The sun rose late in the winter but King's Landing seemed to burst with activety none the less. The Faines were no exception to that. Ser Myles had taken his time getting ready for the meeting to come. The nervousness of meeting his potential bride had gnawed at him for much time the night before and he had to look presentable. Father had asked the tailor in Coldlight to make a brand new doublet, one that was clean of dirt and wine stains and that fit him much more favorably. Geordie had even helped him trim the beard that he had brandished for years now, wrangling the thick bush into a neat scruff that hugged his chin and jawline. On top of that his moustache had been twirled with a bit of grease over the past months, and it's shape had been carefully made perfect.

He was clean, and looked like a proper nobleman out of a children's story book. It made him ashamed. He was not this man he saw in the reflection of the ice on his way to the Red keep. He was an adventurer who slept in stables and under hedges, who fought in melees and never lacked bruises on his body. And he didn't want to lie to a lady about who he was.

Nevertheless, he and Geordie found themselves once more at the gates to the Red Keep. Staring up at its huge walls and intimidating towers that looked a dark crimson against the dreary sky.

"Gods be with you," Geordie shouted out to the Guardsmen, "I would present to you Ser Myles of House Faine, the heir of Coldlight. We are meant to meet with Lysa Rosby, and also to discuss lodging within the keep with the steward."

Geordie was clearly the younger of the two men, and had tired and wise-looking eyes that conflicted with the youthful blush on his pale cheeks and the patchy little scruff that grew in splotches on his neck and chin. He hoisted a small pole higher for the guardsmen to see. The black mastiff on a field of argent flapped proudly in the wind and would prove their nobility.