"I want every Northern maester to scour their records for any mention of dragonglass," Jon said as he presided over a meeting of his new bannermen. The great hall was full to the brim with them: every single lord from his coronation days earlier, as well as a few who had trickled into the castle since. While Jon stood from his chair at the center of the great table, Sansa and Davos remained seated on either side of him. Caitie sat with her own vassals at one of the tables lower down. "Dragonglass kills White Walkers. It's more valuable to us now than gold. We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons from it. Everyone aged ten to sixty will drill daily with spears, pikes, bow and arrow."

"It's about time we taught these boys of summer how to fight," chortled Lord Glover.

Everyone in the hall laughed, but Jon kept perfectly serious as he said, "Not just the boys. We can't defend the North if only half the population is fighting."

Glover jumped to his feet, enraged. "You expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter's hand?"

"I think you'll find, my lord," Caitie said icily, "that women can fight just as well as men if given the chance. Or would you prefer I give you a personal demonstration?"

Jon choked on a laugh as Lord Glover's face went from green to red to purple, all in a matter of seconds. "How dare you—that isn't the point—"

"I don't plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me," Lyanna Mormont interrupted. "I might be small, Lord Glover, and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you."

Glover's tone was much calmer when addressing Lyanna, which irked Caitie to no end. "Indeed you are, my lady; no one has questioned—"

"And I don't need your permission to defend the North." Lyanna turned to Caitie, gave her a nod, and then addressed her king. "We'll begin training every man, woman, boy, and girl on Bear Island."

Cheers of "Aye!" broke out amongst those in the great hall, and Lord Glover had no choice but to nod his assent.

When the cheers died down, Jon's eyes found Caitie's. "I ask Lady Caitriona to oversee the training of women and girls at Winterfell, upon her return from Norwood."

Though Caitie and Jon hadn't discussed this privately, she couldn't help the excitement which rose in her chest at the thought. She already had the experience, what with training Johnna and Willa. They could even help her if they wanted. Her mind started forming a plan for these lessons: the drills she would begin with, the best strategies for fighting White Walkers versus wights versus men—

"Your Grace," Selwyn said. "Lady Caitriona will be needed at Norwood."

Caitie fought a grimace as she remembered her bannermen. She hadn't discussed future plans with them beyond the immediate one of retaking Norwood—and only now did she realize she probably should have. But the truth was, she just wanted to see Arthur, make sure he was okay, and help him into the role of Lord of Norwood. After that, she didn't see why she had any reason to stay indefinitely—especially when Sansa and Jon needed her help at Winterfell.

"My brother is alive," she said, looking at Roland and Selwyn. "He is, technically, the rightful Lord of Norwood. Once I know Norwood is in good hands with him, I don't see a reason I would be needed."

"He was heir by your father's word, and your father is a traitor." This came not from either of her bannermen, but from Lord Jason Flint, an elderly man with a wide girth. Caitie had the distinct feeling that he was only making this argument because of his second son, a few years older than she, whom Lord Jason had tried to push on her only minutes after Jon's coronation.

"Whatever my father's word was, it's irrelevant," Caitie snapped before she could help herself. She took a deep breath. "Arthur is House Norrey's last son; by the Laws of the First Men, he's the heir to Norwood. And as I'm best suited to train the women to fight—against White Walkers and wights in particular—I have no choice but to accept the king's request."

When she looked back over to him, Jon gave her a smile, and though it was meant to be from a king to his subject, something more seeped through. Caitie hoped she was only noticing it because she knew him so well, but it wasn't a secret that Jon considered her one of his closest advisors. It would not take much for the lords to see there was more to the story.

The idea of that made Caitie's gut churn with fear and frustration. She wished she could back to when it had all been simple: before the North had declared Jon king, before she had realized the depths of her own affection, before Melisandre's—wholly preposterous—forewarnings. Now everything that had been so easy between them before was insurmountable, and Caitie didn't know how to fix it. A small part of her, which sometimes reared its head despite her attempts to squash it, even wished they were back at the Night's Watch.

