— but i missed you more than i thought i would.

[courteous]

The feast was everything her father promised.

The firelight of the wall sconce she sat beneath danced against her burnt brown hair, making the auburn beneath almost shine through, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. With so many eyes upon her, she wondered if her lord father's words were true and if she was the most beautiful woman in the hall.

Taking delight in a piece of lemon cake and savoring the taste on her tongue, Alayne watched as people mingled and danced. She was mindful of those with their eyes upon her. Offering a gentle smile, a nod, or a raised glass before returning to her cake. Idly she drifted from conversation to conversation, taking interest where it needed to be while keeping herself ready for when the dances would come for those desperate for her favor.

It wasn't long before they started pouring in. With some, she effortlessly glided along with them, twirling and laughing until her cheeks hurt. Others, it was difficult as they fumbled about, stepping on her toes or struggling with a conversation where she quickly stepped in, moving it along to easier topics or simply chatting happily with them.

She feigned disinterest when Harry the Heir approached her, asking for a dance. One must not be too eager, she thought to herself before remembering her father's words. Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. So she indulged him in a dance, doing her best to bewitch with a sharp tongue and quick wit that would leave him stunned, and that is how she left him as she slipped away from him and their dance, saying her favor was promised to another.

Taking one last pull of wine from her glass, Alayne slipped away from the hall and into the chilled night air. She raises the hood of her cloak and, burrowing into the soft fox fur; she pushes deeper into the courtyard, desperate for fresh air and away from the watchful eyes. Breathing in deeply, she lets out her breath slowly, watching it rise, and remembers the cold days of Winterfell that she misses more and more with each passing day.

With a fistful of woolen skirts, she steps around the firepits roasting aurochs, the firelight dancing in her Tully-blue eyes as she lingers by the warmth, only to quickly step away when she realizes she's in an attendant's way. A careful apology leaves her lips before slipping away. Soon she finds the peace she has been looking for and sits on a carved stone bench beneath a beech tree, enjoying the cool breeze against her flushed cheeks.