Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fawn's Farewell
In the morning, it's clear that tossing and turning all night was a mistake, but despite my grogginess I manage to drag myself out of bed before sunrise. I'll bury my face in the snow if that's what it takes to keep myself alert, but I've gotten up earlier than this to avoid the Peacekeepers' notice when I ventured out beyond the fence to hunt back in Twelve.
I don't bother braiding my hair, just comb it quickly and pull myself together, fastening the mockingjay pin to my coat before hurrying outside. When I step out into the corridor, the courtyard is more awake than I am. Braziers and torches burning, banners waving in the wind, Baratheon soldiers talking amongst themselves as they're saddling their horses. This assuages some of my sleepy panic, though I grab a banister for strength and catch my breath. I'd almost convinced myself they'd be gone already, leaving early for a head start on the day.
Moving along the corridor, I scan the grounds for familiar faces. It's not bustling yet, but more and more soldiers fill the courtyards, creeping through passages and leading their horses toward the gathering area in front of the elevator. Even so, the cloak of deep red among a sea of black is hard to miss, particularly when she's standing near a brazier, illuminated by the firelight. Not wanting to get in the way of the army, I cross the walkway, cut through the passage under the rookery, and make it to the corridor in front of the dining hall for a better look.
Where there's Stannis, there's Melisandre, and apparently the reverse is the same. I see the king just a few feet from the Red Woman, exchanging words with a soldier as he secures his belongings on a horse's saddle. Someone moves, a head tilts, and I realize the soldier is Gale. The way Melisandre is looking at him, I should have guessed it. It's not just the hungry lynx stare, it's the same enthrallment I saw on her face the morning after Mance's execution. She's sizing him up as she did with me, perhaps assessing his usefulness as well as his body.
Stannis finishes giving one of his men an order and returns his attention to Gale. They appear to be talking to each other with ease, or at least Stannis is taking him seriously. More seriously than he does me. I don't know how long Gale got up before I did, but it comes as no surprise that it's barely first light and Stannis has already given him a horse to ride. A light scoff escapes my lips. Probably Melisandre didn't have any objections, I'm sure that was part of it...
As if hearing my thoughts, Melisandre's head turns abruptly and her firelit eyes locate mine. As her lips curve into a cryptic, complacent little half-smile, an image of Coin flashes in my mind. I force myself to maintain a cool expression, but dread floods through me as I am troubled by an epiphany. I have sent Gale to the Red Woman just as much as I have sent him to Shireen.
Shireen. I don't see her with Stannis, or anywhere in the courtyard. Not even with Davos or Selyse. I linger on the balcony, searching, watching as the Baratheon soldiers keep coming with their horses. When I search to my left, I see Jon exit the commander's quarters, and when my gaze shifts to the right, I spot Edd and Olly overseeing things from the elevator's platform.
Hopeful, and going on a feeling, I keep a discreet eye on Olly. He seems to be searching as well, with a determination he's trying to mask as casual. I follow his line of sight, but there's no sign of the princess. Disappointed, I scan the grounds again, until I come all the way back to the elevator. And then I catch Olly looking my way. His indifference fails, his composure flickers, and for a moment his solemn young face actually brightens. I'm bemused by his inexplicable delight until I notice he's looking past me, not at me. Turning, I glance in the direction of his stare.
Sam and Gilly are just leaving the maester's quarters, baby Sam in the latter's arms, as they escort Shireen to the courtyard. She descends the staircase, looking all around. Quickly, I fly down the nearest set of stairs and weave my way through men and horses to get to her.
She almost doesn't notice me, dutifully heading towards Selyse, but maybe my gruff "excuse me"s to the soldiers are distinct enough to capture her attention. Her head turns just before I call out to her, "Shireen!"
"Katniss!" she cries, as if it's been days and not hours since we saw each other. I hold out my arms, and she rushes into them, locking me into a tight embrace.
When we finally pull away, I smooth her hair, silently noting the thin but elegant braid. Her mother's delicate handiwork. Nice to know she cares enough to do that much. Brushing petty thoughts away, I move my hand to cup her cheek. "Glad I found you," I say.
Shireen smiles. "I wanted to say goodbye to Maester Aemon before we leave," she says, and lowers her voice to a hushed tone. "He's been so kind, and it might be the last I see him, after all. Sam and Gilly say he doesn't have long. Even a dragon's fire burns out." She looks sad for a second, then reverent and reflective. "I can't believe I got to meet a real Targaryen."
"Me neither," I say. She has a better grasp on the importance of Targaryens than I do, but I've known Aemon for about as long as she has, and he's definitely grown on me. He has the same friendly nature, gentle wisdom, and passion for learning as Shireen. I don't want to think about losing him any more than I want to think of losing her, so I'm debating making a Targaryen joke to lighten the mood when Selyse makes her way toward us through a path the Baratheon men have made for her in the crowd. She collects her daughter from me, informing us both that she still needs to ready her horse for the journey.
