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 XXIV
4; 275 AC
King's Landing

"And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest, probal to thinking and indeed the course to win the Black again? For 'tis most easy the inclining Lelia to subdue in any honest suit: she's framed as fruitful as the free elements. And then for her to win the Black–"

"Alright, Jackon, just stop there a moment," I said, standing from my chair and walking toward the stage.

"Your Grace?"

I exhaled roughly through my nose, flipping through my notes. There were eyes on me, more eyes than usual. Lord Lucerys was in attendance today, and had been in attendance for every rehearsal for the last two weeks. Every. Single. Rehearsal. My new shadow was as much a part of the troupe as the actors themselves, though he'd probably challenge me to a duel had I said as much. He was keeping tabs on the play, which threw a slight crimp into my plans to drag it out as long as I could. The silver bastard was pushy and impatient, the fervor of insulting Tywin Lannister shining in his eyes.

Jon and Arthur were there as well, surprise of all surprises. They didn't watch much of the rehearsal, focusing on myself and Lord Lucerys, strangely enough. They would whisper quietly in the private box amongst themselves where they didn't think I would notice.

Jenny, for her part, trailed me wherever I went, discreetly of course. She kept one eye on Velaryon and the other on the stage, always ready to eavesdrop when Lord Lucerys spoke to one of the other nobles that made up his entourage.

Maybe I was just being paranoid, but something was telling me that there were moves being made right here, in this playhouse. I was too valuable to Velaryon; that didn't mean he couldn't change the terms of our plan without my knowledge. But the man was far too focused, far too enraged by the mere existance of Tywin Lannister to do anything before that goal was accomplished.

Jon and Arthur, though, they worried me. I didn't think they knew about my plots with Lord Tywin and Velaryon, but I had been playing this whole thing a little too far out of my seat for comfort, stretching myself, exposing myself, reaction instead of proaction. That was the time when people made mistakes, when they let the enemy dictate their actions, leaving themselves open. I needed to start making moves of my own, but my hands were tied until we had something, anything, that could be used to discredit the conspirators.

That was the crux of it all. Our goal was to assassinate Aerys, sure enough, but we couldn't do that until we had secured King's Landing. Velaryon's men controlled the ports and the navy, Stokeworth's men controlled the City Watch, and Thorne's men controlled all the minor bureaucratic posts within the city. Killing them outright wasn't an option; a triple assassination, pulled off simultaneously? Too many moving parts, too many men to pay off who might not stay paid off, and too much to leave to someone else. This was more elegant, to ensure we controlled the city when the dust settled. Even if we killed Aerys today, I'd have to take the throne surrounded by enemies and Lord Tywin would be – rightfully so – regarded as the prime suspect. We had to cut off the heads of the snake, replace them with our own men, then proceed with the assassination.

That was our plan, Lord Tywin's and mine. I had a different, separate plan, but I couldn't put my flight to freedom into play until I held the throne and my brother was born. There shouldn't be any change to the timeline; I had kept my actions purposefully limited and any butterflies should be negated by my mother staying behind lock and key. I hadn't even met Aerys since arriving here; he should be doing the exact same thing he would have, had I never been sent here.

"Your Grace?"

I snapped my head up, realizing that everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to finish whatever note I had been giving Jackon. I shuffled the leaves of paper, looking for something to get me back on whatever track I had been on.

"Yes, right. Your line, "to win the Black," will have to be changed. It sounds too much like she's trying to join the Night's Watch. It's not your fault, Jackon," I said, looking up from my notes. "I should have seen it when I was writing it. Keep going with it for now, I'll figure out a replacement tonight." Jackon nodded and I continued. "Otto, I don't like the set for Act I. I need more contrast between the Iron Islands and the Fair Isle. Make Act I gray, all gray, and then make the Fair Isle really bright. We can reuse some of the sets from Brynden and Alysanne for that. Or maybe the Riverlands scenes from Arlan."

Otto, an older servant I had turned into a stage manager, nodded and stroked his bushy beard. "Your Grace, it will take some time to paint the sets again. They will need a full day to dry, at least."

"Do it," I said. A day here, two days there. Not much by themselves, but altogether might buy me some more time. "Jackon, I need you to play Iago as less of a fool. Not like Jonos from Crejon at all, but harder, like Alester in Knight of the Gate." Jackon had made a wonderfully pompous Polonius analog, but Iago was a bit of a stretch. Unfortunately, I had sent a large number of people with the four traveling troupes and Jackon was just about the only one of the skill and age left. "To play Iago, you can't look at the other characters as people, but merely as things to be manipulated, like pieces to be moved on a cyvasse board." Jackon was nodding, but I wasn't sure how much was getting through. "Iago is the villain, who knows he's a villain, who loves being a villain. He's good at it too; he recognizes Aeron's great weakness is his anger and uses that to get him to disgrace himself in Act II and fight when he's outnumbered in Act IV. Malthar's great flaw is his pride and Iago uses that to trick him into killing Aeron, then into killing Lelia, then into killing himself."

