Lady Roslin sat in the seat of honor, her face pale. Several letters pleading for help lay spread out before her.
The messages were much the same: the Ironborn had turned villages into seas of fire, burning everything to the ground. The men were slaughtered, the women were... and then killed. They spared not even the livestock.
Roslin's voice was soft, yet it rang out clearly in the deathly silent Council Chamber. "The Ironborn have set foot on our lands."
"They're setting fires on my land and slaughtering my people."
"I need someone to lead the army. There's no need to fight. We only need to use our numbers to force them to leave."
Maester Walder's dry fingers twisted together. His cloudy eyes were full of worry. "My lady, the reports from Lychester Castle confirm that there are several thousand Ironborn invaders.
"Our forces aren't enough to face them in the open."
Roslin's gaze swept over the silent knights gathered there. "So we're to sit here, listening to our people's cries and smelling the scorched earth of our own lands?"
"I said there's no need to fight. We only need to use our army to force them to leave for someone else's land."
One by one, they lowered their heads and avoided her gaze, as if the cracks in the floor were more fascinating than their lady's eyes. Some stroked their sword hilts, others straightened their collars, but no one spoke.
A fat knight stood up and stammered, "The Ironborn are fierce. We... should defend the castle."
The others chimed in at once.
"Yes, my lady. A reckless sortie would only waste our precious manpower."
"As long as we hold the castle, the Ironborn will leave once they've finished looting."
"Exactly. All we need to do is wait."
Roslin's heart