I'm back again! As many of you may have noticed, I finally updated my other story. I may or may not have completely deleted every other chapter (including from my computer) and renamed the main character, but at least now its on the right track. As for this story, I mentioned earlier that I'm going to explore the supernatural genre a little bit. I have been getting quite a few PMs of people complaining that the story is illogical because Alana, a bastard, wouldn't be allowed to marry a highborn lord, as well as the very fact that Renly, a gay character, wouldn't have fathered a bastard in the first place. Obviously, there is something a little suspicious going on with Alana's parentage, and Renly wasn't being completely truthful when he told Loras she was his daughter. I was hoping for it to be a major plot twist, but I guess the cat's out of the bag. Hopefully it will still be a little surprising. As for Alana marrying a highborn, I admit I can't really think of a good explanation for that. I'm asking for the readers to just go along with the story. As the writer (of this story, not game of thrones) I have made a few deviations, and a lower disdain for bastards is one of them. Thank you for reading!

Also, because I forgot to say earlier, I am not George R R Martin and I do not own the rights to anything Game of Thrones related

Chapter 7

On the morning of her third day at Winterfell, Alana made the mistake of sitting next to her father at breakfast. She had stumbled into the Great Hall, yawning and rubbing her eyes. The hall was packed with nobles of the royal party and bannermen visiting for the wedding, and she must have been one of the last ones awake. She was tired and bleary eyed, and she couldn't possibly have been thinking straight, but she had to have known better than to be anywhere near her father in one if his moods. He was biting his bottom lip in thought, staring at her as she walked in, wearing the expression he wore whenever he was feeling guilty.

She sat down between him and Robert, watching the serving girls carry food around enviously as her stomach growled. Renly cleared his throat until she glanced to the side at him. "I've been meaning to talk to you," he explained.

"I'm listening," she replied softly, already wishing she found a different seat. Across the room, the two youngest Stark children were laughing at something she couldn't hear, and she couldn't help but wish she were sitting with them. I wonder what they're laughing about, she pondered absently.

"You've been moping around lately-"

"I haven't been moping around!" She protested.

Her father raised a finger. "Let me finish," he continued. "I know you don't want to marry the Stark heir." Alana didn't bother to correct him, merely watched as he glanced around the room looking for the boy in question, who was still out of sight. "But I think you should try to look at the silver lining of your situation."

"The silver lining," she echoed in disbelief. Of all the times, of course he would choose now to go on about his damn silver linings.

"That's right." He smiled as if she had said something pleasant. "My mother, your grandmother, used to tell me every storm has a silver lining." I'm a Storm, Alana thought, no longer paying attention. What's my silver lining? "You just need to find the silver lining here," he finished, smiling triumphantly.

"I'm going back to sleep," Alana decided, standing up so fast the table seemed to jump backwards, the cups and plates tipping at a dangerous angle.

Robert looked to his right at her, for a moment seeming as if he was going to say something, but he merely grunted and returned to his attempts at seducing one of the serving girls, his mouth quirked in a self-satisfied smirk.

"Alana, wait," her father pleaded, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back. "Hear me out."

She tried to tug her arm free from his grasp, until his fingernails started to dig into her flesh. "Fine," she agreed, begrudgingly.

"If you don't try to see the stars in the sky, all you'll see is black. You need to see the good in your situation," Renly advised.

Alana sighed. Renly wouldn't stop until she listened to whatever dramatic speech he and Loras managed to cook up. "Which is?"

"Well for one, you're being married to the heir to a powerful position. That's more than I could have managed to arrange for you otherwise."

"And that's my fault?" She asked. "I should be happy even though its my fault I'm a bastard?"

"No. Well, yes." He sighed, running his hand through his dark hair. "Why do you insist on being so difficult?"

"I blame bad parenting."

Renly glared at her. "I'm trying to help you," he stated.

"That's debatable. You're trying to clear your conscience because it will be easier to abandon me here if you think I'll be happy." A piece of dark hair fell in her eyes, and she flicked it out of her face.

"I am not trying to clear my conscience," he insisted, raising a glass of what appeared to be mulled wine to his lips and taking a sip. "I genuinely want you to be happy."

The wine stained his lips a deep red, and Alana almost rolled her eyes. She expected early morning drinking from Robert, but not her father. "Isn't it a little too early to be drunk?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"It's never too early to be drunk. Besides, Baratheons can never be drunk. It's the storms in our veins, it keeps our minds sharp, even with a cask of wine in our bellies. Your uncle is proof of that."

