Chapter 210: The Choice Before Us

A month passed, and Lys refused to become peaceful.

Ravens arrived almost every week, sometimes from Drazenko Rogare himself and sometimes from merchants or royal agents whose reports Vaeron had quietly arranged after Lysaro’s death. Each account differed in detail, but the direction remained remarkably consistent.

Drazenko was winning.

The rival magister faction had begun the struggle believing Lysandro’s illness and Lysaro’s death had left House Rogare vulnerable. Instead, they discovered that Drazenko Rogare was considerably more capable than the nephew whose death had begun the fighting. Warehouses seized during the first days were retaken.

Several sellsword companies abandoned the rival families after their wages stopped arriving, and Rogare ships controlled enough of the harbour that moving men or supplies through certain districts had become increasingly difficult without Drazenko knowing.

The fighting had not ended. It had simply become one-sided.

Vaeron laid the newest report before me one morning while I worked through correspondence concerning the Riverlands. "Three more properties belonging to the opposing faction were seized this week. One of their principal allies has fled Lys entirely, and two lesser families are apparently negotiating terms with Drazenko."

"That sounds close to finished."

"Close is not the same as finished. The largest rival family still possesses its principal manse and perhaps three hundred household soldiers, along with sellswords whose loyalty appears to depend entirely upon how much coin remains in the vaults."

I looked over the figures. "Drazenko could probably storm the place."

"He could. He has chosen not to."

That interested me. "Why?"

"Because the manse stands in one of the wealthier districts. Burning half a street to kill a rival magister would damage property belonging to families Drazenko expects to deal with after the conflict ends. He is isolating them instead."

That was sensible. More sensible than I expected from a man supposedly fighting a private war over the murder of his nephew.

History had told me Drazenko Rogare would die within a day of Lysandro, leaving the family’s future in considerably worse hands. It had not told me much about the man himself. Perhaps I had simply never paid enough attention. In another life, he had been a name appearing briefly before the Rogares declined.

Now he was demonstrating patience, political judgement, and an ability to turn money into pressure without wasting it all on spectacle. The more I learned, the less useful my old knowledge became.

"What about Lysandro?"

Vaeron’s expression answered before his words did. "Still alive, still bedridden. The reports suggest his condition changes from day to day. Some mornings he can dictate letters and meet advisers. Others he barely leaves his chambers."

"And the succession?"

"That is becoming clearer." Vaeron moved another parchment towards me. "Lysandro’s second son, Fredo, is increasingly being treated as the likely successor. With Lysaro dead, there is no older surviving son ahead of him."

The name was familiar. Barely. That annoyed me more than complete ignorance would have.

I remembered Fredo Rogare existed. I remembered there were other Rogare siblings whose names had appeared in histories dealing with the family’s later misfortunes. Beyond that, little remained. Lysaro had attracted attention because his excesses helped ruin the bank. Larra mattered because of her connection to the Targaryens in the history I once knew.

Fredo had been less memorable. History was full of people who became important only because someone more famous died first.

"What do we know about him now?"

Vaeron sat opposite me. "He is younger than Lysaro, older than Larra, and has spent considerably more time around the family’s commercial interests than his elder brother did. Several correspondents describe him as cautious. One calls him dull, though the same man appears to consider anyone who refuses to gamble heavily dull."

"That may be a recommendation."

"I thought so."

"Any scandals?"

"None worth writing down. He has no great reputation for brilliance either. At present, Fredo Rogare appears to possess the unusual quality of being reasonably competent without providing merchants enough entertainment to discuss him at supper."

I leaned back. "That could make him the best banker in Lys."

Vaeron smiled. "Lyman said almost exactly the same thing."

The problem had changed again. A month earlier, I had considered Larra’s proposed marriage to Aerion dangerous because Lysaro would eventually inherit House Rogare and, according to the history I remembered, destroy much of its position through arrogance, embezzlement, and reckless spending.

Lysaro was dead. Drazenko was defeating the faction that killed him. Fredo appeared likely to succeed Lysandro and had no obvious history of incompetence. The disaster I remembered was disappearing piece by piece.

That should have reassured me. Instead, it reminded me that foreknowledge was becoming less dependable with every year I lived in this world. There had been a time when knowing the histories gave me an advantage large enough to feel almost unfair. I knew which quarrels became wars, which dragons died, which marriages produced disaster, and which decisions echoed for generations.

Then I began changing those decisions. The more successful I became, the less accurately I could predict what followed. I could hardly complain. That had always been the point. Still, there were moments when I missed having an answer written two centuries before I needed it.

Aerion certainly wanted one. His relationship with Larra had developed beyond the awkward enthusiasm that marked her first weeks in King’s Landing. The longer she remained, the more ordinary their time together became, and that told me more than courtship performed beneath a hundred watching eyes ever could.

They disagreed frequently. That was probably healthy. Larra thought Aerion reckless with Tyraxes and told him so after watching him practise tight turns above Blackwater Bay. Aerion replied that anyone raised in Lys possessed no right to lecture a dragonrider about unnecessary danger when her own city had recently begun a private war between banking families.

Larra did not speak to him for most of the afternoon. Aerion apologised before supper. The next morning they were together again. I learned about the argument from Rhaegar, who recounted it with considerable enjoyment while we watched his brother in the training yard.

"I told Aerion that comparing her family to reckless dragonriding was unlikely to improve the discussion," Rhaegar said.

"Did he ask your advice beforehand?"

"No."

"Then the lesson was probably more memorable."

Rhaegar leaned against the rail. Aerion was below sparring with one of the household knights while Larra watched from the shade beside Aemma. She no longer attended training because she wanted to learn about Westerosi customs. She attended because Aerion was there.

Rhaegar followed my gaze. "They are going to marry, are they not?"

