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 XXI
3; 275 AC
King's Landing

"This is intolerable!"

I slammed the door behind me to illustrate my point, the bewildered servants scurrying at the fury of a Targaryen prince. They were well-trained to the tantrums of the nobility; head low, eyes lower, and weather the storm as best one could. Princes were a force of nature to be endured.

The Velaryon mansion was expansive as houses in King's Landing go. White stone floors and a martial, almost spartan quality, though it still reeked of opulence; namely, the gold plating on the railings and balconies that flashed in the light of a setting sun. The entrance room was flanked by a pair of wide marble staircases on either side, sitting rooms leading to both left and right. At the top of the staircases was a balcony, linking the two landings and continuing to the wings of the home. I spotted a few servants scurrying beneath the staircases and I assumed there was a servant's entrance hidden from view. Most of the nobility that lived further away than a day's ride from the capitol maintained households in the city, a soft place to sleep and entertain after a long day of ass-kissing at court. House Stokeworth, just north of the city, and House Thorne, just south of the city, could come and go as they pleased; Velaryon, three hundred miles by sea, had to maintain a separate household to serve on the small council and ensure his rivals didn't supersede him in my father's eyes.

I waited a proper amount of time for my voice to carry throughout the mansion and yelled again. "I will see him the laughingstock of King's Landing! Of Westeros! I will have hounds mount his carcass!"

It was a masterful act; I had worked myself into a proper froth before my entrance, my false anger making my cheeks red and a nice throbbing vein appearing on my forehead. It had to be over the top, to convince Lord Velaryon I was ready to join his conspiracy.

I had talked myself into a corner with Lord Tywin; I told him Lord Velaryon had invited me to dine with him, which was abjectly false. I had told him Lord Velaryon was warming to me joining the conspiracy, which was also false. So I had to force my way in.

My target came around the corner, dressed in what appeared to be what passed for dining attire in King's Landing. He would not have looked out of place at a tourney feast.

"Your Grace, this is quite the surprise. I am at your service," he said, the calm demeanor belied by the slight tone of anger.

"Lord Velaryon, I must apologize for my intrusion," I said, properly deferential. "It's just that, that man, that bastard of a pox-ridden whore, has defied me for the last time! I will wreck a vengeance on him that his descendants will heed!"

Velaryon's eyes widened slightly. "Your Grace? Has something happened?"

I shook my head in a perfect display of distress. "You will no doubt hear of it soon. Lord Tywin has – No. It should not be repeated in polite company. I dare not give rise to rumor." I beat my chest, I tore at my clothes. "How such a man is allowed to serve my father is beyond me. The Hand of the King should have breeding and honor, not just gold to buy his position like some up-jumped wool merchant!" I lashed out at the very air. "Again, my apologies, my lord. I came to see Monfred; I have a plan for another play, one that will make every Lannister hide their faces for the next hundred years!" Another lie. I had no such play. My dwarf Tybolt III had been my best chance, and anything else would pale in comparison.

Lord Velaryon nodded in understanding. "I understand, Your Grace. Alas, Monfred is not here at the moment. I will be sure to send him around to the playhouse when he returns."

Fuck. That was a dismissal, as sure as anything. I had to keep him on the line.

"My many thanks, my lord. We will need to start on this right away – no time to lose," I said, turning around to hide my face as I tried to think. What did Velaryon want out of this? Of course. "Were there a better way to end the Lannister influence at court, a more permanent way. Something that would send him running back to his Rock, lion's tail between his legs," I said turning back to face Velaryon. "How can you stand to see him every day on the small council, knowing the Handship is yours by right and blood?"

Velaryon stopped, his face frozen. "Your Grace?"

I worried I had overplayed my hand, but I had a hunch and thought I could make it work. "The Handship, Lord Velaryon," I said earnestly. "The Conquerer's Hand was his half-brother, Orys Baratheon, the blood of Old Valyria strong in his veins; that is the precedent that should have been set. How can any but the old blood, such as Velaryon, advise the old blood?" I shook my head, as if I were mourning the tragedy of it all, while looking at Velaryon out of the corner of my eye. "After all, how many times has Velaryon married Targaryen and Targaryen married Velaryon? It is the natural order of things."

He kept his face even, but I could read him like a fucking book. I had him. That was what he wanted; the man was a goddamned Nazi, or the Westeros equivalent. Stokeworth and Darklyn wanted power; clear, naked ambition and avarice. Velaryon wanted his deserved place above the rabble.

