The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

The battlefield stretched wide and barren, a frozen expanse of snow and ice with its stilted cold breath, running down the soldiers back. Brandon Stark stood at the head of his men, his fur-lined cloak fluttering in the icy wind. Around him, the banners of the armies fluttered in the wind, fringes of ice lightly cupping the edges of the flag, refusing to melt in the shining light.

The King's Guard formed a wall of shields at the forefront, their helms glinting under the pale sun. The shields started to interlock and form a wall as the men formed up behind them standing in line.

Brandon turned to Harmond, his misting breath passing through his helmet. The Frost King was as stoic as ever, his sharp eyes scanning the enemy lines across the field. Beside him stood the Slate King, impatiently tapping his foot.

"This'll be fun." Harmond said. "Connell has outdone himself. Eight hundred mercenaries… I'll admit, I didn't think he had it in him."

"Numbers aren't everything," Brandon replied, as he stroked the pommel of his sword. "Mercenaries fight for gold, not loyalty. Their resolve will crack before ours."

The Slate King, arms crossed, "Let's not underestimate them. The Red King's guard is no rabble, and Connell's mercenaries are more than sellswords. They're zealots, whipped into a frenzy by his fancy promises and words." He cast a glance at Brandon. "We'll need to hold the centre. Hope you are up for it."

Brandon eyes narrowing. "We'll hold fine. Harmond and Frost, your men need to push the outsides back and press in. If Connell's men look to be the centre, Royce is on the flanks, we'll hold the main that man and you need to beat Royce."

They spoke for a moment longer, weighing the terrain and the enemy's potential moves, when some men moved from the other side of the field. They passed over the field and stopped half way over to their side before planting their flags in the ground and waited.

"A meeting?" Harmond said, his lip curling slightly. "What's the game now?"

"They want to talk," Brandon said before signing, already stepping forward. "Let's hear them. But don't expect anything honest."

The three kings moved out to the centre of the field, accompanied by a handful of guards. Royce, draped in a cloak of deep crimson, his expression stilled but a slight edge of a smile on the corner of his lip. Beside Connell, mismatched with a massive arrogant grin.

"Brandon, so good to see you again" Royce began, his voice smooth, "You've brought quite the entourage. This'll be fun for the both of us, don't disappoint me."

"Royce," Brandon said, rolling his jaw. "Speak what you want or prepare for battle. I don't have time for your words."

Connell shifted awkwardly away from Royce as more of a smile crept on his face. "No need to be so grim. This is a joyous moment, well at least for me. After all, it's not every day you get to see a king begging for scraps. How does it feel, having to huddle together just to face me?"

Royce went back to his plain look. "Quite so, soon you be kneeling before me beginning me to spare you, to free you." Again, Connell shifted awkwardly.

Harmond stared coldly at Connell. "You've stirred up the North, getting the people more violent, riling people up. And for what?"

Connell's grin widened. "From the chaos comes freedom Harmond. And opportunity. The people see that now, they see what you truly are. Taking from them to prop yourself up, the rich and powerful taking from the weak and poor."

Royce raised a hand, silencing Connell with a gesture. "Enough. We didn't come here to argue about such petty problems. We came to offer you a chance to surrender." His gaze swept over the three kings, as Connell shot Royce a look before quickly hiding it. "This battle will only end with your banners in the mud and your people at my mercy."

Brandon waved them off. "We don't kneel to people like you, Royce. Not now, not ever. If ever I saw a problem in the North, it is people like you, they take what they want and leave the rest to burn."

Connell chuckled, shaking his head. "Bold words, Stark. Let's see if they hold when your men are howling their last."

As the kings returned to their lines, the men started sounding out, signalling the final preparations for battle. The allied forces tightened their ranks, shields raised, weapons at the ready. Across the field, the Red King's men did the same, their crimson cloaks a stark contrast against the snow.

Brandon took his place at the centre of his lines, his sword drawn, its bronze gleaming in the pale light. The battlefield had gone silent, save for the howl of the wind.