(Third-person perspective)
Jon Snow stood atop the Wall, observing the morning view. A cold wind whipped his cloak, and the air was thick with a chill. Below, Castle Black was bustling with new recruits from the Vale, their every move revealing their reluctance. These recruits were unaccustomed to the harsh realities of life on the Wall and lacked the heartfelt commitment of brothers that Jon longed for.
Jon sighed heavily, acknowledging the challenge before him. While the influx of new recruits brought temporary relief, he knew all too well that the defense of the Wall required more than just that. As Benjen often said, it required unwavering dedication, a willingness to sacrifice, and a steadfast belief in the great cause that united them.
Watching the recruits of the Vale perform their duties with varying degrees of enthusiasm, Jon felt a pang of unease. Many of them had been sent to Castle Black against their will, leaving their homes for a world they knew almost nothing about. As he descended the ladder, he heard a commotion in the courtyard.
The commotion drew Jon's attention, and he couldn't help but notice a young Vale nobleman— Robert Waynwood, a young Vale lord whose presence seemed to exude an air of superiority and arrogance. He was dressed in fine clothes, standing out starkly among the Night's Watch's rough attire; he refused to wear black and refused to share a room with anyone.
Jon stared at the scene before him, his sense of foreboding growing stronger each day. He knew all too well how this would all end. Robert might have been accustomed to command and privilege in the halls of his ancestral home, but Castle Black offered no such luxuries. Here, titles and ranks meant nothing.
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, a stern, grimy man known for his unwavering devotion to the Night's Watch, scrutinized Robert Robert's actions with a critical eye. The Lord of the Vale's words echoed through the courtyard, his voice carrying a distinct air of superiority.
"I will not share a room with rogues and thieves; they are not worthy of me!" Sir Robert declared, his tone filled with disdain for the other Night's Watch.
Robert's arrogant declaration stirred up whispers of discontent among the crowd and drew a stern glance from Commander-in-Chief Mormont. Although Commander-in-Chief Mormont remained expressionless, his gaze carried a warning, fully illustrating the potential consequences of such arrogance.
"Here, we are all equal in the eyes of the Night's Watch," Commander Mormont interjected, his voice carrying the authority earned through years of service and sacrifice. "Beyond the Wall, titles and origins are of no importance."
The Commander-in-Chief gave him no time to retort, continuing, " Robert, you are far from your father's halls. Here, you are not a lord. You are a brother of the Night's Watch, and I command you to share a room with whomever I command you!"
Robert, displaying the black cloak in his hand, scoffed dismissively. "I may wear these cloaks for now, but I will always be a Waynwood man. I will not share bread or associate with common criminals and beggars."
Ser Robert still believed that once the Vale of Arryn defeated Drasil and that wretched Druid, the king would renounce their oath. At that time, he would regain his birthright.
Mormont's eyes narrowed; his patience had run out. "You've come for the Black Robe, and you should take it. But don't think that your birthright exempts you from responsibility. Here, under the shadow of the Wall, we are all equal."
Robert's arrogance fueled his contempt. "You speak of equality? I'll show you that my family has ruled Sweetsister for generations. I will not learn nobility and duty from a man like Mormont."
The courtyard was silent as Commander-in-Chief Mormont approached Sir Robert with deliberate steps. He stopped inches from the defiant young nobleman, his gaze unwavering.
"Equality is the currency of the Night's Watch. You must learn to respect it, or you will suffer the consequences." Mormont's words were like the chill of winter, sending a shiver down the spines of everyone present.
Lord Mormont offered no further warning; he gestured to his steward, who quickly brought a long rope. Robert swiftly and decisively bound himself, stripping him of his noble status along with his head.
Lord Mormont announced, "Because of your disobedience and disrespect, you will be dressed in black in another form," his voice filled with authority.
Several men in black picked up some thick sticks and began beating him until his body turned black.
Today marks a turning point for Jon, as he prepares to follow in the footsteps of his uncle Benjen Stark and embark on his first journey beyond the Wall.
The scenery beyond the Wall was unforgiving, eerie and silent, seemingly amplifying every rustle in the wind. Led by Benjen, the group marched forward in a line, their cloaks billowing in the cold wind. Sam, Pyp, Grenn, and Eddard followed closely behind Jon, forming a single file.
