Being a recruit for the Night's Watch was a breath of fresh air Caitie never would have expected.

Back home, her brothers had restricted her to train at strange hours so no one would get suspicious and tell Lord Norrey. Sometimes she'd stay awake into the dead of night with Cerys, just so nobody close to the Lord of Norwood would see her. If she couldn't get access to the training yard, she would take her daggers out from the loose stone next to her bed and practice inside her room. Whatever was necessary to keep learning, no matter how difficult, if for no other reason that to spite her father.

At Castle Black, it was an entirely different story. She could train with her daggers for however long she wanted and no one would get her into trouble; in fact, the Night's Watch expected her to practice from dusk to dawn. Sure, the days were long and difficult and nothing like she was used to—and every evening she would fall into her bed with an aching body until exhaustion claimed her. The list of duties she had, from helping in the kitchens, to manning the Wall, to cleaning the chamber pots for the entire class of recruits, were all enough to make her want to tear her hair out. But she'd still never felt more alive than she did at the Wall.

So when Jon offered to help two other recruits in learning weaponry the next day and asked Caitie to help him—after assuring her that the two in question were not, in fact, rapers, but boys around their age—she readily agreed. For even though the thought of introducing herself to more people terrified her, she couldn't help feeling ecstatic about the chance to teach someone else. She'd never been able to experience it with Arthur, after all. Her little brother had always hated anything that could hurt another person.

So that was why she found herself standing in the training yard early the next morning—much too early if she had anything to say about it—waiting to see who would be her new charges. Caitie had to hide her shock when she saw the taller of the two. Because, somehow, it was the boy whose nose Jon had broken. She could still see some faint bruising around the area, and it was just slightly puffier than it should have been.

"Hey," he said when he noticed her standing at the center of the sparring circle. "I saw you yesterday, didn't I? Your name's Caitie, right?"

All Caitie could do was nod—she had to bite down on her tongue to keep from asking how Jon had kept this boy from killing him after that display. Not that she was going to complain about their apparent truce. The fewer people who wanted to kill her first—and so far, only—friend, the better.

But that wasn't why she couldn't take her eyes off him. Grenn was tall and strong, with light brown, curly hair cropped close to his head, and a reddish beard. Caitie might be posing as a boy, but Seven Hells, she wasn't blind.

In hindsight, maybe agreeing to help really had been a bad idea.

When she didn't say anything, he added, "First person to come close to beating Snow—that's impressive."

To that, she couldn't stop herself from responding. "Well, someone had to bring his ego down a bit," she said wryly.

Chuckling, he held out a hand. "I'm Grenn."

Caitie accepted his handshake, praying he didn't realize how small her hands were compared to his. She definitely did.

"Caitie," she told him. "But I guess you already knew that."

Once they'd broken the handshake, she opened her mouth to say something more—something witty, if she could think of it—but before she could, Jon interrupted them, wanting to introduce her to the other recruit who'd asked for help. "This is Pyp," he said, beckoning towards the other recruit—she'd hardly even noticed him amongst Jon and Grenn, considering how small and bony he was. She could see why Jon wanted her to be the one training him.

"Well," Pyp said, fiddling with the hilt of the sword on his belt. "Guess you're stuck with me."

Caitie smiled pleasantly. "Guess so."

With Pyp looking more than a little nervous, she didn't force him to make small talk for much longer, and the four of them got to work. Thankfully, wasn't nearly so nervous once he realized Caitie was there to help him, not utterly annihilate him in the sparring circle. But it didn't take long for her to see that he wasn't much of a fighter. She corrected his form, taught him to use shortswords or daggers instead of longswords, and how to use his speed to his advantage. But he would never be a master.

With Grenn, she saw some potential. He had the raw talent—all he needed was some technique.

Soon enough, it became Caitie's daily routine to help Jon train Grenn and Pyp in the courtyard as soon as she finished breakfast. The four of them would work in the courtyard, fighting until their limbs were so sore they couldn't continue. Afterward, they would march into the dining hall for supper, trading jokes and conversation, giving her a sense of belonging she'd never thought she'd have at Castle Black. She wouldn't have said they were friends, necessarily, but they were definitely friendly.

And then, a few days after her arrival, Jon found her one evening, with the news that his uncle had gone to scout north without him.

This led to her nightly routine at Castle Black.

"How could he?" Jon spat, pacing back and forth on the outskirts of the courtyard at dusk. "I'm just as good as any of his men—"

"You're not even a brother yet," Caitie pointed out.

"I could have been if he'd just let me say my vows."

