The room was damp and dark, though most things at the old and decaying castle were. The food, the buildings, and especially the men. They were all simply dark and dreary objects who were waiting for the elements to finish them off. This is what the once proud and dignified group of warriors had fallen to. Certainly not the image that the young and energetic northern bastard had dreamt of for years.

As Jon packed his saddlebags, 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 fighting off Wilding raiders 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. Whatever image Jon had created of the Night's Watch in his young and naive mind was now well and truly shattered.

In his short time spent, he had been belittled and abused by the cruel master-at-arms, Ser Allister, and had been singled out not only for his bastard name but also for 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. When word of his father's imprisonment reached him, he knew that he no longer had a reason to stay at Castle Black, not when his father needed him.

Jon had also heard that Robb had called his banners and intended to march south and save their father. With that being the case, Jon knew that perhaps there was another honorable path he could take with his life that did not keep him tied to Castle Black. When he and Robb had been children, Jon had promised that when Robb was Lord of Winterfell, Jon would serve as his sworn-sword and keep him safe. That had been before Jon had set his heart on being a man of the Night's Watch.

Maybe that path was still open. Knowing Robb, there was little chance he would turn down Jon's request. They were brothers, blood or status be damned.

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 found Robb.

Or anywhere else in the North. There was every chance that he would be seen as a deserter.

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 growing more every day.

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 small voice said from behind Jon.

Jon turned, catching sight of Sam, the fat son of Lord Tarly of the Reach. Ever since the boy had gotten to the Wall, he had endured twice as much hardship from the others 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.

But in the past week, Sam had become Jon's only friend at the Wall, something the boy was grateful for. He was the only one who didn't see Jon as a bastard, but as an actual human.

Something Jon was eternally grateful for.

Jon nodded. "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."

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. He had already fought off four men doing so. The young man quickly came to a decision.

"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 that one of the new recruits had ridden 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.

All he had said was: "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, also made of bronze, was a wave design.

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 steel on sight.

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 softly 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. 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.

Yet another example of the Watch's incompetence.

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 every realm in 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.

The only honorable member that Jon had met was Lord Commander Jeor, the former lord of Bear Island.

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…."

"Last Hearth," Sam said, beating Jon to the answer. "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. 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 father?"

Sam looked away, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. Obviously, the memory of Randyll Tarly was a tough one for the young man. Trying to keep the stutter from his voice, he answered.

"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

The Lord Commander

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 possible. 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. Men left the Watch all the time, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

Besides, that meant more gruel for the rest of them.

Line Break

Jon

Last Hearth was a large, formidable castle set on top of a small hill with a quiet village set around it. It reminded Jon very much of what the First Men used to build back during the Age of Heroes. That had always been one part of history that had interested Jon.

"Do you think Lord Umber will welcome us?" Sam asked.

"I don't believe Lord Umber is here Sam," Jon said, bringing his horse to a halt just down the road from the main gate. "Remember, Robb called his banners."

With that, the two men rode down the road and up to the main gate, where they were quickly allowed in. They then took the main road up to the keep, where they were allowed to stable their horses.

"Why are men of the Night's Watch here?" One of the guardsmen asked curiously as Jon and Sam grabbed their saddlebags. "We've already sent our criminals up with the First Ranger."

Jon glanced at Sam before back at the guardsman. "Is there a steward we can talk to?" he asked.

The man looked confused but nodded, gesturing for the two to follow him. The three men walked through the halls which were filled with banners and broken weapons. One that was very obvious was that the Umbers were very proud of their martial history.

"Here." the man said, opening the door to the great hall. Inside, there were two old men. One was gaunt, with a long white beard. The other was a massive man with a bushy white beard and a white eye patch. "Castellans of Last Hearth, Mors and Hother Umber."

Jon and Sam walked in slowly, not sure how to start any sort of conversation.

"You look like Ned." one of them, the one with the eye path, stated bluntly.

Jon nodded. "I am Jon Snow, his natural son," he answered. "This is Sam Tarly."

"You part of the Watch boy?" The other man asked, equally as blunt.

"No….well kind of….well." Sam stuttered, not sure how to answer.

"Well." The gaunt man demanded.

"We were planning on joining the Watch," Jon said, stepping in, "but we never took the Black."

"So you're not deserters." Eye-patch man stated.

"No," Jon answered. "We are on our way south to join my brother Robb. We know he called his banners."

"Aye, he did. Our nephew took most of our fighting men with him. Barely left us with any men to gather the harvest." the gaunt man said. "So what do you want?"

"A simple bed for a night," Jon said. "We don't mean to take want to become burdens on anyone."

The two men shared a look before. "Aye, we can give you that lad." the eye patch wearer said. "We best get you some new clothes as well. Don't want the fat one getting confused as a deserter."

"Thank you, my lord," Jon said, bowing slightly. "Also, is there a way for me to send a raven?"

The gaunt man shrugged. "Talk to the maester," he grunted.

Jon nodded and bowed again before taking his leave, Sam hot on his heels. When they were out of the hall, Sam finally managed to find his voice.

"Why do you need to see a maester?" Sam asked.

"I want to send a message to Robb," Jon said. "Let him know that we're coming."

Sam nodded slowly. "Right, we're coming."