There were many things Caitie had missed about Castle Black during her adventures up north. She'd missed her bed, of course, and the feeling of camaraderie as she ate supper with her friends. She'd missed the fires, which stewards always kept burning in every common area, and the sounds of fighting and laughter in the training yard. But one thing she hadn't realized she'd missed was that Castle Black housed so few men, parts of the castle were virtually abandoned.

She ran through rooms and down corridors, but it didn't take long to find a deserted hallway far from the courtyard; the perfect place to wallow in solitude. She leaned against the wall, the stone cold against her back, and slid down to sit with her head resting on her knees, sobbing.

Her family was broken beyond repair. Nothing could change it. Nothing could make it better. In that moment, if the Wildlings had attacked the Wall and killed her, Caitie would have thanked them. What was the point of living, she had asked Grenn so long ago, if the people she loved were dead?

Right then, Caitie didn't know the answer. She didn't think she ever would.

The minutes had blurred together, so she didn't know how long it had been—an hour, maybe—when she heard a voice call out, "Caitie?"

Jon.

She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to see anyone at Castle Black. What she wanted was the comfort of people who had gone from the world.

"I know you're there," he said, turning the corner and coming to a halt in front of her. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You all right?"

To that, Caitie snorted—a loud, ugly, uncontrolled snort which, in another circumstance, might have embarrassed her. "Do I look all right?"

He took a moment to observe her appearance. "No, no, you don't."

"How did you even find me?"

Jon smiled. She hated the pitying edge to it. "You act like you don't want to be found," he said, "but you do too sorry a job of hiding for it to be true—at least for the people who know you."

There was a ring of truth to that, though Caitie would never ever admit it. "Shut up."

It must have taken a lot of effort, but he ignored the rude tone and sat down beside her, his knee brushing against hers. "What happened?"

"I don't know." She ran her fingers through her hair. "One moment, I was about to spar with Grenn, and then the next—I just—I couldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"He struck at me, so I tried to parry, but then all I could think about was the day Owen taught me. It was like I was that seven-year-old girl, and he and Cerys were alive, and knowing I'll never have that again…" She trailed off, her throat constricting. Because she didn't want to think about the endless void they'd left, nor the stretch of days that felt meaningless without the prospect of one day seeing them again. She wanted it to stop, but suppressing it had only made it more uncontrollable now that it had bubbled to the surface. "I just can't believe they're gone. How can they be gone?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "But I understand; it's how I feel about Robb."

Caitie laughed, but it sounded more like a whimper as she remembered what Jon had lost to this blighted war. "I shouldn't be complaining about this to you. You lost your brother, too."

"It's different for me," he said. "Your brothers raised you. Robb—he was my brother, and I loved him, but there were times—there were times I wanted to hate him. I never could, but Seven Hells, I wished." He looked down at the dusty floor beneath them, frustrated with himself, but Caitie understood. Jon didn't hate Robb; he envied him, and in some ways, that must have hurt worse because Jon would be forever torn between soaring happiness for his brother and a pit of pain and jealousy that he would never achieve the same. "He was better than me at everything: swordsmanship, riding, and Gods did the girls all love him."

"You can't be serious," she said, momentarily distracted. Everything else Jon had told her about before, but not the last part. Caitie remembered Robb's face—he had been handsome, that was true—but compared to Jon? It was rather like comparing a sword made from regular steel to one made of Valyrian.

Though she could be a bit biased, considering her aversion to marrying Robb, and how he'd embarrassed her.

"You don't believe me?"

Caitie shrugged. "I just remember him trying to make me dance. He didn't make a particularly good impression."

"He didn't make a good impression?"

"Excuse me," she huffed, "when Robb asked me, I was polite. He refused to take no for an answer. And anyway, if it weren't for my 'good impression,' we might not have become friends."

"I'm not complaining. But Seven Hells was it fun to watch."

Caitie crossed her arms and pouted petulantly. "I'm glad my humiliation amuses you."

"Oh, it does." He paused for a moment, his face growing solemn before he went on. "The way my father looked at Robb—he was always so proud. He never looked at me that way."

Caitie scarcely believed that. Jon embodied everything the Starks were. If Ned Stark couldn't have seen it, he must've been blind. "I can't believe your father wasn't proud of you," she said. "Maybe he couldn't show it, but that doesn't mean he wasn't. You're just as annoyingly honorable as he was."

"You think so?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. You came back to the Night's Watch because you made a vow, even though it meant leaving someone you love. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here. But I still know it wasn't easy for you."

"I—how do you—"

"Despite never showing any emotions, I know you; you love that Wildling girl."

After a moment of utter disbelief, Jon sighed. "Her name's Ygritte."

"Ygritte," Caitie repeated. "Pretty name."

"Aye."

Feeling awkwardness grow in her chest, especially with the inkling that now she knew why Jon had had three arrows in him when he arrived back home, Caitie shook her head and changed the subject. "Anyway," she said, "the point is your father had every reason to be proud of you."

