Chapter Four: Disaster
A/N: This is my first story, so I wanted to say that I am going off the MOVIES as well as other fics I've read along with what little I've been able to read of the books so far. This will NOT be canon and will be EXTREMELY AU. I love constructive criticism and love the additional information I gain from the reviews and messages but do keep in mind that I am doing this purely for my own entertainment, hopefully yours as well, and it is merely a hobby, not my life or career. As such, it is bound to have mistakes, inaccuracies, and is purely from a scenario in my mind I would loved to have seen.
That said, enjoy the rest of the story!
Jon POV
One Month Later
"My Lord!" came the muffled voice of Maester Luwin through the door and one of the guards allowed him to open it. Only the guards of the night, the Maester, someone escorted or invited by him, or his family were allowed entry through his wards to his private chambers though they did not know that.
"What is it?" Jon asked groggily. He had only gotten a few hours sleep, having been up later with Ros the night before.
"An attack, or rather, several attacks my lord, by the Iron Born." Luwin replied in a frightened tone. The Maester was a man of learning, not of combat, clearly, though he had no doubt studied the subject enough to give some advice.
That sentence woke Jon up fully and he bolted out of bed. Realizing he was nude, he grabbed his clothes and began dressing warmly, it had gotten cold over the past month, very cold. "Theon failed to convince them it seems. Who was attacked, or where?"
"Multiple places, my lord."
"Jon, Maester. You've always called me Jon in private, don't stop now. It wastes time and your breath to call me lord every other sentence when we aren't in public." Jon spoke, irritated. "Where were the attacks?"
"Sorry, Jon." The Maester says, collecting himself. "They've raided a few fishing villages on the Stony Shore. They've taken what few men and boys they did not kill as thralls, and the women and female children as whores, or 'salt wives' they call them. They attempted to take Deepwood Motte as well, but it seems they failed there after a few losses thanks to some of your suggestions in improving their guard force. The real problem is that they've taken Moat Cailin."
"They've taken the Moat?" Jon asked. He suddenly understood why the Maester was so worried.
In ancient times, the Children of the Forest had fought a war against men and had prayed to the Old Gods to flood the Neck. Poseidon had answered the prayer, and soon the Neck filled with water from the ocean on both sides, eventually becoming a marshland. The Moat had once consisted of twenty towers and a curtain wall almost fifty feet high. It had broken down by now to only three standing towers, and only a small portion of the wall, but the swamps had made it impassable due to the natural dangers as well as lion-lizards which Jon now knew to be Chimeras, snakes, alligators, and more, unless you went through the main road leading through the Moat itself, making it a natural chokehold, and protecting the North from Southern invasion for thousands of years. The Moat was the only road and castle they had yet to repair in the North under Jon's new projects.
"Yes." Replied the Maester, sensing Jon was now aware of the true problem. "If they decide Lord Tywin would pay handsomely to allow them access through the Moat, we would be unable to stop them."
"Say more difficult, rather than unable, Maester. I do see your point, however. This must be fixed, and quickly, and this cannot go unpunished once the war is ended with the Lannisters. I must write to Robb and tell him I will fix this myself, so that he worries less on home and more on the task he has at hand." Jon answered, moving out of his door as he ensured his weapons, hidden and otherwise, were on him and ready. He was interrupted by a bell. It rang three times, fell silent a moment, then rang again before repeating the procedure. An attack!
"Pass the word for the militia to take up defensive positions. Have all with even a shred of medical ability set up in the great hall with the cooks as well. I want a meal prepared and set out for any man who is given a brief reprieve from the battle so the men can keep up their stamina. Water, and a single cup of ale or wine each meal. Stew would be the easier option, with fresh warm bread and butter. Have the people of the town brought into the castle walls just in case as well, and pitch their tents in the courtyard for now. See that they are fed, as comfortable as can be, and unpanicked. Place thirty guards among them to keep control, ten guards in the great hall, and ten on the castle gates." Jon ordered quickly, and the Maester nodded before taking off quickly. Jon grabbed the arm of a nearby messenger boy running through the castle halls.
