The city awoke to a new day, refreshed and vibrant.
The residents of King's Landing still chattered excitedly about the grand wedding, though they were even more reluctant to part with the cakes, bacon, and sweets gifted by House Lannister and House Targaryen.
Glory and joy were flowers of yesterday; Rhaegar now faced a bloody vortex.
As for his grandfather, King Jaehaerys II, he had fallen suddenly ill, complaining that he could not breathe.
Coinciding with Jaehaerys II's critical illness, a servant in the Red Keep had also died. He was lowborn, the second son of a minor lord, with no wife or children, and no one to mourn him. It was said he gambled privately in Flea Bottom and watched beast fights. Rumor claimed he choked to death on water, and his body was disposed of quickly.
Rhaegar suspected this was no coincidence, perhaps some unknown poison from an unknown power. Jaehaerys II had always been sickly, so a trace amount of poison would go unnoticed. Lysene poisons were most famous, and Rhaegar thought it wouldn't be surprising if they possessed something even deadlier than the Tears of Lys.
The dragonlords made many friends, but they also made many enemies.
Long ago, his ancestor Prince Baelon had suffered a sudden illness that struck like a violent storm.
Prince Baelon felt a sharp pain in his side during a hunt. Upon returning to King's Landing, his condition deteriorated rapidly, eventually leaving him bedridden in the Tower of the Hand, writhing in agony. Five days later, Baelon died of a burst belly. Baelon's death caused a massive rift in the realm, ultimately accelerating the outbreak of the Dance of the Dragons.
If not for the Spring of Youth seed, would I too fear the Tears of Lys or the Strangler? Rhaegar wondered, a wisp of flame flowing silently in his palm. Without the Spring of Youth, Rhaegar's grandfather would likely be dead already.
In a secret chamber somewhere in the Red Keep, Sessa brought a thin, grey-haired young man before Rhaegar.
The scrawny youth was of low birth; Sessa had packaged him as a toymaker the Prince required.
Rhaegar did not doubt Ser Barristan, but the White Knight valued honor too highly; he was not as adaptable as Sessa.
After bringing the man in, Sessa stood aside without saying a word.
He accepted Rhaegar's orders; perhaps those born into power were always full of schemes and passions.
In Braavos, Sessa had seen the princes and princesses of the Sealord; those unworthy were sometimes even exiled from the city.
The young man looked both nervous and excited; for a commoner, coming to the palace felt like entering a world of lavish indulgence.
King's Landing was strictly stratified; living in the Red Keep, Flea Bottom, or the Street of Silk meant living in completely different worlds.
Some were born in the Red Keep, some in Flea Bottom.
Rhaegar observed the young man, Lorken, the "Grey-Haired" Ratcatcher from Flea Bottom.
He was slender and agile, a promising young ratcatcher, but that did not change Lorken's humble and plain aura.
When Sessa had gone to Flea Bottom in disguise to gather intelligence, only the ratcatcher had provided the most complete and detailed information, even deducing the visitor's identity.
"I heard from Sessa that you chose not gold dragons, but a chance to meet me?" Rhaegar said to Lorken, toying with a gold dragon coin in his hand.
"Yes, my Prince!" Lorken suddenly became agitated, his voice trembling slightly. This was the Prince; usually, he would tremble even before a Gold Cloak.
"Why?" Rhaegar asked.
"I need a chance, a chance to climb up. Your Grace, you know that we poor folk all need a ladder. When Master Sessa appeared before me, I knew the ladder had come." Lorken's face flushed red, and he stammered a little.
Rhaegar was intrigued by this grey-haired man, Lorken. Born in Flea Bottom, a skilled ratcatcher familiar with the geography of King's Landing. Even petty theft had its uses.
"Setting aside everything else, the boy is very sharp," Sessa nodded, a compliment to Lorken.
"I always keep an eye on King's Landing. A young man with a Braavosi accent and high martial skill is very likely the Prince's sword master. Moreover, you asked about the Fat Man who often gambled in Flea Bottom; his big mouth spilled plenty about the Red Keep. The moment you spoke, I knew Master Sessa came from the Red Keep." Lorken explained the situation clearly.
Rhaegar looked at Lorken; the ratcatcher had brought him a valuable lead.
"Tell me about the Fat Man," Rhaegar urged Lorken, emphasizing the main point. "The Fat Man" was the nickname of the servant who had died suddenly.
