I'm still alive! Sorry for the long wait, I couldn't seem to write anything that did justice to the previous two chapters. I didn't have as much point of view from Alana this chapter, but I'll probably have more next chapter, thanks to the power of nonlinear story telling. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 2

Renly was out in the courtyard, grinning and standing with his back straight and hands clasped behind him, Loras to his side when the Royal party reached Storm's end and Robert rode in on a horse that could barely hold his weight. From what Robert had heard, the two were close friends, never leaving each other's company. Of course, there were much more scandalous rumors going around the Red Keep, that Renly preferred men to women and that Loras was much, much closer than his friend, but Robert paid them no mind. The man had, after all, fathered a daughter already.

Alana was standing beside Renly, too far away from him to be considered next to him but close enough to be respectful, her dark eyebrows twisted in a frown. She didn't look at Robert as he passed her, or even as he dismounted the scared little animal that was closer to a pony than a horse, preferring instead to stare at the beast's hooves.

"Brother," Robert said happily, pulling Renly into a bone-crushing hug. "I told you to come to King's Landing every so often."

Renly winced as Robert squeezed him, but hugged back none the less. "I've been busy," he replied, letting out a gasp as he was released. Storm's End doesn't rule itself."

Robert chuckled. At least he's not as hard as Stannis, he thought. Westeros has had too many hard rulers and tyrants. "And I see that heirs don't father themselves," he added nodding at his niece. Alana ignored him. "One bastard daughter born almost eighteen years ago does not, in my mind, constitute having a family." Renly's smile fell, and Robert continued, "You need to keep the Baratheon name alive, Renly. As soon as we return from Winterfell, I'm expecting you to take a wife."

"I understand," Renly said, though he didn't look happy about it.

"Speaking of marriage," Robert said, turning to Alana. "Has your father told you the good news?"

"He told me I'm to accompany you to Winterfell," Alana said, looking him in the eyes for the first time with a glare. Gods, she looks just like her, he thought. Alana Storm was the spitting image of her grandmother, Cassana Baratheon. Alana's hair wasn't as curly, nor her eyes as green, but for a moment Robert could have sworn she was Cassana reborn. "He also told me you plan on having me wed the Stark heir."

"Why don't we talk about it over dinner?" Robert suggested.

Renly shot Loras a glance. "We were under the impression that we would leave for Winterfell immediately," Renly began. "It's a long journey North."

Robert waved his hand dismissively. "We were hit by a bastard of a storm a few days ago. Everything is soaked. I know I wouldn't mind sleeping under a real roof for a few days, and I suspect Cersei and her little shits would approve as well." He turned towards the gate, where the rest of the Royal party was filtering through. Cersei had her head held high, and he ground his teeth together, knowing she was looking down upon his home, a castle which was just as good, maybe better, than whatever Tywin Lannister could buy in the West. Joffrey rode behind her, his scowl strikingly similar to his mother's, maybe even a little like Alana's frown.

Renly shrugged. "As you wish," he said softly, bowing his head. "I'll have a feast prepared."

"None of that. Just a simple warm meal, and don't let Cersei tell you otherwise."

"Very well. I'll have a servant bring you to your chambers," Renly replied curtly, bowing his head and turning around back into the keep. It wasn't lost on Robert how he ever so slightly pulled Alana with him so she wouldn't be left alone in the yard, the three of them walking away, until they were all out of sight.

His family hated him. His wife hated him. His eldest son hated him. His daughter and youngest son tolerated him at best.

It was good to be home.

Alana slowed her pace let her father and Loras get further and further away from her, until they turned left down a corridor and she stopped entirely, waiting until she no longer heard their footsteps before turning right. She could hear the familiar pounding of a hammer on metal, and she sped up, her feet slapping the stone as she sped downstairs, her hand gliding down the railing.

She was almost in sight of the Blacksmith's forge when strong arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her backwards, down a small hallway off the main corridor. She yelped indignantly, kicking and flailing and laughing, as he too chuckled against her ear.

"You scared me, Byron," she laughed, pulling him until his lips were pressed against hers.

He mumbled an apology into her mouth, a grin still on his face. Eventually he pulled away, keeping her back pressed against his chest. "Nobody told me the king was coming," the blacksmith's son whispered into her ear. "I would have worn nicer clothes."

