"Petyr?" Jon frowned slightly at the name, glancing over at Sansa and Arya, who were asleep, leaning against each other.
He gently tapped Sansa on the shoulder. She startled, but relaxed instantly when she saw it was Jon.
"Sansa, take your sister to the back room. I need to meet someone here." Even though he spoke softly, the emptiness of the Sept made his voice echo slightly.
Sansa nodded, shook the sleepy-eyed Arya awake, and the two walked off arm-in-arm.
Jon then turned to the guard. "Tell Petyr I was asleep. Tell him to come in quietly, and that I'll wake up soon."
"Understood, my lord." The guard nodded and left the Sept.
To Jon, Petyr Baelish's late-night visit wasn't hard to figure out. He was likely preparing to go to Dragonstone to negotiate peace on behalf of the Tyrells. Stopping here to see Jon was probably a move to cover his own ass.
After all, the Tyrells had the wealthy Reach and a massive army to bargain with. Littlefinger was just a minor lord from the Fingers.
His constant flip-flopping would undoubtedly disgust Stannis. Like the Freys, he needed Jon's endorsement to survive the regime change unscathed.
Jon also realized something else: for Littlefinger to dare come here, he must believe Jon didn't know the secret—that he was the one who betrayed Ned.
Jon didn't plan to expose him just yet, nor did he intend to kill him. Not now. Littlefinger was representing the Tyrells, and the priority was to bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms and gather strength for the Long Night.
If it ever became absolutely necessary to kill him, Jon could always use a dragon egg to hire a Faceless Man.
For now, the goal was to shake some gold out of him. The man had borrowed over three million gold dragons from the Iron Bank on behalf of the Crown. With that much money passing through his hands, there was no way he hadn't skimmed a fortune.
Plus, he ran the second-largest brothel in King's Landing. Keeping him alive was currently more profitable.
Jon pushed three cushions together and lay down, pretending to be asleep. Soon, a slight, slender figure entered the sanctuary of the Sept.
Dozens of candles flickered, looking like the ghosts of the dead whispering their grievances. It sent a chill down Petyr's spine.
He took a deep breath to steady his racing heart, then called out softly to the figure in the shadows. "Jon?"
"Jon... Jon... Jon..."
Petyr called out once, startled by the echo in the hall. He moved closer slowly and saw the clothes laid out in the coffin—the clothes Ned Stark had worn in life.
Petyr recognized them immediately. Ned had been wearing them the day he was arrested. The day Petyr had held a dagger to his throat and whispered, "I did warn you not to trust me."
Back then, Petyr never imagined his life would one day depend on Ned's bastard son.
He saw Jon lying next to Ned's remains, his back turned.
Petyr looked at the tall young man and hesitated for a moment before deciding to wake him. He needed to get a guarantee from Jon quickly so he could rush to Dragonstone as the Tyrell envoy. Time was of the essence.
But just as he reached out to tap Jon's shoulder, everything changed in an instant!
The boy in the shadows opened his eyes—ferocious, like a startled wolf. He spun around with blurring speed and pinned Petyr to the floor.
A second later, a cold dagger sliced through Petyr's clothes and pricked his skin. As the blade pressed in further, Petyr screamed, "Mercy! Jon! It's not what you think! It was Cersei's orders! All Cersei's orders!!!"
Faced with imminent death, Petyr frantically tried to excuse himself. His voice echoed through the hall, almost instantly alerting the guards outside.
He found that the boy pinning him down was not only agile but incredibly strong. Petyr had zero chance of resisting.
At that moment, Jon acted as if he had just woken from a nightmare. The ferocity on his face was replaced by shock.
"Who are you?"
"Huh?"
Petyr blinked, stunned, then numbly stated his identity.
"Ah, Lord Petyr! My apologies, my deepest apologies." Jon said, helping him up.
"Lord Petyr, that guard is a new squire of mine. He doesn't know my habits yet. I told him I like to kill in my dreams, so no one is allowed near me when I sleep." Jon soothed the shaken Littlefinger while reaching for bandages to dress his wound.
Listening to Jon's explanation, Littlefinger couldn't believe he had gotten stabbed over such a misunderstanding.
But now wasn't the time to hold a grudge. He was the one asking for a favor, and they were standing right next to Ned's bones. Petyr kept insisting it was fine, trying to steer the conversation back to business.
"Jon... Jon, you must know. That day, I fought for Ned. I tried to get him sent to the Wall. I knew he was innocent, that it was unfair. But I am just a humble Master of Coin. I did everything I could..." Petyr looked at Ned's remains, weeping with remorse. His acting was so perfect that if Jon didn't know the truth, he might have believed him.
"I understand. Lady Catelyn told me how much you helped Lord Eddard when he was investigating the death of Lord Arryn. You were Lord Eddard's friend. I want to believe you." Jon grasped Petyr's hand gratefully, then pulled him toward the coffin. "Lord Petyr, you must have much to say to my father. Please, go ahead."
With that, Jon stepped aside.
Petyr couldn't speak. His chest wound was bleeding, soaking his shirt. But with Jon watching him from behind, he didn't dare refuse.
"Ned... it was my incompetence. I couldn't save you... Ned... you have a good son. He avenged you. Soon the true King will take the Iron Throne, and you can rest in peace, Ned..."
Jon watched Petyr with a look of amusement. He knew Petyr should consider himself lucky just to survive. The original plan—becoming Lord of Harrenhal and marrying Lysa to control the Vale—was now impossible.
However, Petyr still held massive influence over Lysa Arryn, who was love-struck enough to murder her husband for him. He could still sway the Vale's allegiance.
As long as Jon kept his guard up, a temporary alliance could still yield huge benefits.
Soon, Petyr finished his performance. He began to recount the events of the Battle of King's Landing.
He claimed that when he realized Jon was defending the city, he had been frantic with worry. But he had been ordered to negotiate the alliance between the Lannisters and Tyrells, and he couldn't disobey orders.
"Jon, you are the cleverest young man I've ever met. The Tyrells allied with the Lannisters because their interests aligned. During Robert's Rebellion, the Tyrells sided with the Targaryens and were shut out of power. This was their chance to step onto the main stage. My role was merely that of a messenger." Petyr downplayed his role as the mastermind, emphasizing his helplessness.
"Lord Petyr, I understand that," Jon nodded. Then his tone shifted. "However, my lord, even so... as men, shouldn't we have principles? Shouldn't we have a bottom line? We can't just drift with the current, can we?
"Forgive me if I speak plainly, but look at your actions. Are they any different from a servant with three masters?"
"A servant with three masters?" Petyr paused, confused by the unfamiliar phrase, but his sharp mind quickly grasped the insult. It was scathing. And he couldn't even refute it.
He had obeyed Cersei (under duress, he claimed), and now seeing the wind change, he was pledging loyalty to Stannis. Combined with his own opportunistic nature, he fit the description perfectly.
Jon, on the other hand, had openly declared for Stannis now, but he had also been the one voice of opposition when the Northern lords crowned Robb. He had the moral high ground to lecture Petyr.
Faced with this "criticism" from a man twenty years his junior, Petyr had to nod and agree, saying, "Jon, you are right."
In reality, he kept his head down to hide his expression in the dim light, his eyes full of contempt.
But Jon seemed to enjoy the lecture. He went on for nearly half an hour, scolding Petyr until his mouth was dry.
Seeing that Jon had finally vented enough, Petyr spoke up. "Jon, everything you say is true. Though you are younger, your honor and morality far exceed mine. But right now, my life is in danger. If I cannot survive this crisis, I will never have the chance to make amends for my past mistakes." Petyr put on a pitiful face.
"The Tyrells want to pledge fealty to King Stannis. Realistically, Stannis won't refuse such a powerful family. They won't suffer for their alliance with the Lannisters. But I am different. I am a minor lord from the Vale with meager lands. I fear the King will punish me. Jon, for the sake of your father, please help me."
The man has absolutely no shame, Jon sneered internally, marveling at Littlefinger's thick skin.
"Lord Petyr, you helped my father, so naturally, I will help you. I'll write a letter for you to take with you. Consider it my plea for leniency on your behalf." Jon patted him on the shoulder.
He wasn't worried about Stannis thinking he was building a faction. The groundwork he laid with Davos and Melisandre was solid.
At worst, Stannis would think Jon was naive and being duped by a schemer.
Jon quickly wrote a multi-page letter and handed it to Petyr. Littlefinger tucked it away as if it were a precious treasure, his joy evident.
Seizing the moment, Jon made his request. "Lord Petyr, I've done you a favor. Could you do one for me?"
"Name it, Jon. Anything within my power," Petyr promised solemnly.
"I need to borrow some... well, actually, I want to raise some funds from you."
Jon explained that he needed to reward his soldiers but his pockets were empty. He also expressed concern about supplies for the Night's Watch and hoped Petyr could contribute.
Petyr didn't refuse. He immediately promised to raise at least ten thousand gold dragons for Jon.
With Jon's guarantee in hand, Petyr left King's Landing that very night. He wasn't alone; he took the noble prisoners captured during the battle with him to present to Stannis at Dragonstone as a peace offering.