The best thing about Castle Black was that it housed so few men; parts were virtually abandoned. It was easy for Caitie to find a place to wallow in solitude. As soon as she stopped in a deserted hallway far from the courtyard, she leaned back against the wall and slid down to sit with her head resting on her knees, sobbing.

Her family was broken beyond repair. Nothing could change it. Nothing could lessen the impact. If the Wildlings had attacked the Wall right then and killed her, Caitie would have thanked them. What was the point of living, she had asked Grenn months ago, if the people she loved were dead?

Right then, Caitie didn't know the answer.

She didn't know how long it had been—an hour, maybe—when she heard a voice call, "Caitie?"

Jon.

She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to see anyone at Castle Black. What she wanted was the comfort of people who had gone from the world.

"I know you're there," he said, turning the corner and coming to a halt in front of her. "You all right?"

Caitie snorted—a loud, ugly, uncontrolled snort. "Do I look all right?"

He took a moment to observe her. "No, no, you don't."

"How did you even find me?"

Jon smiled pityingly. "You act like you don't want to be found, but you do too sorry a job of hiding for it to be true—at least for the people who know you."

There was a ring of truth to that, though Caitie would never ever admit it. "Shut up."

It must have taken a lot of effort, but he ignored the tone and sat down beside her. "What happened?"

"I don't know." She ran her fingers through her hair. "One moment, I was about to spar with Grenn, and then the next—I just couldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I tried to parry, but all I could think about was when Owen taught me. I was seven again, and he and Cerys were alive, and knowing I'll never have that again… I just can't believe they're gone. How can they be gone?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "But I understand; it's how I feel about Robb."

Caitie laughed, but it sounded more like a whimper. "I shouldn't be complaining about this to you. You lost your brother, too."

"It's different for me," Jon said. "Your brothers raised you. Robb—he was my brother, and I loved him, but there were times—there were times I wanted to hate him. He was better than me at everything: swordsmanship, riding, and Gods did the girls all love him."

"You can't be serious," she said, momentarily distracted. Caitie remembered Robb's face—he had been handsome, that was true—but compared to Jon? That was rather like comparing a sword made from regular steel to one made of Valyrian.

Though she could be a bit biased, considering her aversion to marrying Robb.

"You don't believe me?"

Caitie shrugged. "I just remember him trying to make me dance. He didn't make a particularly good impression."

"He didn't make a good impression?"

"Excuse me," she huffed, "when Robb asked me, I was polite. He refused to take no for an answer. And anyway, if it weren't for my 'good impression,' we might not have become friends."

"I'm not complaining. But Seven Hells was it funny."

Caitie crossed her arms and pouted petulantly. "I'm glad my humiliation amuses you."

"Oh, it does." He paused for a moment, his face growing solemn before he went on. "The way my father looked at Robb—he was always so proud. He never looked at me that way."

Caitie scarcely believed that. Jon embodied everything the Starks were. If Ned Stark couldn't have seen it, he must've been blind. "I can't believe your father wasn't proud of you," she said. "You're just as annoyingly honorable as he was."

"You think so?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. You came back to the Night's Watch because you made a vow, even though it meant leaving someone you love."

"I—how do you—"

"Despite never showing any emotions, I know you; you love that Wildling girl."

He smiled sadly. "Her name's Ygritte."

"Ygritte," she repeated. "Pretty name."

"Aye."

Caitie shook her head. "Anyway," she said, "the point is your father had every reason to be proud of you."

"Except for the fact that I was a bastard."

"That wasn't your fault." Thinking of Robb's anger-inducing smile as he pushed her to dance, she added, "And I'd rather be friends with you than your brother—bastard or not."

Jon didn't say a word for a long, long time, and Caitie thought she might have offended him.

But then he smiled briefly, barking out a laugh. "I'm glad to hear it."

She nudged his shoulder with her own. "Well, you've never tried to make me dance."

Jon snorted. "And I never will."

They fell into silence. The conversation's turn had distracted her from the thought of her brothers, but as she and Jon sat quietly, they overtook her once again. "It feels like I'm going to die from missing them," she admitted. "Like my heart's been ripped out of my chest. Is—is this what it felt like when your father died?"

"Aye. It gets better; I promise."

"It doesn't feel like it will. I thought I knew how to deal with loss—after my mother, after you." Caitie felt Jon stiffen, but he didn't interrupt. "But this isn't anything like that. I can't do it."

"You have to," he insisted.

There were tears in her eyes again, and she couldn't force them away. "You don't understand. I failed them—I failed Owen and Cerys, and now I'm failing Arthur, too." She'd failed more than just them, but it didn't seem necessary to add the fact.

"You did not fail them. They would be proud of you." Jon seemed to debate something. Then, "Sam mentioned a letter."

Caitie had to stop and wipe more snot from her nose before she could answer. "Before we left," she said, "Owen and Cerys sent a raven. I gave the letter to Maester Aemon to keep safe."

"And you haven't gotten it back?"

"I don't want to look at it."

"Maybe it'll give you peace."

"Peace," she repeated skeptically. "Right."

"Do you want what happened today to happen again? You couldn't fight."

Caitie narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm aware of that, Jon. But how can I look at Owen's handwriting and Cerys's signature and know it's the last thing I'll ever have from them?"

Jon shook his head. "You've got no idea what I would give to have one piece of my father—just to see his handwriting one last time."

"And what if it just makes things worse?"

Her question gave him pause. He stroked his beard, thinking. "No," he said eventually. "I don't think it will."

