Chapter 188: The Sorrowful Men's Assassination
During the modest welcoming ceremony in Rosby, Rhaegar Targaryen saw smiling faces and heard sincere praise. This was the finest quality of the smallfolk: so long as they were shown kindness and respect, they would return it with loyalty. At times, goodwill and approachability were worth more than gold dragons.
Lord Gyles Rosby was equally pleased. Though House Rosby was known for its frail health, it was wealthy enough, and Gyles treated his people well, earning genuine affection from the town.
Standing upon the temporary platform, Rhaegar gazed at the enthusiastic residents below. Yet amid the cheers and laughter, he sensed something else—a murderous intent slowly revealing itself. It felt like the gaze of a venomous serpent hidden in tall grass, or icy fingers brushing against the back of his neck in the dark.
Assassins.
Rhaegar wondered who they might be. Faceless Men? The Sorrowful Men? Shadowbinders from Asshai?
The killers had chosen their moment well. Rhaegar was not within the heavily defended Red Keep, nor the Dragonpit barracks, nor surrounded by fleets upon the Narrow Sea. Instead, he was north of King's Landing overseeing the paving of the Kingsroad.
His movements had become increasingly public ever since the black road project began. The prince personally leading laborers and soldiers while inspecting the roads naturally created opportunities for enemies.
And Rosby, despite its prosperity, was still only a small rural town with weak defenses.
This joyous gathering, where vigilance softened beneath celebration and wine, was precisely the sort of moment assassins dreamed of exploiting.
Rhaegar appeared almost entirely unguarded. He wore no armor, only a black surcoat bearing his sigil, with Orphan-Maker hanging at his side. The Rosby guards were negligible. The only true dangers to any assassin present were the Dragonguard and Ser Barristan Selmy.
Even the Dragonguard had relaxed somewhat because Rhaegar had permitted the townsfolk to approach freely with gifts and blessings.
Rhaegar studied the crowd carefully.
Smiling faces.
Excited children.
Farmers carrying baskets.
Women holding flowers and fruit.
Yet hidden among the warmth was cold malice.
Then he noticed her.
An elderly gray-haired woman shuffled forward carrying a basket of oranges. Her wrinkled face looked gentle and harmless. The fruit in her basket appeared plump and fresh.
But she was not alone.
A thin man standing near the edge of the crowd had suddenly grown tense in response to her movements.
"Your Grace, be cautious," Ser Barristan warned quietly.
The old knight never relaxed his vigilance. Patience and awareness were virtues every white knight learned over a lifetime, and Barristan Selmy embodied them better than any man alive.
Rhaegar's smile remained warm, but his heart had already turned cold.
A king must possess the courage of a lion and the caution of a fox.
The old woman moved through the crowd with surprising agility. Though stooped with age, her steps were steady and deliberate. She drifted closer and closer until she stood only a few feet away.
Rhaegar rested his hand lightly upon his sword.
"Sweet oranges for the prince," the old woman croaked warmly, lifting a golden-orange fruit from her basket.
The orange was flawless.
Rhaegar reached out calmly to accept it.
Then he saw the triumph hidden within the woman's eyes.
And in an almost inaudible whisper, she said:
"I am so sorry."
The Sorrowful Men.
Rhaegar heard the words clearly. His senses far surpassed those of ordinary men.
The orange split open.
Instead of pulp, a glittering green creature burst forth—a jade-and-agate manticore. Its human-like face twisted viciously as its venomous tail snapped forward.
But before it could strike—
CRACK!
Rhaegar's sword sheath smashed downward like lightning, slamming the manticore into the wooden platform.
At the same instant, Barristan drew his blade in a flash of white steel.
Yet Rhaegar had been faster.
The manticore writhed only briefly before Rhaegar crushed it beneath the heavy sheath of Orphan-Maker.
Barristan's eyes widened slightly.
He had sensed danger, but even he had not expected such terrifying reflexes from the prince.
The crowd erupted into screams.
Fruit baskets overturned.
People stumbled backward in terror.
The old woman froze for only a heartbeat before trying to flee.
Too slow.
Rhaegar's longsword swept out in a silver arc.
Her arm fell first.
Then Barristan's blade flashed across her throat.
Blood sprayed across the platform.
Barristan's Valyrian steel sword cut cleanly through flesh and bone alike.
The smell of blood spread rapidly through the square.
Lord Gyles Rosby had gone pale with horror.
"Seize them!" Barristan roared. "Do not let a single assassin escape!"
The Dragonguard immediately surrounded the entire ceremony grounds.
"No one leaves!" shouted the royal soldiers.
Compared to them, the guards of House Rosby looked utterly insignificant.
At the edge of the crowd, the second assassin realized the attempt had failed. He turned instantly and fled toward a waiting horse.
The old woman, meanwhile, bit down hard upon one of her own teeth.
Poison.
Dark blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.
She died before questioning could begin.
Rhaegar noticed the blackened remnants of the poison capsule between her teeth.
Professional assassins.
"There's another!" Rhaegar barked. "A spear!"
A Dragonguard tossed him one immediately.
Rhaegar hurled it with monstrous force.
The spear screamed through the air and pierced the fleeing assassin cleanly through the back, throwing him from his horse.
Silence followed.
The celebration had become a slaughter ground.
The laughter and music vanished completely, leaving only fear and the metallic scent of blood.
"The Sorrowful Men…" Rhaegar thought grimly.
But who had hired them?
Braavos?
The Three Daughters?
Slave traders from the Narrow Sea?
Or perhaps enemies created during the wars in the Stepstones?
Rhaegar had made too many enemies to count.
Still, Dothraki khals lacked the sophistication for such an operation.
Assassins were almost a form of sorcery unto themselves.
The Faceless Men were the most feared and skilled killers in the world, though ruinously expensive.
Shadowbinders wielded darker powers entirely.
The Sorrowful Men, however, specialized in hidden poisons and sudden death.
"Your Grace, I…" Lord Gyles stammered shakily, nearly collapsing from fear. An assassination attempt upon the crown prince within Rosby could destroy his house.
Rhaegar shook his head calmly.
"This was not your doing, my lord," he said. "The assassins were skilled and well-prepared."
Then he turned toward Barristan.
"Treat the people gently. If there are no more threats, release the townsfolk once everything is secured."
"As you command, Your Grace," Barristan replied solemnly.
The old knight immediately began taking control of the scene while Rhaegar stood silently amid the blood and overturned fruit, his violet eyes cold as winter.
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