It was almost as though Sam and Gilly had never left at all.

Bickering in the library as Little Sam wandered about, now fully able to walk on his own and more than ready to wreak havoc on the bookshelves unless forced into the lap of his mother or father; taking all their meals together, joking and laughing as they ate—Caitie could almost forget it had been nearly two years since she'd last seen her two friends.

They assimilated into her life without issue; Arthur was slow to trust new people, but he and Sam spent only five minutes together before abandoning Caitie's company entirely in favor of discussing some works of Maester so-and-so, reciting history and philosophical theories that made her head hurt. Willa fell instantly in love with Little Sam, helping to take him off his mother's hands whenever she needed, and sometimes roping a far-less willing Dim Dalba into watching him as well. Caitie had also introduced Sam to Elbert, who was either ecstatic or irritated at the thought of meeting someone else who knew his brother—it was difficult to tell with him. But he still listened as Sam told his own stories about Edd, some of which even Caitie hadn't known.

Perhaps strangest of all was the fledgling friendship between Sansa and Gilly. On Caitie's way back to her chambers that first night, she'd checked in on Gilly before retiring to Johnna and Willa's bedchambers, only to find Sansa sitting in the chair opposite to hers, the two women deep in talk. Their topic of conversation, Caitie had no idea, but she'd left them to it, much too exhausted to hold a conversation of her own. And the next evening Sansa returned, and the next after that; even once Brienne and Podrick returned from King's Landing, Sansa still joined Gilly. And soon, it was an unspoken rule that the two would spend every evening after their workday ended together, whilst whoever was available watched Little Sam for Gilly. Sometimes that was Sam and Caitie, other times it was Willa and Johnna and Arthur. Even Arya had taken to the duty, when she wasn't wandering the castle or sparring in the training yard.

She was oddly good at it, too, Caitie thought, though she was smart enough not to say it out loud.

They were all happy to take on the duty, in part because it allowed Sam to tell Arya more stories about Jon while she played with Little Sam, and also because they were all simply happy to see both Gilly and Sansa open up to someone. Caitie could try, of course, and she did her best, but as she'd told Sansa, she could never truly understand what it meant to be violated the way her friend had been.

But Gilly knew, and it seemed to help them both to have someone who did, even if neither of them ever admitted it aloud.

It should have been the perfect reunion—and in many ways, it was. Yet it wasn't long before Caitie noticed something off about Sam. Since his conversation with Bran, he was quieter, refusing to meet her eyes more than once in a way that set her on edge. She was able to ignore it at first, but a week or so later, Gilly started acting strange, too; keeping to their bedchambers most of the day, asking anyone who wanted to see her to join her there instead of venturing out into Winterfell. She slept later than usual, and had less patience with Little Sam than she normally did.

"All right," Caitie said at last, fed up with the madness. She slammed shut the book she'd been reading—Tales of the Long Night. "I've had it."

Sam blinked, looking up at her from The Age of Heroes. They were alone in the library, the candles down to stubs after burning so long. The rest of the castle had long gone to bed; Caitie had had to force Arthur, yawning and grumbling, up to his chambers for the night before returning to continue her research with Sam.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, closing his book.

"Ever since your conversation with Bran, you've been acting strange. I was willing to ignore it at first, but now Gilly is acting strange too, and neither of you will tell me what the fuck is going on, so I'm done pretending. What's wrong?"

Sam grimaced. "Kitty—"

"Do not 'Kitty' me, Samwell." At his grimace, she pursed her lips and softened her tone. "Just tell me what's happening, all right? So I don't go mad with worry."

"I—I want to," he said, a sad ballad in his voice. "Really, I do. But I promised Bran and—it's very sensitive information, Caitie."

Knowing the things Bran liked to spit out, she could very well understand that. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I won't ask for details. Just—how bad is it?"

Sam paled. "Um…"

"Is it about the White Walkers?"

"No, no," he was quick to assure her. "It's about Jon."

Caitie wasn't sure if that was better or worse. "What about Jon?" When Sam merely cringed away from her, she bit out, "Sam, what is it?"

"He'swiththeDragonQueen."

He said it so fast that, for a moment, Caitie wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. When she finally did manage to piece together the sentence, she furrowed her brows. "I… know? He's traveling north with her."

Sam flinched as though she'd slapped him, and that struck fear into her heart like nothing else could. He shook his head. "I—I shouldn't have—Bran said that Jon was… that they were… together."

