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 XXVII
6; 275 AC
King's Landing

"Malthar is of a free and open nature/That thinks men honest that but seem to be so/And will as tenderly be led by the nose/As asses are."

The crowd booed and hissed as Joss – the actor playing Iago – made his way through his monologue. He was playing the role well, all things considered; I had changed the role at the last minute, from a bastard Lannister/Hill to a nondescript Westerman, just so I wouldn't run the risk of The Rose suspiciously burning down around my ears. The change was good, taking the focus of the story off Iago and back to Malthar and his stormy relationship with Lelia Goodbrother. Before, when Lucerys Velaryon had been present at every rehearsal, the play might as well have been called Iago, since that character had been a disgraced son of a Lannister, meant to antagonize Lord Tywin. Now that Velaryon was well on his way to the Wall, the part could revert back to merely being a villain.

I grimaced a bit at the stage. The gray and drab scenery, meant to evoke the image most Crownlanders had of the Iron Islands, didn't sit well with me. The sets had been painted twice, buying me more days at a time when I desperately needed them to put Velaryon off his plot, but that had come back to bite me in the ass as far as the play was concerned. It just seemed… boring. There was little color, even in the costumes. The preparation, already hurried and rushed under Velaryon's watchful eye, had not gained anything from an extra two weeks of rehearsal time. I had wanted things in King's Landing to get back to normal as soon as possible, after the reveal of the Crown Conspiracy, as people were calling it, and the trial of three influential and powerful lords.

The trial had been a simple affair. There was testimony from Lord Tywin, of course, as well as Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell, Lords Staunton, Chelsted, and Cressey. My testimony hadn't been needed, according to Lord Tywin. The official story was that as the object of Velaryon's threat, there was little more I could offer to the trial. However, I suspected Lord Tywin wanted to mitigate my involvement with him in front of the rest of the Crownlander nobility. No need to publicly announcement our alliance, especially when a strident anti-Tywin faction still existed.

It was a weak narrative, but it served its purpose. Which was more than could be said for Malthar.

The main trouble, though, was that it just wasn't that good of a play, especially compared to my others. Crejon and Brynden & Alysanne were still the most popular and well-received of the plays, though everyone seemed to enjoy the others. Malthar, on the other hand, was lacking in the sort of grounding context that made Shakespeare universal. Othello, the play it was based on, was certainly a masterpiece, of course, not only containing some of the most intense and emotionally charged lines in Shakespeare, but also quite possibly the best villain in Iago. As a Westerosi adaptation, however, it fell a little flat. Malthar, my Summer Islander stand-in for Othello, simply wouldn't face the same kind of racism and suspicion that the Moorish Othello did in Shakespearean England. Culturally, there just wasn't the same kind of engrained racism or religious intolerance in the Iron Islands. Which left many in the audience a bit confused as to why Iago, or Vickon Goodbrother – Brabantio in Shakespeare's version – were making such a fuss about Lelia marrying the ship's captain Malthar.

I hoped the later scenes would make up for the confusion in the beginning. Once they got past the opening, maybe, hopefully, the parts that were still recognizable as Shakespeare would work their magic and keep the audience entertained.

I should have cast Malthar as a Dornishman, I realized; that would have solved at least some of the racism problem. I decided then and there to have my next adaption stick closer to the source material. Fiddling around with Shakespeare too much was not only literary heresy, but I also ran the risk of – gasp – producing a bad play. Intellectually, I knew it was bound to happen, but I was still treading on thin ice as far as support was concerned. The smallfolk loved me well enough, because I kept them entertained and well-watered, but their favor was fickle, always loyal to the most recent indulgence. The merchants were mostly a band of self-serving bastards, but they made a point to attend the playhouse; indeed, it had become a networking center for them to discuss their trades and the future of the markets. There was a surprisingly advanced market system in Westeros, bordering on the merchant fleets of Venice than the medieval trade scheme I'd assumed I would find.

My biggest problem was with the Crownlander nobility. With Velaryon, Stokeworth, and Thorne gone and their houses and lands in the hands of a foppish boy, a bitter wife, and a vengeful son, respectively, there was a vacuum of power at court. Many jockeyed for this position, some even offering their discreet loyalty to me, in light of the counterplot I had run against Velaryon, but not yet enough to risk taking King's Landing. This was a land that respected cunning and intricacy, and my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants operating style was being confused for Machiavellian foresight.

