As if Ned Stark's arrest wasn't enough, everything in Westeros seemed to be falling to pieces.

It started a few mornings after news of the arrest came, while Caitie sat alone at one of the long wooden tables in the dining hall, eating the sludge she was slowly getting used to calling food. Seeing that it was sunny outside—a rare occasion—she had thought it meant something good was on the horizon.

She should have known better.

Caitie had just forced herself to take a third spoonful when Jon sat down beside her, solemn and on edge. Ghost padded along behind him. He seemed just as tense as his master, but he still allowed Caitie to toss him a bit of food.

She waited for Jon to tell her what had happened, for she doubted he would be allowed into the dining hall unless Lord Commander Mormont had cleared him. Half a moment later, she got her answer. "I've been pardoned."

"That's good to hear," Caitie said, smiling in relief. "I was worried I'd have to break you out."

He eyed her. "Right. That would end well."

She ignored his sarcastic comment and set down her spoon. "So, what convinced the lord commander? I assume it wasn't your charisma."

Jon held out his sword hand so she could see. It was wrapped tightly, encased in thick, white bandages.

"Seven Hells, Jon. What did you do?"

"Othor attacked Mormont. I saved his life."

Caitie almost checked Jon's forehead for a fever right then. "Um… Jon, you know Othor is dead, right?"

"He was dead," Jon agreed. "But that didn't stop him from trying to kill the lord commander."

"I see."

"His eyes had turned blue. I stuck my sword through his chest, but he just got back up again. He didn't fall until I threw the lord commander's lantern at him."

Caitie was silent as she took in what he was saying. A wight—he was describing a wight.

Wights and their masters, the White Walkers, were the stuff of nightmares, stories told to terrify young children. They brought cold and death with them wherever they went, and a Long Night that would never end. Only through the invention of the Wall by Bran the Builder had they been pushed back into the Lands of Always Winter, and there they had stayed, until dying out entirely.

Which meant that Jon had to have gotten confused, somehow. As much as he was her friend, she had to admit he was never the most observant person.

Yes, there were old stories about them, but they were just stories, weren't they?

But then Caitie remembered how strange the circumstances had been—between the lack of rot and where the bodies had been found. There was a sense of wrongness that had emanated from them—though she hadn't known why at the time. Her instincts had told her something was off, and it seemed her instincts had been right.

"I believe you," she said.

Jon shut his eyes and sighed in relief. "Thank you." When he opened them again, he added, "Lord Commander Mormont has also sent Ser Alliser to King's Landing on a..." He paused to think, and Caitie swore she saw the hint of a smirk on his lips. "A diplomatic mission."

She furrowed her brows, waiting for Jon to elaborate. But he never got the chance, because before he could say a word, Caitie heard a sharp breath behind them.

"Gods be good, Jon. What did you do to your hand?" They both turned to the newcomer—Sam. He was staring at Jon's injury with wide eyes.

Jon repeated the story for Sam. His eyes widened even further as Jon spoke. When he'd finished the story, Sam asked question after question until, finally, he nodded resolutely and went quiet.

That was how Caitie knew Sam believed Jon, too.

"They were touched by White Walkers," he said later that day as they and their friends watched the bodies burn on a pyre in the courtyard. A few others had joined them, Rast included, but Caitie chose to ignore his presence.

In the time between breakfast and the funeral, the sky had gone from sunny to a gloomy grey. It was fitting, she supposed. An omen for something terrible; something she couldn't quite put her finger on—winter, maybe. The flames coming from the pyre were hot against her face, but they didn't warm her in the slightest.

"That's why they came back," Sam continued. "That's why their eyes turned blue. Only fire will stop them."

She shuddered and thought of her own eyes—which were also a pale blue. Would they change color if she were killed and touched by a White Walker? Or would they stay the same as they used her to kill everyone she'd ever loved?

Not wanting to continue the line of thought, she forced herself to listen as Jon asked, "How do you know that?"

"I read about it in a book—a very old book in Maester Aemon's library."

"What else did the book say?"

Sam took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke, though he didn't take his eyes off the pyre. "The White Walkers sleep beneath the ice for thousands of years. And when they wake up..."

"And when they wake up—what?" Pyp asked.

All Sam could offer was, "I hope the Wall is high enough."

Since the funeral of Othor and Jafer Flowers, Caitie had felt colder. But the fear of White Walkers and the army of the dead was nothing compared to the terror she felt when the letter came that same evening. It was so heavily coded that it took her forty minutes to decipher it. By the time she finally managed the feat and finished reading it, she felt as if she was going to retch, or perhaps faint.

The North was going to war, and so too were Owen and Cerys Norrey.

The thought kept repeating itself, over and over again—war. At first, Caitie had refused to think it real—it had to be some idiotic, inappropriate trick of Cerys's—but then she had found Sam in the dining hall, and one look at his face let her know it was the truth. Maester Aemon had even gotten his own letter informing him of the coming battle.

It felt to her as if the ground was spinning. How could she have gotten her prediction so bloody wrong?

Caitie knew Sam was watching her worriedly from across the table, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything—to even move. All she could do was stare down at her hands, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep her chest from constricting too tightly.

She barely heard the door slam and the others asking to see Jon's new sword—Longclaw. There had been whispers all morning that the lord commander would be giving Ned Stark's son his family's sword. They began to chant the word repeatedly, waiting for Jon to unveil it. Under any other circumstance, Caitie might've been fascinated by the Valyrian steel weapon, but not today.

