Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Old and the New

When I enter, I find Shireen and Gilly reading a book together, something about dragons and Targaryens, while Sam as usual has got a massive tome of his own in front of him at the table. Shireen graciously overlooks my tardiness, but during my absence, she's already informed Sam and Gilly that I have a visitor from Panem. She has also taken care not to leave out the important details, as Gilly and Sam chime in to list off between themselves. Like how handsome he is. Or that he calls me Catnip. Or that he wants me to run away with him. The princess clearly knows how to weave quite a romantic tale.

"You're not going to go with him, are you?" Sam asks earnestly.

"She told us you said you weren't going anywhere today," Gilly adds. "But not today doesn't mean not ever."

"Not today, and not ever," I assure them, though I'm eager for this topic to be over. "Suffice to say that Gale isn't exactly my favorite person anymore—"

"Was he ever?" Shireen wants to know.

Despite myself, I laugh. "You're relentless, you know that?" I say. I almost tell her yes, at one point, but come to think of it, that's not true. "Maybe there was a time where he came pretty close. But my favorite person was always my sister. Back then, I would've picked her over him any day. And now, I'm going to pick you."

Shireen flushes with pleasure, her smile spreading from ear to ear. But then her expression turns thoughtful. "Why isn't he your favorite person anymore?" she asks. "Second favorite, I mean."

I hesitate, reluctant to go into detail. "He made some bad choices during the war," I say after a moment. "And broke a promise between us."

"What promise?" she asks straightaway. To her credit, she lowers her voice and looks more solemn now as she studies my face.

Those blue eyes. So like Prim's that I need to lower mine to the book on the table. "We promised we'd always protect each other's families," I say. "And he couldn't do that."

"Oh." Shireen considers this for a minute. When I glance back up, her forehead's furrowed like she wants to ask another question. "Well, maybe that's the other reason why he's here. So that he can apologize."

Her faith in people is the only reason I can manage a smile, even if it fades fast. "I'm afraid it would take a lot more than an apology to fix anything between us," I say. "Besides, when I do leave here, I want to see more of Westeros. If I go with Gale to Panem, I might not be able to come back."

"Why not?" Shireen presses, visibly too dismayed at the prospect to hold back the question.

I exchange a glance with Sam and Gilly. "Travel between Panem and Westeros is… complicated, to say the least."

This, of course, raises a hundred more questions that I can see racing behind Shireen's eyes. "You and Gale were able to do it," she starts to point out, but falters. "Though… I'd hate for you to leave at all." A crestfallen expression takes over her face, her curiosity overpowered. "If only you could come with us instead, when we go."

Oh, no. Not that look. It's the look she gets when she remembers her father's army will be heading out soon. Stannis said they'd be leaving within a fortnight, and it has been well over a week since then. The clock is ticking. "I know," I say consolingly. Then, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, I turn more fully to her with heightened intrigue. "Hey, enough talk about Gale and leaving. Did I hear you say something earlier about having Targaryen blood?"

Shireen beams, sufficiently distracted, and proceeds to explain that her great-grandmother on her father's side was Rhaelle Targaryen – not to be confused with her niece Rhaella, she was aunt and not wife to the Mad King Aerys II – making her a descendant of Aegon the Conqueror. Lucky for me that this girl is even more interested in dragons and actual history than she is in my romantic history.

In fairness, she makes everything sound like it's the most interesting subject ever. I suspect it's because Selyse had her shut away from the world, like the Capitol did with the districts, because she has the same thirst for knowledge and answers that I did when I was her age. The main difference is that Shireen has had plenty of books at her disposal, and the time to read them. But I want to know more, and spend time with Shireen, while also not disturbing Sam too much with our chatter, so Shireen informs me there are more books and scrolls in the King's Tower. We give a brief apologetic look towards Gilly and Sam for ditching them, but Gilly graciously waves us off and says she'll probably meet me in the kitchens soon with Hobb.

We retreat to the King's Tower and Shireen tells me all she knows about past kings and queens and wars of Westeros, which is a lot. Apparently the Targaryens reigned for centuries, even after the dragons died off. Though as we both know, there are three alive today, a fact that delights Shireen. I should have figured after she took a shine to Buttercup – the girl does have a soft spot for vicious little monsters.

