"My brother's regard for me was never more than dutiful," said Stannis. "From me, such accusations would have seemed peevish and self-serving, a means of placing myself first in the line of succession. I believed Robert would be more disposed to listen if the charges came from Lord Arryn, whom he loved." (A Clash of Kings)

"The lad swears Lord Jon was as strong as a man half his age. Often went riding with Lord Stannis, he says." Stannis again, Ned thought. He found that curious. Jon Arryn and he had been cordial, but never friendly. (A Game of Thrones)

The presence of Stannis Baratheon at the Tower of the Hand was surprising enough, for the king's brother never made a habit of visiting the king's Hand in his living quarters, but the words coming out of Stannis' mouth were even more perplexing. "Will you accompany me for a ride, Lord Arryn?" Stannis said abruptly, without any preamble to soften the impact of the sudden and unprecedented request.

"A ride?" questioned Jon, with some incredulity.

They had never gone riding together, just the two of them, to the best of Jon's recollection.

Stannis moved closer towards Jon, as if he meant to embrace the older man. This was perhaps the closest they had ever been, physically. Once, many years ago, during a visit to Storm's End after the death of Steffon Baratheon and his lady wife, Jon Arryn had made a move to embrace Steffon's second son as a gesture of comfort and sympathy, but he was swiftly and pointedly sharp words Stannis had uttered back then were still etched very clearly in Jon's memory. "Did you mistake me for my brother, Lord Arryn, improbable as that may be? Your foster son is waiting for you in our father's solar." Jon had never tried again to embrace Stannis. He, too, had his pride.

That young man of four-and-ten had grown into this older man of four-and-thirty, who was saying, in a low voice, "I wish to speak to you about a grave matter that is vital to the realm's interest."

Jon Arryn opened his mouth to speak, but Stannis interrupted to say, in an even lower voice, "Not here! There are too many eyes and too many ears in this place."

Too many eyes and ears? Did he mean spies? Whose spies? The master of whisperer's? The queen's?

"My squires and servants are all –"

Loyal and trustworthy, Jon was about to say, but Stannis silenced him with a pointed look. Jon clapped Stannis' back, saying, in a hearty tone that he hoped did not sound as false to others who might be listening as it did to himself, "It is a grand day to go riding, Lord Stannis. A grand day indeed. I would be glad to accompany you."

Stannis' reaction at being clapped on his back was a sight to behold. He glowered at Jon as if he was thinking, If you are not such an old man, if you are a man half your age, the gods only know what I would do with that hand, with your hand which dares to clap my back without my leave.

Very few men, except his own brothers, had ever dared to clap Stannis' back. And unlike Robert's hand, which had freely clapped many backs up and down the Seven Kingdoms as a gesture of fraternity and brotherhood-in-arms, Stannis' hand was a complete stranger to that particular gesture, Jon would wager.

Over the years, Jon had often wondered about the nature of the wall that loomed large between him and Stannis, the wall that was still unbreached after fifteen years of serving together in very close proximity in the king's council, working hand-in-hand for the good of the realm, and being steadfast allies in the often frustrating effort to counter the worst of Robert's excesses.

Was it Jon's identity as Robert's foster father that had kept that wall standing tall for all these many years? Did Stannis resent the fact that his older brother was more apt to mention his foster father than their blood father, just like he had always resented the fact that Robert was more apt to mention his foster brother Ned Stark than his blood brothers?

Or perhaps, Jon considered, that wall existed between Stannis Baratheon and almost everyone in his life, and Jon himself was not the exception, merely the rule.

"It concerns the children," Stannis said, once he had deemed that they were far enough from prying eyes and ears to be able to talk freely and without constraint.

Jon made a move to halt his horse, but Stannis indicated with a gesture that they should continue on their way, albeit at a much slower pace. They rode side by side, looking straight ahead at the path their horses were treading, conversing without looking each other in the eyes.

"It concerns the children," Stannis repeated.

"The children? Whose children?"

