Introduction:

It seemed as though the light shining on King's Landing was a light that radiated such a heat that even the stones beneath your feet felt like the seventh hell. Ayla Blackwood had always had an idea of what hell was like, she imagined it was like a prison, cells would burn and stones would cook flesh. King's Landing was just like she had imagined. Suitors and banquets had all brought about an air of peculiar unease. Something which Ayla felt uncomfortable with. King's Landing and it's people had left little remorse within her to assume that she had some sort of life with these people.

Ayla took a moment from her burning feet to notice a raven flying overhead. The cobblestone streets were narrow and slanted, as she walked barefoot through out the capital city. She had always liked ravens, they were smart.

She frowned. She missed her home, only for a moment. King's Landing had become her home for a nearly a fortnight. Raventree hall was becoming a distant memory to her as she knew that she would never be going back. Robert Baratheon had invited many female suitors to the capital. It seemed that with two young sons Robert, was eager to arrange marriages for the both of them. Rumor was that Geoffrey was to marry Sansa Stark, and Tommen Baratheon was being paired off as a usual custom. But Tommen was far too young for Ayla, but she was to be present none the less. Ayla told herself that she was ignored for courtship simply because she was older. But the reality of the fact was that she was only ten years older than Tommen, she could still produce him any number of heirs at the time of their marriage, but the sad truth was that she was plain. She had Raven black hair that only darkened in the sun, and skin that was almost translucent. Her milky pink flesh looked even paler against her black hair, and her eyes seemed to be so round that the grey iris' within them became unsettling to those looking at her. Her frame looked as though she was no more than a bag of bones, even today people in King's Landing were still mistaking her for a beggar. She walked the streets in common garb, keeping the flattery of dresses far from any citizen's mind.

Alas, this suitor trade would not be what kept her from returning to Raven Hall, but rather the talk of change. The city seemed scared. They feared a winter that hand not yet come, and a king that spent their money frivolously. Ayla knew politics very well, never engaging, but always observing from afar. She knew how men prayed to their own desires and only played the game for their best interest. Ayla, having met Robert Baratheon knew that she saw no king, only a man with a vice who fed his desires until he could no longer tie his shirt without having his hairy belly poking out the bottom. But if Robert Baratheon's didn't manage to choose her for his son, and her hand remained unclaimed, she would still never choose to go back to Riverlands.

Ayla scuttled about in King's Landing, dressed in a simple tunic and no shoes Ayla, felt that she could avoid the eyes of many, including those of the King's Guard, who's eyes she had slipped away from only this morning. She enjoyed this time to herself, and she often convinced herself she needed no castle and no husband to allow herself to be happy. Ayla had found her way to Fleabottom and met the kindness of a vender who gave her an apple the moment he looked into her eyes. She felt flattered, even though the man had a look upon his face that she could not place. She let the sweetness of the apple caress her tongue, never before had she tasted a fruit so fresh. It was as if the orchard was only minutes away, leaving this apple tart and crisp.

She was enjoying her treat and returned to eyeing the locals, needing only a moment to giggle at those coming and going from Petyr Baelish's brothel. All sorts of colorful characters entered and exited, while some of the most beautiful women Ayla had ever seen stood around a door in the back entrance. She had no idea why there were ugly princesses and beautiful whores - it was like a cruel joke the old Gods played on those playing the Game of Thrones.

Ayla watched as a man with little to no money propositioned one of the girls for some sort of act. She waved him away seeing the state of the man. Ayla watched as the man became enraged and grabbed her arm to demand her attention. The woman recoiled trying to escape his grasp. Ayla took a moment to think before she tossed the rest of the apple at the man's head. The woman looked as though she was going to laugh, but then the man's anger was directed towards Ayla, and she realized her moment of thought did her no good. The man came at her blinded with rage, furious that he'd been rejected and then humiliated. Ayla felt a tug on her hair before his fist grazed her face. The man was drunk, and was unable to land a strong blow. But to her surprise the grasp on her hair became very sudden and it began to hurt, and then it became incredibly painful. She realized that she was above the man who had swung at her, hanging by her hair in a taller man's grasp. This man stunned Ayla. His face was charred and burned, so grotesque that she felt fear, but then he shoved her aside and watched as the drunkard took one blow to the face and fell to the ground. Ayla saw two teeth fly out of his mouth when his head stopped bouncing off the cobblestone.

Ayla turned to look at her savior. Still just as grotesque as when she first saw him, and then she recognized him. Sandor Clegane. It seemed as though her short trip had come to an abrupt halt.

"You." he said in a low and grumbling voice. "You're to be taken to the king and seen fit for punishment."

"I didn't -" Ayla tried to protest.

"I don't care. Only the king cares what you have to say." he said.

"But I'm a guest-"

"That's nice. But a pretty girl like you gets to be a quest at the kings feet and tell him your sob story, Beggar."

"I'm not a beggar."

"Sure you're not." he said grabbing her by the hair again and twisting her arm, he flung her over to another Gold Cloak so as to detain her until they reached the castle. Ayla explained herself to the two Gold Cloaks nearest her, but no one seemed to care. Blackwood was barely enough of a name to recognize, and no one ever learned their house words.

Courage in Fall, Wisdom in Flight.

