The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

The silence of the Slate Lands continued to pass as the weeks and months slipped by. Brandon carried on with his duties, focusing on rebelling against raiders, spreading the winter crops around his lands, and taking care of his people. It wasn't until early one frosty morning that his routine was broken.

A caravan arrived at Winterfell's gates under the gray winter sky. The torn banner of the Slate King fluttered weakly in the cold wind; its colour muted under lays of ware. Edwyn trudged at the head of the column with his family close behind surrounded by the last of their bodyguards.

Brandon stood at the gates with his King's guard as the caravan approached. Watching Edwyn, the lines spreading across his face, his sagged shoulder beneath his fur cloak, his wife clutching their daughter and son close to her. They were gaunt and pale, their clothes torn and baggy.

"Welcome to Winterfell," Brandon greeted, his tone. "Come inside and warm up next to the fire."

/

Seated in the great hall, the two kings faced each other across a table. The man looked older, with a weird look in his eyes as he scoped out the hall, looking at the guards and the doors.

"I need your help, Brandon," Edwyn said finally, his voice hoarse.

"Tell me what's the problem and I'll see if I can help."

Edwyn winced at the remark but pressed on. "My kingdom... it's in ruins. My guards turned on me. They betrayed me, sacked my keeps, and burned my villages. My family barely escaped alive with the last of my few loyal guards." He shifted awkwardly as he spoke.

"And now you're here." Brandon's drummed his finger on the table, his piercing gaze fixed on Edwyn. "What exactly do you expect me to do about it?"

Edwyn leaned forward. "I have nowhere else to turn. You know I've never been a man of great strength or cunning, but my people don't deserve this. My family doesn't deserve this. If you don't help me, the Slate Kingdom will fall entirely. We'll have nothing left."

Brandon frowned. "My kingdom isn't in the best shape either. Food is tight, and the other kingdoms are breathing down our necks. If I stretch my forces to help you, it'll leave my people vulnerable."

Edwyn's voice trembled, whether from anger or pleading, Brandon couldn't tell. "If you don't help me now, there'll be nothing left of the Slate Lands. And what's stopping Edwyn from marching together with Connell straight into your lands."

Brandon leaned back in his chair. "And there it is, so you lost against Connell in that great battle didn't you claim you won? I'm guessing you thought you could defend and hold Blackpool until he ran out of supplies, but your men defected and kicked you out."

Edwyn hid his face. "Please, Brandon. Just hear me out."

Brandon sighed. "You must have had a long journey here; rest and we can speak more tomorrow.

Edwyn kept his head down as his family were shown to quarters, Brandon remained seated, his mind heavy with the weight of the request. He would be dragged into another big battle if he went to help Edwyn. Yet, leaving the Slate Lands to Connell was not a good option either, he would be flanked on two sides by hostile kingdoms.

Brandon sighed, the firelight casting long shadows across the great hall.

/

The Great Hall of Winterfell was quiet save for the crackle of the hearth and the steady, deliberate taps of Brandon as he tapped the long table. Edwyn, the dethroned, sat with his hands clasped, his thin, pale fingers twitching slightly. His face was tired, but his sharp eyes tracked Brandon.

"You don't understand, Brandon," Edwyn began for what felt like the hundredth time. "This isn't just about me. Think about the balance of power in the North. If Connell solidifies his hold on my lands, he'll only grow stronger. How long do you think it will take before he turns here, to Winterfell?"

Brandon turned, his icy gaze pinning Edwyn in place. "I do understand. What I also understand is that my people have suffered enough already. We're still recovering from the wars, the skirmishes, and having to fight this winter. Sending my men to fight your war would stretch us too thin. You know I can't risk that."

Edwyn leaned forward, his wheedling tone coming out. "I'm not asking you to fight my war for me. Just … to help me for a bit, a favour if you will. Your men are the best around, they'll fight as long as you ask them. With your help, we could strike at Connell before he entrenches himself further, a simple done and dusted matter."

Brandon sighed heavily, stopping to lean against the table. "And how many of my men would die for your done and dusted cause, Edwyn? How many more of my families would suffer because I sent their sons to fight for another kingdom's crown? You know perfectly well the position you are putting me in."

Edwyn's lips thinned. "Please Brandon, just this once, that's all I need and I won't bother you again and I'll even help you out, anything you need, just say the word, and it's yours."

Brandon stayed silent and he stared Edwyn down.

"Come on Brandon! Just this once. Please!" Edwyn stopped up as he stared straight back at Brandon.

Brandon continued to tap the table.

Edwyn quietly sat back down "You're a good man, Brandon," he said slowly, "You care for the people even your enemies, always returning prisoners unharmed. I remember during the Long Night, you said you wanted to unite the North, everyone together fighting and working towards a better North."

Brandon's brow furrowed, his posture stiffening. "What about it?"

Edwyn gave a faint, humourless smile. "You imagine you swore that you'd do that, or your children if you could not complete it. Well, if you do this, I'll swear my allegiance to that goal, and you, I'll become a Jarl under you if you return my lands to me."

Brandon's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "You'd do anything to get your lands back won't you, if it's not me then someone else."

Edwyn shrugged as he slightly smiled. "Connell is a great threat we both know that. His alliance with Royce is an even bigger threat. If he's allowed to remain unchecked, he'll destabilize the other Kings with his existence, a mercenary King gives rise to others. It's in both of our interests that Connell is removed, and Royce is weakened again."

Brandon's continued to tap the table. "He was not too happy when you humiliated him last time. I imagine this is your comeuppance for your past actions, Edwyn"

Edwyn feigned a look of ignorance. "Maybe? Or are you just looking for an excuse to abandon an ally in need? I thought the Starks were better men, men who stood by their word."

Brandon's expression tightened further. Edwyn leaned in.

"Look at my family, Brandon," he said, gesturing toward the far end of the hall where his wife and children sat talking and playing with Brandon's own family. "We're broken. Exiled. Stripped of everything. If you won't help me, then help them. What kind of man would I be if I didn't do everything I could to better my family and protect my people? And what kind of man would you be if you turned your back on me now, after all we've been through?"

Brandon's fists clenched at his sides. He hated the sleazy, manipulative tone in Edwyn's voice.

"You're not giving me much of a choice," Brandon said finally.

Edwyn's face lit up with an exaggerated relief. "I knew you'd understand. The Brandon Stark I know is a man of his word, a true king."

Brandon glares saliently at Edwyn. "Don't mistake this for approval of your methods, Edwyn. This'll be the last thing you can ever ask of me, never again will I go out of my way to help you, your mistakes are your own."

Edwyn bowed his head slightly, his expression a mixture of gratitude and smug satisfaction. "Thank you, Brandon. I won't forget this."

Brandon stood before walking away before the urge to say or do something he'd regret grew too strong.