Jocelyn Norrey's funeral had been a sparsely attended affair. The details were hazy, but Caitriona remembered holding Arthur as he slumbered, only a few days old, completely unaware of where he was or who he'd lost. Owen and Cerys had cried—something she'd never seen in all her six years. Something she wouldn't see again until she was fourteen years old.

Her father had been silent as they stood in the crypts underneath Norwood. A few other of their vassals joined them, but her mother's death had happened during one of the worst snowstorms of the spring. The Warden of North—who, customarily, would have presided over the funeral—hadn't been able to come.

Both sets of Caitriona's grandparents had been dead for years already. Although she had an uncle in the Stormlands, they had little contact with him, so the ceremony was attended only by her family—or what remained of it.

As she'd watched the tomb close and her mother disappear forever, she had thought nothing could ever be worse.

She had been wrong.

The Night's Watch funeral was a nightmare from which she could never wake up—there was nothing worse.

The sky was bleak and cloudy, bathing the courtyard in a colorless grey. It was fitting, Caitie thought. It was how she felt as she looked over the shoulders of Edd and Olly to Grenn's body, laying with the forty-nine others who'd died.

He seemed so peaceful; she could almost convince herself he was sleeping. Caitie wasn't sure if it made her feel better or worse.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam's tear-filled gaze linger on Pyp's body. She wasn't the only one dealing with grief and loss and guilt.

"They came to us from White Harbor and Barrowton," said Maester Aemon, who stood at the center of the dais, in front of the elevator. "From Fairmarket and King's Landing. From north and south, from east and west. They died protecting men, women, and children who will never know their names. It is for us to remember them. Our brothers, we shall never see their like again."

"And now their watch is ended," chanted every brother in the courtyard. Caitie murmured the words softly, so no one could hear her.

At least Grenn could rest, she thought. No more fighting, no more surviving. The one upside to death, Caitie decided, was the peace it brought.

She wished she could have found peace, too. More than anything in the world, she wished she had been in the tunnel with him. Even if she couldn't have saved him, she would have been with him. She would have died with him.

Instead, Caitie had to stand in the courtyard and watch her lover's body burn on the pyre, while everyone who noticed her presence either glared or leered. A handful did smile kindly, she had to admit.

With Sam's help, Maester Aemon descended the steps from the platform to the pyre. Sam handed him a torch to light the first one. Once the flames took hold, the old maester handed it back to Sam, who then gave it to Jon. When he'd lit the second pyre, Sam handed it to Edd, then Olly.

On and on it went until every pyre burned. The last time she'd ever get to look at Grenn, she realized, as the fire consumed his body.

Caitie felt Jon's hand grip hers with some difficulty, as he stood in front of her. After a pause, he turned his head to look at Stannis Baratheon.

Caitie followed his gaze over to the king who, along with his hand, stood in front of the doors to the main hall. He was tall and thin with greying hair. A sigil of a stag surrounded by a flaming heart stood out front and center on his armor—the warped sigil of House Baratheon, to portray his devotion to the Lord of Light.

She wondered what it meant. Caitie didn't know much about his religion, but nothing good ever came from a king with an unhealthy obsession with gods—or in Stannis's case, god. The Targaryens believed themselves to be gods, and it led them to believe in their right to conquer Westeros—and to the mad king.

Of course, it had also led to Maester Aemon.

What was the old saying? Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. Well, Stannis Baratheon did have Targaryen blood.

Caitie turned back to the pyre—back to Grenn. She tried to focus only on him, but the presence staring at Jon through the flames distracted her. It was Stannis's red priestess—Lady Melisandre.

She was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way, with high cheekbones, long, deep red hair, and milky skin—almost like a weirwood tree. She was staring intently at Jon as if she knew him. His hand tightened around Caitie's.

It stayed tight throughout the rest of the ceremony, as they watched Grenn's body turn to ash.

Once it was over, Caitie ducked into the nearest alcove, Ghost close behind—under Jon's orders, no doubt. Or maybe he knew the danger she faced with everyone knowing the truth. The direwolf was almost as smart as a human.

She watched as Sam walked through the door to the kitchens to find Gilly. Edd followed him, furrowing his brows as Sam told him something, gesticulating wildly. Caitie's eyes landed on Jon as he walked through the door to the dungeons. He was going to speak with the Wildling prisoners.

