Four Moons Since

Alynne's own brother, Robert, had stabbed her in the back. During the celebrations of the weddings at Storms End he had sent Durran to drag her, kicking a screaming back to Tarth.

No.

Neither of them were there when Argilac was exiled.

Neither of them were there when Jon Stark stole Oathkeeper.

And neither of them were going to get revenge.

Her family had let her down so many times, but they still had the gall to try and shut her back up on Tarth! She had seen the wider world, wonderful people and beautiful cities. She had made powerful friends, and even more powerful enemies. There was no chance she would let them take her back.

As Durran hunted Storm's End for her, she ran. Panicking to grab all her things as fast as possible, and bolted straight out of the door and across the hills. She headed North, riding as fast as her horse could carry her. Anywhere was better than Tarth. Even the streets of King's Landing.

At least she had felt safe there before, protected by the watchful eye of her household guard. But, they were back at Storm's End, and, of course, under the control of her brother. They were as good as backstabbers to her, presumably scouring the Fortress for her as she rode under heavy rain and up the Kingsroad. She would just have to take care of herself.

Robert would undoubtedly have people out looking for her, no walls could keep her safe from that. Even the supposedly impregnable Red Keep couldn't hide her from him. So, she hung low in the wider streets of King's Landing. Spending the moons getting pissed in taverns and sleeping wherever she could afford.

Whenever she wasn't absolutely snobbled on beer, she was out exploring the city. But, despite all the time she spent in the city, she just couldn't get close to the mess of huts that pretended to be a district of the great city: Flea bottom. There was just something repulsing about the people there, cramped between buildings and eating their own shit. Just skirting around the area the smell was enough to make her retch.

From time to time she saw nobles parading themselves through the city and up to the Red Keep, all full of pomp and riches, like the city was their playground. She despised their comparative freedom. Running away to try and escape her brother had turned her from a free Noblewoman into a trapped peasant, as stuck as any of the lowborn rotting away. Far from the life she had dreamed of. At least she still had her things she had picked up back in Storm's End, and more money than anyone around her would make in a lifetime. But, apparently paying for the best rooms and food every night had made her a bit of a target. Or, that's what the thieves she had caught told her before she sent them sailing head over heels out of the nearest window.

She completely missed Roland Baelishes death, probably because she was too drunk, or the news just missed her. Either way, hearing that Andar Royce had replaced Jason Mallister as the hand was very confusing news. There was no way she could let herself just wallow away down in the back alleys of King's Landing, becoming disconnected and alienated from everything going on outside her small bubble. She was a noblewoman, and it was time she started acting like one.

Her chance came not long after the death of the King, which wasn't exactly unexpected considering his state at the tournament a few moons ago. She was more surprised he had lived this long. But at least it gave her a chance to get back involved in the Nobility. So, she had approached the gate of the Red Keep, eager to get back into a world where people had more than a bath per moon, and could actually speak full and proper sentences.

Apparently a shit-stained woman hobbling up to the gates didn't look anything like a noblewoman, and nobody was willing to find anyone inside just to look at a peasant girl- a rather huge setback to her plans. But, she did catch wind of a tournament soon. Maybe she could prove herself there, after all, some people there would surely recognise her.