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STORM KINGS
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THE BARATHEON CRYPTS WEREN'T LIKE THE STARK'S. Yes it was still under ground, but the Baratheon's and past Storm Lords/Kings had different traditions. The Lord's who had died were given a choice, taken out to sea, or become tomb-like where you body was covered in thick cement. Many choose the latter, including Valencia's father.
Her body felt hollow when Renly showed her, her father's body. He was still heavy in weight, his stomach wasn't hidden by the cement, yet it somehow seemed larger. His eyes were closed, his legs straight, and his hands crossed over on his stomach, his warhammer sitting in his frozen palms. Valencia could tell Renly had dressed him, he seemed to be in the finest things he could ever own, and even his black hair that had turned grey with the stone had clearly been brushed back. His thick cheeks, and long beard were painted grey, like he was made of glass.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to be," Valencia whispered, her hand sitting on the edge of the concrete slab he laid on, pictures of the storms come and gone were wrapped around the middle. Renly moved close to his niece, his eyes on his eldest brother. "How did he die, truly?" She asked, her dark eyes still locking on her father.
Renly swallowed thickly, "a boar hunt, it was said that he had too much too drink and... well, it was too late," Renly explained, Valencia cranked her neck upwards and took a step forward, closer to her fathers middle. The heels of her boots echoed in the long halls of the crypt.
"He loved you, and even on his death bed he regretted giving you to the Starks," Renly spoke quietly, Valencia nodded her fingers pushing away the thin layer of dust on the slab.
"All my life I looked up to him, and all my life I wanted him to be proud of me, to see just how strong I could be," she remarked.
Renly's gloved hand rested on her shoulder. "You are strong, Valencia. You're the Queen in the North, you command 20,000 Northerners." Valencia shook her head, stepping out from under his grip.
"No, my husband, commands 20,000 men." Her voice turned cold at the reminder of Robb. After their slight argument, he had come to see her off, but neither said a word. She recalled as she rode past him that he looked directly at her, but she didn't spare him a single glance.
Renly smirked as he slinked beside her, "you are the Queen, you have as much power as he does. So a word of advice, dear niece. Take that wolf by that thick fur of his, and make everything he has, yours."
Valencia's lips subconsciously pouted, "the Northern Lords won't like it if I'm in charge, I've just barely gained their respect," she replied.
Renly shook his head, "you lead 2,000 men into a Lannister camp. You did, not Robb. You hold the North and South, 20,000 men and other Houses that would fight for you. If I could choose anyone to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I would pick you. You are a strong women, that is something hard to come by. Our ancestors weren't conquerors like the Targareyn's, but do what our ancestors could not," Renly said reaching forward and cupping her cheeks.
"Conquer the Seven Kingdoms, Valencia."
~~~
FOR HOURS VALENCIA WONDERED AROUND THE KEEP. Renly's words remained in her head, 'conquer the Seven Kingdoms'. Her ancestors might not have been true Targaryens, but her father ended that dynasty and rose to become King, perhaps she could do the same.
After wandering around Storms End, she left for the camps outside the walls and over a few hills. Renly preferred to have the camp away from the Keep, knowing that their presence would disrupt many of the people who already lived there.
She rode back to the camp, her tongue dry for some wine and her fingers sore from riding, not to mention her feet had begun to cramp.
When she found her side of the Baratheon camp, she had a large grey canvas pavilion already set up for her. It was exactly like her pavilion with Robb, only this time she would be alone. Inside was a bed, a drawing table, and a wash basin. Surrounding her pavilion were tents for her guards, along with Catelyn's who's matched Valencia's.
Dacey Mormont and another guard stood outside Valencia's tent, their shoulders back and their eyes ready for any danger. "Good evening, Dacey," Valencia spoke with a smile.
"Your Grace," Dacey replied, bowing her head. "These Southerners are rather strange." Valencia burst into laugher.
"Believe me, they think the same about you," she grinned. "When are you finished at your post?" She questioned, wanting a round two at trying to outdrink Lady Mormont.
