The Lord Commander, his brow furrowed in a mixture of curiosity and ingrained suspicion, gestured towards the parchment laid out before him. "Malachiel," he began, his voice a low rumble that carried the weight of command, "you have spoken of ancient threats, of darkness that encroaches upon this world. You have shown us a glimpse of power that we, in our limited understanding, can scarcely comprehend. But the Night's Watch is a brotherhood forged in duty and bound by oaths. To stand with us, to fight alongside us against this encroaching void, requires a commitment. It requires you to swear the oaths."
He slid the parchment across the polished oak table, the heavy vellum seeming to absorb the meager light of the torches. Beside him, Benjen Stark watched with a quiet intensity, his expression unreadable. He understood the significance of this moment. The Night's Watch was built on a foundation of solemn vows, promises made in the shadow of the Wall, pledges of service and sacrifice that defined the very essence of their brotherhood. The acceptance of an outsider, let alone a being as undeniably alien as Malachiel, into their ranks was unprecedented. Yet, the threat that Benjen had witnessed, the chilling reality of the Others' resurgence, necessitated extraordinary measures.
Malachiel's luminous gaze, which had been fixed on the impassive face of the Lord Commander, now shifted to the parchment. A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of light emanated from its being as it contemplated the words inscribed thereon. The brothers gathered in the hall, their faces a mixture of apprehension and fascination, leaned forward, eager to witness the celestial being's response. This was a moment that would define Malachiel's place within their world, and perhaps, the very future of their fight.
After a moment of profound silence, Malachiel spoke, its voice a gentle, melodic resonance that filled the great hall, yet carried a distinct, unyielding note. "Lord Commander Mormont, I appreciate the gravity of your words and the sincerity of your request. You speak of oaths that bind you to this Wall, to the defense of the Seven Kingdoms. And I do not question the honor inherent in such vows." It paused, its luminous form pulsing with a soft, steady light. "However, the path I walk, the purpose for which I have been sent, is not one that can be confined by such declarations."
A ripple of unease swept through the assembled brothers. The concept of refusing the Night's Watch vows was almost unthinkable. These were men who had renounced all claims to title, lands, and family, who had sworn themselves to a life of duty and sacrifice, accepting the harsh realities of their isolated existence. To refuse such an offer, such an invitation to join their ranks, was a profound statement.
"I understand that my presence here is an anomaly," Malachiel continued, its gaze sweeping across the sea of weathered faces. "You see me as a potential ally, a weapon against the darkness. And in a way, I am. But my mission is not to defend a mere wall, nor to serve a single kingdom, or even a collection of kingdoms. My purpose is to safeguard life itself. To unite all sentient beings against the primordial forces that seek to unmake creation."
Benjen felt a familiar knot of apprehension tighten in his stomach. He had seen Malachiel's power, had witnessed its unwavering commitment to its celestial purpose. But he also knew the ingrained traditions of the Watch, their deep-seated suspicion of anything that deviated from their established order. Malachiel's refusal was not born of defiance or disrespect, but of an inherent divergence in their fundamental natures and their ultimate objectives.
"My vows," Malachiel explained, its voice softening slightly, as if to emphasize the sincerity of its words, "are not to a castle, nor to a lord, nor to the defense of mortal borders. My vows are to the balance of existence, to the preservation of light against the encroaching void. These are not oaths that can be sworn on parchment, for they are etched into the very fabric of my being."
Lord Commander Mormont's expression remained stoic, but a flicker of something akin to bewilderment crossed his features. He had faced wildlings, deserters, even the mythical threats whispered about in the deepest winter nights, but he had never encountered a being who so readily dismissed the very foundations of his order. "But how can you stand with us, fight alongside us, if you do not swear the same commitment? How can we trust your intentions, your loyalty, if you refuse the very bonds that hold us together?"
"My loyalty," Malachiel stated calmly, "is to the cause of life. And you, Lord Commander, and the men of the Night's Watch, are also dedicated to that cause, albeit through a different path. My intention is to aid you in this struggle, for the threat you face is a harbinger of the greater darkness that I am sworn to confront. But I cannot, in good conscience, take oaths that bind me to a singular, limited defense when my purpose extends far beyond these borders, encompassing all that is, and all that strives to remain."
It was then that Malachiel added a further clarification, a statement that sent a wave of stunned silence through the hall. "Furthermore, my commitment is also to never take a life out of pride, or for political gain, or for any reason other than the absolute necessity to preserve a greater good. The vows of the Night's Watch, while honorable in their intent, speak of defending the realms of men, a task that can, and has, led to such actions. My path is one of preservation, not of taking."
The brothers exchanged uneasy glances. They understood the stark reality of their duty. While they did not relish violence, there were times when the taking of a life, whether a wildling raider or a traitor to the Watch, was deemed necessary for the greater good, for the protection of the innocent and the preservation of order. Malachiel's pronouncement struck at the very heart of their practical, and at times brutal, existence. It painted a picture of a moral purity that was both admirable and, to their hardened sensibilities, somewhat alien.
"Pride?" repeated a grizzled sergeant, his voice gruff. "We do what must be done, Lord Commander. We defend the realm. Sometimes that means a sharp sword and a steady hand." He shot a suspicious glance at Malachiel. "This one speaks of things it does not understand."
