┏━ tribulation.
( SCENE 1 ) ━┛

CRISP, cool breeze filtered through the leaves of the trees, creating a rustling chorus throughout the quiet Godswood. The wooded area was shadowy in the early morning, and there was the sound of creatures scurrying about in the undergrowth. It was just after the break of dawn, for the sun hadn't even broken over the walls surrounding Winterfell. Only the servants would usually be up at such an hour, readying the food for breakfasts and adding wood to fires.

The Godswood was the quietest place to escape in Winterfell, away from the ruckus of the courtyard and the busyness of those who ran the Keep. Any could uplift their prayers and hopes to the Old Gods, who were countless and nameless, unlike the Seven Gods that were worshipped in the South. Northerners have always kept to tradition; even when the Andals invaded centuries ago, the North wouldn't be forced to give up her way of life.

What little snow had accumulated on the ground on that particular morning was crunchy, meaning it would stick throughout the day, unlike the normal fluff that fell and melted soon after. With every step that she took, it crunched under her boots. It pleased her, for she'd know if anyone tried sneaking their way up. Ismene is quite shy when it comes to her prayers. She has always been privy to sending up every hope and fear to the Old Gods, and she would find herself red in the face if anyone heard about some of her dreams.

Finally reaching the small pool under the crimson-leaved weir tree, coated on the surface with fallen leaves, she brushed away the accumulated snow from the stone bench just a few paces away from the face of the ancient tree. It was common for summer snow to fall in the nights, only to be melted away by the time the sun had reached its zenith each day. As she got to her knees and rested her elbows on the bench, she clasped her hands together where they hovered just over her lips.

Her words stayed on her tongue momentarily as hesitation filled her thoughts. There was much she wanted to pray about: the constant feeling of uneasiness that enveloped her each day, the wish for something exciting and new to happen in her life, the end of the horrible nightmares that plagued more of her nights than she'd be willing to admit. She closed her brown eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

"I need rest. I need answers," she mumbled to herself and to the innumerable Gods that she was praying to. This life I live... feels incomplete. I don't know what is next, and while I'm scared to know, I'm also ready to change something in my journey. I'm already well past the age to be wed. What is it you have in store for me? Am I ready for whatever that might be?"

She sighed again, opening her eyes to look up at the carved face the Children had put there thousands of years before. Crimson sap always trailed eerily down from the face's eyes like tears. By now, the sun had broken over the walls, the light filtering through the leaves and casting onto the white trunk of the tree. She frowned, continuing her prayer with her eyes open.

"I wish to know why you continue to plague my dreams with her," she continues, her tone slightly different. "You plague me with this faceless woman, one you tell me is my mother, yet I've never seen anything but a statue in the crypts? Why only me and not Darik? She was his mother, too."

As expected, the tree only continued to stare at her. Her brow furrows, and she scoffs in frustration. She felt like a fool for thinking it might magically answer her then and there.

"If these dreams are a way of torturing me, then it is doing its job," she grumbled. She forced herself to her feet, angry with the prayer session that was supposed to relieve her after a night of restless sleep. She turns to stalk away but is suddenly jolted with fear when she spots Jon standing just a few feet away. He looks startled, maybe even embarrassed that she spotted him.

"I didn't mean to bother your prayer," he says immediately, dark eyes focused on her. "Truly. When I returned to mine this morning, I just saw you leave your chambers."

Ismene could never be mad at Jon, for of all her half-siblings, he was easily her favorite. He might have been a bastard, but he was raised alongside her all the same, and she would defend him tooth and nail. Of them all, he was the kindest. Her expression softens, and she shakes her head.

"Nonsense, you didn't," she states, then rolls her eyes. "It's not as if the Gods really listen to me anyway. Sometimes, it's as if I'm speaking to a tree. I thought making a desperate plea might earn me some help."

Jon frowns in the melancholic way he always did. "It was the dreams again, huh? About your mother."

A grimace forms on her features, and she nods. Jon and Darik had always been very good at understanding what she was thinking or going through, and she sometimes resented it. Other times, she was pleased to have brothers who cared for her well-being. She spoke to Jon about the dreams in particular because she didn't want to worry Darik about her dreams of their long-dead mother.

"Yes. They haven't relented, and in the last fortnight, they've gotten worse," she tells him.

"I understand," he replies with a nod of his head. "I've had similar ones, but never anything like you have. Have you tried talking to Maester Luwin about it? Perhaps he has some remedy that'll help you sleep deeply."

Ismene shrugs, thinking that there is no way she will really get away from her dreams. It seems she is cursed to bear the weight all her days. If she is going to be fated with such a burden, she wishes she could at least see her mother's face—just once.

"I can speak to him," she says. "I'll find a solution, one way or another. How about we go inside now? I'm sure everyone's up to breakfasts."

Jon nods with a slight smile. "Of course, let's go."

Birds begin their morning songs as the two start to leave the Godswood, the face's crimson-soaked eyes watching them as they leave.

                                                                                          ❆

THE presence of her siblings always made a sour morning turn for the better, as long as everyone was in a fair mood. Luckily, they were, Sansa quietly picking at her food while Bran and Arya fussed over something unimportant as they always did. Rickon was far too occupied playing with a wooden wolf that had been crafted and gifted to him by Darik, leaving Ismene and Jon to converse together once more.

