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JON SNOW

to get the hang of a side strike when heavy footsteps entered the yard.

"Leg, shoulder, leg." Jon instructed, performing the maneuver before stepping aside to let Grenn try, "Left foot forward. Good. Now pivot as you deliver the stroke. Put all your weight behind it."

Nymeria was watching with a smile on her face as she leaned against the armory. It always made him more nervous when she was watching. She had trained with the Red Viper of Dorne, and she knew how to exploit a man's weakness better than anyone else in the castle. Jon knew it was probably in support, but every time she needed to step in to correct a mistake they made, he found himself wishing she'd stayed in her room instead.

Jon sent a frustrated look her way and she shook her head, slightly chuckling. Her smile dropped into a frown, narrowing her gaze at something behind Jon, straightening up off the pillar to get a better look.

"What in seven hells is that?"

Jon whirled around at Grenn's exclamation, finding himself standing across a short boy with a rotund stomach, spilling over his buckled belt, the leather stretching and nearly breaking under the pressure. His night's watch armor squeezed him tightly, leather panels worked in to let the boy breathe, his chins drowning out the rest of his features and hiding the velvet and fur choking his neck.

"You're from the Reach," Nymeria spoke up, pressing forward until she was by Grenn's side, eyeing him up and down.

The boy squirmed underneath her gaze, stammering as his gaze drifted toward Ser Alliser, who nodded at the group, "Tell them your name" He ordered the boy.

"Samwell Tarly," He spoke shyly, as if he'd had to repeat it a thousand times, "Of Horn Hill, I mean, I was of Horn Hill," He fumbled over his words and pity struck Jon's chest, "I've come to take the black."

Rast sniggered, and crossed his arms, "Come to take the black pudding,"

Jon rolled his eyes as he watched Samwell sink back into himself. Rast had been on the few brothers Jon hadn't been able to win over yet. He was rude, crass, and refused to get along with anyone.

Ser Alliser inspected the new recruit with abhorrence, like he was a man displeased with his food at an inn rather than the Master at Arms ready to train a new recruit. "Well, you couldn't be any worse than you look," Ser Alliser spoke, looking back at the other recruits, "See what he can do."

Rast's face lit up in a gleeful sneer, and he moved forward, Sam's legs wobbling underneath him as he readied his sword.

His stance was wide enough and his leading foot was ready to move backward, defensively. He had been trained to be on the defense. Jon realized. His legs were bent too low, his arm ready to protect his face.

Rast brought the sword down on the padded leather, Sam dropping the sword almost instantly to protect his face. The blows were strong and soon Sam was down on his knees, bruises already forming on his face. His voice a small whine as he yelled, "I yield! I yield!"

Ser Alliser wasn't done yet, and only rolled his eyes, like this was boring him. "On your feet, pick up your sword," He commanded, and when Sam disobeyed, Ser Alliser turned to Rast once again, sighing "Hit him till he finds his feet,"

Rast's blows were sloppy, striking the back or the cheeks with barely any strength behind them, but when Ser Alliser's taunts grew louder, Rast's blows grew harder. The recruit let out a deafening screech, and when Rast moved to strike again, Jon surged forward.

Steel met steel, but Jon was nowhere near the new boy. Instead, Pyp had held him back and Nymeria stood over Sam's trembling figure, knives glinting in the sunlight as they caught Rast's sword.

"Enough," She ordered, every bit a princess, a cold glare thrown at Ser Alliser, "I thought the Night's Watch was supposed to be honorable, turns out you're nothing but cowards."

Rast's mouth popped open at the insult and he turned to Ser Alliser, who had stiffened, his shoulders taut like a bowstring.

He pressed forward, his figure towering over Nymeria's before gesturing to someone behind him, "I believe the Princess is tired, please escort her back to the King's Tower."

"Yes, m'lord," The voice came from Daeron, who was quick to grab Nymeria's arm and take her, his strength far outweighing her own.

"the princess is fine," She snarled. Ser Alliser only called in more of his own, another recruit named Halder seizing her as well. He was a stonemason, and she would be unable to break free from his grip. Jon wanted to do something, but he had defied Ser Alliser enough times, and he needed the respect of his brothers.

