Chapter 362: This Old Guy Isn’t Stupid

Ned could now feel the weariness spreading through the soldiers of the North. He hadn't expected Viserys to boldly appear before the northern army like this, and it only deepened the sense of exhaustion among the troops and nobles alike.

'His dragon flew in from the south... Could it have already been to Dorne? Or has it captured Nightsong?' Ned wondered.

'The fall of Nightsong wouldn't be surprising—Doran brought over 20,000 men with him. Before Viserys can attack Storm's End, Summerhall still stands in his way.'

Ned formed a grim plan in his mind. Based on the timing, it seemed unlikely that Viserys would lead all seven dragons to a direct assault on Summerhall. Despite their fearsome power, dragons were not invincible; they had tested their dragon-shooting crossbows on the skull of the giant dragon beneath the Red Keep, and the bolts had pierced through.

Though Ned tried to calm himself, an uneasy feeling gnawed at him. Frustrated, he descended from the watchtower, deciding to walk among the soldiers to lift their spirits.

...

A few minutes earlier, Mace had spotted Viserys and couldn't believe his eyes. The disheveled, hobbling figure before him was Renly Baratheon.

After all the turmoil, Renly had returned, though not as Mace had imagined. Even more shocking, his own son, Loras, had returned too, alive and unharmed. Though it seemed Viserys's dragon had spit him out, Loras was, remarkably, whole.

Mace, though not known for his brilliance, was no fool. He knew that for his son to come back alive, Viserys must have made an extraordinary effort. In different circumstances, Loras could have easily been tossed over the Wall. As Mace prepared to thank Viserys, his relief was interrupted by Loras rushing past him to tend to Renly.

"You bastard! What are you doing?!" Mace bellowed, his face turning red with fury.

His eyes bulged as he raised his riding crop and lashed at Loras. This was a betrayal of their House, a disgrace! If begging had kept Loras from being sent to the Wall, now Mace feared he would have to beg Viserys not to kill him for this offense.

"Damn you! Damn you!" Mace roared, his temper boiling over as Loras remained obstinate. The riding crop cracked down on his son's back, leaving angry, blood-red welts.

Mace's mind raced. 'If this goes on, the House will suffer!' His strikes became more vicious, fueled by desperation.

"Enough, Lord Mace!" Viserys's voice cut through the air, and in an instant, he grabbed Mace's arm, stopping the next blow. Mace, shaken, couldn't bring himself to continue.

"I respect his position," Viserys said calmly, diffusing the situation.

Loras wasn't just a simple knight—he was a protector. For Renly, Loras was more than a bodyguard; he offered safety and companionship, a rare combination. 'It's like having two guards in one,'

"Just look at what a disgrace the Kingsguard has become. These days, a guard is considered competent if he doesn't murder his king or commit adultery with the Queen—never mind someone like Ser Loras." Viserys's tone was sharp, and Mace knew it was no compliment.

Without a word, Mace unsheathed his sword and threw it to the ground in front of Loras. "Kill him!" he barked. "Or I will disinherit you!"

"I never had any inheritance to begin with!" Loras shot back.

"Then you will no longer bear the Tyrell name," Mace threatened, his voice cold.

Good old Mace, ready to throw House Tyrell overboard to save his own skin, Viserys thought. The man was no fool, but he wasn't about to let Mace sacrifice his son so easily.

"We can't kill Renly yet, and I do admire Ser Loras," Viserys said calmly, his gaze shifting between father and son. "Lord Mace, just keep him under control. Make sure he doesn't stray to Robert's side."

"Thank you, Your Grace, for your mercy," Mace replied, knowing his bet had failed.

Viserys had no intention of killing Loras. As long as Loras lived, he was a valuable asset—both for what he had achieved and as leverage over House Tyrell. Whether Loras would be broken by this ordeal was of no concern to Viserys.

Negotiations over, Viserys turned his attention to more pressing matters. "Let's head back to the barracks. Send word to Ned—I want a meeting," he commanded.

...

After arriving at Mace's camp, Viserys's disdain for the state of Westerosi lords only deepened. It was one thing for noble houses to send armies of varying quality, but it was absurd to drag untested youths like Edric Dayne into battle, as Doran had done.

Randyll Tarly was the rare exception, a competent general in a sea of mediocrity. But Mace's camp was a caricature of chaos. It was bad enough that his army traveled with camp followers and prostitutes—but even his own mother had brought a circus along. The Targaryens may have fallen, but the Tyrells are a disgrace, Viserys thought bitterly.

In hindsight, the mercenaries he had hired were of better stock than many of the soldiers here. Even in his days with the Windblown, someone who dared to keep a pet monkey—would have been swiftly beheaded. As for the Unsullied, they would have been too disciplined to tolerate such nonsense.

Viserys's original plan had been cautious—he had amassed 40,000 men on Dragonstone, believing that would be enough to gain a foothold in Westeros. Now, surveying the state of the Reach's troops, he realized he had overestimated the military prowess of the Westerosi armies. If this was the best Mace could offer, Viserys's cautious nature had been too reserved. The quality of these men was appalling, and Mace himself was more a liability than an asset.

I don't want Mace to stay here for long, Viserys mused. If he sticks around, his incompetence will be all too clear to everyone.

...

"Viserys wants to negotiate with me?" Ned asked, his voice laced with suspicion as the lords gathered in his tent. Among them were a few blond-haired nobles, sent by Tyrion to keep an eye on him.

Mace's envoy, standing before him, replied calmly, "Yes, my Lord."

"Go back and tell him that I will not withdraw my troops, nor will I surrender," Ned responded firmly. His stance disappointed some of the northern lords, who had held onto a faint hope for a peaceful resolution. But this was Ned's decision, and in the North, loyalty to one's Lord was paramount. The northern lords, brought up in a tradition of obedience, would follow his command.

"Your Grace doesn't ask for surrender. He only wishes to meet with you," the envoy clarified.

"Meet with me?" Ned repeated, emphasizing the word with disbelief. He couldn't fathom why Viserys would want to meet him personally.

"If Viserys wants a meeting, then give him one," Stafford Lannister chimed in. He was Tywin's brother-in-law and had been sent, along with his son Daven, to support Ned on behalf of the Tyrells.

Stafford wasn't opposed to the idea of a meeting. He feared that if Ned resisted too long, he might cave under pressure and meet with Viserys in secret, causing chaos in their ranks. Better to meet openly and control the situation.

Reluctantly, Ned agreed to Viserys's invitation. They would meet on neutral ground—in the middle of the Mander River, by boat.

...

"His Grace Viserys... he can't attack us with his dragons, can he?" Jon Umber blurted out, his words betraying the concern on everyone's mind.

Despite the trouble caused by the wildlings from Beyond the Wall, Greatjon had found unexpected benefits from the situation. The wildlings, though troublesome, were surprisingly disciplined. Any caught committing crimes like theft, murder, or rape were executed swiftly, before they could even take the black. Their migration south had brought a much-needed influx of labor, making Greatjon feel like a wealthier lord. And he wasn't the only one—many northern nobles had begun to reconsider their views on the Targaryens.

Rumors of Viserys meeting northern lords in private were already circulating, inspiring songs from bards about his newfound alliances in the North.

"Of course, Your Grace is willing to swear on the Mander if necessary," the envoy added.