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Sitting atop his horse, Tywin Lannister could not help but stare approvingly at the sight before him, despite the troubles that he knew he would now be facing. Moat Cailin had long been known as one of the most formidable strongholds in all of Westeros. After all, it had kept out the Andals for several millennia. But since the founding of the Seven Kingdoms by the hands of Aegon Targaryen, the once mighty stronghold was no longer needed. And for three hundred years, it suffered due to lack of proper manning and upkeep of the keep. But Eddard Stark, or perhaps more accurately Alim Nox, was correcting that mistake.
The walls of the Moat were perhaps nowhere near what they once were. But they were strong and tall with the banners of the wolf scattered across them. And there were no obvious weak points that they could exploit. Not only that, but the three towers that were still standing had all been reinforced. He could see archers within each tower, ready to rain down their arrows on any who attempted to assault the walls. But it wasn't just the repaired keep that he was admiring. It was the land that stretched between his own army and the walls of the keep.
Trees had been uprooted and scattered across the land. Some propped up, others just laying flat. Carts, that'd no doubt belonged to the original fools who rushed the Moat, had been disabled and their wreckages scattered across the field as well. There were also broken spears, tent poles… Anything and everything that had been brought by the advance force had been broken and arranged in a manner that would impede his army's approach of the walls. The only clear path to the Moat lay along a path that led right up to the front gate.
The debris was annoying, but nothing that would stop an army for long. But that, he realized, was the point. The debris was not meant to stop the army but rather to slow them down. A dangerous prospect considering all the debris was well within bow range, especially from the towers. He could send out laborers to clear the debris, but they would be easy prey for the archers upon the walls and within the towers. Or he could send his men through the debris, but they would be slowed considerably as they tried to move around it, again leaving them open to arrows. Or he could march straight down the road towards the front gate. Leaving his men in a bottle neck. It was an impressive defensive set up, especially by the untested Stark heir.
But what truly drew his admiration was the macabre display Stark had left littered along with the debris. Hundreds. No. Thousands of severed heads were scattered amongst the debris. The heads in various states of rot and some even with fresh blood beneath them. Heads were on spikes. Placed on trees. Strung up on the broken carts. One display was a cart that had a severed head sitting on the driver's seat, a set of reins leading down a pair of severed horse heads. So not only would his men have to navigate through the debris to reach the walls, but they would have to trample over perhaps all that remained of the five thousand men that'd rush the Moat ahead of the rest of the army. It was brutal. Demoralizing to his own army. And he full heartedly approved of it. Even admired it. But that almost made him realize that he would need to adjust how he dealt with the Stark heir.
"Such a disgusting display! The Starks are showing their true depravity and spitting in the eyes of all the teachings of the Seven with this!"
Tywin didn't bother glancing towards the Septon that'd been a constant thorn in his side ever since he started on his path north after securing the loyalty of the Riverlands. The comment just went to show how sheltered and idiotic the Septon truly was to matters of the world. This was war. The Northerners were fighting for their lives, for their very way of life. The only thing shocking to Tywin regarding the display was the fact that it was put together by the still green son of Lord Eddard Stark.
Ignoring the Septon and his drivel, Tywin urged his horse forward. "Kevan, Septon, and two others with me. Raise the banners. Time to speak with the Starks."
Approaching the gates, Tywin had to tighten his hold on the reins of his horse as they drew closer. The horses were clearly uneasy as they walked amongst the wreckage and carnage. But it was more than that. There was a cold wind blowing from the north. Not surprising. But even Tywin could feel the cold. Not as if it were winter. But a cold that pierced through his flesh and made his heartbeat slightly faster. He immediately recognized what was going on. His niece had long since informed them that when Lord Nox became angry that the very air around him grew cold and her heart would hammer in fear. Even if she wasn't the target of his ire and had no reason to fear. Just being around Nox when he was angry was enough to make her shiver or even want to hide. 'So, there is indeed at least one of Nox's students here,' Tywin confirmed, eyeing the wolf banners waving in the wind. 'Robb Stark at the very least. But there must be more than him. The girls are in the south. Nox and Jon Stark are north of the Wall. Robb might be green, but he would not be green enough to bring Joy within my reach. Gendry Waters, perhaps? Bran Stark would need to remain behind to watch over Winterfell in his brother's absence. So, it must also be Gendry.'
