Moth and Candle.
Jim took a long puff and looked the grey interior walls of Winterfell for the last time, just before being –gently, but firmly– shoved into the car. As a brother closed the gate behind, another inside the car stared briefly at him. Ignoring the looks of all the occupants, Jim crawled to a free corner of the dark, moist wagon.
As the carriage took the way north by the Kingsroad, Jim started feeling the bite of the cold. Until noon, he had a restless and frequently interrupted sleep. Some of the ones with whom he shared his vehicle, engaged in conversation; enthusiastic, scarred, all expectant. Most of them were criminals dragged to the wall against their will, but some –sons of the low nobility, adventurers, and urchins– came willingly to take the black. The year was 210 after the Conquest, and spring was almost over. Most of the boys in the carriage were from King's Landing and ran from the sickness. His accompanies presented a funny collection of faces, but they seemed no bad –Jim had had his considerable share of nasty people–.
After all, Jim himself was urchin, that –just hours ago– when confronted with the choice of either losing his hand or joining the watch, chose the latter. He hadn't stolen that spear –it did not matter anymore–, but perhaps it was for the best. In spite of the rigidness of the vows, being a brother was better than being a hobo –Especially in the north–. Surprisingly –even though he was sure not to return–, he felt no remorse in leaving Winterfell.
By the start of the evening, the caravan stopped and a pair of brothers brought a huge and steaming caldron. They were each handed a bowl of garlicky stew and black bread, and then allowed out, where a soft snowfall –commonplace in the north– had started.
As he devoured his meal –he hadn't eaten in days– Jim was approached by another of the lads from his car.
"Mee name is Brandom" greeted the tiny ginger boy in a screechy voice, "Bran"
"Jim" answered Jim with a mouthful of onion and bread "From Flea Bottom are you?"
"Indeed, mee mom died of the pestilence" stated Bran with an unintelligible grimace "She sa' there would be soup for Bran in the Nigh' Watch. The soup's good. And what about you?"
"Somehow one of the Stark's spears appeared in my bed –probably one of my lads, who wasn't my lad, wanted me bad–" explained Jim "Anyway, that Edwyle –all Starks are whoresons– heard no explanations and headed for that big sword of him, and wanted to chop my hand. Luckily, the Watch was there"
"The bros' aren't cruel or anything, for mee it's been an improvement" said Bran.
"How has the trip been?"
"Good. The food's plenty, and the lads are too shy to try anything so I haven't needed mee knife, but it's getting colder every day" answered Bran.
Just then, they were called back to the carriages. A brother passed on a small wine pouch. They continued on the path until nightfall. As days went on, Jim started getting used to those that would be his companions, he found in Bran a friend, and thanks to those brothers that traveled with them, the prospect of taking the black seemed each day a bit brighter.
About two weeks after leaving Winterfell, they saw the wall on the distance. Even though Jim had already seen it –younger, with his father still alive–, the huge ice barrier stretching all across the horizon was no petty thing. Jim could hear the whistles and expressions of admiration among the boys, and saw the nostalgic smiles in the brother's faces. It wouldn't be much longer until they reached Castel Black.