~~~
A HATE OF MARRIAGE
~~~
VALENCIA SOBBED UNCONTROLLABLY. Viciously, she hacked away at her bed post, not caring what anyone would say once they discovered the violent act. She dropped her dagger and grabbed her bed sheets, remembering the way Jon and her laid on them, kissing and laughing. She tore them off the mattress and dumped them in the middle of the room. Next she tore off her underdress, throwing it on top of the sheets, leaving her naked. She went into her wardrobe, grabbing the two dresses she knew Jon loved and tossed them onto the pile before slipping on a night dress so she was clothed.
Angrily, she approached the fire which was blazing as her anger was, she grabbed a hot poker and began stabbing the fiery iron into the pile of clothing, sheets and memories of herself and Jon. Soon enough, the entire thing caught fire, it wasn't large which she was thankful so she could contain it.
"Valencia! What are you doing!?" Lilith's voice wailed as the door slammed shut. Luckily, Lilith had come along with some of the servants, readying her for her bath, each of them held large buckets of water.
Spinning on her heel, Valencia saw the servants frantically throw the water onto the burning mementos, all their faces alight with fear.
"What in the Gods name is wrong with you?!" Snapped Lilith taking a strong hold of Valencia's arm.
"Don't touch me," the Princess snapped, tearing her arm out of her grip and storming passed.
She went to her wardrobe, grabbing a thick cloak and a pair of boots, she threw them off and was out without another word, ignoring Lilith's yells for her. Valencia ran through Winterfell, her destination, the stables. She wanted to leave Winterfell, if not forever, than for a few hours.
Her destrier stood proudly in it's own stable, it neighed in happiness when seeing her. Valencia opened the gate and grabbed her saddle, frantically tying it on before climbing on top. Just as she heard the calls of Lilith, along with her father.
With a quick snap of her reigns, Valencia was free of Winterfell's walls. Racing along the heavy moors, she travelled far from the towers of her future. She couldn't restrain the tears stinging her eyes, though none fell.
Inside, she was screaming, and cursing at Jon. She truly believed he loved her. What he said hurt her, more than any wound could do. For a moment, for the smallest moment, Valencia felt genuine and pure happiness, she believed it was all real. She blamed herself for falling for him, because that was the truth, Valencia loved Jon. But he didn't.
She should have known.
But how could she? Everything he ever did or said was so true and heart felt, but now, even when she tried, she couldn't see any falseness about his actions over the past month. Valencia was blinded by the idea of love, rather than see it as some poisonous snake bite, she dressed it up in horse riding, long summer swims, and curling up by the fire. She had never expected the poison Jon would bite into her with five words.
'I don't care for you.'
It rung through her ears like an explosion would. Deafening her against all sounds, dulling her mind to confusion. A part of her couldn't believe him, after all he said and done with her beforehand, it didn't seem likely. But she never knew Jon to be someone to lie, especially to her. But it seems, maybe he did lie about caring about her, when he truly did not-
Valencia's thoughts were torn apart when suddenly she was flung from her horse, tumbling over it's top and slamming into the ground violently. She felt a sting in her side and body slumped into the moors far from Winterfell.
Pain eradicated through her body, burning and biting all over her skin. She felt a warm flush where her side hurt the most. She hissed as she sat herself up, and her hand instantly gripped her side tightly. She felt the stiffness of something stuck in her side. Grunting, she hooked her hand around it and yanked it free from her dress. Thankfully, it didn't go in, but it scratched the skin deeply.
Valencia clenched her teeth and tossed the stick away, sitting on her calves and cupping her side which was still bleeding. She turned to her horse with tears in her eyes, the massive creature rearing up and causing a fuss. "You stupid horse!" She cried out feeling the stretch of exhaustion of holding in her tears begin to break down. Uncontrollably, she sobbed. Head down, sitting in the wet moors, she cried, spreading dirt onto her nightdress and cheeks.
Jon broke her heart. It was obvious and painful. It felt like a part of her died when he rejected her. She had inexplicably connected to Jon in a way she hadn't with anyone else. She shared her vulnerabilities, her pain, her happiness, and wonder all with him. And how did he repay her? By stabbing her in the back, by betraying her heart.
For now, she hated Jon Snow.
"Valencia!?"
