Destiny
The black cliffs of the Eastern lands broke the horizon of shuffling banners, mighty peaks of obsidian and the devil's blood. King Aegeir Targaryen looked down from his castle at his own army, the exact same size as the opposing force. They had been here before; they were used to this kind of war, the battle for divine favor on the field of Ida. But never had the clash been on this scale, never had the clash been for such high stakes. The surviving foe would win the entire valley, from the black cliffs in the distance to his own balcony where he currently stood.
And they needed to win; the Army of the Pure would not be put down by the ragtag shambles of the opposing forces. He had Sir Heinrich and Sir Beowulf ready to take advanced positions to secure the center of the checkerboard valley for his infantry line. The snow covered plains were broken by sheets of black granite, maneuvers were difficult on the rough terrain. But Sir Heinrich took the charge across the field, Aegeir watched as the man cut a swath of honor from the formation to the center of the valley.
King Vanir Stark watched the charge of the False Tongued knight, he mobilized his own troops immediately towards the white peaks he faced. In every battle between the Honorables and the False-Tongues, the False-tongues had struck first. It had rarely made the difference, the False-Tongues were used to making counter attacks and sacrifices. That was how his first wife had died, a true shield-maiden she was. And it was how Sir Gawain and Sir Galahad had fallen, avenged by the ambassador's own guards. King Vanir sighed, this battle would be the same. Fresh faced Sir Kay was too bold, and Sir Lancelot was arrogant. Their vigor and spirit rallyed the mustered peasants, but should they fall in battle, their spirit would be broken. King Vanir sent the order for the central battalion to charge the field.
Jacques charged with all his kin around him, his three sons to the fore, cousins on his flanks and his venerable father behind him. He didn't want to fight this battle, but for the False-Tongues needed to die. He roared with unknown fury as he charged towards the sacred peaks across the field of Ida, towards the sacred peaks of Purity mountain now defiled by the Fale-Tongues. Jacques rushed far from the masses of troops behind him, his battalion running out to meet the false-tongued knight that had taken the battlefield. Seeing him in shining white armor took the edge off Jacques's spirit, but there was no turning back. The battle had begun.
Lieutenant Carlsberg lead his brigade onto the field, taking a support position for the neighboring brigade to take the first blood of the battle, to slay the Stark rabble that dared oppose them. With Sir Heinrich on the field, no Targaryen had any fear of the devil men across the field, Heinrich could not be slain. His allied brigade took their position forward and to the right of his own brigade, which was in control of a section of frosted over grass.
Blood was spilled when his allied brigade took charged into position, ready to strike at the heart of the enemy's advanced brigade. Some of them declared for Heinrich, but most screamed for the Targaryen victory over the Starks. But the moment they were in reach of the pikemen in Carlsberg's own brigade, the enemy struck. The stark rabble poured through the screaming soldiers, Carlsberg was forced to order a counter attack. This battle was not going to go as planned. There was a clash of arms and armor, Carlsberg fell to the ground, there was blood on his spear.
Sir Gawain watched as his forces moved into a prong position, ready to assault the enemy. The enemy cut through the ragged peasants, a battle of positions ensued. Eventually the castle garrison and all their catapualts were required to take a stand against an incoming battered brigade. Out of nowhere a cavalry brigade bearing the pure white of the Targaryens attacked the castle's garrison, they were taken before they could reload their catapaults. It was up to Gawain to charge in and kill the cavalrymen before they could regroup, nervously he spurred his horse. The destrier took off at a gallop, he wasn't prepared for such speed. Years of training paid off and he retained the saddle, he sent the Targaryens to hell.