He hadn’t been thinking of the castle’s layout when he spoke of getting his bearings, but Tristran was glad that the man chose to take it that way. It had been a foolish comment to make. He could one day be the Lord of Seagard; it wouldn’t do to go about telling everyone just how uncomfortable he still was when dealing with other nobles.
“Yes, there’s that reason as well,” Tristran admitted when the other man spoke of the plague. The thought of any of his family falling ill made his stomach clench, but it was a relief to hear that the fever was passing, and he said a silent prayer to the Seven in thanks.
“Though the council is probably as responsible for that as our timing is. The city guard was waiting for us at the docks. They said they were under orders from a council member to escort any nobles who arrived to the Keep.” He’d been upset by that, at first. It had been a long time since he’d seen the city, and he’d been looking forward to exploring for a bit. The dead and dying that they passed as they rode through the streets soon changed his mind.
“I just wish we’d had some sort of warning. Stepping off a ship to find the gold cloaks waiting for you isn’t the best welcome.” It was a poor joke, he knew, and he said it with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been trying to avoid thinking of the plague - there was nothing that could be done about it, after all, save for praying. Happy as he was to learn that the situation might be improving, Tristran could think of nothing to say about it, and found himself wishing he could come up with another topic to discuss.