77 AC
Moat Cailin
Third Person Pov
A moon after the Northern lords declared Theon Stark their king, Moat Cailin became the gathering point for their defiance against the Iron Throne. Banners of numerous Northern houses flew above the assembled armies, their grim faces reflecting a unified resolve. While key forces under, Manderly (eastern fleet), and Mormont (western fleet) were deployed elsewhere for strategic purposes, a significant host from across the North had answered the call.
These seasoned warriors, hardened by the harsh Northern climate and fiercely loyal to House Stark, now filled the ancient stronghold. Despite the absence of some major houses, the assembled strength was considerable, a testament to the North's unity. A palpable anticipation hung in the air as they awaited King Theon's arrival and the war strategies he would unveil to defend their land and their newfound independence.
Midday sun streamed through the arrow slits of Moat Cailin's ancient towers, illuminating the grim faces of the assembled Northern lords. King Theon Stark sat at the head of a long, roughly hewn table in the main hall, his queen, Diana Stark, at his side. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the air heavy with the unspoken weight of the coming war. All the lords who had gathered at the strategic stronghold were present, their attention fixed on their king as they awaited the unveiling of his war plan. The usual boisterous camaraderie of Northern gatherings was absent, replaced by a focused intensity, a shared understanding of the gravity of the situation and the fight that lay ahead.
Rogar Dustin, leaning over a large map spread across the table, outlined the stark disparity in forces. "My lords," he began, his voice clear and measured, "let us consider the composition of our armies and those of the Iron Throne.
"For the North, we have approximately Ninty thousand soldiers gathered here and spread across our lands. Our eastern fleet, under Lord Manderly, numbers around one hundred and fifty ships, and our western fleet, commanded by Lord Mormont, is of similar size, also around one hundred and fifty vessels. We also have the strength of one thousand giants, a force unmatched in raw power. It is important to note that the clans of the Mountains of the Moon will not be participating in this conflict."
Rogar then shifted his focus to the South. "The Iron Throne commands a significantly larger force, estimated to be around two hundred and ten thousand soldiers. Their total fleet is also far greater than ours, numbering approximately five hundred ships. Furthermore, they possess a formidable advantage in the skies: six dragons."
As Rogar Dustin uttered the word "dragons," a ripple of agitated murmurs spread through the assembled Northern lords. The initial grim silence shattered as voices rose in a mixture of defiance and desperate hope.
"Shot down?" Lord Cerwyn exclaimed, his youthful face flushed with fervor. "The Dornish have done it! Their scorpions brought down dragons during the Conquest! We can devise similar weapons!"
Lord Locke nodded vehemently. "Aye! We may not have their sun-baked deserts, but we have ingenuity! Our smiths are skilled. We can forge bolts large enough to pierce a dragon's hide!"
Another lord, his voice rough and weathered, chimed in, "And what of the giants? They possess strength unmatched by any man! Equip them with giant bows, with arrows the size of spears! A volley from them could bring even a dragon crashing from the sky!"
Theon Stark's voice cut through the room as he spoke, "The dragons will not be a problem."
Excitement began to bubble through the hall, the daunting reality of facing dragons momentarily overshadowed by the prospect of finding a counter. The lords exchanged fervent glances, their minds racing with possibilities, clinging to any glimmer of hope against the fiery threat from the South. The memory of Dornish resilience against the Targaryen dragons fueled their determination, a belief that the North, too, could find a way to defy the winged beasts.
The focus of the discussion shifted from the immediate threat of dragons to the more tangible challenge of defending Moat Cailin against the inevitable southern assault. The lords, their earlier excitement about countering dragons now tempered with the strategic realities of their location, began to offer their expertise on fortification and defense.
Lord Glover, whose lands bordered the swamps surrounding Moat Cailin, spoke of the treacherous terrain. "The bogs and mire are our first line of defense," he stated, his voice grimly practical. "Any army attempting to march through them will be slowed, bogged down, and vulnerable. We must ensure the causeway is heavily defended and any attempts to flank us through the swamps are met with fierce resistance."
Lord Tallhart, known for the strength of his fortifications at Torrhen's Square, offered his insights. " Ensure we have ample reserves of stones and timber to repair any breaches. We should also prepare kill zones along the causeway, maximizing our archers' range and effectiveness."
