CHAPTER 181
Everything unfolded almost exactly as Roose Bolton had anticipated.
As the long night drew to a close and the first pale light of dawn crept over the eastern horizon, mounted scouts returned with urgent reports of King Stannis Baratheon's movements.
Within moments, the entire camp sprang into action.
Apart from a small force left behind to guard the camp and keep watch over Lord Rodrik Harlaw and the Ironborn contingent, the rest of the Northern and Riverlands host marched out to meet the enemy.
At last, nearly fifteen miles east of the Trident crossings, beside the edge of a dense forest, the two armies came face to face beneath the dim light of dawn.
The murderous tension hanging over the field was so oppressive that even the birds remained silent.
To the west stood the combined host of the North and the Riverlands.
The direwolf banners of House Stark fluttered beside the silver trout of House Tully.
More than ten thousand men filled the field, though their formation remained somewhat uneven after their hurried deployment from camp.
Every Northman wore grief and fury upon his face.
They gripped swords, spears, and axes with white knuckles, glaring across the battlefield with murderous hatred.
Facing them from the east stood King Stannis Baratheon's force.
Barely fifteen hundred men remained beneath his banners.
Most were hardened veterans from Dragonstone and the Stormlands who had survived the Blackwater.
Though greatly outnumbered, they stood in disciplined ranks as unmoving as stone.
Beneath the fiery heart banner of House Baratheon, Stannis sat motionless upon his warhorse.
His expression remained cold and unreadable.
Beside him sat young Rickon Stark, tightly restrained between two mounted guards.
Rickon's frightened eyes searched desperately through the opposing army.
He looked for Robb.
Again and again.
But no matter how desperately he searched, his elder brother was nowhere to be seen.
Behind him, Melisandre's crimson robes seemed almost to glow beneath the dim morning sky, like living fire waiting to consume the world.
"King Stannis!"
Lord Edmure Tully was the first to ride forward.
Drawing his sword, he pointed it directly toward the Baratheon king.
His voice trembled with grief and rage.
"You dishonorable usurper!"
"You murdered our king with dark sorcery!"
"Today, before gods and men, I'll avenge King Robb Stark with your blood!"
Edmure's furious roar instantly ignited the emotions of the Northern host.
"Avenge the King!"
"Kill Stannis!"
"Vengeance!"
"Vengeance!"
Soon the Riverlords joined the cries.
Weapons struck shields.
Men shouted curses.
The entire front line surged forward several paces.
The battlefield stood on the edge of open war.
Roose Bolton remained mounted a short distance behind Edmure.
His pale eyes quietly observed the chaos.
Not the slightest emotion crossed his face.
"Foolish Tully."
"Grief has already clouded your judgment."
"But that serves my purpose perfectly."
"If anger ends Rickon Stark's life..."
"So much the better."
Far from calming the soldiers, Roose subtly encouraged Edmure's fury.
Facing the overwhelming rage of more than ten thousand men, Stannis never flinched.
Instead, he calmly nodded toward Melisandre.
The Red Priestess slowly urged her horse forward.
In an ancient tongue few present could understand, she began chanting softly.
The next instant, countless eyes widened in horror.
Melisandre slowly raised both hands.
A blazing orange flame suddenly appeared between her palms as though born from empty air.
"The Lord of Light watches over His chosen."
With a graceful motion, she cast the fire high into the sky.
The burning sphere sailed through the darkness before crashing onto the open ground between both armies.
A tremendous roar echoed across the battlefield.
The fire exploded into a towering wall of flame stretching across the field.
The brilliant blaze instantly illuminated the darkness before sunrise.
Every soldier stood frozen.
The furious shouting abruptly stopped.
Countless men stared in fear at the burning barrier.
Bathed in its crimson glow, Melisandre looked almost otherworldly.
The hatred in many hearts quickly gave way to fear of powers beyond mortal understanding.
Only then did Stannis speak.
His cold voice carried clearly across the battlefield.
"Will you finally listen?"
He briefly looked toward Rickon before facing the allied army once more.
"Robb Stark rejected the will of the Lord of Light."
"He rejected his rightful king."
"So divine judgment fell upon him."
"His death wasn't my doing."
"It was the judgment of the Lord of Light."
Without hesitation, he placed all responsibility upon his god.
"But House Stark still lives."
"I offer you one final opportunity."
"Lay down your arms."
"Swear your loyalty to your rightful king."
"I'll confirm Rickon Stark as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."
"Then together we'll march south."
"We'll punish the Lannister usurpers occupying the Iron Throne."
His words caused visible hesitation among some of the Riverlords.
Whispers spread through their ranks.
Even Roose Bolton, who had been momentarily shaken by Melisandre's display of magic, quickly recovered.
"This witch..."
"I can't wait any longer."
"If I hesitate now..."
"Stannis may truly gain control of the Northern host through Rickon."
Suppressing the unease in his heart, Roose immediately urged his horse alongside Edmure.
His voice carried all the righteous indignation he could convincingly muster.
"My lord."
"Did you hear him?"
"He murdered our king."
"And now he intends to use Lord Rickon to steal the loyalty of the North."
"Can House Tully truly endure such humiliation?"
Those words struck directly at Edmure's already shattered emotions.
"Never!"
Edmure roared once more.
Like an enraged bull, he raised his sword toward Stannis.
"You murdered King Robb through dark sorcery!"
"And now you dare threaten us again!"
"House Tully bows to no murderer!"
"Avenge King Robb!"
The response was immediate.
Thousands of swords and spears rose into the air.
"Vengeance!"
"Vengeance!"
Once again the battlefield slipped toward complete chaos.
Roose quietly glanced backward.
Almost imperceptibly, he nodded toward Black Walder Frey.
Black Walder immediately understood.
Without attracting attention, he slowly withdrew from the front ranks before quietly summoning several trusted archers.
He spoke only a few brief words.
The men immediately slipped away like ghosts.
Using the confusion as cover, they disappeared into the trees bordering the battlefield.
No one noticed their absence.
Across the field, Stannis's expression hardened.
His cold eyes settled briefly upon Roose Bolton.
He immediately understood who had destroyed the fragile negotiations.
Roose ignored the king's glare completely.
Edmure continued shouting across the battlefield.
"Release Rickon Stark!"
"Or you'll find only death waiting for you!"
Both armies steadily raised their bows.
War had become inevitable.
Hidden among the damp undergrowth of the forest, Black Walder's chosen archers silently knelt upon the fallen leaves.
Holding their breath, they slowly drew their longbows to their fullest extent.
Through gaps in the branches, every arrow pointed toward the same target.
Young Rickon Stark.
Caught helplessly between the guards beneath the glow of Melisandre's fire.
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