Am I posting this chapter a mere two days after the last one? Yep! Is it ready? ... I think so. But there might not be another chapter for the next 3-4 weeks due to the release of Mass Effect: Legendary Edition, and I wanted to give you guys something to tide you over until then. I hope you like it—this is one of my favorite chapters to date.

Now, time to romance my space boyfriend in 4k. Bet you can't guess who it is.

On her third day of helping Jon manage all of his various letters, reports, and other boring desk duties, Caitie had finally had enough of the tedium to break out his cache of liquor.

It did not disappoint. The wine reserved for the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was some of the best she'd ever tasted in her whole life. Unlike the red wines Caitie had always seen growing up, this was the color of gold and sweet-tasting, though it still burned pleasantly as she swallowed it.

"What's this called, exactly?" she asked as she sat in a chair borrowed from the dining hall on the side of Jon's desk.

He looked up from the letter he was reading. "Arbor gold, I think. Don't drink too much—there was only one bottle of it."

Reluctantly, Caitie heeded his warning, sipping the wine more slowly to savor what was left, and looked around the room to distract herself.

The Office of the Lord Commander was spacious and, compared to the rest of Castle Black, finely decorated. There was a large, octagonal table pushed up against the left wall, covered in books, scrolls, and quills, with a small stool for sitting next to it.

Towards the back of the room was Jon's desk. It was crudely made but large, and it had a good view of the ornate iron cabinet next to the door, which was a pleasant distraction from all the letters. Behind the desk were the doors to Jon's personal bed-chamber, which was three times the size of Caitie's. She couldn't blame Ghost for preferring to sleep in his master's room rather than hers.

Although, that may have just been because Ghost preferred Jon in general.

Olly stood silently next to the door, his hands clasped together formally. The only indication he gave that he was bored was the slight tapping of his foot. Caitie couldn't blame him—she was bored, too, as she read over Lord Leo Lefford's swirling, pretentious penmanship.

His letter consisted entirely of excuses as to why he couldn't send the Night's Watch more men and was so old, he had addressed it to Lord Commander Mormont, from the year the War of the Five Kings had started. Apparently, diplomacy was not something Ser Alliser had cared for. Lord Leo Lefford's letter, included.

Caitie wondered inanely if his subjects made fun of his name behind his back. With a name like Leo Lefford…

Suddenly, a loud knock sounded at the door. Caitie and Jon eyed each other as Olly went to open it.

She tensed her muscles at the sight of Stannis striding into Jon's office, Ser Davos behind him.

"Lord Commander," the king said curtly.

Jon shot to his feet. "Your Grace."

Caitie stood more slowly than he did, setting down her wine to clasp her hands behind her back and nod respectfully.

"I'd like to speak alone."

Caitie was more than glad to scurry out of the way, content with the knowledge that Jon wasn't in any danger from the king. She was about to escort Olly out along with her, but Jon had other plans.

"Olly is my steward, now. As I was Lord Commander Mormont's."

While Jon spoke, Olly pushed her lightly towards the door and shot her a look that said go before he shut it in her face.

Not that she was about to complain. Caitie had no desire to be in the same room as Stannis Baratheon if she could help it.

But this wouldn't stop her from listening.

Luckily, the door to Jon's office was made from wooden slats, and the gaps allowed her to hear them quite easily, even as she stood around the corner. She didn't want anyone to open the door and see that she was listening to them.

"I want him to attend my meetings and learn from men with experience," Jon was saying, in regard to Olly. "One day, he might command."

There was a stifling pause before Stannis answered. "Very well," he said. "Have you considered my offer?"

Caitie should have known this would come up sooner rather than later. Stannis had kept a distance since the day of the choosing, allowing Jon to settle into his new role. But the king would have to march on Winterfell soon, or else the snows would trap him at Castle Black. He wouldn't leave without Jon's answer.

