A/N: 3 of the 4 perspectives take place after the wedding and at varying times, but all before the sequel takes place. They are also not really in chronological order.

The Lannister perspective takes place in the recent aftermath of the Stark/Lannister truce so its the only one before the wedding.

I'm really sorry for all this confusion. Thank you for your patience.

Warning: The fourth and final perspective in this chapter has references to suicide and suicidal thoughts.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

65: Let it be Written

Dorne:

"My Uncle?"

"Yes, my prince."

"Very well," Quentyn replied before thanking the servant and having him inform his uncle that he'd be there shortly. The servant bowed and left.

My Uncle?

That was not the summons he expected. And yet, nothing since his return to the Water Gardens had been expected.

I was certain it'd be my Father who'd want to speak with me. He mulled this over, My Uncle's invitation, but sent by my father's hand? He thought that made the most sense.

Quentyn had already discovered that his father's plans were complex and largely invisible to him and his siblings due to the revelation he gave them less than an hour ago.

His father revealed to them his attempt to put the exiled Prince Viserys onto the Iron Throne with Quentyn's sister serving as his Queen.

He would not forget his sister's reaction to this startling secret. Seconds before it, she had accused him and Father of plotting to usurp her claim to Dorne, only for Father to calmly tell her the true plot that she could never see or know until it was time.

She wanted it. He saw the lingering disappointment that covered her face like a veil. Arianne mourned, but it was not for the betrothed she never met, but the future that was stolen from her. The Queen she'll never get to be.

That plot was foiled before it could truly take root when Father had learned through Uncle Oberyn's friends in Essos that Prince Viserys was dead.

Quentyn left his chambers and headed to where he was told his Uncle was waiting for him.

After Father had spoke of Viserys' demise and over Arianne's lamenting of a crown she'll never wear. Doran pointed out that the contract would move forward between Quentyn and Daenerys Targaryen.

A crown? A queen? Quentyn found himself dizzy at the expectations swirling around him. The weight suddenly put on his shoulders was threatening to crush him into dust.

Yet, my surprise was nothing in comparison to theirs when I offered my idea.

He had told his father that they should let Daenerys pick her husband between the three Dornish Princes.

'You'd give up a crown, brother?'

His sister had been incredulous when Quentyn still stunned from father's revelations hadn't eagerly accepted the betrothal that would make him a king consort of the Seven Kingdoms.

'I do not want a crown.' It was not a lie. The idea of being a king consort in front of all those people at court, the Red Keep, the city, always watching and silently judging, it terrified him.

Arianne studied him in that moment. There were many qualities of his sister he was jealous of, but her rashness was not among them.

'Such a puzzle you are, brother.' She had finally replied, Nymeria and Tyene Sand snickered.

'I want vengeance for our Aunt, sister,' Quentyn replied, 'I care for Dorne more than anything else.'

Father had commanded silence after that exchange. His lined face could not hide surprise at Quentyn's words, but he said little of his proposal. He had then dismissed them, but not before warning them of the importance of discretion with what it was they were discussing.

Quentyn's memory had distracted him the entire walk to his Uncle's chambers. The door was opened for him by a servant, and he went in without another word or look.

The room was deserted and airy. A welcome wind softly caressed through the yawnings of the room, slitted like tall windows. Orange colored drapes danced as if led by invisible partners. Fresh fruit had been sprawled out on the long table as well as pitchers of wine and water.

It had been unforeseen events that had caused his father to reconsider his plans. The first had been the death of Viserys Targaryen.

One of the other ones was currently staring up at Quentyn. It was an unsettling eyeless gaze and it came from a large human skull that was resting on a small table. The mark of his demise was plain to see from the front of the skull that had been partly caved in showing shattered bone. It was an ugly mark that left behind a gaping unseemly visage.

The deathblow would have been very painful.

There were fresher additions to the skull where chips of bone had been flicked away and he saw the ridges where metal had slashed and sawed against it.

The death of the monster and falsely named knight, Gregor Clegane had sent a tumult through the Water Gardens.

