'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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WITH THE HEAVY CLINK OF HIS CHAIN, MAESTER LUWIN SAT DOWN. "My Lord, my Lady," greeted the maester, his usual kind smile adorned his withered face. Robb sat between Luwin and Valencia, the Lord of Winterfell dressed in boiled leather and his wolf fur cloak. Valencia also wore her cloak, but her dress was the black and silver one Robb had bought her a few days prior.
They sat at the high table in the Great Hall, for word had arrived that Tyrion Lannister arrived in Winterfell along with a man of the Night's Watch. For Tyrion, now was the worst time to come to the home of wolves. Within moments Tyrion was standing before them, his expression showing clear confusion due to the colder welcome he received. "Valencia, wonderful to see you again. Marriage becomes of you," he smiled.
She nodded returning the smile, "thank you, Tyrion. It is good to see you also."
He nodded as his eyes drifted towards Robb, noticing the young Lord's set jaw and harsh eyes. "I must say, I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit," Valencia exhaled gently and glanced to Robb, annoyed at his 'courtesies'. Robb's jaw was locked tighter and Valencia wasn't the only one who noticed.
"Any man of the Nights Watch is welcome at Winterfell," Robb replied curly.
The man who accompanied Tyrion bowed his head for Robb.
"Any man if the Nights Watch, but I, eh, boy?" Tyrion said eyeing Robb.
The Lord's teeth clenched even harder, his eyes narrowed into blackened slits. It was disturbing to see Robb so angry, for Valencia hadn't yet experienced his anger. "I'm not your boy, Lannister," spat Robb, his voice filled with poison. Valencia looked to him, her own jaw hard and her eyes black.
Her look said it all. He needed to stop before he let his anger get the best of him.
Robb cleared his voice and looked back to Tyrion. "I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father is away."
"Then you might learn a lords courtesy," Tyrion retorted cooly, while the half-giant Hodor stumbled in, carrying a crippled Bran in his arms. The boy's eyes were cold, his lips curled into a sneer. "So it's true," Tyrion announced with wide, pity-pity-striken eyes. Hodor passed beside him. "Hello Bran," Tyrion called, arching his neck to meet Bran's eyes. "Do you remember anything about what happened?" Tyrion asked.
Maester Luwin spoke, "he has no memory of that day."
Tyrion arched a brow. "Curious."
Shifting in her seat, Valencia leaned forward. "Why are you here, Tyrion?" The small Lannister did not respond, instead, he focused directly on Bran.
"Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is begging to hurt."
"Kneel, Hodor," Bran ordered, his voice turning soft. Hodor did as commanded and kneeled down, propping Bran on his knee.
