Full Summary: Starts in season one right after King Robert's death. Jaime Lannister discovers a young girl who may just be the key to ending the war he knows will soon follow his nephew's (son's) rash actions. The question is, what to do with her. While Jaime struggles to make a decision, the war rages on. How can the existence of one girl change the fate of the crown? SLOW BURN!

This fic is just something that I've had on my mind while I re-watched GoT (for the 100th time!) There are soem changes to the plot, mostly when it comes to characters being in certain places at certain times, but for the most part follows the original timeline of the series. Although I've read the books, this story will only follow the TV show. I don't have an update schedule, just kinda doing what I can in my free time. Let me know what you think!

Adelia had never thought of herself as a hateful person. She was normally a friendly, warm hearted girl. But today she felt hate. She felt it as strong as any man could, all directed towards Prince Joffrey's lapdog.

The Hound was known for his keen interest in violence. He was a ruthless and aggressive man. She tried to remember the way he looked the few times she had actually seen him. Once in the streets when he stopped by the butcher's shop on the King's bidding, an another when she had sneaked her way into the tavern with Micah. The Hound had sat alone at a table in the far corner, half hidden in the shadows. Adelia hadn't even been sure it was him until he turned his head towards the door and the firelight danced across the burned half of his face.

The sight of the scarred flesh had frightened her, made bile rise in her throat. It only added to his already intimidating persona. She wondered how it felt to know that every person that stands in your shadow is terrified of you. Surely he knows the unease he casts upon others. That night she remembered feeling badly for the man and the loneliness he must live with.

But over time, those feelings have faded into nothing but loathing. She hadn't seen them bring Micah's body back into town. She hadn't seen him laid to rest. But in her mind she could imagine the Hound's snarl as he cut the boy down. A boy against a man. Not a fair fight by any means. She was certain that the Hound had no reason to kill her friend other than the fact that thoroughly enjoyed killing.

She had known Micah nearly her entire life. Her mother, a skilled seamstress, often traded her talents for cheap meats from his father. Many nights, Adelia had come home to find her mother stitching an old pair of breeches or a tunic for Micah or his father. It wasn't uncommon for people to trade like this. It was a means of survival for those who were unfortunate enough to live in the Capitol. While they starved to death in the streets, their King and his court ate and drank their weight each night. They couldn't count on the royal family to keep them fed or keep clothes on their backs, so they relied on one another.

She and Micah had grown close, despite their differences in age. She was four years his elder, but he was oddly mature for a boy of thirteen. Adelia had nothing in the way of friends besides him. That had never bother her. She didn't need more than her mother and the Butcher's family. They had food, and clothes, and a place to lay their heads at night. That was all that mattered. Friendship was a luxury that many people never truly knew. They may think they do, but most mistake being taken advantage of for friendship. They give more than they receive, more often than not without even realizing. At least her mother and her knew that their trades with Micah and his father were even. It kept food on her table and clothes on his back.

But it had all been taken from her the night her friend journeyed home on the King's Road. The night that the wolf attacked the stag prince. The night that the Queen sent men out to search for Micah and the youngest Stark girl. Adelia had heard of the incident through whispers on the streets when the King and his court had arrived back in the capital. She had spent the next two days in her bed, tears streaking down her face. Her mother had gone to see Micah's father, but he never answered her knocks at his door.

"It'll be alright." her mother had hummed in her ear as she cried. But Adelia knew her mother cried too. She cried for Micah and for his father, because no parent should have to outlive their child. No father should bury his son.

Today, Adelia had no tears left to shed for her friend. She felt no sadness, no grief. Only hate as she stood at the steps of the Red Keep. Before Adelia's birth, her mother had been a seamstress to King Robert's army. She had worked day in and out to weave banners and cloaks for his loyal men. She had even met the king himself; before he was a king. Two days ago her mother had received a small scroll with scribbled instructions for her to help sew for the Red Keep. Although uncommon, the request was not unheard of. Over the years her mother's skills had been called upon three times. Usually when there was a large feast to be held and the castle seamstresses had too much work to do on their own. Those three times her mother had been gifted enough money to keep the two of them fed for months.

She had sewed and stitched until her fingers bled, and now, Adelia carried the fruit of her hard work in her arms. A mound of thin off-white sheets of clothes

She peered up at the grand doors, guarded by four knights in white cloaks. One of whom had a face that was half burned.

The disgust and hatred played obviously on her face, even though she knew it was dangerous to let it show.

"I'm here to deliver cloth on the behalf of Margaret Harton." She said, hearing her mother's voice in the back of her head. She must have told her at least forty times what to say. The man nodded and cast a glance over his shoulder to the Hound, who returned his nod.

"Come." he barked, strands of dark greasy hair falling over his disfigured features. With surprising grace he turned on his heels and strode through the doors, expecting Adelia to follow. She hesitated briefly, but went after him nonetheless. His legs carried him quickly through the halls, footsteps echoing all around them. She kept a good distance behind, staring at his armored back. The sword at his hip swayed back and forth, and for an instant she had the mind to pluck it from its holster and pierce him through the neck.

The thought was lost on her when four more armed guards swept past them in the narrow hallway, nearly knocking her off her feet. Their red cloaks flowed in the wind behind them, like the tail of fire.

"Careful girl." the drawled. She ignored him and looked after the men.

"They're running." she didn't phrase it as a question, but she couldn't help but wonder why. It was no business of daughter of a seamstress to be concerned with, and yet she watched them curiously. "Why?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. And she did not receive one.

They walked on for a few more moments before sighting another group of guards hurtling themselves down a nearby tunnel. She almost lost a hold of the cloths she carried as she whipped herself around to watch them. A young boy came panting up in front of the Hound, his blonde hair sleek with sweat.

"Clegane!" he wheezed. "The King…" the boy trailed off, catching sight of Adelia. He leaned in close to the the Knight and whispered the remainder of his sentence. The Hound's shoulders stiffened and he straightened his back to look down on the boy. It was a stare that would have shaken her to her core if she had been the recipient. The young boy, roughly her own age, seemed to be shaking and sweating a bit more than he had when he'd first approached. She couldn't blame him.

"Come, girl." The Hound huffed in a deep growl. He snatched her by the arm and started to drag her down the hall. Fear took over and Adelia pushed him away, but it was useless. He stood a good two feet taller and probably weighed three of her, she couldn't fight him. Visions of Micah flashed through her head. Was she about to the meet the same fate? Her free arm slapped at his shoulder, but the only harm fell on her hand as it made contact with his hard knight's armor.

All she intended to do was bring the damn rags to the Red Keep for her mother! Oh Gods, her mother! She sent a silent prayer to thank the old Gods that her mother had not been the one to come to the castle. If one of them were to die that day, she was glad it was her.

"Please Ser!" she didn't yell, but her voice was forceful. "Don't…" Don't what? She had no idea what was happening or why he had suddenly hauled her towards the nearest door.

"Shut up." he grumbled and flung the door open. The room beyond was a small bedchamber, no doubt for lower level guests. It held no more than a bed, a night table, and a bath. There was no light save for the little bit that dripped in through the murky window. The Hound forced her through the door with an unexpected shove.

"What…" she began, tears of fear stinging at her dark eyes. But he cut her off.

"Stay here." he slammed the door shut, leaving her utterly alone in the tiny room. "And stay quiet." he shouted through the thick wood. For a long second Adelia stood frozen to the stone floor beneath her feet. Her mind raced trying to understand how her situation had changed in the blink of an eye. One minute she was carrying a stack of medical cloths through the castle, the next she was locked in a closet sized room.

Locked

Had he locked the door from the outside? Her heart clenched in panic as she dropped the cloths and reached out for the handle. She let out a sob of relief when the knob twisted in her hand and the door cracked open. Cautiously, she peered out, not daring to open the door more than a smidge.

A woman's scream came creeping to her ears. It was low at first, but it grew louder and higher until it was suddenly cut off with a gurgle. It was noise she had never heard before, but she knew exactly what it was. The sound of death. The sound of a life being snuffed out by another's hand.

People were dying. And by the steadily increasing flow of screams, she ventured to guess that it was a lot of people. She knew she should close the door, but her body had become paralyzed by the terror that snaked its way through her veins. Something terrible must have happened.

She was stuck in this damned castle. She had no friends, no allies to count on, no one to care if she lived or died besides her mother, who was nearly an hour's walk away in their meager home at the center of Flea Bottom.

The sound of boots pounding on the hard floor caught her attention and sparked her into action. She pulled her face away from the crack and pushed the door closed with her hands.

But the door swung back on her as a heavy body came crashing in. The air in her lungs was forced out as she was pummeled to the ground. The clank of metal on stone filled her ears, giving her an instant headache.