Ayla Blackwood spent a very frustrating week a dark cell of King's Landing. Her privileges had finally come to an end, and here she was waiting to explain herself to Robert Baratheon. She knew that these guards would be flogged for mistaking her for some common beggar, but then she realized that the choice to wear those clothes and go out unattended was her idea. These were her mistakes as well.

When the cell door opened and the light showed a glint of shine in her black hair, she knew that she looked even more like a beggar than when she went in. She took her sad appearance before the king. Her head hung low awaiting her king to address her. Ayla raised her head and saw Geoffrey Baratheon. A familiar face, but not one to be found sitting on the iron throne. Geoffrey was obviously new to power and finding it very enjoyable.

"My King?" Ayla said questioningly.

"Yes, I am your king, and I don't quite care for that tone. For wasting my time I'll have you flogged."

"I'm sorry my king, I just didn't realize your father-"

"My late father, may the Gods keep his peace." Geoffrey said. Ayla realized why she had heard bells ringing from the sept and the castle the night she was thrown in the dungeon.

"Yes, May the old Gods and the New keep his peace."

"Your condolences are lost on my grieving ears. But as punishment for your crimes you will be flogged, for lets say, oh, a good ten lashings should do it."
Geoffrey spoke cooly, "now, next law breaker, bring him forth." the king said.
"My King, I am but a guest of your castle, my name is Ayla Blackwood, I have been mistakenly placed in your dungeon and do not believe I am to be punished for a crime I did not do, or have no such knowledge of."

Geoffrey had an irritated look slide across his face. "Blackwood." Geoffrey recognized the name. "For attacking Lord Crakehall, I give a sentence of ten lashings. For being insolent I give you two more. And for wasting my time you get another three. Now Sir Ilyn, see that Lady Blackwood gets her punishment. All fifteen."

Ayla's face froze as she realized Geoffrey had known her face all along. And that he was always just as cruel as she had suspected. To her dismay she was hauled off to a courtyard while the king went about his daily business. However Ayla was not far from earshot so that the king could savor her screams.

Sandor Clegane had been by the King's side since the late Robert Baratheon had died suddenly in a hunting accident. It seemed to him that Geoffrey has little to no grief for his fathers death. What grief that did exist was replaced by elation from assuming the throne. Geoffrey had quickly grown bored the first day with small council matters, and decided that with his new power, he would execute the things he enjoyed. The Gold Cloaks had an ear out for any who opposed Geoffrey's new rule and quickly the dungeons had become full with petty men and women who dared utter even the slightest detest for the boy King. As they began to pull the citizens from the dungeon and offer a violent punishment as penance, Sandor Clegane's frown became even more prominent when they pulled the girl he had arrested several days ago. He watched as she pleaded with the king to understand that she was a guest Sandor realized he believed her this time. She had a familiar face, and now that he saw her in the Red Keep he realized he had seen her face only weeks ago while she met with Robert Baratheon about a possible future in King's Landing. Sandor also remembered how the King had waved her away and told the Maester to send a raven to the Riverlands to have someone collect her.

Sandor had rarely felt sorrow for anything but himself, but he found that as he got older a maidens face had the ability to tug on just one or two heart strings just enough that his scowl would deepen and he'd need to find an extra sack of wine just to forget he had felt something. This was one of those times. Geoffrey enjoyed sentencing her a punishment, because it was the first person they had pulled from the dungeon that didn't deserve some sort of punishment. Geoffrey knew that. And Geoffrey enjoyed doing something he knew he shouldn't because it exercise his new role as King. A role that he seemed to like very much.

Sandor listened to Maester Pycelle speak to Varys about the negativity hurting the girl would bring, but both of them seemed to fear advising the King. He heard Varys tell Pycelle to see that she got excellent care and do everything he could to avoid sending the girl home with scars. Pycelle nodded and spoke to several servants whom he sent to return the girl to his apothecary. Sandor knew other words had been spoken but was unsure as to what was said when the first screams found his ears.

The punishment had come swiftly, and before Ayla knew it she could feel a numbing sensation on her back. She felt tired, like she had ridden for a day on a horse that would not break. She felt thirsty, and before she could ask for water, her eyelids shut.

When Ayla regained consciousness she felt that strange numbing sensation hadn't left her. She found that her back felt cool, no not cool, frozen. She laid across a wooden table, no shirt and found that she was covered in shards of ice. The only thing that could cross her mind was: "where the hell did they get ice?"

She could smell a familiar medical ointment, and felt that by candlelight she felt safe, if only for a moment. At least she was in the care of someone, and not back in the black cells. She fell asleep for a couple hours at a time, occasionally she would hear someone in the room with her, or a slight shuffle of table items. Eventually there came a small light from under the door and she realized it had been shut all night long. The ice had melted away and she felt the lack of milk of poppy now that several hours had gone by. She could feel the pain return to her wounds, but it was only moments later that Pycelle returned to help her drink milk of poppy. Before he left he was bombarded by a small errand boy who had another sack of ice. The bag was dripping and leaving little droplets on the floor.

"As you asked Ser."

"I am no ser." she heard a familiar voice say. She felt the cool ice find her back once again and felt an odd sense of relief in the wood table she called a bed. Just before she fell asleep she realized the noises that had woke her had all come from the same man who had sat ever so quietly in the corner of the room.