The procession marched all the way through Flea Bottom to the gates of the Red Keep itself. Then the trumpeters went quiet, the guards went still, and Myrwin slowly and carefully dismounted from his horse.
He was not going to lose his scrap of bread he'd had for breakfast. He was _not_.
He handed the banners off to his bannerman and then proceeded in through the gates, alone, carrying his spear in one hand and wearing a sword on his hip.