I was looking at my other story when I realized I had posted it about three months ago, and it made me feel really old. This something I've been working on for a while, and I guess now is as good a time as any to post it. It probably won't make a lot of sense, but the next chapter will help add context. This is more of a teaser. Enjoy.

Prologue

The ground was coated with a thin layer of frost, which Alana could feel soaking through the bottom of her dress as it melted beneath her, her back to the weirwood tree and her feet at the edge of the lake. If anyone saw her, they'd think she was almost pouting. What a sight that would be, watching Lady Baratheon sulking on her own in the Godswood.

Lady Baratheon. That was all anyone but Renly would call her back at Storm's End. It used to make her ball up her fists and scowl, but she stop bothering to correct them a long time ago. The lesser noble or servant would just call her the same thing the next time they saw her. It was only Renly who ever called her Alana, only calling her Lady Baratheon when he was angry at her.

Cersei Baratheon, despite her marriage to Robert, would only go by "Queen Cersei" or "your grace," which made Alana the only living Lady Baratheon in all of Westeros. Even her name was unique. In just a week's time, she'd go from Lady Baratheon to Lady Stark. Lady Catelyn was already Lady Stark, and had been since before Alana was born. If you counted Robb's sisters, that made her the fourth Lady Stark. Then, after his brothers took wives, she'd be one of six Lady Starks. And she used to be one in a million. Nothing more than a commoner, now. The only thing that would set her apart would be the color of her hair and the Stark she was married to.

Another part of her nagged at her, saying she was not and never had been Lady Baratheon, that she really was a commoner, but she ignored it. Maybe she wasn't born Baratheon. Maybe it had been given to her, but it was as much a part of her as her night-black hair.

Snow crunched under a boot somewhere beside her, but she didn't turn her head. Go away, she thought. If it was Renly, he'd only apologize for not being able to persuade Robert, try to convince her to see the silver lining of her situation. If it was Robert, he'd tell her it was long overdue, and that she ought to grin and bear it, and do her duty to further the Baratheon name, even if she didn't have the Baratheon name, only had the Baratheon blood. Perhaps she ought to further the Storm name.

Someone, a man, cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. She kept her gaze on the surface of the lake. "Lady Baratheon." She could almost laugh from the irony. The voice was neither Robert's or Renly's, but Robb's. Her betrothed. She didn't move. "You'll freeze to death out here in that dress." Alana still didn't move. Robb sighed, and she could see the puff of white vapor out of the corner of her eye. "At least take my cloak," he said, and Alana could hear him rustling as he took it off.

"I don't want it." It was the first time she had spoken, and she sounded like a child, but she didn't care. He tossed his cloak onto her lap, ignoring her protests. As much as she wanted to toss it aside, it was thick fur, and it was still warm from him.

"Then don't wear it," he shot back. "But don't say it wasn't because I didn't offer." Neither moved nor spoke for several moments, and the only noise was the wind. "I didn't know you kept the old gods," he admitted, breaking the silence.

Alana shrugged. "I don't. But the Seven have never answered my prayers, and perhaps the Old Gods will do better."

"What did you pray for?" He asked. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He had a wry smile on his face. "Did you pray your Uncle would break the betrothal? Or that maybe I'd fall ill and die."

"I prayed for freedom," she said, turning back to the lake. "The freedom to choose."

"I never asked for this marriage, and I know you didn't either. All I want is for a marriage with someone who doesn't hate me. A marriage that isn't like Robert and Cersei's." Alana stayed silent. "I can't ask you not to hate me."

"No," she agreed. They fell silent again, and the wind picked up. She could see her own breath. If it wasn't for her pride, she'd already be wearing Robb's cloak. Maybe after he left she'd put it on.

Finally, she heard the snow crunch under his feet as he walked away. The temperature seemed to drop, like she had shed a layer of clothing. She put her hand on the ground and stood up to put the cloak around her shoulders.

The sound of a scream froze her.

She looked up, and in the center of the lake was a young woman, barely a few years older than her, with hair as white as snow, her dress clinging to her body. She was thrashing in the water, desperately trying to keep her head above water.

Alana frowned. Was she spying on her? Maybe she fell out of the tree above the lake.

"Help!" the girl cried, sputtering and spitting out the water that filled her mouth when she opened it to speak.

The temperature was beyond cold now, like winter had come in the time since she left the castle this morning.

Alana stepped forward, her foot in the mud at the edge of the lake.

The last thing she registered before flying off balance into the lake was the feeling of two ice-cold hands pressed into her shoulder blades and pushing her forward, shoving her into the dark water.

Robb's cloak was pooled at the base of the tree, forgotten.

The water seemed to almost reach up at take her, grasp her into an invisible hug. It was cold, colder than anything she had ever felt before in her entire life. It was as though a blizzard had been turned into a pool.

She looked up, and through the water, growing more and more unclear as she sank deeper, was the outline of a man.

She couldn't say for sure, but it looked like he was grinning.

She closed her eyes as the icy talons of the water clawed at her.

She opened her mouth and let out her breath, the air rushing out in bubbles, and blacked out.