Hosteen Frey POV

Hosteen Frey was ridding hard and fast, but all he could see was white. "This blizzard is pure madness. No wonder all these damned Northerners are all insane and stupid. No human with any sense would live in this hell hole." Hosteen continued to ride.

Hosteen saw a fire reaching into the sky and smiled cruelly. "Ah, the village. At last I shall arrive and destroy that false king. Then Bolton will be forced to continue to owe favors to House Frey. He'll truly owe us everything. I intend to make him pay me especially well. Afterall, it's his fault that I'm out in this blizzard. It's his fault that Aenys is dead." Hosteen wouldn't say that he especially cared about his brother. Afterall, he was likely just in the way anyways. "That said, he was still my brother, and I'll be damned if I let some Northern savage kill him unanswered. It would be an insult to our house. Besides, it almost killed me and did kill my horse." Hosteen was eager for both glory and victory.

Hosteen had already determined his strategy while riding. Afterall, with Aenys dead, he was the leader. "As it should be, I was always the stronger. Aenys took too long with all his elaborate planning. All I'm fighting are frozen fools and worthless savages. They will all taste the steel of House Frey." Hosteen continued to ride forward towards the battle.

Realizing that the time for the fight was fast approaching, Hosteen signaled his second in command. The man rode forward, his name lost on Hosteen, and asked, "What are your orders mi'lord?" Hosteen thought for a second. "Take around 600 men and come in from behind. We'll smash from their rear and destroy their morale. They're freezing fools, this should be a quick fight." The man nodded and asked, "What about Lord Pig back there?" Hosteen laughed, "Leave him, he'll only get in the way. Afterall, his men are busy trying to keep his horse from dying under his weight." The two men laughed for a moment. Hosteen then signaled the man to leave with his force, and the man obeyed.

Hosteen continued riding, observing the flanking force ride off. "Good, that should give them time to get around. He took some of the faster riders. We continue forward, keeping the baggage train near us." Suddenly Hosteen heard a horn from the front. "Contact, surprising, oh well, we'll deal with it." Hosteen drew his sword and before long dark shapes came out of the blizzard and began attacking the formation. Hosteen and his warriors began battling the newcomers on horseback. Most fights lasting no more than a second. "These must be some of the northern clansman. Their numbers seem equivalent to my current force, around 1200. They are mocking me, they assume that we will fall to people that are consider savages even by the Northern savages." This thought made Hosteen's blood boil. Hosteen was nearly cut by one of the savages, but he parried and quickly slashed the would-be slayer across the stomach with his sword killing the assailant. Soon after, the clansman retreated.

"Report," yelled Hosteen to his men. One of his lieutenants rode forward, "We appear to have 30 dead, and 100 wounded. We count 60 dead of theirs, including the wounded that we just executed." Hosteen growled in frustration. "Send the wounded and 50 men to remain here with the baggage train. The rest of you charge after them." After the men were sectioned off, Hosteen roared and rallied his men. They all spurred their horses and rode forward at top speed, towards the light.

The entire formation rode forward at top speed, and soon they were near the light. "Now they will taste my wrath." Hosteen then shouted, "Kill them all, except Stannis Baratheon, we will return him to Winterfell. There, he will feel Roose Bolton's cruelty." Hosteen almost felt sorry for Baratheon. Suddenly, in front of the formation, a fire appeared. "Burning oil perhaps, no matter. It's already burning out." Indeed, the fire only lasted for a few minutes, and was already going out, but Hosteen looked around at where he was riding. His eyes quickly widened in horror. Instead of dirt and road, he realized they were ridding on snow covered ice, the snow heavy enough to give traction similar to elsewhere. However, he also saw that the ice was covered in holes. "Oh no, the ice, it's weakened, and that fire, we're about to…" However, Hosteen didn't finish the thought as he, and the rest of the front of the formation felt the ice shatter under them. He saw as he and his men were swallowed by the cold water, unable to swim with the heavy armor. Hosteen continued to sink, even after he stopped kicking underneath the frozen lake.

Mors Umber POV

Mors smiled happily as he saw the Frey formation go through the ice in the middle of the two islands. Around 600 Frey men remained, hundreds sinking to their deaths in the lake, including their apparent commander. "Hmm, I suppose weasels can't swim, especially with all that armor of theirs." Mors was delighted at the continued effectiveness of the trap falls on the Freys. "First, I took out the one that was apparently a good commander, and now his nitwit replacement has fallen as well. Good thing that his southron king made this lake into a death trap." The plan was going well.

