"House Rogare?" Rhaegar suddenly realized. That was the family of Larra Rogare, wife of King Viserys II; their power once spanned two continents.
Barristan, Brynden, Ser Joffrey Arryn, Ser Laris Velaryon, and the others had all heard the name. They were noble-born; Barristan was even the heir to Harvest Hall before becoming a White Cloak. They were all impressed by the "Spring of Lys" and the immense power House Rogare once held.
The great Lysandro Rogare styled himself First Magister for Life of Lys. His son-in-law Viserys was a Prince of Westeros, and his brother was consort to the Princess of Dorne. Yet, this mighty power dissipated like an iceberg rapidly after Lysandro's death.
Tall trees catch much wind; House Rogare offended too many people. The Lyseni hated their monopoly, the Braavosi hated them stealing business, and the Westerosi hated them worshipping false gods.
Hearing the name Rogare, Lysandro's eyes grew even dimmer. His beautiful golden hair and blue eyes made him look all the more pained.
The great House Rogare, the great Lysandro, First Magister of Lys—was the brilliant achievement of his ancestor nothing but a dream?
"Who sent you to Dragonstone? Be specific." Rhaegar asked, signaling his squire to untie Lysandro. The young man hadn't tried to attack earlier, and Rhaegar sensed no danger.
"The Red Comet trailed across the sky; all the Free Cities saw it. Many Red Priests and Warlocks said magic was returning, and some Red Priests claimed it was because magic dragons were resurrecting. Westeros is the main source of dragon eggs; perhaps a hatchling was born on Dragonstone, or maybe in the Red Keep of King's Landing. Great Prince, our intelligence was bought from the Perfume Garden. A client there offered a high price, so we took the job. But the Dragonmont is too hard to cross, especially those caves—sulfur smoke, extreme heat, foul smells."
"As for who is behind it, it's unclear. Perhaps a wealthy merchant in Lys, or a Magister, or maybe a traveler visiting Lys," Lysandro said.
Rhaegar understood; this was true. Many Warlocks or Red Priests felt the surge of magic, and naturally, they knew dragons were stirring again. As news spread, many adventurers in the Free Cities were willing to take a gamble.
...Why Dragonstone and not King's Landing? Because King's Landing was infiltrated too deeply. The Free Cities had merchants and envoys planted there who knew the situation in the capital well.
Barristan and the others looked at Rhaegar too. The Red Comet had arrived; would magic dragons truly rise again?
"What Rogare nonsense! You're just a bastard born of a sailor and a whore, daring to use the Rogare name! House Rogare died out long ago! If not for me, you'd have starved to death, or become a bed slave, or a clown in a circus providing lewd services to customers!" Gantos cursed madly.
Gantos hated Rhaegar, but he hated Lysandro even more—this young man he raised with his own hands had betrayed him. Perhaps this was the fate of Lysene thieves: every Fast Finger eventually removed the previous one. He should have gotten rid of this brat earlier and found someone else.
"Give the boy a sword!" Rhaegar said.
No one questioned the Prince's decision. Ser Joffrey ordered men to untie young Lysandro and handed him a sword.
"Thank you, Prince, but I prefer my own weapon." Lysandro said.
Rhaegar sent someone to find it. It was a slender dagger Lysandro had hidden in his sleeve earlier.
Lysandro walked up to Gantos. "I stole a hundred times for you—goods or information—failed only five times, and was never exposed. In those hundred thefts, I was heavily wounded five times, nearly died three times, and today is the fourth. I earned enough money for you and expanded the fame of 'Fast Finger' for you. What I owed you, I have paid off." Young Lysandro's face was full of determination as he took the dagger and walked toward Gantos.
The bright blade flowed like clear spring water; its gleaming light struck terror into Gantos's bones.
Lysandro's eyes gradually brightened. "Now, it's your turn for revenge. I told you I don't like anyone insulting my parents. I told you I don't like you threatening me, especially threatening to send me to the Perfume Garden. That was House Rogare's property; sooner or later, I will take it back."
