LYSANDRO ROGARE - THE MAGNIFICENT
Tenth Moon, 131AC
The scent of seawater and the songs of seagulls floated through his open floor-to-ceiling window, gently awakening him from his slumber. His primary residence was built with an oceanfront view, and every morning he woke up to the sight of the tide receding into the sea. He rolled out of bed easily, the luxurious Naathi silk that his nightshirt was made of crackling on his form as he walked towards the balcony of his chambers, to look towards the clear blue-green waters of The Summer Sea. From the distance he could see his sweet Larra entertaining his granddaughters, the daughters of his first and second born sons Lysaro and Fredo. Said granddaughters were burying Larra in a grave of sand, leaving naught but her head poking out of it. He smiled warmly. Above all else that Lysandro Rogare had achieved, he knew that his children and grandchildren would be his true legacy.
He returned to his bedchambers after a short while of gazing into the overcast winter sky. Sometimes, he would join his children and grandchildren on the beach, but today was not the day for that. The magisters of Lys were gathering to treat with an envoy sent by the Targaryens. As much as he hated dealing with dragonlords, his bank had financed the occupation of The Stepstones by the recently fallen Triarchy, he was curious to know what House Targaryen wished for that brought them all the way to Lys. He had a clue on what exactly, but he dared not presume; his mind was already working to get his family out of any bind that they might find themselves in.
He called for a bath to be brought to his room. His slaves obliged, moments later, carrying many buckets of scalding hot water that those with the blood of Old Valyria flowing in their veins preferred. Aye, he might not be a dragonlord, but his blood was as pure as one, even more so than that of the Targaryens of Westeros. House Rogare, unlike the rest of the noble houses of Lys, had been founded by a dragonless cadet branch of one of the Forty, almost three centuries ago. Like all Valyrians, they had intermarried within themselves since then, keeping the pedigree of their blood.
He noted one particularly beautiful girl among the maids. A girl he did not remember ever seeing before. She must be new, he thought. The manager of his estates did not disappoint, always buying the prettiest girls to serve him. It had been a rule since he became the head of his house; there were almost no men among staff, safe for the guards, and even those were eunuch soldiers he had bought from Astapor. Only the most beautiful of women were to serve in the Rogare residences.
As the girls bowed and scurried out of his chambers, he beckoned the new girl to stay. He took off his nightshirt, bearing his naked form confidently. The girl blushed at the sight of him. He would too, if he was her. Despite being in his fifties, Lysandro refused to let his body lose its muscle tone and become fat from decadence and over-indulgence. He still trained in the yard as he had when he was younger, and the training was doing him good. Nothing of his appearance had changed since his youth, save for a few wrinkles here and there that were bound to appear with age.
He circled her, lightly touching where her skin was bare before stopping behind her to unlace the back of her dress. The dress was a simple thing, as all his staff wore, but still more luxurious than even some nobles could hope for; like that beggar Bambarro who had taken several loans out of his bank. Speaking of Bambarro, he had not heard from him in the past few days. He made a mental note to seek him out, this time forcefully; no one would dare to steal from him.
His mind focussed back to the absolute beauty that was in front of him, "Tell me your name sweet one?" he asked as he pulled off one strap of her dress and kissed the bare shoulder as it revealed itself. He ran his other hand through her silver hair; it smelled like lavender.
"Serenei," she replied, her voice soft and timid. He had not had a timid one for a long time, and strangely, he found her evermore intriguing because of it.
"Such a lovely name you have Serenei," he replied, as he took off the other strap of the dress, it fell to the floor soon after. The smallclothes followed the dress. Goose prickles licked at her skin where he touched and kissed it. She was definitely new. A maiden perhaps? He had not deflowered a maiden in a while. He had missed it.
He circled her again, slowly, relishing the way her body looked. Her breasts were perky and cute, her stomach soft and flat, her thighs fatty in all the best ways, ending with wide hips, and fleshy buttocks. Her eyes were glued to the floor. He could not have that, so she took her chin by his finger and raised it up, to look at him. Her eyes were shining with tears, "Do not worry, I will be gentle," he reassured her. It was as maidens were wont to do. He hoped she would not become a crying mess. That would make things much less fun for both of them, and he much preferred it to be fun.