"That decision has not been made."

"That was not my question."

I looked towards him. "You have become annoyingly observant."

"I learned from Mother."

"That explains the annoyance."

Rhaegar smiled. Then his expression became more thoughtful. "If you refuse, Aerion will take it badly."

"Your brother has survived disappointment before."

"Not like this."

Rhaegar knew Aerion better than almost anyone. They were twins who shared almost every stage of childhood, and understood one another in ways that sometimes escaped even Rhaenyra and me.

Their personalities had grown increasingly different as they aged. Aerion tended to act first and consider the consequences afterwards, while Rhaegar preferred to understand exactly where he stood before committing himself.

Those differences had never weakened the closeness between them. If Rhaegar believed Aerion’s feelings for Larra were different from the passing interests of a fifteen-year-old boy, I was inclined to trust his judgement.

"He really loves her?" I asked.

Rhaegar considered the word. "I do not know whether either of them would call it that yet. They are fifteen. I think Aerion would probably try and then spend an hour arguing about what love means because he does not want anyone laughing at him."

"That sounds accurate."

"But he cares about her in a way I have never seen him care about any other girl. When the ravens arrive from Lys, he waits to know whether her family is safe before asking anything else. When she is worried about her father, he stays with her even when she does not feel like talking. He does not do those things because she is pretty."

No. He did not. Aerion had noticed Larra because she was beautiful. I would have been concerned about his eyesight if he had not. What followed was something else.

I watched him finish the spar. He normally celebrated a clean victory by finding someone willing to discuss how clever the final movement had been. This time, he removed his helm, looked towards Larra, and immediately crossed the yard when she waved him over.

He was smiling before he reached her. That was when the question changed for me.

Until then, I had treated the marriage principally as an alliance requiring evaluation. House Rogare offered enormous wealth, connections across the Free Cities, commercial advantages, and a useful relationship beyond Westeros. Against those benefits stood instability in Lys, Lysandro’s failing health, uncertain succession, and the future collapse I remembered from another history.

I had been weighing the house. Perhaps I had not given enough weight to the people. We had refused to hurry Aerion and Rhaegar precisely because Rhaenyra and I did not want their marriages reduced to transactions. We told them they would have a voice. We told them that, where circumstances allowed, affection mattered.

Now Aerion had done exactly what we supposedly wanted. He found someone. Rejecting Larra solely because her family might one day lose money would make every promise of choice sound remarkably hollow.

That did not mean affection erased politics. Aerion was still a prince. If Larra’s family collapsed completely, he would be tied to whatever enemies and debts survived them. If Drazenko turned his victory into a massacre, House Targaryen could find itself connected to an increasingly hated faction in Lys. If Fredo proved incompetent despite current reports, the bank might still fail without Lysaro’s assistance.

Those risks remained real. Yet no marriage offered certainty.

Sara had entered our family with comparatively little political advantage beyond strengthening ties to the North, and Jace loved her. Rhaena and Luke had possessed a politically valuable match from childhood, but we still asked whether they wanted it once they were old enough to answer. I could hardly offer Aerion less simply because the girl he chose came with more complicated accounting.

Larra herself continued to handle the situation better than many adults would have. Her brother was dead. Her father remained bedridden. Her uncle was fighting a quiet war in Lys, and her future had become part of negotiations happening thousands of miles from home.

Yet she did not turn the Red Keep into a stage for grief. She corresponded with her family, asked Vaeron questions about reports from Lys, and spent increasing amounts of time learning the court she might one day join permanently.

Her Common Tongue improved enough that the last traces of hesitation disappeared from most conversations. She even began correcting Aerion’s High Valyrian pronunciation on words shaped differently by Lyseni usage.

Aerion hated that. He also encouraged her to continue.

One evening, I found them in the library after everyone else had left. Larra sat beside him with a letter open between them. Aerion appeared to be helping her work through one of the Westerosi legal phrases Vaeron included in correspondence regarding the proposed marriage settlement. Neither noticed me immediately.

Aerion read the line once, then explained, "It means the property would belong to you even if something happened to me. My family could not simply take it back because you were widowed."

Larra frowned at the parchment. "Your legal language uses twenty words where five would be enough."

"Vaeron considers that elegance."

"Your brother enjoys this?"

"My uncle."

"You have too many relatives."

"That problem usually becomes worse after marriage."

She looked towards him and smiled. There was nothing remarkable about the exchange. That was exactly why it mattered. They were comfortable.

I left before either noticed me.

Later that night, Rhaenyra was in our chambers reading the newest letter from Dragonstone. Luke had apparently become convinced that Rhaena should stop riding entirely during her pregnancy, while Rhaena had responded by reminding him that she possessed enough experience around dragons to decide what risks she intended to take.

I suspected that argument would survive several more months. I poured myself wine and sat opposite her.

Rhaenyra continued reading for a moment before looking up. "You have that expression again."

"What expression?"

"The one that means you have been thinking about something for too long and are about to make it my problem."

"That description could cover most of our marriage."

"It has served me well."

I looked towards the papers upon the table. For weeks, I had found reasons to delay the conversation. Lysandro’s health. Lysaro’s behaviour. Lysaro’s death. Drazenko’s war. Fredo’s uncertain succession. There would always be another reason to wait.

Meanwhile, Aerion and Larra were becoming more attached with every day we spent evaluating whether their attachment was politically convenient.

"I think we need to speak seriously about Aerion and Larra," I said.

Rhaenyra placed Luke’s letter aside. "So do I."

I hesitated before continuing. "I am beginning to think that if we refuse this marriage, we may hurt our son far more than I originally understood."

Rhaenyra studied me for several moments. Then she leaned back in her chair.

"I wondered how long it would take you to admit that."