I had a feeling Darklyn would be more than willing to fill in the gap at court, but with his Essosi wife, there were many in the Crownlands that didn't trust him, or her.

I could have made Malthar Essosi, maybe, I thought to myself. Qartheen? There were just so many references to his skin color that he had to be dark-skinned.

I heard the door open to my private box and the sharp smell of spiced wine broke into the room. Jenny came in, carrying two cups, both the stout clay mugs sold to the lower pit. The first and second tiers drank their wine from goblets, but they were ornate and too unwieldly to drink from for my taste.

"What's the news from the pit?" I asked, taking a sip of the imported Arbor. It would give me heartburn later on tonight, but it just tasted so good, I couldn't help myself.

She inclined her head a bit. "They're not too sure about it yet. They have enough faith in you to stay and watch, but this won't be one of your best plays." She leaned back against my arm, pulling my hand down over her shoulder. "Why don't you make your next one happier?" she asked, almost innocently.

"Happier?"

"Yes," she gently teased. "The plot is almost over. The immediate danger is past. You could afford to write something that will make people laugh instead of cry. No need to be brooding all the time."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking about that. She was mostly right. With Velaryon out of the way, it was only a matter of time before I held enough power and influence with the court to be assured of a safe transition of the capitol after the King's death. It would be another six months before Viserys was born, my mother's pregnancy – by all accounts – progressing well. Perhaps I could afford to relax a bit, enjoy my time writing plays and seeing them performed.

She stood rather abruptly and draped herself over my lap, intertwining her fingers around the back of my neck. "Write me a happy play, Rhaegar," she said, kissing me deeply.

Through the very enjoyable kiss, I heard Ser Barristan's sharp knock on the door. Real life always intruding when I least wanted it.

"The Hand is here to see you, Your Grace."

I broke the kiss off and looked at Jenny. Lord Tywin may have known about Jenny being my mistress, but he still hadn't put it together that she had almost killed him in the Tower of the Hand four months earlier. And I'd bet the entire continent of Westeros that he hadn't stopped looking.

Jenny saw my face and immediately shook her head. "I'll be fine. Just greet him normally," she said, getting up and moving to the other side of the box, collecting the wine cups as she went. She nodded when she was ready.

"Send him in, Ser Barristan," I said with more confidence than I felt.

The door opened and Lord Tywin stepped through, clad in his traditional red and gold. I fought to keep from looking at Jenny; I didn't want to draw his attention to her any more than necessary.

Jenny was bent over one of the chairs, brushing off imaginary dust with her hand, her face turned away from the Hand. Lord Tywin nodded at my greeting and entered the room, walking towards me. Jenny waited until just the perfect moment before turning away, keeping her face away from Lord Tywin the entire time, and making her way out the door. Just another servant cleaning up after her lord. It was all very graceful and had I not been looking, I never would have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

I breathed an internal sigh of relief, inclining my head slightly towards the Hand.

"Lord Tywin. What can I do for you?"

Tywin X
6; 275 AC
King's Landing

"Your Grace," Tywin said formally, waiting for Ser Barristan to close the door to the private box. This chamber, for lack of a better word, was noticeably smaller than its counterpart at the Globe had been. It made Tywin leery, having others so close that they might overhear. But with the mummers on stage and the dull hum from the pit, their voices shouldn't carry far. Still, Tywin would speak in low tones and avoid anything incriminating, lest their plan fall before it was put into action.

Prince Rhaegar took his seat, gesturing to the one beside it. "How is the fallout from the trial?" he asked, leaning back into the reclined chair.

"We've received ravens from Castle Black and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Velaryon and his retinue of ships has been settled in at Eastwatch. They thank the Crown for the addition to their navy. Stokeworth and Thorne are at Castle Black. And all is as it should be."

Rhaegar nodded, mulling the news over slowly. "Is it safe, do you think, to have Stokeworth and Thorne together like that?"

"Were it Velaryon and one of the others, I would agree. In any case, the decision is now Lord Commander Corbray's, not ours," Tywin said, watching the mummers give their lines beneath them. The setting had changed to the Fair Isle, while the villain Iago still plotted.

