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Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

19: Jon

You're here for life, same as the rest of us.

Those were Donal Noye's words to him. That was his advice. Jon had bested those recruits during their training and the old smith made those victories seem worthless.

It wasn't his fault he trained in Winterfell with Ser Rodrik, sparring with Robb and Domeric. They never seemed to care that he beat them. That a bastard bested them, Jon corrected himself. The future Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and the Lord of the Dreadfort, and he beat both them in their bouts.

Robb would get frustrated, but it was never directed at Jon, it was always at himself. Robb would get this look and demand a rematch. Sometimes he would win and he'd be satisfied, and other times he'd lose. After the defeats he'd sigh, shoot Jon an annoyed look before smiling and saying, next time I'll beat you.

Domeric on the other hand would just chuckle and shrug, admit his defeat, but not before challenging Jon to jousting. Jon had always declined. He had seen the heir of the Dreadfort ride and didn't like his chances.

Except the one time, he remembered. Confidence pumping through him after he beat Domeric, and like always he made the offer and Jon accepted. He would never forget the smile that came to Domeric's face when Jon had acquiesced to his playful challenge. A decision Jon would never forget.

He absentmindedly rubbed his side, a bruise that had long since healed. Jon could still remember the force behind the strike and how it had taken Jon clean off his horse and onto the ground. Jon wasn't certain then what had hurt more the fall or the blow. He could still remember after Robb and Ser Rodrik, it had been Domeric who had been the quickest to make sure he was alright, a worried look on his face.

These recruits weren't like them. They didn't laugh once Jon bested them. They cursed and shouted. They were bitter. Jon had beaten them fairly. He didn't rub their noses in it, but he wasn't going to stop not feeling good about himself because he bested them. He deserved that feeling. Jon fought hard for it.

He kicked some snow in frustration. He watched silently the puffs of mist and flakes swirl around his feet.

They were right, he thought sullenly. They told him not to come. He could still remember his conversation with Domeric who had given Jon an alternative.

"I'm offering you a choice," Domeric had said simply.

"It's a charity," Jon shot back.

"I wouldn't offer it if you weren't qualified," Domeric looked offended at the suggestion. "Your loyalty and your skills would make you invaluable at the Dreadfort."

"I can make my own way," Jon replied tersely.

Captain of the guards, that was the offer Domeric had given him. A newly formed group of guards that he wanted Jon to personally oversee. With the promise that after awhile he would be promoted and could one day find himself the castellan of the Dreadfort itself.

A title of both power and respect, it would've fallen on Jon to command the castle defenses in the act of a siege or an attack. They'd also be relied on to offer the lord wise council and to help train the garrison as well as any children of the lord. A job not given to the weak or unqualified and it could've been his.

He thought he could make his own way. Go to the Wall, serve in the Watch. Where they wouldn't care who your mother or who your father was. In the Watch it was suppose to be merit not blood that would get you elevated through the ranks and the respect of your brothers.

All lies, he thought bitterly. They never let him forget who he was here.

They can keep their brothers, he didn't want them. He had his own brothers, Robb, Rickon, and Bran. He paused at the mention of Bran. There had been no word from Robb about Bran waking up.

He will wake up, Robb had vowed with steely determination. That had been at the gates of Winterfell the day Jon had left for the Wall.

Aye, Jon had agreed. You Starks are hard to kill. A jest to lighten the pain that both brothers were feeling. It had worked. They had both chuckled at it, and both knew that Bran would pull through.

I left them all the same, he thought morosely. He couldn't take the looks from Lady Stark. He thought he hadn't belonged there, but now here at the Wall, he'd almost prefer the sullen treatment of Lady Stark. At least her cold stares were only occasional. Her displeasure carefully dispensed at various intervals. She for the most part did her best to ignore him.

Here, their taunts never ended. They made sure he knew how they felt about him. They hated him. They mocked him.

Lord Snow, they sneered at him.

He let loose a long tired breath watching it puff out before him. His eyes then drifted to see the Wall looming over him from where he stood in front of the armory. He could remember the lessons Maester Luwin had given him when he was younger about the Wall and the Night's Watch.

