Chapter 56

Version 2.0

"This is going to be a never-ending slugfest," Jon says observing the end of battle. The Others had momentarily pulled back, allowing the beleaguered defenders a brief respite. Moonlight cast upon the retreating form of the weights as they pulled back most likely to reorganise.

In the village, torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the battered barricades. Warriors, weary and battle-worn, found refuge as they tended to the wounded and burned the fallen.

A solemn silence gripped the village as the defenders rested, sharing glances with friends as the more energetic of them joked and laughed with them. Fires crackled in the village centre, offering a meager warmth that fought against the biting cold of the Long Night.

Brandon, Jon, Lyanna, Edric, and Jocelyn flopped onto the grounds resting near one of the flickering fires. The glow reflected off their worn armour and fatigued expressions as their men followed soot. And before long people of the village were quick to bring them drink and food and thank them for their help.

As the survivors caught their breath, distant echoes signalled the Others regrouping, their screeching calling out like an annoying crying baby demanding attention.

The fallen, both human and wight, lay scattered across the battlefield and with the pause in the battle, the survivors took stock of their losses before they burned bodies so that they would not come back. Stacking up the bodies of the worthy on pyres and the dead into already-made fire pits.

Others took power naps anywhere they could, sometimes even mistaken for bodies only to be awoken to laughter.

"And I fear it is only going to get more difficult. The Others are intelligent; they will have seen our weaknesses in our defences," Brandon said.

"Oi, you stupid cunt!" a shout erupted from the other side of the court.

"Perfect bloody timing," Brandon muttered, achingly walking over to the other side before he quickly had to sprint to it.

The Fisher King, Corman, and the Ryder King, Eamon, were having a friendly shouting match that escalated quickly. Fists were thrown by Cormac, sparking a sudden brawl that unfolded with surprising speed.

The King's men clenched their fists, preparing to throw themselves into the fray, but were swiftly halted upon seeing Brandon and his men breaking up the fight.

"This cunt cost the lives of my men!" Cormac shouts, held back by Edric and Jon, while Brandon helps Eamon stand up, his face already showing signs of bruising.

"It was an honest mistake, won't happen again," Eamon says, maintaining his carefree demeanour.

"Tell that to my men, you cur! How the hell am I going to hold my wall when most of my warriors are either dead or too injured to fight?" Cormac shouts again, straining against his human cuffs.

"Cormac, you will give some of your wall to defend to Eyron Reed. Their fighting was relatively light compared to others, so they can take more of the wall to defend. Eamon, because of your mistake, you will also have to take up more of the wall to defend. We are fighting Winter here, Kings, remember that."

Eamon, for once, looks a bit sheepish, resembling a child reprimanded by their parent, while Cormac, still huffing and puffing, walks away.

"I won't forget this, Cormac; watch yourself," he says, walking off with his men.

"Thanks, Brandon," Eamon says, still looking sheepish.

"We can't afford mistakes, Eamon; I hope you make up for it," Brandon says, leaving him to see if he can catch up on some quick sleep.

/

Brandon is woken to the sounds of shouting and hurrying feet, which can only mean the battle is at hand. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he quickly rises and gathers his friends and warriors. The camp is a flurry of activity as everyone readies themselves for the impending clash.

His men, still a bit groggy from their brief rest, march swiftly toward their assigned section of the wall. Brandon leads the way with the looming threat of encroaching wights serving as a powerful wake-up call, banishing any remnants of weariness.

Arriving at their post, they form a line, weapons gleaming in the moonlight. The repaired wall shows the hasty efforts of the villagers. As the men take their positions, a unified 'fight' pierces the night air as it starts to become more of a chant that spreads through the men.

The wights charge relentlessly, breaking through the hastily repaired section of the wall. They barge their way through throwing themselves at the men like mud at a wall.

As the fight rages on, Brandon can't shake a growing sense of unease. The skirmish feels less chaotic, yet an impending worry gnaws at the edges of his consciousness. Amidst the whirling chaos of combat, a messenger approaches, breathless and urgent.

"Brandon. Cormac, Eamon, and Eyron are under heavy attack. Ice spiders and white walkers. They need reinforcements. Quickly!"

The news jolts through Brandon. Without hesitation, he signals to Theon, Jon, and Jocelyn, rallying. They arrive quickly at the new part of the wall to see a chaotic sight of massive fighting, from large ice spiders to swift and deadly white walkers butchering through men.

As they plunge into the fray, the battle unfolds in clashing weapons, echoing shouts, and the eerie screeches of the white walkers. The ice spiders move with deadly grace, and the white walkers lead the wights in a relentless assault. Brandon and his comrades move in unison, their years of fighting experience evident in the coordinated strikes and seamless teamwork.

Time seems to blur as they fight, desperately holding the line against the relentless onslaught. At the peak of the battle, when the situation seems most dire, a distant horn pierces the air. The mountains come alive with the arrival of the Flint King's men. A surge of hope courses through the defenders as the mountain men, armed with both numbers and obsidian weapons, charge into the battlefield. The tides turn in favour of the alliance, and the united front pushes back against the white walkers, regaining control of the wall.

