Chapter Text
Prologue, the two bastards,
Daenaera,
“You are thoughtful, my love” his voice was ever sweet and soft, just like the caress he bestowed upon her arm as he passed by.
His stride was tentative, almost limping, and his back was half hunched.
She turned her mismatched eyes on him and saw the tiredness and the gray circles beneath his purple eyes, “how is your back?”, she asked.
“I am fine” he promised her, holding her chin gently between his fingers.
He was so young. At times she forgot.
He was now the age she had been when they had met.
There was much of his mother in his demeanor, she found. The woman was gentle but fierce, a silent force to be renocked with; at first Daenaera had wondered if she would manage to wrestle her son away from her, and then she had been certain she would… though when she had died Aegon had flown to her just as soon as the mourning period was over.
His father had not been particularly pleased with his choice of paramour, yet he had not been as openly hostile as queen Elia had been.
Now, years after that Daenaera still wondered what she was doing, serving a king — her king — unable to give him children and yet remaining to his side, permanently ruining his only chance at a true born heir.
It was not that she mistimed the king’s wife, she had been kind even when she could have been cruel.
Yes, she demanded her removal from court, not loudly but steadily; and the king’ own brother and had done all to ensure that her wishes were met, Daenaera herself had attempted to leave.
She would not be the reason why Aegon’a crown would fall. He might have been a boy when he met her, but she genuinely loved him.
Aegon did not fly. It was nightmare for his back, and every time he did the Maesters had to bind his back in hope it did not break… in hope that the damage was not too big to be resolved.
Yet, he had flown to get her back.
Daenaera was tired. She loved him, but she could not keep seeing him destroy himself and his crown because of her.
“If I cannot have you” Aegon had told her once, “what use am I to the Realm? What use am I to my crown?”
And Daenaera had understood. Aegon would not let her go, simply because he couldn’t. Their love was not something he could go without.
She could, but for her it was different. She had her children and she was a woman.
Women went without their partner’s love for as long as the world had been built. Daenaera was no exception.
All my hopes, he had told her, resides in you and the fruit of your womb.
She hated it. She envied other women for their empty womb, their barren bosom. At least they could have some peace and some quiet.
Yet Aegon needed heirs, and his wife had been unable to provide him with one.
She had been as well, but at the very least she had fallen pregnant, though each pregnancy had been more taxing than the other and never had they come to term.
She was just a woman and the fate of an entire bloodline, a royal bloodline, resided in her hands, upon her shoulders.
She hated it.
“You are very beautiful tonight” he offered, bending down to press a kiss atop her cheek.
Daenaera might even have left him to his wife, — she would have shouldered the solitude with the solace she knew him cared for and his needs taken care of — the woman had not been loyal. She had sat upon her throne with her holier than thou attitude and had clamored every time Aegon had gotten her pregnant, as if it was her fault.
It was she who could not fall pregnant despite the promise of her mother’s great fertility.
“Thank you, my king” she murmured as he pressed a kiss atop her lips “it seems like your throne is giving you grief today” she offered.
He sighed “my wife and my brother are giving me grief,” he replied instead “I knew,” he said “I really did. Still I did not expect him to actually move for it”
She had never truly understood the dynamic between the king her lover and his half brother. Both Aegon and Rhaenys called him brother — yet they did not treat him as such and most especially he did not act as such.
Jonnel Sand was an arrogant, cruel and presumptuous man.
He was abrasive in the way he talked and too self confident in the way he acted.
He acted as if the whole world was his to rule, and he wasn’t even king.
He looked down upon her bastards, when he himself was a bastard. A great one perhaps — as his mother was noble and highborn — but a bastard all the same.
He had garnered the protection his mother’s name granted him, and he had believed that that entitled him to anything.
He was entitled to nothing. That was the nature of bastardom.
Yet he, his mother and his cousin the king’s wife, all acted as if they were holier than any one else.
She hated it.
She might be lowborn, and her children bastards, but she knew precisely whom she was, and whom her children were.
They would entertain no notions of ruler ship over trueborns. They would be given lands — Aegon had promised — and would be given titles.