Seven hundred feet tall, the maester had emphasized that fact to try to get them to understand what a feat that was. Yet, reading about something seven hundred feet tall doesn't compare to seeing it. It was an overwhelming presence yet there was a subtlety to its appearance. There were days in the yard when he trained or went for his meals that he'd forget about it. But all he had to do was look up and see it towering over him, Castle Black and everything around it as it stretched east to west.

Staring up at it for too long made him dizzy. A cold, twisted feeling coiled itself around his gut at the thought of that great wall of ice pressing down on him.

"Better then the books!"

Jon looked away suddenly from the Wall and towards the direction of the familiar voice. It was Tyrion Lannister, bundled up in thick, dark furs. It was the first time Jon could remember seeing the Queen's brother not dressed in the colors of his house, and he told him as much.

"Better to be warm and alive," Tyrion smiled, "Then a corpse who chose style over practicality."

Jon found himself chuckling. He couldn't believe he was admitting it, but he missed Lord Tyrion's presence. He had hardly seen him since their journey ended when they arrived at the Wall together. He was an honored guest of the Watch and Jon was just a lowly new recruit.

"It makes you wonder what else is on the other side," Tyrion's mismatched eyes went up towards the Wall in front of them, "Perhaps grumkins and snarks, Lord Snow."

"Don't call me that." Jon wasn't smiling anymore. He felt his fists clenching at his side. Anger was bubbling up in his gut. He could see all their faces, hear their whispers in the common hall.

"Lord Snow?" Tyrion repeated, "Would you rather be called the Imp?" He challenged. "Let them see their words can cut you and you'll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can't hurt you with it anymore."

He saw wisdom in Lord Tyrion's words, but in his wounded pride, he wouldn't voice it. He was still annoyed and bothered by it all the same. The men of the Watch hardly let up in their insults. Only in the presence of his uncle, did they settle for glares and whispers to communicate their dislike for him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This isn't what he thought would happen when he made his choice.

"I don't see your wolf," Lannister broke through his thoughts.

"He's chained in the old stables," Jon answered, "Only allowed free when I bring him to my room for the night."

Because of what happened, he thought morosely. It had been an accident. Ghost had proven his namesake when he had spooked the horse his uncle, Benjen had been riding and had thrown him from it. Uncle Benjen had hurt his arm badly by the fall, and was now stuck at Castle Black and unable to go on his planned ranging. Maester Aemon had said, his arm would heal, but it would take time and rest.

"How long do you plan on staying?" Jon didn't want to dwell on his uncle's fall.

"A few more days," Lord Tyrion answered.

"Will you be riding to Winterfell for your return trip?" Jon couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Most likely," Tyrion's mismatched eyes were on him, "Second thoughts, Snow?"

There was no malice or teasing in his question just curiosity.

Jon turned away from him, eyes going back to the Wall. He felt the stubborn lump in his throat, but that wouldn't stop him from admitting his slip, "Aye."

"Better to admit to a mistake and correct it, than just live with it."

Jon nodded, "Thank you."

"Though won't your problem still be waiting for you if you return to Winterfell," Lord Tyrion observed delicately.

Problem was a nice, polite way of describing Lady Stark. With his Father in the south, he wasn't certain he could dwell in Winterfell under the same roof as her. That had been one of his reasons that had caused him to hastily enlist to join the Watch.

"I may have a solution," Tyrion proposed.

That had caught him off guard, "What sort of solution?" he asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of his tone.

If Lord Tyrion picked up on it, he didn't seem to mind. "You could travel with me."

"You?" Jon repeated, hoping he didn't come across as insulting to Lord Tyrion. He was more surprised at the offer then anything.

"I'll have you know that I'm great company," Tyrion scolded him in mock outrage before sending a still confused Jon a wink to show he wasn't offended.

"But I'm a bastard," Jon mumbled.

"And I'm a dwarf!" Tyrion pointed to himself, "A bastard and a dwarf traveling together: A tale for the bards!" He threw back his head to bark out a laugh. A puff of air billowed out.

