Version 2.0
The battlefield was bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, casting long shadows across the battle below. The clashing of bronze and the shouts of men echoed through the air as Brandon and Edwyn continued their intense duel with Gareth Locke.
As the fight seemed to reach its peak, a distant cloud of dust sound caught the attention of the duellers. Brandon and Edwyn, locked in combat with Gareth, exchanged a smile before continuing to press against Edwyn.
From the flanks, the Winter King and the Slate King's forces arrived with thunderous momentum. Their troops surged forward, attacking the Locke King's army from the sides. The unexpected assault caught Gareth's men off guard, causing chaos among their ranks.
The line turned chaotic as they were pressed on from the sides. The pincer movement initiated by Brandon and Edwyn proved to be a turning point, disrupting the Locke King's orchestrated defence. The tide of battle shifted as the Winter and Slate forces pressed the advantage.
"Oh, I love these battles the most, gets the heart pumping." He says as his grin threatens to split his face. "I respect the strategy lads," Gareth says as his pupils continue to dilate.
"Come on, Edwyn, let's finish this," Brandon says, panting as he does so.
"No, no, you two. I have enjoyed this fight too much for it to end here," he says as he deflects both of them away from him. "I shall see you two in the next battle, where glory shall go to the best fighter, however, they chose to fight," he says, moving towards his guards.
As Brandon and Edwyn move to intercept, they are stopped by the Locke King's guards, slowing them down while Gareth rallies his men. He charges through the ranks of Winter and Slate forces, cutting through them like a butcher in a field of fresh animal, meat to be harvested.
Exhausted, Brandon and Edwyn don't chase the retreating Locke King as they would be stopped by his bloodthirsty men. Instead, they focus on capturing his command centre where from where they stand, they can see his banner flying high in the sky.
As they charge up the hill the Locke King gathers his men and carves his way through his enemies as moves towards the right flank where he relieves his men and rallies his levies. Capturing the centre is easy along with taking the flag down and placing their own down. Like a ripping tide a loss of morale sweeps through the battlefield, as the Locke King's men lose their morale the Winter and Slate King draw upon it.
With the capture of the flag, it is easy to capitalise on it. Their men, though fatigued, launch an attack on the Locke King's main line. Whilst doing so Gareth rallies his levies and leads them away from the battlefield cutting everyone who gets in his path and laughing as he does so.
As they charge into the fray, the tide turns. The Locke King's levy, are so disorganised from the fighting start to scatter either following their king or running away from the battlefield. Fortunately for them, the Winter and Slate men are so excused from fighting uphill they only try their best to capture men if they are close enough. Letting plenty of them escape as men fall to the ground tired from their first ever human battle.
As men sit on the ground panting the household guards ring out in cheer of their victory. The hill is theirs, the Locke King's forces, are in full retreat off the hill moving into the open fields to the east as their banners proudly wave against the backdrop of the setting sun.
The aftermath of the battle leaves the field strewn with fallen soldiers and the echoes of combat lingering. Their camp is now relocated to the hill's summit. The Winter and Slate forces, with their banners proudly displayed against the sky, gather to take stock of their losses, recount their victories, and rest.
As night falls, they keep a watchful eye on the Locke King's movements. From the elevated position of the hill, they observe him regrouping his forces to the east, forming a new camp in the open fields. The flickering campfires of the Locke King's men become distant points of light against the darkness, and Brandon and Edwyn strategize, seeing that Gareth is not done fighting.
/
As the dawn of the third day breaks, Theon strides purposefully toward the king. His gaze is sharp, his armour clinking with each step as his well-groomed beard framing a strong jawline feels the warm winds.
"My King, the men are nearly ready." Theon states.
"Good. Let's march." Brandon says.
The sun rises on the third day of battle, casting its golden light over the field where two determined armies once again prepare to clash. They lead their forces into position, soon closing the distance between them with a steady pace.
Brandon, wary of Gareth's retaliation, chooses to stick with what has worked so far. He positions himself with the Slate King in the centre, their flaks covered by the second in command. Together, they press forward, their combined strength pushing against the Locke King's remaining forces.
The Winter and Slate forces, high on their previous success, fight firstly to break through the Locke King's defences again. A toll mounts on both sides, as the air is thick with the scent of sweat and blood.
Brandon and Edwyn join with their household guards again at the centre, leading the charge against the Locke King's remaining household guards. The centre of the battlefield becomes a focal point for the most intense fighting. Brandon and Edwyn engage once more with Gareth in the heart of the battlefield. The air crackles with tension as blades clash and warriors weave between each other, locked in a deadly struggle.
No words are spoken, as Brandon and Edwyn move-in coordination. Gareth, parries and strikes with a ferocity that matches the intensity of his eyes and smile. Each king vies for supremacy. The clash of bronze.
"It has been a good fight, but-" Gareth starts.
"Don't even think of running," Edwyn says. "This fighting will end today."
"You are correct that it will end today, just not the way that you are thinking. Strategy is a two-person game, and you have failed to see mine."
As the tense exchange unfolds, a distant cloud of dust starts to rise through the air in the distance. To the far north, through a valley connecting to this battleground, marches a new army. Even from this distance, they can hear their rowdy laughing and cheers as they draw closer.
A murmur spreads through the ranks, as the scouts quickly bring news to the army. Men begin to shout, and the message echoes across the field: "The Red King is here!"