Maester Aemon's chambers were mostly quiet as he cleaned Grenn and Edd's wounds with practiced efficiency. Sam followed suit for Caitie, though a little slower. Meanwhile, Jon, frustrated he could do nothing to help, paced the room.

"They'll be all right?" he asked for the second time in ten minutes.

"I have already answered your question," the old maester replied tiredly.

"You're sure?"

"I am a maester, am I not?"

Jon didn't answer. He only flicked his gaze to Caitie, and she realized the underlying question.

"Seven Hells, Jon," she laughed, trying to put him at ease. "We're fine."

He didn't take his eyes off her wrists. "You don't look it."

"I can assure you," the maester said, "they will be."

When Jon still looked unconvinced, Caitie sighed. She knew what was going through his head—he felt guilty for leaving. As if he could've stopped what had happened at the Fist of the First Men—at Craster's Keep.

And now, both he and Sam were staring at her, their brows creasing in unspoken worry. It was irritating beyond belief. They weren't staring at Grenn and Edd with the same look, and she didn't appreciate being treated differently.

"You don't need to fuss over me," she told Jon impatiently.

"But—"

Finally, Maester Aemon had had enough. He spoke with a frustration Caitie had never seen before. "You are no help to your friends here—in fact, you are a hindrance. I must ask you to leave—now."

"See?" Caitie added, not unkindly. She jerked her head towards the door. "Go."

Jon threw her a look that meant the questioning was far from over, bent down, and whispered, "Pantry tonight."

Caitie nodded in agreement, and her friend finally departed.

"You're going to have scars," Sam told her once he was sure Jon had gone.

Caitie grimaced. She had, of course, known this from the moment she'd escaped. But for some reason, it didn't felt real until Sam had said the truth out loud. Her skin would be marred by those stupid chains her whole life—however short it was likely to be.

She snorted, annoyed with herself. Of all the things to care about at this moment, vanity was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry I left you," he continued quietly, distracting Caitie from her self-pity.

"Don't apologize. I told you to go." She lowered her voice. "Where's Gilly?"

"I sent her and the baby to Mole's Town. I didn't like the way the men were looking at her."

Caitie suppressed her disappointment. "Good," she said. "It's probably for the best."

"She was furious with me."

"When I've healed, we'll take a trip into Mole's Town. Maybe she'll have forgiven you by then."

Sam shook his head, emphatically. "Ser Alliser ordered everyone to stay at Castle Black."

Caitie nearly laughed. She would never let Thorne keep her from seeing her friend. But it seemed a stupid idea to voice it with Maester Aemon right there. Deciding to focus on something else, she asked, "Is Ghost here?"

The look on Sam's face told Caitie everything she needed to know.

Damn it, she knew she should have gone back. "I had hoped since Jon was alive, maybe Ghost would be here."

Sam frowned pityingly. "You sent him off to hunt before the mutiny, didn't you?" he asked. "You may have saved his life."

"I guess so."

But, much as Caitie wanted to believe Sam, she knew if Ghost had come anywhere near Craster's Keep, the mutineers would catch him. Even if they hadn't, there were worse things than Tanner and Rast beyond the Wall.

Sam was staring at her now, but she couldn't place his expression—sympathy, maybe. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Gods, not him, too. Didn't anyone believe her?

Judging by Sam's expression, apparently not.

"Gods, Sam, I'm fine."

"Don't worry, Sam." Grenn glanced at the maester, who was at the other end of the room, and whispered, "She's fine. Got us out of there and everything."

Sam's eyes widened. In response, Caitie only shrugged. He went quiet as he finished cleaning their wounds.

Well, it seemed as if she would now be not only fielding questions from Jon later tonight but Sam as well.

Oh, joy.

After Caitie's wrists had been cleaned and bandaged, and she'd been fed nice, warm broth, Maester Aemon finally released her. And with her newfound freedom, she decided there was only one place she wanted to go: the top of the Wall.

The view, thankfully, hadn't changed. It was still beautiful and calming, and everything else Caitie loved about it. She wished other things about Castle Black had remained the same, too.