I go over and stand with Sam and Gilly, talking to them to keep myself awake. Little Sam is sound asleep and bundled up in a blanket, which I envy during this bitter cold morning, but I'm not going anywhere until I've seen Shireen off.
"Is that Gale?" Gilly asks, craning her head as she spots him conversing with another Baratheon soldier. "Is he going with them?"
"Yeah," I say tiredly, rubbing more sleep from my eyes. "I made him promise to watch over Shireen."
Sam acknowledges this with a hum. "That's one way to get rid of him," he says knowingly.
I manage a weak smile. That's right, I think to myself. Sending him off to war. Perfect solution. I try to ignore the small pang of guilt in my gut. He has experience, he has Beetee… If he doesn't want to make things up to me, he can leave this world. "It was the best compromise I could think of," I say after a moment.
Then Jon strides past us, swiftly crossing the courtyard, and comes up to Shireen and Selyse as they're saddling the princess's horse. He appears to be saying goodbye to them both, to Selyse respectfully, but mostly to Shireen. The princess beams at him happily, and Jon smiles back at her. She says something that makes him laugh, even look slightly embarrassed. I can't help but grin watching them together. As Lord Commander, Jon often has his hands full with training and other responsibilities, so seeing them interact directly is a treat I've only witnessed myself a handful of times.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Gilly asks.
"Oh, she's probably commending him again on his rendition of the Meadow song," I say proudly.
Sam blinks, looking intrigued at me. "Jon can sing?" He starts to smile.
"Shireen says he's pretty good," I say, laughing a little. I turn to him and Gilly, who's grinning too. "That also stays between us."
They both nod seriously; Gilly lowers her eyes to Little Sam and bites her lip in amusement.
Despite Selyse's thinly veiled distaste, she lets Jon finish his goodbyes to her daughter, which tells me Shireen is allowed company again. The sun's come up, though you could hardly tell through the layer of clouds in the wintry white sky, and they've opened the west gate to start letting riders out. It's almost time. When I look back and see that Jon has already moved along, I start heading over to Shireen – until something orange darts by in my peripheral vision.
Buttercup. Skulking past barrels and under wooden structures. Either he's tracking vermin or he's afraid of all the horses. Even though he spent the night in Shireen's room, I know it won't be a proper sendoff until Buttercup has gotten a few farewell pets from his princess. Resolute, I slip through the crowd and hunt him down, getting in a good chase but finally pouncing on him before he disappears into a crevice. He wriggles, but I hold fast and call him a few unflattering names under my breath as I bring him back with me. Only mentioning Shireen makes him calm down.
I'm almost halfway across the courtyard when I see Gale again, and he's talking to Jon. Another curse falls from my lips. I trust Jon, but the two of them engaging in any sort of conversation still makes me wary. Maybe he's just explaining where he's going, the deal we made. Whatever he's telling Jon, he does look resigned about it. And Jon… I can't quite read Jon's initial expression. Thoughtful? Conflicted? He looks away briefly, then meets Gale's eyes and squares his shoulders as he gives some sort of matter-of-fact response.
My curiosity won't stop eating me from the inside. I creep forward, meandering through the sea of soldiers while staying hidden, and strain to listen. Gale's talking again. My ears perk up at the mention of Peeta.
"—the same thing I would've told him," Gale's saying. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without. And she's made it clear she can survive without me."
His words send a chill running through my bones, inflicting a worse sting than the icy wind. As much as I insist that he doesn't know me anymore, I can't help feeling wounded on top of my indignation. That's what he would've said to Peeta? That if he had lived, I would decide between them by assessing what they had to offer me? Not love, not desire, not any kind of emotion to drive my choice, just a detached, analytical evaluation of their worth as a mate... How the hell did this even come up?
I glance at Jon, whose brow is now furrowed with heavy skepticism. He looks Gale up and down, pressing his lips together as if holding himself back from saying something.
"She lived through two Hunger Games. She was on her own beyond the Wall for days," Jon says at last. "She killed a bloody shadowcat. I think she can survive just fine without either of us."
Despite everything else that I heard, something stirs in my chest, and I feel my lips twitch into the tiniest of smiles. I didn't think I'd get a chance to see Jon tell him off like that.
"All the same," Gale says, after a short pause. "Take good care of her."
Jon regards him for a moment, says something I don't hear. My mind is buzzing as they shake hands, turning all external sounds into static noise. I'm unspeakably pleased at what Jon said in my defense, but the "either of us" part has sunk in and is throwing me into all sorts of disarray. Somehow, however their conversation started, it led to who I'd choose between the two of them. Once I get over my shock, it's unsettling how easy the choice is. There was never any question.
And then I realize that's partially what Gale is saying to him. In sending Gale away, I have picked Jon. By not leaving Castle Black, I have picked Jon.
