She was still in the Haunted Forest.

Caitie's heart was beating out of her chest, and she was shaking. Relief flooded through her when she realized she was in her sleeping roll.

Arthur was alive, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. Karl Tanner didn't know about her identity. Owen and Cerys were still dead, but they weren't wights. It was the first time Caitie felt something other than grief about their deaths. Being outright dead was better than being a mindless slave to the White Walkers.

It was a dream—just a dream.

She sat up, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and tried to get a sense of the time—not pitch black, but not first light, yet. Everyone around her was asleep, snoring loudly, which meant she hadn't cried out and woken them. Good; the last thing she needed was all these men seeing her at her weakest. Even Jon didn't need to see it.

Caitie couldn't sit still; her mind was reeling with residual fear and confusion. She hadn't had a nightmare in years—not since she'd first learned swordplay. It had a way of clearing her head. Once she had taken it up, she could sleep soundly.

With that in mind, Caitie grabbed her daggers and left her sleeping roll, walking a few trees away. She went through the basic stances, tying her breaths to the movements and letting the monotony wash away the dream.

Deep breath in, lunge, deep breath out.

Deep breath in, pivot, deep breath out.

Caitie was about to take a parrying stance when she heard footsteps behind her.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" a voice whispered—the last one she wanted to hear. Well, not the last one, because that would be Locke.

"Clearing my mind," she answered.

Grenn put a hand on her shoulder. "It's not safe for you alone."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

He paused. "I heard you crying."

Damn it. So she had cried. "Did I wake you?"

"I was already up." Another pause. "You okay?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Probably not. What happened?"

She shrugged. "Bad dream. I don't really want to talk about it."

"You mean you don't want to talk to me about it. You'd talk to Jon," he said shortly.

The comment sparked her rage. How dare Grenn say that when he was the one who had rejected her?

Caitie rounded on him. "And whose fault is that, exactly?"

"Yours," he said. "I've been wanting to talk to you for two days. You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been avoiding you." But that was a lie, and they both knew it.

"Listen," he said, sighing, "I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Kiss me? Well, don't worry about it. I already said I understood you made a mistake."

"That isn't what I meant."

"You could have fooled me."

"Seven Hells," he swore. And then he kissed her. It only lasted for a few seconds, but Gods, was it an incredible few seconds.

"Oh," she said blankly when it was over. "Now, I'm confused. Not that I'm complaining, but—"

"You are the most frustrating girl I have ever met. How can someone so smart be so stupid?"

"I am not stupid. You pulled away. What was I supposed to think?"

He eyed Caitie as if she were a simpleton. "Do you really think I pulled away because I didn't want to kiss you?"

"I…" Maybe she was a simpleton because she wasn't exactly sure what other reason there could be—other than the oath. "You're a black brother," she said weakly.

"So? Nothing in our vows says we can't kiss a girl."

She huffed. "Then why did you pull away?"

"Well, you weren't exactly in your right mind. I didn't know if you wanted me—or if you just wanted a distraction."

"Oh," Caitie said again. It had never occurred to her that Grenn could be insecure about her feelings for him.

"I'm not so slow I couldn't figure out it was the first thing. But then you wouldn't talk to me."

For some reason, she laughed. "Gods, I'm not very good at this, am I?"

Grenn laughed along with her. "Terrible."

"You're not supposed to agree, you know."

"Well, you're good at a lot of other stuff. It's only fair." He was now just a fingertip's length away from her. And after a pause, he closed the distance and brushed his lips against hers.

This kiss was slower, more hesitant—probably because the sun was now coming up, and they needed to stay alert for sounds coming from the camp. But it was still utterly blissful.

Soon enough, she heard footsteps and the saddling of horses. It took every single ounce of strength she had to pull away, just in time to see Jon emerging from the trees, looking for them.

If he suspected something, he didn't act like it. "Everyone's up. We're about to leave," he said. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Caitie replied. She waited for Jon to walk away before she turned back to Grenn. "I'm sorry for how I acted. I was an idiot."

"I think I'll get over it."

She smiled, kissed him one last time, and bounded towards Jon back into their camp to find her horse.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Caitie grinned at him and whispered, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

Jon raised his eyebrows but didn't ask any more questions. She finished saddling her horse and jumped on.