Is it worth it to sit around and watch them beat up their own brother? Were those the people Jon was meant to serve and fight alongside?

The Imp's words came back to him. "Not impressed with your new brothers?"

Jon watched her struggle across the courtyard, hitting and yelling in a manner similar to Arya when she was being dragged away by the Septa. It was not a pretty sight, and he couldn't blame her. Jon sighed as he turned back to the scene in front of him, watching as Ser Alliser stepped back and nodded at Rast.

"Again," He ordered, sneering at Sam, "Harder."

Both of his hands were on the sword now, his full strength behind the blows, and when Sam screeched once again, Jon knew his choice.

"Enough!" He called out, and the courtyard froze, Halder and Daeron froze with it, while Grenn and Pyp looked on, anxious for him. Jon ignored them, "He yielded."

Ser Alliser bristled, and Rast's smile fell. Jon moved to help Sam to his feet, pushing the boy behind him.

"Looks like the bastard's in love." Ser Alliser taunted, his onyx eyes fixed on Jon, the twitch of his cheek giving him away, "All right then, lord Snow, you wish to defend your lady love, let's make it an exercise. You two." He pointed at Halder and Daeron, who abandoned their post reluctantly, "Three of you ought to be sufficient to make lady piggy squeal. All you've got to do is get past the bastard." The two boys sent him apologetic looks, and Jon knew that he was going to be paying for this defiance. His bruises would be worse than they had been previously. He resigned himself to the inevitability and readied his sword.

"Get past the bastard and the princess," Nymeria's voice spoke from beside him, grabbing a sword from the ground and tightening her grip on the hilt. It was awkward and too close to the balance point, but he appreciated the extra hands.

Pyp and Grenn moved beside him as well, and soon four outnumbered three.

Jon lowered his voice, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Nymeria nodded, her throat bobbing up and forth as she stared at Ser Alliser, her eyes narrowed, "Daeron injured his left foot yesterday," She told him, and Jon understood. Halder and Rast were the powerhouses, but Daeron would be clumsy, the easiest to take out first.

He swung his sword downward, slapping the steel against Daeron's leg, using the hilt to knock him down and force him to yield. Grenn was utilizing the side swing Jon had taught him, while Pyp kept dodging the swings, tiring out Halder enough to land a side strike. Nymeria was facing Rast, whose movements grew clumsier with each step. She blocked his strike and ducked, his sword almost catching the tail end of her braid, she slipped around again and metal clanged against metal, the two of them dancing to the song of steel. A loud "I yield!" Was heard and Halder was on the ground.

Only Rast was left.

Jon moved in, two swords against one as the boy struggled against the new movements he was being presented with. One was a dance, the other what he knew. His sword swung wide, and Nymeria leapt out of the way, rolling toward Rast's side, striking her sword as hard as possible against his armor. Jon made the next move, his strength surging forward, splitting the armor. Rast cried out but did not yield. Ser Alliser was watching them, and Rast had something to prove. Jon snarled and pushed back against the boy, swinging his sword in an arc, the blade landing on Rast's shoulder. The recruit retaliated with a poorly timed lunge, and Jon swept his foot under the boy's, sending him flat on his ass.

Rast finally stumbled back, his hands pulling at the gravel as he lifted his hands up in surrender, Jon's blade nearing his throat, "Yield yield yield!" He whined, sounding like Sam when he had first started, "I yield."

Alliser pulled Rast up, a scowl across his face as he glared at the four recruits in front of him. "We're done for today," He barked, and Jon wanted to shrivel under his gaze, but he forced himself to stand tall. Ser Alliser may have no honor left, but Jon was teeming with it, and he wouldn't be turned into something he wasn't. Not while he breathed. "Go clean the armory, that's all you lot are good for."

He sent one last sneer at Nymeria before storming off, the courtyard clearing one by one.

Jon's breath blew a curl away from his face, and he held his hand out to Nymeria, who grasped it with an iron grip. He pulled her up, and she quickly wiped any dust from her breeches, handing him the sword, redness creeping up on her cheeks.

Jon chuckled, "Not used to a sword then?"

"My uncle trained me in all the weapons of my cousins," She explained, shaking her head, "A sword was not one of them."

