Hello! This is my first A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones fan fiction, so I welcome any and all feedback. I will unashamedly change timelines and plot around as it suits me to tell this story, so if that bothers you then this may not be the story for you. This idea came to me as I read some of the other amazing fictions posted, and after I ignored it for several days I just couldn't help but sit and start to write. I sincerely hope I do it justice. This tale will be filled with blood, gore, battles, angst, and romance. I hope you enjoy.

Thank you for reading! Please drop a comment and let me know your thoughts. Any and all feedback are encouraged and welcome! J

Necessary Disclaimer:

I'm the author of this story. I did not create the world or any characters except for my original female character. Please do not sue me.

Her eyes snapped open when the door to her cell was flung wide.

"King Joffrey requests your presence in the throne room." The raspy voice was unmistakable, and the resignation told her he'd drag her if he had to. He'd done it before, when she'd bothered to put up a fight.

Aching muscles and bones protested as she shifted carefully to sit, and then rise. Her eyes fluttered shut from the pain in her back and her thighs from the last beating, still fresh on her stinging skin, before she exhaled a long sigh. Chin raised high, she schooled her mask in place and opened her eyes once more as she turned towards the door.

Sandor Clegane couldn't hide the glimpse of respect and admiration glinting in his usually lifeless eyes as he watched her glide towards him, not a hitch in her step, not a crack in her calm, not a hint at the cuts and bruises gracing her pale skin under her finery.

"He's in a buggering mood today," he warned her, though he wasn't sure why he bothered. It wouldn't matter. She wouldn't say a word.

Head held high, she entered the throne room, grace rolling off her shoulders while blood dripped down her feet from yesterday's beating.

"Do you dare to dirty my floors with your blood," King Joffrey sneered from where he lounged on his golden throne with his golden crown atop his golden head.

She stood still as stone; gaze blank while he shot her a withering glare.

"You still dare defy me?" He snarled, crown sliding off its perfect golden perch to tilt over one ear. "Answer me!" He screamed, voice rising up an octave in his fury.

Not a muscle twitched, not an eye blinked, as she continued to stare blankly at the golden boy on his golden throne.

"I will beat you into submission," he snarled, face curling into another ugly sneer. "Ser Ilyn Payne! Teach this bitch what happens when you do not kneel or answer to your King!"

Sandor swallowed, careful to keep his face blank from where he lounged by the door. He knew what would happen to this little bird, same as he knew what would happen when his other little bird failed to please King Joffrey. His stomach rolled at the thought of another graceful back, beaten to a bloody pulp by one who had sworn to protect maidens fare. The little bird upstairs had scarcely left her cage since the last round, but lucky for her Joffrey's anger had shifted to the woman who refused to bend before him now.

The sharp crack of the flat of Ser Payne's broadsword meeting her bloodied flesh had Sandor swallowing back his bile. How this dog longed to bite the hand that fed him.

Several more smacks pierced the air, but still she did not break. Her graceful features stone in the face of his wrath, not a hint of pain flickering in those icy blue eyes. Her feet strong, her body sure as she withstood the blows of the boy king in front of her and the false knight behind her.

"Enough!" King Joffrey sneered, waving gold-covered hand as he rose from his golden throne and strolled haughtily up to the maiden before him. "Bend the knee before your King, whore!" He screamed, spittle flying to drip down her high cheeks.

"Show me a King worthy, and I may consider it."

The liquid honey in her voice belied the ice her tone conveyed, the musical tones dancing with strength while cutting like glass the boy king before her.

A golden fist raised in a flash, crashing upon a spit soaked cheek and slicing into the paleness until a single drop of blood trickled down to dance with the others pooling on the floor. "You dare to deny your King, bitch?" His highness squealed, raising his fist to land another blow. A second trickle joined the first, and matching cuts graced those sharpened cheeks.

King Joffrey blustered fussed, red staining golden cheeks as he whirled to stride back to his golden throne. "Take her away, and teach her a lesson, Hound!"

She turned, face once again the icy mask, body once again turned to stone, while the court watched blood rain down out of the slits in her back as she glided out of the throne room and back to her cell, the Hound behind her.

As the iron creaked open and she was returned to her rusted cage, Sandor entered behind her. "I warned you, little bird," he rasped, burnt face twitching at the savage display of flesh and fabric soaked through with blood on her back.

She shut her eyes briefly, swallowing as she sent a prayer to the Gods before turning back to send a frozen glare to the dog before her. "We haven't much time." Her voice dripped over him, chasing out the sadness as he saw the dullness sharpen to glass in her eyes.

He nodded, removing his cloak and pulling out the two dragonglass daggers he'd smuggled her from King Joffrey's armory. "Show me again," he rasped, eyes hard as he handed the blades by the hilt to her.

She crouched in the fighters stance he'd taught her, elegance and lethal combined as she whirled and twisted and turned, oblivious to the blood running down her back and the bruises swelling her pale blue eyes and cheeks. And as he dodged and parried and turned, he quickly felt the cool press of the blade slip through his best defenses to kiss his neck.

She withdrew, stepping back to breathe and thank the Gods. "You're ready," he confirmed, burnt side of his face twitching with pride.

"I am," she nodded in agreement, ice hard in her eyes as they held his own. "I'm ready to kill the golden King."

She lay on the cot in her cell, eyes closed as she watched her body arch and flip and twist around the boy King and his whore mother, slicing them to bits while the gold and blood curl and freeze to ice, forever locked in a sickening embrace for time to bear witness.

She prayed to the Gods they grant her mind strength, her body ice, her soul resolve as she did what needs be done. She thought of what Sansa Stark had whispered to her during one of their passings by the throne room, the Stark code. Winter was coming.

Cold air blew out of her nostrils, tendrils twisting and fading into the night. Sansa Stark was nearly correct. Winter wasn't coming. Winter was here.