AUTHORS NOTE! :D For anyone who wants to know what the inspiration for Sura's appearance is, simply look up Tamsin Egerton who plays Guinevere in the Starz series Camelot, which I'm starting to love as well.

Yay! Review responses:

BiteMeYouSuck you're name made my day, and thanks the review, hopefully you enjoy this chapter as well.

thePatient07 my writing style is obscenely descriptive, and I love mass amounts of text – I aim for roughly 4,000 words a chapter if I can manage it…sorry if you find it disjointed – I'll do my best to make it as fluid as possible. I use the settings at the top right of the page to turn the background dark and the text light (which I find it easier to read mass amounts of text) and I use the ¾ setting to put it all together :D

WARNING - I'm sure you're going to feel that there's a shifting point of view in this chapter, from Robb to Sura to Jamie to Sura to Catlyn to Sura...yeah...I have a tendency to do that...so just letting you know this isn't from the eyes of one person. Besides, where's the fun in that? Oh, but I'm sure most of us fangirls were expecting this to be an explicit content warning, hmmm? Don't lie! I CAN SEE YOU BLUSH THROUGH THE INTERNET! No, no I'm kidding...anyways...those won't be till later my loves, so enjoy :P

Chapter Two

Prisoners of War

The day had been long and hard, the battle had been bloody and guilt lingered like bad food in his stomach. He had knowingly sent two thousand brave men to their graves, he had destroyed two thousand families, murdered fathers, brothers, sons, uncles, cousins maybe not by his own hand, but he felt just as guilty as if he had. The men were celebrating, despite his sobering words. Soldiers called out to him as he passed, flanked by his mother and Theon Greyjoy, he nodded his recognition to them absently. Grey Wind barked loudly and deeply as he appeared at his master's side, his dark fur glistening in the sunlight as he fell into step beside his master, bobbing his head beneath Robb's hand, attempted to draw his attention. The crisp air in his lungs, the mud beneath his boots, the sun glinting off his armor and the song birds in the trees couldn't rid him of the darkness that loomed over his heart. They had been successful in their objective. They'd broken through half of the Lannister's forces; they'd successfully captured the Queen's brother and freed the Riverlands from the Lion's grip. Yet still his sisters remained captive, as did his father. He felt as though nothing had truly been accomplished, though hopefully he could free some if not all of his family using the Kingslayer as an exchange. Certainly Lord Tywin would not risk losing his heir. Running a hand through his messy brown hair Robb tried to clear his head, yet the faces of the men he'd killed and the men he'd sent to their deaths swam before his eyes in a swirling mist. Theon had told him that there was something he needed to see, something else they'd taken from the Lannister camp that could be of use, of value, and Robb was eager yet sick about what it might be. All thoughts were banished from his head, however, when he burst through the flaps of his tent, his breath caught in his throat and his heart seemed to stop as he drank in the sight of what awaited him.

Firelight danced off golden hair that was clearly messy, and coated in mud, mire and gore, yet was still captured in a braid that fell across her shoulder. Her sheer white night dress was visible beneath the pale blue, embroidered robe she wore, though both were soiled with blood and filth. Yet these things could not detract from her beauty, angelic and breathtaking, rare and exotic. A bruise, purple and garish marred the porcelain skin of her face. She sat in a straight backed wooden chair, her wrists bound and bloody in her lap, her eyes downcast. Surely she had heard them enter, surely she had felt their presence filling the room, yet still she stared at the leather boots on her feet. A thousand questions suddenly invaded his mind, none of them related to the battle or the lives that had been lost or what their next move would be, but about her. The angel that sat, captive in his tent, he looked to Theon for an explanation.

