Chapter Eighteen: The Lord Commander

"Congratulations," I say, then briefly glance around and lower my voice. "From Lord Stark to Lord Commander. Big day for you."

"Just Lord Commander," Jon replies. "I told Sam even before the election that I intend to refuse Stannis's offer."

I stare at him uncomprehendingly. "You're going to say no to him?" It takes all my willpower to bite my tongue, but I'm sure the words I want to say are written all over my face. Remember what happened to the last man who did that.

Jon must read facial expressions the way that Sam reads books, because he gives me that same look I caught earlier when I was fleeing Melisandre. Knowing, yet full of caution, and warning me to be the same. But it's Sam who answers for him. "It's part of our vows," he says. "Hold no lands, wear no crowns, win no glory. We honor kings, but we need not obey them."

Of course, it all comes back to the damn vows. I guess it makes sense, though. It would be pretty hard to be Lord of Winterfell and a three-hundred-mile-long Wall at the same time. And I can't fault him for wanting to keep his word, even if it means he's stuck being a Snow for the rest of his life. Considering that and all the other sacrifices he's committed to make, I just hope that commanding the Night's Watch is worth it.

"Gilly, maybe you'll want to take Little Sam?" Jon says. "I need to talk to Katniss alone about something."

As I hand Little Sam over to his mother, I can't help but recognize the irony here. For once, I root for a Snow to gain power, and his first act as Lord Commander is to reprimand me. I brace myself but follow him for a few yards, glancing over my shoulder to see Sam and Gilly whispering and watching us.

When we're far enough away, he stops and turns to face me. "Speaking of Stannis…"

I wince. "Yeah, I saw that coming…"

"You were seen by some of his men," Jon says. "Some witnessed you leaving the burning moments before I did. Thought I killed Mance because watching him burn was too much for you."

This earns an eyeroll from me. Of course, why would anyone want to end a wildling's suffering? Not because they're a human being or anything. No, because a delicate little lady spectating decides she finds the victim's screams upsetting. The thought irritates me, makes me feel like some Capitol citizen weeping over her very favorite tribute.

"Others said they saw you return with a bow and arrow and attempt to shoot Mance yourself," Jon continues. "They thought we conspired to kill him together."

"That's stupid," I say. "It only takes one arrow, and one person with the guts to fire it."

"Stannis said the same thing." He studies my face, brows furrowed. "It's true, then? You were going to do it."

I shrug, still unsure of that myself. "I don't know. I hesitated, and you beat me to it," I say. "It was my first night here and I didn't want to do anything that might put you in an awkward position. Though, yes, I realize that by not doing anything, I indirectly ended up doing that anyway. The Red Woman already pointed that one out to me."

He shakes his head. "My duty to the Night's Watch protected me from Stannis. It wouldn't have protected you."

"How much trouble am I in?" I ask, remembering Davos's maimed hand.

"Not as much as you would've been," Jon assures me. "But I think he still wants to speak with you."

I give a sigh of resignation, puffing stray windblown hair out of my face. "Well, if he didn't after the song, he'll definitely want to, now." I lift my gaze, which is immediately drawn to the King's Tower. "An audience with the king, huh? So much for keeping a low profile. I was kind of hoping to attract as little attention to myself as possible."

Jon glances around the courtyard before turning his attention back to me. His eyes crinkle with sheepish sympathy. "I get the feeling you would've had trouble with that, regardless."

"How do you figure?" I ask, instantly wanting to conjure up some sort of protective forcefield. What Melisandre sees in me – can he already see it too? The coldness, the impulsiveness, the inability to take orders?

"The Night's Watch has a hundred men," Jon says matter-of-factly. "And you're…" he hesitates, probably counting in his head, "one of the only four women here."

While I appreciate that he excluded Shireen, I still make a face at the point he's making. "So?" I complain, wary at the thought of a hundred men leering at me day in and day out. "Why don't they just look at… Melisandre or something?"

"They do. But she's terrifying," says Jon.

"And I'm not?" I say, crossing my arms defensively.

Jon does his best to hide a smile. "You have a cat named Buttercup."

"Prim named him that!" I say, and groan in despair. I never should have talked to the little brute in front of him. "Where is that cat, anyway…"

"Probably hunting for mice and rats around the castle," Jon offers. "He'll find no shortage of them here."

"Well, he better pace himself, I—" A sudden growl followed by a hiss cuts me off, and I instinctively jerk my heard toward the source.

My heart jumps into a frenzy at the sight of Buttercup about forty feet away, rearing back and swinging a paw at Ghost, whose curious nose has brought him too close for comfort. The direwolf backs off for a second, then gives a clipped little bark and imitates the paw swing, purposefully missing Buttercup's head. Is he playing with him?! Buttercup doesn't seem to think so. He yowls a bit in warning and emits another hiss.

"Hey!" I yell, snapping my fingers at him. "Tough guy! You're new here – don't pick fights with animals that are bigger than you!"

"Ghost!" Jon calls, motioning with one hand. "To me!"

Ghost obeys but looks back as Buttercup flees in the opposite direction. He tilts his head and makes a deep, confused sort of sound that's like a low whine, before padding over to beg consolatory ear rubs from Jon. Sometimes, I legitimately cannot believe that this animal is real.

"Sorry," Jon says.

"It's okay, I'm sure Buttercup started it." I glance past the dining hall, in the direction of the kitchens. "I'd better go hunt too. Told Hobb I'd bring back something today in time for supper, and maybe Stannis will go easier on me if I'm helping to keep his army fed."

