Tristran had hardly noticed the violin - it was a common enough sound. It seemed that half of the visitors to court had brought musicians along, and more had come to the city on their own, hoping to win favor with King William or one of his guests. Music was just another part of the background noise here, and he’d learned quickly to tune it out.
And besides that, he’d spent the morning examining weapons on the Street of Steel, and was busy considering the merits of the arms makers he’d called upon. His lord father had decided that it was time he commission a new sword, a weapon befitting his station, and Tristran had to admit that, as well as it had served him, his old blade with it’s simple stone pommel was not the type that would ever be immortalized in song. He would have preferred to have it made by the smith back at Seagard; but though the man was a master of his craft, he had little use for decoration. Still, plain as they were, his were the weapons that Tristran had used all his life, and every sword offered to him that morning, no matter how pretty, had felt strange and off balance in his hands.
He could always keep his old sword, he supposed, and treat the new one as purely decorative. Though any sword he bought would be a fine weapon, and that seemed like a terrible waste. But how would it look, Lord Mallister’s son ordering a sword from King’s Landing, rather than trusting his own arms maker... The sudden lack of music caught his attention. He looked up, expecting to have run across some practicing musician, and was surprised to find what was clearly a noblewoman staring back at him.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he told the girl, suddenly conscious of the plain, worn clothes he’d chosen for his trip to the city. “I did not mean to disturb you.”