Uncle Oberyn's wrath had been a terrible thing to witness upon its delivery.

'He was mine to kill!' His eyes were hard and dark. There was no joy or relief in his uncle's expression upon seeing one of his sister's killers brought down. It was anger. A swell of fury that had been built up for so long and now it was unleashed into a terrifying torrent.

'By what right does this Jon Snow have to kill him?' Oberyn had seethed, 'Elia and Aegon are nothing to him. They were my blood! They were mine to avenge!'

Uncle Oberyn had let out a cruel laugh. 'The Mountain slain by the bastard son of one of the Usurper's dogs.' His hands were shaking and his mouth twisted in such a way that he resembled a snake poised to strike.

Was he truly angry at Jon Snow or was it himself? He had wondered privately. For the second time his Uncle had found himself too slow and that seemed to eat at him like a parasite.

"Quentyn," His Uncle revealed himself by stepping through one of the openings. He then entered with an easy, elegant stride that caught the eye and envy of all those who watched.

His uncle was everything Quentyn wasn't. Tall, muscled, confident, handsome, smart, it was a long list, and harder to ignore just by being in his presence.

We're second sons, but we couldn't be any more different. How could he not look and compare himself to his uncle? When he did, he found himself lacking in every regard.

"Uncle," Quentyn tried to draw himself up, but he felt more foolish than confident. This was the Dornish Prince that Queen Daenarys deserved. Not me.

"Have you eaten?" He looked over his shoulder while collecting some of the fruit.

"Only a little," he replied, "But I am fine, thank you."

"Nonsense," His Uncle dismissed his answer, "I insist you partake with me. I cannot eat by myself."

"Very well," Quentyn overcome by his Uncle's words despite how he felt.

Pleased, Oberyn then poured them glasses while Quentyn put a few grapes onto a plate. I eat because I'm too meek to stand my ground. He bit hard into the grape and the taste of it splashed in his mouth as he chewed on it.

"Thank you," He took the offered glass and was about to drink before his uncle stopped him.

"A toast."

The suddenness of his uncle halting his movement with his glass made his arm give an awkward jerk, sloshing wine out of his glass and onto the floor and the front of his tunic. He felt his face flush with embarrassment, lowering his head while he cursed his own clumsiness.

His Uncle did not laugh at his misgivings. Nymeria would have, as would Tyene, but none would have been louder or crueler than my sister. He felt the napkin that his uncle handed him and he took it with a nod before dabbing at the stain that was already beginning to set. The cold liquid was seeping through against his skin.

"It was to be a toast to Dorne and the Iron Throne."

Quentyn did not need him to clarify who it was on the Iron Throne that they were honoring. "A good toast, Uncle." He mumbled, putting the damp cloth down and picking up his glass and drank what little there was left in it to his Uncle's words. He then looked up to see his Uncle's eyes on him, and it was an unsettling look, that in the back of his mind, Quentyn could not help but compare to that of a Viper on the hunt.

"I know little of you, nephew," Oberyn began bluntly, "And that is because you were forced to take the punishment for my indiscretions."

"The Yronwoods treat me well." He knew what it was his uncle was referring to. It was not something that was talked about at Yronwood. It was also certainly not looked at by them as simple indiscretions.

"Good," His uncle sounded to have meant it.

"And still I did not expect the reply you gave to your father's words," He tilted his head to the side. His mouth hidden behind his glass as he took a sip. "Who would deny a Queen?"

"I did not deny her," Quentyn corrected, finding himself unable to name the tone his uncle was using.

Uncle's smile was fangless. "You did not." Having finished his food, he walked past him and moved to take a seat in one of the cushioned seats, but to get there he had to pass the table where the Mountain's skull was placed. A glass in one hand, his uncle fluidly and swiftly slid a dagger from a hidden sheath and thrust it into the top of the skull without spilling his drink. The blade smoothly went in showing his uncle had fashioned the skull to serve such a purpose.

