I made a change to earlier chapters in regards to Moat Cailin. Instead of Ned making the bother of one of his bannermen the new lord there, which I realize doesn't make a lot of sense given the strategic importance of Moat Cailin, he instead makes him the Steward of Moat Cailin, to hold the position until one of Ned's sons takes over.

Jon III

Uncle Benjen was sent on a ranging a few days after they had all arrived. He wouldn't give Jon many details, likely because it was Watch business. All he said was that Rangers had been disappearing on their trips beyond the Wall, and it was his job as First Ranger to look into the disappearances. Jon had been looking forward to spending some more time with his uncle, who he only saw once every other year or so, but it looked like fate had other plans.

With his uncle gone, and Tyrion using his charm to try to win over the Lord Commander, Jon found himself in search of others to spend time with. In spite of himself, and his silent vow to keep away, Jon found himself drawn to the training of the new brothers of the Night's Watch during his stay at Castle Black. A lot of them were teens and young men, between his own age and several years older. Lord Commander Mormont had told Ser Alliser to allow Jon to participate, so even though the bitter man spent the majority of the time making spiteful comments about Jon and his parentage, he reluctantly allowed Jon in the training yard.

It was clear to Jon that few of the recruits actually knew how to fight, and those that did were not near the level of himself. That was evident on the first day when he had beaten every single one of them in practice fights, even taking on three at once at one point. He had almost broken the hand of a lumbering recruit named Grenn, which had led to a confrontation that Jon had deescalated before it broke into violence.

"No, hold it like this."

Jon adjusted the fat young man's grip on the sword, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"It's no use," Samwell Tarly whined.

Jon had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Sam was overweight and a craven, something he readily admitted to. It was mystifying how a man with the reputation of Randyll Tarly could sire a son like Sam. No matter how many times Jon tried to teach him how to fight with a sword, the teen could never seem to pick it up.

"I don't know why you decided to join the Night's Watch, but if you're going to say your vows you're going to need to know at least the basics of fighting," Jon said.

Sam was one of a few who Jon worked with, but he was the one that needed the most help. The others he had taken to training, Pypar, Halder, and Grenn, who had joined their group after getting over his initial anger at Jon, had all tried to talk Jon out of training Samwell Tarley, or Ser Piggy as Thorne had taken to calling the lad, but Jon had seen teaching Sam to fight as a challenge.

Yet after a week, there didn't seem to be any improvement. And it wasn't for lack of intelligence either. Sam was smarter than Jon was and probably read almost as many books as Tyrion did, but for whatever reason he could never retain the information Jon, or Ser Alliser, were trying to instill into him when it came to sword fighting. There had to be some hidden reason the information wasn't sticking.

"There's no hidden reason," Grenn grunted when Jon had spoken with the others about his musings. "He's just a craven."

"He'll never be a Crow at this rate," Pyp said. "If you're so fond of him, you should take him home with you."

"He'll be a Crow," Jon said, his voice low. "The Night's Watch needs all the men it can get, even one like Sam."

"Of course they do, they took Pyp didn't they," Halder said, slapping the smaller teen on the back.

So here Jon stood trying to teach Sam how to properly hold and wield a sword, again, and failing miserably at it, again. Jon encouraged Sam to attack him, and the teen did so with halfhearted swings.

"Stop with this half ass nonsense and attack me with everything you have!"

Sam put some more effort into it, but it was still rather pathetic. Jon inwardly sighed as he easily deflected the attacks.

"Stop with the large swings. All it does is let your opponent know what you're doing and waste energy. Your strikes should be short and controlled."

Jon went on the offensive and demonstrated what he meant. With one strike he knocked the training sword out of Sam's hand and with a second one he smacked the flat of his own training sword against Sam's side with a meaty thwack.

The fat teen cried out in pain, and grabbed at his side. Jon had pulled up on his swing so it wouldn't hurt that much. Still even with the leather and furs that protected the recruits, he knew it would sting.

"What was that for?" Sam asked, his voice quivering.

"You aren't taking this seriously."

"I am too!"

"No you aren't!" Jon's patience had worn thin. "If you were, I wouldn't have to show you how to properly hold a sword every morning! If you aren't going to put effort into being a brother of the Night's Watch, why don't you just go back home to your soft southern life?"

The other recruits, at least those closest to them, who occupied the training yard turned at the outburst. Ser Alliser, who was nearby, gave Jon the nastiest smirk he had ever seen, as if saying to Jon, 'You're starting to sound like me.' The thought made Jon shiver.

