Tristran looked up at the sound of rustling of papers, and was startled to discover he had no idea where he was.
They’d arrived in King’s Landing yesterday afternoon, and Tristran had risen early after a night spent staring at his ceiling, wide awake. He’d never slept easily in unfamiliar environments, and arriving to find the city ravaged by a plague did little to help. When the sky outside his window began to brighten, he gave up any hope of sleep and quickly bathed and dressed, planning to take a short walk before returning to his rooms for breakfast. But the lack of sleep had taken its toll on him, and he wandered farther than intended, lost in thoughts of kings and poisons and plagues.
This was his first time in the Red Keep, and it was easy to lose himself in the endless hallways, alone save for the servants hurrying about, doing their best to make themselves inconspicuous. And now here he was, standing in the doorway of some room he’d never seen, a man he didn’t know staring back at him. A knight, Tristran judged, going by his clothing and his build. Quite possibly highborn, though what he was doing here by himself, at this time of the morning, Tristran couldn’t begin guess.
“My pardons, ser,” he called out, bowing his head slightly, his voice a bit weak from a night of disuse. “I did not intend to disturb you.”