TW for mentions of rape, victims of rape, and insinuations of rape.

She was still in the Haunted Forest.

With her heart beating out of her chest, Caitie looked around, shaking like a leaf the entire time, and it wasn't for a good few seconds before relief flooded through her. She was in her sleeping roll, with Jon and Edd and Grenn, heading north to Craster's Keep. Arthur was alive, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. Karl Tanner didn't know about her identity. Owen and Cerys were still dead, but they weren't wights. It was the first time Caitie felt something other than grief about their deaths, for being outright dead was better than being a mindless slave to the White Walkers.

It was a dream—just a dream.

She sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and tried to get a sense of the time—not pitch black, but not first light, yet. Everyone around her was still asleep—she knew because three of her companions were snoring loud enough to wake the dead—which meant she hadn't cried out and woken them.

Good. The last thing she needed was all these men seeing her at her weakest. Even Jon didn't need to see it.

For a minute or so, Caitie tried to lie back down and try to sleep a little longer, but it didn't take her long to realize that wouldn't be happening. She couldn't stay still; her mind was reeling with residual fear and confusion. She hadn't had a nightmare in years—not since she'd first learned swordplay. It had a way of clearing her head, so once she had taken it up, she could sleep soundly.

She didn't know what could have caused the change, and that frightened her almost as much as her nightmare had. Because if swordplay couldn't stop them, then what could?

Feeling her fear mounting once more, Caitie grabbed her daggers and left her sleeping roll, walking a few trees away. She went through the basic combat stances, tying her breaths to the movements and letting the monotony wash away the memory of the dream.

Deep breath in, lunge, deep breath out.

Deep breath in, pivot, deep breath out.

She was about to take a parrying stance when she heard footsteps behind her. "What the hell are you doing out here?" a voice whispered—and she had to hold back a groan, for it was the last one she wanted to hear.

Well, maybe not the last one, because that honor would go to Locke.

"Clearing my mind," she answered, making sure not to betray any emotion.

Grenn put a hand on her shoulder. "It's not safe for you alone."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

He paused. "I heard you crying out at something."

Damn it. So she had cried. "Did I wake you?"

"I was already up." Another pause. "You okay?"

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Probably not. What happened?"

She shrugged. "Bad dream. I don't really want to talk about it."

"You mean you don't want to talk to me about it," he said, suddenly accusatory. "You'd talk to Jon."

The comment sparked rage inside of her. How dare Grenn say that when he was the one who had rejected her.

Caitie rounded on him, eyes narrowing into slits as she hissed, "And whose fault is that, exactly?"

"Yours," he said confidently. "I've been wanting to talk to you for two days. You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't been avoiding you." But that was a lie, and they both knew it.

Neither said anything else for a moment, each waiting for the other to speak first. When Caitie made it clear that she wouldn't be the one to do so, Grenn sighed, his frustration giving way to something new. "Listen," he said. "I didn't mean to…" But apparently, Grenn didn't know what to say, because he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

She barely withheld a scream of frustration, of hurt. But somehow, she managed it, instead opting to cross her arms and maintain the appearance of indifference. "Kiss me?" she hissed, low enough that he had to lean in to hear her. "Well, don't worry about it. I already said I understood you made a mistake."

"That isn't what I meant."

"You could have fooled me."

"Seven Hells," he swore. And then, quick as lightning, he closed the gap between them. She blinked once, then twice, before she realized what had happened and her eyes fell shut, but it was only a moment after she did when he pulled away. In all, the kiss had only lasted for a few seconds—but Gods was it was an incredible few seconds.

"Oh," she said blankly, once it was over. "Now, I'm confused. Not that I'm complaining, but—"

"You are the most frustrating girl I have ever met. How can someone so smart be so stupid?"

She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am not stupid. You pulled away. What was I supposed to think?"

He eyed Caitie as if she were a simpleton. "Do you really think I pulled away because I didn't want to kiss you?"

"I…" The scowl on her face faltered. Maybe she was a simpleton because she wasn't exactly sure what other reason there could be—other than the oath. "You're a black brother," she said weakly.

"So? Nothing in our vows says we can't kiss a girl."

She huffed, feeling more stupid by the second. "Then why did you pull away?"