Even as the words left my lips, I saw the irony. Lord Lucerys' pride kept him from seeing my true allegiance, made him easily manipulated. But did that make me Iago in this story? Could I be the black-hearted villain, using people like things?

Yes, I told myself. But only for a time. Only to be free of this place.

I flipped back through my notes, looking for anything else that I could stop and fix at this point. Lord Lucerys' court made small talk in the background, Lord Celtigar and the other nobles that fawned over his every move. Monfred was there as well, ever the dainty lord's son, fanning himself.

I saw Velaryon walk toward me and I sent the actors back into their rehearsal. He had pulled me aside several times to discuss the play, being as forceful as he could and still maintain his subordinate status. He chafed at that, and I suspected that my Targaryen blood was the only thing keeping me safe from him.

I saw Jenny watching Velaryon, her sharp ears tuned toward us, to catch the conversation.

"Your Grace," he began, his face tight, "things seem to be coming together rather well. Will the play be ready in time for the tourney?"

Velaryon was holding a tourney at Driftmark in a little less than a fortnight, mostly just for the Crownland nobility. Yet the tourney would also mask the insertion of thousands of men loyal to the conspirators into King's Landing; at the end of the tourney, all lords and households would sail from Driftmark back to King's Landing and the conspirators would kill Lord Tywin that night and secure the city.

I hedged around the answer. The play could be performed in less than a week if I pushed them; indeed, Tybolt III had been perfomed with about as much preparation. "It would take at least a fortnight before I could think about putting this rabble on stage." Velaryon liked it when I insulted the actors, asshole that he was. "I know you wanted to reveal the play during the tourney, in front of all the Crownland nobility, but it simply will not be done in time."

Velaryon's mouth tightened even further, puckering like a cat's asshole. "I want the Lannister to hear of the play. We cannot afford to move back our plans any further. There will never be another opportunity to have so many of our men in the city without arousing suspicion."

I thought for a moment. I had planned for this, of course. One of the benefits of playing both sides. "The tourney begins in twelve days. Three days for the tourney, another two days by sail back to King's Landing. Seventeen days total." I pretended to hem and haw back and forth. "Seventeen days will be enough. It will be performed on the night everyone returns from the tourney," I promised the angry Nazi cunt. "Then, when our friend sends for a cup of wine to soothe his anger, it will be the last thing he ever does."

Velaryon smiled truly then, the thought of killing Lord Tywin utterly consuming him. Yes, men like Velaryon I didn't mind manipulating; the bastard had it coming.

I heard bells toll in the distance, coming from the direction of the Great Sept. Nearly in tandem, Ser Barristan came through the doors of the Rose, nodding to Ser Oswell Whent as he passed.

"Ser Barristan, is something wrong?" I asked. Those bells could only mean a small handful of things, some good, some bad.

"Not at all, Your Grace," he said, smiling. "It is your mother. She is with child."

I smiled so broadly I thought my cheeks might break. About fucking time.

Tywin VI
4; 275 AC
King's Landing

"He rapes her," Tywin said flatly. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

The Hand took no joy in seeing the Prince's face fall or harden in anger, but the young man had asked and Tywin had answered.

"He has taken to watching the executions. A thief beheaded near a month back. Your father danced in the blood, fascinated by it pooling on the ground. It excites him," he said, disgusted. "Whenever a prisoner is executed, your father is there and then he pays a visit to Maegor's Holdfast."

Rhaegar's jaw clenched and his slim hands balled into fists. That was good; the man would need that anger to keep him on this path.

Tywin recognized the haggard expression on the prince's face. He had been thrown into the political arena nearly a year ago with little preparation or experience and had managed to keep his wits about him. Tywin would have liked more time to prepare the prince before sending him against Velaryon, a man who had taken King's Landing politics in with his mother's milk. But there was simply never enough time, not with men like that. Rhaegar's exhaustion and frayed temperament were the result of that.

"We need to move on to our business," Rhaegar said, changing the subject. That was also good; he could stay focused on the objective. "You shouldn't be here any long than necessary."

Tywin nodded. They were meeting at the Rose, Velaryon's own property, hidden by the thick blanket of night. Ser Oswell slept soundly from a stiff wine served in honor of the royal conception. An extra heir would make the succession stable, while a daughter would provide an extra alliance. Many in King's Landing breathed easier and prayed for the safe pregnancy of their Queen.

"What are we going to do when all of those ships dock after the tourney and they send a poisoned cup up to you?"

