All rights belong to GRRM.
Jon I
As Jon packed his saddlebag, he thought over his brief time at the Wall. When he had first arrived, he had expected to join the ranks of honorable men, all with their minds set upon upholding their sacred duty of protecting the realm. Jon himself had dreams of becoming a ranger, just like his uncle, and taking the fight to the Wilding threat while his half-brother ruled the North.
What he found instead was a group of half-frozen criminals who only looked forward to eating, sleeping, and slipping off to Mole's Town to spend a night with a cheap whore. They were the lowest forms of man, most of which looked more at home slipping a knife between a person's ribs and robbing them blind than standing guard with a sword and shield.
In his short time, Jon had been belittled and bullied by the cruel master-at-arms, Ser Allister Thorne, and had been singled out not only for his bastard status but the fact that he had grown up in a castle. Jon was a tough young man, but he's had as much as he could stomach of the Night's Watch. With the news of his father's capture in King's Landing, he had his reason for leaving, and he was going to take it.
News had reached Jon that Robb was calling his banners and marching south to rescue their father, and Jon had every intention of pledging his sword to his brother, the way he had promised to when they were boys before Jon set his heart on becoming a man of the Night's Watch.
The young man known as the Bastard of Winterfell folded his black cloak and armor neatly on his bunk, swinging the same old cloak he had arrived with over his shoulders. The Watch was already low on supplies and Jon knew it would be better for him if he didn't show up dressed like a man of the Watch when he got to Robb.
After making his bunk, he swung his saddlebags over his shoulder and grabbed the long bundle that the blind maester of Castle Black had given him the day after he had arrived. With his possessions in hand, he slipped through the door and into the empty courtyard.
"Come on Ghost," he called quietly. The albino wolf was nearly the size of a full-grown dog and was likely to grow even larger.
Jon kept to the shadows, moving quickly across the square to the little building that acted as the stables. Inside, the same horse he had ridden into Castle Black was still stabled. He swung the saddle up onto the animal, stroking its nose to keep it quiet.
"You're leaving, aren't you." a quiet voice said from behind Jon.
Jon turned, catching sight of Sam, son of Lord Tarly of the Reach. He was fat, very fat, with dark hair, pale eyes, and a moon-shaped face. He was unlike everyone else at Castle Black. He was actually nice, although he was also shy and timid. Ever since the boy had gotten to the Wall, he had endured twice as much hardship as Jon had. He could barely hold a sword and was bullied constantly by Thorne and the other recruits. To be frank, the boy was a craven, and he had admitted as much to Jon when they had first spoken after Jon had defended him from the others.
But in the past week, Sam had become Jon's only friend at the Wall, something the young man was grateful for. The two had created a bond, forged through the bullying each received when they first arrived at Castle Black.
Jon nodded sadly. "I am," he admitted. "I have to. My father's been imprisoned. Robb's marching south and I'm going to join him."
Sam, who would normally look close to tears at the news, simply nodded, holding up his own bag.
"I want to go with you."
Jon shook his head. "You can't Sam. This is war we're talking about, I'm sorry, but you're not cut out for it."
Jon wasn't being rude, it was a simple fact. Sam was not a fighter, he was the furthest thing from it. He belonged in a library, reading about the Dance of the Dragons and the histories of the Great Houses, not riding into battle wearing armor and swinging a sword. That's what Jon had trained for, and he was ready to use it to help save his father.
Sam nodded. "You're right, but I won't survive here if you leave, will I? Thorne will beat me to death or I'll have my throat slit by one of the others."
Jon went to argue but realized that the large youth was right. Sam wouldn't last another month without Jon to protect him from the others. The young man quickly came to a conclusion.
"Saddle the other horse," he ordered. "Do it quickly."
Sam nodded and moved into the other stall to saddle the other mount, a large-boned brute one of the new recruits had brought when he had traveled to join the Watch. While Sam was doing that, Jon unwrapped the parcel Maester Aemon had given him. He still wasn't sure why the old man had given him something, he barely knew him, but he had accepted it nonetheless.
It had been after Jon had faced three of the new recruits by himself while defending Sam. He had beaten the other boys easily but had picked up more than a few bruises during the fight. After the fight, the Lord Commander had told Jon that Maester Aemon wanted to see him. It had been an awkward conversation for the young man, standing awkwardly in the maester's quarters beneath the rookery while the old, blind man had rummaged through the room, talking to Jon all the while.
Maester Aemon had finally found what he had been looking for. A chest, hidden in the far back corner of his bookcase-filled room. The chest had been covered in dust, as if it hadn't been opened in years, maybe even decades. He had pulled a parcel from the chest and put it into Jon's hands, saying only five words.
"This was left for you."
It was a longsword, though the hilt was slightly smaller than he was used to. Almost as if it was made for someone with smaller hands to wield. On the pommel, a small flame motif was carved from bronze while the crossguard was again made of bronze, shaped like waves pointing out from where the blade met the handle.