Reaching the edge of the moat, Tywin was just about to have a caller announce them, but he didn't need to. The iron portcullis in front of the gate slowly rose before the draw bridge lowered over the moat that separated them from the walls. He was not surprised to find Robb Stark standing just on the other side of the drawbridge. The young Stark had grown since he saw him last in Harrenhal. A short cut beard now adorned his face and his hair was pulled back in a simple tie. But it was his armor that was truly different. It was unlike any Tywin had ever seen before in Westeros. Yet it was clearly well made. 'No…I have seen thistypeof armor before,' he thought, remembering back to the Iron Isles all those years ago. 'Nox wore something of similar make, though clearly from a different smith. Perhaps Nox has now also taught the North to make his people's clearly superior armor. Yet another worrying prospect.'
Dismounting from his horse, Tywin slowly walked to the center of the drawbridge with his brother Kevan and the Riverlands Septon coming along. Robb Stark did not have an escort, at least not a human one. Two dire wolves, one easily large enough to rival a horse and the other coming up to Robb's shoulder followed the young Stark out onto the bridge. The Septon's steps faltered, and even Kevan slowed. But Tywin did not. He knew these beasts. He knew the control the Starks had over them, either through their magic or through intense training. And he knew that the wolves would not do anything unless Stark told them to. And he knew that a son of Eddard Stark would not break the laws of parley.
"Lord Lannister," Robb Stark said, his eyes passing over each of them as the two wolves stopped a few paces behind him and sat down on their haunches. "You and those following you are a long way from home. I do hope you are not here for the same idiocy as the fools who came before you. As you can see, it did not end well for them."
Tywin didn't bother looking behind him, he kept his eyes on the young wolf before him. Eyes that were blue, twinged with a deep yellow. The eyes of the wolf, as so many called them. "They were fools to rush ahead," Tywin conceded. "But, nonetheless, they were here on orders of the King, King Joffrey Baratheon. As such, the faith of the old gods is considered a heretical religion, and its practice is hereby outlawed. The wildlings you have taken under your banner will hereby be banished back north of the Wall where they belong. As you have taken up arms against these orders, you are no longer recognized as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. You will be given safe passage to White Harbor, where upon you will hereby be exiled along with your foreign wife. Your brother, Bran, provided he forsakes the old gods and swears to the Seven, will be allowed to maintain his new position as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell."
Robb stayed quiet as he listened to the demands. Even after Tywin finished delivering the King's commands, the boy said nothing. He didn't laugh. He didn't outright throw the offer into the moat either. He just stood there, staring at the three of them. Finally, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes just as a light breeze passed them by. "Do you feel that, Lord Tywin? The chill running down your spine? The wind on your face? It's the old gods of the North speaking through the Force. And they're telling you to take your offer and shove it up your grandson's arse."
Crude. Very crude. Though he was willing to excuse the boy's mannerisms based on his lack of experience. "You may have the old gods, absentee that they are. And the Force. But the North stands alone, young Lord. Even your own grandfather and uncle have sided with the crown and the Faith in this manner. Though not without concessions, of course. One of which was my assurance that you would be provided safe passage from Westeros to find your own fortune in Essos."
This revelation made the young Stark pause. Which made Tywin want to grin. Clearly the young man did not know about his mother's family keeping with the Faith and the crown, instead of with him as he was no doubt counting on.
"It doesn't matter," Robb sighed, before his eyes turned wolf-yellow and hardened. "Should my uncle or grandfather take the field against me and mine, then they are my enemy."