Amazement filled Jon's chest. Her skill with knives was unparalleled, but he was unaware of what else she possessed. Like her house, the princess was a mystery.

"Perhaps I could teach you," The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and he felt his jerkin grow tight around his neck again. "I—I mean—"

"I'd be honored," She cut him off, a soft smile on her face. Jon's shoulders relaxed, the tension melting like summer snow on the parapets of Winterfell. A heavy figure came into view, and Jon turned to meet the pale eyes of Samwell Tarly, the new recruit.

"Did he hurt you?" He asked, eyes pointed toward Jon, fidgeting when he noticed Nymeria's eyes on him.

Jon simply shrugged, "I've had worse," And it was true. Theon had given him more bruises in one day than his brothers had in a week. Something tugged in his gut at the thought of the Greyjoy boy, and Jon wondered if his absence had made Winterfell more bearable for the ward. Theon had always been closer to Robb anyway. But there had always been a sense of bitterness surrounding Theon, and Jon was certain that would never change.

Nymeria turned to the Tarly boy, arching her eyebrow curiously, "I'm Nymeria," She offered, making the first attempt at friendship.

The recruit smiled, and offered out his hand, his cheeks bright red, "You can call me Sam," He turned to Jon next, and he hesitated to shake his hand. Ser Alliser would only make life harder for him if he befriended the boy, but his chest constricted at the thought. His father raised him to be better than that, but by the time he reached out to shake the boy's hand it was back by his side. He had taken too long. "if you want, my mother calls me Sam."

"I'm Jon Snow," He greeted back, a slight smile on his face, "This is Grenn and Pypar,"

The two boys lifted their hands and Pyp finally piped up, "You can call him Lord Snow, you don't wanna know what his mother calls him."

Jon shook his head, trying to bear his status with pride. Wear it like armor, the Imp advised. Much easier said than done.

Grenn was the next one to speak up, his thick brows laced together, "Why didn't you get up and fight?"

Sam stiffened at his question and barely managed a shrug, the redness growing brighter, "I wanted to, I just couldn't."

"Why not?" Grenn kept pushing. Jon sent him a look. It was clear Sam was uncomfortable with the very idea.

His eyes flew to the ground, chins bobbing up and down as he swallowed. "I'm a coward," He admitted, shocking everyone he was speaking to, "My father always says so."

Jon had never met a self-proclaimed coward before. What was he doing at the Wall? Didn't he know what he was signing up for? It wouldn't do him any favors to blab about it.

"The Wall's no place for cowards," Jon warned.

"You're right, I'm sorry, I just..." Sam trailed off, his rushed words tumbling from his mouth. Shame crawled at Jon's belly. He didn't meant to insult the boy. "Wanted to thank you."

Gods now he felt even worse.

Nymeria went running after him, and Jon could only hang his head in shame.

NYMERIA MARTELL

She knew it wasn't smart. And it wasn't what she was here for, but something pushed her to run after the Tarly boy.

She found him hiding in the library, in the furthest corner, far away from anything or anyone who would bother him. Most men of the Watch couldn't read or write, it was a safe spot from anyone that would hurt him.

Sniffles echoed in her ears and she rounded the corner, finding the boy with his arms wrapped around his tucked knees, trying to wipe the fat tears that were falling down his cheeks.

And there it was again. The tugging in her chest. Asking her to reach out and help the boy in front of her. Her mouth turned down at the sight and she quickly slid down the wall to join him. He was tucked between two large bookcases, hidden by a much taller one.

"I didn't mean to get them in trouble," He blubbed, shaky breaths leaving his mouth, "I-I've never h-had people stand up f-for m-me before."

Gods, what must that be like? To have kindness be such a rarity that it makes one so vulnerable?

She reached her arm out, trying to wrap around his shoulders but only reaching his neck instead. "It's not your fault." She tried to comfort him. A sweet lie was better than an awful truth.

"Yes, it is," He denied, tears still falling but breath evening out, "If I hadn't been so craven then you and Jon wouldn't have gotten in trouble with Ser Alliser."

