Chapter 9: The Battle at the God's Eye

Two weeks passed. Choosing the best place to engage in battle proved anything but trivial.

On one hand, it seemed that Stannis was stalling in leading his sizeable army northward, but in reality, he had been waiting, on Davos's advice, for the return of scouts he had sent to the right side of the great lake called the Gods' Eye, and further up, almost to Darry, to ensure his enemies weren't planning to pull a nasty trick on him by descending on that side to try to encircle him or attack undefended King's Landing while he marched up the left side of the lake to meet them.

To be honest, such a tactic had been considered, but it was discarded due to the extended time and logistical difficulties it would have entailed.

Davos had also sent his sailors disguised as fishermen to ascend the two rivers, then blocked them just before the Blackwater Rush with massive chains stretching from bank to bank—the same chains Tyrion Lannister had used against him—to prevent the Riverlords from leveraging their expertise with boats.

At the same time, Stannis, ever cautious, had sent scouts southward to ensure reinforcements from the Reach wouldn't arrive to trap him in a pincer move (this was his own idea). Meanwhile, Willas Tyrell, in Highgarden, had received a raven announcing the betrothal of his sister Margaery to Robb and the alliance of three regions against the last Baratheon. However, his only instruction was to prepare for any possible, though unlikely, attacks from Stannis and to otherwise await further orders. The wise eldest son had even burned a letter, received weeks earlier, from Tywin Lannister with a proposal of alliance that—to his personal satisfaction—had never materialized.

After evaluating several options, Robb resolved to follow the simplest and most immediate course of action: avoid dividing his forces, refrain from even attempting to split the enemy's forces (as they wouldn't fall for it anyway), and face Stannis in open battle, preferably in a geographical area that met three objectives:

-Preserve the Riverlands from further devastation;

-Avoid the logistical and tactical confusion that would arise if the battle fragmented into a thousand smaller skirmishes amid woods, rivers, and castles;

-Neutralize Stannis's numerical advantage by choosing terrain unfavorable to him, preventing him from maneuvering his massive army with ease, while also avoiding a trap so obvious that it would deter him from engaging.

The Young Wolf had already won battles using clever and daring plans that involved attacking where the enemy least expected it, and this time would be no exception. However, it was essential to devise a strategy to resolve the matter as quickly as possible with a single pitched battle, avoiding a prolonged military campaign with multiple skirmishes that would allow Stannis to exploit his numerical superiority.

In the end, the chosen location wasn't far from where the negotiations had taken place: a vast plain stretched beside the Gods' Eye, at the point where the two rivers flowing south had not yet met, and further north from where the Gold Road, coming from King's Landing, veered westward. Another small stream, born from an underground spring, cut through half of that plain to the east, flowing into the lake. This created a space, on the lake's shores, between this stream and the larger river that originated from the lake's southern tip and flowed to the sea. A large, but not too large, space...

North of this shallow, easily fordable stream rose the Willow-wood, on whose edge stood the namesake castle of House Wode. West of the forest lay the village of White Willow, and to the north, the village of Crossed Elms. A few miles east of this, on the lake's northern shore, stood the black and terrifying fortress of Harrenhal, which still seemed to defy all contenders, with the town of Harrenton at its feet.

Stannis's troops would be engaged almost immediately during their northward ascent, trying to lure them into doing exactly what their enemies wanted.

The overall plan had been outlined by the Blackfish, then heavily revised—perhaps too much—by the other strategists after being examined and approved. As the saying went, too many cooks spoil the broth, and for this reason, Robb had the final word to simplify everything and ensure that individual ambitions—Randyll Tarly, Tyos Blackwood, Jonos Bracken, Greatjon Umber, Jason Mallister, Rickard Karstark—didn't prevail over common sense. Roose Bolton proposed a specific position for his cavalry; some Riverlords requested placing their infantry on the right flank of the formation to better leverage their cooperation, developed against the Lannisters, and minimize the disadvantage of numbers. The forces of the Reach had a numerical advantage—both total and relative to cavalry, with 7,500 units well distributed among the various houses—and thus would play a primary role. However, the outlined plan required the forces to split and later regroup; hence, great emphasis was placed on secret training exercises and the ability of the respective commanders to coordinate.

Robb didn't feel too confident but was certain he had made all necessary preparations. During the last meeting, there had been a minor clash with Loras: the young man seemed calmer and in better spirits since the alliance and his sister's engagement, but the closer they got to battle, the more restless he became. When he remarked that he couldn't wait to engage, Robb—only a year older than him but already a veteran of several battles—pointed out that tournaments are one thing, war another.

The Knight of Flowers retorted that he'd soon show how well he could handle himself even in this context and left, offended.

Rolling up the map while alone in his tent, the Young Wolf was joined by the older Tyrell brother, Garlan—twenty-three years old and already married—who apologized to their commander for his younger brother's impetuosity.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Garlan. You weren't the one who spoke, and if I were easily offended, I wouldn't have lasted long among the Lords of the North and the Riverlands; the former are hot-headed, the latter quarrelsome. Your brother is just impatient, like many other young men. I'm only a year older than him, but I've had to grow up faster. I only hope the harsh reality doesn't crush his knightly dreams too soon. Hard times lie ahead."