"So, what was your dream about?" Grenn asked as the two of them trailed along at the back of the party. They kept their horses so close they were touching.

"It was a lot of different things." She couldn't bring herself to talk about Owen and Cerys's parts in it. "Karl Tanner made an appearance, though."

Grenn looked down at the scars on her wrist closest to him and traced them with his fingers. He had a matching set, but she couldn't see them then.

"It's not gonna be easy," he said. "Tanner's—"

"Even more dangerous than Craster," Caitie finished for him, sighing. "I just keep reminding myself that it could be worse."

Grenn chuckled. "Yeah?"

She shrugged. "I'd take death over what my father intended."

"Marriage, you mean."

"To the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms."

"As bad as Craster was?"

"He was closer to Craster than you might think. Made my father look loving by comparison." She shook her head. "But I'm here. It all worked out."

For her, at least.

"Aye. I can't complain," Grenn said, sending Caitie a look that made her shiver.

She smiled more shyly than she thought herself capable. "Come on. If we're lucky, this whole ordeal will be over with tonight."

By the time they made it to Craster's Keep, it was late into the afternoon.

Jon asked for a volunteer to scout—someone stealthy. Caitie nearly raised her hand, but then she saw the look on Grenn's face and decided she would rather spend her last moments with him than listening to the sounds of the mutineers raping Craster's daughters.

And so, Locke, claiming to move quietly, was chosen for the job.

She spent the next hour sitting against a tree with Grenn as he sharpened his sword. Edd came over to speak with them every so often, but other than that, there was mostly silence. They all seemed to feel the weight of the mission on their shoulders.

The brothers of the Night's Watch had a good shot at winning without many casualties on their side, but it wasn't fool-proof. And Caitie didn't want to risk the lives of the people she cared about on Karl Tanner.

By the time Locke returned, they had less than an hour until nightfall.

"Brothers."

"You do move quiet," Grenn said as they all coalesced around him.

"How many?" Jon asked.

"Eleven men—most of them already drunk. No guards posted; they don't seem to have a care in the world. We'll carve them up like walnut pie."

"You don't have to sound so excited about it," Caitie muttered, low enough so that only Grenn and Edd could hear her. Then again, she was also excited about the thought of killing the mutineers, as much as she tried to quash the feeling.

She saw Edd smirking out of the corner of her eye. At least someone shared her dislike of Locke.

"Karl was a top paid cutthroat in Flea Bottom," Grenn said. "I've seen what he can do with a knife."

"Have you seen what I can do with a knife?"

He chuckled. "Not yet."

"There's a hut on the west side of the keep. We should steer clear of it."

"Why?" asked Jon.

"They've got some hounds chained up inside. Closer we can get without the dogs sniffing us, the better."

Jon nodded, but Caitie furrowed her brows. That didn't sound right.

Grenn looked up at the sky. "New moon, tonight."

Jon turned around to the others. "Get some rest," he said solemnly. "We move at sundown."

Caitie tried to ready herself. It was the first time she could prepare for battle beforehand, but her mind wouldn't let her—she was too on edge.

"Someone's tense," Grenn whispered in her ear.

She looked up at him. "Do you remember there being hounds at the keep?"

He shook his head. "But just because we didn't see them don't mean there aren't any."

"If the mutineers had hounds, don't you think they would have used them to track us?"

That gave him pause. "I guess. But why would Locke lie?"

Why, indeed? But she didn't have time to try and make sense of it. The sun was rapidly setting.

"Do you have your poison?" Grenn asked quietly.

"I thought you didn't approve."

He shrugged. "Better you have it than get taken alive. But don't die on me," he said, taking Caitie by the shoulders. "Not now."

"I could say the same to you. If you die, I'll kill you."

He smiled. "Not a chance of that happening."

"You both ready?" Edd asked, coming up behind them.

She and Grenn nodded.

"Time for our revenge," she said.

"Aye."

Caitie took out her daggers and stared down at them. If things went according to plan, this would be the last time she had to use them. With luck, she would find the daggers Owen and Cerys had given her after they'd dealt with the mutineers.

Caitie had meant what she said; despite her best efforts, she was ready. She was willing. She was excited.