Tywin was both impressed and disappointed. Impressed by the boy's resolve. And disappointed because this meant that there was no chance for a simple resolution. "You need not walk down this sinful path, young Lord," the Septon said, taking a step forward. "Renounce your sinful ways. Forgo the false old gods and accept the true gods of Westeros, the Seven-Who-Are-One. The gods of your mother and family. You may have the illusion of power in this life through the sinful ways of your father and the heathen sorcerer. But they are false promises that are fleeting. And will only lead to eternal torment in the Seven Hells."
Robb scoffed. "Is that all you have to threaten me with, Septon? Eternal torment if I do not conform to your ideals? Pathetic. If you have nothing better to add, then keep silent."
"Do not let your youth, pride, victory against this paltry few, and newfound power lead you to delusions, Lord Robb," Tywin pressed, trying one last effort to get the boy to submit and avoid a prolonged war. One which he was not entirely confident in should it stretch for any prolonged length of time. "The North stands alone in this matter. And you, despite having the safety of the Moat, are outnumbered at least four-to-one. And more of my men will be arriving with each passing day. Soon enough, we will easily be able to pass over the walls of the Moat and take the keeps."
"The only way you will be able to scale the walls of the Moat is if you do so over the corpses of your own men," Lord Robb countered. "Let me tell you something that Lord Nox told my father when his assistance was asked for to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion. Lord Nox told my father that Sith do not kill their enemies. They destroy them. Which is exactly what Lord Nox did. And he was only a single Sith at the time. Our numbers have only grown since that day. None of you will find victory here. Only blood and death. Even if you should manage to take this keep from me, you will only do so once every man and woman of the North gathered here lay dead. Each step you take into the North will be paid for with the blood of your men. Even if you manage to make any headway into the North, the summer years are now over. And when winter comes, I wonder what will kill you first. Northern steel? The cold? Or your own men's blades?"
"Shame," Lord Tywin sighed, "I had hoped you would see sense."
Lord Robb smirked. "I had hoped the same of you, Lord Tywin. I suppose we are both destined to leave this meeting disappointed."
"Indeed we are, Lord Robb," Tywin nodded. "May your gods or the Force grant you mercy. For my mercy has reached its limit."
Turning on his heel, Tywin turned his back on the young Lord of the North and marched back towards the camp. "Set the camp well out of range of the walls and towers," he commanded Kevan as they reached the line of their men. "We will be in for a siege until we can goad the boy into a sortie from the Moat. We rest till nightfall. Then collect a few hundred men to work under the cover of darkness to remove as much of the debris from the field as possible. Come morning, we assault the walls of Moat Cailin."
The Plaza of Pride was almost completely silent as Daenerys Targaryen walked into the yard with a small, covered cart being pulled by her four bloodriders while Ser Jorah stood dutifully at her side and Missendai kept pace just behind her with her head lowered. Despite the silence, the entire plaza was almost completely full of bodies. Thousands of Unsullied were standing in formation in the plaza in full armor with spears and shields at the ready while dozens of Masters carrying whips walked between their ranks. Looking around the plaza, she found Good Master Kraznys standing on a raised platform on the far end of the plaza holding a gold and jewel encrusted whip. All around the plaza along the edges were dozens of other Good Masters, both male and female, standing around watching the spectacle of what must be the largest single purchase of Unsullied in recent history.
Making a motion with her hand, her bloodriders stopped, leaving the cart in the middle of the plaza. Making her way to the cart, Dany opened the closed, covered cage and reached inside. She could feel the apprehension coming from her daughter, but she gently sent back feelings of reassurance and love. "It will be okay, my child," she whispered in Valyrian, ensuring none but her and her child could hear.
Her daughter was still unsettled, but Dany could feel the trust from her child. Even as she grabbed the chain that was attached to the collar on her neck, she felt quite a bit of love and trust from her. There was also fear, but the love and trust were far greater.
