Chapter 110: Arrival at Moat Cailin

"I want to know what's going on over at Moat Cailin." After some casual conversation, Lynd shifted the topic to the matter at hand. "Also, when we set off, Lord Howland, I hope you can send a guide. After all, these swamps are incredibly difficult to navigate, and ordinary people can easily get lost here."

"Ser Lynd, rest assured. I will personally serve as your guide and lead my people into this battle," Howland replied resolutely, before providing a concise overview of the current situation at Moat Cailin.

Moat Cailin, although a possession of House Stark, had always been garrisoned by the Crannogmen of House Reed. Renowned for their exceptional skill as archers, the Crannogmen, along with the three arrow towers of Moat Cailin, had long been able to repel most invading forces.

However, the sudden onslaught of the extreme cold disaster had left Howland with no time to deliver winter supplies to Moat Cailin. The freezing temperatures engulfed the entire Land of the Cranogmen, turning the terrain into a frostbitten wasteland and rendering travel nearly impossible.

Lacking proper supplies to withstand the cold, the garrison stationed at Moat Cailin resorted to dismantling parts of the castle walls for firewood to stave off the chill. Even with such desperate measures, many soldiers succumbed to the freezing temperatures.

When the harsh weather finally subsided, Greywater Watch itself had suffered severe losses, leaving Howland and his people with little capacity to assist Moat Cailin directly. Only minimal supplies were sent during this time.

As Greywater Watch began to recover, rebellion broke out in the Iron Islands. Soon after, news reached Howland from defeated soldiers fleeing Moat Cailin: Victarion Greyjoy had captured the stronghold.

The capture, as the survivors recounted, had been straightforward. The Ironborn simply charged through a gap in the northern city wall that had yet to be repaired. The undermanned garrison, reduced to only a few dozen soldiers, stood no chance. Just two men survived the onslaught and managed to return to Greywater Watch to deliver the grim report.

After hearing of Moat Cailin's fall, Howland personally visited the site to assess the situation. He found that the Ironborn had already repaired the castle walls and stationed approximately 3,000 soldiers within the stronghold.

Seeking solutions, Howland journeyed north to meet Eddard Stark, commander of the northern allied forces, in hopes of coordinating an effort to reclaim Moat Cailin. Yet even with combined forces, the results were disheartening. Multiple assaults were launched, resulting in over a thousand casualties without so much as breaching the castle walls.

Although the swamp near Moat Cailin offered a potential bypass for small groups, its hard patches of land could not sustain the passage of a larger force. Too many feet would quickly turn the ground into unstable mud, which would soon revert to its natural swampy state.

To make matters worse, the aftermath of the extreme cold and natural disasters had decimated much of the swamp's wildlife. Starving lizard-lions now roamed the area in search of food. While Howland could manage to guide one or two individuals through the treacherous terrain, leading an entire army would amount to delivering them straight into the lizard-lions' jaws.

As Howland was leaving, he overheard someone mention White Harbor inside the barracks. This made him consider that if Eddard Stark found himself unable to pass through Moat Cailin, he might opt to head to White Harbor instead. There, part of the army could embark on ships bound for King's Landing, while the rest awaited the ships' return.

After listening to Howland's briefing, Lynd couldn't help but frown. His primary objective in coming here was to secure Moat Cailin, ensuring that The North's combined forces could march south unhindered. Once the path was open, he intended to borrow troops from the northern coalition to march on Seagard, lift the siege, and possibly liberate other castles occupied by the Ironborn.

However, if Howland's assumption was correct, and the northern forces decided to sail from White Harbor, this would complicate matters for Lynd. In such a scenario, the responsibility of leading the remaining 2,000-odd men would fall squarely on him. Though not an impossible task, it would come at a cost—his cavalry patrols, meticulously trained to serve as the backbone of his future territorial garrison, would inevitably sustain heavy losses. This was an outcome he was determined to avoid.

Lynd tentatively asked, "In other words, the allied forces from The North have already reached White Harbor?"

