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 XX
3; 275 AC
King's Landing

I came up the stairs of the Tower of the Hand as quickly as I could, boots pounding on the hard stone. Adrenaline made me fast and fleet, while cold fear gripped my heart. Ser Ilyn was a trained, veteran soldier, long in Lord Tywin's service; he'd spot a tail as surely as breathing. He'd take her to Lord Tywin, she'd confess that she knew Arry was his man, and he'd kill her to protect the conspiracy.

I tried not to think about what I'd find at the top of the tower. Jenny's dead body. Tywin standing over her, dagger in hand. I pushed it from my mind. I had to get there first.

I made it to the top of the grand, massive staircase that led directly to the Hand's offices. Two men lay slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath them. They were quite dead, one with an ugly slash across his throat and the other's wound unseen.

Has Velaryon assassinated him already? I thought as I stepped over the bodies. I realized I would be blamed if I found Lord Tywin dead in his chambers, but that was a secondary thought to finding Jenny. I felt at my hip for a dagger, realizing too late that I'd left the Rose without any thought of arms. Pushing through the doors into the hall, I blinked at the bright light from the interior torches.

I saw Jenny, feeling relief rush through me when I saw her alive; then, confusion. The Hand was laid out, on his back behind the desk, while Jenny stood over the Hand's body, dagger in her hand and flashing in the torch light.

"Jenny, what are you doing?!"

She looked up at me and cursed, kneeling beside the body and raising it with both hands above her head. I ran around the desk just as the dagger began its descent, catching it before it pierced Lord Tywin's chest.

She struggled in my arms, fighting against me. "No, Rhaegar, you have to let me do it, he'll kill both of us if you don't!"

"Jenny, wait! You don't understand–"

"I understand, Rhaegar! I do!" she said, pulling away to look at me. "I understand that this man, this lord, has made an attempt on your life, on our lives! Your servants spy on you for him!" Her eyes filled with tears. "He will not stop, Rhaegar. Can't you see that? He won't stop until you are dead!"

I looked from her to the unconscious Tywin on the floor. He wasn't bleeding, but there was a nasty, purple bruise on his temple that he'd certainly feel in the morning. I swallowed, hard, my mind racing like a rabid bat on cocaine. I had to do just the right thing, the perfect thing, or else the Hand would have Jenny dead, with or without my knowledge. He could never allow such an insult to his pride, especially not from a mummer girl. There had to be a way out. I just had to find it.

I could do it. I had to do it. Jenny loved me, loved me enough to kill for me. And I loved her every bit as much. I'd have killed Tywin where he lay if it meant enabling us to leave for Essos. Nothing mattered so much in that moment, not the conspiracies, not the Mad King, not the Others; nothing mattered as much as making sure Jenny walked out of here alive.

"Did he see your face?" I asked turning back to her.

She struggled again, the dagger nearly cutting me. "Rhaegar, you have to let me–"

"Did he see your face?" I asked again with more force than I intended.

"No," she said, yanking her arm free. "You don't know this man, what he's done! What he will do to us!"

"Jenny–"

"He killed my family!" she raged, angry tears falling freely. "And he will kill us too unless I stop him, right now!"

I took her by the shoulders and shook her, hard. "Jenny! He isn't trying to kill me! It's all a damned ruse!" She looked at me questioningly, with hurt in her eyes, but I pushed through it. "Listen to me very carefully; you need to get out of the Red Keep, right now. Meet me at the stable by the Rose and I will explain everything then." I smoothed her hair back and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Everything will be fine, just please, for the love of the Mother, get the fuck out of here!"

Fresh tears sprung from her eyes, but she heeded my words, leaving in a flash of black cloth, through the main door. I didn't know how she would get out, but she had gotten in somehow. I realized with a cold start that Jenny had been the one to kill the guards. With a dagger too, close enough to see them when they died. To see their eyes widen in shock and fear and anger.

Jenny and I would have to have a long talk, provided I got out of here alive.