Voices began to echo throughout the open expanse. Looking up, Valencia wiped away her tears, grunting into a stand and approaching her horse. Wincing, she climbed on her horse, still holding her side, she snapped the reigns and pushed the horse into a trot. She knew she would have to return, and even though she hadn't been gone long, she knew girls like herself didn't last long alone, especially when she felt as weak as she did now.
The faint glow of torches in the distant beckoned her closer. "Valencia? Is that you?!" A familiar voice yelled as she came into view of torches and whatnot.
She came into view of the light, and now she saw her father atop his horse with a worried expression on his face. "Valencia, what in Gods name are you doing?" He snapped advancing towards her, grabbing the blanket he had across her lap and skilfully draping around her shoulders.
"I don't want to talk about it."
And so, the two went back to Winterfell, along with the guards. No word was spoken between the father and daughter until Valencia made him swear not to tell anyone about the burning of her things, he promised not to mutter a word.
It wasn't until she was nestled back in her room, clean and calm with a cup of warm milk pressed to her stomach did her father speak up. While she was comfortable under her blankets, her back against the back board and her father seated in a small chair Valencia was surprised he could fit in. He had a horn of beer in his hands, his saggy eyes and gut drooping low.
"What happened, Valencia?" His voice was tired, and the drink had no doubt softened his angered mood. The princess looked at him with trembling lips, despite being calm, her eyes still stung with unshed tears. "Tell me," he urged, meeting her black eyes, searching answers.
Shuddering, Valencia sat her cup of warm milk on her bedside and faced her father once again. A thick swallow slid down her throat. "You don't have to worry about the man I love, we've ended it." Her voice had become shallow and tight, resulting from an attempt of holding back her tears that Jon Snow brought upon her.
King Robert looked at his daughter with a sense of familiarity, a friend from long ago had the same look in her eyes when she revealed she no longer loved a man she had once cared deeply for. It was a look he would never forget, and here was her daughter, seventeen years later becoming an uncanny irony from her mother.
"Valencia-"
"Don't," she cut off looking away from him. "Just...leave him be, and don't question me about it. I know you don't care about my happiness." Her words were meant to cut him, and cut him deep, and they did. Of course Robert cared about her happiness, but her life was more important, he couldn't have her as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not with the Lannister's and their golden smirks waltzing around like little spies.
"I do care about your happiness," he replied putting his horn down and reaching for her arm. Robert wasn't very affectionate, or comforting, but this time was different. This time, Valencia was resembling her mother in a way that pained Robert to see. "But your survival is more important. And this man...it is for the best that you have ended things."
Valencia's bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. "He broke my heart." And much like her heart, her voice cracked and quivered into teary sobs. "That's why I set fire to my things, because he broke my heart."
Robert felt rage course through his warm blood, but he did not act on it. "Robb will be good for you, my child," Robert assured. "He's good, like his father. Us Baratheon's have always needed a Stark to pull our heads in, rather than let out impulsiveness shine through." He stood from the small chair and sat beside her, his weight sinking into the feather bed. "He will treat you right, and you're children-"
"I will not bear his children," Valencia seethed, her teeth pulled together into a grind. "If he dares try to lay with me, I'll kill him myself."
"Valencia-"
"I will not bear Robb Stark's children." Her eyes focused on her father's blue, the whites of her eyes becoming an unnatural dark. It was a promise she made herself in this very moment, she would never give Robb Stark a child, she didn't care if it ruined either of their reputation.
She refused to have a child to the North.
~~~
WEEKS HAD PASSED. And with every passing day, Valencia's wedding came even closer. Since she could remember, it was branded into Valencia's mind that her wedding would be the happiest moment in her life, Valencia believed otherwise.
She called bullshit on all of it.
The Baratheon Princess saw marriage as a cage. A disgusting cage where the man grows and strives, while the woman suffers. If she could, she would slaughter whoever thought arranged marriages were a good idea. If she could, she would murder whoever thought men raping their wives was normal. Or forcing girls, younger than Valencia to marry men double their age, having their womanly parts mutilated by their husbands who have no care for their wife's wellbeing.
She hated the term, 'wed her, bed her, put a child in her.'
If she could, she would kill whoever thought that to be justified. How is a girl of fourteen, dying on the birthing bed justifiable? Valencia had hoped to change this when she became Queen, enforce laws against arranged marriages, girls being raped, dying and being forced against their will to be impregnated with babes. But it seemed, that day would never come.
Valencia hated the world she lived in.
Some days, she would often think that death would be easier than life.
There were such things as good arranged marriages, her betrothed parents were an example. They learned to love one another, and the words they spoke at their wedding ceremony proved to have meaning.
Valencia knew her marriage to Robb Stark would be a friendly one. He did not seem like the cruel type, and Valencia felt the inkling that one day, she would grow to love him, just as his Lord father and Lady mother had done. But the weight of loving another still remained heavy on her shoulders, squashing her spine. She felt guilty, her stomach felt hollow, and her chest felt as if it had been punched over and over again.
It was either guilt, or the dress she was being fit into.
She felt strange, the dress the colour of snow, a sign of purity. But Valencia didn't feel pure, not after the things she had done.
She was in love with another man, she had attempted to lie with that man, she let him steal her first kiss and see her naked before his eyes. She felt like she had been thrown to the dogs. The Valencia that had come to the North had been bitten into, torn apart and spat back out.
It wasn't Jon's fault, she knew that. She cracked her spirit with her own doing.
She stood in her chambers in front of a long mirror, she looked taller in the reflection, though it was due to the large step the seamstress had her stand on. It was one of her last fittings for her wedding dress. And she hated the sight of it.
It was beautiful, but she couldn't stand to see it, for it was a constant reminder of what she was losing; her freedom.
Cersei stood behind the seamstress pointing out things she didn't like or went well with Valencia's body. Young Myrcella sat on one of the stools, playing with her freshly made baby blue gown, while Lilith was talking lightly to Valencia who wasn't listening. All she could do was stare at the mirror in front of her, she was breathless, but not in a good way.
This was her wedding dress, the one she would be promised to Robb in, and she was hating every part of the dress even if it was beautiful.
"Valencia?" Lilith called.
The princess jumped, her eyes flickering away from her reflection and to her handmaiden.
She cleared her throat, "yes?" She said quietly.
"Are you alright?" Lilith asked gently, her voice quiet as Cersei snapped at the seamstress.
Valencia nodded, looking back to her reflection. "It's happening so fast, is all," she admitted.
She saw Lilith nod as she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "you aren't wrong."
The princess swallowed thickly and locked her wide eyes with Lilith, "I do not want this," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a small pang of vulnerability in her throat.
Lilith opened her mouth, wanting to say something. But it was Cersei that cut her off. "I'll have you know, Valencia. That there is no way out of this marriage. How many women have said they didn't want to marry someone they didn't know, and how many have gotten out of it?" Her voice was shaper than a blade, and more bitter than wine.
Valencia held her head high. "I do not intend on stopping the marriage."
Cersei scoffed. "Best you don't then. It would be selfish to put your wants above your fathers wishes, for all we know, he might make you a Waters again. I can only hope he does."
Valencia's eyes grew dark, she straightened herself out, shook off the seamstress and faced Cersei. "My father would never do that," her voice became strong while Cersei merely rolled her eyes.
"You are a dishonourable child, the fact that Robert wanted you on the throne is beyond me. It is shameful that you were raised aside my children," she growled, her words laced with venom.
Valencia glanced to Myrcella who wasn't paying attention, instead twirling in her dress.
The raven-haired girl looked back to Cersei, burning rage hissed through her veins. The poison of hate demanding violence, anger was beginning to crawl up her throat, it's long nails cutting the flesh. "I am ashamed, to be somewhat blood related," she growled. "Your children, are sheep, weak and vulnerable children. They wouldn't last a day without you to hold their hands."
Cersei clenched her jaw. "My children are not sheep, they are lions and stags, like the two Houses they belong to. Which House other than Baratheon do you belong to?"
Valencia sucked in her cheeks, taking a small step off the podium and moving closer to the Queen. "Don't you dare try to and bring the mystery of my mother into this. Whoever she is, I still belong to a prestigious House, and you, you belong to the most hated family in all of Westeros. Do you see who is winning in this situation?"
"You're a spiteful child."
Valencia smiled, a light chuckle rumbling as she glanced to Lilith. "I learnt from the best, such a mother figure you have been, Cersei. Truly."
Cersei's face went aflame, anger as pure as the sun burning. Valencia did not move, her ebony eyes holding Cersei's green ones.