This wasn't to say that she disliked Jon's new title—on the contrary, she was prouder and happier for him than she could put into words. But it didn't change the fact that she missed him. Even as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he'd never worn a mantle of authority like he did now. And, so long as he remained King in the North and she remained the Lady of Norwood, they couldn't afford to let that veneer of propriety slip in front of others, even if they had wanted to.

In fact, with Littlefinger running around, watching their every move, they hadn't had the chance to talk freely with each other since before the coronation.

Fortunately, Jon soon moved on. "While we're preparing for attack, we need to shore up our defenses. The only thing standing between us and the army of the dead is the Wall, and the Wall hasn't been properly manned in centuries." He looked at Tormund. I'm not the king of the Free Folk. But if we're going to survive this winter together…"

Tormund stood. "You want us to man the castles for you." It was not a question.

"Aye. Last time we saw the Night King was at Hardhome. The closest castle to Hardhome is Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

Nodding resolutely, he said, "Then that's where I'll go." He grinned at the Northern lords, his voice full of laughter. "Looks like we're the Night's Watch now."

Caitie's spirits dipped. She knew she should have been thankful on Edd and the Night's Watch's behalf, but if Tormund was leaving to man the Wall, that meant—well, that he was leaving. And she had said goodbye to enough friends already; she didn't want to say goodbye to Tormund, too.

"If they reach the Wall, the first two castles in their path are Last Hearth and Karhold," Jon said.

"The Umbers and the Karstarks betrayed the North," Yohn Royce said incredulously. "Their castles should be torn down with not a stone left standing."

"The castles committed no crimes," Sansa said. "And we need every fortress we have for the war to come." She looked up from her seat at Jon. "We should give the Last Hearth and Karhold to new families; loyal families who supported us against Ramsay."

Caitie's insides squirmed at Sansa's haughty tone. The heirs to Houses Karstark and Umber were sitting in the hall with them, for both had come to Winterfell at Jon's call. They were only children: the Umber boy, ten; the Karstark girl, fourteen. Caitie wondered what it must be like for them to sit in the hall of a king who had destroyed their families, and who was now debating whether to take their homes away from them as well. How could she want to see either of them suffer any more than they already must have? Especially not Alys Karstark, for it was her father whom Caitie had killed during the battle.

No—there was no question about it. Even if Sansa made a good point, it would not be right to take Karhold and Last Hearth away from two children who had done nothing to deserve it.

But it seemed that Caitie was alone in this sentiment, for the rest of the hall erupted in excited shouts. Jon looked down, his brow furrowed. "The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centuries. They've kept faith for generation after generation."

"And then they broke faith," said Sansa.

"I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons."

"So there's no punishment for treason, and no reward for loyalty."

Jon stared down at his sister, the serenity of his expression masking his frustration. At the tables below them, the lords of the North stared at their king and their lady, the tension growing thicker by the second.

"The punishment for treason is death. Small Jon Umber died on the field of battle. Harald Karstark died on the field of battle," Jon said.

Caitie swallowed and cast an eye on Alys Karstark. I'm sorry, she wanted to say, even though she knew she couldn't. But he was going to kill me. I had no other choice.

"They died fighting for Ramsay!" Sansa exclaimed, and Caitie's eyes snapped back to the great table. "Give the castles to families who died fighting for you."

But that wouldn't have been right. And if Jon did anything besides what Caitie suspected he was about to do, then he wouldn't have been the man she loved.

The discontented mutters which permeated the hall only seemed to steel Jon for his inevitable speech. "When I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," he began slowly, "I executed men who betrayed me. I executed men who refused to follow orders. My father always said 'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,' and I have tried to live by those words. But I will not punish a son for his father's sins, and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision, and my decision is final."

Sansa's chin dipped in defeat, but Jon paid her no mind. "Ned Umber," he called, and the boy's head peeked out from the crowd. Little Umber took a few hesitant steps until he was standing in the central aisle for all to see. When he came to a stop, Jon said, "Alys Karstark." The girl followed suit. Jon beckoned for them to step forward, and they did so with all the bravery they could muster. "For centuries, our families fought side by side on the battlefield. I ask you to pledge your loyalty once again to House Stark, to serve as our bannermen, and come to our aid whenever called upon."

Both children drew the swords at their sides and kneeled. After a pause, Jon said, "Stand."