"Together how?" she asked, much more sharply than she'd meant.

Again, he flinched. "Please don't make me say it."

But he didn't need to; she'd avoided facing the truth thus far, but she wasn't stupid, nor was she delusional enough to convince herself of the lie when faced with absolute certainty.

"I see," she said coolly, trying to ignore the weight of Jon's necklace around her neck. "Well, that certainly makes sense of a few things." Of a lot of things. And to think I'd believed him her prisoner at one point. She wanted to laugh at herself—for that, and for thinking he'd marry Daenerys Targaryen for purely political reasons. Because this was Jon, and she might not have known him as well as she thought, but she should have realized he would never agree to marry someone he didn't…

So that was why he bent the knee, then. Not to save the North, not to gain the dragons against the White Walkers. No, he had thrown away their freedom for a woman he'd known all of four months, because he wanted to please her. Because his people's hope for freedom was less important than that. And now he was—

"Caitie," Sam said softly, placing a hand on her arm, "are you all right?"

She blinked up at him, having forgotten he was there. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, trying for a smile and knowing that it would never convince him. But she had to, because for him to know the truth would be unbearable. "As much as I dislike giving up our freedom, if Jon is… with this queen, then at least it means she's not as bad as I was expecting." He once fell in love with a woman who shot him full of arrows. His judgment when it comes to women is not, historically, faultless. She shook the thought away. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. We have more than enough to do without speculating about if Jon knows where to put it—"

"Caitriona," Sam said sharply, and she stopped, blinked, for she didn't think she'd ever heard him call her that before. When he saw her expression, his voice softened. "You're allowed to be angry."

Angry, she thought miserably. Gods, Caitie wished she was angry. Anger was easy; anger, she knew what to do with. But this… the smile that he'd always reserved only for her, the way his eyes lit up when he laughed at one of her jokes, the scars that he'd never let anyone but her see—all of it being bestowed upon someone else? That hurt, as if she'd been stabbed through the heart and left to bleed out.

But then, he didn't belong to her. She had seen to it; shown him the fear she held at the idea of being with him, and maybe he deserved to have someone who wanted to be with him, who was willing to try, at least, without hesitation or fear. Maybe he really had just… fallen in love with Daenerys Targaryen, with her famed beauty and her dragons and her generations of ancestors who had conquered and murdered and mutilated thousands of their people, including Jon's own family—a goal she wished to repeat, if her journey to Westeros was any indication. Who had refused to supply her own men, due to either incompetence or malice—and Caitie didn't know which was worse.

Or maybe he had never loved Caitie at all, and the feelings she thought she had seen were figments of her imagination. It made sense, didn't it? And in the end, what did it matter anyway? He was tied to someone else, now—and she had more people she loved than just him. They were what mattered; them and the defense of the realm she had spent so long trying to protect.

So if her throat tightened, if the air left her lungs, if all she wanted to do was lock herself in her chambers and cry, she would bury it down until it was so deep no one would know it was there. Not even her.

"What do I have to be angry about?" she asked, half believing the words. "He did what he set out to do, and now we have a chance at defeating the White Walkers."

Sam frowned. "I heard—and don't bite my head off, please—but I heard that you two were considering—"

"Considering something that you know I would never do," Caitie snapped, instantly regretting it at the pained look on her friend's face. She took a deep breath. "I'm not having this discussion—not with you—and anyway, don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't mention Gilly at all. I highly doubt her inability to leave your chambers has anything to do with Jon."

Sam chuckled, and she thanked the Gods he took the bait. It was nice to know that some things never changed—and that using Gilly to distract Sam was one of them. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" When she arched a brow, he sighed. "As much as I'd like to, it's really not my place to tell you; Gilly said she wanted to be the one to… but you've been so busy, and—"

"Is she sick?"

"No, of course not. She's perfectly healthy. In fact—"

"I'm pregnant."

For how long Gilly had been watching them in the doorway, Caitie had no idea, but her smile was soft. Caitie stared at her, then at Sam, then back to her again as she tried to comprehend the statement. Gilly had been pregnant, certainly, but that was years ago, now, and… oh.

"You are?" she asked. "I mean, again?"

Gilly nodded. "No one else knows yet. You're the first person we've told."

"You mean… you're going to be parents? Little Sam is going to have a baby brother or sister?"

"And you'll be an aunt," Gilly said, walking over to take the empty seat beside Caitie. "If you're willing."