New faces littered every hall, Thorne was the acting lord commander, and they were about to go to war with a large army of Wildlings. Caitie had just escaped hell, and she was about to find herself thrust back into it.

But even with all that, even with the information that Ghost had not returned to Castle Black, even with the scars, Caitie couldn't be completely sad. Jon was alive. So was Sam, and Gilly, and the baby. So were Grenn and Edd. She was finally home, and she didn't want to think about the losses or their impending doom; she wanted to feel happy, if only for one evening.

So by the time midnight came, Caitie was ecstatic for the chance to speak with her two best friends alone. She had so many questions for them; she'd been keeping a mental list of everything she wanted to ask. While she had gleaned quite a bit of information from eavesdropping on some of the others during her exploration of the Castle, it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy her.

But as Caitie entered the pantry and saw their expressions—worry—she remembered that they had questions for her, too—and she was not looking forward to answering them.

The two men exchanged glances before Sam spoke. "Tell us, truthfully, Caitie. Are you all right?"

She crossed her arms and snorted. If insisting she was okay hadn't worked, maybe sarcasm would. "I was in chains for a month with little food and water. How do you think I am?"

Both her friends grimaced, and then Sam went on. "You're sure they didn't…"

"Seven Hells, for the last time, no. They barely checked on us. There was no way of knowing about me." Neither of her friends looked convinced. Caitie rolled her eyes. "Of course, I'm not saying I wasn't worried about it. Why do you think we escaped so quickly?"

"I'm not sure I'd call a month quickly," he replied, grinning.

Well, at least Sam believed her.

Caitie whacked him before Jon, who had been silent thus far, decided to voice his own question. "How did you escape?"

She put a hand on her heart and sighed, pretending to be offended. "Do you have such little faith in us?"

He winced. "I didn't mean—"

"That was a joke, Jon. You really should try making one sometime."

Sam chuckled, and Jon threw him a half-hearted dirty look.

"The point is," Caitie said to Sam, "I'm fine. Nothing happened." She shook her head. "But what about you? Did you really kill one of them?"

"Why does no one believe me?"

"Of course we do! Don't we, Jon?"

Jon nodded in agreement. "I trust you, Sam."

"What was it like? Killing a White Walker."

Sam shuddered. "It was horrible. I could barely think. I just had to do something, and all I had was the dragonglass, so I stabbed it in the back, and it shattered."

"It's too bad we didn't know about dragonglass at the Fist." She saw Jon glower out of the corner of her eye and decided to change course. "Well, I'm glad Gilly and her baby were okay. To think that Little Sam could have… I don't want to think about it, actually."

"And what about me?" Sam replied indignantly. "I could have been skewered and turned into a wight!"

"You know I care about you, silly." She turned to Jon. "And what about you? Are you okay?"

"You don't need to mother me—not after what you've been through."

"Well," she said, "someone needs to. What you went through wasn't easy either; killing the Halfhand, living with the Wildlings."

A small smile graced Jon's features. "It wasn't so bad."

"Mm, I heard. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

He stared at her blankly. "How did you even…"

"Please, it's the first thing I heard. 'Jon Snow broke his vows, laid with a wildling girl.' Personally, I don't see anything wrong with it. However, now that you're a man, I think it's time you learned where babies came from."

Caitie hadn't been sure what to think at first when she'd heard about Jon's little affair. She was ambivalent—caught between the feelings of strangely... uncomfortable, and highly amused. In the end, she'd decided to focus on the latter emotion.

Jon rolled his eyes. "I know where babies come from."

"Do you? I'm shocked." Caitie sighed, becoming serious. "Really, though, I can't believe you would have done that had you not felt something for this girl." She locked eyes with him and searched his face. "Are you sure coming back to the Watch is what you want?"

"I pledged my life to the Watch."

He stated it so matter of factly that Caitie almost believed him.

But only almost.

"You're allowed to feel conflicted, you know," she said. "If I'm honest, sometimes I feel that way, too." Both men stared at her, surprised at the admission. "Truly, I do. You remember when we stopped at Craster's Keep? Those girls were me. Or they would have been, if... if things had gone differently."

"Speaking of which, it's been nearly two years. Are you ever going to tell us the full story of your betrothal?" Sam asked.