"Not for another hour or so, Your Grace."
Valencia tsked. "Well, when you're done, feel free to come into my tent. I'd like to get very drunk tonight."
"I will try and remember, Your Grace," laughed Dacey as Valencia slid into her tent.
Only thing was, she wasn't alone.
A woman stood in the room, her back facing Valencia as she faced the warm fire pit in the middle of the room. Valencia immediately tensed. "Who are you?" She growled, taking hold of Lightning at her hip, preparing to defend herself.
Then, the girl turned around. She could have been the most beautiful woman Valencia had ever seen, if only this wasn't her first time seeing her. Long flowing black curls, pale skin, and brown eyes. Her lips were pink and plump, her nose strong and soft, her eyebrows thick and disciplined. She wore a bright blue gown with white silk, and a headband of blue with white flowers. She had never seen someone look so innocent, so pure.
"Hello Valencia," she smiled with perfectly set white teeth. "Or should I say, Your Grace?"
Excitement ran warm through Valencia, her muscles jumping for joy, her eyes widening and her smile as radiant as the sun. "Dahlia!" She exclaimed, lurching forward and wrapping her arms around her old friend's neck.
Dahlia smiled hugging her back, glad to see a friendly face once more.
Valencia pulled back and beamed, "dear, sister."
The girl was Dahlia of House Connington, and Valencia's half-sister. Her mother was Alynne of House Connington, and her father was Robert of House Baratheon.
House Connington, once a noble House of great importance during the Targaryen reign. Their Lord, Jon Connington was Hand of the King before King Aerys was killed. When Jon had lost the battle of the Stoney Sept, King Aerys stripped him of his lands and titles and sent him into exile across the Narrow Sea, where he supposedly drunk himself to an early grave. It was no longer a Lordly House, just one filled with Knight's now. But out of this shameful House came the bright, kind, and warm Dahlia, a bastard in secret.
Dahlia was a kind and gentle girl, she had no skill in fighting, or knowledge of battle plans or politics. She admittedly was naive, but sweet, and generous despite her older age. She was almost twenty years of age, much older than Valencia who stood at seventeen. It seemed ludicrous that a woman such as herself could be so naive. She looked for the best in the world, and people. Call her stupid, or child-like for refusing to see the horrors one could do to another, but she rejected anything that would change her mind. She was born and raised in Griffin's Roost to a Alynne of House Connington. It was kept a secret that she was a bastard of Robert Baratheon, and was named the child of her mother's Lord husband.
But when Dahlia was a mere babe, her mother's husband died of a long fever, a sickness taking him long before his time. Though after his death, and her mother never remarrying, it was viewed that the secret shouldn't be kept from Dahlia. And thus, she was revealed to her true heritage, and after continuous consultation to her mother, she was allowed to venture into Kings Landing. However, she was under strict orders not to mention a word about Robert being her real father, her mother Alynne was not stupid enough to not see the wickedness behind Cersei's emerald eyes when it came to Robert's bastards.
But even though she didn't truly meet her father, she was lucky enough to meet Valencia. Though she did not reveal her truth until a few weeks of the girls gallivanting about through the castle. Valencia had never smiled as bright as she did that day. For she had a sister, a true sister who looked much like herself, unlike Joffrey and his own siblings.
Neither sister would have even though their reunion would be outside Storms End in the middle of a war. But, the Gods are strange and cryptic.
Valencia smirked and looped her arm through Dahlia's, beginning to guide her through the Keep. "You and I have much to catch up on."
Sitting her sister down, Valencia grabbed two goblets of wine and filled them to the brim before setting herself beside Dahlia, a sense of warm familiarity running like horses through her veins.
And so, the two sisters spoke in high voices, as if they were fourteen again, whispering about the handsome Knights moving through the castle. Dahlia had always liked the tall ones, strong, and stubborn, whereas Valencia enjoyed the men with a slight softness to him.
