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 XVIII
2; 275 AC
King's Landing

I dreamt of ice and fire.

I stood naked, save for a thin band of gold around my head. The barren, icy wasteland around me howled, yet I felt no chill. I stood in snow to my knee, yet I felt no bite. Fresh powder drifted around me, surrounding me, smothering me. Nothing existed except for snow and ice.

The scene shifted. I stood in the middle of a frozen lake at the edge of a great forest, trees so thick and old they blocked the very sun from entering. Darkness was the forest, was created by the forest, black forest around white snow. It drew me to it, calling like an old friend.

A great cracking sound drew my attention. From beneath the ice, I felt a warm glow. A light appeared beneath, growing bigger and stronger with each passing second. I wanted to move, but couldn't, frozen in place. It was a dream, I knew. I had nothing to fear from dreams.

The ice cracked again, webbed lines radiating from the source of the heat. I could feel the ice melting, feel it sweat and shift and scream. The wind picked up, howling louder and louder, screaming in time with the cracking ice. Attempting to drown out the cracking ice.

A man emerged from the center of the cracks, a man made of fire. The rough outline of a man, the basics of a face and shoulders and arms and legs, all made of red and orange and white fire.

Everything the man touched melted; the ice, the snow, the ground itself. The water from the ice evaporated on contact, the hiss of steam a harmony and counterpoint to the howling wind. The Flame Man grew as he burned, now well over ten feet. When all the ice was gone, he turned to the forest. He stretched out a flaming hand and white fire leapt forth, pushing against the darkness of the ancient trees.

Animals began to run, fleeing their homes now aflame. Wolves ran and stags ran and lions ran and rabbits ran. Hawks and falcons took to the air, while the fish steamed in their lakes. Run as they might, no animal escaped the Flame Man, turning to ash as much as the forest and flowers would soon be.

When this was done, the Flame Man turned his face upward, toward the sun hidden by the might of winter. Again, he stretched his hand out and took the fire of the sun, growing larger again as the light dimmed, until the only light was the light of him.

Then he turned to me.

I wanted to run, tried to run, but there was nothing left. Nothing but ash and smoke, surrounding me, choking me. Nothing but fire, burning me. I screamed.

I awoke to fire.

Flames leapt around the walls of my apartments, moving to the ceiling, and smoke crowded out the air. Jenny was still asleep beside me and I shook her hard with my hand. "Jenny! We've got to go!"

Her eyes snapped open and she shot up out of the bed, screaming at the fire moving closer. I looked around for a way out, or for something to stop the fire, but the door was already engulfed in fire and there was no water in my room.

The door buckled inward and I saw a shape moving towards us. "Rhaegar!" Ser Barristan shouted over creaking timber and snapping flame, "We need to get out!"

He had a thick woolen blanket over him, keeping the worst of the fire away, but it was beginning to smolder and it was only a matter of time before it too caught fire.

I led Jenny away from the bed, keeping her down and close to the floor, away from the smoke. I took the chair at my writing desk and threw it through the window over the bed, breaking the glass. I used my sword to knock away the remaining pieces of glass and led Jenny by the hand, getting her through the window. Next went my chest of writings, notes and ideas that I had been writing down for the majority of a year. To lose them would lose every thought and idea I'd had since coming here. I threw the trunk out the window, shouting out for those below to watch out. The sword went next, followed by me. It was a good fifteen foot drop to the street below and I landed hard, rolling, the wind knocked out of me, and the soles of my feet going numb at the impact. Ser Barristan came next, sword in one hand and white cloak in the other.

I got to my feet gingerly, making sure I hadn't broken anything. I grabbed the chest and the three of us moved back across the street, watching as the City Watch used buckets and pitchers to try to fight the flames. It was a lost cause with anything short of a lake.

The Globe burned, lighting King's Landing like a small sun in the heart of the city. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people gathered to watch and help. The best they could do is keep it from spreading to other buildings and even that had a small chance of success. I saw Arry and a few of the other servants who slept in the playhouse off to one side, clutching at whatever they had managed to salvage. Arry had his own chest, the one he kept all the financial records of the playhouse in. Another chest held the playhouse coffer. All of that didn't matter right then, only that everyone made it out alive.

Jenny moved into the crook of my shoulder, crying muffled tears. I put an arm around her, trying to comfort her in spite of my own urge to break down. Everything I'd had had been put into the Globe. Now, to watch it burn to the ground was almost more than I could bear.

I felt a pair of hands slip a cloak over me and it was only then I realized I stood bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a pair of breeches. Ser Barristan put a hand on my shoulder in comfort.

"I'm truly sorry, Your Grace. I don't know how this could have happened."

My jaw clenched. "I do."

***

I came up the stairs of the Hand's Tower two at a time, still dressed in only a cloak and breeches. One of the two guards at the door was Ilyn Payne, who opened the door for me before I could say a word. I stalked through and slammed the door behind me, eyes full of murderous rage for the man sitting behind the massive desk.

Lord Tywin looked up and his eyes narrowed as he threw the quill down on a piece of parchment. "What in the hells do you think you're doing here?" he demanded, springing up from his chair.

"You burned down my theatre! You almost fucking killed me!" I almost shouted, swinging the cloak off of me and onto the floor. "I should have known your fragile fucking ego couldn't take it!"

Lord Tywin sneered and swelled to his full height. "You place everything we have done at risk by coming, you complete fool!"

"You don't even deny it, you fucking son of a whore!"

"Of course I did! The fire was started on the opposite side of the playhouse from your apartments and the City Watch was already nearby to contain the fire. I took every reasonable precaution to keep you from dying!"

"Other than starting the fucking fire!"

