Version 2.0
Brandon Stark stood at the edge of the camp, the bitter cold biting at his skin. His breath misted in the icy air as he watched his men huddled around their fires, tired and silent after days of constant battle and pursuit. His mind raced, a gnawing sense of dread settling deeper into his chest.
"We can't afford to keep chasing them like this," Edric said beside him, his voice low and strained. "Every day they take more villages and farms. And the Blackwood King is enjoying every moment we wait here."
Brandon clenched his jaw. "We need to break them now with a decisive battle," he said, his voice firm. "We need to end them here and now before they can do more damage and stop us from taking the fight to the Blackwood King."
That night, Brandon gathered his commanders Edric, Lyanna, Alex Amber, and Halvar. They made their plans under the glow of flickering fires.
The next morning, Brandon's army marched once more, moving swiftly to catch the Ironborn warband. When the two forces finally met on the field, the battle began with intensity as Brandon pushed his men the hardest, leading the charge and cutting down Ironborn after Ironborn. Bronze clashed, and men cried across the snow-covered plains. But the Ironborn fought with their usual savagery, refusing to break. The battle raged for hours, with neither side gaining the upper hand. Brandon's men pushed hard, but for every Ironborn did not care, the blood of both friends and enemies just fuelling them more and more.
By nightfall, it was clear. Another draw.
Brandon slogged back to his camp, his face grim. His sword was stained with blood, and his armour weighed heavy on him. The battle got them no closer to their goal, and the Warband had retreated, slipping away into the wilderness once more. Brandon and his commanders huddled in their tent that night, the firelight casting long shadows on their faces.
"They won't stop," Edric said, his brow furrowed. "They're like wolves. They raid, they slip away, and then they strike again. We can't keep doing this if we want to win."
Brandon nodded, his eyes low with fatigue. "We need to trap them, force them to fight on our terms, and butcher them for what they have done."
That's when Alex, who had been silent, leaned forward. "With their current direction, they will soon enter hills, and into rough terrain. If we move fast and take a different route, we can avoid that whilst they get slowed down. Then we when in their path we can be waiting for them."
Halvar nodded in agreement. "The scouts searched that area and said the same thing, but if we spend a bit more time and divert we can go around it and pass over them."
Brandon smiled. "Then let's do it."
The next day, Brandon's army continued the pursuit but slowed the army down so they looked like they were falling behind the warband. The weather continued as they marched, snow and ice whipping at their faces, but the Northerners pressed on. They knew this land well, and they moved swiftly, their boots crunching through the frozen ground, their cloaks pulled tight against the biting cold. After a long, gruelling march, they reached the end of the hills that Halvar and Alex had spoken of.
Brandon's men set up an ambush, waiting for the warband. As the sun sank low in the sky, they heard the distant sound of marching. The warband looked to have no idea as they headed right into the trap.
Suddenly, from the ridgeline, Brandon's forces poured down upon the unsuspecting Ironborn. The Northerners struck with brutal want, their swords and axes flashing in the dying light. The Ironborn, caught off guard and in rough terrain, didn't care, they didn't form up other than gathering in groups and simply went into battle. Brandon's men swarmed over them like a wave, cutting them down where they stood. The warband, previously unshakable, began to crumble under the ferocity of the surprise attack.
It was a bloody and vicious fight, but Brandon's forces had the advantage of surprise. But the Ironborn still fought on drinking in the blood and zeal of battle. Brandon pressed his men to flank and surround the warband but the Ironborn, love of battle pushed them back not allowing them to fully surround them. The battle raged through the evening, but as night fell, the Ironborn were finally bested before they scattered into the night, their ranks broken.
Brandon watched as the last remnants of the Warband fled into the hills, he and his men were too tired to chase after them after constant battle and extensive marching. His men stood victorious, though weary and bloodied, and the Ironborn raiders dead at their feet. But even as Brandon allowed himself a brief moment of relief, his mind was already turning to the next battle.