CW for attempted rape. Nothing bad happens, but I don't want it to take you guys by surprise.
Jocelyn Norrey's funeral had been a sparsely attended affair.
The details were blurred around the edges, but Caitriona still possessed some memories of it. She remembered holding Arthur as he slumbered, only a few days old, and a little too heavy for her six-year-old arms. She remembered envying him, for he was completely unaware of where he was or who he'd lost. Beside them, Owen and Cerys stood, a hand on each of Caitriona's shoulders as tears streamed down their cheeks—something she'd never seen in all her life. Something she wouldn't see again until she was fourteen years old.
Her father had been silent as they stood in the crypts underneath Norwood. A few other of their vassals joined them; notably Edric and Roland Knott, as well as Selwyn Harclay. But her mother's death had happened during one of the worst snowstorms of the early summer. The Warden of the North—who, customarily, would have presided over the funeral—had not been able to come. Both sets of Caitriona's grandparents had been dead for years already, and although she had an uncle in the Stormlands, they had little contact with him. Therefore, the ceremony was attended almost exclusively by her immediate family—or what remained of it.
As she'd watched the tomb close and her mother disappear forever, she had thought nothing could ever be worse.
She had been wrong.
The Night's Watch funeral was a nightmare from which she could never wake up. The sky was bleak and cloudy, without warmth or sunlight, bathing the courtyard in a colorless grey. It was fitting, Caitie decided, for it was how she felt as she looked over the shoulders of Edd and Olly to Grenn's body, laying with the forty-nine others who'd died. The cuts on his face had been cleaned and his broken neck, the blow that had killed him, had been straightened out.
He looked so peaceful. She could almost convince herself he was sleeping.
Until she remembered that he wasn't, that he was gone, and a sharp pain tore through her chest. She had to look away before it overwhelmed her.
"They came to us from White Harbor and Barrowton," said Maester Aemon. He stood above the rest of them, in front of the elevator, holding onto the railing for support. "From Fairmarket and King's Landing. From north and south, from east and west. They died protecting men, women, and children who will never know their names. It is for us to remember them. Our brothers, we shall never see their like again."
"And now their watch is ended." The words chorused throughout the courtyard. Caitie murmured them softly, so no one could hear amidst the other voices.
At least Grenn can rest now. No more fighting, no more surviving. The one upside to death, Caitie decided, was the peace it brought.
More than anything in the world, she wished she had been in the tunnel with him. Even if she couldn't have saved him, she would have been with him. She would have died with him. She would have found peace, too.
Instead, Caitie had to stand in the courtyard and watch her lover's body burn on the pyre, while everyone who noticed her presence either glared or leered. A handful did smile kindly, she had to admit.
With Sam's help, Maester Aemon descended the steps from the platform to the pyre. Sam handed him a torch to light the first of many. Once the flames took hold, the old maester handed it back to Sam, who then gave it to Jon. When he'd lit the second pyre, Sam handed it to Edd, then Olly.
On and on it went until every pyre burned, Grenn's included. She watched, waiting for his hands, his face, everything that had made him the man he was, to disintegrate until it was nothing more than ash.
A warm hand slipped into hers. She knew by the feel that it was Jon. He stood in front of her, so it was with some difficulty, but she appreciated it nonetheless. She'd have cried if not for the contact, and that was the last thing she wanted.
After a little while, Jon looked up. Caitie followed his gaze over to the king, who, along with his hand, stood in front of the doors to the main hall. Stannis Baratheon was tall and thin with greying hair; physically, there wasn't much to fear. A sigil of a stag surrounded by a flaming heart stood out front and center on his armor—the warped sigil of House Baratheon, to portray his devotion to the Lord of Light.
She wondered what it meant. Caitie didn't know much about his religion, but nothing good ever came from a king with an unhealthy obsession with gods—or in Stannis's case, god. The Targaryens had believed themselves to be gods, and it led them to believe in their right to conquer Westeros; from Maegor the Cruel to Aegon the Unworthy, and eventually, to the mad king.
Of course, it had also led to Maester Aemon.
What was the old saying? Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. Well, Stannis Baratheon did have Targaryen blood.
Caitie turned back to the pyre—back to Grenn's burning body. She tried to focus only on him, but the presence staring at Jon through the flames distracted her. It was Stannis's red priestess, Lady Melisandre. She was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way, with high cheekbones, long, deep red hair, and milky skin; it reminded Caitie a little of a weirwood tree, only with an aura of danger. The way she was staring at Jon...
His hand tightened around Caitie's, and it stayed that way throughout the rest of the ceremony as they watched the fire consume Grenn's body.
