Ch 55 First Kill Part 1

"No...It's humans." Jon replied nonchalantly while slurping the soup remaining in his bowl, but his words had the immediate effect of freezing Sam as all the excitement drained from his body.

Sam gathered himself a few seconds later and then hastened to tie the knots on his armour as fast as he could. He fumbled a few times but a minute later he was strapped and secure in the sturdy armour he had carried all the way from Winterfell.

His sweaty hands curled around the handle of the axe and the small shield as his eyes anxiously turned left and right to scout for the unknown assailants. While Sam had somewhat gotten used to fighting other people, that was only when he was in bouts with known friendly faces.

This would be the first time he could potentially have a life-and-death battle. Safe to say he was just an inch away from crapping his pants.

"Don't worry so much, Sam," Jon suddenly comforted after seeing Sam fidgeting like a deer, "We may not necessarily have to fight them... they could just be some friendly strangers coming for a talk."

But Sam wasn't naive enough to believe that...

They were in the middle of nowhere surrounded on all sides by tall yellow grass and Disputed Lands, one of the most dangerous places in Essos was just a day's ride away. The only way someone could stumble on them here would be if they were intentionally seeking them out after noticing the smoke from their fire... and people rarely seek strangers in the Essosi wilderness with good intentions.

But the false consolation nonetheless did its job of calming him and steadying his shaky grip. He just needed to remind himself that he would be safe as long Jon was here.

"H-How many are there?"

"Hmm... Four and a half," Jon answered after thinking for a few seconds.

"Four and a half?"

"You'll see," Jon shrugged but didn't explain any further, so Sam took a deep breath and stopped looking around. He knew that Jon would let him know as soon as they were close enough so he stilled his eyes and began counting in his head to pass the time and soothe his psyche.

On the other hand, having finished his meal, Jon too began to prepare. He put away all the utensils back into the luggage, so that they don't break, and began taking out his weapons to place them by the side of the rock he was sitting on. Now usually, he only carried a bastard sword and a bow as his main weapon but this time he had one extra thing prepared.

Since Jon didn't have any armour other than the sturdy leather jacket he was wearing, that was the only preparation he needed. So he took a small pointed dagger and a whetstone and began to sharpen it while sitting on the rock in front of the fire.

Sam had counted to about 200 when he finally heard the expected footsteps he was waiting for.

They were light enough that he wouldn't have heard them over the wind if he wasn't paying such close attention. The steps stopped just at the edge of the clearing out of their sight and then there was complete silence for a few seconds... before they suddenly heard a whisper.

"I... I think they already know about us..."

"Of course, they do," a voice replied snarkily and loudly, "Can't you see the fat boy sweating under his armour,"

Sam would have been normally offended at that if he wasn't so scared since he had really put in a lot of work and was now a lot skinnier than before.

"No point hiding then..." an aged voice calmly replied and the grass in front of them rustled and swayed as four adult men came out into the clearing carrying various arrays of smirks on their faces.

Of the four of them, two were middle-aged men in their forties, one was an old man pushing sixties and the last one seemed to be in his twenties. All of them carried a long sword at their waists except for the oldest one who had a spear in his hand and a bow on his back.

Their eyes and hair colourings were varied but all of them had sunburnt skin, unwashed hair, beat-up armour and well-worn weapons. All in all their appearance simply screamed sellswords. And each one of them had a similar marking of a helmet and a shield on their breasts.

"How may we help you, my friends," Jon calmly asked while looking up but he didn't get up from his seat nor did he stop sharpening the dagger in his hands as if he was meeting them in an inn instead of in the wilderness.

The sellswords exchanged amused glances with each other at coming across such a young, stupid and naive target, before the youngest one of them replied arrogantly, "You can help us by leaving all your stuff behind and Fucking off!!" the man had a thick local accent but even Sam who wasn't so proficient in High Valariyan could clearly understand his intentions.

"Salov!" the oldest one with a smattering of white hair on his head rebuked gently while leaning on his spear, "You can't be so rude," he shook his head disappointedly at him before turning to Jon with a very fake smile, "I apologize for my friend here, you see he's a bit cranky because of his hunger since we haven't had a good meal in days... I am sure you understand..."

"Of course," Jon nodded with an understanding expression, "I would be ashamed to call myself Westerosi if I don't show you proper hospitality. Please, take a seat, I am sure we still have enough food for you to fill your stomach..."

But none of the sellswords moved to accept the offer and neither did they take their hands off their weapons, "Ah so you're from Westeros," the guy with the spear said in a surprised tone, "That's perfect. I have heard many times how people in Westeros are all very rich... and we just happen to be in somewhat of a pinch money-wise... You wouldn't mind also giving us your gold, would you?" he finished with an insincere smile.

