The sounds of a harp and drunk nobles serenaded me as I made my exit from the Great Hall. The loud and raucous laughter of the upper classes being more suited to a tavern than a castle. The feast was grand and opulent with the cooks providing a never-ending chain of dishes and the nobles inhaling them. The table with the tourney knights especially resembling a bottom less pit in which food would disappear into. King Robert had primarily spent the night trading war stories and getting progressively more inebriated. His slurred words and low coordination betraying the number of flagons he had drained. At one point, a loud belch escaped his mouth which had incited good natured laughter from the majority of the guests with the exception of his own wife, Cersei Lannister.

The Queen had presented a stoic figure throughout the night, with a cold glare being projected from her emerald green eyes directly at the King who was either oblivious or apathetic. Beautiful in an almost otherworldly way and garbed in a delicate scarlet-red gown which matched well with her golden locks, the Queen seemed as she had been crafted out of stone by a master sculptor. Her eyes containing a deep seeded pride within them that considered everyone in the room as inferior. The only hint of tenderness I’d witnessed was reserved for the two figures that sat either side of her, Ser Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey Baratheon.

The young prince had inherited his hair and eye colour from his mother and had succeeded at imitating her surly expression as well. A typical arrogant princeling, he had ignored the fawning of the other noble children who were likely ordered by their parents. His size appeared average for his age and I couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever become a match for his fathers’ large stature. Hovering behind the boy, was a large brutish man in a distinctive dog shaped helm vigilantly guarding his charge. The combination of the helmet and pitch-black armour generating a menacing aura which was unsuited to the festivities. Through a conversation with Barristan Selmy, I had been informed that the man was Sandor Clegane, the sworn shield of Prince Joffrey. A dangerous combatant who served as protection initially for the Queen and now for the Prince. The old knight took offence to me asking if Clegane was a knight and from the tone he said it I could tell he had no positive feelings for the man. From conversations throughout the night I had come to learn his more common nickname the Hound, but the guests couldn’t agree if that was due to his occupation or the house he belonged to.

Later on, the Prince retired for the night accompanied by his mother and uncle. Clegane was dismissed for the evening and the party was instead escorted by the members of the Kingsguard. This gave me my first sight of his face as he removed his helmet to begin drinking. The left side of his face being covered in hideous burns that caused me to recoil slightly. A movement which he witnessed and promptly ignored. As he began eating his long black fair fell over his face and covered the majority of his injuries, but the scars were still clear to see. The final interesting figure at the feast was a red priest known as Thoros of Myr. Hailing from Essos, he was a follower of the god R’hllor, who had been sent to Westeros in an attempt to convert the king. Thoros had a portly figure and was bald, in terms of clothing he was garbed in the characteristic red robes of his order. Though overweight Thoros gave the impression of someone who could handle himself in combat unlike his fellow Essosi Varys. Watching him throughout the feast, had taught me he was vastly different from other religious figures I had come across, as he drank and jested with the King. Though I doubted he would manage to achieve his aim, a part of me could understand why he was chosen as their preacher.

Walking through the corridor of the Red Keep which were being guarded by the city watch, I couldn’t help but reminisce about my time in the capital. It had proven to be a worthwhile visit and I had managed to gain valuable information about the Seven Kingdoms which would make my research easier. The sound of hurried footsteps and shouting started to get progressively louder as I went down the hallway, informing me someone was heading in my direction. Around the corner came a short rotund man dressed in the colourful tunic of a jester. The ring of bells sounding out in time with his queer gait. A chequered pattern of blood red and foliage green squares tattooed across his wide circular face. The gold cloaks who were positioned in the hallway barely suppressed their laughter, but it fazed him not one bit. A look of recollection passing across his chubby face as he saw me, before he immediately broke out in a demented song.

“Under the sea the raft rules, for now it is only landing. Seek the hidden heart in the capital, to fix a misunderstanding” the rotund man sang as he danced around my person, a frenzied expression upon his face.

“Black waters, tides and then castles. Enemies, allies and then battles.” His performance becoming progressively more animated.

“Crows to the north and the east, a murder if you meet.” He shouted pointing at spots on some imaginary map.

“Is that where you got to?” A voice shouted from the same direction the jester had come from, a man slowly coming into view.

The man slowly shuffled forward in the way that elderly people tend to do, and I immediately recognised him as a maester from the chains around his neck. The man had wrinkled hands that seemed ancient and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had studied in the citadel with Pycelle. A shocked look crossed his face when he saw me, and he immediately tried his best to bow his head.

“Apologies my lord, Patchface escaped my sight and I tried my best to give chase, but my legs aren’t as they used to be” The elderly maester said while looking into my eyes, the sincerity present in them surprising me.

“I’m a prince not a lord, and there is no need for apologies, he didn’t do me any harm”

“Essos or the Summer Isles? If you don’t mine me asking”

“The latter and I don’t. Mostafa Osei of Walano and you would be Maester…”

A fresh bout of surprise crossed his face when I informed him of my name or to be more exact my family name. The gears in his head moving quickly to process the new information and what it meant for him. Realising I would need to intercept him, I spoke out first.

“Mercy, I’ve just spent the past few hours dodging the not so subtle hints of the Grand Maester” I say, allowing an exasperated expression to cross my face.

Our still unnamed friend’s expression shifted from the earlier shock to a more knowing smile and then full-blown laughter. After he had suitably calmed himself down, he looked at me directly and started.

“Then I’ll have to apologize again, this time on behalf of my order. The citadel may be filled with ornery old men but in the pursuit of knowledge they can be more persistent than a virgin approaching his name day. I am Maester Cressen of Dragonstone. I’ve served House Baratheon since the time of Lord Steffon and took care of his three children all their lives. It’s my sworn duty to make sure the next generation is as healthy as the last, so I’ve come to examine the Princess Myrcella just like I did with Prince Joffrey. It also gives me an opportunity to report on Shireen’s health” The elderly maester informed while paying his respects with a brief bow.

“The daughter of Lord Stannis?” I asked.

“The same, only a year old but sickly” Cressen said, shaking his head despondently “Poor child”

“That’s unfortunate to hear, but at least she will now have a friend”

Cressen was surprised to hear my words, so I explained further.

“I mean the Princess Myrcella, with the two being cousins and only a year apart. It would be possible for them to grow up as close friends. I may not be much of a doctor but even I recognise at times the best medication is family” trying my best to help the old man.

“An interesting idea and one I hadn’t considered before,” his finger running through his beard. “Shireen would be able to see Lord Stannis more often, plus Dragonstone isn’t an ideal place to raise children” having grown excited, Cressen was now pacing around the corridor.

“Yes, the merits might just outweigh the drawbacks. I’ll have to go speak to Lord Stannis immediately.” Cressen said as he turned around to head off.

Intercepting him with a shout, I draw his mind back to what had me curious. “Before you leave, Patchface”

“Patchface, is truly a pitiable creature. A talented boy struck down by foul circumstance. When he washed up, he was so cold like a corpse. The men who found him thought his life forfeit. By some miracle or even curse he coughed up a mouthful of water and survived. Though he kept his life, he traded his mind for it. Disturbing songs and sayings about the world under the sea is all he has left. Many times, I was asked about putting him out of his misery, but I just couldn’t do it, maybe a small part of me hopes the boy is still in there somewhere. Forgive him, he may not have his mind any longer, but he hasn’t hurt a thing before” An apologetic expression on his face.

“It’s no problem, I was just interested in some of the things he was saying,” waving my hand to demonstrate my lack of concern.

“Though it is not my place to intervene, I would suggest forgetting what you heard. We once had a household guard who swore the jester was speaking sense. He followed him around for a week recording every song and rhyme. Suffice to say, we ended up needing a replacement and if the rumours were to be believed, the guard didn’t live long preceding that.” The imploring expression on his face relaying the importance of his information.

“I will take note of that Maester and I wish you the best in your endeavours” I replied while walking away to consider what I had heard.

I couldn’t help chuckling in my head at the fact that Maester Cressen’s warning had achieved the exact opposite effect. As I was now even more keen to memorize the jester’s words and try and understand the meaning behind them. Taking a quick look behind me, I saw the elderly maester chastising the jester for having run away, while Patchface remained completely silent. At that moment, the eyes of the jester shifted to meet mine. The glimmer of intelligence shocking me to my core. Transfixed I continued staring at him till he broke eye contact to focus on the Maester again. The entire journey home I couldn’t help wondering if the slight hint of a smile I saw was a figment of my imagination or the echo of a man long lost.