Thank you to everyone who is reading this, whether you read the original or not. I'm trying to write a lot more, so hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently. I'm much more pleased with this story than any of the other ones. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The Sept was lit by the morning light that filtered through the windows high up on the brightly painted wall, as well as by the candles piled around each statue of the Seven, the candles already burning low despite the early hour. The sun was just barely cresting the horizon, painting the sky and the sea it rose over in shades of orange. Alana didn't have time to watch the sun rise, the more devout followers of the Seven usually filtered into the Sept as soon as the sun had cleared the sun had cleared the horizon and had only just finished lighting the candles. She still needed to make certain that the Sept was ready for visitors.

Not for the first time, she cursed her pride, and everything else that had brought her here.

She had made a deal with her father that so long as he didn't make her spend the day knitting or sewing with the rest of the ladies of King's Landing ("I'm not even a real lady," she had complained, and Renly pursed his lips like he always did whenever Alana brought up her illegitimacy. She didn't need anyone to tell her that he was embarrassed she was a bastard, he told her well enough with his reactions, with his winces and heavy sighs when he thought she couldn't hear), she would keep herself occupied at the Great Sept of Baelor, setting up the candles and making sure that the books were all organized correctly in the boxes at the back of the Sept. The Seven-Pointed Star went on the top (the words on the leather cover gilded with real gold), as the sermon began with the Septon reading from it, passages praising the glory of the seven. In the middle of the pile was the copies of The Song of the Seven, similarly gilded but this time with golden thread rather than actual gold. Lastly, on the bottom, was a singular copy of Maiden, Mother, and Crone, purchased only because Alana had found it from a book merchant at Flea Bottom, and proceeded to demand the High Septon to buy it. It was a small victory, Alana knew, but futile, knowing that the majority of those who attended the sermons couldn't read, but Alana would sometimes be fortunate enough to get a chance to read from it to young children as their parents prayed. They would sit around her in a circle, one sitting on her lap, as she read to them, children of noblemen and peasants alike, all sitting wide-eyed and smiling.

"Here already, Alana?" came a familiar voice behind her. Alana set down the last candle at the base of the statue of the Stranger and turned around to see the High Septon, bleary-eyed and yawning, his crystal crown tilting dangerously to the side. "I thought you didn't come in until after the sun had risen."

Alana shook her head, feeling her long black hair swing behind her, tied up in its braid. "If I come in that late, I'd be forced to rush in order to get everything ready in time."

The High Septon yawned again noisily, raising a hand to cover his mouth a half second later. "I can't possibly imagine getting up so early. I envy your youthful energy."

She shrugged. "It's just a simple matter of going to bed early and rising early. It might be in your best interests to consider trying it."

At this the High Septon laughed and shook his head, so hard the crystal crown threatened to fall over. "I could never fall asleep early enough to wake up at this time and feel well rested. I'll leave that up to you. Keep waking up at whatever time allows you to keep up the good work." At that, he turned around, his white and gold robes flowing at the sudden motion, his sandals slapping loudly on the marble floor.

"Wait, Ser…" her voice failed her as stumbled over what to call him. He wasn't a knight, so she couldn't call him Ser, and he wasn't a lord. The High Septons, after ascending to the office, will give up their names and simply be known as "The High Septon."

"Yes, Alana?" He didn't stop, simply continued walking across the altar, forcing her to jog to catch back up to him. He has short legs, Alana noticed, as she was able to catch up to him in just a few short strides.

"I was thinking," she began, now that she was walking next to him, "Maybe we should get another copy of Maiden, Mother, and Crone. The only one we have is starting to get a little worn, and it-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Alana." He reached the altar, between the statue of the Crone and the Stranger. "We're pressed for gold, and the books are not a major part of our sermons. Most of our visitors can't even read, and the rest don't want to. The only books we need are for me to read to them, and we only need one copy for that. The one we have will do fine."

"But you recently bought a whole new set of golden incense holders," she protested.

"Because it's important that the commoners see the power of the Faith, and the beauty of the gods," he explained, his patience infuriating to Alana. "If the Faith is to appear weak, we would lose followers, or be open to heresy."

Alana bit back a retort that sprung to her lips, begging for her to spit it out at him, to put him in his place. "I see."

The High Septon patted her on the arm and smiled. "I'm glad you understand. Would you mind moving my podium over here? Today's sermon focuses on how death is a natural part of life, and I feel that that is best personified through the Crone and the Stranger. Afterwards, I need you to pick up the candlesticks from the blacksmith at the tip of the street of steel. There are quite a few of them, and they are bound to be heavy, so you ought to bring a horse to carry them." Without waiting for a response, he began to walk away, adjusting his crystal crown as he went.

