Chapter Twenty-Four: The Getaway
There's shouting coming from the dining hall when Gilly and I come that way to start aiding things in the kitchens. Whatever Jon's saying, it's getting a lot of men ticked off. When we both pause in front of it, Gilly glances over at me, knowing exactly what I'm wanting to do. She may be the first person to ever find me predictable, at least in this world. I look back at her hopefully and she nods, wordlessly agreeing to be the lookout. Satisfied, I go up to the barrels and ditch my shoes, pulling myself onto the wooden walkway.
The men are cheering now, so I'm able to creep over to my spot beside one of the windows undetected. Leaning against the cold stone, I steady my breath and start to listen.
Sam's is the first voice I hear. "There is good farmland in The Gift," he says. "Land that no one uses now. A dozen abandoned villages."
"And why do you think the farmers abandoned those villages?" Another voice, sounds like Bowen Marsh. "Because the wildlings raided them for years. Cut them down just like they did this boy's people!"
Several men roar their agreement. One thing is for sure – Jon was right about tensions being high. They sound less than pleased with him in there.
Thorne's nasty hiss cuts across the room. "We've been fighting them for thousands of years," he bites out. "They've slaughtered villages. They've slaughtered our brothers."
Jon's next words are so quiet I almost miss them. "And we've slaughtered theirs."
I falter at this, remembering my own words. Their kids had been killing ours for years. Sometimes we killed theirs. Could it be that he's taken our conversation in the commander's quarters to heart?
A chair scrapes the floor as someone rises to his feet. "I will follow you anywhere. You know that," says Edd. "But they killed Grenn, and they killed Pyp." Men mumble in agreement some more, while I frown at the name of my predecessor. If it weren't for the wildlings, Pyp would be working in the kitchens and singing in the halls instead of me, some strange girl they let in from beyond the Wall. I wonder if Thorne and his allies are thinking about that too. "They killed fifty of our brothers. I can't forget that. I can't forgive it."
I press my lips together, thinking of the hatred I saw in the eyes of the people from Districts 1 and 2 during my Victory Tour. Glimmer's family. Marvel's. Clove's and Cato's. They let me through their gates, even though I killed their children, but only because Snow commanded it. Though they were forced to accept it, even embrace it, I'm quite certain they wanted me dead. I feel sure things will be no different for the Night's Watch with the wildlings.
"You were at the Fist of the First Men," Jon responds. "If we abandon them, you know what they become. We can learn to live with the wildlings, or we can add them to the army of the dead. Whatever they are now, they're better than that." He pauses, and I can't help but edge closer to peek through the window as much as I dare. The men are starting to turn in their seats and grumble loudly to each other, so Jon, already standing behind the large council table, leans forward and silences them with a shout. "We need to remember who the real enemy is!"
Hearing what are undeniably my own words ringing through the dining hall causes me to release a sharp breath that's been trapped inside my throat for I don't even know how long. In the quiet that follows Jon's outburst, it might as well have been a pin dropping. Not loud enough that I'm sure I'll hear all the chairs inside scooting out at once, but still risky on my part. Cheeks aflame, I duck away from the window and press myself against the wall while clamping a hand over my mouth.
As angry clamoring starts up inside, most assuredly related more to Jon's offenses than to mine, I lower my hand from my mouth and shift my gaze to the window. Almost immediately, I lock eyes with someone, and my heart leaps to my throat before I realize it's Davos Seaworth. We stare at each other for all of three seconds. Then, satisfied that he's found the source of the noise, he moves away from the window.
"Hear something, Ser Davos?" Stannis's impassive voice drifts through the window.
"It's an ancient castle, Your Grace," Davos replies. "The winds blow and the floorboards creak like an old man's knees. No wonder they say it's haunted."
