First part : https://www.furaffinity.net/view/44603373/
https://youtu.be/AqJMVSnwg_Y

Deep down, underneath the anger and betrayal birthed by panic that he felt, Low-Key had no choice but to respect the decision of the Pastillese in the north. The defensive agreement the Yellow dukes had with him weren't with Goviony specifically or even with the crown; instead they had it made clear that they would gather their armies in aid if the rabbit kingdom was attacked from the outside; a wise move considering the troubles constantly brewing in the Southern Lappes. This excluded what in essence, boiled down to a civil war, even if the issue could mean an invasion from the East would eventually and inevitably come. Before this would happen, Pastilles had no reason to get involved.

This still left the king scrambling for troops to face the Red Hornet, whose quick advance left less and less room for doubts about his intentions; straight to Govion, the capital, like a bolt from a ballista. Ten thousand men at arms and knights no less, and they continually received reinforcements from his own barons; and that still didn't take into account the worrying phenomenon of the peasants' uprisings, multiplying all across the land like a forest fire...

What he did manage to secure from his Northern allies however, was the service of mercenaries. They had not been paid yet, and would likely be paid by the Yellow dukes themselves as soon as they were able. By the looks of it, the shrewd badger lords were well aware that they would in fact need to prevent a Lappridian victory, or would that fail, be expected to honor their oath.

And thus, nearly six thousands unpaid Pastillese badgers and bears from the Buttresses, a force as implacable and indiscriminatory as a falling rock, marched begrudgingly to join with the royal army, as it gathered to face the dreaded Lappridian ost. Eight thousands, the Govionists could assemble on their side, counting gophers and squirrel auxiliaries from the Meadows; the numerical advantage would for sure be on the side of the crown, and soon the war would be over and the traitor would be brought in chains and put to death.

Good timing, they said, as the day of the battle appeared to dawn on the horizon. The Govionist commander, old captain Shrok, had stalled all he could for weeks trying to delay it, nervously looking to the North for the Pastillese halberds and pikes to finally peak... He had renounced to hold many favorable positions anxiously waiting for the moody, grumbling reinforcements to deign join his force, and skilled as he was at retreating and barring the road to the capital, the moment was fast coming that he could no longer do both, or either. Where in the world were they? Reports were scarce and confused... a day's march? A week? Had they even left the Buttresses? As far as he knew, they could as well be in Hell.

A message arrived one night that Shrok didn't know, not only whether or not to believe, but also whether or not he WANTED to believe it. Out of nowhere, the Pastillese were arriving. All of a sudden, in the blackest of a winter night, the catapult had finally fired, and its projectile was now going to land where it was going to land; it was going to roll where it pleased, and would crush everything in its path.

Iron clashed under the stony sky of a bleak day. A forward company of Govionist squirrels were routed, saved from destruction by a line of arbalesters; as the battle lines drew themselves around the bloodshed of this early engagement, arrived a sight Shrok had both wanted and dreaded. At this instant, his heart wanted it desperately while his head feared it more and more. What on earth, he thought, makes a horde of unpaid mercenaries walk so fast, they arrive to the battlefield on time?

“LAPPRIDES! LAPPRIDES!” they heard scream loud and clear to their dismay. They then realized the Pastillese were charging their squirrel auxiliaries on the East flank of the royal ost, who, taken by surprise, were hardly able to form a line against the unexpected assault... their ranks broke as briskly as they had formed, leaving many dead and maimed behind and the army's flank exposed... in a matter of minutes, they were trapped.

“LAPPRIDES! LAPPRIDES!” the mercenaries chanted again, to much cheers and echoes from the mountain ost, who was now marching forward, disregarding the volleys of crossbow bolts raining on their wall of shields.

Shrok's face fell between his shaking hands. He could hardly call that a treason. The knight in him wanted to, but the soldier knew better. He could not call it anything but fair and square in a horrible way. The contract the Pastillese had, was written in gold; gold they had yet to receive from him, the crown, or their own lords. They had no doubt received it from the cursed Red Hornet. Now not even the promise of a better wage, something he of all people could for sure not afford, would have the slightest chance of preventing the destruction of his army. Dark thoughts spinned inside his head, and he couldn't make heads or tails of the confused screams he heard around him; it was his officers, he guessed, begging for commands, something resembling hope, right as the center of the royal army started to cave in under an overwhelming frontal assault. Here and there, all across the battle line, soldiers and knights started to flee.
“My apologies, my liege,” was all the old knight could mutter.

Desperate clamors rose between the ranks, causing the remaining line hastily formed to defend the right flank, to melt; causing the left flank, where the royal army had successfully routed waves of enraged peasants, to fall back in fear and disbelief : the general, old captain Shrok, had fallen on his sword!

Perhaps, the soldier wanted to sound a retreat, get as many of his men out of the battlefield as possible and regroup in the North... but the knight wanted nothing but death; sounding the charge with the company of knights surrounding him; this would bring the cowards back around, they would turn the situation to an overwhelming advantage and win the day... it appears, however, that the two opposed temperaments had battled one another to death.

Next up on the bloody, terrible, no good history of Lappridia!
Everything seems to be lost for the crown this early in the war; can anyone mount a defense of the capital? Chaos is lurking back there, as refugees and what's left of the royal army limping back are pouring through the gates, and the king is nowhere to be seen, hiding in the castle and receiving no visitors : no news, as they say, is good news, even if you merely refuse to hear them... but in such a troubled, unsafe time, could hiding be for the better? Perhaps, or perhaps not, if the Lappridian rebel is on top of things as he appears to be so far... But IS he? The frail bunny is playing with wolves and badgers and bears, oh my...