Nymeria chuckled to herself. He was honest with himself at least. Of all his faults, Samwell Tarly knew who he was, and how the world saw him. "Ser Alliser would have found another way to punish us," She assured him, her lips twisting upward slightly, "He's rather cruel that way."

"Is it always like this?" Sam asked, and Nymeria finally saw the fear in his eyes. She shrugged, wishing she could be of more help. Her view of the North was biased, and Sam needed someone to reassure him.

"I don't know," She admitted, biting the inside of her cheek. "I've only been here a month. Jon would know better than I."

Sam shook his head, "Of course, I should have realized." He chastised himself. He did that a lot. "But he won't want to talk with me. Not after calling myself a coward."

Nymeria disagreed. If anyone knew Sam's plight, it was Jon. From what she knew of him, he was not one to judge. "Jon's more open-minded than you think." Was all she said, hoping it was enough.

Sam nodded, appreciating her words. His tears had finally slowed to a stop and he let his knees fall to the floor, silence washing over the two of them.

"How'd you end up at the Wall anyway?" She finally asked, curious about the circumstances that would lead a self-proclaimed craven from the second warmest area in Westeros to take the black in the coldest place in Westeros.

Sam stiffened again, playing with his surcoat, the faded sigil showcasing a striding huntsman. At least he had come prepared. Like her.

And so she listened. She listened when he told her of the history of the house and their Valyrian steel sword. She listened when he began to shake at the mere mention of his father's name, and his fading pride as Sam grew older. She listened when Sam told her about his love of music and reading and dancing, despite his clumsy feet. Nymeria laughed at the sight of Sam dancing. He seemed to shake in the presence of any woman his age. Her included.

And then the words turned darker when he talked about the hunts. About how sick he was when he was forced to watch his father cut into a stag. The number of times his dinner went pouring out of him at the sight of blood. How a thousand master-at-arms and two warlocks from Qarth couldn't make him brave and strong. How when his mother had finally given birth to another son, Sam was all but tossed aside, and Lord Randyll Tarly spent every waking moment with the new boy, who grew up to be everything Sam was not.

"And then..." Sam trembled, his breathing shaky as he grasped tightly to the cloth of his breeches. Nymeria grabbed at his hand, silently encouraging him to continue with the story. "On my seventeenth name day, my father had saddled a horse and had me escorted to a wood, just outside of Horn Hill." Sam explained, grip tightening around Nymeria's tiny fingers, "He told me I had to take the black. So that Horn Hill could go to Dickon. And if I didn't he threatened to 'hunt me down like the pig I was"

Sam's tone was dead. His breathing still shaky. Eyes blankly staring into the library, but Nymeria's remained on the boy before her.

It made her gorge rise, and she wanted to leave the Wall this second and ride for Horn Hill. To find Randyll Tarly and skin him the way he had that deer. No child deserved what Sam had gone through.

No one in the world did. The Reach was filled with awful people, she now realized, and wished it had been Randyll Tarly Oberyn had ridden against that day, instead of Willas Tyrell.

"Your father," She began, drawing Sam's attention back to the present, "Deserves a fate worse than seven hells."

He began to laugh at that, and soon Nymeria joined him, the musical sound filling the empty room with joy as it rose up to the ceiling.

"What about you?" Sam asked, raising his brows curiously, "How did the Princess of Dorne find herself all the way up here?"

Nymeria leaned against the Wall, chuckling mirthlessly, "Not by choice I'm afraid." She admitted, the weight returning to her shoulders. It nearly crushed her, but she would not let it. "My Uncle wants to support the Watch, so he sent me to send him reports."

That was as much as she would tell him. Her chest constricted at the thought of keeping secrets from Sam when he had been so open with her, but it was for her own good. Word of Doran's plan could not leave Dorne. And it did her nor the dornish any favors to be portrayed as schemers for the throne. They weren't the Lannisters.

"Tell me," Sam began, pausing slightly before forming the next words. Nymeria prepared herself for a barrage of questions, all of which she had prepared answers. She'd used them at Winterfell after all. "Does it ever get any warmer?"

Laughter burst from her lips, and she doubled over at the unexpected question, shoulders shaking. When he realized that she wasn't laughing with him, Sam joined in again.

Yes, she and Samwell Tarly would get along just fine.