"I don't think so," Howland replied, offering some reassurance. "It's only been a few days since I met with Lord Eddard. Knowing his character, he's likely still considering an attack on Moat Cailin. Taking the route through White Harbor would cost valuable time—it might take one to two months to fully transport the coalition to King's Landing. Besides, leaving the 3,000 Ironborn at Moat Cailin unchecked would make the army uneasy about marching south. You see, the coalition is made up of elite troops drawn from across The North, leaving it somewhat vulnerable. If those 3,000 Ironborn were to exploit the army's absence to raid the northern castles, the consequences would be disastrous."

Lynd listened carefully to Howland's analysis, nodding slightly. He couldn't help but sigh inwardly. Howland's experience from the Usurper's War had clearly honed his strategic thinking—far surpassing that of some of the nobles Lynd had encountered.

Lynd then asked Howland for a detailed account of Moat Cailin's internal layout, especially the placement of arrow towers and other key defensive features. As Howland spoke, Lynd began formulating a plan to capture the fortress.

Just as Lynd was preparing to conclude their conversation and return to camp for some rest while leaving Howland to make battle preparations, Nymeria, who had remained silent up until then, suddenly spoke. "Lord Howland, may I ask you a question?"

Howland paused for a moment, then nodded. "Of course, my lady. Please ask."

Nymeria's question came bluntly. "What really happened at the Tower of Joy all those years ago? How did Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, die? Did he truly die from a sneak attack by you and Lord Eddard Stark?"

Nymeria's question left not only Howland stunned but Lynd as well. He hadn't anticipated Nymeria bringing up such a topic, and her tone bordered on accusatory.

Howland remained silent for a moment before answering. "Yes, Lord Arthur Dayne died from my sneak attack." With that, he stood, bowed respectfully to both of them, and said, "I apologize, but I must go arrange the manpower now."

Without waiting for a response, he left the tower house.

Lynd and Nymeria, having nothing further to discuss, also departed the warm confines of the tower and returned to their respective camps outside.

"Why did you suddenly ask Howland that question?" In the tent they had set up, Lynd asked Nymeria while removing his armor, gesturing for Jon to place it on the rack.

"I just wanted to know the truth," Nymeria replied, as her attendant helped her out of her own armor. She sighed softly and added, "When I was a child, Ser Arthur Dayne taught me swordsmanship for a time. He was my first instructor. Sadly, I have no talent for it."

Lynd didn't respond immediately. Instead, he waved his hand, signaling everyone to leave. As the tent emptied, he approached Nymeria and embraced her. Or rather, she leaned into him, allowing herself to rest in his arms, her demeanor tinged with melancholy.

Lynd stayed at Greywater Watch for two days. Once everyone had sufficiently recovered, they resumed their march toward Moat Cailin. Howland joined them, leading 300 Crannogmen archers gathered from the various tribes in The Neck. These archers replaced Lynd's usual scout team, taking over reconnaissance duties and navigating the army through the swampy terrain.

Thanks to the Crannogmen's guidance, the army avoided the soft mud that had previously bogged them down, keeping to firm ground. Horses no longer sank into the muck, allowing for faster travel. Though Howland had warned that it was safer to traverse the swamps on foot, doing so would have added several days to their journey. Riding on firmer ground, they arrived outside Moat Cailin in just two and a half days.

As they approached, the Ironborn defenders stationed in Moat Cailin spotted the advancing forces and quickly sounded the alarm. The horns echoed across the marshes, and the defenders rushed into combat readiness.

"My lord, there are people coming from the south," an Ironborn guard reported breathlessly. He had sprinted to the castle's central hall to inform Harren Botley, who was strapping on his armor.

"So what if they are? We've been expecting them," Harren replied curtly, frowning at the interruption.

The situation at Moat Cailin, however, was not what Lynd's forces anticipated. Victarion Greyjoy had departed days earlier, taking a ship back to Pyke to join the Ironborn forces battling the Iron Throne. Harren Botley now commanded the defense of the castle.

"But, my lord," the guard pressed, "it's that banner. The one with the red background and the long sword. The one you told us to watch for."

Harren's face paled. He froze momentarily before grabbing his weapon, not bothering to don his leather armor, and sprinted to the castle walls. From there, he gazed southward toward the causeway. Despite the faint mist hanging over the swamp, the banner's distinct shape and colors were unmistakable.

"Damn it! Why is he here?" Harren cursed under his breath, gripping the battlements tightly.

