Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 116: Battle for the North (Part 1)

Ser Lucius and Tormund observe a large yet strange mix of wildlings and Stark loyalists marching downrange carrying the sigil of various northern houses they represent. Within a few moments, the battle for control of the North was about to begin. The Old Bull calculatingly determined that with the addition of the Free Folk, the Starks culminated a near 34,000 host – including three direwolves and one giant. Under the command of Robb Stark and his half-brother Jon Snow, Lucius oversaw efforts to not overextend their supply lines and helped strategize a series of battle plans with the Young Wolf. Although not from the North, the Old Bull understood that both House Stark and House Bolton knew every inch of the terrain; and with the heavy snow battering against his armor, the winter cold would not slow them down.

"Our scouts report that morale is high. So long as we have the momentum on our side, the Bolton forces will have no choice but to surrender – provided of course Her Grace's brothers stick to the plan. What of the wildlings?"

"I've never seen these Bolton fuckers fight. And they've never seen the Free Folk fight," Tormund replied. "So yes, I think we've got a strong chance. This many fighters against that measly little band? Give me a few dozen and we'll have more steel."

"That Mance Rayder of yours had a big speech ready?"

"Him? Ha! Nah, no that's not how Mance approaches a battle. We followed him because we believed in him. At first, I thought he was the man to lead us through the Long Night. But I was wrong. He gave up his title as King-Beyond-the-Wall after Jon Snow stood up for us and let us through the Wall. He believed we could somehow not only defeat the Long Night, but coexist? Hard to believe it when I say it out loud like that."

"Even though Jon is a bastard?"

"Who cares if he's a bastard or not?" Tormund remarked as he drank a swill of goat's milk. "Bah, I need a good drink before a fight. You want some? I have a jug of sour goat's milk stronger than any of that grape water you southern twats like sucking on."

"Sounds good, but I prefer to keep a clear head."

"So, what do you do all night?"

"I formulate strategies and tactics; been doing so for more than 40 years. Best be sure nothing is left amiss."

AHooooooooooooooooooooooo! The Old Bull heard the blasts of the war horns echoing throughout the war camp; this was the signal for the Stark loyalists to begin the march on the Dreadfort. Although the skies were dark and vision was intensely limited due to the icy cold blizzards, the Northern soldiers emerged from their tents—gripping the handles of their swords and lit flaming torches to light their way.

Robb rode atop his horse with Grey Wind at his side.

"Lord Stark," Lucius greeted.

The Young Wolf nodded in acknowledgment. "Prepare to form up. It's time," he said. "Jon and I will go on ahead with our personal vanguard. Ser Lucius, you and Ser Olyvar will both command our flanks. Have your archers provide cover fire and light our way. Remember, the North can be a very dangerous place to any southerner."

"So we've been made keenly aware several times already. Stay alert and keep an eye out for traps."

Robb nodded; Jon had already retrieved Ghost and fastened Longclaw to his waist. Not too far behind was the Greatjon Umber, who was already bellowing out commands to his troops.

"All right, on me boys! We're moving out!" he hollered.

At the battlefield...

The field lay before the large Northern host which was about 400 meters long with a small valley bordered by two hills peaked with trees. At one end is a forest of high trees; at the other is a ridge with a reasonably soft incline that plateaus and stretches out to the Hornwood forest in the distance. It was still dark out and the blizzard was making things a bit harder for any of the Stark armies to see.