The chain rattled as Droga slowly emerged from her cage. The dog sized dragon spread her wings and stretched her neck. Her powerful wings beat slowly and steadily, allowing Droga to rise into the air until the chain connecting Dany to Drago was taught. Walking forward slowly with Droga keeping above her, Dany made her way towards Kraznys. The large Good Master was not staring at her. Instead, his eyes were focused solely and only on Droga hovering almost lazily in the sky above them.
Walking up the steps, Dany was almost within arm's reach of Kraznys when the Good Master held out his hand expectantly. Dany just stared at him blankly before holding out her free hand towards him. Kraznys understood her gesture and immediately held out the jeweled whip. Heart beating fast, and urging patience to her child, Dany extended her hand holding onto the chain connected to Droga as her other hand took the whip from the Good Master.
Krazyns all but dropped the whip as he had to use two hands to hold onto the chain as Droga immediately started tugging at the chain the moment Dany let go. Turning the whip over in her hands, Dany could hardly believe that such a small, almost inconsequential thing could give her command of the Unsullied.
"Is it done?" Dany asked in the common tongue, which Missandei immediately translated to Valyrian.
"It is done," Kraznys grunted, still trying to pull Droga down to the ground. "The dumb whore has the whip. The Unsullied are hers to command."
Not even waiting for Missandei to translate, Dany turned her back on the Good Master and approached the Unsullied. They were impressive. Straight formation. Weapons and shields at the ready. The perfect soldier. 'But is the cost of such perfection worth it?' Raising the whip, Dany called out to her army in perfect Valyrian. "Unsullied! Forward march!"
The Unsullied immediately snapped to attention as thousands began marching forward while keeping formation. "Stop!" she called out, and the Unsullied immediately stopped.
Behind her, she could hear Droga fighting against Krazyns as the Good Master was trying to pull her child down to the ground. "Tell the whore that the dragon won't come down!"
"Of course she won't come down," Dany said in Valyrian, drawing a sharp look from just about everyone nearby, though she did see a slight smile come across Missandei's face. No doubt her newest handmaiden had recognized that she understood the Valyrian tongue. "My child is no slave."
Krazyns was still staring at her dumbly, the chain in his hands rattling and jerking him about. "You speak Valyrian?!"
Dany wanted to laugh. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. The last daughter of Valyria. Of course I speak the language of my ancestors. Of my people." Still smirking, she turned her attention back to her army. "Unsullied! Kill the Good Masters who have bound you! Strike the chains from all slaves you see! Free those on the Walk of Punishment! But harm no child this day! This I command you!"
The Good Masters all around the Plaza broke out in a fervent cacophony of words as confusion ran rampant through them. But then two Unsullied broke ranks and stepped out from their formation. Their spears thrusting forward straight through the hearts of two Good Masters who were walking between the ranks. With their deaths, the plaza descended into anarchy as the Unsullied lowered their spears towards the Good Masters and marched forward. Not to be outdone, her bloodriders drew their arakhs and let out a war cry before rushing towards the fleeing Good Masters and their guards, eager for blood. Ser Jorah drew his own blade and dutifully put himself in front of Missendai, protecting Dany's newest handmaiden.
Hearing Krazyns's shout, Dany turned back around to the struggling Good Master. Krazyns was staring at her in fear. "No! We–We had a deal!"
"We did," Dany nodded, reaching up with her right hand and twisting her hand with a snap. The chain that was connecting Krazyns to Droga snapped as Dany broke one of the links with the Force. "Droga! Let lose your rage! Dracarys!"
Her daughter didn't hesitate. Serpentine head rearing back, Droga let out a stream of fire at the guards surrounding Krazyns, setting them all ablaze but leaving Krazyns alive before breaking off and raining down fire on the fleeing Good Masters and their guards. Reaching into the folds of her dress with her right hand, Dany slowly pulled out the hilt of her lightsaber. Krazyns, eyes wide and head moving around quickly trying to find a way to flee, finally saw her slowly approaching him.
"Fucking dragon whore!" The man screamed, drawing out a dagger from his own robes. "I'll fucking gut you!"
