"This is a good year for storms," Polonius sighed, running a hand through hair still worn in a close-cropped soldier's style. His thoughts were heavy- storms would sink ships and ruin crops. Add a good solid plague and the whole kingdom might start demanding William Stark's blood. Polonius did not want to find another king.
"Oho, getting your bearings in this keep takes more than days," he chuckled. "You'll be amazed at the number of wrong turns you can make. And that's before you stumble into one of the tunnels. A few too many mad kings with willing architects makes for interesting navigation... but there should be quiet a'plenty, Ser Tristran." Polonius grimaced. A quiet court was a deadly one. Gave the nobles too much time to think and plot. If only they could all be so noble as the Starks or so forthright as the Tullys, he would've had a far easier task. He didn't like to think what Aelon Greyjoy was getting into aside from Elia Martell's bed, and if half of what he'd heard whispered about Selester's gooddaughter was true...
"At least for a while. The fever's begun to burn itself out here though it's still spreading in the countryside. Your storms may have spared your company the contagion."