Magic is a thing of stories in Westeros, [ she insists. (She wants to remain hard, wants to hold onto cynicism in the face of her own hope, for to do otherwise would be foolish, wouldn't it? And Sansa had been a fool, but not Alayne.) The voice Alayne speaks with is one of doubt but there is part of her that remains unconvinced.

Bran lies so still and Summer is so quiet — attentive but awake, his ears pricked and his amber eyes knowing. And there is part of Alayne that feels something stir, something rooted deep — like a secret she never bothered to learn and that even her heart has forgotten but mourns nevertheless. ] And so many of the stories are lies. It would be terrible to give him false hope.

How many children dream of being birds and flying far far away? But how many of those children ever see the sky? He is tethered to fast to ground already.