Joffrey Baratheon

You give the letter to one of your hand maids who rushes off to Joffreys apartments.

There is no reply for the rest of the day. You stare at the setting sun outside the window, wondering if you should have chosen someone else.

There is a heavy knock at the door. For a second you think someone is trying to kick it down, but it is only a very strong knock. You command your servant to let this guest in.

Sanford Clegane walks into the room, he seems to fit Littlefingers description precisely. A big, lumbering tree or a man, with a rugged face half scarred with burns. The Hound looks you up and down with brazen disregard.

You politely ask the man for the purpose of his visit.

“‘Am here on behalf o’ the prince Yer Grace,” he says, again looking you up and down. “‘E says to say he’s not to be summoned like some commoner. Instead, he invites you to see him in his private tower.”

You are surprised by the brusqueness in his voice, and slightly insulted. Still, you are excited to finally talk to someone of importance in Westeros. You follow the Hound to Joffrey’s tower.

You assume that the meeting will take place one one of the many council rooms within the tower, but instead you are escorted directly to Joffreys personal bedroom. The furniture is red velvet trimmed with gold, the walls crimson, and the Prince much more beautiful than you expected.

But behind that beauty there is an evil look in the Prince’s eye. You bow to him, expecting the same courtesy in return, instead Joffrey sits back at the foot of his bed, grinning. The hound moves to stand beside him protectively, guarding the small distance between you and the Prince.

“King Rishard,” he says. “Of the isle of Parre. I’ve never heard of this… country. Mother tells me it is a wild rock in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but hungry seals and ugly people.”

His words shock you. You take a moment to compose yourself. If this is what every noble is like in Westeros, you would have done better to sail right on past the continent into the doom of Valyria.

You keep your tone, still hoping to make the best of the situation. You respectfully tell the Prince that you do not think his mother has an entirely accurate account of your homeland.

“No you’re probably right,” he smiles. “She’s a foolish wench at the best of times, all women are. Still, I see that she was wrong about one thing, you are certainly not an ugly person, are you?”

You tell the Prince you are flattered by his compliments. You take advantage of the moment of civility to inform Joffrey off your nations plight with the iron born, and the need for Westeros’ support.

“I’ve never liked the iron born,” Joffrey says nonchalantly. “Now they are a very ugly people. What do you say, dog?”

The Hound sniffed. “Wouldn’t want to see a naked one, Your Grace.”

Joffrey laughed. “We can agree on that.” He turns his eyes back to you, the glimmer of evil returning. “But what about our new foreign friend? Tell me, how does a Parreman look when he is naked?”

You do not know what to say. Both men stare at you expectantly, but you cannot think of a way to respond to such an absurd question.

“Better yet Yer Grace,” The Hound says. “Why don’t we let him show us?”

Your eyes widen, you wonder if this is some sort of jest. Joffrey grins with excitement. The idea of getting naked in front of the beautiful Prince and his handsome guard is rather exciting to you too, but you sense a trap.

“Excellent idea, dog. Rishard, I command you now, strip and let me see what a Parreman really looks like.”