I wanted to update earlier, but life got in the way. Here's the next chapter. I've been hinting at something for a while now, and I think I'm just going to say it. Alana is suffering from psychosis. This is back before medicine, so we'll see how well she can handle it with no medical attention. Thank you for reading. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Enjoy!

Chapter 10

The next time she saw Robb, Alana had more clothes on, a yellow and black dress with an antler bone necklace. She walked down the staircase, her hand ghosting along the railing, looking nervously across the crowded great hall. The dress she wore showed more of her breasts than any other dress she had worn before, and she was worried at the looks she might receive.

Her father was nowhere to be seen, and the only other family member nearby was Joffrey, and she'd rather not wear anything than speak to him. She took a deep breath, preparing to be forced to mingle with strangers, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to see Robb waving her over, a grin on her face, standing next to his half-brother and the Greyjoy ward.

Seeing no other alternative, she picked up the ends of her dress and made her way across the room, weaving between barely familiar nobles that she must have seen at one of her father's nameday feasts. "You look beautiful," Robb complimented her when she reached him. "Alana, this is Jon and Theon. Theon and Jon, this is Alana, my betrothed. We're to be married in less than a week." Both boys eyed her chest, but Jon at least had the decency to look embarrassed when they made eye contact. Theon, on the other hand, didn't avert his eyes until Robb noticed and smacked him in the back of the head.

"Ow," he whined, raising a hand to tentatively rub where he was hit. "I was only looking at her dress."

"Thank you," she said, glancing at Robb.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the four of them, until at last Jon cleared his throat. "Are you looking forward to the wedding?" he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Alana smiled. "Yes, I am. I have a lovely dress picked out." She decided to make it a point to be as friendly to Jon as possible. She too knew the struggle of being a noble's bastard, but Jon wasn't as lucky as her to be legitimized.

Theon snorted. "Looking forward to the bedding, more like. From what I've heard, you're no maiden. I've heard you've bedded every man from King's Landing to mmmph," Theon grunted as Robb elbowed him in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards against the stone wall.

"You will be courteous when you speak to Alana," Robb spat out, consumed by a fire Alana had never seen him with before, shattering the image of the calm and collected lordling she thought she knew, one who never loses his temper.

"My apologies, my lady," Theon bowed, overly polite so that it was clear he was humoring Robb. His eyes seemed to say We'll finish this later.

You deserve it, whore, the voice hissed, and Alana almost stomped her feet in frustration. It just wasn't fair. She had allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the water had miraculously washed it out, that maybe she was cured.

"Robb, may I speak to you for a moment, in private?" She asked, keeping her voice as calm as possible. She was going to be a lady. She could deal with frustration.

Robb nodded and followed her out of the great hall as she searched for a place to talk to him, involuntarily covering her arms against the cold autumn chill. "You wanted to say something?" He too covered himself with his arms, though Alana was much less prepared for the cold in her dress.

"I don't need your help defending my honor," she said slowly, careful to say each word carefully, giving it time to sink it.

"But Theon said-"

"I don't care what Theon said, and when you stand up for me it makes me look weak, like I can't stand up for myself." Alana's hands were balled up into fists. Tear him a new one, the voice urged her, and she ignored it.

"I thought you'd appreciate it," he muttered, clearly taken aback. He looked so hurt that if she wasn't so angry she might have felt bad for him. Behind him, a man slowly shuffled across the courtyard, his eyes on the ground at his feet.

"I didn't. You humiliated me, you made it look like I can't defend myself, and-" she stopped abruptly as the man behind Robb looked up at her, her blue eyes meeting his. Was that? No, it couldn't be.

"Alana?" Robb asked, his voice hesitating. For a moment she thought perhaps he was angry, but she met his eyes again, and she saw no trace of anger, only concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, yes," she snapped. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go." She left Robb standing there confused as she made her way forward.

The man was waiting for her as she approached, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his chain mail rusted as red as his hair with dried blood, a piece of antler embedded in his chest. "Rich?" She asked, using the childhood name for Ser Richard she knew he hated.

"You're all grown up, little lady," he all but whispered, using her least favorite nickname, his voice cracking with emotion. "I've missed you so much."

"How is this happening? How are you here?" Alana asked, her voice low and awed.

"I came to see your wedding," he explained, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"How are you here?" She repeated.

His eyes brightened like whenever he had a chance to explain something to her, like why there's rain - the gods are crying - and why the ocean was salty - he couldn't think of a good lie for that one but he did his best. "I can't really explain it." He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. "But I can show you. Follow me."

Without another word, he turned around, his armor clinking as he walked between two buildings. "Rich, wait," she called after him, and she silently cringed. Rich was what she called him when she was much younger, and it sounded silly and childish now that she was all grown up. Perhaps she could call him Richard, but even that seemed too long. No name seemed right for him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asked, frowning.

"I convinced you to go into the forest with me. It's my fault you died."

She expected him to get mad at her, to shout, to do anything but laugh. "I'm not dead," he responded, shaking his head. "Now come on."

Her mind was so full of questions. How was this all possible? How much did he remember? Did he even remember the stag? Alana sighed and hiked up her skirts, following after him.

"I heard that you caught Byron with another woman," he called as he slipped into an alleyway between two buildings. "He was always kind of an asshole, even when I knew him."

"I thought he had changed," Alana admitted. Ser Richard dipped out of sight for a moment as he rounded a corner. "It hurt because he did what he did just to spite me."

"That bastard," Richard grumbled. He glanced back at Alana as he realized what he said. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a bastard."

Alana rolled her eyes. "Obviously I know that." She frowned. "Where are we going?"

"This way," he whispered, standing outside the alley, about ten paces from the building. "We're almost there."

She could see people shouting at her, standing behind Ser Richard, but she forced herself to take another step. Do it, the voice whispered.

She took a final step, leaving the alley and entering what appeared to be a road. Immediately, she saw a man on a horse galloping towards her, shouting nonsense. He was already far too close to stop or turn, and at the speed he was going, he'd flatten Alana. She froze, paralyzed with fear, and could only close her eyes and wait for it to be over.

All the breath was knocked out of her as something hit her hard, sending her sprawling to the dirt road. Maybe this is what dying feels like, she thought as she struggled to take a breath. Hesitantly, her eyes flickered open, preparing to take in the damage of her body. Perhaps her ribs would be cracked open like the shell of a crab, her arms would be twisted at unnatural angles. Instead she watched the horse that nearly hit her thunder by, the rider yelling obscenities at her. Standing where she stood moments earlier, stumbling backwards away from the horse and its rider, was Jon Snow, his eyes wide open and fixed on her.

"Are you okay, my lady?" He asked, rushing to her side as soon as the threat had passed. "I had to push you out of the way of the horse. I'm sorry."

Alana shook her head. "You may have saved my life. You have nothing to be sorry about." She picked herself off the ground, dusting off her dress. One of the sleeves was torn, and the entire back was caked in dirt, but she didn't care. She was alive. "How did you know I was going to be here? Did you follow me?"

Jon blushed, a sharp contrast against his dark hair. "Sort of. Lady Stark didn't want me to spend time with the nobility, so I was there to see you leaving Robb. You were acting strangely, so I just wanted to make sure you'd be alright."

For a moment, Alana debated telling Jon that she was following her dead guardian down the alleyway. Almost immediately, she decided not to. He'd think she was going crazy, or that she was as mad as the Mad King. "I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was wrong," she lied. Jon frowned, perhaps piecing together that there wasn't anyone else in the alleyway, so she quickly spoke again, "Thank you again for saving me. Perhaps you could accompany me to the feast tonight?"

Before she even finished speaking, Jon was already shaking his head. "It wouldn't be proper-"

"Why," she interrupted, "Because you are a bastard?"

He smiled at that, the corners of his lips tugging at his all-too-serious face. "I guess that doesn't apply so much to you as it would to anyone else." He nodded. "I will escort you to the feast."

"Excellent." She glanced around them. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. "We should probably head back to the keep before anyone starts to miss us."

Alana linked her arm with his and the two of them walked back through the hallway, unaware of the pair of eyes that watched them from the shadows, unaware of the way Robb stood silently out of sight, his hands clenched tight into fists.