You hated war, everyone knew that. Your stance had been more than clear when you chose to become a priestess of Apollo and dedicate yourself entirely to temple life, even though you had no need to do so. Your life was already secured: your uncle was a king, and your cousins were princes.

Despite your efforts to stay away from chaos and violence, it was not long before they came knocking at your door when your cousin Garmund brought the betrothed of the queen’s son to the kingdom, thus unleashing a war.

When the bells rang through the air, one thing was certain, the Velaryon fleet had arrived.

Among all the men who came to fight, there was someone special someone who sought glory. Cregan Stark was known as a man incapable of feeling fear and a fervent lover of battle.

When the enemy forces arrived, they wasted no time in destroying everything in their path. They looted anything of value they could find, and among all those "things," there was you. You and the other women of the temple were dragged out, treated with the same care as a mere vase.

When you were handed over to Cregan, something gleamed in his eyes. Perhaps it was not desire for you, but for what you represented. You were his trophy, the proof that he was a great warrior, one worthy enough to claim one of the finest spoils of war: a woman.