"Well, you weren't exactly in your right mind. I didn't know if you wanted me—or if you just wanted a distraction."

"Oh," Caitie said again, this time with embarrassment rather than shock. It had never occurred to her that Grenn could be insecure about her feelings for him. It had never occurred to her that, while he might be more experienced in certain... techniques, he was just as deep into new territory as she was.

"I'm not so slow that I couldn't figure out it was the first thing. But then you wouldn't talk to me."

For some reason, she laughed at this, feeling lighter than she ought to have at the realization of being such an idiot. "Gods, I'm not very good at this, am I?"

Grenn laughed along with her. "Terrible. But you're good at a lot of other stuff. It's only fair." He was now just a fingertip's length away from her. And after a pause, he closed the distance and brushed his lips against hers once again. This kiss was slower, more hesitant—probably because the sun was now coming up, and they needed to stay alert for sounds coming from the camp.

But it was still utterly blissful.

Soon enough, she heard footsteps and the saddling of horses. It took every single ounce of strength she had to pull away, but she did—and a good thing too, for the moment they had pulled apart, she saw Jon emerging from the trees, looking around for them.

If he suspected something upon seeing them, he didn't act like it. "Everyone's up. We're about to leave," he said. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Caitie replied. She waited for Jon to give a single nod and walk away before she turned back to Grenn. "I'm sorry for how I acted. I was an idiot."

"I think I'll get over it."

Smiling, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek one last time before she bounded forwards to catch up with Jon. Together, they walked back into their camp.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked in a hushed voice, following as Caitie found her horse and began the work of saddling.

Grinning, she leaned in and whispered, "A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

Jon raised his eyebrows, but neither did he ask any more questions.

She finished saddling her horse in silence and climbed on. As the party began the final stretch towards Craster's Keep, Grenn brought his horse up beside hers. "So, what was your dream about?" he asked as the two of them trailed along at the back of the party. They kept their horses so close they were touching.

"It was a lot of different things." She couldn't bring herself to talk about Owen and Cerys's parts in it. "Karl Tanner made an appearance, though."

Grenn looked down at the scars on her wrist closest to him and, after making sure no one was watching, traced them with his fingers. His touch was light as air, but it still managed to set her skin on fire.

Caitie knew he had a matching set of scars, but she couldn't see them then.

"It's not gonna be easy," he said, not looking up. "Tanner's—"

"Even more dangerous than Craster," Caitie finished for him, sighing. "I know. I just keep reminding myself that it could be worse."

Grenn chuckled. "Yeah?"

She shrugged. "I'd take death over what my father intended."

"Marriage, you mean."

"To the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms."

"As bad as Craster was?"

"He was closer to Craster than you might think. Made my father look loving by comparison." She shook her head. "But I'm here. It all worked out."

For her, at least.

"Aye. I can't complain," Grenn said with an exaggerated wink.

She snorted, shaking her head in amusement, refusing to give him the satisfaction of blushing. "Come on. If we're lucky, this whole ordeal will be over with tonight."

By the time they made it to the outskirts of Craster's Keep, it was late into the afternoon. Immediately upon their arrival at a nice, secluded patch of forest where they tied their horses and made camp, Jon asked for a volunteer to scout—someone quick, small, and stealthy. Caitie nearly raised her hand, but then she saw the look on Grenn's face and decided she would prefer to spend her last moments with him, rather than listening to the sounds of the mutineers raping Craster's daughters.

And so Locke, claiming to move quietly, was chosen for the job.

She spent the next hour sitting against a tree with Grenn, watching as he sharpened his sword, each zing of metal against whetstone heightening her agitation. Every so often, Edd came over to speak with them, but other than that, there was mostly silence among the party of black brothers. Everyone seemed to feel the weight of the mission on their shoulders. They had a good shot at winning without many casualties on their side; after all, it had been over half a year since the mutiny at Craster's Keep, and Caitie doubted the infighting had gotten any better in that time. It also seemed unlikely the mutineers would have the provisions to sustain them for much longer, and none of them seemed to have the foresight to maintain the keep they'd taken over, which meant hunger and cold had probably already weakened them.

But the plan wasn't fool-proof. Many of the black brothers could, and very well might, die. And Caitie didn't want to risk the lives of anyone, let alone the people she cared about, on Karl Tanner.

Not that she had much of a choice about it.

By the time Locke returned, they had less than an hour until nightfall, and she was buzzing with untapped energy.

When he arrived back at their camp, he cleared his throat and spoke, giving the rest of them a start. "Brothers."

"You do move quiet," Grenn said as they all stood and coalesced around him. Caitie tucked herself in between Grenn and Edd, not wanting any more attention from Locke than was strictly necessary.

"How many?" Jon asked.

"Eleven men—most of them already drunk. No guards posted; they don't seem to have a care in the world. We'll carve them up like walnut pie."

"You don't have to sound so excited about it," Caitie muttered, low enough so that only Grenn and Edd could hear her. Then again, she was also excited about the thought of killing the mutineers, as much as she tried to quash the feeling.

She saw Edd smirking out of the corner of her eye. At least someone shared her dislike of Locke.

"Karl was a top paid cutthroat in Flea Bottom," Grenn said. "I've seen what he can do with a knife."

"Have you seen what I can do with a knife?"

He chuckled. "Not yet."

And let's hope we never find out, thought Caitie.

Locke gave the whisper of a smile before speaking to Jon again. "There's a hut on the west side of the keep. We should steer clear of it."

"Why?"

"They've got some hounds chained up inside. Closer we can get without the dogs sniffing us, the better."

Jon nodded, but Caitie furrowed her brows. There were no dogs at Craster's Keep—not that she had seen, anyway. Pigs and ducks and a horse or two, but no dogs.

Grenn looked up at the sky, seemingly oblivious to this hole in Locke's story. "New moon, tonight."

Jon turned around to the others, his face gaunt and his jaw clenched tightly. "Get some rest," he said. "We move at sundown."

Caitie tried to ready herself. This was the first time she could prepare for battle beforehand, and she wanted to take full advantage of that fact. But her mind wouldn't let her—she was too on edge, and her thoughts were racing away from her.

"Someone's tense," Grenn whispered in her ear.

She looked up at him. "Do you remember there being hounds at the keep?"

He shook his head. "But just because we didn't see them don't mean there aren't any."

"If the mutineers had hounds, don't you think they would have used them to track us?"

That gave him pause. "I guess. But why would Locke lie?"

Why, indeed? But she didn't have time to try and make sense of it. The sun was rapidly setting, so whatever her instincts were telling her would just have to wait until the mutineers were dead and rotting.

"Do you have your poison?" Grenn asked quietly.

She arched a brow. "I thought you didn't approve."

"Better you have it than get taken alive. But don't die on me," he said, taking Caitie by the shoulders and fixing her with a piercing stare. "Not now."

"I could say the same to you. If you die, I'll kill you."

He smiled. "Not a chance of that happening."

"You both ready?" Edd asked, coming up behind them.

She and Grenn nodded.

"Time for our revenge," she said.

"Aye."

Caitie took out her daggers and stared down at them. If things went according to plan, this would be the last time she had to use them. With luck, she would find the daggers Owen and Cerys had given her after they'd dealt with the mutineers.

Caitie had meant what she said; despite her best efforts, she was ready. She was willing. She was excited.

As she set her sights on Craster's keep, she smiled. It was time for her revenge upon the mutineers.

As soon as night fell, the Night's Watchmen made their move. They ran towards the grounds of Craster's Keep and at the mutineers, not bothering to take them by surprise. Most of Tanner's men were drunk anyway—it seemed Locke hadn't lied about that. Caitie followed behind the rest of her fellows, letting the bigger, more obviously threatening men go in front, masking her position among them. She would let the others draw the attention of the mutineers, allowing her to flank them without notice.

The keep was lit with torches, giving her full visibility, and it didn't take long to see the sorry state into which the place had fallen. The mutineers hadn't bothered to tend to the livestock or the gardens; the roof of the privy had deteriorated since she'd last seen it—in fact, it was half-gone. But she didn't linger on her surroundings long before jumping into the fray. As swords sang around her, as women screamed and ran, a battle focus took over her body—fueled by her desire for revenge against the men who had killed the lord commander, raped Craster's daughters, scarred her and her friends' skin, and so much more.

