"...I should be able to do it."
Jon shrugged with the casualness of someone who was simply talking about going to the market to buy some vegetables.
The reaction his declaration received was quite varied, with most looking at him with either disdain or pity, as if they were watching a young, naive boy claiming to become a king one day.
And ironically, Baelish was the only one who did not dismiss the boy's words outright. He knew better than anyone present just how cunning this bastard from the North could be, and he feared that there was some hidden conspiracy behind this absurd declaration of his.
He just could not see it.
"I think you have probably never been to the slums of the city, lad," Robert said kindly, clearly not taking the boast too seriously. "Otherwise, you would not be saying something like this. You do not know how many kings, nobles, and maesters have spent their entire lives trying to clean the filth out of this city. No matter how many dragons they poured into it, every one of them failed. They had the will, aye, but alas..." He gave a small snort. "The shit has seeped into the very stones of this place. One would have to tear half of it down before there was any hope of making it clean."
"I do not mean to sing my own praises, but I believe I have certain advantages that would make this task far easier than most would expect," Jon said with an enigmatic smile. The people around him naturally assumed he was speaking of his wealth and the resources at his disposal. "With enough gold and proper planning, I do not believe it would take more than a few months."
This claim shocked them more than anything else, as they finally began to realise that the boy was not joking.
"Forgive me, but have I understood you correctly?" Tyrion asked, leaning forward slightly with clear interest. "You believe that, given the opportunity, you could cleanse all of King's Landing within a matter of months?"
"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying," Jon answered with a calm nod.
From across the table, Baelish silently studied Jon's face with narrowed eyes, trying to understand the boy's game. Ever since this conversation had begun, an uncomfortable feeling had been growing in his chest, as if his instincts were warning him that nothing good could come from it.
But before do anything about it, Renly Baratheon of all people jumped into the conversation.
"Then why not give young Jon here the chance, Brother?" The youngest Baratheon brother leaned forward with an amused grin. "Perhaps he could achieve what the rest of us could not. After all, he is the same young lad who has amassed one of the biggest merchant fleets at just fifteen years old, so I think he has earned the right to prove his words."
It all sounded nice, but anyone who knew the man well would realise that it was less about whether the task could actually be accomplished and more about the amusement it would bring for everyone.
Meanwhile, on the field below, the two young knights representing the richest houses of Westeros finally met, their lances striking shields with enough force to shake both men in their saddles. Yet the royal platform barely noticed; their attention was fixed entirely on the more interesting game unfolding before them.
This is bad.
Petyr could feel his unease growing. Even if Jon gained nothing else from this, allowing him official authority in King's Landing would be dangerous. It would give the boy a foothold in the capital, a path into the very circles of power Petyr had spent years trying to climb.
And the last thing he needed was a clever Northerner with influence in his city.
But how to stop this...
Robert looked at him for a long moment. "Are you certain, boy?"
"I can only say that I am more certain of this than I was when I first began my trading company," Jon shrugged.
That answer seemed to amuse Robert more than anything.
"Then there is nothing more to discuss." He waved a hand dismissively. "Try it, if you want. Let me see what Ned taught you that makes you think you can handle the thousands of rats, and beggars crawling through those filthy streets."
He gave a disgusted shudder, his great stomach moving with him.
"Gods, just thinking about it makes me want a drink."
He promptly drained his goblet.
"But if you actually manage it..." Robert wiped his mouth, considering the matter. "What in the Seven Hells would be a fitting reward for something like that?"
"How about you hand me the position of Master of Coin, Your Grace?" Jon said suddenly, turning towards the man in question with a playful smile.
For the briefest moment, Petyr Baelish froze.
It was gone almost instantly, replaced by his usual indifferent expression, but Jon had noticed.
"It was just a jest," Jon immediately followed with a small laugh, raising his hands innocently, "There is no need to look at me as if you are already planning my murder."
Renly burst into laughter.
"That was excellent, Jon. I do not think I have ever seen Littlefinger caught so off guard."
Even Tyrion seemed entertained by the sight.
Petyr smiled along with them, but inside, his thoughts were far less amused, as he could see a contemplative expression on Robert's face from the corner of his eye.
Even if nothing came of this, the idea had been planted in Robert's mind: the possibility of the boy becoming a member of the small council.
'Which might have been the boy's goal from the start.' Petyr guessed, as this was exactly what he would have done had he been in the boy's place.
In truth, Robert had no complicated thoughts behind it. He simply felt that with the boy's wealth, and after all the gifts he had already given him — especially clearing the million-gold loan — it would not be a bad idea to have him as a Master of Coin.