"Found her in Jamie Lannister's tent. Killed two of your men with a bow, injured two others. She's probably his whore, though you might find a use for her," Theon said darkly, his eyes dancing menacingly in the firelight. A whore? Of course, that would have been one of the only reasons Theon would have brought her back to camp. He'd already become tired of all the girls that had travelled along with the war party, but that was his way. He used women and then went looking for the next one. Robb found it hard to believe that such a creature was a common whore, how could something so divine be so sullied and spoiled to the world? He watched her closely, saw how her fists clenched when he'd called her a whore, swore he saw the muscle in her jaw jump in agitation. Was it indignation? Anger? Fear? Embarrassment? Robb nodded to the guard at her side who roughly brought her to her feet, mere steps away from Robb and Theon. "Do you want her or not? She's a hellcat this one, probably quite a ride."

Robb saw rage saturate her eyes, a brilliant shade of blue-green, so fierce and striking he knew he would never forget them. She moved as if the strike Theon, but he quickly caught her bound hands in one of his and roughly backhanded her with the other. She gasped in pain as she collapsed to the ground, turning furiously to gaze up at Theon and Robb, hatred filing her eyes. His blow had cut her cheek and her lip had been split open, her beautiful sculpted lips, soft and pink, like spring roses. She lay on the ground, holding herself up on her bound hands, staring up at them with indignation and fury.. Theon laughed and looked down at her, his tone as mocking as his stance. "Who do you think you are girl?"

"More valuable than you'll ever be wretch," she spat as his feet. She was a hellcat alright, fighting to the bitter end, despite the fact that she was outnumbered and severely overpowered. Robb saw Theon's fury blaze and knew that he was probably nearly ready to just kill the girl and be done with it.

"Enough," Robb said sternly, as he grabbed hold of Theon's shirt, his eyes locked with his captive's. He crouched down, though still stood above her level, his head turned slightly to the side as he examined her face. She was work of art, sculpted by the finest craftsmen. She was something to be treasured, not beaten about like a toy. Compassion and honor would someday be his downfall, but something in his gut told him that there was nothing common about this girl, and he would see no one raise their hand to a woman, even if she'd moved to make the first strike. After a moment, he spoke softly to her once more, as if they were the only two in the room. "Who are you?"

His question was met with silence, as she shut her eyes and dropped her gaze back to the ground. Was it submission? Or acceptance? Did she truly believe that they were barbarians? His stomach turned sick to the idea. He stood once more and nodded to the guard to lift her to her feet. He turned his back on the girl and thought for a moment, the sound of the fire crackling in its burner the only thing breaking the silence, as everyone stood tense, anxiously awaiting what he would say, what judgment he would pass on the angel that had been brought before him. He looked to his mother, who gave him a soft sympathetic look; he nodded his head to the door and began to leave, calling over his shoulder. "Unbind her hands and bring her."

"Where are we taking her?" Lady Catlyn Stark asked her son as she gathered her skits and followed quickly behind him, slightly disgusted at Theon's behavior. Even Catlyn Stark had noticed the girl's beauty when she'd first entered the tent, even more so she'd noticed her spirit. Those eyes were so full of fight and fire; she had an idea that something wasn't quite what it appeared. She'd had too much fight in her blood for a brothel girl, and the clothes she'd worn had been too fine for a common whore, even the whore of a Lannister.

"To Jamie Lannister. They found her in his tent. If she'd anything to him, he's bound to show some reaction, if not…" his voice trailed off, but his mother felt her heart drop. She knew what he meant, and the very idea sickened her. Would her son really feed this poor girl to the wolves? Would he really allow her to be abused further by his men? Anger flared in her bones, but she remained quiet. War was a man's world, yet she stood beside him and supported him, as any mother would support her son. In this matter however, she decided to protect this poor girl should it prove that she was nothing special. Such a gem could not be tarnished by the filth of war – even if she was a spoil of the conquest. This was the least Catlyn Stark could do. They marched through the camp, Robb and Catlyn in the lead, Grey Wind close on their heel, followed shortly by their prisoner who was being led roughly by a bemused Theon Greyjoy with another guard behind them. They marched through the makeshift prison they'd created, captive Lannister soldiers stared – wide eyed – at the beautiful girl they hustled past, and Robb swore he saw recognition on their faces, and fury directed their way. The guards standing watch stepped aside and allowed Robb and his party past into the tiny clearing that was shielded by ruins on two sides.