"If I'm willing? Gilly, are you serious?" Gilly laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. "Gods, I am so happy for you. For both of you. If this is what you want, I mean."

"Well, actually…" Sam hesitated, only continuing when Gilly nodded encouragingly. "The last thing we would ever want is to bring a bastard into the world, so—um—we were sort of planning on marrying."

Well. It was one surprise after another, apparently. And while Caitie was more than excited at the prospect of helping two of the people she loved most in the world marry, she wasn't entirely sure how they could. "But… you can't, can you? You're still technically a man of the Night's Watch."

"What Night's Watch?" Sam asked with a laugh that was somehow equal parts sorrowful and joyful. "Even before the White Walkers started their march south, the Night's Watch was dying. Now… it's gone, Kitty, and it's not coming back. And if these are my last months, I want to spend them married to the woman I love."

She shook her head, for how could she ever argue with that? "You make a very convincing point," Caitie said. She smiled at Gilly. "Lady Gilly of House Tarly. It certainly has a nice ring to it."

Gilly laughed. "That's why I agreed to marry him."

Sam furrowed his brows. "I thought you said it was because—"

"Of a reason I don't think Caitie would want to hear about. Do you?"

It took Caitie a moment to understand, even as Sam went pink. Once she did, she almost gagged. "Oh, ew."

Sam, at least, had the decency to look away. "Sorry, Kitty."

She waved him off, because the last thing she wanted was apologies. What she wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible, so she never had to picture that ever again. "We don't have septons in the North. You won't get a southern ceremony."

Sam shook his head. "That's all right. I don't want a southern ceremony, anyway. The Seven never answered my prayers."

"But the Old Gods brought him to me," Gilly finished. "And me to him."

Caitie rolled her eyes. "Ugh. That is sickeningly romantic; I don't know why I ever encouraged you two."

Sam ignored her. "Do you think Lady Sansa might let us marry in the Godswood?" he asked.

She hesitated, because the truth was that she had no idea. After the last wedding that had taken place in Winterfell's Godswood… "I don't think it would be a problem as long as she doesn't have to be there for it. I'll ask her."

"Thank you," Gilly said. She exchanged another look with Sam. "Um, there's one last thing."

"What?"

"I know it's not normal, and I'd have asked Hobb, except he's not here, so… do you think you could give me away? It's fine if you don't want to—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Caitie said, grabbing Gilly's hand and squeezing it. "I'd be honored."

Gilly laughed. "Oh, good. Because I didn't know what I'd do if you said no."

Caitie laughed along with her, trying to forget about what Sam had told her before. Nothing else mattered right now; not Jon, not Daenerys, not the White Walkers. Just her family.

The Godswood was, without a doubt, the perfect place for a wedding.

There had been little time for preparations, as they'd thrown the wedding together at the very last minute, but none of that mattered now. The last sunlight of the day shone purple and gold through the canopy of trees, and fresh snow blanketed the ground, wrapping the world in soft white. Clutching Caitie's arm with the might of a warrior was Gilly, dressed in a gown of ivory that had once belonged to Catelyn Stark, of all people. Though her wedding had taken place at Riverrun, she'd brought her wedding gown with her when she'd moved to Winterfell, and Sansa had quickly offered it to Gilly.

"There isn't enough time for me to make you a dress of your own," she'd said. "But my mother's wedding gown is in Winterfell's storeroom. I think it might fit you with a few alterations."

Gilly's eyes had gone wide. "You wouldn't mind me wearing it?"

"Of course not—and neither would Arya. Our mother would have been honored. We would be honored."

Caitie hadn't been too sure of Catelyn Stark being honored, considering what she knew of the woman, but she believed Sansa and Arya. And once Gilly had tried the dress on, Caitie had to admit, it did fit her like a glove.

In the present, she murmured, "Are you ready?" as the red leaves of the weirwood came into view.

Gilly swallowed, her feet refusing to budge. "Yeah. Just a bit nervous, I guess."

Caitie frowned, remembering the first time she had ever met Gilly. It didn't take her long to realize what the problem was—for Gilly might have been excited at the prospect of marrying Sam, but actually marrying him was, in hindsight, bound to bring up a few ghosts. "You don't have to do this. He'll understand if you change your mind. We all will."

"It's not that. I want him to be my husband. I love him, and I'm so happy to get to marry someone I choose. I just…" Gilly shook her head. "It's stupid."

"Gilly, you are one of the smartest, strongest people I have ever met. You could never be stupid."