Though there is a flaw to that argument. Jon knows I've already tried to leave with Stannis. In his eyes, I haven't picked him, I've just picked "Not Gale." And I have already attempted to survive without him.
What does it matter who I choose, anyway? Even if there was ever any competition. It's not my choice that's the issue, it's Jon's. For numerous reasons, I am not an option for him.
Unless… My eyes drift to Gilly, who knows about Benjen, and then to Sam at her side. Sam and Gilly, who know my secrets. Sam and Gilly, who still like me almost as much as they love each other. They're not married and never will be, but there they are, practically raising a child together. I wonder how long the Night's Watch will allow this.
Probably for as long as Jon Snow is Lord Commander…
Buttercup grows restless in my arms, so I dismiss these thoughts and gladly bring him to Shireen. I can't afford to ponder away our last hour.
As I approach the princess, who is still being monitored by her mother, I hold out the cat and say, "Look who braved the sea of horses to come say goodbye to you."
Her eyes brighten with joy. "Buttercup!" she exclaims, accepting him into her arms. "There you are!"
Selyse, as usual, is hardly impressed, though I will note she's looking at me with a bit less vitriol. "You carried him here," she points out.
I shrug, now that my arms are free. "To him, I'm worse than horses," I say.
For a second – maybe I'm so tired that I'm hallucinating – I think the corners of Selyse's mouth threaten to tug into a smile. Possibly this is one area where she and Buttercup can relate.
After cuddling Buttercup for a moment, Shireen gives a start like she's thought of something, and she adjusts him into one arm as she digs through a knapsack on her horse. "Here," she says, gingerly retrieving Peeta's medallion from one of the pockets. "I never gave this back to you last night."
I reach for it as she hands it out to me, but Selyse swiftly intercepts, inspecting it in her palm and then holding it up to the meager light like she thinks it's fake gold, or I've smuggled poison inside. "Perhaps you were too exhausted to remember, with her keeping you up so late singing her songs last night," she quips, clicking the locket open. Her brow furrows as she studies the pictures, then she makes a noise of feigned disinterest and snaps it closed before passing it over.
Deciding it's not worth engaging with her, I invest most of my attention in putting the medallion back on, but Shireen frowns. "I wasn't sure when I would get to hear them again," she says softly.
The fact that Selyse has got her daughter upset again annoys me, but I don't waste my time with a glare. In fact, I don't take my eyes off Shireen at all, even as I unpin the mockingjay from my coat. "I have something for you too," I say, and hold my palm outstretched for her to see.
Shireen draws in a breath, looking from the mockingjay to me in wonder. "Your pin…?" she says, setting Buttercup down so she can admire it.
"It's a tribute token," I explain. "It belonged to my mother's best friend, Maysilee Donner. Twenty-six years ago, she wore it into battle. Then it got passed down to her niece, my friend Madge, and she asked me to wear it for her when I went into battle." Placing it in her palm, I fold her fingers over it. "Will you wear it for me? When you and your father take back Winterfell?"
She nods, taking it and fastening it to her cloak, then lifts her chin and lets a smile return to her face. "Mockingjays can imitate any human melody, can't they?" she says. "It will be like keeping your songs with me."
I smile too. "Exactly," I say. "I wish I could give you the real bird, but you don't have any in Westeros. And they're not really meant to be caged." Jokingly, I add, "Now, I could give you Buttercup…"
"Oh, no," Shireen says, although she looks at him wistfully. "I think he'd miss you too much, and you would miss him. He's Ser Buttercup, remember? You'll still need him to be your protector." She looks thoughtful, entirely missing the snort I manage to cover up. "Besides, I don't think he'd do well with traveling that far. Not in the cold weather."
I could mention the fact that Buttercup came all the way home from Thirteen to Twelve in the winter, but I decide against it, remembering the claw marks and the big thorn in his paw. Even if they carried him, I'm not sure I want to find out how many of those cold, perilous journeys he can withstand. "You're right, he should probably stay here," I concede.
Selyse glances down at the little furball in question. "Likely, it's for the best," she says. "As Shireen is well aware, when we were besieged at Storm's End, her father and his men were known to eat cats in times of hunger."
As if understanding her, Buttercup gives a low, tentative growl.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," says Davos, joining us. "He probably tastes even worse than he looks."
I laugh, and Davos beams back at me with the self-satisfied eye twinkle of a father who knows he's made a good joke. It occurs to me that I may miss him almost as much as Shireen.
Sighing, the princess takes Buttercup into her arms again and strokes his fur. "They're so mean to you," she says, engulfing him in a protective hug. He starts purring so loud I can hear him above the clamor in the courtyard. Somehow, I think he'll get over it. Still, she looks at me and adds, "Promise you'll be nicer to him after I'm gone."
"For you, princess… maybe," I say, and give him a quick scratch behind the ear.