"Touch the water, tell me if it is too hot for you," he beckoned her. She may have the silver hair and purple eyes of his people, but her blood might be diluted to the point where she could not withstand the heat. She reached down gingerly and touched it, her hesitance fading as she found out she was not affected by the heat.
"It does not hurt, Your Magnificence," she responded.
He almost preened at his sobriquet like a young boy, but he kept his composure and replied, "You shall bathe with me Serenei."
He got into the tub, and once he noticed her hesitance, he took her by her waist and lifted her to join him. She squealed at the sudden movement. He then took her hand in his and guided it to his member, feeling the warmth of his body increase as she wrapped her trembling hand around it. He slowly guided said hand up and down his shaft, staring at her shy eyes as he did so. He let the hand go, and she continued with her ministrations. Lysandro sat back, his head staring up at the ceiling as he felt the pleasure rising within him.
Just as he was about to hit his peak, Lysandro held the girl's hand, ceasing her movements. She then took her by her waist once more, turned her body away from him, and placed her on top of him. With her back to him, he immediately sheathed himself inside her. The abrupt movement produced another squeal from the girl.
Oh, she felt glorious. Truly, he had missed deflowering maidens. He should be sure to ask for more of those. Why had he stopped in the first place? Oh, right, the last one broke down crying like a small girl and spoiled the fun. He liked that this one did not cry. She even seemed to have been enjoying it, judging from the noises she was making as he gripped her waist and bounced her up and down on top of him. His hand shifted from his waist to cradle one of her breasts. It fit perfectly. From the size of them, Lysandro guessed she was about sixteen years old, just into her womanhood. He increased his speed as he continued to rut into her, the fire building, her insides being hotter than even the water in the tub, and oh, it felt magnificent.
He had been thrusting into her for a while when he felt his pleasure reaching his peak, this time allowing it to wash over him as copious amounts of his seed filled the girl's core. He hoped it would take, giving him another child. She would be thankful and even eager for his attentions once she realised how much was to be gained by bearing a child of Rogare blood. There would be honours and riches that she had never seen. It was what the other women had done when he lavished gold on the sixteen bastards he had currently.
His gasping breaths became more regular as he came back down from his high. The girl's whole body was still spasming in her own pleasure. He beckoned her to face him. Tears were staining her cheeks.
"Stop that," he told her, wiping her cheeks with his wet hand, "You are too beautiful for tears." He tried to reassure her. He sighed, this was exactly why he steered clear of maidens. The tears.
"Are you in pain?" he asked her. Perhaps losing her maidenhood is what caused her so much pain, "I can get a healer to look you over."
She shook her head, "You can tell me, you are under my protection," he continued, trying to sooth her.
After a final hard sniffle, she finally composed herself, "Is there anything else you require of me?"
"I wished for us to bathe together."
The rest of the bath went on in silence as she scrubbed his body with her soft hands. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, as she was going to scrub him there, his pleasure was aroused, and he took her again, and it was as glorious as the first time. He bathed her as well, scrubbing her carefully and softly. When her nipples hardened as he washed them, it aroused him once more, and he took her another time.
The water was tepid by the time they were done, but Lysandro was thoroughly debauched. A fine way to begin the day, he supposed. He took her again as she was oiling his skin and for the last time as he was oiling hers. He had her dressed in a much better gown than she had been in when she first came to him, and promised her that they would meet again when he returned from his duties. This one would be hers for a long time, he promised himself. She was sweeter than wine. He would have his fill of her.
