The Red Keep simmered under the weight of unspoken truths.
Köinzell watched from the shadows atop Maegor's Holdfast, his silver eyes reflecting the glimmer of the setting sun. The Lioness was dead. The spider was cornered. Now, the snake in the crown must be burned out.
He moved through the corridors like a silent phantom, slipping unseen into the Tower of the Hand. Lord Eddard Stark sat at his desk, fingers buried in parchment and wine-stained documents.
> "You've come again," Ned muttered, not looking up.
> "The time has come," Köinzell said, placing a sealed envelope upon the table. "This is the proof you need."
Ned opened it with a trembling hand. A letter—written by Jon Arryn before his death. Meticulous, clear, damning.
And attached were three strands of hair: golden. From Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. With a note: "The seed is strong" written in Arryn's neat hand.
> "All bastards," Ned whispered. "All of them…"
> "Jaime Lannister's children," Köinzell confirmed. "Not Robert's. You know what must be done."
But Ned hesitated.
> "He's still a boy—"
> "So was Rhaenys," Köinzell cut him off coldly. "So was Aegon. You saw what Lannisters did to them. Do not give lions the benefit of honor. They give none."
Ned's jaw clenched. He nodded.
> "I'll send word to Stannis. He is the true heir."
Köinzell turned to leave but paused at the door.
> "And Renly?" Ned asked.
> "Let him come," Köinzell said. "Let him dream of crowns. I will see who dares reach for fire without burning."