Gris tilted his head back and groaned. This wasn't the first time he was tired with his work. The near constant bloodshot veins in his eyes are testament to that. Usually, he goes to talk to Alyssa. When she talks, he mentally refutes her every claim, no matter how small, while giving the appearance of listening. There was something oddly relaxing about being right where others are wrong. He should probably go do that now. Then he remembers that he had sent her to King's Landing. Suddenly, he felt so alone. So isolated. He stood up, ready to just . . . stop for awhile.

Gris stood up and opened the door, only to bump into one of the servants. A familiar chill went up his spine.

"Oh! I'm so sorry sir!" She tried to bow her head, looking anywhere but his face and his clouded eye.

"Just . . . get out." Gris could barely form a sentence, paralyzed as he is. The woman hastily left, thoroughly afraid. Alyssa had spoken to each of them before she left. "Be like ghosts," she had said. "If my brother sees you, then you haven't done your job correctly." She hoped she wouldn't be punished for this.

Gris hurried back to his chambers, constantly looking over his shoulder at any other places where someone could spring out. He had to go look for Alyssa. Her presence comforted him during these times, and when she was around, he was even able to speak to other- oh, right. King's Landing.

He rushed into his chambers and shut the door. He also closed the windows, and then he locked everything. A few hours of lying on the bed groaning later, there was a knock. Gris decided to hold still without making a noise, and hope the offending knocker would just leave. The one outside knocked again, and again, and to Gris' relief finally gave up. Then, he heard the sound of sliding, and receding footsteps. There, now in front of his door on the inside, was a sheet of parchment. He picked it up and began to read.

My lord Baratheon:

Siege. Angry peasants. Throne room. Immediately, please.

Signed,
Kutner, Master-at-Arms