The sunlight reflects off of the sharp blades, wicked looking saws and unlabeled vials. The floors are scrubbed to the point where no maladies could realistically survive upon the stone. The surgeon's certificate lies proudly displayed over the door showing us how he studied in the finest college in Mentus. Granted he got in there using money made by selling specimens stolen from the black hallows and somehow they managed to spell his first, middle and last name wrong and said he was from the far north but that certificate still proves that he is the finest surgeon in the kingdom.

Captain Holder lies atop an infirmary bed naked; the morning light doesn't present him very well. His skin is repulsively pale and his body bloated. He hasn't shaved anything except his face since wiry blond strands of hair began their growth. A red birthmark roughly the shape of a liver dominates most of his right side and of course his little tumble last night hasn't left his face looking too pretty either. Most of it is black and swollen, a considerable portion of his teeth and a small piece of his tongue are missing. His right eye has begun to swell to the point where it cannot fully close and the surgeon believes it should be removed before it becomes tainted.

The royal surgeon cut away his clothes to perform a closer inspection of his body and if I was to guess the servants I paid to pour wine all over him probably stole hIs armour and either sold it or threw it into the river. The surgeon diagnosed the good captain with a fractured skull and informed us he wouldn't be waking up for a few days at least. Also told us that he might have lost some mental faculties shortly after this injury was sustained, implying he possessed them in the first place.

Currently no one occupies the infirmary save for him, me, Father Ricard, the surgeon and his apprentices. Very few in this kingdom are competent enough to wound anyone worthy of getting in here. Maybe four or five royal guards end up here every month and Terrence usually comes here on a weekly basis in search of something to either boost one's resistance to the pox or to alleviate the worst of its symptoms. The surgeon stands over his workbench making poppy liquor, the black leather robe and ominous crow mask make the man look terrifying but he insists on wearing them any time he's near anyone other than his apprentices or myself and even then he insists on maintaining a safe distance of at least a meter. Grandfather cursed that man by making him the royal surgeon, he knew what grandfather did to those who inconvenienced him, he knew that grandfather would not accept the apprentices as substitutes, knew what would happen if he became ill once, thus he became fearful of illness. Whenever the man isn't resetting bones or administering numbing medications he hides himself in his study. I might cut him loose some day, when one of his apprentices is suitably skilled to take his place, maybe his fears will dissipate when he no longer has an execution to worry about and he'll lead a normal life, maybe he'll just lock himself away from the world and all its ailments.

"Did he seem odd during your discussion?" Father Ricard inquires. "My prince," an added afterthought.

"Not particularly," I lie easily. "Apologized a fair bit for his little misunderstanding when we first met and mentioned something about his sister I didn't quite catch. Does he often indulge himself this much?"

"Your pardon?"

"Does he do this often?" I repeat. "Drown himself in wine and then injure himself?"

"Captain Holder was fond of wine and conflict more than most men should be but not to this extent," Thomas says quietly. "I can't even imagine what stress could be so colossal that it'd need such an ocean to drown and even then after it's consumption I doubt he'd be able to move, let alone offend someone enough to prompt them to do this to him."

"He seems to have spilt more than he drank," I point out. "Also I doubt anyone who holds a distaste for the captain possesses the strength to drag him through the castle and then do this to his skull. Perhaps he merely fell down some stairs cracking his skull a few times before dragging himself through a few more halls, slipping and cracking it a final time."

"Where was he going?" Thomas asks quietly.

"Perhaps in search of more wine, maybe he was in search of a servant to obtain some luxury we neglected to equip his room with or maybe he was just bored and decided to see what the castle looked like when his eyes were this misted."

Thomas doesn't reply, he just quietly stares at the captain.

"If it eases your mind I'll ask around and see if I can discover the full story that led to this spot in the captain's life," I sigh. "Surgeon may I have a word please?"

The surgeon turns around slowly and walks to me. The older apprentice takes over in the mixing of poppy liquor.

I don't bother leaving the room, instead I just lean when he's close enough and speak quietly.

"Should the cost of keeping the captain's heart beating begin to exceed fifty coppers, make it so it's rhythm is ended."

The surgeon nods before turning around to return to his work. Preserving lives is that man's career but he was taught all the ways one can be shortened too.

The arrival of the church seems to have killed most joy among the servants in Castle Black. Not much of a surprise really, now they have to hide the symbols of their faith to avoid causing offence and serve a religion that tried to destroy their one a few hundred years ago and would try again if it could. In truth I don't particularly care for the church's fire or about what they did before I came into this world. What I'm interested in is their fifty thousand soldiers and until I can assume full control over them I will rely on the alliance grandfather formed with the church to call upon them when I'm in desperate need.

