The Battle in the Ice

As the frontlines classed, Manderly gave the order, a horn blew and the knights assembled, they knew what would come of this. Should they lose they would be branded traitors and fools, should they win, they would prove the courage and loyalty of White Harbor. It was a risk worth taking. Wyman, rotund and red faced from the cold, poked his head out from his litter. "Today we fight for those we have lost, kith and kin alike!" The great walrus lord bellowed over the snows. "Think of THE oath good sers, of righteous lord Eddard, of the Young Wolf king Robb!" He choked up. "Of my brave boy, Ser Wendel! Think of them and charge!" His men began calling out the names of their own loses, friends and family, the names of Wendel and Eddard passed more than a few lips, as they galloped toward their fate. The Merman of Manderly flew above them, the garish green on teal, frozen in the cold winter's air. As their line met the Frey line the enemy buckled, the Mermen saw others Stormlords and Northmen charging from the other side, the chained giant of Umber the armored fist of Glover, the bucket of Wull. The battle was going well, the enemy could put up no resistance it seemed.

It happened in a flash an armored knight, wearing the twin castles of Frey pushed his way into the litter, and began pulling Lord Wyman from his perch. The knight struggled, for the Merman was hefty, more so with his garish armor on. In the struggle Wyman summoned his strength and pulled something, Wyman plunged the dagger between the plate and into the man's neck. It had been many years since the Lord of White Harbor had seen blood so closely. As he struggled to his feet in the snow another man came at him, some Frey footmen with a spear, it plunged into his belly. As the spearmen pulled his spear back for another blow a Manderly knight cut the Frey down. "Are you alright my lord!" He asked, dismounting rapidly to defend Wyman. Checking on his wound, it was bad, enough to kill most men. But, it seemed as if the Lord of White Harbor may have been saved by his blubber once more. "I have been at war once or twice before, Ser. Get me up, yes, yes." The knight helped Wyman back into his litter, defending the position, as knightly Mermen continued to run down Frey dogs. "We avenged them." Wyman murmured from his cushion.

Lightbringer entered the scabbard with a soft hiss, light vanishing from the world, like the sun clouded by the shrouds and veils of winter and death; there was a soft click as the hilt reached the jewelled casing. The king sighed and flexes the meager flesh upon his emaciated bones. The helmet rested heavy upon his brow, a bascinet with a dog-like face, topped by a crown in the shape of flames, dark red gold on polished steel.

"We've won the day, sire"

Said the knight nearest to him, at the feet of the watchtower, who was none but Ormund Wilde, a very old retainer that once had been part of Steffon's household, an enamelled maelstrom over his chesplate.

"At what cost"

Answered the king, grinning his teeth, the muscles of jaw and face tense like old ropes.

"Nine hundred, men or so, lord Stannis, probably a few more will die of infection and disease in the days to come"

Stannis did not reply, simply frowned and grinned his teeth, grabbing the reins of the horse firmly. His surcoat, depicting the fiery heart of Rh'llor and a crowned stag both, fell wet and shapeless.

"We should have lost fewer, the march has taken a toll in our prowess, clearly"

The king looks to the battlefield, littered with many corpses, filled the air with the agonizing screams of horses and men alike, both united in the carnage, mutilated and wounded. Body parts of all kinds covered the now read snow, which had drank the blood of the fallen like a thirsty and cruel deity. The trees and the animals of the wood would long feast on the carnage.

"But Rh'llor granted us a grand victory, my King! The Lord of Light is with us!"

Said a zealous knight, who had arrived galloping, none other than Clayton Suggs.

"We have to thank him, Your Grace!"

Stannis looks at him, tight mandible and furrowed brow. He removed the helmet, handing it to yet another retainer, Godry Farring, who stood as the king's sworn sword during the battle, in case he was to be circled by enemies. The large man, the so-called Giantslayer, joined the chorus of those who petitioned a sacrifice to their Red and Hungry God.

"Indeed, my lord, He has granted us Strenght and Might"

"Burn the Iron bitch, sire, she has king's blood, we will take the castle with her sacrifice!"

Asked Suggs, his eyes ardent with feverish zeal.

"No"

Concluded Stannis. The girl had her usefulness still, just like the mutilated prince, albeit the later's would soon be done for and the Red worshippers would have their due.

