To my dearest Mother,

I do not blame you. I know of your reasons and I can truthfully say that I can somewhat understand them. I have given my all to view the past events the way you have and I believe that at times I may have made the same choices. Now I ask that you view my decision in the best possible way and try to understand. I love you, mother. Do not blame yourself. In fact, blame the gods for it was them who granted us such evil to consume our lives.

As much as I would like to leave you with those words, I am afraid I cannot. You are my mother, there is no way around that harrowing fact. However, the mystery that has shrouded the truth to the man who is supposedly my father is not so comforting. In fact, it has given my quite the sour stomach through all the days of my reign. Am I Baratheon, a member of the house symbolized by the strong and proud stag, son of the Usurper, King Robert Baratheon? Or am I a child cursed by the gods, come to this world through incestual sinners? I may be a stag or I may be a folly of a lion, deformed in my familial line from birth. Those inside my inner circle seem to hear no words spoken about the questionable claim I have to the iron throne. However those just outside my throne room seem to be sharpening their daggers for the other three or is it four? Kings of Westeros.

Without words to express my anxiety on the matter of my heritage, I may move on to my next thesis for this letter. As I do not have an eternity, and in fact just a short few hours, I must finish this letter with haste. Mother, why do you complicate my life so? Were you that unsatisfied with my crowning and my wed to the lovely Queen, yes she is the Queen, Margery? I love her, Mother, and you just don't seem to grasp the extent of my feeling for her. For every day that you cause me woe, she lifts me up and shows me a world worth ruling, and tells me of all the good I can do for the people under my care. However, the only ones who seem to matter to you are those with better claims to my throne than you. Have you ever paused to consider that I am in fact the King? No, you have only ever cared about your own title, else you would never have let things extend to these drastic measures.

Yes, mother. I know of you plotting and your schemes. I am just unsettled that I was not able to prevent them. I have accepted what is to come this day, as I now know there is no way around it. I have said my final farewells to those I know I will not see once more, including you.

I believe it was you who once told me that I would face many enemies during my reign, and several would make me believe they were friend. Little did I know that the greatest of villains was masquerading as the lioness who birthed me. You see, I never grieved the day of Joffrey's death, as he was a cruel and unloved brother of mine. However, I now grieve his death, for the simple reason that if he were still alive, I never would have learned of your true colors. I long for the days of my innocence and wish it had been me sent to Dorne to live amongst the sand snakes. I do envy Myrcella, even of her sudden and merciful death.

You often told me that I was everything to you. Well mother, you have taken everything from me, so by the time you read this, the favor will be repaid. I will give my regards to father, and if it turns out to be the wrong man, than would you send my thanks to the man who played the part of my uncle? At least he did not partake in the evil charade that is the game of thrones.

All the best,

King Tommen Baratheon, First and Last of his name