┏━ tribulation.
( SCENE 12 ) ━┛

ON the eve of their departure for Lakewell, Ismene Estemore felt numb. Though she sat in the company of her family alone to enjoy what time there was before she and her new family set out, she couldn't bring herself to indulge in the little time she had left with the Starks. Their attention and sympathy seemed only mocking to her as if they only wanted to move her along so they could get on with their lives. She knew they loved her... but after the marriage she'd taken part in, she couldn't help but hold some resentment with her mother and father.

"What troubles you, Ismene?"

Sansa's question pulls Ismene's gaze from the dancing fire she'd had her eyes trained on. In her hands is a piece of embroidery she'd been working on for months but never found the motivation to finish. Sansa is always naive, and her question doesn't quite surprise Ismene.

Ismene must have looked angry, she guessed. She looks at her younger sister, who works diligently on her piece. Sansa had always been the most skillful. Arya had long passed on her work, resorted to playing with Rickon and Bran, and crossed the room. Darik and Robb were obviously absent as well. Nearby, her mother and father's attention is drawn as well. Normally, she would have felt content in the presence of her family. Now, it was only a reminder of what she was leaving.

"Nothing," she replies in hopes of preventing any further questioning. She doesn't want any buried anger to manifest on her last night with her family. She was lucky that her good father, Lord Henrik, had been kind enough to allow one more night at Winterfell.

"You've always been the worst liar," Sansa half mutters. Her blue eyes train on her work again, and Ismene scoffs.

"If you want to speak to any of us, you know you can," her mother offers with a warm smile.

Her father nods in agreement at her side. "We would hate for you to leave upset," he tells her normally blandly. Ismene begins to feel anger welling in her chest.

It's not that you have to deal with it once I'm gone, she thought bitterly to herself. Unable to contain the anger, she lets out a heavy sigh.

"Well, leaving is the one thing that upsets me," she mutters. She looks back to the fire, wishing she could chuck something at it and cause it to plume to express her rage.

The room is silent now, having even drawn the attention of Bran, Arya, and Rickon. Ismene was close to storming from the room, but she couldn't. She won't. She will leave quietly without a manifestation of her true feelings so that she won't entirely ruin the final moments she had with her family. She would hate herself if she left in anger.

"My dear, Lukas is a fine man," her father reminds her. She normally appreciated her father's words of advice, but now she couldn't help but scowl. "He will make you happy. He is your husband, and wherever your husband goes, you do."

As they all gazed at her with unwavering gazes, she knew she had to get out of the room before she said something damaging. She set the embroidery on the floor and rose to her feet. "If you'd excuse me," she mutters. She swiftly exits the room before her mother even has the chance to grab her arm.

As she steps out, Fenrir waits patiently for her, as always. Giving him only the slightest glance, she glides down the dark hall, with the wolf following close behind. She passes the windows, where dim moonlight splashes onto the stone floor. A tear fills her eyes as she shoves open the door leading to the courtyard.

As she exits the cool night air, she ignores the cold that already sleeps through her clothing and dances along her skin. The courtyard is dark, with the only movement of a flame dancing atop a distance torch. She decides she will harbor within the stables, where they most likely wouldn't find her if they came searching.

When both the girl and the dire wolf were in the stables, she closed the door behind them and breathed in the calming scents of grain, hay, and horses. The rustling of the animals in their stalls and their light knickers relaxed her features. She breathed and wandered toward a stall where her painted mare waited for her. 

Ismene's horse, Snowbird, was her second favorite companion after Fenrir. Her parents gifted the horse to her on her and Darik's fifteenth name day.

As she pulled open the stall door, she stepped inside with the brown and white horse. She ran a hand along its coat, finding the horse warm. She pressed herself against Snowbird, enjoying the rise and fall of the horse's breathing.

Ismene would miss this. She would miss wandering the halls of Winterfell, riding through the forest outside the walls, and visiting the stables for quiet time. It would all be gone tomorrow. She laid her forehead on the horse's withers and closed her eyes.

"Ismene?"

She looks up to see Jon standing just outside the stable door. She didn't expect to find anyone in the stables but should've kept Jon as an exception. He normally kept to himself when he was not with her, and she understood why. He was the infamous Stark bastard. Though her mother despised him, he was nothing but a brother to Ismene.

