The Fist of the First Men stood atop a mountain, covered in a thick blanket of snow, surrounded by a purple and gold sky. Beyond the tracks the ranging party had made, the snow leading up the mountainside was pristine and sparkling in the light of dawn. Caitie could have stood there, taking in her surroundings for hours; in all her fifteen years she had never seen anything more beautiful.
Sadly, doing so would lead to her falling behind, so, with a sigh, she followed the rest of her brothers and trudged her way up the mountain and to their destination.
As the group slogged their way through the snow, she kept a tight focus on her surroundings, listening to the lord commander as he told Jon about the legendary ranger they'd be meeting at the Fist of the First Men: Qhorin Halfhand.
"He's not here yet," Mormont said. "He'd have seen us—blown the horn."
"When will he come?" asked Jon, trying his level best to keep his excitement from showing.
"The Halfhand does things in his own time."
"My uncle used to tell me stories about him."
The lord commander let a brief smile show on his face. "Most of them are true."
"I heard the Halfhand spent half of last winter beyond the Wall."
"The whole winter," Mormont corrected. "He was north of the Skirling Pass when the snows came. Had to wait for the thaw."
Jon raised his eyebrows. "So it is possible," he said, "for someone to survive out here on their own."
"Well, possible for the Halfhand."
This seemed the end of their conversation. Or, perhaps, the more likely scenario, Caitie simply forgot to listen to the rest. Jon was much more interested in Qhorin Halfhand than she could ever be.
Instead, she paid more attention to Sam, who, after weeks upon weeks of talking about Gilly, still hadn't stopped. Caitie didn't think she'd gone a single conversation without him mentioning Gilly at least twice.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "Gilly would love it here!"
Edd rolled his eyes. "Nothing more sickening than a man in love," he muttered to Caitie and Grenn.
Caitie was inclined to agree. At first, she'd thought it was cute, but as the weeks went by, Sam's infatuation began to grate on her. Listening to him go on and on made Caitie very glad she'd never been in love. If it was always this sickeningly sweet, she'd never want to be.
"Oh, I wish she could—"
"Sam," Caitie said firmly, her patience having finally run thin enough to tell him to stop. "I say this because you're my friend, and I care about your safety. Please, for the love of all the Gods, stop talking."
Edd and Grenn made snickering sounds in front of her. "Listen to him, Sam," the latter said.
Sam sighed. "Fine, fine."
He stayed quiet for the rest of their trek up the mountainside. Caitie had to keep him from toppling over a few times, but they made it mostly unscathed. And thankfully for the rest of them, reaching the summit gave him a distraction.
"The Fist of the First Men!" he said, looking around with a big smile, leaving the rest of them to unload the sledge.
Now, this was an excitement Caitie could share. Like most highborn Northerners, she could trace her lineage back to the First Men. Norwood itself had been built by her First Men ancestors over seven thousand years ago, her family having settled there a little after the Starks at Winterfell. Her brothers had never ceased to boast about their relationship to the First Men, and they made sure to educate her about the connection they shared.
Caitie was getting to see a landmark created by her ancestors, and one that few ever got to see, at that. It sufficed to get the horrible taste of Craster's Keep and Karl Tanner—who had finally gotten bored sparing with her—out of her mouth.
Caitie thought Jon would be interested too, as he also descended from the First Men, but no; he was staring sullenly into the distance. Honestly, she should have known, with him.
"Think of how old this place is," Sam went on, oblivious to everyone around him. "Before the Targaryens defeated the Andals; before the Andals took Westeros from the First Men—"
"Before I die," Edd interrupted, "please stop talking."
Caitie ignored him. She linked her arm through Sam's and said, "It's incredible. Really."
It was the truth. While the ring fort itself was small, the view from the mountaintop spanned miles. Depending on the direction, she could see the Milkwater river, the Frostfangs, and the Haunted Forest.
"I know!" Sam agreed. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, the First Men stood here where we're standing now. What do you think they were like—the First Men?"
"Cold," she said, giggling. "Very cold."
"Well, that's obvious."
Edd snorted and shook his head. "They were stupid. Smart people don't find themselves in places like these."
