Sansa
"My King. My brother. I betrayed you. I betrayed our family, I betrayed your crown. My treason is beyond grave, and does not deserve forgiving. Yet I plead for forgiveness all the same, I plead for what should not be granted, except by the mercy of my king, my brother, and the Gods above, may my unworthy self wish for a miracle."
The Queen sat by the side of the Iron Throne and exercised significant restrain from rolling her eyes. Just hurry and get this farce over with.
"Your sins are grave," Rhaegar commanded from the seat that belonged to her, and her father before her, "and your mistakes exceed your sins. Many have suffered the harshest of punishments for far less, the judgment due and deserved upon the basest of usurpers, who would betray their very families, their blood, for the sake of their personal lust and ambition."
Can they just kill each other now, please?
"Though you are my brother, I raised you as my own son. It cuts far worse, betrayal by one's children, yet this father, who has lost so many of his own already, cannot bear much more loss. Rise, Viserys Targaryen."
The weaselly Prince, who'd seemed to have gained several stone in girth during his years in the Vale, rose upon his knees, and Sansa saw in his eyes traces of the same base fear and panic she'd seen by the banks of the Blackwater, when she'd been possessed into pardoning him for making war upon her lands. And promising to marry him, by the Gods, how foolish had she been!
"I forgive you," this king of hers proclaimed magnanimously, and the court broke out in polite applause.
Were you all here to see them lift him into the chair, she thought, you'd think far less of this man you're so eager to call your King.
The stray prince stepped meekly up to the throne, and placed a kiss upon his brother's hand. Rhaegar then pressed two fingers against the crown of his skull, as if he could anoint his brother back into princedom and more ludicrously, into a man worthy of such a title.
Good. They deserve each other, these accursed dragonspawn.
"Lord Tyrell," he called from her throne, as Viserys dutifully stepped back down to join the throng. "Lord Kevan Lannister."
The two base old men, the two arch traitors stepped forward, bending the knee more obsequiously than they'd ever done for her.
"I have proclaimed to my new Hand and High Septon," Rhaegar nodded to Randyll Tarly and the old Sparrow who'd spat insults upon her by the ruins of the Sept, "my gratitude for their support for the restoration of House Targaryen to its rightful Throne. Be it that such restoration came not by war or conquest, but through the invitation of the lords of Westeros, who speak for the people, and the warriors for the Seven, who speak for the people and the Gods, as King, I must acknowledge my debt and obligations to those I owe my crown to."
Gripping tightly the two hands of the chair, Rhaegar forced himself upright, knees shaking as he somehow miraculously managed to stay upright on his own, holding onto the Iron Throne for dear life.
Fall, my dear betrothed, please do, and slit your wrists upon that thing like Maegor the Cruel.
"From this day forward, the Crown will be no exception to the tenets of the Faith, as laid down in the Seven Pointed Star. Incest will be banned, between brother and sister, between fathers and daughters, uncles and nieces, even cousins once separated, unless an special dispensation is written by the High Septon himself."
More applause, this time most fervently from the crowd of Sparrows, beggars, vagrants, and thieves, who'd followed their leader into the very Throne Room. Their robes looked bright and to be newly washed, or sown, but the former High Sparrow, now Rhaegar's High Septon, still appeared as if he'd just emerged unwashed from several fortnights wandering the Red Wastes of far Essos.
With a huff, Rhaegar collapsed back into his seat.
"I have two siblings, yet unwed. My sister Daenerys sails for the capital as we speak. When she arrives, Lord Kevan, I will give my blessings for her marriage with your son, Lord Lancel, the heir to Casterly Rock."
Wonder what Lord Tyrion would think of all this, if they hadn't already killed him along with Arya out in Dorne.
"Your Grace," the traitor sang so smoothly, "my son has repented and learned the error of his ways. He understands the grave responsibility he will inherit, leading the Westerlands one day. He will devote himself to his studies, to repentance and to the Faith, and he will serve as the most dutiful husband to the Princess Daenerys, and most dutiful lord and servant to his wisest King."
Rhaegar nodded, and the Lannister bootlicker stepped back into the procession, leaving only Margaery's father.