He walked out of his own suite and down into the dining room below to break his fast. It was mid-morning now, the time when most of his children deigned to wake up. He chuckled at the thought. He would let them enjoy the wealth he never had growing up, back then being a prodigy of a much diminished House Rogare that was suffering from a century of decline. He had been the one to lift the house out of its miserly state, after his ancestor with his same name became too ambitious after the Doom of Valyria and hatched a dragon for himself and his eldest son. Their house had suffered greatly due to his namesake's foolish desire of becoming a dragonlord. Their wealth was seized, the hatchlings cut up and the once populous house reduced to a pair of lonely scions. Those two and their descendants returned at least a sliver of the glory and status their house had before the doom, but it had been him, Lysandro the Magnificent, who truly restored the Rogare name to the glory it was entitled to.
As with every morning, there was a feast upon the massive circular oak dining table. Sixteen members of his immediate family gathered on the chairs around them. Like always, his brother sat by his right. Tomorrow he was to depart Lys for Dorne, to fulfil the betrothal pact between the dying Prince Qoren Martell and House Rogare by marrying his daughter and heir, Aliandra. It was a match that would give his house and Lys by extension control of the Stepstones; that is after the Targaryens and their dragons left Bloodstone and scurried away to their Seven Kingdoms as Prince Daemon had after a decade of fruitless conquest.
On his left sat his eldest son Lysaro, himself a father to three beautiful daughters by his cousin-wife. His son was not the prodigy he had been during his youth, but he hoped that he had enough wits to at least maintain the wealth he had gathered over his lifetime. Besides, he would learn much more under his tutelage before he died, he was sure. Beside him, his cousin-wife and their three children sat Fredo, whom he hoped would be Lysaro's right hand man as Drazenko had been his since they were young. Filling the rest of his seats was Drako, Moredo the skilled swordsman, Lotho, Rogerio, and then his daughters, his proud shining jewels, Lysarra, Marra and Larra. All his daughters would marry their cousins, his brother Drazenko's sons by his late first wife, as was their custom, and their children would inherit the assets bestowed on them.
As he was cutting into the salmon with his knife, his secretary came to the table abruptly and whispered into his ear, "There's something urgent you need to know of, Your Excellence."
He wiped his face on his towel cloth and excused himself.
"What?"
"The Targaryen's have sacked the City of Myr and seized the entirety of its wealth and ships. All its slaves have been set free and most of them have agreed to join them in Westeros."
"What about their conclave, how did they let that happen?" he asked worriedly, he did not think the dragonlords would be this brazen.
"Most of them fled to the Myrish territories in its hinterlands. The ones that did not were fed to the Targaryen's dragon," came the reply. "That's not all."
"What else?" he hastily enquired.
"They have conquered Tyrosh. And this time, all its nobles have been obliterated. The Ryndoon, Lashare, Ardarys, Eranyr and Mopyr families are all extinct now. Only a fortunate few who did not happen to be in the city during their conquest have survived and have now taken solace in their estates in the hinterlands. Tyroshi slaves have been freed, and the Targaryens have declared that The Stepstones are now part of the Sunset Kingdoms with them being administered from Tyrosh, as Valyria did before the Doom."
Tyrosh had fallen. He supposed he should be pleased since all three cities were gearing up for war with one another, but if they had annexed the Stepstones… He put his hand to the bridge of his nose. They had thought the Targaryens to have been over and done for. Fredo had attended the wedding of the new young king. He only spoke of how much the boy seemed uninterested in anything, much less his guests. Only one of the twins, Prince Daemon's whelp, had a dragon that was large enough to be feared. He had scoffed when he heard that. None of the Targaryens would trouble his family anymore, he had concluded then.
Even when Lysandro learned that they had made camp on Bloodstone, soon after the nuptials and crowning of boy king, he had thought them silly for attempting to conquer and control the Stepstones in the same vein of foolishness that Daemon Targaryen had tried to do for years, with little success. They would fend off the little girls if they proved a thorn in their side soon enough, just as they fended off the Rogue Prince for almost a decade.
They sent an envoy that had arrived two days past to treat that with them; Lysandro presumed it would be to ask Lys to side with them in alliance or to get them to stay away from all intervention or at the worst, to ask for some reparations for the Battle of the Gullet; reparations Lysandro was sure they could pay and afterwards, the Targaryens would be on their way. Should what they ask for seem ludicrous, it would not be too hard to do away with them in some way or another.