I felt for a pulse at Lord Tywin's neck. It was steady and strong, though a little slow for a man of his age. I checked his body for wounds, making sure he wasn't bleeding out on me, but I couldn't find any save for a slight line of blood at his neck. I spotted a heavy lead weight on the floor nearby, with tiny golden hairs stuck to it. Jenny must have had the dagger at his neck, from behind. He'd grabbed the dagger, struggled, and she'd grabbed his paperweight and brained him with it.

Tywin began to groan and move. I moved back, trying to come up with a story on the fly. I had come here to tell him about Robert and my progress with Velaryon, and – no, that wouldn't work. Arry had put that in his report. I'd come to ask him – no, that's out of character. He'd see through that in a minute, concussed or not. What, then?

The Hand suddenly started, his arms fending off an unseen assailant. "Lord Tywin, it's me, it's Rhaegar!" I took hold of his thrashing arms to keep myself from getting hit. "It's me!"

Tywin's mouth opened in a grimace of pain and anger – mostly anger – and he leveraged himself up to his knee. He put one hand on his desk and drew himself up to his feet, though he kept a hand on the desk for balance. "Did you see her? How did she get out?" he demanded.

I put on the best face I could. "There was no one here when I came through the door. Who was she?"

Tywin's face set in a grim line. "An assassin. Velaryon is making his move. Guards!" he yelled, the exertion bringing a new bout of pain.

"They're all dead, Tywin. I stepped over their bodies to get in here," I said, watching him carefully. A blow to the head is a funny thing; short-term memory loss is standard, but those memories could come back at any time.

Tywin cursed. "She could be long gone by now." He glanced at me appraisingly. "I was rather lucky you came by when you did."

My blood froze at his words, and I fought to keep it from my face. "Fortunate indeed. Are you sure it was a woman?"

Tywin nodded. "Yes," he said without hesitation, looking at his desk. "Nothing appears to be missing. Not even this," he said, picking up a half-burned parchment. "Arry's last report." He thought for a moment. "If the assassin saw this, she would have taken it back to Velaryon."

I had to keep him on this line of questioning. "Maybe she didn't realize what it was? Or I arrived before she could take it?"

Tywin only nodded, his eyes a little glazed. His head must have been pounding. "Why did you come here?"

Shit.

"There was something Arry didn't put in his report. It happened after he wrote it," I said. Fucking hell, Arry! He knows Jenny had attacked him and followed Ser Ilyn. Even if he doesn't put two and two together, Tywin certainly fucking will. Not now, think up a reason, handle Arry later. "Velaryon invited me to dine at his mansion in the city this week. I think he might be warming to the idea of bringing me into his conspiracy," I said, making it up as I went along. "I wanted to know if you had any information I could use." Now I had to somehow get a dinner invitation with Velaryon in a matter of days. Short-term solutions making long-term problems. Westeros in a nutshell if I'd ever heard one.

Tywin narrowed his eyes in thought. "We will discuss it later. Though," he said, trailing off, "if Velaryon is entreating you to dine with him this week, why send an assassin tonight?"

Shit.

"Perhaps it was one of the other lords. Stokeworth or Darklyn," I said hurriedly. "They know I'm using the Rose until the Globe is rebuilt. Maybe that spooked them into making a move before they are ready?"

"Or it was someone else entirely," Tywin said grimly. He shook his head, the pain evident. "We need to keep this quiet. Keep the assassin's owner wondering why I'm still alive. Maybe that will force them to make a move or another attempt, one we'll catch this time. I'll double my guard in the meantime. We can't allow this to interfere with our plans," he said, fixing me with an iron gaze. "Clear the field. Consolidate power. Kill the king."

I nodded at once and walked toward the door, eager to be out of there.

"And Your Grace?"

I stopped by the door, hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. "Yes, Lord Tywin?"

"I'll send a message through Arry on Velaryon and his invitation. It would be best if you aren't seen here until we can find the assassin's patron."

I nodded once and left, my heart pounding, counting the seconds until I was out of the Red Keep.

***

The streets were black, the hidden moon only a sliver behind a massive blanket of cloud. I could barely see, relying mostly on the horse's instincts to return to the stable.

The stress of the night had taken care of most of the alcohol I'd consumed earlier, leaving me less drunk and more hungover than anything else. Once the adrenaline had left, I'd gotten the shakes so bad I'd almost fallen off the horse.