"I have," Jon said. "And I thank you for it. All my life I've wanted to be Jon Stark." He sounded very unlike himself; polite, formal, unaffected.

Caitie knew better. Jon, for all he tried to hide it, felt things deeply. Even knowing what Stannis was, what bending the knee to him would mean, refusing the offer to become a Stark in name was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Gods, she wished she could be in there with him.

"Say the word and you will be," Stannis said, with uncharacteristic friendliness.

"But," Jon said, "I have to refuse you. I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. My place is here."

"I'm giving you a chance to avenge your family." Stannis's tone shifted in the blink of an eye, considerably less friendly, now. "To take back the castle where you grew up. To rule the North."

"I wish I could fight beside you. Believe me, I do. But I swore a sacred vow at the godswood. I pledged my life to the Night's Watch."

"You're as stubborn as your father. And as honorable."

"I can imagine no higher praise."

"I didn't mean it as praise. Honor got your father killed."

Caitie wondered what he meant by that, but she didn't have time to think on it.

"But if your mind's made up," Stannis continued, "I won't try to dissuade you."

She heard the scraping of chairs. "May I ask, Your Grace," Jon said, "how long you plan to stay at Castle Black?"

"Are you bored of us already?" Stannis snapped.

Caitie's blood ran cold at the hostility. She sucked in a breath and held it as she waited.

There was a terrible pause before Jon answered him. "You saved us from Mance Rayder's army. We will never forget that. But it's a question of survival. The Night's Watch can't continue to feed your men and the Wildling prisoners indefinitely. Winter is coming."

"I know it," Stannis said, placated. "We march on Winterfell in the fortnight, before the snows trap us here."

Caitie released her breath. Two weeks—that was all. And then, they would be free of Stannis Baratheon, Lady Melisandre, and the Lord of Light.

"And the Wildlings?" Jon asked.

"If they'd rather burn than fight for me, so be it. I leave their fates to you. You could execute them; that's the safest course… or you could see if this Tormund fellow is more willing to compromise than Mance ever was."

Yes, Caitie thought, because Mance had been the one unwilling to compromise.

Stannis Baratheon was many things, but evidently introspective was not one of them.

Of course, she didn't know how she felt about the idea of allying with the Wildlings. They'd killed Grenn, and a part of her couldn't think rationally whenever the fact occurred to her. A part of her—a dark and terrible part—wanted to kill them right back.

"I assume the brothers of the Night's Watch would rather see the Wildlings dead," said Stannis.

"Most of the brothers, yes," replied Jon.

But not him.

And... not her, either.

That dark and terrible part of her didn't change how she felt, deep down. Caitie had seen enough death already—if more could be avoided, then that was a good thing, no matter which side they were on.

It was just a matter of forcing herself to act on it.

Jon sighed. "There's little love for the Free Folk, here."

"You're the lord commander. Your choice." The door squeaked open before the king spoke again. "You have many enemies at Castle Black. Have you considered sending Alliser Thorne elsewhere? Give him command of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

That had to be the best combination of words to ever come out of the king's mouth.

"I heard it was best to keep your enemies close," Jon said.

"Whoever said that didn't have many enemies."

Caitie stifled a chuckle. Whatever she thought of Stannis, she had to admit he had a sense of humor—a dry one, maybe, but it was definitely there.

Not a moment after Stannis gave Jon his parting words did he round the corner, coming face to face with Caitie.

She sunk into a deep curtsy. "Your Grace."

"Lady Norrey."

He didn't say another word as he skirted past her and down the hall, out of sight.

Caitie hurried back to the office, where Ser Davos still stood, back to her, blocking the way through the door. "He sees something in you," he said. With a quick look over his shoulder, he added, "Both of you."

Caitie took that as her queue to slip past him and reenter the office. Jon was standing between his desk and the hearth where a fire burned, with an exasperated look on his face. She took a spot beside him, letting the fire warm her back.

