Here comes a classic authors note! Guess what? I DON'T OWN GAME OF THRONES! I'm sure we can all agree to that. Good, now so you know, so far the only character I own is Sura, my main OC. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

Chapter One

From Dreams to Nightmares

It was moments past dawn, and the sky was awash with the brilliant pinks and oranges that marked the birth of a new day. A soft wind rustled the leaves in the trees, and the little grass that still protruded from the light covering of snow bent in the breeze. The birds chiming in the crisp air, calling out love songs to the morning. The pastel colors faded from the sky, and a bright blue sky was covered by dancing gray clouds that twisted and turned in the wind currents above. Two horses stood on an outcropping, one as white as snow decorated in livery or ivory and ash, the other appeared to be made of gold and was dressed in colors of obsidian and scarlet. The two stood, staring off into the west, watching the night retreat, standing as close as they could. Their breath hung like tendrils of smoke in the air, dancing and twirling in the breeze before disappearing. Their manes and tails played like banners in the wind, the colors playing the sunlight and merging to form shades more beautiful than they could have in reality. A raven squawked and circled above them, its glittering eyes narrowing in suspicion as it flapped its wings and continued on its way, its body shimmering as feather turned to scale. The two horses occasionally turned to one another and touched noses, as if silently communicating in the growing light of day. Suddenly, the golden steed turned and rubbed its nose on the white horses' shoulder, and as it came away a sharp line of red burst forth from its side and liquid spilled down its legs. The creature didn't cry out in pain, nor did the golden one seem to notice the injury, the alabaster one simply buckled and fell to its knees, lifting its head to stare at the west, its honey colored eyes desperately clinging to the edge of the world. With a great sigh it fell completely, resting its head in a patch of wildflowers that seemed to melt through the snow. The golden horse turned its head, and suddenly, pierced the silence with a heart wrenching scream as the world was engulfed by fire and a mighty shadow fell over everything.

The scream magnified and shattered the dream as breath rushed into her lungs and she sat bolt upright. Dizziness assaulted her mind as she gulped down air and the world around her slowly came into view. The plush wine colored fabric of her tent, the brightly colored rugs that lined the ground, the fire that crackled away in its burner were all familiar sights and for a moment she calmed. Until her ears began to work once more and sound came rushing like an ocean wave into her consciousness. The singular scream of the golden horse morphed into the scream of an actual horse, not far from the back of her tent. She could hear sounds of battle, of men clamoring with their armor, of metal meeting metal and metal meeting flesh. Her heart suddenly hammered in her head. What should she do? The nearby cry of a man, filled with pain and anguish, forced her body to move. Bolting out of bed, she slipped her stocking-covered feet into her soft leather boots and wretched them on before she quickly pulled a robe over her night gown, fumbling with the laces in the front as her eyes darted left and right with the sounds that echoed around her. She bit back a scream as a servant fell through the flaps of her tent, her eyes fading as her hands were drenched red from the gaping wound in her chest. With her dying breath, the servant warned her. "Run."

Not thinking, she bolted out the secret flap at the back of her tent, sunlight assaulting her eyes as she attempted to catch her bearings. What she saw when she stepped into the clear morning air made her stomach churn. Blood and gore and bodies lined the army camp, she stared into the faces of soldiers and servants she had known, as well as many she didn't. Most of the men she knew were half armored, as if the attack had come by surprise and they had rushed to prepare themselves. There was a group of men fighting outside her tent, and she bit back a scream as she caught sight of her personal guards, both fearless warriors who had sworn to protect her to the death. She could see young Tobias, his eyes staring at the sky, his throat a jagged line, red dripping over his lips. Numarious was still fighting, yelling obscenities, along with screaming for her to run, as if he believed she was still hiding inside. Tears poured from her eyes as his opponents sword hacked through his chest, and cut his last cry short. She couldn't allow the sight of such slaughter to immobilize her, she had to run, had to get to safety, and so she clambered through the mud and dodged corpses as she ran blindly through the camp, her heart pounding as she thought of the only place she'd be safe. She evaded as much of the fighting as she could, covering her mouth with her hand when some would rush past or when she caught sight of men in glittering armor, swords bathed red in blood. One pair of soldiers caught sight of her, raised their blades and with an evil glint in their eyes chased after her. Gasping in fear and desperation, she ran, picking up the skirt of her robe and gown and ran, her feet flying over the ground as she jumped over bodies, throwing desperate glances over her shoulder to keep track of her pursuers.