Well, I didn't creak any floorboards, so it's safe to say Ser Davos is covering for me. But this is as good a time as any to clear out while everyone's arguing amongst themselves. I ditch my compromised hiding spot and retrieve my shoes, then rejoin Gilly and follow her to the kitchens. Hobb is still in the meeting, but the meals schedule won't change so he'll expect us to get things started for him. Ironic that they're debating the rights of wildlings in that dining hall while one true wildling and an alleged one work away in the kitchens making sure they all stay fed.
I also see the irony in telling Gilly what they were talking about in there, after what happened in the library between Jon and me, but he did say to keep it quiet "until then," and Sam's probably going to tell her later anyway. As we work, my thoughts stray to what Jon said during the meeting. So quick to jump to conclusions and distrust me, and yet… it almost feels like he's taking my advice. Bringing the wildlings to our side, or this side of the Wall, not fighting them anymore but shielding them from the true enemy.
Maybe I'm thinking too highly of myself, maybe he would have done it otherwise. He loved that wildling girl, Ygritte, and on the night of the execution, he showed Mance mercy. His humanity towards the wildlings precedes me. Still, my words affected him, or else he wouldn't have used them so passionately. And now a lot of the men here are furious.
Even Olly, who trudges into the kitchens half an hour later to fetch Jon's lunch for him, is prickly and sullen. He avoids Gilly completely but gives me a sour look whenever I dare hand him something or point him somewhere. Where in Jon's eyes there was an emotion that I still can't discern, in Olly's eyes there is only pure, unadulterated distrust. It's not shocking, but he used to be getting better about it once he saw that Jon trusted me, even listening to my songs with a smile. Now, after the whole mess with the Night's Watch meeting, the skepticism of my identity has come back in full force. He spits out a gruff thank you and storms off with the food.
Maybe Hobb anticipates a lot of that in store for us, because he sends Gilly to bring Maester Aemon his lunch and suggests I go hunt now that there are men at the gate to raise it for me. I obey without a second thought, glad for the chance to clear my head.
Out beyond the Wall, there's no smell of men's sweat, no loud sneers about Jon and the wildlings, just the scent of trees and a crisp winter wind. I take my time in these woods that I have claimed for myself, following tracks and even journeying to the lake to fish. As I linger by the breathtakingly green water, a memory drifts back to me from the library. One of the things I said to Jon. When the time comes that I've overstayed my welcome here...
I know I said I'd rather go south, but I can't help thinking of the river – the Milkwater, the maps called it – and the cave I would find if I followed it north again. The temptation I feel is strong, to go back there, to have a hot bath, to help release the drone when it arrives and spend the night. But it's hours away from here, and they'll be expecting me back before nightfall with...
My trail of thought slows, and I frown. No, Hobb sent me out on a hunt. He didn't say how long it had to be. I could cover more ground this way. I've been staying within close range of the Wall and Mance's former camp site for two weeks. It would serve the Night's Watch well if I spread out. And I'm not even part of the Watch, so what do I owe them? Nothing I haven't already given them. I can leave when I want. I'll come back when I want. If I want.
Though Buttercup is still there, along with my things in my room. That should be enough assurance that I intend to return. I feel bad at the thought of making Shireen or Sam and Gilly worry, but it might not be a bad idea to get away for a day while the wildling tension is at its peak. I'll come back with a good haul and remind the more resentful half of the Night's Watch just how useful I am to them.
My mind made, I pick up my things and set out, saving the two fish I already caught for my own dinner I'll be having at the cave tonight. I'd like to venture back to Mance's old camp to borrow some furs to sleep in, but I know this would just delay my arrival time and bring me closer to Castle Black, which is sure to make me lose my nerve. Though sleeping in just my winter coat is not ideal, considering I may need it to dry off after my bath, I push on. If I'm lucky, or desperate, I can kill something near the cave and take its pelt.
I follow the river west, staying close to it, but slink through the trees with my bow in case something approaches for a drink. The woods are mostly quiet, save for a few birds, so I make good time reaching the fork in the river even though I keep an eye out for tracks. There's also no Buttercup I have to keep in my line of sight. I wonder if he'll feel betrayed, somehow sensing I went back to his lion's den without him. Oh, well. I'm sure Shireen's arms will make up for it tonight. She'll keep him so cozy that he probably won't realize I'm gone.