"Stop whatever you're doing for a moment and find commander of the Militia. Have them meet me on the wall by the main gate now. Then tell Bran and Lady Catelyn to head to the great hall and to maintain control there and in the courtyard with Maester Luwin."
The boy nodded and dashed off in the opposite direction of where he was heading originally. Jon stopped and took a deep breath. He needed food and drink first but didn't know how long he had. He quickly activated the enchantments on his weapons and armor, and soon he was encased in his full godly regalia, except the full helm which he took off and carried strapped to his belt. His armor was of a black hue rather than gold as he had half-expected and seemed extremely light, yet heavy enough to stop almost anything. In the center of the seemingly fluid plate armor with a scale-like appearance, stood an insignia of the Starks, though the insignia on both shoulders was the symbols of the twelve Olympians, showing the hand they all took in making it. His weapon activated into a long sword, which appeared sheathed at his side. Making a decision, he ran to the kitchens. He asked for quick food and some wine, and soon was sitting in front of the fire quickly eating some meat slapped in between two slices of warm bread with a slice of cheese and honey.
As soon as he finished eating, he quickly ran out to the wall by the main gate to meet the commander, and to his relief they arrived at the same time. He looked out in front of him to see the enemy army. Clearly the Iron Born had not had time to march here from the Moat. It would have taken them near to one and a half to two weeks, especially given the cold and the winds and rains they currently had almost daily. Obviously this was a different part of their army. They were well-rested, appeared sated and well taken care of, and all wore chain or plate mail with the symbol of the Kraken in the center of their chest. It was Iron Born no doubt, and must have landed by White Harbor, undoubtedly passing it by to seize the capital of the North first. Foolish, very foolish. He scanned for signs of their leader, or leaders depending on how they operated.
As he looked out upon the enemy army, he noticed a tall, muscular man standing out in front of them in full plate armor with an enormous double-sided battle axe strapped to his back. This must be Victarion Greyjoy. The one man who had only been defeated at sea by Stannis Baratheon, and who was said to equal the Mountain in both size and skill though they had never been measured against one another. A fearsome man altogether, with an even worse reputation. Next to him was someone who immediately brought a scowl to Jon's face. Theon. Dressed in silver plate armor as well, though it looked rather oversized and somewhat ridiculous on him, Theon stood in front of his army, no doubt confirming his status as their Prince. The two men were flanked by an army of iron born men numbering perhaps close to five thousand.
Jon cursed under his breath lightly. There were too many enemy to engage them in the open and end them quickly, and though they could stand a siege it would drain their already strained supplies. Would that he'd had a little more time he would have done something to add to the castle's natural defenses other than the small moat, something he could use his powers on to sway the battle.
No matter, they would simply bleed them each time they attacked. Sparse though their supplies were, they would still be enough, and his men were better armed, armored, and rested. Not to mention the cold, and with his men having fires, hot food, warm beds, men to replace them on the walls as they rotated, plenty of Valyrian arrows with the means to fetch and make more, and torches with pots of burning oil over the murder holes by the gates, Jon knew the attackers would stand no chance. It confused him that Theon even thought this would work, though it was true that Theon may not have been privy to the changes he had made in the men and castle, which would explain the confusion on the man's face as he stared at the place he had grown up. Jon turned to the commander and gave his commands.
"Here is what we'll do. There are too many to simply attack them outright. My plan has three stages. Stage one, they attack now and we send all arrows we can upon them. Then, set a rotation of men on the walls, swapping out every eight hours as the battle allows. I imagine the first assault will only last an hour before either Theon cowers back for a new strategy, or Victarion realizes an all-out assault isn't working. They'll wait another couple of days as they build siege weapons. When the men switch out, have them get their armor and weapons seen to right away, a hot meal, a hot soak, and then a good at least eight hours of rest. We will do this in groups of three, a thousand men in each should be sufficient to hold the walls, though whichever other group is awake at the time will be held in reserve if needed. This gives them time to rest in between."