I wander through the desolate halls of Castle Black eating an apple with my stiletto knife, the servants seem to have decided that if they remain outside of sight they'll avoid an attempted conversion.Those who aren't fortunate enough to hold positions that allow them to hide scrub the halls or briskly walk carrying trays with zeal eager to end their chores with minimal incident. Grandfather used to let the church of fire torture and then burn one or two of his least favourite ones to show how devoted he was to the flame. When Gerard came with his thorn god this facade of devotion was discarded and he allowed the alliance to fall to pieces.

Suddenly I feel an arm wrap itself around my throat, I drop my apple and try to pry the limb off but to no avail. With remarkable speed I'm dragged through a door into a disused room intended for nobles. I take my knife and jam it into where I presume my unseen attacker's leg to be. I feel it slide through muscle and solicit a bellow of pain from my assaulter. The knife comes out as easily as it went in and gets rammed into the arm in seconds. The attacker releases me, allowing me to turn around and ram the blade at his belly. I feel the knife slide across steel doing no further damage to my attacker.

"Cease this," they yell, lunging for me trying to grab my knife arm. I recognize the voice as well as the attackers shape.

I jam the blade through his hand and let go before stepping to the left, allowing him to crash into the door.

"Martin?" I inquire curiously.

"Yes you fucker!" He yells.

"Martin!" I yell back. "Have you lost your fucking wits?"

"You've stabbed me!" Martin exclaims.

"Can you blame me? As far as I was concerned you were some moronic assassin sent to slit my throat in this room! You're lucky your guts aren't cooling on the floor!"

"And what reason do you have to suspect such a thing?" Martin sneers as he struggles to crawl to his feet.

"Have you not heard the news?" I ask mockingly as I offer my hand to him. "Some savage monster mashed Captain Holder's head into a wall! Such darkness dwelling in my castle has given me plenty reason to fear shadows found in the edges of my vision!"

"Don't joke," Martin groans as he raises the hand with the knife in it towards me. Instead of grabbing his forearm like he probably intended me to do I grab the knife hilt and rip it out. "You fucking-"

"What was your plan?" I yell at him. "Drag me into this room and scare me a bit? Teach me why I shouldn't break the skulls of those who insult me?"

"Something along the lines of that, yes!" Martin spits cradling his hand as it spurts blood onto his brigandine. "You've just dragged us into a fucking war before you've even been crowned!"

"Don't be so dramatic! At worst we give them a barrel of wine as compensation for the captain's unfortunate accident and move on!"

"He comes into the castle, you offer to escort him to his chambers and he winds up in an infirmary bed with a cracked head! Even Bartholomew could figure out what happened between those incidents! It's going to cost more than wine to smooth over this! And if he doesn't wake up then we'll have to-"

I grab Martin by the back of his head and point my knife at his throat.

"Let's save this discussion about my actions for the future and discuss yours," I say calmly.

"My actions haven't instigated-"

"That's just going to loop back to my actions," I sigh. "Now you figured it'd be a good idea to drag me in here without consent so you could inspire fear in me. Now even Bartholomew could tell you the many ways that could go wrong."

"I didn't think you'd be this much of a-"

"If you were anyone but my brother I'd have made a red mess of you by now!" I find myself yelling at him as rage builds up in me. "What was your plan if I stabbed you in the throat instead of the stomach? What would I do? Toss you in the river and say you went on a trip? Pretend you're like those pretentious lords and priests and fucking captains?"

I hear someone barge through the door and quickly I rise to my feet and turn around. A royal guard has kicked down the door and two others stand behind him. My composure returns to me in seconds.

"My prince the servants said-"

"Marvelous speed gentlemen!" I praise cutting across him. "I am truly lucky to have you protecting me! Now I'm afraid the servants have overestimated the situation, this is a mere squabble between brothers!"

"My prince your blade is bloodied," a guard points out.

"So it is," I agree. "Fortunately none of it was in me! I do apologize for your concerns being raised and time being wasted. However, should one of you be so inclined my brother could use an escort to the infirmary."

"Certainly, my prince," all the guards chime at once, eager to be of assistance. Then they all move to assist my brother like he's some poor cripple.

I leave them to it and continue my wanderings through Castle Black searching for something to entertain till tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll have the whole kingdom to entertain me.