Late at night, Dragonstone, the Map Room.
The salty sea wind carried the roar of the waves, crashing endlessly against Dragonstone's black cliffs.
Stannis Baratheon stood beside the stone table carved with the full map of Westeros, his posture straight and unyielding. Deep shadows hung beneath his sunken eyes as his gaze passed through the narrow stone window, fixed on the dark sea beyond—a vast expanse that had swallowed the stars and moon alike. The flickering candlelight brushed across his sparse black hair, faintly tracing the dim outline of a crown.
Not far behind him stood his most trusted confidant, Ser Davos Seaworth. It had been a month since they returned to this fortress from King's Landing.
After coming back from Tyrosh, Stannis had gone alone to the capital, quietly searching for proof. Following the clues Eddard Stark had hinted at that night, he secretly tracked down several of Robert's bastards scattered through the slums of Flea Bottom. When he saw their unmistakable black hair with his own eyes, he realized Eddard's suspicions were very likely true.
He went straight to the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, laying out both Eddard's theory and his own discoveries. Two of the realm's greatest lords—one famed for justice, the other for his devotion to law—began a joint investigation in secret.
In the end, it was Jon Arryn who uncovered the crucial volume, Genealogy and History of the Major Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, buried among the dust of old records. The yellowed pages contained cold, irrefutable facts: among all known descendants of House Baratheon who had intermarried with other families, black hair was an unshakable trait.
The proof was undeniable. Robert Baratheon's three children—Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen—were Queen Cersei's bastards. But before Jon Arryn could present his findings to King Robert, he died.
The news struck Stannis like a thunderbolt. Without hesitation, he fled the dangerous capital with Davos that same day, returning to Dragonstone.
"Lord..."
An aged voice broke the oppressive silence of the chamber.
Maester Cressen of Dragonstone, a frail man nearing eighty, shuffled into the room. His thin, bony fingers clutched a small rolled letter.
"A raven just arrived, my lord. No wax seal, no sigil…"
Ser Davos stepped forward at once, respectfully taking the letter from the old maester's trembling hands before turning to offer it to Stannis.
Stannis lifted his hard jaw slightly and unrolled the plain scroll. His eyes moved over the page—only a few lines of text.
He read in silence. Time seemed to stand still. Only the crackle of candlelight and the distant roar of the sea filled the hall.
At last, he passed the letter to Davos without a word.
Ser Davos took it, looking awkward—he couldn't read. He turned to Maester Cressen for help.
Cressen leaned closer, squinting through his dim eyes, and read aloud in a hoarse, trembling voice:
"Lord Stannis, I believe you have uncovered the truth. I must ask—was the Hand of the King's death connected to this matter? If my suspicion is correct, then no matter what happens, I will remain your loyal ally. Do not forget that night."
When he finished, Maester Cressen looked up, confused.
"My lord, this…"
Davos, too, was at a loss, unable to make sense of the message.
But Stannis's gaze suddenly sharpened, and his lips tightened in the faintest frown.
"It's Eddard Stark. Only I can understand this cipher. The suspicions about the king's children not being his own… it was he who first told me."
Ser Davos's face was etched with shock.
"Lord Eddard had such keen insight?"
Davos had spoken with Eddard in Tyrosh. To him, Eddard was the very image of a reserved, honorable Northman—a man who wouldn't even strike down the Targaryen siblings when given the chance.
But when he learned the letter was written by Eddard Stark, his image of the Great Lord shattered in an instant.
Out of the corner of his eye, Stannis caught the shock on Davos's face. "I know what you're thinking, Ser Davos. You believe Eddard Stark to be a Northman who valued old, rigid honor above his own life. But do you truly think that mere 'integrity' and 'honor' alone could have kept the North standing for thousands of years? That they alone could make the vassals and mountain clans bow their heads? Do not underestimate that Lord Stark."
Though Stannis spoke those words, his heart was trembling as well. The fact that Eddard Stark's suspicions had proven true was astonishing enough. But what unsettled him even more was how, after discovering such a terrifying truth, Eddard had chosen silence—keeping it hidden, biding his time, and revealing it only to him, the "rightful heir."
Eddard Stark... What was it that he truly wanted?
"Do not forget that night..."
Stannis murmured the final, decisive words from the letter. Every detail of that night in Tyrosh was burned vividly into his memory. Eddard Stark had told him that if the truth of Robert's childlessness were ever exposed, then he, Stannis Baratheon, would become the undisputed first heir to the Iron Throne.
Eddard's decision to entrust such a fatal secret to him—the heir—could not have been clearer. It was an offering of allegiance. Eddard Stark sought to form an alliance with him—a coalition of power against the Lannisters, and perhaps against future rivals as well. What he sought was the greatest advantage the North could gain once Stannis claimed the Iron Throne.
In that moment, Stannis's entire view of Eddard Stark changed. The silent direwolf of the North was not the straightforward, wooden man he had seemed. Beneath that calm surface lay deep calculation—a mind that knew how to hide in the shadows and strike with deadly fangs at the perfect moment.
Heh... What a cunning Stark. Truly... remarkable.
Stannis let out a cold, inward laugh. Yet, despite himself, he realized he could not reject this "pledge of loyalty." He looked around at his own situation—isolated on the lonely island of Dragonstone, his strength thin and scattered. He had no choice but to accept Eddard's offer of alliance.
His position was weak. The Stormlands and the Reach were bound by Renly and the Tyrell alliance, while the Westerlands remained under the watchful eye of the Lannisters. Above all, to claim the throne, he would have to prove that Robert's three children were bastards. That alone would make the Lannisters his mortal enemies.
Surrounded by powerful foes on all sides, Stannis had no choice but to join hands with the Starks. His shadowed gaze drifted once more toward the dark, lifeless waves beyond the window, his thoughts already carried far away.