A sturdy wooden pole sat in the center of the clearing, several smaller, stronger poles branches off from it and were driven into the ground. Shackled to the base of the pole, prevented from standing, his arms stretched almost to their limit, sat Jamie Lannister, the famous Kingslayer. Blood had dried on side of his face, stemming from a gash above his left eye. His lip was split as well, and for a moment he smirked at Robb and Lady Catlyn, but then his face turned ashen as he stared past them and his eyes caught sight of the girl held roughly in Theon's hands. A sob escaped her throat as she struggled to break free of his grasp, but she cringed as he only gripped her tighter. Robb saw the rage slowly creep over Jamie Lannister's features, his jaw tightening, his fists clenching and unclenching as he began to struggle against his bonds. With absolute hatred, his gaze burned through Robb. Suddenly, the girl broke free from Theon's grasp and ran to Jamie, falling on her knees before him, her hands brushing his hair out of her face as tears poured from her eyes. He tried to soothe her, to quiet her fears, tried to hold her through his bindings as he saw the fear and pain in her eyes. Fury raced through him as he took in the sight of the obscene bruise upon her face, the split in her lip and the cut on her cheek. None of them would scar, but the momentary imperfection on her face angered him more so than anything else had in his entire life. She tried to fight as the bulky guard stepped forward and pulled her back, and the sight of him forcing his daughter to cry out in pain broke Jamie Lannister's resolve.

"You filthy bastard!" He roared as he yanked against his chains, struggling to break free, then he turned to Robb with such fury and hatred and anger in his eyes, he thought that Jamie Lannister's soul would pour out of them, and roared, "I SWEAR TO THE GODS STARK! IF YOU TOUCH HER I'LL RIP YOUR HEART OUT MYSELF! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"Take her back to my tent, see she's fed and her wounds are tended to," Robb said quietly to his mother, who looked in shock between Jamie Lannister and the blond haired beauty who was struggling in Rowan's grasp. She was a fighter, even with tears spilling from her eyes she struggled against the man who was twice her size. But Catlyn knew that look in Jamie's eyes, she knew that reaction, and it absolutely stunned her, but she nodded her understanding and looking to Rowan, signaling for him to lead the girl away before they provoked the wounded lion more. She screamed and battled, her words indiscernible between her sobs and cries, and then one word struck out that they all knew they'd heard. Father.

"SURA!" Jamie roared, still struggling against his bonds despite the fact he knew it was futile. He bellowed her name once more before falling back against his chains as she faded out of sight, the pain and the agony clear on his face. Robb hid his true emotion behind a stoic mask, but in truth he was in awe. He had never seen the Kingslayer so unhinged, never seen him lose his composure so completely, so absolutely. It was incredible. He stepped forward and crouched beside Jamie Lannister, his gray eyes meeting the furious blue ones of his prisoner. Seething with animosity, Jamie spoke again. "Touch her at all, Stark, and I will slaughter your entire family, slowly and painfully. I'll make you watch as I carve them apart, and then I'll kill you."

"Why so broken Kingslayer?" Robb asked calmly and carefully, attempting to keep the mockery out of his tone, his eyes boring into Jamie Lannister's as he tried to glean anything other than his raw emotions, "What is she to you?"

"She's my blood, and my blood is more valuable than the blood of all the Starks," He growled, once more pulling at his shackles, but they didn't give way. Robb stood slowly, retaining his composure, until he turned and faced Theon, shock, awe and bewilderment plainly written on both their faces. That beautiful creature, that angel, was none other than the child of the Kingslayer.