Then, she left without another word, taking Myrcella with her.
Valencia smirked smugly and stood back on the podium, allowing the seamstress to continue.
"You aren't serious are you? Truly she had not been a mother figure to you." Lilith asked, her jaw slackened.
Valencia glanced down and shrugged, "she was, once. But that was long before, Joffrey was born." A wave of nostaglia washed over her, fogging up her mind as she remembered the days of her childhood, back when Cersei considered her to be important enough to give attention to.
But those days were long gone.
~~~
VALENCIA TURNED BITTER. A coldness was settled over herself since her fight with Jon when he lied to her about his true feelings. Her face had turned sour, and she couldn't find a single thing to be happy about. Lilith encouraged her to do things she liked including, riding, fighting, even attempting to draw didn't stimulate a happy thread in her. She was bitter about everything, her wedding gown, the Lords and Lady's attending, the feast, the entire wedding in general. She longed to go home, back to the Red Keep where she remained hidden. She missed the halls, the sky, the ocean, even the stench. She missed her chambers, redecorated especially for her. She enjoyed the North, she loved it, but her home was calling her back to it.
She had attempted to distract herself with Robb's younger sisters, Arya and Sansa, her future sisters by-law. Sansa was a very naive girl, thinking and seeing the best in the world and people. She truly believed that their world was beautiful, and that she wouldn't be damaged by it.
Valencia pitied the child.
Arya was different from Sansa, even the rest of her siblings. She was wild, and unrestricted. Valencia soon realised that she enjoyed Arya's company over Sansa's.
"You may want to aim a little lower," Valencia called out, finding joy in helping Arya with her bow skills.
The two girls stood away from the targets, Valencia watching Arya carefully, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Breathe, don't think to much."
As instructed, Arya adjusted her bow, and took a deep breath before firing.
It hit dead centre and Arya leaped up in victory, grinning like a mad woman. Valencia smiled, as she spoke, "soon enough, you'll be able to hit the target in mere moments." Arya took another arrow with a grin.
"I'm happy you get to marry, Robb and not some prissy cow." Arya announced, looking up to Valencia admirably.
Valencia burst into laughter, "who taught you those words?" She grinned, Arya slung her arm back.
"My brothers."
The Princess shook her head and chuckled, "your brothers are idiots," Arya nodded in a agreement. She shot the arrow straight into the target without Valencia's advice.
"You learn quickly," Valencia said, astonished.
Arya turned to her and shrugged. "I already know how to shoot a bow, I just wanted to see if you were a prissy cow."
Valencia rose into laughter once more, ruffling the younger girls hair. "You could have just spoke me."
Arya shrugged again. "I could have, but I also wanted to see if you could shoot a bow." The youngest Stark daughter knotted another arrow. "My brother, Jon. He likes you, so does Robb, which is funny."
Valencia felt a lump grow in her throat, her jaw becoming tight. "I do not think so, Arya. I hardly know him," she lied, guilt punching her in the stomach.
"He talks about you a lot, only to me of course. If Robb found out he'd skin him." Ayra laughed firing the bow, hitting the centre once again. "He says that you are the most beautiful girl in all of Westeros."
No matter how hard Valencia attempted to hid her blush, it still bit into her cheeks.
"How kind of him," she murmured, trying to sound polite despite the pain burning within her stomach.
Ayra turned to her, "is it true that you've studied other fighting techniques, and languages?" Valencia smiled and nodded, happy to get off the subject. "What about the Dothraki?"
Valencia nodded once again, "I'm terrible at languages, but fighting techniques, I've learned a few things."
"Sansa says they're savages," Ayra said distastefully. "I think they're great warriors with long hair." Valencia laughed at the young Stark.
"You are not wrong about that," she smiled. "You see, the Dothrakia have long braids. And if they lose a fight, their braids will be cut off, to show their shame and defeat." Valencia explained kneeling down to Ayra's height. I read once, that there was a Khal who's hair was so long, it touched the floor from horse back. That he had won so many battles, not a single wisp had ever been trimmed," Valencia smiled as Arya grinned.
"I will never cut my hair." Arya held her chin high.
Valencia laughed and patted her on the shoulder before standing. "Wise choice," she smiled, Ayra grinned back at her before firing another arrow.
Hitting dead centre.