Okay, so this is my attempt at writing a multichapter fic, which is something that I've never done successfully. Many thanks to namelessrandom for betaing (your advice is greatly appreciated).
Eddard
There were two things about truth that Ned Stark knew for certain. The first was that truth is irrevocably connected to honor, and the second was that no truth came without a price.
The particular truth that Eddard had discovered was attached to a rather hefty price. It was a price that could be payed either with his head or the heads of the Lannisters, depending on who discovered his burden first. Ned had never particularly liked the Lannisters, with all of their lies and their reputation for manipulation, but he did not wish death upon them necessarily.
The tome which led both Ned Stark and Jon Arryn to the startling discovery of Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella's true parentage was still open on his desk, worn pages fluttering in the warm breeze that drifted through the open window. He studied the yellowing pages once more, running his finger over the long-dried black ink that formed words upon them. It was indisputable. Every light-haired maiden who ever wed a Baratheon man bore children with hair as black as the ink in which their names were written. And yet Robert Baratheon's children all had the golden hair of the Lannisters. It made no sense, if Robert Baratheon was their true father.
For a moment, Ned wished that he had never found this information, had never followed the trail that Jon Arryn had left. If he was still ignorant, no harm would come to anyone, but Eddard Stark was an honorable man; he could not keep the Lannisters' secret and still view himself as such.
There was no doubt in his mind that he'd have to reveal the supposed heirs' parentage, but to who? To tell a Lannister would be to put a price on his head, and would endanger both his family and his crown. But Robert himself had grown hot-headed and illogical with age and power, and Ned could not know how the King would react. He supposed, however, that Robert would be easier to reason with than a Lannister; the Lannisters had always regarded the Starks as fools.
Before finding the King, Ned decided that he must visit the godswood. The godswood of the Red Keep was unlike any in the north. He dearly missed the weirwood of Winterfell, where he had so often prayed beside the pond. The great oak in the Red Keep's godswood just didn't seem to hold the power that a weirwood held, with its ancient carved faces and blanched wood.
He prayed anyway, kneeling in the soft grass beneath the tree. He prayed that the old gods have mercy and guide him. He prayed that they grant him the wisdom to find the right words to say to King Robert. He prayed for his family's protection in the turmoil that he knew would follow his talk with Robert.
The leaves of the oak above him rustled in the wind, but he couldn't tell if the rustling was a sign of the gods, or just an average force of nature, signalling the storm that brewed in the darkening sky.
Ned wasn't even sure that the gods could hear him. The more time he spent in King's Landing, the more he felt that it was a godless place. No face adorned the great oak tree and it was said that the old gods only had power where the heart trees could see, but he prayed furiously, because in such a hopeless situation, prayer was all that he had left.
When Ned reached the King's chambers, Robert was preparing for the hunt that was to commence that day.
"Your Grace," he called, stepping into the room and letting the guards push the door closed behind him.
Robert had his attention on a young Lannister boy, who was lacing his brown leather boots. "No, boy, tighter," he snapped, and Ned could see the young boy becoming flustered.
"Robert," he tried again, and Robert looked up at him, first with a brief look of confusion, then with a smile as he realized who had called his name.
"Ned," the King said loudly, "did you decide to join us on the hunt?"
"No, Your Grace," Ned replied, his voice solemn. "I'm actually here to discuss a very urgent matter with you. Would you mind excusing the boy?"
Robert gestured for his young squire to leave him, and the boy quickly stood up, bowed, and made his way to the doors. The King motioned for Ned to sit, and he did, taking a seat across the table from the King.
"Now, what matter is so important that it must delay my hunt?" Ned could not tell if the man was truly angry, or if his words were in jest.
"It's a matter of your children, Your Grace. I have reason to believe that you are not their true father."
The King's face fell into a look of utter confusion. "What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?"
Ned paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and looking around to check that the windows were closed. "The Baratheon line, Your Grace," he began, "has long been known for men with hair as black as night. I was studying the history of the great houses, and nowhere, in any marriage for hundreds of years, has this trait not survived."
Robert's eyes were ablaze. "Ned, if this is your idea of jest, I shall have your head for it."
Ned looked the King dead in his eyes. Robert was deadly serious, his nostrils flaring and his skin red under his thick beard.
"I'm afraid not, Your Grace. I even spoke to one of your bastard sons, who reported that her mother had hair as yellow as corn, and yet he still had hair the color of a crow's feather. The boy was a spitting image of you, Your Grace, and yet all of your supposed children are as far from you as possible." Robert's furious look gave way to one of utter bewilderment. "I could think of no other logical explanation but that the children are not of your seed."
Robert studied his old friend's face. There was no sign of trickery embedded in the steel of Ned Stark's eyes, and the King had always been able to read Ned quite easily. Robert stood, his eyes once again searing with rage. "That whore," he bellowed, in a voice so loud that Ned was certain it could be heard through the thick wooden doors. He grabbed the crossbow from its hook on the wall. "I will kill that bitch. I will kill her and all of her filthy spawns."
"Robert, be reasonable," Ned pleaded, realizing the error of his words as soon as they escaped his tongue.
"Reasonable? You're asking me to be reasonable? I have just discovered that my wife has been bedding other men and that I have no true heir. There is no way to be reasonable. She's a filthy cunt and deserves to die." He tried to move toward the doors, but Ned was now leaner and quicker than the gluttonous King, and he was able to run forward and prevent him from moving. Robert was now inches from him, and Ned could smell the wine on his breath.
"Just listen, Robert," he said, in a voice as calm as he could muster. "Cersei does deserve punishment, with that I must agree, but she deserves a trial as well. It is almost certain that she will be found guilty, as there is no virtue in what she has done, but don't you think that we should hear her explanation and let the Gods judge her as they may?"
Robert retreated, a look of defeat upon his sagging face. "Damn you and all your honor, Ned Stark. Damn it all to hell."
He ignored the King's words. Ned wished, more than ever, that he had stayed in Winterfell. In King's Landing, people were always telling him how foolish his honor was, whereas in Winterfell, it was respected and admired.
"You do know what this could mean," Ned drawled, his voice low.
"War," Robert responded, his eyes now focused on the tiles of the floor beneath him, "war with the Lannisters." The words were heavy, and they hung in the air for a moment. Both men were quiet, thinking.
"Should I call for the High Septon, then?" Ned asked, hesitant.
The King nodded slightly, and although this could be counted as a small victory for Ned, he still felt a weight in his chest. This is no victory, he thought, this is the beginning of a great war.
I know this chapter was really short, but I figured that, since it's all introduction, it's okay, since there was no good way to smoothly transition into the next events. Expect longer chapters later.