"Did he say what he wanted to see me for?" Eddard Stark asked, a trace of gravity unconsciously flickering in his gaze.
For Stannis to seek him out at such a time hardly seemed like a good omen.
And as mentioned before, he and Stannis Baratheon had never had much reason to associate.
Harwin, of course, had no idea what the Master of Ships wanted with his lord Hand, and could only give the honest answer he knew.
"No, my lord. He only bade me tell you he has urgent business, and that he wishes it be somewhere quiet."
Hearing this, Eddard's frown deepened.
"Have Jory come to my chambers. Also, prepare my private meeting room. Let Lord Stannis Baratheon wait there for a while, and tell him I need to change my clothes."
"Yes, my lord."
When Jory arrived, Eddard Stark exchanged a few brief words with him, then rose and changed into formal attire before leaving.
King's Landing was indeed hot; the silk shirt he had taken off not long ago—soaked with sweat—had already dried in that short time.
Jory did not follow him but quietly dispatched several Stark guards.
As for Eddard, he took only two guards with him and went to his private meeting chamber in the Tower of the Hand.
It was not as large as the king's chambers, yet it had Myrish carpets, wall hangings, and gold-framed round windows, giving the room a warm, familiar air.
Leaving the two guards to stand watch outside, Eddard entered the chamber alone.
Stannis Baratheon stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff and straight as he gazed out through the round window, seemingly admiring the view.
Only when he heard the sound of the door did he slowly turn his head.
Without any greeting, once Stannis saw that Eddard had shut the heavy oak door, he spoke bluntly: "Lord Eddard Stark, I think we ought to worry about the king's heir."
No sooner had he entered the room than Stannis spoke a single sentence that froze Eddard Stark on the spot.
Facing the King's elder brother, who made no effort to conceal his purpose, the Hand of the King's expression grew solemn.
"That is not an issue I should be discussing, nor one you should be discussing with me, Lord Stannis Baratheon."
There was an edge in Eddard Stark's tone. He had never liked this elder brother of King Robert Baratheon—the Lord of Dragonstone—no matter how one looked at it.
And the very words Stannis had blurted out upon entering made perfectly clear what his intentions were.
But to Eddard, it was not a matter he wished to discuss, nor one worth discussing.
Hearing the hint of warning and the distance in Eddard Stark's tone, Stannis's brows knit slightly, and a trace of displeasure showed on his face.
"This is a most serious matter, Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King—and it is also your duty."
At Stannis's attempt to strike him with such lofty words, Eddard did not respond, yet neither did he leave.
After standing there for a couple of seconds, he chose to walk into the room and came to a small table by the wall.
"Would you like a drink?" Eddard Stark asked.
The brief moment of thought just now was the reason he had not immediately driven Stannis Baratheon away—because Stannis was, indeed, correct.
As Hand of the King, if there was a problem with the realm's succession, it did fall within his responsibilities.
It was just that he did not wish to discuss the matter with the King's elder brother, for he already knew the man's intent—and that was precisely why he had no desire to discuss it.
At the invitation, Stannis glanced over, walked to a stool, and sat down.
Eddard Stark poured two cups of summer wine, handed one to Stannis, then took his own cup and sat down opposite the King's elder brother.
He did not speak again but watched Stannis in silence.
Out of courtesy, Stannis took a sip of the red wine, then set down the silver cup in his hand.
Confronted with the silent Hand, he spoke once more.
"No matter how you look at it, Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella are the Lannisters' bastards—and it is because of them that this war began."
"And now that the war against the Lannisters has been settled, as Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark, is it not your duty to preserve the stability of the realm?"
"Do not forget how the Targaryens' Dance of the Dragons came about."
Stannis was, as ever, stern, taciturn, and dour—his manner of speaking equally blunt and rigid.
He was reminding the Lord of Winterfell before him, the Hand personally invited to the capital by the King himself.
And when he spoke of those three children, he no longer used their former Baratheon surname.
His meaning could not have been clearer.
Yet to his words, Eddard merely took another sip from his cup, as if something had crossed his mind.
"Catelyn told me they're still in Winterfell—Robb is still troubled over how to deal with them. Lord Stannis Baratheon, if it were you, how would you arrange for them?"
