"You're the Hand of the King,why are you asking me everything?" Robert's face had turned nearly purple. If the man sitting across from him weren't Eddard Stark, his sworn brother and Lord of the North, he might have hurled the object in his hand straight at his face. "Investigate. Ask questions! As long as we can find out when and where that woman and her brother were together, and determine if the frequency and length of their meetings were normal, won't we be one step closer to the truth?"
"You and I are thinking the same thing, but the problem I just mentioned hasn't been solved. The Lannisters have more than just soldiers in King's Landing. At present, one-third of the servants in the Red Keep were placed there by the Lannisters, and the queen is completely surrounded by her own people. How am I supposed to investigate, arrest her attendants and interrogate them about whether they've seen the two of them… together?" Eddard countered bluntly. "And that's not the worst of it. The one-third I mentioned includes only those with the name Lannister or who openly swear allegiance to them. If you add those who appear neutral but secretly take coin from the Lannisters or act on their behalf… the number is even greater."
Robert clenched his fists on the table. He wanted to shout, to unleash his fury, but for once, his mind—unclouded by wine—saw things with startling clarity: this humiliating predicament wasn't Eddard's fault. It was the result of his own apathy and neglect.
The royal treasury had always been strained, barely enough to repay loans to the Iron Bank on time. When the queen complained that she lacked enough servants to properly carry out her duties, and requested to bring in more from her own household, what else could he do? He had allowed it. He'd even felt satisfied with the arrangement, half the servants in the royal residence were now paid by the Lannisters, not the crown. He used to think that was a clever move. Now he realized he had outsmarted himself.
...
"In such a situation, not only can I not conduct an effective investigation, but I fear the queen already knows everything you're doing. You returned today without even seeing her, coming straight to the Hand's Tower, she may already be aware," Eddard said grimly. "I can't openly confront Cersei over a rumor started by a traitorous noble. I can only probe through irrelevant individuals on the periphery. After many rounds of questioning and visits, I've come to one conclusion: the queen and her brother are indeed very close and spend a great deal of time together. Beyond that, there's no further evidence to prove guilt or innocence."
"Heh…" Robert's face had darkened from purple to black. "Yes, Cersei and Jaime have been close since childhood. I've heard whispers for years and always dismissed them. Now I see that was just a convenient excuse. It makes sense for siblings to be close when they're young but they're in their thirties now. What secrets could they possibly have to share every single day? You know, that old goat Tywin once offered to erase the crown's debt to House Lannister if I agreed to expel Jaime from the Kingsguard and send him back to Casterly Rock. I agreed. But the Kingslayer refused, he said once a man dons the white cloak, he serves the king for life. Hahaha… what a loyal Kingsguard! I was touched back then!"
"Legally speaking, he was right. You can't treat that as proof the rumors are true. As you said yourself, there's no causal link—"
"Then there's this. During my campaign in the Vale to put down the rebellion, Cersei came to me and said I could do whatever I wanted there, as long as I left Jaime in King's Landing to accompany her. How do you explain that?"
...
...
"Does it need explaining? War is dangerous. What's so strange about the queen wanting to keep her brother safe?" Eddard had a headache. He was the Hand now, he didn't have time to listen to these grievances, even from the king. "Robert, you came here to ask me for the facts. Why do I have to come up with excuses for the queen? From your tone, it sounds like you've already decided the rumors are true. In that case, I won't go over the other results of the investigation. Just tell me what you intend to do, and I'll carry it out."
...
"Ah—Eddard, you damned Northerner, don't you get it? I don't care about that bitch Cersei. I care about my children, my heir!" Robert finally roared. Though he tried to lower his voice, the sound easily carried beyond the door. "If she wants to spend all her time with her brother, let her. Let them go back to Casterly Rock and roll around all they want. But if Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen aren't mine, I'll have all three of their heads chopped off, dipped in tar, and mounted on spears. Do you understand?"
A chill ran down Eddard's spine. "Lower your voice, Robert. You don't have any proof yet! Do you want to become the second Mad King, spouting such madness?"
"I'm talking about executing the man who slept with my wife and the bastards they spawned. What does that have to do with the Mad King?"