He then moved into his seat and propped up his legs onto the table where his dagger was placed through the skull. The hilt stuck out to serve as a crude but satisfying decorative ornament.

"I-I," Quentyn found himself trying to muster some confidence under his uncle's silent, but scrutinizing gaze. Standing there, he felt awkward and stiff, everything his uncle wasn't. "I only wish to serve Dorne." He poured himself another glass of wine.

"So why not accept the betrothal?"

Quentyn couldn't face him. "I know who I am and what I am."

"You are a Prince of Dorne," Oberyn's words were fierce and quick, "Do not forget that, nephew."

He felt a swell of relief and happiness at his Uncle's response. I expected pity or disappointment, or worse agreement. He turned around to see Oberyn's expression had matched his tone.

"I know," He replied softly. A prince he may be, but he was no prized suitor. He was neither handsome nor charming.

In his mind's eye he could already see how his encounter with this Daenerys Targaryen would unfold.

I will come to her and I will be greeted with her disappointment. He drank from his glass, but the wine could not wash away the feelings of inadequacy that rooted itself deep within him. What if she looked at me and decided such an alliance was not worth it? What if she looked at me and laughed, amused, not interested in what I had to say?

"The betrothal is yours by right."

I cannot fail Dorne.

"I only wish to amend it," He felt the fear within if his family's plan unraveled because of him. It was sharp and clawed in his belly like an enraged beast.

"I think she'd like the chance of a choice," he continued, knowing it was such a rare thing to give. "If she will have to marry a Prince of Dorne let it be made by her."

Oberyn lounged loosely in his seat. His arms dangling over the side, but there was a deception in his form. He watched him quietly and closely. "You're making it sound as if you're falling onto your sword, nephew instead of onto the bosom of a beautiful Queen." His uncle smirked.

In that scenario, he wasn't certain what was more horrifying to him-the death or embarrassing himself in front of his bride.

Quentyn was painfully aware of his lack of exploits when it came to any intimate involvements with women. He felt his heart painfully lurch in his chest at his mind conjuring up his failures when it came to satisfying this Targaryen queen. He watched it play out in a mixture of shame and dread.

He tried his best to banish it from his mind. "I want justice, Uncle." He finally found his voice once his inward embarrassment receded.

Something flashed across his uncle's eyes and his smirk melted away in an instant. "I believe you." He said quietly, repeating that same tone he used earlier.

She'll pick Trystane, Quentyn was sure of it. His younger brother was already taller than him, and was handsome. He was also kind and polite. Trystane will make a great king consort. He looks like a king and I look like...me.

A familiar face then flickered across his vision. She had dark eyes and hair and she was smiling in the way she always smiled when she'd tease him back at Yronwood especially when it was about the future they could have together.

"Very well," His uncle stood from his seat. "We will proceed with your amended plan."

"We?" Quentyn repeated, cringing at how dumb he sounded and probably looked in his confusion.

"I have friends in Essos and we will need them if we are to find this Targaryen Queen." He pulled the dagger out of the Mountain's skull. "Are you ready to meet the last Dragon, nephew?"

"Yes," He said after a longer pause then he intended.

"Good, because we shouldn't keep her waiting," Oberyn Martell admired his dagger's sharp blade in the sunlight, "or our enemies that lie ahead."

Lannisters:

Myrcella left the tent in tears.

The peace was made between Stark and Lannister and his innocent niece suffered because of it.

It was cruel, he sighed. She wanted freedom and its been ripped away from her.

Kevan did not know what news troubled her more. The canceling of her betrothal with Robb Stark or her needed return to the city. Her eyes had widened and tears were forming. She then dipped her head and said all the expected courtesies and then gave him a proper curtsey and asked to leave.

He did not hesitate when he gave her permission to do so. I shall visit her later. He decided, not wanting her to be left alone to dwell on her tattered dreams and miserable thoughts.

Kevan rubbed the bridge of his nose, irritated by both those Starks and those of his own blood.

"Uncle Kevan," His nephew walked in, looking without a care in the world. And not having spent the last few weeks in a Tully dungeon. His hair was washed and his face clean shaven. He was draped in the colors of their house, gold and red.