They stood.

"Yesterday's wars don't matter anymore. The North needs to band together; all the living North. Will you Stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?"

"Now and always," they chorused. The rest of the hall burst into cheers and pounded on tables. Caitie saw both Ned and Alys smile in relief.

While Jon gave them both a warm smile in return, Sansa didn't move, her posture perfectly poised and her face blank of all emotion.

The cheers died down, and after a few more petty grievances were aired, Jon called an end to the meeting. As the other lords were filing out of the hall, he caught Caitie's eye and nodded towards the door. When she returned his nod—against her better judgment—with one of her own, he exited out of the room. But when she started towards the door through which he'd gone, Sansa followed her, scowling, and seeing such a look on her friend's face, all Caitie could do was hope she wasn't about to witness his second death.

"You are my sister," Jon said tiredly as they strode along the stretch of walkway open to Winterfell's courtyard. "But I am king now."

"Will you start wearing a crown?" Sansa retorted.

Jon ignored the jape. "When you question my decisions in front of the other lords and ladies, you undermine me."

It took everything Caitie had not to whack him upside his head for such an incendiary comment, but she bit her tongue. In truth, she didn't know what she could possibly do or say that wouldn't make the argument between the two siblings worse than it already was. She used to have arguments like this with Cerys, sometimes. Owen would always step in and calm both their tempers. But it was so long ago, now, that Caitie didn't remember how he had done it.

Of course, Jon was right—if he and Sansa wanted to project strength, then they needed to appear united. But that didn't mean it was necessary for him to say something which would only fan the flames of the argument that had been going in circles for the last five minutes. Especially when Sansa's anger was coming from a place of concern and not malice.

"So I can't question your decisions anymore?" she asked, scoffing.

"Of course you can, but—"

"Joffrey never let anyone question his authority; you think he was a good king?"

Both Caitie and Jon stopped in their tracks and stared at Sansa. Hurt flashed across Jon's features. "Do you think I'm Joffrey?"

Sighing, Sansa looked down in shame, and said, softly, "You're as far from Joffrey as anyone I've ever met."

"Thank you," Jon replied. But he refused to look at his sister, instead deciding to stare out into Winterfell's courtyard.

As Sansa watched her brother, a small smile appeared on her face. "You're good at this, you know."

"At what?"

"At ruling."

Jon shook his head. "No."

"You are." When he didn't answer, she insisted, "You are. And Caitriona agrees with me, I'm sure."

Caitie grimaced. More than ever, she longed to take Jon's hand, just to let him know she was there to support him. Because Sansa was trying to help, but she didn't understand that her words were doing the opposite. And Caitie didn't blame her, for she hadn't witnessed Jon's tenure as Lord Commander, nor the horrors he had gone through because of it, but it didn't change the fact that she was only reminding her brother of something he wanted—needed—to forget.

Jon eyed his sister skeptically, and she added, "They respect you, they really do, but you have to—"

He cut her off with a laugh, resuming their walk.

She scowled. "Why are you laughing?"

They rounded a corner, and Jon said, "What was it father used to say? Anything before the word 'but' is horseshit."

"He never said that to me."

"No. No, he never cursed in front of his girls."

"Because he was trying to protect us," Sansa finished. "He never wanted us to see how dirty the world really is, but Father couldn't protect me, and neither can you. Stop trying."

"All right, I'll stop trying to protect you and you stop trying to undermine me."

"I'm not trying to undermine you!" When Jon continued walking without response, Sansa grabbed his arm to halt him. "You have to be smarter than Father. You need to be smarter than Robb. I loved them, I miss them, but they made stupid mistakes and they both lost their heads for it."

"And how should I be smarter?" Jon asked. "By listening to you."

It was Sansa's turn to look hurt. "Would that be so terrible?"

Whatever Jon's answer might have been, he never got the chance to give it, because it was at that moment Winterfell's maester—a bumbling, nervous old man named Wolkan—approached them and cleared his throat. "A raven from King's Landing, Your Grace."

The three Northerners exchanged nervous glances before Jon took the scroll. Maester Wolkan bowed and backed away. As Jon broke the scroll's seal, they turned a second corner. The awnings covering the walkways gave way to the open air as they stepped onto the battlements. He read the letter silently and sighed before relaying the message aloud. "Cersei of House Lannister, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms—"

Sansa cut him off. "What does she want?"