The Night's Watch will, or they already have, because supper has passed by the time I locate the right rock structure by the river, the sun long since gone down. They'll have to sing their own songs tonight, if the dining hall isn't still too rowdy after the announcement Jon made today. The only music I hear when I set foot inside the cave is the steady rush of the waterfall as it spatters against the rocks.
After letting Beetee know I've arrived, I go out to set some snares and bring back wood for a fire. I get the fish cooking and attempt to arrange a makeshift bed out of small branches shaved from evergreen and conifer trees. It's no insulated sleeping bag but it'll have to do. Once the fish has settled my growling stomach, I double check that my camera is off but my earpiece is still on for alerts from Beetee, then ditch my clothes by the fire and plunge into the pool's beckoning waters.
When I emerge, shaking out my hair and wiping at my eyes, I look all around the cave, because something feels different. It's not the lack of soaked cat glaring at me from the rocks. It's not the beauty of the waterfall, or the glorious heat of the pool soothing my skin and kissing my scars. Something else is not the same. Maybe it's me.
I try to ignore it, breathing in the steam as I splash and soak and revel in my vacation. But my thoughts keep dragging me back to Castle Black, back to everything that I've chosen not to deal with for tonight. Like the weirdness in the library this morning. I'm up to my shoulders in the hot spring, yet I can still feel the frost in Jon's eyes as if he were in this cave with me right now. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around myself and sink deeper into the water, forcing myself to think of other things, but it's too late. I've already invited him in.
The bizarre thing is that it's such a stark contrast to the way we spoke to each other last night. To go from delicately folding my fingers over the pearl in my palm, and respecting my secrets while sharing one of his own, to acting like I killed his direwolf the moment he overheard the mere mention of Hardhome… How did I manage to offend him to this extent? This has got to be a new kind of record with me.
A few more minutes of decompressing in the pool earns me a clearer head, making room for reason. It's likely that the stress of the impending meeting was what put Jon on edge, and he wasn't expecting to already hear Hardhome as a topic of conversation when he came to fetch Sam. He did warn me last night that tensions were going to be high in Castle Black surrounding the meeting; clearly, that had included himself.
Of course, there's still the possibility that a betrayal of trust is a real dealbreaker with him. And I may not have told Sam and Gilly about his plans, but I did tell them something equally important. Something I haven't even entrusted to Jon. No wonder he suspected something. I'm willing to bet that the look on my face when he walked in was inescapably incriminating.
Maybe I should have told him by now. He may have said that it doesn't matter how I got here, but we still could've avoided… whatever that was from earlier. I could have told him my plans with the drone. And then he would be able to guess where I've gone, if the thought even has time or room to cross his mind tonight with all the unrest going on amongst the Night's Watch brothers.
Even if he didn't believe me, what else would he do except send me away? He doesn't believe in witch burnings, but a mad girl with a bow could be a danger to his men. If it came to that, I'd take it as an opportunity to see more of Westeros. Or just come back here, hide away in this beautiful place where not even the White Walkers would find me.
It sounds like a dream, spending my days in someplace so picturesque and untouched by the horrors of both worlds. But as I give my surroundings another appraising glance, the thought fills me with a wistful sadness. Without Buttercup for companionship, or even the memory of Peeta, this cave is more lonesome than I remembered. It's lovely, it's idyllic, but the ghosts of secret romances weigh more heavily on me tonight, sinking me deeper into the waters of a pool still fit for two.
That's what's different this time. I can't feel Peeta here with me. I've barely thought of him since I arrived. Did a part of me think coming back to this cave would be like coming back to Peeta? Or did that not even cross my mind either, and this was all just me running away to be alone with my thoughts?
Well, here I am. Alone. In a steaming spring that begs for the company of someone else. Closing my eyes, I breathe in deeply and make a feeble attempt to summon Peeta again.
