HOTD: The Rogue's Son-SI Ch.48

Chapter 48

INTERLUDE- Three Years Later.

SAERA TARGARYEN

Her father’s words often haunted her as all that she had built and planned went up in flames in front of her eyes.

She had long forgotten about the Iron Throne by the time of the Great Council, having put that wretched place out of her mind as she built for herself a new kingdom in Lys.

She had come here weak, and without gold and had risen through the ranks, through any means necessary so that she would never have to depend on anyone else, that never again would she be summoned infront of a King to answer, for petty crimes.

She had sold flesh, whispered secrets, offered comforts, suffered humiliations, and done unspeakable things to become the person that she was, to become the power in the shadows, and to become one of the most powerful women in Lys.

She was the woman of Lysandro Rogare, their alliances not recorded by marriage but by years and years of mutual struggle and suffering as she helped him become the First Magister of Lys.

And then word of the Red Keep had come, word of death and opportunity. Her own family had long died, her brothers and sisters all dead before her, Jaehaerys’ pride decimated before they could ever inherit his legacy. His throne, inherited by a grandson, one he installed through obvious ploy and machination as he usurped his own granddaughter’s claim.

He had chosen a boy once more, chosen Viserys over Rhaenys.

Just as he had chosen that fool over her.

Alas! He was a fool. Aemma Arryn would fail in giving Viserys an heir, dying after giving birth to a single child, a daughter once more.

And as the whispers of the succession crises reached her, the years of apathy began to fail as the fires of revenge began to simmer, and when Daemon went to war in the Stepstones, she saw it for the opportunity that it was.

To destroy her father’s legacy. Lysandro was more than happy to join her plans, the fame, fortune and power offered by the Targaryen name and the Iron Throne would do him well in pushing back against the Iron Bank, and other competitors.

So, they acted. Moving in the shadows, as they steered the world to their song.

The truth was that they did not need to do much. The divide was already there, created by her own father during the Great Council of 101 AC when he usurped his own granddaughter Rhaenys for Viserys.

No. They just fanned the flames and worked in the shadows, assassinating and shifting the world as they saw fit.

Their largest and final gamble began three years ago, as she had Lysandro push the entire might of Lys behind the Sea Snake’s ambitions in the Stepstones. It was a big gamble, but one that had made all the sense at the time.

This way, they had furthered the divide between the two factions, bringing them closer to an open conflict. A conflict which would only soothe her own ambitions.

Alas! It was all beginning to fail!

All of it.

And it had all begun with the death of Lysnadro! The man who was her companion in this journey, her one true ally. And it was no coincidence.

No. It was a plot. A ploy by an enemy unseen and unexpected, but no more.

Now she knew just who it was that had destroyed all her plans.

“Aegon Targaryen,” she whispered, as she looked out at the city infront of her. Once, the whole of Lys was in the palms of her hand, but now, three years after Lysandro’s death, she was but a prisoner here.

The Rogare name, wealth, and fame were all lost in a dreaded conflict that had bled them hard. All the power she had obtained over the years had slipped out of her hands as the Rogares entered into a civil war after the death of their patriarch.

She had tried to steer them towards unity, to consolidate power, yet none of her efforts had worked. Now, the once-mighty Rogares were but a shell of themselves, all set to be ruled by their First Magistery of Lys.

And suddenly, the doors to her room opened once more, as the current leader of the Rogares, Drazenko, walked in. His once beautiful face was now marred with a scar that cut across it, taking away his beauty.

His hair had thinned much like her own because of the constant war and worry of the last three years that had seen them spill their own blood as they tried to save their fortune and power.

“Did we lose?” she asked, for the First Magister of Lys was chosen by a vote of all the magisters, and three years ago none of them would have dared to break faith with them, with her and Lysadro—with the mighty Rogares.

“The Micarso’s won the vote,” and that was expected. The Micarso’s were closely related to magisters of Myr and Tyrosh, the very two cities they had betrayed, to ally with the Velaryons.

But the war had not gone as they had hoped.

The campaign had been a failure. Despite having three dragons at their disposal, victory had evaded them, and the more the battle prolonged the more toll it took on their alliance and position, as the infighting and other magisters of Lys chipped away at their power.

And now, three years later, the Rogares had failed.

“The new First Magister has ordered us to end our alliance with the Velaryons,” Drazenko added as she turned to finally face Lysnadro’s brother and the new leader of the Rogares.

“They wish to reforge their alliance with Myr and Tyrosh.”

“Idiots,” she snarled. Those fat magisters were all fools. All of them.

“All of them. In the time that we have spent embroiled in infighting and subterfuge, teh Seven Kingdoms have built an armada to devour us all. Do they not see that?” she thundered.

Much had changed in the world in the last three years, and though teh Magisters may have blinded themselves, she had not. Not since Lysandro’s death.