"Winter Is Coming, eh?" Garlan replied, echoing the motto of his new allies' house. "You know, my lord, I've always found that motto curious. Fascinating, certainly, but... peculiar. As if the focus is more on the future, on preparing for the worst, than on the present. Melancholic."

Robb liked Garlan. He harbored no illusions that the Tyrells had allied with them for any reason other than convenience, but this young man seemed by far the best of the bunch in every respect. Polite, kind, well-disposed toward others, level-headed, he was also the best fighter Robb had ever seen: he trained by wielding two swords, one in each hand, fighting four opponents at once to be ready for a real battle he had yet to experience due to his age.

"No offense, Ser, but your motto has always struck me as odd too: Growing Strong. I'm not saying every motto needs to inspire fear, but…"

"I admit, it doesn't command fear or respect. My grandmother Olenna says the same thing. At the same time, it has a similar meaning to yours: think of the future, have patience, and prepare for what's to come. Build strength brick by brick, without haste, without making foolish mistakes, to achieve one's goals. But instead of being pessimistic, it has an optimistic outlook."

"And thus, fitting for a southern house that thrives in fertile and abundant lands. From that perspective, I envy you a little, I admit."

"Yes, both mottos reflect their houses: these attitudes depend on the environment in which we grew up… and where our ancestors lived.
But perhaps it's destiny that the two houses that think more about the future than the present have allied themselves, don't you think? And there are other similarities between us: both the Tyrells and the Starks are large families united amongst themselves… unlike the Lannisters and the Baratheons, for instance. I genuinely believe that, as different as we might seem to outsiders, this alliance between us can work."

"I really hope so," Robb remarked. "After all, finding reliable allies is no easy task."

"Don't tell me. More than half the army we're about to face is made up of our former subordinates."

The girl was running for her life. At that moment, she was no longer Squabble; she was Arya Stark again. She hated leaving Gendry and Hot Pie behind, but she had no choice. An opportunity like this would never come again. The Brotherhood had never ventured so far south, around High Heart, and Lem Lemoncloak and Tom Sevenstrings had heard from some prostitutes who'd been with soldiers of House Smallwood that the Stark-Tully-Tyrell Alliance would face Stannis Baratheon in the southern area of the Gods Eye, with the camp set between Willowswood and the Crossed Elms. Although they had no intention of interfering in the battle, they had approached that area: if Stannis emerged victorious, they planned to reveal themselves to him as loyal to his brother's will and faithful to the Lord of Light.
This meant that, from their position, it would be easier to encounter Robb's troops!

Arya had waited as long as she could, then slipped away. She had a rough idea of where they were. Now, she just had to reach Robb before her former companions caught up with her.

There were four, maybe five of them. Two men of House Dustin and three of House Cerwyn. Mounted scouts, skilled and silent. On more than one occasion, the careful and invisible reconnaissance of these units had played a crucial role in the Young Wolf's victories. These five men were moving through a thicket, having wrapped their horses' hooves and keeping a hand on their muzzles to prevent them from whinnying… there was something they needed to verify.
At the heart of the grove lay a perfectly circular clearing. It was impossible for it to have been created naturally; it must have been a relic of the times when the First Men held rituals for their Old Gods.

At the center of this clearing, a pyre had been built with a pole in the middle. Tied to the pole was a boy under twenty. At the foot of the pyre stood a woman in red, with striking red hair, green eyes, and a gleaming jewel around her neck. About a dozen figures stood before her: half were soldiers of the Stormlands, the other half a group of cultists dressed in red, their faces hidden by hoods. The woman held a lit torch in her hand.

Taking care not to make a sound, the scouts listened to her words.

"The Lord of Light has demanded a sacrifice," the woman began, addressing her audience, "a PROOF of our devotion and faith. In the past, we have placed our trust in him, and he has not let us down. May today's sacrifice also be pleasing to him and lead our King to victory. In the name of Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name… Azor Ahai, The Prince That Was Promised."

"For the glory of the Lord of Light," chanted the hooded figures in unison.

The soldiers seemed uneasy. A sergeant asked, "My lady, are you certain? Lord Stannis has invested many resources in recovering this boy. Edric Storm may be a bastard, yes… but he is Robert Baratheon's natural son… proof that Stannis has a rightful claim to the throne. Blood of his blood."

"Exactly. Royal blood. That's why his sacrifice will have greater value."

"But… did the King directly order you to do this?" he asked hesitantly.

Melisandre gave him a sweet smile, recalling her earlier conversation with Stannis.

[ As the moment of confrontation approached, Stannis had become more impatient and insecure. At first, he had rejected the Red Priestess's proposal to once again use magic to win, to dispel the ominous vision she had seen. He wanted to prove to that arrogant boy that he could defeat him on the battlefield.
But as the days went by, he became less convinced. Like a worm burrowing into his mind, the memory of Melisandre's last feat echoed in his thoughts… Renly would have decimated his troops… that had been her previous vision… yet now Renly was dead… Melisandre's powers work, so what she says must be true… she had told Robb Stark this in the tent…
And in the tent, she had said other things:
Even Tywin Lannister had a larger army… Yet I defeated him. Were I you, I wouldn't be so confident of success…
Finally, the day before, he had given her implicit consent. "Do what you must," he had said, and nothing more.]

"Yes," the woman replied simply to the sergeant.

And with that, she turned, dipped the torch into the dry pyre, and the flames rose high and fierce. The boy did not scream. From the way his head lolled to one side, it seemed he had been drugged and was not feeling any pain.