She advanced on the first mutineer she could see from behind and put her dagger in his back, straight through the heart. With a sickening squelch, he keeled over, but she had moved on already through the blood-splattered ground to find her next victim.

He saw her. Snarling, he struck out, and if the sword had made contact with her body, it would have ended her right then. But Caitie was too small and too quick. She parried with her first blade and stuck the second in the soft skin of his belly, ignoring the hot blood that spurted from the wound. When his arm dropped, she sliced across his neck, cutting his throat so deep she could see the bone.

The third mutineer she came across was huge, but fast for his size. She had to dodge out of the way more times than she would have liked as he swung at her before she managed to get him off his feet. The moment she did, she plunged her dagger into his heart and twisted. The light left his eyes half a second later, and without a second thought, Caitie moved on—on and on, killing every mutineer who blocked her path, until she found Jon at the door to the keep, black curls caked with sweat, looking just as bloody, but also as entirely in his element, as she did.

"You okay?" he asked, breathing hard.

"Never better."

He nodded towards the door, which was open and waiting for someone to duck inside. "I'm going in."

"I'll check on the others, then meet you inside."

"Are you sure?"

"More sure than I've ever been in my life." After a pause, he nodded, turned around, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. "Remember, Tanner favors his right, and he doesn't fight fair. Watch out for tricks, okay?"

Again, he nodded, surveyed the grounds for any survivors—of which there were none—and then said, "Caitie, if you see Bran... help him first."

Caitie had almost forgotten about Jon's little brother, but hearing his name gave her a jolt of discomfort. For a moment, she forgot where she was entirely; the feeling taking her by complete surprise. But she couldn't place why the mention of Brandon Stark had bothered her so much.

Unless... it had something to do with her dream. Something she had been missing.

And then, looking around at the grounds, scanning for surviving brothers—and for Bran—just as Jon had done a second earlier, three facts came to the forefront of her mind.

One: Bran had gone north of the Wall, and Jon was convinced he'd find the keep—something which Locke had overheard.

Two: The Boltons would want him dead, and they would assume he'd seek shelter with Jon.

Three: The name Locke sounded familiar. And in her dream, he'd had a shield with a flayed man painted on it.

How could she have been so stupid? Of course, the name Locke sounded familiar—it wasn't just a Northern house—the Lockes were vassals to the Boltons. Caitie had learned that—Septa Melarie and Maester Harkon had forced her to recite it. Through her dream, her subconscious had been trying to remind her.

Caitie opened her mouth to tell Jon about her epiphany, but when she looked back over to where he'd been standing a moment earlier, there was no one there.

"That's all of them over here, is it?"

She spun around to see Edd. "Yes," she replied. "All dead."

"Grenn is taking care of the last of 'em over on the other side."

Caitie barely kept herself from sighing in relief. Grenn was okay. She hadn't realized how worried she'd been for him until now. "Good. I'll be there soon," she said as she heard sounds of fighting start up from inside the keep.

The relief faded into dread as she realized that she had to make a choice. It was either Bran or Jon—she couldn't save both. And whatever Jon's orders were... she couldn't leave him to face Karl Tanner alone.

But that didn't mean she needed to leave Bran defenseless.

As Edd nodded and made to turn around, she called, "Wait, Edd. Would you do something for me?"

He furrowed his brows. "Aye."

"Take whoever's left and find Locke. Now."

His face paled at her tone. But he nodded once, without a trace of humor, and Caitie knew that he would do this small favor for her.

Content with the knowledge, and reasonably sure that Edd and the others could kill Locke if it came down to it, Caitie took a deep breath to steel herself for the fight ahead and entered Craster's Keep.

It was a good thing she'd chosen to go after Jon, for she had gotten there just in time. She'd burst through the door in her hurry to see what was happening, so there was no point in sneaking up on Tanner. Either way, she wouldn't have had time to do so, because he was standing over Jon, who he had pinned down without a sword, about to go in for the kill.

Her heart lept at the sight, but she mastered herself before she could show him the extent of her emotions. Get him away from Jon. Don't let him see your fear.

"I suggest," she said coldly, holding her daggers up, "that you drop your knives."

"Ah, Caitie." He grinned, kicking Jon in the stomach. Caitie almost flinched at the sound of Jon's pained groan, but Tanner's voice cut through the sound, and she wasn't stupid enough to take her eyes off of him. "It's good to see you again."