II

She'd been placed in the same chair she'd been sitting in when the young Lord Stark had entered his tent, only now tears she was desperately trying to control were streaming down her face and her hands were unbound. She swallowed down a sob as she stared at the fire in the burner, not yet resigned to her fate as a prisoner of war. Any second now, the young Lord would march back into the tent and she shuddered to think of what he would do to her. She was a valuable prisoner, just as valuable as her father if not more so, and she was a woman. He could ransom her back to her family, but there did not have to be any specification on whether her honor was intact or not. She choked back another sob and mentally scolded herself. She was being weak and acting foolish. She was a Lannister, and she was neither of these things. She could remember when she was seven at her grandfather's keep in Casterly Rock, when she'd fallen and scraped her knee and had cried and cried. He had lifted her and held her and said very sternly, yet very softly, that she was a Lannister, and her tears were worth more than a skinned knee, and to save them. Let no man see you weep, he'd said to her, for they will perceive you as week. Are you weak little sparrow? She smirked at the nickname, and felt her strength flood back to her. The initial battle was over, and she had lost, but that didn't mean she was done fighting. Resolve burned in her veins as she gazed at the fire and she knew, no matter what happened, she would fight to the death for her freedom and her honor, and would find neither compromised by a warlord.

Her head turned quickly to the tent entrance when it fluttered opened, but it was not who she had expected. Lady Catlyn Stark, who was probably once a beauty herself, appeared. Sura felt shame sweep over her for a moment, the Lady of Winterfell stood before her, clean and in one piece, while she was dirty and tattered, her pride held together by strings. Compassion swept over the woman's face, a kind, motherly look that Sura hadn't known since she was eight. Several servants entered the tent and began to move about, one bore a basin of water, another a plate of food, another a mug and a pitcher of something. Several others brought with them buckets of steaming water, and Sura's brow knit in confusion. Lady Stark approached her and stood before her, a soft smile on her face.

"Come girl, let's see you tended to." She held out a hand to the frightened sixteen year old. For a moment, Sura just stared at her hand, before sighing and taking it with her own. Lady Stark helped her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as she led her to the back of a tent. Sura knew she shouldn't have been excited by the sight of the bronze tub, but she was. The thought of washing the grime and dried blood from her skin and hair made her spirit soar. With some assistance form a servant girl she sank beneath the deliciously warm waters of the bath, realizing just how cold she'd been in nothing but her night dress and robe. Lady Catlyn took a sponge form one of the girls and waved her away, Sura was mildly shocked when Lady Catlyn took hold of her arm and delicately began scrubbing away the grime to reveal the cuts and scrapes she'd sustained during the day. Silence passed between them, and Sura felt tears falling from her eyes once more. How had it come to this?

"I'm sorry," Lady Catlyn said softly.

"Why are you sorry?" Sura asked coldly as she stared at her feet in the water, tears still streaming down her face that she was desperately trying to compose. "You can't possibly know what it's like. To see your father, you're protector, the man who cradled you as a child and told you you'd always be safe that everything would be alright, like that." She turned her eyes back up to Lady Stark, and Catlyn yearned to ease the pain and suffering she saw in the girl's eyes. Lannister or not, she was a girl, terrified by the situation she'd been thrown into. "I know what he did to your family, and I'm sorry, but he's all I have."

"Hush child," she said soothingly as she brushed away Sura's tears. The bath water had long gone cold by the time Sura was completely clean, her golden hair hung damp nearly to her elbows. While Catlyn wasn't proud of the fact that her son's men had raided the Lannister camp, she knew it was part of war. Men would be men, but they had gathered many of Sura's things from her tent, and after ordering a few trusted guards to collect it, Sura had been able to don one of her own gowns upon emerging from the water. The pale green fabric was embroidered with golden thread; the collar bore a carefully stitched pattern inlaid with tiny beads that picked up on the fire's shifting light. Sura's eyes had watered with gratitude as she'd held it, running her hands over the fabric as it slid over her head and carefully tied the laces in the front. Catlyn explained that anything of hers that had been taken from the camp was being brought to the tent, so at least she would not be without some of her possessions. Sura sat perfectly still as one of the healers wrapped the wounds on her wrists and carefully treated the two cuts on her face, cooperating as best she could. Finally she was allowed to eat, and despite the hunger that raged within her belly, she ate slowly, carefully, forcing herself to remember her manners. Catlyn couldn't lie; she was impressed with the girl and the amount of ruthless self-control she possessed under the circumstances. Then again, she was a Lannister. Suddenly, a question sparked in Lady Stark's mind and she looked at the girl with a new curiosity. "They said you killed two of our men with a bow, where did you learn to shoot?"

