Reign of the Fallen

A Game of Thrones Fanfiction

By Millie55

Rodrik

Pain. It could be felt through the body of the new Lord of Ironrath. His status as lord however, was yet to be known. In his current state of mind, all Rodrik Forrester knew was the agony faced by his body. Laying in bed, eyes captured in the shade of his closed eyes could recall his journey home, but barely. Rodrik had been lucky to have survived both the battle and the work Maester Ortengryn had performed on him. He had the milk of the poppy to thank for that he was sure. If it hadn't been for his brief decision to drink, it was likely the pain would have been unbearable. The levels of pain he could have felt were not easily imagined. Was it possible to feel pain greater than he did in this moment?

A groan was to leave his lips, but was halted when his mind was pulled from something other than his injuries. Soft, quiet music? No, humming. A delicate tune. One only his sister Talia could have carried. The young Lady was the only one hold such talent in their family, he often wondered where she had gotten it from, but admired it nonetheless. Willing himself to open his eyes now, Rodrik let the blinding light of the morning welcome his green hues that only squinted as result. The brightness of day was something the Lord would need to adjust to, and he hoped it could be done quickly. Movement was a struggle, the simple movement of his head to the side in hopes of seeing his little sister drawing his attention to the stiffening of his muscle. That however was what happened when you were left to die in a cart full of bodies and lay unconscious in bed for only the old Gods and the new, knew how long. In his field of vision was a pitcher, and beyond it a window. On the floor however he found the silhouette of Talia, she was there.

Palms coming down onto the bed, her hoisted himself up into a sitting position. This however was not without struggle. Pain shot through his body like an arrow from its bow. It was a pain so great that he didn't expect it. That confirmed it, the pain could get worse. With the parting of his lips, a groan escaped filling the room, but only for a moment.

It was just long enough to draw the attention of the young lady whose mind had been caught in the horrendous events that had surrounded her family in the past days. With Rodrik's return, she had felt the slightest bit of relief - happiness even, but for that she felt guilty. How could she be happy? With her father murdered at the twins, Gared Tuttle being sent to the wall, and watching as her brother was murder by Ramsey Snow, the family had been surrounded by nothing but darkness. Rodrik's survival, it was a symbol of hope.

"Rodrik! Thank Gods! Brother, I thought I lost you!" the words of his sister were like sweet music to his ears. It was a welcome change from squeaking cart wheels and the buzzing of flies in his ears. Before he could get word out, her feet clambered against the floor, and her arms were wrapped around him in an embrace too tight for him to handle with his body left sore and bruised. Ultimately, he was forced to groan out again. These groans elicited a worried expression from his little sister, followed by a series of apologies: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you."

Shaking his head slowly, Rodrik assured his little sister that her embrace was not too much for him with the slightest bit of humor; "You are stronger than when I left," a smile formed on his lips as he pulled back to take in her features. She was not the child he had left behind. Talia was taller now, slowly becoming a young lady. She had missed many years of her life and that frightened him, it however also made him thankful that he was given the opportunity to see the rest of it in the years to come.

"Two years is a long time," the young lady countered as her hand raised to push the dark strands of Rodrik's hair away from his features. It was with it pushed out of the way that Talia could see the extent of his injuries. It wasn't just the damage done to his leg, but to his face as well. it was left black with bruises, and the cuts and scratches were hard with the scabs of healing. "How bad is it?" she sounded again, maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked, "Maeter Orengryn says your leg my never fully heal. And your face-"

"I look half as bad as I feel," he voiced, his hand falling to take her hand. She knew he would be alright, right?

"Well, at least you look better than you did," he hoped so he thought in response to his little sister's words. When he first returned home he had practically be a corpse. "Rodrik, there is something you should know," the way she paused to let a a sigh take her body, let Rodrik know that the news to some was not going to be good in nature. Pushing himself up a little further into a sitting position he braced himself for what was to come. "Ethan is dead."

