'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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A STEEL TIPPED ARROW FLEW FROM VALENCIA'S HAND. She stood in the training yard, the dirt dry beneath her feet, a gentle breeze in the wind and the simple scent of pine and smoke filtrating her senses. Beside her was Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands and by far the biggest piece of shit in Westeros so far. Or so Valencia believed.
When she was a mere child, Balon decided that he would attempt to become King of the Iron Islands, his puny rebellion was crushed beneath her father which also took him from home for several months. Leaving her alone with Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, and an infant Tommen. Since she was a babe herself, Valencia survived her family because of her father, he loved and dotted on her, even more than his other children. He would often present her with gifts which were originally fine dresses, comfy shoes, furs, jewels, and toys, but as she grew so did her maturity. By the age of seven, Valencia was learning to swing a sword while Joffrey pouted behind the racks of shields.
But when her father left to fight off Balon Greyjoy, Valencia was left at the mercy of Cersei who stripped her of her weapons and forced her to learn with Myrcella and her Septa. Valencia hated it, from the sowing, the curtsying, and not to mention the singing, the Princess couldn't hold a tune to save her own life. The only way of escape was Jon Arryn, who had usually stayed behind whenever her father left to run the kingdom as he always did. His lessons on strategy, patience, and wisdom inspired Valencia to want to be her father's heir, despite being a bastard.
"Ah! Missed!" Laughed Theon, pointing at the target, his lips pulled into a wide grin. "My turn."
Valencia handed him the bow and threw her hands on the hips. "I haven't practised in a while," she defended with a smile. "So the odds aren't exactly even." Theon laughed even louder, taking up his stance.
His arrow fired just as maester Luwin tapped the table, pointing at the map of Westeros. Young Bran sat beside him, grumpy and irritated as he looked on at Valencia and Theon who were happily shooting their bows.
More than once Valencia had caught him glaring at both of them.
"The Iron Islands," Bran grumbled. "Sigil - a Kraken. Words - We do not sow."
"Lords?"
Bran's sighed. "The Greyjoy's."
Theon turned around, grinning as he did so. "Famed for their skills at archery, navigation, and lovemaking."
Valencia scoffed, grabbing another arrow. "Don't forget the failed rebellions," she snorted aiming her bow and firing, hitting just outside the centre. Maester Luwin chuckled and tapped the map again. Valencia took a few steps forward, wanting see where his stick had landed. She smiled seeing her ancestral seat of Storms End. "You better know this one, Bran. Or I will be offended," she beamed earning a small smile from Bran's bored expression.
