Game Of Thrones... With A Twist

A Clash of Kings - Chapter 17

<Sunset, The Gatehouse Tower, Moat Cailin, The Neck, The North...>

A large and powerful man bearing a cloak made of golden cloth with nine layers sewn into the sigil of the Kraken of  House Greyjoy on his back looked south with his spyglass, his eye warily on the Kingsroad to the south, where he could see the banners of House Stark, far out of reach of their archers but still marching northward... slowly.

"Something's not right." The Lord Captain of the Greyjoy Fleet stated grimly, lowering his spyglass as he looked to the massive army from the south.

"Captain?" Asked one Ralf Kenning, one of Victarion's more loyal followers who stood next to the mighty Greyjoy with a confused expression on his face.

"We stand between them and their homeland. We're raiding their precious wasteland, we've imprisoned their children and the day my brother recalls us, we'll be taking their women as our saltwives for fuck's sake!" Victarion growled, slight frustration seeping into his voice.

Ralf still didn't see the problem as he asked, "Aren't those points in our favor, Lord Captain?"

"Are you an idiot? They should be charging forward to kill us, not taking their sweet time marching this slowly." The sane Greyjoy brother stated he looked through his spyglass once more, spying the northern army seemingly stop for the night.

Which was not what the Ironborn had been expecting.

To skin the Young Wolf, Balon had gambled that Moat Cailin would be lightly defended, hence how their invasion had been planned... and taking Moat Cailin was to force Robb Stark to slaughter his armies against the traditional northern defenses as well as keep the Young Wolf trapped in the south to be slaughtered by Lannister swords.

The somewhat lack of pace from the Northern army compared to the urgency of this tense situation was not normal of worried sons, fathers, husbands, or brothers.

And that left Victarion very unsettled.

"Set more watches on the ramparts, eyes trained south. If even a single horse rides north, I want everyone awake and prepared for battle." Victarion ordered.

"But ain't the Bog-Devils gonna deal with 'em?" Ralf asked, looking between his captain and the festering swamplands that lay directly south.

Victarion gave Ralf a deadpan stare as he spoke, "Are you sure you're not an idiot? The Reeds and their Bog-Devils swear fealty to Winterfell. They won't do anything to fellow Northerners. Us on the other hand... well, next time you ask a stupid question of me again, you'll find out for yourself."

With that, the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet left towards his commandeered (nautical term) quarters.

He'd had enough of Ralf Kenning's stupidity for one day... along with the shenanigans and stupidity of the rest of the Iron Fleet.

Honestly, how stupid could they be to think that practicing sword-swallowing and fire dancing on a wooden ship in the middle of the sea was ever a good idea?

Victarion's tactics and defenses to the south, where the majority of the Northern Army lay in wait, was a wise decision.

He had even posted some sentries to watch the North, just to ensure that there would be no surprises... but after Theon's 'victory' at Winterfell, he had neglected many of those defenses.

Common sense said that the remaining Northerners north of the Neck would be to preoccupied with reclaiming Winterfell.

He just hadn't taken into account the true knowledge that the 'Bog-Devils' had of their terrain.