Author's Note: This was written for the men of tortall monthly challenge. this month's challenge: Try again.

Also if you want to see the ending of Joren's story, pease read my 'Never'

EDIT* It was brought to my attention that there was a posting problem with this so hopefully it it now fixed

I am not TAmora Pierce

"You've failed me. Again." The blond haired man slammed his fist down on the desk. "You told me you would rid of her by now, and she is still there. She is a gods damned squire for that golden boy at Goldenlake!"

The Lord of Stone Moutain stood and glared down his straight nose at his son. "Well Joren, what's your excuse?"

Joren's icy blue eyes tried to stay locked with the elder man's but they fell to the floor. "I have none, father."

"You are no son of mine right now. My son would not fail!" The back of his hand flew up and connected with Joren's pale cheek, sending the youth to the floor.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Yes. You are sorry." The Lord sniffed and turned his back on my son. "A sorry whelp, now get out of my study."

Joren stood, his shoulders curling in slightly from his usual hard line. He took rigid steps out of his room, down the handsomely decorated halls, and into his own ornate room. His fingers slipped over the smooth surfaces of carved wooden chairs, and the soft blue silk bed covers. His hand landed on a pewter statue of a mounted knight. His hopes rested within that statue.

Everything he wanted was right at his finger tips. He wanted to be just and courageous. Strong and vigilant. An idol among heroes. Respected.

More than anything he wanted his family's respect. His father's. He tried to make them proud with his actions ever since he was a page. Pushing harder, running faster, and trying again, and again.

He could never do it though. No matter how hard he worked he always had to try again. He even failed at forcing a little girl out of her own crazy dream. Why did she even want to go through this anyway? She would never be an idol; she would be despised by too many. She would never gain respect, she would get just the opposite. How could she be happy?

Joren took it upon himself to help her realize her mistakes, but once again, he failed. No matter how many times he tried.

He fell upon his bed. Cloth wrinkling under his weight and the statue clutched in his hand. His face was starting to bruise and swell, but that wasn't why the single tear slipped out of his cold blue eyes.

All he wants right now is the respect he would gain as a knight. If he was a knight, it would be easier. As a squire, a wonderful squire to a lowly knight, he was being denied the respect that his father gave to even the hunting hounds.

That's all he really wants, to try to and gain some respect, any respect. No matter how many times he tried though, he was denied.

He glared down at the statue, why could he hold his dreams so close but never really reach them? He threw the statue at the wall, wanting it to break. He wanted it to shatter into thousands of pieces, just like he wanted his dreams to. If he dreams broke he would stop working so hard for them. If he could just stop trying to accomplish his dreams, he wouldn't have to deal with so much failure.

He wouldn't have to try again.

The statue had lodged itself into the wall paneling, not breaking anything but the wood around it. He ripped it out of the wall, tearing splinters of wood out with it. He threw it to the ground, wanting to smash it. Having to try again.

"Break damn you," he half mumbled, half sobbed to himself. "I'm tired of trying. Tired of failing!" The pewter statue slammed against a leg of the chair, taking wood chips out of hard wood. The statue remained unscathed though.

In another few days he would have to take the final step to accomplish his dreams. He would have to do more than try. He would have to succeed. If he fails, he can never try again. He couldn't fail again.

He rushed over to where the statue landed. Picking it up, he saw no dents or scratches. He would try again. He would gain his knighthood, no matter the price. He set the statue on the window sill and grabbed his sword as he left the room, to try again.

As Joren exchanged blows with a man at arms down in the courtyard, a wind picked up and tugged at the flags on the great castle's tower. It was a simple wind of change.

The little pewter statue of the knight, Joren's dream, was caught in the gusts and fell to the ground many stories below, crushed to pieces.

The broken little knight sat in pieces behind the bushes, forgotten and broken. Never to become an accomplishment, never to try again.