It seemed he had underestimated them. Two little girls had felled two storied cities in about two turns of the moon. Myr had been devastated and Tyrosh conquered and the entirety of their leadership destroyed. Things were more perilous than it seemed. Knowing what the Targaryens wanted was paramount now, to see how Lys would navigate the storm that was coming. A bad feeling was gnawing at his stomach.
"Where is their emissary at this moment?" he asked her.
"He is still in the manse you housed him in, in the middle of the city. As agreed, he shall be brought to the conclave this afternoon."
"Have him brought here with haste, we must know what to expect from the Targaryens," he ordered.
"As you would have it, Your Excellence," the man said, bowing before he left to do his assigned task.
He spotted Serenei down the corridor, still dressed in the exquisite silk gown he had given her, wiping one of the tables in the lounge area of his palace. The shape of her nipples could be seen clearly through the silk gown. After their bath, he did not deign to dress her in smallclothes, telling her he preferred her that way. Seeing her now, he felt stirring within his breeches and immediately called for her, excusing her from the rest of her duties for the rest of the day and leading her to his solar. Immediately the door closed, her breasts were against the back of it and he lowered his breeches, lifted the gown till her naked shapely bottom came into view and took her once again from behind. Fortunately, this time she did not shed tears as her body spasmed from the pleasure it had just received, although her timid nature persisted, her eyes remaining glued to the floor.
The girl was seated on his lap, his hand under her silk dress, caressing her back and bottom when the door was knocked and his secretary entered with the envoy beside him, two Westerosi knights on each of his side, guarding him.
"Come, sit, my friend, we have much to discuss. I am Lysandro Rogare, magister of Lys," he introduced himself, a disarming smile on his face as he invited the envoy to sit.
"I am Ser Elyas Scales, here on behalf of House Targaryen," he replied.
House Scales? It had been a minor merchant house that had never been heard of since the Doom. Seemed they followed House Targaryen to Dragonstone. The knight's appearance bespoke his Valyrian appearance, with blonde hair and indigo eyes.
"Pour us some wine, sweet one," he beckoned Serenei, who immediately obeyed, getting up and walking to the side table and obliging him. When the wine was served, the knight did not even deign to touch it, instead keeping his hands clasped on the desk resolutely. Lysandro chucked at that.
He took a large, dramatic swill of the wine of his own filigreed goblet before he turned to the knight, "Lyseni red, the sweetest wine in the world. Better even that Arbour gold you Westerosi are so proud of," he continued, when the knight still did not bestir himself, "I assure you, I would not poison you in my own home. We in Lys have heard of the devastation Myr has suffered, we would not dare anger the Seven Kingdoms and their dragons."
Ser Elyas acquiesced slightly at that, and took a swill of his wine. He was trying to hide it, but Lysandro knew he was delighted with it, as anyone who tasted Lyseni Red for the first time was. This particular bottle had been aged for almost four decades, and made from a vineyard he owned in the hinterlands.
"See, I told you. Lys may be famous for our poisonings, but you are a guest, not an enemy, and hopefully a potential ally should we come to a common cause," he told him, a smile plastered on his face. He beckoned the girl to pour them another cup, before she sat back down on her lap.
"May we get to the matters at hand, My Lord," the knight told him.
"Very well, what is it that House Targaryen empowered you to ask of Lys the Lovely?" Lysandro asked.
"House Targaryen asks for compensation due to the attacks that your city unjustly launched on Westeros during the war," he answered.
"What kind of compensation?"
"Ships to replace the ones you destroyed during the battle, wealth in gold, jewels and coin to replace all that was sacked from Driftmark and further wergild for the deaths of Prince Jacaerys and all the other Westerosi sailors who died that day due to the injustice you committed. Alongside that, the princesses have personally asked for the entirety of the wealth held by the Rogare Bank to be transferred to them, and the Valyrian Steel sword known as Truth to be surrendered to House Targaryen," he specified.
His smile curdled in his face, "Why particularly point out House Rogare? How has my house particularly offended your princesses?"