The room when silent for a moment, Rodrik failing to find the right thing to say. Their family had come to know so much death. First their father, then Ethan - and Rodrik himself had almost become apart of that trend. "Ethan," he managed after a moment, the single word broken and weak.

"Roose Bolton's bastard came here and threatened to take me away!" Her words were strong, filled with such venomous anger that Rodrik could feel it course through his own heart. "Ethan offered to go in my place, and that monster put a blade through his throat, like it was nothing. Ethan, how could this happen to him?" Words that had started off strong, ended with a tired whelp. Rodrik felt pain in his chest at the loss of their brother, but could only imagine his sister's sorrows. Talia and Ethan were twins after all. They shared a bond like no other.

Taking her chin, Rodrik guided it up from looking down at her lap, and up at him. "We'll make Ramsey pay for what he did. I promise."

"Good," she nodded and let her head turn off towards the window that looked down on the grounds of Ironerath. There was something more his sister was keeping from. Rodrik's lips parted to beg more answers, but Talia answered without question: "It's been chaos here since he died. We have Whitehill soldiers stationed in out courtyard. Even the small-folk don't feel safe. You need to show everyone who this house belongs to."

Looking over himself, and pairing that with how great the pain he felt was, Rodrik knew that he was no wear near in good shape. But as the new lord of House Forrester, he could not let the pain stop him from his reign. Hands braces his body on the bed, slowly pushing himself up so his legs hung over the side of the bed. Rodrik was preparing to stand. "They need a lord."

"I know you still need time to heal, but-"

Rodrik saw the worry on her face and did his best to offer a smile without wincing. "I will be fine Talia-"

"The counsel is meeting in the great hall right now actually. Nobody expects you there but, if you think you are ready-" her information was what he needed to further convince himself that standing, and walking was something her needed to do even if every fiber of his being was screaming no. Standing up to his feet, a groan erupted up his throat, letting the pain he felt in his limbs escape his body but only to make room for more. Soon, the room was a blur around him, the heavy weight of his body collapsing to the floor.

The impact of his body meeting cool stone was quiet, the only witness to Rodrik's currently suffering, his little sister. Small hands could be felt on his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. "I can' let anyone see you like this, not when the house appears so weak already," her desperate words earned a groan from the physically broken Lord. He would not remain bedridden, not while his will remained strong.

"I was rolled in on a corpse cart, the damage is done," he claimed, arms reaching out from under him to find support on the floor. With what remained of his strength, he pushed himself up, finding his footing once again. He moved to attempt to take a step onto his sore leg, when Talia's hand stopped him with a gentle press to his chest.

"You are the lord of the house now, you must appear strong, solid, you can't do that on the floor. It's a long way to the great hall. We can't risk you falling where other's can see," she explained, her hand retracting so that it was left an open invitation for him, "Take my hand, let me help you."

"Thank you Talia," A smile took Rodriks features, as will her guidance and support Rodrik was able to take his first steps without falling. His steps were slow, the muscle in his thigh aching, but it was movement. In time, he was sure it would heal even is Maester Ortengryn was sure the damage was too great for a full recovery.

"Everyone will be so glad to see you up," Talia encouraged, the walls of the castle passing with their slow movements, "Though I think you will find that much has changed." The words of his little sister worried him. Change was to be expected with the death of his father at the Twins, and later the death of Ethan, but how much could change in just a matter of days? It was in the court yard that Rodrik was faced with reality. Whitehill soldiers that far outnumbered their own lingered, eating their food and drinking their ale. The sight made the new lord's blood boil. How could this have happened?

"How?" was all he could managed out as he continued his journey to the great hall.

Talia however, did not have an answer for him. Instead, all she could do was distract him from the insults and complaints thrown in his direction: "Last we heard, Asher was in Slaver's Bay, so Malcom caught a ship headed for-"

Asher. Now that was a name that Rodrik's ears had not heard in many moons. The Forrester's second born. Tall and broad, and took after their mother's side. The thought of him brought a frown to Rodrik's features, it was during times like these that they needed a man like Asher. If he hadn't been exiled for falling in love with the wrong woman, maybe, just maybe things would have been different.

