This is the last chapter before the rewrite! This story has been a ton of fun to write, and I have a lot of plans for the rewrite. Things will definitely be different, but I feel as though the plot will be an improvement over the current one. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far, and thanks to everyone who will be reading the rewrite. I'll leave this story up for anyone who wants to reread it, but I don't have any plans to update it. Thanks again! Enjoy!

Chapter 12

It took three knocks on the door before Alana was finally able to bring herself to look up from her book. She had been hoping that maybe whoever it was would leave her alone after they were met with only silence, but as the knocking continued it grew more and more insistent, with every rap of knuckles on the wood growing louder and louder.

Alana cracked the door open with a low creak, peering out into the darkened hallway. "Oh," she let out, taking in Robb as he stood with his hands behind his back, clearly uncomfortable. "I wasn't expecting to see you." It was true. She wasn't sure who she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't him.

"I didn't expect to be here," he admitted. He bit his lip, as though he were debating something in his head. "I- oh this is stupid."

"What is?" she asked, shifting her weight to one leg, her brow creasing in confusion. "Just tell me."

"I… well… is there any chance I can come in?" He scratched the back of his neck.

I give him maybe three seconds before he makes a run for it, the voice whispered, and Alana bit back a smile. "Of course, come in." She gestured for him to take a seat at the small table she had next to the fire, which crackled softly. She had kept it burning almost nonstop since she had arrived at Winterfell. It was cold, so much more cold than any freezing night in the Stormlands.

"Can you believe we're to be married in just three days?" He asked softly. In truth, Alana hadn't thought about it very much. In between the voice and Ser Richard's ghost haunting her, she didn't have much time for reflection.

She nodded "I remember when it was still months away." She frowned. "If you don't mind me asking, what did you want to talk about?"

Robb's face twisted into a grimace. If she wasn't so curious, it might have been funny how difficult it was for him to speak. "I guess I was just wondering what you thought of my brother." He raised the end of his sentence like a question, scratching the back of his neck again.

"I think of him as a friend," Alana answered, her voice measured, unsure of his motives. He's been nothing but kind to me since I arrived, and I understand his struggles as a bastard better than anyone else."

Robb let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing. "That's good to hear," he responded after a moment, his lips twitching upwards.

Alana nodded slowly. "Why were you asking? "

All the relaxation he had was gone I'm an instant, his shoulders tensing up and his face turning white. "I'm not sure, " he all but whispered after a moment. "I guess it just bothered me to think that you two might have feelings for each other." He glanced down at the floor for a pair of heartbeats, his gaze eventually drifting towards the fire that bathed them in a orange light. "I know that sounds terribly selfish, I'm sorry."

"It's not selfish. You're worried about the fidelity of your future wife," she reasoned hollowly, trying to swallow the thick ball of disappointment that was lodged in her throat, disappointment that, after all the time they had spent together, she was still nothing to him but his future wife. Not even the time they spent in the bed - she was naked, for gods' sakes, though it's not as if he saw anything - was enough to warm his northern heart of ice.

"It's not that," he quickly reassured her. "It's just... it upsets me to think of you having feelings for anyone else." He took a deep breath. "Anyone other than me."

Alana's heart was pounding, with both anticipation and fear. If he was confessing his feelings for her, something she hadn't even bothered thinking about, she'd have to deal with whatever buried feelings she had for him. Only one other had ever told her he cared for her in a romantic light, and that was Byron. She had thought about him very little over the past couple months, and that was just how she liked it. "I don't know what you're saying," she said softly and carefully. It was only partially true. She knew more or less what he was trying to get across, but she wanted to hear it from his lips, to be sure she wasn't jumping to conclusions.

"I'm saying I think of you as more than a friend." He let out a deep, shuddering breath. "And I know you don't see me that way and I'm sorry for putting you on the spot like this."

Alana nodded slowly. "You're right. I don't see you the way you see me." She could see the disappointment in his eyes, that even though he knew what she said was true it still hurt to hear it from her. "But that doesn't mean I can't," she continued quickly, resting her hand on his arm. "In time, I think I can grow to care for you. Love you, even."

Robb beamed at her, far too happy, in her opinion, for a promise of a possibility. "That's all I could hope to ask for."

He smiled at her, and Alana couldn't help but wonder if he was entirely honest with his feelings to her, if he cared about her more than he let on. They began to make idle conversation, asking about each other's days, but Alana's mind was elsewhere. She would be lying if she said she didn't consider Robb a friend, or that she didn't value his company. She just didn't want to see their budding friendship crushed by disappointment and resentment if she couldn't bring herself to feel the way he felt about her.

"You need to keep your arm level when you shoot, " Theon remarked as Jon hit the outer edge of the target yet again. His advice might have been helpful, if he wasn't such a snob when he offered it.

Jon rolled his eyes and nocked another arrow, ignoring his advice. He held it for a pair of heartbeats before releasing it, lowering his arm as he watched it fly towards the target, hearing it stick with a dull thud.

Truth be told, it wasn't an awful shot, but it could have been better. "Don't lower your arm until after it hits the target," Theon advised, a smug smirk on his face. He just loved to show everyone how much better he was at archery than they were.

Jon ignored Theon and readied another arrow, taking a deep breath and ignoring the pain of the string against his fingers. This time the arrow was even further from the center, barely sticking into the target at all.

Theon made an annoyed sound in his throat. "Why am I even here if you won't listen to me?" He snapped.

Jon knew Theon was just a few seconds away from storming off angrily. As obnoxious as Theon could be, he was still a friend, and Jon didn't want him to walk away mad. Jon sighed and glanced at his feet. "Your excellent sense of humor?" If there was one thing Theon loved more than women, it was getting his ego stroked.

Theon snorted, but didn't say anything as Jon launched his arrow even worse than the last two, missing the target altogether.

"Excuse me, milords," a voice came from behind them, quiet yet steady. Jon turned around to find a boy, about his age yet taller, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, and thick, muscular arms. "I'm here with my father. Lord Baratheon asked for us to make something for the wedding. A gift, to the bride and groom."

"Oh?" Theon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what might that be?"

To his credit, the young peasant didn't look the least bit fazed when he responded, "It's for the eyes of the bride and groom only. Where can we take it?"

Jon could sense a fight brewing, the same way one could see a storm on the horizon. "The wedding gifts are being kept in the bell tower," he quickly stepped in, before Theon could do something stupid, like challenge the young man to a duel. "You can take it there."

"Thank you," the peasant said, turning around and heading back to the covered wagon where his father waited.

"That's 'thank you, milords,'" Theon called after him.

"Byron," the young man said, not bothering to turn his head, "son of Willem."

Sorry to end on such a cliffhanger! I'll try to post the rewrite as soon as possible! Until then, auf wiedersehen, and goodbye.