"You were the major financiers of the attack on Driftmark and Dragonstone during the war. Your bank was also front and centre in funding the occupation of The Stepstones and the raids committed into Westeros territory to take people of the Seven Kingdoms and sell them into slavery in the Free Cities, the Black Swan being an example," he told him.
"Perhaps we can come to a different arrangement with your Princesses. We may help each other, rather than seeking each other's destruction," Lysandro tried to ease the matter.
"Those are the terms the Princesses have set. They are irrefutable, My Lord. You've heard of the devastation caused in Myr and the Conquest of Tyrosh. We sent envoys to the two cities, and they foolishly refused us," the man replied, his countenance hard and unyielding. Lysandro saw that negotiation was hopeless with this man.
"Very well, you have the hospitality of the Rogare residence while I arrange my affairs and surrender the wealth your masters have asked for." Lysandro replied, with a false smile on his face.
Once the knight left the room, Lysandro had the girl once more, this time with the silk dress torn to shreds and her bent over the table. She squirmed from the roughness he treated her with, but she would get used to it. He needed to sooth his anger and regain his wits in order to think.
He knew there was no way he would be surrendering the wealth he had tirelessly worked for all these years. He knew that most of the rival families in the city, The Ormollens, Moraqos and Dagareons being chief among them, would delight in seeing him brought low. Even his friends and fiercest allies like the Pendaerys, Maar, Haens, Vhassyl and Orthys families would also turn their cloak once his house fell. It was simply the way things worked in Lys. There's no friend one had that would not sell them out for their own gain. This also meant that Elyas Scales could not present these ludicrous terms in front of the conclave for almost all of them would vote to have his house brought low to preserve their own families.
He made up his mind on how to deal with the Targaryens. Lys was known for poison. Should those two girls die, the dragon they had used to sack Myr and conquer Tyrosh would be rendered riderless. Perhaps he could claim the dragon. He knew the purity of his blood surely allowed it; no, no need for those fanciful notions. These girls were surrounded by unfamiliar faces in the newly conquered Tyrosh. Poisoning them should not be too difficult.
In celebration for his genius, Lysandro had the girl one more time, this time with her lying on the settee on her stomach and him on top of her, thrusting from behind. Serenei would bear a child of his own blood soon enough, with how ravenous he had become over her.
Tenth Moon, 131AC
"There was an envoy of House Targaryen who wished to meet with the conclave? Where did he go?" Tigaro Moraqos asked him angrily. He truly hated meetings with the Lyseni conclave. Even if the Hall of Magisters was truly resplendent with incredible works of art dotting the walls and fine sculptures bringing the room to life, the drawl of his fellow magisters and merchant princes spoiled all of it.
He fingered the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "As I said, he is enjoying the hospitality of my manse, as we deal with the Targaryens."
"How do you think you will deal with the Targaryens, Lysandro? Myr beheaded their envoy and got sacked as a result. Tyrosh endlessly delayed their response and got conquered. Bambarro Bazanne had a prince, captured during the battle we brought to the Targaryens last year, in his clutches and once the princesses got word of that, the entirety of the Bazanne family was obliterated and their heads staked to the spikes at their gates . What do you think will happen to Lys as a result of our endless dithering?" Tigaro countered, the veins on the sides of his temple throbbing.
"They are just little girls Tigaro," the fat Torreon Haen told the council, his bushy beard stained by the crumbs of the cake he was nibbling on.
"Little girls who have accomplished even what their father couldn't. They've humbled two Free Cities, and there's ramblings from the east that Volantis is mustering their forces to attack Lys once more," Silvario Pendaerys told them in his usual slick voice while passing a finger through his beard.
"Volantis?" Lysandro asked, surprised.
"Yes. They seek vengeance for the Battle of the Borderlands of 96AC, and they apparently desire to finally conquer Lys and parts of the Tyroshi hinterlands. Pentos is to invade Myr from the North as well and add the Myrish and the other part of the Tyroshi hinterlands to theirs. That is seemingly why the Targaryens limited their scourge to the cities and the cities alone. According to what I heard, they agreed with the Pentoshi and the Volantenes to leave the wealth and lands of the Disputed Lands undisturbed for when they conquered." Silvario continued.
