Steffon's Quarters

[The Smith]

There was a knock at Steffon's doors.

[Sam]

A servant opened it, Steffon was reclined in a chair reading a book, his sword propped up against the chair's arm and a whetstone and a rag on the floor beside it.

[The Smith]

King Daemon walked into the room, and looked around bored. "Hello Steffon. How are you?"

[Sam]

"Rather bored. And yourself, your grace?" he asked.

[The Smith]

The King examined his nails, "I can understand why you were bored, but I have had Milo pull the guards from your door. You are free to leave."

[Sam]

"Thank you, your grace," Steffon said. He stood, and lifted his sword from the floor, sliding it back into its sheathe. He handed that and the whetstone off to a page who ran up. "Go tell Ser Guyard to ready the rest of the men, we're going home," he said as the boy ran off.

"Is there anything else your grace would have of me?" he asked, turning back to the King.

[The Smith]

"Nothing I would have but two thoughts that I think you will find interesting. The first is that Prince Martell has injured my pride greatly." Daemon said steadily.

[Sam]

Steffon was about to spit on the ground, but checked himself, remembering Lord Conwell's expensive carpets. "Dornish," he said acidly. "They've no respect for their betters in that country."

[The Smith]

Daemon did not see to see Steffon. He continued on like he had never spoken, "I think for a while the eyes of the Dragon will be blind to events that happen along the border of your two lands."

[Sam]

Steffon nodded seriously. He did not truly know how to respond to this, but he was already mentally composing the letters that he would be sending to his Marcher Lords after the King left.

[The Smith]

Daemon nodded, "Is there anything else my brother?"

[Sam]

"I would wish your grace farewell before I depart for the Stormlands, but nothing of import besides," he replied.

[The Smith]

Daemon nodded, and said, "Steffon good luck in your endeavors." He walked from the room.