Was Stannis perhaps thinking of a betrothal between his daughter and Jon's own son? The girl was three years older than his Robert, Jon recalled, but a more mature wife would probably do his son good, considering the boy's nature. But if it was merely a question of betrothal, he reflected, then why the need for all this secrecy? Surely –

"It concerns Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen," Stannis said, spitting out the words reluctantly. He clammed up for a long while after this, as if he was seriously reconsidering his decision to speak about the matter.

"Robert's children," said Jon, breaking the silence, hoping to induce Stannis to continue.

"Or not," muttered Stannis, under his breath.

Or not? Whatever could he mean by that? Jon halted his horse, and waited for Stannis to do the same. But Stannis' horse cantered forward without breaking a stride, until its rider made a swift turn to retrace the steps back to Jon's side.

"We ride on," Stannis insisted, his jaw working furiously beneath his tightly-cropped beard.

"We halt," Jon asserted, calmly and without rancor, "until you have explained fully your previous remark."

Two pairs of blue eyes – one as dark as the sea on a starless night, the other as light as the summer sky – met across the divide, each implacable in its own way, neither willing to give way.

"It was you who came to me for counsel," reminded Jon.

"I did not come for your counsel! I came to inform you of a grave matter of which the Hand of the King should not be ignorant."

"Well, inform me, then. I am listening, Lord Stannis."

A variety of conflicting expressions flitted through Stannis' face in a short amount of time. Jon wondered if Stannis knew how transparent and all-too-revealing his face could be at times, just like his lord father's face. Unlike Steffon Baratheon, however, he suspected that Stannis would not appreciate being told of this fact, and would deny it strenuously, in fact.

"I see three lions," Stannis finally said. "I look at Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, and I see three lions, not three stags."

"Princess Myrcella could not be a stag, in any case. She would be a doe," replied Jon, trying to stall with a jape, to give himself enough time to work through a proper response.

This attempt at levity was not appreciated by the king's brother. "Look at their hair, their eyes, their whole features. They are lions through and through," pressed Stannis.

"It is not so unusual for a child to look more like the mother than the father," countered Jon. "Now, it is true that you and your brothers are all black-haired like your father, but this is not true for all children elsewhere in the realm. As for eyes … I will remind you that your brother Renly's blue-green eyes look more green than blue under most lights. His eyes look more like your mother's eyes than your father's."

"It is not only about how the children look. I have also seen a look, a look on a woman's face."

"A look on a woman's face? What look is that, pray tell?"

Stannis seemed reluctant to continue, or perhaps he was having trouble finding the right words to describe the look he meant.

"I cannot assist you if you do not tell me what is troubling you, Stannis," Jon said, softly, dropping the 'Lord' this time, in the hope that it might embolden Stannis to confide to him more freely.

"I am not the one in dire need of your assistance, Lord Arryn," replied Stannis, placing a great emphasis on the 'Lord.'

"Who is, then? Who is in dire need of my assistance?"

"Robert. Our king. My brother. Your foster son. He has been cuckolded, cuckolded and betrayed three times over, and the realm has been cuckolded and betrayed alongside him."

Choosing his words very carefully, Jon said, "A lesser man might smell treachery and rebellion in your words, Lord Stannis."

Stannis did not look taken aback in the least. He looked like he had been expecting that very response. "A lesser man? Are you saying that are you not that lesser man, Lord Arryn? Are you saying that you are too honorable to accuse the king's brother of treachery and rebellion to his face?"

"Not too honorable, no. But too … well-versed, let's say, on the true nature of the king's stubborn and prickly proud brother to assume that he would be speaking those words merely as a pretext to –"

"As a pretext to claim the throne for himself?"

Jon nodded.

"Many might call you naïve and too trusting, Lord Arryn."

Jon shrugged. "They may, of course." His eyes glinting, his expression hardening, Jon continued, "But they would be wrong to take me for a fool, Lord Stannis." He spurred his horse forward. Stannis followed suit without saying another word.

They finally halted beside a stream so their horses could rest and take a drink.