What went unspoken was that in addition to moving the podium, a heavy wooden stand that would be a pain to drag all the way across the hall, she would have to rotate each one of the pews to face where the Septon planned on speaking. Alana sighed, raising her head to look at the statue of the Stranger, desperate for anything to allow her to stall from the task at hand.

The statue stood tall, easily three or four times her height, carved from stone and painted by the finest artisans in all of Westeros. The Stranger looked like a man, wearing black robes carved so well that they looked as though it was made real cloth. He had short black hair underneath his hood, and eyes that were so dark they looked as black as his robes.

Alana had been to Storm's End before, several times, in fact, though she hadn't stayed very long on any of the occasions, with Renly always needing to return to advise Robert as a the master of laws of the small council. The Sept at Storm's End didn't have a magnificent marble statue of any of the Seven, but instead had a painting of each one. Whoever painted the Stranger had depicted him as a grinning skeleton, its bones withered and dried and cracked, portrayed as a being that took pleasure in taking lives.

It's a small comfort to think of something like that taking your father or mother's life, Alana thought. But this one was different. The statue looked like someone one might come across on the street, as a pilgrim or a brother of the Faith. Alana sighed again, and turned around, her dress splaying outwards at the motion, and she began to make her way towards the podium, preparing across the room. We spend so much time worrying about what will happen after we die, that we forget to truly live, she thought.

"How long do you think you will remain here?" The High Septon asked, as Alana finally finished carrying in the box of books the Septon had shipped all the way from Andalos, supposedly the birthplace of the Faith of the Seven.

"My father said so long as I continue to help, I can continue to come here." Alana made a face. "My other alternative is sewing with the queen and her friends."

"You are helping, considerably so." He began to thread his hands together, as though he were making a decision. "Would you consider a position as a septa? You are doing so well, especially with the children. You could come here and help every day."
Alana froze. She had never considered becoming a septa before. She would be able to read to the children every day, and would be able to assist the High Septon. It's not as though Renly would ever be able to convince anyone to marry the bastard daughter of a third son. She had no duty to advance her family name. "I've never thought about it," she confessed.

The High Septon nodded. "Well you'd start off as a silent sister, to get closer to the Stranger. However, you would not have to remain silent forever. You could then become closer to one of the gods, be it the Smith, the Warrior, or the Crone."

"That sounds wonderful." Alana was beginning to get excited, her lips tugging upwards and her heart beating faster. She could ask Renly to give her his blessing as soon as she got home, and she was sure he would. She could see herself in the future, standing in front of a crowd of people who have come hundreds of leagues to hear her speak. She would make them laugh, make them cry, and make them think. Alana wanted this. She wanted this more than she had wanted anything else before in her life. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. "Do you think I could one day be a High Septon?" She could be the very first female High Septon. The thought sent shivers down her spine.

The High Septon chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Of course not, silly."

Alana felt her chest tighten at his words, and she swallowed hard, her smile long since forgotten. "Why not?" she asked, devastated.

"You're a girl," the High Septon answered, as though it explained everything. "Girls have an equally important job. They birth the next kings and high septons." He patted her on the arm as though he didn't just crush her very hopes and dreams. "And you'd make a great septa," he concluded, smiling down at her.

Alana arrived back at the Red Keep after the sun was high in the air, not quite noon, but close. She had left when the High Septon had begun his sermon, his monotone voice droning on behind her as she mounted her horse and rode away. Her mouth watered at the thought of her usual breakfast, a meal of crispy fried fish and boiled eggs, along with a goblet of milk. She had left so early that she hadn't had a chance to eat breakfast, and had gone so far with an empty and growling stomach.

Renly was waiting for her at the gates of the keep, his hands on his hips as he watched her approach. "Morning, father," Alana greeted with a smile, dismounting her horse and handing the leather reins to a servant waiting beside her. "Shouldn't you be inside having breakfast?"

"Am I not allowed to greet my daughter?" Renly asked, smiling and putting his arm around her shoulders. "How was working at the sept today?"

Alana shrugged. "It was fine. The High Septon was infuriating as always."

"I always thought he was far too air-headed for his own good. Being chosen to be the High Septon didn't help one bit." The two of them entered the Great Hall, and Alana waved over a servant to bring her usual breakfast.