"Come to King's Landing. Bend the knee or suffer the fate of all traitors," he recited.

Caitie blew out a breath. "Well. Shit."

Shaking her head, Sansa turned away from them both, looking out into the snowy expanse of the north below them. "You've both been so consumed with the enemy to the north, you've forgotten about the one to the south."

"We're consumed with the Night King because we've seen him," Jon said. "And believe me, you'd think of little else if you had, too."

"We still have a wall between us and the Night King. There's nothing between us and Cersei."

"There's a thousand miles between us and Cersei. Winter is here; the Lannisters are a southern army. They've never ranged this far north before."

"You're the military man. But I know her. If you're her enemy, she'll never stop until she's destroyed you."

"I hate to say it," Caitie said, "but Sansa has a point."

Jon, evidently having expected Caitie to be on his side, glowered. She tried to ignore it, but Gods, it was a beautiful glower.

She swallowed and went on. "We've already had reports from King's Landing regarding what she did to Queen Margaery and the Sept of Baelor. Not to mention what happened to her own son. There's a reason King Tommen is dead, and she's now queen."

Sansa's face paled a little at the reminder of her friend's demise, but she otherwise maintained her composure. "Precisely. Everyone who's ever crossed her, she's found a way to murder."

Jon hesitated, watching her with something almost like wariness. "You almost sound like you admire her."

She refused to meet his eyes. "I learned a great deal from her."

"This is a woman who blew up a sept full of people with Wildfire!"

"I didn't say that I approved of her."

Jon opened his mouth to argue, but Caitie stepped between them. "All right, enough. I have had it with the two of you." When both Starks fell silent, she took a deep breath. "Sansa, no one in their right mind would believe you have any love for Cersei Lannister. And we know she's a threat." Again, Jon opened his mouth, but Caitie shot him a warning look, and—thank the Gods—he took the hint. "But," she continued, "we're not in as vulnerable a position as you think. We still have the Neck. The causeway is the only passable road through it, and we can use that to funnel the Lannister army if they try to range North."

Sansa pursed her lips. "We'd need to station men there. The Crannogmen won't be enough."

"Fine. Make Lord Glover do it. He should do something useful, now that he's so graciously pledged to us."

That earned her a snort from Jon, but Sansa wasn't anywhere near placated. "The Lannisters still have ships. Even without Olenna Tyrell and the Redwyne fleet, Cersei still has the Royal fleet, the Lannister fleet, and unless Theon made it home, she could have the Greyjoy fleet, too."

"Assuming we can trust Theon," Jon grumbled darkly.

Sansa's eyes flashed. "We can."

"Questionable Greyjoy allies aside," Caitie interjected, "it's like Jon said: southerners don't do well up here. The worst that happens, we'll call everyone to Winterfell and force a siege until the White Walkers come and take care of them for us. At which point we'll have more pressing matters to worry about than a few southerners." Once finished, Caitie eyed Jon, awaiting his approval. Ever since the battle with Ramsay, she had been trying to learn more about tactics and strategy, but she wasn't sure she trusted her judgment on the subject.

But Jon smiled at her and nodded with a proud gleam in his eye, and Caitie relaxed.

"All right," Sansa said. "But so we're clear, I'll order Lord Glover to send his men south. I don't trust you not to strangle him instead."

Caitie smiled. "Don't act like you don't want to do the exact same."

Sansa's face didn't change, but her blue eyes glowed. "A ridiculous notion. I pray for Lord Glover's health every day. Just as I pray for Lord Baelish."

Caitie and Jon laughed. It earned them the hint of a smirk from Sansa, but she quickly concealed it. "I'll begin the work accounting for our grain stores, then. If you'll both excuse me."

Sansa didn't wait for their replies before she swept away. As Caitie and Jon watched her go, he asked, "How do you do that?"

Caitie furrowed her brows. "Do what?"

"Get her to listen to you."

She bit back a sigh. How could Jon love his sister so much, and yet not understand her at all? "I listen to her." He tossed her another glower for that. Caitie ignored it. "You think she's trying to undermine you, but she's not. She's worried about you, and about the North."