"Ser Jaime," He looked down to his letters. He was not sure he could restrain his annoyance if he had to look at his nephew's continued smirking.

How could they have been so foolish? So selfish? So disgusting?

It made him sick. The clues were there and at times it chewed at the back of his mind, but it was always easy to push away especially when he was at the Rock. However, his trips to the capital where he could see the looks they gave and their closeness and, now everything that has happened these past few weeks.

Absolute bloody foolishness! He nearly wanted to slam his fist into the table. Kevan hoped to shield Myrcella from the rumors, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it spread to a point where it could no longer be hidden.

She deserves better, he lamented, She deserved a better mother than the one she got and a father who cared for her well being above his own.

He knew all too well the failures of fathers and how their mistakes could plague their progeny. Yet, even his father's ineptness seemed to dim in comparison to what the twins may have wrought down upon them. Tytos had dragged their family's name low, but now the queen and her brother had smeared shit all over it, before leaving it there to rot in the dung heap.

He feared the Lannister name may not recover especially if they did not win this war.

Kevan knew he eventually had to speak even though he was not really inclined to share a conversation with the man in front of him. "It is good to see you adjusting to your freedom."

Jaime had already sat himself down. He somehow looked equal parts bored and confident. "I saw the Princess when I neared," He commented casually, "Is she upset she's not getting her wolf?"

He japes while she weeps?

"I'm not sure why," He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, "I've been around those Starks. Frigid, dour, and terribly boring. She should be relieved."

He knew of his nephew's arrogance, but for it to be this blatant. It was unseemly. Did he truly care nothing for her? Kevan was taken aback by Jaime's indifference of what ailed her.

"It would have been a good match for her." Kevan observed coolly, but he could tell his words meant nothing to his nephew. They were dismissed with that grin of his.

"I was thinking I'd ride back to King's Landing," He spoke with an air of casualness, but his eyes did not shy away from his intentions. The green gleamed conveying where his thoughts were.

His lusts. Kevan corrected and he was disgusted. "No." He took some satisfaction in the word and what it meant.

For the first time since he walked in, Jaime's smile dimmed. "I'm the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

And what an embarrassment that's become, he thought of his niece's foolish choice to dismiss the highly thought of Barristan Selmy. Did she not think what it would mean for their cause to have Barristan fighting for Joffrey against the likes of Renly and Stannis? He's a knight who our allies would rally to and bring doubt to our enemies' claims.

Who'd dare go against the legend and credibility of Ser Barristan the Bold? It would have been a great boon for their cause if he was fighting under their banner.

Alas thinking seems to be in short supply when it came to the twins.

"I'm sure the king will understand that your return will be delayed," Kevan informed him.

He frowned. His annoyance flashed over his face. His mouth turned to show his disapproval. "I have an obligation."

It is not to fuck the Queen, Kevan wanted to snap, enraged at his nephew's arrogance. "Your father has summoned you to Harrenhal."

"Harrenhal?" He shook his head, "My place isn't with my father's army its back at the capital."

"That did not stop you from fleeing the city," Kevan observed bluntly. "Tywin is overseeing the removal of our soldiers from the Riverlands and we must abandon Harrenhal."

The truce had been difficult to stomach, but it had to be done. He knew it. They were in a terribly compromised position. Mayhaps if Jaime hadn't gotten himself captured they could've gotten better terms, but that was not to be.

Now, the Starks will lick their wounds and lurk along the borders preparing for their next attack, but this time it would be under Stannis' banner. A formidable man who could not be underestimated. It was not just him that demanded their caution. Lord Stark was now with him too. Not to mention, his sons Robb Stark and the bastard, Jon Snow had both already shown their own talents on the battlefield, as well as the direwolves they employed.

"I could escort the princess-"

"No," Kevan said firmly, appalled that he'd try to use the princess to slink his way back into his sister's chambers. A disgrace, he would not allow it. "Ser Arys is more than capable of handling his continued duties in protecting the Princess. You will go to Harrenhal and you will leave at first light." His tone clearly dismissed him, "And I'd be wise to heed your father's words."