Once it was over, she knew she had to leave. Even if she wanted nothing more than to stay forever, trying to will Grenn back to life, it didn't matter. The last thing Caitie wanted was for a raper to see her out in the open, or even worse, Ser Alliser. She ducked into the nearest alcove, Ghost close behind—under Jon's orders, no doubt. Or maybe he knew the danger she faced with everyone knowing the truth. Caitie swore the direwolf was almost as smart as a human.
She sat down on a mite-infested wagon and watched as Sam walked through the door to the kitchens to find Gilly. Edd followed him, furrowing his brows as Sam told him something, gesticulating wildly. But then her eyes landed on Jon as he walked through the door to the dungeons. He was going to speak with the Wildling prisoners. What he could possibly have to say to them, Caitie wasn't sure she wanted to know, even if she had a guess.
When the courtyard cleared of all brothers, she emerged from her hiding spot, Ghost still following her. She walked—well, hobbled—through the castle, as her ribs still prevented full movement. Sam said it would be six weeks, at least, until they fully healed. Her ankle would take eight.
She hated feeling so powerless. So reliant.
Caitie kept alert for sounds or signs of movement, for the last thing she wanted was anyone nearing her. Fortunately, no one materialized. It was Ser Alliser's orders, most likely. He didn't care if she got raped, but he'd never allow one of his men to do it.
She continued hobbling down the corridors, numbed to the pain in her body. Her mind was blank, but Caitie was grateful. Nothingness was better than feeling. She never wanted to feel anything ever again.
It must have been hours by the time she heard shoes slapping against the stone hallway. Caitie readied herself for a confrontation, but it was only Sam. He came to a halt in front of her, eyes wide with terror. "It's Jon," he said. "He's gone north again."
Snow was falling in small, soft flakes, sticking to the ground and covering up the blood-stained dirt beneath their feet as Caitie, Sam, and Ghost stood in the courtyard, watching the metal bars of the inner gate, waiting for Jon to return. It probably would have been prudent to enter the tunnel and wait for him there, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. She couldn't bring herself to the place where Grenn had stepped when he died—in fact, she could barely bring herself to look at it.
"Do you think it was my fault?" Sam asked, breaking the quiet.
Caitie tore her attention away from the snowy ground to look at him. He didn't have to elaborate; Caitie knew to what he referred. Oddly enough, she was grateful for the distraction from the thought of Grenn's body.
"No. Of course not. What else could you have possibly done?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Something of value."
"You killed a Thenn." Caitie was still proud of him for that. She wished she could have seen it firsthand instead of hearing about it later.
"It didn't save Pyp."
"You can't blame yourself just because you happened to be there when he died."
Sam didn't answer, looking down at the snow, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.
"At least you were with him," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "He didn't die alone."
Like Grenn had.
"I guess you're right," Sam replied. "I just… What good am I, Caitie? I can't fight like you and Jon. I don't know how to hunt or build a fire, or—"
"Those aren't the only things that matter."
"My father thought so."
"Your father was wrong. You may not be a fighter, Sam, but you don't need to be one. You have plenty of other talents. You're smarter than Jon and I put together, for one thing."
"You really think so?" he asked, a tinge of hope in his voice.
"I do. We would be lost without you." Indeed, she wanted to clutch her head in her hands and sob at the mere thought of losing Sam.
When he smiled, she eased a little. "You really would. The two of you are some of the most reckless people I've ever met. And the worst part is you snipe at each other over who's worse." His eyes landed on the gate and his smile faded. "I still can't believe he went out there again. It's the best gift Ser Alliser could ask for."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Sam stared at her, brow furrowed, before he realized she truly didn't understand what he meant. "Jon is the greatest threat to Ser Alliser's candidacy for Lord Commander," he explained. "He was already popular before the battle, but now…"
He didn't need to finish; Caitie understood now. Jon's popularity had increased tenfold since the night of the battle. At least half the men at Castle Black credited him with holding off the Wildlings. And while she wasn't too well versed in politics, she wasn't stupid, either. "Whoever he backs for Lord Commander will have an inherent advantage."
"Exactly. His only weakness is—"
"The Wildlings," she finished. "And Ser Alliser will exploit it to limit his political influence."
Sam nodded at the gate, twiddling his thumbs the way he did when he got nervous. "Let's hope Jon had a good reason."
He did have a good reason, Caitie thought. Better than good.
Speaking of which…
"You should go back inside," she said. Caitie knew Jon wouldn't want Sam to see him when he came back through. She wasn't completely sure he'd want her to see him, either, but she couldn't bring herself not to wait, anyway.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked, glancing around the courtyard nervously. "I don't like leaving you on your own."
"I have Ghost. I'll be all right. Go," she insisted. "Be with Gilly. I can tell how much you hate being away from her."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Just a little."