"What have you been doing today?" she asked conversationally as she plopped down at an empty seat.

Renly sat beside her and sighed. "Most of my morning was spent being lectured by Robert on the importance of an heir to Storm's End." He made a face. "That reminds me, Robert desperately needs a new Hand. He's been taking the death of Lord Arryn very hard. We're leaving for Winterfell tomorrow."

"So soon?"

Renly nodded. "Have you decided whether or not you are going?"

Alana had had plenty of time to decide, but instead of weighing her options she had forgotten about it entirely, choosing to push it to the back of her mind. "I guess I'll go," she decided. "It will be awfully lonely in King's Landing without uncle Robert and his court."

Renly smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "That's wonderful. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time there."

"Maybe," Alana responded doubtfully. "Maybe." A sudden realization came over her, filling her body with dread. "I have to go," she announced, standing up so fast her chair was sent skidding across the scuffed wooden floor, teetering and threatening to tip over. "I need to pick up the candlesticks from the blacksmith." After she had moved the podium and rotated all of the pews, she had been so eager to leave that she had completely forgotten the High Septon's request that she retrieve the order from Tobho Mott's shop. It was a name she had heard before, recommended to others as the best smith in King's Landing, possibly in all of Westeros.

Renly sighed. "I suppose this is what I get for thinking I might have a chance to have a conversation with you." He waved his hands, shooing her towards the door. "Go. The sooner you leave the sooner you can come back. I'll have them keep your breakfast warm."

Alana nodded and sprinted out the door, scarcely avoiding a brown haired servant carrying a tray of food that smelled so good it made her want to forget all about the High Septon and the candlesticks, her feet slapping the floor as she raced towards the stables. If she hurried, she could be there and back in less than an hour, she decided. Provided there was no distractions, that is.

"How was the sermon today?" Renly asked, entering Alana's room. She was lying on her stomach on her bed, her face buried in another one of her books. She was still too young to go all the way from the Red Keep to the Great Sept of Baelor on her own, so he had had Ser Richard accompany her. Under his orders, however, the man was not to help Alana in any of her duties, only to follow her around and make sure she stays safe. If she was serious about helping out at the Sept, he would allow her to skip spending time with the other ladies of King's Landing, sewing and gods know what else up in the Maidenvault.

"Not good," she responded plainly, not even looking up from her book. "The High Septon was an ass." Renly sat on the bed next to her and leaned over, reading the title, The white lettering a stark contrast against the black of the cover.

"Lineages of the Noble Houses of Westeros?" He read, straightening and looking at her. At last, she rolled over to look up at him, tucking the book next to her, her finger still between the pages to save her spot. "What could possibly be so interesting about the nobility. All they do is marry someone they don't love, spend the rest of their life avoiding them, and then die."

"I think it's important I understand my heritage," Alana explained haughtily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I am a Baratheon, at least by blood, and I think I should know about my ancestors."

"May I?" Renly asked, taking the book from her after she nodded. He flipped open to the page she had saved and began to read, his eyes skimming the faded black ink. "Physical characteristics of house Baratheon," he read. "Lord Boremund. Black of hair, blue of eye." The further down on the page he went, the darker and newer the ink was. He skimmed down a few lines. "Ser Lyonel Baratheon. Black of hair, blue of eye." He looked up from the book. "What am I supposed to learn from reading this?"

Alana sighed and took the book from his hands. "Every other member of house Baratheon has had black hair and blue eyes. That includes you, uncle Robert, and uncle Stannis. I'm the only one with brown eyes."

"They're your mother's eyes," he said slowly, careful not to tell a blatant lie to his daughter.

"And they're the only thing I have of her. There are no paintings, no letters, nothing. You never talk about her. And I know she's not dead," she added as soon as Renly opened his mouth.

"Your mother loved you very much," Renly began, pushing Alana's hair out of her face. "She was the daughter of a Myrish Magister."

"I'm Myrish?" Alana asked, her eyes wide in surprise, raising her arm and looking at it, as though she might see some sort of identifying mark that would confirm what Renly was saying. "I thought Myrmen had darker skin than Westerosi."

"Sometimes," Renly admitted. "Your grandmother, on her side, was also Westerosi, so her skin was much lighter than any Myrman's. She had the dark eyes of her grandfather, and you have her eyes."

Alana was transfixed, sitting upright now with the book forgotten on the floor. Renly never spoke of her mother. "What was her name?"

Renly was struck with a sudden pang of guilt that Alana never even knew her mother's name. "It was Serala. Serala Faye."