As they ventured deeper into the wilderness, Wildlings emerged from the woods.
Jon was amazed by the unfamiliar language. Despite Benjen's attempts at peaceful communication, the Wildlings, driven by fear or despair, suddenly launched an attack.
The Wildlings ' attack caught Jon and his comrades off guard, and chaos erupted. In the ensuing skirmishes, Sam found himself outnumbered and overwhelmed. Driven by instinct and loyalty, Jon charged forward to protect Sam, and time seemed to slow down.
His sword sliced through the air, intercepting Wildlings's attack on his friend. The clash was fierce, every move a matter of survival. Jon's sword struck its target in a split second, saving Sam from a fatal blow.
This was the first time he had killed Wildlings; Sam struggled to his feet, fear etched on his round face.
"Thank you, Jon; without you, I would have died long ago."
Jon turned to Benjen and asked, "Didn't you say the Wildlings around here are friendly?"
Benjen wiped the blade clean and said, "They are friendly; these men are not locals. Judging from their clothing and ornaments, they are clearly from the North."
Benjen seized one of the Wildlings was still alive and plunged his fingers into his wound. The Wildlings screamed in pain. Benjen then began to interrogate the man in a language the others could not understand.
"Why are you here? Aren't you from the North?"
After some persuasion, the man was on the verge of death, but he wanted to end his suffering, so he began to speak, "Everyone is dead, we are cursed. Death is approaching us..."
After saying these words, he died.
Jon trekked daily beyond the Wall, scouting Wildlings settlements and locations, and found himself growing increasingly close to his uncle Benjen Stark. Their bond deepened under the experienced, rugged leadership of the seasoned ranger. Benjen's stern demeanor masked a genuine concern for the safety of his men, Jon began to respect his uncle's wisdom and experience.
In the frost and biting winds of the North wilderness, Jon's resolve was tested, and his friendship with his brothers grew stronger. Every day brought new challenges and dangers, but they faced them together, forging a bond that would endure even in the darkest of times.
It would be a lie to say that Jon didn't miss his brothers, sisters, and Aermir. He even missed Sansa and her nagging, but making new close friends somewhat alleviated that longing and loneliness. With friends like Sam, Pyp, and Grenn, Jon found solace in the harsh environment beyond the Wall. The friendships forged in the vast snow provided a touch of warmth in the relentless cold.
As they sat around the fire in the cave, Sam's thoughtful expression contrasted sharply with Eddard and the others' playful antics. Sam tossed a twig into the fire and spoke aloud his thoughts.
"Hmm, what do you think he meant by saying 'Death is coming towards us'? It feels very ominous."
Eddard approached Sam silently from behind, his mischievous eyes gleaming with playful intent. He gently stroked Sam's back, trying to startle him and make the studious younger brother pause.
"Maybe a huge army of Wildlings will come looking for us? They'll capture and eat us. Especially you. Sam will be their mouthwatering meal." Eddard muttered to himself, his tone mocking, as he and Grenn laughed and teased Sam.
Sam's expression shifted from astonishment to gloom, his brow furrowed, his face filled with worry. "This isn't funny; just because someone has fear doesn't make him a laughingstock. I just find those Wildlings a bit strange. He didn't say 'Death will come upon you,' he said 'us.'"
Pyp, always a clown, couldn't resist making fun of Sam. "Maybe the legends are true..." he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, then suddenly burst into laughter. " The Others are chasing them!"
Sam, enraged, impulsively threw a burning piece of wood at Pyp and Grenn. "I'm not talking about the old lady's story, be serious," he hissed, his frustration evident.
His tone softened, revealing a hurt beneath his anger. "My father is the same way; he treats me like a joke. I always appear very serious about my pursuits, but he treats me and my pursuits as a laughing stock. I'm telling you, something's wrong with them."
Benjen's comforting words brought a sliver of solace to Sam's anxious heart. "Nobody's joking with you, Sam. They're just teasing you. We're brothers, and our bond will only end in death. If you feel anything's wrong, we'll keep heading in the direction they came from," he said with a reassuring smile.
Sam nodded gratefully; Benjen's unwavering support eased his worries somewhat. "Thank you, Benjen. I appreciate your trust," he replied, his voice filled with gratitude and determination. Benjen placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, "Just call me Benjen; there's no need for a 'sir' here."