"GLORY TO THE LORD OF LIGHT!" proclaimed the Red Woman. "Grant Stannis victory over his enemies!"
The scouts, though horrified, decided they had seen enough and silently retreated.

As he sat astride his horse, waiting for the trap to spring, Robb cast a fleeting glance at Rickard Karstark on his left. Since he had allowed him to execute Jaime Lannister, the old man's attitude had completely changed. Where once he had been constantly aloof, brusque, and argumentative, now he practically worshiped the ground his King walked on and would have thrown himself into the flames for him. Of course, he was still impulsive and fierce, but that was just his personality.

However, Robb also noticed genuine paternal affection, joy, and gratitude as he stood beside his firstborn son, Harrion, ready to enter battle alongside his father for the first time. Harrion had been under Roose Bolton's command when Robb had ordered him to act as bait for Tywin Lannister while he fought at Riverrun: the boy had been captured and held prisoner at Harrenhal for months, only to be freed when the Greatjon took the castle just weeks earlier.

Now he seemed fine, and Robb found himself thinking that perhaps the old man's change, after losing his two younger sons in the same battle, was due more to having regained his eldest son than to the revenge itself. The King in the North recalled that up North, Karstark had a first cousin, Cregan, who would become the heir of Karhold if Rickard returned from the war without heirs.

What gives more satisfaction? Revenge?

Or perhaps... is it more important to build something of your own?

A flash crossed his mind. Margaery.

He had hardly spoken to her since their betrothal night, and for safety, she had been sent to Acorn Hall, awaiting the outcome of the battle. That girl undoubtedly had a certain charm, but at their first meeting, though he had been positively impressed, she seemed too self-assured, as if every word she spoke, however right and pleasant to hear, was overly calculated. Her words were honey, carefully crafted to ensnare.

But did she truly believe what she said? Or did she always adapt her tone according to necessity?

If he was a Wolf, Margaery was a Fox

Can I marry a fox? Can I trust her? Can I build a family with her and sit on the Iron Throne with her by my side?

The thought made his head spin.

Until now, he had always been focused on doing something, planning the next step, and he had never truly realized what the alliance with the Tyrells would entail.

I don't really want the Iron Throne.

All I've ever wanted is to save my family and return to the North. Sitting on that old iron chair will become a sacrifice, more than a pleasure.

But if it's truly the only way to…

Better not to think about it. Dwelling on something else during a battle might get me killed.

Brienne of Tarth didn't feel very at ease while she waited her turn, positioned at the center of the formation.

Why am I here? Is this truly my place? To fight? To kill Stannis, to avenge Renly?
Shouldn't I have gone North with Lady Catelyn? She left a long time ago now… and I swore to serve her… or I could have suggested going in search of her daughters… it would have been the least I could do to repay her for saving my life…

No, that's not it. I am a warrior. I swore allegiance to Robb Stark, on my honor. I must prove to Loras Tyrell and everyone else that I had nothing to do with Renly's death. I will do my part… and if Stannis crosses my path…

Stannis's massive army had left its base camp near the Rush, where they could draw water for men and horses and where they were naturally protected on two out of three sides.

They then advanced, forming a colossal rectangle of armed men that made the earth tremble as it marched. The baggage trains were left at the rear, while individual archer units were placed at various heights along the column, and the cavalry was divided into three detachments covering the front and sides, advancing in a fan formation several hundred meters away from the main army, performing reconnaissance to locate the enemy.

The latest information suggested that Robb Stark's forces were camped near the Willow Wood… and it was unlikely they would want to fight within the forest.

Stannis and Davos advanced on foot, aboard war chariots, positioned three-quarters down the column—close enough to see the enemy and issue orders, but far enough back to avoid being targeted in surprise attacks.

They knew Robb Stark was a capable strategist, but they had no idea what he might attempt. However, they hypothesized that, with at least fifteen thousand fewer men than them, it would be suicidal to engage in an open-field mass attack, particularly in such a plain area, which geographically offered very few possible hiding spots for his troops.

Instead, they were convinced he would try to weaken them with harassment and guerrilla tactics, attempting to divide their troops and destroy them piece by piece. For this reason, the cavalry had been sent out for wide-ranging reconnaissance. They believed, however, that the real trouble would come later, when they reached areas where forests and rivers intertwined treacherously.

The first sign of enemy action came when Stannis's scouts encountered enemy cavalry—far more numerous, but not enough to have been sent for a full-scale attack. Most of the cavalry was from the Reach—Tyrell, Hightower, and Tarly units. They tried to chase down the scouts to kill them and prevent them from reporting back to their commander.

However, the scouts, galloping at breakneck speed, managed to return safely to the main army. At this point, it became clear that those four thousand to forty-five hundred cavalrymen (about a third of what the enemy alliance could muster) had intended to set up an ambush but had been discovered prematurely. Stunned to find themselves before the entire army, they turned tail and fled, immediately pursued by the King's cavalry.

At a certain point, the pursued, now turned pursuers, split up, with two-thirds veering to the right and one-third to the left. Nearly all of the royal cavalry similarly divided to chase them in both directions.