"We have business in the great hall," the voice of Talia brought Rodrik brought him from the very thoughts she had sent him into.

"Go around," were the mumbled words of the Whitehill soldier that blocked their path. He sat in his armors on the bottom steps, blade drawn for polishing, or rather intimidation.

Taking a heavy breath, Rodrik knew that this was his time to step up and prove himself. He could not let Talia fight this small yet important battle for him. The eyes of the Whitehill men that cluttered his court yard were on him. What he did in this moment would leave an impression of his lordship on these men. Was he weak? Or was he the lord this house needed. After a moment, he found his words. "Move aside soldier. I am the lord of this house, and you will move," Rodrik almost surprised himself with the respect he had displayed and the strength of his tone. It was no more than an hour before he had awakened with a voice that barely wanted to speak, but in moments of desperation he had found it.

Although it seemed as if the soldier had wanted to put up a fight, he stood, looking Rodrik long and hard in the eyes. The eyes of the solder were squinted and bloodshot, and Rodrik could feel the opposing man's breath on his face. It was sweet with ale, he was drunk, as were the Whitehill soldiers that surrounded them. This caused the lord to tense, were they going to have trouble here? Prepared to pull away Talia and fight off the solider, Rodrik was put to ease when the Whitehill solder stepped aside to let them pass. Giving the hand of his little sister a gentle squeeze, he looked down at her with the slightest of smiles, "Let's go."

Take the steps to the great hall was w new struggle for the lord. With each step his leg took, it felt as if its fibers were tearing. To not fall or groan was near impossible for Rodrik, but soon he was in the great hall, approaching the table his father once sat at the head of. The throne in which he would now sit. The great however, was no more calm than it was outside. An argument greeted them, the shouting of Sir Royland and Sentinel Duncan Tuttle bounced off the walls, causing Rodrik's head to throb. The room only did silence when Maester Ortengryn has spoken his name.

Both Sir Roland and Duncun Tuttle looked away from one another, parting the way for Lady Elissa to move. Quick steps carried her and soon Rodrik found her arms around him. To feel his mother's embrace brought great peace to the body of the lord. While he was still suffering a great deal of pain, he could feel her motherly love enveloping him. A hand reached up taking soft blonde strands in his hold. "Rodrik," he heard his mother's words against his neck, "my boy," it was then she pulled back, a gentle hand caressing his cheeking before she looked back at the grand table of the great hall, "come, join us."

"Lady Talia, you should have told us the Lord needed help," came the voice of Sir Royland as Talia continued to aid her brother to his rightful place on the throne of Ironwrath. The sympathetic tone of Royland caught Rodrik's ears by surprise. It was not often you would hear such concern in the man's voice. Rodrik did his best to remain tall and strong before the men who served his family, but still accepted the help from Talia as he found his seat at the head of the table. A seat that once belonged to his father.

"It's good to see you awake Lord Rodrik," Duncan Tuttle sounded, drawing Rodrik's vision down the table to wear he sat. On the man's arm rested the bracer of the sentinal. Looking between the two men at the table, Sir Royland and Duncan Tuttle, Rodrik understood his late brother's choice in sentinal. While Ethan was a young Lord, her valued logic and reason rather than violence. Rodrik could remember days where the third-born son would be reading with Talia rather than want to learn to fight. Ethan's beliefs heavily fueled his choices, but as Rodrik sat at the head of the table with a war with the Whitehills evident in the future, he couldn't help but wonder if Sir Royland would have been the better choice.

"We didn't expect you so soon. The Maester said it would be weeks before you were walking. If you walked again at all," Royland's voice found the air again, his tone still laced with the shock that their lord was alive and well.

"You call this walking?" Rodrik cut in not long after, his voice strained with the disappointment in his own abilities. The steps he could manage were a start, but how much further would he be able to come? How long would it take before he could walk without Talia supporting him at his side? "I can barely stand." His dark eyes fell to the table top, a heavy breath taking his frame. This meeting was not to be about him, it was to be about their house.