"You're still a high born," Jon pointed out weakly. Unable to shake the idea from his mind, he couldn't lie, it did sound appealing. It would get him away from the Wall and Winterfell, and allow him to travel the kingdoms, but it would provide him the freedom to visit his family. Something, he could not have if he remained here.

"I spend my time with whores and thieves," Tyrion deflected Jon's point with a wave of his hand, "Or that is what my beloved family would have you believe." His mismatched eyes were fixed on him, "You'd be the most honorable traveling companion I've had for quite some time." His lips curved, a mischievous glint could be seen just behind his eyes. "Besides, perhaps if I introduce you to some of my friends, you'll realize what you'll be missing if you join the Watch."

Jon squirmed in his boots at what Lord Tyrion was implying. He couldn't help it. He was shy around girls, unlike Robb or Theon. Part of his hesitance to bed a girl let alone be with one was his decision that he would not force his status on another: Woman or child. "I won't father a bastard."

"A good, expensive whore knows how not to be become pregnant," Tyrion countered.

Could this be it? He thought, the opportunity he had been waiting for? A chance to get out of his brother's shadow, out of Lady Stark's sight, but also provide him a better alternative then the Watch: A chance to see the rest of Westeros.

"The more I think about this the more I think this may be one of my best ideas yet!" Tyrion proclaimed, "And that's saying something."

"You'd take me with you?" Jon still couldn't believe it. It just didn't seem real.

"Yes," Tyrion confirmed, "I like you. You are a bright young man, a bit naïve, but that can be remedied with copious amounts of wine and whores," he flashed him a smile. "I could use the company. I've seen you train. You're not bad with a sword and you're direwolf would make for a wonderful addition."

"Come with me," Tyrion offered, "see what else is out there," he waddled over towards him, "and if you're not satisfied or able to find what you want." He stopped when he reached him. "Then you can always come back here." He pointed to the Wall that loomed behind them, "This isn't going anywhere."

He was right, Jon couldn't argue. He could always return if he didn't find what he was looking for in the south.

"Tell me truly, Jon Snow," Tyrion's voice had become serious, "Wouldn't you like to go to your sister's wedding to Lord Domeric? Or visit your siblings when they're older and have their own children?" His expression softened, "Once you take your vows to the Watch, you give up your freedom to come and go as you please."

Lord Tyrion's words stirred a recent memory Jon had had with his Father. The day he rode to the capital and Jon to the Wall.

Next time we see each other we'll talk about your mother, I promise.

Jon frowned. What was he to do with that information if he was a member of the Night's Watch? What if she was alive? He wouldn't be able to seek her out. He'd be bound by his vows. Could he really stay at the Wall if there was even a chance his mother was alive and out there?

The memory of his father brought with it a sudden realization. "You're going to the capital."

"I am."

He knew he wouldn't be welcomed at court. The bastard of the Hand of the King, he'd be a stain on the honor of his Father's house and that of Lady Stark. Once more, he found himself being suffocated by the trappings of being a Snow.

"I'm not sure my presence in the capital would be welcomed," Jon tasted disappointment in his mouth as he said the words. In that brief moment, he thought he had found a solution to his problem. Only for it to be dashed because of his status.

"You know I believe there may be more bastards in King's Landing then true borns," Tyrion pointed out lightly. "And there is plenty of Westeros to see from here to the capital." He wasn't making it easy. "Besides with my family's coin sponsoring us I could be persuaded to travel elsewhere after a brief stay in King's Landing. I hear Oldtown is delightful. "

"I'll think on it," Jon owed him that much, and was surprised by his insistence to try to include him and to get him to leave the Wall. "I'm thankful by the offer."

"I understand, it's not every day such a generous offer is received," Lord Tyrion smiled. "You need time to recover."

"You shouldn't have said that," Uncle Benjen led him out of the common hall.

Jon could still hear the laughter even as they moved further and further away. He's been at Castle Black long enough to know his uncle was taking him to the library.

The laughter had been his doing. A jape he had made in response to one of Ser Alliser's insults. All his life, he took the snickers and stares in silence. He ignored them. Those that came from Lady Stark he could do nothing. And when he arrived at the Wall, he received his share of them especially from the Castle Black's Master-at-arms, Ser Alliser.