When the courtyard cleared of all brothers, Caitie emerged from her hiding spot, Ghost still close behind, and walked—or hobbled—through the castle.

Her ribs still prevented full movement; Sam said it would be six weeks at least until they fully healed. Her ankle would take eight.

She hated feeling so powerless—so reliant.

Caitie stayed wary of anyone nearing her, but no one materialized as she walked beside Ghost. Ser Alliser's orders, most likely. He didn't care if she got raped, but he'd never allow one of his men to do it.

She kept hobbling down the corridors, numbed to the pain in her body. Her mind was blank. The air

It must have been hours by the time feet slapped against the stone hallway. Caitie readied herself for a confrontation, but it was only Sam.

He came to a halt in front of her, looking terrified. "It's Jon," he said. "He's gone north again."

Caitie stood in the courtyard, right behind the inner gate with Sam and Ghost beside her. She couldn't bring herself to go into the tunnel and wait by the outer gate. She couldn't bring herself to the place where Grenn had stepped when he died—she could barely bring herself to look at it.

"Do you think it was my fault?" Sam asked, breaking the quiet.

Caitie tore her gaze away from the snow covering the ground to look at him. He didn't have to elaborate; Caitie knew to what he referred. Oddly enough, she was grateful for the distraction from the thought of Grenn's body.

"No," she replied firmly. "Of course not. What else could you have possibly done?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Something of value."

"You killed a Thenn." Caitie was still proud of him for that. She wished she could have seen it firsthand.

"It didn't save Pyp."

"You can't blame yourself just because you happened to be there when he died."

Sam stayed quiet, looking down at the snow, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.

"At least you were with him," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "He didn't die alone."

Like Grenn had.

"I guess you're right," Sam replied. "I just… What good am I, Caitie? I can't fight like you and Jon. I don't know how to hunt or build a fire, or—"

"Those aren't the only things that matter."

"My father thought so."

"Your father was wrong. You may not be a fighter, Sam, but you don't need to be one. You have plenty of other talents. You're smarter than Jon and I put together."

"You really think so?" he asked. Caitie could tell he was trying not to sound hopeful.

"I do. We would be lost without you."

He smiled, chuckling. "You really would. The two of you are some of the most reckless people I've ever met. And the worst part is you snipe at each other over who's worse." He moved his gaze back to the gate and his smile faded. "I still can't believe he went out there again." He sighed. "It's the best gift Ser Alliser could ask for."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Sam stared at her for a moment before he realized she truly didn't understand what he meant. "Jon is the greatest threat to Ser Alliser's candidacy for Lord Commander," he explained. "He was already popular before the battle, but now…"

He didn't need to finish; Caitie understood, now. Jon's popularity had increased tenfold since the night of the battle. At least half the men at Castle Black credited him with holding off the Wildlings. Caitie wasn't too well versed in politics, but she wasn't stupid either. "Whoever he backs for Lord Commander will have an inherent advantage."

"Exactly. His only weakness is—"

"The Wildlings," she finished. "And Ser Alliser will exploit it to limit his political influence."

Sam nodded at the gate, twiddling his thumbs the way he did when he got nervous. "Let's hope Jon had a good reason."

He did have a good reason, Caitie thought. Better than good.

She still didn't know how she knew why Jon went north. She just did, somehow.

Speaking of which…

"You should go back inside," she said. Caitie knew Jon wouldn't want Sam to see him when he came back through. She wasn't completely sure he'd want her to see him, either, but she couldn't bring herself not to wait.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, glancing around the courtyard nervously. "I don't like leaving you on your own."

"I have Ghost. I'll be all right. Go," she insisted. "Be with Gilly. I can tell how much you hate being away from her."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Just a little."

Ghost leaned against her, supporting her weight. It seemed to calm Sam's anxiety.

Caitie exhaled the breath she'd been holding as she watched him walk away.

By the time the inner gate rose, it was getting dark. Jon wavered when he saw Caitie standing there, and she wondered if she should have let him be. But then, without a word, and pulled her into him, gently so he wouldn't disturb her ribs.

She buried her head in his chest and allowed tears to fall for Grenn, for Ygritte, for Pyp, and for all the horror they'd endured and would endure in the months to come. Caitie didn't know how long she and Jon stayed there, unmoving, until she pulled away to look at him. His eyes were rimmed red.

"I went to burn Ygritte," he said.

"I know."

He closed his eyes and took a horrible, rasping breath.

They didn't speak more; they didn't need to. Silently, they walked to the kitchens, to the pantry. Hours could have passed without a word spoken. What could either of them say? Their loved ones were dead.

"Love is the death of duty."

Caitie blinked. She hadn't been expecting anything more than continued silence. "What?"

"Maester Aemon told me after Robb went to war and I wanted to follow," Jon said. "He said black brothers take no wives and father no children so they won't love." He sighed. "I'm starting to think he was right."

Caitie stared down at her hands. "No, he wasn't," she said, bringing her gaze up to look him in the eye. "You sacrificed. So did I, so did Grenn, so did Sam. And do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because we loved. Grenn went into that tunnel because if he hadn't, the Wildlings would have broken through the gate, and I would have died. He… he didn't take me with him because he loved me." She wiped a stray tear away from her cheek. "You left Ygritte because if you hadn't, the Wildlings would have killed your friends. Sam fought in the battle because he wanted to protect Gilly and Little Sam. Love makes us stronger, not weaker."

"And if it forces us to put those we love over our duty?"

Oh yes, duty and honor were what mattered. It was what forced people to do the right thing instead of the selfish thing, Owen told her when she'd complained about going to Winterfell so many years ago.

But Owen had put aside his duty to keep her safe. She would never believe it was the wrong thing to do.

Duty was a lie told by kings and lords and commanders to make their subjects feel honored when they forced them into terrible situations. The sentiments might have been nice, but honor and duty couldn't truly exist in a world so unjust.

With all this in mind, her answer to Jon's question was easy.

"Do you know what? Fuck duty."

Jon blanched. "What are you talking about?"

"Gods, look where it's gotten us, Jon. We've allowed horrible people to do horrible things because of it. Our families died because of it. There has to come a point where we stop worrying about being dutiful and start doing what's right."

"Duty is right," Jon said dutifully.

"I'm not so sure. Leaving home was betraying my duty. And falling in love with Grenn was dishonorable. But I wouldn't change it. If you could, would you stop yourself from loving Ygritte—just because it was dishonorable?"

Jon broke eye contact with Caitie to stare down at the floor.

She chuckled humorlessly. "Well, I think I have my answer."

"I was wrong to love her," he said. "But I was wrong to leave her, too. It's my fault she's dead."

"You couldn't protect her. You tried, but she made her choice. We all did." She sighed, half sniffling. "We're never going to be the same after this, are we?"

"I don't think so."

Caitie scooted over and rested her head on his shoulder. "I miss him," she said. The sentence was so uncomplicated, and yet, it expressed her feelings so perfectly.

"I know," Jon replied. "Me too."

Silence took over once again. Caitie might have fallen asleep on Jon's shoulder soon, but the door to the pantry creaked open, and Sam popped his head through the doorway.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, addressing Caitie, "but Maester Aemon would like you to join him in the library."

She didn't want to move from Jon's shoulder, but he shifted, standing up straight, and held out his hand. Slowly, he helped ease her up. She took it as a good sign that her ribs didn't hurt as she stood.

"I'd walk you there, but Maester Aemon needs me to send a raven to the Citadel immediately," Sam said apologetically. "Just between us, he's worried about Lady Melisandre. He wants the Citadel's opinion about the Lord of Light."

Sam's talk of the Citadel made Caitie's stomach flip unpleasantly. The Maesters' headquarters were in Old Town—the seat of House Hightower.

"It's all right," she lied.

"I'll walk you there," Jon said.

Ghost stretched and followed them out the door, down the hall to the library. She and Jon didn't speak—not until a brother named Brant, with a terrifying leer, approached them.

"A girl of the Night's Watch!" he proclaimed.

Caitie's hand went to Cerys, but it was only a reflex. She couldn't actually do anything without her body screaming in protest.

"Pretty girl, too. Bet you was a lady."

Jon stiffened beside her, but he didn't move. Caitie didn't move either—she only watched, waiting.