Waiting until he was running straight for her, Dany calmly ignited her lightsaber. The white blade humming to life before her. Krazyns's eyes widened at her blade's sudden appearance, and he tried to stop. But his fate was sealed as he couldn't stop his forward momentum towards her. Sidestepping, Dany calmly swiped horizontally, bisecting the charging Good Master with so much ease that it surprised her.
Whip in one hand and lightsaber in the other, Dany glared down hatefully at the fallen pieces of the 'Good Master'. "Khaleesi," Ser Jorah called out over the sound of battle. Missendai was still by his side, and surprisingly there were ten Unsullied with him, forming a protective ring around them all.
"Take command of the sacking of Astapor, Ser Jorah," Dany said, deactivating her lightsaber and looking skywards, searching for Droga. She could feel…elation from her daughter. The joy at flying free and breathing fire at those who had angered her mother so. "Spare the Good Masters who surrender. And then bring them to me once the city is under our control."
Ser Jorah nodded before turning and leaving the ring of Unsullied, two of them breaking away from the rest and joining her sworn sword as he headed towards the battle.
Listening to the sounds of battle all around her, Dany tilted her head back and let the sounds wash over her. 'Finally. Now I can begin.'
Standing atop the battlements of Moat Cailin, Robb watched with a small grin on his tired face as the blessed army of the Exalted March tucked tail and withdrew their assault against the mighty northern fortress for the fourth day straight. All around him, shouts of joy and mocking taunts echoed throughout the northern ranks as the southern fools abandoned ladders, ropes, shields, and anything that would slow them down as they tried to run out of the range of the archers on the walls.
Despite wanting to join in with his men, Robb kept his composure as he deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it onto his belt. His father had always taught his children that a Commander, and a Lord's, role does not end when the battle does. But rather, they become even more important. A Lord needed to keep their wits about them, even while everyone else around or under him may let loose their own.
Glancing down the length of the battlements, Robb's heart ached at the sight of the dead piled upon dead upon the walkways and leaning up against the parapet. While there were easily twice to thrice as many southern bodies as there were northern bodies. It was still a hard sight to see. The blood. The gore. The torn clothing, broken shields, and discarded weapons. The tales of war from his father, the skirmish against the wildlings in the North and the Battle of Hardhome. None had truly prepared him for the aftermath of a siege. Especially when you were the one defending.
"Another day won thanks to your leadership, Lord Stark. You do your father proud."
It was only because Robb had become used to the voice that he did not jump as Lord Howland Reed seemingly materialized out of thin air beside him. The Lord of Greywater Watch was one of the first to have arrived at the Moat after Robb and his vanguard. Although 'arrive' might be a bit of a misstatement. The Lord and his men just appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, within the walls of the Moat just before dawn on the day Tywin had arrived with his full force. And Robb was not ashamed to admit it, but Lord Reed and his men were perhaps the primary reason why the defense of the Moat was going as well as it had been.
The very first night, Tywin had sent out over a hundred workers under the cover of darkness to try and clear the debris that Robb had had scattered before the Moat. Unfortunately for those men, between the light of the full moon shining down and the keen eyes of the crannogmen, they did not make it far. Speared out across the battlements and up in the towers, the archers of the North easily picked off all workers that they could. And by the time dawn came that first day, less than a third of the debris had been cleared away. And the Southerners were down over a hundred men.
The first day was perhaps the easiest. The Southerners had no proper siege engines nor ladders. And between the moat separating the walls from the attackers and the debris still cluttering the field, the Southerners didn't even get a chance to reach the walls as the men and women of the North rained down arrows, stones, and whatever else they could. By the time night fell, the grounds before Moat Cailin were soaked in Southerner blood and the Northerners were in high spirits as not even a single man fell that day.
That night, Lord Reed had approached him with a plan. While most of Lord Reed's men were within the Moat, a good number were still in the swamp lands near the Southern forces. With Robb's consent, Lord Reed sent the orders out for the crannogmen to sabotage the Southerners in any manner they could. He wasn't sure just how effective their actions were. But by the time midday of the second day came around with no attack, Robb used a far-eye to observe the Southerner's camp. What he saw was several wagonloads of food being burned and fresh water being poured out with dozens of men in Southern livery, not Northern spies he'd been assured, were hung or whipped in the middle of the camp.
