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  Now, with Baelish dead, Jon had an opportunity. The next phase began immediately. Baelish had prepared for every contingency except this one. His death.

  Jon already possessed copies of key ledgers and access routes to private vaults hidden beneath the brothels. He knew which clerks were loyal to coin, not man. Which accounts were structured through shell merchants. Which debts could be called in quietly.

  Jon collected the stacks of ledgers and papers in Baelish’s private vaults. Each document, each ledger, was carefully numbered and annotated with the dates, sums, and recipients. Some accounts were so clever that even a practiced observer might overlook the origin of the funds but Jon had followed the flow, step by step, year by year.

  It was staggering. He had suspected Baelish of skimming, of undering money, of bending the Crown’s wealth into his personal coffers but the scale of it was beyond his expectation. Tens of thousands of gold dragons, spread through yers of proxies and front accounts, funneled from Crown taxes, fines, and fees. Funds intended for repairs to ports, city walls, the smallfolk, even soldiers’ wages diverted to brothels, trade deals, and personal reserves for one man’s ambition.

  Jon carried the proof carefully, folding each ledger into the thick cloak that marked him as northern and outsider in the Red Keep. Ned Stark was still awake in the middle of the night, working to keep the realm together when Jon quietly entered his sor, away from the prying eyes of the court.

  His expression turned grave when Jon pce the ledgers on the table and expined what they were. The Stark banners hung in the room, and the northman’s presence felt heavier, more enduring than the perfumed air of the capital could ever be.

  “All of it belongs to him. Or at least it should. He stole from the Crown,” Jon said, ying the first stack before his father. The papers were dense, a tangle of numbers, ledgers, receipts, and coded correspondences.

  Ned’s hands rested on the table, fingers lightly tracing the topmost sheets. “Baelish?” he asked, his voice even but cautious. “You have proof?”

  “I do,” Jon said. “I followed him for months. Watched how he moved money, how he hid it. He had bribes, investments, loans, all tied back to funds that were meant for the crown. I… I know he pnned to pit the Lannisters against us, to weaken the North while padding his own pockets. And now he’s dead, and the money—every coin—is all here.”

  Ned’s eyes were dark, steady, as he studied the ledgers. He picked up one, flipping through pages with the slow precision of a man used to judging character as much as numbers. “If this is true,” he said, “then he has been stealing for years. And yet, somehow, it was quiet, invisible.”

  “He was smart and scheming, who knows what else he was doing in the shadows.” Over the months Jon got to learn that the mockingbird was a very component enemy. Anyone who had him as an enemy would see their downfall.

  Already Jon knew there was more wealth out there that the man did not share with Jon where he put it. But for now this would have to do.

  The city of King’s Landing seemed to exhale a collective gasp the day the news spread: Petyr Baelish was dead. At first, whispers passed through the corridors and markets like a restless wind, carried by servants, stablehands, and merchants alike. But soon, the revetion that followed was far more shocking than his sudden demise: Baelish had been stealing from the Crown.

  It began with quiet reports from the counting houses, clerks and ledgers that no one had dared question suddenly shining under scrutiny. Gold meant for city walls, for sailors’ pay, for repairs of gates and towers, had gone missing for years and all evidence pointed to the te Master of Coin. The Red Keep buzzed with a mixture of disbelief, outrage, and opportunism. Courtiers whispered in corners, specuting how a man of such modest birth had amassed such wealth, hidden under yers of brothels, trade accounts, and false names. Many shook their heads at the cunning; some cursed the luck that had allowed him to rise so far.

  Ned Stark, however, remained calm. The Starks did not make idle dispys. Jon’s evidence meticulously compiled ledgers, traced transactions, and the patterns of Baelish’s maniputions left no room for doubt. Ned presented it to King Robert, who had initially dismissed the rumors as exaggeration. When the King saw the proofs, the reaction was immediate: a hand gripping the edge of the table, eyes wide, jaw tight with fury and astonishment. This was no mere theft. This was betrayal on a grand scale, a man undermining the Crown while cloaking it in his ambition.

  The Small Council met in emergency session, their faces pale as Ned id out the evidence. Lords and dies who had once deferred to Littlefinger’s influence found themselves scrambling, their loyalties questioned. Allies of Baelish were exposed, embarrassed, or arrested; some vanished before they could be confronted. It was a storm of disruption, a sudden shift in power that left the court reeling.

  Outside the Red Keep, the city seemed to sense the shift as well. Amid the chaos, Jon Snow moved quietly helping in recovering as much funds as they could in the capital. He did not announce his role, though he bore the evidence that had brought this upheaval to light. But word reached the King, as it always did, that the young northern bastard who often lingered behind his father’s presence in court had been instrumental in uncovering Baelish’s treachery.

  It was on a bright morning, several days after the initial revetion, that Jon was summoned to the Throne Room. The King, resplendent in his ceremonial garb, sat heavily upon the Iron Throne, his presence filling the hall with authority. Courtiers lined the walls, whispering and specuting as Jon entered.

  “Jon Snow,” the King said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “You have done a service that few could have managed. Petyr Baelish’s schemes have endangered the Crown and nearly set noble houses against one another for his personal gain. And yet, you uncovered the truth. Is this correct?”