"Stage two, they come back with siege weapons. We set their siege weapons, and them, on fire. We will have the archers continuously rain fire on them until they retreat for a new plan. At that point, they will take longer, as they will want time to try to probe or penetrate the castle without being noticed. At this point, we will keep five hundred men on the walls to repel an attack that may be used as a distraction and use the other five hundred as well as the thousand in reserve to patrol the castle, grounds, and even the crypts in order to catch and kill the potential probers and assassins. We'll know it has worked when they start building siege engines again."
"In the final stage, we bring all the men, refreshed, fed, and rested, and we put them with half on the walls with bows and short-swords, and the other half at the gate with spear and shield, as well as longswords. When they get close with their siege weapons, we burn them once more, and then open our main gate. This will draw them in, but it will be a choking area, where their numbers will not help them, and their ferocity and savageness will only get them killed against a well-trained, and well-equipped militia. Our other half of our forces create a phalanx just inside the gates. Unable to move them or push them further inside, the enemy loses many throwing themselves at us. Then, right as they are about to retreat, our men buckle intentionally in the center. Allow the survivors to push their way in. Once we have them all, we surround them as we close ranks. Take one commander, Theon, and Victarion alive, and kill the rest."
The commander stared at Jon for a moment in awe at his brilliance with strategy and ruthlessness before nodding in assent. He turned and hurried off to give the orders to his men. Jon watched him hurry off before turning back to survey the enemy once more. Theon was unnerved it seemed. He tried to speak to Victarion, but the older man shook him off. Smart. No matter how bad an idea, once you had the men there it would look weak to back out so soon without trying, especially to iron born who valued strength above all.
They had a ram. That was the extent of their planning. Masters at sea they might be, but land warfare was apparently something foreign to them. How they took the Moat was beyond him. With a mighty roar, they surged forward, shields covering the ram. At least they had the brains for that much, not that it would matter. Signaling the men, he spoke loud and clearly.
"Ready your arrows!"
A flurry a movement, trained and coordinated, followed this simple command. All the men, having been given instructions on what they would do after this first battle and eager to get this over with, pulled out a longbow they had all ben gifted with, and readied a Valyrian steel arrow. They lit them on fire and aimed. Jon was sure it looked measly to the enemy, a militia of three thousand barely filling up two sections of the great castle's walls, readying arrows as if they could hold them off. He was ready to surprise them.
"Aim!"
All of the militia aimed, not at the approaching horde, but rather at a small distance above them. As the gods had taught Jon, many times when armies aimed at the approaching front line, they would fall short. Some may hit, some may go over their heads and hit others, but a majority fell short due to fear, nerves, wind, or other unforeseen variables. If you had them aim for the center of the approaching force, any that fell short or went high would pierce an enemy somewhere, which translated into fewer misses. The enemy were perhaps a hundred feet away now.
"Fire!" Jon yelled. The resulting almost simultaneous twang of bow-fire filled his ears, as did the whooshing and whizzing of arrows. They arced out from the battlements and fell among the enemy, felling many as the Valyrian steel pierced their armor with ease. Jon smiled as they seemed to slow down a moment before gathering their courage and speeding up once more toward the castle.
"Ready, aim, fire!" Jon repeated. Over and over, he did this, and each time many an enemy fell and did not rise again. After several hundred were killed, as predicted, Victarion got them under control and pulled them back. With several barked orders, he set up a defensive line, a rough one, and set the others to pitching tents. The amateurs, at least at land battles, did not even dig latrine ditches nor set up stakes. Jon smirked and motioned his men to stand down and nodded to the commander to begin their plans.
He began to head to the great hall, hungry once more due to his quick and inadequate breakfast most likely, with about a third of the men that had just been on the walls with them. He went to the head seat right away and poured himself a cup of ale and pulled a bowl of hot mutton stew with hot soft bread and butter to himself and began recounting all that had happened and his plan in a hushed tone to his family.
