Written before season 8 began.
When news reached Samwell about his family he did not cry. Not for his father or the brother that had looked down on him for all the years he lived. He did not shed a tear as he heard of his distraught mother scrambling to get the house back in order.
The Dragon Queen is sure to make us leave our home! She had written to Sam in a letter. He was given them a few months after he had left the Citadel. When he had received the word, Jon was watching for his reaction carefully. He says nothing in defense of, or against the queen. He offers a hand of reassurance and looks befuddled as Sam rereads the letter once more before placing it in the fire pit he sat next too.
Without a word Sam moves onto the next one. It was a letter sent by a former soldier who served under his family. A formality to inform him of the same event his mothers had been about. He throws the soldier's letter in the fire before even finishing it once. Jon was now looking at him renew concern. Dark grey eyes glance over, and Sam follows their gaze. Jon was staring at Sam's family. His new one.
Gilly sits with Little Sam over in the corner of the room. Their son's giggles grew as the letter burn. Almost as if he could remember how Sam's father had treated him. When he thought of it, his favorite moment in that house was taking the family sword and leaving with it. One day, maybe little Sam would wield that sword someday.
"Sam?"
"He's alright, Jon. Really," Gilly insists handing back a toy that little Sam had tossed away. He watches them silently. A ghost of a smile pinching at his cheeks as his son tries to chew on his returned toy.
Yet he could not smile, for one does not smile when hearing this sort of news. They grimace, or glare. Scream, shout, curse, or cry. Sometimes a person who would read a letter like this may do all of those things. Some could do them all at once. What talented folks those are.
"Jon will you teach Little Sam how to swing a sword." He does chuckle lightly, however.
Jon's frown deepens, and Sam almost laughs again. Frowning like that it was almost as if they were back on the wall for those first few days. How he didn't end up with a nickname like, the Brooding King, or Jon the Brood. It fit him. Just as fighting fit him.
"The sword is yours Sam. It is your birthright to wield it." His voice was husky and deep. "You've seen how I am with it. I can wield it, but I am not of your skill." He almost reminds his friend of how his father had tried to take away that right by sending him to join the Watch, to begin with.
Shaking frozen locks of hair, Sam stops himself. "I want Little Sam over there to wield it after me. Proudly no matter how poorly or skilled he does so. Please do this. For me, Jon," Sam knows it sounds as if he is pleading. With the way his eyes shift back and forth between his old friend and the babe, Sam realizes that to Jon, this sounds as if he thinks he will die next.
"You'll be around to train him. Daenerys won't do to you what she did to them."
"Of course not. Because I am loyal to you, and you too she. What about my mother, or sisters Jon? What of them?" He asks with his voice slowly rising. He wasn't really angry. Sam knows he sounded it, and while he had burnt the letter, a symbol of him burning the family away. The same way his father had. His brother had. Sam knew he should feel appreciative. Daenerys killed them. The family that hurt him. She had dealt with those that had abandoned him. The same family that let his father send him away.
He would not miss his father or brother. But the others he wasn't so resolute over. It was still his mother who had given birth to him. It was his sisters he actually enjoyed the company of. He burnt away the male Tarleys. Yet he still wants the others safe. Even if he was not always pleasant with them. Or vice versa.
"Give him some space," Gilly suggests. She spoke with a tone she had learned in Oldtown. The simple, but respectful way women spoke to those above them there.
Sam wishes she would just speak plainly. Jon was their friend. Their ally. Not a prince. Or at least, not anymore. There was no longer a king in the north. How his old friend must thank him mad. Mad for feeling nothing but numbness for the family that casted him out. Jon takes his leave. Giving Sam once last look. Samwell knows that look. They would talk again later. In private.
Quietly his friend asks Gilly to watch over him. As if the door was so far away that Sam could not hear them anymore. A simple thing, wood and stone are. Keeps all humans protected behind it. Words always slip through wood and stone. That's how Bran could hear what the people he watches say. The forest has ears as well as eyes.
Gilly shuts the door carefully behind Jon Snow. Her steps were light. In the Winterfell castle, Samwell never could hear his lover approach. It was as if she floated over the stone. When her soft fingers rub across his forehead it pulls his thoughts to the touch. She brushes them over him again. Pushing another lock of hair away. Careful. She was always cautious. A trait not many wildlings he had met, had.
"I'm fine," he lies. Reaching he almost takes hold of her wrist. Hesitation steals his chance to do so away.
"They won't hurt your sisters," Gilly says matter of factly. As if she could hear the thoughts of their leaders then.
"Her hurting them is not my concern. They are already hurt. I'm worried that by the end of the long night they will be homeless."
"Well, that's why we're up here. Isn't it?" When he offers a look of confusion Gilly smiles. She sounds excited as she continues. "To help fight! Keeping the White walkers up here. So, they never reach the south." Her excitement was contagious.
Sam could not keep his smile from showing. Apparently Little Sam approved of his mother's speech too. His laughter fills the room. Sam takes Gilly's hand within his own. Pressing the tips of her fingers against his lips. The way he had seen his lady mother kiss his father's. Gilly was right. As she had been to question the book. The reason they had discovered the truth of Jon had been thanks to her. She steadfastly remained by his side. She even came north with him. Refusing to stay in the safety of Oldtown. They met under the strangest of circumstances. Yet it had been his greatest stroke of luck. Seconded not even to having befriended Jon Snow.
Pressing her fingers against his cheek he whispers, "I love you Gilly,"
Loudly, proud of the fact, she replies, "I love you Samwell Tarley. Little Sam loves you too."