The moment Stannis learned that an enemy force had appeared in his rear and destroyed Alester Florent's army, he understood the truth. That force was far larger than anyone had first believed.
The Riverlands lords gathered in Harrenhal felt the ground shift beneath them. They were now caught between two armies.
Thoros of Myr didn't care what the others thought. Most of them were strangers to him anyway.
If Beric were still alive, which side would he have chosen? The thought drifted through his mind as his eyes wandered across the hall. Then he spotted a familiar face—Wag, the former leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners. After the war, Wag had accepted lands and sworn himself to Stannis.
Their eyes met for a moment. Neither man saw victory in the other's gaze.
Stannis entered the Hall of a Hundred Hearths with a heavy step. Behind him walked a broad-shouldered youth whose face was almost Robert reborn—Gendry. Stannis did not sit on the ancient throne where Jaehaerys the Conciliator had once ruled for fifty-one years. He stood and spoke plainly.
"An enemy force has appeared behind us. Their numbers are not great, but they destroyed Alester's command. I intend to deal with them personally."
Several lords immediately stepped forward, eager to lead the attack. Stannis's expression eased slightly. With Riverrun in his hands and the Reach army still pinned in the south, crushing this flanking force and then turning on Jon seemed almost straightforward.
Then his eyes caught the maester standing near the wall. The man looked pale, clutching a bronze message tube that had already been opened.
Stannis felt a cold weight settle in his gut.
Has the Redwyne fleet struck King's Landing?
Has Storm's End fallen?
The Red Keep?
He took the tube without a word. The maester leaned in and whispered, "Your Grace… it concerns House Florent."
Stannis broke the seal and read. His face darkened like a storm front rolling in from the sea. The paper crumpled in his fist.
Alester Florent had betrayed him.
For a long moment Stannis stood perfectly still. Then his jaw clenched so hard the tendons stood out in his neck. His teeth ground together with an audible scrape.
Anyone but the Florents. Anyone but them.
He had trusted them. He had married into them. And now, at the moment when victory was nearly in his grasp, they had turned on him.
The lords in the hall watched in uneasy silence. Even Gendry, standing close by, felt the cold fury radiating from his uncle and took half a step back.
Stannis finally looked up. His blue eyes were chips of ice.
"Bronze Yohn," he said.
Yohn Royce stepped forward at once. "Your Grace."
"You will remain here and watch Riverrun and the western approaches. I will deal with the force at our backs myself."
Yohn bowed. He knew better than to ask questions when the king looked like this.
Stannis wasted no time. Within hours he had gathered nearly eight thousand cavalry and ridden hard toward Jon's position. The column moved like a river in flood—fast, violent, and unstoppable.
They reached Jon's camp at dawn the next day. The hill Jon had chosen was fortified with trenches and barricades. Above it flew a black banner bearing the three-headed dragon.
Stannis stared at the banner for a long moment. He had not seen that sigil since he took Dragonstone. It felt like the past had reached out and slapped him across the face.
A rider carrying a white flag approached under guard. When he was brought before Stannis, he bowed with perfect courtesy.
"Leo Tyrell, Your Grace. My lord Jon wishes to speak with you."
Stannis's face remained stone. "Does the bastard think he can bargain for his life?"
Leo met his eyes without flinching. "He asks for a meeting on the water, Your Grace. On the God's Eye. Neutral ground."
One of Stannis's knights snorted. "A private meeting with that traitor? Your Grace, he climbed aboard Euron's ship alone and took it. He's dangerous."
Stannis considered for only a heartbeat.
"Tell him I agree. Tomorrow morning. South shore of the God's Eye."
Leo bowed again and withdrew.
Roland Connington stepped closer once Leo was gone. "Your Grace, he only wants time to dig in. Why give it to him?"
Stannis turned his cold gaze on the younger man. "Because while he digs, I will bring more men. Send word to Yohn—another twenty thousand. And bring Wag's sellswords as well. I will end this here."
The next morning, two small boats met in the middle of the God's Eye. Mist still clung to the water. Jon stood in one boat, tall and broad in his white Valyrian steel armor. Stannis stood in the other, surrounded by heavily armed guards.
They kept thirty feet of water between them.
Jon spoke first, voice carrying clearly across the still lake.
"Your Grace. I came to offer terms. A truce. We both know the Long Night is coming. Let us set aside this war until the real enemy is dealt with."
Stannis's reply was ice. "You speak of the Long Night while you raise the dragon banner and call yourself king. You speak of truces while you send my red priestess across the sea to my enemies. Do not insult me with lies about winter, bastard."
Jon's expression did not change. "Melisandre chose her own path. I only gave her the chance to take it."
Stannis's hands tightened on the rail of his boat. For a moment the only sound was the soft lap of water against wood.
"You sent her to Daenerys Targaryen," he said at last. It was not a question.
"I did."
Stannis stared at him across the water, blue eyes burning with something between rage and disbelief. The girl on the far side of the Narrow Sea was no bastard. She was the blood of the dragon, and now she had Melisandre.
The two men spoke for a long time. The sun climbed higher. No agreement was reached.
When Jon returned to his lines, Stannis immediately began fortifying his own position. Trenches were dug. Stakes were planted. He meant to pin Jon on that hill and starve him out if necessary.
Two days later, twenty thousand more men arrived from Harrenhal. Stannis gave the order himself.
The assault on Jon's hill began at dawn.