┏━ tribulation.
( SCENE 5 ) ━┛

"FIVE Lannister's dead for every one of ours," Lukas informs Darik as the two walk through the aftermath of the latest encounter with the enemy, the battle of Oxcross, which had occurred just the day before. As every other battle so far, it had been a smashing victory. "We can't keep all these prisoners, not with barely enough to feed our own."

Dead and wounded were sprawled as far as one could see and the common stench's of blood and shit were overbearing. It was a common thing known among those who warred that when a man cut down, his bowels often lost control. Lukas was dirty himself, covered in grime and sweat with his muscles aching after having fended off many Lannister men, which seemed to come in hoards.

As a way of coping with it all, he would recall the days when he and Ismene lived in Lakewell, where they were content and at peace with the lives that they'd been forced to live. War had torn that all away from him, causing his hatred toward the Lannister's to grow with each passing day. Sometimes, in his dreams, he could imagine himself personally executing the bastard Joffrey and his incestuous queen-mother for all of the misery they had caused the North. The ache of executing such act would only make him angrier, wishing he was able to do it in those fleeting moments that the thought appeared in his mind.

"We're not executing prisoners, Lukas," Darik reminds the Hand curtly.

"Of course," Lukas nods, pursing his lips. "Even then, the officers will be useful. Some might even be privy to give over Lannister intelligence."

"I don't want to give the Lannister's a reason to torture Arya and Sansa," Darik states. "Right now, they've got us at the balls with my sisters as hostages. One wrong move and they could be dead in moments."

"I understand, but sometimes war has sacrifices Darik," Lukas tells him the bitter truth. He didn't want to see his good-sisters dead, but would they lose an entire war to indefinitely ensure that they stayed safe? The subject was hard to think about. "War isn't always cut and clean. Sometimes, unfortunate things happen. Sometimes they're for the greater good."

The thought of having his sisters dead milling through Darik's mind obviously didn't go over well as he shot Lukas a glare. It softened into simply a distressed, furrowed brow that showed just how hard it was to accept the truth. Darik nodded slightly.

"I know, Lukas, but I'm not letting my sisters die. I'll do everything in my power to ensure that they stay alive. I can't promise they will be well."

Before he can say another word the panicked cries of a soldier draws their attention away. They both stop, looking to two healers, who are pulling away the mangled boot of a young Lannister foot soldier. He cries in agony before a blackened, decaying foot is exposed, which most definitely was consumed by rot as the healer had said. The King and Hand watch from a distance with grim expressions.

"The rot, it's set in," the dark haired woman they'd seen at the previous battle grimly declares as she and the other cloaked healer begin to hold the man down.

"No, no! I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt, I swear!" The man tried saying, but the healers persisted.

"The rot will spread," the uncloaked woman tells the panicking soldier. "If we don't take the foot now—,"

"NO, you can't!" The man pleads desperately.

Lukas understands the direness of the situation, but it seems as if Darik does more as he makes his way over and gets down next the man, forcing him into his back. The man looks to Darik with a betrayed expression, as if he were the only one who could have saved him and his leg. Darik holds the solider as he panics horribly.

"Please, m'lord!" The man begs despite not using proper terminology for the King. The soldier looks up with wide eyes, either from his fear or the fact that the northern King he'd heard so much about was holding him down to endure an agonizing amputation. They all watch with grim expressions as the man still struggles.

"You'll die if she doesn't," Darik says in a commanding tone. His jaw clenched as he held down the still struggling man.

"I don't want to be a cripple, please," The soldier begs as tears rolling down his dirty cheeks. Lukas watched solemnly as Darik continued to hold the man down, never relenting. He was handed a cloth from the cloaked healer with which he shoved into the mouth of the man and pushed him back to the ground.

"Bite this, watching will only make it worse," the King orders.

Lukas has to look away as the woman began sawing through the mans leg, the muscles making a similar noise to that of carving a pumpkin or quartering a stag. Even though he'd seen men gutted in battle and heads lobbed clean off, somehow it was worse seeing the dismembered limb being tossed to the side as if it were peelings from potatoes for supper. Once the Lannister soldier was taken away and other lords had intervened Darik, Lukas watched as the woman who had done the sawing brushed off her hands with a cloth. When they met eyes, she adverted them quickly.

"What's your name?" Lukas asked, curious to know because the woman didn't look Westerosi and if she was, she had to be Dornish. With olive toned skin and dark hair, anyone would think her to be from Dorne. Whomever she was, she reminded him of Ismene, someone who wouldn't bat an eye at the sight of death or carnage.

The woman was slow to answer as she was packing her healing supplies in a box. She seemed hesitant to speak to him. "Talisa," she stated simply.

"Your last name," Lukas presses as he crosses his arms. She looks up to him with weary brown eyes before focusing back on organizing.

"You want to know what side my family fights on."

"It's always better to be safe."

"That boy lost his foot on your King's orders," she scoffed.