Rhaegar seemed mollified at that, turning his attention back to the stage. "And how has the court reacted to our alliance?"

That was a difficult question to answer, as any Crownlander noble could carry two, or even three, conflicting thoughts in his head at the same time, trading lies for more lies like a moneychanger. "The general consensus is that we pooled our resources temporarily to clear the board. The burning of the Globe is still fresh in their minds, which should prevent any from realizing how closely allied we are."

"And so I emerge as a player at court willing to ally with an enemy to defeat another enemy?"

"Yes. If there is anything the Crownlander can respect, it is practicality and pragmatism. This is a land of shifting loyalties, Your Grace. No alliance lasts long here."

Rhaegar took that in stride. "I've noticed. I plan to announce a new play within the month. The construction of the Globe should be done by then, and I will open a new play there. I'd like to invite the entire court; a sort of private performance for them. I hope to feel some of them out, see where I stand and how much support I can count on."

Tywin nodded. "I came here to suggest the very same, Your Grace."

Rhaegar took another sip from his cup of wine. "Have you found someone to replace Velaryon on the small council?"

Tywin paused, the memory of his arguments with the king on that subject a burr beneath his saddle. "Not yet. I suggested my cousin, Ser Lyonel Lannister. He has commanded the Lannisport navy for almost ten years."

"And you would have another voice on the small council you control," Rhaegar said wryly.

"Yes," Tywin said simply. "The King refused, of course. I think he finds our alliance, temporary or not, to be of some concern. He grows more paranoid by the day." The Hand shook his head. "He countered with Lord Redwyne."

"A Reacher lord guaranteed to oppose you and too rich to buy off," the prince said.

"Quite," Tywin said. He had not expected to face such resistance to his nomination. The King was certainly more paranoid, since Tywin had so expertly removed three major rivals from the court, engaging the heir in the process as well.

Rhaegar looked thoughtful for a moment. "What about Celtigar?"

"The spineless crab?"

"Of course. He's a Crownlander, so the King should approve. He's a coward, so he shouldn't be hard to bully. And you have the added bonus of his affiliation with Velaryon. They built this playhouse together, which means I control his purse strings. The Celtigars are rich; Lord Crispian's brother, Ser Ardrian, serves as castellan and manages the treasures within Claw Isle, but they are coin poor. And as greedy as the Celtigars are, they need the income from this place," he said, gesturing to the Rose.

Tywin thought on that for a moment, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "It might be a viable option," he said finally. "The King will see in Celtigar an ally. I won't be able to suggest him; the King will have to believe he thought of it himself."

"Can you lead him to it?"

Tywin nodded. "I have before. I'll have the kitchens serve crab tonight. Perhaps that might spark the thought in the King's head."

Rhaegar nodded, somewhat pleased with himself, and a silence fell upon the box for a moment. From below, Iago spoke, as much to the audience as to Malthar. "Men should be what they seem/ or those that be not, would they might seem none!"

Tywin stirred. "Why does your villain plot against his captain?"

Rhaegar seemed surprised by the question, considering it before answering. "I confess, I don't know myself. A villain's motivations are always complicated, for a villain never sees himself as a villain." He sipped his wine again. "I think part of it is his jealousy at Aeron Greyjoy's promotion over him. A previously loyal lieutenant passed over for someone much younger, much more inexperienced. But a part of it is certainly the rumors surrounding Malthar and Iago's wife, Yara." Rhaegar leaned forward, considering the mummer on stage. "But then sometimes I think that Iago simply wants chaos for the sake of chaos."

"To what end?"

Rhaegar's eyes lost their focus, wandering to who knew where. "Chaos is a strange thing. It creates opportunities where none were before. It enables those without power to gain it, more than they could have on their own. Chaos means all the rules go out the window and new rules are made."

Tywin thought on that for a moment. Velaryon had plotted for jealousy and ambition, and Tywin himself plotted for revenge over rumor. If such real-life events were dictating Rhaegar's villain, then who did the chaotic facet represent? Rhaegar himself?

Did Rhaegar mean to seize control and reshape Westeros? His father had been full of the same ideas, believing himself to be the greatest king since the Conqueror. Was Rhaegar full of the same madness and ambition? Twenty years from now, would Tywin be plotting with another Targaryen to remove Rhaegar, the First of his Name, from the throne?