Instead, I picture Jon Snow staring back at me.
With a ragged gasp, I blink three times and try to shake off the mental image. Blame my brain for having his face be so much closer to the surface than Peeta's in my memories. Again, I hug my arms around my chest, rubbing my hands up and down the burn scars on my upper arms. Is this what I want him to see? A fire-mutt hiding in the bath, shriveling up what's left of her skin? No. I am being ridiculous.
I press myself against the rocks, trying to get my thoughts back on track as I watch the waterfall rain down. I imagine instead that I am at Castle Black again, in the Lord Commander's quarters, telling him the full truth. That I come from another world. That I stepped into a portal of shimmering energy in Panem, and mere moments later I was in Westeros, beyond the Wall, materializing out of thin air just like the parachutes Beetee sends me. Who's Beetee, he might ask? Oh, he's a friend in Panem I still talk to. Sometimes he says things in my ear.
Hypothetical Jon gives me a long, hard look. "I think you should leave."
All right, maybe he wouldn't do that. Or he would, but not so harshly, because obviously I need the kind of mental help that Maester Aemon is ill-equipped to provide. But him telling me to go, me packing up my stuff and walking through the gate… the idea upsets me more than it should. Benjen's secret I have kept quiet at his request, if only to spare his nephew's feelings and keep him from chasing after ghosts. But I am withholding my own truth for one purely selfish reason – I do not want to say goodbye to Jon Snow.
The realization catches me by surprise, and in my head I hasten to amend it. Not yet, at least, I tell myself. Not leaving it like that.
I know I can't stay at Castle Black forever. Even if I don't overstay my welcome, there's a whole world outside of it that I want to explore at some point. But I've seen maps, and this world is a big one. If I say goodbye to Jon, to Gilly and Sam and Shireen, I don't know when – or if – I'll ever get to see them again. In a matter of days, I'll have to find out, when Shireen departs with Stannis and his army to ride for Winterfell.
Another reason why I won't stay in this cave longer than one night. I only have a few of them left to play Crazy Cat and sing songs with this world's little duck (or little fawn, since her house sigil is a stag), so I'd better make up for tonight by making the most of them.
Then there's Jon, who will be leaving for Hardhome in the near future. Other than that, assuming he does return safely, his duty is to Castle Black, so I'm the only one who's going anywhere. Maybe if it's inevitable, I should just risk it and get it out of the way. If he's going to push me out, let him do it now, before either of us gets too attached. Though if I'm to the point of picturing him in the hot springs with me, it may already be too late.
Remembering the sensation of his hands clasping mine, I shudder as my imagination betrays me, brings that same sensation to my waist as if he's pulling me closer. I can't, no, won't indulge these fantasies. I easily replace the fascinated look in his eyes with the one I saw today and bury my lingering blush in the water, hiding from someone who isn't really here. This may be my best argument for telling him the truth when I get back. Nothing would deter these kinds of thoughts more effectively than a memory seared into my brain of Jon Snow staring at me like I'm disturbed.
I get out of the pool and dry myself by the fire, resolving to at least ease him into it. Tell him why I was really talking about Hardhome, about the drone and where it came from and what it's doing. Then I dress and try to get some sleep, prompted by Beetee after he admits he's still working on it.
Maybe an hour or two later, I wake to an alert from Beetee telling me the drone is ready to come through. Rubbing my eyes, I step out of the cave and listen through the chirps of nocturnal creatures for the familiar chime. But I don't just hear it, I see it. As the chime cuts through the night air, lulling birds and insects into a confused silence, the parachute blinks with a helpful green light that beckons me to its location. I follow it out, making sure it doesn't drift into the Milkwater. It's a close call but the drone lands safely in the snow. Under careful instruction from Beetee, I free it from the parachute, inspect and activate it, and help him check the quality.
