Chapter 357: Night Attack on Summerhall

At dusk, a red-haired, red-bearded knight in a red cloak led a small group of soldiers on patrol around the outer perimeter of Summerhall. He looked rather at ease, a cigarette dangling from his lips. This knight was Ronnet, often called "Red Ronnet" due to his fiery beard. He was a cousin of Jon Connington.

After Jon Connington's defeat at the Battle of the Bells, House Connington's seat, Griffin's Roost, had passed to Ronnet's father, Ronald, but he died not long after, leaving the castle to his son. Now, Ronnet held Griffin's Roost, though his position in the Stormlands was far from secure.

Viserys' sudden rise had caused complications for Ronnet. Jon Connington, still in Tyrosh at the time, had revealed his true identity, no longer hiding that he was the former Hand of the King. This revelation stirred trouble for Ronnet, as House Connington had been staunch royalists during the War of the Usurper. After Robert's victory, they had surrendered and were allowed to keep their castle, but their titles were stripped, and their lands reduced.

Determined to restore his family's lost glory, Ronnet threw himself into the most dangerous missions, believing that if he survived the "Viserys Rebellion," his loyalty would be rewarded, and his family's honor restored.

As Ronnet drifted into his daydreams, an icy voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Ser Ronnet, you're back early," said the voice. "I recall the patrol route I assigned you. It shouldn't have brought you back before sunset. Have you completed it properly?"

It was Loras Tyrell, Renly's sworn protector and closest confidant. Renly had entrusted much of the military command to Loras, giving him considerable authority in the camp. Though Loras held no formal title of his own, he had enough influence to keep others in line.

Startled, Ronnet quickly spat out the cigarette. The stub hit the ground with a small shower of sparks.

"Where did you get this?" Loras asked sharply.

"Ser Loras... a friend brought it from King's Landing," Ronnet stammered.

Loras' mouth curled in disgust before he slapped Ronnet hard across the face. The crack of the slap echoed in the empty courtyard.

"You do realize this cigarette was made by that Targaryen scum, Viserys, don't you? And yet you still smoke it? Do you not see that every cigarette you light today will become an arrow aimed at us tomorrow?"

Ronnet's head snapped to the side from the blow, but he dared not protest. He had always been something of a weak-willed man, despite his outward bravado. His father, Ronald, had once even considered marrying him to "the beautiful Brienne of Tarth," but not only had Ronnet lost to her in combat, he had also been humiliated for his poor manners and bad breath. That defeat had left a lasting mark on him.

"Patrol the woods over there again!" Ronnet barked, storming off in frustration. His anger simmered—Renly was in Summerhall, and there was nothing he could do about it. Furious and humiliated after his encounter with Loras, Ronnet led his men into the woods north of Summerhall.

Meanwhile, in the forest just beyond the camp at Summerhall...

"Brother, do you think there could be any leftover dragon eggs inside Summerhall?" Dany asked, her gaze fixed on the army encampment below.

"Why? Seven dragons aren't enough for you now?" Viserys replied with a smirk.

"Of course not! The more the merrier. I read in a book that dragons don't usually grow this fast. I was thinking, if we give Aemon a young dragon to care for, it might keep him entertained."

Viserys chuckled. "Where do you expect to find dragon eggs these days? Wealthbringer hatched from a fossil, and here you are, complaining we don't have enough!"

They bantered playfully, as if this were all a game. But then Quentyn, who had been keeping watch, suddenly stiffened.

"Your Grace, someone's coming our way!" he warned.

Viserys' demeanor shifted instantly. "I'll take them head-on. You two, flank them from behind!" He made the decision swiftly, and the three moved into position.

Though Dany's skill with a sword was still developing, she had become quite adept with fire magic. She could handle an opponent on her own without much trouble. Quentyn, meanwhile, was a competent swordsman, but Viserys was the true force among them.

As for Ronnet, he was still fuming over Loras' earlier slap. While he dared not retaliate, he had no problem venting in front of his men.

"That pompous ass! If he doesn't stay in bed guarding Renly, what's the point of him being out here? Sooner or later, he's going to be burned alive by that Targaryen dragon!"

His guards chuckled, but one dared to speak up. "But, my lord, if Renly's burned, doesn't that mean Viserys wins?"

Ronnet sneered. "What's there to worry about? My uncle is Hand of the King to Viserys now. If anyone dies, it'll be the Baratheons, not me."

He spoke viciously, not expecting an answer from anyone outside his group.

"Well said!" came a sudden voice from the trees, unfamiliar to Ronnet's men. Instantly, they drew their swords, eyes darting around in alarm.

"Who goes there?!"

Before anyone could react, an arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself in the throat of a soldier reaching for his alarm whistle. He fell to the ground, gurgling his last breath as panic spread through Ronnet's group.

"Aren't you looking for Viserys? Well, here I am."

With that, Viserys stepped out from behind the tree, his unmistakable silver hair glinting in the fading light, a symbol of his royal lineage.

"You're Viserys?" Ronnet scoffed, unimpressed. "Hmph! Then I'll just take you in myself!"

Ronnet didn't care if this really was Viserys. To him, it was a prize he'd stumbled upon during his patrol. At his command, the guards flanking him raised their shields and charged forward.

But the fight didn't go as expected.

Viserys moved with blinding speed. A swift left front kick, followed by a sharp right whip kick, sent the two shield-bearers reeling, their weapons clattering to the ground. Before they could recover, Viserys was already upon Ronnet, his sword raised. The speed at which he moved was almost too fast for the human eye to follow.

The remaining soldiers rushed forward to defend their master, but were abruptly blocked by two figures—medium-sized but unyielding: Dany and Quentyn.

"What? Still don't believe I'm Viserys?" Viserys asked, his voice calm but menacing.

"Y-Yes! I believe you!" Ronnet stammered, swallowing hard.

"Good. Now tell me, who's in Summerhall right now?"

Ronnet hesitated, but the first name he mentioned made Viserys' eyes light up with pleasant surprise.

"Renly is in Summerhall?" Viserys asked, intrigued. "And what is he doing there?"

Ronnet nervously chuckled. "He...he said he wanted to meet the enemy head-on. Not like Stannis, who's holed up in Storm's End like a turtle."

That sounds just like Renly, Viserys thought.

"Is Loras with him?" Viserys pressed.

"Yes, Your Grace. Loras is with him! You can see for yourself—I owe him a lot!"

Viserys' eyes gleamed. "Take me into Summerhall."

"Huh?" Ronnet blurted, startled.

"Brother!" Dany interjected sharply.

"Your Grace!" Quentyn added, his tone filled with concern.

Without hesitation, both of them vetoed Viserys' decision.

"Brother, you promised Aemon you wouldn't take unnecessary risks," Dany reminded him, her voice steady but urgent. "This is too dangerous!"