Checkout my new Fanfiction, Game of thrones: Eternal Cycle
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The Moat Cailin Swamp was a foul, mosquito ridden obstacle that had guarded the North for thousands of years. It was a morass of ancient silt, tangled roots, and deep, deceptive water.
Normally, crossing it required days of slow, miserable travel through a single, narrow causeway road.
The North had forty eight hours.
Andar's improvised pontoon bridge was a monument to desperation and industrial efficiency.
The command coach, the riflemen boxcars, and several flatbeds were stripped. The wheels were detached and oiled for storage. The steel bodies of the rail cars were dragged into the swamp and lashed together using heavy chains and steel cable taken from the railway spools.
They were transformed into floating pontoons, forming a long, rigid bridge wide enough for the heavy artillery.
The work was brutal. Northmen, Iron Wolves, and even engineers waded waist deep in the cold, fetid water.
"This is madness," Tyrion Lannister muttered, standing on the temporary wooden platform supervising the process. He held a glass of brandy, his face pale despite the rising sun.
"No," Sansa Stark corrected him, wrapping a heavy wool cloak around her shoulders. "It is war. Madness is marching an army through the muck when you can build over it."
She was coordinating the distribution of timber and the placement of the bridge flooring, exhibiting a ruthless efficiency that belied her gentle appearance.
"Andar built this entire operation on a belief," Tyrion said, watching the engineer tighten a massive turnbuckle. "That industry can overcome any physical obstacle. But what about human ones?"
"The human obstacles are what we are racing for," Sansa replied, her gaze fixed south. "The sooner we end the tyranny, the sooner we can build something that lasts."
The crucial moment came on the evening of the second day.
The pontoon bridge stretched almost a mile across the worst of the bog, a metal backed spine of industrial refusal. It was crude, uneven, and groaned under the slightest weight.
The 75 millimeter field artillery gun was the heaviest piece of equipment to cross.
It was towed by two powerful steam traction engines that Andar had stripped from his factory reserves. The ground shook as the heavy gun carriage, weighing many tons, rolled onto the first pontoon.
The steel rail car hull dipped dramatically into the water.
"Steady!" Andar yelled, his voice raw from two days of shouting. "Keep the pace even! No jerking!"
The traction engines moved slowly, centimeter by centimeter. The pontoon bridge swayed, water lapping precariously close to the timber decking. Every engineer held their breath.
One of the steel hulls began to take on water, listing dangerously.
Suddenly, a loud, piercing scream cut through the noise of the machinery.
Arya Stark, who had refused to leave the expedition, had slipped on the muddy deck and was halfway into the swamp water. She clung desperately to the side of the pontoon.
"Stop the engines!" Jon Snow roared.
The driver slammed the brakes. The sudden stop shifted the immense weight. The waterlogged pontoon listed further. The 75 millimeter gun began to slide sideways toward the edge.
"No!" Andar screamed, scrambling over the chains.
He did not grab Arya. He grabbed a massive steel chain attached to the side of the pontoon and quickly wrapped it around a nearby mooring pillar. He then took a sledgehammer and beat a steel pin through a cleat, securing the gun carriage to the deck and preventing it from sliding off.
The gun was stabilized.
Jon Snow immediately pulled a shivering Arya from the cold swamp. She was furious and humiliated, but safe.
"Why didn't you help her?" Jon demanded, rounding on Andar.
Andar was breathing hard, covered in swamp muck. "Because that gun weighs ten thousand pounds! If that fell, it would kill Arya, kill the men, and sink the entire bridge! I prioritize the mission, Jon. Every time."
Jon stared at him, unable to reconcile the calculating engineer with the man he considered his brother.
"Restart the engines!" Andar ordered. "Slowly! We move!"
The steam engines chuffed again. The gun rolled forward, and the weight distribution gradually evened out. The 75 millimeter gun made it safely to the solid ground on the south side of the Moat.
By the morning of the third day, the entire Northern force, including all heavy guns and supplies, was across the swamp. They left behind the dismantled rail cars and a small, reinforced blockhouse to guard the temporary railhead.
They had bypassed Cersei's expected roadblock entirely.
As they began their rapid march south along the main Riverlands road, they saw the evidence of Daenerys's fury.
The Unsullied had marched past Moat Cailin and then gone straight south. The only signs they left were scorched earth.
"She found the decoy," Tyrion observed, looking at the black, smoldering remains of a small trading post by the road. "And she was not happy."
"She is back on the hunt," Andar said, looking at the clear sky. "And she knows we are ahead of her now. The race has begun in earnest."
He pointed to the sky, where a dark, distant smudge was visible.
"There she is. She took the air straight down the Kingsroad. She will reach the capital in hours. We have perhaps one day before she lays siege."
Robb Stark stood at the head of his industrial column, watching the dragon shadow grow in the distance.
"One day," Robb confirmed. "Then we make history."
[Quest Update: The Race for the Ruin]
[Time Remaining: Less than 24 Hours]
[Rival Status: Daenerys is airborne and nearing Kings Landing.]
[Next Action: Engage the enemy at the Capital.]
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Author Note
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