"My father taught me," she said quietly, "much to my mother's objections. But she yielded when she saw how happy it made me, to have a reason to spend time with my father. I was seven the first time he guided me through a shot, and I remember the pride on his face when I hit the center, despite the fact that he'd done all the work. He taught to me to read and to write, to shoot and ride, everything. He would always come to my room before bed and every night he would remind me that I was the most important girl in the world, the most special, the most blessed."

"Where was your mother in all of this?" Catlyn asked as she brushed a lock of Sura's hair behind her shoulder, beginning to see the girl a bit more clearly, yet still pieces to the puzzle were missing. She frowned slightly and closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. Catlyn swore she saw pain sweep over the girl's expression for a heartbeat before it was replaced with sorrow, a look Catlyn was beginning to see all too frequently.

"She died when I was eight, I don't remember how she died, and I can barely remember her. There's only a feeling of sunshine on my skin. My grandfather always says I have her eyes, her smile, and her laugh. I think that might be why my father disappeared for so long after she died, because I was a walking, breathing reminder of her," she let out a shaking breath and that was when Catlyn saw it. Sura was a sixteen year old girl who craved her father's love, not because she'd never had it, but because she was lonely. She'd lost her mother half her life ago and had felt like she'd lost her father too. "I remember when I was thirteen and my grandfather started talking about engagements and alliances, my father grabbed him by his collar and said 'You'll give her to no man of lesser blood'. That's why I'm even here; I was being 'escorted' to the Reach to be appraised by Lord Tyrell, if only I'd refused."

"Sura," Catlyn said softly to the girl, "you can change nothing now. Fate works her hand in strange ways. Know you are safe here, for as long as there is breathe in my body no man here shall harm you. Even before I knew who you were, I was determined to see you to safety."

"Why are you being so kind to me?" Sura asked softly, her eyes falling to her bandaged hands in her lap. "Your husband was imprisoned by my aunt, your daughters are being held captive by her, and you think my uncle tried to murder your son. Why are you protecting me?"

"It was your family that did those things Sura and they may be of your blood, but they're not you. You may be a Lannister, and I can't trust you, but you're also a sixteen year old girl who shouldn't be made to suffer more than she already has. I will warn you though, betray my compassion, and I will no longer offer you my protection. Do you understand?"

"I understand you, Lady Stark," Sura said cooly as reality came crashing back down. For a few blissful moments, Sura had felt free, only to remember where exactly she was. She was a prisoner of Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King who was imprisoned for treason by Sura's aunt, Cersei the brother of the boy who her Uncle Tyrion had supposedly sent an assassin to kill. She was nothing more than a pawn in this war, something to be traded back to her family, and Sura swallowed the bitterness that rose on her tongue. No matter how much kindness they showed her, or how much compassion she was given, she couldn't allow herself to forget the sight of her father, chained and beaten, restrained. She couldn't forget what it felt like to be ripped away from him, unable to reach out to him. Her loyalty was to her blood, and she had to remember that. Her grandfather's voice echoed in her head once more. You're a Lannister girl, and Lannister's aren't weak. The blood in your veins is more important than gold, remember that. Lannisters repay blood for blood.

So what do you think? Please let me know in the little link right underneath this, yes yes the one that says review. :D

Is Sura a believable character? How do you think I can improve? Please, I'm dying to hear your thoughts! -falls on hands and knees and begs- PLEASE!