On a bitter night, when the kingdom lay still. In the great halls, called for a meeting. It was well past midnight, and the land was frozen hard as iron. The waning moon was known as a bad omen across the north. It continues to spread a sullen light across the pale wastelands with a pale, cold shimmer. The world north of the village was white, except where the trees had been windblown free of snow and now stood black and intricate against the dry lands. 

"You want me to do what?!" exclaimed Julius. There's nothing worse than a wake-up call in the middle of the night, especially to do something exceptional and possibly stupid. It was almost like he imagined it. Something that wasn't real and engulfed in a nightmare. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

"I want you to join me on the hunt to drive back the Wights," Bran spoke with an assertive tone. His blue eyes flickered within the candlelight that lit the room up with an orange glow. He was serious that he wanted Julius to join the fight. Every man counted as the power to drive back the Wights.

"Bran. I am not a fighter. I'm a painter. What possible help could I aid you with?" It was true Julius couldn't fight. He couldn't fight if his life depended on it. For all Westeros's sake, he couldn't even ride a horse without falling off.

"It's no different than a paintbrush. Both have handles," a man snickered, making Julius more uncomfortable. It wasn't like he could run out at any moment. Julius counted more than eight men, including the one by the door. All looked like they'd seen battle in their time.

"I know you possess a weapon to light up the night sky," he continued to pace around the room. His boots made a rhythm, which echoed through the meeting room. 

Julius felt rooted in his chair, his hands gripped onto the arms of the chair, while a heavy feeling settled into his gut. It was a weapon he only knew of besides one other. A sword that can awaken a fierce light and cut through the darkness, and all who oppose.

It was unusual for Bran to know about the sword. After all, Julius liked to collect different artifacts and trinkets, but he never knew the meaning of this one. Of course, Julius found out its true power when studying the Velaryon language. He said two words and nearly lit up his study that afternoon.

"It's not for sale. Now, can I go?" Julius asks while looking over his shoulder. Paranoia continued to settle in his gut. He continued to worry that he would get pulled into this mess.

"Julius," he stopped in front of him. "You're our last hope. If those Wights cross that forest, all of Westeros and Essos will be doomed. Everyone who ever lived to see a sunrise will fall. Kings will freeze in their castles, and women and children will starve," he gave Julius one last admonishment.

Julius thought about it for a second. If he doesn't aid Bran and his party, everything he worked for will fall. His heart ached at the thought of losing his wife and children. There was nothing worse than knowing it might be his last chance. Yes, Julius is a coward, but he didn't want to lose everything, not even his paintings. A small sacrifice that he would have to endure.

"Okay. . ." Julius barely let out a whisper while he combed his slender hand through his messy locks. He knew he'd have to wake up his wife and hold his children close one last time. Even if his children screamed and cried for him to return home, he would make a promise that ends with a fifty-fifty percent chance of returning home.

"I thank you, Julius. Go. Say goodbye to your loved ones and meet us at the front gate." Bran instructed. And a wave of his gloved hand informed the others to leave. Julius stood up from his chair and exited the great hall. A fire burned in his gut. Julius wasn't going to let the dead walk amongst the living and bring the world to its knees. Yes, he was frightened, but he didn't have any other choice. For my family. . . Julius thought.

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It wasn't long before the hunt began. Brandon took several men with him to aid his search to drive back the Wights. Anyone who dared to cross Brandon's path would have to answer to him and his men. But Julius chose to stay at the back of the pack for his reasoning. 

His thoughts continued to scramble with the goodbye of his family. He didn't dare to wake up his children -- instead, he placed a kiss on their foreheads. Julius continued to look at his dreaming little ones. Oh, how his heart burned to let his little ones go. His silent footsteps entered the hallway of his home. He kissed his wife goodbye. The tears in her glossy brown eyes threatened to spill. But she knew what had to be done, as this would probably be the last time she'll ever see him again.

The soles of Julius's boots continued to follow the already indented snow. Brandon continued to lead his party through the dark. Searching for the dead -- in Julius's opinion, was a shot in the dark. It was like finding a needle in a haystack. The forest was already giving Julius enough nightmares as it was. Each time he would glance back every so often, thinking he saw something lurking in the shadows, something not of this world. The eerie atmosphere kickstarted his limbs to catch up with the group. 

Before he could catch up with the group, an ear-splitting screeching sounded from the branches above. Julius's gaze flickered up. Then his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. It was the last thing he wanted to see on this very night. His green eyes caught the cold, rotting decay of the monsters that roamed the night.

The Wights.

Before Julius could draw his sword - - a dagger hurled its way toward his head. Without a second to spare, his green eyes landed on the tree behind him -- where the blade made a new home. His heart skipped a beat as Brandon and his men took up to arms. Julius's body froze in place as he saw the swarm of Wights leaping down from the trees. Panic rose from his gut and continued to crawl up his skin. Steel against steel rung through the air like Kingslanding's church bells. Grunts and howling pain rang through the air. He watched the slaughter of Wights knock down every thirty seconds. That was until he saw one of Brandon's men choking on thick blood from a Wight knocking him down.

His eyes flickered over to Brandon -- who was now struggling and a dagger inching towards his pretty face. Julius felt something in his gut, a feeling that he's never felt before. He gritted his teeth and tore the sword off of his back. He placed two hands on the hilt of his sword.

"Jaes's ōños," he whispered. 

"God's light."

The sword broke the darkness and a fire ate its way up the sword. Julius charged towards the Wight and swung with all of his might. The blase went lopsided and tore the Wight in half. A silence sounded in the air when Brandon saw what Julius did. Their gaze turned towards the fleeing Wights. They are retreating. . . Julius thought.

Cheers and shouts of victory came from the men that fought. Julius felt proud. He was going to live another day and return to his family. Suddenly, a piercing pain sank in Julius's lower abdomen. He looked down to see a spear through his gut. His hands quivered and his knees buckled, sending him to the ground. Tears stung his eyes and his chest swelled. Brandon sprinted to his aid and held his hand. The men watched as the Wight off in the distance fled.

"T-tell m-my f-f-family I love them," Julius choked.

"I am with you, brother. The Night's Watch will be named after you. May the gods guide you to the afterlife." Brandon said with a pain burning in his chest.

Julius's body then went limp and his last breath exited his body. This would be the last time his children and wife would ever see him. His children would never see their daddy again, and his wife would never see her love again. But she would never forget his bravery. His strength endured through his cowardliness. Brandon closed Julius's eyes and carried him and the fallen back to the village to burn. There would be no songs, no feasts, and no laughter. No one after that knew how the watch got its name, but Brandon knew Julius's call through the night. Silence is the most powerful scream.