"Might not be apparent in his tone," Davos continued, "but it's the truth. He believes in you."

"I'm sorry I disappointed him," Jon said.

The Hand of the King stepped forward and took his seat on the vacated stool in front of them as Olly closed the door once again.

"The king is… a complicated man," he said. "But he wants to do what's right for the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon's answer was immediate. "As long as he's ruling them."

Caitie didn't bother concealing her smile as she glanced at him, her head bowed so Davos couldn't see.

"He's the one true king. He's got a blood right to that throne."

So did Aerys Targaryen, thought Caitie.

Jon's hand wrapped around her wrist as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and was silently ordering her not to say it aloud.

She wouldn't have—she wasn't that stupid.

"I've sworn to stay clear of the politics of the Seven Kingdoms," Jon said.

"Have you now?" Davos asked, twisting his head around to face Olly. "How does the Night's Watch vow go again? I'll bet you've got it memorized since you got here."

Olly knit his brows together. His eyes flickered up to Jon's, who crossed his arms and nodded, giving silent permission.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins—"

"No, not that bit. The bit at the end."

"I am the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life—"

"Right, that's enough." Davos held up a hand to silence Olly before he turned back to her and Jon. "The shield that guards the realms of men; that's what you swore to be—both of you. Now, I'm not a learned man, but the best way to help people may not be sitting in a frozen castle at the edge of the world. It just might mean wading through the muck, getting your boots dirty, and doing what needs to be done."

Caitie's nostrils flared, incensed by the implications. Jon, though he hid it better, was radiating frustration of his own.

"And what needs to be done?" he asked, his lips curling up in what was almost a sneer.

Davos stood, looking between the two of them. "As long as the Boltons rule the North, the North will suffer."

Saying nothing, Jon stared at him, perplexed.

"Just one man's opinion." Davos gave them each a knowing look and nodded respectfully.

Olly opened the door, allowing him to leave. Afterward, no one spoke for a few seconds, as they all stewed on his parting words. Jon walked back over to his desk and fell into his chair with a wide-eyed, contemplative look on his face.

Caitie broke the silence first, mostly because she couldn't hold in her rage any longer. "How dare he," she seethed, pacing back and forth in front of Jon's desk. "How dare he!"

"Caitie," Jon said. It sounded suspiciously like a warning.

She would have none of it. "Do not 'Caitie' me, you—"

"Olly, you're dismissed," he interrupted, voice cold and authoritative.

"Aye, Lord Commander."

Shit.

Too late, had she remembered: they weren't alone, and Jon was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Once the door had opened and shut again, he stood. "You're lucky it was just Olly."

It had been on the tip of her tongue to apologize.

But not anymore.

"Is that a threat?" she said through clenched teeth.

His eyes softened, and he shot her a wry look. "Somehow, I don't think I'd survive that."

In a different circumstance, she would have rolled her eyes and snarked back at him, but she was too angry at Ser Davos to think about anything else. "How dare he," she repeated, this time a little less furiously. "As if we of all people don't know what the Bolton's are—or what they've done. As if we wouldn't love to kick those fuckers out of Winterfell and string them up by their balls in the process. As if he knows anything at all about the North and its suffering! He only came here in the first place to help Stannis conquer it!"

"You're being unfair."

If anyone else had said that to her, she would have skewered them. But, seeing as it was Jon, who had just as much reason to hate the Boltons as she did, and who knew her better than anyone alive in the world, Caitie actually stopped and listened to what he had to say.

"There's more to it," he said. "I think he cares about the North."

She wanted to argue. She really, really did. But she couldn't deny that she had gotten a similar inkling from Ser Davos. She was just less inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"As long as Stannis is ruling it," she said.

"It was stupid of me to say that."

Despite herself, Caitie smiled. "Probably, but I liked it."

"You would."

She sighed, falling back into her chair. "I'm sorry I yelled. It's not you that I'm angry with."