Stannis had ordered them to eliminate all of them before they could report back and to avoid pursuing them too far to avoid falling into potential traps. However, his final order went unheeded: almost all his cavalry was composed of former Tyrell vassals eager to ensure they eliminated their former overlords, fearing reprisals for their betrayal.

It was clear that the fugitives heading to the right intended to seek refuge by fording the river where it flowed into the lake known as the God's Eye, for the castle of Willow Wood loomed immediately behind, and beyond it, the forest itself. The pursuing cavalry, therefore, veered more widely to the right, covering the side leading to the lake to prevent their escape, and then began to close in. They were greatly surprised when they noticed the pursued turning left, away from the castle, and starting to cross a series of pontoon bridges laid over the river, which was already fordable, allowing them to cross even faster.

"If they take refuge in the forest, we won't catch them," a lieutenant said to his commander.

"If they can cross, so can we," came the reply.

Indeed, the pursuers also crossed the river via the improvised bridges, but when about half of them had made it to the other side, two things happened:

From the forest, screaming like madmen, a series of infantry units armed with long spears emerged, attacking savagely, supported on the opposite side by the pursued cavalry, which had turned back to counterattack, reinforced by a good number of other troops.

From the reeds, a series of small archer units appeared, launching flaming arrows onto the dry wooden planks of the pontoon bridges, raising a tall, fearsome wall of flames. (The wind, incidentally, blew from the north-northeast to the south-southwest.) This caused the horses on the southern side of the river, which had not yet crossed, to panic and halt.

The commanders of these units, realizing they had fallen into a trap designed to eliminate their cavalry, sent messengers to alert the main army and attempted to aid their comrades. Instead of heading left, which would have required a long detour to bypass the smoke and fire that frightened their horses, they turned right, evading arrows fired from the castle on the far bank. They crossed near the river's estuary with the lake, planning to bypass the castle and flank the attackers emerging from the woods.

However, once they reached this position, they realized they had fallen into a second trap. On the opposite bank, the narrow space between the castle and the lake had been fortified with wooden palisades, trenches, and sharp stakes, making the river impassable. Meanwhile, several small rowboats descended from the lake, raining arrows on them from the safety of the deep water, just a short distance from the shore.

They needed to retreat left, but the archers who had previously fired incendiary arrows had set the dry straw and reeds alight. A wide wall of flames now blocked their path to the left, trapping them between the fire, the river and castle to the north, and the lake with its archers to the right.

"Commander! We must retreat south!" a lieutenant shouted amidst the smoke.

"And face Stannis Baratheon's fury for abandoning our comrades? No! I'd rather risk the fire now than be burned alive by him tomorrow! MEN! Dismount and divide into three… no, four groups. You there, calm the horses! You! Take up shields, plant them in the mud for protection against the archers on the lake, and create a secondary line to hold more shields aloft. Anyone with a crossbow, prepare to return fire! Inexperienced men, grab blankets and head left to smother the flames while they are still thin. Finally, the heavily armored troops, follow me. We'll ford the river on foot and clear the obstacles the defenders have set up. Once the river is passable again, the cavalry can cross. QUICKLY!"

Despite the commander's admirable dedication, the primary objective had already been achieved: Stannis's cavalry was now split into three groups.

The group that had pursued the smaller enemy force fleeing left had nearly caught up to them at a bend in the river, only to fall into another ambush by Robb Stark's forces.

The group that had crossed the river was now fighting desperately for their lives and being quickly overwhelmed. Hemmed in by the woods and the river, they lacked the space to maneuver their horses effectively and hindered one another.

Meanwhile, the scouts had done their job, and Stannis Baratheon learned, to his great frustration, that his cavalry had fallen into a trap and was being slaughtered.

"Damn it! Robb Stark has made his move! This is the kind of tactic he excels at—feigned retreats and ambushes! His goal was to pick us off piece by piece, starting with the cavalry, the most dangerous unit. And it's the only unit where the numbers won't be too uneven…"

"We can still stop him," Davos said. "We're not far from that river; we can reach them with our foot soldiers."

"That's exactly what we'll do! We'll save our men and destroy the divisions executing this plan. SOLDIERS! MARCH AT DOUBLE TIME! TO THE RIVER!"

The enormous column of infantry set off—faster than the men would have liked—toward the river near the castle of Willows Wood, two miles away.

When they reached the river, Stannis and his men were met with a view that revealed the complexity of the trap: intense fighting continued on the far bank, while another large cavalry force approached from the west. This force had likely destroyed the units pursuing them earlier and was now heading toward the lake to encircle the remaining cavalry.

Davos pointed to the right and shouted, "Look, sire! Some of our cavalry is trapped between the fire and the lake! They're trying to escape the encirclement but are being targeted by arrows from men on boats!"

"Tsk! The Young Wolf is clever, I'll give him that! Lieutenants! A third of the archers are to split off from the column and fire back at those bastards on the boats! Two hundred light infantrymen will assist in putting out the grass fire! Meanwhile, we… we'll launch a frontal assault on the cavalry coming from the west and push them into the river! Robb Stark may have destroyed two-thirds of my cavalry, but I will destroy all of his! This trap will turn against him! Remember, men: we CANNOT lose! This is the will of the Lord of Light!"

The Blackfish, Brynden Tully, waited for the signal from his scouts. He was proud of his nephew and the plan they had developed and were now executing. Despite their earlier disagreements, Randyll Tarly was proving himself invaluable, cutting down men like wheat with his Valyrian steel greatsword, Heartsbane. The Tyrell brothers were also formidable warriors. Everything was ready. A scout raised his arm—the bulk of Stannis's army was in position.

