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OURS IS THE FURY
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VALENCIA DREADED THIS DAY, SHE WISH IT HAD NEVER COME. Her wedding. Just the thought made her blood boil, all she wanted to do was leave, run away with Jon like she wanted to. But he turned his back on her, in a moment she most desperately needed him. And he just left, as if everything they had said and done together meant nothing, that her feelings mean nothing, that everything that had occurred in the past two months never mattered to him. It may have been nothing to him, but it was her chance at escape, to prove something, to actually find love. But he left her, and now, she was to marry his brother.
She felt deflated knowing that Jon didn't choose her, despite that she would've chosen him over anything.
It broke her heart in all honesty, and even though they hadn't been together for long she still felt the strong connection between them. Even though Jon tried to cut it, he had merely wounded the long ebony ribbon that was their love.
Violently, Valencia's head snapped back from her place in the tub. She laid in a wooden tub filled with milky lavender essence, the softness of the goats milk soothing her skin, turning it soft and smooth. Her head rested on the edge of the tub, where an elderly woman assigned by Cersei to prepare her for the wedding nastily tugged on her raven ribbons. She was considerably old, with hard hands and no respect for another persons scalp.
As if Valencia wasn't already dreading the wedding, having her hair look a mess wasn't helping either.
Valencia's head was bent back, the old woman ripping at her roots with her boney fingers. The Princess' hands gripped the sides of the wooden tub, trying to stifle her cries of pain.
It was late afternoon, her wedding ceremony mere a few hours away. She was too be cleaned, stitched into her dress, with her hair braided, and her skin needed to glow to a beautiful ivory. She had to look pure when she came before for the Old Gods.
A knock sounded at the door, the old women growled under her breath and stood leaving Valencia's hair. The young girl sat up in the bath and turned around, wanting to know who had come. There were a few harsh words that Valencia couldn't hear, then footsteps headed her way. Her eyes widened and she almost leaped out of the bath seeing Lilith looking to her.
"Lilith!" She beamed, the water splashed as she tried to grab her blanket.
The brunette held up her hands, a gentle smile on her lips. "It's okay, you can stay in there." She glanced to the old woman and excused her, just as Valencia saw a basket full of different coloured flowers in the crook of Lilith's elbow.
"Where have you been?" Valencia asked with genuine concern.
Lilith smirked and held up the basket. "During Theon's rambling he told me of flowers that grew not to far from the castle, I thought you'd like them."
Valencia grinned, "show them to me," her hand outstretched motioning for Lilith to come closer. She did as commanded and revealed the blue flowers to Valencia who began grinning.
"They're perfect, now please, fix what that woman did," she groaned reaching up and touching her ruined hair.
Lilith smirked but it faded once she saw what the woman had done, "Seven Hells, did they expect you to go to the ceremony bald!" She exclaimed seeing all the hair that had been cut off and pulled out.
Valencia scoffed "I think she wanted me to be as bald as she was," she grinned. Lilith laughed and kneeled before the tub trying to fix what the old woman had done.
For the next few hours, Valencia was scrubbed from head to toe, her skin resembling a pretty pink and her skin smelling of lavender. Lilith had pulled out all the perfumes available to them, and Valencia decided on a scent of cinnamon and vanilla, Lilith dabbed lightly behind her ears, wrist and chest. Her long, blackened waves were brushed into a thickness down her back, the curls springing to life before Lilith braided them.
It was stunning once she was done. The front strands were pulled back and braided magnificently, the hair that was above her ears also braided towards the back of her head, the long plaits joining together beautifully. Lilith had tucked in the flowers into the braids, making her hair seem darker than the night sky. The bottom of her thick hair was in flowing curls, the brown tuffs looked soft to the touch. She looked innocent and gentle, and she felt it also.
While she was being cleaned, some of the servants brought in her gown, it shone with bright ivory and white, shimmering with purity. The servants insisted they stitch her into her gown, but Lilith excused them and demanded that only she was to get Valencia ready. The Princess was glad, for there was no one else she wanted to get ready with other than her best friend, who was more like family than anything else.
Her small clothes were all silk, the dress itself was born from ivory and silver satin, the sleeves were tight on her skin, shimmering with wealth as jewels studded her wrists. Her neckline was square with bone structure, elevating her breasts more, making them seem much more desirable. The bodice hugged her tightly, with gemstones lining the edging along her neckline, and her waist before the dress fanned out in lovely waves of thick, full ivory. Then, she stepped into a pair of warm, fuzzy doe-skin slippers that hugged her feet with delicacy. The dress, as beautiful was it was, was aching tight, no doubt from the stitching in the back of the gown, creating a corset-like gown that made her insides feel as if they were being squashed. She felt as if she was being caved in. But it wasn't from the dress, but her own life. These choices that were made for her were weighing her down, trapping her in a box of limited air.
Valencia hated the feeling, the feeling of not being able to breath, to not do as she wanted.
To be controlled.
Then, her maidens cloak was revealed. It was long and full, sporting an emerald green with golden embroidery, on the shoulders was her House's sigil, the black stag rampant on a golden field, a gold crown around its neck, a symbol for the royal family. She eyed it carefully, she knew that she would no longer just be a Baratheon again after tonight. She would be a Stark.
Her families words won't be in complete control anymore.
'Ours is the Fury.'
She will be a Stark, the direwolf as her sigil, Winterfell as her home and their famous words will now be her own.
'Winter is Coming.'
Valencia's hand skimmed down her dress, the tight thing making her want to rip it off and burn it.
Lilith stood beside her, her hair braided in multiple sections atop her head, a forest green gown on her thin body. Lilith fiddled with the metal holding the cloak together, the cold chain skimming Valencia's neck.
Lilith growled in frustration, "this fucking thing is a pain in my arse."
Valencia chuckled softly the jingling of the chain filling the silence.
Silence pursued them, filling the air and allowing the natural noises of Winterfell to creep inside. Valencia could hear the gentle wind blow, the patter of feet on wet soil, frosted with light snow, she could hear the chirping of Winterfell's birds, and the slamming of the blacksmith's hammer. It was a pleasant sound that dulled away tonight events, then a thought came into Valencia's mind.
Tonight was not just her wedding, but what would happen after her wedding feast; the bedding ceremony.
"Do you think he'll consummate the marriage?" Her voice, as hard as she tried prevailed in sounding like a scared young girl, which she was. Valencia knew that Robb was kind, and she knew that he wouldn't force himself on her, but the thought of lying with another man was terrifying, especially all the stories she had heard from other married women.
Lilith took her hands away from Valencia's neck and smiled sadly at her friend. "Yes, he will."
Valencia swallowed and shook off her nerves, "will it hurt?" She asked.
Lilith reached down and grasped Valencia's hand, "only for a little bit, but once the pains gone, it won't hurt as much." Valencia exhaled sharply, her breathing shaky while Lilith continued. "But remember, if he begins to get rough, or harm you in any way. Use my tactic. Threaten his balls." Valencia burst into nervous laughter, just as a knock came at the door.
Lilith answered it and opened it wide, revealing Valencia's father. He had dressed nicely for the occasion, his hair and beard trimmed, his clothes clean and carefully chosen. But he still had the dark bags under his eyes, his shrunken face and tired eyes. But they lit up seeing his beautiful daughter, the girl he had promised to raise and take care of.
~~~BEFORE~~~
THE LEANER KING ROBERT THUNDERED UP THE STAIRS OF THE TOWER. A carcass of a doe in his large hands, his face flushed and his chest puffed, he was trying to reach the birthing chambers as quickly as he could.
The echoed screams of his lover echoed all around him, she was in pain, birthing his child. He feared for her life and also the child's, for his lover's health had never been the best, and merely carrying his child harmed her in more ways than one.
Robert was becoming desperate to find the women he had cared so much about, and the son who was coming into the world. Blood dropped from the doe's neck as he alone climbed the tower taller than stars.
Another blood curdling scream echoed throughout the towers staircase, Robert couldn't understand why she needed to give birth in a chamber so high. Though he knew her family always valued the stars and the strength it gave them. He could hear the shouts of the midwife and maester, he was getting closer, and she was going to give birth.
Robert bursted into the room with a loud bellow of the door, the woman screamed so viciously her voice box began to tear.
She was facing away from him, her knees apart and her back pressed against the wooden board of the large canopy bed. The same bed every person of her bloodline had been born on, it was only suitable that her bastard be born on the same bloodied mattress as those before her. The woman cried hot tears that streamed down her face like a river.
A part of Robert knew she would die giving him a child, he knew of her frail health and seeing her now, with her sickly grey skin, barely open eyes, she wouldn't make it. Every scream, gasp and wail she took were soon to be her last. Robert could only hope she lived long enough to bring their child safely into the world.
Robert sprinted to her side, dropping the doe to the floor, his hands outstretching catching his lovers as she fell back in exhaustion. Her head rolled to the side, her brown eyes looking up at him as she smiled weakly. "Robert..." she whispered, bringing her shaky hand to his face and gently tracing his bearded jaw.
He took her hand in his, kissing the tender flesh, "I'm sorry I'm late."
The mother of his child smiled, "you...you...should be. How...do you think she would feel knowing...you were late to her birth?"
Robert chuckled, stroking her sweaty hair out of her face, his knees digging into the beds soft mattress. "She'd kill me, that is, if it is a girl."
The woman scoffed, "you Lords and your sons," she shook her head turning from him, a pained expression came over her finesse features. "My daughter...will do what I never could," she winced, as if the words were to hard to get out. "She will be a messenger of the Gods. She will be their eyes...and my daughter alone will be the scissors that cuts the string of life. Beginning with my own."
"Don't say that," Robert soothed. "You're not going to die, I won't let you."
The woman chuckled, "you've always wanted what you couldn't have, Robert. Even me, even Lyanna."
Robert frowned, watching as her face contorted in violent pain. "I had Lyanna, but Rhaegar Targaryen took her from me," he growled. Even on the bed of his child's birth, Robert could never swallow the bitter pill that was his Lady Lyanna's death.
The woman chuckled breathlessly, moving from his hands. "She was never yours, Robert. So...wrong...you..are," she grunted out, readjusting her body as another painful cry slipped passed her lips. Robert switched off his feelings for Lyanna at seeing his friend in pain, knowing he caused it by getting her with-child. He was a stupid mistake he knew he'd never be forgiven for, by the Gods, or by her lover...
Robert knew he would certainly never forgive him for taking away the only woman he had ever loved. He had loved her since they first met and the childlike age of fifteen, Robert could still remember that day in the Vale when he saw the gobsmacked expression on his best friends face when he first saw the brown-haired beauty from the South.
The maester looked up from her legs, his eyes worried when he looked between Robert and his friend. Something was wrong.
Robert watched as the maester whispered something in the midwife's ear, her eyes widened to the size of a full moon and quickly moved to where all the masters tools were. Robert snatched his hands over the woman's eyes, shielding her deep purple eyes from seeing the blade the midwife had chosen. "Robert!" Screamed the woman, "what are you doing!?" But he did not move his hand, he even looked away himself when the maester took the knife and lined it up.
Then, his lover let out a blood curdling scream.
"Can't you give her the milk of the poppy!?" Bellowed out Robert, holding a weeping woman in his arms.
The maester shook his head, "if we do, she'll relax and won't be able to give birth." Robert bit his lip and looked to his lover, sweat dripping down her skin.
"Just a little more, just a little more. You're son is almost here," the midwife cooed, the woman choked back her cries and took a deep breath.
Blood spooled out of her legs like a river, staining the bed a horrifying crimson, her back hit the back board in one final cry of pain, then...nothing.
All went silent.
There was no sigh of relief from the woman, there was no squeal of a newborn babe. There was no sound at all.
The midwife dabbed at the brown-haired woman forehead, as she began to notice the absence of a child's cries.
The mother collapsed into Robert's arms, her breaths shallow, as she held onto his arms. Robert looked to the maester who too had grown quiet, he snipped the umbilical cord and pulled the babe from it's mother. He moved to side of the room, gently pushing on the child's chest trying to press life from it, the child didn't even budge.
"What is it?" The woman whispered with exhaustion, Robert held onto her hand his eyes still on the Maester. "Is it girl, like I said? I want to see your face when you see I was right," she laughed, her eyes closed and her head lying on Robert's large arm. Though he did not laugh, or smile, his eyes were wide with grief.
"Maester, what's going on?" He asked with wild eyes, he felt the squeeze of his lovers clammy hands, he looked down seeing she willed herself to open her eyes.
"Robert, what...what is it?"
It was then Robert saw his child.
Wrapped in black lace, the goop of the womb wiped clean off his child's blue, waxy skin. The maester advanced towards the newly-crowned King and his lover, a great sadness over his face as he presented the dead child to them.
"I am so, very sorry, Your Grace. A beautiful girl she could have been," he laid the child in Robert's hands, the King was quick to shield the babe from it's mother.
"Robert," whispered the mother. "Robert, let me see her!"
He got off the bed and held the child to his chest, he couldn't let her go, nor could he look at her. He didn't want to see a blend of his features in her tiny, decayed face. "Robert! Let me see my daughter!" His lover wailed behind him, willing all her strength to scream at him.
He finally looked down at her, and cried at the curve of her face. She looked exactly like him, though more feminine. Her features soft and rounded, already wisps of obsidian hair crowned her round head, and from what Robert could imagine, her eyes would have been blue like his, or perhaps a deep purple like her mothers. He liked to think that they were purple, that if she had survived apart of her mother remained within her. But his daughter was not alive, she perished, and was soon to be reunited with her mother.
He heard the midwife praying to the Gods, as well as the maester who were whispering things to their Gods to bring back the life of his child. Though Robert, now more than ever did not believe in the Gods. If they were real, why take his innocent daughter?
He then heard the choked sobs of his lover, he turned his head and sawing her collapsing on the bed, her breathing barely alive but yet she allowed herself to grieve. Robert felt selfish for not denying her the chance to see her daughter, but he didn't want her final memory of her life to see her daughters face starring back up at her, only for the child never to blink or smile or laugh.
As Robert looked back to his child, a thunderous boom hit the towers roof, the windows slammed open smacking into the stone walls as heavy winds and drops of rain the size of saucepans spilled into the room. Robert shielded his child, burying her into his neck. The smell of the sea flew in, the salty smell stinging their nostrils. A loud clap of thunder slammed against the roof, rain pouring down in buckets.
Robert could just see the Red Mountains in the distance.
The maester and midwife ran to the windows, frantically shutting them, the wind and rain halted.
The woman on the bed remained sobbing loudly, not fazed by the sudden rush of weather. Turning to his child to make sure she was untouched, Robert saw the glistening of rain on her purple cheeks, for a moment, she didn't look as waxy. Gently, he laid his hand on top of her head, stroking her soft curls...then, something miraculous happened.
It scared Robert half to death he nearly dropped the babe.
For she began to wriggle.
Then she let out a scream, mirroring her mothers.
Her large eyes opening and staring at her father, her tiny lungs creating a devastating wail. Despite her screams, Robert laughed, a grin on his lips as he turned to the maester, the midwife and his lover. For his child was alive.
"She has been blessed by the gods," the midwife cried out in complete happiness. "The Gods once spoke of a child, born asleep only to be reborn when the calling of her heritage comes. A true Princess of the Storm!"
His daughter had seised her cries, and instead wriggled inside the black blankets, her eyes wide open and a deep purple they almost looked black. Robert grinned in happiness, approaching the mother, her eyes wide with shock. Robert looked down to the small baby, uncovering her face, bringing her down to show her to her mother.
The woman chuckled beside him, seeing her daughters soft face, "she is Baratheon" she whispered softly, "it's in the face. But those eyes...those eyes are mine." She smiled weakly, reaching over and tracing her fingers across the baby's cheeks.
Robert smiled feeling his daughter move in his arms, he leant down and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead before handing her to her mother. The woman cradled her gently, but her arms were beginning to go limp.
"Promise me she won't be like the others, promise me, Robert." She heaved, "don't betray her, never...ever...betray our daughter. She...is better...than that."
Love consumed him, looking down into his daughters dark eyes barely even open. Her plump cheeks and lips covered in drool, her tiny fists holding onto the blanket, scurrying around.
"Protect her...please protect her...and don't tell her of me...I don't want her remembering a sickly woman...like...me..."
Robert glanced to his daughters mother, his swell of happiness soon vanishing. He wanted to disagree with her, but the sight of her turned his heart.
What terrified him was her sickly pale skin had grown even more sickly, her hair although sweaty was loosing it's colour and the light in her eyes were fading. His eyes grew wide as he pressed a hand on her chest, she didn't even flinch. Her eyes didn't blink, the faintest smile on her lips slowly fading. He felt no beating heart, then his panic began to settle in.
He screamed her name, shaking her with his free hand while taking his daughter from her limp arms. The maester noticed the woman's stillness and jumped in instantly, trying to revive her as he ordered the midwife to escort Robert and the child out of the room.
It was with that last glimpse of his old friend did Robert make a promise to himself.
That one day, their daughter would rule the Seven Kingdoms.
And that she would never know who her mother was.
~~~NOW~~~
ROBERT SWALLOWED THE THICK LUMP IN HIS THROAT. He never enjoyed remembering he mother of his favourite child, his true firstborn, the only bastard he ever truly acknowledged after his daughter in the Eyrie. His darling Valencia, named after what her mother chose. He kept his promise and never told Valencia of her mother, he protected her as best as he could, and thought Valencia couldn't see it. Sending her to Winterfell and having her stay there were the best options possible.
He knew what Cersei was capable of behind those emerald eyes and false smiles.
He knew she'd stop at nothing to see Joffrey on the throne. And Robert wouldn't allow Valencia to be on the receiving end of Cersei's schemes.
He watched Valencia smile nervously, she looked beautiful, though he regretted she had to marry a stranger. But Robb Stark was a good man, like his father, Robert knew he was giving his child away to the right man.
"You look beautiful, my daughter. So much like your mother," he said gently. Valencia returned the smile, kindly thanking him.
Tonight would be the last night they would dine together, he was leaving tomorrow, heading back to Kings Landing with Ned Stark. He had been away too long and was needed back in Kings Landing, something that pained not only Valencia, but Robert himself.
It would be so long before she saw her father again.
Robert lifted his arm and Valencia took it, Lilith went behind Valencia and picked up her trail as they began walking to the godswood.
Where her fate was to be sealed. Forever.