A/N: Hey guys! This is my first GoT fanfic, and I wrote it because Sam never gets any love and he deserves someone. I've been thinking of writing this forever, so hopefully you all like it. It takes place in the first season, by the way, before Sam and Jon take their vows. Review please!
Watch has always been Sam's least favorite duty. Strangely, pacing the Wall makes him feel even hollower than Ser Alliser Thorne does at training. Maybe it's because at training, he has Jon and Pyp and Grenn to protect him (albeit reluctantly) from the ghosts of his past. Up here, there's nothing but the dark, endless sky to distract him from the cold clutching his body.
It's a lonely feeling, to say the least. The wind whips his hair back and blows tears into his eyes. The black fog is so thick he can't even see the stars, and sometimes he thinks the clouds are going to swoop down and envelop him in their ice cold embrace, taking him on an adventure he couldn't imagine in his wildest daydreams. He can't decide if the prospect scares him or thrills him.
Perhaps worst of all, the vast emptiness forces him to remember. With nothing else to concentrate on, he is taken back to the days where he wasn't a complete failure in his father's eyes and there was still some love for him at Horn Hill. Back then, he never felt this alone.
He used to be allowed to sleep as late as he liked, wrapped in a warm feather comforter. His mother would give him a kiss when he finally arose and he'd only endure an hour or so of swordplay in the courtyard before he could trot over to the family library. There, he would find Isadora, waiting for him like usual.
Isadora. He never realizes how much he misses her until he remembers her long, black hair and playful green eyes. Unlike him, she was the definition of beauty. She was graceful and slim and kind, too. Despite the insistence of her peers, she was never cruel to Sam. She'd sit with him for hours on end, laughing obligingly at his mediocre jokes and reading poetry to him in a melodic voice. When his father berated him for his various faults, she'd rub his back and stroke his hair and listen as he cried. When he asked why, she always said the same thing. "Because I know you would do the same for me."
And he would. Oh, he would have loved to hold her during dark times. If she ever need anything, anything at all, he would have given it to her in an instant. His mother once told him that that meant he was in love, and he didn't doubt it. How could he not love someone like Isadora? In a world where he meant nothing to nobody, she cared for him. She saw beyond his admittedly immense size and tried her very best to protect him. There was no one like her, there never would be, as long as he lived.
He doesn't mind replaying his time with her over and over in his head. Although he hasn't seen her for ages now, the thought of her gives him hope that someday, he might actually be worth something. That he won't just be a pity project to Jon or a burden to Pyp and Grenn. That he'll be a real, true man of the Night's Watch.
It only starts to hurt when he remembers the day they went to the lake together. It was his seventeenth nameday, and they were having a picnic because his father didn't care to have a feast. It was just the two of them; no one else wanted to come. She looked gorgeous as ever, clothed in a pretty green frock. Her eyes twinkled and her hair shone and he was reminded again that she was absolutely perfect. And he couldn't stop the words from slipping out of his mouth.
"You're beautiful," he murmured longingly, not expecting her to hear him. But she did. She whirled around to face him, eyes wide with surprise. He flushed bright red.
"What?" she breathed, looking slightly scared. He looked away.
"N-nothing," he sputtered. "You, um, just look, well. Very, very pretty today." He paused. "Not that you, erm, don't look pretty other days." Her features softened.
"Samwell Tarly," she smiled lovingly. "You are the sweetest man I've ever known." Her words filled him with an illogical kind of hope. Like because she thought he was so very sweet, she must be in love with him, too. So because it was his nameday and because she was so utterly intoxicating, he took a deep breath and pressed a quick, sloppy kiss to her lips.
When he pulled away, she was gaping at him like he had five heads. His body burned with shame and he already felt the sting of rejection. Isadora frowned at him, looking almost pitying.
"Sam," she whispered. "I... I love you. But you're like a brother to me." She hesitated. "Do you understand?"
He felt himself nodding against his will. Tears welled in his eyes like the coward he was. He'd been pushed away from people countless times; her gentle refusal shouldn't have come as a surprise. Besides, she was flawless, like the princesses in the stories. Doubtless some man had already asked for her hand, or at least planned to. Why would she choose fat, craven Sam?
"Sam," she tried again, sounding genuinely upset for him. "Sam, I'm so sorry-"
"I think," he managed. "I would like to be alone." She froze, shocked to be sent away. After a moment, she bowed her head respectfully.
"Of course," she agreed. Almost silently, she tiptoed out of his life.
The next time he heard from her, she was married. And pregnant. Just like he'd predicted. She practically begged him to come visit her and her husband, and he'd reluctantly decided to visit her at some point after his eighteenth nameday. But then his father informed him of his fate and all his plans fell away. And now he's at the Wall, with no hope of seeing anyone from home ever again. He has his few companions, his regrets, and nothing more.
He can't decide if he would even want to see her again. It would probably cause more pain than anything else. Perhaps it would be better to just forget: forget his father, forget her, forget everything. Then maybe he could become a great hero. Maybe he'd forget his fears, too, and suddenly be able to fight even better than Jon. Maybe he could become someone Isadora would kiss back and laugh with again. Despite himself, he smiles at the thought.
But then the sun comes up, its weak rays chasing away his fantasies. In the light, he sees himself for what he truly is: fat, cowardly, and alone. So he practically jumps off the wall and goes to joke with his new found friends, praying that by some miracle, they'll prove enough of a distraction to help him forget.
A/N: Thoughts?