Of Bastards and Broken Things (Unfinished)

After years in the ice and snow as a Ranger of the Night's Watch, Josmyn Sand still was not used to the cold weather that permeated the air and cut him to the bone. During his time on the Wall, he'd grown used to being in a state of constant cold and he desperately longed for the heated sun of his homeland Dorne. Dorne, where it was always warm, even in the coldest winters. The place would always hold his heart, far more so than this forsaken place he'd been banished to.

Simply thinking about how he had come to be on the Wall and in the service of Castle Black caused his blood to heat so much that, for a few moments at least, Josmyn did not even notice the cold. However, his rage soothed itself as the targets he sought were so painfully out of his grasp at the moment, it did not bear thinking about. The bastard prince sighed and cast his eyes down at the bowl of stew, he supposed it was again, in front of him. Whatever it was, Josmyn hated the taste of it. In fact, compared to the dishes he'd been raised on, there was little if any flavor in the dish. He'd have given a limb or at least a finger or two for a properly spiced Dornish meal to heat his tongue and belly. Sand resigned himself to speaking again to stewards about bringing up spices from his homeland. It would do the others in the Night's Watch good to have what some called as close to actual fire as one could ingest without dying in their stomachs. Hell, it couldn't hurt at the very least.

A stray thought of writing to his father and asking him to send up a package of those self-same spices wandered through his mind but he pushed it away. As he'd stepped off the boat at the Eastwatch-By-The-Sea, Prince Oberyn had warned him not to have contact with any of the Martells again, lest his death be arranged for. Knowing his father's reputation as the Red Viper, Josmyn had complied, not so much as sending a single letter home to converse with his half sisters who bore the bastard name Sand just as he did.

Instead, Josmyn had heard nothing of his family in all of the time he'd worn the black, only hearing bits of idle gossip from Southron knights and men as they came to the Wall themselves. His dark eyes, the eyes that marked him as his father's son, scanned the huddle mass of men near freezing, his dear “brothers” according to the vows he'd been strong-armed into by his beloved uncle. They were utterly disgusting and despicable, the lot of them. A few choice individuals were better than the mess of others but those were few and far between. Maester Aemon, Josmyn held in high regard as he had saved his life. Lord Commander Mormont was at least of noble blood. He'd respected Benjen Stark as First Ranger as the man, like him, had had the blood of a Great House in his veins. Ser Alliser and a few other knights were tolerable, but on the whole, there was not a man that was truly equal to his status. Excepting of course a newer recruit, one Jon Snow.

Like Josmyn, Jon Snow was the bastard of a man of a Great House. While he was not exactly a prince, his father had been Warden of the North and then Hand of the King. And while he might have been a traitor as was said, Josmyn, having been taught hatred of the Lannisters by the man who raised him, doubted that he was. The Lannisters were conniving, narcissistic people and it did not surprise him in the least that the queen and her brother had been accused of incest.

His eyes drifted over Jon Snow, who had been dubbed by Ser Alliser as Lord Snow. Josmyn had taken his licks from Alliser as well, being referred to as Prince Bastard and the Weak Prince, after he succumbed to illness from the cold. No doubt the boy could do with some encouragement. As Snow as the closest thing he had to an equal in this frozen wasteland, Sand picked up his bowl of stew, already cooling and made his way to where he'd spotted Jon. Walking over, he gave a quick nod and sat down across the table from him.

“Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark, I am Josmyn Sand, son of Prince Oberyn Martell. It seems the Wall has a way of collecting us noble bastards, doesn't it?” he said, a sarcastic smile flickering across his lips for a moment before vanishing again.

The Great Hall of Castle Black was as busy as ever on this night, if it could even be labelled as ‘Great’ anymore. In truth the entire castle was a castle in steady decline; if it couldn’t be contributed to the unwavering ticking of time, it was because of the seemingly ever worsening cold. But nevertheless, there was always a raging fire burning in the hearth to keep the room at least moderately warm, and there was no where else that you could get a somewhat decent and warm meal in Castle Black.