"Jon," she says as she wanders away from the horse and exits the stall. Closing the door behind her, she looks at her half-brother. Standing at his side is Ghost, the only wolf that had been found with a white pelt and ruby-red eyes. Fenrir and his littermate sniffed at each other, seeming to get along just as well as he did with Luna. Ismene knew that she would miss Jon desperately.

"What are you doing out here alone?" He asks. He'd always been one of the kinder of her siblings, save Darik. They didn't always have the chance to spend as much time together as she'd like since she was a girl being groomed as a lady, but she always made an effort when the opportunity arose. She wished dearly that she wasn't leaving behind everything she knew.

"I..." she mumbles, looking down. "I had to get away. I needed to be alone and thought the stables would be a good place to go."

Jon's deep brown eyes soften in a sense of understanding, and he awkwardly crosses his arms. He was always the kindest of the boys, with a soft voice and softer smiles. "I can leave you be if you wish," he offers respectfully.

Ismene is quick to protest. She's always felt a sense of calm in his presence. Others often showed contempt when he was around, especially her stepmother, but she didn't care if he was a bastard; he was her brother. "No, no," she tells him. "Stay. Of all the people that I could be with right now, you're the only one I'm on good terms with."

Jon frowns. "So I suspect that Darik still isn't conceding," he states more than he asks.

Ismene nods in reluctance. "Sadly so. I don't see him coming around . I'll leave Winterfell with my twin, despising my husband and me."

"Darik doesn't despise you, Ismene," Jon seems to promise. They meet gazes, and for the first time in a while, Ismene feels understood by none other than the brother who had always been shunned. "You've got to understand he is wounded. He's losing his other half to another man, worse, one he doesn't know. Time will heal, trust me."

Ismene smiled softly at him. Though words always did little to lessen nerves, Ismene breathed a deep sigh of momentary contentment. She was thankful for his company and for his words. Jon was a good boy, and she wished he had the chance to have a normal life. "Thank you, Jon," she says softly. "For being such a kind brother."

❆

EVOLET has only known dread since she awoke that morning. They were leaving Winterfell tomorrow, and she was panicking. She couldn't bear the thought of not seeing Robb or at least being in his presence. He'd promised her they would be together, but now she was leaving.

She found herself at the window again. It was the same window he'd found her at that one fateful night when she was restless and unable to sleep. It was a similar night in the sense that she couldn't sleep with the thought of leaving the next morning. She tried thinking of reasons why she could stay, why she wouldn't have to go home. She could not think of anything and instead leaned against the wall with her sad brown eyes cast to the ground.

"This must be a popular spot for pretty girls," Robb is suddenly at her side. Instead of startling her, only the widest of grins pull at her lips as she turns to face him. A part of her had hoped he'd appear. Robb is also garbed in his night clothes, wearing soft leather pants and a grey blouse. The thought of their night together has her heart skipping with excitement.

"It seems as if you always find me here when I'm unable to sleep," she replies playfully. "Perhaps there's reasoning behind it?"

Robb grins as he runs a hand through his brown hair, which she loves so much. "I suppose I was hoping you'd be out and about. I wanted to see you again before you left."

At the mention of her leaving, her smile fades. She doesn't want to be reminded of it, especially by the one she wants to stay for. She knew that as soon as she returned home to Lakewell, things would only return to the way they were: She would live her life, waiting, yearning, but would only ever wish for something she could never have.

"I don't want to leave," she mutters, half to herself and half to him. Her brown eyes meet his ice blue, and she only wants to cry. "I can't. I can't go home because I don't know if I'll ever see you again. You could be wed with a babe by the next time I see you," she tells him.

Robb nods in understanding. "I told you I would have us wed soon enough," he promised. "While you're away, I'll work hard to arrange everything. I promise you, I will try my absolute hardest." He reached forward and took her hand, and she sucked in a sharp breath. "Perhaps we can spend one more night together before you go?"

Evolet, forcing herself to remain calm, nodded. The slightest smirk appeared on her lips, and Robb grinned before pulling her toward the darkness.