"Lord Mace, the Reach remained true to my father in the Usurper's Rebellion. And it was your vassal lord who safeguarded the city first by his arms, then through his wisest statecraft. Tell me, my good man. Would your daughter accept, were I to offer her my wayward brother's hand in marriage?"
Gods, he's blushing, I do believe.
"Your Grace, my daughter Margaery would give seven thanks to this most undeserved and unexpected blessing."
"Then it is done," Rhaegar agreed happily. "The weddings of the Prince and Princess will take place after the union between King and Queen."
More rapturous applause. No Tully's, no Arryns, no Starks except us prisoners. Maybe it was appropriate, she thought, for the families who'd hogged all the power since her father's rebellion to now have their turn to be frozen entirely out of it.
"My good Lord High Septon."
"Not a lord," the old man mumbled in his infuriating manner, "just a humble servant of the Gods."
"You served the Gods well," Rhaegar said, in a tone that suggested his piety was as false as the Sparrow's own twisted preachings. "You reminded the seven kingdoms of our shortcomings, from King, to Queen, to peasant. Too many paid the price for our sins, and so we must act to right ourselves, as a country. I proclaim today then, the reinstatement of the Faith Militant, warriors for the Seven, to spread forth the goodwill of the Gods throughout the realm, on behalf of, and under the authority of the Most Faithful Crown of the Seven Kingdoms."
It took her even more control to not scream in rage at this pronouncement, thus far the only new proclamation of the new King's that she'd been previously unaware of. How many lords from King's Landing to Dorne to Casterly Rock had their mistresses and bastards, yet the only sinner this High Sparrow ever raged against was herself? How many little girls would have to suffer, would have to act as perfectly obedient little wives to their lecherous lord husbands, now that Rhaegar would have his Faith Militant roaming the land looking for sinners to persecute?
It doesn't make sense. I thought he kept to the Red God.
Much as Sansa had tried to ignore him during that first conversation between future husband and wife, she'd remembered his oddest mention of a High Priestess of Volantis he'd kept to. With little left to do now that she was merely a consort, she'd found her way to the library later that day, and looked up several books describing the religions and customs of the Free Cities. Many of them, Volantis in particular, worshiped a god of fire named R'hilor, or the Lord of Light, as this God, whose religion Rhaegar seemed so intent on spreading, was often referred to by the commonfolk.
He keeps to the Red God, yet he courts the support of the Sparrows.
This is a weakness, something I can use.
The ceremonies over, Sansa was the first to leave, walking indignantly as she was wont towards her chambers, when a hand pulled her aside.
"Lord Renly?"
His expression looked unperturbed, as it always did when he served her father once. Renly had not betrayed her, though he'd never had a chance to, and Sansa wondered whether he would have voted with the Tarly's had he remained in her Councils.
"Your Grace."
She tried smiling as genuinely as she could. "Come to seek the blessings of our wonderful new King?"
"To receive the blessings for the Lady Shireen, and ensure to her safety as she travels back to her home in Storm's End."
Her own expression softened. The Queen was not the only woman in the Keep who had suffered, and lost a parent.
"I understand."
Not that there was much Renly could do anyway, he was merely a castellan after all, and Shireen a younger girl than her, neither one the most likely candidates to raise a rebellion in her name.
"I hope you do understand, Your Grace." His eyes shifted carefully, subtly but just enough to catch Sansa's attention. "Storm's End must remain loyal to our new King. But we do not forget our Queen, not in the lands of Robert Baratheon, who was a brother to your father, or Lord Stannis, who served your family so loyally for twenty years. You have friends in the south, Your Grace, who will watch over you, should you ever need them."
He left without awaiting her response, and avoiding the temptation to visit Petyr in the Black Cells, Sansa stumbled back into her chambers deep in thought, trying to calculate in her mind what significance Renly's words may bear. Her solace was brief, before she was interrupted again by Rhaegar and his pitiful entourage of old and ball-less men.
"Where's Connington," she spat. "If you're going to gloat, might as well gloat together."
Hold your tongue, Sansa, control yourself, remember! If you want to beat them, you have to make them believe you're defeated.
"I understand he upsets you." No matter what she spat at him, Rhaegar remained so infuriatingly calm.
"He stole my father's sword."
