Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Lights

On the second night, we make camp near Rimegate. The Night's Watch men share a few more creepy stories, but when they try to dig one out of me, Jon cuts in and reminds them that some of us need to be able to sleep after this.

Some of the brothers jeer in protest – "Katniss isn't scared," Albett insists – but they obediently switch to jokes and funny anecdotes. When it's my turn, I'm able to chime in with the story about me, the bear, and the beehive, which of course gets a big laugh from them and gets them all loudly singing "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" at me. I can only laugh along and hide my face in my hands, because Davos did indirectly warn me this would happen.

In the midst of this, I hear Tormund say, "I've got a better bear story than that—"

"No, you don't," Jon says warningly.

Eventually the teasing and laughter ceases on the condition that I sing instead, so I agree and introduce them to "The Parting Glass," "Come Away to the Water," and "Tomorrow Will Be Kinder." During the last one, Tormund leans over and whispers to Jon, and I'm still wary about him from our earlier exchange so I end up asking about it later.

Jon simply blinks and answers graciously, "Tormund was just saying he could hear Mance accompanying the song on his lute."

"Oh," I say, feeling dumb for being so nosy. Then, to cover my tracks: "Mance played the lute?"

"Came to Winterfell, years back. Same time as King Robert," says Jon. "Played it at the feast in disguise."

I raise an eyebrow. "Like Bael in the song? I hope all your roses were accounted for."

Jon chuckles in confirmation. "Did you play any instruments back in Panem?" he asks, passing me a drink. Our fingertips brush as I grasp the cup, and I silently blame Tormund for the fact that I'm even noticing.

"Tried to learn, at least," I say, warming myself with a sip. "Gave the flute a try, but it turned out Prim was the one who had a knack for it. And Madge, my friend who gave me the mockingjay pin, she taught me a little piano. But she was always better at it, so I preferred listening."

Jon smiles, but his eyes crinkle with a bit of intrigued confusion. "What's a piano?"

I try to explain the concept and makeup of a piano but fail miserably; it's hard to explain something you have no idea how to build yourself. Still, he doesn't laugh at me too much for attempting to demonstrate on an invisible one, just grinning and following my hands with his eyes when I briefly pretend to tap imaginary keys like an idiot. I put an end to that and instead have him list off the instruments he knows. It's kind of interesting, knowing what musical tools we share – across countries for him, but universes for me.

Westeros has fiddles and flutes, drums and pipes, harps and horns and trumpets. No guitars or pianos, though. Which is a shame because Jon has very graceful fingers, slender and nimble-looking, great for piano. I could easily see them dancing across the keys with a talent just like Madge. He's quiet and kind and brave like her, so it would suit his temperament. Plus I think it would be somewhat mesmerizing to watch.

We go to sleep soon after that, but maybe the brothers should have told scary stories tonight. Because without grisly tales of rats and murderers and ghosts, I dream of Jon putting his hands on me instead.

I wake up in the middle of the night with a shuddered gasp and hope beyond hope it's the only noise I've made. Outside of the dream, that is. In it, we seemed to be in an amalgamation of an abandoned Night's Watch castle and the ruins of Mayor Undersee's house, since there was a piano somewhere in the rubble, but suffice it to say Jon's interest in it had been fleeting.

After all, why tickle those ivories when he could… well…

Not just my cheeks, my entire body is flushed just thinking about it, setting me ablaze in an already toasty sleeping bag. I drag my hands down my face and sigh, relieved when no one else – not even Jon – shows signs of consciousness. I look over at him just to be sure. Shifting suddenly in his furs, he gives a slight groan that is incredibly unhelpful to my current state. But yes, he's asleep. And he's one of the men sleeping closest to me, so I haven't disturbed anyone except for myself.

Taking in deep breaths to calm myself, I stare up at the sky and attempt to make sense of this world's constellations. I want to blame Tormund again, for putting thoughts in my head, but I know realistically it isn't all stemming from one little joke. It's also the proximity, the way I can turn on my side and see him there, peaceful in sleep, dark curls framing his face. It's the fact that I have nothing to distract me, with Gale and Shireen radio-silent tonight, and my Lucy Gray case abandoned at Aemon's bedside.

If the other Snow was still on my mind, I would never have dreamt anything like that. But now there is just Jon Snow, sleeping close to me, almost like Peeta used to. A warm and powerful presence, comforting and protective. The wolf in the cave.

It's an intimacy I cannot deny that I miss. It's just strange to get a taste of it again. That's all it is.

My trance is broken when his forehead wrinkles and he shifts again, releases another groan that makes my face heat up. Breathing deeply, he moves around under his furs with a languid sort of restlessness, bunching them up in his fists as he hugs them closer. Then his eyes snap open and he shoots halfway upright with a shaky gasp.

The suddenness of it startles me. Instinctively, I burrow deeper into my furs and close my eyes to feign sleep, heart thudding in the stillness of night. Jon would probably be able to hear it if he weren't still panting from his dream. Curious, I sneak a peek at him through half-closed lids, just as he sinks back into his furs.

"Seven hells," he breathes out, kneading at his temples.