Jon began, "Considering the way the king often humiliates his wife, perhaps it is not so surprising that –"

Stannis interjected, "Incest is not surprising to you?"

Ahhh … there it was, the answer to the question Jon had been reluctant to ask. The unsurprising answer, he was forced to admit, after combing through his own half-thoughts and half-memories, after searching his conscience.

I did not want to know. I wanted to blind my eyes to the truth, because I feared – still fear – that the truth would plunge the realm into war and bloodshed once again.

But other eyes saw, and would not pretend to be blind. Other heads knew, and would not pretend to be ignorant. Other hands would act, and likely would act in a way that could be more catastrophic to the realm. He, the Hand of the King himself, must be the hand driving this forward, bringing the truth to light, with as little damage as possible to the crown and to the realm both.

Oh, but he was weary, bone-tired and so weary! He had never felt as old as he did at this moment. Everything he had worked for, strived for and struggled for, all the hard choices and the terrible compromises he had told himself he was forced to make, were they all to go down the drain because –

Stannis was saying, "I do not blame Cersei in the least for not being fond of Robert. I am not fond of Robert, and I am his brother, his own flesh and blood. But lack of fondness does not excuse treason and betrayal, in a wife or a brother. Lack of fondness does not excuse the breaking of vows, and two sets of vows have been broken here, Jaime Lannister's vows as a Kingsguard among them."

"Why did you come to me with this, Lord Stannis?" Jon asked, abruptly.

"You are the Hand of the King. Who else should I have gone to?"

You could have gone to your bannermen, to assemble an army. Or to the great lords of the realm, to convince them to force Robert to disinherit Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen and to name you as his heir.

"Why not go directly to Robert?"

Stannis made a sound that was almost a laugh, except it sounded so bitter and wearily resigned at the same time that a completely different word should exist to describe it. "Do you honestly think that Robert would believe it, coming from me? Coming from you, the man he loves like a father, he would not be so quick to name it a lie. Coming from me, he would –"

Jon interrupted, "Robert has called you many things, but he has never once called you a liar in my presence. 'My brother Stannis is too honest for his own good,' he has often said. 'Stannis does not know how to hide his anger or his impatience, and he does not know how to dissemble even for his own good.'"

"He would name me a liar this time, I have no doubt. He would accuse me of feigning and dissembling for my own benefit."

"And what benefit would that be?"

Stannis scoffed. "Do not play coy with me, Lord Arryn. It is the question you are asking yourself, is it not? If those children are not Robert's children, then I am his presumptive heir, for now at least, until such a time he fathers a trueborn heir. Tongues would merrily wag that I am doing this merely to put myself first in the line of succession, and that I would do my best to ensure that Robert would perish before fathering a trueborn heir. Is that not the same question preying on your mind?"

"I do not doubt the truth of your allegation, Lord Stannis."

"You believe me as easily as that? I find that hard to believe. Unless …" Stannis frowned, before continuing, "unless the thought had already occurred to you prior to me sharing my suspicion with you."

Jon did not try to deny this.

"Why have you not done anything about it?" Stannis asked, outraged.

"Thoughts are not conclusive evidence. Suspicions are not conclusive evidence."

"Then we must find that conclusive evidence," declared Stannis. "Something that would prove beyond a doubt that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen could not have been fathered by Robert. That was the other reason I came to you with my suspicions, so we could work together to reveal the truth once and for all." He added, grudgingly, reluctantly, as if the words were teeth being pulled from his mouth, "You … you are the only man in King's Landing I could trust with this task, Lord Arryn."

Jon nodded. "It would not be an easy task, I'm afraid," he warned.

"No, it would not," concurred Stannis. "But it must be done nonetheless. No one else must know, aside from the two of us, until we have found that evidence. You and I must be the only ones privy to the secret for the time being."

The wall was far from being breached, but Jon thought that he could spy the opening of a small window amidst the stone and the steel. And perhaps in time, the window would make way for a door, a door through that implacable wall.