"She doesn't trust me."

"Jon, you know that's not what it's about."

"Then what is it about?"

She's afraid you'll repeat the same mistakes you made during the battle. She's afraid of losing you because of it. But Jon's actions today were not a mistake, and Caitie didn't see the point of dredging up these hurts unnecessarily, so she said, "You're brother and sister. Brothers and sisters fight, especially when they're as stubborn as the two of you."

Jon shot her a look.

"I am not stubborn," she insisted. "I am simply…"

He arched a brow.

"Argumentative."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Aye, you are that."

"You're not supposed to agree with me!"

"You'd rather I lie to you?"

Caitie huffed indignantly and turned away, resting her arms on the stone parapet, looking out at the white expanse, wondering how she had let herself get so close. Wasn't she trying to keep a distance from him?

Jon joined her a moment later. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body. His arm brushed against hers as he leaned forward and followed her gaze. "When will you leave?"

Caitie furrowed her brows in thought. "Well, if Tormund is leaving in the morning, I think I'll join him and the other Free Folk. We're traveling in the same direction, anyway, for the first leg of the journey."

A pause. Then, "I wish I was going with you."

Caitie almost agreed, but the words caught in her throat. In some ways, she was glad to get away from Jon. She needed to clear her head. "You've certainly given me enough men to compensate."

When Jon only blinked, she realized how her words must have sounded. "I just meant, with the amount of men you've given me, I'll be safe—and back here before you know it. And I'll have Selwyn and Roland, too. They'll keep me from doing anything too stupid."

He frowned, his entire face darkening as if a cloud were hanging over his head; when he spoke, there was suspicion in his tone. "How long's Roland staying?"

Caitie rolled her eyes. She knew Jon didn't particularly like her bannerman, but she didn't see what reason there was to be so antagonistic towards him. Unless...

No. He wouldn't be so stupid as to think there was anything between her and Roland. "A day or two. Then he'll return home to help Edric's son… settle, and after that, I assume he'll head back to Mazin Castle for his wedding to Serena."

At the mention of the wedding, Jon brightened. "At least it's something good, for once."

"I suppose. But it won't bring his brother back."

"No," he agreed. "Nothing will."

She swallowed, remembering what Edric and Selwyn had told her about her own brother; how her father had named him heir to Norwood. But now she was the Lady of Norwood. Would Arthur hate her for it? Was she about to lose him, too?

Even though she didn't voice her thoughts, Jon knew. He always knew. "You'll find him. He'll be okay."

Caitie swallowed. "I know—but Norwood should be his. What if he thinks I'm trying to take it from him?"

Jon didn't reply to her right away. She watched as he stared out into a void she couldn't see and waited for him to collect his thoughts. "In the meeting, what Lord Flint said… he wasn't entirely wrong."

Caitie gaped at him. "What?"

"Arthur was heir by your father's word, and your father is a traitor. Selwyn Harclay and Edric Knott chose you as their leader, not your brother."

"Weren't you the one who asked me to stay and train the women and girls at Winterfell?"

"I assumed you'd appoint a castellan, not give up your title altogether."

"So what, then? I should just toss Arthur out in the snow; is that what you're saying?"

"Caitriona," Jon sighed, and despite her best efforts, a smile tugged at her lips, hearing him call her by her full first name. He only did that when he thought she was being intentionally ridiculous. Seeing her smile, he smiled too. "You know that's not what I meant."

She sighed. "I do; I really do. But Jon, as long as Arthur is a Norrey, my claim is contested. The only way to end it would be to strip him of his status like Sansa wanted you to do to Alys and Ned. To do that to them would be awful enough, but doing that to my brother? I can't. I won't."

"I would never ask you to," Jon said. "And Lady of Norwood or not, you'll always have a place at Winterfell with me."

Caitie wished she could have seen the comment innocently, but her mind caught on the words with me, and she didn't know if she wanted to break into tears or kiss him.

"Well," she said, trying to smile mischievously, as she might have done before, "I thank you for your kindness, Your Grace."

He groaned. "Please don't call me that."