  Jon inclined his head, keeping his expression neutral. “Yes, Your Grace. The evidence was thorough. The accounts, the ledgers, and the correspondences—everything traced back to him. The funds he stole have been identified and are being returned to the Crown.”

  The King’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A bastard of Winterfell,” he said slowly, almost to himself, “who sees more than some of my lords ever could. You’ve done well, Jon Snow. Do you understand the weight of what you’ve done?”

  “I do,” Jon said simply. He had learned long ago that humility was often safer than pride in a room full of ambitious courtiers. Also right now they were still counting the funds, but in total they would soon have nearly a Million gold dragons back in the treasury or where they actually belonged.

  The King’s eyes swept over Jon, as if weighing not just the boy before him, but the man he might become. “You have done more than protect the Crown,” Robert said, voice heavy with approval. “You have restored its wealth, exposed treachery, and acted with prudence and courage beyond your years.” He leaned forward slightly, his hand tapping the arm of the throne. “Such deeds cannot go unrewarded. You have earned more than praise or a mere token of thanks.”

  Jon’s stomach tightened, but he kept his expression controlled. He had spent enough time in the courts of King’s Landing to know that rewards could be double-edged swords. Yet he felt the truth in the King’s words.

  “Therefore,” Robert continued, “I name you… Lord of Harrenhal, upon the passing of Lady Shel Whent. She is advanced in years and without heirs, and it is fitting that the keep and nds of the rgest castle in the Rivernds pass to someone capable, just, and… loyal to the Crown.”

  A murmur rippled through the court. Lords gnced at one another in surprise. Whents were ancient, Harrenhal was legendary, and the boy standing before them born a bastard in the far North, son of a Stark, raised in Winterfell was now designated heir to a fortress that had seen centuries of war, ambition, and ruin.

  Jon inclined his head slowly. “Your Grace,” he said evenly, “I will serve the Crown and the people of Harrenhal faithfully. I will honor the nds and the keep, and guard it as I would my own family.”

  Robert’s mouth curved into a brief smile. “Good. You are not only wise, but you understand the weight of duty. Harrenhal is no small inheritance, Jon Snow. Its walls have witnessed much and its people deserve a lord who can bring stability, justice, and strength.”

  Ned Stark, standing quietly at the edge of the throne room, nodded with the faintest hint of pride. He had always taught Jon that honor and patience were tools as sharp as any sword. Today, Jon’s patience and cunning had brought him this.

  “Also since you have brought me plenty of gold back into my coffers, and can finally get this copper counters off my back, I will reward you with 50,000 gold dragons to get on your feet and your nds in order!”

  Jon inclined his head again at the great reward. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Robert leaned back in his throne and gestured broadly. “You have earned this, Jon Snow. Let it be known to all present: the next Lord of Harrenhal will be a Snow. The North has sent a worthy heir to the Rivernds.”

  Whispers rose through the hall, a mixture of astonishment and envy. Some lords scowled, others murmured congratutions quietly, while a few quickly recalcuted their alliances, realizing that a northern lord, newly empowered with one of the rgest castles in the realm, could shift the bance of influence in King’s Landing and beyond.

  Jon met his father’s eyes, and there was understanding there. Ned had long feared for his son’s pce in the world—born a bastard, constantly overlooked—but now, in this moment, he saw Jon stepping into his own destiny, not as a shadow, but as a lord with nds, men, and authority of his own.

  “The Crown will see to it,” the King said finally, “that the transition of Harrenhal proceeds smoothly. You will be equipped, advised, and protected. Use this opportunity wisely, Jon Snow, for it is rare that one so young is given both such responsibility and such trust.”

  Jon bowed, feeling the weight of the throne room, the eyes of the court, and the responsibility he was about to inherit. “I will not fail, Your Grace,” he said simply.

  Gained Lordship of Harrenhal

  +50,000 Gold Dragons!

  -

  News of the King’s favor spread rapidly. Servants, merchants, and minor lords whispered of Jon Snow’s skill and insight. Some tried to ingratiate themselves, others scowled at the sudden recognition of a boy who had seemed, until recently, peripheral. Jon had expected little praise; what mattered was that his actions had tangible impact. He had secured the North’s safety, recimed the Crown’s wealth, and dismantled one of the most dangerous networks of corruption the capital had ever seen.

  Meanwhile, Ned Stark maintained his quiet authority. He and Jon worked together to audit the recovered funds, ensuring that all of Baelish’s maniputions were undone. Some coins were already flowing back to pay soldiers, repair gates, and support the functioning of the city. Others were reserved, carefully documented, and held in escrow for the Crown’s future use. Each action was deliberate, ensuring that the chaos left by Baelish’s betrayal did not grow into disorder.

  Jon’s reputation shifted subtly but noticeably. No longer was he just the quiet bastard who followed his father through corridors and council chambers. He was a figure to be acknowledged, someone whose counsel carried weight. Courtiers approached with caution, aware that he now wielded knowledge as effectively as any lord wielded sword. Yet Jon remained careful, never funting his position, aware that power in King’s Landing was always transient and fragile.

  Abdirah