┏━ tribulation.
( SCENE 3 ) ━┛

LAILA Stark's fate was rewritten on a particularly beautiful day, on a specially written parchment by Maester Luwin. Summer snows had decided to grace the north on the day that the little girl was legitimized as a Stark, which was celebrated with a small feast. Robb ordered for all to partake at some point or another during the day, offering food and sweets in celebration for his newly named heir.

In the main hall, tables had been situated with the different treats that had been baked that day and even those who came to commemorate the little girl brought small gifts. A house guard gifted Laila a carved wolf toy, while a maid offered a doll fashioned from left over fabric and sheep's wool. One of the bakers made a special cake shaped into a snowflake while one of the blacksmiths made a simple little pendant to be placed on a silver chain.   Those who couldn't afford to buy actual gifts or fashion them on their own offered wildflowers and their kind wishes for the health of the girl.

Evolet and Robb sat together at the head of the room, Luwin and Bran present with them as well. They enjoyed the hum of those attending the celebration, an assortment of different people milling about and conversing. Down on the floor, Rickon ducked and whirled through the crowd with Shaggydog trotting close behind. Evolet chuckled to herself when she spotted some of the fearful looks of those who were unfamiliar with the beast that wandered around so freely.

Laila sat in her lap, clutching the wooden wolf that had been gifted to her by the house guard. Of all the toys she'd been given, the wolf had been her favorite. Evolet look down with a smile. She was all to pleased to have her daughters future secured, and her relations with Robb finally improving.

"This is a day I dreamed of," Evolet sighs as she looks down at Laila happily.

"It's what she deserved," Robb agreed.

Evolet loved how Robb's demeanor and personality had changed ever since he accepted Laila. She wished she could tell her past self that everything was going to be alright.

"What does it mean?" Bran asked from where he sat in a chair far to large for him. "Legitimized?"

"It means that Laila holds a claim over Winterfell now," Maester Luwin informed the young boy. "If a time ever came that Winterfell needed a Stark, she could be the one to take its seat."

Evolet grins happily, ever eager to hear good things spoken of her daughter. She looked into her little girls bright blue eyes, as familiar as her fathers. The dark curls of chocolate brown that had begun growing originally had begun to fade into a deep, burnt red.

"It seems the servants were happy to partake in the celebration," Luwin remarks with a raised bushy brow after seeing a maid grab a handful of small cakes before turning to meld back into the milling crowd.

"Let them," Robb told the maester with a smile, but it faded as he continued talking. "This is an occasion that deserves celebration. With the majority of our family gone . . .there is no one else but them."

Evolet frowns as she looks to Robb, understanding he felt left out and alone.

"They'll be home soon enough," Evolet assures. "Darik will win the war and we'll all be able to return to our lives. We won't have to worry about the damned Lannister's again and the north will be free."

"If only it were that easy," Luwin remarked solemnly. "War is not simply fighting until there is no one left, all to merely return home and resume where you have left off. Many will be dead. There will be jobs to be filled, debts to be paid, places and lives to be rebuilt. It will be long before things are as they were, M'lady. It's the sad truth."

Evolet feels her cheeks flush at her naive self. She thought she knew a thing or two about war and fighting and politics, but it seemed she didn't.

"But with Darik as king, things will be different," Bran seemingly tried reassuring himself. "If he's king, he can do anything. Right?"

"I wish that were the case, Bran," Robb answered him solemnly. "I wish I could tell you he had all the power in the world, but the sad truth is that he doesn't."

❆

ISMENE'S spirits had risen since the time that she and Lukas had come to the agreement about her willingness to train. The crushing sorrow of her father's execution slowly but surely began to ease as she spent more time with her sons, trained with Aubrey, and even returned to Lukas' bedside. She was fighting like hell to return to herself and not lose who she was. She knew her father wouldn't want to her to give up, even if his loss was what had destroyed her.

Her skill with a sword grew at a painstakingly slow rate and she found herself nearly wanting to give up. But with Aubrey's reassurance and everyday passed, she found herself pick up things better and better. Her muscles began to adjust to the weight of the sword, she figured out how to maneuver her body and even how to identify cues of her opponent.

