Disclaimer – This fanfiction was not written by me; it belongs to the user William Dellinger on alternatehistory, by publishing it here I only intend to bring it to a wider audience and make it available for offline reading. I do not claim any ownership of the content.

Rhaegar XV
1; 275 AC
King's Landing

The hour of the bat. Near as I could tell, around midnight. The deepest, darkest part of night. King's Landing slept the sleep of the dead, only the rumbling, distant thunder and the occasional mongrel bark breaking the dull, humming silence. It wasn't a true silence; cities were rarely truly silent. But the deep, constant thrum of life was filtered out, becoming as much a silence as if it was never there.

I stood in the back of the alley, hidden from the torch light, waiting. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, the glow from the moon a soft light that shaved off the edges of the little cul-de-sac. I had a clear view of the alley mouth, watching for the telltale sign of shadows. Few walked the streets at this time of night, perhaps a few dedicated drinkers returning home from a tavern, or a pair of lower class whores plying their trade. And the soldiers of the City Watch, of course. But I repeat myself.

A pair of shadows appeared at the mouth in due course, the now-familiar shape of Ser Ilyn Payne and Lord Tywin Lannister climbing the wall of the alley. Ser Ilyn stayed just out of sight in the alley and Lord Tywin walked to meet me, his stride wealthy and wide, his presence possessing the alley.

A line from the series came to mind, one of the few pieces I could recall clearly. Varys had been wrong; a rich man doesn't have to claim the stones beneath his feet. A man as rich as Lord Tywin already owned them.

The Hand of the King inclined his head in greeting. "Ser Rhaegar," he said. "My congratulations."

"Thank you, Lord Tywin. Have your agents found anything?" I said, keeping my voice low.

The golden hair that framed his face appeared a burnished silver in the moonlight as he shook his head. "It takes time. Three different factions at court, all with their own power plays and petty plots against each other. Only a hint of rumor about what they plan on a grander scale."

Three factions, he'd said. "Only three?"

He nodded. "Stokeworth, Velaryon, and Thorne, each with their own underlings and sycophants. They play well enough with each other, but they all work to raise themselves in the King's eye. The landscape is constantly shifting, alliances made and betrayed every day." His tone was dismissive, almost derogatory. It was clear he considered those men jockeying for position to be playing the small game, a contrast to the larger Game Lord Tywin played.

I considered that. "Velaryon would be the strongest then. More wealth, more men, a seat on the small council. Then Stokeworth and his City Watch. Then Thorne and his silver tongue." Something occurred to me. "Why haven't two banded together to remove the other? Even with the landscape shifting, surely they'd see the value of a more level playing field?"

Even in the darkness, I could see Lord Tywin get as close as he ever got to a smile. "Why do you think?"

There was a moment of near silence, the hum of the city the only sound as I thought about the issue. Some small part of my brain realized that Lord Tywin was testing me and I considered the possibility that he was becoming wary of my nearly supernatural ability to discern truth and motives. I couldn't let my reputation diminish in his eyes, not now. So I set my mind to work.

"It would be more likely for Stokeworth and Thorne to combine forces against Velaryon. His seat on the council means more than men or coin." Good, keep going. "He'd have to buy them off, or play one off against the other. For Stokeworth, that means..." Means what? "Castle Stokeworth has sea access. The Master of Ships would certainly control how much trade travels through the port," I said, moving away from the wall. Pacing helped to think. "Thorne would be harder. Not as much to offer. Other than access to the king. But it would be a simple thing to keep Thorne away from him completely, which obviously hasn't worked. So Thorne must have something over Velaryon."

Lord Tywin nodded and I could hear approval in his voice. "Another plot to unravel. And that's just the top tier of Houses," he said, checking the alleyway. "Six months ago, House Chelsted moved from Velaryon to Stokeworth quite abruptly. I believe the City Watch discovered evidence of Lord Chelsted taking more from the Royal Treasury than usual and used it as leverage. A year ago, House Blount went from Stokeworth to Thorne. It goes on," he said, his non-smile turning wolfish. The man enjoyed this, he breathed it in, it pumped through his veins. He lived on it. "As I said, three factions, all vying with and against in a complex web of intrigue."

I nodded, still thinking. "Four factions." Continuing at Lord Tywin's glance, I said, "The disaffected. Those Houses too poor in wealth and manpower to be worth enticing."

"Even all together, those Houses wouldn't be enough to hold King's Landing against the others, nor could we trust them not to switch sides at an inopportune moment."

"You're entirely correct. But they hate Stokeworth and Velaryon and especially Thorne. Nearly as much as the rest hate you." I thought about that, eyes unfocused on the alley. "They hate you."

