First clarify some facts

Jon stayed low behind the oak, breath coming even though his insides twisted like a rope under strain. The queen and her brother—the Kingslayer, from the white cloak and golden armour—had stopped by the heart tree again, heads close as they whispered. He couldn't just leave it, not with their secret hanging over Winterfell like a storm cloud. Better to face it now, wring out the truth before it poisoned everything.

He kept his words tight, no room for the power to warp history or spin wild. Leaning in, he whispered to the wind, "The queen and the Kingslayer will enter a trance where they will honestly answer my questions, and afterwards they will be unaware this even transpired."

They went stiff in an instant, backs straight as if yanked by invisible reins. The queen's sharp green eyes dulled, fixed on the weirwood's bloody face, while her brother's arm fell away from hers, his usual smirk wiped clean to nothing.

No fear showed, no twitch of awareness—just blank waiting in the quiet grove. Jon crept nearer, sticking to the tree shadows, his pulse hammering at how simple it went. He checked the empty paths once more, then spoke clear but soft.

"How long have you been in this incestuous relationship?"

The queen replied first, her tone flat, all the bite gone from it. "Since we were children. We experimented together as young as seven, and it became more by our early teens."

Her brother gave a small nod, his voice matching hers, empty as an echo. "Aye, from childhood games that turned to something deeper. We've never stopped."

Jon's throat tightened, the words landing hard in his gut, but he pushed ahead. "Why cuckold the king? Why bear children that aren't his?"

The queen's mouth moved without a flicker of feeling. "I despised Robert from the start. He was drunk and rough on our wedding night, whispering Lyanna's name in my ear. He beat me, humiliated me, whored his way through the court while expecting me to play the dutiful wife. I love Jaime—only him. I aborted the one child Robert got on me with moon tea and made sure all others were Jaime's, to spite him and secure my blood on the throne."

The Kingslayer shifted a bit, adding his piece. "She hated him for good reason. Robert was a brute to her, unfaithful and violent. Our love predated the marriage; continuing it was natural, and the children... they bound us closer."

The air felt thicker now, their confessions drawing a grim picture Jon hadn't wanted to see.

He braced a hand on the trunk, thoughts spinning wild at what it meant for the whole realm. "How did you manage to hide it all these years?"

"We were careful most times," the queen said, gaze still empty. "Jaime's vows as Kingsguard kept him near me without suspicion—twins are expected to be close. We used hidden passages in the Red Keep, met in abandoned towers or during hunts when guards could be dismissed. In Winterfell, we risked the broken tower because the chance arose. Servants who suspected were bought off or silenced."

The Kingslayer chimed in next. "Discretion, when possible, but arrogance helped too. People see what they expect—a protective brother, not a lover. We avoided witnesses, timed our meetings around Robert's drunken stupors. The children looking Lannister was a risk, but Baratheon seed is strong—until it wasn't noticed."

Jon's hands balled into fists, anger rising hot at their careless gall. Bastards sitting the Iron Throne, a queen's betrayal threaded through the crown like rot in wood. "Are the royal children the king's? The older boy, the girl, the younger one?"

"No," the queen said straight off. "None of them are Robert's. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are all Jaime's. I made certain of it—Jaime fathered them during times Robert was away or too deep in his cups."

"She's right," the Kingslayer agreed. "They're mine, though raised as Baratheons. The hair, the eyes—pure Lannister, if anyone cared to look close."

The godswood pressed in closer, the heart tree's red stare weighing on him as Jon took in the massive lie propping up the Seven Kingdoms. False heirs, a hollow crown—blood would flow if this shattered. He drew a breath to steady himself. "Who else knows about this?"

The queen rattled off the list, voice unchanging. "At the start, only us. But Jon Arryn suspected from the children's looks and the Baratheon lineage book. Stannis Baratheon knows—he helped Arryn investigate and fled when Arryn died. Varys the Spider knows everything, plays his games with it. Petyr Baelish spreads rumors for his own ends. Grand Maester Pycelle guessed long ago but keeps silent for Lannister gold. Tyrion suspects but hasn't confirmed yet."

The Kingslayer mirrored her. "The same—Arryn, Stannis, Varys, Littlefinger, Pycelle. Renly might guess from court whispers, but he hasn't acted. No one else for certain, though whispers grow."

Jon dipped his head, the names piling up like logs for a blaze that could scorch everything. One more question gnawed at him, probing how they'd handle his bind. "If you were in my shoes, knowing this secret—what would you do with the information?"

The queen's response snapped out quick, icy even in the daze. "Kill the witness first, if possible—silence is power. If not, discredit them as a liar or madman. Use it to **** for gold, position, or favour. Expose only if it topples enemies and raises me higher, but never without a plan to survive the fallout. Mercy is weakness; crush threats before they strike."

The Kingslayer took a beat longer, his words weighing heavier despite the dull tone. "I'd weigh the honour in it—exposing us means war, blood on your hands. Keep silent if you value peace, or tell someone trusted like Stark for justice. But if ****, I'd use it to protect my own, maybe bargain for Cersei's safety. Killing to hide it... that's the easy path, but it stains you forever. Still, family comes first—do what guards yours."