It was time for her revenge upon the mutineers.

The keep was lit up with torches when they started their attack. The Night's Watchmen ran at the mutineers, not bothering to take them by surprise. Most of Tanner's men were drunk anyway—it seemed Locke hadn't lied about that.

Caitie followed behind her friends, letting the bigger, more obviously threatening men go in front of her. She would let them draw the attention of the mutineers, allowing her to slip behind and make the kill.

A battle focus took over her body—fueled by her desire for revenge against the men who had killed the lord commander, raped Craster's daughters, scarred her and her friends' skin, and much, much more. Caitie hated them like she'd never hated anything in her life.

She advanced on the first mutineer she could see from behind and stabbed him in the back. He keeled over, but she had moved on already.

The next one saw her. He snarled and struck at her, but Caitie was too quick. She parried with her first blade and stuck the second in his belly. When his arm dropped, she sliced across his neck, cutting his throat so deep she could see the bone.

The third mutineer was huge—but fast for his size. She had to dodge out of the way more times than she would have liked as he swung at her before she managed to get him off his feet and stick her dagger in his heart.

Caitie moved on until she found Jon at the door to the keep, looking just as bloody—but entirely in his element—as she did.

"I'm going in," he said.

"I'll check on the others, then meet you inside."

"You sure?"

"More sure than I've ever been." She grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Remember, Tanner favors his right, and he doesn't fight fair."

He nodded and looked around for any survivors—of which there were none and said, "Caitie, if you see Bran... help him, first."

Caitie had almost forgotten about Jon's little brother, but hearing his name discomforted her. It took her a moment to realize why. But as she thought, three facts came to the forefront of her mind. Her heart started to beat wildly in her chest as she came to a realization—much like the last time she'd been in this place.

One: Bran had gone north of the Wall, and Jon was convinced he'd find the keep.

Two: The Boltons would want him dead, and they would assume he'd seek shelter with Jon.

Three: The name Locke sounded familiar, and in her dream, he'd had a shield with a flayed man painted on it.

How could she have been so stupid? Of course, the name Locke sounded familiar—it wasn't just a Northern house—the Lockes were bannermen to the Boltons. Caitie had learned that—Septa Melarie had forced her to recite it. Through her dream, her subconscious had been trying to remind her.

But before Caitie could tell Jon about her epiphany, he ran into the keep.

"That's all of them over here, is it?"

She spun around to see Edd. "Yes," she replied. "All dead."

"Grenn is taking care of the last of 'em over on the other side."

Caitie barely kept herself from sighing in relief. Grenn was okay. "Good. I'll be there soon," she said as she began to hear sounds of fighting from inside the keep. "Wait, Edd. Would you do me a favor?"

"Aye."

"Find Locke."

After Edd agreed to her request, Caitie took a deep breath to steel herself for the fight ahead and entered Craster's Keep.

Tanner was facing in her direction, so there was no point in sneaking up on him. Either way, she wouldn't have time because he was standing over Jon, who he had pinned down without a sword, about to go in for the kill.

"I suggest," she said, holding her daggers up, "that you drop your knives."

"Ah, Caitie." He kicked Jon in the stomach and moved towards her. "It's good to see you again."

"I can't say the same." She could feel the poison at her belt, burning a hole into her skin.

"You gonna fight me?" he asked. "You never could beat me, y'know."

She didn't wait. She lunged towards Tanner's left and stabbed upwards into his shoulder, where he was unguarded. It took him by surprise—but she hadn't dealt a deathblow. She'd only made him angry as he blocked the dagger going for his throat.

Caitie backed away over to Jon, but she didn't have time to help him stand because Tanner tried to strike at her again. "Little runt from White Harbor—thinks he's somethin' because the lord commander treated him special."

She stopped one of his knives from stabbing her, but he managed to elbow her in the chest with his other arm—hard. One of her daggers dropped out of her hand, and she stumbled back from the impact—from the pain.

She gritted her teeth, trying to steady herself.

"Not a boy at all!" Tanner exclaimed, his face lighting up. "A girl!"

Caitie froze, clutching her remaining dagger tight. It was the only thing keeping her from panicking. This was her nightmare, coming to life.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon get up again. He looked around, trying to find Longclaw.

