Artoran Sand, or [i]Prince[/i] Artoran Sand (as Toran so enjoyed making known to stuffy nobles, and the looks he got in return) had arrived at King’s Landing three days prior to the day the others were to arrive, due to unexpectedly good weather at sea. After about two and a half weeks on a ship, Toran had welcomed King’s Landing like an old lover, and was happy to have returned. 
This visit was odd, though; Toran and his family normally made twice to thrice-yearly trips to visit his aunt, and his father and all of his siblings would accompany them. This time, though, it was a stretch even for Toran to be welcomed as a ward (his aunt had needed to do some… [i]Convincing[/i] with the king) and his siblings certainly couldn’t come. Not even his father, Prince Mikael, was able to visit - something he was sure his father was sore about. He and his sister were close, after all. 

In any case, he was here now, and not even in his usual chamber. He had to hand it to his uncle; he’d pulled every string to make the wards interact. In fact, in all his playing in the Red Keep, Toran had somehow never found this common area, or its branching bedrooms. The accommodations were good, though. His room was as spacious and lush as he would expect, and he’d been enjoying himself for the past few days.

In fact, at the very moment the first wards were to arrive, Toran was already in his chamber, lounging in the sun on a lush velvet window seat and in an… interesting condition with a particularly interesting lady. His [i]companion[/i] sat behind him, rubbing oil into his bare shoulders and chest as he leaned back into her, dissecting a pomegranate into a shallow bowl. She was regaling a tale of one of her customers, a senile bard who’d tried to pay her in grapes. 

Toran glanced out the window, fixing his eyes for a moment on the parting sea of blue falcon banners so far below. Even from this height, he could see the display of Arryn power clearly. Laughing, Toran finally turned away and asked, “Well, what did you end up doing with him?”

The woman, a shirtless twenty-year-old beauty with thick auburn hair and dashing blue eyes named Lana, smiled cleverly and waved a hand. “Oh, we stole the poor bastard’s rings - he had at least two on each finger, and yet still dressed like a gutter whore - and sent him on his way, grinning like he’d fucked the queen.” They both burst into chuckles, and Lana traced her fingers over his shoulder and up his neck, tracing the rough, discoloured skin on the right side. “Oh my, this must be why they call you the Scorched One…” Her voice was a mixture of nonchalant interest and odd admiration. 

Toran’s gaze hardened, but he grinned nonetheless. “My dear, if you didn’t have me in such a vulnerable position, you’d be regretting the moment you said that.” He hesitated, then chuckled once, low in his throat to dismiss the threat, if not announce some displeasure. It obviously hadn’t been the first time she’d noticed; the girl had him out of his shirt an hour ago, and almost out of his trousers by then. She must have been kindly ignoring them until she thought she had him in good enough a mood, and wanted to make sure she was with who she thought she was. He knew how whores operated: Brothels were home to rampant competition, and every girl wanted to come back saying they’d fucked a more famous man than the one before.

“So…” she purred, digging deeper into his flesh, “You really [i]are[/i] the bastard Martell Prince.”

To this, Toran sincerely smiled. He reached back and patted the girl’s face. “Tell your friends, my dear. I’m sure at least one of them knows me.” 

A few minutes passed before Toran decided it was time to put Toruk away while he was… Busy. But when he reached for the viper, formerly lounging on a lattice in the evening sun, he found only an empty lattice. 

Toran shot up, nearly spilling a bowl of pomegranate seeds onto his guest. She looked shocked, but Toran ignored her; his missing pet was of much greater importance. While Toran knew he wouldn’t harm him, he was concerned that the snake would get spooked by the guests and bite one if he got loose. The Prince tore the room apart in a matter of moments, tossed a few gold dragons to Lana and told her to get dressed and leave through the servant’s door of the room immediately. He whistled a few times - he always whistled when he was about to feed Toruk, so he normally came ‘running’ at the sound - but got no response. Heart racing, he threw on a silk shirt with an open chest and billowing sleeves and dashed toward the common room. 

While Toran searched, a small dash of red and black crept unnoticed by the guests in the common room, camouflaged against the colourful, torchlit floor coverings and up the leg of a suit of armour near the entrance. The snake disappeared in time for another to enter, storming in in a flurry of sky blue and riding leathers. She noted her displeasure at present company and leaned against the wall, near the snake’s hiding place. 

Toruk didn’t like her attitude, and she encroached on his space, no less! No no, this wasn’t to be taken lightly. 

And she was so infuriatingly, [i]tantalizingly[/i] close. All the viper had to do was slither out of the elbow joint of his armour, close enough to the girl’s own elbow to reach with relative ease, even for his small stature. He bore his fangs, rearing back while she wasn’t looking, and-

Suddenly, Toran came running. having burst out of his chamber, scanning the room for the snake’s favourite spots. Sure enough, he’d been hiding in his favourite suit of armour, and Toran barely managed to push the girl, rather ungracefully, out of the way before the snake decided to strike. Instead of his planned target, Toruk’s fangs his Toran’s forearm, and the snake was promptly grabbed and held secure by its master. As always, falconry leathers protected Toran’s arms under his sleeves, so luckily, the bite did no harm. 

Breathing heavy, Toran eyed the snake, which seemed to become eerily calm under his gaze. He gave Toruk a stern shake of the head and a Dornish scorn and let him go to wrap around his upper arm and rest his head on the Prince’s shoulder, eyeing the red-haired girl as if she’d offended him. 

Toran regained his composure immediately, casting a disapproving glare to his pet before offering his hand to the upturned maiden. “My sincerest apologies my lady,” he quipped, his thick accent soaking in to every word, "I think you scared him.” 
He gave her an apologetic grin, using his free hand to run over Toruk’s scales to calm him. In his silk undershirt and lounging pants, Toran’s far-from-formal attire contrasted starkly with the others in the room. Nothing he wore bore his sigil, and in his simple dress, one might even mistake him for a servant.