"Other than that I was a bastard."

"That wasn't your fault." Thinking of Robb's anger-inducing smile as he pushed her to dance, she added, "And for what it's worth, I'd rather be friends with you than your brother—bastard or not."

Jon didn't say a word for a time, and it led Caitie to worry she may have offended him. Telling your best friend you didn't like his dead brother wasn't exactly the most tactful thing to do. But then he smiled, briefly, and barked out a laugh. "I'm glad to hear it."

Caitie nudged his shoulder with her own. "Well, you've never tried to make me dance."

"And I never will."

"I'll hold you to that."

After a bit of a chuckle, they fell into silence. Talking about Robb and Ygritte and Ned Stark had distracted Caitie from the thought of her brothers, but as she and Jon sat quietly, her brothers overtook her thoughts once again. "It feels like I'm going to die from missing them," she admitted. "Like my heart's been ripped out of my chest. Is—is this what it felt like when your father died?"

"Aye. It gets better; I promise."

"It doesn't feel like it will. I thought I knew how to deal with loss after my mother; after you." Caitie felt Jon stiffen beside her, but he didn't interrupt. "But this isn't anything like that. I can't do it."

"You can," he insisted. "I know it's hard, believe me, I know. But—"

"You don't understand. I failed them—I failed Owen and Cerys, and now I'm failing Arthur, too." She didn't know why she felt this way—she knew, logically, that she had no power to save them. But she'd failed more than just her brothers, and each loss compounded the one before it. After witnessing so many deaths and leaving so many behind—how else could she feel?

"You did not fail them," Jon said, and there was so much certainty in his eyes that she almost believed it. "They would be proud of you; I know it." He seemed to debate something. Then, "Sam mentioned a letter."

Caitie had to stop and wipe more snot from her nose before she could answer. "Before we left," she said, "Owen and Cerys sent a raven. I gave the letter to Maester Aemon to keep safe."

"And you haven't gotten it back?"

"I don't want to look at it."

"Maybe it'll give you peace."

"Peace," she repeated skeptically. "Right."

"Do you want what happened today to happen again? You couldn't fight."

Caitie narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm quite aware of that, Jon. But how can I look at Owen's handwriting and Cerys's signature and know it's the last thing I'll ever have from them?"

Jon shook his head. "I would give anything to have a piece of my father—just to see his handwriting one last time."

"You would. But for me... what if it just makes things worse?"

Her question gave him pause. He stroked his beard, thinking. "I don't think it will," he said eventually. "But if I'm wrong, you can exact vengeance however you like. I won't even complain."

Caitie laughed. But it didn't last long, for there was too much weighing her down. She took a deep breath. "Look, I'll think about it. I'm just not sure I'm ready yet."

"You have to try."

She sighed in dejection. "I know."

Silence took over again. Caitie wished she could say something to make it all better for the both of them, but she couldn't come up with words strong enough. Perhaps there was nothing strong enough, and never would be. They'd just have to live with the pain until it got better.

And then Jon spoke. The words seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, as if he'd been wanting to say them but didn't know how. "I'm glad, too," he said. "That I'm here."

Caitie smiled, feeling like a weight she'd never noticed before had lifted off her shoulders, for a small part of her had worried, at first, that it wouldn't be the same; maybe they'd changed too much in their time apart. But she'd been wrong—even after everything, Jon was still her best friend, and it seemed like she was still his, too. And to be honest, she'd missed him more than words could say—missed bickering and joking and even simply talking to the one person who always seemed to just... get her, even when she also wanted to throttle him.

Though Owen and Cerys and Mormont and Ghost were all gone, she still had him, and she'd always be grateful for it. But that would take too long to put into words, and only two would suffice to get her feelings across. "Me too."

After Caitie had asked Jon and Sam to excuse her from their pantry meeting that night—the two of them would have to toast King Joffrey's death without her—Caitie retired early. But instead of sleeping, she lay awake into the dead of night, thinking about Jon's advice. There was no doubt in her mind that he was correct; winter—as the Starks never ceased to tell everyone—was coming, and Caitie had to be able to defend herself when it did.

But how could she, when even just the thought of using her daggers made her remember her brothers? They were phantoms she couldn't outrun, and she needed to because if she didn't, she would drown from the simple act of trying not to miss them. It was unbearable.

So... perhaps Jon had the right of it. Perhaps Caitie needed to force herself to face this head-on.

And that was how she found herself standing near-catatonic, outside the library where Maester Aemon was sure to be working the next morning after breakfast.

She'd spent at least ten minutes already, standing, waiting, trying to gain the courage to turn the door handle. Every time Caitie got close, her legs started to shake, and she had to pull back to take deep breaths and calm herself down.

Needless to say, this was going even worse than expected.