Robb POV-Two weeks later
Robb's head was spinning, he was dizzy, and his stomach was burning. Reaching a hand out to grasp his saddle to steady himself, he let out a long slow breath. He had just received the news about various parts of the North being taken. He knew Jon would be on top of it and told the others as much which eased many of their concerns, but that did not help much for himself. They were now at a standstill with the refusal of the Greyjoy House for an alliance. He had put much riding on that. To top it off, his men also knew he was promised to be wed and had been meeting and speaking to the healer, Talisa. Nothing had happened between them yet, but Robb did not know if he would say no if she tried or asked, and his men knew he was smitten with her.
"My Lord, are you well?" The Greatjon asked him, reaching over to steady him in his saddle. Tywin had pulled his army to the safety of the West at the Golden Tooth. In that narrow pass, they could hold him off indefinitely. He also could not march around, as the only two ways West they could use with an army were both on main roads through valleys as well. Choke points that would destroy them, and Tywin knew it, and knew Robb knew as well. He was biding time, though for what none knew. Several raiding parties of Tywin's had been burning the Riverlands and harassing them too, so they had been patrolling each direction from Harrenhal, using it as their main base for now. Robb was on such a patrol now, where it was rumored Vargo Hoat had been seen.
"I am well. We have been idle for too long I fear." Robb answered with a small grin to hide his pain and discomfort. The Greatjon laughed and shouted for water and some food for Lord Stark. Food and water were brought, and Robb quickly ate the meat, bread, and cheese provided. It gave him some small measure of stamina and dulled the pain a bit, and he smiled in thanks. The Greatjon nodded in understanding.
It was at that moment they were attacked. They had a scouting force of about fifty men with them, but enemies poured in from every direction and arrows flew from everywhere. Robb drew his sword, face grim, and began swinging at those who came toward him, trusting his men and armor to protect him from the arrows. He was one of the few wearing plate metal, something he was thankful for as arrows bounced off leaving bruises no doubt, but also leaving him alive.
After killing perhaps ten of the men himself, he wrenched his sword out of the man in front of him and glanced around. Despite being surrounded and outnumbered, his men were holding their own pretty well, having expected an ambush of some sort anyway. He also spotted Vargo Hoat on his weird black and white striped mount. Seeing a chance to cause panic in the enemy and kill a dangerous enemy captain at the same time, Robb dug his heels into his horse, urging it to Vargo at full speed, sword at the ready.
Vargo must have sensed the blow coming, or saw him perhaps, for he ducked at the exact moment he needed to. Robb missed and cursed under his breath as he wheeled around his horse and trotted over to Hoat where they began exchanging blows. Vargo used some odd, curved blade that seemed very thin, but fast. Robb barely fended him off at first, but when he became predictable he pressed his attacks. Then he did something unexpected. He bent over on his mount and cut the left front leg of Robb's horse. It made a very loud, high-pitched noise as it toppled Robb out of the saddle. He landed hard in the dirt, watching in idle fascination and resigned acceptance as the blade swung at him lying there.
Between fate and destiny, however, often steps reality and luck. It was a combination of these that saved Robb's life. As the blade flew toward him, whistling slightly as it did, Robb's dying horse thrashed in front of them, crashing into Vargo and his mount in its pain and panic at the missing limb. Robb stood, shaking it off, and walked to where Vargo lay. The other man quickly started to rise, but Robb kicked his sword away and beheaded him without a word. The man was too dangerous to keep alive as a prisoner, and it would raise morale.
As predicted, Vargo's men ran at the sight of their leader being killed. Robb leaned over on his sword wearily, swiping at the sweat and blood on his face. Another victory had been won, albeit small, and each victory put them a step closer to their goals and gave the men just a little more hope.