It's a small gesture, but it's enough to satisfy Shireen. As Selyse walks off to fetch her own horse, Shireen sets Buttercup back down and promptly hugs me next. "I'll miss you, Katniss," she says. "I'm glad you came to Castle Black when you did."
I take a moment to register what she's saying, and suddenly the full weight of it hits me hard. All the worlds I could've come to, all the places and moments in time, and I wound up here at the same time as Shireen. Arriving here the day after she and her father's army did. Now I can't imagine wanting that portal to take me anywhere else. This is where I was meant to be.
My eyes find Melisandre in the crowd. She's talking to Jon, which unsettles my nerves all over again, so I clutch Shireen closer for security.
"Maybe the Lord of Light made it so," I say half-jokingly, though inwardly I murmur a silent "thank you" to Benjen Stark, wherever he is. Cupping a hand behind her head, I give her the most composed and confident smile I can muster. "Next time we see each other, it'll be at Winterfell."
"The Songbird of Winterfell," Shireen says dreamily. "I think that has a nice ring to it."
Absently, I straighten the mockingjay pin on her cloak. "You'll be the songbird until then," I say, then press my lips to her forehead and embrace her again. I wouldn't try such a familiar gesture in front of Selyse, but I doubt Davos will object. Sure enough, when I draw back and turn to him, he's just giving us that same look from last night, the bittersweet understanding that smooths his brow and crinkles at his eyes. Probably this is something he didn't get to see much of in Dragonstone. Shireen, with any kind of playmate or companion besides Maester Cressen or her family's fool. Another reason I am relieved that Gale is going. In an attempt to get my mind off that, I try for a grin and say, "Unless Ser Davos thinks he can fill in for me."
Davos gives a light snort. "If these men wanted torture, they'd sooner surrender themselves to the Boltons," he says under his breath. I laugh, but we must both simultaneously realize the darkness of the remark, because he doesn't miss a beat in adding, "Anyway, they'll probably be singing the songs themselves all the way to Winterfell. Don't think I'm going to get 'Oh My Darling, Clementine' out of my head anytime soon."
I break into a grin. "Trust me, you won't," I say, remembering how my father good-naturedly complained of the same thing. He said his mother used to sing the chorus of that one on the regular, whenever she was feeling cheerful. Odd, considering it's yet another song sung by my grandmothers that involves drowning. "Apparently, I'm lucky I'm not named after a fruit."
"Clementine Everdeen," Davos says thoughtfully, and we both make a face. "Never thought I'd meet anyone grateful to be named after a swamp potato."
Shireen and I both laugh. "No, I like Katniss better," she says with a smile.
"Me too," he agrees, grinning at her.
I find myself flashing back to my first day here, when Davos approached Sam, Gilly, and me at the mention of my name. His tale of smuggling the plant into Storm's End to feed Stannis and his men. Such a simple connection, and yet I think we instantly trusted each other because of it. He has a warmth to him that I'll be sad to see leave Castle Black, but at least he'll be with Shireen. My heart sinks as I notice more soldiers leaving through the gate.
"Safe travels, Ser Davos," I say, earning a nod from him. "And you, Princess."
They notice the same thing I have and murmur their goodbyes. Buttercup chimes in with his own, so I pick him up as Davos helps Shireen onto her horse, and I lift him up to her as she gladly gives the old cat one last forehead kiss and a good long chin and ear scratch. This draws out until my arms start to get tired. Not long after I lower him to the ground, I hear Gale's voice from within close range.
"Hey, Buttercup, do I get a goodbye?" he says, and I turn on my heel. The tone he's used sounds half-joking, but the look on his face as he stares down at Buttercup is almost hopeful.
In response, Buttercup stares back for half a second, then flicks his tail at him and bolts away. A cold dismissal on its own, the cat takes it a step further. He slinks through the sea of horse and soldier feet untrampled and makes a beeline straight for Jon, cutting him off as he's trying to cross the courtyard. Jon stops short, startled, as Buttercup threads through his legs, rubbing up against them repeatedly each time he tries to take a step so the man can hardly go anywhere.
Gale watches all of this with an odd flavor of chagrined amusement. "You've got to be kidding me," he mutters.
Having seen the whole thing, Shireen's downright giggling and so am I, but for an added reason. Buttercup's vindictive side is actually pretty funny when it's not directed towards me. "I think Jon's in need of rescuing," Shireen comments, pressing her lips into a contained grin.
"I've got him," I say, still laughing. But I haven't gone more than a few strides before Jon makes it to the staircase and Buttercup hops onto a sturdy spot on the wooden railing. Jon stops, chuckles a little, and concedes in giving Buttercup what he wants – a short but affectionate head rub, with the latter arching and headbutting his glove for more.
I'm dumbstruck. The cat can't be smart enough to put on this kind of performance. I didn't even think he liked males – or, well, anyone besides Prim or Shireen. Maybe he's seen Jon being nice to her. Maybe I've missed out on witnessing some crucial Jon and Buttercup bonding moments in the last couple of weeks. There's no way this is the first. Jon's too patient, Buttercup too willing. Or maybe Jon just has the added bonus of never having attempted to drown him.
I shake my head, turning away as Jon climbs the staircase and Buttercup meows after him. I go over to Gale, who's been watching too. "Should've seen that coming," he says.
"You really should've," I tell him.
"Like cat, like owner."
"Y— hey!" I say loudly. Selyse gives me a look as she and one of the soldiers guide her horse past us, sobering me immediately. Her disapproval moves to Davos, but I'm sure I'm included when she declares that Shireen has heard enough talk of battles for one morning. I smile as Shireen gallantly promises to protect him on the battlefield, but my smile fades as I see Selyse mount her horse.
"Guess it's time," Gale says, seeing the same thing.
"Guess so," I say. He's probably gunning for a goodbye, but that only reminds me he already got one from someone. "Good talk with Jon earlier?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
He doesn't bat an eye. "Saw me saddling up, so I filled him in. Plus, I had a favor to ask," he answers. Before I can press him further about the favor, he adds, "Don't worry, we kept it civil. And I didn't tell him anything else about the Games."
"Doesn't matter, I told him the rest last night," I reply. "He knows everything now."
Gale pauses. "Everything?" he says, giving me a skeptical look.
I try to glare, but it comes out halfhearted. "Almost everything," I say begrudgingly.
A meager chuckle from Gale. "Don't drag it out too long, Catnip," he says. "He's a good guy. Or at least he must be, if you of all people can look past the name Snow." Then he gives me a long look. "You love him?"
My face flushes hot with protest, but there is no point sputtering to the contrary. He's riding to war. The least I can do is be honest with him.
"Trying not to," I whisper.
Gale looks at me longer, his expression unreadable. "That's the difference, then," he says, and shakes his head as a quiet scoff escapes his lips. "You've never had to try not to fall in love with someone before."
I clutch my medallion, upset, and hold it to my heart. It stings to think he may be right. My unfeeling "I know" to his declaration of love in the concrete house by the lake. My handling of the relationship with Peeta, from Games to engagement, as little more than a survival strategy for us both. Even his most recent allegation that I would've gone about choosing between them in a pragmatic way rather than emotional.
My mother didn't run off with a coal miner because that was the rational thing to do. Certainly not because he had more to offer her than Mr. Mellark, or she could extend her longevity if she moved to the Seam. What my father offered her was love and music, and until he died, there was a lot of it in our house.
I wonder if she ever tried not to love him, the poor, hunting coal miner who sang his Covey songs and enchanted even the birds with his voice. If she thought it would be safer to live out her days in the merchant sector, working in the apothecary shop with her parents or becoming the baker's wife. Obviously, if she did, it didn't work out.
But it didn't end well for them, either.
"Well, good luck with that," Gale says, turning to his horse. "If it makes you feel any better, he's trying not to either. Though I have to say, neither of you are doing a very good job."
"We've been over this. He's not in love with me," I say, folding my arms petulantly.
Gale rolls his eyes with a doubtful snort. "He almost stopped talking to me in mid-sentence to watch you chase after Buttercup."
My cheeks burn even hotter in dismay. They saw that? Great. That's not Jon being in love, that's just the Lord Commander witnessing a comical performance. The kind of thing you can't tear your eyes away from, like drunk Haymitch falling off the stage at the reaping. I must've looked like a complete idiot. Thanks, stupid cat.
Gale's doing last checks on his supplies, pack and crossbow slung around his shoulder, securing a satchel on his saddle, when I tune back in and grab his shoulder. "Jon's not the one I want you worrying about," I say when he turns around. "From now on, it's Shireen." I look him in the eye and drop my voice to a whisper again. "Remember, whatever it takes. Stay with her. You have your way of contacting Beetee?"
He takes out his earpiece and waves it a little in answer.
"Good. If you need anything, just ask. It all comes out of my victor's winnings," I tell him. "Peeta's, too."
Gale frowns thoughtfully. I remember how he reacted last year when he thought I was giving him Peeta's old gloves. A couple of months after I returned to Twelve, I found out that before Peeta went into the Quarter Quell, he'd written a letter and a will. What remained of his winnings after his donation to the families of the fallen tributes, he wanted to be given to his own family, and to mine as well. His family is dead, and so are a few tributes' families, so the rest belongs to me. Some of it, I've already given to my mother to help her fund the hospital in Four, but there's still more than enough for a Westeros fund. The point is that it's mine, and Shireen can't afford for Gale to be petty.
If that was his initial reaction, he recovers smoothly with a small nod and a wry half-smile. "Got any other last words for me before we go?"
I consider, then the corner of my mouth twitches to mirror his. "Stay alive?" I offer.
