Jon Snow stood in his quarters, staring at the city map spread before him. The flickering candlelight illuminated the streets of King's Landing, marking key locations—the Red Keep, Flea Bottom, the docks, and Littlefinger's known holdings. His mind was a tempest of plans and contingencies. He had gained Olenna Tyrell's tentative support and Arya's deadly assistance, but the game was far from over.
Arya stood nearby, her shadow blending into the dim room. She was quiet, watching him with the eyes of a predator waiting to strike.
"You've been quiet," Jon said, not looking up from the map.
Arya shrugged. "Just thinking. About how we're going to handle this."
Jon tapped his fingers on the table, a rare moment of hesitation. "It's not as simple as taking his life. If Littlefinger dies without a plan, the chaos he thrives on will grow. His supporters will retaliate, and worse—his enemies might not be satisfied with just him gone."
Arya tilted her head, a slight smirk on her lips. "You sound like you're talking yourself out of this, Jon."
He met her gaze, cold and determined. "I'm not. I'm just making sure I don't repeat the mistakes others have made. Littlefinger plays the long game. If we want to beat him, we have to do the same."
Arya leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "We don't need to play by his rules. Sometimes a clean kill is all it takes."
Jon shook his head. "It's not just about killing him. It's about destroying him. Making sure no one can pick up the pieces after he's gone."
---
Later that night, Jon received a message from Varys, summoning him to a secret meeting. The Master of Whisperers had information about Littlefinger's next move, and Jon knew every scrap of knowledge could be a potential weapon.
Varys was waiting for him in one of the forgotten rooms deep within the Red Keep. The spymaster's face was neutral, but Jon sensed the tension in the air.
"Lord Snow," Varys began, his voice as soft as silk. "It seems our mutual friend, Littlefinger, is more active than we anticipated."
Jon folded his arms, his tone pragmatic. "What's he planning?"
Varys moved closer, his expression grave. "He's been negotiating with the Iron Bank. Securing funds for something large. It seems he's anticipating a power struggle—one that might not favor him unless he gains more leverage."
Jon's eyes narrowed. "And what does he intend to do with that leverage?"
Varys tilted his head. "That's the mystery, isn't it? But from what I've gathered, he's preparing to turn the City Watch to his side. He's paying off key officers, buying loyalty. It won't be long before Slynt is fully in his pocket."
Jon frowned, pacing the room as the information sank in. "He's using the City Watch to secure the capital. If he controls them, he'll have the muscle to back his political maneuvering."
Varys nodded. "Precisely. And once he has control of the Watch, he'll be free to act against his enemies."
Jon clenched his fists. Littlefinger's web of influence was spreading, and soon, he'd be too powerful to stop.
"You've done well to get ahead of him," Varys continued, "but the time for waiting is nearing its end. If you don't act soon, Littlefinger will slip through your fingers, and when he does, he'll take more than just King's Landing with him."
Jon's mind raced. His earlier conversation with Arya echoed in his thoughts—sometimes a clean kill was all it took. But this wasn't just about Littlefinger. This was about who would control the future of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Do you have any more specific information about his plans?" Jon asked, his voice hard.
Varys shook his head. "Not yet. But I will. And when I do, I'll bring it to you."
Jon nodded curtly. "Good. Keep me informed."
As he turned to leave, Varys spoke again, his voice carrying a note of warning. "Be careful, Lord Snow. Littlefinger is dangerous, but he's not the only threat you face. The Queen still watches, and so do her enemies."
Jon paused at the door, his jaw tight. "I know. I'll deal with them when the time comes."
---
Returning to his chambers, Jon found Arya sharpening her dagger in the dim light of the room. She glanced up as he entered, reading the look on his face instantly.
"Something's happened," she said.
"Littlefinger's preparing for a move," Jon replied, leaning against the doorframe. "He's buying loyalty within the City Watch and securing funds from the Iron Bank."
Arya frowned, pausing her sharpening. "Sounds like he's planning something big."
Jon nodded. "He is. And if we don't act first, we'll lose our chance to stop him."
Arya stood, sliding her dagger back into its sheath. "So what's the plan?"
Jon took a deep breath, the weight of the decision bearing down on him. "We take him out. But we do it strategically. I need the City Watch to stay neutral—or, better yet, turn against him. That means weakening his influence before we strike."
Arya's expression darkened. "And once he's weakened?"
Jon's eyes were cold as winter. "We finish him."
---
The next few days passed in a blur of tense preparation. Jon, with Tyrion's help, began spreading subtle rumors among the nobles and officers of the City Watch, undermining Littlefinger's reputation. It was a slow, careful process—planting doubts, raising suspicions, and letting the whispers grow on their own.
Meanwhile, Arya moved through the shadows, gathering intelligence on Littlefinger's movements. She was a ghost in the city, watching him, learning his habits, his routines, and the names of those he trusted most.
Jon's pragmatism and Arya's lethal focus made them a formidable pair. But Jon knew this wouldn't be enough. He needed to make a decisive move.
---
One night, while reviewing his plans, Jon received a letter bearing the Stark sigil. He recognized Sansa's handwriting immediately and opened it with haste.
The letter was brief, but the message was clear: tensions were rising in the North. The lords were growing restless, and without Jon's presence, their loyalty was beginning to waver. Davos had managed to calm some of the discontent, but it was clear that Jon's prolonged absence was creating doubts.
Jon clenched the letter in his fist, frustration boiling within him. He had expected the North to grow uneasy, but not this quickly. If the North rebelled, all his efforts in King's Landing would be for nothing.
He tossed the letter onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. He had to make a decision, and fast. If he left for the North, Littlefinger would gain the upper hand in King's Landing. But if he stayed, he risked losing the North entirely.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Tyrion entered, a somber expression on his face. "Bad news from Winterfell?"
Jon nodded, tossing the letter toward Tyrion. "The lords are restless. They want me back in the North."
Tyrion skimmed the letter and sighed. "You're caught between two fires, Jon. If you leave now, everything you've built here will crumble. But if you stay, the North might turn against you."
Jon's eyes were sharp with resolve. "I'll stay. Sansa can hold the North together. She has to."
Tyrion looked thoughtful. "If you're sure. But Sansa will need more than letters to keep the Northern lords in line. She'll need a show of strength."
Jon nodded. "She has Davos with her. That should be enough for now. Once we deal with Littlefinger, I'll return to the North."
Tyrion poured himself a drink, raising his cup in a small toast. "Here's hoping your enemies don't grow too bold in the meantime."
Jon met his gaze, cold and determined. "They won't. Because I'll make sure they don't have the chance."
---
As dawn broke the next morning, Jon set his plan into motion. He had learned enough about Littlefinger's movements, his allies, and his ambitions. The time for subtlety was ending. It was time to move against him.
Arya watched from the shadows as Jon gathered his allies and prepared for the strike. The battle for King's Landing—and for Jon's future—was about to begin.