Version 2.0
The simmering tensions between the Red King and his adversaries now boiled close to open war. Along the Red King's borders, skirmishes had become routine, and the crackle of torches and the clash of bronze became a weekly occurrence. Villages on the fringes of their realm woke to the smell of smoke as raiders scorched villages in their wake.
Roads leading away from the borders filled with fleeing villages whilst marching soldiers went the other way. With the growing popularity of mercenaries due to Connell's actions, many villages turned to them for protection, hiring them out for either training or defences. To them, Connell was a saviour, for both the people and mercenaries, with more work, came more silvers, and with fewer monsters came safety. Not all turned to mercenaries and some places still held a love for their Kings such as the Winter, Ryder, Glover, and Warg Kingdoms, but many others were on the edge.
As the tensions simmered between Kingdoms, Connell continued his campaign and turned to the Celtic people. As he moved through the land, he spoke of the wrongs they had endured, of the people who had turned their backs on them. His words fanned the already-ranging inferno of their hate, and the already roaming bands of Celtics worriers increased in numbers and reach. They attacked and raided from Ryder lands to the Tower Kings Lands, any land not with a Celtic King got attacked, including the Winter Lands.
Yet Connell's ambitions continued. Rumours swirled that during his travels, he had met with the Blackwood King, who had been surprisingly quiet for a while. What passed between them was unknown, but the mere notion of Connell talking on equal footing as the Blackwood King made Brandon shiver.
Though it will never be known if this was Connell's intention, but this was the final straw for some Kings. The North erupted into war with the thunder of armies. However, the Kings, still bound by the unforgiving cold and the lean harvests of winter, could not muster the full strength of their kingdoms. To march with their levies would be folly, for they lacked the food and payment to sustain them. Thus, the kings brought only their finest: their King's guards, the most elite and loyal warriors in their service.
Each King marched with an entourage of around 300 men of the King's guard, not the full amount as some had to stay home to protect it, their armour gleaming against the pale sun, their banners snapping in the icy wind. With the Umbar, Frost, Slate, and Winter Kings it amounted to around 1,200 men, each marching with their supplies and enough to sustain them for a month, as long as they scavenge whilst on the move to sustain them. With much fewer men, they could move faster and cover greater distance.
Then there was Connell and the Red King. Again, the Red King could only bring around 300 men, but Connell could bring much more. He marched with a force of 800 mercenaries as after his failure last time he learned his lesson and had spent a long time gathering as much food as he could having saved much of the food from the hunt of Aloe. Though not as well protected as the King's guard they were all-season warriors who had all worn themselves to Connell, many for the dream Connell painted with his words. They were a mismatched band, some more protected and quipped than others, but they all hungered for more.
/
The march began in silence, save for the crunch of boots on packed snow and the faint rattle of armour. Brandon marched at the head of his men, his wolfskin cloak pulled tightly against the biting wind. The chill had seeped into the marrow of every man, and even the hardiest of his King's Guard felt the sting. His 300 warriors moved quietly, their helms gleaming faintly in the pale winter sun.
The land they passed through was stark as they headed east towards the Slate King's lands. Villages dotted the landscape, their inhabitants peering cautiously from behind shuttered windows. Once they noticed it was their King, they were all too happy to greet him, Brandon often passing out spare food he had brought as the winter crops were continuing to do well and get better. Frozen rivers wove through plains and hills as the banners of House Stark fluttered in the wind, their direwolf sigil carried proudly by the King's guard. Brandon's men were a rowdy lot, hardened by years of war and battling side by side with their king.
Theon caught up to Brandon. "The Slate King will have his men waiting at the border," Halvar said, his breath misting in the cold air. "After that, we marched across his lands and into the Red King's lands and met up with the Frost and Umbar Kings."
By the time they reached the edge of the Slate King's lands, his guards were already there, a sea of gray and white banners fluttering above ranks. Their leader, tall and grim, greeted Brandon before leading them forward toward the Slate King's castle.
Brandon and Edwyn convened briefly before they marched still separated to keep the speed but close enough to support one. As the force moved into the Red King's lands, the air became more bitter, and the snow seemed heavier, with its looming hills and mountains, terrible roars occasionally rolling down from them. They marched on soon reaching not far from the Red King's home village, a place that Brandon believed was called the Dreadfort. It was here that they met up with Frost and Harmond as they had spent much time passing over lands and hills to finally join up with them.
Scouts returned with reports of the Red King's army waiting ahead, encamped on a field of ice and snow. Connell had already joined him; his large band of mercenaries having taken up a large amount of it.
When Brandon and the other kings arrived, the sight of the enemy greeted them. Across the frozen expanse, the Red King's forces stood proud. The Red King's 300 Kings guard gleamed like blood against the snow, their crimson cloaks billowing in the icy wind. Connell's mercenaries were a motley force by comparison, but their sheer numbers were enough to frustrate the kings.
Brandon, his breath fogging the air, surveyed the field. It was early in the day and already the Red King's forces were beginning to form their lines, the snow crunching under their boots, and a tense silence settled over the field, broken only by the occasional clang of bronze or the bark of an order. It was as they formed that Halvar spoke.
"Shit," Halvar said, his eyes having rolled back into place. "Brandon, we messed up, we forgot to include Jarl Overton in the Red Kings force, he does not have 300 men he has 600 men. It's not 1,200 vs 1,100 it's 1,200 vs 1,400!"
The allied king's men had already begun to form for the battle. Brandon quickly tuned toward the enemy lines, as with them formed up it was easy to count and calculate their numbers. His hand resting on the hilt of his sword clenched it. Halvar was right but they could not turn back. That would be an immediate loss and the battle can always change, at least Brandon hopped.