A pang of sympathy rings in my chest, and I crack open my eyes a little more, tempted to comfort him. I was never awake when Peeta had nightmares; it was always him soothing me back to sleep. But when Jon glances my way, I close them again in a panic. If I reveal that I'm awake, he may ask how long, or he'll ask me about my dream just as he did the night before. And this is something I cannot tell him. Which would be sure to confuse him. I told him about the cannibal rats dream, and the Games, and the lizard mutts, he might point out, so what could be worse than that?

At which point, if he hasn't read between the lines already, my blush would certainly give me away.

While I'm battling these thoughts, I hear Jon carefully get to his feet. I allow myself a sliver of vision and see him making his way through the maze of sleeping Night's Watch brothers before walking off in the direction of the woods. An insufferable urge to follow him rises in me, filled with curiosity and an uncomfortable longing, but I push it back down, firmly reminding myself that some trips to the woods need to be alone.

Rolling onto my other side, I squirm deeper inside the sleeping bag, muffle a sigh into my furs, and try again for sleep.

The third day brings us past Long Barrow, which I intently record for Beetee even though I don't know how many abandoned castles he cares about, but it's better than risking a blush when Jon glances fleetingly back at me to add to Halder's information about it. He's been staring ahead and talking to his brothers for the most part, which I appreciate, but I need more time to get less jumpy about last night's dream.

The next time we stop to rest our horses, I come up with some excuse and escape into the nearest veil of trees while the men talk amongst themselves. I finally contact Beetee, who thanks me for the castle footage, pleased to see this side of the Wall and how far it stretches. In turn, he lets me know where he's at with the drone. He's gone so far north that he's reached an arctic tundra with a constant snowstorm and low visibility. Therefore, even though he was fascinated by this one rather ominous-looking mountain, he's bringing the drone back around now, potentially through a southwest route if he dares navigate the Frostfangs again.

I ask if he's heard from Gale, and he gives me an update there as well. The Baratheon army is supposed to make camp near Winterfell in a couple days or so. Lately, Gale has been reaching out to him to connect to his mother and siblings. I miss hearing from Shireen, but I don't blame him for using his own rest time this way. Still, I can't help wondering how much he's told Hazelle. If she knows, for example, that her son has joined another army. This time at my own request.

Beetee assures me he'll tell Gale I've been asking about Shireen, which is a relief because we're closing in on Eastwatch and tomorrow is probably my last chance to hear from them for over a week. I thank him and wrap up the conversation, then head back to the group, where I'm met with some lighthearted teasing that I must be one of the Children of the Forest. It's a conspiracy theory that lasts the rest of the break, and probably thirty minutes after, with their main points boiling down to the fact that I'm small, I hunt and sing, and I like the woods. I let Jon help me back onto my horse, something he didn't do this morning, and counter most of this with the crucial point that I am still, in fact, not from Westeros.

"West of Westeros, then," Tormund says. When the rest of us look at him, he turns his gaze to Jon with a lift of his eyebrows. "Said she'd been heading east when she met your uncle."

I wince at my mistake. Telling people things about Panem is one thing, but in terms of direction, maybe I shouldn't have been so specific.

To my relief, most of the men still look clueless. "What's west of Westeros?" Jeren whispers aside to Albett, probably not wanting to sound ignorant.

Albett just shrugs. "Panem, apparently."

I'm still anxious, but my unease lightens somewhat. It's like Maester Aemon once said, there are parts of this world that are still unmapped. I haven't seen any maps that show more than Westeros and Essos, so if they want to believe Panem is a continent west of here, no one can really argue otherwise. But hopefully they'll leave it at that.

Luckily, they drop the subject as the storms start to pick up. It's getting colder, the winds blowing more harshly and whipping the snow all around. I'm exceedingly grateful for the warmth my Mockingjay suit offers, and for my shadowskin, which I wrap tightly around me. The storm is only just calming down when we pass The Torches, and we set up camp not long after.

Jon and Halder have some trouble lighting the fire tonight. I'm too impatient for a roaring flame to wait for the flint to behave, so I get my box of matches from my pack and bring them over to the pile of wood.

"Don't freak out, don't freak out," I warn, and strike the match. With a hiss, it flares to life, and about four Night's Watch men yelp or holler at varying volumes and leap back. I snort despite my best efforts, then lean in and use it to get the fire going.

Naturally, I'm prompted to explain why I possess tiny torches of my own, and I placate them with the concept of matches while wasting just one more to demonstrate.

"And here you've been letting us use flint like fools," Edd complains playfully.

"Hey, I don't have a lot of them on me," I shoot back, putting the match box back in my pack. "They're only for special occasions. Like me being fucking cold."

This brings on a few laughs and jeers from the Night's Watch men, since the curses I've used around them are not usually so obscene, and clearly they've had a bad influence on me.

"All right, Match Girl," says Edd.

I do something between a shudder and a laugh as I take a seat by him and warm my hands. "Don't say that. She freezes to death."

"Who does?" Jon asks, looking mildly unsettled from across the fire.

"The Little Match Girl," I say, and that's how I wind up telling them their first otherworldly fairytale. The one about the shivering, hungry little girl, wandering through the streets on a snowy winter's day, unable to sell a single match to anyone but afraid to go home to a chilly house and face the consequences of her failure. Striking matches to keep herself warm, she saw in each one a glimpse of something wonderful and comforting – the last being her late grandmother, come to take her from this cold, cruel world. In the morning, people found a smiling dead girl surrounded by burnt matches.

