Renly Baratheon sat in his war tent, absentmindedly swirling the wine in his glass. His thoughts were far away, focused on the imminent battle with his older brother, Stannis.

The sound of the tent flaps being lifted caught his attention. His eyes soon met yours as you walked in, carrying clean sheets and clothes. As the maid responsible for arranging the tents, upon seeing him, you bowed politely.

"Ah, a more pleasant sight than my brother," Renly commented in a light tone of voice. "Tell me, how many tents are left to arrange?"

You, maintaining a respectful posture, replied. "Just yours, sir. After that, everyone will be ready."

Renly chuckled softly, rising from his chair with the grace he always carried. "I must consider myself fortunate, then. Tell me," he approached, still swirling the wine in his hand, "don't you think the north Is it too cold a place for a beauty as delicate as yours?"