'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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
VALENCIA ONCE THOUGHT THE NORTHERNERS WERE LOUD. That was until she heard the disagreements of her Southern Lords. "I trust no Northerner!" Roared one of her banner men from underneath the bowels of her ship. It had been the end third month of remaining at Storm's End when her ships were finally ready for departure. For to long they had remained seated at Storm's End. But unfortunately, when word rose that herself and her fleet would not be sailing for Dragonstone or Kings Landing, but for the Crag to return to Riverrun, many of her Lord's were quick to word their anger.
They had been travel being travelling for over two weeks headed for the Crag so they could return to Riverrun and regather their forces with the North. They were sailing passed the Shield Islands when a meeting was called, for Valencia knew it was time to discuss the what was to be done about her Lord's disagreement.
Valencia cursed under her breath, the sea was not agreeing with her, and each sway of the boat only made her stomach more uneasy. Her wounds were healing nicely, but a bit delayed since she ripped her stitches out when beheading Elios, but at last she was allowed to drink again.
Multiple Lord's agreed with Lord Payne's outburst of not trusting Northerner's, it almost became deja vu for Valencia, not long ago the Northerner's were saying the same thing.
Most of her Lords had the idea that with the new ships that they would lay siege to Dragonstone, Valencia was tempted none say the least. But she was smarter than that. Dragonstone's cliffs and walls were impregnable, even with double the men she had. Her ships could take down multiple defences, but all it could take was thirty good men, with multiple arrows to slaughter her army. She wasn't thrilled on the thought of her Lord's wanting to lay waste to her army already.
"They do not trust nor like us! Why should we side with them!" Lord Trant screamed, raising his fist high. Valencia leaned back in her chair, her command table in front of her, a large map drawn into the thick table. Her hand was wrapped around a wineskin, bringing the skin to her lips and drinking the wine deeply. Other Lords began to yell, agreeing with Lord Trant. Valencia sighed and shook her head, slowly she stood, the furs of her cloak brushing over her cheeks.
"The relationship between those of the North, and those of the South has always been a rough one. I agree with you, Lord Trant, why should we side with them?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled in achievement.
"Only, we need the numbers. We may have ships which puts us at an advantage, but we only have around 20,000 thousand men. 20,000 men aren't going to take Kings Landing." She leant forward, placing her hands on the table and boring her dark eyes into Lord Trant's.
"No, you're right, Your Grace. But 20,000 men could have taken Dragonstone. Had you not been so cowardly, we could have taken Stannis's army and ships, nestled at Dragonstone and soon sailed for Kings Landing," he snapped, his voice hard and his eyes stern.
