'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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HE WAS THE SPITTING IMAGE OF THEIR FATHER. He was young, younger than Dahlia but roughly the same age as Valencia. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were dark. With every sweep over his face, all Valencia saw was her father when he was younger, a softer side of him however, before he turned large and old. His hair, eyes, jaw and strong cheekbones were a mirror of how their father once looked, minus the thick black beard.
"May we have a moment, Renly?" She questioned, turning back to her uncle. He nodded awkwardly and rose to his feet, Brienne following along with him as they moved to the connecting tent, closing the canvas behind them. Valencia turned to her brother, watching how his dark eyes glanced at her, then his feet. He wore a set of golden armour with a pair of antlers etched into the breast plate. A golden helm was nestled between his elbow and side, un-shielding his Baratheon features.
"You're a bastard," she stated, "who is your mother?"
She watched his eyes grow colder than the sea. "I am no bastard."
Valencia chuckled to herself, stubborn and fierce, just as she was. It must run in the blood, she thought to herself. "Then that makes the two of us," she smirked, raising an eyebrow, smiling at her brother.
Edric soon allowed a smile to appear on his lips, he nodded. "So it does."
"You did not answer my question, who is your mother?"
Edric held his chin high, "I don't know," he responded curtly.
Valencia nodded, smiling to herself as she said. "That makes two of us, but I see my father-" she corrected herself "-our father in you. It's almost like looking at him once more. Only without the beard," her lips spread into a curve, Edric mirrored her.
He snorted a little, rocking on his heels. "But a bit leaner, perhaps?"
Valencia chuckled and nodded.
"Yes, much leaner." She leaned over to the desk, taking hold of the two goblets and the jug of wine. Slipping towards Edric, she passed him a goblet before filling her own and then his with wine. She took a small sip, sighing in relief at the bitter taste warming her tongue.
"Do you enjoy being a squire, Edric?"
He shrugged, "not really. Would anyone enjoy being a squire?" He took a long sip from his goblet, cringing at the taste.
"Don't like the taste, do you?"
Edric shook his head, "I prefer rum, it's not as bitter."
Valencia took another sip, "but much sweeter," she added with a thoughtful nod.
Edric took another sip before setting the wine down, his nostrils inhaling sharply. "What do you want from me?" He asked, crossing his arms over his swelling chest.