The plan was a variation on the tricks involving sending false light signals to ships in order to make them crash. In this case, Baratheon placed a large fire pit on top of the weirwood tree and lit it, after extinguishing the light of the watchtower. Then, he sent the clansman, on horseback to anger the Freys into a reckless charge. Now with a 1000 Northman, including Umbers and Mormonts on this island under his command, and a 1000 southron knights on the other under the command of the knight Horpe, they would annihilate the remaining Freys. Meanwhile, the rest of the clansman were moving on the baggage train. However, they would need to remain careful. Parts of the Frey force could have split off.

"Alright lads, let's warm these Frey bastards up. Fire," commanded Mors, and before long hundreds of arrows, from both islands rained down on the terrified Freys. Around a hundred more died and then the formation came apart. Around a hundred went towards the island with the knights, and almost 300 came towards Mors. The rest tried to flee for their lives. Meanwhile, Mors heard a horn blow from near the weirwood. "I suppose that the king is currently fighting another force of Freys. If he can't survive an attack of Frey's he doesn't deserve to be a king." Mors observed as the 300 Freys charged at his hap hardly, not even in a faint semblance of a formation, just an unruly mob. "Raise spears." His men gathered closer together and waited.

Before long, the Frey cavalry hit the spears at full force, and they fell from their horses, either due to the spears, or due to crashing into each other. Many died instantly, and most of the rest soon after. It turned into a bloody melee in short order. Mors briefly dueled a Frey soldier. He appeared to be a young lad, fast, but not all that skilled. The lad swung at Mors, but the swing was too wide. Mors quickly dodged to one side and swung his blade, severing the boy's head in one fell swoop. Within moments, the melee was over, and Mors had slain 3 more Freys.

Mors looked over his men, especially the green boys he had brought himself. "They appear to have fought admirably. Most of them even got a kill or two." However, Mors was somewhat saddened. 9 of the boys appeared to have died in the fight. "Poor lads but brave. I'll have to inform their families of their bravery and loyalty." Mors observed the rest of his men. Overall, they had performed well. They suffered few casualties and the Freys were all but wiped out. They had taken 26 prisoners. "Alright, you weasel faced miserable excuses for men. You are our prisoners, but your fate will be decided by the king. I recommend you behave." Mors soon heard several horns that announced victory on all 3 islands, and that the watch tower's fire had been reignited. "Alright lads, time to return to the village." Mors then led his force back to the village.

Stannis POV

Stannis Baratheon was not a man who smiled often, but this appeared a time to do so. His forces had prevailed and done exceptionally well. Around 1800 Freys and 300 Manderlys had marched towards him. However, the Manderlys left before the battle began, likely returning to White Harbor. Meanwhile the Freys fell for the trap. He had used the Northern clansman as skirmishers, and put 1000 of his knights on one island, 1000 northmen on the other, and kept 200 knights and 100 Glovers with him. His force had engaged 600 Freys that had been sent as a flanking movement. However, they had been taken off guard by some ice cracking, and as his force had engaged them, Farring had sent some men to attack them from the rear. As a result, his smaller force had easily overwhelmed the poor excuse for soldiers that they had fought. Overall, they had captured the baggage train, resupplying his forces with more than enough provisions, had even captured a little over 100 Freys and killed most of the rest, including Hosteen Frey. Around 200 Freys had managed to escape, though Stannis suspected many would die in the journey to Winterfell. "In essence, House Frey is eliminated from this war in the North, and Bolton has lost control of Manderly. Bolton was a fool, he should have left me to starve." Stannis's forces meanwhile took few casualties. Around 50 of his own knights were dead, along with 9 Umbers, 5 Mormonts, 150 Clansman, 20 Glovers, and 25 various Northmen.

Stannis looked around and saw his men celebrating. It appeared that victory had helped quell the infighting that had begun to develop amongst his forces and the northmen. There was good natured teasing but that was it. "Apparently success and food were all that it took to get them to cooperate again." Stannis was himself very pleased with the success of his forces. "I may win this war yet. Once the north is unified, we will be able to begin preparing for the war north of the Wall. However, defeating Sir Stupid was the simple part. Next, we will face Roose Bolton. This will not be an easy battle." Stannis began to contemplate the next battle. This battle was over, but the war had just begun.