She tripped suddenly, pain surging through her leg as she fell, throwing her hands out to catch herself as she tumbled into a disfigured corpse she snapped her eyes shut, afraid of what she was colliding with. Disgust and pain danced before her eyes and shot through her hands and wrists, bile rose in her throat as she felt mud and gore splash onto her face. The disfigured corpse below her sent her reeling as his still warm blood covered the front of her robe. She scrambled to get to her feet, cringing at the ache that had formed in her chest from the sudden exertion, and in her head from the screaming and her collision with the earth. Rough hands grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet and a terrified cry ripped itself from her throat as she struggled to break free. His hands caught her roughly and shook her and her dizzy eyes desperately searched his face, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't one of the camp's attackers. Relief washed over her when she realized that she knew him. Vetton was a sworn protector of her house; she'd known him since she was a little girl. His grizzled beard was covered in mud and grit, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and she was surprised to see that he wore no armor at all. What had happened? How had they been taken by surprise?

"My lady! Are you hurt?" He asked in bewilderment as he held her at arm's length. She shook her head quickly, locks of her unkempt golden hair dancing about her face as her braid whipped back and forth from the movement to indicate her response, not trusting her voice. He opened his mouth as if to say something, when his sharp eyes snapped behind her as her pursuers finally caught up and appeared before them. Roughly he shoved her behind him and took a fighting stance, the sword in his hands glittering, though it was already stained. "Go my Lady! To your father! I'll hold these two off. Run!"

Sobbing, she nodded and lifted her skirts free from her feet once more as she ran and the two who had chased her rushed at her rescuer. A pang of guilt stabbed at her chest. She was leaving Vetton to his death. She knew unarmored and outnumbered, there was little way he was going to survive the altercation. He had bought her time though, much needed time. She bolted, blindly through the camp, dodging groups of retreating servants, terrified as she was by the morning's bloody turn of events. The red tents rushed past as a unified blur as she attempted to navigate the labyrinth of the encampment, her bearing returning slowly. A cry of relief escaped her she finally came to the tent she'd been seeking. Lions danced on white banners before the entrance, the wind twisting them and forcing them to snap loudly. It was a welcoming sight. She dashed past the guards who stood half armored, weapons at the ready to defend their commander. Several of them nodded to her, or spoke hushed greetings, a few blessings of her safety, but they did not stop her as entered the tent. She found her father hastily fastening the straps of his armor, frustrated that his hands fumbled as he rushed. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw her arms around his neck, tears rolling down her cheek and his strong arms closed around her in relief. She was safe, thank the gods she was safe!

"Sura! Thank the Gods! I was so worried," He said as he cupped her face in his hands, taking in the sight of her, disheveled and covered in grime and blood, tears spilling from her eyes. He couldn't discern whether the blood was hers or another's. She had no overly visible wounds, however, and relief flooded over him. He smoothed his hands over her messy golden hair and tried to quiet her, seeing the fear that swelled in her aquamarine eyes. God how he wanted to banish that fear from her eyes forever, and slaughter all those who had caused it. The sounds of battle drew closer to the tent and one of his guards called to him, warming him, urging him to hurry. Her eyes searched the interior, terrified that more soldiers would slice through the tent and rush towards them. Wide eyes roamed back to her father's handsome face, quiet and calm and filled with relief. How could he be so steady? How was he not afraid? Why was she afraid? Her father was the mightiest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms. There was no man who could stand in battle against him and survive, so why was she afraid?

"They killed everyone!" She cried no longer able to restrain the raw emotion that came spilling out of her. The faces of men she'd known washed through her mind. They were dead, murdered, killed, for what? Their blood mixed with the mud and the thought made her stomach retch again. How many of them had died? What of her friends? Of her other guards who hadn't been on duty that morning. Were they dead as well? What of her servants whom she'd come to adore? "They're all dead."

"Calm yourself Sura! Look at me, look at me!" He grabbed her shoulders roughly and forced her to meet his gaze, her wide eyes searching his as her breath came in gulps and gasps as she attempted to calm her shattered nerves. He removed his hands from her shoulders and held her face once more. His rough hands held her face softly, as if she was a rare and delicate flower that would wilt with too much force. He was strong and steady where as she was terrified and trembling. He had known years of war, this was nothing new to him, and her fear was understandable. She felt some of his strength seep into her, steadying her nerves as she finally calmed her sobbing. "Listen to me, you are safe here. They will not get past me. Should they break through hide yourself and then run home. You remember how? Do you remember?"