Gale actually laughs. "That might just be the nicest thing you've said to me," he says, and stops there, but we both know how the rest of that sentence is supposed to go. Since the war. Since Prim.
It's what keeps me from hugging him goodbye, even though I wonder if I should. He and Shireen are going into an arena together. Unlike most years' Games, it's possible for them both to come out alive. Gale has lived through one war already, and with this one, he has more advanced tools and weapons available to him than the enemy does. The odds are in his favor. But I can't ignore the bad feeling that lingers over me like a dark cloud.
I can, however, ignore the urge to hug him tight just in case. If I don't give in to that feeling, I deny that there is a "just in case." I deny that the risk he's taking is so great, my fear for him overpowers my grudge. The moment I hug him, I show him that I am afraid. That a part of me isn't convinced he can keep himself alive, let alone Shireen.
Instead, I try to convey it with a glance. We can save any potential embraces for reunions, when I see them both again. When Shireen is safe and sound at Winterfell. Only then will I consider it.
He reads it and understands, putting his earpiece back in his ear. "Oh, and before I forget, there's one more thing Beetee wanted me to tell you," he says. "He got an update from Paylor. They found a copy of the 10th Games."
The words barely register for a few seconds. "What…?" I breathe, a ripple of excitement and disbelief coursing through me with a shudder. "How? Where?"
This is historic. The rediscovery of the 10th Games. No other Hunger Games year has been erased so meticulously. I have never seen reruns of it, and the few people still living who were old enough to remember have nothing to say about it. Greasy Sae told me no one really watched the Games until the year after, and the few televisions they had in Twelve had terrible reception, but I've always suspected there's got to be more to it than that.
"Well, not a copy. The original," Gale amends. "They found it in a vault. Belonged to an old Head Gamemaker, Dr. Volumnia Gaul. They've already started making new copies of it. Beetee requested one as soon as they were available. He and Paylor thought you might want to see it."
"We had our first victor that year. Of course I want to see it," I say impatiently.
"No, but it's more than that, Katniss, it's who she was to you," Gale insists.
Who she was to me…? I furrow my brows, searching Gale's eyes. "Who was she?" I ask, nervousness fluttering in my chest like wings in the ravens' pens.
Leaning in close, Gale lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: "Lucy Gray Baird."
Again, my breath hitches in my throat. "Lucy Gray?" I repeat, dumbfounded. "Like my grandmother's Lucy Gray? The one who—"
"—disappeared?" Gale finishes for me, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully.
It's like a light finally goes on in my head, illuminating the pieces I've never managed to put together. Yes, I know my grandmother had a cousin who went missing or was killed when she was a teenager. I know nobody ever found a body. I know the Covey stopped performing not long after, when Grandma Maude was about nine years old. Yes, that would've been during the year of the 10th Games, but I never thought about it long enough to make the connection.
"What happened? What'd she do?" I demand. She must've infuriated the Capitol in an unfathomable way for them to want to hide all evidence of it. It would explain why she was never seen again. The Capitol could've easily killed her and hid the body. But then again, that makes no sense to me. Even if they didn't care about their victors back then, if they hated her enough to kill her, wouldn't they have killed her family too? I had an answer, but now I just have more questions.
"Not her. Her mentor," Gale says, and his features crinkle in a way that I can't tell if he's disgusted or inexplicably amused. Perhaps a combination of the two. "Remember Tigris, from the shop with the furs? Paylor and Plutarch talked to her, turns out she's Snow's cousin. She's the one who gave them the tip about Dr. Gaul. Apparently that year, just that year, the students at the Academy in the Capitol were assigned to be mentors to each tribute. Only it didn't work out so well. Mentors and tributes died before the Games even started. A murder at the zoo, a bombing in a tour of the arena, kids shot as they tried to escape…" Gale's brow creases in disgust; I'm guessing he's seen it already. "But the final straw was when one of the mentors cheated and smuggled things into the arena to help his tribute win." He pauses here for effect, and locks eyes with me. "The District Twelve girl's mentor, a student by the name of Coriolanus Snow."
A chill of horror seeps through my blood. I clutch Gale's horse's saddle to steady myself. "No," I say, shaking my head hard. "No."
Because I did not just hear "District Twelve girl" and "Coriolanus Snow" used in the same sentence. And I did not hear that he used drastic measures to ensure she lived. Snow would've been eighteen that year, but I can't picture him that young and I don't want to. Nor do I want to comprehend the reasons why he would save Lucy Gray's life. There had to be something in it for him. Glory? So much for that, after the erasure of the Games. But if not glory, then…
"Tigris said Lucy Gray caught his eye from the moment she sang her song at the reaping," Gale says. "She said he'd visit her at the zoo where they kept the tributes, and she saved his life when the rebels bombed the arena. Said there was even a goodbye kiss before she went in."
I clap a hand over my own mouth almost protectively as a shiver runs up my spine, unable to picture anything but the older Snow's puffy lips. Now I'm forced to live with the knowledge that he kissed my own blood relative, as if I don't have enough night terrors thanks to him!
"So when he got busted for cheating and was forced to be a Peacekeeper, he specifically requested to be sent to Twelve," Gale continues. "Tigris said she knows he was with her that summer, even saw her perform, because their musician friend had mentioned that Snow had asked him to send instrument strings for her. Then he came back to the Capitol at the end of August for a Gamemaker's internship and he refused to talk about her after that." Pausing, Gale gives me a look. "Tigris figured they had some sort of falling out. Up until she sent a letter to one of his Peacekeeper buddies and he told her she'd disappeared."
He shifts his gaze to the west gate, where a steady stream of Baratheon soldiers has been trickling out.
"Anyway, I guess it runs in the family, but… turns out you're not District Twelve's first songbird to fall in love with a Snow," he says softly. Glancing back to me for only a second, he takes in my staggered expression before turning back to his horse and preparing to hoist himself up. "The footage is on the projector."
I'm so stunned, I don't even remember if we said goodbye to each other. I just remember Gale climbing on his horse and me slowly backing away. Luckily turning around before I bumped into anyone. I head for the dining hall staircase, mind racing with thousands of thoughts. My eyes drift up to a balcony and find Jon talking to Stannis, and I breathe out a sigh. It's still too early for this.
Yes, a few things run in the Baird family. The dark hair, the nose, the ability to carry a tune. And then there are the things that connect me with Lucy Gray, like winning the Hunger Games… falling for a man named Snow… and, not to mention, vanishing off the face of Panem.
The thing is, I know how I disappeared. I know what happened to me. But what the hell happened to her?
I have my suspicions, and obviously so does Gale, but I'll talk to Beetee about it later. After Stannis's army leaves. For now, I nod to Sam and Gilly, then take to the stairs and start climbing. Best to get out of the courtyard while the soldiers are trying to leave, and I should have a decent last view of Shireen, Davos, and Gale from up here.
Stannis descends the steps as I'm going up, so we pass each other along the way. "Safe travels, Your Grace," I say, for the sake of being polite.
Pausing, he gives me a nod of acknowledgment. "Did you say goodbye to Shireen yet?" he asks after a moment.
"Yes, a few minutes ago," I say. "Buttercup did too."
His mouth twitches slightly – you couldn't even call it a half-smile, probably more like a quarter – and he scoffs, but it doesn't sound entirely scornful. "Good."
I hold his gaze, wanting to say more. To tell him that he has a wonderful daughter and he's raised her well, that I'm glad to have known them and I think she'll make a terrific queen someday. But even if the words could come, I don't want to force a king to stand there listening to me gush. Then I see the first night's pyre in his eyes, the memory of Mance burning at the stake, and that wipes all thoughts of praise from my mind and I have to look away. Stannis tromps the rest of the way down the steps as I come up onto the platform. Glancing over at me, Jon moves aside to make room next to him, even though there's space behind him on the other side of the stairs. When I join him, he offers a faint sympathetic smile before turning his stare back to the courtyard.
"You alright?" he asks.
It takes what little energy I have not to snort. I wonder what he's seeing most prominently. The bags under my eyes from little sleep, the haunted look from finding out I'm not the first in my family to be attracted to a Snow, or the grief from having to stand here and watch almost helplessly as Shireen Baratheon rides for Winterfell, leaving me and Castle Black behind.
"I'll be fine," I say, and lean forward on the banister to watch.
As Stannis walks up to his horse, I spot Melisandre next to him on hers, and she's looking this way. That same piercing red stare that tells me she knows things she shouldn't. Briefly I debate going back down there and putting this to good use. Maybe her Lord of Light knows what happened to Lucy Gray.
But then, beside me, Jon awkwardly straightens his posture, and I see Melisandre's lips form a smirk. Oh, so she was looking at him. Or they were staring at each other. Remembering the two of them had their own little goodbye in the courtyard, I try not to bristle. Her subsequent eyebrow raise of amusement before she turns her gaze ahead tells me I've failed.
Annoyed, I search for Shireen. The soldiers are moving out and I don't want to miss one last goodbye before she leaves. I won't let the Red Woman take that from me.
After a few seconds, her sleek black horse catches my eye. Yes, there she is. And Gale has ridden up next to her. They appear to be talking to each other. Gale's holding onto his reins with one hand and gesturing in some way with the other. Shireen's smiling at him, nodding. Whatever he's saying, she seems to be agreeing with it.
As the horses in front of them start moving again, Selyse, Shireen, and Gale begin to follow. But before they head through the gate, Gale and Shireen both glance over their shoulders and find me on the balcony. Without hesitation, Shireen frees her left hand and touches her three middle fingers to her lips before holding it out to me. Gale deliberates for half a second and then echoes the salute.