"You've been at Castle Black for two weeks. I don't think they'd let anyone take their vows that quickly."

Jon glared at her, but Caitie ignored it, since she couldn't really blame him. Leaving family behind was excruciating—that was something she knew all too well. There just wasn't much they could do to change the situation.

Luckily, she had an idea. "You know what you need?" she asked.

"No, what?"

"Alcohol."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Alcohol," he repeated skeptically.

Caitie nodded and led him down to the kitchens—though not without some complaints. After grabbing them both cups, she found a relatively small, dusty pantry in the very back of the kitchens and distracted him with terrible ale and silly stories about her childhood—though she was careful not to mention anything about her father or why she'd hidden away in the Night's Watch. Jon didn't press her for information, and she was endlessly grateful for that.

Soon enough, their nightly meetings had spiraled out of control—to the point where it felt as if Caitie spent more time in the pantry than anywhere else in Castle Black. A good thing, too, considering the stress of her situation. As much as she was enjoying her new life, she still needed the relief, the ability to simply be herself. Because no matter how much she liked Grenn and Pyp, there was always that worry at the back of her head that she was on the precipice of being found out. In order to stave that off, she had to keep her true self buried deep.

Except around Jon. She supposed she should have been more wary of him; for he was still the son of Ned Stark, but he was so... nice to her, even with his gruffness and complete inability to take a joke, and each day, little by little, she found herself opening up to him a bit more.

One night, after a long, harrowing day that left Caitie homesick and nervous, the two of them sat across from each other in that pantry, drinking their ales—or, rather, sipping them and trying not to gag. Needing a distraction from it all, especially the memory of Tyrion Lannister—the dwarf son of one of the least trustworthy houses on the continent—watching them in the courtyard as they trained, she blurted, "Tell me about your siblings." Jon looked surprised, but he didn't tell her to shut up, so she took that as a sign to continue. "Your sisters. I never had sisters."

As it turned out, she'd asked a good question. This was a topic Jon had no trouble discussing with her. The older of the two Stark girls, Sansa, he didn't really speak about, but at the mention of the younger, Arya, his eyes lit up. Caitie wondered if that was how she looked when she spoke to someone about Arthur.

Seven Hells, she missed him.

But Jon did a good job of distracting her from it—from all of her fears. He told her of the time he'd dressed as a ghost to scare his siblings, which led to Arya punching him in the nose. A few drinks later, he even admitted to giving her a sword as a parting gift, which she'd named Needle.

When a flabbergasted Caitie asked him why he had done that, he answered with, "All she ever wanted was to fight. And I wanted her to have something to remember me by in King's Landing."

Caitie blinked, and for a moment she couldn't think of what to say. When she finally got her bearings, she asked the first question which came to mind. "So, why 'Needle?'"

"Sansa always had her sewing needles. The sword was Arya's needle."

Caitie smiled, thinking she would like Arya Stark. She wished she'd met her properly during the visit to Winterfell, but considering the incident, it was probably best she hadn't. "Needle," she repeated. "I like it. Better than what I named my daggers, at any rate."

"I wondered about that," Jon replied. "You never learned to fight with a sword. Why?"

She shrugged. "Cerys always said that the sword would be my enemy because I'm so small. He and Owen gave me a set of daggers, and it was like discovering I had a set of extra limbs I'd never known about before. It just felt... right."

"I can understand that," Jon said with a small smile playing on his lips. "What did you name them?"

She averted her eyes, knowing the reaction she would get. "Dark and Sister."

Jon raised one eyebrow, as if he couldn't quite believe it. Caitie crossed her arms. "Yes, yes, I know it was a stupid name. But I always looked up to Visenya Targaryen—even if she was a Targaryen. She's one of the only female warriors in Westerosi history. What else should I have named them?"

Jon didn't say anything, but she could tell he thought the whole thing was just hilarious, if the way he was smirking was anything to go by.

In return, Caitie scowled. "Oh, piss off." She'd never used such low vernacular before, but she found it encapsulated her irritation rather well.

And yet, her irritation didn't last long after Jon responded with an uncharacteristic chuckle, because that was the moment she realized how lucky she'd gotten. She had found someone who knew her secret, would keep it—from the lord commander, from Tyrion Lannister, even from his father—and for some inexplicable reason, enjoyed having her around. She couldn't stay irritated knowing that.

And although Caitie would never admit it to him, she enjoyed having Jon around, too.

Alongside her three new friends, there was also Jon's direwolf, Ghost.