"I think they were afraid." Everyone turned to look at Jon, who didn't take his eyes off the mountain pass. "I think they came here to get away from something, and I don't think it worked."
There was a tension-filled pause, which only ended when Caitie rolled her eyes and groaned. Because this was ridiculous. They were here, standing in the lands of their ancestors, and he couldn't even let her enjoy that, even for a moment. "Gods," she said, "must you ruin everything with your brooding? I swear, sometimes it's as if you actually enjoy it."
He glared at her for a long moment, not breaking eye-contact as he bent down to pick up a handful of snow. It took her a split-second too long to realize what he was doing, and before she knew it, the snow hit her in the chest, bursting apart into white powder.
"Hey!" she complained. "That's very rude, you know."
A horn blowing cut off Jon's retort, whatever it might have been, and everyone went alert, grasping their weapons.
"Wildlings?" Grenn asked.
Caitie's stomach flipped.
"One blast is for rangers returning," Jon said. "Wildlings is two blasts."
Edd, somehow, managed to be even more depressing than the King of the Brooders. "So you got to stand there waiting, wondering. One blast for friends, two for foes."
"And three for White Walkers," Sam added. Caitie furrowed her eyebrows. She'd never heard of that before. Neither had the others, apparently, because they also stared at Sam in confusion.
He shrugged. "It's been a thousand years, but that's the only time they blow the horn three times."
"Let's hope we don't break that streak," Caitie said.
There were murmurs of agreement before Grenn piped up. "If it's been a thousand years, how do you know?"
"Well—"
"You read it a book," Edd and Grenn sighed in unison. They didn't wait for Sam's response, deciding they'd rather deal with unloading the sledge than listen to him.
"Look!" Jon pointed to the mountain pass, where a neat line of little black dots moved closer and closer to the Fist. "It's Qhorin Halfhand."
"Aye, we'll live another day—hurrah." Edd's voice was completely flat.
Jon was more excited at the prospect of meeting Qhorin Halfhand than Caitie had ever seen him. He watched the line of black dots inch closer to them, smiling to himself as he seemed to almost bounce on the balls of his feet. Apparently, the old ranger was the man of his dreams, the one he saw at night as he gazed up at the stars, and wrote romantic poems to if he couldn't sleep.
When Caitie told Jon this, he tried to whack her. "Well, I'm not wrong, am I?" she said, dancing out of his reach.
"One more word, and you'll get another handful of snow tossed your way."
"You're welcome to try."
Jon arched a brow as he scooped up another handful of snow and packed it into a ball—a large one. He was about to throw it at her when the lord commander noticed.
He gave them both a withering look. Jon put the snowball down, looking suitably ashamed, though Mormont didn't scold them.
All he said was, "The Halfhand is here? Good; there's a storm coming."
Caitie had lived through quite a few snowstorms.
It was difficult to avoid them, with Norwood Keep built at the heart of the Northern Mountains. Even in summer, snowstorms were unavoidable. Because of that, they were usually nothing to her—a minor to moderate nuisance; something that kept her indoors and bundled in furs, yes, but never anything that caused serious alarm.
But she had never lived through one quite as awful as this.
It bit into her skin. She could hardly feel her extremities, and the only thing she did feel was fiery pain. Her face was so cold it burned. This was the first—and, hopefully, only—time Caitie wished for a beard. She huddled in between Sam and Jon for extra warmth as they waited to meet Qhorin Halfhand, desperately missing her quarters at Castle Black, and praying that she wasn't about to lose her fingers to the frost.
When the Halfhand finally made it to their camp, he wasted no time. He didn't bother to make introductions, or rest, or have a meal. Instead, he immediately pointed out a fire on one of the distant mountains, and said, "There."
"Where?" Mormont asked, squinting to see through the storm.
"On that mountain."
"Oh, I don't see very well," said Sam.
"A fire."
Qhorin looked over at Jon, who had been the one to speak. Caitie could tell that the Halfhand was appraising him.
She didn't think she liked it.
"There's a fire," he agreed. "The people sitting around it have better eyes than yours or mine. When they see us coming, that fire becomes a signal. Gives Mance Rayder plenty of time to throw a party in our honor."
Caitie almost chuckled at the idea of a party with Wildlings. Luckily, she did have some self-control.