He gave her a soft smile. "I knew it wasn't aimed at me."

"I just... I miss home." Even if she didn't want to be the Lady of Norwood, she still wanted to see it again. She wanted to go back to a time where everything was still whole.

"Aye, me too."

Caitie grimaced. However awful this was for her, it had to be ten times worse for Jon. "Gods, I'm sorry. I know how difficult this is for you."

"It's no easier for you."

She deflated further into her chair. Her brothers' faces, their voices filled the blank spaces in her head—they were what made Norwood home. Even if she could return to Norwood and Jon could return to Winterfell, it wouldn't change what they'd lost. There was no going back.

Suddenly, Caitie was reminded of an old song Maester Harkon always asked her to sing during their lessons—Jenny of Oldstones.

High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts.

She had thought it so depressing at the time, but now she understood. Because that's what Norwood would be if Caitie went back: an empty hall filled with ghosts.

Seven Hells, she really hoped Arthur was okay.

"It could never be the same though, could it?" she asked. "Home, I mean."

"No," Jon agreed. "It couldn't."

Caitie answered with the first thought that came to mind. "There was a hole when my mother died, but Owen and Cerys filled it. I'm not sure anything could fill the holes they've left."

"You don't talk about her much," Jon said. She noticed the diversion from the topic of home, but didn't say so. Jon would talk about it, if and when he was ready.

"Because there isn't much to talk about," she replied. "She died, and no one spoke of her afterward." Caitie didn't say it bitterly. At this point, she was too tired to be bitter. It was just a fact.

"You don't remember anything about her?"

"I didn't say that." She pursed her lips. "Mother was… quiet. She kept a lot to herself—or from me." The hurt bubbling up in her chest made her feel ridiculously stupid. No sane person would entrust secrets to a five-year-old. "I don't really enjoy thinking about it."

Jon nodded. "I imagine you must miss her."

And there was the crux of it. "It's the opposite, actually. I wondered about her, of course, and there were days I wished I knew more about her. But it's like I said, there's supposed to be this gaping hole where she should be, and there's just… not anymore. There hasn't been for a long time."

She leaned forward to rest her arms on the side of Jon's desk. "I'm not saying it wasn't difficult after she died—it was. But after her funeral, life went on. Owen and Cerys finally agreed to train me, Arthur needed us, and eventually, it was almost like she'd never been there at all. This will probably sound awful, but the night she died is probably the clearest memory I have of her."

Caitie had never spoken about this memory to a single soul.

But she couldn't stop talking, now that she'd started. Jon had already seen her at her weakest, and she had seen him. If she were going to share it with anyone… there was no one else Caitie trusted more with this information.

"I remember, I was sitting outside the Lady's Chambers with Owen and Cerys. It was late, and Father had gone to bed, so it was just us. As the night wore on, my brothers kept getting more and more agitated, until finally, Maester Harkon came out covered in blood. He tried to stop me from going to see her, but Owen and Cerys insisted. I got to say goodbye, at least."

"You saw her in the birthing bed?"

"In hindsight, it probably would have been better if I hadn't. But my brothers weren't in a place to think clearly about it. I left before she…" Caitie swallowed. "I didn't see her pass. They would never have allowed that. I went to the godswood afterward."

She omitted the truth about her trip there—that she had refused to pray ever again. She'd just been so, so angry at the Gods for taking her mother away from her. In hindsight, it was probably the start of her opposition to authority. Caitie had blamed the highest authority for her mother's death.

She felt differently, now, after everything that had happened. Caitie still didn't have the intense belief in the Gods, nor would she ever let them dictate her life, but it wasn't about that. Her brothers had believed in the Gods, and that meant something. It was about remembrance of her family, and nothing more.

"Owen and Cerys found me later," she continued. "They were in a panic because they didn't know where I'd gone. I don't think I'd ever seen Owen so angry at me, before. After we all calmed down, they took me back inside the keep, but then my father…"

This was the worst part about her mother's death—the part she tried to forget.