"Alright, Prince," Lorken continued. "The Fat Man had no special hobbies. He didn't care much for women or boys. He wasn't good-looking, and no woman wanted to flirt with a second son like him."
"His greatest love was gambling; he loved it more than life itself. Dog racing, cockfighting, dice—he loved it all. But the Fat Man always lost. He made no money over the years; instead, he piled up debts, nearing bankruptcy and collapse. The casino bosses in Flea Bottom would send him things to urge repayment, like dead pigeon heads or rotten pig trotters."
"The Fat Man was on the brink of ruin, but a short while ago, he suddenly paid off his casino debts. We were all surprised, thinking his late sister-in-law had softened her heart and given him money. For a time, the Fat Man indulged in gambling again, but he seemed melancholy. Not long after, he died too."
Lorken was small in stature, but his description of information was vivid and real.
Rhaegar smelled a conspiracy. A lingering mystery hung in the air, but not knowing the mastermind made him uneasy. The Fat Man's body had been turned to ash; the man truly had no ties or attachments.
The question was, who was it? The people hiding behind the curtain were cold as a biting winter wind. Were they from Lys, Myr, or Braavos? Extremely secretive, and extremely vicious.
Even with his meticulous mind, Rhaegar felt the poisoner's timing was perfect. Mass poisoning attracts attention, but targeting key figures can subtly alter the course of history.
Targeting Baelon exploited the unstable succession and tension between the lines of the first and second sons, depriving the realm of a legitimate and wise heir, accelerating the Dance of the Dragons as the succession dispute nearly caused war then and there.
Targeting Jaehaerys II meant depriving the realm of a wise monarch. Jaehaerys II had repaired House Targaryen's relationships with other lords, consolidated power, and reconciled with nobles his father had offended. Prince Aerys, however, was capricious and impatient—not a wise ruler.
"How do you know so much?" Rhaegar looked at Lorken with interest.
"I come from Flea Bottom. I have friends in brothels, casinos, fighting pits, butcher shops, fishmongers, and cheap inns."
"Your Grace, I believe I also have a chance to sit on the throne of Chief Ratcatcher of King's Landing. I am agile and quick. I can move through houses and tunnels swiftly or silently. Those casinos, brothels, and even high officials need me. They think Lorken is a fool, but Lorken just listens silently and never speaks. Lorken is waiting for the right moment," Lorken answered respectfully.
Rhaegar assessed Lorken; he needed an informant, but only if the man was loyal enough. Lorken was inconspicuous but knew the most, making him very useful.
I need someone like this, Rhaegar thought.
Rhaegar needed eyes and spies to monitor King's Landing, especially as he prepared to explore elsewhere.
Rhaegar did not trust the people of King's Landing; they were a terrifying force.
History had seen countless riots.
They could be calm as water or raging as fire.
Rhaegar had deeper plans for Lorken. Currently, only he, his grandfather, and his father knew of the Red Keep's underground tunnels. To explore these secret passages, a ratcatcher was the perfect candidate.
In the intricate secret passages of the Red Keep, there should still be a corpse buried: Cheese, Lorken's predecessor, hired by Prince Daemon to assassinate Aegon II's son, who ultimately died in those very tunnels.
"Tell me your strengths, Lorken." Rhaegar placed the gold dragon on the table.
"Yes, Your Grace. I was born poor, which is both my weakness and my strength. Lorken can get along with whores, butchers, and gamblers. And Lorken knows his limits: I like to gamble, but I won't lose everything; I like to drink, but I won't get drunk; I like to chat, but I won't leak secrets; I like women, but I won't work with them." Lorken's eyes shone as if a golden road was unfolding before him.
I need a chance to rise fast, Lorken thought.
Lorken knelt on the ground. "I wish to serve the Prince."
"Very well. You are a smart man, and I like talking to smart men. I am a Prince, and you are a ratcatcher; our stations differ, but there is no high or low in our professions." A smile appeared on Rhaegar's face as he stepped forward and patted Lorken on the shoulder.
When it came to being approachable, modern people far outstripped noble families. Approachability was also a form of charm.
"I am but a ratcatcher. To gain the Prince's appreciation, I will dedicate my life to the Prince."
"They say the Prince's nickname is 'The Lucky One'; I will be grateful for your support all my life." Lorken was thrilled, as if his heart were illuminated by golden light. He considered this his lucky day.
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