"How many have joined them?" Lord Commander Mormont asked.
Qhorin Halfhand didn't take his eyes off the mountain. "From what we can tell," he said, "All of them."
He let it sink in before he continued. "Mance has gathered them all like deer against the wolves. They're almost ready to make their move."
"Where?" Jon asked.
"Somewhere safe, somewhere south. Can't just march into their midst. And we can't wait for them here with nothing but a pile of stones to protect us."
"Are you saying we should fall back to the Wall?" asked Mormont.
"Mance was one of us, once. Now he's one of them. He's gonna teach them our way of doing things. They'll hit us in force," said the Halfhand. "And they won't run away when we hit back."
Caitie stiffened. She grabbed Sam's hand and clutched it, using the contact to try and calm herself. Because if Qhorin Halfhand was right—and anyone with a brain knew he was—then the Wildlings were going to attack the Wall, and, by extension, the North. The idea of it sent icy fear into her veins like nothing else in her life, with only one exception: the day she found out about her brothers' march south.
The thought of a letter Jon had received not long after they met Sam popped into her head. Caitie remembered the day well: the three of them had been in the kitchens cutting up venison for Hobb when a letter from Robb arrived. His writing had been brief but effective in relaying the message. Wildlings had somehow snuck all the way to Winterfell. Once there, they'd ambushed and attempted to kill Jon's ten-year-old brother, Bran, during his first horse-ride after a crippling fall. He'd only survived through luck and quick thinking on Theon Greyjoy's part.
Jon had raged over the letter for hours. And Caitie hadn't been able to blame him for it, either.
If the Wildlings got past the Wall in full force, what would they do to Arthur? It was rare for them to raid the southern part of the mountains where her family lived—most of her knowledge of Wildlings was second-hand for that very reason—but if a hundred thousand of them made it past the Wall... Gods, they'd murder thousands upon thousands of Northern families.
But then another thought struck her: if the Wildlings didn't have to fight to go south, would they hurt anyone? Moreover, would it be so bad if Wildlings like Gilly got to escape this horrible place?
These weren't questions for which she had answers.
Nothing about the Wildlings Caitie had met so far matched the stories of savages and monsters that her father or Maester Harkon or even Owen had told her as a child. Yes, Craster was awful, but so were plenty of lords in the Seven Kingdoms. She could even name a few. And Gilly was the complete opposite of a savage.
So where did that leave her?
Nowhere, Caitie decided, because, in the end, it didn't matter. It wasn't like she could do anything to stop the fighting. And if she had to make a choice between the Wildlings in Mance Rayder's army and her family—her people—there was no question of what she would pick.
"They're gonna be more organized than before," Qhorin Halfhand said, giving her a welcome distraction to her inner turmoil, "more disciplined, more like us." He turned to look at the group and shouted over the wind, "So we need to be more like them, do things their way. Sneak in, kill Mance, and scatter them to the winds before they can march on the Wall. And to do that..."
"We need to get rid of those lookouts," Mormont finished.
The Halfhand nodded. "It's not a job for four hundred men. I need to move fast and silent."
After the Halfhand called the names of a few rangers, Jon opened his mouth and spoke. "Lord Commander, I'd like to join Lord Qhorin."
All thoughts of the moral dilemma left her mind as she stared at Jon with utter shock.
What the hell was he doing?
"I've been called lots of things," said the Halfhand, smiling a bit. "But that might be my first 'Lord Qhorin.'"
After he and Mormont had a laugh at Jon's expense, the lord commander added, "You're a steward, Snow—not a ranger."
"I've fought and killed a wight. How many rangers can say that?"
Qhorin Halfhand eyed Mormont. "He's the one?"
Mormont nodded. "Aye. You killed a wight. You also let an old man beat you bloody and take your sword."
Everyone within earshot laughed except for Caitie, Sam, and Jon.
"Craster?" Qhorin asked. "Well, in the boy's defense, that's a tough old goat."
And this, it seemed, would be the end of Jon's aspirations.
Until Sam stepped up. "I could take up Jon's duties while he's gone, my lord. It would be no trouble."