"Have you sent her any ravens? Have you had any contact with her at all?" She clearly had a thousand questions for him, she was dying to ask them all.

"I haven't spoken to her since she gave me you." He tried to ruffle her hair but she jerked her head away, not willing to be distracted. "But she first came to King's Landing to personally deliver a shipment of her father's best crossbows. She delivered them to the king, and uncle Robert had just come into power. If anyone knew how to contact her, it would be him."

"Thank you, father." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, before standing up and running out of the room, presumably to the throne room. Father. That was a name Renly didn't deserve. He sighed and rose from the bed. He had come into the room, hoping to be cheered up by his daughter, but instead found himself even more worn out.

Alana's knuckles rapped quickly against the ebony and weirwood doors of the blacksmith's shop, flanked on either side by a stone griffin and unicorn, wearing red suits of armor. The shop itself stood at the top of the street of steel, towering above the rest of the shops around it, casting a shadow over the cobblestone road.

The door creaked open, and a man with a thick beard gestured for Alana to enter, stepping aside. He was just shorter than Alana, but his arms were massive, thick and covered in a layer of hair. In fact, his entire chest was covered with dark hair as well, visible through the low neck of the brown shirt he wore under his leather apron. "How can I help you?" He asked once she was inside, watching her as she glanced at the room around her. The windows high up on the white stone walls lit the room, casting light on the chestnut brown floorboards. Behind an ebony counter stood his wares, swords sharp enough to break through a block of iron, and steel plate metal thick enough to stop anything. She could hear a rhythmic and muffled clank of metal on metal through the walls.

"I'm here to pick up the candlesticks. The High Septon sent me," Alana responded, her voice disinterested, still distracted by the weapons.

The blacksmith, who Alana could only assume was Tobho Mott, nodded. "It's in the back. I'll lead you there." He approached the door to the forge, allowing Alana to enter first. "They were a waste of time if you ask me," he announced as they walked. "I make weapons, not trinkets. I tried explaining that to your 'High Septon,' but he wouldn't listen."

Alana let a wry smile cross her face as she heard this. "That does sound just like him. He wants nothing but the best for the Faith, no matter the cost."

"Damn fool," Tobho muttered under his breath. As they entered the forge, Alana was struck by a wave of heat from the furnace, as a black haired boy worked the bellows. "Gendry," Tobho called out, prompting the boy to stop what he was doing and turn around. "Where are the candlesticks?"

As soon as Alana saw the face of the boy named Gendry, her heart began to hammer in her chest. He looked exactly like Renly, with his icy blue eyes and dark black hair. He's my brother, Alana realized as she ran her eyes over his features again and again. There was simply no other explanation.

"I moved them to the storage room," he answered, his response simple and efficient. He ran a hand across his sweaty forehead, to push his wet black hair out of his eyes. "They were taking up too much space in here." He disappeared into a back room, leaving Alana alone with Tobho in the forge.

"You said his name was Gendry?" Alana inquired, acting nonchalant, as though she was trying to make simple conversation.

Tobho nodded, slow and thoughtful. "Gendry Waters is his full name." Alana noted that he was a bastard, like herself, and resolved to ask her father as soon as she arrived back at the Red Keep. "He never knew his father, and his mother died when he was very young." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "Just about every woman that comes in here asks about him. Even I have to admit he's quite the looker." Before Alana could respond, Gendry stepped out of the storage room, carrying a large wooden chest, the top open to reveal intricate golden candlesticks shining in the light of the furnace. "If you count them, you'll see that there are seven, just as agreed upon," Tobho added as Alana took the chest from Gendry, still unable to keep her eyes off his hair. The same color as her and her father's hair.

The chest was heavy, but not unmanageable. She could rest it on her lap as she rode the horse back to the Sept of Baelor. "Thank you," she smiled at Gendry. "And thank you, Ser," she added to Tobho as an afterthought.

"I never got your name," Tobho realized, just as Alana was turning to leave.

"I am Lady Alana," she answered, choosing to avoid using her surname Storm. If Tobho knew that both she and Gendry were bastards, and that they both looked remarkably similar, it wouldn't take much to draw a connection between the two of them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Alana," Tobho responded, bowing before her. Gendry remained standing, until Tobho elbowed him in the ribs, at which point he bent over, his back stiff and his eyebrows twisted into a frown.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well. If you don't mind, I ought to bring these back to the Sept," she gestured with her chin to the chest in her hands. "I will be sure to tell the High Septon how polite the famed Tobho Mott was."