It took a moment for Velaryon to stir, but I could see the wheels turning. For my part, I continued to act the role. "Your Grace, your knowledge of history is commendable. Perhaps you would care to return and we could discuss a solution to our problem over dinner? Perhaps... two weeks' time?"

Jack. Fucking. Pot.

I made my best surprised face. "Lord Velaryon, I would be delighted. I must say, it will be nice to discuss such matters with someone of the proper station for once." I bowed low, closed fist over my heart. "To the Old Blood!"

Velaryon smiled and copied my bow. "To the Old Blood, Your Grace."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I exited the mansion, turning quick as Ser Oswell Whent fell into step behind me. I basked in my temporary victory, cognizant of the fact that I had just fallen in with a professional conspirator and a cold-blooded sociopath who had emerged on top of an entire pile of sociopaths. Still, a victory was a victory.

I looked to the setting sun. Night would soon fall, and there was much more to plot before this night was done.

***

We rode hard, driving our mounts as fast as we dared. The kingswood was thick and dark on the best of days, this night with no moon covering our infiltration as well as any streams or ditches we might fall into. Lord Thorne's castle was thirty miles from the capitol, giving us roughly three hours to get there, an hour to do what we needed to do, and three hours to get back before anyone knew we were gone. The horses beneath us were rounseys, stolen from the same stable I had borrowed from before. Strong, hardy animals used to hard riding without the temperament and aggression of a destrier. I needed the mounts to be controllable, especially through the kingswood, where any spooked stallion could either throw me, or alert the household guards at an inopportune time.

Jenny rode behind me, dressed much the same as I had found her in the Tower of the Hand; a dark green tunic, almost black, with her golden hair tied back under a cloth of the same color. Her eyes were focused on the narrow, barely-seen trail, following me in single file.

I had been forced to look at Jenny anew, as more than just a lover and companion, but as an asset to the mission, a partner that I could count on to carry her own weight. It was a difficult transition; going from protecting her to believing she could take care of herself. Yet, if she could infiltrate the Tower of the Hand and kill six guards without any of them raising an alarm, she could do without me looking over her shoulder.

Our conversations had grown more intimate in the last few days, though I still couldn't bring myself to tell her I planned to kill the king. Kinslaying was as much a taboo among the smallfolk as the nobility, and for all her heritage, Jenny was still one of the smallfolk at heart. Instead, I had told her a partial truth; that Lord Tywin, for all his faults, was still the most able administrator in the Seven Kingdoms, and I could rest easy at our small Essosi fishing village knowing that the kingdom was in good hands.

We broke the treeline sooner than I thought we would, emerging into a clearing that housed Castle Thorne. It was on the smallish side, as far as castles go, only four towers on a slight raise that might be graciously called a hill. The town around it slept, a few torches here and there, but mostly dim. I yanked on the reins, pulling the mount to a stop, allowing it to breathe. I patted the shoulder of the lathered animal; it had brought me thirty miles in three hours, give or take. The horse was nearly exhausted.

Jenny halted beside me, pulling the reins sharply, her face outlined in the starlight. The look she gave Castle Thorne was not a pleasant one.

"The guards make their rounds twice a night. Once about two hours after sunset, and again at the hour of the wolf. We should be in between those patrols," she said, her voice low.

"If it hasn't changed in the last few years."

"If it hasn't changed in the last few years," she admitted. "Household guards don't change much; the faces do, but the new ones learn from the old ones, and everything stays the same." She checked the position of the moon, or the faint outline she could see. "How long do we have?"

I looked up at the moon as well. "Three hours to get back. Maybe an hour to find whatever we need to. Ser Oswell doesn't wake as early as Ser Barristan, but he doesn't sleep in either." Ser Barristan was taking his turn guarding my mother in Maegor's, leaving Ser Oswell Whent to shadow me around town. Ser Oswell was a good man, but also younger and less strict than Ser Barristan and more likely to give me a little more free reign; though, we had still needed to wait for him to go to sleep before sneaking out of the Rose.

"We can leave the horses here," I said, climbing down off my steed.

"Are you sure? It could make a quick escape harder."

I looked to the castle. It was a good quarter mile to the town, and another quarter mile to the wall, but two on foot were a lot less noticeable than two on horseback. "Yes. If we get separated, go to the solar and take whatever you can and get back here. I'll meet you back here as soon as I can," I said, tying the bridle to a tree. We were after evidence that Darklyn controlled Thorne; any letter or message or communication between the two that spoke to a much deeper relationship. Velaryon and Stokeworth, I wasn't as worried about; but if, or when, we came down on Velaryon, Stokeworth, and Thorne, it wouldn't do to leave Darklyn still free and plotting.