Tears spring to my eyes, and despite my best efforts a choked sound wrenches its way out of my closed throat. Jon looks at me in concern, but I can't form any words. Pressing my fingers against my trembling lips, I send it back in their direction.
Shireen beams with pleasure, passing her proud smile on to Gale. He says something to her in praise, then gives me one last unreadable look before they both face forward and follow Selyse out the gate.
I feel Jon staring at me again, so I attempt to speak. "It's a gesture from our district," I say, luckily not sounding too watery. "Gale must've just taught it to her…"
"What does it mean?" Jon asks.
Angling my head away slightly, I sneak a discreet wipe at my eye. "It, uh… it means thanks, or admiration. Or goodbye, to…" I trail off there, chewing on my lip as my mind finishes the rest for me. To someone you love.
We watch silently as Shireen, Gale, and the last of the bannermen ride out and join the stream of Baratheon soldiers that winds along the wintry path just outside Castle Black. Soon, the doors will close behind them, but it will take even longer for this to feel real.
"He still loves you, you know," Jon says.
The words circle my tired brain for a few seconds, not sticking, only disorienting, as I'm unsure what to make of them. "Does he?" I say, squinting out beyond the courtyard as the steady trail of soldiers marches on.
Then, realizing, I turn to look at him. Dare to meet his eyes, as they search mine. And there's really nothing more to say, I've just made it plain.
Apparently satisfied with what he's found, Jon faces forward again. But at once, I start to wrinkle my nose. No, I don't think we're done here. As long as we're bringing up weird, tension-filled goodbyes… "What were you and the Red Woman talking about?" I ask. "Earlier."
He hesitates, sends a momentary glance my way, then resumes overlooking the courtyard. "She wants me to bring you to Hardhome," he answers. "Gale said the same. Said I'd need you."
My suspicion subsides. Most of it, anyway. Of course, that must be the greater purpose she was talking about. "Well, what do you say?" I ask. "I mean, I don't want you to feel like they're just inviting me along for you..."
"Would you want to go?" Jon ventures. "It's a bit of a journey north, and I know you said you would rather go south."
"In the long run," I say. "In this case, it's not a matter of north or south, it's a matter of north or Thorne." Jon gives a quiet scoff of laughter, but I add, "Put it this way, most of the people who like you are going with you. Who does that leave with us?" I gesture down to Sam and Gilly.
Jon strokes his beard, considering. "It would be best to still have someone here," he says slowly, "who can protect Sam and Gilly and ensure the gate opens when we return. But I think..." he pauses, throwing a glance my way, "I would be more comfortable if you came with me."
A smile creeps across my lips. "Hardhome it is, then," I agree. "When would we be leaving?"
"Ideally within a fortnight. Should give us enough time to prepare for the journey," says Jon. "Normally we would go north through the Wall and get there in a week, but we'll need ships to evacuate all the wildlings. Stannis's are waiting for us near Eastwatch-by-the-sea. It's a four, five-day ride there, and then it could take over a week to sail to Hardhome. The Bay of Seals can be difficult to cross in autumn." He lifts his eyebrows at me. "You sure you're up for it?"
I shrug. "Sounds doable."
Jon's mouth twitches with some amusement. "Hardhome it is, then," he repeats, and watches as the men begin to close the gate.
From up here, we still get a good view of the departing army, the faint yellow banners with the Baratheon's stag sigil fluttering in the distance, but when the doors slam shut, there's a finality to it. A thud that reverberates in my chest.
There she goes, it seems to say. This world's little duck. The little fawn.
Suddenly, I am thankful for the chance to get away. For a couple of weeks, I will feel her absence in Castle Black, a place I've only known with her in it. Then we'll leave for Hardhome, and at least it will give me something else to think about. A mission for me to redirect my focus. And, if I'm being honest with myself, an excuse to spend a little more time with Jon before the proverbial moment of truth.
Assuming the Red Woman is to be believed, I may serve some sort of purpose at Hardhome. Unification, it sounds like. If I do end up proving useful there, perhaps Jon will be more forgiving when I tell him about his uncle.
If he isn't, well…
Sighing, I avert my eyes from the shrinking line of soldiers and push myself away from the banister. "Better go feed the ravens," I say, drifting behind him and heading across the walkway towards the courtyard passage.
As I make my way towards the maester's quarters, a stanza from one of the Baird family's favorite songs kicks to the surface of my memory and sears into my brain. As clear and sweet and unignorable as if it were my father's voice, singing it in my ear.
"You yet may spy the fawn at play
The hare among the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen."
A/N: Thanks to all faves, follows, and (re)views! I know this is another long one. Hopefully I can start to cut them down now, though I make no promises for Hardhome. ZainR: Glad you liked the incorporation of All is Found! The Musgraves/Hound & Fox ones just sound Covey to me.