Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 47: Siege of Moat Cailin (Part 1)

As lightning bolts hit the ground, heavy rains remained battering the approaching armies as Robb Stark and Daveth Baratheon began encircling Moat Cailin, prepping their military forces for what seems to be a brutal, bloody battle. Together their combined strength numbered around 105,100 men plus the addition of siege weapons. Whilst the Northmen attacked from the northern section, the much larger southern army would strike at the ironborn from behind. The plan of action was clear: retake Moat Cailin from the ironborn and drive them out; whether it is by starving them out, forcing their way inside or possibly razing the ancient fortress to the ground.

On the northern front, Robb Stark and Roose Bolton stood in front – looking on as the ironborn within the fortress moved into position. Grey Wind followed suit and stood next to his master, growling at the sight of the enemy.

"I never thought we'd actually be forced to attack this place."

"We should set the siege lines, yards from Moat Cailin," the Lord of the Dreadfort advised.

Robb shook his head. "There won't be a siege, not on our end at least. Besides, that'll take too long. The ironborn are dug in deep. And Victarion Greyjoy will likely move to counter the pincer movement after having experienced it just once."

"We have the numbers, my lord. And the ironborn don't fare well so long as they remain on the mainland away from the seas, which gives us the advantage."

"Aye. What news of your bastard son?"

"Ramsay's managed to elude being spotted by the ironborn and was last seen moving towards the Fever River with my best hunters."

"Then that's all we'll need, Lord Bolton. The men would love a fight. I know I'd love one." Robb looked back at his northern vanguard before pointing the tip of his blade at Moat Cailin. "Everyone, advance on Moat Cailin! Drive the ironborn out!"

The Northmen shouted and began the charge. Elsewhere, on the southern front, Daveth arrived with his much larger host. The Young Stag eyed Moat Cailin up and down as his Kingsguard knights rode up beside him. The ruins of Moat Cailin were visible in the distance, threaded through with wisps of morning mist as wind blew from the south. What bothered him was the sight of seeing the banners flying above the fortress displaying a golden kraken on a black field.

"How many are inside?" he asked.

"Our scouts have estimated that there are roughly 9 to 10,000 ironborn stationed within Moat Cailin, Your Grace." Lucius deduced. "They are under the command of Victarion Greyjoy, Balon's younger brother and commander of the Iron Fleet."

"I remember him. He led the surprise attack on Lannisport 11 years ago, while..." he stopped briefly before glancing back at his soldiers. "Tell me, Ser Lucius. How long do you think it'll take to set up our armament?"

"About an hour if we're lucky, maybe even two. Two and a half at best. I recommend holding at least some of our forces back away from Moat Cailin so they could get the proper siege equipment into place."

"Then let's hope the men think on their feet. Give the order."

Ser Lucius nodded and turned to the soldiers. "All right, lads! You heard your King! Get those blasted siege artilleries up! Now!"

Soldiers carrying the sigils of Baratheon, Lannister, Tarly, Tyrell, Tully, Frey, etc. scrambled as they moved to assemble the armament. However...

One-by-one, fireballs were being launched from Moat Cailin and were being aimed directly at the royal host. As the troops scrambled, they noticed Victarion had already set up spitfires to use as defensive weapons against the mainland invaders. He looked on, smirking as the screams and shouts were echoing as more fireballs were launched into the air. Daveth was nearly thrown from his horse, steering his stallion away from the impact of the molten balls. Unsheathing his Valyrian steel sword Stormbringer, Daveth growled at the ironborn's preemptive strike.