Chapter 74: The Griffin and the Red Fish
"House Rogare?" A flash of realization struck Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone.
It was the family of Queen Larra Rogare, wife of Prince Viserys Targaryen—later King Viserys II Targaryen—whose power had once spanned two continents.
Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Joffrey Arryn, Ser Thalassar, and the others all had some impression of the name. They came from noble houses; Barristan, before he became the White Knight, had been the heir to Harvest Hall. All of them remembered the era of the Rogare Bank, the Spring of Lys, and the terrifying reach of House Rogare in its prime.
Lysandro Rogare, patriarch of the house, had proclaimed himself First Magister of Lys. His daughter Larra Rogare became the wife of Prince Viserys Targaryen, while another Rogare daughter married into the ruling house of Dorne. At its height, the family's influence reached from Lys to King's Landing.
That vast power, however, had melted away like ice beneath the sun almost immediately after Lysandro Rogare's death.
Tall trees catch the wind. House Rogare had offended too many enemies. The Lyseni hated them for monopolizing offices, the Braavosi hated them for undermining trade, and the Westerosi despised them for their gods and their gold.
At the mention of House Rogare, Lysandro's eyes grew even dimmer. His beautiful golden hair and blue eyes only made his torment more apparent.
The great House Rogare. The great Lysandro Rogare. The First Magister of Lys. Were the glories of his ancestors nothing more than a dream?
"Who sent you to Dragonstone—be precise," Rhaegar said, signaling an attendant to loosen Lysandro's restraints. The boy had made no move to attack, and Rhaegar sensed no immediate danger.
"The Red Comet crossed the sky. All the Free Cities saw it," Lysandro said quietly. "Red Priests and warlocks say magic is returning. Some claim it is because dragons stir again. Westeros is where most dragon eggs once lay—Dragonstone, or perhaps the Red Keep in King's Landing."
He swallowed.
"We bought the information in the Perfume Garden. A client there paid well. We accepted the task. But Dragonmount is far harder than expected—sulfur smoke, heat, foul air. It's not a place meant for men."
"As for the master behind it… I don't know. A merchant, perhaps. An Archon, maybe. Or a traveler passing through Lys."
Rhaegar understood. The Red Comet had stirred the world. Warlocks, Red Priests, adventurers—many would risk everything if dragons truly returned.
Why Dragonstone and not King's Landing? Because King's Landing was already thick with eyes. The Free Cities knew the capital too well.
Barristan and the others exchanged glances. The Red Comet had come. Could dragons truly rise again?
"Rogare nonsense!" Gantos spat suddenly. "You're nothing but a bastard born of a sailor and a whore, hiding behind a dead name! House Rogare died generations ago! Without me, you'd have starved—or been a bed slave—or danced naked in a circus!"
Gantos hated Rhaegar, but he hated Lysandro more. He had trained this boy himself—only to be betrayed. Such was the fate of thieves in Lys: every Quickfinger eventually replaced the last.
"Give the boy a sword," Rhaegar said calmly.
No one questioned him. Lord Joffrey Arryn ordered Lysandro unbound and a weapon brought.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Lysandro said, "but I'll use my own."
His dagger—slender and narrow—was retrieved from where he had hidden it.
Lysandro stepped toward Gantos.
"I stole a hundred times for you—goods and secrets alike. I failed five times. I was badly wounded three times. Nearly died four. I earned your gold and your name. What I owed you, I repaid."
The dagger gleamed like flowing water.
"I told you not to insult my parents. I told you never to threaten me with the Perfume Garden. That wealth belonged to House Rogare—and one day, I will reclaim it."
The blade flashed.
Gantos's throat was cut open in a single motion. Hot blood sprayed across Lysandro's face. Gantos collapsed, his body betraying him even in death.
Lord Joffrey waved his hand, and the guards moved in to clean the ground.
Lysandro stood there, shaking. Gantos had been his master, his enemy, and his anchor. Without him, Lysandro was once more drifting flotsam upon the sea.
"You are free," Rhaegar said.
Lysandro looked up sharply. "You won't demand my service?"
"How many are left in your gang?" Rhaegar asked instead.
"A dozen," Lysandro replied. "Some guards bought from the fighting pits. Many children. The quickest become thieves. The rest are sold or forced to beg."
The Westerosi laughed softly. Such numbers were meaningless.
"It isn't necessary," Rhaegar said. "I hope you truly become the Great Lysandro. We'll give you coin. You may return to Lys—or go elsewhere."
"I will return to Lys," Lysandro said firmly. "I hate Braavos. The Faceless Men destroyed my house. After my ancestor died, the Braavosi seized our wealth and the Perfume Garden."
His eyes burned with inherited hatred.
Rhaegar nodded. An enemy's enemy could one day be useful—but he would not force it.
"Good fortune," Rhaegar said.
The night passed without further incident. No great fish emerged from the dark—only desperate men chasing rumors.
Lysandro remained a few days more, until he chose to leave for Lys. Rhaegar ordered Cesar to quietly provide him with funds.
New letters arrived from King's Landing soon after. King Aerys II Targaryen had selected several young nobles to attend Rhaegar as companions and squires.
Two names stood out.
One from House Connington of Griffin's Roost.
And one from House Tully of Riverrun.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics