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Chapter Thirty
The Declaration of War
29th October, 299 AC
Sunspear,
Dorne
To Whom It May Concern,
Sixteen years ago, King's Landing was sacked by Lannister forces. During that brutality, it was believed that the two children of the late Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife Princess Elia Targaryen of House Martell, Prince Aegon (then heir to the Iron Throne) and Princess Rhaenys were killed alongside their lady mother. This is not the entire truth of the tale.
Shortly after Lannister forces arrived and began sacking the city, the Northern forces, under the command of the late Lord Paramount of the Winterlands, Lord Eddard of House Stark, also arrived. They immediately began making their way to the Red Keep, to try and save the royal family. Regrettably, they were too late to save Princess Elia, or Prince Aegon. They did, however, manage to save Princess Rhaenys, killing Ser Amory Lorch just before he could murder a little girl who had seen a mere three namedays.
Knowing that the Usurper Robert Baratheon would not suffer a child of Targaryen blood to live, the princess' rescuers subsequently decided to replace the princess with a body double, using the body of another young Dornish girl murdered during the Sack. Then, they proceeded to smuggle Rhaenys to Dorne and the safety of House Martell's protection, under the guise of returning the bones of Princess Elia and her children, along with the other Dornishmen and women, to their homeland and families.
There is documented evidence of this, in the form of sworn affidavits from all those involved. Several of the Winterlanders who were involved in the deception at King's Landing still live, and all are willing to testify to the truth of my heritage whilst under oath.
I was thus hidden in plain sight as the base born daughter of my mother's brother, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, with a deceased Crownlander woman and given the name Lady Elaena Sand.
As the sole surviving issue of the late Crown Prince, and with the knowledge that King Aerys left no surviving issue after the death of Viserys Targaryen in Essos several years past, I hereby declare myself as Rhaenys, First of My Name, Head of House Targaryen, Queen of the Rhoynar, the Andals, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Defender of the Faith. Any other who claims the Iron Throne is thus in rebellion against the Crown and ordered to lay down their arms and surrender immediately. I am willing to be gracious, I do not desire bloodshed.
I thus order the Usurper's wife, the so-called Regent for the false-King Tommen Baratheon, to surrender control of King's Landing and the Red Keep to me, and to swear allegiance to myself and to my husband and consort: Prince Consort Robb Targaryen, born to House Stark as the nephew of the late Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell via his late elder brother Brandon Stark.
Furthermore, I hereby order the self-proclaimed King Stannis Baratheon to surrender control of Dragonstone to me, and also to declare his own allegiance. All other Houses should do the same. Bear in mind that I have already received oaths of allegiance from the Winterlands and Dorne, as well as several others.
Signed and dated on this the twenty-ninth day of the tenth moon, two-hundred and ninety-nine years After Aegon's Conquest,
Rhaenys, First of My Name, Head of House Targaryen, Queen of the Rhoynar, the Andals, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Defender of the Faith.
The Red Keep: 9th November, 299 AC
Jaime:
"This is a LIE!" Cersei's voice started off low and shaking, and rose to a furious, hysterical shout as she finished. "The brat is dead! Father specifically ordered she be killed along with her Dornish whore of a mother and squalling brat of a brother! Ned Stark was Robert's pet, he'd never have conspired against him!"
Tommen frowned in confusion at that, but the others ignored their young king's bemusement, focused on the problem at hand.
"Your Grace, I realize that it is impossible," Pycelle tried to soothe the hysterical woman. "But this is a serious threat all the same. Lie or no-"
"It is a LIE!" she shrieked at him, making him flinch as she flung her goblet at his head. She grew more erratic by the day, and at this point Jaime could see absolutely nothing of the young girl he had loved in her. That girl had been slowly disappearing ever since their father had first started filling her head with dreams of her becoming Queen when they were children, but now she did not even seem to care for Tommen, save for the power that his title gave her. She was growing madder and madder with each day that passed without their father awakening.
"Of course it is, my queen," Pycelle hastily agreed. "But all the same, with the forces of Dorne and the Winterlands backing her, she outnumbers us, and their army is currently marching towards us along the Kingsroad. Lord Varys and Ser Manfrey are both missing, presumably having defected to the Dornish-Winterlander alliance. In addition, Princess Myrcella is currently in Dorne and-"
Cersei screamed in rage, grabbing the jug and flinging it, wine and all, at the GrandMaester, her eyes flaming like wildfire. "I'LL KILL THEM ALL!" she screamed. "I WILL KILL THOSE DORNISH AND NORTHRON SAVAGES!"
Jaime felt sick as he stared at her. For a second, it seemed as if he were back in time, watching Aerys' mad cackles as he ordered his pet pyromancers to 'burn them all', 'burn them all!'
Was this a punishment for breaking his oath? He wondered, as he numbly followed Tommen's whispered order to subdue his mother and confine her to her chambers. Cersei screamed and thrashed in his arms as he carried her to the chamber where they had passed so many nights together, and he held her down as one of Pycelle's assistants poured some sort of potion down her throat, causing her struggles to weaken steadily until she at last fell asleep.
Jaime stepped away, still numb, and stared at her limp form for a moment. He'd been trying to ignore it for years, clinging to the illusion of the woman he had fallen in love with. Had she ever really existed, or was he simply fooling himself all of his life?
Eventually, he found the energy to force himself out of the room. Tommen was waiting, alone, in the sitting room.
"Your Grace," Jaime croaked out, bowing to the boy. Tommen lifted his troubled gaze from his knees to meet Jaime's matching emerald eyes.
"I would speak with you," the young king said softly, looking solemn. "Please, sit with me."
Jaime sat. Not for the first time, he wondered where his younger two's kind, gentle natures had come from. It certainly hadn't come from him or Cersei. Maybe the nursemaids were responsible for it? Gods knew that, though Cersei had loved all three children, her attention had always been focused on Joffrey, meaning Myrcella and Tommen had both spent most of their childhoods being cared for by nursemaids and septas.
Or maybe, in a life where their mother had survived to countermand Tywin's ambitions and cruelty, Jaime and Cersei would have turned out more like their two youngest children, and the pair had inherited some small spark of that goodness. But unlike with Jaime and his sister, they had not had it extinguished.
"You were the only Kingsguard in the capital during the Sack," Tommen finally said. "Is it possible? What the letter claimed?"
Jaime considered it only a moment before nodding. "Very possible," he confirmed. "Ned Stark arrived only about an hour after Father's forces did, and the first thing he did was order his men to find and secure the Princess and her children. Prince Rhaenys always went to hide under her father's bed when she was frightened, in Maegor's Holdfast, and that was where they went first. There were several Dornish children who could have been used to replace the princess, and the girl's body." He paused, swallowing. "She had been stabbed so much, in so many places, that only her dress identified her," he admitted to his nephew-son. "It's very possible."
Tommen looked away, frowning.
"But," Jaime went on quickly. "Robert won the Iron Throne by right of conquest. As his heir, you remain the rightful king. This does not change-"
"But Robert was not really my father, was he?" Tommen interrupted him sadly. His expression was pained. "Ned Stark never committed treason. He just found out that Mother had. And she and Joffrey had him killed for it."
Jaime went to deny it, to do something. But he made the mistake of meeting Tommen's eyes, and felt his shoulders slump helplessly. He bowed his head and at last made his admission.
"Yes," he confessed. "Robert was not your father. I am."
Dragonstone: 9th November, 299 AC
Catelyn:
"What will we do now, Your Grace?" Her uncle, Ser Brynden asked the King in the Narrow Sea, her lord husband.
Despite the serious nature of the meeting, Cat could not bring herself to draw her attention away from a particular line in the letter that had arrived: swear allegiance to myself and to my husband and consort: Prince Consort Robb Targaryen, born to House Stark as the nephew of the late Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, via his late elder brother Brandon Stark.
Her bastard son, the son that she had scorned out of shame, was now consort to the last (self-proclaimed) Targaryen. She had not heard anything of him after giving him to his uncle, had in fact told her might-have-been goodbrother that she did not want to know anything of the child.
Even after Brandon's death, she still would have been able to raise him, had it not been for Ashara Dayne. Her father had initially demanded that Ned Stark take his brother's place as her betrothed and wed her along with Lysa marrying Jon Arryn in exchange for the Tully's support in the Rebellion. He had ordered her to say nothing of her state, that they would pass the babe off as Ned Stark's. Who would be able to tell, after all, with the father and stepfather being brothers? As Brandon's sole issue, born in wedlock (in spite of the circumstances) her son would have been heir to Winterfell by blood and name. But Ned Stark had already been married by then (even if a marriage in front of a heart tree hardly counted as a real wedding ceremony) and had refused to set aside his pregnant wife. Things had escalated, especially when Stark confronted them with the knowledge that he knew she was with child, and that they were seeking to cover up her shame.
At the same time, his men had managed to seize control of Riverrun by sneaking in somehow (to this day they didn't know how the Northrons had managed it), and Edmure had been taken hostage. With Edmure spending the Rebellion as a 'guest' at Moat Cailin, her father had been forced to yield to the rebels' demands, though Jon Arryn, in desperate need of heirs, had agreed to go through with his new betrothal to Lysa in spite of her father's dishonour.
She had spent the rebellion at Riverrun with only Lysa (and the Northron guards and maids there to keep her aborting a Stark's child) for company, and her sister had been filled with spite towards her, furious that their father had made her abort her and Petyr's babe and Cat had not received the same fate. She'd been even angrier when, after the war, Cat had been wed to Stannis, making her goodsister to the king.
But it was not as if Catelyn's marriage was the fairytale she had once thought it would be, as a young maiden betrothed to handsome and charming Brandon Stark. Her husband disliked and distrusted her due to his knowledge of her bastard son. She was left to rot at Dragonstone, only allowed to attend the glamourous court on rare occasions. She was not given control over her daughters' education because he feared she would influence them to be 'loose women', and it was obvious that he blamed her for Lysa deciding to remain neutral instead of declaring in their favour. Her marriage was not a happy one, and she often wondered if that was because she had lain with Brandon before they married.
And now this. The bastard she had always been so ashamed of bearing was now married to a princess, and a contender for the Iron Throne.
What was she supposed to think of that? She had no idea. She wondered if his inherent greedy and lustful nature as a bastard had led him to seduce the self-declared Queen Rhaenys, and if her being dishonoured had led to the marriage. Or perhaps it had been to further seal the alliance between the Winterlands and Dorne. She didn't know. She knew nothing of her eldest child's character, or even his looks. She had never so much as held Robb, and it had been her uncle who named the babe.
"I will not surrender!" She looked up, realizing that, while she had been brooding over her son, her lord husband and uncle had been debating the best course of action. Her uncle had suggested they give up, but Stannis was a stubborn man, and he had been already been passed over once, when the late King Robert had given Storm's End and the Lord Paramountship of the Stormlands to Renly, whilst naming Stannis as Lord of Dragonstone and dumping the responsibility of keeping a leash on the angry loyalist lords onto him. Stannis would not stand to lose the Iron Throne as well.
"Your Grace, we have no choice," Uncle Brynden warned him. "We could barely fend off the Lannisters. Riverrun has now officially surrendered, meaning we have lost a large chunk of our support, and the supplies are dwindling. The Winterlanders' army is no joke, but you are more likely to receive mercy from the Dornish then from the Lannisters. For the sake of your family, I urge you to make terms with Queen Rhaenys."
Stannis glared at him, slamming his fist onto the Painted Table. "I will not!" he bellowed. "I will die before giving up what is mine!"
"Then your sons and daughters will die with you," Brynden warned him. "If they do not starve, the lions will have them all killed."
Cat swallowed, thinking of her sweet little Orys' thin face, Shireen's weakness and Sansa's tears. Her brave Steffon was staying stoic as best he could, but he was but three-and-ten, and struggling greatly despite his efforts to hide it.
Catelyn herself suspected that she herself was going mad from it all. Either she was weeping in hysteria, or else she was locked in a grey haze, numb to the world around her.
Stannis said nothing in response, turning and stalking from the room.
"Cat?" Uncle Brynden turned to her, looking worried. "Are you well?"
"Prince Consort Robb Targaryen," she replied, eyes returning to the letter once again. "The son of Brandon Stark. My son."
Uncle Brynden swallowed, reaching out to rub her shoulder. "Everything will work out, Cat," he promised her. "I swear."
She didn't answer, too busy staring at the name. Prince Consort Robb Targaryen, born to House Stark as the nephew of the late Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell via his late elder brother Brandon Stark.
The Eyrie: 11th November, 299 AC
Yohn:
Lord Yohn Royce led the way into the Great Hall of the Eyrie, the royal decree clutched in his hands. With him were the other members of the Lords Declarant: Lady Anya Waynwood, Lord Gilwood Hunter, Lord Horton Redfort, Lord Benedar Belmore and Ser Symon Templeton. After working for this since only a few moons after Jon Arryn's death, they were at last in place to make their move. Yohn was relieved that their efforts had finally come to fruition. He could only pray that they had intervened quick enough to repair the damage done to his old friend's son. Sweetrobin was an Arryn, but Gods only knew how badly he had been affected by his mother's insanity and the way she babied him.
Lady Lysa Baelish (as she was quick to correct anybody who dared to call her by the Arryn name, as if being the wife of a dishonourable, grasping cur who's House went back about three generations, if that, was better than being the wife of an honourable man such as the late Lord Arryn, who was acclaimed during his lifetime for his honour and good nature.) was seated on the throne-like chair on the dais. Beside her stood her second husband (and the true Regent of the Vale. Lady Lysa would probably jump out of the Moon Door if he told her too, damn the man). Young Lord Robert was nowhere to be seen.
"Lady Baelish! Lord Baelish!" Yohn called as he strode forward.
Lady Lysa scowled at him. Once, she had been a comely young lady. Now, she was very different with a sour, milky scent (no doubt caused by the fact that, despite her son being six namedays, she was still breastfeeding them) a pale and puffy face filled with frown lines and a thick, stout body. Yohn did feel some pity for the woman. She had suffered greatly, losing seven children to stillbirths and four miscarriages. Her sole child was of a fragile health, and Baelish had taken advantage of his former foster-sister's affection for him. But despite his pity over her losses, Yohn knew that he needed to do what was best for the Vale. And the best for the Vale was not Lysa and Petyr Baelish.
"What is the meaning of this, my Lords and Lady?" she demanded.
"We have here, my lady, a royal decree," Yohn announced. "Ordering that yourself and Lord Baelish surrender the titles of Lady Regent of the Vale and Lord Protector. Furthermore, custody of Lord Arryn is to be given to myself, and Lord Baelish is to be taken into custody."
Baelish stood in outrage. "How dare you?" he barked. "I am the Lord Protector of the Vale, and my wife is Lady Regent. This is rebellion! How dare you?"
"We dare, because our sovereign declares it to be so," Lady Anya replied haughtily.
"And as for your claims, the decree held by Lord Royce proves that statement false," Lord Redfort added. "Surrender peacefully, we have no desire to harm either of you."
"I refuse!" Lysa screamed. "You will not take my son or Petyr from me! Petyr! Help me! Don't let them take Sweetrobin from me! Petyr!"
Baelish ran for the door, ignoring his wife's desperate cries.
"Guards!" Ser Symon called to their waiting men. "Seize them!"
It was a wild clash of screams and some steel, but it passed in only a few moments. Only a few of the Eyrie's guards were loyal to Lady Lysa and her husband, and they were heavily outnumbered, especially when the rest of the men turned on them and joined the side of the Lords Declarant.
"Take Lady Lysa to her chambers and lock her in," Lady Waynwood ordered. "Ensure that she is not harmed. Put Littlefinger in the dungeons to await his interrogation."
"And I shall go at once to write the letters to our fellow bannermen and to Dorne, swearing the allegiance of the Vale to Her Grace, Queen Rhaenys," Yohn added with a grim smile.
Inside his breast pocket, the letter he had received from Larra, informing him of all she knew and pleading that he support her cousin and goodniece's claim, crinkled in its' place against his heart. He had only met her thrice, but she was his cousin through his grandmother Jocelyn Royce of House Stark. Ned and he had been close while Ned was being fostered in the Eyrie, and his letters had always contained information on his children, whom, along with the late and much-lamented Lady Ashara, had been the lights of Ned's life.
How proud his old friend and cousin would be, to know of all his children had endured and survived, only for them to come out stronger than before. For the sake of the love he had borne his old comrade, for the loyalty he held to the Old Gods who scorned the murders of infants, House Royce would support Rhaenys and Robb gladly.