He was tired of ignoring them. So he followed Lord Tyrion's advice and took the joke with a smile before delivering his own at Ser Alliser's expense. It went over well with everyone except Ser Alliser. With that joke, Jon understood there would be nothing between him and the Master-at-arms except bad blood and that if he took his vows and became a member of the Night's Watch, he'd count Ser Alliser as an enemy for the rest of his days on the Wall.

"It was a joke, Uncle," Jon weakly defended.

"You shamed him in front of his brothers and the recruits," Benjen closed the door to the library before facing him. Disappointment was etched on his long face, while his stern blue eyes looked him over.

"He's a bully," Jon found himself saying. He wasn't going to feel pity for a man who spent his time tormenting recruits and humiliating them for his own pleasure.

"He's tasked with an unenviable job," Uncle Benjen defended, "to make boys into men so that they can survive the Wall."

Jon was unable to look his uncle in the eye. So he fixed his stare above his uncle's right shoulder, focusing on the tall bookcase against the wall that towered over both of them. Filled with tomes and books and covered by a layer of dust that only thickened the higher up the shelves were.

"You undermined Ser Alliser's authority," Uncle Benjen continued on with his lecture, "Hard enough to get these boys and criminals to listen without you having to make him look weak in front of the others."

It was upon listening to his Uncle's lecture did Jon silently realize that this was the longest conversation he had with him since he came to the Wall with him. He had been spending his time with the other officers of the Watch, and his sore arm that hung loosely in a sling had seemed to make him more irritable then anytime Jon could ever remember.

"When you take your vows, he'll be your brother, Jon."

"No," Jon said sharply before he could stop himself. He wouldn't call that man a brother.

"The men of the Watch are a sworn brotherhood," Benjen reminded him. "I love my family," a look of pain flickered across his face, "but these men are my true brothers now."

True brothers? Jon repeated the words and found that he didn't like the taste. These bullies and criminals were not his brothers. He wouldn't call them that and he wasn't going to call this place home.

"You knew about this place," Jon murmured, unable to stem the anger from churning in his gut. "F-Father knew about this place too, and still he let me come here." He clenched his fists at his side. "He didn't try to stop me," Jon felt wetness prickle at his eyes. He didn't finish his thought out loud not wanting to confirm why his father made no effort to persuade him not to come.

"Aye," Benjen sighed, "but I did caution you to stay."

"At Winterfell?" Jon wanted to scoff, "With Lady Stark?" He shook his head in anger, his uncle should've known better! He always had a soft spot for Jon, ever since he could remember his uncle had always treated him kindly during his visits to Winterfell. He had treated him no differently than any of his other siblings.

Jon would've thought that his uncle would've told him true about the Wall and the Watch when others wouldn't, but Benjen didn't. He told him to wait not because of what was there but because of his age. It had been a stranger and a Lannister who had been the only one to tell him what life really was at the Wall and with the Watch. Only Lord Tyrion had told him truly, and he also offered Jon his way out so that he wouldn't have to suffer the same cold treatment whether here or at Winterfell.

"I won't call you brother, Uncle," Jon had made his decision. "Lord Tyrion made me an offer and I plan to accept it."

"Your uncle tells me you're leaving."

Lord Commander Mormont was an imposing man. Jon had seen glimpses of him from a distance but now standing before him in his chambers, he could understand why Jeor Mormont had risen through the ranks of the Night's Watch so quickly that saw him ascend to the title of Lord Commander in less than ten years.

He stood tall and proud, only a few strands of grey hair rested atop his head. While his face was covered in a thick, shaggy grey beard. His eyes dark and hard looked over Jon silently, lips pursed together beneath his beard.

"Corn!" The Lord Commander's raven cawed.

Interrupting Jon's thoughts and turning Mormont's attention to his bird. He took that moment to turn to his Uncle, who stood to the side, arm still hanging loosely in a sling as he gave Jon an encouraging nod, but a faint smile tugged at his lips as if he was amused by Jon's discomfort by standing in the presence of the Lord Commander.