"Oh trust me, I hate it as much as you do. Watching you prance around all kingly when I can't even make fun of you for it is killing me."

He laughed yet again, the most earnest and happy laugh she'd heard in days, and Caitie decided that yes, it was definitely a good thing to put some space between them.

"I didn't choose to be king," Jon said, once his laughter finally died. "The last thing I want is for it to…" He shook his head, apparently unable to convey his thoughts through words. "Do you ever miss Castle Black?"

The question surprised Caitie; of all the places she expected Jon to mention so wistfully, it was absolutely not Castle Black. And yet, she answered, "Every day."

"So do I. And I know it sounds mad, to miss the place where—" He cleared his throat. "But there were good things, too."

"The pantry," Caitie said. "I really miss the pantry."

"Aye." When he looked at Caitie, there was a sadness in his expression that she couldn't quite place. "Ygritte wanted me to be Free Folk, Stannis wanted me to be Warden of the North, Sam wanted me to be Lord Commander. But now… I have everything I wanted. I'm acknowledged as Ned Stark's son. I'm the King in the North, for fuck's sake. I should be happy—but I'm not. And I don't know why."

"Because you want to be Just Jon," she said. "Not the Bastard of Winterfell, or Free Folk, or a man of the Night's Watch. Not even a king."

He smiled. "You remembered that."

"Of course I did."

"That is what I want," he admitted. "I've never wanted anything more. But that won't save us from the White Walkers, or Cersei Lannister."

"No. It won't." And before she could stop herself, Caitie added, "But for what it's worth, I like Just Jon."

"You do?"

"No," she deadpanned. "That's why I've been friends with you these last five years. Because I can't stand you."

When he laughed again, Caitie could see every crinkle, every scar. She could feel his breath warm on her face. But then his laughter faded and his smile grew soft. "Just Caitie isn't so bad, either."

"Such a compliment."

"Well, I'd tell you what I really think, but you'd just let it go to your head."

Caitie scoffed. "I'll have you know that I'm the most humble person I've ever met."

Jon snorted. But then he grew suddenly serious. "You haven't said anything about the prisoners in our dungeons."

She looked away, for she had been steadfastly refusing to think about the people in Winterfell's dungeons. Well, one person in particular.

"You know I'm gonna execute them tomorrow at dawn. Are you sure you're all right with that?"

"I'm just surprised you waited this long."

Jon sighed. "If Lord Manderly hadn't come to me this morning demanding I carry out the sentences, I'd have waited until you were gone." He gave her a sideways look.

"I know you're worried about me," she said. "But I'm fine. And we both know he can't live."

"Aye, but that doesn't mean you have to be there for it."

"Yes, I do."

"Caitie," Jon said, just a little too kindly, "I won't be able to hang him—not with the other lords watching."

"I know," she said, even as her hands went clammy and her whole being grew cold with dread. "But it's been years since… the last time. I'll be all right. And I have to be there. For Arthur and Owen and Cerys—and myself."

Even if it killed her.

For a time, Jon said nothing. He stared ahead, his brows drawn, deep in thought. "What if there was another way?"

She choked on her own saliva. "What?"

He closed his eyes. "I don't need to know everything that goes on in Winterfell. If someone were to enter the dungeons and give a prisoner some of the poison they keep on their person at all times, as an act of mercy…"

Caitie blanched. "You're not seriously suggesting—"

"I'm suggesting that you, as his daughter, give him a choice in his own death. You're right; he can't live. He shouldn't live, after the things he's done. But I don't want to behead him, if it's possible. I don't want to do that to you."

Caitie couldn't find a single word that would accurately portray her shock. "Weren't you just telling Sansa not to undermine you? I'm fairly sure that this fits the description."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

She had no argument, and though she hated herself for it, the idea of this other way settled the anxiety which had been churning in her gut. "But what does it say about me?" she asked softly, unable to meet his eyes. "What does it say that I don't want to watch my father's head roll? After everything he's done, he more than deserves it. So why does the thought of it make me sick?"

"Because you're a good person. A much better person than he is."

"I don't feel like one. I feel like I'm betraying Owen and Cerys."

