@krakens-flayed-wolf continued from here
Theon could never see her as anything other than her daughter. The truth was well known throughout the Iron Islands. It had been impossible not to know her true lineage. Nevertheless, Theon denied it. He denied it through Sansa's death, and eventually it had come to be the truth of things. The Iron Islands had always understood illegitimacy in a way that few other places did; they reaped and pillaged, they raped and burned. There would be few Ironborn left if they hadn't naturalized outsiders. Alana was one of them, and she had proven herself well on her first true outing as captain of her ship.
Theon wound his arms around her, and pressed a fierce kiss to her temple. He was a more sensitive ruler than many would expect. He sat the Seastone Chair at times, but more often it was his sister who wore the driftwood crown. He didn't care either way; the Greyjoy name prevailed, and it was expected that, in time, it was Alana who would trod the stones of the Bloody Keep.
He smiled softly, and pressed a second kiss to her forehead, his ruined hands gently stroking he cheeks.
"You've done well," he said simply. "We'll feast tonight in your honor, and in honor of those who sailed with you."
