Dead Man's Drink, King's Landing, The Crownlands

"That's enough, Dayne!" Eddard runs his fingers through his hair, his frustration with the Dayne's repetitive subject of discussion evident. "I'm not a boy, I don't need coaching. Certainly not from you and certainly not in this. Robert is my friend, my brother, and I've known him nearly half of my life! I know what needs to be done. I know what I need to say." He reaches for the baby sleeping soundly in Arthur's arms.

"Your friend is a violent whoremonger who condones the murder of innocent children and even rewards said murderers, so forgive me if I refuse to put Jon in harm's way." Arthur moves out of reach, clutching a snoring Jon close. "I swore by the old gods and the new that I would die before letting anything harm my nephew. It is the one vow that I will never break."

"Nothing will happen to the boy," Eddard fumes quietly. "I've lost too much already, I won't lose anything else to this damned place, not my life, not my brother, not my nephew-"

"Your son, Stark!" Arthur turns his head sharply, eyes cutting into a wincing Eddard. The babe stirs in his arms and he bounces Jon lightly, trying to rock him back to sleep. "Your son, my nephew, sweet Ashara's boy! If you can't even keep it straight here, between us, then we're all fucked. Him, me, you, your fishwife, and her spawn. All of us! So keep your fucking facts straight!" Despite trying to control himself, his words still grow louder than he meant them to.

As if sensing his uncle's distress, little Jon awakens. Slowly, as if every movement is deliberate, he stretches and shakes his tiny fists and his mouth opens in a silent yawn. His hands then grip Arthur's shirt tightly and his eyes blink open blearily. Arthur nods his head at Whylla, standing silently in the makeshift nursery, eyes never straying from Jon's face.

"Take him," Arthur says. Eddard moves forward, hands once more reaching for the boy. "Whylla."

Tenderly, she removes the boy from Arthur's arms. "I think a feed and a nap are in order, little lord." She pauses in front of Arthur for a moment, bouncing the babe in her arms. Their eyes connect, his a calculating purple and hers a deep, loyal brown. In this moment, Arthur knows that Whylla will do everything in her meager power to protect the child, should Stark betray them. A breath, then Arthur nods.

She leaves for the adjoining room, cooing at Jon all the while; before she closes the door, she meets Arthur's solemn eyes one last time.. As the door shuts, Arthur moves. Between one blink and the next, he's grabbing the front of Eddard's shirt and walking the shorter man backwards. Eddard's back hits the wall with a light thump; a nervous glint has appeared in his eyes and his mouth has gone dry, but he makes no move to break free. Arthur leans close, eyes hard and lips curled in a snarl.

"My nephew will not be endangered by the likes of you, Stark." Arthur growls, his voice deepening. "Your son, he is your son. Say it now, to me, or I swear I will take him to his other family and the next time you see him will be when he comes, a man grown, to kill you, to rain the seven hells upon you and that disgusting fuck you call brother. And he will kill you, for the family you slew, for the mother you couldn't save, in fire and blood. I will ensure it, I promise you. Now, who is he?" His fist tightens, knuckles impossibly white from the strain.

Quietly, so quietly that Arthur can barely hear him, Eddard replies. Arthur holds the stare longer than necessary.

"Good." Arthur releases the shirt with a quick jerk and steps back, dismissing Eddard with a wave of his hand. "What is it your northerners say? The north remembers? Best if you don't ever forget, Stark."