The plan was set into motion. As quietly as possible, the allied forces emerged from the woods, a mile and a half from the enemy troops, and began crossing the river. Simultaneously, a mounted messenger rode to alert the other forces hidden in a reedbed at a distant bend in the river to the far west. They, too, began advancing toward the lake.

Meanwhile, despite being targeted by Stannis's archers—who, shooting from the bank, had the advantage of range—the allied boats began to suffer losses. They decided to retreat, rowing to land further north, beyond the estuary.

Nearby, dismounted knights were fighting fiercely against defenders who were on the verge of being defeated. They received the signal to retreat. Theon Greyjoy personally set fire to the dry straw left scattered among the traps and palisades. The flames roared like paper, engulfing many armored knights who had to plunge into the river behind them to save themselves, with some sinking to the bottom. Hastily, the archers moved to the left.

Stannis's column had veered sharply left to wedge itself between its surviving cavalry and the approaching enemy horsemen, who were caught off guard by their swift arrival and executed an orderly retreat.

The King's troops found themselves very close to the corner created by the river and the lake, purposefully entrenched there. Thus, they were unable to see Robb's other forces and his allies advancing from their left until it was too late.

It must be said that the Tyrell knights' retreat along the river had stretched Stannis's infantry line considerably. Therefore, when two different armies attacked the center and between the center and the rear guard, they were caught by surprise and couldn't effectively leverage their numerical advantage.

"Damnation! It's a trap! They really want… to face us in open battle!" growled the King on the Iron Throne.

"My Liege! We are being attacked by two separate armies!"

"Order the men to halt, stop the march, and face that side. Form a shield wall and lower the lances. We are more numerous, and we can still win this."

But at that very moment, they were attacked from the north as well.

The cavalry and infantry—almost entirely composed of Northmen—that had destroyed the King's second cavalry unit near the forest had no more obstacles to cross the river again in the opposite direction. The makeshift bridge of boats had burned entirely, and the river itself had extinguished the flames. And so they did, attacking Stannis from a third side, covered by a relentless barrage of arrows from Tully and Blackwood archers, who remained on the northern bank, protected by their own companions charging forward.

Stannis's troops were thus first hit from the north, but these enemies, though numerous, could still be managed.

At that moment, however, the other cavalry squadron on this side—the one Stannis had originally come to destroy—turned back again and charged, forming a wedge that broke through the head of the enemy formation.

Led by Randyll Tarly, Garlan, and Loras Tyrell, who on horseback were like furies, swinging their swords left and right, cutting men down like stalks of wheat, this wedge quickly neared the officers' zone, threatening Stannis himself.

Now, large armies are a curious mechanism. Just as fields of wheat sway in the wind, first the closest stalks and then the more distant ones, so armies are composed of men who, while acting as a single unit, collectively feel fear.

When thousands of men to your right are forced back, those closest to them step back to avoid being crushed between the companions in front and those behind. Then those farther back do the same, and so on… until an entire army, like a gigantic centipede, moves as one, as if struck by a shockwave, like ripples spreading across water.

It was at that moment that the third and fourth armies of the Stark-Tully-Tyrell alliance, composed mostly of infantry, the ones Stannis had been preparing to face, drove into the enemy flank like a knife through butter, exploiting the chaos and lack of coordination among the officers.

The fighting was fierce and brutal, but the difference in morale and will was glaring: Stannis's men could sense, albeit vaguely, that the enemy had lured them into a massive trap and that their commander had failed to prevent it. Thus, while those in the front lines fought fiercely to save their lives, those immediately behind stepped back, trying to avoid the peak of the battle and perhaps reorganize…

The Blackfish grinned with satisfaction. "Stannis Baratheon would've done better to study more military history. Or he'd remember that right here by this same lake, during the Dance of the Dragons, there was a battle remembered as the Fish Feed."

And that's precisely what it looked like. After an hour of grueling combat, Stannis's forces were desperately retreating, finding themselves fatally trapped between the enemies on the left and the lake on the right. Already, the archer units and dismounted knights from the start of the battle were pushed into the lake by their own retreating comrades, who had come to aid them… and those wearing heavy armor sank and drowned.

The King's troops were suffering heavy losses, not only due to the enemy but also because of their own men. Though they never launched a full disorderly retreat, they turned and tried to pull back, inevitably trampling their comrades in their flight.

Those in the front lines, meanwhile, were mercilessly slaughtered by the enemy army, which pressed them, paused to catch its breath, allowed them to overextend in futile counterattacks, and then pressed them again—often using the opportunity to rotate exhausted units with fresh troops, as per tried-and-true tradition.

Robb was radiant: everything was going as planned, and he was confident of achieving a decisive victory. Grey Wind, beside him, darted from one enemy to another, slashing the throats of those in light armor. Near him, Smalljon and Dacey struck down anyone daring to approach the King in the North.

Victory was near.

And it was at that very moment that everything fell apart.

It started with the sound of a horn, one that neither army recognized.

The right flank of Robb's formation, which was closing the three-sided encirclement strangling Stannis's forces, began to stir. This flank consisted almost entirely of Riverlands infantry.