But there was no point in forgetting, now.

"You don't have to—" Jon started.

"Yes, I do." She'd kept it hidden and buried for eleven and a half years. It was time Jon understood—maybe not all of it, but more than he had before. "My brothers brought me back into the keep, and my father had seen that I was crying. Do you know what he told me?"

Jon waited patiently for her to build up the courage to say it all out loud.

"He told me that my mother died doing her duty as his wife and that someday I would be expected to do the same for my own husband. That I should be grateful for the chance because it would bring both houses honor."

Caitie had never seen Jon so stunned before. "Seven Hells," he breathed, resting his fists on his desk with a fire in his eyes Caitie had only seen a few times before. "He said that to you on the night your mother died?"

She nodded.

"When you were six?"

"Yes."

"What kind of father would say that to his child?"

Caitie narrowly avoided laughing. Plenty of fathers had probably said something similar—because that was every lady's duty. Her father just happened to be more blatant about voicing it.

She wondered if Ned Stark had said something similar to his own daughters. But Jon didn't need to hear the thought.

"Oh, that's nothing," she said. "Remind me to tell you about my eleventh nameday. Or the time he caught Arthur sleeping with a torch lit in his chambers. Oh, or the time he caught me picking cabbage out of my stew at supper. Beating and screaming and occasionally throwing things, all for my own good. I suppose it's the usual warm family memories." She rolled her eyes. It was easier to make light of what had happened than to cry about it.

Jon was stunned back into speechlessness.

Caitie sobered. "The thought of ending up like my mother terrified me for years," she said. "When my father finally betrothed me to that monster…"

"It was every nightmare you'd had come to life."

"Yeah."

Jon stared at her for a long time. She wondered if he would look at her differently from now on, or worse, ask about Garrett Hightower.

But then her friend's lips quirked up into a smile. "Well, now I understand why you didn't want to marry my brother."

Thankful for the wry comment, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin. "Please. It's hardly my fault your brother was an arrogant prat who couldn't take no for an answer."

"He was your king."

"So he was a royal prat, then," she said with false bravo, wondering for the first time if she had been as much to blame for the disaster of an evening as Robb had. Not that she'd ever admit it.

Jon broke into a fit of laughter. "Fair enough. Gods know I loved him, but he could be a prat sometimes."

Caitie smiled, leaning back in her chair. She didn't feel good, exactly, but she felt… freer than before. Like she had finally dropped a boulder she hadn't realized she was carrying.

Maybe it was time to drop the rest.

"Do you know, there's a part of me," she said, "that feels… guilty, I suppose, about my feelings towards my mother's death."

"Guilty?"

"I thought nothing could be worse at the time—honestly, I did—but compared to Owen and Cerys? Compared to Grenn? It's just a faraway memory. I try to remember how it felt to lose her, and I just think of losing everyone else, instead." She shook her head. "Gods, I must really sound terrible."

"You don't," Jon said, without any hesitation. "She wasn't in your life long enough for you to know her. It's hard to miss something you didn't have to begin with."

Caitie could tell he wanted to continue, so she waited for him to speak. It took him a while to figure out what he wanted to say, but eventually, he managed it.

"I always wanted to know who my mother was," he said. "But I never grieved her, because I never knew her. I wish I knew her, but that's the same as missing."

Caitie contemplated for a while and ended up with a question. "Sixteen years and your father never told you anything at all?"

"No. The day we parted, on the Kingsroad, he told me we'd talk about her when we saw each other next."

He didn't need to finish.

She wondered why Jon's father would keep this information from him, especially right before they parted for what could have been—and what had been—the last time. After being so ostracized in his own home, even by those who'd loved him, it would have been a comfort to know who his mother was.

Jon deserved that much.

But whether he deserved it or not didn't matter. Ned Stark was dead. He couldn't tell Jon, even if he wanted to.