Jon POV-Same Day
As Robb defeated Vargo in the south, Jon was preparing for a final push from the iron born. They had gotten close a couple times to getting past the walls but had not managed it yet. They had suffered many losses, and Jon had lost a few good men as well, but thankfully no more than a hundred. Now they stood in front of the gate, in phalanx position, ready to defend the castle and enact the final part of his plan.
"After this I'm replacing the gate with Valyrian Steel." Jon thought to himself as he signaled the archers above to both open the gate and fire when the enemy was in range. They had almost broken through the partially iron and wooden gate a number of times before being pushed back. Otherwise, his strategy had gone off without a hitch. Now, as they opened the gates and made their shield wall, Jon watched them approach.
Many were killed by the archers before they even got close. Today everyone had worn their full Valyrian armor, except Jon who wore his godly armor. Arrows that bounced off them were not even felt. As the enemy began moving across the drawbridge to cross the moat, Jon concentrated. After a painful tug in his gut, the moat rose up and washed across the bridge, pulling down many armored men into it and drowning them. By the time it was done, only around a thousand were left. Theon and Victarion were among them however, and despite the obvious disadvantage, they charged into the courtyard only to hit their phalanx and be forced to a dead halt.
Time and again the phalanx thrust them off their shields, and stabbed with their spears, and bodies piled up quickly. Slowly, they allowed their center to buckle and allowed in their enemy before closing the hole as quickly as it appeared, surrounding them. Victarion roared in frustration, as he couldn't even get close enough to swing his axe. Soon they had it down to him, one of the commanders, and Theon, just as Jon had planned. The men got the commander and Theon with no issue, but after two men were injured trying to capture Victarion, Jon stepped in.
After dodging a mighty swing of his axe, Jon simply punched him hard enough to break several teeth and knock him out with his armored fist. When he hit the ground, just to be sure, he had the men bind him before dragging him to the cells. They would later be questioned and then executed. He set the men to cleanup duty, leaving orders for normal guard rotations to continue along with training, after they had all cleaned up, ate, bathed, and cared for their equipment.
Jon left for the Great Hall where he told the news of their victory to all gathered there and commanded a small feast be held with some of their remaining supplies. It turned out he had no need to worry as much however, as when he left to clean himself up before the feast a letter was awaiting him. The letter was from the man he had sent to buy supplies overseas. He would be here the next day with much food, drink, and other supplies needed. It would be enough to last six months at their current capacity and output to the army. Jon breathed in relief and sent orders to serve a larger feast before he went to bathe, planning on how the tax harvest would help and how much more he could send back with the man once more for more food from other places.
Jon finished bathing and sat down to the feast, many coming over to congratulate him on such a superb victory. The feast looked fantastic, with roasted duck, salted and seared fish, some salted pork, venison, stew, soups, salads, and many more sides including several warm loaves of bread with dishes of butter. There were many flagons of wine, mead, ale, and water. He stood before anyone began eating, and they all stood with him. He raised a goblet of wine.
"Hail the victorious dead! Without their sacrifice, the battle would have been much harder, and lasted longer. They died defending their homes, and their families. For each man that died in defense of this castle, I name them heroes and will be sending two gold dragons to each of their families. I know it does not ease their passing, but perhaps it will help make the future more livable until things may be figured out."
"Hail!" All in the hall shouted back and all drained their cups. They sat back down and cheered before Jon held up a hand with a smile.
"Keep in mind that soon, we will take the fight to these iron born bastards! I hope for such enthusiastic support when that day comes, and don't forget to pray to the gods for victory in such an endeavor. To commemorate this victory, in Winterfell as well as every castle in the North, we shall build a temple where one may pray to whichever god they wish, as well as to leave them offerings there. This will be taking place of the septs, as these gods have listened and allowed us victory. Let the feast begin!"
Lady Catelyn looked at him in astonishment but remained quiet, as did a few others. He did not think it would be a popular idea entirely, but at least they had listened and waited to argue in private. That was a good first step. He turned to his food, many things on his mind. He would visit their prisoners tomorrow after he spoke to those who disagreed with this move and solved that issue first.