"That's probably a good idea," Jon agrees. "Whatever puts him in a better mood, because you know I'll have to refuse him soon."

I suck in air through my teeth with a sympathetic grimace. "It's a shame I can't go first," I say, and give Ghost a quick affectionate scratch before I head off to fetch my bow and quiver. Then, throwing a look over my shoulder, I add, "Good luck with that, Lord Commander."

He scoffs good-naturedly, but I can tell he enjoys the title a whole lot better than Lord Snow.

Castle Black's main hunting grounds lay beyond the Wall, so they send me out through the north gate again. I'm not worried. Now that Jon's the new Lord Commander, I'm sure I'll be let back in. Though I do wonder when I'll get the chance to travel farther south, I already noticed from our elevator ride up the Wall that there's not nearly as much forest on that side of it as there is on the north. Besides, I've already got a feel for these woods.

But hunting isn't my only reason for venturing out alone again. Once I'm far enough in, obscured by the trees, I reach out to Beetee. It's been a while since I checked in, considering there's not really a good place in Castle Black to appear like I'm talking to myself. I'm not even sure I want to risk it in my room just yet. Hunting, gathering, and fishing trips will be my best bet when it comes to keeping in contact with Panem, and I do want to hear what he thinks so far.

It takes him a few minutes to get back to me, so I set up snares until I hear the click of him connecting to my earpiece. He's pleased to learn that I'm settling in all right, and thanks me for the footage I've gotten so far, fantastically impressed with the view from the top of the Wall and the books in the library that don't exist in our world. They should be a great resource in learning more about Westeros and its history, so he advises me to use them as able. But he's also just as disturbed as I am about the burning from last night, though still intrigued by my encounter with the Red Woman.

"What about Melisandre, do you think she's a threat?" Beetee asks calmly.

"I don't know," I admit, walking as I talk while keeping my voice low so as not to scare off game. "She seems more obsessed than antagonizing."

"She's a very interesting woman," he agrees.

Something about the way he says that makes me roll my eyes. "She knows you're watching. Did you hear that part?" I say, shrugging my quiver more securely onto my shoulder. "Anyway, now that Jon's the Lord Commander, she's probably less likely to try anything."

Upon learning of Jon's election win, Beetee makes a small sound of approval. "In other words, you trust him to keep you safe," he says lightly.

Again with the weird tone. "Well, yeah," I say. "He's a good guy. He just has an unfortunate name."

Beetee chuckles appreciatively. "I ask because I can now pinpoint your general location with the map I've made of the world so far," he explains. "I'm still working on making it a two-way trip, but for now, I believe I may be able to send you things. Parachutes, if you will. Food, weapons, whatever you need. As long as it can fit through the portal."

He wants to test it now, he only needs a reliable landmark or clear location to send it to that I've been to before. Despite my initial dismay, we agree to send it to that creepy tree with the face that's not too far north of here. Less chance of it falling into the water at the lake. Besides, if he releases it into some random spot in the woods, even if it is loud enough for me to hear and track down, that means it's loud enough for others to hear, humans and game alike.

I make my way to the tree, keeping an eye out for animal tracks or signs of life in these woods. Or death, now that I think about it. Just because the dead can't pass through the Wall doesn't mean they won't wander far enough south to try. But save for some promising bird calls, it seems to be all clear. Then I come to the clearing with the tree and look up, searching the skies.

It appears in the air like trails of mist thickening into fog, bringing with it the telltale chime that signals its arrival. A bundle glides down to me, its silver parachute catching on the tree's red leaves to slow its descent. The chime is distinctive in these silent woods, but it sounds like a song. I'll have to hope that anyone who hears it mistakes it for a new kind of bird chirp. I free the parachute from the leaves as carefully as possible, since for some reason harming this particular tree feels irreverent. Maybe it's haunted. You never know with this world.

Inside the bundle are more of Beetee's specialty arrows. The black ones, razor sharp, for hunting, but I notice he has been generous with the yellow incendiary ones. A few of the explosive reds have made it into the bundle as well, although carefully wrapped.

"Just in case," Beetee says.

I add them to my quiver, organizing them with care. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Just glad to know it works," he responds with ease. "Anything else?"

Yes, there is. The incendiaries have reminded me of my incident with the dead almost a week ago. "Do you know if there are any places in Panem where you can get your hands on some obsidian?" I ask.

"Ah. For the White Walkers," he muses. "If I had to guess, most obsidian deposits would be prevalent in Districts 1, 4, and 5. I'll do a little research and see if I can find any that are closer. Maybe I can have some weapons made for you."

"That would be great," I say. "If I'm going to be out beyond the Wall a lot, I don't want to be caught by surprise again."

"Have you seen any more since then?" he asks.

"Well, no, but you can't be too careful." I stuff the parachute and bundle into my game bag, unsure what else to do with them. Maybe the Night's Watch can use the fabric, if they dye it black or something. "I get the feeling that the Wall wouldn't be this big if they weren't that big of a deal. Something tells me I haven't seen the last of them."

Luckily, the rustling I hear next comes from a thick black squirrel, which I easily take down with a regular arrow. Beetee praises my shot, promises he'll get back to me on the obsidian deposits, and leaves me to my hunting. And just like that, I am the only human haunting this forest, living or dead.

A lake in the distance. The Wall like a fence behind me. The only real difference between these woods and the woods back in District 12 is that they are untouched by Gale. I don't know how I feel about that, if it fills me with relief or with sadness.

All I know is that for now, they are mine. And within them, maybe I can come back to myself.

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