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KoW - Chapter 45
🕑 Added 2025-03-18 17:48:46 +0000 UTCChapter 45
Theon Greyjoy
The ability to strategize is an extremely important condition to winning a war, to that end, naval warfare offers additional challenges in that regard.
That issue becomes even more dire when it comes to fighting in enemy territory.
A smart or cunning admiral would try to locate hidden coves or ridges, to gather his commanders in order to strategize and plan. But his uncle Victarion was different, he thought it better to waste lives and resources in order to claim Feastfires.
Feastfires was a castle situated on the tip of the peninsula extending west off Lannisport and Casterly Rock. It had a small port, enough for small cogs and longships, but its lands were neither fertile nor rich, and its smallfolk and lordly house had already escaped to Lannisport, leaving only a small garrison of boneheaded men who didn’t care enough for their lives.
Men who were well equipped, had enough food for months, and hid behind castle walls.
The castle was also completely useless as a supply point because a better alternative already existed in Fair Isle.
More than a hundred men were lost in that endeavor, all for Victarion’s abject pleasure to sit his ass on a hall instead of a ship, and no one dared to speak against him.
Theon didn’t either, he just didn’t care enough to do so.
He didn’t even want to be here, he’d rather stay in Faircastle and handle things there, keep things simple and routine to coast through this war.
But his sister and Dagmer disagreed, he was apparently too canny to be wasted somewhere like that.
“You’re a Greyjoy.” They said, as if that explained anything.
He couldn’t help but feel somewhat amused at the prospect, though. The old him would have jumped at the chance to get that sort of recognition, his plan was behind the capture of a significant strategic resource, and he’d received credit from that fact.
But in hindsight, his old SELF wouldn’t even had the chance to come up with a plan, too engrossed in his own inferiority issues to think through his emotions.
“Anything to add?” His sister asked him, breaking him out of his stupor.
It was only now that he realized where he sat. At the edge of the castle’s hall with his sister in tow.
“About what?” He responds.
His sister sighs. “Father has ordered uncle Victarion to take Lannisport at all costs, but with the Lannister-Tyrell alliance, I think that would be a foolish decision.”
Theon thought about it for a moment, considering their situation.
Frankly, he could see why his father came to that decision.
Their attack on the Westerlands went better than expected, not only were their numbers depleted from their loss to Robb, but their side was able to quickly secure portside positions like Fair Isle, and so their logistics are assured. They had the greater navy and the more skilled sailors, for all intents and purposes, as long as the Ironborn kept to the sea, they would win.
But that is precisely the problem, the reason they had such an easy time until now is due to the Lannisters knowledge of their weakness at sea, the moment they realized their situation, their planned strategy was to fortify and defend.
The northern/Riverlander army, despite their overwhelming victory, left the western kingdom relatively intact. Half the Lannisport navy and a great deal of grain and gold was lost in negotiations, let alone the many more tributes and spoils gathered by their men, but apart from that initial battle, no more were held in this kingdom apart from the taking of the Golden Tooth.
But the Westerlands are known as the richest in the seven kingdoms for a reason, and so their lords gathered the bulk of their riches, food, and fighting men in Lannisport, while the city’s young, old, and frail, were sent to Casterly Rock, where their safety was guaranteed.
Whatever was left of their navy was bunched up tightly next to the city’s shore, those sent out to scout were small ships with an abundance of rowers, capable of keeping pace with their longships, and so cannot be snuck upon.
The ironborn cannot attack at land, because frankly, they suck at it, so their only choice is to simply wait them out. But, knowing that they have enough food to last more than a year, that is not feasible.
“I say we move on. Lannisport won’t fall, not at our hands.” Theon answers. “We should move south at the coast, take any place with a port, Tarbeck Hall, Crakehall with its lumber, Old Oak, even the Shield Islands. Take their men as thralls, take their lumbers back, and build more ships, recruit more men, increase the size of our fleet, then rinse and repeat.”
“Slow and steady, is it?” Asha muses. “That could work, were we quick enough, our fleet would grow large enough to be uncontested, we’d run roughshod through the seas.” She shakes her head. “But father wants Lannisport, he thinks it should be as easy as last time, where Euron burned the whole western fleet, and sadly, many agree.”
“He thinks he needs it to cement his rule.”
Asha nods. “That means we have a grueling battle on our hands.
--*
Theon stood at the prow of the longboat. He barely felt the cold spray on his face. Lannisport’s walls glowed with fire. Flaming stones arced through the dark sky. He heard the screams of men but felt nothing. Everything seemed distant, as if in a dream.
A fiery rock flew close, and Theon ducked automatically. The roar of impact shook the boat. One of his archers froze, mouth hanging open in terror. Theon slapped the man’s shoulder without thinking. He didn’t speak, only stared ahead.