Tywin thought for a moment. "If I refuse, they will become suspicious that I know about the plot. They'll suspect you, being the newest member of their conspiracy."

Rhaegar considered that. "Unless there's a way I could cast suspicion on one of them? Make it look like Thorne, for example, betrayed the conspiracy in exchange for favor with you?"

"I doubt it," Tywin said, shaking his head. "Men like Velaryon don't enter into alliances with men like Stokeworth and Thorne unless they have their absolute loyalty. There has to be something that each has over the other, to ensure their cooperation."

"I would say that fostering is the easiest way, but that would be too public – everyone would know they were allied. And I know for a fact that Monfred hasn't been spending his days at Castle Stokeworth," Rhaegar said. "He spends his days here, fawning over every young, strapping knight his father's sycophants bring around."

"There is something, I'm sure of it. We just have to find it and then present it to the king."

There was a pause in the conversation at the mention of the king. Their true target.

"We haven't talked about that in a while," Rhaegar said slowly, staring off into the pit of the playhouse. "Seems like there are so many other things to do first." His hands tightened into fists again. "I will not let him rape my mother one more fucking time."

Tywin nodded. Rhaegar's anger was good; Tywin could use it and send the boy at his father like a spear. "With your mother's pregnancy, she will be safe from that for a while; your father will not risk harming the child, not with your mother's previous miscarriages fresh in his mind."

Rhaegar nodded, but Tywin saw the anger still burning beneath the surface, seething. "I will find some way to avoid the poison, but you should use the tourney as an excuse to search Velaryon's castle. He is the leader of the conspiracy, no matter what Stokeworth and Throne think; if there is evidence, he will have it."

The prince nodded. "There is one other thing. Jon and Arthur have been acting strangely. I don't see how, but they may suspect something."

Tywin froze. They were far too deep into the plot to have it derailed by lordlings too young to understand. "Suspect something? Of what?"

Rhaegar shook his head. "I doubt they know anything about our plot against the king. Far more likely they think they've discovered something about my involvement with Velaryon. They aren't stupid, and they know me better than anyone else."

Tywin's mind raced, contemplating the possibilities. "They both live within the Red Keep. They could have spotted you one of the times you came to the Tower of the Hand." There was another question there, one Tywin was hesitant to ask. He needed the young prince and this loose end could spell disaster for them. "Would they back you?"

"Against Velaryon? Of course," he said, certain. "Of the other?" he shrugged. "Jon would, I would imagine and if you had asked a year ago I would have said the same for Arthur. But with him about to become the newest member of the Kingsguard, I'm not so sure. He takes his vows seriously." Rhaegar rose, his tiredness betraying him. "As I said, it's nearly impossible they know about that."

Tywin nodded. "Dayne will be named to the Kingsguard within the week. Your father came to that decision just days ago." Still, a member of the Kingsguard with such close ties to Rhaegar could be used to their advantage. And if the young Dayne and Connington proved to be a problem, they would be taken care of.

It would have to be handled carefully, lest to arouse the suspicion of the prince and his terrible anger. Still, what he had said was true; the only way to learn of their plot against the king would be to listen in on one of their meetings.

Jenny I
4; 276 AC
King's Landing

Jenny sat on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, heart beating hard enough to crack her breastbone. She could hardly believe what she had heard, the awful truth sending tears running down her cheeks and needles of lightning down her limbs.

Rhaegar plots to kill his father. Rhaegar plots to kill his father. Rhaegar plots to kill his father.

It played over and over in her head as she tried to deny that was what she had heard. The words formed a harmony with another thought, this one sharper and more pointed.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

It was all her fault. Rhaegar had told her to listen to Velaryon's conversations, looking for anything that might give away a secret they could use. She had taken it upon herself to listen during his meeting tonight, protecting him from the ruthless Lord Tywin. She had told herself that they may need something to use against the Hand in the future, once the Velaryon conspiracy was over. They couldn't trust the Hand, not even an inch. So she had snuck into the balcony, her light step not making a sound. And she listened.

She tried to fight it. Told herself that she had misheard. That Rhaegar must have his reasons. That it was all Lord Tywin, he was the one.

But she knew the truth. She had heard it in his voice. The anger. Rhaegar wanted his father dead.

She had asked him once, just before the first performance of Crejon. There were too many clues in the play, too many true and impossible to fake emotions in Crejon's speeches. Everyone had known that Rhaegar left the Red Keep after the King killed his dead son's wetnurse and her entire family. They had poisoned the boy, so it was said. Maybe it was even true.

But Rhaegar had denied it then, said it was only a play. And if that was a lie, what else was he lying about? Did he really intend to escape to Essos with her? Was that another lie?

