You were one of the many Stark children. 13 name days had come and passed in your lifetime when the King and his entourage had come to Winterfell. 13 years of living in the cold and relishing in the ways of the north. When you were told you were going to be heading to Kings Landing with your father, younger sisters, and younger brother Bran, you were excited. Joyus even. A chance to experience the brilliance and warmth of the south, the prospect was very exciting.

Then Bran was crippled. The news had shocked you. How could something like that happen in Winterfell? In your safe home. Bran had always loved climbing... it was only natural an accident could occur, but Bran never fell. He was better than even spiders at climbing.

You joined your mother in staying by Bran's side. Praying for him to live. To make it through another night. You hadn't even noticed the time pass as the days blurred together from a lack of sleep and the stress of watching your brother lay half-dead.

You hadn't even noticed your half-brother Jon had come to say his farewells before leaving for the wall until your mother had spoken and snapped at him to leave. Your mother had always despised Jon, your father's bastard.

You had understood her anger, but she was angry at the wrong person in your eyes. You'd always been close to Jon, using him as you confidant. And now there he stood, solemn. Looking older than his 14 name days.