Jaime pushed himself out of his seat and left without another word.

Kevan watched him leave. He reached for his wine and then finished it, but the taste could not settle his stomach.

He knew he needed to make sure to keep an eye on his nephew. Jaime may try to do something rash, like ride off in the night or try to order Ser Arys to step aside so as to allow him to escort Myrcella back to the capital.

Did he have no shame? The indignity of such a blatant request.

My brother did everything to protect and insure our house's survival and now his children were threatening to bring it all to ruin.

He sighed.

Somewhere in the Seven Hells the Mad King is laughing at the humiliation that is being brought down upon Tywin and our house.

The Reach:

"Garlan!"

He smiled, watching his sister, my Queen, hurry herself around the table to greet him. When she was near he tried to bow which only earned him an eye roll, before they embraced.

"Why wasn't I told of your arrival?" She leaned back to see him.

"I told them not to," Garlan grinned, "A brother's prerogative."

She smiled, but it did not meet her eyes. "That's not very knightly, brother."

"No, I suppose not," Garlan wondered what was behind that look she tried to mask with her smile. "However, it does take after those rogues you love so much."

"Indeed," Her tone signaled nothing, "But still," Her eyes showing she was working through something. "They should not keep things from their Queen."

"Oh, Margaery," Garlan tried to dismiss her concern. "They meant well." He took her hand and placed it between his. "They were hesitant, and I asked them."

"Asked?"

"I begged."

This time her smile was real, shaking her head, and a laugh followed. "It is so good to see you." She led him over to the table where she had been sitting alone. His sister was given the best quarters at Horn Hill. The trappings and colors of House Tarly were on display, but the colors and standards of their family and King Renly had also been added to celebrate their staying in their home.

"It seems I missed out on some sweets," He tapped his finger to his mouth.

Margaery looked embarrassed, but when she put her finger to wipe away the residue, she found nothing.

Garlan laughed and even harder when she swatted his arm.

"You shouldn't tease your Queen," She reminded him.

"Aye," He replied gravely. He helped her to her seat before sitting beside her.

Servants dressed in the colors of House Tarly were quickly summoned by his sister, who handled them with the perfect combination of kindness and authority as their Queen before they left to get refreshments for them.

"So tell me," Her eyes held a hopeful hue, "Am I to be an Aunt soon?"

"It is not confirmed," He saw her disappointment, "Leonette is hopeful, but it is up the Seven to decide." He did not wish to part from his sweet wife especially if her instincts were right and she was with child. Garlan was not sure when he'd see her again, especially with how this war was unfolding. It was bad enough to leave her, but the thought of leaving her and his child behind, it was nearly too much to bear. The urge to return to Highgarden would only grow exponentially if she informed him of their blessing.

"I pray it is glad tidings."

"Thank you," He took a moment to study his sister. He had not seen her since she and Renly departed Highgarden after their wedding and coronation. To his relief, she looked well, but he knew looks could be deceiving and that his sister was well trained by their grandmother. Still, he saw no weariness or the burdens of the crown and the challenges that loomed ahead of her as Queen and wife.

Some challenges troubled him more than others. His sister was a married woman, and yet he did not think of the need to return the question to her about the chances of him being an uncle. She was married to Renly long enough, but he was also aware of the inclinations of their new king.

"Did Willas inform you of the news coming from the Riverlands?"

"He did," Garlan confirmed grimly.

The raven had arrived the night before his departure. Dark wings, dark words, he remembered the old adage, and though this message reported no deaths, the news it brought were bad tidings to their cause.

A truce has been called between Houses Stark, Lannister, Tully, and the Iron Throne. In an instant the north and the riverlands were finished in their fighting while the Lannisters forces withdrew and now had the time to reinforce their position within the Crownlands and the capital itself.

The wheel of fortune is always in motion. That was how Willas put it when it came to the news.