I hadn't felt that in a long time.

I had done a lot of thinking since returning from the Red Keep. Jenny was the focus of most of it, though Tywin's revenge was first and foremost, should he ever discover the truth. But one thing kept ringing over and over in my head. Those two bodies I had stepped over, and who knew how many others. Tywin kept half a dozen guards on duty at all time. Had Jenny killed them all?

I had already decided that I didn't care about that. I still loved her, wanted what was best for her, wanted to protect her. She had killed those men because she thought that was the best way to protect me. God knows I have little room to talk. You don't come away from three tours of combat clean, or even a little gray. You make the best decisions you can with what you have to work with. That's war, and life. You think you can tell the difference between an enemy combatant throwing grenades and an Iraqi teen throwing rocks in the dead of night, no moon, no night vision? You think you can make that goddamn distinction with the rifle at your shoulder and people's lives in the balance? Shots of adrenaline and a fear chaser colliding in your brain at the same time your target turns toward you or your buddy and there's a hair's worth of difference between a rock and a grenade, between a malnourished man and a tall boy? You think you can make that fucking decision, that goddamn right decision on a dime? No, you fucking can't, you just close your eyes and pull the trigger and pray to whatever bastard made you that you chose right.

I slipped off the horse and was silently, violently sick against the side of a building. No matter how far I run, or how long it's been, it always comes back to that. Things like that leave you marked for life.

I couldn't condone her actions. But goddammit, I understood.

The shakes had stopped, as they usually did after a while. I walked the horse the rest of the way, since I could make out where I was, and I didn't feel like swaying much anymore. The stable was only a few hundred feet away and I managed to make it without getting sick again. Just as I was shutting the gate, I saw Jenny hiding in the shadows, not wanting me to see her and wanting to run to me, all at the same time.

I didn't say anything, couldn't, just walked over to her and took her hands in mine. In the tiny bit of moonlight, I could see blood on her hands. I looked up at her, felt her holding back the tears, felt the shaking in her hands, the tremors. I held her, and she fell silently into my arms, quiet, heaving sobs wracking her body.

Once they had subsided, I took her hands in mine and guided them into the nearby trough, washing them gently, palm and back, using the roughness of my own hands to scrape away the blood. It seemed like it took forever, and was over in an instant.

We sat there for some time, on the side of the trough, before either of us spoke. We each had something to tell the other, it seemed. Secrets kept for so long have a hard time finding the surface.

Jenny spoke abruptly, her tone even and tired, her gaze far from King's Landing. "My father was a fool, my mother even more so. She thought he would marry her one day; the farrier's daughter and the Lord of Castamere, wed in holy bliss." She laughed mirthlessly. "She never understood him, but I did. I knew what kind of man he was. Said, "I don't want no bastard that can't pick up a sword," he did. Right there in the middle of supper, in front of all the other servants and his lord brother and lady sister." She looked down, playing with her fingers, still scraping away the imaginary blood she saw there. "So I did what I thought he wanted. I picked up a carving knife from the table. He laughed," she said, looking at me for the first time. "Lord Roger Reyne laughed and said that would do."

"I couldn't hold a sword, not even after two years of training with him. Wasn't big enough. So I stuck to using a dagger. He never gave me an inch, my father, fought me the way he'd have done a son. Said it would make me quick. I think he just liked hitting me."

"Then my mother came to me, gathered me up and took me into the keep, underground. All of us packed into a hall meant for half our number. Packed in like sheep at a shearing. Just the light from the torches, smoky and sticky. Men were coming to hurt us, my mother said. But down here, we'd be safe. Lord Reyne wouldn't let anything happen to his child, she'd said. My father came in later, wounded bad, with my uncle. I liked my uncle. He was always nice to me." She paused for the first time, trailing off.

"Then the waters came. It was slow at first, just creeping in under the doors. Then a flood, knocking the doors out of the rock that held them. It was madness, people climbing onto tables and chairs to try to get away from it, servants climbing on lords and ladies, using the bodies as piles to try and live. There was no way out. Once the waters rose high enough, we could float near the ceiling. My mother found a crevice in the rock and put me in it. Water up to my ears. I had to stay perfectly still, my only air just a little pocket, a tiny crack in the rock. I stayed like that for hours, until the water went away. I was ten."

