It didn't take long for them to gather the bodies—of which there were two—and load them onto a cart to take back to Castle Black. Caitie couldn't bring herself to look at them for longer than a few seconds at a time, so she stayed far away from the bodies while they walked home. Instead, she, Jon, and Sam exchanged nervous glances the whole way, silently wondering what this meant for Jon's uncle.

As they entered through the gate, Lord Commander Mormont stood waiting for them. Caitie hesitated when she saw him. Until now, she'd only ever seen him from far away. Close up, he looked every bit the Old Bear—tall and large and utterly intimidating.

"It's Othor, without a doubt," he said grimly, leaning down to take a closer look at the dead brother.

Othell Yarwyck nodded towards the other body. "The other one is Jafer Flowers, my lord, less the hand the wolf tore off."

"Any sign of Benjen or the rest of his party?"

"Just these two, my lord," answered Jon, not taking his eyes off the cart. "Been dead a while, I'd say."

Caitie caught his gaze, trying to convey how sorry she felt. The likelihood of Benjen Stark being alive had just gotten much slimmer, possibly non-existent. A look of understanding passed between her and Jon, and she knew they would talk about this at length later.

Sam sniffed the bodies and furrowed his brows. "The smell," he said once finished.

Yarwyck echoed Sam's movement and shrugged. "What smell?"

"There is none. If they'd been dead for a long time, wouldn't there be rot?"

Caitie hadn't thought of it, but Sam was right. And for some strange reason, it set off alarm bells in her mind. Something was wrong about this situation—but she couldn't put her finger on what.

Another chill ran down her spine.

"We should burn them," Jon said.

"Snow's not wrong, my lord," Yarwyck agreed. "Fire will do for them. The Wildling way."

The lord commander shook his head. "I want Maester Aemon to examine them, first." He nodded towards Sam. "You may be a coward, Tarly, but you're not stupid."

Regardless of the circumstances, Caitie smiled and nudged Sam with her arm. That was as close to a compliment as it seemed one could get from Mormont, and if anyone deserved praise for his smarts, it was her friend.

The lord commander ordered some brothers to take the bodies away, and while everyone was distracted, Caitie whispered to Jon, "Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, not really."

A different brother interrupted them before she could answer.

He stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard and addressed Mormont. "Lord Commander, Maester Aemon awaits you in his chambers."

There was a pause before the brother spoke again, but when he did, Caitie could have sworn the atmosphere became suddenly ominous.

"A raven from King's Landing."

Although the events of the day should have set her on edge, any worries about ravens from the south or discomfort at finding the bodies of dead black brothers beyond the Wall were overshadowed when Caitie got a letter from her brothers later that day. The moment it arrived, she ran to her new quarters and quickly tore the plain seal off. Her eyes roved the parchment. She smiled as she read the words Owen and Cerys had written.

They were quick to assure their little sister that they missed her, even adding a lengthy paragraph—coded, of course—describing how miserable Owen's nameday had been without her wonderfully engaging presence. It was a testament to how well they knew her. Caitie had never been good at resisting flattery.

For the most part, the letter reassured her. However, one small detail made her feel uneasy: there was no mention of Arthur—not even a brief sentence. It was most likely nothing serious, but Caitie felt a weight in her chest at the thought of it.

She had little time to stew on the implications, though, because less than an hour later, the contents of the letter from King's Landing spread through Castle Black. After finding out what the letter contained, she decided it took precedence.

King Robert Baratheon was dead. Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, and, more importantly, Jon's father had accused his friend's three children of being bastards born of incest to Queen Cersei and her twin brother Jaime. For that, he'd been deemed a traitor to the realm and imprisoned.

Jon had not taken the news well.

He spent the better part of that evening in a state of furious shock, hardly speaking, refusing to eat even after Castle Black's cook, Hobb, had made him his special venison stew. It all came to a head the next day, when, during his kitchen duties the next evening, Jon ran at Thorne with a knife—in front of the lord commander.

Caitie had been on stable duty that evening, so she'd only heard it secondhand from Sam. But from what he'd described to her, the situation was bleak.

"How did Mormont look, exactly?" she pressed him. "Angry? Vaguely annoyed? Exasperated?"

Sam thought about it. "Sort of... purple. Or maybe that was Ser Alliser."

She snorted before she could stop herself. "Grenn stopped him?"