His hands, unbidden, went to the sides of his own head to massage his nerves there. Fucking Volantenes. Fucking Targaryens. Fucking Pentoshi. Only three years ago their Triarchy was invincible, no armies in the Known World could stand against them, even the grand alliance most of the Free Cities had formed with Daemon Targaryen. It was all coming apart now. The Black Swan had been right. They should not have gotten involved in the war between the Targaryens. He sighed. Of course, he had taken precautions in case his scheme failed, and moved his youngest six children to his estates at the Heel of Essos for protection in case things failed and the Targaryens attacked Lys. The ships moving them and their belongings should be approaching their destination, if not yet there already.
"What about the Braavosi? They were never our friends, but why would they stand back as the Targaryens raze three Free Cities. Wouldn't they send their Faceless Men to get rid of them?" Tregar Ormollen asked the rest of the magisters around the table.
"The Targaryens treated with them as well, to avoid their ire. My source has it that they even recovered the three eggs that were stolen from Jaehaerys Targaryen, in exchange for a huge sum of money." Silvario told them.
"The Braavosi will doubtless be pleased with them freeing the slaves in Myr and Tyrosh as well,"Lysandro reasoned.
"So Lysandro, where is the envoy? Our only chance is to give them whatever they want so we can get them off our backs and prepare to deal with the Volantenes," a displeased Tigaro brought the subject back to that.
"There's no need to even listen to him. In the next few days, the news of the death of the Targaryens will reach us and we shall celebrate."
"Don't tell me. Somehow you have sent someone to poison them and you believe they will be successful." Tigaro responded.
"Why not? The man I employed is the best at what he does. He can inject the Tears of Lys into a peach and one would never suspect it as they bit into it."
"And if that doesn't work, or if your scheme is discovered? Should we pray to Panthera and cleave to her for mercy?" Matteno Orthys asked the room.
"No. Dagareon, our gonfaloniere, has been preparing the defences of his city since he heard that the Targaryens had based themselves in the Stepstones. We will still be able to hold them off," Lysandro tried to reassure the council, trying his best not to let the doubt plaguing him show on his voice or be heard in his voice.
"And how can we hope to defend ourselves against dragonfire? Are we so forgetful of Valyria that we are blind to the might that the Targaryens wield?" Tigaro asked them.
"Tigaro, if you are so terrified, then leave the city. You can go with your entire family and transfer your businesses somewhere else," Torreon Haen told him.
"Should we leave this city, we are most likely to be captured and sold into slavery, wherever we go. The price of slaves has increased exponentially due to the interference of the Targaryens. I tell you my fellow magisters, our only chance of survival is to give the Targaryens what they wish for and be done with it," Tigaro insisted.
There was no way Lysandro was going to allow that. Luckily, he knew that Tigaro could not touch him. His businesses were intrinsically linked with the Rogare bank and such was the case of most of these other men. He was their ruler in all but name somewhat, a sort of velvet tyranny that House Rogare had most of the nobles of Lys under. That was why his opinions carried so much weight in the conclave.
By the end of the meeting, they agreed to following the course of action he set out, as he knew he would. This time, he did not even wait for the palanquin, instead taking a horse from the stables, a silver stallion and dashing back to his residence. Tigaro's incessant whinings had him tired and frustrated, but a smile came to his face when he remembered the sweet succour between Serenei's legs would be waiting for him once he got home.
He was right when he found the girl on his bed, naked as he had told her to be once he returned. These past eight days had been blissful for him. He was like a green boy, constantly in need of her, finding himself sheathed inside her whenever he had a moment to spare. Even his brother had commented on it, his trip to Dorne delayed until this whole business was done. He had not been this smitten with a girl since Mysaria, before she somehow escaped his household and went on to make a name for herself in the Seven Kingdoms by becoming a paramour of a Targaryen prince, then a spy, before dying in a horrendous way; being whipped as she walked across King's Landing naked. At least that is what he'd heard.
