Snow on Winterfell [Siege of Winterfell, Season 14, Match 1]

Light snow was falling into the inn through the broken window. The barely visible footprints around the building told us that no one had been there for several hours. Inside, the bodies of women and men lay in red puddles, and the only sound that reached there was the howling of direwolves from the nearby forest.

Suddenly, one of the bodies, a large man, moved slightly.

"My head..." he whispered quietly. "Where am I?"

He rose slightly from the dirt floor and looked around the interior of the inn.

"How did this happen?" the memories were fading, fleeting like smoke. He touched his chest. The hand he had withdrawn was covered in red. "Why did we end up like this? Did we... ?"

*** A day earlier ***

A tall man stood by the drawbridge leading to the Greyjoy stronghold, leaning carelessly on a spear. He looked around at his allies, at the brothers and sisters with whom he would win together or die trying, and said to his companion sitting on a horse.

"This looks like an easy win."

"That's right," a woman's voice came from behind them. When they turned in the direction of the voice, they saw a young woman clad in heavy steel armor with a two-handed sword on her back. She held a helmet that looked ceremonial under her arm.

"We have the advantage in numbers and quality. This will be hard to lose," she added.

Three silhouettes, showing three of the four faces of war, stood together by the bridge, looking at the Stark castle looming in the distance.

"Have you received your marching orders yet?" the portly man asked.

"Yes. We'll set off in a few moments, as soon as the horses calm down. Are you going to the Armory, TerrorMaker?" the woman replied, simultaneously asking her own question.

The burly man nodded and at the same moment the horn sounded, the signal everyone was waiting for.

- MARCH OUT!

The VivereMilitareEst army moved like a destructive element, like a river down the mountain, unstoppable by anything and anyone. The west, where the Armory was located, was marked with blue. The soldiers carrying the Greyjoy banners led from the very beginning in this clash of two mercenary alliances serving two different houses. The blades, sharp as the frosty wind of the north, killed everything dressed in red in the procession. The attack on the armory was sudden and strong, it was almost immediately taken over by the Greyjoys.

The few troops sent from the Stark family for the same purpose were carried away and crushed in the destructive procession.

However, like a river, sometimes they pushed back their opponents, who managed to survive their own death.

After taking the Armory, the army dressed in blue moved on, taking over everything along the way. Complete domination.

Like a flooded river, more and more lands passed into the hands of House Greyjoy, with the help and involvement of the VME alliance. The opponents could not resist with smaller forces and fewer numbers.

The Stark outpost, the last outer bastion of the defense of the CTRELA alliance, bannermen of House Stark, fell to the onslaught of the Greyjoy army.

"We have pushed them into a safe zone. What next?" TerrorMaker asked his companions.

"We are waiting for them to emerge from it," the answer came, but it was impossible to see who said it.

The armies stood idle, watching each other from behind a barely visible curtain created by the Elder Gods.

The timid scouting attacks launched by the MIR alliance were quickly overpowered, trapped in their own zone they could not put up much resistance.

The Siege of Winterfell turned into a one-sided massacre, which was welcomed by the members of the VME alliance, but not everyone agreed with this position. The inaction and waiting for resources, spent by Winterfell, caused disappointment in this battle. Some craved blood more than victory, but the Elder Gods relentlessly let down their loyal believers.

- Will they finally start to at least try to break out of this encirclement? - angry voices were heard, expressing disappointment with the passive attitude of the enemy.

The MIR archers, approaching the curtain, began to sew with arrows, as if to answer a question they could not hear. The army that the attack was focused on bravely endured the fire, trying to lure at least part of the enemy army into the range of the swords and spears of their allies. With limited effectiveness.

The Siege of Winterfell ended with a crushing victory of the VME alliance over the MIR.

- I know a pretty good tavern nearby. Let's go have some fun while the night is young! - joyful shouts rose to the sky in honor and glory of the victors.

*** Now ***

The portly man stared at the red-covered hand. He carefully brought it to his lips and tasted the red with the tip of his tongue.

- So much wine wasted - he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly the tavern door burst open, kicked by an archer.

- GET UP, ANOTHER BATTLE IS COMING SOON - he roared at the top of his voice standing in the doorway.

The "bodies" began to move, and here and there dissatisfied groans could be heard.