Aegon slipped in the chair next to her, “we spoke of it. Imagined he could. I think neither of us actually believed he would”
Rhaenys did, she wanted to remind him, but she did not. It would be no use.
Daenaera could not say much, but this she could say. Aegon was Elia’s child. It was clear to see, and he would always carry that inherent gentleness from his mother.
Rhaenys and Jonnel. They were another story.
The great princess was as strong and as audacious as her forefathers, and she was Fire and Blood through and through.
Jonnel was half a beast, half a bastard; and had the hunger for it.
Both he and Rhaenys had the hunger for it, and they had the meanest streak Daenaera had ever seen.
They would tear each other apart and Aegon would be caught in the middle.
Aegon leaned over, grimaced when his back gave him grief, and then folded on the table just underneath her hands, looking up at her with his purple eyes.
Innocent eyes. Guiltless eyes.
She wondered if things would have been different if she had been noble born, or even rich enough to offer something to the crown. Perhaps he could have given her children and legitimised them, and no one would have blinked, because they were the product of love and passion.
At times he looked at her and all she saw was Queen Elia, and it made her unbelievably sad.
“The truth will be revealed,” she promised him, carding a hand through his silver gold hair, “this stain upon your name cleaned, and everything shall be as promised”
Aegon tugged her hand closer and rested it to cup his face, as a child he leaned close into her palm and kissed her wrist, “Father used to say that,” he recalled “my mother believed it. That I was the prince who was promised to bring the dawn”
He blinked and as oft as he spoke about his mother there were tears in his eyes, “that mine was the song of ice and fire. Whatever that meant” he said.
Daenaera pressed a kiss atop his lips “He never elaborated?”, she asked.
“Something about uniting the Realms of men against the Enemy” he said, curling like a cat across her lap, bringing the chair closer with a grip on the floor that almost had him tumble down, though it did not deter him, “I wonder if he was talking about Jon”
“But then” he said “he would not have favored Jon so.”
His brother’s betrayal stung deep, she knew, even if they had not been close. He was too naive to even think about such disloyalty upon his own blood and family.
Yet disloyalty could only come from those close to us. And it hurt even deeper knowing that somehow Rhaegar had always preferred Jonnel to him. Even Rhaenys.
Aegon, the king had said once, was more fit to be a lord or a Maester, or an advisor. He did not have what it took to rule.
Queen Elia had been livid, and she had unleashed all her considerable forces and strengths to ensure that no one questioned Aegon no more.
In the end, it seemed, it had served nothing.
But it had been Queen Elia whom had suggested that he might take a northern bride, a Stark most likely. This way the Starks would be bound to his rule.
But she had died before she could see it pass, perhaps… had she been alive Aegon would have spent more nights with his wife and perhaps he would have sired a child off her.
And none of this would have happened.
“His calumnies will be answered with” she said “your innocence will be proved and his cruelty and evilness as well. You will be reinstated in full glory”
Aegon sighed.
“The Maesters said he brought proof” he said.
Daenaera blinked “who’s the idiot who sends men after his brother with his own blade and name?”, she asked “what proof could he ever had?”
“Sansa was poisoned,” Aegon reminded her gently.
A slight oversight on her part.
She hadn’t meant to. Truly. But what Jonnel had done… what he had caused… she had wanted revenge.
Her belly had already returned flat and empty; a child, a child she had nestled in secret for two moons and he, in his brass and hateful way he had caused her the loss.
A small, sluggish part of her — a part she had long since learned to silence — wondered if it had truly been his fault, or if it would have come to pass anyway. She had lost five pregnancies by Aegon so far, and only three she had shared with him the news.
Perhaps, this would have happened anyway, but at the moment she had been overtaken with grief and rage, and she had acted out in the only way she knew how.
To hurt him she had hurt her.
It had been easy to purchase the right kind of poison, and it had been ever easier to slip it to her undetected. The northern bride was not as well loved as many claimed — the people distrusted her for her religion and blamed her for the burning of the Sparrowhouse.