I could feel her eyes on me. "My love, I know you're good with a blade, but..." Jenny said, her voice trailing off.

"But what?"

She waited until I turned around. "Don't hesitate," was all she would say before making her way down the hill and toward the town and castle, adjusting the pack on her back. I adjusted my own and followed.

Once we reached the outskirts of the town, we slowed to a brisk walk. Jenny moved lightly, gracefully, a controlled glide that reminded me of the way we would train for urban environments. Knees bent, center of gravity low, constantly moving. The only sound of the town was a few dogs and other domesticated animals, accompanied by the occasional snore when we ventured too close to one of the homes. Town might've been a misnomer; village was closer, truer to the wealth of House Thorne than the city around the Dun Fort, or the island metropolises of Driftmark and Dragonstone. The single-room houses were mostly wood, with thatched roofs of straw and the odd pane of glass in a window. Packed, brown earth made up what passed for streets and torches hung haphazardly from random house walls. There was no method to the layout, forcing us to weave in and out instead of a straight line.

We reached the wall quickly and I took position at the bottom, hands interlaced, while Jenny took two running steps and jumped. I pushed up hard and she vaulted easily over the eight foot stone wall. I jumped after her, pulling myself up and over.

Inside the wall was a world of difference than the village outside. The ground was cobblestone and the torches were spaced out evenly, ensuring that nothing was left to darkness.

I looked around quickly, seeing none of the household guards. We had specifically chosen this side of the castle to enter, since it was the opposite side of the main gate, which was much more closely guarded.

Jenny took off toward the castle wall, her back tight against the stone. I followed, letting her lead the way. During my earlier trip here for the hunt and feast, I had come in through the main gate, through the richer part of the village and the barbican of the actual castle. Jenny knew of an alternate entrance, used by servants, the trade-off being that it would lead us through more of the castle, which meant more chances for us to be discovered. Yet we had chosen the time of our infiltration well; most of the servants were fast asleep, and most of the guards.

I took a strip of cloth and tied my hair back into a ponytail, pulling my cloak up and over my head. If Jenny were seen, she might not get remembered too closely, but my silver hair would be a beacon should anyone even catch a glimpse.

Jenny's path would take us across the courtyard, through the grand hall where I had nearly killed Ser Alliser, up a back stairwell to Lord Thorne's solar. The solar was located just three rooms away from the master bedchamber, which gave me pause; should Lord Thorne, or anyone for that matter, need the privy in the middle of the night, we would be discovered.

We made it without being seen; indeed, there had only been two guards, both in the courtyard, the entire way to the solar, and we had been able to sneak past them with ease. No one was expecting an infiltration this deep in the heart of the kingdom, not of a minor lord in the crownlands. That was why Lord Thorne's outer wall was only eight feet, why his guards slept the majority of their watches away.

The solar was a medium sized room, filled with fine, heavy wooden furniture with a balcony leading to the outside. I reached into my pack and removed two long wax candles, lighting them from one of the torches, before dousing the torches. We were plunged into near darkness, the only light the glow of the candles and the starlight from the balcony. I handed on to Jenny and she went to work, searching through the first of three desks. I went to the balcony and tied an end of the rope around the railing, throwing the rest over the edge. Just in case.

"Here," she said, pulling a cabinet open on the first desk, revealing thin scraps of parchment, "raven messages."

I scanned them quickly, the flowing script making it hard to read more than the occasional word. Lords Blount, Hogg, Rykker, Kettleblack – all but Darklyn. "Damn," I muttered. "I was sure he'd have something."

Jenny shook her head. "I knew Thorne was a fool, but I didn't believe him to be so big a fool as not keeping some evidence."

I shook my head. "Maybe he has, but he wouldn't keep it with the rest of his communications. These are all old – praise and compliments for his feasts. This one has to be two years old," I said, pointing to the one from House Kettleblack. "Memories to stroke his ego."

"There are two more desks to search, love. Take that one," she said, pointing. "I'll take this one."

I carefully placed the messages back where Jenny had found them and walked lightly across the room. I kept an ear tuned to the door and the hallway outside, making sure no one happened by. More drawers and more cabinets; one held a stack of fine parchment, for official letters, while the other held the smaller scraps that would be attached to ravens. Pens, ink, sand to blot the letters. Everything you would need for writing.

I finished my desk and turned to Jenny, holding the candle up so as to see her face. "Nothing. Did you find anything?" She shook her head.

