Chapter IV: The Small Council
She sat at the head of the table, joined by the small council in its entirety, as feeble as it may have been to look upon.
Currently, the council counted no more than three members, with Duncan Tuttle yet to make his appearance. They hosted their meeting, as they always did, in the great hall, undisturbed.
From the foot of the table, Maester Ortengryn read reports from his parchments. Lady Elissa, however, was too busy looking at the portrait of House Forrester that sat upon the wall. She counted all of the family members in that picture. Nine, she counted. Then, the members that still remained in Ironrath. Two. Only herself and her second-born daughter, Talia, remained safe behind the walls of the castle. Lord Gregor, her dead husband, and Rodrik, her first-born son, were both dead; slaughtered by the Freys during what the rest of Westeros had taken to calling 'The Red Wedding'. Her second-born son, Asher, was an exile. The last she'd heard, he had been making a living as a sellsword in Essos. But, these desperate times had called for desperate measures, and recently Lady Elissa had instructed her brother, Malcolm, to find Asher and escort him home. Mira, her first-born daughter, was serving as a handmaiden to Lady Margaery Tyrell, as were Elissa's wishes. But her duties had recently taken Mira to King's Landing, a thought that troubled her deeply. And now, Lord Ethan, her third-born son, was dead too; slain by the bastard Ramsay Snow in this very hall.
From across the oak table, Maester Ortengryn continued to read. "Although these deserters have not yet been identified, we do know for certain that they made off with an entire week's worth of produce; carrots, potatoes, bread, all stolen from one of the smallfolk with his own family to feed."
"May the Old Gods curse them," Ser Royland spat from beside Lady Elissa. "If war should ever come to Ironrath, the smallfolk are going to need every bit of produce that they can harvest. It's deserters such as these that cause families to starve to death in these times."
"I fear Ser Royland may be right," Maester Ortengryn continued. "What's more is that the knowledge of townsfolk deserting Ironrath will cause others to lose faith in House Forrester. The community and the trust Lord Gregor worked so hard to build when he was alive will crumble, and Ironrath will soon find itself in turmoil." He turned to Lady Elissa. "Did you hear me, my lady?"
The Master-at-Arms caught her off-guard. "Yes," she lied. "Yes, I heard you."
Noticing the troubled look on her face, Maester Ortengryn attempted to change the subject. "Moving on," he said, unrolling a piece of parchment. "We have received a raven from our scouts in the Wolfswood. They report that Gryff Whitehill is but a day's ride from Ironrath."
Dark wings, dark words, thought Lady Elissa as she listened to the Maester. "How many men does he ride with?" Ser Royland asked from where he sat beside her.
"Our scouts reported no more than twenty men, my lady," Maester Ortengryn replied, "As were Lord Ramsay's instructions."
Lady Elissa had summoned the small council in anticipation of Gryff Whitehill's arrival. For the past hour, their debating over how to tackle the arrival of the son of Ludd Whitehill had been echoing across Ironrath's great hall. The last time they had welcomed a member of House Whitehill into Ironrath, Lord Ethan, her own son, had been slaughtered in front of her very eyes. She refused to let that happen again. This time we will be ready, she thought.
"We cannot let the Whitehills back into our Castle," Ser Royland argued. "The last time we did, our own Lord Ethan was murdered, and Lord Ryon taken as a hostage."
"I remember well enough the fate of my sons," Lady Elissa assured Ser Royland. "You need not remind me."
"Of course, my lady," Ser Royland said. "I beg your pardon."
Maester Ortengryn spoke with hesitation, as though it was his desire not to upset Lady Elissa. "I'm afraid we have little choice but to welcome House Whitehill into Ironrath," he insisted. He spoke truly, Lady Elissa knew. House Whitehill had the soldiers and the resources to take the castle and its Ironwood by force if they were required to, whereas House Forrester possessed neither to defend their castle with. Not to mention, the Whitehill had the power of House Bolton backing them. "Lord Ramsay's terms were quite clear. House Forrester may remain in possession of half of the Ironwood. That is, on the condition that House Whitehill be allowed to place no less than twenty men within the walls of Ironrath," Maester Ortengryn recalled. "A temporary condition, of course."
Ser Royland scoffed beside her. "You speak as though Lord Ramsay was generous in offering us half of the Ironwood," the Master-at-Arms suggested. "Do not forget, Maester, that the Ironwood is our birthright. That bastard had no right to take it from us in the first place. He'll be damned if he thinks he can negotiate something that has been a part of this family for thousands of years."
"I have not forgotten the importance of the Ironwood to this House," the Maester assured him. "I am simply reminding you that this 'bastard' is the natural son of Roose Bolton who, as you well know, is Warden of the North and loyal to His Grace, King Joffrey." The Maester spoke of the boy King in a manner which Lady Elissa could not deicide suggested respect or, more likely, fear. "His Grace has already taken the lives of hundreds of northerners for their resistance and unwillingness to bend the knee, branding them all as traitors. Considering all of the loses it has already had to suffer through – Lord Gregor, Lord Rodrik, Lord Ethan – the last thing House Forrester needs is to make enemies out of the one true King."
"The one true King?" Ser Royland questioned, aghast. "You speak of a bastard born of incest!"
"Be that as it may, he is our King," Maester Ortengryn reminded Ser Royland. "Should we refuse to bend the knee, this family will end up just like the Starks."
The thought made Lady Elissa shiver. The Starks had been friends. Now, nothing of the House remained. "We also cannot allow ourselves to forget about Ryon," she insisted from the head of the table. "The Whitehills hold my son as a hostage. Should we choose to meet them with swords and spears when they arrive at our castle on the morrow, Lord Whitehill will be displeased." She paused. "The Seven only know what they'll do to that boy if we show them any resistance whatsoever."
"They won't harm a hair on the little lord's head," a voice bellowed from down the hall. Looking over her shoulder, Lady Elissa spotted Duncan Tuttle marching down the hall.
"And how can you possibly expect to know that?" Ser Royland demanded to know. He and the former Castellan of Ironrath shared a rivalry like no other. Quite frankly, their arguments often reduced Ser Royland and Duncan to bickering children, and they came to resemble Lady Elissa's sons when they had shared scraps as toddlers. Too often, Lady Elissa felt as though she was sharing this council table with toddlers.
"With his elder brother dead at the hands of the bastard Lord Ramsay," Duncan began, taking a seat opposite Ser Royland, "Ryon is now Lord of Ironrath." The former Castellan wore a stern look on his old, tired face. As much as she knew he angered Ser Royland, it was reassuring to her to see someone taking this matter seriously. "The Whitehills and the Boltons would not forsake their only claim to Ironrath. Having Ryon in their custody allows them unlimited access to the Ironwood; an opportunity they wouldn't dare throw away."
"There are still other ways they can hurt that boy," Ser Royland reminded Duncan and the others.
"The Maester spoke truly when he said that the Whitehills and the Boltons are now loyal to the King," Duncan insisted. "The King, though he may be but a child born of incest, would not let any harm come to that child, and even a House as savage as the Boltons would not dare betray the wishes of the King."
"You underestimate the Boltons," Ser Royland assured Duncan. "Need I remind you of the sigil they boast on their flags; a dead man, flayed from head to toe. Should we refuse to fight back, how long do you think it will be before our favourite bastard Lord Ramsay grows bored with his new ward and decides to start cutting-"
"Enough," Lady Elissa interrupted with a loud bellow that shook the room, and seemed to surprise the entire small council. She stood up from her chair at the head of the table. "I have heard all I need," she decided. "Ser Royland, I ask that you leave us."