She hadn’t expected that it would be detected and used against them.
She had not been thinking clearly but had she known she would have stopped.
She would take the fall for it, but then her children whom had known only softness would be left alone in the world, left at the mercy of the woman who hated her and the man who was ready to do anything for her.
She could not afford that.
Aegon understood. She wished he didn’t, but he did, and that made him better than any other man on the face of this earth.
Daenaera would protect him, at all costs.
Yet, all the hopes of the Iron throne could not rely on her shoulders. I am just a woman.
Sir Barristan Selmy had been put in her retinue as her sworn shield.
Daenaera hated the lack of privacy that provided, but loved what it showed to the world.
Sir Barristan had been the uncrowned queen’s sworn shield, sent by the king to escort her all the way from the North and left in her retinue to protect her.
Daenaera had never had a retinue before.
She spent her night’s in the king’s chambers and Aegon had told her to make it her new home.
Rhaenys was displeased.
Daenaera could see it in her eyes.
Aegon sighed, “Is there a reason why you felt you could interrupt my fast, sister?”, he asked, clearly annoyed with his sister the great princess, “It was you who but sent me to my apartments last night when I wished to speak further on your inquiry”
“You were hurting” Princess Rhaenys seethed.
Aegon shrugged “I am not hurting anymore” he said “is there some reason why you are here?”
Prince Rhaenys all but snarled, in the same striking expression Jonnel Sand had made when he had trapped her.
Daenaera almost wanted to slap her for it.
She produced a scroll from her sleeve and then threw it on the table, “this happened, you utter moron”
Aegon finished munching on his bite of food, then he cleaned his hands and grabbed the scroll with a calm and steadiness that made hives raise on her arms.
If Rhaenys was unnerved by whatever the scroll contained, she would want to read it immediately, instead Aegon took his sweet time, some to just annoy his sister she was sure, but also to posture.
Any posture he had crumbled the moment he read the contents of the parchment.
“He lies” he stated at last, unable to — clearly — conceive reality upon the text he had just read “he must be lying”
“Must he?” Rhaenys questioned, “we both know Rhaegar would”
“He couldn’t” Aegon said in disbelief “he could not. Mother would have made sure”
“Read the date” Rhaenys stressed, leaning with her hands on the table and her dark eyes fixed upon her brother, “Mother was already dead,” she said.
“Father would not have dishonored Mother so,” Aegon replied, as if it pained him physically to even conceive, “he would not”
“Would he not?”, Rhaenys questioned “for his precious Jon?”, she said her tone acrid and petulant “I still remember how displeased he was Jon did not claim a dragon.”
“Yes, in him” Aegon reasoned.
Daenaera had to admit that, when it came to Jonnel, Aegon could be singleminded. He believed him to be the root of all problems, yet he also could not envision the people who were meant to love him, love him less because of Jon thought it was apparently and tangibly true.
“No. In us for tricking him out of his… chance” she corrected “Aegon we are too old to lie to ourselves, just like Mother was”
“Mother did not lie to herself” he slammed one hand upon the table “you were always so full of yourself, convinced you knew best than she did” he claimed “Mother knew, don’t you think she knew just how bad Father had it? Yet it would be mad to…to even think…”
His hands were trembling “this… it’s my Gods given birthright” he hissed between chattering teeth, Daenaera did not know nearly enough but she knew him enough to know this was distressing him beyond proper.
“Mother just accepted Lyanna Stark in her court!”, Rhaenys screamed, the tears of a child forming in her eyes “if my husband had the insane idea to father a bastard off another woman and demanded I accept him and her in Driftmark or Gods help me Dragonstone, I would raise hell!”, she screamed “for my child”
An abandoned child — even if the slight was only perceived — would carry that wound into adulthood and to their very grave, Daenaera realised watching the two children of Queen Elia Martell yet torn apart by their distorted memory of their Mother — her abidance and her naivete — to the point, she wondered, did they truly remember who their mother was?
The woman whom had been the only one able to stop Aegon from seeing her, the only one whom stood between Rhaegar Targaryen — who had torn the Realm apart and caused thousand of dead — and what he wanted.
The only one Rhaegar Targaryen considered his equal, as shown clearly by the misalignment on how he treated his wife and his mistresses.
Even though Rhaegar had clearly favored his mistress, the lady Lyanna, and had loved her — she was sure —, he had respected Elia in a way only a man who had been forced to submit could. He abhorred Cersei but kept her close for the revenge boost it gave him.
Rhaegar Targaryen was a complicated man and perhaps Aegon was too easy to understand the depths of that… not in the way Rhaenys and Elia did.
“Is there any point in debating your Mother’s role in it?”, she found herself unable to not question, garnering the flashing, furious gaze of both siblings, yet she did not let that deter her “or hells, even your Father’s? They are both dead. You two and your brother are not” she said.
They looked at her as if she had sprouted a new head, “And whilst you are here debating the why and the when and how, he is out there, making this… whatever this is, worth of notice. Owing this.”, she snapped “at times I wonder if you highborn shouldn’t be taught practicality more than theory. Because he knows pragmatism. He owns it”
She rolled back the parchment and placed it neatly on the table “whatever this is, it’s bad for your claim. A lesson on practicality. Act now, debate later.”
Aegon all but threw his head back to laugh, then gestured widely toward her with his hand at his flabbergasted sister.
“I fear, sister dearest, that this is exactly the kind of thinking we need if we want to defeat him,” he said “at his own game” then he leaned forward and press a kiss atop her lips, a chaste one but Daenaera could see that it had Rhaenys blister.
“If you had the same kind of audacity with Sansa Stark” she hissed through clipped teeth “we would not be here”
Aegon shrugged “She was his long before I set eyes on her. We both know that” he said “it is why you and I both took such a great pleasure in flaunting that we were legally bound to her whilst he wasn’t. We knew he wanted her.”
“She would have abided” Rhaenys protested “if you had shown her a sliver of this” she accused.
Aegon looked at her sideways, purple eyes alight with love, then faced his sister head on “No. Some kind of loves cannot be stopped. They can be obstacled, for a while. Some loves are inevitable. Maybe she would have his child passed off as mine, and as soon as it was a boy she would have dispatched of me and with him at her side they would have ruled, and their son inherited. After all, perhaps… this way is better”
And when Rhaenys made to protest he raised a hand “We know of it. Mother knew of it, Father knew of it. Lyanna knew of it.”, he said “you and I know it” he added gesturing to the seal of House Velaryon glistening on her ring-finger and then taking her hand and squeezing it gently.
Daenaera almost wanted to shrink, instead she forced herself to jut her chin up.
She envied other women, who had peace and wished she and Aegon could have peace, but before that… there were people that needed to be put to rest.
Two bastards, Jonnel,
Riverrun had become their main base, though he rode from Raventree hall, to Seagard and around the Riverlands weekly.
Sansa herself had yet to be seen outside of her mother’s childhood home but she had accepted the pleas of the smallfolk whom had voyaged to Riverrun to speak with the uncrowned queen and ask her ear in their matters.
Livestock matters.
Border matters between farmers, and even — once — a dispute between a mother and father who were arguing on whom should keep the child they had in common after they had split considering that the man was accusing the woman of adultery.
Sansa had argued — and he had not been there to enforce her argument otherwise he would have loved to be involved — that if the man disputed the woman’s loyalty without having married her, he could not be sure the child was his thus he could either claim she was not an adulterer and thus the son was his, at which point they might begin to debate upon who of the parents should keep the boy, or he could continue his affirmation than the woman was an adulterer.
The man had chosen to keep on his stance that the woman was an adulterer, at which point Sansa had stepped off the throne of Riverrun and had walked to the woman.
Those who had been present had been astounded of what had happened after and it had been the talk of all the Riverlands between smallfolk and highborns alike; she had stepped close to the woman and had stated that the law of the Seven Kingdoms, passed by Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror granted seven hits one for each God. She had thus asked the woman to name each hit one of her Gods — “I follow the Old Gods so I might not speak their name. But it is the law and you may invoke them one by one so that we can ensure that it is one for each”— and had given her seven slaps (witnesses claimed that only the first three had been real slaps and that the others had been more like caresses) one for each God and then she had returned to her throne issuing that the boy was to stay with her mother.
When the man had protested after the first gleeful sight of the woman being beaten, Sansa had simply replied that the woman was a proven adulterer — though there were no marriage vows to speak of — and had been punished for it in accordance with the law.
Yet, as motherhood was a certain affair and fatherhood not; the adulterer woman was surely the mother, the same could not be said for the father who thus lost all rights he claimed on the boy.
Jonnel would have kissed her on the mouth if he had been present; he could just imagine the way she would have looked greater than life and beautiful and clever and smarter.
Now, seeing the banners of House Tully and those of House Stark raised upon the turrets and the, by now familiar, drawbridge felt almost like coming home.
Ghost, the immense direwolf that had since become his permanent shadow, that he had wished to leave behind with Sansa for protection… an extension of himself that would be always there to keep her safe; padded inside through the drawbridge as if he owned the place, white fur stained bloody by his prey, dangling from his mouth.
Sansa had refused his offer to let Ghost stay with her, both because the wound over Lady' s death was too fresh yet, too painful and because he needed to be seen with the direwolf.
Aegon and Rhaenys both had claimed a dragon which gave them some sort of legitimacy over him as Targaryen — the fact that the Starks had direwolves and the Targaryens dragons left him at odds and out. If he showed them that he had bonded with Ghost… that would steer the opinion in another direction especially considering the massive groundwork they were doing to ensure that Rhaegar’ decree came to be public knowledge and recognised law.
Now, he supposed, the whole keep would feast.
The elk was not an adult, but big enough to warrant a small feast or banquet, and Jon had every intention of using the antlers to make a gift for her and — he supposed — a gift for Shireen.
Sansa had grown particularly protective of the girl and now that she was in Oldtown, guest of House Hightower just as her siblings were, his sweet queen had been sending the girl gifts and letters as if she was her own little sister.
And if the inhabitants of Riverrun were unnerved by the scene of a direwolf dragging a dead elk by the neck, the prospect of being well fed was greater than their disgust.
Sansa, who was returning from the Godswood by the looks of it, was the one at whose feet Ghost laid his prey.
Sansa, a highborn lady that should have been distressed by the sight, instead ignored the prey in favor of stepping between Ghost and the mauled beast, so that the servants could gather it and instead raised on her tiptoes to circle Ghost’ mastodontic neck and burrow her whole body across his fur.
“Such a good boy” she offered, and as the servants got closer and gained a growl by an otherwise completely still Ghost, “leave the wolf’s share” she commanded.
Jonnel gazed at her as if she was some kind of star upon the earth and Sansa ever beautiful if still mourning her other half — Lady — looked at him with sparkling eyes and full lips tilted into a smile he wished to kiss.
Not here, he reminded himself, not now.
Many would claim he was the direwolf and that the direwolf was him then for a few moments; but then the direwolf turned tail and left with his share and Jonnel approached the queen.
“My queen” he greeted softly letting her kiss his cheek instead — and he could smell her perfume around him like a cloud, and he could feel the silken beauty of her locks just a fingertip away from his touch.
“Our darling cousin” she offered back “we have missed you” and she let him kiss the back of her hand as a knight would in a song.
“I believe I have missed you the most” he offered, for she yet was cold to him though she’d let him hold her and keep her close to his heart even though hers was a tangle of sharp thorns.
Perhaps he was a glutton for pain when she caused it, he could not say.
She said nothing to that, silently agreeing with him, he grabbed both her hands and got them between his palms to keep her warm though her hands were almost as warm as his — and he had dragonblood through his veins too — but she let him do it and Jonnel would be happy enough as that.
“Were you at prayer, sweet queen?”
“I was,” she offered, “I have prayed for all the new seedlings Wynafryd has brought from the North to take root and bloom”
Jonnel nodded quietly leaving room for the Blackfish and lord Blackwood to greet their queen as well.
And Sansa was ever sweet, ever gentle and ever polite; lovely in all her forms as she asked after their last travels and after their families.
A soft, gentle and warm fire to melt his own ice and then a calm, blunt spoon filled with food to sweeten the blow of his sharp edged blade.
She was a miracle to his muddy birth, as far as the politics of the Realms were concerned and her love would do wonders upon the opinion of the lords when backed by Rhaegar’ decree.
“Let us get inside, jehikar dārya” he offered, “I am worn from the voyage and missing you”
He gripped Sansa’ hand and lead her inside and Sansa went willingly as she heard quietly the resume lord Blackwood was offering her about their latest encounter with lord Piper.
She rested her free hand atop his around his bent elbow, as they walked and Jonnel smiled as he felt her caress across the back of his hand.
“… his son might just be swayed on our side,” lord Blackwood was saying “he’s smart and zealous in his faith… his father is less keen on our claim”
Sansa cocked her head to the side “Indeed?”
“Aye. He mantains that a king’s matter remains a king’s matter, and that it is unbecoming of a queen to denounce her husband,” lord Blackwood said.
Jonnel snarled something under his breath in high Valyrian that Sansa caught but didn’t seem fluent enough to understand, “He will be dealt with” he promised her in lieu of explanation, “the old must cease its hold for the new to take root” he said, recalling an ancient northern saying that his mother had often repeated to him.
“Indeed, it’s the reason for winter” Sansa replied but did not ask him to elaborate further and he was thankful for it.
Lord Piper was old and saggy and his eyes were watery and ancient; he was not even fit enough to stand up on his own yet his mind was still sharp if muddled with cronish considerations.
“Better women have suffered with more dignity worst treatment, and they behaved with honor, dignity and respect of their king”
The quip had been a clear dig at his own mother and his presence at court where Elia had been queen and yet overlooked by her husband, facing such with grace and dignity.
Jonnel could not deny the woman had carried herself with dignity and grace, and that she had suffered much at his father and mother’s expanses; it had been in part also the reason why Jonnel had been so furious about Aegon and his mistress refusing to see Sansa suffer the same kind of insult.
Jonnel might be Rhaegar’ son, but he was Lyanna’s son and his mother had a great degree of respect for Queen Elia, and more than once Queen and mistress had been the only ones able to talk his father out of whatever design they deemed improper.
Lyanna had always regretted her marriage had been annulled for Elia and her sensibilities, yet she had never held that on her head; never blamed Elia.
Jonnel would not have Sansa suffer the presence often improper and wrong of a woman his brother did not even deign to marry — even symbolically.
Everyone had suffered and was suffering because of his father’s misdeeds, even though Jon had been its product he could not bring himself to blame his mother nor Queen Elia for the part they had played, but he could and he would blame and dethrone Aegon for enforcing the same kind of dynamic again, without even gaining a son from it.
The war that had bloodied the seven kingdoms for his mother and him, somewhat gave legitimacy to their presence at court.
The woman and child for whom the king had torn the realm to shreds and put it back together held more value in the eyes of the lords — especially with his mother being highborn — than Aegon’s affair with a lowborn woman with many bastards to her name already.
On that very matter, his father’s decree added to that social legitimacy, whereas Aegon’s own rulership did not.
“I am glad” Sansa said “that your travels were not too tiring. Sadly there is no news from the Citadel about what we inquired last”
Jonnel sniffed and Sansa eyed him warily, it was just the humid air inside the keep he wanted to tell her but she would reply that she did not care; so he abstained, knowing her words to be the product of her still broken heart and her feelings to be different.
“They will have to reply” he said “I have sent word to Aegon… or well, lord Piper did, I’d suppose. He will want to know the legitimacy of it” he shrugged “that will get them moving”
Sansa stopped in her tracks then, and to his amusement lord Blackwood and lord Mallister were easy to dismiss themselves from the corridor.
“Will you repeat that again,” she said more than asked, blue eyes sparkling like deep pools of murdering waters.
I will look in those eyes and drown.
