A/n: here it is, as promised! Not much to say, really… To who9ever asked, I don't mind if you use the basic idea (convent!Alanna=COM) As long as the plot is fairly different.
The Great Hall was huge, almost like a gigantic cathedral with a domed roof. The main door was in the gallery which ran around the circumference of the dome, and was directly behind the staircase, which wound down the side of the room in a spiral, making a complete turn before reaching the floor. Once you got onto the ground, you walked straight forward and were presented to the Crown. Alanna knew the route by heart, although she had never seen the room; they had done it ten thousand times at the convent. She had no reason to be frightened. It was utterly illogical.
Right now, she wasn't winning any prizes for outstanding logic.
She had one hand demurely on the mahogany banister, gripping as tightly as she could without clinging on. She was terrified that she might fall over, or off the staircase altogether… It wouldn't surprise her. She never had been good at this kind of thing.
She could feel the gaze of every single person in the hall upon her, some soft, considering glances, some downright glares. She tried desperately to remember everything she had been taught-tiny steps, posture correct, hands in the correct places- and failed utterly, having never paid any attention whatsoever in those classes.
Gary watched intently as his betrothed descended the staircase, clad in a wonderfully stylish midnight blue dress. It flowed over her, folding in most all the right places, making her seem to walk through a cloud of pure darkness, shimmering gently in the centre. She wasn't, strictly speaking, as beautiful as some of the other ladies, but knowing her as he did, knowing that beneath the grace and elegance there was a spirit of fire… Gary couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't recall turning to follow her progress, but he must have done, because the next thing he knew, she was on the ground floor and approaching the king and queen.
Roald spoke in his most imperial voice. Unfortunately, he had already done it ten or so times that night, so the effect was rather unimpressive.
"Who approaches?"
Alanna spoke in her court voice, the one she used at social occasions. "Alanna of Trebond."
"Who will vouch for her?"
There was a momentary silence. Thom was to have vouched for her, but he was hardly in a position to do so. It had become Gary's job. He gulped, and swallowed hard to wet his throat, then stepped forward.
"I, Gareth of Naxen the Younger, will vouch for my betrothed, Alanna of Trebond. Does any man question my right to speak?"
This was a formality only. Nobody ever spoke up. Roald nodded.
"We welcome you, Alanna of Trebond. May you have much happiness and never leave us."
Alanna curtsied low and hurried off to stand nest to Gary. Smiling with relief, she murmured in his ear, "Thank the Mother that's over with."
A ripple of noise spread through the hall, and there was a moment of hubbub before the trumpets sounded again. Alanna raised her head defiantly, knowing the comments would be about her, for good or ill. Gary grinned at her stance, but his eyes were torn away by the fanfare announcing the next lady. There was a significant pause before the names were called. The herald, after all, had no idea who they were. But the man was adaptable. As it turned out, it was not one lady, but four. (The adults were already in the crowd somewhere, not being of marriageable age.)
"Lady Cythera of Elden, Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, Lady Daja Kisubo, and Lady Trisana Chandler…" The herald's voice was uncertain. He wasn't equipped for situations like this. Luckily, Cythera and Sandry were. They swept down the staircase together, the epitome of ladyhood, perfectly graceful and elegant. Alanna stifled a chuckle. Trust that pair, she reflected. Daja and Tris followed, looking decent but rather odd. The noise in the hall grew again, murmurs of amazement at the black girl and the strange names. They were about to get some real shocks.