Ghost leaned against her, supporting her weight. It seemed to calm Sam's anxiety. Caitie exhaled the breath she'd been holding as she watched him walk away.
The sky was already darkening by the time the inner gate rose and Jon stepped through. He wavered when he saw Caitie standing there, and she wondered if she should have let him be.
Then, without a word, he pulled her into him, gently, so as to not disturb her ribs. She buried her head in his chest. Caitie didn't know how long she and Jon stayed there, unmoving, until she pulled away to look at him.
His eyes were rimmed red.
"I went to burn Ygritte," he said.
"I know." She still wasn't sure how she knew; she just... did.
He closed his eyes and took a horrible, rasping breath.
They didn't speak more; they didn't need to. Silently, he helped her walk to the kitchens, to the pantry, and sit down on its dusty floor. Hours could have passed without a word said. What words could suffice?
"Love is the death of duty."
Apparently, that.
Caitie blinked up at him, for she hadn't expected anything more than continued silence. "What?"
"Maester Aemon told me after Robb went to war and I wanted to follow. He said black brothers take no wives and father no children so they won't love." Jon sighed. "I'm starting to think he was right."
Caitie stared down at her hands. Love is the death of duty. Just the thought sent a wave of melancholy through her; what a sad way of looking at the world. What reason was there to fight, to die, if not for love? If not to protect those she cared for, or those who couldn't protect themselves?
"No, he wasn't," she said, raising her head to look Jon in the eye. "You sacrificed. So did I, so did Grenn, so did Sam. And do you know why?"
He did not answer.
"Because we loved. Grenn went into that tunnel because if he hadn't, the Wildlings would have broken through the gate, and I would have died. He… he didn't take me with him because he loved me." She wiped a stray tear away from her cheek. "You left Ygritte because if you hadn't, the Wildlings would have killed your friends. Sam fought in the battle because he wanted to protect Gilly and Little Sam. Love makes us stronger, Jon. Not weaker."
"And if it forces us to put those we love over our duty?"
Her stomach twisted into knots. She'd never felt such disdain for a single word until now. For duty and honor were what mattered; that's what she'd always been told. It was what forced people to do the right thing instead of the selfish thing, Owen had said when she'd complained about going to Winterfell so many years ago.
But Owen had put aside his duty to keep her safe. And how could that have possibly been the wrong thing to do?
Duty was a lie told by kings and lords and commanders to make their subjects feel honored when they forced them into situations no person should ever have to find themselves. The sentiments might have been nice, but honor and duty were only ideas. They made sense in a world of ideas, but they couldn't truly exist in a world so unjust.
"Do you know what?" Caitie said. "Fuck duty."
Jon blanched. "What?"
She wanted to laugh. "Gods, Jon, look where duty has gotten us. We've allowed horrible people to do horrible things because of it. Our families died because of it. There's more to life than duty and honor, and there has to come a point where we stop worrying about being dutiful and start doing what's right, no matter what the world might say."
"Duty is right," Jon said dutifully.
"Leaving home was betraying my duty, you know," Caitie said. "And falling in love with Grenn was dishonorable. But I wouldn't change it. If you could, would you stop yourself from loving Ygritte—just because it was dishonorable?"
Jon stared down at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
She chuckled humorlessly. "Well, I think I have my answer."
"I was wrong to love her," he whispered, subtly attempting to wipe a tear from his cheek. "But I was wrong to leave her, too. It's my fault she's dead."
Caitie softened. "You couldn't protect her. You tried, but she made her choice. We all did." She sighed, half sniffling. "We're never going to be the same after this, are we?"
"I don't think so."
She scooted over and rested her head on his shoulder. "I miss him," she said. The sentence was so uncomplicated, and yet, it expressed her feelings so perfectly.
"I know," Jon replied. "Me too."
Silence filled the pantry once again. Caitie might have fallen asleep on Jon's shoulder soon, but the door creaked open, and Sam's head popped through.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, addressing Caitie, "but Maester Aemon would like you to join him in the library."
She didn't want to move from Jon's shoulder, but he shifted, standing up straight, and held out his hand. Slowly, he helped ease her up. She took it as a good sign that her ribs didn't hurt as she stood.
"I'd walk you there, but Maester Aemon needs me to send a raven to the Citadel immediately," Sam said apologetically. "Just between us, he's worried about Lady Melisandre. He wants the Citadel's opinion about the Lord of Light."
The mention of the Citadel sent a shiver down Caitie's spine. The Maesters' headquarters were in Old Town—the seat of House Hightower. And the last thing she wanted to think about at the moment was him.
"I'll walk you there," Jon said.
Ghost stretched and followed them out the door, down the corridor to the library. She and Jon didn't speak until a brother approached them halfway down the hall.
