Chapter Text
The Road Ahead
The rain struck Ismene like arrows, a furious onslaught besieging her worn brown cloak, followed by the faint ominous rumble of thunder in the near distance. She patted the neck of her chestnut mare, Hawise, murmuring low words of comfort, but whether it was more for her own sake or the horse's she was too tired to tell.
"A fecking murrain on those damned skies!" Gervase roared from ahead, shaking a thick fist at the offending heavens, droplets glistening on his unruly blonde beard.
At the sound of his booming voice, Hawise tossed her head, forcing Ismene to pull on the reins.
Aldred exchanged an amused glance with his wife, who rolled her eyes. "The clouds will not heed your call, my man," he called out from the rear. "Save your breath to cool your pottage!"
Gervase just thumbed his nose at the older man before glancing guiltily behind him at Ismene and Giselle. "My abject apologies!" he declared, his gaze dwelling on Ismene for a moment too long, the color rising in his already ruddy cheeks. "My temper bests me more often than not."
Giselle merely inclined her wimpled head, attention drifting to the sumpter she was leading, roped to her own bay. Her husband was guiding the second of their pack horses. Beside her, Ismene drew her cloak tighter around her body, although it was a futile gesture. She deliberately averted her gaze from Gervase's earnest glance. Of course she knew his temper bested him at times. Too many times for her taste.
Exhaling sharply, Ismene looked out at the rolling hills instead. Damp tendrils of golden-brown hair had escaped her unraveling braid, framing her exhausted face. It was a hard road to Ashford Meadow but the men were convinced that was where fortune would turn in their favour. But words were wind, echoing through the empty halls of her hope. She knew Giselle desired winter quarters, but it was not a wish easily fulfilled. Especially with someone in tow of Gervase's mercurial nature and obdurate disposition. He was not a man to take orders easily and preferred the rough road of the tourney circuit to the comforts of a lord's keep.
Ismene could remember such comforts from her early childhood, of a cheerful hearth and the rare taste of cinnamon bread on her tongue. Her father had served in the retinue of Ser Aubrey Ambrose until the Blackfyre Rebellion. The Lady Ambrose had taken an interest in Ismene, setting the septa to school her, wherein Ismene has shown particular promise in learning her letters. But House Ambrose had suffered the loss of its lands for so stalwartly supporting Daemon Blackfyre, with its coffers consequently left almost bare. What remained of Ser Aubrey's retinue was cast adrift, including Ismene and her family.
Tainted by House Ambrose's treachery, her father had been forced to return to the tourney circuit, joining forces once more with his old friend Aldred. But it was a harsh existence, one which his delicate wife could not weather again. A bloody flux had taken her life, taking what little happiness they had left. Bitter and griefstricken, her father had entered each tilt with increasingly reckless abandon, deaf to Aldred's entreaties and objections. During a joust at Cantbury, a splinter from an opposing lance had penetrated his eye and pierced his brain. After his death, Aldred and Giselle had taken Ismene in, raising her as their own child.
With the loss of his old friend, Aldred had partnered with other knights as he toured the tourney circuit, albeit with varying levels of success. Along the way, they had picked up Gervase, a hulking blonde boy Aldred took to squire. Now he stood by Alfred's side where Ismene's father had once been, but he shared shades of the same rage that had possessed his predecessor, causing Aldred's brow to often crease with worry. Ismene knew Aldred secretly harboured expectations regarding her and Gervase, but she did not appreciate them. Aldred and Giselle often fretted over Ismene's future, for they were no longer young and trod a precarious path. Aldred in particular was showing his years. He earned some extra coin by sharing his knowledge with those green enough to still believe in seeking glory, but it was out in the lists where a man could win wealth and splendour, not from the edges.
But three years ago, Aldred had been injured fighting in a campaign against the rebel Vulture King in the Red Mountains of Dorne as part of Lord Pearse Caron's host. When the fighting was done, Lord Caron had let Aldred go, saying he had no use for a crippled old man but Gervase could remain for he needed good swords. But Gervase had refuted the offer. Upon approaching Lord Manfred Dondarrion, Aldred had been coldly dismissed, wherein it had been revealed the young lord and Gervase had almost come to blows over a camp whore and Lord Dondarrion refused to have such a cur under his auspices. Lord Dondarrion was infamous for holding grudges and had gone out of his way to discover the name of who he'd deemed 'a burly blonde brute with no balls to boast of', biding his time before he could even the score. Gervase had been red with shame when confronted by Aldred, staring at Ismene in anguish but she had turned away.
So Aldred still took up sword and lance, with Gervase to watch his back. But it was obvious that Gervase was carrying the balance of each bout instead of Aldred. The older man walked with a decided limp but on horseback it did not matter so much. But age made his swordhand tremble sometimes, slowing his reactions. It just served to inflame Aldred's worry over Ismene if an ill fate befell him or his wife. All it would take was a flux or a stray splinter, as it had her parents. The tourney circuit was no place for a young woman on her own without falling into sin.
Gervase and Ismene had grown up together, and dealt well enough with one another. Such a union would secure Ismene's future and Aldred believed marriage would steady Gervase and temper his ways. He looked upon Gervase almost as a son and knew he would take care of Ismene and Giselle if the worst should happen to him. So far Gervase was too hamstrung by his shyness to do more than make sheep's eyes at Ismene and blush hotly. But Ismene did not return Gervase's rough regard for her and Aldred suspected Gervase would leave if spurned, the thought alarming him. For what would happen to Ismene then?
However Ismene did not share his alarm. She cared for Gervase only as her brother, nothing more or less. His yearning glances irritated but she could endure them. With the camp whores and cast off lemans, Gervase was confident and crass. Yet when it came to Ismene, his ego deflated like a pig's bladder, much to her reluctant amusement. No, she did not need such a man to keep her. She was canny with her coin and had plans Gervase had no part of. She had learned well from Giselle and could turn her hand to almost anything within a woman's sphere. Whatever the world wanted of her, scribe or sempstress, Ismene could be either or more.