“Lord Piper sent word to Aegon to question the royal decree we are parading around” he said, “his words not mine, questioning its legitimacy. I’d expect Aegon to demand an explanation from the Citadel quicker than they would reply us”
Sansa stepped away from him and Jonnel prepared for the income of words; the sharpness of her tongue was just second to the sweetness of her lips but Jon doubted she would let him kiss her now.
“So; not only you have decided that it was a good idea to flaunt the decree I have kept secret for a reason, around. But you have also ensured that Aegon learnt of it and used it against us?”, she hissed “he could claim the decree false, a… forgery made by his bastard brother and his disloyal wife. Are you stupid perchance?”
“My love” he cooed gently “I am letting them believe I am stupid, or too eager to get this behind me. It’ll get them to be sloppy” he offered, “we have already confirmed the legitimacy of this decree, Samwell is voyaging to the Citadel to collect the rest of the evidence your brother found,” he added.
Sansa blinked “You heard from Bran?”, she questioned.
Jonnel stepped closer and gently grazed up from her wrist to her shoulders to bring her close enough to press a kiss to her cheek “He’s worried about you, my dearest,” he offered as an apology.
“So worried that he’s doing dangerous stints for you without consulting me” she hissed, voice low and dropping.
Jonnel sighed “he wants to help,” he reasoned “his sister is basically a hostage of these politics right now; he wishes to be able to help… perhaps you should let him”
“He will be the in danger”
“House Hightower won’t let anything befall the queen’s brother” he replied “and Arya is with him, do you trust your sister so little?”
He kissed the back of her hands, then carded a hand behind the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, a chaste kiss, if anyone dared to even look. Both he and Sansa were completely aware that if they wished their pursuit to win they needed to pose as the wronged parts.
The brother whom had done all for his king and had been thanked with a life sentence at the Wall and the wife who had been insulted and dishonored in favor of a mistress of dubious virtue.
The Faith would then prove useful when it would dissolve her marriage to Aegon, on the grounds of it being against the Gods’ will and he finally could claim her for his. There was already talk of it around the Riverlands, not that Sansa was aware, that the king’s lowborn brother — who now apparently had been legitimated by a decree of king Rhaegar shortly before his death, which had resulted with a new succession law for the Iron throne — had said the words and spilt the blood and that the Gods were furious that instead of keeping his word, his brother the king had ignored and humiliated his wife, so furious that many argued — between the halls of the Seven in the Riverlands — that the pretext on which king Aegon had married his bride were facetious as she was indeed by the eyes of the Gods and the laws of men his brother’s bride.
One step at time and this argument would reach the right ears and right Septon, and from there it would be an easy path, he was sure, to get their bond sanctioned by the Faith; and, if meanwhile they proved their worth as royal couple in their capacities the people would start to see them as monarchs long before the highborns would take the cue, but by then it would be too late and all the traps Jonnel had set, all the careful maneuvering he had been doing since long before Rhaegar died would win him the Iron throne, and to Sansa’ her North’s independence.
If that was to be price, he would pay it, with a northern wife even if the North claimed independence, Jonnel could treat with them, and having to worry about getting through winter half the continent whilst still boasting the alliance of half of it meant he would virtually keep the whole continent in his palm whilst half of it declared itself free.
At times titles were just that.
Let Robb call himself king in the North if he so wished.
Jonnel would ensure the North would remain forever bound to the South and to him and his line, Sansa’s line.
“What more,” he added, “we are keeping for ourselves the matter of Rhaegar’s will. Not even Mother is aware of it yet,” he reminded her gently, a necessary evil. His mother felt still the sting of being considered nothing more than a mistress and her son nothing more than a bastard; she was content knowing Rhaegar had legitimised him before his death, granting him his name and it was enough for her now that the king she had spent her life loving and hating had even adjusted the law of succession to ensure Jonnel had a claim and a chance upon the inheritance he should have always had since he was born in wedlock — though Rhaegar had later set her aside for the sensibilities of the dornish.