Being somewhat later in the evening than usual, those who Jon usually supped with had already been, eaten and gone before Jon had even managed to arrive. His duties as Lord Commander Mormont’s steward had taken slightly longer than usual tonight, but in truth Jon didn’t overly mind. Surprisingly he enjoyed the majority of the tasks the Lord Commander made him do, as he knew most of it was his training to someday succeed the Old Bear, and on occasion he also sought privacy; this meal alone would be a welcome break from his fellow brothers of the black.

As Jon slowly spooned another spoonful of strew into his mouth, the now lukewarm and bland food slowly working it’s way down his throat, the black clothes of a fellow brother shuffled and stopped across the table in front of him. Was Sam back for seconds? Or had Green or Pyp come back to annoy him? With a discreet sigh Jon looked up, and was surprised when he noticed someone he didn’t exactly recognise. With a somewhat confused expression, Jon looked up at the stranger and waited for a reason why he had disturbed him; there was always a reason. The stranger gave Jon a curt nod and sat down at the table.

“Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark, I am Josmyn Sand, son of Prince Oberyn Martell.” Jon had heard of Josmyn, though had never met or spoken to the man. A fellow bastard of a High House, the highest in Dorne in fact. Jon knew full well that the title ‘Prince’ used by the people of Dorne did not signify royalty in the same way it was used over the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, but that did not lessen the stature that this Josmyn held - or rather, that he had once held, before taking the Black.

Jon looked back down at his stew and spooned another mouthful, swallowing it as Josmyn spoke once more. “It seems the Wall has a way of collecting us noble bastards, doesn't it?” Jon looked up at the other Bastard just in time to catch the flicker of a smirk, though it vanished almost before Jon could see it.

“Even a Bastard can earn honour in the Night’s Watch.” replied, mirroring the words his uncle Benjen had once said to him. “But honour rarely brings men here, bastards and named alike.” Jon looked Josmyn in the face, trying to figure the man out. Did he have an concealed motive? Most men did, though in the Night’s Watch there was little need for scheming and plotting - though a lack of need oft did not stop such things from happening. “So tell me, Josmyn Sand, what brought you to the Night’s Watch - honour or necessity?”

Word Count: 557.

Florien Flowers had just returned from yet another ranging beyond the Wall, it was his second in as many days due to the fact the Night's Watch desperately needed more men. The knight and two of his fellow rangers had been attacked by several wildlings whilst riding through the haunted forest where there had been a short battle in which the black brothers had prevailed without picking up any serious injuries, Florien had almost been killed by a wildling with a spear but had, rather cleverly, been able to cut the mans weapon in two before he could impale him with it. They immediately returned to Castle Black, the other two rangers had gone off to their chambers for some well deserved rest but Florien found that he was cold and hungry rather than tired and had set off the Great Hall in search of some warm food. He was hoping to find someone he knew in the hall, he didn't enjoy being part of the Night's Watch in the slightest, due to the cold, but his near death experience had left him feeling grumpier than usual and he was in desperate need of some good conversation.

When he entered the Great Hall, quickly shutting the door behind him to stop the wind making the room any colder than it already was, Florien walked towards where the stew was being served whilst muttering some quick greetings to the black brothers he recognised in the hall. Rather than going straight to a table Florien quickly devoured an entire bowl of stew before helping himself seconds, he then turned to get a good look at the Great Hall and those seated within it. The ranger cast his eyes of several men he knew, some liked him but most did not, until he caught sight of Josmyn Sand sitting with another man whose back was turned to him. Florien was sure he would be welcomed at that table as he had recently formed a friendship with the Bastard Prince of Dorne after saving his life from a wildling who had jumped from a tree in an attempt to kill him. Florien crossed the hall for the second time, greeting those he had not the first time, until he came to the table at which Josmyn was seated and lowered himself on to the bench him. He was unpleasantly surprised to see that the other man was Lord Commander Mormont's steward, Jon Snow, whom he was not exactly on good terms with.