She was so focused on tempering all her emotions that she didn't hear the footsteps. But soon enough, someone was standing next to her—someone reasonably tall, so definitely not Jon or Sam or Pyp. Caitie steeled herself for a barrage of questions pertaining to why she was standing outside the library without moving, like an idiot. When she saw who it was, she didn't know whether to feel better or worse.

"Grenn?" she asked, looking up at him. He never came to the library. "What are you doing here?"

He stared down at the floor, eyes glancing anywhere but hers. "Sam and Jon told me—well, not all of it, but enough that I could figure out the rest on my own. I'm sorry about your brothers."

Caitie couldn't seem to think of a response, so Grenn continued, finally looking her in the eye. "I just thought you might… want some company."

Her voice failed her for a second or two, until her mouth moved without permission and she found herself saying, "I would." It was a split-second decision, but it felt like the right one. She even managed a small laugh. "I've been trying to work up the courage to go in there—" she nodded at the door "—and get a letter they left me. I gave it to Maester Aemon before we went north."

"What's stopping you?"

Caitie shrugged, hugging her arms to herself. "I don't want to think about them. As long as I don't, I don't remember that they're dead. But I have to be able to fight. So… I don't know. Jon said this would help."

Grenn didn't hesitate. "Well, come on, then. I'll go with you."

She went still as stone, staring up at him, feeling frantic.

Before Caitie could speak, he took her hand and squeezed it. "I'll be there. You won't be alone."

At the contact of his hand in hers, she could steel herself. "Okay." Using all of her strength, Caitie pushed the door open. The first thing she saw was Sam, hovering over a book, so engrossed he didn't notice her enter. Maester Aemon was closer to the back of the room, busying himself with some scroll or other. She walked up behind him and cleared her throat. "Maester Aemon? It's Caitie."

Sam's head shot up, but he said nothing, only watching. His eyes flickered between Maester Aemon, Caitie, and Grenn.

Maester Aemon turned around slowly, holding onto the shelves for balance. "Ah, Caitie, what may I do for you?"

When she hesitated, Grenn nodded encouragingly and gave her hand another squeeze.

"I… gave you a letter before I left with the ranging party. I was wondering if I could have it back."

Maester Aemon smiled with an odd sort of glimmer in his milky, unseeing eyes. "Of course—I have kept it safe for you. Tarly," he called. Sam scurried over, shooting Caitie a poignant look. "Would you be so kind as to find your friend his letter? I left it on a shelf over there." He waved vaguely towards the back left corner.

"Yes, Maester Aemon," replied Sam. There was silence while they waited for him—the only sound was the rustling of papers and breathing before Sam reappeared with a tiny scroll in his hands.

"Thank you, Sam," she said. "I'm sorry I was so snippy yesterday."

He smiled affectionately and handed the letter to her. "I know. You always are."

As her fingers wrapped around the scroll, her hands shook. She thought she might drop it, but the parchment was a lifeline. She gripped it tightly as she walked out of the library. Grenn followed and shut the door behind them while Caitie took deep breaths to steady herself. She had done it—the worst was almost over. All that she needed to do now was actually look at the letter.

"You ready?" Grenn asked.

"No," Caitie replied. A lump formed in her throat. "But I've come this far." She unrolled the scroll and stared down at the words.

Be safe. We love you.

O, C, and A

There they were—the last words she would ever receive from her older brothers. Owen and Cerys had touched this scrap of parchment—almost two years ago, of course, but that didn't matter. It was all she had left of them—the only other thing she'd had were her daggers, and the mutineers had taken them from her.

Caitie could hear them saying the words in her head as clear as day, and seeing Owen's handwriting and Cerys's signature, she knew what to do. Because they had raised her, and loved her no matter what stupid thing she did, and made her into who she was. She knew what they would want. And so she knew, it was time for her to wake up and be the person her brothers meant for her to be.

"Come on," she told Grenn. She didn't wait for him to answer before she sped off towards the courtyard to find Jon, but she could hear his footsteps as he followed close behind.

With no Ser Alliser in sight, Jon was sparring with a recruit, though to say it was an equal fight would be generous. As soon as he noticed her, however, Jon lowered his sword, nodded in dismissal to his opponent, and started over towards her and Grenn. Caitie didn't allow him the opportunity to speak. She brought out the daggers she'd taken the day before and smiled.

"Let's fight."

There was a hint of a smile on Jon's otherwise impassive face. With a nod, he lifted his sword, darting forward to swing at her with brutal precision. Caitie grinned as she countered, weaving around him, twirling, ducking, and enjoying herself every second of it. The daggers in her hands still felt odd; she had to take some time to get used to them. But even with the strange weight, Caitie felt so alive—more than she'd felt in ages.

Her face was flushed and hot; her calves burned, and she was out of practice. She knew Jon would beat her in this state. But Caitriona Norrey finally felt like herself again. She could almost hear her brothers' voices as she fought, directing her flow of movement as they'd done for almost her entire life.

Owen and Cerys lived in Caitie—they always would. The pain was far from gone, but she could—she would—fight.

And at that moment, it was a victory.