A Game of Thrones: Honor and Gold
"Mercenaries!" Pycelle suddenly shouted. "Your captain refused to kill this bastard in front of you for the sake of his honor! He fears offending the Lannister family while he dreams of reviving his own house and reclaiming his grandfather's castle to live comfortably in Westeros."
Pycelle knew he couldn't prove Jon was an impostor, so he simply acknowledged him as a Lannister bastard.
"But you don't have to follow his lead. I'm offering a bounty of 80 gold dragons for his head. With this money, you can flee far away, leave behind these days of licking blood from your blades, and sail to Essos to live a prosperous life." Pycelle held his money bag high, a fortune by any measure.
In an instant, the mercenaries who had been quiet due to Ser Rodrik's order grew restless again.
Eighty gold dragons was a sum these mercenaries had never seen in their lives. Faced with such temptation, what was their captain's honor worth? Whatever threat the Lannisters posed, they could face the White Walkers for all they cared!
"He's just meat on a chopping block now. Don't look to your companions. Just do it. The fewer who act, the more gold for each." Pycelle encouraged them, then glanced proudly at Jon, but Jon's expression made Pycelle freeze.
Because Jon was laughing.
Pycelle turned around in surprise and found Ser Rodrik glaring at him furiously. Only then did Pycelle realize he had crossed a line by directly bargaining with Rodrik's mercenaries.
But what did it matter? With Rodrik's dedication to honor, would he really kill his employer?
"You'll still protect me, right? You swore an oath." Pycelle smiled confidently, a hint of madness on his face. "You won't become an oathbreaker, will you?"
Rodrik turned away without answering, silently accepting Pycelle's words.
"Hahahaha!" Having received his satisfactory answer, Pycelle's laughter grew louder as he looked back at Jon.
You bastard! You're still laughing! Why are you laughing?
Why do you wear such a mocking expression? You may be richer than me, but what good does it do you?
I can use gold to turn these mercenaries against you because they can kill you, but you can't have them kill me. Even if you offered ten times or a hundred times my price, what difference would it make? With Rodrik and his men protecting me, these mercenaries can't touch me!
You have no way to reach me!
I'm untouchable! You've already been defeated by my hand! The victory is mine!
"Protect me and wait for my attendants to arrive," Jon said calmly to the mercenaries surrounding him. "I'll pay you the same reward he offered." Then he looked at Pycelle and responded with an amused smile.
Pycelle's smile froze on his face. It took him nearly half a minute to understand Jon's meaning, and then he realized he hadn't lost unfairly.
Because in Jon's position, he couldn't have responded so perfectly.
The supposed Lannister bastard's response contained at least two clever maneuvers. First, he only sought to save his life, not to incite the mercenaries to kill Pycelle.
If Jon had offered gold to the mercenaries to kill Pycelle, they wouldn't have dared accept even for ten times the price, given Rodrik's strength and long-standing reputation.
But Jon had retreated to advance, giving up any attempt to harm Pycelle, thereby avoiding direct conflict with his greatest supporter—Ser Rodrik. Rodrik had already planned to let Jon go, and as long as Jon didn't embarrass him, Rodrik wouldn't embarrass Jon.
The second cunning aspect of Jon's approach was that while clearly paying a "ransom" to save his life, he didn't frame it as such. Instead, he offered payment to those who "protected" him, casting his ransom as a "reward."
From "ransom" to "reward"—this small change in terminology completely transformed the nature of the transaction.
If he had offered gold in exchange for his life after being threatened, the relationship would remain hostile, and the mercenaries would fear Lannister retaliation even after taking the money.
But by paying a "reward," he defined his relationship with the mercenaries as one of "employment," effectively removing any cause for revenge.
In this age where everyone valued "reputation" and "noble standing," the actions of this supposed Lannister bastard gave the mercenaries reassurance.
"It's an honor to serve you," said one mercenary who had originally planned to attack Jon, now bowing in oath.
"My sword belongs to you." The mercenaries surrounding Jon switched sides one by one. Even those who had hesitated before now approached Jon to swear their loyalty.
For these sellswords, this choice required no thought. Taking Jon's money not only aligned with Captain Rodrik's previous decision to "let Jon go," but also removed any worry about Lannister revenge. They would be paid without having to do anything—almost like getting gold for nothing.
But taking Pycelle's gold meant risking the Lannisters' wrath.
Soon, only five personal guards remained with Rodrik, while everyone else gathered around Jon.
"The tables have turned," Jon said, snapping his fingers and smiling at Pycelle.
"I thought my move was certain to win, but I suppose there's no such thing as an assured victory," Pycelle admitted defeat in his heart, but tried to save face. "For me, the worst outcome is just a draw, right?"
Jon didn't answer, only staring quietly at Pycelle.
"What, do you still want to kill me?" Pycelle was immediately angered by Jon's obvious contempt, and he looked back at Rodrik beside him.
