BOOM!
Eddard's accusation struck the hall like a thunderclap, leaving everyone stunned into silence.
Mace Tyrell went white as a sheet, his body trembling uncontrollably. Robert's eyes widened in disbelief and fury. Cersei lowered her hand from her cheek; her emerald eyes flashed with shock before blazing with venomous hatred toward Renly and House Tyrell. Jaime Lannister's expression hardened, his grip tightening on his sword hilt.
Renly's face changed completely—shock and anger gave way to thinly veiled panic.
He pointed at Eddard, his voice shrill. "Lies! Eddard Stark, this is outright slander! A desperate attempt to cover your own treason! What proof do you have?!"
Eddard's gaze was cold as steel, fixed on the trembling figure of Mace Tyrell. "Why don't you ask Lord Tyrell? It seems he's finding it hard to breathe, let alone speak."
"I... I... Pfft—!"
Under the crushing weight of Robert, Cersei, Renly, and every lord's burning stare, Mace Tyrell broke completely. His eyes rolled back, and his enormous body slid limp from his chair, collapsing to the carpet with a heavy thud.
"Lord Mace!"
Renly shouted, his voice cracking, his face turning deathly pale.
To everyone watching, Mace's collapse was as good as a confession.
Robert's gaze swept from the unconscious man on the floor to Renly, who stood pale and stammering. Whatever hesitation had lingered in Robert's eyes vanished—consumed by pure, unrestrained fury.
He pointed at Renly, his roar echoing through the hall.
"Renly! Get yourself back to Storm's End this instant! You are no longer Master of Laws!"
"Your Grace! It's not true! Please, listen! We've done nothing! Eddard's lying—he harbors Rhaegar's bastard, his word means nothing!"
Renly's voice trembled with panic. He tried to step forward, but Robert's murderous glare froze him in place.
"Done nothing?!" Robert's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Then you'd best thank the gods you didn't. Otherwise, I'd have thrown you in the dungeons beside Eddard Stark. Now—get out of my sight!"
Seeing the unshakable resolve in Robert's eyes—and feeling Cersei's cold, venomous stare—Renly knew he was finished.
He drew a sharp breath, forced out a bitter snort, then turned and strode from the Great Hall, his face twisted with humiliation and rage.
Robert watched his brother's retreating back, chest heaving with anger. Then he turned toward Eddard, his expression heavy with conflicting emotions.
"Take Lord Stark," he ordered quietly. "Lock him in the dungeons."
The Gold Cloaks stepped forward once more, roughly seizing Eddard by the arms.
He did not resist. He knew this was his last act—the final blow he could strike to expose Renly's plot and protect his family before the storm consumed them all.
Robert's choice not to have him executed then and there was the last mercy owed to old friendship.
Turning toward Maester Pycelle, Robert's voice rang with iron authority.
"Pycelle! Write three letters—now. The first, to Winterfell: send the fastest raven to Greywater Watch. Command Howland Reed to come to King's Landing at once.
The second, to the Citadel at Oldtown: order them to verify Septon Maynard's journal by every means available.
The third, to Casterly Rock: tell Tywin Lannister to cease his attacks on the Riverlands immediately."
...
Deep within the Red Keep's dungeons, damp air clung to the walls. The stench of mold, rotting straw, and despair filled the narrow space. Beads of moisture traced down the cold, rough stone, and only a sliver of light filtered through the high, barred window.
Eddard Stark sat hunched on the icy floor, heavy chains coiled around his wrists and ankles.
Wave after wave of grief and helplessness crashed over him. Jon's secret exposed, his daughters trapped in King's Landing, and he himself now a prisoner...
All of it stemmed from that one secret.
He sat motionless for a long time, tears slipping silently down his weathered face to fall upon the stone below.
Then came the rattle of iron chains as the heavy door creaked open.
Robert Baratheon's figure filled the doorway.
He dismissed the guards with a curt gesture and stepped inside alone.
Two brothers—once inseparable—now faced each other: one behind iron bars, the other wearing a crown. The air between them was thick, suffocating, and heavy with everything left unsaid.
