"That slut's hooked up with the mercenary leader of Myr!" King Robert roared, slamming his fist on the council table. His voice thundered through the chamber. Even though he was older, fatter, and gruffer than in his prime, he still carried the force of a king. "It won't be long before that harlot bears a brood of bastards who'll come across the Narrow Sea to take revenge on us! And that fool Viserys—let me make this clear—I want them dead!"
"That's merely a dalliance between a young girl and a mercenary commander, Robert," said Jon Arryn, calm and dignified despite his years. The old man's blond hair had faded, but his blue eyes remained sharp behind his hooked nose. "They are not married yet."
"Am I supposed to just sit here and wait?" the king barked. "Last time, it was because of your interference that I missed a perfect chance to have him killed."
"What's the background of that mercenary leader?" asked Renly, deliberately composed in his finely cut green doublet, which made his handsome features stand out even more.
"That mercenary king is related to you, Lord Renly," Varys replied softly, his powdered hands twisting together as his lips curled into a faint smile.
Renly raised a brow. "Related to me? That's strange. How could I be connected to a mercenary across the Narrow Sea?"
"Varys," Jon said firmly, "make yourself clear."
Duke Jon's expression darkened. "Robert, that mercenary leader is very likely your bastard son," he declared with quiet conviction. "His build, his past, his temper, his fighting spirit—even his eyes and hair!"
Varys nodded theatrically. "Indeed. Around the time this mercenary king rose to power, a young apprentice vanished from a blacksmith's shop in King's Landing. Gendry—son of a tavern wench. A handsome boy with black hair and blue eyes, sent there as an apprentice by a powerful patron. One day, he discovered a great secret and fled the city."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to the king. Every man there knew that any illegitimate child born to the king after his marriage to Cersei—if discovered—rarely lived long.
"A scandal!" whispered Renly, a touch of amusement in his tone. "An explosive scandal!"
"I have such a son?" Robert muttered in disbelief. "Gendry?" He looked stunned. The king had no idea how many women he had bedded, much less how many bastards he'd fathered—and he had never cared. The only one he'd ever remembered was his firstborn, a daughter named Mya.
"Too many coincidences, Robert," Jon Arryn said gravely. "This isn't chance. It was likely around 283—right after we won the war."
"In the year 279, when you were seventeen, you fathered your first child while staying with Eddard in the Vale," Jon reminded him. "It fits."
Robert rubbed his temple. "Storm's End, King's Landing, the Vale, the Westerlands... I've had women everywhere. I never kept track. But if what you say is true—by the Seven, the boy's grown into a king of his own."
He let out a loud, uneasy laugh that soon died. "By the gods, how am I supposed to summon this boy back across the Narrow Sea to see if he's truly mine? Even if he is, he's already thrown in his lot with the dragon spawn. A traitor to House Baratheon!"
Renly leaned back, laughing heartily. "This is quite the farce! My brother's bastard son, joined with the last Targaryens and the remnants of the Golden Company—the Blackfyre blood! Truly an Alliance of Restorers!"
"Enough!" Stannis snapped, his voice cold as iron. He glared across the table, his jaw tight. "Your bastard son, brother, has landed us in grave danger. Bastards are born of lust and lies—they grow up faster, wilder, more treacherous. Debauchery and betrayal run in their blood. Myr lies just across the sea. That fleet will return sooner or later—with the Targaryen orphans at their helm!"
The memory of the Blackfyre Rebellions still haunted the realm. Once again, the Baratheon throne faced the threat of rebellion—perhaps even from Robert's own blood.
"I can't sit idle and let them land on our shores, leaving Joffrey to deal with this mess!" Robert thundered. "And what of those damned royalists still hiding among us? Who knows how many wait for the dragon's brood to return!" He spat and slammed his goblet down. "And keep this from Cersei. I don't want that nagging harpy shrieking in my ear about it!"
Jon Arryn hesitated. His heart was heavy with a secret Stannis had already confided to him—one that kept him awake at night.
"Should we attack them?" Stannis pressed. His tone was sharp, but his eyes betrayed calculation rather than eagerness. "We do have a fleet, but it's not ready. Training takes time. And besides…" He paused. "I cannot act personally. Patricide is a sin no man can atone for."
Varys chuckled, the sound dry and serpentine. "If the death of one can save millions, Lord Stannis, then one life is but a small price to pay."
Renly folded his arms. "Viserys and his sister should've been killed long ago, but you, brother, listened to Lord Jon."
"Daenerys and Robert's… children," Jon said quietly, "are still just children—perhaps not even sixteen. To kill them would be a sin against the gods and against honor."
"We must slaughter every last Targaryen!" Robert bellowed, veins bulging on his forehead.
"He deserves to die!" Renly said, almost gleefully.
"We have no choice," Varys murmured, feigning sorrow. "What a pity… what a pity."
Jon Arryn felt utterly alone in the chamber. Surrounded by ambition, deceit, and bloodlust, he could sense the kingdom teetering toward madness. Perhaps, he thought, he should summon someone wiser—perhaps Eddard Stark.
"Your Majesty," said Ser Barristan Selmy, his voice steady and resonant, "fighting on the battlefield is an honorable act—but murdering children is shameful. Even if one of them is your bastard, he cannot simply be condemned by rumor. I must support Lord Jon's counsel—show mercy where you can."
Grand Maester Pycelle coughed, his long throat rattling. He cleared it several times before speaking. "My lords… My order serves not merely the ruler, but the realm itself. I served King Aerys faithfully, as I serve King Robert now. I hold no ill will toward his daughter. Yet if another war were to erupt, how many soldiers would die in the fields? How many villages would burn? How many children would be torn from their mothers' arms and slain? Would it not be wiser—more merciful—to sacrifice one life and spare thousands?"
He stroked his long white beard, his face weary but cunning.
"Much more merciful," Varys echoed smoothly. "Ah, Grand Maester, beautifully said! Indeed, had the gods been careless enough to grant Daenerys a son—a legitimate son of both Baratheon and Targaryen blood—the realm would surely drown in war."
Littlefinger, who had been silent until then, finally spoke, his tone sly and confident. "My lords, perhaps words can do what swords cannot. Let me take my tongue across the Narrow Sea—perhaps I can persuade that misguided young man to abandon Daenerys and her brother."
"Abandon Daenerys?" Ser Barristan looked skeptical.
Littlefinger smiled. "Gold, rewards, titles… Let us see if Gendry, this good boy, can still resist temptation."
"You're thinking too simply," Renly sneered. "Gendry commands Myr and the Disputed Lands, holds Daenerys's claim, and may yet gain the Golden Company's support. You think you can buy him with a castle and a chest of gold?"
"Man proposes, gods dispose, Lord Renly," Littlefinger replied silkily. "Perhaps your good nephew has merely been misled. I will greet him with smiles and gifts—and if that fails, well… there's always poison and daggers. The question, my king, is: what gift shall we offer?"
"Gold and a castle!" Robert thundered, his face red with drink and anger. "But he'll never be counted among the royal family! I'll not parley with a traitor—no matter who he is!"
He rose to his feet, his voice echoing through the hall like a storm breaking over the mountains.
"No matter what—he's my son!"
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)