The Prince That Was Promised (Old Version)

Chapter 18 : The Battle for Moat Cailin

Howland Reed

Moat Cailin – in the Northern Plains

Howland looked at the fort, the ancient fort that held back the enemies of the North, and now it was held by those enemies. The Boltons had destroyed the unity that the North had held over the centuries. Sure, the Starks had their rebellions, but absolute betrayal at the Red Wedding had shaken the foundations that held the North together.

Although Robb Stark was a great commander, the young man didn't have the time to learn to see the bigger picture. Ned had the time to learn with the North truly secure, and Jon Arryn to guide in his campaign. Yet Robb had to fight to first liberate his father after Ned's death, to secure a Kingdom in the middle of a war.

It had been too much, the Young Wolf made mistakes, followed his father's lessons too much and had fallen to them. Orys on the other hand, was the more pragmatic version of Ned, and had ruthlessness to him that not even Ned had. That was the blood of the Kings of Winter and blood of the Dragon coming together into one. Yet Howland didn't think that was all of it, the continued transforming of Jon's eyes to a bright red like his direwolf likely also was part of it. Jon had likely partly survived in his direwolf for those four moons he lay dead, frozen in the ice cell.

The Watch and the wildlings too much in disarray to decide the next Lord Commander, only for Stannis to arrive, and have to make a decision. Alliser Thorne had been a close runner, yet the loyalty the remaining Watch had, they had chosen Edd. Not much later Stannis had ordered Orys's body burned together with dragon eggs of Aemon, and Bloodraven. As well as his own daughter, he still shivered, yet part of him knew he had done something similar. His own boy had told him he would not see him again. Yet he still let him go, after telling it was for the greater good. Howland sighed as he marched on.

The northern part of the Moat didn't hold much of a defense. Only a newly standing palisade, and a wooden keep built during the time of Cregan Stark, the Wolfhold. On the southern side was something that still held the true power. Three towers, built in a time long forgotten, and still sinking even now. Yet those were enough to hold back southern invaders.

He looked at Lord Simon Broggs, one of his closest friends and bannermen. "It's time, let's liberate the Moat for our king." Simon gave him a grin, and ignited his flaming arrow. They were good things for signals, and igniting houses, wagons, but in the battlefield flaming arrows were only a pain in the organisation.

Simon then stretched and loosed the arrow, and it shot into the morning sky.
He glanced at Lord Simon Broggs, his bannerman and close friend.
"It's time. Let's liberate the Moat for our king."
Simon grinned, nocked a flaming arrow, and drew. Flaming arrows were better suited for signals or igniting wagons than for real battle, but they served their purpose. Simon loosed, and the fiery shaft arced into the dawn sky.

At that signal, Howland mounted his horse and stepped forward.
"Men of the North! Today we strike another blow against our enemies! Today we take back the shield that has guarded us for a thousand generations!" he roared.

Two thousand voices thundered in reply: "For the North! For the Starks! Death to the Boltons!" At that moment a shieldwall formed, commanded by Loden Liddle, the big man with the big black beard.

The shieldwall moved forward, spears jutting, axes lifted, swords flashing where men could afford them. Ahead, torches flared along the palisade as the Boltons scrambled into position. They expected the assault to fall against the main palisade. They were wrong.

To the south-east, Howland's cousin Edgar Reed and Lord Duthard Fenn would have advanced when they saw the arrow with four hundred archers of the Neck, creeping through marsh and brush. They would strike at the flanks, turning the Bolton defenses into a slaughterhouse.