Ambush at the Saltspear

Everything around him was different.

No, perhaps it was the way he viewed the world around him was different because as Jon looked around Winterfell, nothing felt the same. Yet as those familiar walls surrounded him on all sides, the Great Keep ahead of him with the covered bridge that connected to the armoury, overlooking the yard in sight.

He remembered Eddard standing there, looking down upon him, Robb and Theon as they trained under Rodrick Cassel.

But as Jon looked around at Winterfell, studying everything in sight, he realised that the only thing that had changed; was him.

However, as his eyes focused on the Broken Tower.

The large spire of broken bricks looked on the verge of falling down. It was the place Bran had enjoyed climbing the most, feeding the crows that had rested at the top. The very place he fell from and led their family down this path, the spark that lit the fire that became the War of Five Kings.

The sight of it made Jon stop in his tracks, the entourage of men and women that followed him, continuing past and moving about their own business. Yet Jon remained where he was, staring up at the Broken Tower, a temptation to tear it down coming over him.

He stopped himself though, turning to see Lord Bracken approaching him. "Lord Stark." The man greeted jovially, Jon dismounting from his horse. "Congratulations to you for your victory in reclaiming Torrhen's Square."

"And congratulations to you, Lord Bracken, for securing Winterfell." Jon returned, grasping the man's arm tightly in a show of respect. "Was it difficult?"

Lord Bracken shook his head. "Not in the slightest." He reported, the two making their way towards the Great Hall, passing by the Septon Eddard had built for Catelyn, or what remained of it. "There was but a skeleton force left behind, no more than a hundred men defending the walls. They surrendered without putting up a fight."

"That's good news," Jon muttered, knowing that Lord Bracken's force of two thousand will have suffered no casualties. "But what of Ramsay Bolton and his men? And the Dustins?"

"We have Rodrick Dustin, brother of Barbrey Dustin in the prisons. He is the one who called for the soldiers to surrender. But as for Barbrey Dustin, rumours speculate she either died in the conflict with the Greatjon or was murdered by Ramsay Bolton for her actions in said conflict." Lord Bracken explained, Jon frowning at the mention of both Barbrey and Ramsay. "As for the Bastard King, his location is unknown."

"That's not good news," Jon murmured as they entered inside the Great Hall.

"No," Bracken shook his head. "However, Rodrick has sent Ravens to the Dustin men stationed at the Dreadfort. Hopefully, he can get them to surrender and see to it that Marlon Manderly can easily take the Dreadfort."

"Then all that remains is Stannis Baratheon," Jon murmured, pausing to look around at the bustling Great Hall, the last time he had seen it like this was when Robert Baratheon had come north to make Eddard his Hand.

"And Victarion."

Jon shook his head. "I've had scouts watching Barrowtown since we took Torrhen's Square. Val has recently reported that he and his fleet have departed. From their course, it seems that they are returning back to the Iron Islands."

With Victarion gone and the Bolton-Dustin alliance destroyed, it meant Stannis was the only threat left in the North. But Robb was marching north with his army, sixty thousand strong, twice the size of Stannis' own. When it joined them, it would be reinforced by another twenty thousand men, giving them an insurmountable army that would make combatting Stannis easy.

Especially with all the best strategic minds leading the army, Stannis would stand no chance.

"Any news on Robb's location?" Jon finally asked, things have been quiet for him on that end. They had been moving constantly ever since leaving Bear Island and so had been unable to gain information on the goings of the world besides what they were focused upon.

"From the last report, his location is closing in upon Moat Cailin." Jon knew to mean that by this point, Robb would be at Moat Cailin. No doubt he would be making a quick stop there to let his men rest before heading out once more. "It won't be long now until the King will be with us."

"At which point, this war will be at an end."

"One can hope."

-X- Line Break -X-

"Row harder." Victarion roared out, gazing at the sea before them, they exited the Saltspear and headed out into Blazewater Bay.

They were still within the valley, surrounded on both sides by high, sheer cliff faces. But in the distance, he could see the cliffs sloping down into flatland. Once they were there, Victarion would be put at ease, at least then he would be able to spot any approaching enemy force. As they were now though, Victarion could see nothing and that made him anxious.

That's when he heard the sound of cries, Victarion and many looking to the sky, seeing the large boulder arcing down. It smashed into one of the boats, the hole causing the ship to flood with water as it slowly sank. Upon it, the men jumped out into the frigid cold water, swimming to nearby ships as more and more boulders arced through the air.

"Ambush!" He could hear being shouted, Victarion looked to the tops of the valley, seeing hundreds of archers lining up on the southern valley.

Then hundreds of arrows rained down, Victarion's eyes widening in horror as he watched it all coming down upon them. Worst of all, they had no way of fighting and a large stretch of sea to traverse before being able to disembark onto land.

They were trapped and helpless to do anything to defend themselves.

They were dead men.

-X- Line Break -X-

Resting his hand upon the handle of his blade, Rodrik Forrester looked down upon the Ironborn fleet below him, his gaze indifferent. Around him, archers lined the southern valley, drawing back their bows and releasing their arrows into the sky. The catapults lined up behind him, quickly assembled and few in number, were reloaded with professional skill.

Numerous sieges had been part of Robb's campaign in the Westerlands and with it, Robb had focused a lot of his troops training upon the quick assembly and dismantling of catapults. He had even worked hard on their training to use the catapult with incredible speed, all in order to keep the momentum of his campaign flowing smoothly.

Taking a deep breath, Rodrick let the cool air of the North wash over him. "Keep a sustained fire upon the ships." He ordered, turning around and heading towards where the rest of his small force of three thousand were waiting.

Most of it was comprised of archers, a thousand in total.

The remaining two thousand consisted entirely of infantry, armed with spears and shields. Most had already begun marching west towards where the valley of the Saltspear sloped down into flatland that led to Blazewater Bay and Cape Kraken.

Swinging up onto his saddle, Rodrick urged his horse on, a small detachment of a dozen riders following up behind him. They were young lords of the Riverland and Reach houses that had departed north with the main force, all in order to curry the favour of the Wolf King. However, the favour they would earn was little and what little they did gain would be from his word.

He had been given command of the detachment force intended to ambush Victarion's fleet at the Saltspear. Though they had received no reports at the time, Robb had given Rodrick the command from the moment they left the Twins, he and his men having travelled through the forest west of the swamps of the Neck, passing the Cape of Eagles.

Much like always though, Robb was one step ahead of his enemies and Rodrick had been waiting here for days before they finally departed from Barrowtown. As the commander of this detachment, any achievement earned by the young noblemen would be reported to the King by him and so, they were eager to earn his favour.

But he cared little for their desires for glory.

He was only focused on revenge.

If they worked hard purely out of selfish desires then he did not care, Rodrick only cared that they fought to their absolute best. If they failed, however, then he would have a problem with them and they would learn of it soon after.

The North was a harsh place.

The cold was the worst enemy of all and many men perished to it.

It was something the south had learned since the Wolf King brought the winter with him.