As such, she speaks with some reverence when telling me about Aegon the Conqueror, his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya, and their dragons Balerion the Black Dread, Vhagar, and Meraxes. The book she's started recently, The Dance of Dragons: A True Telling, recounts the civil war between Rhaenyra Targaryen and her younger half-brother Aegon II as they fought to succeed their father on the Iron Throne. Most of the dragons were killed during that war, the rest dying not long after. In the end, they were small and sickly, pitiful shadows of their ancestors, the last one being only the size of a cat. We both picture Buttercup facing off against it in a knight's armor and laugh, Shireen more respectfully so.

"He could be your Syrax," I say with a grin, referring to Rhaenyra's dragon. With that thought, another one occurs to me. "If… when Stannis gets the throne, does that mean you'll be queen after him?"

Shireen contemplates this, sitting back with The Dance of Dragons in her lap. "I don't know," she says after a moment. "I think so. I could still get a little brother, though so far none of them have lived. Father would've named Uncle Renly his heir, but he was a traitor, and he… died." Her lowered eyes and halfhearted tone suggest there's a lot more to it than that, but she doesn't want to go into it.

"Targaryen against Targaryen," I mutter. "Baratheon against Baratheon. Don't any siblings here love each other?"

Shireen bites her lip, then looks up at me with a cheeky smile. "The Lannisters?"

I gasp, then choke on my own laughter. Shireen tries to look guilty at first but ends up giggling right along with me. Turns out Jon's father sent word of the Lannisters' secret to hers, and Stannis was the one who sent ravens out to all of Westeros with the truth. She confides that though she doesn't know Tommen very well, she likes him and still thinks of him as a cousin, but she wants to honor her father's claim. It's for the same reason that she would rather Daenerys not fly her dragons here to Westeros, even though she would love to meet them.

"Think you'd be brave enough to ride one?" I ask.

Shireen shakes her head, although she looks wistful. "It'd be enough just to touch them," she says softly. "Their scales."

I understand at first, taking in her greyscale scars, but end up wrestling back a grin. "Shireen Baratheon," I say importantly, "petter of dragons."

This gets us back on track with the Targaryen conversation, as she reminds me just how much Aegon the Conqueror loved his sisters. Her information gets a little nonchronological as the name of their father, Aerion, reminds her of Maester Aemon's brother Aerion, and she desperately tries to find a balance of eagerness and respect as she tells me the prince got so drunk that he drank a cup of wildfire, believing it would turn him into a dragon.

"How do you drink wildfire?" I ask, laughing mostly because I'm confused but her fascination is contagious.

"Oh, wildfire is a green liquid the alchemists make to set aflame," Shireen explains. "The fire it makes is green and it can burn for a long time, even on water. They have lots of it in King's Landing, because the Mad King was so obsessed with it. That's how the Lannisters defeated my father's army at the Battle of Blackwater Bay." She lowers her voice to a sad whisper. "Ser Davos lost four of his sons to the wildfire. He saw it happen – all three of his ships burned. It was terrible. He barely escaped with his life."

As she's telling me this, a memory of Ser Davos surfaces, and I feel like I've just swallowed wildfire myself. Hot guilt sears in my throat and chest. No one deserves to die like that, I practically chastised him. As if it's never been personal to him. As if he didn't see his own children swallowed up by a scorching green inferno. And then for the Red Woman to tell him, before or after, that death by fire is the purest death…? If she had said that to me when the bombs took Prim, I would've been murderous. At once, his fatherly behavior towards Shireen makes a lot more sense to me.

Before I can say anything in reply, the door to the room opens and Selyse appears. She takes one look at me and furrows her brow, pinching her lips in distaste. "Leave us," she says, motioning at me to go away.

Shireen gives me a regretful look, but I get up obediently and walk out, my mind drifting elsewhere as I head down the winding stairs on autopilot. I barely even remember pushing open the door to the King's Tower and stepping out into the courtyard, let alone making it to the kitchens. Hobb says something to me, and the next thing I know, I'm outside again, bringing Ghost his lunch. But still my thoughts linger on Shireen, and Ser Davos, and what I've learned of this ongoing war.

Four sons. Four of Davos' children who went off to fight and never came back. Jon's brother Robb, who went to a wedding to make peace and got slaughtered. Rickon, who only wanted to escape and hasn't been heard from since. And Prim, who came to the Capitol as a nurse and not a soldier, whose good heart and innocence cost her her life.