With a flash of the dagger, Lysandro slashed Gantos's throat violently. Hot blood splattered onto Lysandro's face. Gantos peed his pants in terror; hot fluids and blood flowed out together.
Ser Joffrey waved his hand, signaling others to deal with the mess.
After killing Gantos, Lysandro looked dazed. Gantos was his boss, his master, and his enemy. But without this man, he truly would have been like duckweed floating in Lys, drifting with the current.
"You are free." Rhaegar said. For the sake of House Rogare, he decided to spare this young man. It was like seeing kidnapped children forced to steal, scam, and beg—their lives twisted completely.
"Your Grace, do you not intend to demand my loyalty?" Lysandro asked in surprise. As a thief, he was used to living for money; Rhaegar releasing him was a massive favor, hard to repay.
"How many in your gang?" Rhaegar asked.
"About a dozen," Lysandro answered awkwardly. "Gantos was the previous Fast Finger, the boss; he assigned tasks and contacted clients. The rest were bodyguards he bought from the fighting pits. There were also many children; those with quick hands stole, and the best became the next Fast Finger. Those not fast enough were sold by Gantos to brothels or forced to beg."
The people around laughed. Such a number was truly insignificant.
Westerosi and Lyseni didn't always see eye to eye. Lyseni worshipped the Goddess of Love; they weren't true warriors but a bunch of thieving scoundrels. Prejudice was everywhere, and people looked down on each other.
"No need, Lysandro. I hope you can become the Great Lysandro too. We will prepare some money for you. You can return to Lys, or go to Braavos, Myr, or anywhere else in Westeros." Rhaegar patted Lysandro on the shoulder.
A humble, easily overlooked pawn—perhaps this piece would be more useful to him in the Free Cities. But Rhaegar didn't force it.
"I won't go to Braavos, nor Myr. I will return to Lys; that is my home. Gantos is dead; I am the unique Fast Finger, uncontrolled by any Lyseni. I hate Braavosi. Legend says their Faceless Men killed our ancestor because he declared himself First Magister. The Rogare Bank was massive and powerful, even overshadowing the Iron Bank. After our ancestor Lysandro died, those thieves confiscated the Perfume Garden and all our family's wealth." Hate flashed in Lysandro's eyes. He didn't know the exact source of this hatred, only that it passed down through generations.
The Free Cities and Westeros operated on completely different models. Power was hard to inherit and extremely unstable.
Even for respected figures like the Sealord of Braavos or a Magister of Lys, their sons could end up on the streets. One system was monarchy, the other electoral magistery; a magister couldn't rule for long. To compete for election rights, Lyseni engaged in bloody assassinations and political intrigues.
The instability of power meant the Free Cities and Westeros were two sides of a coin—each with its difficulties, making mutual annexation impossible.
"Good luck," Rhaegar said, looking at Lysandro. His appearance was still tender, yet he had been tormented by a gloomy life.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Rhaegar didn't trust the Braavosi moneylenders, and neither did Lysandro.
But back in Lys, Lysandro's mission had failed, and his boss Gantos was dead. How he would face the gang and Gantos's old subordinates was now Lysandro's own problem.
The night remained deep; perhaps other spies and informants lurked in the vast darkness.
Rhaegar ordered his squires to continue guarding, but there were no "big fish," mostly just down-and-out people trying their luck.
Rhaegar kept Lysandro for a few more days until he fully calmed down and expressed his desire to return to Lys.
Rhaegar quietly instructed Sessa to prepare some extra money for Lysandro. Whether Lysandro would rise to greatness or end up surviving in the slums upon his return to Lys depended on his own fate. Rhaegar's power didn't reach Lys yet.
New letters from King's Landing arrived. The King had tentatively selected several young noble youths or boys as Rhaegar's squires and companions.
The two most widely known names were a Connington from Griffin's Roost and a Mooton from Maidenpool.
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