"Talia has told me the state of our house," he started and looked between those in their company. They all wore the same worried expressions that made his stomach twist in knots. "We have lost two of our Lords in what feels like as many days. Whitehill soldiers plague our home while Ryon remains a hostage at High Point. Our situations is grim, and it is likely to get worse before it gets any better - and it will fail to do so if we continue to sit her and fight among ourselves when we should be fighting them!" With his words a strong fist came down on the table, his frustration obvious now.

"We'd need an army to win that fight and we don't have one. Not anymore." Royland pointed out to Rodrik, causing tension to build up in the man's shoulders. He hadn't learned to what extent their army had suffered during the battle at The Twins, it hasn't occurred to him that he was one of the few survivors of their house.

"Do whatever it takes," Rodrik ordered, "Ryon will not remain hostage-"

"With the passing of Ethan," it was the voice of Elissa Forrester taking the hall now. Her voice was strong and determined to Rodrik's ears, her strength in periods of weakness had always astonished him. "I sent a raven to Fort Stryder requesting their aid in our fight against the Whitehills. A representative rides to Ironwrath as we speak - and perhaps," the woman paused, her next words seemed hesitant to the Lord's ears. "Perhaps it's time to talk about the Glenmores. You'd be wed to Elaena Glenmore already if not for the war and her father it no coward. Now that you've returned, the marriage can proceed as planned."

Hearing the name of his betrothed made Rodrik hold his breath. It had been a long time since he had seen the beautiful woman he was to marry. Those arrangements had been made long before the war, before had had gone to fight for Robb Stark. He held many frond memories of her in his mind, and in his heart, he held nothing but love and admiration in his heart. A heart that now hurt in fear that after all that had happened, she - or rather her father - would wish that the betrothal would not continue to the joining of their houses.

"Much has changed, the Glenmores may no longer desire the union," it was the voice of Tuttle speaking the words Rodrik could not manage to speak on his own.

"Lady Elaena will decide for herself. Your betrothed is on her way here as we speak," the words of his mother further paralyzed the Lord in surprise. Eleana was riding to Ironwrath? His stomach was in knots now as he looked between the med who sat around him, then to his sister. They all looks as surprised and concerned as she felt. It woldn't be long until Lady Eleana's arrival, which meant that she would see Rodrik in his current state. Bandaged. Broken.

"Why is she coming here?" Rodrik found his words, and they displayed the fear he felt throughout his entire body. It over took the pain that originated from his war wounds. Losing Eleana would be an even greater pain than that.

"She means to pay her respects to your father, but could also be a change to solidify our arrangement. If she still wishes to marry. we would gain the allies we so desperately need," Elissa explained, her voice full of confidence in the matter.

"Their armies would become both bound to Rodrik," Duncan followed, his voice gaining Lady Elissa's confidence, "And if we rally support with House Gwhendal-"

"We could burn High Point to the fucking ground," Roland celebrated, his smirk growing wide.

It was a shock to Rodrik just how quickly moral could change. One moment they were all wondering just how their house was going to manage to survive this battle with the Whitehills while he was struggling to recover from the injuries sustained at the Twins. With the words of potential allies brought hope to all, but it put a lot of weight on the shoulders of the Lord. Rodrik knew that he would have to solidify allegiances with both House Gwhendal and House Glenmore. The first could easily be bargained in his mind. He could offer House Gwhendal Ironwood in exchange of their army, but with Eleana, things would be much more difficult. If her love did not remain, or her father didn't see him as a first husband anymore, she could be lost.

Rodrik however, was a determined man. He had survived when he shouldn't have. He was walking when he should be crippled. The Lord of Ironwrath had defied all the odds that were stacked against him, and he would continue to do so, no matter what it took. "With them we could burn High Point to the ground," he reiterated, "we can, and we will."