None of them were safe. They were, all of them, in an arena. This war that Westeros is fighting is just another one of the Games, where the winner gets the Throne. And suddenly I am afraid, more than I was when I encountered the wights or the shadowcat. Not for myself, but for Shireen. For her journey south, as her father prepares to fight the Boltons at Winterfell. The dread seeps in like poison fog, and I don't know how to get it out.

As Ghost gnaws at his meat, I snap out of my thoughts and turn around to let him finish his meal in peace instead of hovering over him with a vacant stare.

That's when I see them. Stannis and Melisandre, over by the lift, talking to Gale.

Mostly it's Stannis and Gale, with Melisandre lurking in the background, immersed in a conversation that's been going on for who knows how long. But then Gale says something and gestures, and Stannis slips past him and crosses the courtyard. I watch him tentatively as he comes near, but he passes me too with a mere second's glance in my direction before making his way towards the maester's quarters and library.

Stannis, I realize, with some relief as I feel a little of the poison leaking out of me. He's cold, and terrifying, and a determined leader. Shireen is his only daughter and heir. If not Davos, it was probably Stannis who agreed to let her keep Buttercup around. He must have a soft spot for her. Of course, he will protect her. He and Davos, both.

But then I glance back to Gale, and now find him speaking with Melisandre. She's looking at him the same way she looked at Jon when he was training in the courtyard – the sharpened gaze of a hungry lynx about to pounce.

This instantly gets my hackles up. Not because I'm jealous, but because I feel like I'm watching history repeat itself. Gale and Coin, Coin and Gale. Now Gale and Melisandre. I don't know what they're saying, but I know what my instincts are telling me – an alliance between these two will lead to no good.

Alliance,I silently scoff to myself. If that's the right word for it, now that Stannis is not around. It's obvious she's intrigued by what she sees.

If Gale decides he prefers redheads, then good for him. At least he'll leave me alone. But, given my encounters with her, the Red Woman is a different matter…

She eventually glances past Gale, towards me, and says something with a smile that makes him turn. Great – now he's caught me staring. Her knowing expression and his flicker of hope both make me want to wring or mangle something, to retreat to the kitchens and help chop meat and vegetables for supper so that Gale will think twice before approaching me when I have a weapon in hand, but it's too late. He's already dismissed Melisandre with a nod and is heading this way.

Knowing his presence will disturb Ghost, and not wanting to stand around all demurely like a schoolgirl waiting for him, I steel myself and freeze my face into indifference as I meet him in the middle. Melisandre watches me curiously before she slinks off, as she tends to do, but I barely linger over her before I stop in front of Gale and cross my arms.

"What were those two talking to you about?" I ask, getting straight to the point. Any hesitation would leave room for him to ask why I was so attentive in the first place.

He shrugs, taking half a second to look back over his shoulder while Melisandre vanishes into the King's Tower. "War, mostly. The one in Panem. The one Stannis is fighting now," he answers. "They knew I was a soldier. Got the impression that they were looking to recruit." Still squinting, he looks back to me and adds pointedly, "At least somebody wants me here."

I roll my eyes at his sulking. "Yeah. The Red Woman," I counter, and remember something Davos told me. "Apparently the last time she took an interest in someone our age, it wasn't good."

"Yeah, what wasn't good?" Gale asks dully, humoring me. "If you want to scare me off, you're going to have to be a bit less vague."

"I don't know, you'd have to ask Ser Davos about it! And he's the King's Hand so I think he knows what he's talking about." I breathe out harshly through my nose, annoyed that Gale has fired me up again. "Besides, I shouldn't have to scare you off. Since you said you saw the footage, you should know she's crazy. She burns people." As my own words sink in, I try to maintain eye contact and find myself floundering. "But I guess that's never been much of a dealbreaker for you."

Gale looks hurt. I can tell he wants to tell me that's not fair, but he knows he has no right to. Instead, he hunches forward and mirrors my crossed arms. "Yeah, well, why're you worried about me?" he says, lowering his voice. "She seems just as interested in you. More so, maybe. If you think she's so dangerous, what are you still hanging around here for?"

I bristle. Somehow, he has managed to cling to a thread of proof that I still care about him and a condemnation of Westeros's safety at the same time. I'm slipping.

"Stannis's group won't be staying here much longer," I mumble. "When he leaves, she leaves with him."

"And what about you? How long do you expect you'll be allowed to stay here?" Gale presses. "Castle Black isn't exactly women-friendly, Katniss. That guy Thorne seems like he hates you."

"So?" I argue. "He's not in charge. Jon is. And Jon says I haven't overstayed my welcome, so..." Trailing off, I move to the crude straw archery targets and start taking out arrows to put them away, if only to do something more useful with my time.

Gale follows me and chuckles weakly, glancing around the courtyard. "Yeah. Jon," he says halfheartedly.

For some reason, this vexes me deeply, and not just because it adds nothing to the conversation. "What about Jon?" I snap, daring him with my eyes to continue that thought. However petty it is.

He doesn't disappoint. "Well, is he always going to be around to protect you?"

"I don't need protecting—"

"You know what I mean," Gale says impatiently. "Last I heard, Jon's leaving for Hardhome. What, is he taking you with?"

"No," I mutter.

"Who's in charge once he's gone?" Gale asks, in that tone he uses when he can already guess the answer.

I scowl, hating that he's made a good point. Despite their friction, Jon's named Thorne acting first ranger until Benjen sees fit to return. Who else would he pick for acting Lord Commander, other than someone who already has experience in the role?

Sighing, I unceremoniously drop the arrows into their holder. "Thorne and I stay out of each other's way."

"For now," says Gale. "You know I'm right. Jon leaves? Best possible scenario, the nicest thing Thorne will do to you is kick you out before he tries anything. So either you wait around until that happens, or you can just save everyone some time and come back to Panem with me." Then his forehead wrinkles in thought, before he lifts his eyebrows at me meaningfully. "Or you could go with Jon. I'm surprised he hasn't already invited you by now, since he enjoys your company so much."

I hear the jealous implication like a mosquito whining in my ear, but I choose to ignore it. "I cannot believe we're still talking about this," I say, starting to storm off towards the kitchens.

Gale catches up easily. "Look, we can stay until after Shireen leaves, I know that's important to you—"

"There is no 'we'!" I burst out, stopping in my tracks and whirling to face him. "You're not staying that long. I can tell you that much. Don't give conditions like you're being gracious! 'We can stay until after Shireen leaves' – seriously, what is that?"

"Oh, come on, we both know that's what's really keeping you here," Gale shoots back. "With an army of white walkers to the north? And a war to the south?" His flared temper has attracted some attention, so he lowers his voice. "You left Panem because you didn't want to be the Mockingjay anymore, and I get that. But it sounds like Westeros needs one."

"It's not me—" I start to protest.

"It could be," Gale argues. "You know that. Melisandre knows that. If you wanted to get sucked into another war, that'd be one thing. But I know you don't. And the only reason you'd want to stay in Westeros so badly, with all the baggage that comes with it…" he pauses, his eyes softening with sympathy, "is because you think you've found yourself another Prim."

There it is. Her name, coming out of his mouth again. I debate raising my bad arm to slap him but it's not worth the energy. Instead, I must nurse the other wound he's opened.

"I know she's not Prim," I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

"But she's like the missing piece between you two," says Gale, looking thoughtful. "Your mother's eyes, your father's hair?"

I've noticed that too, but it bugs me that he has. "I didn't come here to replace my sister," I snarl, taking a step forward to get in his face. "And even if I've found someone like Prim, who the hell are you to take that away from me?"

If possible, his eyes look sadder. "I'm not taking her away, Catnip. Stannis is," he whispers. "Tomorrow."

I step back with a sharp breath, his words having the same effect as a hard shove to the chest. My fingers reach out blindly and grip the edge of a barrel for support, and I want to sit down at first but change my mind, turning toward the King's Tower as if something there will confirm it for me. A glimpse of Selyse scowling from the window. Shireen running out to say goodbye. Even Melisandre standing and waiting with her usual self-assured smile. There's nothing, but I know it's true. Selyse probably ushered me out so she could break the news to her.

Tomorrow. I start counting the days in my head, then on my fingers, since Shireen used the phrase "within a fortnight." I have to restart a couple of times, but my heart sinks each time I run out of fingers on my second hand. It's definitely been over a week but less than two. But if Stannis said it, he meant two weeks or less.

I just thought… I don't know what I thought.

"They're marching for Winterfell in the morning," Gale says, drawing my attention back to him.

"Maybe…" Breathing suddenly feels harder, like I've been running. "Maybe we can get Stannis to…"

"Leave her here?" Gale finishes for me, not making any effort to hide the skepticism in his tone. "I'm not comfortable leaving you here with some of these guys. Stannis isn't going to leave his daughter behind. She's a princess, and she's, what, ten? Eleven?"

