A.C: All credit to George R.R. Martin for the premise of this tale. This is the first piece of writing that I've submitted to and my very first ASOIAF related story. I hope that this will turn of to be quite an unconventional tale.

It had taken Florian seven days to gather up his courage. The butterflies beating their wings insistently against his stomach walls made him feel uneasy. As a hedge Knight such timorous emotions were unfamiliar to him. He was far more accustomed to riding into battle with a heart filled with courage and valour than shrinking in fear of a fair maiden's father.

Despite these misgivings, Florian had sought an audience with the Butcher of Maidenpool. The man was easy enough to find within the town; his business was prosperous and his four daughters were known for their beauty. It was with open arms that the Knight was welcomed into the Butcher's shop. He was offered refreshment and a seat which he politely declined. Knights were highly respected in the eyes of Maidenpool tradesmen.

"I hope you will forgive me for being so bold, Butcher," Florian began, his hand moving instinctively to the hilt of the sword that hung at his waist as if to steady himself. "I have a question to ask. It pertains to one of your daughters."

"Aye, ser." The Butcher replied knowingly. It was not the first time that he'd been approached with a question concerning one of his four daughters. "Which of my daughters do you seek?" He was a good natured man, weathered by hard work and age.

"Your youngest but one, I believe." Florian's voice held firm despite his nerves. "I would like to ask for her hand in marriage."

From the first moment the Knight had spied the Butcher's daughter bathing in a pool just outside the town his mind have been plagued by her image. She was a girl of seventeen, pale in the Summer sunlight with a thick curtain of golden hair that framed her pretty face. Heavily lidded eyes and full lips different from those of her sisters enamoured him to her. The sisters were beautiful, surely, but none transfixed his attention as she had. As Florian replayed this moment in his mind he felt a pang of guilt hard in his stomach. He could not help but feel he had betrayed the order of Knights by spying on a woman in such a way.

The Butcher took a moment to phrase his reply, his hands grappling with the bloodied apron that hung around his waist. "My Jonquil is already betrothed to another, good ser." It was not the first time he'd refused a man requesting the hand of one of his daughters and yet he attempted to execute the judgement gently. "He is a just man, a Vassal. His lands and funds are sufficient to take care of her."

Amongst Knights Florian was famed for his warm nature and good humour. However, at that moment what remained of his wit and light hearted predilections temporarily drained from his veins. It had been foolish to become so attached to maiden, he thought. He was a man of honour and undoubtedly a poor lover. Such a folly as he had engineered in Maidenpool was beneath him.

"If it pleases you, ser, my youngest is yet to be betrothed. She will soon reach her sixteenth year. Linnaea's beauty is said to be on a par with her sister-" A match with a Knight was far, far more than most tradesmen's daughters could hope for. The Butcher seized the opportunity although was cut off mid-sentence, his words trailing into nothingness.

"No, Butcher." Florian interjected flatly. "I thank you for your time." He nodded his head awkwardly as a sign of thanks before another thought struck him. "May I approach your daughter, Jonquil? I should like to meet her properly." The Knight asked. He liked the ring of his affection's name on his lips more than he cared to admit. To just meet the girl once would surely rid his mind of her image and leave him a free man.

"I see no harm in it, you may do as you please." The Butcher began his work once again, thinking it a shame that the Knight has refused his youngest daughter's hand. "I'll warn you, my 'Quill's a good girl. She understands honour and the promise of a betrothal, ser."

Florian did not doubt the Butcher's words as he made to leave. The weight of his disappointment grew with each step that he took.