I saw a man die when I was seven years old.

I remember the day: Freezing, harsh sunlight, and white. White everywhere; in the air, on the ground, the walls, the sky. Everything was white.

I was at The Wall with my step-father and brother, Jack. He was to join the Night's Watch, against his wishes of course, but there was nothing to be done. My mother had passed a fortnight ago and the man who was my step-father was getting rid of us leftover children one by one. A week ago he sold the house, our home, and all of my father's lands. They should've been Jack's. And now Jack was about to be gone too.

My step-father spoke to an aging man dressed in black furs with a sadistic looking smile on his face. Jack stood beside them with his hands folded—head down. My brother, aged nearly sixteen, would grow to be strong one day, I could see that. I always looked up to him. He carried me on his shoulders, taught me how to turn soil and plant the food we ate, showed me how to skip rocks; he even taught me how to read. He was brilliant, kind, and would one day grow strong and proficient with a sword, though he was never one to be disobedient. Though a virtue in the eyes of some I saw this as Jack's only flaw, so naturally I compensated for his lack of disobedience with an overabundance of my own. That's why I was here, standing at The Wall amongst the men of the Night's Watch, and not sitting silently with my two elder sisters at the wagon struggling to find warmth.

It was some time ago, but I remember vividly the stark contrast of the men's attire and my surroundings. I recall with clarity the clang of swords as they practiced and perfected their form and attacks. And then I remember a crow, it uttered a guttural noise that made me turn my head just in time to see.

He had not jumped. He had not fallen. I saw him turn his back, extend his arms, and fall back into the embrace of the abyss. Gravity carried him downward and through the light, drifting snow he paved a path down, down, down….

The unyielding ground took him within her arms not twenty meters away. Several men yelped in shock, a horse nearby whinnied in shock, and several of the trainees called out their friend and brother's name in anguish and confusion, "Deven!"

Jack looked straight at me, I could tell, yet my eyes were affixed to the gruesome scene I had witnessed from its graceful beginning to its grisly end. I was moved to shift closer and my body listened. I shuffled towards the fallen boy and saw the result of his move: A shoulder bone had lodged its self into his jugular, completely severing his throat; limbs were indistinguishable amongst the tattered flesh, exposed muscle, and scattered organs; his skull was nothing more than a lump of brain matter bloodied over and littered with bits of scalp, hair, and bone particles. The last thing I saw before I was hoisted up by the waist by a strong arm and my sight was obstructed by the opacity of a cold hand was a whole eyeball lolling out from its socket, its optic nerve a thin string just barely keeping it from detaching.

"Pax! No!" Shouts of confusion and the scrambling of dozens of bodies. I was blind to the rest of the scene. I was shifted from one shoulder to another's and I caught the briefest of glances at the shoes of my brother and his cold hand as it lightly held the tip of my chin.

"Take care my dear sister, I will see you again." Jack's voice was a comfort, but his words were not.

My wild hair quickly obstructed my view and before I knew it I was out of the chaos and was thusly tossed onto the back of the wagon by my worthless step-father. He walked around, took the reins, and just like that we were on our way. Jack was gone now, from me at least. He was to be a brother of the Night's Watch, a protector, and I would be gods knows where wishing he were there to protect me and me alone.

I stared helplessly at The Wall as it drifted farther into the distance and my heart ached. My step-father was mumbling to my sister, Laraine. "…perfect place for the lad, learn him some discipline, else he kill himself first…heh…" Disgust in him clouded my thoughts and vision with anger. Yet what could I do? Hot, scalding tears gathered under my eyes and slid down my cheeks; so hot like burning stars falling from above in the formidable cold.

Laraine, to this, said nothing. She simply nodded her head in compliance. I hated her. She was only my half-sister, a different father from me, Jack, and my other sister, Margaret. She was also much older, twenty-two or so. It was disgusting, really. My step-father was keeping her.

Margaret pulled on my hand as we traversed the rough road on our way to Winterfell. She pulled me towards her and held me close under her shawl. I consented to her affection and rested my head on her shoulder, she touched my touched my forehead with her soft hands and said nothing. Margaret was nearly twice my age, just on the cusp of fourteen years. Margaret was beautiful, clever in her own way, but not terribly gifted in reading or numbers like I was. But she knew people, and how to deal with them, how to talk to them, and for that I envied her. She stroked my hair in a comforting, rhythmic motion and we drifted off to sleep despite the jostling of the wagon and heavy thoughts on our minds.