"I just—I never thought I'd have this: my son, Sam, you, and now…" She cradled her stomach with her hands; the pregnancy wasn't visible just yet, but it wouldn't be long. Gilly had already started to put on some weight, especially around her face. "I got so lucky—but my sisters didn't. Shireen didn't. They're all gone and I'm not, and I don't—" She shook her head. "They deserved better. So why am I here and not them? Why do I get to be happy when they won't ever get to feel anything ever again?"

"Ah," Caitie said. "Well, I'm certainly not the person to give you advice on how to deal with the loss of your sisters; as you already know, my record when it comes to dealing with losing siblings is… not the best."

Gilly snorted.

"But let me ask you something? If it was the other way around—if one of your sisters had gotten out and you hadn't, and she felt guilty for it—what would you say to her?"

"I'd say… I don't know. I think I'd just be happy that she was safe."

"Exactly."

Gilly laughed, brushing the tears from her eyes. "I really missed you."

Caitie grinned. "I know. Now come on, they're waiting for us."

She tried to walk on, But Gilly's arm tightened around hers, feet staying where they were. "One more thing."

Caitie furrowed her brows.

"When you sent the raven to us, did you know how she died?" Her voice wasn't accusatory, but Caitie flinched all the same.

She shouldn't have let Sam be the one to tell Gilly. It hadn't been fair to either of them.

"No. If I had known…" She never would have let Melisandre go on breathing for as long as she had, but that went without saying. And it didn't matter now; Melisandre was still out there, probably still fucking things up for people—and Caitie's regrets in regards to that were hers alone to contend with.

"Sam said—he said it was her death that brought Jon back."

"I didn't know that until months later, I swear."

Gilly sighed. "I know. I'm not angry with you, Caitie. I just want to understand."

Of course Gilly wasn't angry. It might have been easier if she was. But that had never been her way; she could be forceful and direct and endlessly stubborn—but it took a lot to make Gilly truly angry, especially at those she loved.

Caitie resisted the urge to run her fingers through her hair. "If I understood, I'd explain it to you. But I don't. All I have is the word of a red priestess who lied to me the entire time I knew her."

Gilly inhaled, letting the words sit between them, until at last, she said, "It just feels wrong to be here, celebrating, when Shireen's gone. Even more than my sisters. They made their choices. She—she didn't."

"Yeah," Caitie said thickly, because she couldn't disagree. She felt it, too.

"But," Gilly added in a shaky voice, "she loved me and Sam. And I think she would want us to be happy." She smiled. "So… let's go."

It wasn't much, Caitie thought. But if it was enough for Gilly, then it was enough for her.

They trudged up the path to the heart of the Godswood, where the weirwood tree towered over them. At the base stood Sam, immaculate in a black doublet, and beside him, Sansa, dressed in a beautiful deep blue dress, with trouts and direwolves embroidered on the hem, neckline, and sleeves. It was the first time Caitie had ever seen her in anything besides black or grey since retaking Winterfell. She watched Sansa carefully, alert for any signs of discomfort. Caitie had promised it wasn't necessary for her to attend, but Sansa had insisted anyway, for it was her duty, as the Lady of Winterfell, to officiate any wedding ceremonies taking place within the castle. And now, as Caitie watched her soft smile, she wondered if this—marrying two people so obviously in love in the heart of her home—was helping more than it was hurting.

She hoped so. Sansa deserved that much.

There was little audience for the ceremony. Johnna, Arthur, and Willa stood on the side along with Arya, the four of them keeping Little Sam occupied for his parents. Ghost waited patiently behind Sansa. And Caitie was grateful for all of them, she still felt as though something were missing. It was just so strange to have this moment, and not have Edd there to make disgusted noises at Sam and Gilly's objectively disgusting looks, or Hobb to grin and joke and perhaps threaten Sam a little.

Or Jon.

But as Gilly and Caitie approached the great tree, under its leaves, she felt protected. No Targaryen queen could conquer her here; no White Walker could kill her or turn her into something worse than dead. She was safe, at least for now.

Sansa cleared her throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

"Gilly comes to be wed," Caitie said. "A woman grown, she comes to beg the blessing of the Gods."

"Who comes to claim her?"

"Samwell of House Tarly," Sam said. "Who gives her?"

"Caitriona of House Norrey, her friend and sister."

Sam smiled brightly enough to push all the White Walkers back to the Lands of Always Winter.

"Lady Gilly," said Sansa, "will you take this man?"