Caitie supposed she should have known that the son of Eddard Stark would have one, although direwolves hadn't been seen south of the Wall since long before she was born. But there were the direwolves of legend, and then there was Ghost. Two very different things.

The first time Caitie saw him, she almost screamed. She was standing in a deserted hallway, all alone, carrying a deer bone to the kitchens for the First Steward, Bowen Marsh, when a large, snow-white, red-eyed direwolf advanced on her. At first, the whole thing felt surreal; she wondered if maybe she had hit her head. But the closer the wolf got to her, the more solid the situation felt.

There was a direwolf—a real-life direwolf—with glowing red eyes slinking towards her.

She knew, then, that she was going to die. Her name was Caitriona Norrey, the stories would say. She fled to the Wall and posed as a boy, just to be eaten by a direwolf.

After her shock had worn off, Caitie screamed like the Seven Hells were swallowing her up and tossed him the deer bone, hoping he'd take it and go—preferably without killing her.

"Seven Hells, Caitie." Jon popped his head out from around the corner. "Scream like that and everyone will know about you."

Caitie scoffed, ignoring him. "Do you not see the direwolf almost as tall as a pony with demon eyes coming towards me?"

Jon laughed, causing Caitie's temper to flare. "You're laughing?"

"Oh, calm down," he said. "This is my direwolf, Ghost. He won't hurt you."

Caitie eyed the direwolf skeptically. Sure enough, now that he was in his master's presence, Ghost seemed to have shed his aggressive stance. The direwolf padded over to her, carrying the deer bone in his mouth, and dropped it at her feet. Somehow, she got the feeling this was his version of a peace offering.

"Um, thank you," she said. "You can, uh, keep it."

Ghost seemed to understand. He peered up at her with his big, blood-red puppy eyes, licked her hand, and allowed her to scratch behind his ear. The fear she had left melted away when he leaned into her hand and tried to lick it again.

In the weeks that followed that first meeting, Jon would say that Ghost was much friendlier to Caitie than any of the other recruits at Castle Black. He always insisted it was because she was a fellow Northerner, while Caitie was pretty sure it was the deer bone she'd given him.

"He's a good boy," she assured her friend one evening while they sat in the dining hall after supper. Ghost had his head in her lap, so she could stroke his ears. "As long as he has food."

"He's growing," Jon replied. "He used to be the runt of the litter. My siblings' direwolves were always bigger."

"Well, I suppose I can't deny him, then, can I?" She tossed Ghost a bit of chicken. "He has to grow up to be a big, scary, direwolf, doesn't he?"

When Ghost barked in agreement with her, Jon bent down and, with a completely straight face, muttered, "Go for Ser Alliser first, when you do."

Caitie burst into laughter. She had never heard Jon make a proper joke before.

He held out for a few seconds before he gave up and joined in. As they sat there, roaring with laughter, Caitie decided that as far as hiding in the Night's Watch went, it could have been much, much worse.

Of course, because she'd just settled into a routine and the Gods wanted to spite her, things couldn't stay calm for very long.

The trouble began in the courtyard, a month after arriving at Castle Black. Caitie was in a good mood—no one had found her out yet, her breakfast had only made her want to throw up once, and she'd actually gotten a decent night's sleep for once.

Their usual post-breakfast sparring session had started like normal—with Caitie taking Pyp and Jon taking Grenn.

"Left foot forward," Jon instructed. When Grenn did as asked, Jon nodded. "Good. Now, pivot as you deliver the stroke. Put all your weight behind it."

This time, Grenn ignored his directions, letting his sword flag and relaxing his stance. His eyes moved to a point behind them. "What in the Seven Hells is that?"

The rest of those in the courtyard twisted around to see for themselves.

The "that" in question turned out to be a boy larger than a cauldron, with the expression of a hunted deer, caked in sweat and unnaturally pale. He was being led to the sparring area by Thorne, who looked even more unhappy than usual, if that was possible.

Pyp glanced over and snorted. "They'll need an eighth hell to fit him in."

The comment prompted Caitie to whack him, causing Grenn to laugh.

"Ow!" Pyp exclaimed, rubbing the part of his arm where she'd struck. "What was that for?"

"When someone near you has a weapon," she said, "don't get distracted."

He didn't have time to reply beyond a roll of his eyes, because Ser Alliser had made his way over to them, glaring at the newcomer as if he was a filthy piece of trash. "Tell them your name."

The boy looked around nervously. "Samwell Tarly," he said, "of Horn Hill." Samwell paused, taking in the group, and then, "I mean, I was of Horn Hill, but... I've come to take the black."