"You fucking her, Snow?" Tanner taunted. He didn't take his eyes off Caitie, lunging towards her again. She rolled out of the way, his knife narrowly missing her head. "Can't imagine why you would—ugly little thing, she is," he continued. "But I'm not picky. So maybe, 'fore you die, I'll fuck her and make you watch."

She steeled herself. Caitie still had one dagger. If she could just hold Tanner off until Jon found Longclaw…

But before he could get within striking distance of her, someone put a knife in his back.

It wasn't fatal, Caitie didn't think, because he managed to pull it out, but it still distracted him as he turned to see who had done it. The culprit was a Wildling girl, beaten and bruised, looking terrified.

In a flash, Jon put Longclaw through the back of Karl Tanner's skull.

After he crumpled to the floor—eyes open and unseeing—Jon turned his attention to Caitie.

"I'm fine," she said preemptively, nodding to the Wildling girl. "But she's not." The two of them bent down to the girl's eye level.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked.

The girl refused to look at him.

Caitie smiled at her. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. Can you stand?"

She thought the girl was nodding slightly, but she may have just been shaking.

"Come with us," Jon said, as soothingly as he could. "Come on."

She finally turned to look them in the eye and allowed Caitie to help her up.

Grenn was killing the last mutineer in one clean motion when the three of them emerged. He threw Caitie an almost imperceptible look of relief before Jon spoke.

"We lost four brothers?"

"Five," Edd said. He had just dragged another body over to them. When Caitie saw who it was, her heart soared.

Locke.

It looked as if something had ripped one of his shoulders from his neck by brute force. She could even see the bone, which had splintered.

"What in Seven Hells could do that to a man?" asked Grenn.

Caitie had to bite back her laugh—a pure unadulterated one, full of joy and relief. Wherever Brandon Stark was now, he was safe from the Boltons.

"I count ten dead mutineers," Jon said, looking around.

"Locke said there were eleven of them," Grenn replied.

Edd looked around the keep. "Where's Rast?"

As if the Gods could sense the question, Grenn looked up, and seeing something, called, "Jon!"

Caitie followed Grenn's gaze to see a five-foot-tall direwolf with red eyes and white fur standing at the entrance to Craster's Keep.

"Where in Seven Hells…?" Jon asked, smiling from ear to ear. "Come here!" He bent down to just below Ghost's eye level and scratched his ear. "I missed you, boy."

Ghost looked thinner than the last time she'd seen him—too thin—and she knew her hunch had been correct. But, judging from the red on his muzzle, it seemed he had gotten his revenge as well.

Rast couldn't have deserved a better end.

"What should we do with this lot?" Edd asked, and Caitie turned to see the group of Craster's daughters. They stood silently, cowering.

"It's not safe for you here on your own," Jon said. "Mance Rayder has an army heading this way, and there's worse out there than Mance." He paused. "Come with us to Castle Black. We can find you work; keep you safe."

"Meaning all respect, Ser Crow," the oldest of the women said—as old as Craster, himself. "Craster beat us, and worse. Your brother crows beat us, and worse. We'll find our own way."

Caitie almost spoke up—tried to convince the woman to change her mind. How long had she spent wishing she could free Craster's daughters, save them, take them south so they could live?

But something stopped her. Maybe it was the way the women were shying away from her. They didn't know she was a girl, except the one who she'd helped out of the keep. Caitie was a crow to them, and crows had raped and beaten them. If they chose to stay out here—to stay away from the men whom they had no reason to believe wouldn't hurt them, then she had no right to question it—even though she wanted to, more than anything.

"You want to stay here?" Jon asked. "In Craster's Keep?"

The old woman looked to the keep and spit into the dirt. "Burn it to the ground. And all the dead with it."

While the Night's Watch helped Craster's daughters pile all the dead in the main room of the keep, Caitie searched everywhere she could, to no avail.

She had found a bottle of Dornish Sour Red—which she would be giving to Maester Aemon—but it seemed her daggers were gone forever. If Caitie had overlooked them and they were still here, they'd burn. Otherwise, she had no idea where they could be.

"Caitie?" Jon called from behind her.

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?"

She turned to face him and plastered on a smile. Jon raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

"I was looking for my old daggers," she admitted.