"They killed his father," Lukas states bluntly. "Countless northmen as well."

"That boy did?" She mutters. "That slaughtered all of your northern men? On his own?"

"Those he fights for did," Lukas replies coldly.

"Do you think he knew King Joffrey, then? He was a fisherman's son who probably had never held a spear until one was thrust into his hands a few months ago."

"I have no hatred for the lad. Neither does King Darik. It's a shame he's crippled but this is war."

She stands, pulling the strap of the box over her shoulder. She shrugs. "Well, I'm sure your sympathy will make his foot grow back."

Lukas watched wordlessly as the woman stalked away, her long black braid swaying as she began to meander toward another patient.

"You'd have us surrender then?" He follows her for a moment. "To end all this bloodshed, I understand wanting it all over. The country would be in peace. Life would be in the righteous good hand of King Joffrey."

"You're going to kill Joffrey."

"I mostly certainly would."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," Lukas thinks. Would he and his family be able to return home and resume life as if war had never interceded? "Probably return home to Lakewell. We would all go home. Darik doesn't want to sit on the Iron Throne."

"Then who would?" She states as she walks. "Who would run this shamble of a country?"

"I don't know."

"You're fighting to overthrow a king," she states with her arms now crossed. "But have no plan for what comes after?"

"First we have to win the war," Lukas replies, biting his lip. "There's nothing we can do until Joffrey is off the throne. There will be time to decide on a successor once the bloodletting is over."

Talisa shrugged indifferently. They wander passed many of Talisa's fellow healers until they stumble upon Daulton, who was surrounded by many of his bannermen.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the lord chided as Lukas and Talisa began to wander toward them. As they got closer, Lukas noticed the deep gash on his forehead. As well as having the gash on his face, he clutched his forearm as if it pained him

"Lukas!" The man exclaimed as he noticed his niece's husband. "I see you faired well during the battle. Not a scratch on you. I can't say the same for my self."

"Well, Talisa here is going to help you," Lukas smirked.

"Oh, Talisa is the pretty lass' name?" Daulton beamed as she began to sift through her supplies. "What a lucky lord am I. Saw you after the last battle. You were quite a distraction."

"Hush now," the woman murmurs as she begins to apply a tonic onto the wound, which causes Daulton to his in pain as well as grip his injured arm.

"I guess just because they're pretty doesn't mean they're nice," Daulton teased. "Tell me, what is a woman like you doing on a battle field? Have you no husband?"

"My healing is what saves your men," she muttered, obviously offended. "And I have no need for a husband."

Daulton looks to Lukas with an amused expression. "No need for a husband. Huh. It's a good thing. If you did, he'd be at fighting like the rest of us."

"You lords glorify war," she muttered angrily as she used a long, sturdy piece of fabric to create a sling for his aching arm. "You may want to destroy your enemy, but you all refuse to acknowledge that the men fighting for them want to be here no more than yours."

"Please excuse Lord Ryswell," Lukas speaks up, shooting a look at the man. "Battle has wearied his mind. He means no harm."

"Of course he doesn't," Talisa replies as she begins packing away her supplies to move on to someone else. Once she everything together, she turns to leave.

"You never told me where you're from," Daulton speaks up as she begins to leave.

She pauses, keeping her back to them. "Volantis."

"Volantis? You're far from home. We were lucky you were here."

"And they were unlucky that you were."

With that, she began to leave the area to venture further into the carnage, leaving Lukas and Daulton. The lords look to each other.

"What a woman," Daulton exclaimed. "Such an exotic beauty. I wonder what brought her so far from home. Speaking of women, how is my niece? Is she doing well after her father's death?"

Lukas nods. "For the most part, yes. She is trying her best and she is doing a fine job at it."

Daulton nodded in approval. "She's a spitting image of her mother, y'know. Strong and enduring. Ismene was just as such during the rebellion."

Lukas raises a brow, unaware that his wife's birth mother was named Ismene as well. He starts wondering why the subject had never been brought up in earlier.

"Her mother's name was Ismene?" Lukas asks in slight disbelief.

Daulton nods as if it were a simple known fact, but it doesn't hide the cloudy sadness that form in the Lord's blue eyes.

"Mhmm. That's why Eddard named your wife as such. Their marriage was short lived unfortunately, but I never saw my sister love any other man."

Lukas frowns, wondering how he might feel if he never met his mother. Perhaps he might have been happier given who his mother was.

"I confess I didn't think she would recover as well as she has," Lukas lied. He knew exactly why she was healing. She was training. "But as you've said, if she's anything like her mother she could get through anything."

"She's been through more than most of us," Dalton agrees grimly as he crosses his arms. "She and Darik never deserved such misfortune in their lives, but fate has a cruel way of making the worst of things. I will say she and Lady Aubrey are unlike any women I've ever seen. They deserve as much glory as the men do for their efforts in the war."

Lukas smiles to himself. "They are valiant if anything. If only we had more men with half the heart they do."