He caressed Serenei's bottom as he lay languid kisses atop it. She had just bathed, judging from how prominent the scent of the lavender perfume she preferred to wear was on her skin. She tasted clean too. His excitement increased ever more because of it.
Things with her had somewhat progressed over the past days. She had gotten more expressive of her pleasure, which pleased him. The paralysing fear that she had of him finally seemed to have ceased, and because of it, their times together had grown a bit better. Still however, there was much more to go before she fully became receptive to him. She still never spoke unless spoken to, and she never once made a move to initiate the play between then. A few more days in his company would make her completely his, he surmised.
At first, Lysandro thought the roar that reached his ears as he finally found his release inside Serenei to be his, but when the roar sounded once again and the smell of smoke began to reach him, accompanied by screaming, he was immediately dissuaded from that notion.
Lysaro, his son, barged into his bedchamber, the fright clear on his face, only saying one word that made his blood run cold, "Dragon."
The roars seemed to be getting louder, meaning the dragon was getting nearer. He immediately unsheathed himself from Serenei to dress, his mind working fast. Had the Targaryens discovered his scheme? If so, how? He had sent a trusted agent to get rid of them, a failed recruit of the House of Black and White who was thrown out for using the powers of the Faceless Men on those he desired to get vengeance on, a notion forbidden by the order. Maybe the Targaryens had just gotten tired of waiting for the return of their envoy for the past fortnight. Speaking of the envoy, he could be used for leverage, should the worst come to worst.
"Get Ser Elyas!" he told one of the servants.
She ran towards the aforementioned knight's suite frantically, while he went to check for his children, making sure that they were all inside the house. Like in all things, he had prepared an escape against dragonfire by having subterranean chambers underneath his lavish palatial manse. He had them dug when the manse was built to store supplies and serve as a last point of defence should he be attacked. It would serve as protection until the Targaryens and their scourge had passed.
Ser Elyas Scales was brought to him soon afterwards, in chains, but that did not seem to bother him as he was all smiles, "I told you that if you waited too long you would invite your own destruction."
"Quiet," he snapped at the man, as he led him down into the underground vaults, after he took his eldest three sons Lysaro, Fredo and Drako, the sweet Serenei, a handful of other maids and some of the eunuch Unsullied. Of course, only those who were with him now knew of the underground section of the house; he had had the builders killed once they finished building it. Let the world burn around him, he would be safe.
He prayed to Yndros that his other children would be near or already settled in their estate in the hinterlands and that the Volantene would not dare to strike before he reunited with them, safe and alive. His prayers were dashed soon after when he heard a voice calling to him however, sweet and melodic even under the distress that could be clearly read from it.
"Father!"
Lysandro knew at once that it was his daughter Larra. What was she doing here?
"Father, they say they will kill all of us if you don't show yourself. They found us father, while we were out at sea, their fleet encountered ours and they took us all."
She did not need to say anything else. Without even stopping to think of his options, he grabbed the envoy by his doublet, lifted the trap door that led to the underground level and quickly climbed into the main house. He held the man roughly as he finally came upon his daughter. Tear tracks were staining her cheeks as she clutched her six nieces in fear. Behind him stood a tall, stern looking Westerosi, with one of the Targaryens alongside him. His palace had been invaded by more Westerosi men, and everything of worth was being taken out of it.
"You must be the magnificent Lysandro Rogare," the Targaryen girl, with hair even shorter than his told him with a sneer plastered on her face.
"I'll kill him, I swear to you. Let my family go or I'll kill him!" He tried to negotiate, even in his distress, holding his dagger up to the knight's throat.
Suddenly, his world was filled with pain. It took a few moments to know the source of it. There was an arrow jutting out of his leg. He did not even register when he let go of the knight, as he went to clutch the wounded leg, howling painfully, the dagger cluttering to the ground.