At first, these divisions pulled away from the rest of the army, only to regroup and close ranks into tight columns…

… and then, at their commanders' signal, they let out a great war cry and fiercely attacked Robb's right flank!

At first, the men who were struck didn't even realize what was happening. They didn't understand, attacked and skewered by the very men who had been covering their flank moments earlier. Then, one by one, they realized something was terribly wrong.

The first to sound the alarm was Tytos Blackwood:

"It's those filthy Brackens! And the Freys, those damn traitors! They're attacking us on our flank! They've… switched sides!"

Robb turned, as if hypnotized. He began to see familiar faces fighting other familiar faces just a few dozen meters away. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

"What the…"

Brynden Tully snapped out of it first.

"Regroup! Separate the troops near the traitors from the others immediately! Meanwhile, swap the front-line units, the ones from the Reach, with their reserves right behind! And the rear guard! Send a signal to the rear guard! The unengaged troops must advance around and take those damned traitors from behind!"

In a flash, the battlefield shimmered with the sensation that something was wrong. Thousands of heads turned to the right.
Even in the thick of combat, where the Tyrell vanguard had come close to taking Stannis's head (though he had been barely saved by his men, wounded but not gravely), it became clear that something was amiss.

And the mood of the troops shifted, like a summer wind. A lowly soldier cried out, "Our enemies are killing each other! We can still win this!"

The cry was echoed by a thunderous "HOORAY!" that erupted simultaneously from ten thousand throats. The men regained their courage, raised their weapons to the sky, and began fighting with renewed ferocity, counterattacking savagely.

On the opposite side, where infantry and cavalry were blocking Stannis's armies, pushing them away from the river, a Northern commander took charge:

"Don't worry. I'll handle this," he said, gathering the troops under his command and charging.

Roose Bolton made a wide loop behind the allied army's rear and… struck directly at the troops the Blackfish had mobilized to catch the traitors from behind.
These troops, mostly light infantry and crossbowmen, were even less prepared to understand what was happening. They began being slaughtered left and right, even though Bolton's infantry and cavalry were not particularly numerous.

In their attempt not to be crushed between the hammer and the anvil—and also to distinguish themselves from the traitors—the other Riverland troops—Pipers, Mallisters, Vances, Mootons, Blackwoods, and, of course, the Tullys—began retreating toward the center of the formation, leaving their allies exposed.

Robb felt a sense of foreboding: his stomach clenched, and a sense of impending catastrophe washed over him. He tried to give orders.

"Pikemen! Lower your pikes! Don't let them get close! If they push us back… it'll be US caught between two sides!"

Meanwhile, Roose Bolton seized the opportunity created by the gap between the advancing traitors and their retreating former allies. He aimed his cavalry directly at the Young Wolf, whose flank risked being exposed.

But Stannis Baratheon wasn't idle either. With a good tenth of his army already knee-deep in the lake, he ordered a counterattack.

On the left side of his formation, where the pressure had been relieved by the work of the traitors, he ordered his men to find an opening and move out of the battle zone into open ground… to make a wide loop, bypassing their new allies and supporting Roose Bolton on the opposite flank.

By moving as many men as possible, he would reduce the pressure on the units being pushed back.

He then used that brief reprieve to reorganize: he ordered pikes lowered to counter Tyrell cavalry charges and his archers to target the enemy in open ground.

Meanwhile, he mimicked the Blackfish, pulling back exhausted frontline troops and replacing them with fresh reserves from the center and rear.

Positioning himself at the center of the formation, he grabbed a war horn to make himself heard:

"Men! Your KING orders you to attack! TODAY WE WILL WIN!"

A roar that made the earth tremble answered his cry, and Stannis's soldiers launched their first offensive in hours.

Pushed back by the King's numerous divisions and pressed on the right by the traitors and retreating allies, Robb's army began to feel the grip of fear… and started to retreat inexorably… toward the same river that had been the centerpiece of their strategy.

The cavalry that had attacked Stannis's army from that side could no longer maneuver, crushed by their own infantry retreating into them. The lack of coordination and orders worsened the chaos.

On that same side, Rickard Karstark cursed furiously:

"MAY THE OTHERS TAKE ROOSE BOLTON TO DAMNATION! That damned Leech Lord has betrayed us! But if he thinks I'll let him kill the King in the North… then he's as mad as a horse!"

With wild eyes, he rallied his men.

His son Harrion rode up to him: "FATHER! What are you planning to do?"

The Lord of Karhold gave him a peculiar look: "Something that will be sung about for centuries!"

"Then I'll come with you!"

"NO!" the man roared, startling his son. "You are all I have left, don't you understand? Your brothers are dead. DEAD!

And Robb Stark allowed me to avenge them. I never even dared hope for that. I owe him a debt. And now I'll repay it.

But you, Harrion, you are my firstborn—and my last remaining son.

The heir to Karhold. Our house was founded as a cadet branch of the Starks, back when they fought the Boltons for control of the North… this is what we were born to do.

Harrion! Go. You must live. Fight another day. Stand by Robb Stark and avenge me. Don't let Roose Bolton and Stannis Baratheon get away with this treachery."

The young man understood but was devastated nonetheless: "I… wish I could do more… for you. For the North."

His father's gaze softened almost tenderly: "You will. You have your whole life ahead of you. But not now.

