Events unfolded almost exactly as Roose Bolton had predicted.
As the long night neared its end and dawn's first light prepared to break across the horizon, scouts reported movement from Stannis's army.
Within minutes, the northern host that had waited through the night surged into action.
Apart from a portion left behind to guard the camp and keep watch over Rodrik Harlaw and the Ironborn, every available soldier marched out.
At last, fifteen kilometers east of the crossing camp, near the edge of a dense forest, the two armies faced one another in the pale light of dawn.
The tension in the air was so thick that even the birds in the northern woods fell silent.
To the west stood the combined armies of the North and the Riverlands beneath the banners of the direwolf and the leaping trout.
They numbered more than ten thousand men, though their ranks appeared somewhat disorderly after such a hurried mobilization.
Every northern soldier wore an expression of grief, hatred, and fury.
Their weapons were clenched tightly in their hands, and their eyes burned with murderous intent.
To the east stood Stannis' army.
Roughly fifteen hundred strong, most were seasoned veterans from Dragonstone and Storm's End.
Though vastly outnumbered, their formation remained solid as stone.
Beneath the banner of the fiery heart, Stannis sat atop his warhorse, his face expressionless.
Beside him stood Rickon, restrained between two guards.
The boy's eyes searched desperately through the opposing army, looking for his brother.
No matter how hard he looked, however, Robb was nowhere to be seen.
Behind him, Melisandre's crimson robes blazed like an ominous flame against the gray dawn.
"Stannis!"
Edmure was the first to ride forward. Drawing his sword, he pointed it toward the opposing army.
His voice trembled with rage.
"You kinslaying monster!"
"You murdered our king with sorcery!"
"Today, as Lord of Riverrun, I swear before the gods that your blood will honor his memory!"
Edmure's roar ignited the army behind him.
"Revenge for the king!"
"Kill the kinslayer!"
"Revenge! Revenge!"
The northern soldiers' cries quickly spread to the Riverlands forces.
The entire front line began to stir. Curses echoed through the ranks.
Weapons rattled.
The army surged forward.
Battle seemed moments away.
Roose sat quietly on horseback just behind Edmure. Watching the chaos unfold, his pale eyes remained completely calm.
'Foolish Tully. Anger only clouds judgment.'
'But that suits me perfectly. If anger ends up killing Rickon, so much the better.'
Rather than restraining the soldiers, he subtly encouraged Edmure's fury.
Faced with the wrath of thousands, Stannis showed no fear. He simply nodded once toward Melisandre.
The red priestess rode forward.
In a strange, chanting voice, she began reciting words none could understand.
Then, before countless astonished eyes—She raised both hands.
A sphere of blazing orange fire appeared in her palms from thin air.
"The Lord of Light stands with us!"
With a sweeping motion, she hurled the flame skyward.
The fire traced a brilliant arc before crashing into the ground between the two armies.
Boom!
The explosion erupted into a ring of roaring flames, illuminating the darkness before dawn.
The impossible spectacle stunned the enraged soldiers at the front.
They stared in terror at the burning wall. They stared at the red woman standing amid the firelight.
Their anger gave way to something older and more primal.
Fear.
"Now."
Stannis's voice cut through the silence.
Cold.
Authoritative.
"Will you finally listen?"
He glanced at Rickon, whose face had turned pale with fear. Then he addressed the allied army.
"Robb Stark defied the will of the Lord of Light. He defied his rightful king."
"And so the Lord of Light delivered judgment. This has nothing to do with me."
He dismissed Robb's death as the work of divine will.
"But Stark blood still remains." He pointed toward Rickon. "So I offer you one final chance."
"Lay down your arms.
Swear loyalty to your king, Stannis Baratheon.
I will name Rickon Stark the new Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.
You will follow me to King's Landing. Together we will destroy the kinslaying Lannister usurpers."
His words caused unease throughout the allied ranks.
Several Riverlands lords began exchanging whispers.
Even Roose, still unsettled by Melisandre's display of magic, felt a moment of alarm.
'This witch...'
'No. I can't wait any longer.'
He realized that if he hesitated now, Stannis might truly gain control of the northern army through Rickon.
Suppressing his fear of magic, Roose immediately rode forward beside Edmure.