I reached out and took her hand, intertwining our fingers. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I said nothing.

"Afterwards, I found some people who were nice and stayed with them until they weren't. I learned to keep a knife in my hand, especially once I'd flowered. Traveled across the Westerlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, until I ended up in King's Landing. By then, Tywin Lannister had been named Hand of the King. I wanted to kill him. Wanted him to feel my pain. Spent every hour of every day planning. How I would get close, what I would say. How it would feel. Until one day, I just didn't care any longer. My father deserved as much blame as the Hand for what happened at Castamere. My mother, for staying when she could have left. So much blame to go around. So I just let it go."

She looked at me. "And then I met you. You took me into your troupe and gave me a place, even before I gave you my body. You treated me with respect, not as a thing. You were, and are, so good to me. I couldn't let him take that away too."

Jenny leaned her head on my shoulder, wrapping both arms around mine. I kissed the top of her head and turned so I could look at her.

"Lord Tywin and I are on the same side. Our rivalry, the play, all of it, is a ruse to uncover a plot by the other lords who plan to kill Lord Tywin," I said, condensing a much larger plot to a manageable bit. "He is not trying to kill me, only make it look like he is. So that they will approach me, ask me to join them, so that I may find proof."

Jenny narrowed her eyes at me, hurt, confused. "You burned down the Globe for a ruse? Our home?" she asked, the hurt in her voice causing me pain.

"No," I said emphatically. "That was not my idea, and I had no knowledge of it. Though, in all fairness to Lord Tywin, his plan has worked. I'm closer than ever now."

There were still tears in her eyes while she regarded me. "Which lords?" she asked, surprising me, though she answered her own question. "Velaryon, which explains the Rose. Stokeworth, of course. Darklyn, too."

I cut my eyes at Jenny, something not making sense. "Jenny, how did you know Lord Darklyn was one of the conspirators?" I asked quietly.

Jenny looked away into the darkness. "Lords are freer with their tongues than they should be in front of servants, men even more so." She looked at me, as if daring me to judge her. "Lord Thorne is a fool and a flatterer, and Lord Darklyn ambitious beyond his station." Her eyes narrowed at some memory. "A few years ago – before I joined the troupe – I worked as a servant for House Thorne. The man is a fool," she repeated. "Lord Darklyn would meet him sometimes, in the middle of night, and Lord Thorne would always have wine sent up. He never stopped talking, even with the servants in the room. It was like we weren't even there."

I put that in the back of my mind. There was something there I could use, but now was not the time. "Come on, let's get inside. We could both use some sleep."

***

I sat in my writing chair while Jenny slept fitfully in the bed. Ser Barristan had been nearly ready to dash into the Red Keep and wake every guard, every wetnurse, every child big enough to carry a torch to go find me. We had arrived back just in the nick of time to avoid that.

Arry was still nursing a head wound and I had made it clear to him that I had caught up to Jenny before she could get caught by Ser Ilyn. I had told him that I had explained to her that Tywin and I were rooting out disloyal lords, that our rivalry was just acting. The older scribe seemed to understand, especially when Jenny apologized profusely, and was amazed that I had arrived just in time to save Tywin from an assassin. It wasn't that I trusted Arry not to mention it, but rather that Arry wouldn't mention to his notoriously unforgiving boss that he had been caught red-handed by a mummer girl and then neutralized by said mummer girl. Self-preservation is a hell of an instinct.

I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I had loved her before I knew her past, and I loved her now still. There was just one problem.

Tywin Lannister.

He'd figure it out sooner or later, I suspected. It just wasn't a smart move for Velaryon, Stokeworth, or Darklyn to assassinate Tywin now, which he'd realize eventually. And my father wouldn't have used a common assassin for Tywin; a Faceless Man, something more suited to my father's coffers, would have made it look like an accident, not an assassination. Eliminate enough suspects, he'd narrow it down.

Which meant that I had to end this quickly. Keep Tywin running and he wouldn't have time to look at anyone else. Clear the field. Consolidate power. Kill the king.