"Ah."

"I didn't expect to be so lucky. I just hoped…" Caitie stared down at the blood-soaked daggers she was holding. "I suppose it could be worse. I'll get used to the weight of these eventually."

He started towards her, and she noticed that he was limping. "You're hurt."

"Tanner got me in the leg before you showed up. It's fine."

"It needs to be cleaned."

"Caitie, it's fine."

"Sit. They can get on without you for two minutes."

Jon shot her a flat look, but he still sat down on the bench next to her. It was funny to think that less than a year ago, she had been sitting there, wishing for Craster to die. So much had happened since then.

She bent down to take a look at the wound. While it wasn't deep, it still needed to be cleaned and bandaged.

"Everything okay?" Grenn asked as he made his way towards them.

"Of course," Caitie replied, smiling. "Did Maester Aemon give us any antiseptic?" she asked Jon.

"It's not that bad."

She shot him a look and pressed lightly against the wound.

"Seven Hells!" Jon shouted. "What was that for?"

"Not that bad, huh?" She rolled her eyes. "Now, as I was saying—antiseptic?"

"In my pack," he said grudgingly. "With the horses."

She smiled up at Grenn. "Would you mind getting it for me?"

He looked between them but nodded.

"I assume you two made up," Jon said once he was gone.

"I suppose you could say that."

He seemed to debate something. "You two didn't…"

"Of course not. Grenn still has his vows. Besides, I'd tell you if it were otherwise."

"You would?"

She shrugged. "You're my best friend. There are few things I wouldn't tell you."

He smiled softly at her. "Mine too, much as you drive me mad sometimes."

"Well, I certainly try my best."

Neither said anything more as they waited for Grenn to reappear with the antiseptic.

"Thank you," she said when he returned, kissing him on the cheek.

Jon rolled his eyes at them, while Ghost laid his head on his master's lap. He stroked his head as Caitie applied the antiseptic and used the cloth to bandage his leg.

"When did you learn how to treat wounds?" he asked once she had finished.

"I didn't. This is about the most I can do. In hindsight, we probably should have taken Sam with us."

"Jon," Edd called. "You gotta come here. Bedwyck isn't dead yet."

Jon shot up and walked briskly out the door to the grounds—or as briskly as he could—with Caitie and Grenn following. They saw Bedwyck lying on the ground, deathly pale, with a gash in his side bigger than Caitie's fist. He wasn't going to survive.

Yes, they definitely should have brought Sam along.

"Help me," he pleaded in a hoarse, pained voice. Jon knelt beside him and took his hand. "Please, help me."

"I will, brother," Jon replied, drawing Longclaw.

"Wait," Caitie blurted. "Stop." She removed her vial of poison from her belt and gave it to him. "Painless."

Jon nodded and took the vial from her. He dripped the poison into Bedwyck's mouth. Bedwyck took one more wheezing breath and went still, his features changing from contorted with pain to peaceful.

"And now his watch is ended," Jon said.

She, Edd, and Grenn echoed his words.

"Move his body into the keep."

With Grenn's help, Edd picked Bedwyck's body up and carried him away. Ghost padded over soon after, situating himself between Caitie and Jon.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes. The battle focus had worn off, leaving her exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open. Her legs felt weak and shaky. Sensing this, Ghost leaned against her, so he was propping her up.

"You should hate me, you know," she told the direwolf. "I left you."

"You didn't know," Jon said.

"I suspected."

He had no answer to that. The three of them stared out at the sight of the keep and its blood-covered grounds. It made Caitie's stomach turn unpleasantly. The Night's Watch had lost so much in this horrible place.

But Ghost's warmth reminded her that they hadn't lost everything. No matter the guilt, Caitie was grateful to have him beside her as she watched Edd and Grenn ready Craster's Keep to burn.

I'm sorry, I don't care if it makes Caitie a Mary Sue for figuring out Locke. He was so cartoonishly evil; how no one picked up on it in the show is a mystery for the ages.

Also, the Lockes are a house in the North (though based on location, they should probably be bannermen to the Manderlys, but whatever)—so how Jon didn't realize that when he had a highborn education just goes to show that Ygritte had him pegged. Or maybe the showrunners just forgot the lore? Who tf knows.