Dawn broke over the Fist of the First Men, illuminating the world in shades of purple and gold. It was quite the contrast to Caitie and her friends as they dug latrine pits in silence. The air was frigid, leaving her shaking in her boots, and her eyes were still heavy from sleep. But she didn't mind, enjoying having something to take her mind off who the Night's Watch had lost.

Who she had lost.

For one week had turned into two, two had turned into three, three had turned into four, and longer and longer, and everyone had accepted that Jon and Qhorin Halfhand were most likely dead, Caitie included.

And yet, there was one exception, who liked to mention their friend as if he were still alive every chance he got. She bore it with all the grace she could muster, even when every mention of her best friend wore at her like ocean waves crashing against rocks. There was a hole in her heart that got bigger and bigger with every passing day, and perhaps it would have been easier if she shared that burden with her friends, but she couldn't bring herself to show such weakness.

Fortunately for her, that one exception was too busy complaining about digging latrine pits to talk about Jon at the moment, giving Caitie a reprieve.

"I'm not cut out for this sort of work," Sam said, grunting as he shoveled a large pile of snow.

As it turned out, digging latrine pits took a lot of strength. And while Sam was a large person, he wasn't what anyone would call strong. But they were used to his complaining by now, so no one looked up from the task.

Well, other than Edd, who could never miss a chance for some snark. "I always imagined meself doing something much worse," he said.

Grenn grunted. "We're digging latrine pits at the end of the world. I can't imagine myself doing anything much worse."

"You lack imagination."

There was a pause. "Maybe," Grenn admitted. "But Caitie agrees with me."

She eyed him. "What makes you say that?"

Grenn frowned, knitting his brows together. "I dunno. I just thought…"

He trailed off, and Caitie knew he must have been thinking of their conversation from all those weeks earlier, back when she still had hope for Jon.

But even then, she wouldn't have agreed with Grenn.

"It can always be worse," she told him darkly. "Always."

Her tone shut both men right up, but the silence lasted for less than a second.

"Where do you think Jon is right now?" Sam was sitting off to the side, now, as he brought the subject up for the thousandth time.

Caitie should have known her reprieve wouldn't last long.

Grenn briefly flicked his gaze over to her again, this time as if they shared a secret. Caitie supposed they did, in a sense. No one but him knew about her rescue attempt—or lack thereof.

If not for the loss of her best friend, Caitie would have enjoyed the understanding between them.

As it went, she didn't care. Rather, she wanted to shout at Sam to get it through his head that Jon was gone and he wasn't coming back, however much they wanted otherwise.

But at the naïve, hopeful look on his face, Caitie knew she didn't have the heart to tell him any of this. So she kept quiet—her normal reaction of late.

Edd, meanwhile, answered Sam's question, completely oblivious. "He went off with the Halfhand—he didn't come back. A betting man would go with dead."

Sam's eyes widened. "He's not dead! No, Jon's a great fighter."

As if that made a difference.

"Well, he's better than me," Grenn said casually. "And a lot better than you."

"He's got a Valyrian steel sword!"

Edd didn't take his eyes off his shovel as he replied wryly, "So did his father."

Sam shook his head, remaining undeterred. "Qhorin Halfhand is the greatest ranger alive."

"Great rangers never get old is the problem. Shit ones neither. It's them in the middle that last a long time."

Caitie still said nothing, focusing on the shovel in her hand, trying not to listen to the conversation. But then Sam opened his mouth to argue, and she found herself saying, "Sam, just leave it alone."

He blinked, before his expression changed to one of hurt and surprise, but just as he went to answer, Grenn's shovel hit something—something that sounded more like rock than snow or dirt—and that took all their attention away from the conversation.

"What in Seven Hells is that?" Grenn said irritably, sticking his shovel in the ground so he could investigate.

Sam came up behind him and gasped when he saw what Grenn had found. "The First Men made these marks."

At the mention of her ancestors, Caitie's head snapped up. She threw her own shovel into the snow to see what was happening, and sure enough, as she peered over Sam's shoulder, she saw a large, flat stone with circular markings etched onto it.