"You're not. Owen and Cerys would say the same things as I am—because they loved you. I might not know much, but I do know that." He paused. Then, "You should see him. I didn't want to say anything, but I know you've been putting it off—"

"I've been busy helping to stabilize our kingdom."

"Aye, and I'm grateful for that. But he's going to die tomorrow, one way or another. And when he does, you shouldn't leave things unsaid."

Rendon Norrey sat on the damp, filthy floor of a tiny cell in the depths of Winterfell's dungeons. In the dead of night, the cold cut to the bone. She didn't think he would have lasted much longer down here, if he weren't about to die, anyway.

As Caitie approached, she lifted her torch and peered through the bars, but when she saw his face, she bit back a gasp. Never in her life had she seen her father look so disheveled. His face was gaunt and pale. His clothes were in tatters, and clumps of dirt clung to his matted hair. He sat hunched over, weak from days of hunger and lack of sunlight.

Staring at him in his pitiful state, Caitie wondered if he was afraid. She had never known her father to be afraid before, but there was a first time for everything.

Rendon squeezed his eyes shut as the light from her torch hit them. "Does it please you?" he asked, his voice strained from lack of use. "To see your father like this?"

"Not really," Caitie admitted. "But considering you're a kinslayer and a traitor, it could be worse."

Rendon scoffed and turned his head away from her. "Traitor," he spat. "I'm not the one who betrayed their house and their name for their selfish desires. I tried to stop it. I tried to mold you into something decent—something worthy. But you never listened, and neither did your brothers."

A hush fell over the cell. And as she stared at him, Caitie realized that for all her father's intelligence, he didn't know anything at all. "The funny thing is," she said, "you could have had worthy heirs. You could have had four loving children, willing to do whatever you asked of them, if you'd only bothered to know us, to care for the people we were, instead of the people you wanted us to be. But it was more important to show you had power, and now you've lost everything."

"It is a children's duty to obey their parents, not the other way around."

"And it's a parent's duty to protect and love their children. Speaking of which: Arthur. He's still at Norwood, and we've sent word, but we haven't received any response. Why?"

"How do you expect me to know what goes on in my keep when I'm sitting here in a dungeon?"

"You placed him under guard before you left to answer Ramsay's call. Am I right to assume you ordered your men to keep all ravens under lock and key?"

Her father didn't answer, but that was an answer in itself.

Caitie scoffed. "Why? What damage could Arthur possibly do by sending a few letters? What was the point?" But she knew the answer; it wasn't about the damage Arthur could do. It was just about control, as always. She didn't even know why she was asking such a question.

"You might not have killed me," Rendon said. "But your bastard king will, for you. And that makes you a kinslayer as much as I."

Before, his words might have cut her to the core, but now, with him in this little cell unable to do her any harm, Caitie saw his manipulation for what it was. Whether he was trying to convince her to free him, or merely trying to hurt her, she didn't know—but whatever the reason, it didn't matter. The power he'd wielded so easily over her thoughts and feelings had well and truly gone. He couldn't hurt her anymore. And with that knowledge, came freedom.

"No, it won't," she said. "But this might." Caitie reached into the pocket sewn into her cloak and drew from it a shiny new vial of the essence of nightshade. Maester Wolkan had looked at her like she'd suddenly grown two heads when she'd asked him for it, but he couldn't deny her request. And Caitie had to admit, she felt much safer knowing she would always have a supply around. "You know what this is?"

Rendon's eyes widened, then narrowed, but he didn't answer.

"You're going to be executed tomorrow at dawn; beheaded in front of every lord and lady at Winterfell, on the crimes of treason and kinslaying. I'm giving you a way out of that."

Her father's mouth fell open; Caitie didn't think she'd ever seen him so shocked. At least a minute passed before he finally found his voice. "Why? Isn't this what you want—to see your father humiliated?"

"You might get off on watching your enemies executed in humiliation. But I'm not you." And somehow, she found herself adding, "I don't want to see you die like that. And it's either here and now, alone in the privacy of your cell, or it's tomorrow morning, on your knees in front of a crowd."

"And what does your king have to say about this?"

Caitie almost told him that it had been Jon's idea, but she changed her mind almost instantly. If her father refused the poison and told someone—someone like Littlefinger—before he died, it would only spell trouble. Better the blame fall on her. "What the king doesn't know won't hurt him."

