Note: Recently, I decided to go back to the beginning and re-watch Game Of Thrones, preparing for the upcoming season. Doing so gave way to wondering "What if...?", and next thing I know, I've got a story idea on my hands. Now that I'm actually posting on FFNet, I thought I might as well give it a go! I'm always looking for new stories in this category, so why night add in my own! This is my first posting to the GoT division, and so I welcome you to my story!

Story Stats:
Pairing: Endgame Robb Stark/OC
Cast: Daisy Clementine Smith, as Elaena
Rating: Fiction M (For so very many reasons- adult language, adult content/situations/themes, violence/gore/bloodshed, graphic content, all kinds of emotional turmoil, drinking, etc.)
Warning: This will be based off of both novel and HBO series content, as well as some extras. It has a definite AU quality, in the sense of an added character(s) and some changes to major canon events. Still, I'm hoping some of you will enjoy it! Please, feel free to send me a PM if there is something that bothers you excessively, or if you just want to chat about GOT greatness!

Feedback is very much welcomed! So is some story loving! Please keep any negativity or flaming to yourselves, however. If this story isn't for you, there are always tons more to choose from! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own anything A Song Of Ice & Fire/Game Of Thrones related; this includes characters/novels/TV series/extras, etc. I also don't own anything else copyrighted, trademarked, etc. I just own my original characters and personal ideas!

Sky above me. Earth below me. Fire within me.
-Spark-

With slender fingers that curled around the edge of the heavy, oaken door, she froze and took a moment to peer back over her shoulder, all too aware that sneaking from the castle for a walk in the snow was the last thing she was supposed to be doing at that moment. Still, in the night, a fresh flurry had overtaken the land and she itched to be the first footfalls in the untouched, fluffy white powder. The creaking sound as she pulled lightly against the iron ring made her wince, and she froze for but a moment before she darted through the opening, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. The Godswood was her destination, knowing she would be free from spying eyes that might send word of her stealing away from her lessons for thing morning. Within the sacred cusp of strong-growing trees, she knew there would be solitude, and crisp snow that had yet to be trodden upon. So, with silent and spritely steps, she lifted the edge of her gown and sprinted for the stone archway that would allow her entrance to the mystical grove.

Her cheeks had flushed by the time she stole her way across the courtyard, the fair ivory of her skin warmed with a gentle pink. Bright were her eyes, the exertion and fresh morning air giving them a spark of excitement an early morning drowsiness had once dimmed. She was moments away from stepping into the wood, when something strange caught her notice.

It was quiet...too quiet.

Early in the morn it might be, still yet, there should have been a gentle cacophony of sounds that served to hint at the day's preparations. Cooks and their staff preparing breakfast for those in the Keep, chambermaids and servants bustling to and fro, completing their chores with finesse. But there was none of that, not even the soft sounds of birdsong echoed upon the air. It was an eerie quiet, as if should one dare to utter a single sound, all would be disturbed.

The sensation gave way to an icy thrill of dread, tickling its way down along her spine.

Left with straightened and stiff posture, her eyes darted wildly from side to side, widening in surprise when she took notice of what she had not before. There was not a single person milling about; no early morning clang of swords in the training yard, no squeal of the irons in the smithies, no dull thud of the cleaver slicing pork for the tables in the Great Hall. It was as if not a single soul resided within the castle's stone walls, not any more. Again, an ominous shudder worked its way throughout her body, from the ends of her hair to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her lips parted, the pink of her cheeks long since paled, but the snap of a twig and a low, rumbling snarl from just behind her left the call for others among her, caught and trapped within her throat.

Fear pierced her fluttering heart, sent ripples of icy cold and blistering heat along every nerve-ending.

Ever so slowly, without even turning her body, she tipped her head to the side and her eyes, widened with shock and a hint of terror, cut backward until they fell upon the sight that awaited her.

A stag stood there, quite larger than that of which could typically be found within the Wolfswood; its hooves a shining ebony and its antlers an impressive picture, rising high into the air, their points sharper than the tip of a blade. Remarkably, it was accompanied by a wolf, though one could not call it any ordinary wolf. Its shoulders alone stood nearly as tall as the stag's head, its coat grew as a silvery sheen upon the silken strands of fur, formidable in its stance and with a muzzle full of menacing fangs. They did not fight, however, neither seemed to consider the other as a threat and as she watched them nudge one another almost playfully, the fear that had begun to grip her heart seemed to loosen its clutches.

The relief was short lived.