Damn. A waste of a trip and nothing to show for it.

I looked at the desks themselves, feeling around for any hidden grooves. "Did you ever notice a hidden compartment or anything?"

Jenny furrowed her brow. "Not that I can remember. I–"

"Thieves!"

I jumped around in shock, nearly dropping my candle. Ser Alliser stood in the doorway in his smallclothes, taper in hand and yelling his head off for the guards.

I threw my candle down and knocked Jenny's from her hand, sending the room into complete darkness. If Ser Alliser saw my face, or even thought he saw my face, it would be enough to derail any plan at joining Velaryon; if rumors abounded that I was skulking around in the night, and not being the petulant playwright Velaryon thought me to be, it would arouse his suspicions.

Ser Alliser turned and grabbed a torch from the hallway wall, kicking the door open even as I heard more footsteps pounding on stone. I grabbed a leaden paperweight from the desk and hurled it at Ser Alliser, taking him in the chest. I closed the distance between us while he was distracted, kicking his legs out from under him and throwing his torch back toward the door. Dropping a knee into his chest, I aimed two sharp punches to where I thought his head should be, keeping him down long enough for us to make good our escape.

Jenny ran toward the balcony, vaulting the railing in a flying leap and sliding down the rope to the courtyard below. I slid down after, the rope burning my hands for the twenty feet to the hard stone.

I could hear guards being roused and hard footsteps coming from all sides. Jenny turned and yelled, "The stables!" before taking off to the distant corner of the courtyard. I followed as fast as I could run, one hand keeping the hood of my cloak over my head. Roughly two dozen horses were stabled at the northeast corner of the castle and Jenny leapt onto the back of one even as arrows sprouted from the wooden beams and roof of the stables. I swung myself up on the back of another and jammed by heels into the animal's side, pointing it directly towards the barbican. The yells had alerted the pair of guards on duty there, and they leveled their crossbows at us as we passed under them.

We made it through the gate, wheeling wide right to miss the winding roads and dirt streets of the surrounding town. We had exited on the opposite side of the castle from our saddled mounts; fear told me to keep riding, forget the other horses, but there was little chance of us staying mounted without saddles, knowing the fast pace and sharp turns we'd have to make in the kingswood. Plus, once those mounts were found, their markings and brands might lead an intelligent guard back to a certain stable not far from my current lodgings.

I chanced a look at Jenny, a wry smile across her face. "Would certainly be nice if the horses were closer!" she yelled against the wind. I could only laugh, riding the adrenaline high.

The ground flashed beneath us as we came out of the town, crossing the quarter mile in less than a minute back to the treeline, where we had left our stolen horses. I half-jumped, half-fell off the back of the saddle-less horse, losing balance and rolling to a stop at the tree line. Jenny was much more graceful in her dismount, but even she fell in her hurry to get to our mounts. We scrambled into our saddles, taking the bridles in hand and launching our mounts into the kingswood.

"Come on!" I yelled, "We can lose them in the forest!"

The narrow trail became an obstacle course at the breakneck speeds we were moving. The horses leapt over streams, ducked under branches, and rode for broke in the rare straightaway, moving so fast that I could only trust the horse's self-preservation instincts. I could hear the yells behind me, the bark of the hounds, see the torches of the horsemen as they tried to follow. We drove deeper into the kingswood until the trail was nothing more than a suggestion, coming across a large, shallow stream and fording it quickly.

Jenny turned to me as she reached the far bank. "The water will slow the hounds," she hissed. "We need to move fast! Which way?"

I spun my mount, searching in vain for the moon through the dark canopy. I caught the glimmer of something I hoped was the moon and estimated northwest, back toward King's Landing. "This way," I whispered, pointing.

***

We arrived back at the city just before daybreak, the darkness of night giving way to the first torches lit around the city, early risers getting ready for another day. The horses were returned to the stable and we made our way back to the Rose. I stopped by Arry's room, seeing the light underneath the door, telling him that I was not to be disturbed until at least noon.

Moments later, I collapsed into my bed, Jenny already asleep beside me, still fully dressed. Try as I might, I couldn't fall asleep immediately, the failure of the night weighing on me. If we couldn't find proof with Thorne, what could find with Velaryon and the rest? Furthermore, what would constitute proof? It wasn't like I could wear a wire, or take a photograph of their plotting. Short of catching them in the act, there seemed to be little in the way of evidence for me to find.

Sleep eventually found me, though it was fitful and not at all restful.