"And... I want that sword of his," one of the middle-aged sellswords piped while pointing at the sword lying beside Jon.

"Fine. Then I want that fatso's axe and his armour too. God knows, I would make much better use of it considering how clean it is, I bet the boy's never even been in a fight." the youngest scoffed while adding in his two bits.

The sellswords wanted to loot them without putting in the work.

"My friends are very demanding," The oldest one continued with a fake apologetic smile when he saw an impassive expression on Jon's face, "But I am sure it shouldn't be much of a problem with your... generosity,"

Sam was nervously watching, hoping that it wouldn't end up in a disaster, but from the greed in the sellsword's eyes and the look on Jon's face, it was a hope in vain. As Sam was waiting for the stone to drop into the puddle, he suddenly heard a faint rustle of the grass behind the sellswords and looked up to find a head peeking out.

He was almost in despair at finding another enemy when Sam actually looked closely and realised that the new individual was maybe not a part of this group, at least not willingly.

First of all, he was too young, the boy barely looked sixteen or seventeen years old. He had blonde hair and striking blue eyes and he would have even looked pretty if not for the... condition he was in.

The boy was in bad shape, he had bruises all over his face and his body, his clothes were muddy and were torn here and there, and most importantly his hands were tied behind his back and he was completely barefoot, which was almost a death sentence in this wilderness unless you were a Dothraki. But even with the state he was in, there was still a defiant look on the boy's face as he looked into the clearing to see the exchange between Jon and his captors.

"I didn't know beggars were so brazen in Essos," Jon finally shot back with an amused smile on his face which froze the expression on the old man's face, "You're quite bad at begging, my friends. I think you should hit the city streets, you'll have much better luck there than out here."

"Ha ha, that is a very funny joke," the old man, who seemed to be the leader, said with a stiff smile, "But I could easily get offended by this... and you don't want that, do you?"

"Oh, I am sure I'll manage,"

"Argh! Enough of this farce, Uncle!" The youngest named Salov interrupted impatiently, "Let's just gut the pretty boy right here and be done with this."

The old man sighed, "You're too reckless, Salov. I was just hoping to make it simpler before we do..."

Jon ignored the sellswords for a moment and turned his head towards the teen prisoner with a curious look on his face, "And what about you, boy? Who are you?"

The boy was shocked to be suddenly called out and replied unconsciously, "I-I am Bran!"

"Are you with them?" Jon asked and suddenly he didn't know why but he got an urge to spread his mind to scout the mind of the boy and he was very thankful that he followed the urge because what he found in the boy shocked him.

"You're from the North!!" Jon stated rather than asking as while the boy had none of the typical looks of a Northerner, the makeup of his mind was telling him a completely different story.

The boy's eyes widened in shock, "H-How did you know—" Bran's question was interrupted with a harsh slap from Salov, the young sellsword, who was irritated at being ignored.

"Who gave you the fucking permission to come out and run your mouth, boy!" Salov asked, and then gave another slap, "Didn't I tell you to stay put, Huh?"

"Enough, Salov," The leader intervened half-heartedly when it looked like Salov would go on, "You already vented your anger on the boy's face earlier. If you slap him more, even his father wouldn't be able to recognise him. Who would we ransom him to then?"

"Who cares," Salov scoffed flippantly, "If not his father, then we can just find a slaver to sell him. The brat's pretty enough to still fetch us a good price," he mocked with a hint of envy.

"You're hopeless, boy," The old man shook his head helplessly, "But then again you're not wrong. But if we're going to sell him to a slaver anyway, then we may as well capture these two alive. We'll get a far better deal with all three in a package,"

"Oh! I can promise to leave them alive," Salov said with a malicious grin as all of them put their hands on their weapon while spreading out, "But they may lose a finger or two... you know I just can't stop myself when I get going."

"Just... don't ruin this one's face," the uncle advised while jerking his head towards Jon, "I think they'll pay a premium for him in Lys—"

"That's enough out of you," Jon abruptly cut him off, "Him! Him! And Him!" he said pointing towards the older three sellswords with the dagger in his hand, "Sam, I'll take the three of them so can you take care of the loudmouth one."

"I-I guess, but—"

"Excellent then—"

"HAHAHA!!" All four of the sellswords burst out laughing simultaneously at that. It took a while before the oldest one controlled his chuckles and was able to speak, "H-How are you so delusional boy? You think—"

That was the last thing the man said as he was abruptly cut off by a simple jerk of Jon's right hand. One moment the dagger was in Jon's right hand and in the next, it was buried deep into the left eye of the man who had been cackling just a moment ago.

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