Lord Tywin didn't manage wit very often, it being too close to humor for him, but when he did it was dryer than Dornish sand. "I'm quite aware."

"No, they hate you. They hate you because of your position with my father. That you restrict access to him and manage policy." I spoke more quickly, warming to the idea. "Any plot that those Houses have in the works has to begin with removing you from power." I looked at Lord Tywin. "How secure is your position?"

He considered the question, finding it too close to realistic for him to ignore. "Secure enough. I wouldn't be removed without cause, and even then unlikely."

"Any historical precedent?"

A pause. "A few, not that your father would know them. And even then, only when Hands proved incompetent. Or plotted against the King," he added grimly.

I shook my head. "They can't know about this. You and I are the only ones that know, besides Arry and Ser Ilyn. And I doubt Ser Ilyn has been particularly talkative in recent months. Which leaves Arry." But Lord Tywin was already shaking his head.

"Arry has two sisters and their families at Casterly Rock," he said, as if that ended any discussion. Which, truth be told, was reason enough to ensure loyalty.

"So we can safely discount that." But then what? "What if they want to do more than remove you?" I asked, the thought occurring to me in a moment of extreme irony.

Lord Tywin narrowed his eyes. "If that is their plan, they would have done so years ago. I've been Hand for fourteen years; their maneuvering dates well before that." He shook his head, though he was obviously still considering the idea. "Why wait this long?"

Realization slowly dawned on me. "None of them are in a clear position to replace you. Think about it. If Velaryon or any of the others had you killed now, who would replace you? Thanks to my father's mercurial nature, any day could bring a different choice. And you said it yourself, their own power shifts with every dawn." It was perfect, too perfect to ignore. "That's what they're playing each other for. To see who can hold the most power the longest, removing you from the court, and setting themselves up as the most logical successor. It's why the other two haven't allied against the third." I nearly laughed at my own brilliance. "As long as power is split between three, no one side has enough support and influence."

Tywin rubbed his long sideburns. "Because the first act of the new Hand would be to remove his rivals." He thought a moment. "This means that any faction that established a clear superiority would need to act quickly, once power has been attained," he said. "We can't wait for more invitations and for you to slowly ingratiate yourself into their ranks."

I agreed. I would need Lord Tywin alive and well to turn power over to him and leave. Him dead meant there was no one else I could trust to run the kingdom. "What if I'm the tipping factor? If I throw my support behind one of the factions, things should stabilize enough for that faction to move forward with their plan."

"But that would only speed up their plan, not ours," he said. "You would need to know when and how they planned to kill me." My blood ran cold when he said that; his voice had accepted that someone was actively plotting to kill him in stride, as par for the course. I couldn't wait to leave this place behind. "We'll need proof, and witnesses. You'll need to become part of their plot."

"They need to believe I hate you as much as they do," I said carefully. I had my own ideas on how to accomplish that, and I had a feeling the Hand would come to the same conclusion.

Perhaps it was something in my voice, or maybe Lord Tywin always looked like that. I couldn't tell. "A play would be the quickest route," he said. "Something I would take as a gross insult. Do you have something you could produce quickly?"

I thought about it and I could see two immediate options. "Within a month, perhaps." I paused, not entirely comfortable with where this was heading. "It would look better if it were in retaliation for something you did to me. That adds a layer of mutual victimization to it. The City Watch incident isn't recent enough; you'll need to do something to harass me publicly. Finding a reason to shut down the theatre might do it." I paused before saying what had been on my mind since he'd said the word play. "You won't like it," I said bluntly.

This time Lord Tywin really did glare. "I am capable of seeing the larger picture," he said flatly. "No amount of insult or ridicule would be too much to bear to see the King off his throne." He nodded, mostly to himself. "I'll manufacture some reason to shut the theatre down for a few days," he said, looking at me. "Ready your play, Your Grace."

I nodded. Fair enough. "I'll get started on it right away, Lord Tywin."

***

I sat at my desk, the candle flickering, dripping wax onto the brass holder. There wasn't much of it left, a few fingers fighting the losing battle. Much the same as I was.

My hand cramped and I put the quill down to massage the stiff fingers. I'd been writing since leaving Lord Tywin, knowing that we'd need to begin rehearsal nearly immediately. Lord Tywin wanted the play complete and performed as soon as possible; we had to take advantage of my momentary popularity with the Crownlander nobility. Hit them hard and fast before they had time to think, piece together or paper over all the tiny inconsistencies in our narrative we could do nothing about.

