“Did you get what I asked for?” 

“Yes, I think so milord. Here, look for yourself.”

A kitchen girl, no older than eleven, held a clutch bag out to Toran. He took it gleefully, and let the girl return to her work as he checked its contents. Even Toruk’s curiosity seemed to be piqued, and he slithered to Toran’s shoulder to take a look. Perfect!

Toruk got visibly excited, racing up and down Toran’s arm and across his shoulders, trying to get his master’s attention. Toran smiled at the snake, and almost began whistling as he heard voices in the dining room. With an evil grin, he emerged from the servant’s door, not caring about what that may look like. He tucked the bag behind his back as he walked in, and tossed it under a chair when he reached the table. It looked like he was the fourth to arrive, although he had expected to be late. A servant boy had been sent to wake him, and Toran figured the boy must have expected more resistance, because he had allotted plenty of time for dallying. 

In any case, he was here now, dressed in a Dornish tunic, featuring long, cuffed sleeves and a yellow undershirt beneath. The tunic was finely patterned orange silk, featuring the Martell sigil in dark red beading on each shoulder. It wrapped around him similarly to a robe, leaving the chest open and coming together at the waist, held by a leather belt. The belt itself held a curved sheath and dagger, as well as several small pouches, just large enough to fit a fist inside, but supple enough that they lay almost flat. Beneath his tunic lay simple blood-brown trousers and well-used brown leather shoes. 

He let Toruk slither onto his hand, intwining himself around his fingers and looking out at the partial gathering of guests. Toruk had gotten his ‘newcomer bites’ out of his system, and Toran no longer feared for the lives of his fellow wards. Still, Toruk was agitated now, impatiently winding around Toran’s arm and hand, like a child wanting attention. Toran stroked his pet’s scales to calm him.

“Good morning my friends!” he called to the others in the room, smiling and holding up his snake hand in greeting. “You’re all well, I hope?” Toruk hissed. Toran scolded him in Dornish.

It wasn’t entirely pleasantries; he had grown rather fond of the Stark boy, seeing a lot of common ground between them, and the Greyjoy girl was pleasant enough. He grinned wider at the memory of their first meeting; he still hadn’t given her an answer to his supposed immunity to venom. All he’d said had been, [i]“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”[/i] Besides, one of his favourite rumours was the one about his tolerance of snakebites. He hoped that it would discourage people from poisoning him, on the grounds that they’d think it wouldn’t affect him. 

He hadn’t gotten to speak much to the Tyrell girl yet, but that was of little consequence. They would all be here for the next few years at least, and on top of that, there was a tourney that afternoon! He was sure to impress some (and likely pester others) with his performance in the duels later in the day. He was rather looking forward to it.