was itching to slaughter her uncles army.
Valencia would have to call a meeting between herself and the Lords to decipher a battle strategy, though she already had one in mind.
But for now, she wished to remain in her room and watch as the waves crashed onto the cliffs of Storm's End from her balcony.
Astraea was in the large room, changing the sheets of Valencia's bed. The Queen often heard the young woman grumble each time the mattress dropped and would almost catch her fingers against the hard wood.
"Mother fucker." Quietly sneered Astraea, earning an amused smile from Valencia.
The Queen turned to her new handmaiden and smiled, "are you hungry? I'm feeling rather peckish. I think we should feast on quails, they're my favourite."
Astraea bowed, dropping the mattress and spoke with her heavy accent, "I'll get the cooks."
"No, no, no," remarked Valencia, taking hold of the Volantis woman's wrist. "I'll send someone else to, you will be eating with me." Astraea sent her a confused look, no doubt she had been informed that the help do not eat with the highborn, but merely pour more wine and scoop up more of the desired food. Although Valencia did not always allow her servants to dine with her, Astraea was different, she was a woman of many tales and Valenica wanted to hear all of them.
"It may seem a little strange," chuckled Valencia, "but I wish to know you, truly. So, what would you like to eat?"
Once Valencia had another servant to alert the cooks on what she wanted to eat, it wasn't long until herself and Astraea were sitting in the Great Hall feasting on quail as Valencia wished, but Astraea preferred a leg of lamb instead of quail. Neither woman cared that it was morning, their stomachs growled for the beauty of meat.
Astraea feasted like one of Valencia's Northern Lords, grabbing the meat by her hands and biting deep into the flesh. If she was anyone other than herself, Valencia would have kicked her out, but she found humour in Astraea's unladylike behaviour; not that she cared of course. "Tell me, how long have you been in Westeros?"
Astraea tore her gaze from the oily flesh between her teeth. She dropped the leg and wiped the her mouth with the back of her hand. "Nearly a year, Your Grace," she replied pouring herself a hefty goblet of wine.
The two women sat across from each other, not to far of course, but enough space for their food to be littered out between them. "Why did you leave your home."