Caitie smiled ruefully. "Someday—when I've had enough ale, I won't remember the conversation." She'd thought about her past enough on the journey home. "Even so, the Wildlings, they're just like us, aren't they? Some of them are good, some of them are bad—they're just people, right?"

She turned to Jon for confirmation, and he nodded.

"I wouldn't let Thorne hear you say that," Sam said.

"Hmph. Thorne can go fuck himself in the ass—with his sword—for all I care."

Jon laughed at the vivid description. "You've been spending too much time with Edd."

"Well, it was hard not to, considering."

Both he and Sam frowned worriedly again, and Caitie sighed. She appreciated the concern—honestly, she did. But, Gods, she didn't want to think about what she'd left behind at Craster's Keep, let alone talk about it.

"Anyway," she said pointedly, "the Wildlings just want to escape the White Walkers. How could I blame them for that? And the thought of Gilly trapped with Craster, her son sacrificed to the dead, breaks my heart."

"You would make peace with the Wildlings?" Jon asked astonished.

"I don't know what I would do if I had the power. Why?" she needled. "Do you think there's a chance for peace?"

"I—I don't know. Not with Ser Alliser in charge."

"Well, I suppose, then, that it doesn't matter what I would do. And either way, after hearing what they did to Olly's village—I won't let them hurt another child if I can help it."

Olly's story had been the second thing Caitie had heard—the Wildlings raiding his village and killing everyone but the twelve-year-old boy. They'd made him watch as they murdered his parents and then sent him to Castle Black in an attempt to draw out the Night's Watch.

If anything could convince her they had to stop Mance Rayder's army, it was hearing about Olly.

Caitie didn't want to think about it any longer, though. "But nevermind that," she said. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm okay. Don't look at me like that," he added when she glanced at him skeptically.

She knew pressing him on the subject wouldn't do much unless he'd had enough ale first, and so went silent, taking a sip of her drink.

"Oh!" Sam exclaimed, changing the subject. "I almost forgot; Grenn and Edd—they know?"

Shrugging, Caitie nodded. "I thought it was time."

Jon gaped at the news while Sam grinned.

"Oh, shut up," she told Sam, before turning to Jon. "And don't worry. I trust them."

"Well, that explains why Grenn was glaring at Jon earlier."

Caitie glowered, realizing what he was getting at. "Not funny."

"Very funny," Sam retorted, still grinning.

Both she and Jon refused to dignify that with a response.

"Are you sure you trust them?" Jon asked.

"I'm sure." She paused, frowning. "What I wonder is—should I tell Pyp? He's the only one of our friends who doesn't know now."

"That's up to you."

"Oh, I don't know. We're not that close, but he's still my friend, and it feels wrong to keep it from him. Especially now that Grenn and Edd know." She took a good long while to think about it. "I suppose I have time to decide."

At that, Caitie yawned and stretched her arms. "All right, I'm exhausted, and apparently, I need sleep to heal properly, so I think I'll turn in." She was about to stand when she noticed the look on her friends' faces. "What?"

Jon and Sam exchanged glances before the former spoke. "You should know…"

His ominous tone made Caitie's heart start to pound. "Know what, exactly?"

Jon looked pained. "The Northern army was destroyed."

No one said a word as Caitie's face morphed into pure horror. "H-how is that possible? They'd won the Battle at the Whispering Wood—taken Jaime Lannister as a hostage."

"Winterfell was lost. Theon—he betrayed Robb." Jon sounded positively bloodthirsty as he said the name of the Greyjoy heir. This was a personal betrayal for him. "He brought the Ironborn to take Winterfell while Robb was south."

"Weren't your two youngest brothers at Winterfell?"

Sam answered her question. "Yes, but they escaped. I saw Bran at the Shadow Tower." He tried to smile, but it came off more like a grimace.

That only left her with more questions than answers.

"And then," Jon continued, swallowing hard, "House Bolton and House Frey conspired with the Lannisters to—to kill my brother. He went to Walder Frey to make peace, and they slaughtered him. Roose Bolton is the new Warden of the North, and Walder Frey is Lord of Riverrun."