Sam slapped Grenn's shoulder. "Help me with it."

He pushed the stone aside with an incredible amount of effort and exclaimed, "Look!" before grabbing what lay underneath—a large package made from fabric and held closed by strings.

Edd ignored their new find, still shoveling. "If you find something you're not supposed to," he told them, "best thing to do is pretend you've never seen it.

They paid no attention to the advice as Grenn began to work on untying the package.

"That's a Night's Watch cloak," Sam said.

"It's been here a long time."

Grenn finished with the knot, and they opened the cloak to find a horn decorated with delicate carvings, along with at least twenty daggers, all made from black, reflective rock.

Sam picked up one of the daggers. "Oh, that must be dragonglass!"

"Dragonglass?" Grenn asked, looking at him in confusion.

"The maesters call it obsidian."

The word tickled a memory from the back of Caitie's mind. It took her a moment, but then the memory surfaced—Maester Harkon's lessons. He had taught her about obsidian, and she vaguely remembered some of it, though it was faint.

The fires of the earth, Maester Harkon had called it. "Isn't obsidian made from cooled lava?"

"Mm." Caitie took that to mean yes.

Grenn was staring at her—his expression surprised and impressed with hints of curiosity. "How do you know that?"

Caitie froze as she realized her mistake. She was supposed to be from a poor family from White Harbor—she was not supposed to know how dragonglass formed.

Fortunately for her, Sam was a quick thinker. "I taught him," he said without hesitation.

Edd snorted in disbelief, but luckily he didn't inquire further.

Grenn, at least, seemed to believe the lie. Either that or he just didn't care enough to ask more questions. Whatever the reason, he went back to focusing on the daggers. "Why would a brother hide it here?"

"I suspect it's because he wanted someone to find it," Edd said.

Caitie stared at the black daggers and frowned.

It didn't make sense. The First Men used bronze to make weapons until they'd discovered steel. She'd never heard of dragonglass being used as a material for weapons—other than stories about the Children of the Forest.

"But why would he make the daggers out of dragonglass?" she asked, without thinking.

"So he could use 'em to kill things, I'd assume." Edd replied.

Caitie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I got that much. But why dragonglass? It's not exactly a popular material to use for weapons. It's too brittle."

"I don't know." Sam scrunched his face up, thinking. "I wish the First Men were here. Then we could ask them."

"Something to see?"

Caitie nearly jumped. The four of them were so focused on the dragonglass; they hadn't heard Mormont come up behind them.

Sam swallowed nervously; not that Caitie could blame him for it—the lord commander was rather intimidating, and Sam was easily intimidated. "We found a stone underneath the snow with markings on it. This was underneath," he said with practiced composure, pointing to the cloak and daggers.

Mormont leaned down to get a closer look.

When he finished after a minute or so, he turned back to them and gestured at Sam. "Tarly, you're responsible for these."

Sam nodded, picking up the cloak and its contents, to which the lord commander made a gruff, approving noise and then left them to their own devices.

"Think we found anything important?" Grenn asked once he was out of earshot.

"If it were, the lord commander wouldn't have given it to this one now, would he?"

"Hey!"

Edd chuckled at Sam's indignation, and Caitie found herself joining in—until Sam brought up the one thing she wished he wouldn't.

"Oh, I wish Jon could see this."

The playful atmosphere dissipated immediately, and they went back to shoveling snow in silence. It wasn't long after when Caitie made an excuse—something about needing to bring the horses water—and left to find some solitude.

Though she could feel the eyes of her friends on her back as she walked away, nobody dared to stop her.

Caitie had been sitting on her knees at the edge of the mountain, trying her best not to think about Jon's fate and failing miserably, when, hours later, Sam found her.

The view was beautiful. She could see the whole of the Skirling Pass and most of the Frostfangs, too, from her vantage point. A part of her hoped to see signs of Qhorin Halfhand's party—signs of Jon.

It was a stupid dream.

"I've been searching for you," Sam said. "You shouldn't be out here all by yourself."