There were no attacks that day. Nor was there any attack the third. But the Southerners were not idle during that time, and neither were the people of the North. While the Southerners were rapidly building siege equipment, catapults, ladders, ropes with hooks. Robb was organizing the defenses on the walls. Organizing his men as best as possible. Their best arms on the walls with their archers up in the towers behind the walls.
The morning of the fourth day, this day, was the first true battle against the North and the Exalted March. Ladders and long wooden planks that were to be used as ramps were carried by the Southerners towards the edge of the moat before being righted and slammed against the parapets of the walls. All the while, the Southerners rained down arrows on the men on the wall with their archers while their catapults threw heavy boulders at the walls, tower, or men.
Robb was able to use the Force to break many of the ladders while other defenders were quick to take axes to the ladders and planks, dropping the men who were trying to climb them down into the moat below where lizard-lions eagerly waited for their meal. Others threw hooks and ropes to try and climb the walls. For a good part of the morning and till midday the defenders held out, keeping the Southerners off the walls. But as midday passed, the overwhelming numbers eventually started to get the better of them and they could no longer keep throwing off or breaking the planks, ladders and ropes and the fight moved from over the moat to atop the walls of Moat Cailin.
After the first attacker made it over the wall, the battle completely shifted as the men of the North were forced to pull their attention away from the ladders and onto the attackers now atop the walls. Robb, who was standing on the walls with his men, began cutting down every Southerner who crossed his path. His lightsaber cut through steel, leather, and flesh with impunity. While several Force pushes helped to clear the immediate area of both attackers and their climbing implements. But despite his efforts, he was still just one man and the Moat was a large keep. The attackers never made it past the wall. But the North had paid a high price to hold the line. And while the Southerners had lost all their ladders, ramps, and ropes that they'd spent days making, it would only be a matter of time before they could be remade and then they would attack once more in force. And with their numbers what they were, Robb did not know just how long he would be able to hold. Sure, the Southerners were losing at least three to four men for every northern life lost. But Tywin had arrived with roughly fifteen to twenty thousand men compared to Robbs mere three thousand. And even with fresh men arriving daily from all over the North, the numbers were not in his favor. But, as long as he still drew breath, no Southerner would step foot on northern soil.
"Thank you, Lord Reed," Robb said, wiping sweat and grime and worse from his hands and face. "Though you deserve as much praise as I. Without you and your men…these past few days would have been far different."
Lord Reed merely shook his head, "perhaps my Lord. My men may know these lands and we have more than a few tricks up our sleeves. But if not for your skills, leadership, and ability with the Force, then the battle would not have gone in our favor so easily. I am just thankful that my children, Jojen and Meera, have finally decided to head to Winterfell to learn more about their gifts. While Meera has not shown much, if any, inclination in the power of our ancestors. Jojen has shown quite an aptitude for greensight. Though why he has always rejected the idea of going to Winterfell and learning from Nox is beyond me. But he always countered that it wasn't time yet. I don't know why he decided to venture now with Nox marching to war. But I hope that he will still be able to learn something from your brother and the other Apprentices and Acolytes in Winterfell."
"I know that Bran will enjoy the company," Robb nodded before taking a step, only to falter and slip slightly.
"You need rest, my lord," Lord Reed stated. "You have been pushing yourself harder than any other man here. And don't think that the men haven't realized that you barely sleep. An hour or two of meditation does not account for a full night's rest. As I am sure Lady Stark has no doubt reminded you time and time again over the past few days."
