Call him crazy; Laenwyn Brython loved the smell of horse shit.<br/><br/>'There's nothing that smells more like hard, honest work,' he liked to quip to his younger siblings, 'than the warm, clean smell of horse shit.' They would giggle at his crudeness, and the old crone entrusted with their tutelage would scowl.<br/><br/>'Don't you use that tongue around the little 'uns,' she would clack her teeth as she berated him. Laenwyn would grin and pretend to be cowed; while his father faded away, unable to remember day to day his own name or the faces of his own children, he was, effectively, Lord of Westcastle. It was absurd to think that the kids' old nan would have any right to instruct him on what he could or could not say around his own little brothers and sisters; but the two of them enjoyed their jousting. It made for a bit of levity to break up the monotony of life on the smallholding.<br/><br/>Here, though, Laenwyn couldn't but notice, the smell was less palatable than at home. King's Landing stank of something far fouler than mere horse shit. He pulled up his traveller's cloak 'round his nose to try and ward off the stench, but it seemed to permeate through the thick dusty cloth and infest his nostrils. He found himself gagging, and had to rip the cloak back off from over his face. He gave a stern kick to the side of his bay charger, and she took off at a brisk trot through the densely-packed street.<br/><br/>By his side, his brooding squire kicked his black mare into a similar gait to catch up. He growls as a gust of wind kicks up and blows a lock of his midnight black hair in front of his face. Laenwyn grins. At least some things don't change, even in the Capital.<br/><br/>'You'd do well to sweeten that countenance of yours, Lucifer, or the natives here will think you a horse, with your long face.' Laenwyn turned in his saddle to look back at the boy who, despite himself, smiled at the knight's playful jibe.<br/><br/>'Aye, and you a travelling monkey, with that haircut,' Lucifer returned coolly. The men shared a laugh as their mares came to be side by side and, now removed from the gates and the foul-smelling open sewers that ran down the hill from the side of the Red Keep, they both pulled gently on their reins to slow their mounts to a gentle walk. 'Where is the Sept of Baelor?' Lucifer suddenly inquired. 'Where was it that...that he died?'<br/><br/>Laenwyn's smile faded as quickly as it had come upon him. For all of Lucifer's promise as a squire, his allegiance to his House's liege lords - while understandable - was cause of no small concern for Laenwyn and the rest of House Brython. He cleared his throat nervously, eyeing a trio of City Watchmen who walked by, eyeing up the two riders with blank expressions hidden behind veils of chainmail. 'You'd do well to keep that sort of talk to yourself while we're here,' Laenwyn suggested quietly, 'you'll find few friends of Ned Stark here in the Capital.' Seeing the expression darken on young Lucifer's face, Laenwyn quickly added, 'Nonetheless,' he coughed, and forced a smile to ease the boy's spirit, 'I intend to go to the Sept now to pray to the Father for justice, ere I call upon the Red Keep. You are most welcome to join me, should you so desire.'<br/><br/>'With respect, ser,' Lucifer shook his head, and a part of Laenwyn was disappointed. 'House Blackcrowe keeps the Old Gods. There's nothing for me in the Sept but memories of a dead Lord. If it please, I will seek my own friends here in the Capital - the sort you can buy for an hour or two and forget thereafter.'<br/><br/>Laenwyn ground his teeth in aggravation, but he knew better than to try and scold the boy for his antics. 'Fine,' he waved a hand absently. 'You're dismissed; put in for me at the Red Keep when you finish. I shall go to the Sept and pray; though before then I suppose I ought to find me an armourer who can fix that helm of yours.'<br/><br/>Lucifer looked back blankly at Laenwyn for a second, but then the dawning of realisation lit up his dark features. 'The helm! Of course, my lord! Thank you!' Lucifer leaned back in the saddle to fumble in his saddlebag, taking from it a dented and ripped helmet in the manner of those equipped on Men-at-Arms in service to House Stark. He tossed it to Laenwyn, who caught it and strapped it to his own saddle. Lucifer gave a curt nod, and tugged on his right rein, turning his mare down a side alley in search of a brothel. Laenwyn rolled his eyes, and kicked on, making for the marketplace in the center of the city, where he hoped to find a blacksmith.<br/><br/>As he came upon the markets, he woah'd his charger and glanced around at the splendour of the marketplace. Lannisport had nothing like this - he could understand why this was the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. There was so much to see and do; so many merchants from the farthest lands in the East, the North, and the South...as he watched, two little urchins scampered under the legs of idle shoppers, chased by a mongrel dog barking happily at their play. Two more Watchmen stood on a platform at the far end of the market, from where they could get a view over most of the goings on and keep the peace. A few knights and soldiers garbed in Lannister livery walked here and there, obviously on leave from the war and making the most of their return to the city.<br/><br/>At the corner of the market, by the street that led from the square up to the Red Keep, Laenwyn espied a finely-dressed young woman escorted by one of the Goldcloaks, looking quite annoyed by her demeanour. Her eyes swept the square, and as they passed over him he was taken aback by the vibrance of their sapphire blue, like the deepest ocean off the coast of Westcastle. Laenwyn smiled to himself, and turned his attention back into the market, freeing his feet from their stirrups and sliding down off his horse, grabbing her reins gently and guiding her in to the throng of shoppers and stalls, glancing for a split second back at the well-dressed lady and her stern-looking escort.