"Lord Jon, you swore an oath," Rodrik reminded loudly, failing to understand the exchange between his employer and the Lannister bastard.
"Yes, I swore an oath, on the honor of House Lannister," Jon nodded, looking coldly down the dirt path leading from the salt well to the town.
The setting sun cast long shadows through the treetops. Two knights riding side by side appeared in the distance. One wore light green plate armor and the other wore armor of pure black.
The knight in green plate wore a closed helmet with the visor lifted, revealing a bearded face that looked particularly intimidating given his strong build. He rode a tall warhorse draped in red, carrying a thick iron-rimmed shield on his back.
The other knight was even larger—over seven feet tall—and carried a five-and-a-half-foot greatsword on his back. He wore no helmet, his light brown hair hanging loose, with sharp eyes set in a handsome face despite his imposing size.
"My attendants have arrived," Jon smiled, telling the mercenaries around him. They followed his gaze toward the end of the road.
No one noticed Jon slightly clench his fist, fingers curling into his palm, his breathing gradually quickening.
"Attendants?" After hearing Jon's words, the old mercenary Davos, who had acted as foreman earlier, looked at the approaching fully armored knights with shock. "Seven hells! Your servants wear full plate armor?"
He'd heard such armor cost at least ten gold dragons per set.
"What choice do I have? I'm a bastard. If I'm not generous to my men, who would follow me?" Jon shook his head with feigned bitterness. "After all, money is all I have."
"Money is good."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," the old mercenary quickly shook his head.
As the two knights approached, the mercenary band grew alert.
They had expected Jon's "attendants" to be ordinary servants, so the sudden appearance of these heavily armored knights filled them with unease.
"Relax, those are my attendants, bringing everyone's payment," Jon announced loudly while looking at old Davos.
"Lower your weapons!" the old mercenary quickly told those around him. "Lord Jon is our employer now, what are you thinking?"
Clearly, Davos's reputation among these young mercenaries was strong. After his command, the mercenaries remained wary but sheathed their weapons.
Seeing this, Jon nodded to the old mercenary, then raised one hand above his head in a halt gesture. He called to the knights now five meters away: "Stop right there."
As expected, the two knights stopped where they were.
"Old Dog, throw over the eighty gold dragons. Mind you—throw them," Jon ordered, knowing the knights carried far more than eighty gold dragons.
The two knights looked at each other for several seconds before deciding who was "Old Dog." Then the "Old Dog" in green plate armor untied the pouch at his leg and began counting gold dragons.
"That knight—" The old mercenary almost said "knight," as the man counting gold looked far too dignified, but quickly corrected himself. "That attendant's name is... Old Dog?"
"Son of a kitchen cook, from humble beginnings. He followed me before my father brought me to the castle. It's his nickname," Jon explained. "He's a bit slow, but loyal to the bone. When I reclaim my birthright and take a surname, I'll find a way to grant him knighthood."
"Knight a cook's son?" The old mercenary couldn't believe his ears.
"Loyal service deserves generous reward. That's my principle. A bastard never despises others for their birth, because from the start, we're no nobler than anyone else." Jon smiled self-deprecatingly.
"He's fortunate to serve such a gentleman."
"Well, I'm just thinking ahead. It might take half a year for my father to recover from his injuries and marry my mother. After that, I can become a true Lannister." Jon waved dismissively.
Then Jon turned to the green-armored knight who had finished counting coins, nodded to him, and motioned for him to throw the gold over.
The green-armored knight grabbed the pouch and divided the coins three times before throwing them all out. The golden dragons scattered on the ground immediately drew a rush of mercenaries.
"A Lannister always pays his debts. Farewell to you all." Jon seized the moment to mount his horse and rode toward the two knights.
Halfway there, Jon glanced back at Pycelle, and that look made Pycelle feel as if he'd fallen into an ice cave.
Pycelle didn't know why, but he felt an unknown premonition rising in his heart.
"Captain Rodrik, I need to leave—take me away now! Now!" Pycelle urged.
"Be at ease. Lord Jon has sworn that he—"
"He's no Lannister at all!" Pycelle roared.
"There you go again." Rodrik looked helpless. He didn't understand why his employer kept harping on this point.
"Regardless, I'm leaving now," Pycelle abandoned further explanation and hurriedly climbed onto an old horse. With his poor riding skills, he clutched the horse's neck with both hands and pleaded again, "Quickly, let's go quickly!"
Seeing this, Rodrik didn't insist further but ordered the guards around him to depart.
To his surprise, none of his men moved. They all stood frozen, staring blankly toward the setting sun.
Confused, Rodrik followed their gaze. He saw Jon, now beside the two knights, holding a gold bar above his head. The red gold gleamed dazzlingly in the sunset, giving off an intoxicating glow like something from a fairy tale.