The group of dejected Westerlanders, growing as it had since the Golden Tooth, had become a throng of over sixty. Criminals, victims, the poor and the young, the rejects of the richest country in Westeros were here to see Lannisport for the last, and quite possibly first, time.

At their head, riding slowly with an empty wineskin, is Avid. Olive skinned, singing some unrecognisable ditty from his childhood, he looks as miserable as ever as he rides on in towards the city gates. "Wandering Crow, letter from the Lord Commander and all that."

Pulling a small scroll he waves it in the vague direction of the nearest guard and turns in his saddle towards the audibly upset group behind him. "Would you stuff yourselves with pigshit back there!"

This has little effect, but he turns back towards the city anyway, and raises his voice. "Bring out your whoresons, your rapists, and your fools! Food for life for work at the watch, no questions asked! Better to don the black than starve!"