They were complete opposites, while Dahlia was soft, she enjoyed hard men. And Valencia who was undoubtedly quite firm, she adored men with an immense gentle side. Perhaps that's why she fell for Jon Snow so quickly.
She shook the thought of her previous lover from her mind and turned to her sister. "You should go to the crypts," Dahlia already wide doe-eyes expanded even further.
"I-I don't think that's t-the best I-I-idea," she squirmed, her face flushed from the effects of the wine.
The Queen snorted, "and why is that?"
"He didn't even know I was real," she whispered, a twang of sadness softening her warm vocals.
Valencia inhaled, gently resting her hand on her sisters shoulder. "Our father had too many children to count, I think if it had not been for my mother, he would have forgotten of me also. But I'm sure if the tables were reversed, he would love you just the same."
Dahlia squirmed, her fingers tearing at her nail beds. Valencia smiled a little at the similarities between the two. The insistent moving, the nervous picking and not to mention the memorable diverting of the eyes. Though they shared similar features, their connection went much further than just looks.
"I don't know, Valencia."
The Queen shot her a look. "You'll never know, unless you go down there. Wouldn't you like to see your father one last time?" Dahlia didn't respond, but she kept her head down allowing for Valencia to continue. "You and I will go tomorrow morning, no ifs, no buts. We are going."
~~~
VALENCIA FOUND HERSELF ONCE AGAIN IN THE CRYPTS OF STORMS END. She had done as promised and brought Dahlia down into the crypts, the darling woman frightened out of her mind surrounded by the death. Today, Dahlia wore a fine gown of light grey that brightened her pale skin. Her long locks had been left in loose waves travelling down her back, but her beauty could not restrain the look of fear when Dahlia looked upon their father's dead body.
Her eyes grew wide and her breathing erratic as she approached his tomb. She began shaking her head, pushing Valencia back so she wouldn't have to go forth.
"No, I don't like this. He never even knew I existed," Dahlia exclaimed, her voice becoming high with fear. Valencia grabbed her hand, hushing her sister as she slowly moved closer.
"He will," she soothed, as they approached. "He's watching us, right now. And he sees you."
Dahlia looked to Valencia with frightened eyes, Valencia smiled gently and placed her sisters hand on the dusty stone bench their father lied on. "It's okay, you don't need to be afraid," she spoke softly, but fear still churned in Dahlia as her eyes looked upon her fathers face. But slowly she made her way over to him and laid her palm over his hand, it was cold and rough against her soft skin.
"I wish I could have met him," whispered Dahlia tracing the curves of their father's legendary warhammer. "I wish my mother had allowed me to do so."
For what seemed to be hours, the two sisters remained beneath the crypts grieving for their beloved father. Until, Valencia spoke. "Have you met anyone else, anymore of our brothers and sisters?" Valencia asked, watching Dahlia.
Valencia knew of her father's many bastards, his first being a child born in the Vale, a daughter that Valencia assumed she'd never met. But she also kew of the bastards littering the South, herself being one of them, and she also knew she had a brother in Storms End, though she had never met him.
The older girl nodded, taking her hand away and turning to face her. "There is another, Edric Storm. He's Renly's squire," she explained, clasping her hands in front of her.
"Anymore?" Valencia questioned, tilting her head to the side.
Dahlia shook her head. "No, none. And the ones in Kings Landing..." she trailed off, her head lowering and her gaze turning to the floor.
Valencia frowned, "what happened in Kings Landing?"
Dahlia bit her bottom lip with discomfort, her nails picking at their beds. "They were murdered, all of them. Not just the men and women...but the children, and the babes. Slaughtered like sheep."
Tears had prickled in Dahlia's eyes, her bottom lip trembling as her breathing grew uneven. Valencia moved over to Dahlia, she reached out and embraced her sister. The older girl sobbed, burying her cheek in Valencia's shoulders. "When I received word, I traveled here from Griffin's Roost as fast as I could," her voice trembled. Valencia stroked her hair at the back, comforting her sister.