"You look fine," Alana assured him, turning and pressing her lips softly against his mouth. When she pulled away, she could feel her smile slipping from her face, dragged down by the realism of the situation. "What were you thinking, pulling me away in public? What if you had been seen?"

"The hallway was empty," Byron said, frowning. "You're almost never this careful, Alana. What's changed?"

"The king is here, for starters. He's brought who-knows-how-many nobles and handmaidens and guard with him, which means more eyes to see us with. If any one of them catches us they'll be more than happy to sell us out to my father, or worse, my uncle." She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "There's more."

"What is it?" Byron asked his light brown eyebrows rising.

"I- I mean my father, he-" she took another breath. "I'm to travel North with my uncle and family."

"The king is going North?"

"That's not the point!" Alana snapped, stomping her foot in frustration. "The point is that I have to accompany him."

"Your father sometimes has you go with him," he pointed out, bringing his lips against her knuckles.

"To different parts of the Stormlands, maybe. This is the other side of the kingdom." She swallowed, unintentionally loud. "And I won't be coming back."

"What?" Byron asked, his brow furrowing even as he smiled, as if she was playing a game with him. He doesn't believe me, Alana realized. Or maybe he doesn't care.

"I'm to marry Robb Stark, to secure an alliance between the Baratheons and the Starks," she answered.

There was a pause, a silence in the air, and Alana noticed they weren't as close against each other as they were a few minutes ago, his hands at his sides rather than raking through her hair and resting on her hips. "What does that mean for us?" He asked softly.

"We could run away," she began, "but my uncle wouldn't let me just disappear, and he'd send someone after us." She took another deep breath. "Or I could accept my fate and marry him."

"So that's it?" Byron asked. "You'll marry him without a second thought?"

"I'm not marrying him without a second thought," she hissed. Why did he have to make it so difficult? "I have to. I don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," he said, his voice rising dangerously loud, even as Alana shushed him.

"You may have a choice. I don't. You don't have a dynasty to serve. You're just a blacksmith's son."

"You're not even a real Baratheon," he shot back. His eyes flickered briefly showing he knew just how hurtful what he said was, but he made no attempt to apologize.

He stumbled backwards as her hand collided against his face with a satisfying slap, and he even had the gall to look shocked, his blue eyes wide and round. "What was that for?" He asked as if he didn't already know the answer.

"You asshole," she growled through clenched teeth. Alana watched, breathing heavily with her hands balled up in fists, as Byron reached to his cheek to nurse a growing bright red mark, and Alana felt a second wave of fury rising through her, another unquenchable need to make him realize how much his comment hurt. She swung at him again, but he caught her arms, leaving her breathing heavily and unable to do anything but flail and thrash in his grasp. "Let me go," she hissed. Her ears pricked up as she heard footsteps and distant voices echoing through the hallway.

Byron heard them too, and released her, afraid of the punishment he'd receive for putting his hands on a lord's daughter, even if she was his bastard daughter. Alana turned and stormed from the corridor, her feet tapping loudly against the stone floor. Maybe she'd talk to Byron later, but for now she was too furious to even look at him. He was just a peasant! What right did he have to judge her? Even baseborn, she had more nobility in her little finger than he had in his entire body.

That was the one thing that he never did. Everyone else called her Lady Storm, and he called her Alana. She thought he was special, and above calling her a bastard simply to win an argument. Obviously, Alana thought bitterly, I was wrong.

The dinner was attended by too many people to be considered just that, yet not enough to be a feast. The Royal family sat on the dais at the front of the room, facing the rest of the nobles. As part of the Royal family, even illegitimate, Alana was also required to grit her teeth and sit through the meal. Tomorrow, she thought to herself. We are leaving tomorrow.

Robert cleared his throat, just loud enough to turn the heads of everyone at the table. "As you know," he said, looking at Alana. "You are to marry Robb Stark. I've sent Lord Stark a proposal, and he agreed to it, though there are still some minor details to be worked out."

"Minor details?" Renly asked, frowning.

"The usual procedure whenever two important people are wed. Marriage contracts, alliance papers, and the like." Robert lifted his spoon and took a sip of his steaming broth, smiling nostalgically as he did. "I need to sign Alana's legitimization decree, as well."

There was a crash as Queen Cersei dropped her silverware onto her plate, shattering the delicate material. That woman loves to make a scene, Alana noticed. Slowly, the weight of Robert's words began to sink in. "You mean to legitimize her?" came the queen's shrill voice. "That bastard?" She spat the word bastard, emphasizing her sentence by glaring at Alana, as if it were her fault.