"I'd argue he's the proof it doesn't work," she muttered into her cup of cider, prompting a snort from her father. He smiled at her, as if pleased his daughter was back. As much as Alana wanted to be happy, she couldn't shake the voice in her head, the voice that had been whispering in her ear all of the last few nights. You'll never be happy, it whispered. You must run away again, it whispered.

Leave me alone, she thought, her fists curling in frustration. Get out of my head.

The only response was silence.

"I know that look," her father observed, spearing a slice of ham off his plate and taking a bite. "That's the look you get when you're thinking hard on something."

"No. Yes. It's complicated. I don't want to talk about it."

Renly raised his eyebrows. "If you don't want to talk about it, I respect that. But if you ever want to, I'll always be listening."

For the next week, she thought. "You'll be back in Storm's End soon," she pointed out. "I won't be able to speak with you after that."

"I'll visit often," he promised, pulling her into a hug. She couldn't be sure, but Alana could have sworn his eyes were watering. "And we can write. I'll have the maester give you your own personal raven. You can name it and everything."

"What about you?" she asked. "Aren't you going to have your own?"

"Gods, no. Damn things shit too much." Alana felt her face fall. "I'll still send you messages, though," he was quick to reassure her. "But I won't keep one as a pet."

A throat was cleared behind her, and Alana looked over her shoulder. Lord Stark was standing there, his hands behind his back, and an expression on his face as though he were looking at one of his children. Lady Stark stood beside him, her mouth twisted in a frown. "Lady Baratheon," he began. "Tonight, we would be honored if you would attend dinner with us privately, so we may get to know you better."
"I would be honored to accept," she replied, quick to slip back into her courtly courtesies. "Will my betrothed be attending?" It was always 'my betrothed,' never Robb.

"Of course," Lady Stark butted in. "We thought it a good idea if he was to… escort you to the dining room." She made it clear it was not an agreement they reached. "Winterfell is a large place, and it wouldn't do for you to freeze trying to find us."

"Until tonight," Alana responded simply.

"Until tonight," they echoed one after the other, bowing their heads in respect. Lady Stark made a face as she did so, her mouth twisting in a frown.

As soon as they were out of sight, Renly made a face. "That seems like bundles of fun."

"It's not about being fun, it's about making ties with my soon to be husband and his family." Alana finally managed to wave down a serving girl, who nodded and left to fetch her a serving of breakfast.

"If I were you, I'd be eager get this over with." A thought seemed to occur to him. "Are you going to show them your paintings?"

Alana groaned. She had hoped her father forgot about that. "I left them at Storm's End." For all she knew, they still hung up on the walls of her bedroom.

"You did what?" He asked, emphasizing each word, slowly, as if he couldn't possibly process why she had done such a thing.

"I left them back at Storm's End. They weren't any good, it would have been embarrassing." She could only imagine the horror and embarrassment she would feel if her husband were to see the half-finished paint smears on canvas her father called 'art.'

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's great quality?"

"How many stars are there in the sky?"

"I get the idea." He sighed. "You really ought to paint more. You only get better through practice, and from what Maester Pylos said, you seem to have a passion for it."

Alana shrugged. "Maybe. I suppose so. Only when I can get the paints. Do you know how expensive they are?"

"I'm sure the Starks would rather you paint than spend all day moping around," her father teased.

Alana playfully punched him in the arm. "Very funny."

Renly only smiled in return. "I'm glad you're back."

"What do you mean?" Alana frowned. The serving girl finally came back, holding a plate of roasted ham and eggs, which she set down before her.

"Ever since you came back from your... excursion, you've been pouting almost all the time. It's good to see you back to normal."

Alana shrugged. "Maybe," was all she said. Just as she raised her food to her lips, Robert pounded his fists on the table, making everyone around him jump. I'm never going to be able to eat, Alana decided, setting down her utensils.

"I have an announcement to make." Robert waited until everyone in the hall fell silent. "As of last night," he continued, "Lord Stark and I have finished the marriage contract. My niece, Alana Baratheon, is now, officially, betrothed to Robb Stark. They will marry by the end of the month, at the latest." Storm, Alana thought. My name is Alana Storm. "Furthermore," he almost shouted, "as part of the contract, Alana is now officially legitimized as a member of house Baratheon. She is no longer a bastard."

Alana wasn't sure what she was expecting, perhaps boos and hisses or even a full blown riot, but it sure was not the applause that broke out through the hall. Please don't clap, she thought in vain. She hated the attention, ever since she was young, when the Lords from the nearby lands would come to wish her a pleasant name day. It was worse now, much worse, with everyone staring at her, cheering and happy. When the people had quieted down, Alana rose from her chair, nodding and slinking off out of the hall. Robert was still speaking, nearly shouting, and nobody seemed to notice her disappearance. Nobody except one.