"He won it fairly in battle. I'd take it from him, but he's served me loyally, and I can't punish him for his success. But if it's any consolation to you, my Queen, I'll try and keep him away from you as much I can."
He won dirty, Sansa wanted to scream, but bit her tongue this time. He never would've beaten father and Robb in a fair fight.
I'm not your Queen yet, she also didn't say. No matter what they say, no matter what that High Sparrow officiates, I'll never be your Queen, not in my heart, not in my soul.
"Why are you here? I don't believe our new High Sep...sorry, Highest Sparrow, would appreciate a man intruding upon the chambers of his betrothed before they've said their vows. Pretty sure there's three whole chapters in the Seven Pointed Star warning against such venal sins."
Again, he ignored her unrestrained barbs, though she thought she detected a hint of amusement from the vile Spider's lips.
"We have a guest," Rhaegar replied rather cryptically. "It's best we receive him in private."
"Who?"
It was the Spider who spoke this time. "It would seem that your friend Lord Tyrion has returned from his exploits in Dorne. And he has quite a song to sing about your most loyal Hand, the Littlefinger."
Tyrion
"A Trant, huh? Don't believe I've ever heard of a Trant in the Queens...sorry, the Kingsguard before."
"Watch yer mouth, Imp," the newly appointed whitecloak snarled at him.
Interesting quality of men they're bringing in. Rhaegar must be pretty desperate. Though he imagined that this new king of his had many favors he owed. After all, it couldn't have been easy, ripping down brick by brick the reign of an innocent young girl.
"It was meant as a compliment," Tyrion insisted, doing his best to sound pleasant.
Seems like they're in no hurry to get Ser Arys Oakheart out of Dorne anytime soon. Or the Queen's sister, though Tyrion wondered whether the young girl, who'd cried in his shoulders, having no one else to turn to upon finding out all which transpired in King's Landing, from her mother's death to her sister's deposition, it wouldn't surprise him at all if the Princess Arya was safer in Doran Martell's grasps than Rhaegar's court. He'd gotten to know the Dornishman somewhat in his short tenure at Sunspear, and whatever one might think about the Prince of Dorne, and there were plenty of varying opinions he could hold regarding the man, one thing was certain. Doran Martell was not one for rash decisions, especially as desperate as his position had suddenly become, he would seek to keep as long as he can the goodsister to the new King.
They brought him to Sansa's chambers, where he'd comforted the Queen before this most interesting trip. Sansa Stark sat sullenly to one side, pointedly ignoring the man whom she was to marry in half a fortnight. Her name day had already passed, which meant that she would be ruling on her own by now, had she been not be betrayed by practically every man in her circle. Tyrion could guess too, the identities of the two men who accompanied their rather pathetic looking king.
To think, Cersei dreamed of marrying this man once. I daresay that for all he drinks, Benjen Stark is twice as dashing as this withered dragon.
His sister was being held at Castle Stokeworth, yet another prisoner of the new King. If the rest of his reign, hopefully short, with any luck, proceeded as it began, they may well remember him as Rhaegar the Hostage Taker.
"Lord Tyrion," Rhaegar said, just as Ser Balon Swann brought into the room a shivering and crying Littlefinger. Tyrion glared at the man, his hatred building up in his heart as much as he'd felt ever for anyone. For sure, Rhaegar and his cronies were evil men, especially this Spider creature, but they'd been evil from a distance. Littlefinger had fooled them all before their very eyes and under their noses, and though he'd never speak it out loud, Tyrion hated him for the fact that he, Petyr Baelish, out of all people, had made him look the worst of dunces.
Then there was the innocent girl whom he had betrayed, whose eyes saddened at the pathetic entrance of her formerly loyal councilor even as she glared at him with suspicion and rightful rage.
"I believe you have come with further proof of Lord Baelish's guilt." Varys looked at the Queen apologetically, as if he actually pitied the girl he'd just worked for years to destroy. "Your former Hand's crimes are rather, sensitive...I'm afraid this will be the only trial he will receive..."
"Because he worked hand in hand with you to destroy a country," Tyrion spoke. It was a good thing he was small, and Lewyn Martell did not seem to care that his tone was most unfriendly to the new regime. "Tell me, Spider, was it you who ordered him to destroy the Sept?"