I remember thinking about this story, the day Peeta threw me the bread. In my case, it was not snow but icy rain, baby clothes rather than matches, and instead of an abusive father I had a starving sister and catatonic mother who relied on me. When I staggered by the bakery, shaking and ashamed with nothing to bring home, the heat of the ovens reminded me of the great iron stove in the girl's first vision, and the delicious smell of bread made me think of the feast with the roast goose in the second. Then the baker's wife chased me off, and I sank down against the trunk of an old apple tree, which was not adorned with lights or decorations but seemed to me like a good place to die.

Visions in the flames. Only the Red Woman believes in that sort of thing. I had no matches on me anyway, but I really wondered that if I closed my eyes, I would see my own dead grandmother coming to take my frozen body away. Just like the girl in her fairytale books, and just like my grandmother herself only a year before.

But I didn't see a shooting star, or Grandma Rosemary. I saw Peeta. Throwing me real bread. Scorched at the edges like the matches in the story, but giving me so much more than fleeting warmth. Smuggled under my shirt, they burned into my skin but filled my family's stomachs, and we made it through another winter.

Peeta. It occurs to me that just a year ago in District 13, Gale and the rest of the rescue mission finally brought him back to me. Damaged but alive, his memory of that day one of the few left untarnished.

Telling this story was a mistake. It makes me miss him a lot. The bread that told me I didn't have to be the starved, icy corpse lying against a tree. The dandelion that promised a future for me, for my family. There was a time I thought it would involve him.

But honestly, I think as I glance around the campfire, who could ever have predicted this?

When I finish the story, the Night's Watch brothers rightfully condemn it as depressing, especially in this weather, and ask me if I know any other songs or stories that aren't about little girls freezing to death. Feeling sarcastic at worst and cheeky at best, I quip that I know just the one, and start singing "The Cremation of Sam McGee" to them.

It's a silly, fast-paced song based on an old poem, where a gold prospector from down south can't take the chill of the north and makes his friend promise to cremate him in the likely event he succumbs to the cold. Sure enough, he's a corpse by nightfall, so his friend keeps his word and builds a makeshift crematorium, then stuffs Sam's body inside. When he comes back to look, he's met with a big surprise.

The men are thrown at first, when the slow beginning stanza first mentions Sam McGee, but by the second verse they're all cracking up at the line "he'd often say in his homely way that 'he'd sooner live in hell.'" Even Jon is wrestling a grin and a grimace throughout the rest of the song, but the rest of the brothers are shamelessly tapping their feet or otherwise adding a rhythm. They have a good laugh at the final verse where the friend finds Sam sitting up in the crematorium, warm and happy as can be, and when I repeat the last line, a handful of them gleefully come in at the end: "'Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm!'"

It becomes a fast favorite among the Night's Watch men, with most of them wondering why I've never sung it before. The truth is that I only remembered it after the Commander Hoff birthday footage, but I go with the excuse that I didn't want to sing the song around our Sam. This turns out to be a mistake, because the moment I say it, a bunch of the brothers get big grins on their faces and easily come up with a rendition that rhymes McGee with Tarly, and Tennessee with The Reach. Soon, they're boisterously teaching it to each other and singing it around the fire while I'm burying my face in my hands.

"What have I done?" I groan into my palms.

Jon, who has come around the fire to sit near me, chuckles sympathetically. "Maybe they'll get tired of it by the time we return to Castle Black."

"Unlikely," Edd says with a snort.

"It's a long song – how did they even learn it so fast?" I ask in dismay. I had hoped that they wouldn't share my family's gift of instantly memorizing anything set to music, but apparently it isn't an issue. At least not for Albett, who had the song down in no time and is now merrily helping his brothers with the lyrics.

"Well, some of these men are from the North," Edd grunts, reaching over to pick up his drink. "And you know what they say." He raises his cup in mock salute before taking a long swig. "The North remembers."

"Actually, I didn't know they said that," I mutter, which earns a laugh from Jon.

"It's not so much about retaining songs as it is remembering past injustices, or promises we've made, vows we've sworn," he says, and cracks a faint grin. "Mostly it just means we're good at holding grudges."

Despite myself, I feel my lips curve upward. "I'm starting to think the North really gets me."

Jon grins a bit more, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they do when he's particularly pleased by something, and my heart skips a beat as I remember the reason I didn't initially choose to sit by him. Worried he'll be able to see last night's dream in mine, I turn my gaze to the fire and blush, trying to hide that from him too.

The moment would've been broken, anyway, because a few seconds later Halder calls out to me to settle an argument. Turns out that some of the noise on that side of the campfire isn't them learning the song but debating the end of it. Almost half the men are convinced that Sam McGee is dead at the end, his body's been burnt and it's just his ghost warming himself. The other half, including Tormund, insist that the singer found Sam alive and well. Jon sides with this interpretation, and I do too, since that's what my father believed – that the fire hadn't fully consumed Sam, just melted away the death and cold. I can hear my father's voice in my head, even now. He was fine, Katniss, he just needed a little thawing out.

