Staring at the cluttered, chaotic interface floating before his eyes, Jon felt a twitch of obsession. Even with his go-with-the-flow nature, the sheer mess of the System's display was enough to drive him mad.
The list of pending quests was suffocating. If his instincts were right, these unfinished tasks were ticking time bombs, waiting to explode and force him into another bout of "Auto-Pilot"—a horrifying experience where his body moved on its own like a puppet.
Just as he resolved to clear some of the backlog to avoid future disasters, a sharp chime rang in his skull. Jon stiffened, then watched helplessly as his legs stood up on their own and began marching him toward the Red Keep.
> [Unexpected Event Detected. A new strand of fate has sprouted, offering infinite possibilities.]
> [To ensure Host safety, the Intelligent Struggle System is optimizing your choices.]
> [Initiating One-Click Auto-Pilot Mode for Upgrade.]
> [YES / YES]
> [Selected: YES.]
Jon watched in horror as his body marched toward Queen Cersei's chambers. The familiar dread of losing control crept up his spine as he brushed past the handmaids guarding the door and strode straight into the Lioness's den.
The moment he laid eyes on Cersei, both his heads—the one on his shoulders and the one below his belt—went cold.
The Queen, usually armored in stiff brocades and jewelry, was draped in nothing but translucent silk, likely a new import from the Free Cities of Essos. But the fabric wasn't the problem. The sight that made Jon's liver quiver in terror was the unmistakable swell of her stomach.
Seven Hells! What is happening?!
Though the System held his body in a vice grip, Jon screamed internally. He doubted his own eyes.
It felt like Cersei had just smashed a warhammer into his face. During the weeks Robert had been away, Jon was certain the Queen had taken the Moon Tea he'd provided. He assumed she was recovering, flushing the seed away.
But clearly, the problem hadn't been solved. It had grown.
Staring at the royal bump, Jon's mind went blank. He wanted to weep. This was a death sentence for both of them.
Even if Jon played the fool and denied the seed was his, he didn't have the courage to claim the child was definitely not his. Unless the Seven Gods came down and vouched for him, that child in her womb was a dragon egg waiting to hatch and burn them all alive.
Of course, the explosion would only happen once Robert returned. But right now, Jon faced a different problem—a dilemma he had once forced upon Cersei, which she was now expertly turning back on him.
The layout of the bedchamber had changed. The wardrobe had been moved to block the secret peephole. The Queen lay languidly on the bed, crooking a finger at him.
"Shut up," she commanded, her voice husky. "I don't want to hear a word. Take them off."
As she spoke, she pulled aside the gauzy silk, fully revealing the curve of her belly. The Queen had clearly decided to break the seal and indulge herself. And despite the terror of the situation, the woman was still Cersei Lannister—the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Even in this state, her allure was terrifyingly potent.
The scene didn't just scare Jon; it sparked a dark, confusing excitement in him.
Jon didn't want to yield, but his body gave him no vote. The System piloted him forward, engaging in a very different kind of swordplay.
It was only then that Jon realized his hands were moving with supernatural dexterity. The "Master-Level CQC (Close Quarters Combat)" skill he had received from the System wasn't just for fighting enemies on the battlefield. Apparently, it had... other applications.
Under this devastating assault, the enemy's defenses crumbled. She collapsed, defeated and breathless.
Seeing victory at hand, Jon (or rather, the System) pressed the advantage, intending to completely subdue this difficult opponent. But in a moment of carelessness, the tables turned.
The Lioness let out a low, satisfied growl, and then whispered words into his ear that returned his previous threats with interest.
"So... you wouldn't want..." she purred, "...Robert to know about this, would you?"
Her eyes were sweet, but the meaning behind them froze Jon in place. The sweat on his back instantly turned as cold as the Wall.
He instinctively wanted to deny it, to claim innocence. But against this accusation, Jon knew better than anyone that there would be no trial, no justice. There would only be the Usurper's warhammer caving in his chest.
Sure, by the laws of gods and men, he could demand a Trial by Combat. But who would fight for him? Only a White Walker would be crazy enough to stand as a champion for a minor Baron against the King.
Jon forced a stiff smile onto his face, playing the fool.
"You jest, Your Grace..."
He tried to deflect, tossing the ball back into Cersei's court. "Surely the King will be overjoyed to see a new heir to the throne, will he not?"
Possession of the child was a tricky thing. Usually, only the mother knew the truth for certain. But often, women wouldn't admit the truth, preferring to let some poor fool—or a King—raise the child as their own.
But as the threat hung in the air, Jon realized the grim reality.
He and the Lannisters were now tied to the same sinking ship. He found himself secretly hoping the Usurper would disappear. Quickly.
If Robert didn't die, Jon would. And Jon had no intention of dying.
This was King's Landing. There were no Red Priestesses here to resurrect him with fire magic. He hadn't had time to recruit such allies. He was on his own.
Jon's mind raced. If Cersei was taking this risk—keeping the baby—it meant she had a plan. And that plan undoubtedly involved a hunting accident for a certain Stag.