When her muscle burned she still pushed, and when she was mistakingly whacked with Aubrey's blunt sword, she pushed even harder. She refused to give up and forced herself to progress even the slightest bit each day before she would return to she and Lukas' tent where she would enjoy the evening with her boys, who were all too happy to have their mother back.

Ismene sat with her boys near the crackling fire where the lords often frequented in the evenings, making sure they finished their meals. They were turning into strong children, which Ismene was ever grateful for. She'd heard that children born and raised during wars always turned out resilient.

She watched as Damon dramatically chomped down on a piece of soft bread, while Rowan was quite particular about not letting his food touch on his pewter plate. Both of their personalities were so unique, and Ismene was grateful for it.

"Ismene!" Aubrey's voice hissed as she rushed over to take a seat next to the Stark girl. The blonde haired heir looked somewhat disheveled, her blue eyes wide.

"Aubrey," Ismene stated with a half smirk. "Have you come to criticize my form again?"

"No, no," Aubrey reassured her quickly. "If I were going to criticize you, I would've done when we were training—," she pauses as she realizes Ismene's expression is all but amused, but continues. "I need some . . . advice. I have a hunch."

Ismene raises a brow, shaking her head intuitively. "And that would be?"

"I've . . . not been feeling the best," Aubrey started.

"Alright," Ismene chuckled teasingly. "Then why come to me? There's a Maester with the host I'm sure, or you could go to one of the Silent Sisters."

"No," she huffed. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" Ismene pressed, her interest now growing. "Out with it now."

Aubrey sighed heavily, seeming as if she was struggling to get her words out. She fidgeted with her hands and bounced her leg. "I . . ." She started, but Ismene pushed her to spit it out with hand motions indicating she needed to say it. "I think I may be with child."

Ismene's expression froze, brows raised and brown eyes wide. She too struggled to find words after finding out such news. Even though she'd dreamed of the day that her brother would have a child of his own, she hadn't expected it to be so soon after his marriage and all while fighting a war. What was he thinking? What had Aubrey been thinking? If the hunch was true, it could mean complications for the queen and king that hadn't been properly prepared for. Yet, she knew she couldn't be the one to criticize. She brought two newborns onto the road at just weeks old.

"Truly?" Ismene asked.

"Yes," Aubrey's expression fell. "Are you not pleased?"

Ismene frowned. "I'm not displeased.  Just concerned . . . if you are, will you return home? At the least, you'll have to stop fighting. Darik will more than likely confine you to your cot for the remainder of your pregnancy."

Aubrey sighed heavily. "I don't think it would be wise I tell him anything yet. What do you suggest I do?"

"Visiting with a Maester or one of the Silent Sisters would be the best thing for now," Ismene told her. "Confirm that you truly are."

"It's a wonder they can tell you," Aubrey remarked. "It'll ease my worry once I find out."

Ismene nodded. "And if you are, I suggest waiting to tell Darik. You know that there are chances that . . . something could happen. To save yourself heartache, I wouldn't put your heart into it. It isn't an unknown thing for a woman to lose the first child she carries."

Aubrey seemed utterly terrified after hearing such news and to try reversing the damage she's done, Ismene tries diverting her thoughts to something else.

"But I assure you," the former Stark girl quickly continued. "You are a strong, hardy woman. Stark men always produce strong children as well. I'm sure whatever little boy or girl in your belly now will be fighter through anything."

Luckily, it seems to ease Aubrey's worry's.

"What was it like for you? How did you tell Lukas?" The queen asked curiously.

"At first, it was rough," Ismene chuckled. "I had my first sign the morning that I vomited my breakfast in front of Terran at Lakewell," she shakes her head at the embarrassing thought. "But once I had confirmed with the Maester, I told Lukas in the best way I could. I sketched what I thought our child would look like with charcoal. If only I had known there were two."

Aubrey smiled. "That's truly precious. I hope I can find a similar approach as that for Darik. I know how important it is to him to have an heir and I've looked forward to share such news with the man I love."

"It is most definitely a memory you won't forget," Ismene confirms. "And just to ensure your luck and safety of the babe, I'll send up my prayers to the Old everyday."

Aubrey flashes a heartfelt smile while tears began to form in her blue eyes. "You are a gift," she murmurs. "I couldn't look to someone for better support."

"Im always here for you," Ismene promises. "Always."