Of course, then Jeren compares the Sam McGee of this version to "that dragon queen" and the men happily come up with the title "Sam the Unburnt," which prompts me to threaten a vow of songless silence if they sing it around our Sam when we get back. They finally shut up about it, despite their lingering grins, in exchange for more songs. I pacify them with "Fifty-Four Tuns" and "The Night That Ended," and then Panem songs like "I've Got This Friend" and "Poison and Wine," before we all get about as tired as my voice. I wait until Jon and the others doze off before I give in to sleep.

Thankfully I do not get a repeat of last night's dream. Tonight, they are closer to my usual brand of restlessness.

Explosions in the old arena, which turns into flaming castle ruins. Disturbed crows and ravens and mockingjays take wing, fluttering away in a hurry. The sky, now black and speckled with stars, erupts like the Quarter Quell forcefield and rains down ash and glittering snow. I'm flying in the darkness, presumably lifted by the hovercraft, when I see a pale, faceless woman twirling in the dark and snow in Lucy Gray's rainbow dress. The colors melt off her skirt and form wriggling snakes, shooting every which way and leaving beautiful streaks in their wake.

When I open my eyes, my first thought is that I'm still dreaming, because the streaks don't go away. They're just vaguely different hues. I squint at them and try to remember the fading image in my head, comparing the colors. Raspberry red, deep blue, yellow blending into iridescent green…

No, wait, none of her dress ruffles were green, nor were any of the snake mutts in the arena. I must've been including the one she pulled out of her pocket at the reaping. But there it is, rippling across the sky to join the others in a multicolored dance. And suddenly I'm scrambling into a sitting position and fumbling with my camera as I realize what I am actually seeing.

"The northern lights," I whisper, my breath catching in my throat as excitement courses through me.

I've heard of this phenomenon before, obviously at least from the Sam McGee song, and Johanna's even mentioned seeing them in District Seven, but this is my first time witnessing them for myself. I wonder if I should wake people up so they don't miss out, but then again, this is Westeros in the North and I've only been here just over a month. Who knows how often this happens? This could be the equivalent of a full moon to them.

Yes, Katniss, it's very pretty, they'll grumble. Now go back to sleep.

Beetee's probably already recalled the drone for tonight, so I activate my camera and start recording it myself. Then, after making sure the coast is clear, I get to my feet and weave around the sleeping men, reaching out to him on my devices as I head for the nearest stretch of trees.

It takes a couple of minutes for Beetee to connect, so I watch the sky and think back on tonight's nightmare. Well, maybe nightmare isn't the right word. It wasn't frightening, really, just weird enough to rouse me. And I'm glad it did because I wouldn't want to sleep through this. A tail of primrose yellow clinging to swirls of shimmering green. The green lashing like a whip at faint traces of red, before curling back to graze the soft blue. A blue that reminds me of my own reaping day dress.

I think of the dress in the dream, melting into these colors, and the woman dancing in it, dark hair flying around her. Not Lucy, but someone fairer and older. My grandmother, probably. After remembering the Little Match Girl story, I must've merged them together in my mind. She adored fine clothes and colors, a bit of whimsy in our drab old district. I suspect that's why my mother's apothecary dresses are so precious to her.

She would have loved the rainbow ruffles. The outfits Cinna designed for me. The dresses made of fire. And the brilliant vision in the sky, glowing just overhead. She would have loved this.

Beetee's loving it too, or he has been for a while by the time he finally answers me. Gale noticed the lights first and started recording them before I did, but for him it's more of a distant glow on the horizon. I'm right underneath it, so Beetee is thrilled to see it from my angle. The reason he took a little while to get back to me is because Gale immediately asked to be connected to his mother, and Beetee's arranging to send the footage to her.

This makes me vaguely antsy, since if Gale's awake too, I'd like an update from him on how things are going. Beetee knows this and takes a moment to alert him. While we wait, he is only too happy to tell me more about what we're looking at.

"Aurora borealis," he says grandly. "It's the Latin term for it. Have you heard of Latin?" When I make a sound in the affirmative, he goes on. "Aurora, meaning 'dawn' or 'sunrise', after the Roman goddess of the dawn, and borealis meaning 'northern,' after Boreas, the Greek god of the north wind. Essentially, it means 'morning light coming from the north.'"

"Because the colors are like sunrise," I say, watching them. "Though I don't think I've ever seen a sunrise with any green in it. Looks more like the energy in your portal."

Beetee laughs, but goes straight to explaining magnetic fields and the atmosphere and solar particles, and doing a little raving himself over what this possibly tells him about Westeros's planet. I half-listen, half-watch in amazement as the ribbon of green continues to flicker and flare, at this point more like fire and smoke than snake.

After three more minutes, Gale connects to me. "Are you seeing this right now?" he asks.

"It's right above me," I tell him.

"Can't believe it's still going," he says, and pauses. "Did you and Peeta see anything like this during the Victory Tour? While you were in Seven, or Nine, or something?"

I wince, hugging my shadowskin around my arms. "No, we never went that far north," I say flatly.

The mention of Peeta upsets me. Not just because the memory of him has been made fresh by the story, but because I know he would've loved to paint something like this. If the northern lights are like a sunrise, I don't want to be watching them with Gale. It should be Peeta seeing this with me, not him.