Alana could barely hear them talking over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. Legitimacy? It was like a dream come true. A month ago, she would have done anything for it. But now, when the price was a marriage far away with a man she never met, she wasn't so sure. Gods, Alana thought. I think I'm going to throw up.

"Ned Stark is an old friend, and I wouldn't insult him by offering a mere bastard to his eldest son." I love you too, uncle. "No offense to you, Alana," he reassured her in a way that made it clear he was about to say something offensive, "but as of now you are nothing but a whore's daughter. You'd be lucky to wed the second son of a lesser lord. A marriage with a Baratheon, on the other hand," he learned back into his chair, waving his finger. "That's another story. The Starks are willing to overlook the... unfortunate circumstances of your birth."

"Do I have a say in this?" Renly asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I'm her father, and if you legitimize her, she becomes my heir. I deserve a say in the matter."

"What would you have me do? Let her remain a bastard Storm, unwed until she's far too old to bear children?" Robert was clenching his fists as he spoke, his face turning a deep red.

"No but-" Renly sighed. "I should have had a say."

"What about me?" Alana asked. "Do I get a say?"

The table fell quiet as everyone turned her head to the source of the outburst. Her father was trying desperately to silently send her a message, raising his dark eyebrows and shaking his head slightly. "You do have a say," Robert said, downing the cup of wine and signalling for a servant to bring another. He looked at her, his eyes dark with fury and his lips stained purpled. "You may either come with us willingly, or I swear to whatever gods there are I'll carry you to Winterfell myself." He stood up, knocking his chair over and silencing the hall. "If I hear anymore complaints from any of you," he said, waving his finger at his family unsteadily. "I'll have you all arrested for disobeying your king. Am I clear?" Satisfied with the silence that fell afterwards, he sat down, snatching the goblet of wine the servant set down while he was speaking and raised it, gulping loudly. Pig, Alana thought, returning her gaze to her broth that she was swirling slowly with a spoon.

She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her head, the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Glancing up, Alana saw her father staring at her, a look on his face she'd never seen before, his brow wrinkled and his gaze pained. "What is it?" She spat, unable to be the center of his gaze. He could be thinking of any number of things, any where from disappointment to anger. Renly mouth the word later, and leaned back in his chair. Alana tossed her spoon and the table and rose, standing up so quickly she loudly bumped the table, knocking over glasses and drawing everyone's eyes. Damn. She hoped to slip away silently and unnoticed, but now she was the subject of the entire room. "Excuse me," she said, backing away for the door. She thanked the Seven that several people were losing interest and returning to their food, the foolish Baratheon bastard the least of their worries. Cersei was pursing her lips, a look of what may be triumph on her face. Joffrey was sneering at her, while Tommen and Myrcella -though too young to fully understand what was happening and why- seemed to be wearing sympathetic expressions.

For a brief, panicked moment she thought she bumped into a servant and embarrassed herself even further, feeling an icy cold hand on her back, but then it was gone, and she was out of the damned great hall and running upstairs to her room, locking the door behind her.

Though it was a rainless night, the wind howled against Alana's window so loudly she couldn't sleep, tossing and turning until finally she threw off the covers and sat on the floor to read instead. On the bright side, the gale did drown out any noise of the royal party, allowing her to almost forget they were here, though she rarely looked on the bright side. Growing up a bastard in the Stormlands, always under the shadow of one raincloud or another, taught her that the bright side of anything was likely more darkness.

She heard another rapping against her door, and it took her a moment to realize it wasn't a tree branch knocking against her window in the wind. "Who is it?" She asked, pressing her ear against the cold wood to hear.

"Its your father," a muffled voice came through. "Please let me in."

Alana briefly considered barricading the doors and not leaving until she watched the royal party leave the gates, a hopeless fantasy she allowed herself to indulge in for a few moments. Finally, she sighed and slid the bolt across the across the frame and opened the door. "What do you want?" She said, her words angrier than she meant it. She held the door open only a few inches, enough for her to look at her father as they talked.

He sighed, presumably at the prospect of having to whisper through a cracked open door like a gossiping fishwife, but he nevertheless bent over until he was looking his daughter in the eyes. "Alana, I want to talk to you. Privately."