"Just in time, too."

Caitie sighed, rubbing her temples to keep her headache at bay. It wasn't that she blamed Jon for attacking Ser Alliser—she'd be a terrible hypocrite if she did—but if Jon wasn't careful, he would hang. "He's going to get himself killed."

"I'm sure he'll be all right, Caitie."

Hours later, and she still didn't believe it.

Of course, so far Mormont had only confined him to quarters. Being the lord commander's favorite and his personal steward put Jon in a better position than most. But if Ned Stark could betray the realm, then anything was possible.

The idea of him hanging made Caitie feel sick. Jon, for all his brooding—and some mild arrogance—had somehow become her best friend. They bickered and annoyed one another a good third of the time, yes, but it didn't matter.

He was her best friend, and the idea of losing him terrified her.

And that was ignoring the fact that the crown had arrested his father for treason. Ned Stark could end up dead or worse, and Gods only knew what would happen to Jon's sisters, who were stuck in King's Landing, too.

Caitie couldn't begin to fathom how awful it must be.

So, to both reassure herself and make sure he was okay after the altercation, she had snuck into the kitchens, stolen a rather large bottle of ale, and started towards her friend's quarters, moving as silently as she could.

Caitie had always been good at sneaking. She knew which shadows would conceal her, which steps would give away her position, when to hide or risk moving. Her time skulking through the shadows to steal desserts from the kitchens or into the courtyard to destroy training dummies had prepared her well.

That was to say, she had no trouble finding her way to Jon's quarters without being caught.

When she got there, Caitie approached the door, knocked quietly, and waited. Jon opened it not half a second later. He gave her a weary look and said, a little cuttingly, "Come to tell me what I did was stupid?"

Caitie decided to ignore his tone of voice. She only raised an eyebrow and held out the bottle.

Jon looked down sheepishly. "Oh. Thank you."

"It was the least I could do after yesterday."

He beckoned her into the room. When she stepped inside, he shut the door and plopped himself down on his bed beside Ghost. Caitie didn't say a word as Jon took a long drink, using the time to observe his new quarters. As the lord commander's steward, his were more spacious than Caitie's, although that wasn't saying much. Like hers, the room was plainly decorated, with only a bed, a barrel nightstand, and a small wardrobe.

"What was I thinking, falling for Thorne's taunts?" Jon bemoaned, cutting through the quiet.

Caitie turned her attention back to him. "I can't blame you," she said, trying her best to sound reassuring. "From everything I've heard, what he said was despicable."

"I should've known better."

"He called your father a traitor. I would've done the same in your position."

Jon seemed to find the comment amusing. "You'd do more than that," he said, chuckling ironically. "I'd bet three gold dragons that if it were you, Thorne would be dead."

Caitie rolled her eyes, but she also smiled as best she could. Anything she could do to make this situation less terrible for him, she would, even if it meant allowing a bit of ribbing.

Jon went silent and frowned. Then, "Do you think my father—do you think he did what they're saying?"

"Do you?"

"I asked you first."

She sighed. "Oh, I don't know. I only ever met Lord Stark once, and I barely said two words to him. But Owen always told me he was the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms."

"He is," Jon agreed. "And those southerners…"

"Are not."

"Aye."

There was nothing she could say to make it any less horrid. What a mess this was—a horrifying mess that would most likely end in pain for her friend. And Caitie was powerless to do anything about it.

Jon broke her out of her thoughts by asking, "My sisters are in King's Landing. What do you think will happen to them?"

"I don't know." And then, without really thinking about it, she added, "I'm not sure I want to."

Caitie winced as she realized her lack of tact, but Jon only sighed sadly and replied, "Me neither."

"You said Sansa was to marry the prince—or king now, I suppose—yes? She should be protected, then." It was naively hopeful, but Caitie had to say something comforting.

"You think the king would marry a 'traitor's' daughter?" he asked, unconvinced.

"How else will he keep the North in line?"

Jon stared at the bottle of ale and frowned thoughtfully. "Does that mean he'll keep my father alive, too? And Arya?"

Caitie wasn't sure how to answer his question. She didn't know anything about Joffrey Baratheon, or—if Ned Stark was to be believed—Joffrey Waters. But dislike of the Lannisters was the only thing her father and his eldest sons ever agreed upon, and so she knew: no one with Lannister blood was ever to be trusted.