Over the past year, Harren had listened countless times as Old Maron, an elder of House Botley, recounted the tale of Euron Greyjoy's ill-fated raid on Oldtown. According to Maron, a single knight had decimated Euron's forces, killing his men and horses before blinding Euron in one eye.

Initially, many dismissed the story as a fabrication—an excuse Euron concocted to justify his abrupt change of looting plans. Maron, ever loyal to Euron, had supported the narrative, despite its implausibility. However, as the Faith of the Seven began to declare Lynd Tarran as a warrior blessed by the gods—a chosen knight—belief in the tale grew. Even skeptics began to think that while the knight might not have been as unstoppable as Euron claimed, he was still a formidable foe.

What solidified this perception was an incident involving Euron himself. During a feast, a drunken noble from the Iron Islands mocked Euron for his supposed defeat at the hands of Lynd. In a fit of rage, Euron killed the man on the spot, brutally dismembering him in front of the gathered lords. Though Euron's actions were terrifying, those present could detect a trace of fear behind his fury. That fear was directed at Lynd Tarran—the so-called Chosen One who had taken Euron's eye.

From that moment on, the lords and nobles of the Iron Islands regarded Lynd as a significant threat. They committed his distinguishing features to memory: the red banner with the long sword emblazoned on it, accompanied by the image of a giant beast.

When Harren was assigned to Moat Cailin by Victarion, he hadn't expected to encounter Lynd. After all, Lynd was stationed in The Reach, far removed from The North. At the time, the war's focus lay on the Westerlands and the Iron Islands. A knight as formidable as Lynd belonged on the frontlines, not at Moat Cailin.

Now, Harren realized how wrong he had been. Lynd had not only appeared in Moat Cailin but had arrived with a substantial army. Though it still seemed smaller than his own force, the quality of the soldiers' armor and weapons suggested otherwise. Harren's troops, clad primarily in leather armor, would struggle to hold their ground in a direct confrontation.

"Increase the number of guards on the arrow towers and redeploy the men from the northern castle wall. Leave only a hundred there and move the rest south," Harren commanded, his tone sharp and precise.

Following his orders, the Ironborn within Moat Cailin swiftly shifted their defensive positions. The archers stationed in the three arrow towers were reinforced, with over 200 assigned to each. Bundles of arrows were strategically stacked at garrison points, ensuring the archers could resupply quickly.

Outside the castle, Lynd refrained from launching an immediate assault. Instead, he instructed Howland to find an open area for the army to set up camp, signaling a long-term strategy. In full view of Moat Cailin's defenders, Lynd's men began clearing the Lizard-lions in the swamp and driving stakes into the wetland, suggesting they intended to construct a plank road around the fortress.

Harren observed Lynd's actions from the castle walls and allowed himself a moment of relief. The lack of an immediate attack was a small victory. As for the plank road, he had no plans to interfere. In Harren's eyes, it was advantageous if Lynd succeeded in repairing the road; when the combined northern forces moved south, Harren could abandon the defense of Moat Cailin and strike. Leading the Ironborn to raid the depleted North, perhaps even sacking White Harbor, would make this campaign worthwhile.

After watching for some time, Harren saw that the plank road now extended a dozen meters into the swamp. Deciding there was little more to see, he turned to the captain of the Ironborn guarding the walls. "Stay alert, and inform me immediately if anything happens." With that, he retreated to his chamber, where a fire blazed warmly.

Once Harren departed, the guards on the walls, noticing the inactivity of Lynd's forces, began to relax. Only a dozen men remained stationed atop the walls, while the rest huddled near bonfires below to fend off the cold.

In the castle's three arrow towers, the tense vigilance of the archers gave way to lethargy. Only one or two remained at the loopholes, while the others withdrew to the warmth of the tower interiors.

The evening dragged on, and darkness soon enveloped the castle. The Ironborn lit several piles of firewood outside the walls with flaming arrows, illuminating the surrounding swamp to ensure they would spot any movement.

From the walls, the campfires of Lynd's army were visible in the distance, their glow revealing the silhouettes of soldiers moving within the camp. Confident they had the enemy's every action under surveillance, the guards atop Moat Cailin's walls eased their vigilance even further.