12th Month of 298 A.C Moat Cailin

Victarion Greyjoy

Moat Cailin, the key to the north was a ruin. The once great castle had been reduced to ruins over the centuries as the northmen had become complacent and had begun to believe no one would try to sail from the Fever River to the Moat. And so their defences were sorely lacking, and that was something Victarion had taken full use of, whatever northmen had been there guarding the moat had been killed by Victarion and his men. Their heads now adorned spikes and Victarion was confident they could withstand any attack coming from the south.

The cranongmen though, or bog devils as they were more commonly known had been causing trouble for his men, when they had travelled the short distance to get supplies many of his men had gone missing or had turned up outside the Moat dead and scarred. And so a war had begun with the cranongmen whenever one of them came close Victarion ordered his men to attack using arrows or spears or whatever else they could get their hands on. More often than not the cranongmen would disappear after the initial round of fighting, leaving behind a dozen bodies, both of their men and his own. All would be quiet for a few days after that and Victarion and his men were allowed to restock on key supplies, but once that had been done, the cranongmen would come back and would hit them even harder. And in the past week alone Victarion had lost some forty men during the fighting, which along with growing hunger due to the burning of some of the ships was causing tensions to run somewhat high.

Victarion was used to such things and as such had managed to placate the men by giving them the chance to fight the cranongmen and whatever other northmen were coming from Winterfell to try and fight them. But then news had come that the wolf pup, or one of them anyway was heading from the Westerlands to try and retake Moat Cailin, Victarion laughed when he heard this, and the boy would have to come through the swamps of the neck, with a full army. The boy would have to drag all his men through the dampness and the dirge that was the neck, all the while Victarion would be waiting with the full protection of the impenetrable fortress. Of course the cranongmen were like to aid the boy, but their numbers had taken a severe beating and Victarion had their best scout as his prisoner and so he was fairly confident that the boy would struggle.

Furthermore, there would be no aid coming from the northern houses. His niece and brothers had seen to that. Asha was in Deepwood Motte holding off the clansmen and whatever men the northmen had, whilst Aeron was drawing distraction to the Stony Shore, and Urrigon, brave Urrigon was raiding inland, leading northmen astray on a nice little chase. They would never catch Urrigon though, even on land, in foreign territory his brother had shown he could be a very slipper customer. Yes, there would be no chance for the wolf boy to get aid from his people. And Victarion would delight in ripping the boy's head from his shoulders.

Whether or not his nephew Theon was amongst the northmen, Victarion knew not nor did he truly care. All he knew was that if he found his nephew he was to capture him and bring him back to Pyke, for Balon wanted to speak with the boy and so Victarion would bring him to Pyke. As he stood on the walls waiting for the northmen to come he wonders whether or not his brother means to take Winterfell, doing so could well break the northmen and their hold that was something he truly looked forward to. Almost as if reading his thoughts the drowned god gave them the sign that they had been waiting for. A horn sounded somewhere in the distance, and he knew that northmen had been sighted.

Sure enough, as he looked toward the south he could see direwolf banners flapping as well as various other banners that signified the houses of the north. The true battle was going to begin. He barked commands and ordered his men to various positions on the walls of the Moat, and he waited for the first signs that this was the true northern host and that it was going to be a good battle. Something worth talking about for years afterward. As they began hammering away at the southern gate, Victarion roared for his archers to rain hellfire down on the northmen. He saw and heard many of the northmen go falling down drowning under the weight of their armour into the swamps below. This happened some four or five times before the northern archers began fighting back.

Victarion watched as some of his men either fell backward and broke their skulls open and died, or fell into the swamps and into the bowels of hell. He grunted as he felt an arrow whizz past him but kept barking orders. Below him the southern gate groaned under the pressure of the battering rams which the northmen were using. A cry from nearby alerted him to the presence of northmen on the walls. Saying a quick prayer to the drowned god, he strode off to meet the oncoming challengers. The northmen were crawling up and Victarion barked at his men to allow the northmen to get to the walls before they killed them. His own axe cut through two or three men and the feeling was so good, he roared for more men to come and die.

The northmen duly obliged, they came scrambling up the walls and some fell to their deaths others Victarion and his men killed on the walls in close quarters. Victarion had never liked fighting in open spaces the closeness of fighting on a ship suited him better, and it was on the walls that he thrived. Cutting down one man after another as the northmen fell to their deaths. He roared his triumph, and waited for more men to come scrambling up hoping to best the Lord Commander of the Iron Fleet. And that was when the southern gate broke and northmen came streaming into the Moat.