"It is a setback," Margaery's look showed she understood the ramifications and the precariousness of their position. Days ago, they had all the advantages and were content to wait for the wolf and lion to bloody and tire themselves out, and now it had all changed.

"It is," Garlan agreed. "Hopefully, it will spur our king into action." He could not believe some of the reports he had been getting from his sister. Their king wasn't engaging in battles, but tournaments. There was no logistics or strategy meetings, but pomp and festivities.

"Into another tournament more like," Margaery's smile was wry.

Garlan was able to hide his frown at the arrival of the servants who brought an assortment of snacks, sweets, and wine for them. "What has he said on the matter?"

Margaery ate one of the sweet cakes before she answered. "When I ask he reminds me that he did not marry me for my counsel but for another matter."

A matter he won't attend to. Garlan sipped his wine.

The king's casual dismissal of his sister did not sit well with him. He never would consider dismissing his dear Leonette in such a cold, blunt way. He loved and valued her, and understood her importance beyond the birthing bed.

Our king should be of the same mind especially seeing as his wife brings the strength of the Reach with her.

"Loras has kept me appraised."

"That is good," Garlan knew Loras would know the king's itinerary by heart.

"What are you thinking about brother?"

How to get us out of this mess, but he did not say that. The decisions were made, and now they had to do what they could to win, but he still could not help but worry for his sister. If there was no sign of an heir then it would be Margaery not Renly who'd be given the blame.

He knew his sister wanted to be queen, but she surely knew she could not hold the title without children, and if his suspicions were true, Renly would not visit his sister at all.

"I was thinking about Loras," Garlan answered vaguely, seeing his sister was not entirely fooled. "What if he were sent away to the northern border," He explained, "To defend ourselves in case the Lannisters attack."

"Loras is not going anywhere," Margaery's smile for him was sad. "My husband is determined that this war will end in one glorious battle and he desires Loras to be the tip of the spear that is driven into the belly of the lion."

Garlan dispelled an angry breath. "Then I will speak to Loras."

"Garlan?"

"Margaery," His tone softened, "If Renly does not seek you," He stumbled on the real word since it involved his sister, she sensed his discomfort and laughed. "Then your place is in doubt."

"I may not give him an heir soon," Margaery relented, "But my father has given him seventy thousand swords."

"He'll use those swords to take the throne," Garlan would not argue with that, "But once you're in the capitol, it is a different battle, sister. We cannot use them to parry the very real words that will be put against you, the longer you go without conceiving a child let alone an heir."

"Are these your words or Willas'?"

"Both."

"You worry too much, brother," Margaery tried to assure him. "I have ways of hoping to alleviate the awkwardness between Renly and myself if it continues."

Garlan smiled, proud, but not surprised that his sister had things in mind and probably already in motion.

"Good," He was relieved.

"Now shall we have no more awkward talk of my bedchambers?" She winked at him when she noticed him stiffening in his seat.

He had the good sense to chuckle. "Forgive me for not being interested in your dalliances." He retorted with his own jape. "After all we're not Targaryens."

Margaery's laugh was light, but brief. It was a glimpse of his sister who loved to laugh and gossip back at Highgarden, before the role of Queen eventually slid down like a portcullis. It seemed it was a role she'd wear at all times even in the intimate company of her brother, and Garlan could not deny the tinge of disappointment he felt within.

Her eyes were no longer filled with mirth, but curiosity. "What do you think of the truce?"

"If we do not take the city swiftly," He paused, thinking it over. "I fear for how long this war will drag on."

"We have the strength," She said, "The numbers."

"For now," Garlan agreed, he could still read her, queen or not, to know she was puzzling over his words. "We have to use those numbers in order for them to be of benefit. The Lannisters will not just hand over the Iron Throne and the capital to us. If we are to put Tywin and his family into the grave then he'll try to drag us into the dirt with him."

"A siege?" She guessed.

Garlan nodded, "And then we must hope the people will turn on their indifferent masters and open the gates to us."