Why would he plot to kill the king unless he planned to take the throne for himself? What use would he have for her once on the throne? Would she be his mistress, kept in a tower for when his noble born wife was unavailable? Would he leave her behind?

How long did he plan to stay with her?

She was no fool. She had entered into this with her eyes open. The prince falling in love with the commoner girl was only a well-side tale, told by foolish old women to even more foolish girls. But it had happened.

She had been drawn to the tall, broad shouldered youth for his handsome features; his noble brow, sharp, high cheeks, and strong jaw the refined essence of a prince. She had watched him spar endlessly with Barristan the Bold, their swords moving like those from the stories. She had watched him treat men and women, noble and smallfolk alike, with decency and respect. She had watched him pull grand stories out of the very air, his passion and prose put to parchment. She had watched the pain behind his eyes, the fire of his spirit, the warmth of his smile, all written down in a story all their own, the greatest of all stories.

She could confront him, true. But would his response be just another lie?

Rhaegar entered their bedroom, pulling his shirt over his head. The low light from the fire flickered across his body, accentuating the hard, thick muscle of his shoulders and chest. Moonlight settled around his silver head like a crown and his dark violet eyes glowed in the dimness.

She couldn't help it. A sob left her chest, unbidden through her lips. He meant so much to her, taking her away from the starving existence of the mummer's troupe, giving her a place to live and a love she had never felt before. The unconditional love of a partner, who saw her as an equal, and loved her as much as she loved him.

Rhaegar heard the sob and came to the bed, brushing her hair away from his eyes. She avoided looking at him, fearing that it would give her away, that he would know. But he knew anyway.

"Oh, Jenny," she heard him say. "What did you hear?"

She couldn't help it. The heartbreaking sadness gave way to anger and rage. "I heard enough," she said sharply, wiping her eyes. "How you plan to kill your father and take the Iron Throne." Even as she said the words she shuddered.

Rhaegar sprinted to the door, cracking it open. The muffled snores of Ser Oswell drifted into the room and Rhaegar shut the door securely before coming back to the bed. Jenny recoiled from him and she saw the pain spread across his face.

"Jenny, you have to understand, that–"

"I understand, Rhaegar! I understand that you talk of kinslaying and treason with the Hand of the King!"

He glanced over his shoulder at the door before turning back to her. "Keep your voice down," he cautioned. "It's a bit more complicated than that–"

"How long have you been plotting?"

"Jenny–"

"How long?"

He paused, searching her eyes. "With Lord Tywin? Since the opening night of Crejon. Alone?" He trailed off, thinking to himself. "Since my fifteenth name-day."

She couldn't find words to answer him, a strangled noise coming from her throat as she buried her head in her arms.

"What would you have me do, Jenny?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "He is mad, insane with–"

"And are you not?" she countered. "He is protected every moment of his life by the deadliest men in the kingdom, men that trained you! How could you even begin to understand what you're up against?"

"I know exactly what I'm up against–"

"And what of me and the others if you fail? Your father and his men will burn this place to the ground, with all of us inside it!"

"We will not fail!" he thundered. "I will not leave this kingdom, my kingdom, behind at the mercy of a blood-mad tyrant king! How could you expect me to, you who know me better than anyone else, you who I have shared my bed and my plays and my heart and my soul with?" Tears came to his eyes as he sat down again. "How could you love me if I left these innocent people to that?"

Jenny's heart broke again, this time for the man in front of her. "Rhaegar. I will love you no matter who you are. But this is madness."

Rhaegar's face turned to stone. "He rapes my mother. But only after watching a man die and dancing in his blood. Soon it will turn to burning them alive with wildfire. He has an obsession with it. He killed a wetnurse and her entire family, torturing them until they confessed to crimes they had never even thought of." He shook his head. "He is no king."

"But he is the king," she said, her voice softer now. "And Lord Tywin?"

Rhaegar laughed mirthlessly. "He's part of my plan. I help him eliminate his rivals at court, we take the throne unchallenged once my father is safely dead. A system of marriage alliances between the Great Houses ensures stability. We slip off to our little fishing village in Essos. Lord Tywin marries his daughter to my unborn brother. And everything is as it should be."

"And if the child is born a girl?"

"He won't," Rhaegar said, with a certainty she didn't know the source of.

Jenny sighed, resting her forehead on her knees. "That's your plan?"

Rhaegar nodded. "It's the only way I could leave Westeros. Lord Tywin may be many things, but he's the most able administrator in the kingdom. And with the Lannisters allied to Stark and Tully, Arryn and Baratheon, he'll rule through his daughter and my brother."

Jenny wiped the tears from her cheeks, reaching between her knees to claps his hand. "We had better make sure Velaryon doesn't kill him, then."