'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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THE GODSWOOD SMELT OF DECAYING LEAVES. Thick, blackened trees stood tall. Their leaves sharp as needles, their branches twisted and contorted together. Valencia tried to occupy her mind by telling the trees apart.
Chestnut;
Hawthorn;
Oak.
The others, she couldn't remember. But there was one tree that she knew besides these. The Weirwood tree. She could see the faint candle glow ahead of her, a path of light guiding herself, her father, and Lilith through the Godswood and to the Weirwood tree where Robb and his family already stood.
The Godswood was thick with trees, creating a dense canopy of old humus and moss. The wood smelt of earth, rotting leaves, and moistened air. A strange combination, but it made Valencia feel comfortable as she moved through the forest. Then she saw it, the Weirwood tree, standing tall and brilliant. The five-pointed leaf of blood red was not hard to miss, nor the oak whiter than snow, an almost bone-white. She could see the face that had been carved into the trunks so many centuries ago. Valencia could see the red sap leak from the eyes, making it look as if the tree was weeping. In front of the heart tree, was a small pool of black water. Looming above the black water was moss, a bright green being dulled by the bone-white weirwood tree.
Once they had reached their destination Valencia was hidden from everyone, the lanterns guiding her path. Robert dismissed Lilith, telling her to stand with everyone else.
Lilith moved forward and wrapped her arms around her friend, "good luck," she whispered before leaving her, heading deeper into the Godswood. Valencia exhaled sharply, a cold rush of wind licking her skin.
She looked to her father, he opened his mouth and began speaking. "You must understand, Valencia. There are many things that I cannot tell you, things that will put a risk on your life. I wouldn't be doing this unless it meant it kept you safe. Ever since you were young I promised myself, and you're mother, that you will marry for love and you would never be betrothed. That you would become the Queen as your birthright states, but I couldn't put you at risk, you are the only reminder of happiness that I have. You are my truest firstborn daughter, and I cannot bear to lose you as I lost your mother."
Valencia moved forward and wrapped her arms around her father, she huddled with him just like she did as a child. "I love you, father," she whispered, Robert patted her hair feeling a lump grow in his throat. To him, she was still his little girl, the young girl he had loved since before she was born. He could still see her, sitting in her chair with the Jon Arryn as he questioned her about the Houses of Westeros. Her tiny voice repeating their sigils, words, heirs and the famous ancestors of those houses. She was an intelligent child, and she practised everything to please her father. She even tried to fight with a warhammer to be just like him, but later enjoyed her daggers over the heavy weapon.
