Festival of Roses

It was early when one of the feast guests, looking far too bright and awake given the abundance of food and drink last night, approached the Tremaine pavilions, looking around curiously. He spotted the man-at-arms and approached merrily, "good morning, Ser, I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the good maester's tent."

It was way too early in the morning, and for people like Kevith who usually stayed up all night to guard the Tremaines, this was an annoying interruption to the end of his shift. The large man scowled suspiciously at the way too perky bard.

"The maester's over that way," he grumbled. "What ye want with him and who are ye?"

With a little bow, and making sure to keep his distance from the gruff protector, "thank you, good man." Alavin moved over to Simon's tent and tried to catch the maester's attention without waking the others. He cleared his throat, "maester, excuse me, maester?"

Waking up to a pounding headache was never particularly enjoyable. Waking up to a pounding headache with a taste of slightly soggy socks in your mouth was even worse, Simon concluded as he heard the commotion outside. "Fuck me..." he muttered as he rolled to his side, gingerly standing up. "Too much..." the young man squinted his eyes - the sun was rising alright. The world might have not ended but he was feeling the world ought to have ended after all the wine he had drunk. Mistakes had been made. Wobbling to the door flap, he peered out to see what the commotion was about. "Uh.. how can I help you."

Then he blinked. "What are you doing here!"

Seeing the maester's state, Alavin looked the man up and down, pressing his lips together and frowning slightly. He firmly took the hungover Simon by the shoulder and steered him back inside, letting the flap settle closed behind them, "You're looking a little rough this morning," he commented.

"Uh.." Simon blinked his eyes. What was that man doing in his tent. Why had the men let him through like that. "Uh.. too much wine." he muttered unhappily. "Moreover, why are you here." covering his face with his hand, the young maester peered at the intruder.

“Well, speaking of rough, I came to apologise.” Alavin was still right next to the Maester, and he raised a hand and tucked a strand of Simon’s hair behind the man’s ear. “It seems I woke you, how fortunate for me to see you like this, so dishevelled and undone.”

"Uh... right." the your maester muttered, shaking his head. "Well, I couldn't hear what you were asking so..." he was blushing now, recalling what had happened earlier. Then he felt his hand on his hair and froze. "Uh.." Simon took two steps backwards, shying away from the touch. "Uh.. pardon?" Unable to make sense of the situation or why the musician would consider it fortunate pressed his hand on his neck, flustered.

“I could see that I took you by surprise, I didn’t mean to be so... pushy. I thought, if I could makes amends then perhaps we could start over?” The man smoothed his hair with the palm of his hand, looking somewhat sheepish.

Simon took one more step backwards, only to tumble on his bed. "Uh.." adjusting his robes, he looked up to the mummer. "Umm... what do you mean?"