Not now. Jaime Lannister took two of my sons, but i'll be damned if i let Roose Bolton take the third."

Spurring his horse, he charged forward in a mad rush, wielding his double-bladed axe. Fifty of his personal guard followed him.

Robb was fighting Bolton's vanguard—men he knew—and at the same time trying to give orders to other units.

He saw Roose approaching on his pitch-black horse, his gaze colder than the Wall. Roose picked up a pike that had lodged itself tip-first in the ground. He raised it over his shoulder, took aim, while the Young Wolf was busy fending off two of his men.

Grey Wind growled.

Roose's horse reared slightly, and he missed the throw. The spear grazed Robb's arm, but the wound was shallow.

At that moment, Rickard Karstark charged into the flank of Bolton's men like a demon, hacking and slashing relentlessly.

Robb regained his senses. Dacey and Smalljon fell upon his attackers, killing one each.

He looked around.

To his left, some of Stannis's infantry were trying to outflank their new allies and attack the others from behind. Behind him, the King's army was advancing, pushing his troops back for the first time and moving away from the lake. On the opposite side, his infantry was retreating, hindering their own cavalry.

Jason Mallister and Greatjon Umber shouted to him, almost simultaneously,

"What are your orders, Your Grace?"

As Rickard Karstark was pulled down from his horse, he kept fighting nonetheless, ending up surrounded by armed men with long spears. Robb Stark closed his eyes.

Then he shouted, "RETREAT!"

"ORDER THE RETREAT! Move towards the river in an orderly manner, without haste and without turning your backs on the enemy! If we do this now, we can still save the majority of the army."

All his commanders widened their eyes, as if they couldn't believe what they had just heard from him.

But Greatjon roared, "YOU HEARD OUR KING? Retreat! But mark my words: the first one I see turning tail and running, I'll kill with my bare hands!"

Harrion was approaching on foot, heading straight for the thick of the fight. He saw his father surrounded.

Smalljon threw himself on Harrion, grabbing him around the waist with his massive arms and dragging him away by force, as Harrion screamed in despair.

"Come away, Harrion! It's pointless! Let's go!"

And so, slowly, inexorably, Robb's troops began moving towards the river. The Tyrells couldn't believe their ears when they heard the retreat order from the trumpeter, but, being in the thick of the battle, they knew that if they delayed obeying, they would be surrounded by the enemy. Swearing and cursing, they complied.

The cavalry on the other side, seeing the entire army shifting toward the river, ordered a trot in the opposite direction. They executed a wide semicircular maneuver, leaving the path clear for the retreat, avoiding being obstructed, and, bypassing the rear guard, engaged Stannis' infantry attempting a similar maneuver on the opposite flank to encircle the army and attack the rear guard.

After about ten minutes of fierce fighting, the infantry gave way to the cavalry's superiority and fled back the way they had come.

At that point, those valiant riders, seeing Robb's army retreating in good order and crossing the river, pushed back by Stannis on one side and the—albeit few—traitors on the other, with relatively low losses, finally calmed down.

"We could still strike at the traitors—Frey, Bracken, and Bolton—and wipe them out," one lieutenant suggested. "That way they'll pay for their betrayal immediately."

His commander shook his head. "No, it's too risky. We'd be cut off, with Robb Stark in the woods and Stannis' entire army blocking our escape. Follow the King's example, lieutenant. Better to live to fight another day. As a cavalry unit, we're too valuable to die like this. But don't worry: those bastards' punishment is only delayed."

They, too, began retreating, executing another wide semicircular maneuver. Moving too quickly to be pursued—now that Stannis only had infantry—they crossed the river by its source three miles to the west and then veered back into the forest to rejoin the rest.

The retreat was not bloody—discipline ensured that everyone followed orders, keeping losses to a minimum—but it was humiliating. Every soldier bore a heavy heart and a searing sense of injustice for the victory that had been within reach, only to be stolen by treachery.

They were not safe yet, however.
Just as they had crossed the river, so too could their enemies pursue, continuing to harass the rear guard.

Theon consulted with the others and realized something had to be done.
The wind was still blowing north to south. He ordered his archers to set fire to the forest with incendiary arrows as soon as the last Stark or Tyrell soldier had crossed to safety.

The strong wind turned the southern edge of the Willow Wood into an inferno, and the smoke made visibility impossible for Stannis Baratheon's men. Intoxicated by victory and the relief of narrowly escaping defeat, they had begun their pursuit.

It was the King himself, standing upright despite a not-too-severe head wound, who commanded, "STOP! LET THEM GO! We can't chase them into the forest if we can't see them! If they set more ambushes, we'll squander this victory!"

Then, turning to his men, he added:

"Rejoice, men! Today R'hllor, the Lord of Light, has shown us His favor! This is a day of victory!"

A thunderous cheer echoed his words.

As he rode among his men, leaving the Willow wood Castle behind and heading toward the village of Crossed Elms, Robb Stark seemed in a trance. He saw his men moving around him like fleeting shadows, as if in a nightmare. Everything felt unreal to him.

In the end, the unthinkable had happened: Robb Stark, the Young Wolf and King in the North—the commander whose skills were already the stuff of legend—had been defeated.

