I feel that I should mention that this is not an anti-Stark story, but neither is it a pro-Stark story. I am trying to write the story without personal emotions mixed within.

Chapter 4 The Oath

They came along a sharp blast of a horn.

Jon was training when he heard the sound. He wasn't fighting well. He was too troubled about the news of the Lannister triumph in the south and was worried for Robb. He turned and saw the scouts on the wall were blowing the horn. Only once. 'Riders from the south!' One of the scouts roared.

Jon went to the gates to find a ring of black brothers were there, eager to see who was coming. Life was dull up at the wall and a bit of drama was much welcome. Jon discovered Sam and Pyp were there as well. 'Who's coming?' he asked.

'Lordlings,' said Pyp. 'Got a long trail of men and tall banners. Some arrogant southern lord, most like.'

Had the Lannisters come so far already? That was impossible. Jon squeezed further forward for a better look. Through the open gates rumbled in a flood of men, horses and banners.

'Who's in charge here?' roared the one at their head, a giant seven foot tall.

'That's Jon Umber, the Greatjon, Lord of the Last Hearth,' mumbled Sam to Jon, 'my father feasted him once back in Horn Hill.' Jon recognized him. His father also feasted Jon Umber once.

'I am.' The black brothers hastily parted a path as Lord Jeor Mormont walked towards them, Maester Aemon trotting behind him. 'Lord Jon. It's been a long time.'

'Aye, a long time indeed.' The Greatjon nodded. 'The last time we met was when Robert cast down the Targaryens.' The Greatjon dismounted along with most of his company. He was wearing a shirt of chainmail and thick furs. This man would tower over Hodor, thought Jon.

'Why have you come, Greatjon?' asked the Old Bear.

'For men.' The Greatjon looked around the yard. 'Decree of the Young Wolf, King Stark. He says he'll need you to donate 500 rangers to Winterfell. Worry not, for every man fell, when the war is done, we'll give three back, along with a thousand fine soldiers.'

'No.' The Old Bear's reply was as gruff as he was.

'Did you just say no to a King's decree, Mormont?'

'Yes.'

'Gods be praised. I thought you said no.'

'My answer is no, My Lord. I cannot allow the Watch to join a war of your southron kings.' The Old Bear spoke with a quiet dignity.

'You speak as if you forget you are a Northman. You are standing on Stark land.'

'King Brandon and King Jaehaerys granted these lands to the watch.'

'This land belongs to the young wolf. He is the one who feeds you and gives you coin and black breeches to put on your asses. I've shipped you crows corn, grain and wheat even when my own folk were starving. It's past time you payed your debt a little.'

'My Lords,' said Maester Aemon slowly, in a quiet voice, but even the blusterous Greatjon silenced to hear, 'the watch has never participated in a Southern war and never will. We have been summoned by kings many times, Stannis and Renly, Joffrey and Robb, but we have never joined them. We will not join you Wolf King, My Lord, but neither will we join his enemies. The Watch is neutral as it ever was, and forever will be.'

The Greatjon wanted to say something but failed. 'Remember, Randyll bloody Tarly is marching up the Kingsroad,' he finally said, 'and we're the only ones protecting you from them. Be it on your own head, Mormont.' The Greatjon mounted his horse, leaving, but reined up before Jon.

'You, boy,' said Umber, 'you're our king's brother. Jon Snow. Tell me true, Jon Snow, do you want to earn glory for your kingdom or freeze to death in this cold hell?'

'I am a sworn member of the Night's Watch,' said Jon quietly.

'You're a coward, I say. I ask you. Do you serve Robb or that bastard Joffrey?'

'I do not know, My Lord, but I certainly do not serve you.'

Greatjon seemed infuriated by that remark. His right hand reached for his belt, as if reaching for his sword. In half a second, Jon's hand was on Longclaw, Pyp produced a bow and several others unsheathed their swords and daggers. Ser Allister Thorne strode between Jon and Jon.

'You touch a man of the watch, you die, Lord Umber,' Ser Allister spat, sword in hand.

'Pah. Bloody bastard crow.' After said, Greatjon Umber rode out upon his horse, his tail following him. The gates slammed shut behind them. The Black Brothers unsheathed their weapons.

'Well what are you all looking at? Get back to your posts!' Ser Allister bellowed. They retreated to their posts, and Jon returned to the training yard, trying to forget what just happened. He just defied his brother, a king's orders.

None of the Black Brothers were talking about what just happened. Kings were a forbidden subject here up at the Wall, since old loyalties die hard. Jon and the Old Bear were for Robb, definitely, though they did not show, and Sam's father served first Renly then Joffrey, so Sam was probably for the Lannister, as for Ser Allister Thorne, he was a Targaryen loyalist so his loyalty most likely laid with that Targaryen Queen in Slaver's Bay, Daenaera or Daera or something of the sort.

The wall was weeping when Jon received the summons in the evening.

'Lord Mormont, he wants to see you, Jon,' Jon was still training with the new recruits when the Sam came with the summons. On the way to the Old Bear's chamber Jon noticed the wall was weeping. That was odd, he thought, for temperatures so cold.

Mormont was waiting for him in his chambers, a cup of steaming beer to one hand and a quill to the other. 'I saw you were there in this morning. You did well,' said Mormont.

'I kept my oath, My Lord.'

Mormont nodded. 'I hate that boy Joffrey as much as you do, Jon Snow, trust me, and I am for Robb Stark, but I do not let personal feelings interfere with the decisions of the Watch.'

'A wise decision, My Lord.'

'Try not to end every sentence with 'My Lord', Snow, it makes you sound dead.' Mormont grabbed a few specks of corn and fed them to his pet raven. 'Snow, corn, Snow, king,' the raven sqorked.

Mormont sealed the letter with a glob of black wax. 'Aemon's received a raven from the South. The Lannisters have over ten thousand cavalry stationed in the North now, and they're having some sort of a race with the Tyrells, to see who can take Winterfell first. All nonsense, I tell you.' Mormont sighed. 'I don't mean to disregard your brother, Jon, but Robb Stark has already lost the war. One of my recruiters, Lync, he was down south in the Barrows and reported seeing a battle between a host of Northern infantry and Tarly knights. He said Randyll Tarly, your friend Sam's father cut apart the Stark host like knives through cheese. He's driving for Winterfell.'

Jon did not know what to make of that news. 'I have faith in Robb, My Lord.'

'You shouldn't. Even the gods couldn't help him right now. Other than Tarly there's still the Lannisters to content with, the Kingslayer and his dwarf brother own another ten thousand horses and they're racing the Tyrells to Winterfell. Your brother has lost the war, Jon.'

Jon Snow braced himself, standing a bit taller. 'Why are you telling me this, My Lord?'

'I am trying to point out, that your brother Robb, and your other brothers will die. Brandon will die, Rickon will die, the Lady Sansa will be captured south as a hostage. Could you still keep you vows in these situations? Won't you be at least a little troubled?'

'Aye. I will, My Lord.'

'And what will you do?' Mormont was studying Jon closely.

'Be troubled, and keep my vows.'