A thousand abandoned children from a thousand abandoned parents. Through death, or circumstance, or simply because they didn't care, it was a never-ending cycle, and too many people beyond her and Jon were victims of it. So she stayed silent.

Or, she tried to, but something burst out of her, regardless. "Jon?"

He furrowed his brows and waited.

"He would be proud of you. And your uncle, too. Beyond proud." Benjen Stark would be the proudest uncle to have ever lived. Despite not knowing him other than a passing face her first week at the Wall, she knew it with all the certainty in the world.

"I hope so," Jon said.

"I know so."

He smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Your brothers would be proud of you, too."

Caitie averted her gaze, unsure she deserved to be told that after the childish way she'd acted all these months after finding out the truth. It was something she'd been thinking about for a while now, and the more she did, the worse she felt.

Jon lowered his chin so his gaze could meet hers. "I know you haven't forgiven them," he said. "But you will, someday."

He'd misunderstood her silence, so she clarified. "I have forgiven them—sort of," she said, sighing. "It's complicated. I know they loved me, and I know they had their reasons. I just feel… duped, I suppose. It's self-centered, but it's how I feel."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "They sacrificed so much for my sake, and I never even knew the half of it. My father forced them to act as mine and Arthur's parents, and then he would turn around and criticize how they did so. Owen was fifteen when Mother died. Cerys was thirteen. Too much responsibility was put on their shoulders, and here I am, furious with them for loving me enough to ask the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to personally protect me."

Jon was silent, staring at her with a mixture of recognition and understanding. Finally, he said, "Your life was privileged in many ways. But so was mine. We both know it doesn't mean you're wrong for feeling the way you feel."

She couldn't help her smile. "Using my words against me now, are you?"

"Aye," he said, smiling along with her. But his back was straight, his head held high, utterly confident in his opinion. His eyes never left hers, and all Caitie could do was look back at him.

Her smile faded away as she took in the person he'd become these last three years. It was a far cry from the arrogant boy who'd complained about how unfair his life was on the day of their assignments. Beyond the confidence in his eyes, there was wisdom and even humility.

Intensity, too. And authority. It surrounded him like it had been always been there, dormant until now.

He was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, she thought vaguely. Caitie supposed she still hadn't fully registered what it meant. But looking up at him now—at the flickers of emotion on his face—she saw that even with his new title, even with his maturity and confidence, he was still Jon; just the man he was meant to be.

Then, with their eyes still locked on each other, his smile faded too, and she remembered what they'd been speaking about before. Jon seemed to remember as well, judging by the frown which had taken over his features.

Caitie closed her eyes, threw her head back, and groaned. "Ugh. When did this conversation take such a depressing turn?"

Chuckling, he released her shoulders and nodded towards the stack of letters. "If it's not to your liking, get back to work."

She huffed and leaned over him to sift through the stack, deliberately picking up a report from House Cerwyn's lands. Her paternal grandmother had been the current Lord Cerwyn's aunt, though she had never met any of her kin on that side. Knowing her father, she wasn't sure she wanted to know them.

Still, she was curious.

But instead of cheering her, what she read rattled her to the core. If she hadn't already been sitting, her legs would have given way.

As Jon saw her stricken expression, he leaned over to read the report from one of their few remaining Wandering Crows.

His eyes turned to stone.

Medger Cerwyn, Lord of Castle Cerwyn, is dead. Along with him—his wife and brother. Flayed alive by Ramsay Bolton, son of Roose Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. His son survives him.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she read the words over and over again. Because if anything could cement Davos's point, this was it.

The North was suffering.

And for the first time since Stannis had made his offer, Caitie wondered if she had been right in refusing it.

This hurt my heart to write. Davos is one of my favorite characters in the show (along with Sam, Arya, Varys, and the Hound/Sandor). But I just don't see Caitie being insta-besties with him, considering the whole Stannis thing.