"I can't go back," Sam murmured, tears in his eyes. "My father will kill me."

That caught Jon off guard. He was well aware of all the eyes that were on them. Jon grabbed Sam and, with effort, dragged him away from the rest of the recruits.

"Tell me everything."

And so Sam did. About how he had been into sweets and music and books as a child, and had failed at every attempt his father had tried in making him into the type of son worthy of Randyll Tarly. The hate, disappointment, and ridicule his father heaped upon him every day for being a failure of an heir. When Sam was ten years old, his father had turned his attention to his younger brother Dickon, who was four at the time, and worked to turn him into the man Sam would never be. When it became obvious that Dickon would become the man Randyll Tarly wanted in an heir, something needed to be done with his actual heir.

"He told me if I didn't take the black, I'd suffer an unfortunate hunting accident," Sam confessed through his tears. "The last thing he said to me when I set out was that if I ever came back, he'd kill me himself."

Between Tyrion and Sam, Jon was starting to realize he might be a bastard but at least his father was Eddard Stark, and not Tywin Lannister or Randyll Tarly. At least in that regard he had lucked out.

"Listen to me Sam," Jon said, placing his hand on the teen's shoulder. "You've lived a rough life, there's no denying it, but things aren't going to get easier. The North is cold, hard, and unforgiving, and the Night's Watch is the same. If you want to make your life any easier here, you have to put aside the fear of your father and put in the effort at swordplay. No one's saying you have to be Ser Barristan the Bold, but anything is better than what you've been doing."

"I don't know if I can."

"You have no choice. Remember that most of the men who join the watch are criminals, and I won't be here forever."

Jon's message was clear. Sam was overweight, couldn't defend himself, and was quick to tears. While Jon was around, the other recruits left him alone and all Sam had to worry about was the biting tongue of Ser Alliser. Once Jon left for Winterfell, Sam would be on his own again, and no doubt the other recruits would bully him, as most teens around Sam's age tended to do. And with a lot of them being low born criminals rather than the sons of noble lords, well one can only imagine how much worse the bullying would be.

Sam shuddered. "Okay, I'll, I'll try my best."

"Good," Jon muttered. "Now pick up your sword, and let's try this again."

Two days later at dinner, Tyrion informed Jon that they would be departing after the morning meal. While Jon had been making friends with, and training, some of the recruits, Tyrion had spent most of his time reading the books in the Castle Black library, talking with the blind maester, and sharing a cup of wine with the Lord Commander.

"I'll be sad to see you leave Lannister," the Old Bear grunted.

"I bet you never thought to say such a thing," Tyrion said with his trademark smirk.

Lord Commander Mormont chuckled. "No, I never did. You're a smart man. The Watch could use a man like you."

It was Tyrion's turn to chuckle. "I'm afraid there's not enough wine in the world to keep me this far north any longer."

Jon took the opportunity to move from the high table down to the rows of tables where the brothers of the Night's Watch sat. He found Grenn, Halder, and Pypar sitting with each other.

"Where's Sam?" Jon asked, as he sat down with them.

"Don't know," Grenn answered with a shrug. Outside of training in the morning, the other three rarely spent time around Sam. It was clear they didn't want to make any outreaches of friendship.

"I'll be leaving for home on the morrow."

"You're leaving us already?" Pyp asked with a frown.

"You should stay and join the Watch," Halder said. "You'd be a Ranger for sure, and you're already a better trainer than Thorne."

Jon shook his head and sighed. "I wanted to join, but my father has forbidden it for now. Maybe in a few years, who knows what the future holds."

"We'll be sad to see you go."

"I'll come back," Jon promised. "In several months' time, I'll visit again and I'll bring the finest wine in Winterfell to toast the newest brothers of the Night's Watch."

"You better," Grenn said. "You can't promise a man wine and then not deliver."

"I will. I do have a favor to ask of you all before I leave though."

"He's leaving, and thinks he can ask a favor? The nerve!" Pyp said, laughter in his voice.

Jon smiled but his eyes were solemn. "Befriend Sam and keep an eye on him."

"You're asking too much Snow!"

"We'll be the laughing stock of the Watch with him!"

"No one could make fun of you Grenn, you're too dumb to understand the insults."

Pyp was forced to duck Grenn's attempt to hit him upside the head. The smaller teen came up grinning, and stuck his tongue out.

"Do it as a favor to me and I'll bring more than just wine when I come back. I'll bring you cloaks, like the one my uncle wears, and boots, proper boots meant for northern winters."