Superimposing Shakespeare onto Westeros was a bit harder than just copy/pasting and renaming the characters. A nip here, a tuck there. Characters changed, slightly shifted, excised, and added. The plot thickened here, thinned out there. It was a trial and error process, making sure things still fit while preserving as much of the original source as possible. It burned my soul more than a little to edit and rephrase Shakespeare. But needs must and all that.

But who was the Devil in this scenario? Me? Or Lord Tywin?

Richard III was a tale of a tragic villain, forced by the circumstances of his deformity and the hatred shown him by his family to seize power with a single-minded sociopathy. The deformity was the key; going from a hunchback to a dwarf was a fairly easy fit and it would mate well with the inherent comedy in the play. A tiny Richard III – Tybolt III, in this case – screaming for a horse would surely resonate with Westerosi audiences used to seeing dwarves as the punchline.

The civil war aspect of the Wars of the Roses was manageable as well. There were two Houses of Lannister in the Westerlands and, though the historical text in front of me wasn't clear on how long ago the branches had split, I could keep the dates vague enough to mesh with reality. House Casterly would have fit better, though; they had a better lineage to superimpose onto the Plantagenets and I could have Lann the Clever enter as the Henry Tudor analogue. But then I'd lose purpose. The better play would have to be sacrificed for the plot.

I wondered idly if Shakespeare had been in this position during any of his late nights working by candlelight. Or if there was a world of Shakespeare created out of the many thoughts and theories surrounding those works.

I felt hands crawl over my shoulders and slide down my chest. Hands I recognized from the first touch.

"What are you doing up, love?" I asked, breathing her in as she nuzzled my neck.

"Mm. I could ask you the same. Have you slept at all?"

I opened my mouth to lie and closed it abruptly. There was always a risk in saying too much or too little to Jenny; she was smart, uncommon smart. Added to that, I didn't enjoy lying to her, nor keeping track of what lies I'd told her.

"Just a new play," I said evenly. "I'll want this one out soon."

I felt her smile against my cheek. "Any roles for me?"

I considered the question. She'd make a fine Lady Anne – Lady Joy, in my adaptation – but I feared I was overusing her. She'd been Alysanne Bracken, Lyarra Stark, and Catelyn Blackwood – Juliet, Ophelia, and Catherine of France – and I didn't want her to gain the reputation of receiving roles because she was my mistress. It made her a target for any ambitious actress eager to move up to better roles. I'd spent enough time in the theatre back home to see that and I could only imagine the lengths one would go to in a world far less civilized.

She picked up the character sheet and glanced over it. I saw her eyes narrow and her breathing became quiet and slow.

"Rhaegar, what is this?"

I heard the fear and worry in her voice. I was surprised; I had expected scandalized laughter, maybe, or a hand clasped over a mouth. Not fear.

"I've had the Riverlands, the North, and now the Stormlands. It's past time the Westerlands has a place on the stage," I said with more confidence than I felt. She looked at me as if I were mad.

"The Hand of the King is a dangerous enemy to make, even for a prince, Rhaegar," she said softly, her eyes turning downcast. "He is vicious and ruthless. He will surely see this as an insult to his family."

She had stiffened visibly. If I hadn't been looking for it, I never would have seen it. The clenched hands, the stretched tendons, the tension in her eyes and neck. She was having another moment, the urge to run clear on her face.

I wanted to run to her and tell her that it was all a plan, that Lord Tywin was in on it and understood why I was taking his greatest shame and putting it on display for everyone to see. I wanted to confess to her that I planned to kill my father and give the throne away so that we could be together. I would've done anything to take away her fear.

"You don't understand, Rhaegar," Jenny said. "He will not allow this insult to his family to stand. You could be placing yourself in danger, real danger."

There was something in her voice that gave me pause. "Jenny," I asked quietly. "Who were your parents?" I'd never asked her that before. Everyone was entitled to their secrets; the Father knew, I had plenty of my own. I had assumed she was a Lannister bastard, from the golden hair and emerald eyes and her Westerland accent. But her fear of Lord Tywin sounded strange... almost personal.

She looked up sharply, her eyes tearing slightly, whether from anger or sadness, I didn't know. "A pair of fools, the both of them. My mother, for believing my father would, or even could, love her. And my father..." Jenny shook her head, tears falling freely. "Don't ask me again, Rhaegar. Please," she said, finally looking at me. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything. Just let it be you and me and no one else."

I wasn't sure what to say. She was crying silently now, tears running down her face that she made no move to wipe away. "Of course. Just us, Jenny. No one else."

Her eyes tightened and she hurriedly dried her cheeks before burying her face in my chest. "What we have is so precious, so fragile. When we leave, we can change that, and I'll tell you everything then. I promise."