There was heavy silence now, as Caitie adjusted to the news. The first emotion she had was anger—at the Boltons for betraying the North, at Theon Greyjoy for betraying Jon, at the Freys—though she didn't know much about them—for taking part in it all, and at the Lannisters who were behind everything. And then sadness, because Jon's brother was dead, the rest of his family scattered, and his ancestral home lost.

But those feelings on her friend's behalf lessened soon after because she realized Jon didn't only look sorrowful, he looked sympathetic, too. And she could tell it was on her behalf.

Caitie's voice was quiet, barely a whisper, as she asked, "What is it?"

Jon closed his eyes and steeled himself. The seconds ticked by ever so slowly before he answered her question.

"Owen and Cerys are dead."

"Dead," Caitie repeated flatly as if she'd misheard him. "That's… no. No, that can't be true." She shook her head, furiously. She had to have misheard, or Jon had to have misunderstood, or something—anything. "You can't possibly know for certain—"

"Caitie," he said, gripping her arms and guiding her to look at him. His voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry. They're gone."

"But they can't be." She was beginning to cry now. "They can't!"

"Kitty," Sam put a hand on her shoulder, "I read the letter to Maester Aemon myself. It accounted for all the dead."

The logical part of her knew it made sense. Owen and Cerys were loyal to the Starks—they were willing to die to save Ned Stark, and they would die before they betrayed Robb. If the Northern Army had been destroyed—there was only one fate left to them.

But no, they couldn't be dead.

Then another frantic thought hit her. "What about Arthur?"

"Arthur wasn't on the list of the dead, and…" the two men eyed each other again as if debating something.

Jon finished the sentence. "And your father has pledged fealty to the Boltons. He's back at Norwood now. We don't know how he survived the Red Wedding, but—"

"Are you telling me my little brother is at Norwood with my father and no one to protect him?"

No, she thought, he couldn't be because Owen and Cerys could not be dead.

"I don't know," Sam replied forlornly. "I am so, so sorry, Caitie."

"So am I." Jon studied her for a long moment. "You're not considering going back, are you?" In any other circumstance, Caitie would have laughed. Jon knew her well, even after a year apart.

Or perhaps she was just that easy to read.

"I want to," she admitted, her voice cracking. She wanted to grab her horse and ride south to Norwood as fast as possible. "More than anything. But I know that I can't."

Charging into Norwood wouldn't save Arthur. It would only undo the sacrifices Owen and Cerys had made when they'd sent her here. But, selfishly, it was the thought of going back to her father—the sick feeling it put in the pit of her stomach—which truly kept her grounded. He'd punish her for running away, force her to marry that awful Hightower or worse.

And girl or not, Caitie was a part of the Night's Watch—she wouldn't leave her friends to defend the Wall without her.

Knowing all of this, however, didn't stop the ache in her chest at the thought of leaving her baby brother to their father's abuse.

"His least favorite son is now his heir." Caitie wanted to laugh at the irony, but she couldn't muster it. "Of course, that isn't a particularly high bar. He didn't like Owen and Cerys much either."

Gods, what kind of terrible sister was she? She had fought to go after Ghost a few days earlier, fought to go after Jon even earlier than that, and now she was just accepting that her brother was in the clutches of the father who hated him.

Owen and Cerys would kill her if they knew.

And at that thought, Caitie broke. "I'm never going to see them again, am I?" she asked through tears.

"No," Jon said. "I'm sorry."

She wanted to rage, to scream, to ride south and kill every single Bolton, Lannister, Frey, and Greyjoy alike. But she couldn't. The only option Caitie had was to throw herself at the nearest person to her—Jon—and collapse into his arms, weeping. Sam put a gentle hand on her back, and they allowed her to cry.

Her older brothers were dead, and her younger brother was left to deal with the fallout. The Lannisters had won the war, and the Boltons—who had betrayed their liege lords, their country, and murdered her brothers and Jon's—now ruled the North.

Evil kept on winning—and it seemed as though that would never change.

Aaaaand, Caitie's older brothers are dead. Sorry, but I'm sure you knew it was bound to happen at some point.