"Or maybe you're just pretty 'cause you're the only girl here. Besides the wildling bitch." He looked over to Jon, unaware of his stony expression. "Hey, Snow, think if I fucked her, she—"

He didn't get to finish, because Jon had him pinned up against the wall within moments. "You even think about touching her and I'll gut you," he growled.

Jon didn't seem like a man, right then. He was like a wolf—no, worse than a wolf—a dragon, and one who was about to breathe fire.

"You don't scare me."

Ghost poised himself for attack. His red eyes glinted in the torchlight.

The man's face paled.

"My direwolf does," Jon said. "Come near her again and you'll wish he was the one to kill you."

Brant scurried off without another word.

Jon took a deep breath to calm himself. "Are you all right?"

She didn't feel any worse—at least not physically. "I think so."

"He pulled you—hard. Your ribs—"

"I'm fine. They're no sorer than usual."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "From now on, Ghost goes wherever you do."

She wanted to refuse. She didn't want to depend on Ghost. But until her body healed, she had no choice. "Okay."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters."

"I'm about as all right as you are," she said.

It effectively shut Jon up for the rest of their journey.

He didn't part from her until they stood before the library doors. "I'll leave him with you," he said.

Caitie walked through the door with the direwolf by her side.

"Caitie?" Maester Aemon asked. He seated himself at a table at the back of the room.

"It's me," she replied.

He smiled and gestured to the chair next to him. Ghost padded over a laid down beside the fire, which burned from across the room.

"Do you know why I have called you here?" Maester Aemon asked when she sat down in the chair opposite to him.

"No."

He sighed, reaching out to gesture for her hand. Caitie obliged, and the maester spoke. "It is… difficult to explain."

"I know. I lied to the Night's Watch—to you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"No, you did not," Maester Aemon said, sighing. "You must understand; you were a child when you came here—and a girl, no less. The danger you faced… they would not leave you alone, undefended."

"What are you talking about?" But she knew the answer to her question before she even asked.

"Your brothers, of course," said Maester Aemon. "Owen and Cerys Norrey."

"How..." She swallowed, despite the lump forming in her throat. "How do you know about them?"

Maester Aemon smiled sympathetically. "After your betrothal, your brothers contacted your kin—Lord Commander Mormont. He knew your grandmother well; he knew your mother—and by extension, your brothers. And so, he promised to keep his eye on you, should they send you to Castle Black."

"He—he knew all along?"

Maester Aemon's head bobbed once.

She couldn't speak as his words echoed in her head. Caitie's brothers never spoke of knowing any of their Mormont relatives—at least not personally. But Owen had ten years with their mother before Caitie came along, and Cerys had eight. Just because they never spoke about their mother didn't mean they were unaware.

Still, there was a sizeable gap between her brothers knowing the lord commander and him agreeing to allow her to hide at the Night's Watch. She couldn't believe it—it wasn't possible.

"No," Caitie insisted when she found her voice. "No, you're wrong. Lord Commander Mormont would never allow a girl in the Watch."

"Wouldn't he?" Maester Aemon asked. "The lord commander was a Mormont—and Mormont women are known to be fierce warriors. Our numbers were dwindling—few of our men came to us knowing how to fight. Would the lord commander turn down a skilled swordswoman—his kin, no less—without a place in the world and in danger of a terrible fate?"

"But he…" she trailed off because suddenly, every interaction with the lord commander finally made sense.

Mormont had been far more lenient with her than he should have. He had made her his steward in Jon's absence—he had made her a steward, to begin with, when anyone else would have assigned her to the rangers. He had ordered Karl Tanner to leave the stewards alone—leave her alone.

He had said something to her about her brother, once, after she mentioned him. No doubt your brother had a different future in mind for you.

Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, had known who Caitie was all along.

Caitie took a shaky breath, gripping the table to anchor herself; a million more questions to ask, not enough time to voice them all. She started with, "Then why did he take me north on the great ranging? Why didn't he leave me here where it was safe?"

"Your brothers were going to war, and the Seven Kingdoms were in chaos," Maester Aemon replied. "The lord commander was going beyond the Wall. To leave you at Castle Black, with only an old blind maester to protect you… you would be in danger wherever you were. In the end, Lord Commander Mormont decided it was best to keep you close."

"I thought they trusted me," she blurted out.