"No need for that, Your Magnificence, this will be over soon," the Targaryen girl said with such scorn that had him wondering why he had even deigned to take that styling for himself. It was an insult now, Lysandro knew. There was no magnificence to any of this. Nothing that could survive a dragon's jaws.
When his house was cleared of everything of value, he along with all his children and grandchildren were dragged outside. Absent-mindedly, he had revealed the location of the door that led to the subterranean vaults. He hoped the eunuch soldiers he had stationed there would fight, but he was proven wrong, once again. The Targaryen girl told them something he did not hear due to the pain, and they knelt to her, switching their allegiances.
Outside, he truly saw the magnitude of the destruction. The streets nearest to him were quiet, too quiet; the only thing visible was the dark grey of smoke and flames that could be seen in the distance. The only thing that could be heard was the waves of the Sunset Sea. He could see the vessels docked on his harbour being commandeered by Westerosi sailors, led by a young man with a sea green doublet that had the colouring of those of Old Valyria. A Velaryon.
"Please," Lysandro tried to beg one last time, and all he received from his troubles was a kick. He looked up to see his assailant, not bothering to hold back his surprise when he saw the lovely form of Serenei. She was naked when the attack began, this time she was draped in a black cloak with the red dragon of House Targaryen prominently displayed on it.
He was roughly made to stand up by the sweet girl. He did not have the strength to even fight that, immediately yielding to her. He howled once more once he straightened the wounded leg. The sight that greeted him upon rising however, made the pain in his leg seem like nothing. His family was all lined up in front of him; all twenty-five of his children, his six grandchildren, his brother, cousins, uncles and even the distant kin he housed on the other side of the city to avoid encountering their greedy selves. A huge, silver dragon was behind them, growling menacingly. The dragon was even larger than Prince Daemon's Caraxes that he had seen once or twice when he journeyed to the Stepstones all those years ago.
How had he found them? That question was answered when his hired catspaw made himself known from among his enemies.
"Are these all of them good ser?" the Targaryen girl asked him.
"Yes. All the men and women bearing the name Rogare," the man said. Even with all the gold he had showered upon the man over the years of doing business with him, he had betrayed him. That stung as well.
"Today is the day you die," Serenei said to him, in a voice more ruthless than he ever imagined she could possess.
Upon the command of the Targaryen girl, the dragon stalked forward, immediately unleashing a torrent of silver flames on his eldest, his pride, Lysaro, before devouring him in one bite. He screamed as he did, but Lysandro's screams lasted far longer than his son's brief ones. He was screaming still well past the time his lastborn child, the jewel of his heart, the joy of his life, his loveliest daughter Larra, named for the mother that had died birthing her, was bathed in silvery-white flames and devoured in a single gulp. He watched as the dragon took flight and turned the entirety of his palace into a burning ruin.
"He has gotten what he deserved, Serenei," the Targaryen girl said as her dragon landed beside her once his entire manse had been burned. He had not even noticed his dagger, now wielded by the girl, nicking the skin of his neck until he saw droplets of blood dripping down to the ground in front of him, "You are free and you will be free for the rest of your days. He will live for the rest of his days knowing the entirety of his wealth and bloodline is gone. It's time we leave." the Targaryen kept saying to the girl he'd lost himself in these past few days.
Whether the Targaryen girl intended for Serenei to let him go and leave him to his own fate, he would never know. Serenei resolutely stepped in front of him, and plunged his dagger deep into the centre of his head, right between his eyes. The force behind the motion made the cloak she had wrapped around herself fall away, and the last thing Lysandro Rogare saw before he died, was the beautiful, naked form of the girl that had so enthralled him, the girl that was now his killer.
So ended the illustrious line of House Rogare, and so fell Lys the Lovely.
Author's Note:
Yes, the Serenei featured here is who would have been Shiera Seastar's mother.
Next chapter is '13. The Trials of Tyrosh', where we get a glimpse of how the conquest of Tyrosh is going for the twins. If you're impatient and would like to read that chapter, and the four more after it now, you can do so by searching up 'neyra29 linktree' and going on the first link there.Tell me what you think of this chapter.