Several other lords contributed ideas, suggesting the placement of sharpened stakes in the bogs, the construction of temporary barricades along the causeway, and the strategic positioning of their own men-at-arms within the ancient towers. The discussion revolved around maximizing the natural defenses of Moat Cailin, turning its swampy surroundings and narrow approach into a deadly bottleneck for any invading southern army.
Theon Stark listened intently, nodding occasionally as the lords offered their counsel. He recognized the importance of a strong defense at Moat Cailin, the gateway to the North. Holding this strategic location would buy them time, wear down the southern forces, and allow their own strategies to unfold. The lords understood this as well, their grim determination evident in their focused discussion of ditches, walls, and kill zones – the unglamorous but vital work of preparing for a war they did not seek but were now determined to win.
Theon Stark, who had been listening intently to the defensive strategies being discussed, finally spoke, his voice carrying a note of grim certainty. "My lords," he stated, drawing the attention of the assembled council, "this war will not be a long, drawn-out affair."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the hall. Lord Ryswell, his brow furrowed, voiced the question on many minds. "Why do you say that, my king? The South has greater numbers, greater resources…"
Theon's gaze hardened, his eyes reflecting the cold pragmatism of the North. "Because," he replied, his voice low and steady, "the Iron Throne cannot afford a prolonged conflict in the North. If they allow this war to drag on, stretching their resources and manpower thin, they risk another threat igniting in their rear."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "The Dornish. They have never truly bent the knee. They chafe under Targaryen rule. A protracted war in the North, a show of weakness from the Iron Throne, would be an invitation for them to rise again, to reclaim their independence. Jaehaerys knows this. He will want a swift and decisive victory here, to crush our rebellion quickly and turn his attention back to the south before the vipers of Dorne stir."
Theon Stark then turned his gaze towards the Lord of Greywater Watch, a man as enigmatic and elusive as his swampy domain. "Lord Reed," Theon commanded, his voice carrying a specific weight, "you will take twenty thousand of the finest trackers and warriors from the wolf pack territories and settle them within the bogs and mists surrounding Greywater Watch."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "When the southern armies begin their march north, you are to harass them relentlessly. Disrupt their troops, raid their supply lines, sow chaos in their ranks. You will be the unseen hand that plagues their advance, the nightmare that haunts their every step. They should not know a moment of peace, a single night of undisturbed sleep, from the moment they enter our lands."
"Then," Theon continued, his gaze sweeping over the assembled lords, outlining the next phase of their strategy, "when the southern army inevitably reaches Moat Cailin, we will hold the line. Our fortifications, strengthened as you have suggested, will be our shield. And our cannons," he emphasized, a grim satisfaction in his voice, "will be our thunder. We will rain shot and fire upon their ranks, tearing holes in their formations even as they struggle through the swamps."
He paused, his eyes glinting with a fierce determination. "Once we disrupted their advance, sowing confusion and weakening their numbers, I will lead half of our main host in a sortie. We will strike with the fury of the winter wind, cutting down any stragglers, any wounded left behind. And," his voice took on a sharper edge, "if we manage to capture any highborn lords, they will be taken as prisoners. But," he stressed, his gaze hardening, "if fate delivers any member of the royal family into our hands… then this war will be over swiftly, before it has truly begun."
"Jonnos," Theon then stated, turning to his brother, "Ned Umber, Jorah Glover, and the lords from the mountain clans – you will ride with me when the time comes for the sortie. Your strength and ferocity will be crucial in cutting through any remaining resistance."
He then addressed Rogar Ryswell and the other lords who had offered their expertise on fortifications. "Rogar," Theon said, his gaze firm, "you and the other lords with knowledge of siegecraft will be responsible for the fortification of these walls. Ensure every weakness is reinforced, every advantage maximized. And," he added, his eyes glinting with anticipation, "when the southern host is within range, you will oversee the firing of our cannons. Let them taste the thunder of the North."
A chorus of "Aye, my king" echoed through the hall of Moat Cailin. A palpable shift occurred as the lords, having heard Theon's strategy, moved with renewed purpose. The initial tension of uncertainty gave way to a grim determination. Orders were barked, men were dispatched, and the work of preparing for the coming storm began in earnest. Theon's plan, though audacious, offered a tangible path forward, and the Northern lords, ever pragmatic, embraced the necessary preparations for the inevitable clash with the Iron Throne. The air in Moat Cailin now thrummed with the focused energy of a kingdom preparing for war.