"'Nother rund!" shouted William, his voice already slurring from the heavy alcohol he'd been kicking back since he woke in the morning. The barkeep quickly brought out another huge tankard of ale and slammed it down in front of him.

"This is your last one, for real this time," he said, laughing at the inebriated lord. William gave a crooked smile back, then pulled out his coinpurse. He began counting out the coins, but they were so little and his head was swimming, he couldn't get the right number out.

"Auh, fuggit," he groaned, grabbing a huge handful of coins and slamming it down on the table. Through his blurred vision, he could see that they were yellowish, stamped with the head of a dragon. Obviously they must be coppers. Reassured with that thought, he stumbled out into the blinding sun, tankard in hand. Had so much of the day gone past already? And didn't the wedding start at dawn? He began shuffling his way towards the blurred outline of the Red Keep.

"Nuh, nuh, ya dunnunnerstan', ther mus' b'some mis . . . mist . . ." William burbled, to a perplexed pair of guards at the entrance tent.

"No there isn't. I have the list right here, and I don't believe the Boltons are on it. Can't imagine why . . ." the guard at the door answered, voice thick with sarcasm. William gave a pitiful squeak of anger and lashed out with his fist at the guard. However, his cognitive abilities were severely dulled by the ale weighing on his brain, and the guard was able to catch his fist and return one of his own encased in a gauntlet. William fell to the ground and passed out, but not before retching all over the ground as well as the guardsman's shoes.

He woke later, with a splitting headache. Groaning, William got up from the cot he found himself in and took a cursory look at his surroundings. It was a small and cramped tent, a flap cut into one corner to act as a door. Inside was a simple bed and a small table, upon which were various medicines. A maester shuffled in a few minutes later, a look of concern over his face.

"My lord Bolton, you still require a bit more res-,"

"Yes, yes, now shut up," William interrupted, rushing out of the tent and pushing the maester out of his way. Garish tents were propped up as far as the eye could see, lavishly designed and surmounted by the symbols of numerous houses. Clutching his head with one hand, William slowly made his way towards where he thinks the jousting is taking place.