Benjen stepped forward, sensing the rising tide of skepticism and misunderstanding. "He speaks of a higher calling, Sergeant," Benjen said, his voice firm. "Malachiel's existence is not bound by the same laws that govern our lives. Its purpose is of a different order. And if it chooses to aid us, without asking us to compromise our own vows, then we should consider its offer with an open mind." He looked at Malachiel, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. "I can attest to its power, and to its intent. It has no desire for conquest or dominion. Its sole focus is the fight against the darkness."
Lord Commander Mormont, however, remained unconvinced by Benjen's impassioned plea. He was a man of practicalities, of tangible actions and measurable outcomes. "Aiding us is one thing, Malachiel. Standing with us, as one of us, is another. The Night's Watch is more than just a fighting force. It is a brotherhood, a commitment that requires absolute adherence to its principles. To allow someone to fight by our side without sharing our burden, without being bound by our oaths, would be to sow discord and distrust within our ranks. It would be to weaken the very foundation upon which we stand."
He gestured to the remaining rangers who had accompanied Benjen. "These men swore their oaths. They gave up everything. They endure hardship and face death without complaint, bound by their promises. How can we ask them to fight alongside one who stands apart, who claims a higher purpose that absolves them of the very sacrifices they have made?" The Lord Commander's gaze was steady, his conviction unwavering. "Your offer of assistance is noted, Malachiel. But to be a true ally, in the eyes of the Night's Watch, you must become one of us. And that requires the swearing of the oaths."
Malachiel's luminous form seemed to dim slightly, not in weakness, but perhaps in a subtle reflection of the Lord Commander's stern resolve. "I understand your position, Lord Commander. And I respect the depth of the commitment you and your brothers have made. But I cannot, in truth, swear to renounce desire and take no wife. I have no desire for wives or children, for my existence transcends such mortal connections. My purpose is not to found a family, but to safeguard the lineage of all life. And I cannot swear to lay down my life for the Watch, for my life is already pledged to a greater, more encompassing defense of existence."
The brothers remained silent, their faces a mixture of respect for Malachiel's honesty and a deep-seated unease. They had seen its power, had heard its words, but the refusal of the oaths was a barrier that seemed insurmountable. It highlighted a fundamental disconnect, a difference in their very essence that made true integration impossible. Malachiel was a celestial entity, a being of light and purpose, while they were mortal men, bound by the limitations and the responsibilities of their finite lives.
"You speak of a greater purpose," Mormont stated, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "But without the oaths, without the commitment to this specific realm, this specific Wall, your purpose can seem… unfocused. How can we be assured that your 'greater purpose' will not lead you away from us when we need you most? How can we be certain that your celestial path will not diverge from our earthly struggle?"
Malachiel's luminous gaze met the Lord Commander's, its expression unreadable but its presence exuding an undeniable sincerity. "My path is not one of shifting allegiances, Lord Commander. The darkness I fight is the same darkness that gathers beyond your Wall. The forces that seek to extinguish light and life are universal. My focus is unwavering, for the threat is absolute. And while I may not swear your specific oaths, my actions will always be in alignment with the preservation of life, which, I believe, is the ultimate intention behind your own vows."
Benjen watched the exchange, a sense of melancholy settling upon him. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Malachiel's power and its evident desire to aid them would be enough. But the Night's Watch was built on more than just shared goals; it was built on shared sacrifice, on shared vows that bound its members in an unbreakable fraternity. Malachiel, by its very nature, could not be a part of that fraternity. Its refusal was not a rejection of their cause, but a reaffirmation of its own distinct and profound destiny.
"Then we are at an impasse," Lord Commander Mormont said, his voice heavy with the weight of his decision. He looked at Benjen, a silent question in his eyes. Benjen simply nodded, a grim understanding passing between them. He knew the traditions of the Watch. There was no room for compromise on such fundamental matters.
"I thank you for your willingness to assist, Malachiel," Mormont continued, his tone formal, yet tinged with a genuine regret. "But the Night's Watch cannot accept the aid of one who will not stand with us, under the same vows, with the same commitment. Your path, it seems, is indeed separate from ours. We must rely on our own strength, our own numbers, and our own unwavering resolve." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You may remain here, under observation, as per the initial agreement. But you will not be sworn into the Watch, nor will you be considered a brother of the Night's Watch. Your assistance, if offered, will be as an independent entity, and we will accept it only if it aligns with our own strategies and our own needs, without compromising the integrity of our brotherhood."
Malachiel inclined its head, a gesture of acceptance, not of defeat. "As you deem fit, Lord Commander. My presence here is not for the sake of joining your ranks, but for the sake of observing and, when the moment is right, acting. The threads of fate are intertwined, and though our paths may differ in their declaration, our purpose in this critical hour is, I believe, the same." It turned its luminous gaze towards the Wall, its expression one of deep contemplation, as if the ancient stones held secrets of their own, secrets that resonated with the celestial being's timeless mission. The refusal of the oaths was not an end, but a clarification, a solemn acknowledgement of the vast chasm that separated the mundane duty of mortals from the cosmic mandate of beings like Malachiel. The Night's Watch would face the encroaching darkness with its own strength, while Malachiel would pursue its own, broader agenda, a silent, luminous guardian on a far grander stage.