"And bringing her this close to a battlefield is better?!" I demand, measuring with my thumb and index finger. I should be keeping my voice down, but it's all I can do not to get hysterical at this point. Prim never should have gone to the Capitol. She should have stayed in District 13 with Mom. And Shireen should stay at Castle Black with me.

Gale averts his eyes, lifting them fleetingly to the courtyard and all of Castle Black around us, then presses his lips together as he looks back at me. "I think he'll want his family with him, Katniss," he says.

Family? A mother who's distant at best, a father who's headed off to fight and possibly die, and a young daughter they're dragging into that mess. Some family. He spends more time with the Red Woman than with either of them. And Selyse would've left Shireen at Dragonstone if she'd had her way. I'm about to get angry until I remember Ser Davos. I'm pretty sure he loves her just as much as Buttercup does. The anger ebbs somewhat, but the despair and anxiety do not.

I like Davos Seaworth. I know he will be there for her. I just don't know if he can protect her.

Gale shifts closer to me, an unsettling comfort that I refuse to acknowledge.

"They'll march south tomorrow for war," he says. "You and I both know there's a good chance you won't see her again. And I'm betting Jon will be leaving for Hardhome soon after. You wouldn't have had Beetee send out that drone if you weren't worried. What if he doesn't come back, Katniss? What then?" Leaning in too close, he dares to graze my cheek with his fingers, then thinks better of it and lowers his hand to my shoulder. His dark, sorrowful eyes search mine as his voice drops to a murmur. "You can't just world-hop every time you lose people."

I stare at Gale's hand on my shoulder for a second, before picking it off with my fingers like a soiled washcloth. "You're right," I say. "According to you, I should do it before."

"Katniss—" he starts again with a sigh.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, cutting him off. "'You know this,' 'we both know that…' Stop acting like you still know me. We haven't seen each other in months, you don't know a damn thing about me anymore. If you think I'd just pack up and go with you—" I stop myself, shaking my head. No, as mad as I am at him, he cannot possibly be that stupid. He can't lack that much self-awareness. His presence here suddenly makes no sense to me. "Did you actually believe that I would pick you over Westeros? Why, because I'm scared of another war? Because I'm tired of losing people? What would make you the better option?" He looks hurt and caught at the same time, so I heave an exhausted sigh of my own. "What do you want, Gale? Why did you have to come here?"

He lifts his gaze away from me again, lingering above my head before casting a speculative glance at our surroundings. "I just want to know if this is really the life you want," he mutters. "And not just you trying to forget."

I narrow my eyes in response. "Unfortunately for you, I can't forget."

Gale bites at his lip, and I'm sure I've inflicted the desired amount of pain. A year ago, I saw that same pain in his eyes and looked at his lips like this with the intention to kiss them. Looking at them now, I feel no such desire. Nothing. Only the bitterness of the fact that a year later, he is still the bearer of my last kiss. This man, who took one source of happiness away from me and seems hell-bent on doing it again.

"I'm here, because I want to be here," I tell him, leaning forward so that he doesn't miss a word. "I have made it very clear to Beetee that I'm not looking for an exit point. Nothing's going to change my mind. Not the white walkers, not the war, not the shadowcat, and certainly not you. If I have to fight for this world, I'll fight for it. If I lose people I care about, then so be it." I place my feet and point firmly at the ground. "I am staying right here."

Gale sighs, looking simultaneously defeated and unfazed. "I know you are, Catnip," he says.

I can't help but recoil as my brow furrows deeper, confusion giving way to suspicion. Gale would never give up that easily. "Then why did you come?"

With a shrug, he chews his mouth some more, and forces a weak smile. "I had to try, didn't I?"

The pain in his eyes is meant to debilitate me, but I step forward again and lock mine with them in defiance. "All you had to do," I say coldly, "was leave me alone."

Gale lowers his gaze, and I relax my shoulders, thinking I've had the last word. Until he mumbles, "Leave you alone with your new Peeta, you mean."

My breath hitches in my throat, as my heart has managed to lodge itself there. "Don't…" I warn him.

A shadow of gloomy satisfaction crests over his face. He shuffles his feet, avoiding my glare for a moment as he looks all around, then leans in close again with his arms crossed. "I'm right, aren't I?" he asks softly. "About you and Jon?"