"What else would you have had me do?! What else would they have expected?" he yelled, his hand encompassing all of King's Landing and beyond. "Had I not retaliated, Velaryon and Stokeworth and Thorne would never have thought our rivalry to be true. Now, they know it is."

The logic of his statement didn't escape me, but I was far too angry to listen to it. "You didn't have to burn down my goddamned theatre, you fucking lunatic! Especially not with me in it!" I stalked forward until I was almost nose to nose with him. "Here's a fucking lesson, my Lord Hand; if I fucking die in a fucking fire, there's no one left to discover how they're planning to fucking kill you!"

Lord Tywin snarled and his voice lowered to a dangerous level. "And if you continue yelling, every servant in the Tower will hear and those plotting will know by morning."

I almost swung at him right then and there, but I barely managed to restrain myself. "You burned down everything I have built, every avenue I have for reaching out to the other regions in the kingdom–"

"Which also works in our favor."

I took a step backward to keep myself from swinging. "How does that possibly work in our favor?"

Lord Tywin took a step back as well, straightening his jacket, though he still looked like a bull ready to charge. "Within the next day, you will receive a message from Monfred Velaryon, begging for you to use his playhouse for as long as it takes to rebuild yours. You will accept of course, putting you in near constant contact with both young Velaryon and his father." His eyes glittered and I realized that was as close as he ever got to crowing.

The anger was still there, but it was subsiding in the face of Lord Tywin's calm, ruthless logic. "And why start the fire with me in it? Or not let me know it was coming?"

"If the fire had started when you hadn't been there, the place where you've spent every night for the last eight months, they would have known, or at least suspected, a plot. And had you known, you might have taken precautions, such as removing your mistress or other special items, which would have tipped our hand."

He knows about Jenny, I thought as my blood ran cold. Would he think of her as another expendable piece on the board, like he had my playhouse?

Lord Tywin looked at me with a hard look. "I can keep my mind on the greater prize. Ensure that you do the same."

"Why do this?" I asked, the question surprising even me. "Why do you wish my father off the throne so badly? I know my reasons; my father is mad, or at least heading that way, and he bows to the wishes of courtiers and sycophants who cater to his paranoia and ego. I fear for the kingdom he leaves in his wake. But why do you?"

The Hand of the King appeared conflicted for a brief moment, eyes searching me up and down. "Because I hate him," he said finally. "Because he took liberties with my wife on our wedding night, liberties that were not his to take. Liberties that I would have killed another man for. He shamed her, caused her pain, and for that, I will see him dead and buried before me." There was a fire in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Lord Tywin, always in control, even when faced with a murderous prince a few moments before, struggled to hang on to that control when his late wife was mentioned. When his hatred for Aerys was mentioned.

I felt the last of my temper slip away. "And what now?"

Lord Tywin turned away dismissively toward a small table. "Now, we continue as we have been. Lord Velaryon will think you out for revenge, giving him a perfect opportunity to bring you into the fold," he said, pouring two glasses of wine. "There is still the matter of which house bought my servant's secrets."

It took me a second to remember what he was talking about; it had been before Thorne's feast, the last time we had met in the Globe. "I remember. You said someone was telling Lord Thorne what to do, that there was a power behind him. That the fourth or fifth invitation I received would be the puppetmaster. How does that match with Thorne leading one of the factions at court?"

Lord Tywin handed me my wine and furrowed his brow. "Tell me, when you met Lord Thorne, did he strike you as particularly intelligent or cunning? Or even marginally so?"

I shook my head as I remembered. "He was a thin, nervous man. Eyes always watching to insert a compliment or flattery. Not unless he was pretending to be stupid."

Lord Tywin considered me. "If he's that good an actor, he belongs on your stage," he said irreverently. "No, it's the ideal hidden identity; this man places Thorne as the leader of one of the factions, and Thorne draws all of the attention. The man is a target who's too stupid to know he's a target." He glanced at me. "Who sent you the fourth and fifth invitations?"

I thought for a moment. "Rosby was the fourth. A hunt and a feast a week from now." I pictured the invitations in my head, all of their sigilry and ornamentation. "Darklyn. House Darklyn was the fifth, for a banquet in a fortnight."

Lord Tywin rubbed his sideburns and nodded. "Denys Darklyn. He's intelligent and ambitious, with an intelligent and ambitious wife as well. Thorne's just his shield."

"What could make Thorne do that, though?"

"Debt, most likely. Lord Thorne spends coin he doesn't have to keep up with Lord Velaryon and Stokeworth, men and houses both richer by far than him. House Darklyn controls Duskendale, which brings in trade revenue. That would allow him to buy Thorne's debt and make him his man as surely as an iron chain."

Perhaps it was the wine or the concentration and thought this conversation required, or maybe the adrenaline from the fire leaving my body, but I was suddenly very tired.

"I will make arrangements to attend the banquet at Duskendale. I'll send word if Monfred Velaryon reaches out to me," I said, rising and turning toward the door.

"One thing before you go."

I stopped in mid-stride. If the bastard wanted an apology for what I'd said earlier, he could go to his grave without hearing it. I'd be damned if I'd apologize for that.

"Yes?" I asked, turning back around.

Lord Tywin produced a small dagger from his desk, the blade sharp and glittering in the torchlight. "Many will have no doubt seen you coming here after the fire. Some might even hear of the yelling that followed." He began to roll up his sleeve. "We need a story in place, should those things reach the wrong ears. You came here to accuse me, and eventually attacked me. That should endear you to them." Placing the blade against his forearm, he pulled the dagger quickly across the skin, crimson blossoming against the paleness. "You, of course, also took a wound before the Kingsguard separated us and quieted the matter." Lord Tywin didn't blink as blood dripped down into his hand, the hand that now held a dagger out to me.

"Our plot requires sacrifice by all, Your Grace. I have given mine, and will give more until it is done. Will you?"