Chapter 102 Poisoned Wine

Jon Arryn walked toward the Prime Minister's Tower with steady steps. The sunlight bathed him in warmth, but it failed to dispel the solemnity that clung to him, his brow furrowed like a stormcloud gathering on the horizon.

As he neared the steps leading to the tower, he suddenly halted. His eyes darkened, as though he had remembered something critical. Without hesitation, he turned around and began making his way toward Grand Maester Pycelle's residence.

Jon Arryn stepped into Pycelle's chamber, where the air was thick with the scent of old books and herbs. Pycelle sat hunched at a table covered with scrolls and texts, deep in thought as he studied something intently. At the sound of footsteps, he slowly lifted his head, his face wrinkled with age and anxiety, his eyes betraying a hint of panic.

"Grand Maester Pycelle." Jon Arryn's voice was low and powerful, resonating in the small room.

Pycelle trembled slightly as he rose from his seat. His frail body swayed with the effort, and his voice quivered. "Prime Minister, I... I wonder what brings you here today?"

Jon Arryn's sharp gaze fixed upon him, his voice cutting through the air. "I need detailed records about the children of the nobility. Do you have anything on hand?"

Pycelle paused, thinking carefully. "My Lord... Records of noble children, you say? Are you interested in their marriages or their family inheritances?"

Jon Arryn frowned, his voice growing more direct. "I need both. Are there many such records? It's fine if it primarily covers the major houses."

Pycelle's eyes clouded with thought for a moment. Trembling, he shuffled over to the bookshelves, his hands searching for the right texts. After a long moment, he pulled out a large book, heavy enough to strain his frail arm.

"Sir, perhaps this book, Genealogy and History of the Major Nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, will meet your needs?" Pycelle said, presenting the book with careful hands, as though it were a fragile relic.

Jon Arryn took the book, quickly flipping through a few pages. His expression grew darker as he scanned the text, and after a few moments, he spoke again.

"Excuse me, Maester Pycelle. I'd like to borrow this book for a few days."

Pycelle nodded vigorously, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Of course, sir. You may borrow it whenever you wish. Should you have any further questions, do not hesitate to ask me."

Jon Arryn gave a brief nod, then pushed the door open and left.

The Prime Minister's Tower was silent that night, save for the faint flicker of candlelight. Jon Arryn sat at a large wooden table, his face illuminated by the flickering flame. Outside the window, the night was so thick it felt as though it could swallow the world whole. No stars pierced the sky, and the moon only barely made itself known, obscured by the heavy clouds.

Inside, the silence was almost suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the candle and the occasional turning of pages. Jon Arryn was hunched over the Genealogy and History of the Major Nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, its yellowed pages and faded ink seeming to carry the weight of centuries.

He read with great attention, his frown deepening as his eyes darted back and forth between the lines, searching for something hidden within the words.

After some time, Jon closed the book slowly, letting out a long, weary sigh.

"Strong and tough," Jon Arryn muttered to himself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

As he looked at the pages he had just read, his mind raced with troubling thoughts. Each illegitimate child from the Baratheon family recorded in the book had black hair—the same as the night.

More than ninety years ago, the last union between the Stag and the Lion, Tia Lannister had married Gwen Baratheon, the third child in his family. Their only child, described in Melion's book as "big, a good eater, and full of black hair," had been a premature baby boy.

Even thirty years earlier, a Lannister had wed a Baratheon. Their offspring, three daughters and a son, all had black hair. No matter how far Jon traced through these ancient records, gold always succumbed to carbon black.

Jon stood up, his body stiff from sitting for so long. He walked to the window, his gaze lost in the depth of the night. The silence outside mirrored the turmoil brewing within him.

His hands tightened around the windowsill, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. The cool breeze kissed his face, but it did nothing to calm his unease.

Suddenly, the door opened gently behind him, and Lysa Tully stepped into the room.

She held a jug of wine in her hands, her face soft with concern. But there was an almost imperceptible panic in her eyes.

"Jon, it's so late. Why don't you rest? You're wearing yourself thin." Lysa's voice was soft, full of tenderness and worry. Yet Jon noticed her hand holding the jug trembled slightly.

Jon turned to face her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "It's nothing important, just some government matters. I'll go to bed soon."

Lysa walked forward and poured a glass of wine, the deep red liquid glowing under the candlelight. "If there are any problems, let the Royal Council handle them. You must take care of yourself, Jon."

Jon looked at Lysa, her concern reassuring him, and took the glass of wine, drinking it in one go.

"Don't worry, my lady. I know my health," he said with a faint smile, gently patting her hand. "I've been thinking, though... Robert is growing up. I think it would be better for his future if we send him to Stannis to be raised."

Lysa's face tightened with reluctance, though she hid it well. "My dear, he's still so young, and not in the best of health. Perhaps... we should wait until he's a little older."

Jon frowned, contemplating for a moment. "Stannis can give Robert better education and training. I understand your reluctance, but this is crucial for his future."

Lysa's eyes flashed with a subtle desperation. She grabbed Jon's arm tightly. "I can't bear to let him go at such a young age. Please, just a little more time, dear."

Jon gazed at his wife, his own reluctance mirrored in her eyes. After a long pause, he nodded. "Very well. We'll wait until he's a little older."

The two exchanged a brief, tender smile before leaving the room together. But Jon Arryn never noticed the look of cold resolve that flashed across Lysa's face the moment his back was turned.