The fury Robert had unleashed in the Great Hall was gone. What remained was exhaustion—deep, bone-weariness—and a pain that words could not reach.
He stopped before Eddard, lowering his massive frame to a crouch. His eyes were conflicted as they studied the man who had once been his truest friend.
"Ned... about that letter accusing you of plotting to restore the old line..."
He paused, searching for words. "When I first saw it, I thought it absurd—some fool's clumsy lie meant to drive a wedge between us. Until... until I saw your face in the Great Hall. You can't hide from me. You never could. From the time we were boys, you've never learned to lie. Your eyes, your face... they told me everything."
His voice hardened, rough with restrained fury. "The part about that bastard—it's true, isn't it?"
He stared straight into Eddard's eyes, desperate for an answer—something that might crush his last hope or somehow keep it alive.
Eddard lifted his head. The tears staining his weathered face caught the dim light, making him look far older than his years.
He saw the torment and faint, fading hope in Robert's eyes. There was no use lying anymore. No room left for deceit.
Sorrow and guilt surged through him—but he had to fight for Jon's life, whatever it cost.
Slowly, with the weight of the world in his voice, he nodded.
"Yes... it's true. Jon... is Rhaegar and Lyanna's son."
Robert staggered as if struck, the color draining from his face.
"Robert, please," Eddard cried, tears spilling freely. "Don't hurt him!"
Robert seized his shoulders, fingers digging deep into flesh, his voice a thunderous roar.
"Don't hurt him? You're asking me not to hurt him?! Have you forgotten what the Targaryens did to us?! Forgotten what Rhaegar did to Lyanna?! That bastard carries the blood of a rapist! He must die!"
Eddard shook his head violently, his voice breaking with anguish.
"No, Robert, listen to me! What's written in that letter—it's true! Rhaegar didn't rape her. They loved each other, truly loved each other! Lyanna died giving birth to Jon... she used her last breath to beg me to protect him. Please, Robert... spare the boy! He's taken the black—he's sworn his life to the Wall! He's renounced every claim forever! Let him live, I beg you!"
"Loved... each other?"
Robert's eyes went wide. His massive body trembled, and his hands dropped from Eddard's shoulders.
He stumbled back, staring blankly, as if the world itself had shattered around him.
"No... impossible... this can't be..."
His voice faltered, low and broken. "Lyanna... she couldn't have loved... that..."
He couldn't accept it. Couldn't believe that Lyanna—the woman he'd worshipped as his lost love, his symbol of rage and grief—could have loved the man he hated most.
Eddard's heart twisted painfully, but he forced himself to speak.
"Lyanna knew, Robert. She knew about your bastard daughter in the Vale. She told me herself—she believed marrying you would only bring her pain and betrayal. She and Rhaegar were truly in love. I swear it. Robert, please... spare Jon."
Robert's head snapped up. The last flicker of warmth in his eyes—once so full of pride and brotherhood—died completely.
Eddard's words had not only confirmed Jon's parentage but also shattered the fantasy that had fueled Robert's life—the lie that Lyanna had been taken by force, that he had been her avenger.
A crushing wave of humiliation and fury drowned out all reason.
"True love? A lawful marriage? Ha!"
Robert's laughter broke into a bitter, ragged scream that echoed off the dungeon walls.
"Lyanna was my betrothed! That bastard Rhaegar stole her! No matter what she thought, she was mine! And that spawn—he must die! He will pay for his blood, for Rhaegar's crimes, for your lies, all of you!"
He turned sharply, refusing to meet Eddard's eyes again, and strode toward the iron door.
"Robert—!!!"
Eddard's voice cracked with desperation. "Don't kill him! Please! Robert! For the sake of our childhood—for Lyanna's sake—please!"
Robert's steps halted at the doorway.
He didn't turn back. His broad shoulders loomed in the dim light like a wall of cold iron.
When he spoke, his voice was ice.
"Call me Your Grace, Lord Stark."
The heavy door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the last trace of light—and with it, the last connection Eddard Stark had to the world beyond his cell.
He sank to the ground, broken, the clatter of his chains echoing in the darkness.
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on P@treon.
[Upto 50 chapters ahead for now]
[email protected]/BlurryDream