Gilly didn't waste one second, and if Sam's smile was the sun, then hers were the stars. "I take this man."

"If the bride and groom would join hands in prayer before the Gods."

Caitie handed Gilly off to Sam, and as everyone bowed their heads in silent prayers of their own, a hush fell over the Godswood. I don't really know what to pray for, Caitie thought. The world has gone to shit, and there's nothing you can do that will change it. But I suppose… don't let any more of the people I love die. Whatever you want with my life, you can have it; I'm only one person, I don't matter. But keep them safe. Arthur, Johnna and Willa, Sam and Gilly and their children, Sansa and Arya, Edd and Tormund and the rest of the Night's Watch. Even… especially Jon.

She didn't know she'd shed tears until they were sliding down her face and splattering into the snow beneath her boots. She opened her eyes, half-expecting a change; dark clouds, or thunder, or something to signal what was to come. But the Godswood was quiet, at peace.

"Rise," Sansa said, and Caitie remembered where she was. She hastily brushed the tears off her cheeks, hoping that no one would notice.

It was at this point when the groom would usually cloak the bride in his house colors, but there had not been time to make a groom's cloak, so Sansa simply said, "You are now husband and wife." She looked between them, arching a brow. "Go on."

Beaming, Gilly smashed her lips against Sam's. His eyes widened a fraction before he reciprocated, snaking his arms around her waist as he deepened the kiss—and Caitie had half a mind to remind them that there were children present, including their son, but she couldn't bring herself to interrupt the moment.

At last, the kiss ended. Laughing, Sam slid his arms under Gilly's knees and scooped her up to carry her to the great hall for their wedding feast, as was the Northern tradition. It wasn't really a feast, of course; rather, it was just a small gathering of friends. But there would be food and laughter and even dancing—something with which Sam had threatened Caitie constantly in the days leading to the wedding. "It's traditional for the groom to dance with his sisters, and Talla isn't here, which means you'll have to do," he'd said. And however much Caitie hated dancing, she wouldn't deny him his wish.

The others followed, Little Sam clinging tight to Johnna and Willa's hands as they ran after the bride and groom. Arya melted into the shadows, leaving Only Caitie and Sansa, watching them all.

"You're not wearing Aunt Lyanna's necklace," she said.

Sansa's tone was nothing but kindness, and yet Caitie had to look away, not wanting to see the pity she knew she would receive when she spoke. In truth, the first thing she had done was remove Lyanna Stark's necklace. Unable to bear looking at it in the mirror or feeling it against her skin, she'd tucked it away in the top drawer of her dresser, with a promise to herself that she would never have to think about it—or the person who had given it to her—ever again. A part of her had even wanted to toss it off the battlements, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do so.

Until now, her dresses had hidden the lack of necklace from view, but for the wedding she'd donned a dark purple gown with a low enough cut to reveal the lack of a chain around her neck.

"I…" Her throat tightened. This was supposed to be a happy day, full of love and laughter. It was supposed to be something beautiful amidst the darkness that was coming for them. But she couldn't evade the question, either. Sansa needed to know; she needed to have the full portrait, to understand all the implications of Jon's decisions, even if she ended up hating him for it. "I couldn't keep wearing it. Not when I know that Jon is… with Daenerys Targaryen."

"With her?" Sansa asked, brow furrowing. "What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what you think."

She froze; what was going through her mind, Caitie hadn't the faintest clue. "No," she said at length, and with all the conviction in the world. "He wouldn't do that to you—to any of us. He wouldn't—"

"Well, he did," Caitie shot back before she could rein her temper in. "I don't know why you're surprised. It's not like we didn't suspect this."

"How did you find out?"

"Guess."

Sansa sighed. "Bran. I see. Well, if it were anyone else, I'd say they were lying, but…" She didn't need to finish, for they both knew. Bran didn't lie—omit the truth, maybe, but everything he had told them did come to pass, in the end.

They lapsed into silence. Beside them, Ghost whined. Caitie scratched his head, wondering if he understood their words—and if he did, what he thought of the whole mess.

"He does love you," Sansa said at last. "I don't know why he's gone and—" She shook her head. "But I know for a fact it's not because he doesn't love you. Which… probably won't make what I have to say any easier."

"What?" Caitie asked, furrowing her brows.

Sansa turned to her now, face ashen and her lips set in a grim line. "You're in danger."