She startled when moisture, it couldn't have been more than a drop, landed upon the apple of her cheek. Thinking nothing of it, she chose instead to keep her eyes fixed upon the miraculous duo in front of her, idly reaching up to wipe what must have been a simple raindrop from her skin. The liquid was warm however, nothing like what the cool water of the Northern skies was supposed to be. Furrowing her fair eyebrows in bewilderment, she peered down at her fingers where they had smoothed over her skin, unable to hold back the yelp of surprise when her gaze caught upon the crimson smudge that stained her fingers.

Blood...it was blood that rested upon her fingers, that had fallen upon her cheek.

Playful noises from the two great animals soon turned threatening, but it was hardly a matter of concern when, as her eyes darted along the snowy ground in desperation some sort of an explanation, she noticed the red drops dotting the fluffy powder were increasing in number. Murmurs of denial spilt from her lips as she backed away, giving a short cry with the ominous crimson rain seemed to only follow her. They gathered faster than her feet could move, forcing her away from the entrance to the Godswood and further into the courtyard. Bile rose in the back of her throat as the drops turned to a storm, raining down in sheets of red, weighing heavy in her hair and staining every inch of exposed skin until the fair complexion was long gone.

It was the magnificent roar that shocked her from her frightened cries, though it only made her shriek in return, an audible echo of her terror. Glancing up, that shriek soon turned to a bone-chilling scream.

The great stag and the majestic wolf were dead.

Slaughtered.

And a lion lay there among the carnage, its fur stained with the blood it had spilt, lazily lapping at its claws.

Her screams echoed through the silence of Winterfell's stone walls, spilling out into the trees of the Wolfswood, and far beyond. They continued on for miles, continued on as the lion smugly cleaned its paws, continued on until her throat was hoarse and she could scream no more. Only then did an unnatural wind descend upon her, lifting and twisting her hair within the wispy fingers of the breeze, startling the lion out of its arrogant preening. It whipped around her, tearing at the material of her dress, blowing dust and stray bits of hay across the courtyard.

She stumbled backward as the ground beneath her feet shook balefully, the sight before her very eyes shaking, blurring, morphing into something it was not before. Falling upon her knees, she cried out once more as the blood upon the ground spattered back into her face when her hands made contact, catching her from sprawling out face first into the rivers of red that had replaced that which had been a beautiful white before. Choking upon the back-splash, she spit the life sustaining liquid from her mouth where it had smeared over her lips, the coppery taste threatening to make her retch. Her fingers trembled, matching the tremors that left her clumsy and unstable, a foal upon brand new legs. The ends of her hair grazed the pools of crimson as she mustered the courage to peer up from the soggy ground, further staining the fair strands a burgundy color, the breath in her lungs escaping her parted lips in a whining huff of air as she took in what lay before her.

Fields, burning fields.

An endless fire.

It was with a scream that she awoke, the heat of fire lingering upon her skin and the metallic taste of blood remaining upon her tongue. She writhed beneath the furs that covered her, flashes of memory flickering behind her eyelids, image after image, one after the next- until they all ran together in a loop of destruction.

The wolf, the stag, the lion, the blood, the fire.

Wolf, Stag, Lion, Blood and Fire.

The stag, its own antlers buried deep within its chest; blood and fire.

The wolf, razor sharp lion claws cutting through skin; blood and fire.

The lion, its hide littered with slashes; talons, blood and fire.

Wolf, blood and fire.

Blood and fire.

Her name was being called, shouted, laced with fear and concern. She gasped for breath as she jolted forward violently, finding herself sitting upon her furs as she peeled her eyes open. Hands, warm and large, grappled with her shuddering form. They pulled her into a heaving chest, a heart that set a battering rhythm hidden beneath flesh, muscle, and bone; though its beat raged strong beneath her ear, a soothing sound, reassuring her that she was there instead of back within the field of never-ending red. She pressed her face there, cheeks wet with tears she could not remember crying, as she gripped the fabric beneath her fingers so tightly, her knuckles turned pure white and her nails bit into her palms.

"Something comes," She whispered, her voice shaking, panting with every word. "Something is coming."

Playlist:
-You Can Run, Adam Jones

Age Changes:
-This is just to make me a bit more comfortable. The series has Robb around what looks to maybe be sixteen/seventeen, the novels have him even younger. I'll be changing his and a few other's ages to suit my creative needs. That will switch up the years that some events take place, but I'd rather that than write underage interactions. This will also serve as a ripple effect on the other Stark children's ages.
*Robb Stark- 17/18
*Elaena Targaryen- 17