Ser Royland was taken aback. "With all due respect, my lady, before he died, Lord Ethan named me his sentinel," he reminded her. "I speak only with the deceased lord's best interests in mind."
"I have not forgotten of the title my son honoured you with," Lady Elissa assured him, "but your presence here has caused a great disturbance. I beg that you leave us for today."
With a scoff and a shake of his head, Ser Royland stood up from his chair, the oak creaking against the wooden floorboard below. The small council remained silent until the Master-at-Arms had reached the giant oak doors that led into the courtyard, and slammed them behind him.
"Apologies, my lady," begged Duncan from beside Lady Elissa as she retook her seat. "I did not intend for my arrival to so easily antagonise the Master-at-Arms."
"No apology is required, Duncan," Lady Elissa told him. "Ser Royland has a short temper, so much is well known. But do not forget: my son died on his watch," she reminded Duncan. "I would not be surprised if the man blames himself for Lord Ethan's death." She could not blame the Master-at-Arms for feeling that way. Lady Elissa herself could not sleep but to think of ways she might have prevented her son's murder. "I must ask what caused you such a delay in making it to this meeting. I sent for all of the small council, including yourself. Did you not receive my message?"
"No, I received your message, m'lady," Duncan assured her. He looked across the table, spotting Maester Ortengryn, who sat tending to his books, then leaned closer to Lady Elissa. "If I may, it is something I must ask that we discuss in private."
Lady Elissa nodded, respecting the wishes of the former Castellan. "Leave us," she asked of the Maester, who bowed and left the table without question, carrying his books under his arm. She heard his Maester's chain rattling all the way to the door.
"I must ask that you follow me down to the cells beneath the castle," Duncan asked of her. "It is something I would prefer to show you. These walls have ears, you must understand."
She nodded accordingly. "Of course." She had known Duncan for many years, and trusted her not only with the lives of her husband and her children, but with her own as well.
The former Castellan led her down a narrow set of stone steps, the path lit by the torch in Duncan's hands. It was the only beacon of light in the dungeon that had otherwise been lost to absolute darkness. She feared what would happen if a gust of wind extinguished the flame and left them stranded in the dark. For as long as she could remember, Elissa had been afraid of the dark.
When the steps finally ended, Duncan lead her left and right through what appeared to be a maze of stone walls; one she had barely known existed. Finally, they came to an oak door. It was lacking the thick layer of dust that was so accustomed to the many other doors she'd spotted throughout the dungeon, suggesting this one has been opened very recently.
"You may wish to take a breath, m'lady," Duncan warned her before he unsealed the oak door and swung it open, revealing the passageway to a small, damp room, inside of which a tall shape moved mysteriously.
Lady Elissa's eyes narrowed as she tried to identify the shape inside.
"Mother," it called, the voice so young and soft. It was a voice she so very well knew.
From the darkness, he emerged.
"My son," Lady Elissa croaked, almost certain that her eyes were deceiving her. She threw her arms around Ethan and held him tight. When she felt his warm breath against her, and his soft cheek on hers, she knew she could not possibly be dreaming. "My son," she said again, kissing his forehead.
"We have much to discuss," Duncan assured her from behind. "The fate of Ironrath, and of the whole of House Forrester, hangs in the balance."
Lady Elissa had wrapped her arms around her son, tears streaming from her eyes as she whispered promises that she would never let him go again.
And, with that, no longer was Lady Elissa afraid of the dark.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR.
Phew! I may have gone over my usual word count a little bit this time, but I hope you enjoyed this newest chapter regardless of the length!
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In the next chapter, plots are hatched to reclaim Ironrath from House Whitehill, whilst a deadly secret is revealed; one that could reshape the future of House Forrester forever.
I'm really glad you guys are enjoying this original story so far. It may have kicked off with a fairly slow start, but events are about to be set in motion that will affect the lives of our favourite characters in enormous ways, as some new contenders enter the greatest game of all: The Game of Thrones!
See you next time.
-George