"I'm afraid he overstepped his instructions on that one," Varys replied, casually disclaiming his own responsibility for the vile crime. "Though, Your Grace, you should know that it was Lord Baelish who plied Ser Lancel into pursuing you, and it was he who obtained your letters and gave them to the Sparrows."
This must have been news to the girl, who looked first at Varys, and then Baelish, with the most heartbreaking tragedy showing in her sad eyes.
The glorious heir to Casterly Rock, who will fritter away the home and name I've worked so hard to make reputable again.
"I'm so sorry, Sansa," Tyrion whispered, knowing his words were useless, just like all his counsel in his four years serving her. Forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand, he reached inside his shirt under the watchful eyes of Ser Lewyn and brought out a letter. Looking around the room, he decided to hand it to the Littlefinger first.
"Read it," he ordered. Perhaps Petyr Baelish was the last person he could order around now, so he might as well enjoy it.
The man's fingers fumbled around with the parchment, and his manner seemed distant, but a stern strike on his face from Lewyn Martell returned his small eyes onto the matter at hand.
"An agreement was made," Baelish began reading, his voice dry and barely audible, "between the Kingdom of Dorne, House Martell, its ruling family, and the claimant Rhaegar of House Targaryen. Despite his better judgment, despite the actions of the claimant in the past, Prince Doran Martell of Sunspear agreed to support the claimant's claim to the Iron Throne, in exchange for a union between said claimant and the Princess Arianne Martell of Sunspear, daughter to Prince Doran. The agreement has been broken, and neither House Martell nor Dorne, wronged by all the Great Houses of Westeros, has any reason to pay fealty any longer to either House Targaryen, or House Stark. From this day forward, Dorne shall be an independent kingdom, as it was in the days when it defied the dragons of Aegon I Targaryen and his sisters.
If the current claimant to the Iron Throne seeks to subjugate the Kingdom of Dorne like his ancestors, who'd all failed in their ventures, we will remind the Six Kingdoms why our people are Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken. We will fight you in the desert, we will fight you on our beaches, and we will fight you with our words. We will tell the world of all we know, the truth, of the trustworthiness of House Targaryen, who continued to make war against House Stark and its allies even when the claimant swore before the Gods a peace with Queen Sansa I Stark. We will tell of how all the curses which plagued the land and suffered the people had been inflicted by the claimant and his allies, including the eunuch Varys, and Lord...Petyr Baelish, who would have both the Houses Stark and Targaryen believe in his loyalty to them. And we will tell them the secret, which will be relayed to your ears by Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock."
"Forgive that last part," Tyrion said, after Baelish had finished, "Prince Doran wrote this before any of us learned of my...demotion."
The Spider took the letter from Baelishs' hands, examined it, and then remarked to his king. "It bears the signature and seal of House Martell. I do believe that this is genuine. Nor am I surprised that Prince Doran would have reason to resent us, though I know not of what secret he could be speaking of."
"Tell us, dwarf," Rhaegar ordered rudely.
First, he looked again to Sansa. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. What I'm about to say will be upsetting to you in many ways. It is the truth, however, and considering all the lies which had been said to you all these years, I'm afraid you'll have to learn how to accept the truth, awful as it seems to be so often."
Sansa nodded in resigned understanding.
Taking a deep breath, Tyrion spoke. "What is known to all of us here is that Prince Doran wanted his daughter Arianne to marry Robb Stark, and sit beside him as his Queen. It is also known that Prince Robb spurned the girl, though not without bedding her first, then sailing to Storm's End, where he became betrothed to the Lady Margaery Tyrell in short order."
He looked accusingly to Baelish.
"What isn't know is that it was Lord Baelish who'd urged Prince Doran in convincing his daughter Arianne in seducing the young Prince Robb, on a night in which Prince Doran had plied him with ample drink, taking advantage of the boy's weakness. Prince Doran believed that Robb Stark's sense of honor would compel him to ask his father to betroth him to the Princess, especially once he learned that he'd gotten the girl with child."
They all gasped at this news, except Littlefinger, who probably knowing his game was finished for good, seemed finally too weary to even feign ignorance before them.