The arrival of the Flint King's reinforcements proves to be a turning point, and the alliance seizes the opportunity to rally and fortify their defences.

The cheers of triumph echo through the air as the alliance successfully repels the Others and secures the wall. Hope blankets the defenders like a comforting shield, a brief respite from the relentless onslaught they've faced. A solid Victory always boosts morale, a beacon cutting through the darkness.

Yet, just as the blanket of hope begins to stell its warmth, it is violently ripped from them when they receive work from where the Flint King was holding his part of the wall. The Flint King of the mountains, a vital leader and linchpin of the mountain clans was dead. The Others had targeted him, charged at his wall, and seemingly sought him out personally when he had diverted his men. He was important enough that an Other had personally moved to kill him.

/

The news was quick to spread to each tribe, soon their leaders attempting to organize one another while some claimed to know what was best for the rest.

Brandon bellowed to the mountain tribes, "Are you asking to die? You are in the middle of a battle, turning your back to the enemy. I expect the great warriors of the mountain to be better than this, and yet your section of the wall is about to collapse. Is this what I can expect from the mountain men."

Like a cascading wave, shame sparks in the clan leaders.

"Right, you are lad." Ruger Wull shouts,

"Come on them let's show these bastards we mean business." Maecy Harclay says before she leads her men forward back to their section.

While it might be a temporary solution, with hope on their side, it would last until the end of the battle.

The fighting continued, but after the Mountain Flint King's death, the Others shifted their strategy. Having dealt their damage, they sent in wights and ice spiders to exploit the disorganized state of the mountain tribes whilst doing the same in other parts of the wall now lower in number. Brandon and the others quickly realized the Others' plan and rushed back to their wall to defend and hold the line against this renewed offensive.

As time passed, the battle intensified, each moment feeling like an eternity in the fierce struggle against the relentless onslaught of the Others. In these crucial moments, Brandon and the other Kings moved swiftly to hotspots, often confronting masses of ice spiders or engaging white walkers. Their coordinated efforts provided crucial support to sections of the wall under siege, ensuring that the defence held against the relentless advance of the Others.

The air was thick with blood and weighed on his body, each clash of obsidian and bronze sapping more and more of his strength. The mobile unit of Kings continued to navigate the battlefield where what was keeping the defenders going.

As the tumultuous battle wore on, the intensity gradually began to wane. The relentless assault of the Others appeared to abate, and a momentary reprieve settled over the embattled village. The forces of the enemy began to pull back, retreating into the shadows to organize and plan for a renewed assault.

The defenders, weary yet resolute, surveyed the aftermath of the clash from walls battered and scarred, to men caught out due to disorganisation lay dying. Weary warriors returned to makeshift camps, finding solace in brief naps and shared meals. The wounded were tended to, and the fallen were honoured as the living sought the strength to continue the fight.

In the heart of the village, Brandon and his friends gathered at the central meeting point. The flickering light of torches cast dancing shadows on the faces of warriors as the heavy air calmed with the scents of sweat and blood that soon settled with a pungent that you could taste.

Brandon, his armour caked in filth, settled down. The taste of prepared food was a welcome reprieve from the intensity of battle.

"Gods, it's tiring having to deal with all this crap," Brandon says.

"Sorry I can't be more help, Bran," Jon says.

"Nah, it's all good. It's just problems that I have to deal with. *sigh*. It would just be so much easier if they would just have to listen and stop fighting with each other."

"You can't control them. They sadly aren't your men," Jon says, patting him on the shoulder.

And like a lightning bolt striking his mind, the gears in Brandon's head start to turn. "They could be," he mutters. "A united North."

"What?" Jon asks.

"Throughout this entire war, I have had to constantly deal with kings bickering with each other, having to mediate for them. They only ever do the bare minimum for their fellow king. More people died due to the inaction of other Kings than was needed. But if I were the king of all of them, I would have the power to change that."

"Great idea, Bran. Just a slight problem. You aren't even a king, so I don't know how you would even defeat any of the kings."

"Thanks for the confidence, Jon," Brandon says. "How would I-" he was about to ask before being drawn away from his friend.

Looking across the centre, he can see Gareth Locke laughing while gesturing towards Cedric Tower and Edwyn Slate. Both Kings hear it and start to stand, rudely gesturing back.

"Oh look, more crap," Brandon says as he rubs his eyes before standing up.

"Just stating a fact. You guys suck and are shit warriors, so you have to rely on me to save you. No harm in admitting that; I am just a better warrior than you," Gareth says.

"Fuck you, Gareth. We were holding perfectly well; we did not need your help, especially not when you just came to show off."

"Oh, but how might it be," he says, smiling broadly. "It is only my right to help a weak man when I see them struggling."

Brandon can only pray that the ritual can be completed quickly.