Caitie furrowed her brows at the familiarity of the name. Randyll Tarly, she knew—it was impossible not to know about the only man to have defeated Robert Baratheon's army on the battlefield. But she quickly remembered why Samwell's name sounded so familiar: her father had briefly mentioned him about a year ago as a possible option for marriage.

At the time, she hadn't known why nothing ever came of it; but now, looking at the boy in question, she had an inkling.

"Come to take the black pudding."

This came from a recruit named Rast—one of the most horrible people she'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. According to Jon, Rast had gotten caught as a raper in King's Landing—which already predisposed Caitie to hate him. But he was also one of the worst bullies she had ever met. He'd teased her mercilessly about her scrawniness at least five times in the last two weeks.

If only he knew why she was so scrawny. Lucky for her, Rast was also a complete and utter moron.

He smiled cruelly, sniggering at Samwell Tarly. All the other recruits joined in with the laughter. The only two who didn't were Jon and Caitie.

Thorne simply ignored Rast's comment. "Well, you can't be any worse than you look. Rast, see what he can do."

As the two positioned themselves, the memory of Arthur's first sparring lesson sprung to mind. Because Samwell Tarly had the exact same look of fear as Caitie's younger brother did when they'd put a sword in his hands.

Gods, this wasn't going to end well.

In a flash, Rast forced him to the ground with his sparring sword. Sam cried out, his voice high and afraid, "I yield! Please, no more."

That should have been the end of things, but Thorne wasn't about to let Sam get off easily. "On your feet. Pick up your sword." He looked to Rast. "Hit him 'til he finds his feet."

Rast, ever the sadist, went back to whipping Sam. There was a loud thwack each time he struck Sam's sparring vest. Sam didn't bother fighting back; he stayed curled in a little ball, yelping in pain.

"Seems they've run short of poachers and thieves down south," Ser Alliser said with a malicious grin. "Now they send us squealing bloody pigs! Again, harder!"

Caitie clenched her fists. A part of her wanted to step in and scream at Thorne and Rast to stop. Samwell had done nothing to them. There was no point in treating him so cruelly. But the other part of her was scared—scared of Thorne, scared of drawing attention to herself, scared of Caitriona Norrey being found.

She silently thanked the Gods when Jon moved to step in. But Pyp, for some unfathomable reason, grabbed his shoulder to stop him. "Jon," he warned.

Caitie may have liked Pyp, but it didn't stop her from sending him the most deadly glare she could muster, hoping to emulate the ones her mother had frequently given Cerys throughout her early childhood—usually after catching him doing something mischievous.

Pyp's eyes widened, and he removed his hand from Jon's arm.

"Enough!" Jon shouted, once free, as Sam sobbed into the dirt. "He yielded."

Thorne gave Jon a taunting smile. "Looks like the bastard's in love. All right then, Lord Snow, you wish to defend your lady love; let's make it an exercise. You," he said as he pointed toward Caitie, Pyp, Grenn, and Rast. "Four of you ought to be sufficient to make lady piggy squeal. All you've got to do is get past the bastard."

It took only a split-second for Caitie to make a decision. There were plenty of things she was willing to do to survive. She'd cut her hair, left her family, gone to live in the most dangerous places on the continent. She'd left behind everything that had made her her. But hurting someone who didn't deserve it—someone who looked so beaten and terrified—was something she just couldn't do.

"Is there a problem?" Thorne asked, his voice more vicious than she had ever heard it.

"I won't do it."

He stared at her, daring her to continue, but she said nothing, only moving closer to Jon and taking a defensive stance.

Jon nodded solemnly at her. He turned to Grenn. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"No."

Caitie almost beamed, but she changed her mind when she realized he still intended to obey Thorne's command.

Pyp, Rast, and Grenn attacked. Caitie stood in front of Sam, waiting for someone to lunge at him, but Jon defeated them so quickly that no one even came close. By the end, only Grenn was left standing. He yielded as soon as Jon struck at him again.

Well, maybe he was smarter than Caitie had initially thought.

Once it was over, she looked back over to Thorne. His expression made the Wall look warm by comparison. "We're done for today," he said, scowling at Jon. "Go clean the armory. That's all you're good for."

The master-at-arms turned swiftly and marched away.

Pyp helped Grenn to his feet, grinning. "Well fought."

"Piss off."

Caitie ignored them both, watching Thorne walk away. Once he was out of sight, she glanced over at Jon, who looked about as apoplectic as she felt. "I always knew the Night's Watch was a haven for the worst people in Westeros, but that man…"

"Is the biggest piece of shit in the Seven Kingdoms?" Grenn supplied.