“At least on that you listened to me,” Sansa muttered, though her shoulders had relaxed some, and they resumed their walk around the corridors of the keep to reach the chambers and solar Sansa had been given by her uncle in full recognition of her status as queen.
“I always listen to you, my love” he promised.
“No you don’t.” Sansa said, eyes as cold as ice, the memory of all the ordeal she had to go through — the poisoning, the exile, the attempt to abduct her and later on the death of Lady — just because Jon had decided that her plan would not work out, mainly because he wanted her.
He wanted it all. The throne, the glory, the crown and the bride. The children.
He wanted everything a king ought to have, and as a son of a king, the son that the king had chosen to succeed him, though no one had dared to even mention the will to anyone, let alone the world and the court; he would have it all.
The only thing that he mourned was that his mother, the rightful lady of Summerhall as per his father’s will would have to abandon her rightful keep because Aegon had granted it to Stannis and if Shireen maintained her loyalty to the throne — to them — if she bent the knee she deserved the inherit it.
Jonnel would have worked to gain the Iron throne posing as the better option and he could not rob a child of her inheritance as he himself was fighting for his own.
Yet, his mother would be the mother of the king — though she might never don the title of Queen Mother, as she had not been queen whilst the king had been alive — and Jonnel would build for her a grandiose keep in a land of her choosing where she could grow old and grey… possibly without her current husband.
He could see it, and if he could see it he could make it happen.
Plot after plot. Plan after plan.
Defeated enemy after defeated enemy.
Now, onto Lord Piper. Pinkmaiden wasn’t especially great nor especially numerous in forces, yet Jonnel planned to have all the Riverlands in his palm. With Sansa by his side he already had the North in his pocket and all the leal lords of House Tully.
Jonnel would have to envision a good plan to ensure the man was disposed of, just the same way as he would have to resolve the matter of the Twins. Lord Frey was claiming a higher passage tribute than he ought to from the northerners coming to their lady’s service on Robb’s orders. Why, lord Manderly and Lord Karstark had paid dearly the cost for passing through the bridge, and lord Frey had thus far ignored their requests for an audience, closing himself into his towers.
Yet, Jonnel had heard the man’s wife had passed recently and he was in search for a new bride and that soon the marriage would be celebrated, he just needed — with Sansa’s help of course — choose the right bride, from the right House and ensure that that gave him a foot in, in the Twins. Then he would have to dispatch of the man, and choose someone who could become loyal in his stead.
A long, tiring issue.
Yet, necessary.
One by one the lords of Westeros would have to bow their heads and bend their knees.
One by one, until the path to the Iron throne was paved on their shields.
Once House Targaryen had been plagued by a fratricidal war that had torn it apart and had cost them their dragons. The war between the two sons of king Rhaegar Targaryen was fought between the high halls of justice and the muddy fields of battlegrounds. And between the minds of two bastards.
The mother of all bastards save the king’s, in Kings Landing; and an ambitious, cunning bastard son of kings in the Riverlands. A Dance of Bastards more than a Dance of Dragons.
The black bastard of House Targaryen had long since set his sights upon the Iron throne (…) he forged a case against his brother the king and sharpened his blades for the battle to come whilst his brother the king attempted to defend his honor and reputation from the continuous assaults coming from each uncovered secret and each upturned stone.
It is why we teach children to not seek to put the stone back in its place and instead take it in their hands and throw it at whomever upturned it.
The matter of the late king’s decree was common knowledge by the time the first hearing of the lords happened. Many questioned the legitimacy of the Act of Succession, yet the Citadel confirmed its legitimacy and its date. The late king’s will, on the other hand, was a surprise and it had the desired effect as it further weakened the king’s claim.
A cunning, devious plan designated to weaken the king and his position at court furthermore; if one could claim the king Aegon had the birthright and acted accordingly, one must also admit that the black bastard had the cunning and that with that cunning he unjustly attempted to strip his brother the king of his rightful crown. And the lords believed him, oh… how wondrous is the human mind, when it believes itself robbed. — from Discourse upon the Forgery of the Act of Succession written by Maester Freiman in the late years of the 6th century since Aegon’s Conquest.