And that does not even include the fact that when they fight the Lannisters, Stannis and his forces will now have the opportunity to wait and bide their time.

Our roles have reversed. Willas was right, the wheel of fortune which had rolled them up had now mercilessly sent them back down and they keenly felt its weight pressing down on them.

"What of Stannis?" Margaery asked softly, "Renly thought little of him, more nuisance than threat, but now." She did not need to continue for him to understand.

"We could very well find ourselves taking the city only to find ourselves besieged," He did not like the idea of occupying a beleaguered city with tired, hungry, and unruly denizens who were now forced to be part of another siege.

"He has the Royal Fleet, and now the north and the Riverlands," Garlan listed them gravely, "And they'll be well rested and ready to fight in a few months and poised at key intervals to launch themselves into the Crownlands."

"Father and Renly believe we can negotiate with them."

"With Lord Stark?" Garlan doubted it. The man was arrested for apparently trying to put Stannis on the throne. He said as much to her, before adding, "The Vale may join with Stannis too." He thought it more likely for them to join him then them. At best, they'd remain neutral, but he did not have full confidence in that. The Lady of the Vale was Lord Stark's good sister, and his nephew would be the next Lord of the Vale.

Why would they not fight with their family? Such a possibility seemed too strange for him to even consider likely. Willas, Loras, Margaery, if any of them asked for his sword, it was theirs.

That is why I'm here.

"Marriages can help persuade them," Margaery insisted, "The Riverlands are burning and the Starks are fond of saying, Winter is coming," she observed, "And they'll need our harvest if they wish to stave off a long winter especially if this war continues."

Garlan smiled at his sister, proud of the display before him. This was the Queen the Seven Kingdoms needed. This was her element, and she handled it with ease. She may not know battles, but he was pleased to see she was already figuring out ways to defeat their foes with what she did know.

May she get her chance to rule, he prayed quietly, And may we all survive the trials to come.

The Wall:

One step.

He looked down at the dizzying depths below, a sea of snow illuminated by moonlight.

One step was all it took.

A beacon glowing as bright as starlight, beckoning him to cast down his fears and to join them.

No more pain, no more misery, no more cold.

Sam shivered and took a step back. He stood on the Wall. A brazier glowed nearby, a touch of orange in the otherwise dark trappings he found himself in.

He winced when he walked. He felt like he was one large walking bruise. Sam wasn't sure what was worse the beatings from the blunted swords by the other recruits or Alliser's Thorne's smile when he watched.

The Lord Ham. They called him.

He was still only an initiate. I've been here for months and I'm still no closer to being allowed to join. He felt fresh tears in his eyes, but he scrubbed them away. It was too cold to cry. The teardrops would freeze on his cheeks.

Ser Thorne doesn't want me to join, Sam knew it. He enjoys tormenting me.

It wasn't just him, but all of them. The brothers, the initiates, they all mocked him and hit him. He ate alone every day, and slept in fear that he would be woken by his brother's cruel japes or crueler intentions.

You don't have to suffer, the voice whispered inside him. All it takes is a step and then you're free of this pain and torment.

Sam swallowed hard. He tried to ignore it. He moved. He groaned. He had blisters and sores it felt on every inch of his body. I'm going to die here. And I won't even be a Brother in Black. He wanted to whail at how his life had turned. He felt the cold clench in his chest.

Does Father know I'm still only an initiate? He quietly wondered, he then shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold, but of his father's wrath if he found out Sam still hadn't taken his vows.

I don't want Horn Hill, Sam told the dark silence. Dickon can have it. I'll write it down! I won't marry. He didn't think a woman would want him. Who would want fat, ugly, cowardly Sam?

He felt his feet move forward to the pull that was calling to him. Assuring him of a release of all his burdens and doubts, his loneliness and his misery.

I-I, indecision and fear stopped his advance.

"Careful, Tarly."

The voice startled him and to his horror, he nearly stumbled forward and over the Wall. Sam was saved for a quick hand and a stronger grip on his shoulder. His legs were trembling below him from that strangely exhilarating closeness to death. His heart was thundering and his hands were shaking. He let out a series of quick breaths before he finally noticed who it was who joined him.