Jon pulled the blade from its sheath, black leather etched with red gold. He stifled a gasp. Black waves ran down the metal, and only a certain kind of steel had that. Valyrian Steel. Jon had seen Ice enough times to know the famed metal to know the difference.
He wondered briefly how the blind Maester ever got a hold of such a weapon. There were only a few left in existence in Westeros, according to Maester Luwin's lessons. One was in the Vale, another was in the Reach. The Iron Islands had two, and North had Ice and another one that escaped Jon's mind.
The question in Jon's mind then shifted. Why the hell did Maester Aemon give the sword to Jon?
"Jon?" Sam called from the other stall. "Is everything alright?"
Jon quickly sheathed the sword and replaced the wrapping, strapping it to his saddle.
"Let's go."
Jon hauled himself up into the saddle and dug his heels into the horse's flanks, riding out of the stables. Sam followed suit, falling in line behind his friend. The two easily made their way through the gate and past the guards, who had fallen asleep on their watch, their snores covering the sound of hoofbeats.
Over the past few decades, the Watch had become nothing but a shell of its former self. Criminals, bandits, thieves, murderers, and rapists made up the ranks of the Night's Watch. Now, it was little more than a noble concept, eroded by years of neglect.
Unbeknownst to Jon, the Watch was a laughingstock to the rest of Westeros except the North. They sent all those who couldn't face the block north to waste away standing in the snow till their balls turned to ice. It became a way for them to get rid of criminals they could no longer hold or feed.
When Sam and Jon were far enough from the castle, Sam felt like he was able to speak without having to whisper.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To join Robb's army," Jon answered instantly.
"But do you know where he'll be?" Sam pressed. Jon went to answer again, then stopped. He didn't have any idea where Robb would be, just that he would be going south to rescue their father. Sam answered for him. "If we stay at castles on our way towards the Neck, we can get information on where your brother's gone."
Jon nodded. "Good idea. If that's the case, then the first castle we'll be getting to is…." he began before being interrupted.
"Last Hearth." Sam cut in. "Home to House Umber." Jon glanced at him, causing the large youth to blush slightly. "Before my father locked me out of the library, I read through every book I could on the Seven Kingdoms. For every hour I was in the library, I wasn't in the yard being targeted by the other boys."
Jon frowned. "Whatever happened between you and your family?" he asked. In the short time he had known Sam, the boy had never spoken about his family other than where they came from. Other than that, he never brought them up.
Sam looked away, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. The memory of Randyll Tarly was a terrible one.
Trying to keep the stutter from his voice, he began. "My family has always had a reputation for producing the finest fighters in the Reach. A tradition my father lived up to famously. I was the black sheep. My father tried for a long time to beat it out of me anyway he could, some I still have nightmares about, but nothing worked. A day before my father went hunting, he gave me two options: join the Watch or I would have an 'unfortunate' accident the next day during the hunt." Sam explained, his voice coming close to breaking multiple times.
Jon looked in horror at his friend. "He was going to kill you?"
Sam nodded sadly. "My father wanted another boy, and he got one in my younger brother Dickon. He was everything my father wanted me to be. He was the one my father wanted as his heir, and I was in the way. So I was given two options. Exile or death."
Jon shook his head. "How can any man think of killing his son, his own flesh and blood," he muttered.
"I don't want to talk about it, Jon," Sam said quietly.
Line Break
Lord Commander Jeor looked out over the battlements at the dwindling riders, his face set in grim lines. His plans for Tarly boy and Jon were no longer relevant. When he heard of Ned's imprisonment, he knew that his bastard would go after him. Just as any loyal son would. It helped that neither boy had taken the Black, so they were not deserters.
Nevertheless, it was not every day the Night's Watch received a swordsman like Jon or a mind like Samwell's. They would be sorely missed. The Lord Commander would never admit it, but Jon reminded the Old Bear a lot of Ned. Quiet, with a fierce determination to do well. If the young man had stayed, then Jeor could easily see him becoming Lord Commander one day.
"Ser, two horses are missing from the stables." a watchman said, running up to Mormont. "Two bunks in the barracks are also empty."
Jeor nodded. "Aye, I know lad."
"Should I wake the others?"
Jeor shook his head. "No, let them sleep. Just go back to your post," he ordered quietly, continuing to watch the two riders go off into the night.
The watchman nodded and walked off, probably to find a warm position to sleep his shift away. Truth be told, the watchman wasn't concerned about two deserters. Most likely, it was just a few of the lads off to Mole's Town to find a bit of company for the night. It wasn't uncommon. He had no doubt that the two men would be back in Castle Black the next day. Perhaps they would get an earful from the Lord Commander and spend a night in the ice cells, but nothing truly bad would happen to them.