"Aye, she has," Robb nodded, feeling the wariness of the past few days catching up to him. "But the battlements need to be cleared and the wounded seen too. The dead need to –"
"All things that I, or any other lord can oversee, my lord," Lord Reed countered. "Forgive me for saying, my lord, but until Lord Nox and your brother arrive with reinforcements, you are perhaps our greatest asset against the Exalted March. We need you at your best, my Lord. Please, rest. Let others handle cleaning up the aftermath of the battle."
Robb wanted to stay, but his body was betraying him. Lord Reed was right. He had hardly slept at all the past few days, and what sleep he did get was in the form of meditative rest rather than actual sleep, as Lord Reed had stated. Talisa had been hounding him to sleep for days. And when he countered that Lord Nox could go for days, sennights without rest, she promptly slapped him upside the head and reminded him that he was not Lord Nox.
Giving a grateful nod to Lord Reed, he turned to make his way back to the Children's Tower where he had taken up residency. But his feet stopped as he felt something. A cold, but not the cold of winter. But a cold that chilled him to the bone. A cold he recognized all too clearly. Turning his eyes north, Robb could feel the cold almost intensify as the clouds north of the Moat darkened. Smirking, Robb turned his eyes back to the south where Tywin Lannister's camp lay. "Time's up, Tywin Lannister."
Glaring hatefully at the ancient Northern fortress, Tywin Lannister turned on his heel and hastily made his way back to his command tent. Unwilling to watch as the fools under his command broke ranks and retreated safely out of the range of the archers manning the Moat. He knew that once even partially garrisoned that Moat Cailin could take easily a moon's turn or more than that to capture. But he had still held onto a fool's hope that he could be able to crack the ancient fortification given he had easily five times the numbers and that it was the untested Robb Stark who was leading the defense. But the boy had proven his mettle.
Despite raiding the land around Moat Cailin and even giving the boy a prime opportunity to kill seemingly unguarded workers in the field, Robb Stark did not leave the safety of Moat Cailin's strong walls. After failing to get the boy to charge them, Tywin had ordered everyone to begin preparation for the siege. Only to quickly discover that several wagons loaded with fresh water and food stuffs had been poisoned. No doubt by the crannogmen that called the swamps around the Moat their home. He'd ordered the men who'd been tasked with guarding the wagons flogged and hanged. But the damage had been done. They'd lost a good portion of their food and water. Which meant that he would have to divert men away from the siege to forage food and collect water.
For the next two days he'd ordered the defenses of the Moat to be probed, looking for any sign of weakness that he could exploit. But despite its age, Moat Cailin was just as strong now as it had been for centuries when it repelled one invasion after another. After failing to find any obvious weakness, Tywin had decided to rush the walls using what ladders, ropes, and siege engines they could make. Counting on their numbers being able to overwhelm the defenders.
The siege started at first light. And while it took some time for his men to finally reach the tops of the walls, they were able to do so just after midday. But the foothold did not last for long. Ropes were cut. Ladders broken. Men thrown off the walls as arrows and stones rained down on the field, each one felling a man. But more than that, he saw firsthand the power Robb Stark commanded. Men lifted into the air and thrown dozens of paces to their deaths. Ladders flipped or shattered seemingly by nothing. By the time dusk was beginning to settle on the land and Tywin called for the retreat, almost all of the scaling equipment they'd spent days building were destroyed. And despite hammering Moat Cailin with catapults all day, the fortress didn't even seem damaged in the slightest. The gate still stood strong. The moat was now filled with rotting corpses. And the walls were barely even scratched. In other words, it was a rout against his own forces. Something he was not pleased with in the slightest.
Entering the command tent, he found the various Lords gathered around the map of Moat Cailin, each furiously pointing out different points of the Moat and the surrounding land. "We need to work on rebuilding our siege equipment and focus the catapults on the gatehouse."
"The gatehouse is the strongest part of Moat Cailin. We hammered the gate all day with every heavy stone we could find, and we might as well have been throwing flowers at it. No, we need to build cover for our men to fill in the moat surrounding the fortress so our ladders and ropes will have better luck during our next assault."