Perhaps his Foster Father would never have to worry about gold again... and he might just stop complaining about me spending too much on Tourneys and Feasts. And having a man with connections to the North at court would not be the worst thing.
Below them, the tournament continued unnoticed.
Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell met once again in the centre of the field, their lances striking shields with thunderous force. Jaime's blow sent Loras reeling backwards in his saddle, and only his stirrups prevented him from being thrown entirely from his horse.
But the young Tyrell recovered quickly. Before the cheers had even faded, he had taken another lance and prepared himself for another charge, earning fresh cries of excitement from the ladies in the stands.
"But you are right in that a task of this magnitude does deserve a proper reward," Renly said, wearing a smile that made it clear he was enjoying himself far more than he should. "What do you think, Robert?"
"Hm?" Robert blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Oh, let's leave it to the lad, eh?" He gave Jon a heavy pat on the shoulder. "If he truly manages to clean this city, or even make it somewhat tolerable, then that alone would be a victory. He can ask for whatever he wishes. Haha."
Petyr waited until then before speaking.
"And if he fails?" his tone was casual, almost mischievous, as if he was merely joining in the jest. "A wager requires both victory and defeat, does it not? Perhaps a small penalty. A fifteen per cent tax on his ships' trade throughout the realm for three years." He smiled. "A fair consequence for a daring claim."
"Is that really necessary?" Robert asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No, no, the man is right. There has to be a penalty for it to be a proper bet," Renly said with a shake of his head, taking the conversation more seriously than he had ever taken a small council meeting. "Though I do think fifteen per cent is a bit much, do you not?"
Is it?
Robert looked confused. To him, a fifteen per cent cut for the crown sounded perfectly reasonable. What he failed to consider was the most insidious part of Petyr's suggestion: the tax would apply to every port his ships visited, not just King's Landing.
It was not simply one payment. It was a burden that could follow Jon's ships across the entire realm.
Such a tax could cripple a large portion of Jon's trade, especially the routes between the North and the Reach where he was hardly making a profit. The effects on the merchants, workers, and common people involved would be enormous.
But before the discussion could proceed any further, Jon simply answered, "I do not have a problem with that." He said it with little to no hesitation.
After all, when it came to money, no amount could truly create a problem for him.
Besides, this was only relevant if he lost the bet, and if the people currently in power were still alive when the time came to collect the taxes.
And Baelish did not look too pleased with Jon's quick agreement, because it only verified the man's fears that the boy was not doing this randomly.
And the Master of Coin was right about this one, as it was indeed not a spur-of-the-moment decision for Jon.
From the moment he had decided to take matters into his own hands, he had been thinking of ways to sneak into the centre of power in Westeros. Starting with the Small Council.
But he knew that as a bastard with little to no connection, no matter how wealthy he was, it would be hard for him to enter the upper echelons without taking some drastic measures, considering how tightly the ones in power guarded the chairs.
He needed a reason.
He needed an achievement so undeniable that no one could dismiss him, and it needed to be in Westeros and be visible enough for everyone to know about it.
And now, after only a few carefully chosen words, the opportunity had arrived.
"Perfect, then. I'll run it by the Hand. The old man will be happy to get you all the help that you need for this, lad," Robert said, patting Jon on the shoulder once more, 'Especially, once he learns that he won't be the one paying for it.'
'It seems this Northerner bastard is more trouble than I had assumed,' Petyr leaned back in his chair with a pondering expression on his face, the unhappiness having completely disappeared from his face.
This bastard is proving to be far more troublesome than I anticipated.
Petyr leaned back in his chair, his smile returning as though nothing had happened.
The man had intended to deal with the boy at his leisure, slowly tightening the noose until he realised his mistakes.
Now, however, he was beginning to think that such patience would be a mistake, 'Perhaps it would be wiser if the boy simply... disappeared.'
At that very moment, below on the lists, the two exhausted riders met for the ninth pass.
Their lances struck once more, but this time the golden knight's shield trembled ever so slightly in his weary hand. Loras did not miss the opening, driving his lance squarely into Jaime's chest and sending him flying from the saddle, ending the hard-fought semi-final.
"Looks like that's one wager won already," Jon grinned at Tyrion as he stood up to clap, and the dwarf responded with a good-natured roll of his eyes, not looking too bothered at either the loss of his gold or at his brother being defeated.
"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I should congratulate Ser Loras."
Robert waved him away without taking his eyes off Jaime.
"Go, go."
The gleam in the king's eyes told Jon everything. Robert was already eager to see his Kingsguard after the defeat, no doubt to take pleasure in teasing the proud lion who had finally been unhorsed.
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