Alana rolled her eyes and opened it the rest of the way, walking over and sitting on the edge of her bed, beside the still-twisted covers from earlier. Her father leaned against her desk, crossing his arms over his chest and scanning the room critically. "What book is that?" he asked, jutting his chin out to point at the tome Alana was reading before he walked in. Alana glanced down.

Alana shrugged. "The Conquest of Dorne, by Daeron Targaryen."

Renly made a face. "Targaryens this and Targaryens that. Baratheons haven't gotten along well with Targaryens these past couple years."

"Baratheons can't even get along with other Baratheons, either," she countered. "And I'm no Baratheon."

Renly's face grew serious, shifting from the grin he had on his face moments before. "Not yet, at least. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Alana shrugged. "Talk away."

"I've been a little short tempered recently, and I wanted to apologize for it. I shouldn't try to bully you into this marriage, but I wasn't lying when I said we don't have a choice." He dropped his gaze to his feet, his mouth twisting in thought. "Alana, do you have a lover?"

The thought took her so off guard she jerked her head back as if she were hit, her eyes widening. "I- what are you…"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to know." He shook his head sadly. "I know what it's like to love someone you'll never be able to marry."

Alana frowned. "Really? Who?" He can't be talking about her mother, and she didn't know any other women he was close to.

Renly shook his head again and chuckled softly. "Maybe I'll tell you when you're older. If you don't mind me asking, is it Byron?"

Alana nodded slowly. "Yes. But we got into a fight earlier, and I don't know where we stand." She stared at her hands in her lap.

"I haven't been a great father," Renly admitted, patting her on the arm reassuringly. "But you should follow your heart." He frowned. "Or not. Family takes precedence over love, I think. Duty also takes precedence over love, but family takes precedence over duty. Am I making any sense?"

"Not really."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is you should make things right with him before you leave. Even if you don't have a future with him, you shouldn't have any regrets." He sighed. "I'm not making sense again."

"No, I think I understand. Thank you, father, you've made things clear for me."

Renly smiled at his daughter. "I'm glad. I'll see you in the morning." He stood up and left the room, leaving Alana alone with her now-racing thoughts.

"I swear to the Seven, if she's not out here in the next five minutes, I'm going to have her brought with us in chains." Robert was up early, presumably with a splitting hangover judging by the way he grimaced when he looked at the sun and winced at loud noises, riding his horse around the courtyard anxiously.

"I spoke to her last night about duty," Renly reassured him. "She'll be here."

The royal party was awake and talking amongst themselves, but it wouldn't be long before they started to get restless. With the dark storm clouds blowing ominously closer from Shipbreaker bay, they had to get moving soon or travel in the rain.

"Seven hells," Robert mumbled under his breath as thunder rumbled in the distance. "I'm going in after her." He waved two of his kingsguard over to help him dismount from his horse.

"There she is," Myrcella called happily, relieved even, pointing towards the door to the keep.

Renly followed her finger and watched his daughter approach, her head a mess of dark hair blowing through the still windy air. She brushed it out of her face and climbed onto her horse, and Renly could have sworn for a half second he saw red eyes and wet cheeks.

"I was saying goodbye to my home," she explained, her voice deliberately steady. "I may not see this place again for a long time."

Robert grunted, apparently satisfied with her explanation. "If that's everyone, let us leave."

There was a line of soldiers that stood guard over the gates, more than there usually would be but enough to be extra cautious considering the king's precense. As she tried to kick her horse onwards, Renly caught her arm. "What happened?" He asked. "Did you get closure."

"I caught him with a whore," Alana spat, glaring at the ground. "I got all the closure I need."

"I'm sorry," Renly said. "Truly, I am. Do you have any idea why?"

"He assumed that we had gone our separate ways after the fight, and moved onto the next woman right away." She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I gave him my heart."

"He was a fool to let you slip away."

"Damn right he was."

Somewhere, deep in his mind, something told Renly to scold his daughter for her language, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "When we get back I'll make him pay. You want to know why?"

Alana wiped her nose with her sleeve. "Why?"

"Because we're Baratheons, and ours is the fury."

Alana half laughed and half sobbed, and pulled her father in for a hug. "I don't suppose things can get any worse, anyway."

"No, things can't get any worse," he reassured her, knowing full well how things could go worse. It was such a small lie, though, something to make his baby girl less sad. In the distance, the thunder rumbled again.