It was such a childish thought. But Owen and Cerys had lied to her. They had told her they trusted her, they believed in her. And then they'd asked the lord commander of the Night's Watch to keep her safe.

Maester Aemon frowned. "Have you ever heard the tale of Brave Danny Flint?"

"No," she replied shortly.

He paused. "Ah, well, perhaps that is for the best."

"This whole time," she said, ignoring his comment, "I thought I was surviving, but I wasn't, was I? I was just a little lady, being protected like always." Caitie supposed she should have been grateful, but she wasn't. She was just angry. "Why didn't anyone tell me the truth?"

"A great many reasons," Maester Aemon said. "Among them… you may have become complacent, had you known. Or, had the lord commander shown you favoritism, Ser Alliser or another may have looked at you with a closer eye."

Which was why he'd barely acknowledged her existence before they went north of the Wall.

"So everyone just lied to me, instead," she said, her temper flaring. "And it didn't even work in the end! Ser Alliser is going to execute me, anyway."

Maester Aemon sighed. "He has not been respectful of Lord Commander Mormont's wishes, however… he is not lord commander yet. Another may prevail."

"Oh lovely," Caitie said, "so some other idiot will execute me, then." She put her head in her hands, remembering what Sam told her earlier that day.

But even though whoever Jon backed may have a slight advantage, it wouldn't be enough to overcome Ser Alliser.

No, this was well and truly the end for her, and for Jon, too. Thorne would make his life miserable as lord commander.

Caitie furrowed her brows as another question came to her. "Wait. How did you know who I was?"

Maester Aemon smiled pleasantly. "Ah, but I knew when I first met you that you were a girl. Being blind," he said, "can open your eyes to things which no others would see. I went to the lord commander, and he informed me of your… situation."

"And you helped protect me? Why?"

He paused before he answered her question. "What do you know of the Sack of King's Landing?"

She knit her brows together. "What everyone knows, I suppose."

Jaime Lannister had shoved his sword in Aerys Targaryen's back, breaking his oath as a member of the Kingsguard. The Mountain—Ser Gregor Clegane—had raped and murdered Rhaegar Targaryen's wife, Elia Martell, along with her two young children, most likely under Tywin Lannister's orders. It was one of the worst atrocities committed during Robert's Rebellion.

Maester Aemon nodded his head. "And so you have your answer. You know who I was, don't you? You heard Samwell Tarly and I the night of the battle."

"Aemon Targaryen," she said. "Brother to King Aegon."

He smiled wistfully at the mention of the late king. "If my brother were ever in danger of a fate like yours, and I could not help him…" He sighed. "When the lord commander read me your brothers' letter—their fear for you, their love for you—what else could I do but help? My duty, my ailments, prevented me from protecting my family. It would not prevent me from protecting you."

Caitie couldn't think of anything to say.

"There will be a trial, and soon. Until then, I suggest you rest."

She knew she had been dismissed.

Caitie hobbled over to the doors, Ghost in tow, and pushed them open. Jon hovered a good few feet away, waiting for her.

"You look awful," he said.

At the worried expression on his face, she sucked in a breath. Her ribs ached slightly as they expanded, but the pain was numbed—she was numbed. "He knew."

"What?"

"Lord Commander Mormont—he and my brothers—they—" she broke off to rub the tears out of her eyes. "He knew this whole time."

"Seven Hells. What exactly did Maester Aemon say?"

"My brothers asked Lord Commander Mormont to protect me. He lied to me. They all lied to me. Owen, Cerys, Mormont…" The world was spinning. Jon had to catch her before she fell. She clutched his arms to keep herself balanced. "How could they?"

She was grateful when he didn't answer her. Words wouldn't help, here. Everything in her life had gone to hell, all at once: Grenn, her identity and probable execution, and now this. Everything was out of her control, slowly crushing her under its weight.

Caitie didn't think she could ever forgive her brothers for the lie, nor Lord Commander Mormont. Some things just hurt too much.

Guess who rewrote a bunch of stuff from earlier chapters? Me! It's a slow process, so it's going to take me a while to fix everything I want to fix, but I'm really glad I'm doing it. I promise the core of the story hasn't changed at all, so it isn't technically necessary to reread—just recommended. You can probably just skim if you want.