Morning dawned beneath a gloomy sky.
At the junction where the Kingsroad winding north met the High Road of the Vale, roughly two kilometers to the southeast, lay a gently raised stretch of grassland dotted with yellow and green wildflowers.
The terrain was broad and flat.
Neither side could conceal troops there, making it the ideal location for Robb and Stannis to meet face-to-face.
Concerned for Rickon's safety, Robb arrived first.
He wore black leather armor embossed with the head of a direwolf across the chest.
At his waist hung a small wooden sword carved from a branch of a heart tree, apparently intended to protect him against Stannis's sorcery.
Mounted on a tall gray warhorse, he waited in silence while his direwolf, Grey Wind, stayed close beside him.
Behind him stood more than a dozen members of his Kingsguard.
Patrek Frey was among them.
Further back, Roose Bolton and Rodrik Harlaw each commanded a hundred men who remained at a distance as observers.
Robb's expression was solemn as he stared toward Saltpans, quietly awaiting Stannis's arrival.
And he waited.
The morning mist gradually dispersed.
Whether it was confidence or arrogance, Stannis arrived with only around thirty men.
Among them was a woman.
At a distance of roughly four hundred meters, part of his escort halted.
Robb's sharp eyes immediately found his younger brother.
Rickon was being held firmly by one of the guards.
"Rickon!"
Robb shouted excitedly.
Without thinking, he nearly spurred his horse forward to reclaim him.
The moment Rickon heard his brother's voice, he became even more excited.
"Robb!"
He twisted desperately in the saddle, but the guard riding behind him pressed a dagger against him and forced him still.
"Stark."
Escorted by Davos, Melisandre, and the others, Stannis rode forward and spoke coldly.
"If you still want your brother alive, remain where you are and make no sudden moves."
The two parties met in the center of the field and stopped ten paces apart.
Robb clenched his teeth.
He first looked at Rickon, who was crying in fear.
His gaze then swept over the red-robed Melisandre before finally settling on the gaunt-faced Stannis.
"Lord Stannis," Robb said coldly, "you call yourself a king. Is taking children hostage truly your idea of honor?"
Stannis's face was as hard as granite.
A near-fanatical fire burned within his dark blue eyes.
"Stark."
His voice sounded like stone grinding against stone.
"Your father swore fealty to House Baratheon, yet you crowned yourself king.
What right do you have to speak to me of honor?
I came here only to offer you a chance.
A chance to kneel before your lawful king and beg forgiveness for your treason."
From the very beginning, he placed himself in the role of judge.
A layer of frost settled over Robb's youthful face. Suppressing his anger, he answered steadily:
"I became king to avenge my father.
I became king to protect the freedom of the North.
I have committed no crime requiring forgiveness. And I came here to reclaim my brother."
He fixed Stannis with a hard stare.
"Tell me what you want. What must I do before you'll return Rickon?"
Stannis answered immediately.
"Kneel before me. Swear your loyalty.
Place your army under my command so we may march against the Lannisters who unlawfully occupy the Iron Throne.
When the war is won, I will return your brother.
I will also allow you to retain your titles as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."
His tone suggested he was offering an extraordinary favor.
Robb laughed in disbelief.
"A defeated man dares demand that I kneel?"
The Young Wolf showed no fear.
"You murdered your own brother Renly through sorcery. Now you would use my brother's life to threaten me?
Stannis, is that how you obtained your crown—through such dishonorable means?"
The words struck directly at Stannis's deepest wound.
"Enough!"
His furious shout echoed across the field. His murderous glare locked onto Robb.
For a moment, he did not even deny killing Renly.
"Renly was a traitor!
He stole the crown and army that belonged to me!
"I gave him a chance, just as I am giving you one now. You should appreciate my mercy."
"Mercy?"
Robb let out a loud, mocking laugh.
The sound carried across the open grassland.
"All I see is a desperate loser using sorcery and a child to threaten a victor.
Stannis, you lost at the Blackwater. You lost your fleet and your army.
Now you intend to throw away the honor House Baratheon and King Robert spent a lifetime building as well?"
Without waiting for Stannis to respond, Robb urged his horse one step forward. The aura of the Young Wolf—victorious in battle after battle—surged outward.
For an instant, it even overshadowed the grim authority of Stannis's kingship.
"Return my brother!" Robb's voice cracked across the field like thunder. "Or I will lead my army against Saltpans."
"I will tear it down stone by stone and hang both you and your red witch from its walls!"
As his words fell, the members of his Kingsguard almost simultaneously drew their weapons and aimed them toward Stannis's party.
Behind them, Roose's men and the others reacted as well.
Davos and the men accompanying Stannis stiffened immediately. Believing the Starks might actually attack, they drew their own weapons.
The atmosphere became instantly lethal. The tension was so thick it seemed frozen.
Only Melisandre remained completely relaxed.
Her gaze drifted toward the small heart-tree sword hanging at Robb's waist.
A trace of mockery appeared on her lips.
Then she rode forward until she was beside Stannis. Her clear voice shattered the tense silence.
"King Stannis is the chosen king of the Lord of Light. He is the prince foretold to save Westeros.
You who worship false gods and cling to darkness—only by submitting to the Lord of Light and to King Stannis can you find salvation.
Otherwise, the most terrible hell awaits you."
Robb did not even bother responding. His sharp gaze remained fixed solely on Stannis.
Instead, he issued a warning of his own.
"Lord Stannis."
"I am giving you two days. If I do not see my brother within two days, I will march on Saltpans."
"Every soldier from Dragonstone will die."
Stannis's face turned dark with rage.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched visibly. Never in his life had he suffered such humiliation.
Melisandre gently placed a hand upon his arm. Warmth flowed through him, calming some of his fury.
He stared at Robb.
The fire in his blue eyes had vanished, replaced by deadly frost.
"You will regret this, Stark."
The words were squeezed through clenched teeth.
"A king's wrath is far more terrible than you can imagine. You will pay for today's arrogance with your life."
Without another word, he jerked his reins and turned his horse back toward Saltpans.
His men maintained a firm grip on Rickon, fearful that the Starks might charge regardless of the boy's safety.
Fortunately, Robb did not lose control.
Concern for Rickon kept him in check.
He listened to his brother's cries fade into the distance as Stannis departed.
Yet for reasons he could not explain, a sense of unease settled deep within him.
"Let's go."
Frowning heavily, Robb turned his horse and led his men back toward camp.
But the moment he rode away, Melisandre suddenly glanced back over her shoulder.
Her ruby-red eyes fixed unblinkingly on Robb's retreating figure.
A strange and cruel smile curved her lips.
Rumble—
Thunder rolled and dark rainclouds spread across the sky.
And in the coming storm, shadows were about to be born.
__________
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