Ismene picked at what was left of her boiled duck's egg, never her favorite choice of dish, yet she wouldn't complain. Jon finished his meal quickly, as all the older boys tended to do. He was always in a brighter mood when Ismene's mother wasn't around. She always found it odd how Catelyn could love her and Darik as her own but not Jon, who was their father's son and motherless as well. It was one of the qualities of her adoptive mother that she didn't care for.

"I wonder if Darik finally downed his first buck this morning," Jon says to Ismene after drinking his water. He smacked his lips before setting the cup down. "He's been determined for so long."

"I would say he's more skilled with steel than arrows," Ismene replies before biting her boiled duck egg. "All three of you boys seem to be better with it. But perhaps he got lucky this morning."

Jon shrugged. "I suppose so. But if he returns with one, we should expect him to be in a haughty mood."

"When is he not?" Sansa laughs, most likely having honed in on their conversation. "It's Darik; there isn't much else to expect. Girls don't find arrogance attractive. Finding a wife for him might be hard."

As if on cue, Robb and Darik entered the room. Darik walked with the utmost confidence, confirming that the morning had indeed been fruitful. The heir plopped himself next to Jon at the end of the table and patted his shoulder in greeting.

"Morning," he greeted as he began assembling his meal from the platters on the table.

"What're you smirking about?" asked Ismene, already knowing the answer.

Darik looked at her and shook his head, a smile breaking out onto his face. "Our little siblings are being troublemakers again."

Jon snorted. "What else is new."

"How was the hunt?" Arya inquired, her attention turned toward them now.

Darik starts grinning. "It went well. I managed to get my first buck - Father is having it prepped for tonight's supper."

"That's splendid news, Darik! I'm so proud of you. See you all; I had a good feeling about this morning. It's about time you've managed to get a buck," Ismene praised.

"I must agree that it had taken me far too long," her twin replied.

"Perhaps now you can boast to Lady Aubrey of your achievements. I dare say she'll be quite pleased," Jon smirked as he brought his chalice of water to his lips.

Ismene rested her elbow against the table and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. "Lighten up, dear brother. We wouldn't be siblings if we did not tease one another, now would we?"

Darik merely shook his head. "Awful, every one of you." He reached for his chalice and filled it with some water from the pitcher on the table.

"I must say that he's lucky," Robb commented from his seat next to Sansa, a dangerous grin on his lips as he looked at Darik. "You're lucky the arrow landed where it did. Just a few inches higher, and it would've breezed right over that buck's back."

"Oh, you hush now," Jon lightly scolds. "All that matters is that he did it. I haven't seen you bring anything but a scrawny doe in."

Her jab earns all her siblings' laughter and Robb's red-faced glare. As they settle down, Ismene rises and steps over the bench.

"Sansa, we should get to Septa Mordane. You know how she gets when she has to wait on us." She looked to Arya, who had barely touched her food from being too occupied with bothering Bran. "And you best catch up quickly. I'd hate to have to get mother."

Arya glared at her before obeying and eating like a ravenous child. Ismene hummed to herself before rustling Jon's abundance of curls. "I'll see you two once the lesson is over," she said to Darik and him before following Sansa and exiting the room.

❆

SEWING had become a chore for Ismene over the years; she'd been forced to do it. Even though she'd grown very skilled at it, it wasn't necessarily her favorite thing to do. Getting out of the lesson was a relief after accidentally pricking her fingers one too many times, a thing she rarely did. She accepted that her mind was in other places, and she wasn't at fault.

After the lesson, she'd found Jon, and the two of them were making their way toward the courtyard where they planned to visit an animal stall where a bitch had just given birth to a new litter of puppies. With the two being close, they often were around each other when everyone else was caught up in their activities.

"I hope Father lets me keep one of the pups," Ismene comments as they both round the corner and enter the muddy yard. Ahead, the main gates are being opened, but the two haven't noticed. "I've been begging for one since I was eight. You'd think I've waited long enough."

"I'm sure you could do a little convincing," Jon smiles. "I must admit I'd like one myself. I wouldn't mind a little companion to follow me around."

"Me as well."

They walk in silence for a little while before they finally arrive at the unused stall containing the bitch and her litter of puppies. The two pause at the door to look down on the squirming pups. One pup in particular had squirmed too far away from its mother, searching around with unopened eyes. Ismene frowned at the site.

"I hate to bring about such a conversation, but how do you do it?" Ismene begins as they both look down at the puppies. "How do you handle being a bastard? It's been on my mind lately, especially with how Catelyn has behaved toward you. It angers me, truly."

Jon hesitates for a moment before replying. "I suppose I just try to ignore it. It's not the easiest thing to do. She doesn't make it easy."

Ismene frowns as she looks over to him. "Y'know, if I was to become the lady of this house, I would legitimize you. Or something. I don't know, but I would do everything I could to ensure you were not cursed with Snow anymore."

Jon looks over with clouded brown eyes of grief, yet he forces a weak smile on his lips. "You've always been the kindest to me of everyone. Robb likes to have me around to ride and spar, Darik sometimes, for the same things you care about. Truly care. Thank you, Ismene, for always being the family I need."

"I couldn't think of doing anything else," she tells him. "You're my brother. You'll always be. It's my duty to treat you as so." The two share a smile, bonding together as a light summer's snow begins to descend from the sky above.