Victarion roared with joy at this, and cut down the man he was fighting before cutting his way through the northmen still on the walls, and then he was on the stairs cutting down through northmen. One man fell down and Victarion laughed at that, another put up a better fight slashing and hacking away Victarion used his shield to deflect the blows and laughed as the man began to grow tired, and soon enough Victarion swung and swung before the man fell to the ground riving on the floor. He moved down the stairs and clashed with another Northman. This one actually had some fight in him and hit Victarion with enough force to knock his shield from his hand leaving them both free to fight with their weapons.

Backward and forward they went, one man hit the other and left a dent, another hit the other and saw his blow blocked. The dance went on like this for some time, Victarion swung and swung sometimes he got what he wanted, other times he did not. He tried to keep his patience but he could feel it waning, he wanted this bastard dead and he wanted him dead now. With that in mind he began pushing forward using his weight and strength to force his opponent on the back foot, his axe was weighing down on his opponent like an aurochs and so Victarion roared with triumph when he knocked the man's weapon from his hands and then using his helm head butted the man and stepped over his body to move onto the next enemy.

The northmen have spirit he will give them that, and though there seems to be no end to them as they continue to appear out of the wood, Victarion and his men continue to fight and kill them. It fills him with a sort of savage pleasure, the thought that he and his men are beating these battle hardened warriors, and as such he roars more and more words of command and encouragement to his men. Something which seems to only further the enemy's ire, and makes them attack in greater and greater numbers, allowing Victarion and his men to see where their weaknesses are and expose them.

Victarion thought that perhaps victory was in sight the northmen were tired and looked as though they could not believe they had come all this way only to lose. That was something he capitalised on shouting out insults at the enemy and roaring encouragement for his own men. It seemed to do some good for his men continued and did not disappear as they had done against the cranongmen and so they continued fighting. The northmen began to fall by the way side, their bodies were more than Victarion's men and he could sense victory coming, he cleaved a big giant of a man in half and roared, when he heard the sound of a battering ram.

He knew not where this ram was coming from, this had to be the northern army, and then he remembered that the Stark pup had not been sighted, and he realised who this was. The northern gate burst down and soon enough there were more northmen streaming in. his own men were tired by this point and so he roared a challenge and lead what men he could find to meet the new northern host. He cut down one man then another and then another, but the northmen were more plentiful and powerful than he and his men and they ended up getting pushed back. His arms were aching, his body was battered and bruised but still they pushed forward. He was determined not to lose this battle not after they had been winning it for so long.

It was at this point that he came face to face with a man with an ironed fist on his armour and Victarion realised that this man was a Glover, he laughed and fought the man willingly. The man was strong though and sure enough, Victarion found himself being beaten. Every blow he landed on the man was met by some two or three blows from the man on his own person. He came very close to death then but only the tide of battle prevented him from that fate. Instead it brought him close to another ironed fisted man and another round of fighting, this time he got the advantage and managed to remove the man's head after a long round of fighting though he was exhausted.

Battered and exhausted, barely able to raise his arms up to wield his axe he comes face to face with whom he belatedly realises is his nephew. Theon looks like a rat as far as Victarion is concerned, his face looks beaten and bloody and his armour is dented in several places. Victarion remembers the promise he swore to his brother and so advances on Theon but does not attack, his nephew does though and the sword hits the handle of Victarion's axe not once, not twice but thrice. Victarion barks a laugh and uses some of his rapidly dwindling strength to push the sword off and decides that so long as Theon is alive his brother will not mind. He begins swinging his axe, but his tiredness means he is less accurate and his nephew manages to duck a fair few of his swings, the ones he doesn't duck he either blocks or takes on the chest. An admiration for his nephew blooms in Victarion, perhaps his nephew is not such a flower after all. But then the tide of battle throws him away from his nephew and towards the wolf pup.

Somewhere along the line his axe had dropped from his hands and so he is left to fight the pup with only his hands and his wits. He sees how the man mounted on horseback will fight, but he knows he does not have the time or the strength to block the blows. So he moves as he can to avoid them, sometimes he is successful other times he is not. But when the wolf comes into play he knows he is done, the wolf tackles him to the ground and begins mauling him before being called off by the pup, and Victarion stands, staggers more appropriately to his feet and sways slightly before falling down again. His eyes close and a blissful darkness engulfs him.