I close the distance between us, meeting him head-on. "It is none of your business," I say, enunciating each word with hissed venom.

Instantly, I realize my mistake. I stare back at him, my scowl wavering, hoping he doesn't notice that by getting my point across, I have simultaneously proven his. The answer is in my non-answer. I don't owe him anything, but it would have been so simple to spit a "no" in his face. To reiterate that he doesn't know shit about me anymore, and Jon is not my new Peeta because there is nothing going on between us. But one thing about our relationship that hasn't changed since the war is this: I have never been able to lie to Gale. My inability to deny my feelings for Jon is as good as any love confession.

Gale, predictably, takes this as his answer. "Yeah, I thought so," he murmurs, which is almost as infuriating as the blush that threatens to bloom in my cheeks. I hide my face from him, fuming to myself but hoping that will be the end of it. Mercifully, he lets a silence draw out, until he's unable to help himself. "You know if you marry him, your name would be Katniss Snow."

I roll my eyes at this. "I guess it's a good thing neither of us plan on getting married, then!" I say sarcastically. Why is he the third person to bring that up? Jon doesn't even like the name Snow, anyway, and Jon Everdeen sounds better, but I decide not to encourage anything by pointing this out. "Men of the Night's Watch aren't even allowed to get married. Or have kids. It's part of the oath that they swear when they join."

Despite this, Gale isn't deterred. "Is that the only thing that's stopping you?" he asks. "Sounds to me like he's perfect for you."

His response is so deadpan, so on the mark, I'm left reeling for a few seconds. I also recall having the exact same thought before, which annoys me greatly. "It's too soon for us," I try again, frustrated. "Not just since Peeta. The girl he loved died days before we met. Keep in mind that was only a couple of weeks ago!"

"I seem to remember a lot can happen in a couple of weeks," says Gale. "Maybe you should start asking yourself why you're so welcome here."

"Maybe you should start remembering that you're not," I shoot back. I already know why I'm welcome here. I'm actually useful, whereas Gale seems to have been put in this world just to torment me. And he's doing too good a job of it, so I look down and pick at my burn scars. "We're just friends. He doesn't think of me that way."

"Really," Gale says, his voice dripping with doubt. He nods over my shoulder. "Then why does he keep looking over at us?"

Stunned curiosity wins over. I glance behind me, and sure enough, I find Jon on one of the wooden balconies. He's surrounded by a few of the Night's Watch brothers – Edd, Halder, Yarwyck – but his attention is focused purely on us. On me. Our eyes find each other, and I feel my face start to flush once more. He looks similarly thrown at being noticed, at first, but then he blinks it away and his expression turns more questioning. A subtle yet prompting lift of his eyebrows, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. Silently asking if he needs to intervene.

I linger on him for a second, trying to convey an answer through a wry half-smile – thanks, not yet, but maybe – before turning back to Gale.

"Obviously because you won't stop bothering me," I tell him. Which makes sense. Jon's the Lord Commander and I'm under his care. Of course he's going be vigilant of the persistent newcomer who's currently driving me crazy. But I must be crazy if I'm still subjecting myself to this, so I turn and start making my way for the kitchens again. I hear his light tread on the snow, so I add, "I can't believe Beetee would just inflict you upon me. How did you even find out I was here, anyway?"

"The obsidian deposits," Gale says matter-of-factly. "Turns out the closest ones to Beetee were in District Two, so he reached out to me." This brings me to a sudden halt, as I turn to gape at Gale in disbelief. "He was vague about what he needed it for, but I got curious. One day I decided to deliver it to him personally. Overheard him talking to you. He ended the call, but he couldn't get out of the footage fast enough. Naturally, it raised a few questions."

I close my eyes for a moment, a mixture of resigned and exasperated as I remember I'm annoyed at them both. Of course. What are the odds that dragonglass happens to be found in Gale's district in plentiful supply? Not in my favor, so it seems. But the second half of Gale's explanation brings up a memory of that one conversation with Beetee. The voice in the background calling his name. Him cutting the connection in a hurry. Yes, that was five or six days ago. They really have been at this for almost a week.

At the sound of shuffling and clinking, I open my eyes to see Gale digging through his game bag. "Anyway, we got to collaborating," he continues, "and we ended up making this."