Gale must hear it in my voice because he wisely switches to updating me on Shireen. There's not much to tell, really, other than she liked the sunshine song and Gale heard her singing it to herself the other night. So did Hazelle, actually, in the background when she was talking to Gale. Both mistaking each other for me on the other end, Hazelle and Shireen asked to speak to one another, so that's one of the reasons I didn't hear from them. Hazelle knows the song too. She says her grandpa Tam used to sing it to her, told her it was from District 11 – just like his stepmother Hazel, for whom she was named.

I immediately think of Rue and wonder if her mother ever sang her to sleep with that song. If she's still alive and singing it to Rue's five younger siblings. If our families have ever crossed paths before, sung to each other in the past, decades before the Meadow song in the arena. The thought chokes me up, and I fall silent and stare at the lights, following the delicate yellow wisps with my eyes as they flit around the green.

After a minute or two, Gale breaks the silence. "You know, he and your great-grandmother watched these together once."

My forehead creases in confusion. "You mean my grandma?" I ask. "Maude?"

"No, her mother," Gale insists. "See, I was talking to my mom about the lights, and she was really excited, she knew right away what I meant because he used to tell her about them." I hear his feet shuffle in the snow. "I mean, he was raised by the Covey, right? Barb's parents were his parents."

"I do remember her saying something about that," I say, trying not to sound interested. Tommy Turquoise Baird had already taken baby Tam under his wing, so to speak, before he met Barb Azure's future mother, so they grew up as brother and sister. Given that Barb basically raised my grandmother, you'd think our families would've remained close. But, as Gale and I both know, things don't always work out that way.

"He said they used to go north sometimes," Gale continues. "That one year, right before the Dark Days, they were up in Nine visiting family, and they saw the lights together. Said his aunt Aurora was obsessed with the northern lights because she was named after them, and she and Aunt Alice had a running joke that Hazel should change her name to something that sounded like 'ory', so the three of them could call themselves Aurora Borealis." He pauses. "You know, like how the guys were called—"

"The Brothers Baird, I know," I say, more than slightly annoyed.

Another awkward pause. "Well, I assume that since Hazel Baird was Barb's mother, one of the other two was Maude's?" he asks.

"Alice," I answer. Then I add wryly, "You know. Like the girl who went through the looking glass."

"Or the computer chip," says Gale, who possibly doesn't know. "She was from Three, you know, and Lucy's mother was from Eight. Explains the reaping dress."

It does, I realize. District Eight. Textiles. Fabrics. Colors. The dress that twirled in my dreams. I gaze up at the colors that came from it and see them a little clearer. Not quite rainbow, but sunrise. Aurora, like the dawn.

Then I'm irritated again, because yes, I am aware my grandmother was born in Three. But I need to stop being told things about Lucy Gray, or soon Jon Snow and the rest of the Night's Watch will be stuck on a ship with an obsessive, relapsed, mystery-crazed lunatic. And it'll be all Gale's fault.

"Isn't District Eight a little far south for her to be named after the northern lights?" I say, just for the sake of being petty.

His tone carries the effect of a shrug. "Like I said, family in Nine," he counters, and huffs out a thoughtful scoff. "The Covey really got around, didn't they? Before the war happened, and the world closed in on them."

I breathe in deeply, not wanting to risk my voice carrying if I snap at him. "Guess so."

"Do you think it's a bad omen?" he asks suddenly.

"What is?"

"That nearly eighty years ago, our great-grandparents watched the northern lights together, just before a war happened and then most of their family got wiped out?" Gale says. "And now, here the two of us are, watching them in another world, and you're sailing to deal with some wildlings that might hate your guts and I'm going to fight in a war against men who like to see them?"

I wrinkle my nose in distaste; that was one flaying joke I could have done without. "I wouldn't put too much thought into it," I reply. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Well, if it does, you're not the one who needs to be worried right away," he says matter-of-factly. "It was Tam and Barb's parents who died in the war. The rest went after, when they were rounded up."

My mouth twists into a frown, and I cross my arms against my chest as it occurs to me that multiple things are bothering me here. It's like Gale's trying to use this Covey thing to tie us together again, this connection between our families, when the only thing that really holds us together is Shireen. But the more he talks to Hazelle, the more he finds out about our history, and by now he knows more than I do. And it makes me jealous. My father, long dead, was the son of the youngest Covey member who couldn't even remember her own parents. Meanwhile, the living granddaughter of Tam Amber is suddenly passing along memories of great-grandparents and a time before the Dark Days.

I just find it ironic that I've learned more about myself here in Westeros than I ever did in Panem. Under Paylor, the districts are united again, talking freely, discovering themselves and each other. Stitched together and healing like the shadowcat wound on my arm.

Yet, just like me, Gale is now hearing it from afar. I wonder if Hazelle would be so delighted about her son witnessing the northern lights if she knew they were hanging above a country that was still in the throes of war. A country where there are no Bairds, only Boltons, with a man being skinned alive proudly displayed on their sigil…

"I can't have you thinking like that," I say at last. "She needs you."

"Shireen?" Gale says, sounding surprised.

I shrug on instinct. "Her, your mother—" I start to say, until in the background, I hear a voice just above a whisper.

"—don't mean to interrupt," Shireen says. "Is that your mother or Katniss this time?"

"It's Katniss," he tells her. "What are you doing up?"