"We fill in the moat, and we chase out all the fucking lizard-lions that are feasting on our fallen," another lord scoffed. "We need to pull back, rebuild our ladders and maybe even get a tower or two constructed before we assault again. And as we do, we send out raiding parties into the swamp to burn out the crannogmen before they poison more of our supplies."
"You want to ride into the swamps? Are you fucking crazy? Everything that walks, slithers, or flies through the swamps can kill you. You want to throw the lives of your men away, feel free. But I will not be sending my men into those swamps."
"You fucking craven! I should have you sent to the Inquisitors for your lack of faith in our righteous cause!"
Ignoring the bickering lords in the tent, Tywin turned his back on them and looked out towards the imposing form of Moat Cailin to the north. They were running out of time. Each day they failed to take the Moat was another day that Robb Stark had to gather more and more men to reinforce his position. Even with the most recent message he'd receive from Jamie, stating that his son has claimed Raventree Hall and had collected the levies from the Westerlands and was now on the march towards the Twins, he knew that their position was not the greatest. Perhaps he could change his strategy. Hold the Neck by continuing the assault on the Moat then send word to Lannisport, the Arbor, Gulltown, and King's Landing to prepare what ships they had to circumvent the Neck and attack the far reaches of the North while the bulk of their armies were held up against Tywin.
Just as he was mentally preparing the ravens in his head, he felt it. A chill that swept through him and went to his very bones. Yet there was no wind. No snow. No reason for the sudden chill. Just the sudden sensation of cold. And something else he had rarely ever felt. Fear. Turning his eyes from the Moat to the land beyond, he took careful note of the dark clouds hanging over the North. Dark clouds that were slowly moving south. Against the wind.
"My lord?"
Glancing towards his brother Kevan, Tywin kept his face impassive despite his heart hammering in his chest. "Do you feel that chill, Kevan?"
His brother turned his eyes northward. There was no real need for Kevan to answer. Tywin could see it in his brother's face that he could. "Yes. It's…unnatural. But I've felt this before…"
"On Pyke," Tywin answered for his brother. "Just before the Sorcerer brought down the walls of the Pyke by himself."
Turning his back to the north, Tywin marched back to the lords who were squabbling about what their next plan of action would be. "Spread the word that we will be breaking camp and moving south," Tywin commanded, pointing to a spot on the Kingsroad almost even with the Twins. "We will reform our camp here on this hill. We will then send a runner to the Twins commanding Jamie to send another five thousand men to replenish our numbers. Jamie will then reinforce the Twins to prepare for a siege."
The other lords were clearly taken aback by his abrupt change in strategy. "My lord, with respect, we outnumber the North easily four to one and more are arriving each day. Soon we will have enough to swarm the Nor—"
"We are out of time," Tywin countered sharply. Holding out his hand and showing the bumps forming on his hand. "You see this? Each of you feel it. That cold, the chill. The fear. Any of you who were on Pyke during the Greyjoy's rebellion will recognize it. It is the same sensation as when the Sorcerer tore down the walls of the Pyke with his power. Which means that we are out of time. The Sorcerer has come. And he no doubt has the full strength of the North at his back."
Almost all the bluster and confidence that once filled the Lords of the South disappeared faster than a cup of water in the middle of Dorne. For all their talk of righteous cause, none were truly looking forward to facing the Sorcerer himself on the field of battle. "Would…Would it not be better to reinforce our position here and keep the Sorcerer held up at Moat Cailin?"
Tywin wanted to sigh. They were having difficulty enough taking Moat Cailin having the numbers and the experience on their side. "Moat Cailin is perhaps one of the most impenetrable fortresses in Westeros. And I have no intention of facing the Sorcerer while he is holding Moat Cailin with a full contingent of men. No. Our only chance of taking the Moat is now gone as long as the Sorcerer is with the North. We will pull back and choose our battlefields carefully. One that will give us the advantage. Because we will need every advantage we can gain against the likes of Nox. Now spread the word to break camp. I want us to march south before first light. And I want a runner on his way to the Twins before the sun sets."