"Josmyn, how are you?" Florien said in a pleasant tone of voice, he was glad to have found one of the few people he could consider a real friend within the hall. The knight then cast his eyes upon Jon Snow, the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark, and glared at him for a second. They hadn't been on good terms since Snow had first come to the Wall, Ser Alliser Thorne had asked Florien to fight Jon and, although their battle had been reasonably close, the older man had won. The ranger did not even try to hide the discontempt in voice when he spoke to the young steward, "Oh, it's you, Snow."

When Jon Snow continued to stare more at his food than at Josmyn, at first he was offended but quickly, he pushed aside the notion. Jon was younger than he had been when he'd taken the black and likely incredibly hungry after his duties of the day. Indeed, the boy looked like he was wound tight, ready either to spring or break, depending on the situation. All Josmyn had wanted to do was to extend a hand in friendship to the new lad and steward to the Old Bear. He didn't envy Snow's assignment even though most believed he'd gotten the position as Mormont was grooming him for command in the future. At least, that was the speculation of the Castle Black rumor mill.

When Jon plainly asked him why he was at the Wall, Josmyn noted that he gave only two possible reasons for being there. It was interesting that he still saw the world in black and white instead of the various shades of grey that it really was.
“I am here because I asked my father to legitimize me. He refused, even though it would not have affected the line of succession and decided I would best be of service on the Wall. Judge for yourself what that is,” he responded, giving a shrug of his shoulders. Instead of simply giving him a name, Josmyn had been cast aside. What a joyous thought that was. Idly, he wondered what young Snow would make of it but decided that he truly did not care. That was the situation and there was little he could do to change it at the moment.

When he saw his friend Florien approaching, Josmyn greeted him with a friendly smile.
“Florien, I am well. Yourself?” the bastard prince responded, warmth in his voice for the man that had saved his life. However, he did not miss the apparent distaste that he held for Jon Snow. That was interesting. Making a note to talk to his friend about it later, Josmyn decided to do his best to keep the peace.

“No need to stab each other over stew. Besides, I doubt that either of your blood would make a tasty addition to my dinner,” he japed, smiling at them both. Someone needed to keep the mood light. Otherwise, he feared what he'd wanted to be a nice dinner time conversation would turn rotten before it had truly began. Still, he wondered, just what had gone on between his two fellow bastards. After all, Florien hadn't been Snow's master-at-arms. That had been Ser Alliser. Maybe they'd had a bad exchange in the halls or over a previous meal. Whatever it was, Josmyn would do his best to keep things calm. After all, they were three of a kind, all noble bastards. While the others might have been their “brothers” of the Night's Watch, they were truly the ones that could understand each other and know what it was like to be punished for nothing but being born.

“I am here because I asked my father to legitimize me.” Josmyn began. “He refused, even though it would not have affected the line of succession and decided I would best be of service on the Wall. Judge for yourself what that is,” the fellow Bastard finished, shrugging his shoulders.

Jon had been wrong, there weren’t simply two choices, as Josmyn had just proved. The mention of being legitimized and having a name resonated within Jon, as he had often sought the same thing from his father, though had never voiced his wish. It reminded him of something Tyrion Lannister had once said to him, and he couldn’t help himself from repeating it as he looked into his bowl of stew.

“Never forget who you are…the rest of the world will not. Wear it like an armour, and it can never be used against you.” he had spoken more to himself, a reminder, than to Josmyn, but it was relevant nevertheless. Jon looked up at his fellow brother of the Night’s Watch. “I may have come to the Wall for a different reason, but the beginnings of that reason are the same.” However, before Jon could continue yet another of his fellow Black Brothers took a seat next to Josmyn, though this time Jon was especially not pleased to be disturbed by this individual.

"Josmyn, how are you?" Florien Flowers asked, his voice far more pleasant than Jon Snow had ever heard it. It seemed that Florien respected Josmyn, likely because of his stature as a Bastard Prince of Dorne. Josmyn responded in kind, smiling; the two were quite clearly friends of some sort.

"Florien, I am well. Yourself?"

"Oh, it's you, Snow." the venom and vile in his voice was clear as day, though the feeling was mutual.

