ONE

"Council! I demand your presence in the throne room. Immediately!"

The deafening sound of door smashing against wall had the small council turn to gaze at the intruding golden-haired boy; as he burst through the double doors, his entourage of guards trailed behind him. Before being disturbed, the council had been in the middle of a deep discussion about Stannis's advancing attack on the city. Lord Tyrion was finally moulding battle strategies, but he soon felt the heat of debate fizzle out, rendering another chance at organizing battle gone. He sighed heavily before grasping his goblet. "You're Grace. We are in the middle of discussing the well-being of Kings landing, we cannot-" he began, his lips nearly touching them rim.

"Shut up, imp! I didn't say you had any say in this. Now, all of you, come to the throne room. I have something to show." With that, he left the room.

This was not a rare occurrence. The council shared a silent look, no one saying a word. And there were no words needed, it when they were collectively thinking the same thing: What does that brat want now?

It was afternoon, and if one were to look for a man or woman of even slight nobility, they would have been in poor luck. Each noble lady and lord alike filled the vast throne room. The mass throne of a thousand blades sat imposing upon them all. The longer silence ring out, the more all wondered what was going on.

Just as patience ran thin, the heavy double doors crashed open. A guard marched down the isle, some sort of "package" in tow.

"Look at what beast I have caught on my hunt. My people, gaze upon my prize." Young king Joffrey wore an obnoxiously nauseating smirk as he sat upon the Iron Throne. His behind was just a tad too comfortable there.

Now, when one is told that a beast is in their presence, most would cower or laugh. However, much to king Joffrey's disappointment, not one soul did either of the two. The beast this not wriggle and writhe, it barely seemed living save for its shallow breaths. Seeing little reaction, he motioned for his guard to through it to the stone floor.

Two pairs of cunning eyes flickered to the boy, those of the mocking jay himself, Lord Petyr Baelish, and his whispering subordinate, Lord Varys. While often in the shadows, both men knew when to pay attention, to listen and when justice is needed. It seemed a situation was approaching soon. in which all three were needed.

A deafening thwack echoed through the stone room, rattling the bones of all standing within it. Rather than a roar or hiss, the mess let out a breathy groan, as it was thrown down to the tiled floor.

"I found this beast!" He directed his head down in disgust - and pride for himself- to the wildling, "When I was aiming for a great horned just as I let lose my arrow, she got in the way." There was a pulse of murmurs in the hall.

She?

"Show my council your wound!" He commanded.

Nothing but silence issued from the disposed bundle on the floor. Anyone could see that this being was weakened, long limbs that held little power to stabilize.

"Show them!" Joffrey cried with a childish ring.

They didn't move, head only sinking further down, as though waving off a pestering insect.

"I am the King! I own you! I command you to show how I have maimed you!" Joffrey's scream rang in the ears of all around.

Slowly, the head ascended to look up, shoulders began to become visible. The being shook. A pained smile pulled at its cracked lips, small streams of blood poured from the crevices and down to its chin. When they did not cower, the little king to scampered an inch or two back into his throne. Then, to the best of their ability, they stood. Just as the king had said, there was a large arrow straight through her thigh, the feathered end snapped from being thrown down.

"That's right you little beast! You will obey my every word. You know, I made her walk behind my horse as we rode back, after she tried to escape from my men and I." He turned back to the form,"Did you really think you could escape me?" He said, "In any case, you might actually hold some purpose here."

The King did not cease his infernal jabs of condescending cruelty, but just as everyone though he had finally finished, he paused, and then added one last statement. "Though I doubt it."

The eyes in the Throne room were wide, all breathe held, that is, all except one.

The face of curious intrigue belonged to Lord Petyr Baelish. A clever, honey-tongued man that had eyes and ears scattered through the city, ensuring the common statement told in Kings landing, "Trust no one. Now, he was not a sympathetic man, by any account, but he knew when to pay attention and where he may profit and excel. This moment was worth paying attention to; no doubt in his mind stirred to tell him that whatever this creature was, was just a waif that he needn't worry about. However with all things considered, despite its strong spirt, the beast was to be taken in, be it as a prize or for a place to heal, it would be caged.

Petyr chastised himself: it was a she. Not a beast, but damn well close to an angel from above.

From her ghostly white exterior, to the curious markings barely visible on and around her ankles and hands, she resembled something unearthly. Much like a ghost.

All was interesting about this girl, indeed, but that would be her weakness. Because of it, she would be analyzed, tortured, have truth pried from her grasp and exposed. But it was not the peculiarity of her supernatural state that truly enraptured the court, that day. It was her eyes that peaked the interest of the king's court. Those irises shared the same composition as the Mad King's blood; one scarlet, the other royal purple, and both dancing with fire.