"Yes father," she said in a strangled whisper, fear and terror rippling through her body as she struggled to remember and weed through the endless amount of maps she'd been forced to study over the past several weeks. Safe route after safe route popped into her head as she remembered all the ways he'd shown her how to escape. But he said he would not fall, he could not fall, so why worry about escape?

"That's my girl," he said as he kissed her forehead quickly and brandished his sword before rushing out the front of the tent to the beckoning calls of his men. He had more to fight for now than his own life. No one could get past him, not one of these northern bastards could be given a chance to lay a hand of his girl. Setting his jaw, he prepared to defend himself and the one thing he truly treasured in his life as he caught sight of the men who had invaded his camp. He roared, like the lion of his house, and rushed at the attackers, satisfaction surging through his veins as his blade tasted bone. Inside the tent, shaking and unsteady, Sura rummaged desperately through her father's things. She wasn't exactly sure why she was desperately digging through the trunks or what exactly she was looking for until she found it. Quiet washed over her panicking mind as her fingers closed along the smooth wooden curve of a short bow, a clutch of arrows were wrapped in fabric and hidden within a trunk. Her father was no archer, but she was. Ever since she was little she'd been allowed to practice with a bow until she'd become an expert marksman, nearly better than the best men in her grandfather's house. There had been a handful of occasions where her father had taken her hunting, allowing her to try her hand at slaying live prey instead of wooden ones. Sura was not a novice to taking life, though she'd never killed a man and close combat frightened her. Grabbing the first arrow, she carefully notched it and stood facing the doorway, heart hammering in her chest, as she prepared to defend herself.

The fighting raged outside, the sound roaring in her ears like the sound of the ocean waves hammering against the rocks on a stormy day. She heard the dying screams of men as they were cut down, their lives ended brutishly. Disbelief and dismay seized her heart as she heard her father roaring viciously before silence fell over the camp, and then a cry of victory went up. She recognized none of the voices that celebrated, and a lurking fear clawed its way into her mind. Had he fallen? Had her father truly been defeated? With shaking hands she lifted the bow and prepared herself, she knew they would come. Her first shot hit home with a resounding thud as a soldier came blundering into her father's tent, hammering through the leather armor of his chest. Another man spewed blood as her second shot ripped through his throat, a gurgled gasp escaped his lips before he stumbled to his knees and then fell. A third was knocked back, but not killed, when her arrow pierced his shoulder. Desperate she let another fly, and it slammed into the calm of one who'd shoved past his wounded brother. Another nonfatal strike, she though in dismay as she struggled to let another loose, but it simply bounced off the man's helmet. By then there were too many in the tent for her to fight, she had not been quick enough or accurate enough and panic washed over her. The bow was knocked from her hand and a back hand to the face left her sprawled on the ground. She felt the pain sharp on her cheek, and tasted blood in her mouth and knew that a bruise would soon her mar her perfect face.

"What's this eh? Lannister's whore?" One called out to his comrades, his accent heavy and difficult to understand. She screamed and struggled as he lifted her from the ground, her nails biting into the flesh of his face as she fought desperately to break free. She knew what happened to women in war, she'd been told storied as a child, but she'd never thought it could happen to her. None of this should have happened, she should have been safe here. She was wrong. Her father had said she'd be safe, that nothing would touch her, that nothing could touch her. Where was he now? She flinched in anticipation of his next strike, but the soldier's wrist was caught by another. His armor was finer, his flaxen hair was unkempt and his gray eyes blazed furiously as he stared down the soldier who'd knocked her onto her father's bed. A ripple of relief washed through her, she'd been saved. For a moment the two stared each other down, and she believed that they might fight, and then after a tense moment her attacker pulled his hand fee and adjusted his shoulder guard. Another ripple of relief surged through her, stronger this time. But, the one who'd stopped her assailant looked down at her with a wolfish grin, and despair crashed over her again. No one was going to save her.

"Take this one to Lord Stark," he said slowly, inclining his head in her direction before turning and striding out of the tent, his fur lined cloak billowing behind him as he moved, not before he shot her another look, dark and lustful. This couldn't be happening; it was just part of her nightmare. It couldn't be real. She screamed and battled but two of the men easily over powered her, dragging her off her father's bed, forcing her to her feet, yet still she fought. Never give in, her father had said to her. Never surrender. She threw an elbow into one of her captor's jaws, and he retaliated with a sharp blow to her head that sent her senses reeling, knocking her into complacency, and silently with little trouble they bound her hands.

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