┏━ tribulation.
( SCENE 10 ) ━┛

TALISA of Volantis had been following the north's host for quite some time, tending to the wounded, preparing the dead, and doing the good work for others that the she knew the gods smiled upon. It was true, the job was gruesome at times and grim at others, but Talisa enjoyed caring for others in such a time of hardship and grief. She didn't quite agree with war itself, but it was a sad reality of the world they lived in. She'd seen many lords send away their sons to be buried in their home crypts, some far to young to be in battle yet filled with the desire to fight for the cause that King Darik had rallied them to. It saddened her and further made her question the culture of these northmen she'd chosen to follow.

With but a simple one person tent serving as her shelter for moons upon moons, the Volanti woman lived among her many herbs and medicinal concoctions, personal items and a few changes of clothing. It was a meager life compared to her lavish one back home a crossed the Narrow Sea, but she didn't much mind. On that particular day, it was fairly chilly and rain drizzled steadily. She took shelter within her tent that early evening, sorting her bottles within their wooden compartments while holding a woolen blanket around her shoulders to stave away the cold that was threatening to stiffen her fingers like icicles.

She yearned for the weather of her home, for the beaches and beautiful coast where her family's villa lied on the cliffs. The bitter cold and relentless wind sometimes made her consider abandoning her work and returning, though she never would. She'd given too much of her life to walk away from what'd she committed to.

"My lady?" A familiar voice caused her to look up to the entrance of her shelter, to the handsome lord that had been eyeing her ever since she'd treated the wound on his brow after the battle at Oxcross.

He was a wild character among the mostly brutish and hardened men that the north would often breed, resilient as ever and seemingly never downtrodden by the war effort he helped lead. As to how someone could be so, she didn't know.

She sighed at the way he smirked at her, trying her best to ignore the flutter in her heart. Yet she would never turn away someone in need. If that were why he came to visit. "How can I help you?"

"I apologize for bothering you," he said as he stepped into the cover of the overhang of the tent. She scooted back as if he had invaded her personal space. "I just came to see if you would check my cut? I'm not sure if you remember me, my lady, I'm Lord Ryswell. Daulton, you could call me."

He was so polite, she noted. Far more polite towards her than anyone else had been, save for the King and his Hand.

"There's no need for a first name bases," Talisa replied bluntly. A first name bases would mean they were something more than a healer and her patient. "Take a seat. I'll check the wound and send you on your way."

Talisa mentally rolls her eyes as he seems to ignore her obvious annoyance and turns away to prevent any of the advances he had wanted to make. She picked through some of her bottles to find the correct herb she'd made into a poultice to smother over his wound which had indeed turned for the worst.

"I'm sure this is anything less then comfortable for you, my lady," Lord Ryswell remarked. His dark eyes looked around the small tent.

"It does me well enough," she replied bluntly.

"How does a woman such as yourself end up following the northern host during a civil war?" He asked her. "You did say you were from Volantis? Are you of a noble family?"

She didn't enjoy speaking about her personal details, especially with strangers. She got away from her family for a reason, to distance herself from their backwards practices and relentless greed. She spent many years of her young life trying to ignore what they would do to others, but eventually she could no longer turn a blind eye.

"My family is wealthy, if that is what you ask," she replied as she found the poultice she's been searching for. She opened the bottle, pulling out a portion of the substance on her finger.

"Well, if they are, what are you doing here following our host and tending to our wounded?" He asked innocently. "You must have had a good life in Volantis. Why would you leave?" Luckily there was no sign of accusation in his tone, suggesting she were moronic for leaving her home for the battlefield.

He gets to a knee just in front of her as she closes the distance between them to begin her treatment. She begins examining the wound, noticing it had indeed turned for the worse. If he hadn't come to her, there's no telling what infection could have formed.

"People leave their homes for many reasons, Lord Rysewell," she sighed as she began dabbing the poultice on his wound while he tried his best to not display the pain he was obviously feeling. "Coin does not buy happiness. I left my home because my family did bad things. That's is as simple as I can put it."

A pause in their conversation hung in the air as she finished her work and he found the words to reply with. As she wiped her hand clean on a rag nearby, she realized she told him more about herself than anyone in Westeros knew. She wasn't quite sure why she expressed so much, but somehow it just came out.

"Forgive me if I have offended you," Daulton apologized softly, his dark eyes evidently guilty. "I never meant to pry you about your past. I genuinely wondered why such a beautiful woman as yourself ended up here in the north. This is an unforgivable land, I say, and I couldn't imagine why you'd wish to be here on your own will. This war—," he paused. A cloud of grief seemed to cover his face. "Some of us may carry ourselves well during this time but I can assure you that it tears you apart piece by piece. I would hate to see what the realities of war could do to you if you were to stay here too long."

Talisa was speechless. She wasn't sure what to think about a stranger caring for her well being seemingly more than she did herself.

"M'lord," she sighed. She looked him in the eyes as a slight frown formed on her lips. "I have seen the harsh realities of this war. I have seen the gore, the agony and loss. There is not much that could drive me away now. I assure you, I am a strong woman. I will be just fine."

Daulton rested his elbows on his available knee. "If there is anything my house can offer you, all you must do is call for me. I am at your expense, my lady. Know that you can trust me."

Her lips formed into a weak smile as she nodded. His kindness made her feel cared for for the first time in moons. She'd forgotten how it felt to know someone looked out for her.

