The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

The icy wind howled past Brandon as he raised his sword high, the bronze gleaming in the dim winter light.

"Forward! Break them before they can form up!"

A roar erupted from his men, their battle cries echoing off the hills as they surged into the skirmishers. Brandon's force smashed into the skirmishers like a hammer into glass. Their heavier armour smashed the enemy's lighter defences, their disciplined ranks breaking through their lines. The first line of skirmishers fell swiftly, cleaved by swords and axes, or trampled underfoot.

The air quickly filled with the clash of bronze and a rich sense of iron. Brandon fought at the forefront, his sword carving through the chaos. He sent any skirmisher sprawling, their blood staining the snow. Another lunged at him with a spear, but Brandon caught the shaft on his shield and drove his blade into the man's chest.

Harmond's sheared out at the sight of Brandon's charge, surging forward to press the enemy from the opposite side. Caught between the two forces, the skirmishers were being slaughtered.

Victory surged into reach before Brandon felt a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. He turned sharply, scanning the edges of vision, and that's when he saw them. From behind a ridge to the North, another force erupted from their concealment, shouting and cheering as they did so, then charging straight toward his flank.

Halvar's eagle chirped out as it circled an area, the vanguard of Royce and Connell's main force approached on the northern side. Their banners fluttered in the wind as they marched, their armoured ranks a rolling snake, toward the battlefield.

Brandon's blood ran cold. The skirmishers had been a big juicy bait.

"Shield wall!" he bellowed, wheeling his forces to face the approaching hidden force. "Form up! From up!"

His men scrambled to comply, their training and discipline snapping them into defensive formations. The hidden force arrived quickly and crashed into Brandon's flank; their initial momentum pushed his shield wall back.

Brandon fought desperately shouting orders whilst pushing against the skirmishers that resurged in strength. The clang of bronze and the screams of the wounded filled the air as his men struggled to reform their lines.

/

The battlefield was chaos. Brandon Stark's men fought hard, their shields clunked and splintered as swords flashed and sliced, they tried to fend off the ambushers pressing them. The fighting seemed to never end and drain them more and more.

Brandon could feel the pressure surrounding him. With every clash of bronze, and every hurried command moving down the lines, he could barely hear Edric and Lyanna now. The enemy squeezed them, testing his seasoned warriors, putting Edwin's words to the test. Yet, Brandon remained steady.

"Push, Push! These cowards need three forces to take us down. Don't let them down, men. Forward!"

Despite the situation, Brandon saw his opening, with the skirmishers still caught between his force and Harmond's they would be the first to break. With little defence and their numbers thinned, they would brake under Brandon.

"Death!" The men chanted. "For the Old Gods."

His men surged forward, driving into the skirmishers, every moment a chance for greatness and glory. The enemy, already disorganized and outmatched in close combat, began to crumble under the assault. Brandon pressed his advantage, his sword carving a path through their ranks.

/

Victory was within reach, the skies cried out as the eagle chirped in the sky, circling again. The sound of heavy boots pounding the frozen ground echoed. The vanguard of Royce and Connell's army had arrived.

Their banners came into view first. Then came the armoured columns, their shields gleaming and spears bristling like the quills of a great beast. They surged forward and with a resounding crash, the vanguard smashed into Brandon's Sothern flank. The force of the impact was staggering, sending men reeling and breaking parts of the line.

"Brace!" Brandon shouted, his voice hoarse. "They need three men just to take out one of ours, show them they need four."

His men, called out again "death," "For the Old Gods."

Brandon charged with his men and fought with everything he had. He gave up on the commands and let his men do what they were trained to do.

Brandon cut down another man. "I've killed 14 men already; can you say the same men."

Numbers called out as the men responded to their King. "Come on men, the one who gets the most kills gets double the rations tonight." The men cheered as they picked themselves back up.

The skirmishers, though nearly routed, still clung to life, their desperation having turned them into cornered animals. Harmond's forces fought tooth and nail to finish them, but the arrival of Royce's vanguard had shifted the tide.

Everywhere Brandon looked, the situation was growing more dire. His men were holding, but barely. The shield wall trembled under the weight of the enemy's relentless blows. But Brandon did not stop. He moved wherever he could. "I bet my rations you won't kill more men than me." He called out to Edric. Edric smiled. "Bet."

/

Brandon's sword arm burned, the weight of battle pressing down on him as his men fought valiantly to hold the line. Every strike of the enemy was potentially the last, as the vanguard of Royce and Connell seemed an unstoppable tide, pushing harder with each passing moment.

He could feel the pressure mounting, the desperation creeping in as his soldiers struggled to maintain their ground. He could hear their cries of pain. Brandon gritted his teeth, fighting to save those men.

And then, from the chaos of battle, another eagle chirped, circling above them.

Brandon's heart clenched. The reinforcements for Royce and Connell. He turned sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon beyond the enemy lines.

A banner crested the ridge, its pale blue field emblazoned with the sigil of the Frost King. Following it came columns of soldiers, their armour glinting in the winter sun as they charged down the slope toward the battlefield.

Brandon's breath caught, a mix of relief and astonishment washing over him.

"It's King Frost!" Edric shouted, the cry spreading through their lines like wildfire. "Out bet still counts Brandon." He said just as he cut another man down.

The Frost King's forces crashed into the rear of the hidden ambush force and also hit the northern flank of the skirmishers, their arrival swift and brutal. The enemy caught entirely off guard, buckled.

The pressure on Harmond's forces evaporated as the skirmishers, now attacked from three sides, broke apart in panic. With the skirmishers routed, Harmond wasted no time. Rallying his men, he led a flanking charge into the flank of Royce and Connell's vanguard, smashing into their ranks with devastating force.

Brandon seized the moment, his voice rising above the chaos. "Forward! Take the fight to them!"

His men followed their king, pushing against the vanguard. The combined assault along with the shattered morale of the skirmishers cascaded into the vanguard. The vanguard began to waver, and then, like a dam breaking, the enemy lines shattered. The vanguard turned and fled; their retreat was chaotic as they sought to escape the slaughter.

A great cheer rose from the allied forces, the sound echoing across the battlefield.

/

Brandon, his sword still in hand, surveyed the battlefield, already seeing the medics start to move in. The snow was red with blood, the ground was littered with so much death and dying. His men began gathering what supplies and weapons they could from the defeated enemy.

Halvar approached through the haze, his eagle gliding down to him.

"Brandon, we need to leave. Royce and Connell's main force isn't far behind."

Brandon turned to Harmond and the Frost King, having just joined him.

"No time like the present, ha-ha." Harmond bellowed despite his blood-filled visage.

The kings quickly gathered their men and left with what little loot they could take. The combined forces of Brandon, Harmond, and the Frost King were marching away from the battlefield, leaving behind the broken remnants of their enemies.