“Florien.” Jon always refused to add the ‘Ser’ in front of Florien’s name. As far as the Bastard of Winterfell was concerned, Florien did not deserve the honoured title of a Knight. Florien wasn’t concerned with helping others, he was all about himself.

“No need to stab each other over stew. Besides, I doubt that either of your blood would make a tasty addition to my dinner,” Josmyn said in jest, grinning between the two of them.

“Black Brothers don’t spill Black Brothers blood.” his voice was stern, like usual, but Jon looked back to Josmyn and cracked the slightest of smirks. “Plus, I prefer pepper.”

Word Count: 405.
Total Word Count thus far: 962.

Florien sat quietly spooning some of his stew into, it wasn't very good im comparison to what was served in the south but he was cold and the stew was warm so he enjoyed it all the same. He noted that Jon Snow did not refer to him by his proper title, he didn't seem to understand that Florien had earned his knighthood just live every other man in the seven kingdoms that bore the title Ser, but it did bother him much as he was comfortable knowing that he was a better swordsman than Ned Stark's bastard. As much he did not like the boy he did not understand why the senior members of the Night's Watch had not made him a ranger, even if it was possible that he being groomed for command by Lord Commander Mormont, as his skills where being wasted a steward and the Watch was short of men. Florien decided that he would not voice these opinions as he simply did not like Jon Snow, he had not liked him since their practice fight when the boy had been a mere recruit and yet he had tested the knights abilities slightly. He did not know why Josmyn was trying to befriend Snow.

"Florien, I am well. Yourself?"

"I'm not so well myself," Florien said without explaining any further, his entire day had been horrible. The knight then turned his attention to the other bastard at the table.

“Black Brothers don’t spill Black Brothers blood. Plus I prefer pepper," Jon Snow's stern words almost made Florien laugh out loud, his little joke had been particularly good but he was so obsessed with honour, which the ranger had found got you nowhere in life, that it was hard not to find it quite funny.

"Do you truly think I would hesitate to spill your blood, Snow? I've beaten much better men than you to bloody pulps."

For all of Josmyn's jesting he could not change Florien's sour mood, he had ridden out beyond the Wall early that morning and had been out in the freezing cold weather for the majority of the day, he really did not feel like spending the small amount of free time he had in the company of Jon Snow. Perhaps the boy would rise to his words and he would be able to vent a little by hitting the boy he despised so much because, in all honesty, not would have brought him more pleasure at that very moment in time.

The fact that Florien could not keep a civil tongue when it was clear that both Josmyn and Jon were joking irritated the Dornishman. Especially since Florien, though a noble bastard and knighted all, was still socially below them given the fact his father was only a minor lord while theirs were masters of a great house. While the knight was most assuredly Josmyn's friends, his refusal to be courteous and proper irritated the Bastard Prince. He gave Jon a sympathetic smile and nodded, when he mentioned wearing his status as armor. It was surprisingly good insight for one so young. It would be interesting to see the type of man he would become.

Josmyn had been willing to let the initial comment go but when Florien continued and talked about spilling Snow's blood, Sand narrowed his eyes at his friend. There were things you joked about but killing someone on your side was not one of them.
“Florien, calm down. There's no need for hostility. We've all taken the black.”

In an effort to further diffuse the tensions, Josmyn pushed his still steaming bowl of stew towards Flowers.
“Here. Clearly you've had a hard day's ride. Have some more hot stew and thaw out a bit,” he said to his fellow ranger, his own appetite leaving him as Florien discussed beating Jon Snow.

The Dornishman hated the Wall, hated riding beyond it and had come back many a day in just the mood that the knight from the Reach. If it came to it, Josmyn would put himself between Jon and Florien physically to keep them from fighting. It wouldn't be pretty and he himself would not raise a hand to Florien but he would not let the old man bully a boy, still wet about the ears. Yes, it seemed that Jon was a bit overly prickly about his honor but they all had quirks. That was just one of his.

“So, Jon, how did you come to the Wall? For honor, I assume?” he asked kindly, trying to derail Florien before someone else overheard or the words turned to blows. Then, it would be his friend doing extra duty and perhaps in a frozen cell, rather than his warm bed. That would make everything worse and only provoke more antagonism. When did he become the rational, peacekeeping one?

