Threads of Treachery

The air in King's Landing felt thick with tension, like a storm waiting to break. Jon Snow paced the narrow hallways of the Red Keep, his mind racing with plans. The time for subtle maneuvering was over—he had gathered his allies, moved his pieces, and now, it was time to cut Littlefinger down.

Arya's words echoed in his mind: Sometimes a clean kill is all it takes. She was right in her own way, but Jon knew this had to be more than just a kill. It had to be the end of everything Littlefinger had built. The question was: how to strike without revealing too much of his hand?

A knock at the door drew Jon from his thoughts. It was Tyrion, as usual, accompanied by Varys.

"Jon," Tyrion began, pouring himself a drink, "we have a problem."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "What now?"

Varys stepped forward, his voice low. "Littlefinger is making his move. The whispers say he's using the City Watch to stage something—an event that could throw the city into chaos."

Jon's jaw tightened. "An event?"

Tyrion leaned on the table, looking grim. "A riot, most likely. Something to distract the people, shake their trust in the Queen's rule, and in turn, allow him to maneuver more freely behind the scenes."

Jon's mind worked quickly. If Littlefinger wanted chaos, he had to create a counter-narrative, something that would keep the city under control and turn public opinion against Littlefinger before he made his move.

"We need to get ahead of him," Jon said, his voice cold with determination. "What can we do to prevent this?"

Varys nodded thoughtfully. "If we can expose his dealings before the chaos begins, the City Watch will hesitate to follow him. He has been careful, but not invincible. I've been following the money trails, and there's enough there to raise suspicion."

Tyrion grinned. "If we can make those suspicions public, we might stir doubt in the ranks of the Watch. They're not entirely loyal to him yet, just bought off. If they sense his weakness, they'll abandon him for a safer bet."

Jon's eyes gleamed with calculation. "We'll need to make sure the Queen and her supporters see it too. If Littlefinger looks like a traitor, they'll have no choice but to turn on him."

He stood, his decision made. "Varys, I need you to spread the rumors, make sure everyone knows about Littlefinger's dealings with the Iron Bank. I'll handle the City Watch."

Varys bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord. But be careful. Littlefinger's eyes are everywhere."

---

Jon left the meeting with a renewed sense of purpose. The pieces were falling into place, but he knew better than to underestimate Littlefinger. The man was a master manipulator, and even a single misstep could lead to disaster.

As Jon walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, he felt a shadow pass over him. He turned quickly, his hand moving instinctively to the hilt of his sword. But there was no one there. The feeling lingered, though—a sense of being watched, of something creeping just beyond his vision.

He narrowed his eyes and kept walking. He couldn't afford distractions, not now.

---

That night, Jon visited the barracks of the City Watch, where he found several key officers whom he had been slowly winning over in recent weeks. He had planted seeds of doubt in their minds about Janos Slynt's leadership and Littlefinger's growing influence. Now, it was time to reap what he had sown.

Captain Arlon, a grizzled veteran of the Watch, met Jon with a wary look. "Lord Snow. What brings you to the barracks at this hour?"

Jon crossed his arms, his voice firm but calm. "I've come to warn you, Captain. Littlefinger is planning something big, and he's using the City Watch to do it."

Arlon frowned, suspicion crossing his face. "You've been saying that for weeks. Where's your proof?"

Jon leaned in, lowering his voice. "The proof is coming, and when it does, you'll have to make a choice. Littlefinger is using you—using all of you—to gain more power. Once he has it, he won't hesitate to throw you to the wolves if it means securing his position."

The captain's eyes flickered with doubt. Jon had chosen his words carefully, knowing that the man's loyalty to his men was stronger than his loyalty to any lord. If he could make Arlon see Littlefinger as a threat to the Watch, he would win his support.

"You think he'll turn on us?" Arlon asked, his voice gruff.

Jon nodded. "He's already started. There are men in your ranks who are loyal to him, not the Watch. They'll sell you out the moment it benefits them. If you stand by Littlefinger, you'll be standing on quicksand."

Arlon was silent for a moment, his face grim. "And what's your solution, then? You want us to turn on Slynt and Littlefinger?"

Jon's eyes were cold. "I want you to protect the city. The Watch should serve the people, not the whims of men like Littlefinger. When the time comes, I'll give you the signal. We'll cut the snake's head off together."

Arlon considered his words, then gave a slow nod. "We'll be ready. But you'd better have that proof, Snow. My men won't act on whispers alone."

Jon met his gaze, unflinching. "You'll have it."

---

Later that night, Jon returned to the Red Keep, where Arya was waiting for him. She had that same quiet intensity about her, like a blade waiting to be drawn.

"Everything's in place," Jon told her, his voice low. "The City Watch is ready to turn if we give them the right push. Varys is spreading the rumors. Littlefinger's losing control."

Arya smirked, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. "And when the time comes?"

Jon's expression darkened. "When the time comes, we strike. But it has to be clean, Arya. No loose ends. Littlefinger's death needs to be a symbol—not just for the people, but for the rest of the court. They need to know what happens when someone plays too many sides."

Arya's smirk widened. "I can make it clean, Jon. Just give the word."

Jon looked at her, seeing the assassin she had become. He knew she was capable, but something about the coldness in her eyes unsettled him. Arya was a Stark, but she had become something more—and something less—than the sister he once knew.

He nodded, pushing the thought aside. "Soon. We need to make sure Varys's rumors reach the Queen first. Once she sees Littlefinger as a traitor, the rest will fall into place."

---

The next day, Jon's network of spies and informants confirmed Varys's work. The rumors about Littlefinger's dealings with the Iron Bank, his manipulations of the City Watch, and his hidden plans were spreading like wildfire. By the afternoon, Jon could already see the effects—whispers in the halls, nervous glances among the guards, and a palpable sense of unease in the air.

It wasn't long before word reached Queen Cersei's ears. Jon knew it would. Cersei might have hated Jon, but she hated disloyalty even more. If she suspected Littlefinger was playing his own game behind her back, she would act.

By nightfall, Jon received the confirmation he had been waiting for: Cersei had summoned Littlefinger to the throne room.

Jon smiled grimly as he prepared to make his next move. The trap was set. Now, it was time to spring it.

---

That night, Jon and Arya stood in the shadows near the throne room, waiting. Jon's heart pounded in his chest, but his face was a mask of cold resolve. Arya, by contrast, seemed calm, as if this were just another mission in a long line of kills.

As Littlefinger entered the throne room, flanked by guards, Jon nodded to Arya. "It's time."

Arya gave him a sharp smile and disappeared into the darkness.

Jon turned and headed toward the throne room himself. The final confrontation was at hand.