Valencia pulled away, her hands on Dahlia's cheeks, her eyes made of steel. "Do not weep, Dahlia. Tears won't bring our brothers and sisters from the dead." Dahlia swallowed thickly, attempting to subdue her tears.
Valencia licked her lips and pulled away, "who gave the order?"
"Cersei."
Anger coursed through Valencia's veins like barbed wire, hate burning inside her eyes. She swallowed thickly. "Then we will destroy her."
Dahlia frowned, tears still escaping her eyes. "How?"
The Queen inhaled sharply, even she was unsure of how she was to destroy Cersei for the pain she had caused Valencia.
"I do not know, but we have to win this war first," the lights in Valencia's head began turning, an idea beginning to work it's way inside her mind.
"You have a plan, don't you?" Dahlia asked.
Valencia nodded and glanced to her father, "I do, but we cannot speak of it here. Go, get some rest. I'll speak with you tomorrow."
~~~
BRIENNE OF TARTH WAS A HARD FUCKER. Waking up in the early light, dressing in her usual attire of black pants, a tunic with a black doublet, and cloak, she came face-to-face with Brienne of Tarth, the beast of the woman was so tall Valencia had to completely tilt her chin upwards to met her pale blue eyes. They exchanged a few words before Brienne noticed the shimmer of Valencia's daggers.
"Small, aren't they?" She remarked.
Valencia smirked. "Do you want to put them to use?"
And thus, the two broke out into a dangerous sparring lesson. Valencia herself without Brienne was quite small, and not to mention lean, whereas this woman from Tarth towered over in height and size. But Brienne was loud, when Valencia was quiet and small. And while Brienne used her weight to her advantage, Valencia used her's too.
Brienne brought her sword down violently, Valencia holding Lightning and Thunder up and blocking the blow. The women from Tarth pressed down on Valencia, the young girls knees bending awkwardly as she held her arms up. She gritted her teeth, pushing against Brienne, the muscles in her arms screaming at her as she used all she could against Brienne.
"I thought you said you wouldn't go easy," Valencia teased, her voice breaking off into a grunt. Brienne pressed harder.
"And I did not lie, Lady Stark," Brienne grunted, sweat beads dripping down her forehead. Valencia chuckled, only Brienne would be courteous while literally breaking in Valencia's knees.
The Queen swallowed thickly, her eyes glancing to Brienne's legs, they were angled awkwardly and were perfect for Valencia's boot. Quickly, Valencia drove her foot into Brienne's knee. The said woman wailed deeply, her sword slicing upwards as she stumbled back, Valencia moved away readjusting her grip on Thunder. She waited for Brienne to gain her balance, and once she did, Valencia threw herself upwards, her feet leaving the ground as her hair fell from it's loose braid.
Brienne looked at the young Queen, and for a moment she was shocked. She looked like her title; a Queen. Her long brown curls rising around her head, a halo of sunlight shimmering from behind her head. Her right arm was bent as she drew it back, Lightning pointed directly at Brienne's skull, and Thunder stabbing through the air and into Brienne's shield.
And as she drove Thunder into Brienne's shield, the tip of the sword dagger broke through the wood. Lightning, who was in her withdrawn hand soared into Brienne's chest plate, slicing through the steel but not going in far enough to do harm. Valencia's feet hit he ground with a thud, before she whipped Lightning out of Brienne's armour, forcing it to her throat.
Brienne inhaled sharply, her eyes drifting between the knife and Valencia's dark eyes.
"I yield," Brienne gasped as the blade pierced her skin, Valencia grinned and pulled the dagger away, tucking it back into it's holster at her hip. She yanked the blade free from the shield and sheathed it before looking up to Brienne.
"You fight well. But I must say, that was exhausting." Valencia bent over, hands on her knees and began coughing, hacking up some salvia before spitting it out. "Who taught you how to fight?" Brienne sheathed her own sword, seemingly shocked at Valencia's question.