If she hadn't been so heartsick, Caitie would have laughed. "I hate to have to tell you this, but we're all in danger—"

"Damn it, this is not the time for one of your jokes, Caitriona," Sansa snapped. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. "You know that isn't what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean, then?"

"I meant that you, specifically, are in danger from the Dragon Queen."

Caitie shook her head, thoroughly at a loss now. "But… why? Technically, I'm just a vassal to you—"

"Don't you see? If Jon and Daenerys Targaryen are truly—whatever it is they are—then the moment she hears about you and your relationship with my brother, she'll single you out as a threat."

"What, because of those stupid rumors?" Caitie asked, thinking of the pitying way those at Winterfell had taken to looking at her ever since news of their new queen had come. "Trust me, no one believes Jon wants to marry me now that he's shown up with—"

"She will," Sansa insisted, her voice full of steely certainty. "People like her… they see everyone, everything, as a claim. And if what Bran's said is true, then she's claimed Jon. So if she thinks, even for one moment, that he has any feelings for you, or you for him, she will see you as a threat."

Caitie almost laughed. Obviously Jon didn't have feelings for her, or at least not the kind she'd thought; he'd made that abundantly clear. But Sansa had a point, too. Rumors were like wildfire—fast-spreading and impossible to flush out. It had led to Jon's downfall at Castle Black, and now…

When she looked up into Sansa's face, she frowned. There was something off, something she couldn't quite interpret. "What?"

Sansa grimaced. "You're not going to like it."

"I'm not going to like what?"

"Do… you know how I had you antagonize Littlefinger to take his attention away from Arya and I?"

Caitie's jaw dropped as Sansa's meaning dawned on her. "No. You can't be serious."

Sansa lifted her chin. "It will work. And so long as the Dragon Queen is busy fretting over me, she won't notice you."

"Gods—Sansa, this isn't like Littlefinger. Daenerys Targaryen has dragons, and I highly doubt she's gotten to where she is without using them. It's—it's too dangerous."

"I'll give her her due as queen, and that will be enough to keep her from executing me. But no more." Sansa gave a bitter smile. "It won't be difficult, at least. I don't think I could have a lower opinion of her than I already do—and it works out well, I think. The other lords need to know someone is advocating for them, and since Jon has… abdicated that responsibility, it now falls to me."

Caitie shook her head. "No," she insisted. "I'm not letting you do this; the Northmen know you're on their side, and I can take care of myself—"

"But you can't, don't you understand? You said it yourself; Daenerys Targaryen has dragons. You're one of the best fighters I've met, but that won't be able to stop her from burning you alive if she commands it."

Caitie wanted to argue that they didn't know for certain if Daenerys would burn her alive. But she wasn't naive enough to believe that. Not after Stannis. Not after what they'd read in Torrhen Stark's tomb.

Seeing Caitie's hesitation, Sansa pressed her advantage. "How many times have you put your life on the line for my sake? And what kind of friend would it make me if I weren't willing to do the same?"

"So you admit you'll be putting your life on the line."

"I admit it," Sansa said. "But I've dealt with her kind before; I know when to push and when to play nice."

Caitie shook her head. She wanted to argue, and yet she also didn't—because the truth? She was tired. Tired of kings and queens and the games they played. And if Sansa was willing to shield her from it, there was a part of her—a scared, exhausted part—that wanted nothing more than to let her.

Besides, it wouldn't be forever. Just until the Army of the Dead arrived. Then none of it would matter anymore.

"I can't stop you, can I?"

Sansa smirked. "No, although I'm touched that you tried."

"Is it any use telling you to be careful?"

"I'm always careful. But," she added, when Caitie scowled, "I promise all the same."

"I guess I'll take it." She sighed. "And who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and the White Walkers will kill us all. That would certainly put an end to all our problems."

"It certainly would." Sansa's mirth lasted only a second before it disappeared off her face. She looked away, her expression turning as dark and stormy as thunder clouds about to split with lightning. Somehow, Caitie knew what it meant—and in that moment, even though she knew it wouldn't last, she was glad to have never told Jon how she felt, regardless of what it had led to. Because from here on, there would only be more sacrifices from those she loved—and in her heart, she knew that he would be one of them.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to ruin Sam and Gilly's day, but I spoke to Bran before the wedding," Sansa said, her voice drawing Caitie back to the peace the Godswood offered them; a peace that suddenly felt stifling in the wake of an oncoming storm. "The Wall fell this morning. The Night King is on his way."

Jon returns next chapter. You guys excited? Because I'm excited.