"Do you truly think I would hesitate to spill your blood, Snow? I've beaten much better men than you to bloody pulps." Florien spat back at Snow, further antagonising him.

The Bastard of Winterfell instinctively felt his free hand drop to his waist and his grip tighten around the pommel of Longclaw. Even though he had no intention of using his weapon, the Old Bear had warned him about fighting fellow Black Brothers when Jon had attempted to kill Alliser Thorne, he still felt safer knowing that he could defend himself at a moments notice. "As if you can be trusted not to fight dirty, like the last time." Jon retorted in a hushed whisper. He would not be further dragged into a situation he would later regret…despite how much he wanted to put the high and mighty Florien in his place.

Josmyn seemingly also didn’t like the comment that Florien had made, giving his so-called friend a somewhat sour look in response. "Florien, calm down. There's no need for hostility. We've all taken the black." there was diplomacy and wisdom in his words, which Jon had not expected considering his clear friendship with one such as Florien. Jon felt to add some sentiment of them all being brothers of the Night’s Watch, and though siblings did not have to get along they should not go down the path to Kinslayer, but he thought against it. Instead he simply ate some mores stew as Josmyn continued to speak, this time to Jon.

"So, Jon, how did you come to the Wall? For honour, I assume?" Josmyn seemed genuinely interested as he asked the question, which once against surprised Jon. None other than Sam had even bothered to ask him since he had arrived, not once they discovered he was a noble Bastard of Winterfell.

"You could say that." Jon began, glancing towards Florien briefly. "There was no future at Winterfell, no honour to be found, no name for myself that I could carve out." Jon lowered his spoon into his stew and looked at Josmyn. “Unwelcome, in part, I knew I could honour my father and family name, even if I do not share it, by becoming an honoured man of the Night’s Watch.” Jon understood that there were very few people, even Knights and Nobles, who truly thought that way. Jon had been lucky enough to grow up as Lord Eddard’s son, and as such had been educated to carry himself with honour and to uphold justice. They were dying values in a world grappling for greed and power.

“After all, without honour, what do we have?"

Word Count: 438.
Total Word Count thus far: 1,400.

Florien had been more than ready to start a fight with Jon Snow right there in the Great Hall but he realised that Josmyn, one of his only friends in the entirity of the Night's Watch, was doing his best to keep the peace between the two of them and decided that he wouldn't attempt to strike Snow for that reason alone. Josmyn was right when he said Florien had had a hard day's ride and he truly appreciated it when he passed him his bowl of stew, he sat and ate quietly whilst listening intently to all that his fellow bastards had to say to eachother and it soon became obvious that Josmyn was trying to befriend Jon Snow, Florien didn't like this concept but there was nothing he could do to stop it happening. The knight quickly finished his third bowl of stew but still said nothing to the two black brothers seated at the table, he was fine with listening right up until Snow began to talk about honour, it seemed as though it was some kind of great obsession to him but he knew nothing of what life was really like because, from what Florien, he had known nothing but Winterfell and Castle Black for the majority of his life.

“After all, without honour, what do we have?" Snow said, ending his little speech. Florien, once again, had to fight back the urge to laugh.

"You talk about honour, Snow, and yet you know nothing of what life is really like. You've never seen nor fought in a real war, you've never had a woman and you've never been any further south than Winterfell; how would you know what a man has besides honour?" Florien asked, rather than waiting for an answer he got his feet, "I've had a long, hard, day and deserve some rest before I have to do the same thing tomorrow."

The knight made his way to the door and, rather regretfully, traded the warmth of the Great Hall for the cold of the night. He was only outside for a few minutes, he quicky made his way to his chambers and locked the door upon entering; he didn't want to be disturbed until he felt like getting up the next day. Florien took off his black armour and furs, placed them in the set of drawers that lay in his room for use the next day and climbed into his warm, comfortable bed; he quickly fell asleep and, within seconds, was enjoying a dream of life in the South.