"My father did, he got sick of me tearing up my dresses. Thought that if I was to use a sword, it would be for slicing up something cheaper than his expensive gowns."
Valencia grinned, her voice rising in laughter. "Well, you're father had the right idea."
Brienne smiled in triumph, receiving the proudness of another woman who too fought was something she rarely experienced. The majority of the time the other Lady's sneered at her for being so tall, and as the men said 'ugly'.
"Thank you, my Lady."
Valencia's lips curved upwards, her hand slapping Brienne's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "I hate being called, 'my Lady'. So please, call me Valencia." The Queen said, tilting her head up to meet Brienne's eyes.
"Alright, thank you, Valencia," Brienne corrected. It was if she finally had a female friend that didn't look at her like she was some foul beast in male clothing. Then, a familiar black-haired woman clad in leather and chainmail approached the two women, Dacey Mormont's height rivalled that of Briennes's, the Lady of Bear Island looking Brienne up and down skeptically before turning to her Queen.
"Your Grace, Lord Renly, has requested your presence." She stated, purposely drawing out the 'Lord Renly'.
Brienne's nose turned up. "King Renly."
Dacey turned to her, his face contorting into a scowl. "I know no King, but Robb Stark. The King in the North," she snapped back. Brienne went to say something but Valencia quickly intervened.
"It's alright. I'd rather not have another war on my hands between you two, so Brienne-" she gestured to blonde haired woman, "-thank you for sparing with me. I will have, Dacey escort me to Renly's tent."
The blonde woman glared at the Northerner before nodding and leaving from the two women. Valencia turned to Dacey with raised brows. "Did my uncle say what he wanted?" She questioned, Dacey merely shook her head.
"I heard a rumour that he lays with his wife's brother," she whispered with a cheshire Cat smile, her dark eyes wide and humorous. "Is there any truth to these tales?"
Valencia raised a brow, a smirk forming across her lips. "Of course," she stated, "all true." She didn't feel a pang of guilt bite her in the stomach, instead, a stir of confidence knowing that not only would she ruin Renly's namesake, but his legacy. "Now, our man-loving King wishes to see us," she smirked, Dacey laughed before escorting her to Renly's command tent.
"You wanted to see me." Valencia began, slipping off her gloves as she met Renly's blue eyes from behind his desk. She dismissed Dacey to stand outside and wait until she was to leave.
Renly turned, his face flushed, Valencia glanced to those he had in his presence.
Loras Tyrell.
"Loras," she nodded looking between the two.
"My Lady, wonderful to see you again." Valencia looked to Renly again, raising an eyebrow. He coughed awkwardly and dismissed Loras quickly.
"Valencia, I wanted you to be first to know I've made a meeting with my brother Stannis."
Frowning, she responded. "That was quick."
Renly chucked dryly, "yes, it seems he's as eager to settle this dispute as I am. He has heard of your arrival, and demands that you are present when we negotiate," he swallowed thickly, as if he was afraid. "He wants to settle our dispute over all our claims, as do I. But he also wants us to set aside our quarrels and join forces to repel Joffrey from the throne that rightfully belongs to our family."
Valencia scoffed. "Stannis would never allow either of us to become King or Queen, and I'm sure he'd kill us the second we joined him." She hid her fulfilment as she spun lies around Renly.
Renly inhaled sharply. "I know, but I must bother with this meeting, even though I know he is too stubborn to change his mind."
The Queen stifled a smirk, her plan was beginning to form. "It must run in the family. Speaking of, it has come to my attention that you have my father's bastard in your company. I'd like to meet him." Renly stood from his desk, clasping his green cloak around his throat.
"Edric? You want to meet him? Are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" She asked frowning.
Renly strapped his sword to his hip. "He's rather rude, and outspoken. And undoubtedly a clone of Robert himself," Valencia cringed lightly, standing from her own seat.
"Gods have mercy," she quirked placing her hands on her hips. "I'd like to see him after our meeting with Stannis, when is that by the way?"
"Now."