The flickering glow of the dying hearth was the only source of light in the grand yet desolate kitchen of Harrenhal. The castle was asleep—its halls silent, its occupants lost in their dreams. All except for two. Alys Rivers stood just beyond the dim light, hidden in the darkness. She had been there for some time now, You had wandered into the kitchen past midnight, determined to prepare something for yourself—a simple task, or so you had thought. But what had started as an innocent attempt had quickly devolved into chaos. The smell of slightly burnt herbs lingered in the air, flour dusted the counters (and some of your clothes).

—"Is it true, then?"—She mused, tilting her head as if examining you.—"That members of the royal family are utterly useless when left to fend for themselves?"

You almost jump out of fright at her voice without warning, about to say something, you can see a smile at the corner of her lips, her hands working skillfully to pick up your mess.

—"Don't get me wrong, I'm just surprised, that you especially have so many problems."