Jon watched as the three shared a look between them. It was finery none of them had access to in their lives. Halder shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright Snow, we'll keep an eye on Sam for you."

With the promise secured, and assuring them he would get their foot sizes in the morning before he departed, Jon set out to find Sam. He knew the teen often ate his dinner elsewhere in order to avoid the teasing of the other recruits. He just didn't know where he ate instead.

Ghost was waiting for him outside of the common hall where the brothers ate. Jon gave the direwolf a large piece of the meat they had for dinner, which was unidentified but tasted like elk. He didn't think it would be enough for the growing direwolf, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

Jon thought the most likely place to find Sam would be the library, but the teen was not there. He tried looking for him in his room but he was not there either. He glanced briefly up at the Wall but shook his head. Sam had many fears, and heights was one of them. He'd never willingly travel to the top of the Wall.

"Do you know where Sam is?" Jon asked, looking at Ghost.

Ghost looked at him for a moment before he started trotting off to the stout wooden keep that stood beneath the rookery, where Jon had previously been to check the library. Jon knew that outside of holding Castle Black's library, the keep was where the infirmary was and where the maester and his personal stewards lived. Jon hoped the visit to the maester was not health related. He had not had much interaction with Maester Aemon but it made sense to him that Sam would seek safety within his halls.

With Ghost leading, and Jon opening the doors, they were able to find Sam in Master Aemon's rooms, the door open. The main room was filled with books and scrolls of parchment, and various vials and bottles with tiny labels. There was a desk stacked with blank parchment, inkwells and quills, and a cot off to the side. Through a doorway Jon glimpsed a small bedroom that had furs hanging from the Walls, as a way to keep out the cold was Jon's guess.

Maester Aemon sat in a chair near the fire and Sam sat across from him. They were in the middle of a conversation that Jon was interrupting. He was unsure if either knew they were missing dinner.

"Sorry to disturb you Maester Aemon, I was just looking for Sam here."

"No worries Jon Snow," the blind man said as he waved Jon into the room. "Tyrion Lannister told me you are leaving tomorrow."

Not for the first time, Jon marveled at Maester Aemon's ability to recognize someone without issue just by the sound of their voice. He entered fully into the room, Ghost padding along at his side.

"Yes, we are set to leave in the morning. That's the reason I was looking for you Sam, to let you know."

Sam's face fell and his lower lip quivered, but he didn't shed any tears. Hopefully, it meant that some progress was being made.

"You can stick with Grenn and Halder and Pyp. They're good people. They'll help you should you have need."

Sam's face said he didn't agree with what Jon said but he nodded his head all the same.

"I'm sorry to see you go," Sam said. He stood from his chair, his girth pushing it back, the room filling with the sound of wood scraping against stone. "If you'll excuse me, I have things I need to do."

Sam left before either Jon or Maester Aemon could say anything. Jon sighed.

"He has told me what you have been doing for him," Master Aemon said to Jon. "You did all you could."

"All I could wasn't enough," Jon lamented.

"I'm unsure how long the others you mention will be able to keep an eye on young Samwell. We received a letter from one of our Wandering Crows, Gueren. He is leaving the Westerlands with four new recruits. It will take a few months before they get here but once they are close, Ser Alliser will pass on several of the recruits to the Lord Commander."

Jon knew that Grenn and Pyp were two of the best swordsmen out of the recruits, thanks in part to Jon's help. If any of the recruits were going to become sworn brothers of the Night's Watch first, it would be those two. And Halder had been at the Wall longer than most of the other recruits, so it would make sense that he would advance as well. There was no way Thorne would let Sam advance, especially in two months. Sam would be lucky if he becomes a sworn brother within the year.

"Maester Aemon, you can have Sam taken from training and made a brother of the Night's Watch."

"Our Lord Commander has given training of recruits into the hands of Ser Alliser," the maester said gently. "Only he may say when a boy is ready to swear his vow, as you surely know."

"The Lord Commander listens to you," Jon told the maester, as he moved to, and sat in, the chair Sam had abandoned. Ghost moved with him, and sat at his side. Jon absentmindedly scratched behind the direwolf's ear. "Without us to keep him safe, Sam will have no chance. He's hopeless with a sword. My sister Arya could tear him apart and she's only ten."

"The Night's Watch is a hard place, Jon Snow. Sam would not be the first recruit to train for years before he becomes a brother."

Jon took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. "I remember once I asked Maester Luwin why he wore a chain around his throat."

Maester Aemon touched his own collar lightly, his bony, wrinkly finger stoking the heavy metal link. "Go on."