The waves tossed the boat onto the rocky shore. Theon staggered off, bow in hand. His feet sank into wet sand. The clang of steel and the crack of catapults blurred together. He saw fire in every direction, yet he felt oddly numb.
Spotting a mound of rocks, Theon gestured for the archers to follow. They stumbled forward, bodies low, eyes wide. Huddling behind the stones, they waited for the next barrage. Theon’s heart pounded, but he could hardly feel it. Everything was chaos, but in his mind, it was only silence.
Theon led his archers up the rocky path, heading for a cliff outcrop. From there, they could rain arrows on the defenders below and hide behind the rocks when under fire. His mind felt dull and distant, but he kept moving.
As they neared the outcrop, a group of Lannister guards emerged, swords drawn. Theon felt his heart tighten, but there was no time to think. A sudden clash followed, metal striking metal. One guard lunged at Theon, knocking him to the ground. The impact jolted him, yet he hardly felt the pain.
They rolled over the dirt, each struggling to gain control. Theon tried to wrap his hands around the guard’s throat, but the man fought wildly. Gasping, Theon fumbled for an arrow from his quiver. He gripped the arrowhead like a dagger and drove it into the guard’s side. Blood spattered across Theon’s fingers as the guard went limp, choking on his last breath.
Theon stood up, laboring breaths escaping his lips.
Grabbing his bow, he forces himself to notch an arrow and pull. The arrow lodges itself on another guard’s skull before he could stab one of his archers, and as he managed to put some distance between himself and the enemy, he was able -with the help of some skilled men- to get rid of the rest.
He wiped the blood of the side of his face, looking around to assess the situation. More men than the entire number of the dead enemies perished, but enough men survived to serve their purpose.
“Send the signal. Get ready to cover for our men.” Theon orders.
One of his archers lights an arrow on fire, and shoots it upward.
The signal was what their side needed, as the remaining Ironborn men -those who managed to get to shore, at least- swiftly charged toward the wall with a great roar. At their head, a large figure draped in heavy armor and a shield emblazoned with a golden kraken surged forward.
“Ready!” Theon screams out, holding a hand up.
The surrounding men swiftly move into positions, arrows ready and strings taut, they would bring their men enough reprieve in order to reach the walls.
That was basically their whole plan.
For all the ironborn’s tendency to look down on “cowardly” methods of war, they do allow, and sometimes encourage, the existence of archers quite easily.
Their doctrine basically amounts to get as many men on a longship and get close enough to a ship to board it. The issue is that without any sort of covering fire your men are more pincushions than humans by the time they reach the enemy, so a need for archers was created.
So that’s it, Victarion’s strategy is simply to consider the city as a giant ass ship, and use the exact same tactic writ large to storm it.
So, moments before their vanguard reached the enemy’s range, Theon opened their volley by shooting one of his own, luckily, he hit a crossbowman on the neck, who swiftly fell down from the battlement, the crunching of his bones echoing all the way to their side.
The others swiftly follow, their barrage, coming from a favorable vantage point, forced the defenders to duck and hide.
“Separate into teams of twos, when the others nock, you shoot!” Theon shouts. “Do not let them breathe for a second!”
Their rhythm was awkward at first, but they slowly managed to keep a constant hail of arrows going, they didn’t cause a lot casualties, but an enemy hiding from a fusillade is one that isn’t throwing rocks at their climbers.
Speaking of, their first reaver had already scaled the wall, only to get skewered by a pike.
But as the first died, and the second, and third, more and more managed to climb, creating their own defensive position, and pushing back in order to let more follow.
Finally, his own uncle had made it up. Most interestingly, one of Theon’s randomly shot arrows had killed a man about to strike Victarion’s neck as he pulled himself up, which meant the man owes him his life.
His arrival emboldened the men, as they amassed themselves on one block and charged together toward the enemies.
They were met with a wall of pikes, behind those men were heavily armored men -knights- with a well-built man with a lion’s mane at their head.
‘That the drowned god Asha isn’t here.’ His sister’s role, while important, wasn’t as dangerous as their current situation.
Asha led a large number of ships against the enemy navy, quite successfully in fact, and had created the necessary opening for their men to go through the blockade and attempt their offensive action.
“Your grace!” One of the archers exclaimed, fear in his voice.
Theon turned to the man, who he himself looked to the side with horror.
Following his gaze, Theon sees a large scorpion turning toward them just as it shot its bolt.
The bolt struck the side of their rocky position, most unfortunately, that itself forced the boulder holding up the ground under their feet to shatter.
Before he could even act, Theon fell roughly as he was pushed by one of the man rolling rocks, he felt immense pain well up his spine, as he skid violently against the jutting rocks.
Consciousness left him fast, and the last thing he was able to glimpse is the sight of the Lannister man losing an ear to his uncle, only to take Victarion’s leg.
Comments
Dark B3rry
Thank you for the chapter!