Facing Stannis's reproach, Eddard did not answer immediately but instead threw out a question of his own.
At these words, Stannis's brows paused mid-furrow; on his bald forehead, the skin between them tightened into two deep ridges.
After a moment, as though he had arrived at his own conclusion, he finally replied, "The Lannisters have already lost everything. Yet, considering they are only children and have done nothing themselves—after all, neither the Kingslayer's deeds nor Cersei's actions have anything to do with them—"
"—they should live as the smallfolk live. Perhaps you could send them to a peasant household that has need of children. For them, that would be the greatest mercy."
At Stannis's answer, the hand holding Eddard Stark's cup paused slightly, frozen mid-motion.
After a brief silence, he let out a bitter smile.
"Perhaps that is indeed the best way—to let them forget everything that once was, begin anew, and at the same time, live on."
Hearing Stannis's proposed handling of the matter, Eddard seemed to have come to some realization.
And toward Stannis Baratheon's fair and measured answer, he found nothing to criticize.
Yet, despite the Hand's faint praise, Stannis Baratheon did not respond further on the topic.
He did not even lift his cup again, but instead simply sat there in silence, staring at Eddard Stark.
The Lannisters had already lost everything; not stripping them of their family name was already the last shred of dignity Robert had allowed them to keep.
And as the bastard children of the Lannister twins, they too had lost everything and become commoners.
As children, they were innocent—guilt could hardly be laid upon them.
Moreover, Robert's hatred for the Lannisters and the threat they posed to him were nothing like what the Targaryens once were. Thus, there was no need for him to wipe them out completely; he had deliberately chosen instead to forget these three children.
So becoming commoners, learning to live as commoners did—perhaps that was the best fate awaiting those three.
He had answered Stark's question. Now it was Stark's turn to respond.
Meeting Stannis Baratheon's gaze, Eddard Stark knew full well there was no escaping this conversation today.
Damn that Robert—why did he have to make me serve as this damned Hand of the King?
With a helpless sigh, he set down his cup as well and looked toward Stannis.
Their eyes met; the Hand of the King let out an involuntary sigh.
"Stannis, I know what you're thinking—but this is not a matter suitable for discussion."
Eddard Stark's tone softened somewhat, yet he still refused to give a direct answer.
But if Stannis Baratheon were the sort to turn away at such a fragile refusal, he could never have held Storm's End through a year-long siege.
So his counterquestion came sharp and unyielding.
"If Robert were to die suddenly, leaving nothing behind—what does Lord Eddard Stark think would happen then?!"
Stannis Baratheon's cold gaze bore into Eddard Stark. His stubbornness and iron resolve were known throughout the realm—traits that had earned him his renown during the Rebellion.
Though what he received from the King was only insult and disdain.
At these words, Eddard Stark barked a rebuke.
"Stannis Baratheon, mind your words and your bearing—he is your King!"
"Indeed, he may not be a perfect King, but how old is he now? Unless you plan to assassinate Robert—don't tell me that's what you intend to do!"
Facing Stannis Baratheon's provocation and curse, Eddard's reply was forceful, his tone filled with menace.
For the sake of his being Robert's brother, Eddard answered only with a reprimand.
Had it been anyone else, he would have had every right to bring them to judgment.
So his words were not mere threat.
Seeing Eddard Stark's stance, Stannis furrowed his brows tightly—like two deep wounds—and his dark blue eyes, dark as a stormy sea, narrowed slightly.
His lips, pale and thin, were drawn taut. Pressing them together, Stannis unconsciously ground his teeth lightly.
It was his habit when deep in thought.
In truth, he was not in such haste over this matter. He knew well what Eddard said was true—Robert was still young, and securing an heir would be simple enough.
Take a wife, beget a son.
That was all—nothing difficult about it.
And the fact that Robert had done so much for his bastards without legitimizing a single one revealed enough about his attitude.
Yet that differed from what the Red Priestess had told him. Though he did not trust that priestess of the Lord of Light, he could not deny that every word she had spoken had come true.
Even if, in his heart, he believed Melisandre was only feigning divinity to win his trust—
Still, what if something truly happened?
Stannis found that he dared not gamble—or rather, that message had already stirred something within him.
He knew he had to act.
Even if it were only a jest.
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