“They are all taken with Cragad Drahar’s might. They think him more powerful than the Targaryens and do not think that the Iron Throne will dare engage teh feared ‘Crab Feeder’ in the Stepstones again,” and she scoffed.

“The only reason Drahar is not yet dead is because he is being propped up by the damned Iron Throne,” and Drazenko rolled his eyes, not believing her words.

“You still believe in that hubris,” he taunted. Drazenko may be Lysnadro’s brother, but he was not him. He did not trust her as his brother did.

Nor did he believe her warnings when it came to that boy—the one who had ruined it all.

Aegon Targaryen—the Bloody Prince.

He had always had a reputation, one that she had, in her foolishness, ignored even when he had been made the heir and was set to marry Viserys’s only daughter.

The boy had done the impossible, defeating the wretched mountain clans of Vale while he was not yet a man. Alas! She had thought it all an exaggeration.

But it was not.

No. They boy was a demon. It had been him who had killed Lysandro and ruined it all. She was certain of it.

“Think. Drazenko. THINK! It is his doing, all of it is his do...” she pleaded as Lysandro’s brother shook his head.

“NO! It is time to let this go,” Drazenko rose up, glaring at her as she closed her mouth.

“It was you who led us into this mess. Led my brother to his death!” he screamed in her face.

“We were kings! We ruled over all of Lys, and now we are on the brink of ruin,” and that may be true, but it was not over yet. They could still win, he just had to believe in her.

“And we will have it again,” she whispered as she slid forward and grasped his hands, trying to make him see reason.

“As soon as you are married to Laena Velaryon, we shall the might of a dragon at our beck and call. And not just any dragon, but the mighty Vhagar itself,” and she still remembered watching that mighty beast taking to the skies and the fear she would induce.

“With that power and strength on our back, none shall dare defy us. We will rule over Lys agai...” but Drazenko pushed her away as he raised his hands.

“I have had to slay my own kin. My own nephews, and nieces, brothers and sisters!” he screamed.

“All because of your plans!” and her own patience thinned.

“Because of him! Not me! Because that Bloody bastard! That Aegon! He is the one who brought this upon us, not me,” she corrected him, but Drazenko was not listening anymore.

“It is all in your head! Aegon! Aegon! Aegon!” he screamed in her face.

“This is your failure and yours alone! And I am done pretending otherwise,” and his tone grew cold and distant as he said those last words.

“Now, it is time for me to do what I think is best for this family,” and her eyes widened as she understood the implication of that sentence.

“The Rogares will no longer ally themselves with the Velaryons,” and she shook her head.

“This is a mistake. A grand mistake, your marriage with Laen...”

“Do you think the Sea Snake a fool?” he asked with a scoff, and a part of her indeed.

“Have you ever thought why he did not agree to the match and has been delaying it for years? The man does not trust us, he thinks us beneath himself,” he added with a scoff, and that was his folly.

“He would never agree to the match, not when our House is in decline. Moreover, I will not waste this opportunity to ally ourselves with a dwindling power like the Velaryons. Their fortune is spent. This war has run them dry,” and while the Velaryons may indeed have been beggared, she knew for a fact that a major portion of their wealth was still invested into the Rogare Bank.

“And the Rogares need a powerful ally, not one as weak as the Velaryons, no matter how many dragons they may have. I have received a marriage offer from one of the richest Magisters of Myr and am considering it, for it would help us mend the bridges we burnt because of your aspirations,” Drazenko taunted as her fists balled up.

“You are making a mistake. This family, this fortune—I built it all besides Lysnadro. I will not have you ruin it, Li... " Drazenko scoffed at those words as he walked forward, his purple eyes glinting as he raised a brow.

“You! You overstate your importance,” he taunted as he reached for her hair.

“You were but an over-glorified whore,” and her hand moved before she could think, and the sound of the slap spread all over the room.

That word. She hated that word.

Drazenko grabbed his face as fire raged in his eyes.

“You dare raise a hand on me! You dare!” he thundered, and then before she could react pain seared across her own face, as she fell on the bed, as he slapped her face.

“I should have you killed. Have you whipped for how you have ruined our family,” he thundered as he came upon her.

“You are not a Princess. You have not been one for years. You are a common whore who latched onto my brother and wrung him dry with your venom,”

“Your own father threw you out of his castle,” he taunted as he glared at her.

“You are a demon, a cursed child set to bring devastation wherever you go! The only reason I spare you is that I do not wish to sully my hands any more than I already have,” and with that, he walked towards the door.

“You are on your own from now on. You can keep this manse for the years of comfort you provided my brother, but no more. The Rogares, must look after our own interests from this day,” and she scoffed as she stood up.

“You will burn! All of you! He will burn you all, you fools,” she snarled, oblivious to the tear that ran down her face as Drazenko scoffed at her.

“Then so be it...” and with that, he walked out the door as Saera Targaryen fell to the ground; the loneliness and powerlessness began to settle over her once more as she screamed at the walls, at the roofs, and yet found none to comfort her.

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