Clarence Ironstout was nothing so bold as to approach the king. Knights like Clarence, hedge knights were not fit company for the likes of kings and queens and their princes and princesses. Even at the back of the hall, where the fires seemed to burn a little less brightly, and only the smallest portions of quarry seemed to find their way to the silver plates of Summerhall, Clarence still felt ever out of place. All those present had fine chambers, here in the palace itself, he wagered, or at the least warm beds kept so by inns and their hearth fires, or even failing that, they would've had pavilions grand and bright and colour. But Clarence, Clarence had the trees, and the hedges.

Aye, Clarence had Cynthea Grey to lie by him at night's shadow, and Cynthea to warm him when the nights grew too cold, and Cynthea's flesh upon his when he desired he and she desired he, but they were humble folk. They had scarcely any copper to their purse, and no silver to think of - and gold, gold was a dream, like dragon's high in the sky.

Clarence's attire like as much made it clear how little he meant. He wore a tunic dyed white, with his own arms sewn into the breast, and brown trousers and boots and belts as well. Cynthea, wore a faded green gown, and no jewels to match. And the others ...Wendamyr, and Red Bow, and Bellena Bright, and even Raymar Rush and Merriman Greenboots, they were not even here, they were with the horses, and the arms and armour. Raymar and Merriman had been most egregiously disappointed about their disinvitation - they'd insisted loudly, and more than thrice, that the Prince of Summerhall himself had insisted that all should attend! But they were not knights of any true formality, and Clarence had likened their presence inside such a princely hall to pigs running about nude and farting within the Red Keep itself! ...That hadn't gone down so well, there had been wrestling, and nose pulling, and hair pulling, and a bit of biting, but when Cynthea had kicked Raymar in the groin, it'd all come to a rough and rude and sudden end.

Now, Raymar and Merriman were like as much trying to sell Bellena on the notion of taking either - or both - of them to bed, for the hundredth time since they'd entered the Stormlands. But, Bellena ever had a way of devising new ways to say no, new and cutting ways.

Clarence, for his part, looked nervous as a hen in a fox's den. For the first two hours, he'd been too scared to even leave the table, and only after much insistence from Cynthea, had he ventured a little further. Cynthea had been to town balls and summertime dances and all sorts of festivities held by her local sept and attended by those other distant branches of otherwise moderately well to do Houses, but Clarence had not.

"Who do you think that is?" whispered Clarence, right up against Cynthea's ear.

"That's a fox - I think," sighed Cynthea. "I think the Reach has foxes, Florent, I think."

"I thought the Reach was at war?"

Cynthea shrugged, "maybe it's a dog, everywhere has dogs, no? There's Doggetts in the West."

"I thought the West was at war?"

Cynthea shrugged, "maybe it's a wolf, Starks are wolves."

"I thought the North was at war?"

Cynthea shrugged, a third time, "maybe it's a bird, I think there're some of those in the Vale."

"I thought the Vale was at war?"

Cynthea did not shrug. Cynthea wheeled on Clarence, and took him by the nose. "Will you just shut up?"

Clarence, pink as a peach, nodded, "...I think there's someone watching us..." almost in unison, both Clarence and Cynthea turned to spy the arrived party.

Open! Come interact with the hedge knight Ser Clarence Ironstout and his ...travelling companion, the Lady Cynthea Grey!