"Seems none of this was known to you, save Lord Baelish. What wasn't known to Prince Doran, not at first, anyway, was that it had been Lord Baelish who'd arranged with Mace Tyrell for his daughter Margaery to visit a relation at Storm's End, shortly before the Prince's arrival. It was Lord Baelish who whispered to the fair lady to seduce Prince Robb, that he'd always loved her in secret, urging her to seal the betrothal before the two soon to be young lovers departed Storm's End. Naturally, this was a grave insult to Prince Doran, yet he was still hesitant to trust Rhaegar Targaryen, a man who'd already betrayed his Martell wife once before.
It was then Lord Baelish sailed to Sunspear, purportedly to help Ned Stark make peace, purportedly to help Rhaegar make war. It was he who convinced Prince Doran to betray them both. Marry Arianne to the dragon, he told Prince Doran. Betray the Starks, raise the Rhaegar to the Iron Throne, and once the Targaryens held King's Landing, Lord Baelish, with the gratitude of his new King, would help the young Princess learn the ways of the court, making allies for her in all seven kingdoms. The Princess Arianne would bear Rhaegar's child. After which, once it was agreed that she would be ready, the Lord Baelish would arrange to have King Rhaegar murdered, probably by poison, Doran guessed, at which point Queen Arianne would reign over all Seven Kingdoms as Regent for her Targaryen Prince of a son.
This would leave the fate of the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms solely in the hands of House Martell. Queen Arianne could choose to keep her Targaryen child on the throne, as a Targaryen. Unlikely, probably. She could reveal and legitimize her bastard son with Robb Stark, naming him, being her elder child, the heir to the Stark dynasty, thus ending once and for all the Targaryen dynasty which has wrecked such suffering and grief upon Prince Doran and his family. More likely, however, the Queen Dowager could have named either child a Martell, by the laws of Dorne, whichever one she favored, really, and thus establish for House Martell their new dynasty upon the Iron Throne."
He stopped, out of breath from speaking, and though it continued to sadden him the chagrined look on the Queen, understanding just how out of her depth that not just she, but her entire family, council, and regime, had been at the hands of its traitors, Tyrion could not help but note with glee at the same time at the looks of embarrassment on the faces of Rhaegar and his spider, who'd been so nearly outmaneuvered by the man they held prisoner now.
"The only question is, really, one which has puzzled me this entire journey from Sunspear back to King's Landing." He turned towards Littlefinger. "What exactly did you want, Lord Baelish?"
It was the Queen who spoke first. "Me." They looked at each other, and Tyrion raged that there was nothing he could do for this girl, a rightful queen and yet prisoner in her own home.
"He wanted me," she continued. "If he's as clever as you all make him to be, then I imagine Lord Baelish would have known full well his leash holders would not have approved of the destruction of the Sept, well as all those deaths served his masters. But he never intended to face the consequences when it came. He would have taken me to the Vale. He would have the last war, Lord Tyrion, had you not been present, and Viserys had taken the city. There he would have raised the banners of the Vale for me, declared war on the Iron Throne, won seven kingdoms back for me, and won himself my undying loyalty and gratitude..."
"Sansa, it's not true..."
"I suppose I'd owe him a seat on the Small Council for life," the Queen continued, ignoring him. "He'd probably expected me to make him Lord Paramount of some kingdom or another. Maybe even marry me, and rule the country beside me..."
Her voice trailed off, and the Queen's eyes disappeared into herself, as if her tongue had understood before her mind the heaviest implications of Baelish's betrayal.
"And here's Prince Doran's threat," Tyrion said, addressing Rhaegar again. "Leave Dorne in peace, and he will keep secret the heir to King Eddard's firstborn son. Make war, and as sovereign Prince of the Kingdom of Dorne, he will legitimize and then champion the claim of Joffrey Stark to the Iron Throne."
"It's a war he can never win," Varys muttered, though this assurance did not seem to please the Spider.
"No, but it's a war your king can lose, once all the truth comes out...including the truth about the Sept."
"You will not speak of it," Rhaegar screeched suddenly, a fervor in his eyes that Tyrion had not seen before. His chest heaving, the King seemed to calm, though when he continued speaking, his words maintained their inherent threat. "Lord Randyll will take your sister and her children to Horn Hill. They will be held there, treated with all courtesies. But say a word of any of this to anyone, Imp, and you'll watch them die yourself."
