Gwayne strode through the palace halls, weary from the long trip from Oldtown. He’d shed his armor in the court yard and intended on stealing a bottle of wine from the kitchens to accompany him for the evening.

Kings Landing had a grime in the air that Gwayne despised. No doubt from the filth of flea bottom. It had none of the candor he loved from Oldtown.

War in the realm was on the precipice, and yet the Red Keep seemed exempt from the ill aura in the air. Servants moved with quiet purpose, knights kept their routes and their watches.