Jon had heard from older men before that the morning after one had gotten drunk was never fun. He didn't know how right they had been. His head was throbbing in time with his pulse, and his stomach felt as though it were doing one of Sansa's fancy dances, twisting and tugging around in his belly uncomfortably. Perhaps agreeing to Loras' idea hadn't been in his best interest. But then, if he hadn't, he might not have discovered Cersei's awful secret. A secret which he didn't know how to find evidence for.

It was a lucky guess in its own right that he knew Jaime was the father. He'd just had to put vague clues together to come to that conclusion. How he'd done it while drunk though was a mystery on its own. But he wasn't complaining. Well, not about that.

"Let me guess, fun night last night?" His squire friend, Alec said, coming up behind him. Jon was sitting in front of his morning meal nursing his head, pointedly not eating anything. Instead of responding with words, Jon simply let out a low groan.

"Well, I guess you can't be a man without getting drunk at least once," the other boy mused humorously.

"I never want to get drunk again," Jon moaned.

"You say that now," Alec retorted. "Just you wait."

Jon sincerely hoped he was joking.

"But anyways," he said. "Did you see the tourney yesterday?"

Jon shrugged. "Not really," he admitted.

"Oh, you missed out on quite a bit. The Mountain sent a lance through this one knight's neck, killing him on the spot, only to be defeated by the knight of flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell."

He hadn't been joking then, Jon mused, thinking back to when Loras had been boasting about his victory of the day.

"And on that note, if you're looking for Ser Barristan today, he's been keeping vigil for that poor knight all night. Probably won't be around till later, so no training for you until then." Jon made a mental note of that and tucked it away for later. Preferably when he didn't feel like he'd throw up.

"You know I'm not his squire," Jon said. "I don't have to train with him."

Alec rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Please," he sighed. "He might as well be. It's not often the lord commander of the kingsguard offers up to time to work with a squire. It's nearly unheard of."

Jon found he couldn't exactly argue with that, and decided to hold his tongue on any retort he could have made. Alec made a good point. In fact, it retrospect, Jon didn't really understand why the knight was so invested in him. He'd said it was because he was a gifted swordsman. Perhaps that was why, but there were other talented squires in the keep. Not nearly as talented as Jon, but he was sure Ser Barristan had noticed at least one of them over all his long years here.

"Anyways," Alec said, realizing he wasn't going to get a response from Jon. "The tourney is still going on today, will be for the rest of the week I hear. Are you planning on going?"

Jon shook his head, an action he immediately regretted doing. Alec snorted watching his friend suffer. "Perhaps you should find a healer," he suggested. "They might have something for that headache."

"If you suggest milk of the poppy I will strangle you," Jon bit out, much to Alec's apparent amusement.

"Fine, don't take my seasoned advice," he said. "I'll just go eat my wonderfully greasy sausage somewhere else."

This time the urge to throw up couldn't be contained, and Jon ran off to find somewhere private, the sound of Alec's cackles echoing behind him.

It was later in the day when Jon was finally able to speak with his father. After that morning's escapades, he decided to stay in bed until he felt better. Which, after a few hours, worked. It was well past midday now, with the sun turning to a more soft, golden color in the blue sky. Jon nodded to the Stark men he knew as he climbed the tower of the Hand, knowing his father would be in his chambers after conversing with a few servants. He made a pit stop at Arya's room to grab the book before he went on.

Standing outside the Hands apartments, he knocked on the door, nervous energy fluttering inside him like a bird. He hadn't felt so nervous last night when he'd figured it out. Then again, the only thing he could remember feeling was dizzy.

After a long few moments, the door opened to his father's haggard face. He looked awful, probably from dealing with the council and anything else the Hand of the King had to deal with. As if his father wasn't aged enough by his usual duties, Jon thought to himself.

"Jon," he said, surprise coloring his tone. "Is something the matter?"

Jon swallowed his nerves and held up the book in his hands. "I think I know why Jon Arryn needed this," he said. "And why he was so interested in Robert's bastards."

Lord Stark ushered him in without another word.

Jon quickly got to the point.

"I know why Cersei killed Jon Arryn," he said quickly. Not waiting for his father's response, he barreled on. "Her children are all bastards. Jaime's bastards. None of them have any claim to the throne. And Jon Arryn either found out or was about to find out when she killed him."

Ned Stark just stood there in the wake of Jon's revelation, blinking owlishly.

"How can you be sure?" He asked in a heavy voice. "That's quite an accusation.

Jon swallowed, not sure how to convince him. The best he could do was try, though. "I was out last night with some of the other squires," he started. "And we were talking and then one of them said Joffrey was nothing like his father. Like he wasn't even Baratheon. I don't know how but for some reason I understood then. I understood Joffrey isn't a Baratheon at all. None of Cersei's children are."

"How?"

It was a valid question.

"You said Gendry's mother looked like Cersei, correct?" Jon asked. Ned nodded in conformation. "Then why does he not have blonde hair like her? Why do all of Robert's bastards have his look, but not his trueborn children?"

His words brought about an eerie silence in the room, so thick he felt he could cut it with Frostfang.

"The seed is strong," Lord Stark finally murmured. Jon frowned, ignorant of its meaning. Seeing his expression, he elaborated. "Those were Jon Arryn's last words. He kept saying them on his deathbed. For the life of me I could not understand what he meant, but now I suppose I do."

"And?" Jon pressed.

"The Baratheon seed, the black hair and blue eyes," he explained. "No matter what it always prevailed. Jon Arryn must have known this. And since All of Cersei's children look like her..." He didn't need to finish the thought for Jon to get the image. He felt disgust roll in his stomach.

"You can't tell Cersei," Jon said, thoughts already turning towards the icy queen.

"I know, I remember your warning, even if at the time I didn't listen." Faint relief flowed through Jon at his words, but it was short lived.

"How can we prove it though?" He asked. "We have nothing solid, just our word."

"My word as a Stark is very strong," his father mused. "But against the queen of the seven kingdoms, I'm not so sure. And finding someone who would listen, and believe. It would be a hard task to do."

Frustration boiled through Jon. They had just figured it out! The one thing he had come south to do. And they were no closer to helping anyone with it. This was the reason the Lannisters had pushed Bran out of the tower, the reason Jon Arryn was dead, and the reason his father might die. And there was nothing they could do! He was not going to let the people who had destroyed their family, and might destroy it further, walk free. Something had to be done.

"Could we tell Robert?" He wondered. "Would he believe you?"

A brief flash of panic flitted across Ned's face at the suggestion. "I suppose," he conceded. "But I would not risk it. Robert would kill them. All of them. And they do not deserve that."

The image of dead children wrapped in Lannister cloaks flashed through Jon's mind, and he couldn't help but agree with his father. Even if he didn't want to.

"So what do we do?" He asked, now a hint of desperation in his tone.

A weary sigh escaped Lord Stark, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, grey eyes shut tight in thought. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know."