This time, the raven Jon released flew straight over the entirety of the North, heading for Castle Black.
The letter was brief. Jon, in his capacity as a Baron, offered to donate one thousand Gold Dragons' worth of grain and supplies to feed his brothers in the Night's Watch.
However, there was a condition attached: he requested the "use" of a certain fat boy.
Jon clarified that he didn't need the recruit to break his vows or leave the Watch permanently. He simply needed a noble-born, literate brother to serve as the Night's Watch steward in King's Landing.
The stated purpose for this new position was to streamline the transport of the capital's scum—thieves, poachers, criminals, and rapists—directly to the Wall.
Given the desperate poverty of the Watch, this official offer from the Hand's secretary, sweetened with a massive donation, would likely be impossible for Lord Commander Mormont to refuse.
After sealing that letter, Jon summoned a guard from White Harbor and whispered urgent instructions into his ear.
The guard immediately rode for Tampa, carrying a message for Gendry.
The task was simple: Jon needed the reasonably bright bastard to track down a disgraced, expelled Maester hiding in Tampa and extract a specific consultation from him.
Involving Gendry was a deliberate move to drag the boy into the muddy waters. After all, Jon's current schemes, from any angle, seemed to be undermining King Robert's interests. But compared to the original timeline, Jon was actually trying to buy the Usurper a few more years of life. That was the best he could do.
Relying on others was risky, especially when the opponent was Cersei Lannister—a woman liable to blow up the world if things didn't go her way.
This game was about nerve and patience. The winner would be the one who waited for the perfect moment to strike. The loser would be the one who cracked under pressure and flipped the table.
And frankly, Cersei was better at this than any Stark, Jon included. She was capable of wrapping herself up as an olive branch, bluntly approaching Ned Stark with an offer of peace, asking only for Joffrey's succession.
But Ned Stark? He was a man of steel—rigid, honorable, and blind to reality. He was a fool whose mercy bordered on stupidity.
So, while trying to keep Robert alive, Jon also had to babysit his "father" to prevent the Hand from doing something honorable that would get them both beheaded.
With a heavy sigh, Jon stood up and headed for Ned's chambers. He couldn't control the honorable fool, but he was confident he could trick him into making the "right" mistake.
Jon pushed open the door, his excuse ready. "Apologies for the late hour, My Lord, but time is pressing..."
---
### A Silent Conversation
As he apologized, Jon took in the scene. Sitting by Ned's bedside was a red-haired girl.
It had only been a few weeks, but Sansa looked different than she had at Winterfell.
Her face held the refined, delicate features of House Tully, her skin as pale and flawless as fresh snow. But now, tainted perhaps by the luxurious air of the capital, her innocence had bloomed into something more... ripe.
Her auburn hair was thick and glossy, woven into the intricate, flower-adorned braids fashionable in the southern court. Jon couldn't help but look twice.
But her true beauty lay in those clear, ice-blue eyes. They were like spring lakes, filled with romantic dreams of princes, knights, songs, and courtly love. Every blink was like that of an innocent doe, inviting pity and protection.
Right now, however, those eyes were fixed on someone else, lost in a memory, completely ignoring Jon's greeting.
"Ah, I see Sansa is here. I'll come back tomorrow..." Jon said, turning to leave to give the father and daughter some privacy.
But Ned, propping himself up in bed, called out.
"Wait, lad. I actually need to speak with you."
Jon stopped and turned back.
"As you can see, we are family here," Ned said, his voice serious. "I need you to tell me the truth. Is Joffrey a good match for your sister?"
"Be honest," Ned pressed, looking less like the weary invalid and more like the decisive Lord of Winterfell from years past. "This isn't just about Sansa's happiness. It concerns the North, and the entire realm."
Jon blinked. He had prepared a whole speech to manipulate Ned, but it seemed his "father" was treating him as a genuine consultant. He glanced at the pair, confused, then took a deep breath.
"Funny you should ask. That's exactly what I came to discuss."
Jon closed the door and sat by the bed.
"Father," Jon said aloud, "I believe we shouldn't rush Sansa's marriage."
As he spoke, Jon pulled out a writing slate and held it up for both Ned and Sansa to see.
On the slate, he had written:
> WE ARE BEING WATCHED. SPEAK NORMALLY, BUT READ THIS.
> SEND SANSA OUT OF KING'S LANDING IMMEDIATELY. ROUTE HER THROUGH MY LANDS AND BACK TO THE NORTH.
Shock registered in both their eyes.
Ned had considered breaking the betrothal if Joffrey proved unworthy, even if it angered Robert. But Jon's suggestion was radical—it was effectively fleeing, a direct insult to the King's honor. It was hard for Ned to swallow.
However, reading the warning about surveillance, the Hand played along.
"Child, I understand your concern for your sister," Ned said aloud, his voice steady. "But this matter was settled long ago. There is no room for negotiation."
As he spoke, Ned took the quill from Jon. On the slate, he wrote a single question that made Jon's pupils contract in fear.