"Just let me talk to her," I say severely.

Gale obediently passes the devices off to Shireen, and my lips immediately transform into a smile as she greets me with excitement and starts gushing about the sky.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she breathes. "Mother won't be happy if she finds me gone, but I couldn't go back to sleep when I saw it."

I laugh, feeling my mood start to shift. My father and I watched a whole lot of sunrises for that same reason. "Hey, if the sky's awake, then we should be too," I say, quoting him.

Shireen giggles in agreement, and we talk as we watch the lights together. Growing up in Dragonstone in the south, she's only ever read about them, she never thought she'd actually get to see them. I share with her what information I retained from Beetee on aurora borealis, the Latin meaning and the magnetic field and the particles that make up the colors, and she genuinely finds it interesting. Especially the thing about the goddess of dawn and the god of the north wind.

"It looks like rainbow fire," she says softly. "Reminds me of Uncle Renly."

And she tells me about his Rainbow Guard and how the rainbow is sacred to the Faith of the Seven, which is a religion in Westeros based on seven gods, mainly worshiped in the south. Her uncle Renly supported it, and so did her family on her mother's side. But when her parents aligned themselves with the Lord of the Light, the Red Woman burned the Seven's statues, and later burned some of Stannis's bannermen who wouldn't convert.

"It's just strange to see a rainbow on fire," Shireen finishes. "It's like the Lord of Light's burning the Seven in the sky."

Both my eyebrows and my suspicions are raised. Knowing what I do now, remembering her hesitation when she last spoke of her uncle, I can only imagine what happened to Renly. But I don't want her lingering over all of this. "Looks more like a dance to me," I say.

I hear the mirth in her voice return. "A dance of dragons, in the North," she says dreamily. "I like your version better. Perhaps Aurora and Boreas are just lovers dancing together."

An awkward sort of laugh escapes me as I remember Finnick's scandalous stories of the Capitol. Going by the mythology book Plutarch sent me for my birthday, lots of Capitol citizens share their names and even their drama with ancient Greek and Roman figures. "Careful, I think one of them might be the other's kid," I warn.

"A father or mother reuniting with their child, then," Shireen says, undeterred. "That would make me want to dance, too."

I smile to myself, though her words gradually fill me with immeasurable sadness. "I hear you're closing in on Winterfell," I say, changing the subject.

"I hear you're almost to Eastwatch," she counters. "Gale says we won't be able to talk after you set sail."

"Trapped on a ship, in close quarters, with the Night's Watch breathing down my back?" I point out. "They're good men, but I don't know how they'll react if they see me talking to myself all the time."

"Why don't you explain the earpiece to them like Gale did with me?" she asks.

I laugh, thinking of their reaction to the matches. They did take it well, eventually, but flammable material is not the same as a voice emanating from a tiny speaker. "Not everyone is as understanding as you," I tell her. "But it's just for a couple of weeks, there and back. Depends how long we're at Hardhome. We can talk tomorrow, and if not, I'll check in on you as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay," she agrees, albeit wistfully. "At least we got to see the lights together—"

Behind me, someone clears their throat. Obviously not anticipating sounds outside the earpiece, I whirl around with a gasp, only to find Jon standing there with a curious expression on his face. It briefly flickers to one of apology before intrigue takes over again.

"Is that Shireen?" he asks, taking a cautious step forward.

Shireen hears him on the other end. "Was that Jon? Is he with you?" she's saying in my ear.

"Yes," I say to both, slightly overwhelmed.

Jon comes closer, looking inquisitive yet unsure. "Do you mind if I talk to her?"

The question takes me by surprise, but since Shireen is, at the same time, requesting that I say hello for her, I hold up one finger for Jon to wait. "Why don't you tell him yourself?" I ask, and start detaching the devices.

Understandably, Jon is hesitant in handling the earpiece and microphone, so I end up having to help him with them while giving the briefest possible explanation of how this works. There's a few seconds of delay because when the earpiece goes on, it involves me touching his ear in the process, and then I accidentally graze his cheek with my thumb. So we do have this one weird moment where we both kind of pause and stare at each other, but I back off after that and Jon takes it from there.

He blinks, and a startled grin crosses his lips as soon as he hears Shireen. Greeting her, he laughs and half-seriously asks if Stannis knows she's awake this late, and I can't fight a laugh of my own because it makes him sound exactly like the older brother he is.

Rather than eavesdrop, I walk a little farther through the trees and watch the sky while they converse, breathing in the brisk night air. It feels strange not having the earpiece on my person. I try to keep it in most of the time when I'm awake, in case Beetee needs to reach me even if I can't reply right away. Without it, I'm vulnerable, almost unattainable to Beetee and therefore Panem – except for the camera, which I realize is still on. Embarrassed, I turn it off, deciding that Beetee has seen and heard enough. He may still have Gale's vantage point anyway.

The aurora goes predominantly green for a few minutes, embraced by a pale blue that's almost white. I gaze up at it, and at the silver stars in the background, finding the sight simultaneously comforting and unsettling. Rubbing my arms for warmth, I pull my cloak tighter around me and release a slow misty breath.

Then the sound of footsteps on snow alerts me to Jon's presence. I turn to him as he walks over to me with an open palm and a contrite look on his face. I'm about to panic, but one glance at the devices reveals they're still in good condition, just silent as the night.

