Chapter 50: The Rat Catcher of King's Landing
The city renewed itself, beginning a new day.
The people of King's Landing still spoke excitedly of the grand wedding, though they were even more reluctant to part with the cakes, smoked meats, and sweets distributed in the name of House Lannister and House Targaryen.
Glory and celebration belonged to yesterday. Now, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen faced a far darker undercurrent.
His grandfather, King Jaehaerys II Targaryen, had suddenly fallen gravely ill, gasping for breath and unable to rise.
When King Jaehaerys II collapsed, an attendant of the Red Keep also died—conveniently. The man was the second son of a minor lord, unmarried, without children, and with no one to mourn him. Rumors claimed he gambled secretly in Flea Bottom and watched fang fights. Officially, he was said to have choked on water. His body was disposed of swiftly.
Rhaegar did not believe in coincidence.
King Jaehaerys II had always been frail. A trace amount of poison would be enough—too little to raise suspicion. Lysene poisons were infamous, and Rhaegar suspected they possessed substances even subtler than the Tears of Lys.
The king of the Iron Throne made allies—but also enemies.
History offered precedent.
Long ago, Prince Baelon Targaryen, son of King Jaehaerys I, had suffered a sudden illness. During a hunt, Baelon complained of a sharp pain in his side. His condition worsened rapidly upon his return to King's Landing. Confined to his chambers in the Hand's Tower, he died five days later of a ruptured belly. His death fractured the succession and hastened the tensions that later erupted into the Dance of the Dragons.
"Without the Seed of Fire, would I also fear the Tears of Lys or the Strangler?" Rhaegar wondered quietly, a faint heat coiling in his palm. Without the Seed of Everlasting Spring Fire, his grandfather would already be dead.
In a concealed chamber within the Red Keep, Cesar brought a thin, grey-haired young man before Prince Rhaegar.
The young man was of humble birth. Cesar presented him as a toy maker summoned for the prince's amusement.
Rhaegar did not distrust Ser Barristan Selmy, but the knight of the Kingsguard prized honor above flexibility. Cesar, by contrast, understood shadows.
After delivering the man, Cesar stepped aside and spoke no further.
Born to power or not, all courts were ruled by intrigue.
In Braavos, Cesar had seen Sea Lords rise and fall. The unworthy were cast out without mercy.
The young man was visibly nervous, yet excited. To commoners, the Red Keep was a palace of excess beyond imagination.
King's Landing itself was layered—life in the Red Keep and life in Flea Bottom were worlds apart.
Some were born beneath towers of white stone. Others beneath leaking roofs.
Rhaegar studied the man before him—Roken, the grey-haired rat catcher of Flea Bottom.
He was thin and nimble, his hands quick. A skilled rat catcher, though his origins clung to him unmistakably.
When Cesar gathered information in disguise, it was Roken who provided the most detailed reports—even daring to speculate on identities.
"I heard Cesar say you refused a gold dragon and instead asked to meet me," Rhaegar said, idly turning a gold dragon coin between his fingers.
"Yes, Your Royal Highness," Roken replied, trembling with excitement.
"Why?"
"I need a chance," Roken said earnestly. "For men like me, the world has no ladders. When Master Cesar appeared, I knew one had finally come."
Rhaegar regarded him thoughtfully.
"Setting aside everything else," Cesar said calmly, "this one is sharp."
"I watch King's Landing closely," Roken continued. "A young man with a Braavosi accent and skill? Likely a sword instructor. And you asked about the Fat Man—the one who gambled in Flea Bottom. His mouth was loose. The moment you asked, I knew Master Cesar was from the Red Keep."
Rhaegar nodded slightly.
"Tell me about the Fat Man."
"Yes, Prince. He had no taste for women or boys. He loved gambling—dice, fang fights, dog races—but always lost. Debts piled up. The gambling dens sent him threats: dead pigeons, rotten meat.
Then, suddenly, his debts were paid. We assumed a relative had sent coin. He gambled heavily again, though he seemed uneasy. Not long after, he died."
The story was vivid. Too vivid.
Rhaegar smelled conspiracy.
The body had already been burned. The man had left no ties behind.
Who moved the pieces from the shadows?
Lys? Myr? Braavos?
The timing was perfect. Subtle poison changed history more effectively than armies.
Prince Baelon's death had shattered succession stability.
Now, King Jaehaerys II's illness threatened the realm again.
King Jaehaerys II had repaired relations with the great houses and restored royal authority. Prince Aerys Targaryen, however, was volatile and impatient.
"How do you know so much?" Rhaegar asked.
"I am from Flea Bottom," Roken replied. "Brothels, gambling dens, butcher shops, inns—they all talk. I listen."
"I could become the chief rat catcher of King's Landing," Roken said quietly. "I move through walls, tunnels, and roofs. People think I'm a fool. I let them."
Rhaegar considered him.
He needed eyes within the city.
The people of King's Landing were a force unto themselves—calm as water, violent as fire.
Rhaegar had further plans.
Only he, King Jaehaerys II, and Prince Aerys knew of the Red Keep's hidden passages. A rat catcher was ideal for exploring them.
Within those tunnels lay a corpse—Cheese, once employed by Prince Daemon Targaryen, dead in the darkness.
"Tell me your strengths," Rhaegar said, setting the gold dragon on the table.
"I know my limits," Roken replied. "I gamble but do not ruin myself. I drink but do not lose my senses. I listen more than I speak."
Roken knelt.
"I swear myself to the Prince."
"You are clever," Rhaegar said calmly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Our stations differ, but worth does not."
"I will serve until death," Roken vowed.
"It is said the prince is fortunate," Roken added softly. "I will remember this day all my life."
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