A/N: I want to thank everyone for reading, alerting, and favoring this story.

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Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

24: Jon

"I'm starting to worry that you find your sword more interesting than me."

"This is not my sword." Jon corrected him.

"I'm sure the brothers of the Night's Watch took their Lord Commander to Maester Aemon as soon as you left to make sure his senses haven't left him since he gave you that sword," Tyrion quipped.

"I don't deserve it," Jon said numbly. Longclaw the ancestral sword of House Mormont, a valyrian steel sword lay across his lap. The bear pommel was staring up at him, eyes dark and accusing.

"No, you don't," Tyrion agreed all too quickly. "I'm not sure you'd find a soul from Dorne to the Wall that would think you worthy of such a sword."

Jon frowned at the blunt truth that Lord Lannister presented in front of him, and made no effort to try to argue. They had left the Wall and Jon's dreams of joining the Watch less than a week ago. Yet, with each step he took away from Castle Black the weight of Longclaw grew heavier.

The two were alone at the campfire, huddled on opposing sides to take shelter from the cold, biting winds. They were still too north and isolated to find hearth and roof. Jon had already made his tent, a dirty and flimsy thing but tied to a crumbling wall from a ruined holdfast to serve suitably.

They had traveled with a wandering crow, a man named Yoren, who traveled the kingdoms in search for recruits for the Wall. He claimed to know every dungeon and cell intimately of the highest and lowest throughout the lands as they always took him there when he came seeking new men. Yoren was currently overseeing the set up of his encampment with three other men of the Watch who Lord Commander Mormont had tasked to escort Lord Tyrion back to Winterfell safely.

"I…I should've refused," Jon said softly. "I did refuse."

"You want to go back to return it?" Tyrion asked, more than a hint of disbelief in his voice. "You might be the first man to refuse a valyrian steel sword."

Jon didn't speak. He kept his attention on the fire that separated them.

"Mayhaps that's why Commander Mormont gifted you that sword," Tyrion said softly, "your refusal to accept such a gift speaks to your character, Lord Snow."

There was no mocking edge when Lord Tyrion spoke the moniker Lord Snow, but what sounded like respect.

"He saw something in you."

That got Jon to look up at those mismatched eyes of Tyrion Lannister. They unnerved him. Not because of the difference in their color, but of the gaze they cast, the sort of look that made Jon feel as if he was being read like one of Lord Tyrion's books. His thoughts and emotions dried ink on withered pages that Lannister could read and understand without difficulty.

"What?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Potential," he answered simply, "He wanted to make you his personal steward."

"I wanted to be a ranger."

"And I want a dragon," Tyrion laughed, than he looked around expectantly for his dragon to appear, before turning back to Jon. "He probably planned on grooming you to be a leader in the Watch some day."

Jon frowned. "How do you know this?"

"You forget I dined and drank with him at most meals and was brought to his quarters several times to discuss matters for the Watch and how the kingdoms could help," he shrugged, "Your name came up once or twice."

"I didn't know," Jon mumbled.

"Why would you?" Tyrion replied, "You weren't suppose to."

Confusion wrought his insides as he turned away from Lord Tyrion and back towards Longclaw which remained on his lap. He hadn't thought the Lord Commander had even noticed him during his brief time at the Wall. Now, it seemed he had and had made plans to incorporate Jon into the hierarchy of the Watch in hopes of him playing a lead role some day.

The disappointment the Lord Commander must have felt when Jon told him of his intentions of not taking the Black and leaving.

The Watch wasn't what it was suppose to be, Jon reminded himself. The rapers, the thieves, and the bullies that filled the ranks of the sworn brotherhood, why would he want to join them?

You're a bastard, the voice reminded him. What gives you the right to judge them? Jon bristled, that had nothing to do with the cold winds.

"He gave you that sword because he knew you'd return with it," If Tyrion sensed Jon's discomfort, he didn't say anything. "You're a Stark after all."

"I'm a Snow," Jon corrected him.

"True, you do not have your father's name, but you have his blood, his look, and were taught alongside his true born sons to remember honor."

There was no argument there so Jon kept quiet; pondering his words.

"You may be a young man, but you are use to the shadows and not the attention."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Lord Commander Mormont took a risk to give you that sword with the slim hope that the gesture could endear the Watch to you."

"I know that." Jon had seen the Lord Commander's plot even when he was presented with the sword back at Castle Black. Yet, it still didn't make him feel any better. This wasn't his sword to accept, but he had anyways with no intention of wanting to take the Black.

"Yes, and you know how valuable those swords are," Tyrion observed, "a more prideful young man would boast of such a fine weapon and gather attention and proclaim great deeds he'd wish to accomplish with a valyrian steel sword. But the only thing that foolish man would get is his throat cut and his sword stolen."

Tyrion's face glowed in the flames, giving him a haunting look that made Jon want to look away, "By giving you that sword he put a target on you to go along with the honor of wielding it."

Jon hadn't thought of it like that. He had noticed members of the Watch glaring at him and frowning when he left Castle Black, but he had thought it had to do with him leaving the Wall, and not with the sword he carried. But now he saw sense in his friend's words. He was quick to put away the sheathed valyrian steel sword as if expecting a thief to appear in their camp that instant to try to take it.

He would have to be careful. Jon would likely need to keep it sheathed. He couldn't bring attention to either himself or the sword he carried. That would be easy, Jon realized, he was use to slinking in the shadows to avoid the eyes of others.

It had been one of the unexpected skills he had picked up living in Winterfell, he thought bitterly, having to learn it when he was little to try to avoid earning the ire of Lady Stark.

"Despite the obvious flaws in the plan, I must say it's a bit ingenious on the Old Bear's part," Tyrion said.

"What do you mean?"

"He gave you a sword that he had no use for and despised because of what his son did," Tyrion explained, "Yet in talking with the Lord Commander it seemed clear that his sister, Lady Maege of Bear Island insisted he keep the sword and not return it to Bear Island until his Watch had ended." He said the last part with a twitch of his lips, "You northerners are determined in your duty and insistent upon your honor."

"I'm not sure you could give the north a finer compliment, Lord Tyrion."

Lord Tyrion chuckled at that, raising his wineskin in toast, "To the north's honor and duty." He then drank a long sip from it before standing up and handing Jon the wineskin.

Jon nodded his thanks before repeating Lord Tyrion's toast and drank from the wineskin, grimaced at the strong and bitter taste, but was thankful at the warm sensation that went down his throat before settling in his gut.

Their conversation broken up when Tyrion's men returned as did Yoren. The Wandering crow and Lord Tyrion were quick to strike up a conversation that quickly led to japes and crude stories.

That had been Jon's cue to leave. He made to stand up.

"Leaving already, Snow?" Yoren asked, "I was getting to the good part."

"Yes," Jon answered stiffly. He had no interest in hearing about Yoren's crude jokes. They reminded him too much of the ones Theon would tell. He turned to Lord Tyrion, "Thank you, my lord for your help."

Tyrion smiled up at him, "Always a pleasure, Lord Snow." He then raised his wineskin in salute.

Jon nodded his thanks once more before going to his tent. He was pleasantly surprised to see Ghost was already there, lying quiet and peaceful. "Good hunt, boy?" He scratched his direwolf behind the ears. Ghost made no sound to answer, only raising his head to acknowledge Jon's return.

"We're going to see the others soon, boy." Jon wondered how Ghost would fare when they returned to Winterfell and were reunited with both Jon's family and Ghost's. He was curious at seeing how his direwolf, the runt of the litter would fare now with his littermates.

Settling in under his blankets, he was quick to also put Longclaw beneath them, remembering Lord Tyrion's warning of the sword and the interest it would get from others. Ghost didn't deign to move from his position atop the blankets, making Jon adjust to the hulking direwolf that stubbornly lay across his makeshift bed. He was not about to complain about Ghost's presence because Jon could feel and appreciate the warmth that radiated from the direwolf seeping through Jon's blankets to warm him.

He stifled a yawn and closed his eyes, but his mind remained on his conversation with Lord Tyrion.

When this journey is over I will return it, Jon had vowed. I will travel with Lord Tyrion to the capital and Oldtown and then back to Winterfell for Domeric and Sansa's wedding. From there he'd go back to the Wall and return Longclaw to the Lord Commander.

Mayhaps, his siblings would want to come too. They had all talked about seeing the Wall, and Jon thought that by going back to Castle Black with his true brothers and sister then it'd be easier for him to decline the Lord Commander's offer of reconsidering joining the Night's Watch.

The last thoughts he had before drifting off to sleep were that of him and his siblings at the Wall enthralled at the impressive marvel, with all of them happy and together. That was enough to put a smile on his lips in the cold darkness of the night.

It had been raining on and off throughout the day.

Jon found himself not caring about being caught up in the rain. He enjoyed the soft, warm raindrops that fell on him. It was different from the cold rains of the north that was quick to leave you shivering. Everything about this land seemed so different then the North.

Sparse and grey, Jon knew that one could travel for days in the north without seeing another person. Here in the Riverlands, Jon couldn't recall a single day of their journey since they crossed the Neck that they hadn't seen a small holdfast or town.

The Riverlands were a sprawling, populous area of lush forests, flowing rivers, golden plains, it was all great sights to take in. Colors dotted the landscape and Jon wanted to see all of it. His head on a swivel, turning left and right at trying to appreciate the sights and beauty that surrounded him.

He was not the only one, Ghost often left their party to explore the countryside. Ghost had left this morning shortly after they broke camp, and Jon had yet to see his direwolf since. He wasn't worried, knowing Ghost would come back. He always did.

Taking in the Trident that ran parallel to the road, the raging rapids and flowing crystal clear water, Jon stayed his horse so that he could simply gaze at it, finding a sense of peace settle over him at watching it. Not for the first time during his journey south with Lord Tyrion did he know that he made the right decision to accept his generous offer.

To think I could be at Castle Black right now, he snorted in amusement at the image his mind's eye conjured: Dressed in black, cold, and miserable under the hateful dark eyes of Ser Alliser Thorne.

Here he rode with Lord Tyrion Lannister, a wandering crow, and two Lannister men: Morrec and Jyck. Who proved to be reasonable company, and to Jon's surprise treated him fairly and even better than some of the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch he had encountered during his brief time at Castle Black.

Jon was of the north. It would always be his home. It was in his blood. It was even in his name. Yet, that didn't mean he couldn't admire this new land. It was only in leaving the north could Jon truly appreciate the land he knew all his life.

That thought reminded Jon of something his Lord Father would say, a man can't appreciate the fire in his hearth. Without the rain, a man can't appreciate the roof over his head. And without coming to see the other realms, could Jon be grateful for his home and the land he came from.

The reminder of his Lord Father changed Jon's mood in an instant. Instead of curiosity at seeing the land around him, anxiety filled him at the land he had yet to see-the capital. It was there that he was going to reunite with his father. It was there that he hoped his Lord Father would honor his promise and finally tell Jon about his mother.

With every step he moved closer to getting the answer to a question that has bothered him since he was old enough to remember. A feeling of apprehension coiled in his insides at the fear that when he arrived to the city he would not get the welcome or the answers he sought.

Jon tried to remember his brother's confidence that was instilled in him about their Lord Father being a man of his word and telling Jon the truth about his mother. The mention of Robb stirred another thought that he had been wrestling with since his brief, but emotional stop at Winterfell. The warnings his brother gave him of the Lannisters and the implication of their hand in trying to kill Bran, not once, but twice.

He had been furious when Robb had revealed to him in the Godswood that an assassin had come in the night to try to kill Bran. What sort of man would try to kill an injured, sleeping child? It made Jon sick. He thought the mauling the man got from Summer wasn't enough. All of the direwolves should've had a turn with him. When you mess with one wolf you mess with the pack.

That's what they were. Robb, Sansa, Arya, had told him that enough times, that he was their brother and their blood. He was one of them-a wolf. And they were his pack.

Learning that the Lannisters may be guilty in Bran's injury had been difficult for Jon to grasp. Here, he had been traveling with one. Lord Tyrion had shown him kindness, courtesies, and even a way to leave the Wall and a chance to see Westeros. Jon felt himself indebted to his generosity, so to learn that Tyrion's family had possibly made a move against his family was deeply troubling.

Jon knew where his loyalties were. He had told Robb as much when he said he still planned on traveling with Lord Tyrion. Now, he was given an opportunity to find himself in a Lannister inner-circle and though he knew he wouldn't be told anything directly, it still gave him an opportunity to discover the truth.

He was a bastard. People ignored bastards. He'd use that to his advantage to try to uncover a Lannister plot in the capital or their possible involvement at Bran's fall. Jon had no reason to distrust Robb's warnings, but he couldn't ignore his gut that was telling him that if there was a Lannister scheme, Lord Tyrion was sure to be innocent of it; which meant that it would involve either or both of Tyrion's older siblings, one a member of the Kingsguard and the other who was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Here we are."

Lord Tyrion's voice brought Jon out of his tumultuous thoughts. He looked forward to see their traveling party had arrived outside a very large inn. It resembled more a holdfast then inn, towering over them with pale stone and giant turrets.

"It looks busy," Jon noted, in his thoughts he had drifted back from their small party, as he brought his horse closer to the others. The stables seemed filled to the brim with horses, stable boys, and fretting lords and knights who wanted their horses well tended to. He had yet to go in, but he could hear the raucous voices that carried out from the Inn's dining hall.

"Mayhaps, we should try elsewhere?" Jon suggested.

"You forget who you're traveling with," Tyrion turned to regard him, "a crowded inn is no problem for a Lannister."

"You mean to swindle someone out of their room?" Jon understood what his friend was referring to. After all, in traveling with Lord Tyrion he saw how persuasive the dwarf could be. "Like Lann the Clever with Casterly Rock."

"You know my family's history," Tyrion seemed impressed, "And swindle is such an ugly word. I prefer convincing with a slight edge." He then looked out at the inn. "And this is hardly Casterly Rock."

Jon chuckled, "No, it isn't, my lord."

He had heard stories of Casterly Rock from Tyrion during their travels south. Jon had been curious and awed by the descriptions Lord Tyrion would tell of his home and the Lannisters' ancestral seat. It sounded like a sight to behold. Tyrion's words inspired a palace of wonder and riches that Jon's imagination was hopeless in trying to properly construct.

"Are you coming, Jon?"

"I'll join you shortly, my lord." Jon had dismounted from his horse to allow the stable boys from the inn to take and see properly housed.

"Very well," Tyrion waddled off, talking to Yoren while Morrec and Jyck trailed behind them, "I'll save you a seat and a cup of ale."

He was in no hurry to enter the inn. Jon had noticed several colorful banners displayed on horses and arms and knew to expect quite a bit of nobility and knights to be seated and eating inside. He had enough experience with southern knights and nobility during their brief stay at Winterfell where many had come up with the Royal Party.

A sight I must get use to, Jon was going to the capital. Southern lords and knights were flocking to King's Landing for the Tournament of the Hand. Jon had seen several on their travels down the king's road and it seemed to be discussed at every stop in the past few days.

When I go to the capital, I will be surrounded by them, best prepare myself with this small sample. With a resigned realization, Jon moved towards the inn. He was quick to make sure Longclaw was out of sight, his dark cloak concealing his sword's scabbard. Jon didn't want any unwanted attention lingering on him or the valyrian steel sword he carried.

He was near the door when he heard a voice he hadn't thought he'd hear. A voice he hadn't wanted to hear.

"Lannister honor," Jon felt tightness in his chest at hearing Lady Stark's voice. "His dagger left these scars. The blade he sent to open my son's throat."

Not her, he tried to clamp down on the trepidation that rose up, bringing a cold numbness to his insides. She's not suppose to be here!

Summoning his courage, and pushing down his anxiety simultaneously he inched towards the door to see the common room was stuffed with nearly fifty men. He spied Lord Tyrion, Jyck, and Morrec were nearly surrounded and all disarmed by a handful of armed men dressed in different family colors.

Past the armed men, he spotted her, Lady Stark. A face he hadn't wanted to see again for some time. Her cold treatment of him had pushed him to join the Watch, and now she was trying to take the person responsible for saving him from the foolish mistake he nearly made.

Indecision rooted him to his spot. He didn't know what to do. He could skulk in the shadows and watch how it played out, or Jon could try to intervene. Try to stop this madness from going any further.

This couldn't be happening, he shook his head in dismay. They were suppose to be going the capital!

He was finally going to learn the truth about his mother. Now in some cruel joke by the gods he was denied that chance by the same woman who had made it clear to him from the beginning what his place was at Winterfell- the unwelcomed bastard.

I could ride to the capital, he thought. I could alert Father of this and also learn about my mother! The idea was appealing. So much so that Jon was retreating and preparing to go back to his horse and ride off.

"Kill him," a dark, dangerous voice rippled in the crowd and it brought Jon's retreat to an immediate stop. He gasped at the audacity of the declaration and searched for someone to voice their disagreement to such an action. None spoke out against it to save Lord Tyrion.

Lord Tyrion saved me from the Wall and I'm to thank him by abandoning him when he needs me most? Jon felt a cold coil of guilt wrap around his heart and squeeze tightly. Lord Tyrion deserved better than that.

Jon knew what he had to do.

"You can't kill him." Jon tried not to squirm when all eyes in the common room turned to him. In that moment, he wished he had Ghost with him. Jon felt braver with Ghost beside him. With Ghost, they'd listen and leave them be.

"You!" Cold, blue eyes stared at him with unmatched fury, disbelief colored her tone, but he could hear the sharp edge to it.

Jon would not bend to it. Not this time. This wasn't Winterfell.

"Lad, what are you doing here?" An old man was standing beside Lady Stark.

Jon frowned at the man with the familiar voice. He looked at the man's face for several seconds before realizing who it was, a clean shaven, Ser Rodrik Cassel.

"I'm traveling with Lord Tyrion," Jon answered honestly. "We were guests at Winterfell recently." He declared to the common room. "Where the current Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark gave us both bread and salt," he pressed on before anyone else could object, "Bran was there, and he was happy and smiling because of Lord Tyrion!"

"Bran was awake?" A quiet soft voice spoke up.

Jon didn't turn to her. He remembered the last time he was lulled into a false sense of sympathy for the Lady of Winterfell. She had used it to declare that it should've been him not Bran who had gotten hurt.

"Yes," he settled his attention on Ser Rodrik who stood beside her.

"What do you mean, lad?" Ser Rodrik asked puzzled.

"Lord Tyrion had found a way for Bran to ride a horse," Jon told him, "A design by his own hand," he turned to Lord Tyrion, unable to decipher the dwarf's expression, but he nodded towards him nonetheless. "Bran thanked him more times than I could count that evening."

"My boy," Lady Stark's voice cracked with emotion.

"He needs you, Lady Stark," Jon implored her, "Return to your family and let Lord Tyrion go."

She looked at him as if she couldn't quite see him. For a fleeting moment, Jon felt hope swell in his chest that this incident was over. That he had actually stopped it from escalating, but then that moment passed.

It was not sympathy or relief that showed on her face but resolve. Her expression became resolute. Her blue eyes hardened. Her mouth tightened into a thin line. Her heavily bandaged hands were shaking.

"The actions of a guilty man who had a change of heart," she hissed, displaying her scarred hands to remind the room of Lord Tyrion's supposed crime. "Your repentance comes too late."

"This is madness, Lady Stark," Tyrion protested feebly.

Jon had been so distracted by Lady Stark's reaction he never saw the sellsword come up behind him. He didn't see the blow that came from the sword pommel.

Pain spread from the back of his head, dizziness seized him, wobbling in place. He fought to stay conscious even with dark splotches seeping into his vision. He saw Tyrion's wince and then Lady Stark's eyes coolly regard him before the floor rushed up to meet him and then there was only darkness.