"He told me a maester's collar is made of a chain to remind him that he is sworn to serve," Jon said, remembering. "I asked him why each link was a different metal. A silver chain would look much finer with his grey robes, I said. Master Luwin laughed. A maester forges his chain with study, he told me. The different metals are each a different kind of learning, gold for the study of money and accounts, silver for healing, iron for warcraft. And he said there were other meanings as well. The collar is supposed to remind the maester of the realm he serves, isn't that so? Lords are gold and knights are steel, but two links can't make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people."

Maester Aemon smiled. "And so?"

"The Night's Watch needs all sorts too. Why else have rangers and stewards and builders? Lord Randyll couldn't make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won't either. You can't hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn't mean that tin is useless. Why shouldn't Sam be a steward?"

"The order of stewards keeps the Watch alive. They hunt and farm, tend the horses, milk the cows, gather firewood, and cook the meals. You have seen Sam in ways that I cannot. Is he a hunter?"

"He hates hunting," Jon admitted.

"Can he plow a field?" the maester asked. "Can he drive a wagon or sail a ship? Could he butcher a cow?"

"No, but I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone."

"Yes?" Maester Aemon prompted.

"He could help you."

Jon had seen the two stewards who helped Aemon. One was sixty if he's a day; an old man. He only seemed young compared with Aemon. Short and round, the man was already half blind. The other was a surly man in his early twenties with a red face filled with boils. Being low born he couldn't read or write, and he had no education to speak of. Jon had been able to pick that up after hearing the young man talk no more than five words.

"Sam's smart," Jon continued, "as I'm sure you've learned in your conversations with him. He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know one of your stewards is starting to go blind, and the other can't read. Sam would be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There's a lot he could do besides fighting. The Night's Watch needs every man. Make use of him."

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, "Maester Luwin has taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade it would seem."

"Does that mean-"

"It means I shall think on what you have said," the maester said firmly. "It is still two months until Gueren reaches Castle Black. In the meantime, you would do best to encourage Sam to do everything he can between now and then to help his case."

The younger of the two helpers, the one with the boils on his face, entered the room with a plate of food. He stopped at the sight of Jon sitting there, before clearing his throat.

"Maester Aemon, I saw you weren't at dinner so I got you some food."

"Thank you, Chett."

Jon stood and Ghost stood with him. "Thank you for listening to me, Maester Aemon. I'll take my leave so you can eat. Come Ghost."

Together, he and his direwolf found themselves outside again. The sun, which had begun to set when dinner had started, had set completely and the stars glittered over head. A few torches had been lit, their orange glow illuminating the buildings.

"There you are."

Jon saw a giant shadow approaching him. He turned to see Tyrion Lannister making his way from the King's Tower, where honored guests of the Night's Watch, such as themselves, slept.

"I've been looking for you."

"Me?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you remember why I wanted to come to the Wall?" Tyrion asked.

Jon thought about it for a moment, before he recalled a conversation had almost two weeks ago. "You want to piss off the Wall."

Tyrion gave a drunken grin. "Since it is our last night here, I thought, what better time to do it than now? Will you accompany me?"

Jon looked up at the Wall and found himself unable to see the top. He had gone up there once, on his second day being at Castle Black. He had gone up with his uncle, and it was where his uncle told him that he would be leaving on a ranging north. The view had been breathtaking, hundreds of miles of trees covered in snow and stretching out past what his eyes could see.

He then looked back at Tyrion, who was drunk even if he appeared steady on his feet. The smell of wine was slowly wafting its way up to Jon's nose and the man held no bottles in his hands. The last thing he wanted was his friend to stumble off the Wall to his death, though it was hard to imagine himself holding the back of Tyrion's breeches while the dwarf took a piss off a three hundred foot tall wall of ice.

"Aye, we'll join you."

"Excellent!" Tyrion gestured to the Wall itself.

Jon didn't think Tyrion meant to ascend the great switchback stairs that climbed all the way to the top. That left the iron cage and winch as the only way to get up, and that could only be brought up by those already on the Wall.

"How do you plan on getting the cage up there?" Jon asked.

"I paid off the Crows who would be manning the top of the Wall for the first night shift," Tyrion answered as he pulled open the cage door.

Jon should have known Tyrion would have already thought of the obstacle and a way around it. With a shake of his head, Jon stepped into the cage and was quickly joined by Ghost and Tyrion. Soon they were on their way up, climbing the three hundred feet to piss off the top of the Wall.