theimaginarywriter
patreon
Game of Thrones: The Ruler- Chapter 9: Subordinate
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 14:59:11 +0000 UTCSylvia, though confused by the question, nodded fervently in response to Jon’s question. Was she already not saved? Or this young man was not going to save him? She did not know.
Jon lifted his foot which was still planted on the fallen bandit’s shoulder, drawing a groan of pain from him.
Jon picked up one of the fallen swords of the bandit and threw it toward Sylvia. She flinched back in fear as the blade struck the ground near her feet and was embedded into it.
“If you can kill him,” Jon said pointing towards the bandit. You live.”
“Your fate is in your hands now,” Jon declared.
The girl was taken aback, her expression confused. Was he really not going to save her?
Meanwhile, the surviving robber, despite his broken sword hand, began to push himself upright. He had heard it and he did not know how much this young man was going to be true to his words but he had no other option.
Sylvia hesitated, watching the wounded man rise. Then, seeing Jon step back and create distance, she knew she too had no choice. She steeled herself and picked up the sword.
As a simple village girl, she had never held a weapon. Her grip was wrong and her posture was awkward. But there was that fiery resolve in her eyes.
An adrenaline surge coursed through her. With a sharp breath, she charged towards the bandit and swung the sword with all her might even before he had been able to pick back his sword.
The man was ready. He stepped back just in time, and the blade narrowly missed his face. In the next instant, he crouched and picked up the sword using his uninjured hand.
Sylvia’s heart pounded. Fear returned as she saw him armed again. She glanced at Jon, silently pleading for help. But he stood still.
Her brief lapse in focus was all the robber needed. He lunged and slashed.
Startled and unprepared, Sylvia jerked away. She survived but not fully and the blade grazed her arm, leaving a thin line of blood.
She gasped and steadied herself, forcing her breath to slow. He’s no better than me, she thought. His sword hand is useless. That is my only edge. She consoled and boosted her confidence.
And then Something clicked in her mind.
She dashed to the other fallen sword and grabbed it in her other hand. Jon raised an eyebrow.
Sylvia’s advantage was her two working arms. The robber’s movement was stiff, his balance impaired. With his main arm injured, he could only swing his sword wildly.
Sylvia’s muscles ached as she held a sword in both her hands, her grip trembled, but she gritted her teeth and held on.
She faced the robber again and charged, swinging both swords wildly. She had no technique, no training. It was just pure desperation and raw and untamed will to live.
Against a trained fighter, she would have stood no chance even if he had his one arm broken. But her opponent was no soldier. Just a petty bandit who relied on fear and bluster. Now, with a broken arm, he could barely keep up.
Within moments, Sylvia’s relentless assault overwhelmed him. One strike finally landed. A shallow cut across his neck. Blood poured and this the moment. Her other sword found its mark at the same spot.
He collapsed, blood gurgling out, and did not rise again. The bandit was dead. She had won.
As he fell, Sylvia too dropped to her knees, both swords digging into the ground for support.
Her chest heaved as she fought to breathe. Her arms were numb, and they burning with exhaustion. Only sheer will had allowed her to survive.
The adrenaline drained away, leaving her shaken by the realization of what she had just done. The realisation dawned at her that she had taken a life. Though she was feeling a bit, nauseous at this thought, it was nothing to extreme.
Jon stepped forward closing the distance.
“You are good,” he commented.
Sylvia said nothing. He had risked her life when he could have intervened.
“Want to work for me?” Jon asked.
She stayed silent for a moment, studying the boy who looked younger than her. Although he was not dressed lavishly, he had all the features of an aristocrat. Perhaps, a noble!
“What work?” she asked.
Jon chuckled as he was amused.
“I am going to build an empire. I need loyal people to help me,” he replied.
Sylvia looked at him as if he were insane. She did not believe him. At most, she thought him to be a noble who is out for some adventure.
But her mind was already turning. She could not go back to her village. Either she would be blamed for the deaths of the three villagers or someone else would try to sell her again.
And this boy, well-dressed, skilled with a sword, clearly not ordinary could have done anything to her by now if that had been his goal.
This was a gamble. But she had gambled once and lived. Maybe again.
“Why me?” she asked.
“You are good,” Jon repeated.
“But I am nowhere close to you,” she argued.
“I am talking about resolve, willpower and maybe the presence of a brain. Swordsmanship can be trained,” he replied.
“Were you testing me just now?” She questioned.
Jon nodded.
“And if I had died?” She pressed.
“I would not have let that happen,” he said calmly. “I could have killed him instantly. But then you would not have had a chance to become my subordinate.”
Sylvia nodded slowly.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We rest,” Jon replied. “Check their pockets.”
Sylvia searched the dead robbers. The sight of their slashed necks made her nauseous, but she endured it. She found three gold dragons and a few silver moons.
Jon was surprised and pleased. He had fled Winterfell without money and was planning to use shady methods to fund his journey. This would be enough, for now.
As an afterthought, Sylvia also checked the three dead villagers. They had nothing but a few copper pennies.
Jon tied his horse to the abandoned carriage. He planned to sell both for some extra coin. He also collected the robbers’ three horses and fastened them behind the carriage. Their swords were placed inside as well.
The sun had already set, and darkness blanketed the land. Though Jon’s horse was tired, he could not camp near corpses.
So, he rode for another mile and set up camp at a quiet spot off the road.
He had gained his first subordinate.
