Well I'm now certain that none of you people actually read this, so I'm just going to list the first things that come to my head. Apple sauce. Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The North star. Thank you to TheReader321 and rhaegarlyannaGRRMaGoT for reviewing, you made my day that much better.

Chapter 5

Ever since she was a little girl, Alana had a hard time paying attention to things right in front of her, especially when they were something unpleasant. She could focus on the details of the situation, until it was as though she was no longer there. She could take in everything without being present. The felt on the antlers of a stag, the wet fabric clinging to skin, or the small lines of red that blood traced down a man's stomach.

It was as close as she could come to being a god.

Now, rather than listen to whatever Robert was shouting at her, she was focused on the bead of sweat on his forehead. That must be from the effort it took simply to stand up, Alana thought, considering that he hadn't done anything else since he slowly lifted himself out of his chair after seeing her walk to him. Alana giggled, she couldn't help it. Uncle Robert had come so far from the man her father told stories of, the man who crushed Rhaegar Targaryen's chest in.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her laugh. "Is something funny?" He asked, his tone low and dangerous.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Robert," she lied. "I promise I'm paying attention."

Robert grunted. He always had a soft spot for being called Uncle. Alana never fully understood why, though when she asked her father, he told her it was because Robert didn't like feeling old, and Uncle Robert sounded young. As soon as she noticed her uncles weakness all those years ago, she took every opportunity to use it to get out of trouble, which, granted, was rare around Robert, except for the time she smacked Joffrey upside the head with the flat end of a tourney blade. But not even then, when he was so angry his face had turned a shade of purple, had he ever been so furious with her as he was now. "Answer me then, girl, what were you thinking? What could possibly have convinced you to disobey the king?"

It was tempting, so tempting, to focus on the terse, diplomatic smiles of the nobles around them both. Renly's pursed lips. Joffrey's shit eating grin.

"It never seemed like a good idea," Alana answered softly. She had come this far. It wouldn't do to lose her head now. "Merely the better of two evils."

"I have one more question," he said quietly, dangerously quiet, a sharp contrast from yelling so loudly he sprayed her with spit. "Just one. Why did you come back?"

Alana shrugged. It wasn't hard to find them, with gods knows how many guards with them and every other tavern keeper bragging about how the king stayed in his inn, don't listen to the liar across the street. Why she had come back was much more complicated. "I decided family was more important than what I wanted."

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, his fingers sliding unnaturally fast across the film of sweat along his face. "I'm sure there's more to that story than you're letting on." He sighed again. "But right now all I want to do is go back to sleep." Alana nearly leapt in the air with happiness. She was going to get out of this without any punishment at all. "I promise you this, though," he continued, and her heart sunk. "If I see you again before we reach Winterfell, I'll have you locked in a prison cell. Do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely," Alana responded, holding back a grin.

"Good," Robert hissed, turning around and walking back to his room in the tavern without another word, grumbling under his breath about how Alana just had to come back in the middle of the night.

Alana stood where she was as the rest of the onlookers slowly filtered out, some going back to their rooms and others into the street, disappointed they didn't get to see something interesting, like her beheading.

"Alana," she heard, and turned around to find Renly, catching her arm before she could walk away. "Wait."

Alana didn't respond. She wasn't sure if her father would be angry with her or not, after his only daughter tried to run away.

"Why did you come back?" He asked, his eyebrows working their way up his forehead in confusion. "You're going to have to marry Robb Stark when we get to Winterfell. Robert will force you to if he has to."

"He won't have to," Alana replied. "I'll marry him."

"Why the sudden change of heart? Just a few weeks ago, you were saying you'd rather be dead than marry the Stark heir."

Alana frowned, crossing her arms across her chest. "What does it matter?" She asked testily.

"I'm your father, Alana," he answered, frowning. "Everything you do matters to me."

She debated telling him she was his bastard child, that he wasn't supposed to care about her, but she decided he knew that. "Family comes first," she explained. "Always. I didn't want to marry him - I still don't - but I will if it's what my family needs."

Renly nodded slowly. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks," she said hollowly. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to find somewhere to sleep tonight."

"I mean it," Renly called after her. "I'm impressed with you. And I'm proud of you." Alana rolled her eyes and kept walking. "Wait." He jogged until he was next to her. "One more question."

"What is it?"

"There were two guards outside your room that disappeared after you left. Do you have any idea of what happened to them?"

Alana shook her head slowly, as if she were thinking. "No, I climbed out the window. I never saw them again. They must have ran away in the night." She nodded. "Good night," she said.

"Good night, Alana," her father said before turning and walking in the other direction.

/