"I can't say the same." She could feel the poison attached to her belt burning a hole into her skin.

"You gonna fight me?" he asked. "You never could beat me, y'know."

She didn't wait for further taunting. She lunged towards Tanner's left and stabbed upwards into his shoulder, where he was unguarded. It took him by surprise, but she hadn't dealt a death blow—she'd only made him angry. Growling, he blocked the dagger going for his throat.

Caitie retreated, backing away over to Jon, but she didn't have time to check on him because Tanner tried to strike at her again, the knife clutched in his right hand flashing silver. "Little runt from White Harbor—thinks he's somethin' because the lord commander treated him special."

She stopped it from connecting, but he elbowed her in the chest with his other arm so hard it knocked the wind out of her. One of her daggers dropped out of her hand, and she stumbled back from the impact—and from the aching pain in her breasts.

She gritted her teeth, trying to steady herself.

"Not a boy at all!" Tanner exclaimed, his face lighting up. "A girl!"

Caitie froze, clutching her remaining dagger tight. It was the only thing keeping her from a spiral of pure panic. Because this was her nightmare coming to life. He knew the secret she had worked so hard to keep from him, and now he was going to rape her until there was nothing left but him.

A prickle on the back of her neck alerted her to movement. She didn't need to look to know it would be Jon. She could feel his presence near her instinctively. Sure enough, moments later, she saw him get up again and stagger forward until he found his footing. He looked around, trying to locate Longclaw.

"You fucking her, Snow?" Tanner taunted. He didn't take his eyes off Caitie, lunging towards her again. She rolled out of his reach as he swung his arm, his knife narrowly missing her head. "Can't imagine why you would—ugly little thing, she is," he continued. "But I'm not picky. So maybe I'll fuck 'er and make you watch. And if I'm feelin' generous, I'll give you what's left of 'er 'fore you die, too."

She steeled herself. Caitie still had one dagger. She didn't think it would be enough to beat him, but she didn't need to beat him. If she could just hold Tanner off until Jon found Longclaw…

But before either of them could get within striking distance again, Caitie heard the squelch of a knife connecting with flesh. Tanner's expression twisted with pain. Someone had stabbed him from behind.

The blow wasn't fatal, Caitie didn't think, because he managed to reach over his shoulder and pull the knife out, but it still distracted him as he turned to see who had done it. The culprit was someone Caitie would never have expected: a Wildling girl, her whole body beaten and bruised, looking terrified at what she had done.

Caitie didn't think she'd ever seen a braver soul in her life.

Tanner advanced on the girl, and though Caitie couldn't see his face, she could tell by his body language that he was furious. She readied her daggers, aiming for the back of his neck, but Jon's legs were longer; he only had to take two steps, and with a sickening crunch! he put Longclaw through Karl Tanner's skull.

As he crumpled to the floor, his eyes open and blood pouring from his open mouth, Jon turned his attention to Caitie, his face contorted with fury but his hands shaking as he opened his mouth to speak.

Caitie beat him to it.

"That was my kill, you dick," she said testily. She wasn't really angry, but she knew what he had been about to ask, and she had to preempt the are you okay? somehow.

And okay, maybe she was a little miffed.

But when Jon blinked, staring open-mouthed, Caitie decided to put her annoyance aside and nodded to the Wildling girl, because she was more important than a bit of dented pride. "Come on."

They exchanged one last glance, and then the two of them kneeled so they were at the girl's eye level.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked.

The girl refused to look at him, shivering violently.

Caitie tried for a comforting smile. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you; we're here to help. Can you stand?"

She thought the girl was nodding slightly, but that may have just been the force of her shivers.

"Come with us," Jon said, as soothingly as he could. "Come on."

The girl finally turned to look them in the eye and, though she flinched at the touch, she allowed Caitie to help her up. With Jon on one side and Caitie on the other, they helped Craster's daughter to the door.

The first thing she saw upon exiting the keep was Grenn's backside, with his sword raised at the last mutineer in the vicinity who was still alive. In a single clean motion, he sliced mutineer down the middle, and one living mutineer became zero. Meanwhile, the girl whom Caitie and Jon had escorted out of the keep ran to her sisters, standing in a huddle, watching the black brothers with wariness. But when they saw her, their faces split into smiles of joy and relief, and they embraced their sister in a fierce hug.

Caitie and Jon came to stand at Grenn's side, and he threw her an almost imperceptible look of relief. But there were other matters they needed to attend to before celebrating their victory.

"We lost four brothers?" Jon asked.

"Five," Edd said. He had just dragged another body over to them. When Caitie saw who it was, her heart soared.

Locke.

It looked as if something had ripped one of his shoulders from his neck by brute force. She could even see the mutilated muscle and bone, which had splintered.

"What in Seven Hells could do that to a man?" asked Grenn.

Caitie had to bite back her laugh—a pure, unadulterated one, full of joy and relief. Wherever Brandon Stark was now, he was safe from the Boltons.

But there were more pressing matters at hand before she could have that discussion.

"I count ten dead mutineers," Jon said, looking around.

"Locke said there were eleven of them," Grenn replied.

Edd looked around the keep. "Where's Rast?"

It was a question to which none of the brothers had an answer, but there was little they could do about it right then. Once they did an inventory of the entire keep, took all the mutineers' weapons for the Night's Watch, and burned all the bodies, they could ask the remaining girls if they knew where Rast had gone. And so, Caitie, Jon, Edd, and Grenn began their search of all the bodies outside of the keep; Caitie kept an eye out for the daggers her brothers had gifted her, but none of the mutineers had kept them on their person. She would have to check the inside for them.

"Oh, here's another," she said, pulling a sword from the scabbard of a mutineer that Jon had missed.

As she handed it to him, Grenn looked up to the outskirts of the keep, and seeing something the rest of them hadn't, called, "Jon!"

Caitie followed his gaze and her breath hitched in her throat as she took in the sight of a five-foot-tall direwolf with red eyes and white fur standing at the entrance to Craster's Keep.

"Ghost," she whispered, so quietly that no one heard her, as tears sprung to her eyes.

"Where in Seven Hells…?" Jon asked incredulously, smiling from ear to ear. "Come here!" As Ghost padded forwards to his master, Jon bent down to just below the direwolf's eye level and scratched his ear. "I missed you, boy."

Ghost looked thinner than the last time she'd seen him; she could see the outline of his ribs protruding from beneath his coat of fur. His eyes, usually a brilliant, violent red, had dulled from hunger and hardship. His gait seemed slightly unsteady, too, as though he hadn't exercised in a while—and Caitie knew her hunch had been correct. But judging from the red on his muzzle, it seemed he had gotten his revenge as well.

Rast couldn't have deserved a better end.

"What should we do with this lot?" Edd asked, and Caitie turned to see the group of Craster's daughters. They stood silently, cowering. Waiting, Caitie realized. They were waiting for these new black brothers to rape them, just as the mutineers had done.

"It's not safe for you here on your own," Jon said, his voice suddenly business-like. "Mance Rayder has an army heading this way, and there's worse out there than Mance." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, kinder, less the commander and more the rescuer. "Come with us to Castle Black. We can find you work; keep you safe."

"Meaning all respect, Ser Crow," the oldest of the women said—as old as Craster himself. "Craster beat us, and worse. Your brother crows beat us, and worse. We'll find our own way."

Caitie almost spoke up—tried to convince the woman to change her mind. How long had she spent wishing she could free Craster's daughters, save them, take them south so they could live?

But something stopped her. Maybe it was the way the women were shying away from her. They didn't know she was a girl, except the one who she'd helped out of the keep. Caitie was a crow to them, and crows had raped and beaten them. If they chose to stay out here—to stay away from the men whom they had no reason to believe wouldn't hurt them, then she had no right to question it—even though she wanted to, more than anything.

"You want to stay here?" Jon asked incredulously. "In Craster's Keep?"

The old woman looked to the keep, disgust etched in her weathered features, and spit into the dirt. "Burn it to the ground. And all the dead with it."

The Lockes are a house in the North (though based on location, they should probably be bannermen to the Manderlys, but whatever)—so how Jon didn't realize that when he had a highborn education I really don't know. Maybe the showrunners just forgot the lore? Either way, someone should have picked up on his evilness, because it was so, so obvious.