Caitie was just about ready to kill both of them. How could they be such idiots? Didn't they understand what this meant—what kind of danger it would place Jon in? What if he got himself killed or taken prisoner? He'd be tortured and then killed.
Nevertheless, Sam's bid worked, and the lord commander acquiesced. "Well," he said, "I hope you make a better ranger than you do a steward. Go on."
With that, Jon joined Qhorin Halfhand.
With the matter settled, the Halfhand took his team to the side and spoke with them in private. Caitie watched and waited for the group to finish, though she was too far away to listen to the conversation. Those Qhorin Halfhand had picked made for a somber group, but she supposed they would be, considering the stakes of the mission.
As soon as he let them all go to pack their things, she grabbed Jon's hand, ignoring his sounds of protest, and pulled him along until they were far enough away to speak freely.
"I don't like this," was how she began the conversation.
He stared at her, brow furrowed in confusion and more than a little annoyance. "What?"
"I don't—" Caitie paused to collect her thoughts for a moment. "I have a bad feeling about this mission. Too many things could go wrong."
He rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine."
"You don't know that." When he didn't seem convinced, she continued, more loudly this time. "This isn't a game. What you're about to do is dangerous and reckless and—"
Jon cut her off with a snort. "And you don't think that's a bit hypocritical?"
She scowled at the implication, placing her hands on her hips. "Nothing I've done is as risky as this. You could die."
"I know that."
"Do you? Because it doesn't seem like it." When she realized she'd snapped at him, Caitie took deep breaths, refusing to give in to her temper. "I know you want to follow in the footsteps of your uncle, but this? It's insane."
Jon's mouth formed a thin, unamused line. "I am a brother of the Night's Watch. It's my duty—my honor—"
"Duty and honor? Please—you just want to play hero!"
"So what if I do?" he countered, his voice rising to match hers. "What if I want to be more than just a bastard?"
"Traipsing about looking for Wildlings isn't heroic. It's not going to save the realm. You'll die, and it'll be for no good reason."
"I can't sit by and do nothing!"
"And I can't lose you!"
She stopped, taking a step back, shame flooding through her as she realized what she'd just said. Because there it was—the truth: she was selfish. The idea of saying goodbye to someone she cared about, yet again, put a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she didn't want to go through that. Not with Jon.
Caitie stared down at her boots, avoiding eye contact with him, furious at herself for admitting what she felt out loud. But there was no point in denying it anymore. "You're my best friend," she said quietly. "And one of the few people here who knows the real me. I'm going to miss that."
And she would miss him, though she didn't say so.
"I have to do this," Jon said, his anger gone. When she looked back up at him, his eyes were soft. "I'll come back."
"That's what people always say, isn't it?" But Caitie knew there was no talking him out of this. Once Jon made up his mind, it was almost impossible to convince him otherwise.
She wasn't even sure she wanted to anymore. Because now she understood—where for her, the Night's Watch was a means to survive, for Jon, it was more than that. It was a chance to prove himself, to have some purpose in his life. And it was wrong to ask him to put that aside.
She shook her head. "Just—"
"Be careful, I know." Jon watched her for a long moment, before he sighed and drew her into a hug.
Caitie stiffened as he did. Unlike her and Sam, Jon rarely showed affection through touch. He certainly didn't hug anyone. Nevertheless, as his arms encircled her and he rested his chin on her shoulder, she leaned into the touch, like an invisible rope was pulling her towards him, and wrapped her arms around his middle.
"I'll send Ghost back as soon as I can," Jon said. "Don't do anything reckless while I'm gone."
"Don't tell me what to do," she grumbled, and she could feel his responding laughter reverberate through her.
For how long they stayed in that position, Caitie didn't know, but at last, he pulled away, and she tried to pretend she didn't already miss his absence.
"Wish me luck," he said.
"Well, you're going to need it, that's for sure." Jon gave her an expectant look, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine. Good luck."
Jon chuckled again, smiling as he put his hand on her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of it through her leathers. "I'll see you soon."
Caitie nodded, and as she watched him walk away, she could only hope he was right.
It's sad to see Caitie and Jon splitting up, but I couldn't justify her going with him for a multitude of different reasons. So, bye, Jon. Have fun with the Wildlings, as we all know you will.