She thought of her father and the man he'd expected her to marry. "Almost."

Sensing that she wasn't willing to elaborate, Jon, Grenn, and Pyp turned to Samwell. Caitie stood back and observed the newcomer as the group conversed.

"Did he hurt you?" Samwell asked, looking towards Jon.

"I've had worse."

He nodded timidly, trying to muster the courage to speak. "You can call me Sam… if you want. My mother calls me Sam—"

Jon cut him off. "It's not going to get any easier, you know. You're going to have to defend yourself."

"Why didn't you get up and fight?" Grenn asked.

"I wanted to. I just couldn't."

"Why not?"

Sam bowed his head in shame. "I'm a coward. My father always says so."

Gods, he was reminding her more and more of Arthur every time he spoke.

"The Wall's no place for cowards," Jon told him.

"You're right. I'm sorry." He looked between Jon and Caitie with the kindest smile she'd ever seen. "I just… wanted to thank you. Both of you."

Caitie smiled back at him. "It was no trouble."

Sam shot her a relieved glance, nodded at all of them one more time, picked up his sword, and left.

Grenn scoffed as soon as he was gone. "A bloody coward. People saw us talking to him. Now they'll think we're cowards too!"

Losing her patience, Caitie crossed her arms and scowled. "Oh, would you just shut up already? No one cares who you've spoken with."

It came out more snappish than planned. Grenn stared at her, mouth agape. Not that she could blame him; he had never seen her angry before, and an angry Caitriona was always scary.

Pyp laughed. "You're too stupid to be a coward, anyway."

His comment overshadowed the shock Grenn had at Caitie's outburst. He turned to his friend. "You're too stupid to be a—"

"Quick now, before summer's over."

Grenn rushed at Pyp, and the two ran off.

As soon as they were gone, Caitie grabbed Jon's arm. She dragged him to a small alcove far enough away so that they wouldn't be overheard.

"Caitie, what—"

"We have to protect him," she said, cutting Jon off.

He stared at her blankly for a moment before answering. "What?"

"Samwell Tarly. We have to protect him."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, keep up!" Caitie paced the alcove. "He'll get eaten alive by Rast and his lot if we don't do something."

Jon sighed. "I know."

"So then we have to stop them. Force them to leave him alone… or something."

Caitie wasn't sure how, exactly, to force Rast to leave Sam alone, but she figured it was a problem for later.

Jon didn't look convinced. "Why?"

"Why?" she repeated. "Because he's scared and vulnerable and alone, and that's not something anyone should have to go through."

Jon gave her an odd look. "This is personal for you, isn't it?"

"And here I thought you weren't observant," she snapped.

His eyes widened, and Caitie immediately grimaced. She hadn't intended to be so punchy, but he'd struck a nerve with his comment, even if she didn't want to admit it.

"I'm sorry. It's just that…" She groaned, wringing her hands together as she searched for the right words, pacing back and forth in front of Jon. "My youngest brother has always hated fighting. Owen and Cerys started swordplay by the time they were three, and I started when I was six. But Arthur, he's eight now, and unless something's changed in the weeks since I've left, putting even a wooden practice sword in his hand terrifies him." She hesitated, remembering the first time Owen had brought Arthur down to the practice dummies. "He would get this look on his face, exactly like Sam's: just pure dread. My father reacted to it... poorly."

Jon stared at Caitie, brow furrowed in confusion, as if he didn't understand why this story was important.

"When I looked at Sam," she said, "I saw Arthur. I can't protect my brother anymore—it's up to Owen and Cerys, now. But I can protect Sam. I have to try, at least."

"If he can't defend himself, then—"

"Then what?" she asked, her temper rising again. "He's terrified! You think he came to the Wall by his own choice?"

Jon shook his head. "Why else would he? He's the son of a lord."

And as much as she wanted to, Caitie couldn't argue with his logic. "I don't know. Maybe you should ask him." She motioned to the tunnel through which Sam had disappeared.

Jon looked between it and her. Then he shook his head again, as if he thought Caitie was being preposterous. "I'm going to the dining hall for supper."

Caitie sneered. "Fine. I'll do it myself, then."

And even though she had no idea how to protect Sam without Jon's help, she stalked off as dramatically as she could, leaving him in her wake.

I went back and forth on adding a Tyrion cameo, and I'm still not sure I made the right decision cutting it, but... ehh, I thought it fucked with the pacing.