Not so different from your father, are you?
Perhaps all Targaryen coins eventually land the same way.
"Will you keep me a hostage here too? Send me to Casterly Rock, under the care of Lord Lancel?"
It seemed the new King was not a man of humor. "You made war against your rightful King. Your treachery at the Battle of King's Landing has been punished in our history before, the fate befit for a traitor. But I will be merciful. I will allow you to join your father and brother upon the Wall, so long as you swear to never say a word of what you've learned in Dorne, or of Lord Baelish's treasons."
It was this moment in which Tyrion realized that he hated Rhaegar Targaryen as much as he did the Littlefinger.
Fuck the world, fuck my sister, fuck my life...
But her children...Jaime's children, Tyrion had a strong suspicion...
It was only then when he'd noticed the Queen staring intently at him, nodding her head, silently begging him to obey and accept the demands of his new king, though whether it was out of duty, or concern for her cousins, Tyrion knew not.
The Gods bless this poor girl, wherever they are.
"Your Grace can at least send me north with a few good coats."
Sansa
"He betrayed me," Rhaegar said coldly, once the whitecloaks escorted Lord Tyrion out of her chambers. "He betrayed the Martells. But he betrayed you the most. You may choose how he dies."
"How generous," Sansa muttered out loud. At this moment, she thought more of the man who'd remain loyal to her, rather than the one who'd betrayed her. Yet what reward did Lord Tyrion receive for his loyalty, for winning the last war for her, except the same punishment his father and brother had received for slaying an evil King and massacring his innocent relations.
Maybe my father was wrong. Maybe it's a good thing Lord Tywin ordered the dragonspawn murdered. Elia Martell may be a tragedy, but her children would have grown up to be monsters like their father.
Jon is Rhaegar's son too.
"We should have Lord Baelish executed before the city," Sansa said, staring her former Hand in the eye. He wanted to further plead to her, she knew, but she knew that he knew her too well that once she'd finally had knowledge of the truth, nothing he said would be able to satiate the heart of a wolf.
"A valiant attempt, girl," Varys replied with a wink, "so you can convince your devoted servant to confess his...relationships...with King Rhaegar, one last chance to make good upon his betrayal?" The Spider turned to his master. "Unlikely, Your Grace, but not worth the risk."
"What I said to the Half Man I'll say to you now," Rhaegar said, calmness transitioned to fury within the span of seconds. "You will not say a word of any of this to anyone, not even your brothers, do you hear me girl?"
"Or what," Sansa erupted. "Is the truth so shocking for His Grace? Is it so horrible that his peoples know the truth of how he obtained his crown? The High Sparrow would have torn me limb from limb, yet my only secret was that I had love for a man who deserved not my love. What happens if..."
"Your brothers will die," the Spider interrupted her sternly. "Do you want their blood on your hands?"
You will die. You will both die. One day, you will both die, because of me. And you will both suffer horribly, before you die.
"The blood of thousands lie upon your hands, same as they do Littlefingers..."
"They do not," Rhaegar protested, "we never told him..."
"They burned," she interrupted him. Then, turning her fiery gaze towards the man she believed a beloved uncle, directing all her hatred at him, real as it was, so as to distract from them her hatred for her captors, Sansa thought about her heart's desire. She would have wanted to see Baelish flayed, to avenge the Boltons, her own people, fellow Northerners, innocent men, good men, whose names and lives had been forever snuffed because of the Littlefinger.
Yet, even as the truth consumed her heart, she could not forget how she trusted him, how she loved him as practically her own family.
You must play it smart. You must remember your plan...you must have a plan, and you must sacrifice everything you have towards your plan.
Rhaegar serves the red God of fire. Let his allies the Sparrows see it truly, let all Seven Kingdoms see it.
"He should burn too," Sansa concluded, as Baelish recoiled from her in horror. "He should suffer the same fate of so many innocents and good men of the Gods he made suffer."
It was far too kind of a death from what the Littlefinger deserved, but the Queen figured that this was to be the first of many compromises she would have to make, for the sake of her revenge.