---
Eddard stared at Robert for a moment before realizing he was overthinking it.
Even without wine clouding his judgment, it was impossible for Robert to remain calm. Eddard had tried to "present the facts and let Your Grace draw your own conclusions," but Robert, reeling from betrayal and the thought that his children may not be his, couldn't think rationally.
If Eddard was honest with himself, he was beginning to believe the rumors might be true. But with Robert in this state, how could he dare speak that truth?
He thought of Rhaegar's children. When the Targaryen dynasty fell, Lord Tywin wrapped their bodies in red cloaks and laid them beneath the Iron Throne. A clever tactic—the red cloth concealed the blood. Princess Rhaenys was just three years old. She was barefoot, in her nightclothes, dragged out from under the bed and stabbed dozens of times. And Prince Aegon, still an infant, was snatched up by the Mountain and smashed against the wall, his skull shattered, his remains barely recognizable as human...
That must never happen again. The realm could not afford another king driven mad with hate, nor survive another blood-soaked storm. Eddard quietly closed the notebook in his hand. Though he had more findings to report, he could say no more. Today, he would have to defy his own beliefs and play devil's advocate for the sake of peace.
---
"Shouldn't you be the one who knows best whether those three children are yours?" Eddard crossed his arms, resting his chin on his fists. "Don't tell me you've been drunk for so many years that you don't even remember whether you were with your queen before she got pregnant?"
Robert fell silent under the Hand's questioning. He sat trembling, the fire in his eyes gradually fading.
Eddard looked at his expression and his brow twitched. He'd asked the question only to shift the topic but could it be he was right? Was Robert really that lost?
"Joffrey looks a lot like Jaime."
"If children who resemble their uncles should be beheaded, then no woman with a brother should bear children." They did resemble each other, but Eddard didn't dare agree with Robert. "Even if the rumors are true, you can't pass judgment based on speculation alone. Do you understand? Now answer me, do you remember how many times Cersei got pregnant?"
To everyone's relief, Eddard's words seemed to calm the king somewhat. "I don't remember exactly. But I'm certain that I've shared a bed with Cersei before she conceived each of the three. It's just… that damned wine. I'm always drunk, dazed. When I wake up, I remember having a good time the night before. But as for who I slept with, how we did it, and where I finished, I don't remember at all!"
Black hair. Black hair. Black hair. Eddard muttered the words to himself, the most important clue and evidence. He looked at his brother's troubled face but dared not say it aloud: all of Robert's bastards had black hair… To be specific, whether a Baratheon man married a Lannister woman, or a Baratheon woman married into Casterly Rock, the children were always born with black hair. The old family records faded and yellowed listed over a dozen such pairings. All the children proved the same thing: when gold meets coal, coal prevails.
"Since you can't remember clearly, calm down and stop thinking about chopping off anyone's head and pouring asphalt on it," Eddard sighed. He felt a pang of guilt for speaking a lie. "This is just a rumor. Until we've thoroughly investigated, we can't use it as the basis for any action. Littlefinger wants revenge and chaos in the Seven Kingdoms—we can't let him get what he wants. If you're unsure what to do next, would you hear my advice?"
"Explain."
"I have no way to prove whether the three children are yours, but at the very least, I can ensure your children inherit the throne," Eddard said, thinking of Joffrey—who was far from an ideal boy but his younger siblings were innocent. He couldn't bear to imagine Myrcella being stabbed dozens of times, or Tommen's head dashed against a wall. "Start by protecting yourself, replace the cooks and servants in the kitchens with people you trust completely, take Ser Barristan and the other Kingsguard with you wherever you go, and regain control of the City Watch in King's Landing… Once the situation is stabilized, restrain Cersei and Jaime, and question them directly."
"And they'll just confess?"
"If they do, then the truth is out. If they don't, we still have options." Eddard frowned. "Have another child with Cersei while she's under house arrest. If the child is born with blonde hair, then the rumor was false. If the child has black hair… it doesn't prove the first three aren't yours, but at least this one would be beyond doubt. You could then declare that this child will inherit the throne. And if you truly can't abide the thought of a Lannister's blood ruling Westeros, you can legitimize one of your bastards and name him as your heir."
(To be continued.)
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