Out of the bag comes an exquisite dagger with a shimmering black blade. I gasp as he hands it to me, carefully accepting it and looking it over. It's dragonglass, that much is evident, but also there's a mockingjay engraved in the hilt.

"Beetee said he knew you didn't want to be the Mockingjay anymore, but… it couldn't hurt to use your sigil," Gale explains. "He also told me you'd say all that, and if I insisted on making the trip to Westeros, I might as well make myself useful."

I allow myself a moment to admire the weapon, tracing the mockingjay with a finger. But it's only a temporary fix, and I can feel the thrill fading slowly from my face as the fury reemerges.

"All this time, you've known, and he's known, and… and he never said a word?" I'm gripping the dagger's handle in one hand, but about ready to rip the earpiece out again with the other and stomp it into the snow. "He could've at least given me advanced warning or something!" Instead, I fling the dagger at a practice target across the courtyard.

My throw ends up flying a little too close to some of the Night's Watch brothers. The dagger whizzes by Olly's head, making him jump to the side. He lets out a low, startled cry as the blade hits the center of the target with a thud, before looking back at me in bewilderment.

"Sorry," I call out, waving awkwardly.

The boy eyes me warily for a couple of seconds, then glances back at the dagger. It's hard to tell from a distance, and from this angle, but I think he looks vaguely impressed.

"Don't get mad at Beetee," Gale says, shifting his game bag on his shoulder. "I asked him not to say anything."

"Oh, he kept this huge secret from me this long because you asked him to," I say, rolling my eyes as I go to fetch the dagger. "That's fine, then. That makes it perfectly okay."

Gale harrumphs, tailing me. "You know, I'd think you'd be a little more sympathetic about something like that," he points out. "Withholding pertinent information from someone because it was told to you in confidence? Because another person specifically told you not to?"

My stomach flips nervously. Benjen. He's talking about Benjen. "That's different."

"Well, let's ask Jon. See what he thinks," says Gale.

Furious, I yank the dagger out of the target and point it at Gale's chin. "Don't," I say warningly.

Gale considers me and the blade for a moment, then takes it gingerly from my hand. "What's the matter, Catnip?" he asks as he slips it into his bag. "Worried another one of your arena boyfriends will realize your relationship started out on a lie?"

It was wise of him to disarm me, but needless. My jaw drops and the air leaves my lungs as the rest of my body freezes up. Glancing back at me, he notices my face and balks as his own comment plays back to him in his head.

"Look, that was too far, I shouldn't have—" He shakes his head and starts again. "I just think you shouldn't be so quick to blame Beetee for keeping a secret when yours is—"

"I don't care what you think," I snarl at him. That's when I hear a throat clear behind me.

Whirling around, I find Gilly approaching us cautiously, carrying Little Sam in a wooden cradle. She gives us both a timid smile and nods towards the kitchens. "I don't mean to interrupt. I was just about to go see Hobb," she says, and looks over my shoulder as her smile grows more relaxed but polite. "You must be Gale."

Part of me wonders how much she overheard, if anything. The rest is just grateful to have an out. "Gale, this is Gilly… of Craster's Keep."

He instantly switches to charming mode. "Gale Hawthorne. Nice to meet you."

Nodding, she manages an awkward laugh. "I'd shake hands, but..." She shifts Sam's cradle in her arms for emphasis.

"Of course." Gale retracts his arm, scratching his neck sheepishly.

"Yeah, we'd better get to the kitchens so you can have a place to set him down," I say, seizing an opportunity. "Come on, Gilly." Quickly, I start shepherding her toward the building, but throw Gale a warning glower over my shoulder.

He's standing where I left him for once, watching me go with a frown but not saying another word.

Good, I think, turning my back on him. Let's hope it stays that way. But as Gilly and I walk off, I begin to question whether it is good. Leaving him to his thoughts, which may be his most powerful weapon of all

What's worse, I wonder? A Gale who doesn't know when to shut his mouth, or one who is fully silent?

Something tells me that by the end of the day, I'm going to find out.

A/N: Thanks to all new faves, follows, and (re)views! Guest formerly known as ZainR, the story is an allusion to the movie Somewhere In Time (I like to headcanon that even if some/most movies didn't survive North America's collapse and Panem's rise, some films were still passed on as stories through the centuries. And Jon is letting him stay for now, but as you can see, Night's Watch hospitality is one thing but Katniss's wrath is another. Glad you liked the chapter!