Chapter 7 — "The Bastard and the Shadows"
(Year 285 AC — Storm's End)
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A Single Day at Storm's End
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POV I — Storm Ronnel
(Dawn—Parade Ground)
The sun had not yet risen, and the early morning air was thick with salt. On the parade ground, steel clashed against steel. The sound echoed against the walls like a war drum.
Ronnel, just turned seven, twirled his training sword between his fingers and delivered a precise thrust. His opponent, Ser Arlan of Penrose, took a step back, smiling despite the sweat dripping from his brow.
"By the Seven, lad," Arlan growled, parrying the blow with his shield, "are you sure you only have eight? You're faster than some fourteen-year-old squires."
"Speed is useless without precision, ser," Ronnel replied, taking a step back and adopting a new guard. "And you taught me that precision can be trained."
At the edge of the courtyard, a small group watched the fight: Renly, arms crossed; Maester Cressen, stroking his beard; two servants whispering; and a pair of knights of the guard. Eyes darted back and forth between Ronnel and his opponent, and in whispers the comparisons were already beginning.
"Have you seen how the bastard moves?" one of the guards murmured.
"Bastard or not, he has the strength of a young bull," the other replied. "And the head of a fox."
Renly heard them and frowned.
The sparring continued until Arlan threw a low blow that Ronnel barely blocked. The impact sent him stumbling back and falling to the damp earth. The circle of spectators filled with muffled laughter.
Ronnel took a deep breath, his body burning, his sword still firm in his hand. He didn't rise immediately. He analyzed Arlan's position, the angle of the sun, the wind kicking up dust. Then he smiled.
"Another round," he said.
Arlan raised his eyebrows.
"Haven't had enough?"
"I haven't beaten him yet," the boy replied.
In the background, Cressen smiled. Stannis, who had arrived quietly, crossed his arms and muttered to himself,
"Persistence. He did get that from Robert."
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POV II — Renly Baratheon
(Midmorning — Bastion Gardens)
Renly walked along the gravel path with his hands behind his back. Ronnel followed at a distance, chatting with Mya, the servant. Renly frowned as they laughed together.
"Do you enjoy spending so much time with the maids, Ronnel?" he asked without looking at him.
The bastard raised an eyebrow.
"I like spending time with someone who teaches me things I need to know."
"Oh, yeah?" Renly stopped, turning to him. "And what can a maid teach you?"
"For example, that the guards at the north gate receive two extra cups of wine each night," Ronnel replied calmly. "Or that the last shipment of fish arrived rotten. Or that Stannis was arguing with Maester Cressen over a letter that arrived from King's Landing."
Renly blinked, surprised.
"You… how the hell do you know all that?"
Ronnel smiled, leaning toward him.
"Because I listen, Renly. And because everyone talks… if you know who to talk to."
For the first time, Renly had no reply. He walked a few steps in silence and finally murmured,
"Sometimes I forget you're just a child."
"Sometimes I do too," Ronnel replied with a bitter smile.
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POV III — Maester Cressen
(Midday — Bastion Library)
The maester was bent over a heavy tome of history when he heard light footsteps behind him.
"I knew I'd find you here," Ronnel said, closing the door behind him.
"Children should be training, not rummaging through books," Cressen replied, without looking up.
"Normal children," Ronnel corrected. "I want to understand how men play."
The old man sighed and took off his glasses. He looked at Ronnel, assessing him with the weight of his years.
"You're not like the others," he said, more to himself than to the boy. "You observe too much. You learn too quickly."
Ronnel didn't reply. He just opened a scroll and read it silently. After a moment, Cressen spoke again.
"I've served House Baratheon all my life. And I know when someone... stands out. But you must be careful, Ronnel. Those who stand out too much in Westeros end up in early graves."
The boy stared at him.
"Only if they play someone else's game, Maester. I plan to invent my own."
Cressen couldn't help but smile. Ronnel's raven, Noctis, cawed from the window, as if approving.
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POV IV — Stannis Baratheon
(Afternoon — Map Room)
Stannis was alone, bent over a map of the Stormlands. His fingers traced the coastlines, calculating supply routes and possible enemy strongholds.
The sound of footsteps made him look up. Ronnel entered, followed by Renly.
"My lord," the bastard greeted.
"Training over," Stannis stated, rather than asking.
"For today," Ronnel replied.
Renly settled onto a bench, studying the maps.
"Are you planning another war, Stannis?" he asked brazenly.
Stannis glared at him.
"I always plan wars, Renly. Because even if you don't see it, there's always one coming."
Ronnel walked over to the map.
"May I?" he asked, pointing to an area to the south.
Stannis nodded silently.
"Here, in the minor inlets, smugglers land goods. If we can control those points, we'll secure maritime trade without moving a single soldier."
Stannis studied him with hard eyes. Finally, he ascended.
"You've got a head for this, Ronnel. Better than many adults I know."
Renly watched them silently, without comment. But for the first time, there wasn't jealousy in his eyes... but respect.
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POV V — Bastion's Servants
(Night — Kitchens)
The rumor spread like wildfire through dry chaff. In the kitchens, while the stoves still burned, the servants whispered.
"They say the bastard speaks to Stannis as if he were his equal," Mya whispered.
"They say even the maester teaches him things that not even Renly knows," Gared added, kneading bread.
An elderly serving girl spat on the ground.
"Bastard or not, the boy listens. He listens and remembers. One day he will be important… or dangerous."
No one denied it.
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Night fell over Storm's End. From her window, Ronnel gazed out at the dark sea. Noctis cawed softly on the sill.
"Soon," the boy murmured, stroking the raven's feathers. "Soon we'll be better at playing than anyone."
And, on the horizon, the first shadows of greater intrigue began to rise.
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