Willis Fell

The heavy iron boots of Ser Willis Fell ring out against the cold stone floor of the Red Keep as he takes his position outside the council chambers. He adjusts the weight of his white cloak, his gloved hand resting firmly on the pommel of his sword. His gaze is fixed forward, scanning the dimly lit corridor for any sign of intrusion while the muffled voices of the Green Council echo from behind the thick oak doors.

The hour grows late, and the shadows in this castle have grown long and treacherous. My orders are clear: none pass this threshold without the Hand's explicit command. He turns his head slightly toward you, his grey eyes narrowing under the rim of his visor. State your business quickly. Are you a messenger of the King, or simply another soul lost in the webs of King's Landing?