Per his words, everything seems to be in order. It's fully charged, in good condition, seems to be flying normally, but he's going to be giving it a low-flight test run within the vicinity for a bit before sending it on its journey west. When I ask him about sleep, he admits he'll be staying up for a while just to keep an eye on it, but it does have an autopilot function. Somewhat satisfied, I watch it take off, listening to the whir of its spinning blades until it fades on the air. Then I say goodnight to Beetee and head back towards the cave.
For a moment, I think I hear something else, and stop in my tracks so that the sound won't be muffled by my footsteps in the snow. I don't even know what the sound was, so I'm listening hard for an echo, a reminder. But the sound doesn't repeat.
"Have you seen anything yet, nearby? Movement?" I ask. Yes, the Capitol fixed my ear a long time ago, but there are still moments like these when I don't trust it.
"Nothing yet," Beetee confirms. "Why, did you hear something?"
I hesitate, even more anxious to return to my fire and my bed of branches. It may not have the comforts of my warm furs at Castle Black, but it's what I have to work with, and I need to get back to it soon if I plan on getting any rest at all before leaving at first light.
"It's nothing," I say. "Probably some animals I'll just find in my traps tomorrow morning."
With that, I retreat to my cave and settle into bed, blanketed by my winter coat. My thoughts want to race, but I let the rush of the waterfall calm me until my eyelids feel heavy. I'm back in our cave, Peeta's and mine, and the rain is lashing down on the arena, but inside this cave we are safe and sound. I hear those words in my father's voice and imagine him singing the song to me until I fall asleep.
The next thing I know, there's a voice calling out to me and it's not my father's. There is no melody, only Beetee's urgency bleating through the earpiece that's lying next to me. I have enough sense to pick it up and fit it into place, but I don't know what's going on, how long I've been out if at all, why he's so insistent to wake me up.
"I hear you," I answer him drowsily, adjusting my microphone with one hand and wiping the sleep from my eyes with the other. "What is it? White Walkers?"
"No, something else," Beetee says in a rush. "It moved too fast for me to see what it was. But it's big and it's headed your way. You might want to keep your weapons handy."
I sit up straighter and glance across the pool, where my bow and sheath of arrows are propped up against a tall rock structure. It would have been better if I had slept with them by my side, safe from thieves, but I didn't exactly expect to be found. To be honest, I still feel safe in my hiding place so long as I don't make any noises, most of them already muted by the waterfall, but I know I'd better go get my weapons anyway. I stand up and move quietly over the rocks, minding my step on the slippery surface. I'm listening, trying to hear anything over the splashing water, but so far all is silent.
When I make it to my things without noise, or a disastrous misstep resulting in me stumbling into the hot spring, I release a low exhale and slide the strap of my sheath onto my shoulder. I bend to pick up my bow, and that's when I hear a strange rumble. Long and deep, like resonant thunder.
A storm? Here, where I've only seen snowfall? No, that doesn't seem right. I've heard of thundersnow, but it's a rare thing. I need to see this for myself. Caution tells me to ask Beetee, since he can see what's out there, but I don't dare speak in case I am wrong. I move slowly towards the entrance, step after step, breathing as softly as possible, searching for more telltale sounds.
The rumble comes again, closer. My heart thuds in response while the cave gives an echo. I should go back but my curiosity will not allow it, begging an answer. Approaching the wide, open mouth of the cave, I come to a stop and squint speculatively into the darkness of night.
The darkness gives another growl, and I see two large, glowing eyes leering back at me.
A/N: Thanks to all new faves/follows/reviews!
ZainR, maybe there's hope for Katniss to confide in Jon yet...? Also, there's a hint towards the real reason for his mood just before he enters the room. Something else that might've affected him? sourdough, drama and long-windedness is the heart and soul of ASOIAF, so I guess I'm just keeping it true to the series! That would also explain the hiatus - am I right, G.R.R. Martin?
Actually I just got stuck, which I'm sure will happen again, but luckily I'm writing on a new laptop instead of an iPad so that should speed things back up. This is a spur-of-the-moment, "don't want to wait a month between chapters" update so please feel free to point out typos or whatever!