"You swore an oath," Ned spat, doing his best not to raise his voice. However alone he thought they may be, he could not run the risk of being overheard, not for this. "Arthur--"
"I know I did," Arthur replied, violet eyes implacable. A muscle jumped in his jaw in what Ned had long since learnt to recognise as restrained frustration. He had seen that plenty of times in the ten years they had lived under the same roof. "And I kept it," he continued. "Do you know how many times I wanted to tell him? Every time that boy put himself down for being a bastard, for not being good enough, I wanted to tell him everything. Every time I told him the stories about the Targaryens of old, I wished to the Gods I could tell him his connection to them, make him feel like he belonged somewhere."
"He did," Ned hissed. "He is a Stark. He belongs with his family. Why would you tell him?" Ned knew there was a chance he was being irrational. Jon was an intelligent boy. No doubt, even thinking himself half a Dayne, he would have had questions when his first son was born
looking the way he did. But the anger had been building for a year and a half, and the fear with it. Ned was sick and tired of war. The last thing he wanted was to fight yet another one against a man he still loved as a brother, even if he could not forgive the things he had done since. And he could not help but think that Arthur was pushing in exactly that direction.
"Ned." Arthur sighed and dropped into a nearby chair, reaching up and running a hand over his face. "He is a Stark, but he is not. You gave him what you could, but there was always another half to him that you could no more understand than you could nurture it, and he never felt complete without it. Especially since he could never fully be a Stark of Winterfell." He paused, just long enough for Ned to feel that old bite of guilt at how little, in the end, he had had to offer Lyanna's boy. He had taken a Targaryen King and made him a Sand, and he still believed it had been the right thing to do. The last thing the realm had needed was another war, let alone an infant king. Being a bastard had shielded Jon long enough for him to grow up strong and healthy. It had been the question of what should happen afterwards that had always divided Arthur and himself. Ned had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Dragonstone might be enough to satisfy Arthur's ambition on Jon's behalf, but he should have known better, he supposed.
"Jon is a sweet, gentle boy," Ned said. "You cannot possibly think he wants war, especially with all King Robert has given him."
Arthur snorted. "Robert has given him less than should have been his by right of birth and blood," he said. "You are right, though. Jon does not want war. He wants to be left in peace with his family. He will always be a Stark in that way, I believe. But in the end, there may not be a choice." He paused, let out a long breath. "By the time I told him," Arthur continued, "he had already hatched four dragons. He was hysterical and confused and frightened, and he could not make sense of anything. The last thing he needed in that moment was more lies, when he already had all the puzzle pieces to figure out the truth for himself."
"Dragons?" Ned breathed, and felt his knees threaten to buckle beneath him. "You have dragons?"
"Jon does," Arthur corrected. "They answer to him and Daenerys only. She is keeping them hidden down in the catacombs and lava tunnels while the tourney is happening. They are the size of horses now, and they will only keep growing."
"Daenerys?" Ned interjected. "You have Daenerys Targaryen here?"
Arthur nodded. "With all the dragonseeds on this island, another young girl with Targaryen colouring is not something people will notice. She is dedicated to Jon and Duncan, and gets on well with Margaery." He gave another sigh. "From everything Oswell and Gerold could make out, Viserys' madness was only growing, and he would have made a move sooner or later. And he was mistreating the princess. We thought it better to split them up and keep them where we could control them. Daenerys is here, and she is a sweet girl, no threat in and of herself. Viserys is with Gerold and Oswell in turns, still ranting and raving about his birthright. He will be kept far away from here, with no means to gather a powerbase." Another pause. Then, "Jon may not want a war, but in the end there may not be a way to stop it. The dragons will not stay small forever. One child with the look of Old Valyria might be overlooked, but if this second one has that same colouring... Sooner or later, someone hostile
will put the pieces together, and Jon will have to rise up to defend himself and his family. And half the realm will rise with him. You and your son included, unless you were lying earlier."
Ned, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, dropped into the nearest free chair. "I would never lie to one of my children," he said. "Nor would I let one of them be hurt, no matter who threatened them." He hated the idea of another war, but if it had to happen, he knew which side he would be on. Gods, but sometimes he wished he could have prevented Jon from coming here. He could have kept him safe in Winterfell, for as long as he remained there as Lord, and Robb would have done the same after him. Or he could have gone to the Wall, where Robert could never have touched him. He almost snorted at that. He knew, deep down, that Arthur would have never stood for that. Jon, along with Arthur, would have only vanished on the way there, and Ned would have had even less control over the situation than he did now. Still, it was no use wishing to change the past. It was already written, and the ink was dry.
"He does not want to be king, this boy of ours," Arthur said after a while. "But then, none of the best ones do."
Ned raked a hand through his hair, but could only nod.