'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 BARATHEON CRYPTS WEREN'T LIKE THE STARK'S. Yes it was still under ground, but the Baratheon's and past Storm Lords/Kings had different traditions. The Lord's who had died were given a choice, taken out to sea, or become tomb-like where you body was covered in thick cement. Many choose the latter, including Valencia's father. Her body felt hollow when Renly showed her, her father's body. He was still heavy in weight, his stomach wasn't hidden by the cement, yet it somehow seemed larger. His eyes were closed, his legs straight, and his hands crossed over on his stomach, his warhammer sitting in his frozen palms. Valencia could tell Renly had dressed him, he seemed to be in the finest things he could ever own, and even his black hair that had turned grey with the stone had clearly been brushed back. His thick cheeks, and long beard were painted grey, like he was made of glass.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to be," Valencia whispered, her hand sitting on the edge of the concrete slab he laid on, pictures of the storms come and gone were wrapped around the middle. Renly moved close to his niece, his eyes on his eldest brother. "How did he die, truly?" She asked, her dark eyes still locking on her father.
Renly swallowed thickly, "a boar hunt, it was said that he had too much too drink and... well, it was too late," Renly explained, Valencia cranked her neck upwards and took a step forward, closer to her fathers middle. The heels of her boots echoed in the long halls of the crypt.
"He loved you, and even on his death bed he regretted giving you to the Starks," Renly spoke quietly, Valencia nodded her fingers pushing away the thin layer of dust on the slab.
"All my life I looked up to him, and all my life I wanted him to be proud of me, to see just how strong I could be," she remarked.
Renly's gloved hand rested on her shoulder. "You are strong, Valencia. You're the Queen in the North, you command 20,000 Northerners." Valencia shook her head, stepping out from under his grip.
"No, my husband, commands 20,000 men." Her voice turned cold at the reminder of Robb. After their slight argument, he had come to see her off, but neither said a word. She recalled as she rode past him that he looked directly at her, but she didn't spare him a single glance.
Renly smirked as he slinked beside her, "you are the Queen, you have as much power as he does. So a word of advice, dear niece. Take that wolf by that thick fur of his, and make everything he has, yours."
Valencia's lips subconsciously pouted, "the Northern Lords won't like it if I'm in charge, I've just barely gained their respect," she replied.
Renly shook his head, "you lead 2,000 men into a Lannister camp. Youdid, not Robb. You hold the North and South, 20,000 men and other Houses that would fight for you. If I could choose anyone to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I would pick you. You are a strong women, that is something hard to come by. Our ancestors weren't conquerors like the Targareyn's, but do what our ancestors could not," Renly said reaching forward and cupping her cheeks.