Rendon laughed hoarsely. "Well, I must say, I'm impressed. I didn't think you would betray the man you love for me."

She froze. How did he—

"I'm your father, Caitriona," he said, as if he could read her mind. "You might not believe it, but I know you better than you think." He shook his head, still chuckling. "The Queen in the North. I'd never have thought my legacy would be that of royalty."

Caitie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Even now, as he stared death in the face, all he could think about was who she married; how she could benefit his legacy. Perhaps she should be angry, but she simply wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Her father didn't know her, however much he professed such a thing. For even if Jon did feel the same way about her as she did him, she wouldn't be his queen. She would be terrible at it; she could hardly handle being the Lady of Norwood, as it was. And besides which, the best way for Jon to make an alliance would be to…

Well. She definitely didn't want to think about that.

Clearing her throat, she extended a hand and slid the small vial through the metal bars into her father's cell. "Will you take it?"

A part of Caitie expected him to refuse—and she didn't know what she would do if he did. But after a long moment of deliberation, her father leaned forward to take the vial from the ground. With a flick of his thumb, he uncapped it, tilted back his head, and drained it to the last drop. "How long?"

"I don't know, exactly." Her chest tightened, though she didn't know why. She wanted him dead, didn't she? Hell, she had even wanted to kill him, for he had killed the two people she had loved most in the world. He was a kinslayer and a murderer and he had hurt her and her family more times than she could count.

Caitie considered leaving, but her body would not comply with the order when her mind gave it. "Why did you do it?" she asked instead. "Ally with Ramsay?"

Rendon eyed her suspiciously, but he answered. "The boy was mad. He soon would've died; killed by Smalljon Umber or Harald Karstark for some slight or worse. And then who else could they turn to but me?"

"You thought you would have been Warden of the North?" Caitie asked skeptically. "I expected you to come up with a plan smarter than betting on a madman."

"Aye," he said, and his words were slightly slower than minutes earlier. "A… fatal mistake, it seems."

"Do you regret it?"

Rendon looked at her, and when their eyes met, they both realized the truth: that she was not talking about Ramsay.

"It was necessary."

"That's not what I asked."

He paused, his breaths growing even slower. "They were… my sons. Your mother's sons. But they… would have ruined us. They already had."

Caitie sighed. Cruel and unfeeling to the last.

"Yes," he said at last. "Sometimes… I do."

There was a weight to his words, even though they were nothing more than a murmur. It was so different from the man she'd known her whole life, for it bore none of his usual false charm, nor quiet undertones of cruelty. That was what the knowledge of death did, she supposed. It stripped a man bare to nothing but his regrets, his failures, and the truths he had concealed, even from himself.

She opened her mouth to say something—though she didn't know what—but before she had the chance, he rested his head against the bars of his cell, and blew out a long breath.

"Father?" she asked, but he gave no response. Tears swam in her vision, and she wanted to scream in frustration because this made no sense. She should have been happy that he could do her and her family no more harm. And yet, though she didn't know how to describe the strange clash of emotions rolling over her, she knew that happiness was not among them.

Relief, maybe. But not happiness.

With a shaking hand, Caitriona laid a finger on his neck to check for a pulse and found none. His skin was ice cold. He was dead, beyond a shadow of a doubt. The tears in her eyes overflowed as she sat there with her father's body, because even though she did hate him—everything he stood for, everything he had done—she mourned the man she wished he could have been, the father she and her brothers could have had, if only he had been the best version of himself instead of the worst.

Well, the season finale was leaked the other day, and any good things I had to say about HotD are dead, and I'm done. I was almost cone after the eleventh-hour miscommunication at the end of episode 8, and again after the awfulness that was episode 9 (ableism, misogyny, everything with Rhaenys), but I figured I'd stick it out since I've already gotten this far. And yet, somehow, it got even worse. I will say, I enjoyed the first 4 to 5 episodes—but 6 and onward were just terrible. And unlike seasons 7 and 8 of GoT, I'm not attached to any of the characters because they're all so poorly written. So, yeah. I won't be watching season 2 whenever it comes out, and any hope I had for the Jon Snow sequel has shriveled up and died.