Arya rides into Town

Hanging around in the dungeon

Arya's body arched as freezing water crashed against her skin. She gasped for breath; desperately trying to suck in air, panicking that she had been dumped into the river and was drowning. Opening her eyes, Arya squinted in the dim light as the fog cleared from her groggy head. A sharp stab of pain seared across the back of her skull and she remembered the blow which had taken her down.

Blinking water from her eyes and regaining focus, Arya calmed her thoughts.

She wasn't drowning.

Instead, she became aware of the icy tendrils of water dripping down her body, her naked body, and a terrible ache in her shoulders. Arya didn't need to look up to know her arms were strapped overhead; only doing so to see the method of bondage and effort it would require for her to free herself. Leather bindings on each wrist cut cruelly into her wrists as they'd been taking the strain of her slumped body. They were connected by a short length of chain which had been thrown over a wicked hook embeeded into the stone ceiling.

Adjusting her position, so at least her feet had some weight against the rough cold floor, Arya relieved some of the pressure on her shoulders. Being on her tiptoes meant there was little purchase with the ground, making it a lot harder to pull off a move where she flipped her wrists over the iron hook to escape. A tough move, but not impossible.

"Get the Lord. She's awake."

Arya focused on the speaker. He dropped a wooden bucket, letting the remnants of water spill out. He was one of the foulest looking men she'd ever seen that was still alive. Uglier than the Hound waking up after a night of heavy drinking. A face ravaged by the pox was not just pitted and scarred, but afflicted with festering scabs and blisters indicating it was still full of disease.

The hunched figure, clad in rancid looking brown robes, kept his hood covering most of his head, which was probably a blessing to all who had to look at him. The grey eyes which peered at Arya were devoid of any human empathy, and she knew he was the type of tortured soul who inflicted agony on others in retribution for its own horrific experiences with pain.

While there was still enough strength in her arms so Arya to haul herself up and wrap her legs around his sunken neck, she knew he wasn't the real problem. Enough training and experience forced her to get her breathing under control and examine her surroundings.

Arya's eyes flicked either side of the jailer.

The weak light from two lanterns hanging on the walls was enough to reveal a dungeon. It was the sort of dark chamber where unfortunate guests were questioned by an inquisitor not overly concerned with the accuracy of any answers offered.

There was another man in the room. A tall guard, wearing chainmail armour with a tabard signifying the Lord of Light. He was stood upright; a rigid stance Arya thought betrayed a level of discomfort. She wondered if it was because he was in the presence of a sadistic torturer, or a naked young woman dangling helplessly from the roof.

She was appraising the short sword attached to his belt as a potential weapon when Arya heard a whimpering coming from the shadows. Turning her head to peer past the guard into one of the dark corners, her heart sank on seeing the diminutive figure of Lisa. She'd been forced into a wooden chair, scrawny arms and legs strapped down to prevent any escape. Neither did Arya think it was a regular chair for sadistic spectators to watch the jailer at work. Lurking between the flickers of the orange light were many wooden contraptions scattered around the dark chamber. Arya had no doubt had they'd been dreamed up by deviant minds to inflict all manner of gruesome agony on anyone unlucky enough to find themselves at their mercy.

"The Lord is coming now." Arya's snapped round at the sharp prod into her ribs from a short wooden stick the ugly bastard had produced from under his robes. "Answer his questions, or I'll have to make you squeal."

His other scab infested hand pointed towards a crude wooden table a few feet to her side. It displayed an assortment of utensils whose entire existence was to damage specific human bodies. Arya couldn't tell if the brown stains were because the tools were rusty, or still caked in dried blood. The bastard pressed against her body and pushed his unwashed face so close his scent filled her nostrils.

"But not to fast. I like making skinny girls squeal. And your skin is so smooth an delicious."

Arya wasn't sure whether the reek of rotting maggots was from his breath or the puss-filled sores on his face. Either way, she wanted to vomit. The jailer lowered his head and kissed the top of her belly. She felt his tongue on the bare skin freshly drenched by water. There was a muted groan of pleasure from the stinking man as his scabbed chin scraped up her belly until his tongue licked across an exposed breast.

She was desperate to retaliate, envisioning a move which allowed her to grab an instrument of torture he intended to use on her, and ram it into his eye. Arya had to close her eyes and fight back the surge of fierce adrenalin.

The sound of solid boots and clanking armour indicated others were about to join them. There was a distant scream of a woman and the laughing of men elsewhere in the prison as the door swung opened. Swallowing back the desire to remove the puss ridden face of the jailer, Arya hoped she was amount to meet the Lord.

The disgusting creature pulled away from her body. The guard stood straighter as another, clad in the same chainmail and tabard, but a little shorter in stature, entered the chamber and took up station beside his companion. The others entered the room behind him.

The first man, with his flowing blood-red cloak and ceremonial armour, was obviously Lord Flowers. A clean-shaven face topped with a mop of blond hair was not unpleasant to look at, but narrow and cruel eyes dismissed any notion an observer may have that he had an ounce of kindness in his body. An image confirmed by the chain running from his wrist to a leather collar fastened around the neck of a poor young woman whose modesty was only covered by the merest scraps of ragged cloth. Her face was hidden by tangled knots of hair as she kept her eyes looking down.

When the final figure entered a cold shiver racked Arya's body as the temperature in the dank chamber plunged.

It was a woman, a creature, with dark grey skin that looked so worn and thin it was as though it had been stretched to fit her misshapen head. A few strands of silver hair dangled from the crown, and her eyes could barely be made out they were so sunken into her skull. Her little body was encased in a blood-red robe which seemed so luxurious, it was in stark contrast to the withered figure inside.

While Arya wasn't quite sure she was human, it was the aura emanating from her frail body, causing her the most concern. Arya was sure even the guards had shivered when the grey-faced woman had floated into the room. The jailer had melted into the shadows near Lisa as though wanting to be as far away from the creature as possible. The young girls whimpering had died away.

Only Lord Flowers seemed unperturbed as he stepped in front of Arya with the air of a noble who considered himself above reproach.

"Do we know her name?" The Lord had a deep voice associated with someone wishing to command respect. Though his words were accompanied with a spray of spittle and his teeth had items stuck within them as though he had just been disturbed from a meal.

"She has only just recovered from being struck on the head, my Lord." The jailer shuffled back into view. "I thought I would wait until you were here before starting the questioning. I know how you like to ask the questions yourself."

A sneer spread across the Lord's face as he looked Arya up and down before grabbing one of her arms and twisting her body around. She was forced to move her toes as fast as she could to keep up, but his rough handling soon had her dangling helplessly. Slowly he removed one of his gauntlets and groped Arya's behind while breathing heavily into her ear. Arya flexed her fingers, making sure there was still blood flowing. She had been prepared for this. Knew her training would allow such swift movements the Lord would not be able to react in time to defend himself. While he was satisfied the naked young woman was at the mercy of his every whim, Arya knew she could strike him dead in a moment.

And she would have done if it was it not for the old woman.

Because Arya realised the foul creature was the real enemy.