She heard a whooshing noise and cheering, and then Jon was sitting across from her, next to Sam, while their other friends fought over who got to hold Longclaw.

"What is it?" He looked between the two of them, taking in their gloominess.

Caitie didn't trust herself to say anything and decided to let Sam do the talking. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and then finally said, "I can't."

"You can't what?"

"I—I'm really not supposed to say."

Jon sighed. "And yet, you really want to say. You want to say that…"

When Sam still hesitated, Caitie lost her patience with him. "Well," she snapped, "if you're too afraid to tell him, then I will."

Both men stared at her. She had never sounded so vicious towards Sam before—not since the night he'd found out about her.

"What is it?" Jon repeated, now thoroughly alarmed.

Sam broke, and it came tumbling out. "There was a raven—I read the message to Maester Aemon. It's your brother, Robb."

"What? What about him?"

As Sam explained the situation, Caitie saw Jon's expression grow to match how she felt. "All his bannermen have rallied to his side. They'll keep him safe," Sam assured him.

Caitie crossed her arms and mumbled, "And get themselves killed doing so."

"What was that?" Sam asked innocently.

"Nothing."

He stared at her, unnerved by her sudden coldness towards him, but Caitie wasn't in the mood to care.

"I should be there," Jon said. "I should be with him."

She hugged her arms to herself and nodded in agreement. "So should I."

Owen and Cerys had inferred, rather unstealthily, that she shouldn't do anything reckless—that there was nothing to fear. But the assurance was a lie, and she wished she could yell at them for thinking her stupid enough to believe it.

"You can't! Neither of you!" Sam exclaimed. He turned to Jon. "You'll be executed. And you—" Sam stopped, eyeing Rast and his band of fellow rapers seated at the other table. Caitie didn't need to hear his next words to know what he was going to say.

She lowered her voice to a hiss. "If my brothers die, I'll never get to say goodbye, and Arthur will be all alone."

"And I have a duty to my father and my brother," Jon added.

Sam sighed exasperatedly at them. "Your duty is here now. You swore an oath—you both did."

Caitie almost growled something unsavory at him, but then she reminded herself that Sam was only saying these things because he cared about them. He didn't want her or Jon to die.

"I need to be alone," she choked out.

Sam frowned. "Caitie—"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'm not going to leave. I just—I need to be by myself."

His frown deepened, but he didn't stop Caitie as she fled.

Once alone in the stables, with only the horses and Ghost for company, she allowed herself to cry.

The next two weeks went by so slowly, it felt like a torture designed specifically to break her. Caitie spent most of her time not spent on duty anxiously waiting for new information. She didn't know if her brothers could even get a message to her, but she figured that eventually, news of the aftermath would spread to Castle Black. Until then, however, the only thing she could do besides waiting was to worry.

Whenever Sam or Pyp tried to make light conversation, all Caitie could manage were one-word sentences. Even Grenn couldn't seem to bring her to elicit more than two words at once. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't force herself to act cheery. Her thoughts were so consumed with the fear of her two brothers lying dead on a battlefield; she barely noticed her surroundings most of the time.

Caitie wasn't the only one in such a foul mood, though. Jon, like her, had decided to stay at Castle Black, but he was even more frustrated than she, and quicker to anger. The two of them spent most of their time hidden away in the pantry or their quarters with Ghost, not speaking, not even moving, really. Every second felt like a step closer to the inevitable—to the death of their families.

Caitie had to admit that she was glad to have someone around who understood—and who was more than willing not to make idle conversation.

Still, their friends did their best to support them with small acts of kindness, such as bringing them supper when they didn't feel like coming down to the long hall or even taking on some of their duties. Caitie always tried to manage a smile when they did, but it never reached her eyes, and she got more than one worried look from Sam, Pyp, and even Grenn.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred years, news reached them. A letter for Maester Aemon and Lord Commander Mormont came, and Sam snuck it to them that night as they sat in the pantry.

"We'll open it together?" Jon asked. Ghost whined and placed his head on his master's lap.

Caitie took a deep breath, placed her hand over his, and together, they unscrolled the parchment. While the letter accounted for all the events of the Battle of Whispering Wood, it took only seconds to read.

The North had won, and for the first time in days, Caitie felt like she could breathe.

The Norrey men had remained in Robb's vanguard, and most had lived—including Caitie's father and brothers. She nearly cried with relief as she read the list of casualties and didn't see her brothers' names. If Cerys could see her reaction, he would have scoffed at her for worrying, offended that she thought so little of his skills.

Robb had made it through the battle, as well. He'd split his army in two, sending the smaller party to lead Tywin Lannister's army away from Whispering Wood, allowing the larger party to defeat and capture Jaime Lannister: the pride of his house, the Kingslayer, and one of the best warriors in the whole of Westeros.

Two-thousand Northmen had died in the battle with Tywin's forces, but even Caitie had to admit it was smart of Robb. At this point, she was just glad he'd kept her brothers alive.

The news granted such a relief to both her and Jon, they spent the entire night celebrating with Sam in the pantry, not bothering to keep quiet. Caitie didn't know how many times they toasted their drinks with, "Fuck the Lannisters!" but she was sure it was at least twice.

For the next four days, everything felt light, and Caitie was almost sure things would turn out okay. But then, on the fifth day, a raven came early in the morning, with the worst news of all.

Lord Eddard of House Stark was dead.

We knew it was coming, but still, it's sad. Poor Ned, he lost his head.