"Of course, m'lord," she nodded in appreciation.
"You come to me if that wound needs anymore tending."

"I will, my lady," he grinned. "Thank you. You have a good evening. If you need me, remember, simply find for me."

She watched him rise to his feet and leave the entrance of the tent, a residual feeling of curiosity and warmhearted feelings pitted in her heart. She strangely wanted to know more about this man despite having only had two encounters.

"My lady?" A familiar voice made itself known as the blonde-haired Queen Aubrey herself, who made an appearance at the entrance of the tent soon after Daulton left.

"Your Grace," Talisa respondes quickly, trying to get to her feet but the queen dismissed her kindly.

"No need for curtsies," she weakly smirked. "I've merely come here for some of your medicinal wisdom."

"Of course, Your Grace," Talisa responded as she got to her feet just outside her tent. "What is it I can do for you?"

The queen hesitated for a moment as she tried to find the words to use. "I believe I may have... a condition."

"A condition?" Talisa asked. "Whatever could you mean?"

"I believe I'm with child," the queen managed to say, but quietly. She looked around wearily at the busy camp as if someone nearby would expose her suspicion.

"Your Grace, that is fantastic!" Talisa exclaimed.

"I need you to verify this for me," Aubrey went on. "I cannot share such news with my husband without being certain. He is already facing troubling times as of late and delivering false news to him would be cruel."

"Of course," Talisa agreed. She didn't have much experience with pregnancy or child bearing herself, but she knew enough to confirm the queen's suspicions if they were true. "Have you bled this moon?"

"Not for two, at least," Aubrey confirmed. "I've had a weak stomach in the mornings as well. I thought it was evidence enough, but as I said I didn't want to approach my husband yet."

"The evidence you have given me is proof enough for me to believe you are with child, but I will approach the Maester with it myself. If you wait just a moment, I will return soon?" Talisa asked.

Aubrey released her to find the Maester, whom she found quickly. She presented her information to him and he confirmed that the queen had to be with child, at least two to three moons along in fact. She beamed at the news as she quickly made her way through the camp back towards her tent, where the queen paced anxiously.

Talisa halted near the queen, who came to her hungry for news. Amid her heavy breaths from running, Talisa flashed a bright smile, pleased to give some sort of good news to the royals, especially with the heart ache they'd suffered recently with news from Winterfell. She couldn't remember the last time she'd released information that wasn't devastating or morbid.

"The Maester believes you are with child as well," the Volanti woman breaths. "Congratulations, Your Grace. I hope you and your husband are blessed with a healthy child."

Aubrey's expression lightens up at the news. She suddenly embraces Talisa, who is utterly surprised to be so close to the queen. Nevertheless, she accepts the excitement.

"Thank you, my lady," Aubrey's demeanor seemed to lighten enough that her morbidness vanished. "I must tell my good-sister now. Thank you!"

Watching the queen rush away, she smiles to herself before returning to her tent for the night.

❆

ISMENE was numb, just as she had been on and off for the many dreadful events that had fallen upon their host since setting out on their campaign against the Lannister's. Grave news was to be expected during a war, but it seemed to never give them a break. She'd learned to cope with whatever came her way, but the murder of her two younger brothers was not as easy.

Every time she looked at her sons, the embodiment of she and her husband, she could only think of Bran and Rickon. That mid-morning, she watched them sit on the ground nearby, playing with wooden toys as she ran a river stone over the blade of her sword. Lying close to them is Fenrir, who always has a watchful eye over them. Bitterness filled her heart as she watched them play, yet they had done nothing wrong. She couldn't blame them for looking like their uncles. Even so, she couldn't ebb away the pain she felt.

A presence takes a seat on the wooden bench she was perched on, but she didn't take her eyes off of her boys. She continued to run the stone over the blade, a rhythmic swiped with her wrist.

"I wish there was something I could do to help you," Aubrey breaks the silence. She faces Ismene, straddling the bench. "I also understand there isn't much that can be done at the moment."

"If you could bring my brothers back, I know you would," Ismene sighs as her dark eyes go to her blade. "Don't feel as if this is something you can do anything about."

"I know it seems as if we are constantly losing, but I promise we will end victorious," Aubrey tried reassuring her. "The north we avenge them. It will avenge all of those who had fallen at the expense of the treacherous Lannister's, I assure you."

Ismene scoffs, half to herself. "Yet, the Gods have played this cruel game against the Starks. First my father, now my two brothers? For all we know, my baby niece could be dead as well as her father and my good-sister. I swear I family is cursed for its honor."

"If they had been slain, I'm sure it would have been included in the raven scroll," Aubrey points out. "Theon would want us to know they were dead."

"He would want us to know," Ismene growled lowly. "Craven, good-for-nothing, bastard. . ."

As she went on with her insults of the Greyjoy heir, Ismene's grew movements along the sword gree faster and more aggressive. Aubrey, noticing, reaches forward to gently take the river stone from Ismene's hand. They meet eyes as it slips from her hand.

"I think it's sharp enough, dear," Aubrey murmurs. "Don't worry, you will have your opportunity to cut down as many Ironborn and Lannister's as you wish. You may need to make it double, for me."

Ismene's brow cocks. "Why would I need to cut down twice as many?"

"I don't think I will be fighting for quite some time, unfortunately," Aubrey shrugs, but a small smile appears on the corner of her lips. "Your brother will forbid it since I am with child."