𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ( 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 )

prologue.

ISMENE wasn't normally a girl for sneaking about and eavesdropping, but a particular conversation did no good but draw her in as she was distracted from a game of tag with Robb, Jon, and Darik.

As she had chased after her brothers down the dimly lit hallway, the low and incoherent murmuring of her father forced her to stop in her tracks.

Her brothers disappeared from the area of the Keep, oblivious to the fact that she was no longer giving chase. She heard her name, which caused her to drift quietly toward the the source of it all. One of her russet brown eyes peered through the slit of the slightly open door of her father's solar and she watched.

Sitting in chairs before her father were two men she has only ever seen a handful of times. Lord Henrik Estemore, by what she could remember, sat to the left. The only reason she remembered him was because she had learned House Estemore's sigil was a silver fox. To the right was Lord Darren Mandal, the house of her cousins, which she vaguely remembers to be known for archery.

Just by the way Lord Mandal was sitting and anxiously bouncing his leg, Ismene could tell something was wrong.

She honed her concentration all that she could as she focused on what they were saying.

"...I do believe my son Lukas would be a fine choice for your daughter," Lord Estemore chirped from where he sat. His posture was attentive and mannerisms filled with excited ancipation.

Ismene's heart fluttered as she realized that the conversation was about her.

"Lakewell Keep is peaceful and a fine place to dwell. Ismene would make the finest lady to help run it one day."

Her father began to chuckle. "It is true that you have always been a good friend to me. You as well, Darren, with our friendships forged by the rebellion," Eddard replied. "My daughter will not go to just any man, I'm sure you know, Henrik. I, though, must agree that your house would suit her. My young Sansa already has the taste of a queen, but not my Ismene. She is easy to please."

He reached a hand out over the desk to Lord Estemore. The lesser lord doesn't hesitate to meet his liege in a victorious shake, sealing Ismene's fate.

"Do you not take in any account of how your daughter may feel about your decision?" Lord Mandal spoke up suddenly. It took both of the lords by surprise.

"His daughter is but two-and-ten," Lord Estemore replied almost curtly, icy eyes narrowed. "I do not believe that marriage is something she is anticipating in the near future."

Lord Mandal's glare was evident all the way from where Ismene was watching silently. She felt the tension rising and it made her want to bolt, but doesn't move an inch.

"My daughter knows what her duty is," Eddard replied with a hint of authority in his tone, as if to tell Lord Mandal to stop behaving the way he was.

"Your daughter has never been able to know anything but such," Lord Mandal doesn't hesitate to reply to his liege rather boldly. "She hasn't even been given the chance to think otherwise."

Eddard's expression hardens. "Perhaps it was a mistake of mine to consider extending a preposition to you," He sneered. "I thought it may benefit you if your daughter were to unite our houses and marry my heir, Darik."

They glared at each other for a few moments, leaving Lord Estemore to sit in the middle of the awkward exchange.

"Perhaps it is time I return home," Lord Mandal muttered as he rose to his feet. The chair he'd been previously sitting in noisily scooted back.

Ismene watched so intently that it takes her a moment to notice Lord Mandal stomping his way for the door until it is nearly too late.

She managed to hop back in time before the door swings open. She doesn't make a peep as he stalked away in the opposite direction, leaving her to ponder on the conversation she had just overheard.

years later

MUSIC played merrily and people danced around the Great Hall of Winterfell, yet Ismene couldn't bring herself to rise from her seat on the platform and join in on the festivities.

It was she and Darik's eighteenth Name Day and their step-mother had insisted that it was to be celebrated. Growing up, Catelyn was the closest thing she and Darik had had to a mother since they were toddlers. Though not by blood, Catelyn was their mother all the same.

Lord's and their families even attended the festivities, at the request of Catelyn and Ned. Ismene had been conetent with whatever was going to happen, because she knew her mother always got her way. There was no arguing.

Down below on the floor, her twin brother was spun around their younger sister Sansa as they danced, while the young Arya and Bran lept around as well. Darik's laughter carried above the ruckus and through the hall as an ever present reminder that there was a reason to be joyful for another name day.

Ismene frowned to herself, seeing everyone around her enjoying themselves.

At her side, her step-mother watched with an ecstatic smirk at her two children dancing. It wasn't long before her Tully blue eyes glanced to her eldest daughter, who was sitting rather unladylike with a propped elbow supporting her chin on the table. It was a common position for the eldest Stark girl.

"Ismene, dear, why don't you join them? It is your Name Day feast after all," Catelyn said.

Ismene knew her step-mother only meant well, but she couldn't help but mentally roll her eyes.

"I know, mother," Ismene replied as she leaned forward. A heavy sigh escaped from her lips as she decided she would participate at least for a short time. Not wanting to upset her step-mother, she forced herself to her feet and began  makimg her way off the platform.

As she stepped down into the sea of dancing people, couples were beginning to form as the music changed and she began to panic at the thought of being the only single. Her brown eyes dart around frantically and she curses herself for leaving her seat.

"Would you care to dance, m'Lady?"

She spun around to meet a set of steely grey eyes looking down on her. They were owned by a handsome young man perhaps around the same age as her, who had a head of loose chocolate curls.

A slight grin pulled at his lips as he offered a hand to her, which she slowly took. After they came together to commence the fast paced dance everyone else was taking part in, she couldn't help but wonder who he was.

With the beat of the music, he didn't hesitate to start twirling her around. It startled her, making her eyes grow wide. "Have we met before?" She breathed as they continued to dance. She was surprised that he was so fluid with his movements.

"I don't believe so," he replied between moves. "But might I say, you look absolutely ravishing on this fine evening."

At his blunt complement, her cheeks filled with heat. An untamable grin appeared on her face. She was seemingly unable to speak as they keep moving.

"What lucky lad has received the privilege of calling you his betrothed?" He asked her after she's spun around and is looking to him.

She suddenly thought of the day that she had listened in on the conversation between her father and Lords Estemore and Mandal so many years ago. Despite not knowing whether he was being serious or not, she replied truthfully.

"I do believe that it is a man known as Lukas Estemore."

For some reason, his stormy eyes seem to brighten. His grin grows wider, and he twirls her once more. "He must be a lucky lad, then," he replied once she gained her bearings and they met gazes. They flash each other bright grins before continuing in their dance.