"Sorry," he says as he holds them out to me. "She had to go to sleep."

I falter at first, then take them from him. "That's all right. Maybe I can talk to her tomorrow," I say, clicking off, and put them in my pocket for the night. "It's late. We should probably be heading back anyway."

Despite this, my eyes drift back to the sky, where the red has returned, the blue and green have deepened, and the dance between them has grown stronger. Unable to help myself, I turn back around and start staring again.

Jon gives a laugh, coming up beside me. "You sure you don't want to stay and watch a little while longer?" he asks knowingly.

I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Maybe just a little longer," I admit, sparing him a glance and a sheepish grin.

He laughs and shifts closer to me, mirroring my stance as he looks up too. My blush deepens, not just because he's caught me, but also because of his proximity. I haven't forgotten the dream from last night, and that look we shared back there during the earpiece incident didn't do much to help things. Still, I can't say his presence is unwelcome.

In the back of my mind, I'm aware that this is something we could do at the camp. Watch the sky together. But that would come with the added worry of waking people up, having to lower our voices if we wanted to talk to each other, that feeling of being surrounded by people even if they're unconscious. Out here is more private, just the two of us, and I prefer it that way. It feels like that first night on the Wall.

"It's beautiful," I say, and not just to fill the comfortable silence that's settled between us. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

There's a lull that lasts long enough for me to remember it might be a stupid question, him being from the North and all. Then, right as I'm about to turn my head and try to gauge his reaction, he says softly, "Not quite."

I turn more fully to look at him, and our eyes meet by accident. This time it's Jon's turn to look embarrassed, averting his gaze to the lights again and clearing his throat.

"Not until I came to the Wall," he adds. "It's rarer at Winterfell. More faint. But even here, I can't say I've ever seen them this strong."

"Guess it's a good thing I woke up when I did," I say under my breath. At that moment, curiosity hits me, and I glance over at him. "So, what brings you out here?"

"I awoke. Found you missing. Gave it a few minutes, then thought it best to check on you," he says, then frowns thoughtfully as he looks my way. "Did you have bad dreams again?"

I shake my head. "Explosions. Ravens. Ash and snow. Venomous snakes in the sky. Honestly, I've had worse, it was just unnerving," I say with a sigh, and get distracted by another flourish of color. "Look at that. It really is like rainbow fire..."

The aurora twirls and dances above our heads, vanishing in some areas and coming back again. Green and red and blue flames racing across the sky while engulfing the heavens in a multicolored smoke. My thoughts drift to Cinna, to the flawless dresses this would've inspired from him. I imagine twirling for him just like the woman in my dream, glowing with the fire of the northern lights. And then I think of Peeta and his soothing words to the morphling on the beach. How he told her he'd never figured out how to paint a rainbow, never managed to capture them because they faded too quickly on the air.

Here in Westeros, on a night like this, he would have no such issue. The lights are fast and flickering but seem perfectly content to be here, as if waiting for him to come along with his brushes and paintbox. If that's the case, they will be waiting forever. Because it's just me.

Well, me and Jon, I correct myself, suddenly very aware of his presence. I should probably still be embarrassed from the other night, but I think it's fading now. Risqué dreams aside, the warmth of him standing so near provides a comfort that's impossible to ignore.

I can't help wishing for Peeta, but if anyone else is going to physically be here to experience this with me, I'm glad it's Jon…

"Is this your first time?" he asks suddenly, and my head whips around in shock. Reading my flustered reaction, his eyes widen to mirror mine as realization dawns, and he's quick to clarify with a nervous laugh. "Seeing the lights, I mean."

Oh. I face forward again with a quiet scoff, scolding my mind for going there. Of course that's what he was talking about. "How did you guess?" I say wryly.

A shrug from Jon. "Well, you mentioned them in your song," he notes.

"Sure, Twelve's north enough," I say. "But as far as the lights are concerned, I'm as southern as Sam McGee."

He gives a low chuckle. "Wildlings say anyone on this side of the Wall is a southerner. I suppose that makes me one too."

"Oh, I don't think so," I say, envying his years at Winterfell for even the rare hint of a glow like this on the horizon. "If you can see the northern lights where you're from, you're a northerner. Plain and simple."

"Oh, is that how it works?" Jon says, laughing some more.

"Yes, it's right there in the name," I say, and for emphasis I gesture to the sky. "The northern lights have spoken."

Jon shakes his head, still laughing. "Then you're still a southern girl—"

"Northeast." I bump his shoulder lightly with mine, though it doesn't make a difference and he can probably barely feel it through his furs.

"A southern girl," he insists, his tone borderline teasing. "From Panem. Who found her way to northern Westeros. You really are a long way from home."

I scoff in agreement, tempted to tell him he doesn't even know the half of it, but falter at how much I'm already potentially giving away. "Depends on what you consider home," I say instead.

As if sensing a touched nerve, he lets this hang in the air for a while before changing the subject. "Shireen says you have another name for them in Panem."