"Thank you, my lady," he bowed once more. "I'll show you out."

It wasn't until Alana was far from the blacksmith's shop, as her horse carried her to the curved ceiling of the Sept of Baelor visible even from her saddle, that she realized perhaps her father wouldn't even know if he had another bastard child. He raised Alana like a trueborn child, defending her whenever the taunts of the legitimate children of the servants turned cruel, even spending time with her every day, despite his long hours working as the master of laws. If he knew of the existence of Gendry, why wouldn't he treat his bastard son the same way? More importantly, if he had one bastard he knew nothing about, what's to say there wouldn't be more? There's only one person who would know the truth and and be willing to tell me, Alana realized. Thankfully, she knew exactly where he was.

Littlefinger was talking to Cersei by the time Alana arrived at the throne room of the Red Keep, his voice soft enough to not be heard while she approached, though it seemed controversial by nature, his lips curled up in a smile, as though he were sharing a secret. "May I speak to you alone?" Alana asked when she reached him.

His laughter died down as he noticed her presence, as well as the impatient tapping of her foot on the stone floor. "I don't believe I have the authority to dismiss the queen," he decided, glancing sideways at her.

"You do not," Cersei agreed. "But I will leave all the same." She smiled at Littlefinger (completely ignoring Alana) before making her way towards Ser Jaime, who was standing guard near the throne, his golden hair shining in the patch of sunlight he stood in.

"What do you have on your mind, my lady?" Littlefinger asked. Alana had spoken with him twice before, once on her sixteenth name day a year or so ago and once when she accidentally wandered into a small council meeting when she was much younger and he had offered to walk her back to her room. He had the remarkable ability to make her skin crawl regardless of their conversation topic. However, he also had a talent for secrets, his skills matched matched only by Lord Varys himself. If there was anyone who knew the truth of Gendry's parentage, it was one of those two.

"The High Septon sent me to pick up some candlesticks from Tobho Mott's blacksmith shop." She paused for a moment, gauging his reaction. He raised an eyebrow, as if to say go on, but his expression remained unchanged. "There I met a young boy named Gendry."

At the name, a sly smile spread across Littlefinger's face. "Ah, Gendry. I've spoken to the lad once or twice. He has the makings to be a great blacksmith some day. Pray tell, what is it about Gendry that caught the attention of Lady Alana Storm?"

Alana glanced around her, checking to make sure there was nobody eavesdropping on their conversation. "I think he's my brother," she finally whispered, satisfied that Littlefinger was the only one who could hear.

Littlefinger nodded slowly, processing the information. "He does resemble your father quite a bit. However, I think I have a better explanation." He paused for a moment, his eyes locked on Alana's face, before continuing, "I believe he's your cousin. The son of our great King Robert. Of course, there's no way to tell; his mother is long since dead, so she can't confirm that his father is the king. However, given remarkable resemblance to the king's family and given the king's previous… infidelity, one has to wonder."

"Indeed." Alana's head was reeling. She had known her uncle was not a man known for his monogamy - in fact, he was known for the opposite, of bedding anything that moved - but she never truly thought about the idea that she might have illegitimate cousins. It made sense of course, in hindsight. "There's no way to know for sure." A thought occurred to her, and she couldn't help but voice it, "My uncle has been known to have quite a few dalliances. How many bastards does he have?"

Littlefinger paused for a moment to think, his brow furrowing. "I know of four, but Varys claims he knows of nine. Truth be told, anyone with black hair could be one of Robert's bastards." He hesitated, before continuing, "I would advise you to keep this knowledge to yourself." He lowered his voice, his eyes glancing from side to side, mimicking Alana's motions a few moments earlier. "There are some who say that one Baratheon bastard living in the Red Keep is enough, and even that your father was wrong to keep you here, in court. To spread word of another could be… dangerous."

Alana nodded, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "I can't imagine Cersei would take well to having one of Robert's bastards in court." The queen was known for her hatred of bastards - in fact, she spent an enormous amount of time taunting and teasing Alana specifically - and the the idea that Robert would bring one of his illegitimate children to court must be enough to have her tear out her golden hair. Then again, that would make her all the more brutal in her taunting and teasing, to the hypothetical bastard as well as Alana. Alana found herself thanking the gods that Robert didn't care for his bastards as much as Renly did, and thanking the gods that he wouldn't dare bring them to court.

A/N: I'd greatly appreciate any feedback on how this chapter was. Thank you again for reading!