Bargains in the Dark

King's Landing was a city built on secrets, and Jon Snow was learning quickly that the deeper he delved, the more dangerous those secrets became. His meeting with Ned had only solidified his resolve to carve out his own place here. The North had taught him to fight, to endure, but the South would teach him how to play the game—a game of masks, lies, and power.

Over the next few days, Jon began making subtle moves. He didn't rely on anyone openly, but he observed more closely, keeping to the shadows like Ghost, silent and unnoticed. His father's warning echoed in his mind, but Jon knew he couldn't afford to remain passive. In the South, the wolves had to be clever or be devoured.

---

It was late when Jon found himself wandering the corridors of the Red Keep again, unable to sleep. Ghost padded beside him, his white fur gleaming in the low light, a silent sentinel. Jon had come to enjoy these late-night walks, where he could clear his mind and focus on the ever-present, shifting politics around him.

But tonight, something felt different.

As he neared a secluded section of the castle, Ghost stopped, his ears twitching. Jon paused, his hand instinctively going to Longclaw's hilt. Ghost's instincts were rarely wrong, and Jon had learned to trust them implicitly.

Voices carried from around the corner, low but urgent. Jon moved quietly, staying in the shadows, and crept closer until the figures came into view. Two men, both cloaked in the dark, were speaking in hushed tones. Jon recognized one of them immediately—Petyr Baelish, better known as Littlefinger, the Master of Coin. The other man's face was hidden, but something about his posture seemed... familiar.

Jon crouched in the darkness, listening intently.

"I've already planted the seeds, my lord," Littlefinger was saying, his voice smooth and oily. "The Starks will soon find themselves entangled in webs they cannot escape."

The cloaked man remained silent for a moment, before replying in a voice Jon now recognized. It was Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch.

"The boy, Jon Snow," Janos said, his voice thick with distaste. "He's been skulking around, asking questions. Too many questions. Perhaps we should deal with him before he becomes more of a problem."

Jon's jaw clenched. So it wasn't just Varys and his network watching him—others were taking notice, and not in a way that boded well for his future.

Littlefinger chuckled softly. "No need to act hastily. The boy's a Stark by blood, even if he's a bastard. Killing him would only draw suspicion. Let him play his little games for now. If he becomes a threat, there are... other ways to remove him from the board."

Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened. He'd heard enough.

Moving silently, he slipped back into the shadows and made his way toward his chambers, Ghost trailing close behind. His mind raced, the conversation playing over and over in his head. Littlefinger and Janos were plotting something, something that involved his family and, potentially, him.

If he becomes a threat, Littlefinger had said. Well, Jon had no intention of being anyone's pawn or victim.

---

The next morning, Jon met Tyrion Lannister in one of the lesser-used courtyards, a spot Jon had picked specifically for its privacy. He trusted Tyrion more than anyone else in King's Landing, though that trust was still fragile. He knew the Lannister dwarf had his own agenda, but he also knew Tyrion's disdain for the political games of his family gave him a certain honesty others lacked.

"What's this?" Tyrion asked, taking a sip from his ever-present goblet of wine. "You're starting to look like a man with dangerous thoughts, Jon Snow."

Jon leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "I overheard a conversation last night. Littlefinger and Janos Slynt. They're plotting something, something that involves my family."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Littlefinger? Now, there's a man to watch. Always two steps ahead and three knives hidden behind his back. What did they say?"

Jon told Tyrion everything, about the conversation he overheard, the mention of his name, and the implication that the Starks were becoming tangled in the intrigues of the court. Tyrion listened carefully, his sharp mind already calculating the risks and possibilities.

"Littlefinger is ambitious," Tyrion said when Jon finished. "But he doesn't act without purpose. If he's setting his sights on the Starks, it's because he sees an opportunity. And if Janos Slynt is involved, it's likely tied to the City Watch. Slynt doesn't move without coin or command."

"So what do we do?" Jon asked, his voice low but intense.

Tyrion took another sip of wine, his eyes narrowing in thought. "You don't have many allies here, Jon. Your father, for all his honor, is not a man who understands the game of thrones. He sees only black and white. But you... you're learning. I would tread carefully around Littlefinger. He's dangerous, more so than you realize."

Jon's expression darkened. "I'm not going to let him play me."

Tyrion chuckled. "Good. Just be sure you don't let him see you coming. If he even suspects you're onto him, he'll turn the tables faster than you can blink."

Jon nodded, his resolve hardening. He had always been more straightforward, more of a fighter than a schemer. But King's Landing was forcing him to adapt, to be more cunning, more strategic. He couldn't afford to be seen as a threat—not yet.

Tyrion drained the last of his wine and stood, brushing off his cloak. "I'd suggest keeping an eye on the City Watch, particularly Janos Slynt's movements. There are ways to shift the pieces on the board without drawing attention. And if you need help... well, you know where to find me."

Jon watched as Tyrion walked away, his mind already spinning with possibilities. Tyrion was right. If Littlefinger and Slynt were plotting against his family, Jon couldn't confront them directly. He would have to find a way to undermine them, to gather more information, and to strike when they least expected it.

---

That night, Jon visited the training yard, his mind still racing with thoughts of Littlefinger's schemes. The moon was high, casting a silver glow over the Red Keep. Jon wasn't here to train—he needed to burn off the restless energy that had built up inside him since overhearing that conversation.

As he practiced his swordwork, his movements precise and focused, he was interrupted by the sound of slow clapping.

"Impressive, Snow," Jaime Lannister drawled as he stepped into view, his golden hair catching the light of the torches. "I see you've been working on your form."

Jon straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wasn't in the mood for Jaime's games tonight, but he also knew he couldn't afford to alienate one of the most powerful men in King's Landing.

"Just keeping sharp," Jon replied, his tone neutral.

Jaime smirked, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his own sword. "Good. You'll need it, if you intend to survive here."

Jon didn't respond, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jaime. There was always something off about the Kingslayer—his arrogance was well-known, but there was a complexity to him that Jon hadn't quite figured out yet.

"You seem troubled," Jaime said, stepping closer. "Let me guess—someone's been plotting against you. Someone's always plotting in King's Landing."

Jon's silence was answer enough.

Jaime's smile faded slightly, and for a moment, his expression turned serious. "You're learning, Jon. But learning comes with a price. Everyone in this city plays the game, whether they admit it or not. The question is, how far are you willing to go to win?"

Jon met Jaime's gaze, his jaw tight. "As far as I need to."

Jaime nodded, his smirk returning. "Good answer. Just remember—there are no heroes here. Only survivors."

Jon watched as Jaime walked away, leaving him alone in the training yard. His words, like Tyrion's, carried weight. King's Landing was a place where ideals like honor and loyalty were nothing more than convenient tools to be discarded when they no longer served their purpose.

Jon gripped Longclaw tighter, his resolve hardening even further. If Littlefinger, Janos Slynt, and the rest of the players in King's Landing wanted to treat him as a piece on the board, they would regret it. Jon wasn't just a bastard anymore.

He was a wolf, and he would show them that even a wolf in the South could bite.