"I did not mean to startle you."

"Lord Benjen," Sam's voice came out a whimper, still reeling.

"Benjen," His voice was kind in its correction, "We will be Brothers soon."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think Ser Alliser will pass me." He meant to sound polite, but was afraid he sounded petulant.

"He has."

"Really?" Sam felt hope for the first time since arriving in the Wall. He was even tempted to smile.

"Yes," Benjen Stark had a long face and blue eyes which were on him. "You say your vows tomorrow."

Sam nodded eagerly, and followed Benjen Stark who moved to the nearby brazier. "I heard them speaking about your nephew." He found himself saying as he couldn't take the quiet now that he wasn't alone. "They say he's marrying the Lord Commander's niece."

"Jon," Benjen nodded, "And he is, the Lady Dacey Mormont. "

He had also heard that this Jon Snow was once bound to the Wall. He had come here in the company of the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, and stayed a few days before reconsidering the Watch and left. Sam had missed both his arrival and subsequent departure.

"Congratulations," He offered, and he meant it. Benjen Stark was one of the kinder Brothers in the Watch. He never openly mocked Sam or insulted him. He even on one occasion silenced the initiates from doing it when he overheard them.

Would this Jon Snow have been like his uncle and helped me? Sam felt embarrassed that here he was envisioning people he didn't even know due to his own misery and loneliness at the Wall.

"Thank you," Benjen nodded, "Lord Commander Mormont is equally pleased, but a bit disheartened," Benjen chuckled.

Sam frowned at the oddness of the observation, until realizing it must have been some private jape between Stark and Mormont.

"Before you left Horn Hill," Benjen's voice brought Sam back to the First Ranger's presence who loomed over the brazier. "You were given an education? Numbers, writing, history, reading?"

"I was," Sam answered, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. He was very clever. He enjoyed his lessons with the maester. Sadly, the only thing he excelled at his father loathed.

It's a sword you need to learn to wield, boy, not a quill.

"Good," The glow of the fire cast shadows upon Benjen's face. "We need all the help we can get at the Wall." He observed, "And your talents should not be wasted or ignored. We have roles for those who can do what you can do."

A steward, Sam was certain of it. It was not an order of glory, but it was one that Sam would eagerly accept especially if it was one of the roles that meant staying inside by the warm fires, reading and writing, and assisting other Brothers of the Watch with their duty. He felt a smile threatening to slip as he pictured himself not only finally becoming a Brother, but of actually being able to help.

"Is it true about the wildlings?" Sam had heard some of the gossip. Only bits and pieces, since so few would speak to him, and much of what he heard was him straining to do so since his presence was not only not wanted, but despised.

"Yes, their villages are abandoned," He scratched the dark stubble on his chin. "The rangers that have reported back to the Shadow Tower came back with the news that Mance has them all gathered at the Frostfangs for the time being."

Sam saw the traces in Benjen's face. The regret and annoyance that he was not out there with those rangers. He was the First Ranger at Castle Black, but had been kept away from his duties due to a broken arm that was finally healed, but the men had left without him, but had never returned.

If Stark was with them would he have shared that fate or avoided it? Sam was certain it'd be the latter as no one at Castle Black had a poor word to say about Stark's skill and experience.

He wanted to ask more questions, but he wasn't certain he should. He was still only an initiate and not even a true Man of the Watch. Besides he was talking to the First Ranger, who held council with the highest men at Castle Black, why would he converse or reveal that information with Sam?

"Lord Commander Mormont has sent instructions to the other forts, as well as more letters south, asking for help to the northern lords," Benjen Stark revealed, as if sensing Sam's curiosity.

"We must prepare the Wall and the Watch must be ready when this would be King marches south." Benjen Stark's tone was grim and his expression grimmer. "We all have our parts to play in the fighting to come," His eyes turned to Sam, and he felt a shiver go down his back at what it was that was being discussed, "Even you, Sam."