Relieved, I tell him about the aurora borealis, about the morning light that comes from the north, and even a little bit about my dream. He's skeptical about the dawn part at first, jokingly asking how far west he'd have to go to see Panem's supposed green sunrises. I laugh it off and manage to dodge the question, pointing out there's a lot more colors right now, and they're supposed to be caused by solar winds, storms from the sun, so it works. He still wants to know the Latin term for "light," but I can't help him there since I don't speak Latin. It's a dead language from a country called Rome.

Jon gives me a blank look. "Where's Rome?"

I dodge that question too. In fairness, I really do have no idea. I'm sure it sunk below the ocean like a bunch of other countries, but I can't tell him that.

Anyway, we both decide that Shireen's descriptor of rainbow fire is closer to the truth. He's amused by her theory of the Lord of Light and the Seven fighting in the sky. Thinks it's creative. Though he points out that the aurora originates from the Wall or the lands beyond, and he doesn't know much about the Lord of Light, but the Seven are nonexistent there. Apparently it's the final word in the old gods. They're everywhere, in birds and beasts, trees and streams and stones. They're the ones that have power in the North.

"All right, so what do you northerners think it means?" I ask. "I mean, do you have any legends, or superstitions, or..."

"Superstitions?" Jon asks, turning to look at me with exaggerated disbelief. "In the North?" I bite my lip but fail to suppress a snort, and he laughs. "Why do you ask?"

I raise my eyebrows meaningfully. "Gale thinks it's a bad omen," I say, trying to measure the right amount of respect for Jon's gods and sarcasm towards Gale into my tone.

Jon scoffs appreciatively, but the humor fades from his face. He turns back to the lights, his expression unreadable. "You still talk to him, then."

"Rarely," I say defensively. "More than I'd like to. But it's his earpiece, and he lets Shireen use it. It's the one way I can still talk to her. Make sure she's okay."

"You still worry about her." Jon's tone softens. "I understand." There's a long pause, then he takes in a deep, cleansing breath. "Honestly, if you asked the northerners, the lights can mean any number of things. Long winters. A coming storm. The old gods answering a prayer. Our ancestors reaching out to us. Reuniting with their ancestors and dead loved ones. Red means war, fire, and death, of course..."

"Of course, naturally," I say, nodding.

Shaking his head, he gives a small snort. "Old Nan saw something like this when she was a girl. She said when you see this much color, especially green like the forest or red as weirwood leaves, it's the Children and the Old Gods of the Forest reminding us that they're still out there, that their magic is still strong." He glances my way briefly with half a grin. "Then again, she's also said it means white walkers, blood magic, fire, famine, and dragons."

"Dragons?" I echo, meeting Jon's gaze with amusement. "Shireen did mention that. I believe she called it a dance of dragons in the North."

He inclines his head, as if considering. "Maybe the flying snakes in your dream weren't snakes. You did say the sky was on fire."

I give him a look. "Seriously, rainbow dragons?"

"They were said to come in many colors," he says with a completely straight face.

"The new gods, you can't imagine existing here," I say, gesturing up to the aurora. "But dragons, on the other hand…"

Jon shrugs and looks off to the west. "Well, we already have one in the North."

I realize who he's talking about, and my smile gradually falls away. Not for long, I think to myself.

As if reading my mind, three minutes later the last of the aurora's flame begins to dissipate. Yellow and green and red, slipping away one after the other, then a fleeting grey mist, until we're left with a pale ivory moon under a still and starry sky. Even a dragon's fire burns out.

We give it a minute or two, just staring up at the impossibly clear night, but it doesn't return. "And there it goes," I say with a sigh.

"Best head back, then, unless you want to see a real sunrise," Jon says, making me scoff. "We'll probably pay for this in the morning."

I cringe, feeling guilty as it hits me how much time has passed. "Sorry I kept you up so late."

He stops as he's turning to leave, studying my face. "You don't need to apologize," he says gently. "It was an honor staying up with you, my lady."

Heat starts to pool in my cheeks again. "Katniss," I press, because it seems right now I don't know how to form words except for my own name.

"Katniss," Jon corrects himself, and smiles, making the matter worse.

I'm staring at him like an idiot, at his dark eyes with the scars and his lips that are parted slightly, and all I can think of is how kissing him would make the walk back to camp horrifically tense, not to mention the ride to Eastwatch if I don't go riding back to Castle Black, and there's something about the way he says my name…

I back up a step, stupidly afraid, and I must look like a frightened animal or something because Jon backs off as well.

"I'll walk you back," he says, his voice taking on that husky rasp. The one that sends shivers through me now.

We trudge through the snow, side by side but mostly in silence, to the camp where our respective beds and furs await. I sink into the refuge of my sleeping bag and gaze up at the sky, thinking of all the sunrises I spent wrapped up in Peeta's arms. Suddenly proximity doesn't feel like enough.

I wrap myself up in my shadowskin, listening to the nearby sounds of sleep from Jon and waiting for the lights to reappear. Craving a comfort for something I vaguely recognize, an ache I've felt ever since they vanished.

A feeling of cold, unexplainable loneliness.

A/N: Big thanks to ZainR, Klingehunter, and serasgiovanni for your kind reviews! My sincere apologies for the lateness and the length of this chapter, but at least I got it out before midnight? I fully intend for the next chapter to be... reasonably sized, and then Hardhome should be right on its heels. (No, seriously. Hardhome. I will not spend 10 chapters writing events on the sea voyage there.)