His voice rang out with carefully crafted outrage.
"Did you hear him, my lord?
He murdered our king. And now he seeks to steal our army by threatening us with a child!
It is an insult to every man here.
How can House Tully's honor tolerate such humiliation from a kinslayer?"
The words struck directly at Edmure's already shattered emotions.
"That's right!"
Edmure's fury reignited.
Raising his sword again, he shouted:
"Vile kinslayer! You murdered our king with sorcery! Will you use sorcery to murder us all as well?
House Tully bows to no threats! Revenge for King Robb!"
At once the northern and Riverlands lords behind him raised their weapons.
"Revenge!"
"Revenge!"
The situation spun out of control once more.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Roose gave a subtle nod toward Black Walder behind him.
Black Walder understood immediately.
Quietly withdrawing from sight, he approached several trusted archers.
He gave them a brief, deadly command.
The men slipped away from the army like shadows.
Moments later they vanished into the darkness beneath the trees at the edge of the battlefield.
Amid the confusion, no one noticed.
Meanwhile, Stannis fixed Roose with a hard stare. He clearly understood who was disrupting his efforts.
Roose did not care.
"Stannis," Edmure continued shouting, "release Rickon Stark now, or you're a dead man!"
As the shouting continued, the archers reached their positions. Kneeling among damp leaves and roots, they drew their longbows to full tension.
Their arrows settled upon a single target.
Rickon Stark.
The boy trapped between two guards.
They waited.
Then came the perfect moment. The soldiers holding Rickon shifted nervously under the growing pressure.
One of them stepped back.
For an instant, Rickon was fully exposed.
"Now."
"Loose."
Several bowstrings snapped simultaneously.
Whoosh!
The arrows vanished through the dawn mist.
One arrow shot from the darkness.
It flew true.
Striking Rickon directly in the chest.
The young boy never even had time to scream. His body jerked. Then he tumbled from the horse like a discarded doll.
"Rickon!"
Stannis shouted in shock and fury.
The battlefield froze.
His most valuable hostage was dead. In a single moment, his entire plan to command the North collapsed.
Watching Rickon fall, Roose's eyes gleamed with predatory hunger.
The moment had arrived.
Drawing his sword, he became the first to charge. His voice thundered with perfectly feigned grief and rage.
"They killed Rickon Stark! They murdered the king's brother!"
"Revenge for the king! Revenge for House Stark!"
"Kill Stannis!"
"Revenge for Stark!"
The cry spread through the army. The soldiers of the North and Riverlands had endured too much grief.
Too much loss.
Now all of it exploded at once.
Like a flood bursting through a broken dam, they surged toward Stannis's vastly outnumbered army.
Stannis's expression changed instantly.
His eyes turned toward Melisandre.
For the first time, even she looked uncertain.
Her magic was devastating against individuals. Against ten thousand men, it was little more than a drop in the sea.
"Your Grace, go!"
She spread her arms.
A towering wall of flame erupted before Stannis, temporarily blocking the advancing northern soldiers.
But men were already moving around the sides.
Stannis knew it was over.
His plan had failed completely.
"Retreat!"
"Retreat!"
Turning his horse, he fled toward Saltpans.
His fifteen hundred soldiers followed, each trying to outrun the next.
Melisandre cast another spell to slow the pursuers before joining him. Yet the northern lords soon broke through the flames.
Their cavalry charged ahead relentlessly.
Riverlands infantry followed close behind.
Stannis shouted commands, trying desperately to rally resistance.
It was hopeless.
Against enemies many times his number, driven into a frenzy of vengeance, his small force stood no chance.
The battle quickly became a massacre.
Amid the chaos, Melisandre seized Stannis by the arm and pulled him onto her horse.
The two fled together without looking back.
With their departure, the soldiers of Dragonstone were left to bear the full weight of the northern army's fury.
The fighting ended quickly.
Apart from a handful of lucky survivors, most of Stannis's army perished on the blood-soaked ground beneath the dawn sky.
Roose sat atop his horse amidst the sea of corpses.
Watching Stannis disappear into the distance, his expression remained completely unchanged.
'Now...'
'It's Galon Glover's turn.'
__________
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