Arya Stark had reached a hill west of the lake, close enough to witness the entire scene, but far enough to remain safe. She had watched the battle unfold—the first she had ever seen—both fascinated and horrified. She was almost hypnotized by the rhythmic movements of the troops, the clashing of weapons, and the cries of combat. Yet she was equally horrified by the blood, the screams of the dying, and the infernal randomness with which men fell like stalks of wheat.

Needless to say, when the betrayal unfolded and, despite the chaos, it became clear what was happening, her trance turned into despair.

"No… NO! This can't be happening! It can't be…"

She started moving in that direction, hoping—though taking immense risks—to reach the retreating troops and get someone, perhaps one of the officers, to listen to her. She wanted to ask to be brought to her brother so he could confirm her identity. Better to stay with Robb, even if he was defeated, on the run, or even captured… than to be free, but alone.

But amidst the confusion, she didn't notice someone creeping up behind her. She was grabbed, an arm wrapping around her body, pinning her shoulders, and a hand covering her mouth.
She was lifted off the ground and carried away.

Alayne Stone, clad in a high-necked dark blue dress with mahogany-colored hair, hastened to take the scroll handed to her by the messenger.

In just a few weeks, the girl had become indispensable at the Eyrie. Driven by an energy that astonished the other servants, the bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish oversaw supplies (with a competence suggesting she had observed similar tasks being performed in a great castle—King's Landing, as the cooks suspected), managed the servants' schedules and monitored their behavior, handled the court's social engagements, organized them, and reported to the relevant parties.

She had also been entrusted with the task of waking and dressing the heir, Robert Arryn, who was eight years old, and putting him to bed at times, often reading him bedtime stories. It seemed that with her, for whom he had a clear fondness, the boy threw fewer tantrums than usual. The entire staff whispered that the girl—only sixteen and truly beautiful—must have grown up fast and was sharper than most children her age, as bastards often were. Though a small minority among them speculated that she carried some secret affliction and immersed herself in work to forget about it. More likely, others concluded, knowing she was a newcomer and, on top of that, the bastard of a man of questionable reputation, she believed the best way to gain acceptance was to work hard.

Petyr Baelish, former Master of Coin and now Lord of Harrenhal (he carried a scroll bearing Joffrey's seal, one of the young king's last decrees), had arrived recently, but Lady Lysa, who had known him since they were children, seemed infatuated with him. In fact, she had decreed that he could read incoming messages even before her. And to have them read by Lord Baelish meant they first passed through the delicate hands of his daughter.

But that time, Alayne nearly fainted when she read the message.

Some of the guards offered to help her, but she apologized, claiming it was a woman's issue and that she needed to go to her room to freshen up. The castle was full of guests, and she couldn't allow herself to be seen in that state.

Sansa Stark, fifteen years old, began to breathe normally again in the privacy of the fabric storeroom.

Later, during the ceremony, she had to appear impeccable.

Baelish read the contents of the scroll, and for a moment, he seemed delighted, though he quickly resumed his usual composure.

"And now?" Sansa asked him, her beautiful blue eyes pleading.

"And now, nothing," Littlefinger replied, smoothing his beard as he adjusted his finest attire. "I told you this was the safest place, and I also told you it would be wise to conceal your identity. As you can see, both of my precautions have proven correct."

"Alright, but what do we do now? What will Lady Lysa's next move be? You're the closest person to her. Don't... don't you ever talk about these things?"

Baelish smiled, his tone syrupy.

"In recent weeks, Sweet Lysa's thoughts have been quite... far from current events, and there has been no swaying her. And I'm sure you'll agree that bringing it up today, of all days... would be inappropriate, don't you think?"

The girl swallowed and nodded reluctantly.

"However," he continued, "right now, all the great lords are gathered here, so the matter will inevitably arise. There's a time to influence the current and a time to follow it... and on that note... smile, Alayne. Out there, everyone expects to see you smile..." and he offered her his arm.

Alayne Stone composed herself as she allowed him to take her arm, and with long strides, they approached the main hall, crowded with people.

When the doors swung open, all the guests turned to look at them.

"After all," Petyr Baelish declared as he stepped into the room where he was about to marry Lady Lysa Arryn, who had loved him since they were children, "who doesn't like a happy ending?"

Author's Note:

So here we are. Back to square 1.

I felt that even if Robb is a better commander (much of the support Stannis receives from book's fans is unearned; canonically, the only great battle he won was a naval one against the Greyjoys during the Rebellion; noteworthy; but still), it was necessary he found a halt, sooner or later.

So, yes, Freys and Boltons betray him even here. Which absolutely does have nothing to do with me wanting an excuse to beat the shit out of them...XD

Also, canonically, the Houses that betray here are the same who have wanted to get over their Overlords or other rivals for a long time, so it makes sense

Robb having destroyed Tywin earlier made their betrayal a little less unlikely (they do betray when they see his position more uncertain in the books), but negotiations with Stannis left people unsatisfied, he seemed too strong, with 70 k men, and...why still be on your Lord side and maybe win, maybe not, but still be n°2 anyway, when you can betray, be SURE to win, and be n°1?

Now, i have worked a lot these last weeks, and the story has expanded more than a chapter more than how originally planned.

We will get to see really many POV's and situations, of war, politics and others

Sansa needed to make a similar road than in the book/show, becoming a shrewd spy and politician. As always, following the story and adding new ideas will go hand in hand

As someone correctly predicted (KUDOS!) Edric Storm was to be sacrificed...and this will have consequences