Caitie broke her eyes away from the pass. "I'm not too far from camp," she said. "I know how to be safe."

"I know you do. But it still worries me when you go off on your own like this."

"I didn't mean to scare you." She tried to force herself to smile as he came closer, but Sam still knew something was up when he saw the red rimming her eyes.

"Where's the dragonglass?" she asked, hoping to provide a distraction.

Sam didn't fall for it. "Safe, in my pack. But I don't want to talk about dragonglass, right now. I want to know what's wrong."

"Nothing." Caitie didn't want to talk to him about this. If believing in Jon's survival helped Sam cope, she couldn't ruin it.

But of course, he was too perceptive. "Jon?"

She hugged her arms to herself and nodded as Sam sat down.

"Oh, Caitie," he sighed. "Come here."

Sam put his arm around her, and she took a shaky breath. She couldn't pretend anymore. She couldn't keep it bottled in. "I told him it was stupid, you know—before he left."

"He wanted to be a ranger."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Well, I hope dying was worth it for him."

Sam ignored her rude tone and answered kindly, as he always did. "Jon's still alive, Kitty."

She sighed. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Of course I do—he's the best swordsman I've ever seen."

Caitie knew Sam was trying to distract her. He wanted her to get offended that he'd called Jon the best swordsman instead of her, but Caitie didn't care about being the best. Why would she when her best friend was dead?

When she didn't respond, Sam tried again to cheer her. "I know he's alive. I can feel it."

This time, Caitie laughed and wiped the snot from her nose. "You're a seer, now?"

He smiled. "It's my calling."

Neither said anything until Sam paused, twiddling his thumbs nervously. "Listen," he said, "I know I'm not Jon, but you still have me."

While Caitie managed not to cry, her voice was still thick with tears when she spoke. "I'm not sure what I'd do without you. You're the best person I know."

He smiled. "That's very kind of you to say."

"It's true," Caitie insisted. "This should never have happened to you—being carted off to the Night's Watch. You deserved so much better." Then, quietly, she added, "And so did Jon."

For all his talk of wanting to be a black brother, she knew Jon had less choice than he claimed, thanks to Catelyn Stark. If not for her, he might still be alive.

Gods, if Caitie ever saw that woman again…

The thought of the Lady of Winterfell brought a different worry to her mind.

"Sam? What do you think is happening back home?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe Jon's brother has won and gotten his sisters back—maybe your brothers are home."

"Maybe my father died in battle," Caitie said hopefully.

Her comment managed to elicit a slight chuckle from Sam. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Do you ever think about your father dying?" she asked.

He stared off into the distance, thinking. "No," he decided. "Whatever he's done, he's still my father."

Caitie should have guessed that would be Sam's response. He was much too good to say anything else.

"I used to imagine stabbing my father in the eye, you know."

"Really?" Sam said incredulously, bursting into laughter. "Well, that does sound like you. You're quite an intense person."

She cracked a grin at him—her first genuine one in weeks—and the two watched the sun disappear behind the mountains in companionable silence.

"I don't understand it," Caitie said finally, unable to keep any of her thoughts to herself any longer. "What did Jon die for? What was the point?"

The question had been running through her mind for days now, but Caitie couldn't think of a proper answer, no matter how hard she tried.

Sam's reply was immediate. "But he's not dead, Kitty."

"You don't know that."

"And you don't know he's not alive."

A small part of Caitie envied him for his steadfast belief in Jon's survival, but she couldn't believe it herself. Hoping was too painful.

She'd lost her best friend, and for what? Sam had refused to answer that question.

It left her with a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Because, if the White Walkers had indeed returned, then the Watch's war with the Wildlings wasn't the one they should be fighting.

And if that was true, then Jon's sacrifice meant less than everyone thought.

Since I'm in an area that may have to evacuate because of the fires, I'm posting this chapter a bit prematurely—I wanted to get it out in case I end up with no wifi. While nothing is set in stone, updates might be sporadic for a bit if I end up having to leave. I will still be posting, however, regardless of the situation. You can't get rid of me that easily ;)