While most everyone was heading in the direction of the main Keep to see what all the fuss was about, Alavin was moving in the opposite direction. He had his sights set firmly on Maester Simon’s pavilion, a tin flute in his hand.
He arrived, looking about for a moment, there was nowhere he could sexily arrange himself, so he settled for standing a few feet from Simon’s ‘door’, and raised the instrument to his lips, beginning a soothing tune that slowly segued into something merry and upbeat.