Of course, Caitie couldn't say this to Jon. She wanted to reassure him, not make things worse, so she decided to be vague. "If he's smart."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?"

"I am not!"

He laughed despite himself at her indignation, and Caitie rolled her eyes again.

"Just think about it," she continued. "What would the king gain from killing your family? A bunch of angry Starks and all their bannermen." She stopped abruptly, realizing the exact implications of what that meant.

Jon seemed to realize, too. "Your brothers," he said forlornly.

Caitie shook her head, trying to convince herself that there was a way through this without a war. Because there had to be; nobody wanted another war so soon after Robert's Rebellion. It made sense that those in charge would do anything in their power to avoid it. "The last thing Joffrey needs is the entire North rising up against him while he's trying to keep his claim on the throne—especially if other Baratheons take up arms against him," she said. "No… if he's smart, he'll spare your father as long as he admits to lying and then keep him and your sisters hostage until your brother pledges fealty. And then they'll be able to go home."

It was possible, wasn't it? Robb Stark would pledge fealty, and the king could let Jon's father and at least one of his sisters return to Winterfell.

For Caitriona, though, the most crucial part was that her brothers would be safe at Norwood.

"You believe that?" Jon asked, and she knew he didn't in the slightest.

Caitie tried to tell herself that she did, in fact, believe it. After all, coming to Castle Black turned out much better than she could ever have dreamed. Why shouldn't this go right, as well? At the same time, however… "I don't know," she admitted, crestfallen. "But what's the alternative? I really don't want to think about it. Do you?"

"No," he sighed, "I don't," before taking the largest gulp of ale Caitie had ever seen.

"Don't go through it all at once," she said, trying to distract from the worries she now had. "I don't want to raise suspicions, so it'll be a while before I can get more for you."

Jon swallowed the ale. "Caitie? Thank you."

"You won't be thanking me tomorrow if you drink too much."

He shuddered at the thought of an ale-induced headache and set the bottle down on his nightstand.

They sat in heavy silence for a few more minutes before Jon said, "I wish Uncle Benjen were here."

"We'll find him." Dead or alive, she thought.

"We'd have to go north."

"So, we'll go north." She said this with more confidence than she felt, but meant it all the same.

Jon eyed her. "You'd do that? If I wanted to?"

Caitie furrowed her brows at the skepticism in his voice. It was just so strange, because of course she would. She'd never had a friend before Jon. She'd never had someone besides her brothers who cared enough about her to put his life at risk before Jon—even after she'd said some of the most horrible things imaginable to him. And that's what friends did for each other, wasn't it?

But she didn't say any of that, because just the thought of it made her squirm with embarrassment. So instead, she simply replied, "Yes."

They retreated into their own thoughts for a little while, until at last Jon said, "It's not that easy though, is it?"

Caitie didn't answer right away, thinking instead back to the day before and the Haunted Forest. There was so much unknown out there; so many ways for things to go wrong. And if the First Ranger of the Night's Watch couldn't survive, then what hope did two fresh brothers have? "No," she admitted eventually, sighing. "As much as I wish it were, it isn't. I'm sorry, I wish..." She couldn't even begin to put everything she wished for into a single sentence. "I wish I had a better answer for you."

Jon stared down at the floor. "My uncle's gone, isn't he?"

"You don't know that. He could find a way home." Caitie's skepticism prevented her from believing it, but she knew it was what Jon needed to hear.

"Maybe," he said.

The same melancholy silence took over again, because "maybe" was nowhere close to good enough.

"Well," she said with a sigh, "as much as I wish I could keep you company, I'd better go before someone discovers I'm here." As she stood up, she cracked a small grin to try and break the tension. "Do try to keep your temper under control."

He snorted. "Me? What about you?"

"I'm not the one who ran at the master-at-arms with a knife," she pointed out wryly.

He had no retort to that.

"Just be careful, okay? I'd notice if you were gone."

Jon smiled mirthlessly. "I'll try."

She put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "Jon, I know it doesn't mean much, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He looked up at her with the saddest expression Caitie had ever seen on him and replied, "So am I."

With one last squeeze of Jon's shoulder, she removed her hand, and as quickly and quietly as she could, went back to her own quarters, thoroughly exhausted.

Ah, to be 15 and believe in adults doing the right thing. Childhood, ye shall be missed.