"Burn the Karstarks, the five of them. But slit the grandsons' throat as soon as the pyres are lit, they are not as guilty or treacherous as their grandsire"

He waved a hand clad in an articulated gauntlet dismissive, the Rh'llor worshippers cheered their king, their blood boiling after the battle and their sadistic hearts brimming with emotion at the prospects of burning anyone. Wood was gathered and the yells of captives being dragged soon could be heard.

"Bring me the Merman. Lord Manderly has to ask for my Hand's death. Now"

Stannis ordered, as authoritative as ever. Whenever he spoke in such tone there was no point at arguing anything. The banner with the fiery heart and crowned stag, in a cloth of gold, flutters in the wind behind the king, the pole planted on the ground. Stannis took a seat in a stool brought to him from inside the watchtower, feeling weary after wearing heavy plate, leather and mail.

The king was told of Lord Lamprey's arrival. He walked to him, clad in armor, his scalp naked save for a band of red gold shaped into a fiery crown.

"Lord Wyman Manderly"

He places both hands at the hilt of his sword, resting.

"You killed my Hand, Ser Davos"

He grinned. The king's men look sour and long-faced, threatening with their swords, polearms and hauberks stained with mud and blood.

"You better have an explanation or a way to wash the blood from your hands. Every felony has its punishment, Justice is to be observed"

Stannis looked unforgiving.

"That is the story you have heard, though in these trying times there are many stories, but only one truth." Wyman replied, his own men looked on guard. "I have many crimes that I will answer for when I die, but Ser Davos is not one of them." He said plainly, one of the knights dabbing the sweat from his forehead. "I am of the North King Stannis, I answer to the name Stark.. same as most of the men assembled here, I doubt the Mountain Clans fight for a southern King to sit upon the Iron Throne." His words were measured and calm, though his breath was staggered. "We of the North do not know the name Baratheon, nor the Red Demon you have brought with you.. I hope those pyres are for southerners. But, all the same, you deserve to know that your man lives."

“Have they bent the knee? Or have they come along to remove Bolton in the name of Eddard.. Do they fight with you, or for you?” He protested, his hands resting at his side to numb the pain. ”Do not think so highly of yourself. I did not join YOU today, not yet, I fought for the North, for the Starks as any Northmen would if they knew the things I know. The men who murdered my boy and good king Robb have never had my allegiance. I had to feign it, play along, but my boy is home and I’d happily die here to make Winterfell the place I remember it to be.” He shook his head. “I would, if only that were Arya.” He said cryptically. “Your man Davos is retrieving a son of the North for me, the only man that Mountain Clans, Manderlys, Dustins, Glovers, Umbers, and all the rest will listen to. Ask Theon Greyjoy what really happened, Rickon lives, and he is coming home. However now is not the time for such discussions, no doubt there will be a response from Winterfell, if they hide behind the walls I’ve a plan, but that dim brute Ramsay is as like to storm the lake as stay behind the walls.”

“He was on Skagos, with the cannibals.” Wyman called out his reply as Stannis turned, though it pained his torso. “But, with luck he’s in White Harbor already.”

Wyman had his men come closer, he had a plan of his own for the battle, but for it to work the banners would need to be struck and the men informed.

Ramsay grew bored of their wary trudge through the snow, the slow pace necessitated by the heavy blizzard and the lack of information. It had been some time since the scouts were sent off. The Lord of Winterfell turned in his saddle to spy his father, who was gazing implacably off into the distance, Rodrik Ryswell uttering some hushed words into his ears. Roose Bolton liked to think of himself as being above emotion, but Ramsay could tell that the loss of the scouts was making the Lord of the Dreadfort craven. What threat did Stannis even pose? He had been blunted by the Freys, and now they went in to finish the job, and kill the frostbitten Stormlanders that had not died from the cold or in battle.

"My father's men are useless. Damon, ride a ways ahead, and bring word back if you see any sign of the missing men."

Ramsay barked, to Damon-Dance-For-Me. He turned to Big Walder, who followed behind him on a courser. Despite the cold and the death of his kinsmen, the Frey boy seemed in good spirits.

"Give me my helmet, boy. I do not wish to be caught by a stray arrow when the fighting starts."

Frey duly obliged, nudging his horse forward and passing Bolton his helmet. It was a cruel looking thing, with the visage of a fanged monster crudely beaten into shape by the Dreadfort's blacksmith. Ramsay placed it on his head, but left the visor up to squint through the rapidly falling snow.