"Because of me. He came to my master's shop. He came to look at me. He asked about my mother and looked hard at me. I didn't know why at the time. Lord Arynn, the Hand before him, had done the same thing. Lord Stannis had been with him at the time. They knew, didn't they? I was their proof. I looked like the King. All three of them saw it. Even the Lady of Tarth could see it. If they wanted to, all they had to do was show everyone me. Or Mya. Or whatever other siblings I have out there. That's why the Goldcloaks came after me. It's why Yoren and all the other men and the boys heading to the Watch had to die." It's why Arya never made it to Winterfell.

It all fit together at last. All of the strange occurrences were like pieces of a sword that all fit together after the fire had died and the steel had cooled. But the steel inside him was still raging hot. To know he had been some witless pawn in all of this angered him. He didn't know whether to be angry with the Hands of the King for bringing this all down on him, or whether he should be angry at his father for being so blind. Or perhaps he should blame it all on himself. Surely if Ned Stark had never met him, he would have simple let Joffrey rule in peace. Arya would have never lost her father, her brother would have never gone to war, and Yoren would have got to the Night's Watch with a batch of fresh recruits.

The sorceress had it wrong. I had no special purpose. Not even as a sacrifice. I was only born so I could bring hell upon the country.