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "Look, I'll think about it. I'm just not sure I'm ready yet."

"You have to try."

She sighed in dejection. "I know."

After Caitie had asked Jon and Sam to excuse her from their pantry meeting that night—the two men would have to toast King Joffrey's death without her—Caitie retired early. But instead of sleeping, she lay awake all night thinking about Jon's advice.

There was no doubt in her mind that he was right: she needed to be able to fight. If she couldn't, she was as good as dead. Winter—as the Starks never ceased to tell everyone—was coming, and Caitie had to be able to defend herself. But how could she, when even just the thought of using her daggers made her remember her brothers? It was unbearable.

So... perhaps Jon had the right of it. Perhaps Caitie needed to force herself to face this head-on.

And that was why she found herself standing, near catatonic, outside the library where Maester Aemon was sure to be working the next day.

She'd spent at least ten minutes already, standing, waiting, trying to gain the courage to turn the door handle. Every time Caitie got close, her legs started to shake, and she had to pull back to take deep breaths and calm herself down.

Needless to say, this was going even worse than expected.

She was so focused on tempering all her emotions, she didn't hear the footsteps, but soon enough, someone was standing next to her—someone reasonably tall, so definitely not Jon or Sam.

"Grenn," she said, looking up at him in surprise. He never came to the library. "What are you doing here?"

He stared down at the floor, awkwardly. "Sam and Jon told me—well, not all of it, but enough that I could figure out the rest on my own. I'm sorry about your brothers." Caitie couldn't seem to think of a response, so Grenn continued. "I just thought you might… want some company."

"I would," she found herself saying. It was a split-second decision, but it felt like the right one. She even managed a small laugh. "I've been trying to work up the courage to go in there," she nodded at the door, "and get a letter they left me. I gave it to Maester Aemon before we went north."

"What's stopping you?"

Caitie shrugged, hugging her arms to herself. "I don't want to think about them. But I have to be able to fight. So… I don't know. Jon said this would help."

"Come on. I'll go with you."

She went still as stone and stared up at him frantically.

Grenn took her hand and squeezed it. "I'll be there. You won't be alone."

She pushed a sob back. "Okay."

He let go, and using all of her mental strength, Caitie pushed the door open.

The first thing she saw was Sam, hovering over a book; so engrossed he didn't notice her enter. Maester Aemon was hiding in the back, busying himself with some scroll or other. She walked up behind him. "Maester Aemon? It's Caitie."

Sam's head shot up, but he said nothing, only watching. The maester turned around slowly, looking around with unseeing eyes. "Ah, Caitie, what may I do for you?"

When she hesitated, Grenn nodded encouragingly. She closed her eyes and steeled herself. "I… gave you a letter before I left with the ranging party. I was wondering if I could have it back."

Maester Aemon smiled. "Of course—I have kept it safe for you. Tarly," he called. Sam scurried over, shooting Caitie a look. "Would you be so kind as to find your friend his letter? I left it on a shelf over there." He waved vaguely towards the left.

"Yes, Maester Aemon," replied Sam. He shot Caitie yet another look before he rushed off.

There was silence while they waited—the only sound was the rustling of papers and breathing before Sam reappeared with a tiny scroll in his hands.

"Thank you, Sam," she said, throwing her arms around him. "I'm sorry I was so snippy yesterday."

As she pulled away, he smiled and handed the scroll to her. "I know."

Caitie's hands were shaking so hard, she thought she might drop it, but the parchment was a lifeline. She gripped it tightly as she walked out of the library. Grenn followed and shut the door behind them while Caitie took deep breaths to steady herself. She had done it—the worst was almost over. All that she needed to do now was actually look at the letter.

"You ready?" Grenn asked.

"No," Caitie replied. A lump formed in her throat. "But I've come this far."

She unrolled the scroll and stared down at the words.

Be safe. We love you.

O, C, and A

There they were—last words she'd ever receive from her older brothers. The people who raised her, who loved her no matter what stupid thing she did—the people who made her into who she was.

Owen and Cerys had touched this scrap of parchment—almost two years ago, of course, but that didn't matter. It was all she had left of them—the only other thing she'd had were her daggers, and the mutineers had taken them from her.

Caitie could hear them saying the words in her head as clear as day, and seeing Owen's handwriting and Cerys's signature, she knew what to do.

It was time to wake up and be the person her brothers meant for her to be.

"Come on," she told Grenn. He followed close behind as Caitie ran off to the courtyard to find Jon.

With no Ser Alliser in sight, he was sparring with a recruit, though to say it was an equal fight would be a vast overstatement. As soon as he noticed her, Jon nodded in dismissal to his opponent and started over towards her and Grenn.

Caitie didn't allow him the opportunity to speak. She brought out the daggers she'd taken the day before and smiled.

"Let's fight."

There was a hint of a smile on Jon's otherwise passive face. He nodded and took position.

The daggers in her hands still felt odd; she had to take some time to get used to them. But even with the strange weight, Caitie felt so alive—more than she'd felt in ages.

Her face was flushed and hot; her calves burned, and she was out of practice. She knew Jon would beat her in this state. But Caitriona Norrey finally felt like herself again. Her brothers' voices rang in her head, directing her as she and Jon battled.

Owen and Cerys lived in Caitie—they always would. The pain was far from gone, but she could—she would—fight.

And at that moment, it was a victory.

Sorry about the weird test chapter update, I wanted to check if they'd fixed the glitch, and THANK FUCKING GOD; THEY DID.