"Aye," Jon found himself instinctively straightening up when the Lord Commander returned his attention to him.

"Pity," Lord Commander Mormont said gruffly. "You would have made a fine addition to the Night's Watch."

"You honor me, Lord Commander," Jon bowed his head. He hadn't expected Mormont to have taken any notice of him. He was a bastard and a lowly recruit in the short weeks he had been here.

"But not enough for you to stay," Mormont pointed out.

His mind went blank at the Lord Commander's word's not wanting to insult him. He raised his head to offer an apology only to notice that the old bear had been smiling.

"Just a jape," Mormont clapped him on the back-hard. "I heard you're familiar with those."

Jon shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of his incident with Ser Alliser.

"You're traveling with Lord Tyrion?"

"Yes, Lord Commander."

"Such a pity," Mormont shook his head. "You have a place here, Snow." He told him. "You could've made a difference here on the Wall and with the Watch."

Was this why his uncle wanted him to speak with the Lord Commander? Jon couldn't help but wonder, A last attempt to get him to change his mind? He shook away that thought, knowing his uncle had supported his decision.

"A steward," Mormont said abruptly. His eyes were on Jon. "That's where you would've gone."

Jon tried to hide his surprise and disappointment by that sudden declaration. It seemed he had made the right choice by going with Lord Tyrion. He had no interest in being a steward. He wanted to be a ranger like his uncle.

"No?" Mormont saw his disappointment. "Don't want to be a steward? No glory in that, Snow?"

Jon kept quiet. He didn't want to upset the Lord Commander any further.

"I understand wanting to see the rest of the world," Mormont mused, "So I do not begrudge you that." His eyes looked him over before turning to his bird which was demanding more corn. "You're still young. It's right to experience the world before you make your vows." He tossed some corn at his raven.

"I left for the Watch when I had a son full grown ready to rule our seat." His mouth twisted, "Or so I thought." He moved across his chambers to where he kept his family's valyrian steel bastard sword, Longclaw. "At least he had the honor and sense to return it." His fingers resting on the bear head pommel. "A lasting reminder of what he did and the shame he brought to our family."

His eyes moved back to Jon and a smirk curved from his lips. "I have something for you, Snow." Mormont grabbed the bastard sword and moved towards Jon, presenting Longclaw to him.

"Lord Commander?" Jon was stunned. He looked down at the sight of the valyrian steel sword in Mormont's hands. He snuck a glance at his uncle to see the First Ranger too looked surprised by the Lord Commander's sudden move.

"Take it," he said gruffly. "As a promise,"

"A promise?" Jon still made no move to take it.

"Yes," Mormont's tone cracked, signaling that his patience was waning. "That you will return to the Wall after you've gotten your share of the rest of the world."

Jon moved his attention from the sword that Mormont was holding to the Lord Commander himself to see he was the center of the man's the steely gaze, "To join the Watch?" Understanding crept into his mind, replacing his awe at the gesture to understand the bold cunning that the old bear was employing.

"To consider it," Mormont corrected him. "The Watch could use men like you."

"I have no claim to it," Jon said numbly, just like a great number of things. He thought bitterly.

"Of course not, boy," Mormont scoffed, sounding more amused than annoyed. "You'll take it, you'll need it and then you'll return it with some experience, and then hopefully join us."

"That could be years," Uncle Benjen pointed out.

"I'm patient," Mormont waved away his first ranger's observation like a bothersome gnat. "Besides I'll get little use out of it." He looked down at the sword that Jon still hadn't taken. "It'll do for you: a bastard sword for a bastard." He barked out a laugh at that.

"Now take it," He all but pushed the sword into Jon's hands, who took it hesitantly.

Jon held it in his hands. "I don't know what to say." He still couldn't believe it.

"That you accept," Mormont told him gruffly.

"Aye," Jon's eyes remained on Longclaw. "I promise."

A/N: Certain passages from this chapter came directly or near directly from Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. He is the author of that book and the series 'A Song of Ice and Fire.' He is the creator and the master. It is his. I own nothing, I'm just having some fun in this wonderful world he created.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire