Chapter 363: The Oath of the Mander

The dragon's presence had silenced the land around Mace's camp—no pheasant or bird dared make a sound. The morning sky stretched out in a deep blue, with the last stars still twinkling faintly. A thin layer of mist clung to the Mander River, slowly evaporating in the rising sunlight. Camps on both sides of the river came into view once again as the mist cleared.

The dragon remained grounded, lying lazily on the riverbank. Viserys sat in a small boat with Mace, Quentyn, Renly, and a few other Reach nobles, rowing toward the center of the river.

On the opposite side, Ned and his companions—Stafford Lannister, his son Daven, Greatjon Umber, and Rickard Karstark—were slowly approaching Viserys's boat.

Why does he want to meet me if he knows I won't surrender? Ned wondered, unable to discern Viserys's intentions. They were much closer to the dragon now than they had been the day before, but Ned doubted Viserys would attempt a surprise attack. Despite the dragon's presence, Viserys seemed to be one of those men who "cherish their feathers," avoiding rash actions that could tarnish his reputation.

Soon, the two boats drifted to within two feet of each other. Ned took in Viserys's appearance more clearly—his silver hair gleamed under the morning light, and he wore black from head to toe, with a Dragonbone ring on each finger. At his waist hung a Valyrian steel sword, one he had won in Braavos.

Suddenly, Ned's eyes landed on an unexpected figure aboard Viserys's boat. A man, held by two guards, sat with one leg curled up as if it were injured.

"That's... Renly!" Ned thought, recognizing the man immediately.

"My Lord! Isn't that Renly?!" Greatjon was the first to speak, his booming voice cutting through the silence, drawing Rickard's irritation. Stafford, seeing Renly too, leaned forward, wide-eyed with disbelief. If that's truly Renly, then hasn't Storm's End already fallen? The thought sent ripples of concern through Ned's party.

Before Viserys could say a word, whispers of panic spread among Ned's men. Renly's side had clearly prepared dragon crossbows, a clear precaution in case Viserys's dragons decided to strike. If that happened, surely some dragons wouldn't leave the battlefield alive. But how had it come to this? How had Renly fallen into Viserys's hands?

"Viserys! Why is Renly with you?" Stafford demanded, his voice tight with tension.

Viserys ignored Stafford, turning his attention instead to Ned. "Lord Ned, don't be alarmed. I haven't taken Storm's End yet. I captured Renly at Summerhall. I brought him here so you could understand the current state of the Stormlands. And... I intend to offer him in exchange for the Red Viper."

Ned's eyes drifted to Renly, who sat slumped in defeat. This was no longer the carefree lord who treated war like a game. Renly had realized, over the course of his captivity, just how brutal war truly was. What had once seemed thrilling now appeared terrifying.

Gone was the lighthearted man who had thought battles were "fun." He had come to understand that war was far more dangerous than he'd ever imagined. Compared to his brothers—Robert, who had been both his idol and his model of a warrior-king, and Stannis, who lacked Robert's charm and good looks—Renly had never fully grasped the reality of combat until now.

Renly had never witnessed Stannis win a battle and had always looked down on his stern, silent brother. But now, reflecting on his own defeat, he finally understood how hard it must have been for Stannis during the siege of Storm's End. If given the chance again, Renly would have stayed at Storm's End, where he belonged.

The prisoner exchange was only the beginning. Soon, Viserys and Ned began discussing the larger conflict. From Viserys's account, Ned learned of the grim developments: Brightwater Keep had fallen, and Dorne's army had advanced into the Stormlands. Viserys planned to send his forces next to Harrenhal. Ned hadn't realized how quickly the situation had deteriorated in just a few days. Stafford, standing nearby, turned pale. This meant the Westerlands' forces would be tied up in the south, unable to aid the Riverlands or Harrenhal.

Rickard Karstark also grasped the gravity of the situation. Viserys now held a significant advantage and needed only a decisive victory to reclaim the Iron Throne. That victory might come at Harrenhal—or more likely, Rickard thought, at the Gods Eye. If Robert doesn't want to be trapped at Harrenhal, he'll have to come out and fight.

Rickard understood that time was on Viserys's side. There was no need for haste. Viserys was like a patient lumberjack, slowly chopping away at Robert's support. Eventually, the tree would fall.

Ned, still pondering Viserys's motives, finally spoke up. "Are you trying to make me surrender? I told you yesterday, I will not."

Viserys shook his head. "I don't want your surrender. I want to make a pact with you."

Ned's silence conveyed his curiosity. What kind of pact?

"I assume your mission is to hold the army of Highgarden here?" Viserys asked.

Ned nodded.

"My offer is simple: If you lead the army of the North back to the North, the Reach's forces will never cross the Mander. In exchange, I will heal your son's disability. And I should mention—Bran's injury is connected to the Lannisters."

"That's nonsense!" Stafford Lannister roared, unable to contain his outrage.

Ignoring Stafford, Ned pressed on. "You'll withdraw the army of the Reach? What guarantee do I have?"

Viserys, still dismissing Stafford's outburst, pointed to the river. "I swear on the River Mander: If you take the northern army and leave, and if even one soldier from the Reach crosses this river on my orders, the Targaryens will never return to Westeros. If any nobles from the Reach cross on their own, I will lead my forces to stop them."

Mace Tyrell, standing nearby, felt a wave of confusion as he listened. Wait, what? His expression reflected the growing unease he felt about Viserys's bold declaration.

At the same time, Stafford felt a sting of insult.

Stafford, noticing Ned's hesitation, whipped his head around and shouted "Why would you make such an offer? Ned Stark! What does that mean?"

Before Stafford could continue, Viserys turned sharply, drew Quentyn's sword, and swung it at him.

A flash of steel cut through the air, followed by a scream as the blade pierced Stafford's thigh. He collapsed, clutching his leg in agony.

"If you interrupt again, I'll kill you," Viserys growled, his voice cold.

Daven, Stafford's son, stared at Viserys with seething fury but did nothing, frozen by the threat hanging in the air.

"As I was saying," Viserys continued, unbothered by the chaos he had just caused, "the White Walkers are coming, and I'm preparing three lines of defense. The first is the Wall, the second is the vast North, and the third is the Neck. I want you, Ned, to return to the North and fortify the Wall against the White Walkers."

Ned blinked in disbelief. "White Walkers?" He could hardly believe the words coming from Viserys's mouth. Only months ago, he had personally executed a Night's Watch deserter who claimed to have encountered the White Walkers.

"Is this true?" Ned asked, his voice filled with doubt.

"Why do you think I went to such lengths to move the wildlings south of the Wall?" Viserys replied, his tone deadly serious. "When the living are struck by the White Walkers, they rise as the dead. They are tireless and fear nothing—not death, not pain."