Something was on top of her.

Someone.

The large body struggled to get up, the heavy armor getting in the way. She rolled away from them and gasped for air. The person finally stood and towered over her. His eyes were light, like a blue sky with wisps of clouds streaked across. From what she could see in the dim light of the window his hair was a boyishly light brown.

"Don't hurt me!" she held her hands out in front of her and slid across the dirty floor, putting as much space between herself and the boy.

"Shhh." He hissed and then turned to quickly close the door behind him. He pressed his ear to the wood, trying to hear whatever was happening outside. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered after a few moments of silence. Adelia shook her head, unsure what to make of him. He didn't seem threatening. In fact, he seemed frightened.

"What's happening?" she asked hesitantly. He turned to face her and she noticed the small wolf embroidered in his chainmail.

"They've arrested Lord Stark." he said gravely.

"The Hand of the King?" she asked in shock. She didn't even know that it was possible to arrest the Hand.

"Yes." his head bobbed up and down. "They're killing all of the Stark men."

"And you are one of them." It wasn't a question, the wolf sigil had given away his loyalties. Although, how loyal could he be if he's in hiding. Some would call him a coward, but Adelia would call him smart. If she had been in his place, she too would have hidden herself away from the men trying to kill her. He nodded again, and pressed his ear back to the door.

What he heard startled him and he jumped back, cramming himself into the far wall where the small window hung. The door burst open once more to reveal three hulking men, all clad in Lannister colors.

"Stop!" one shouted as the others ran towards the Stark man, who was already halfway out the window. Adelia wondered what he planned do had he gotten all the way out. They were four stories high. The fall would have killed him. Maybe that was better than what he knew the Lannister's guards had in store for him.

They yanked him from the window and threw him hard onto the floor. When the boy looked up again, his lip and nose were smeared with blood. A large guard buried a boot into the boy's belly, earning a loud painful groan. She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her mouth. Yes, the streets of Flea Bottom were plagued with violence, but she had always done her best to avoid witnessing it. She'd turn and walk in the other direction when she heard an argument, or close her eyes when two men began to brawl at her feet.

"The girl too." The Guard barked at his men. The one who had delivered the kick stomped towards her. Adelia flattened herself against the wall at her back, rambling on about having no involvement in whatever corruptions they would accuse her of. A large hand clamped around her arm, so hard that she knew it would leave marks on her skin for the days to come. She let out a cry and tried to pull herself free.

"Please, I'm just a seamstress." she pleaded with the man.

"A seamstress who's been conspiring with the Starks!" He boomed, laying a slap across her face. The skin of her cheek burned and fresh tears welled up from the sting.

How had this happened?

It had only been ten or so minutes that she had walked through the door of the Red Keep. How had things turned so badly so quick!?

"Erik." A new voice stopped the man before he could land another blow. The tears in her eyes made the world a blur of dark colors. She could see black and gray, red and white, but couldn't decipher where one color ended and another began. "Tell me, do you take pleasure from beating up little girls?" the newcomer asked lazily.

"Sorry Ser, we found her in here with the a Stark man. She tried to run." the man beside her lied, his grip became tighter around her arm.

"That's not true." she cried out and then snapped her mouth shut. Damn her and her big mouth. It was the one flaw her mother loved to point out over and over again. Adelia's inability to keep her mouth closed when it should be. The guard jerked her arm downward, bringing her to her knees.

"Tell me the truth girl. Are you here with the Stark's?" Someone asked the question but she still could not see who. Regardless, it made no sense to Adelia. Is she here with the Starks? Of course she wasn't. Did she look like a lady's handmaiden in her tattered dress and her dirt covered brown hair that was bundled messily atop her head? "Did you travel with the Lord Eddard Stark from Winterfell to the Capital?" the man asked again. His voice seemed almost uninterested.

"I… No I was born in King's Landing and I've never left." Her eyes had started to dry, the misty appearance of the room fading back into the clarity. The speaker came into focus as he leaned in the doorway, an elegant white cloak draped over his shoulders.

Though Adelia was certain she had never seen this man in person, she knew who he was. It wasn't the billowy golden hair or even the emerald green eyes that gave him away. No it was his uncanny resemblance to the Queen. They had the same nose, the same impossibly high cheekbones, the same thick pursed lips. The traits were signature Lannister characteristics. The type of traits that were often shared between siblings.

The type that were shared between twins.