Brant. Caitie knew him in passing, but she had never seen him smile at her in such a way before now. It was hungry and savage, and though she hated it, she had to admit that it scared her.
"A girl of the Night's Watch!" he proclaimed.
Caitie's hand itched towards Cerys, but it was only a reflex. She couldn't actually do anything with it unless she wanted her body to scream in protest.
"Pretty girl, too. Bet you was a lady."
Jon stiffened beside her, but he didn't move. Caitie didn't move either. She only watched, waiting—fearful of Brant and what he might do to her, but just as much of how Ser Alliser would punish Jon upon learning he fought his brother.
"Or maybe you're just pretty 'cause you're the only girl here. Besides the wildling bitch." Before anyone could react, Brant grabbed her by the waist, pulling her towards him. If she had been at full strength, she could have slipped out of his grasp easily, but now, she could hardly move without sharp, burning pain in her ribs. "Hey, Snow, think when I fuck her, she—"
He didn't get to finish, because Jon had pulled him away from Caitie and pinned him up against the wall within half a second. "You even think about touching her and I'll gut you," he growled, and somehow, he didn't seem like a man any longer. He was like a wolf.
No. Worse than a wolf. A dragon, and one who was about to breathe fire.
"You don't scare me."
Ghost poised himself for attack. His red eyes glinted in the torchlight.
Brant's face paled.
"My direwolf does," Jon said. "Come near her again and you'll wish he was the one to kill you."
To Caitie's relief, Brant scurried off without another word. The fear gripping her loosened its hold. He was gone without any harm to her and without a true fight.
Jon took a deep breath to calm himself before turning to her. "Are you all right?"
"I think so." She didn't feel any worse, at least not physically.
"He pulled you—hard. Your ribs—"
"I'm fine. They're no sorer than usual."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "From now on, Ghost should go wherever you do, if you're all right with it."
Caitie wanted to refuse. She didn't want to depend on Ghost, nor anyone else. But until her body healed, she had no choice, for she couldn't bear to think what might have happened had she been alone. "Okay."
Jon furrowed his brows. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters."
"I'm about as all right as you are," she said.
It effectively shut him up for the rest of their journey.
When they arrived at the spiral steps, Jon frowned. "Do you want me to..."
She scowled, her pride winning out against the pain. "I'll be fine."
Thank the Gods, he didn't argue with her. The descent was agonizingly slow and painful, and Jon had to steady her more times than she would have liked. With every wince of pain, every falter, his frown deepened. But he didn't tell her to stop or ask to carry her the rest of the way. He merely helped where he could.
When they finally reached the archway, he nodded. "I'll leave Ghost with you."
Caitie nodded back. She took a deep, steeling breath and walked through the bookshelves with the direwolf by her side.
"Caitie?" Maester Aemon asked. He had seated himself at the lone table in the back of the room.
"It's me," she replied.
He smiled and gestured to the chair next to him. Ghost padded over and laid down beside it.
"Do you know why I have called you here?" Maester Aemon asked when she sat down.
"No."
He sighed, reaching out to gesture for her hand. Caitie obliged, and the maester spoke. "This will be a… difficult conversation to have."
"I know. I lied to the Night's Watch—to you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"No, you did not," Maester Aemon said, sighing. "You must understand; you were a child when you came here—and a girl, no less. The danger you faced… they would not leave you alone, undefended."
"What are you talking about?" But she knew the answer to her question before she even asked.
"Your brothers, of course," said Maester Aemon. "Owen and Cerys Norrey."
"How—" She swallowed, despite the lump forming in her throat. "How do you know about them?"
He smiled sympathetically. "After your betrothal, your brothers contacted your kin—Lord Commander Mormont. He knew your grandmother well; he knew your mother, and by extension, your brothers. And so, he promised to keep his eye on you, should they send you to Castle Black."
"He... he knew all along?"
Maester Aemon's head bobbed once.
Caitie couldn't speak as his words echoed in her head. Her brothers never spoke of knowing any of their Mormont relatives—at least not personally. But Owen had nine years with their mother before Caitie came along, and Cerys had eight. Just because they never spoke about their mother didn't mean they hadn't known her.
But this... this was impossible. She would not believe it. She could not believe it. Just because her brothers knew the lord commander didn't mean he would ever allow her to hide at the Night's Watch.
"No," Caitie insisted. "No, you're wrong. Lord Commander Mormont would never allow a girl in the Watch."
"Wouldn't he?" Maester Aemon asked. "The lord commander was a Mormont—and Mormont women are known to be fierce warriors. Our numbers were dwindling—few of our men came to us knowing how to fight. Would the lord commander turn down a skilled swordswoman—his kin, no less—without a place in the world and in danger of a terrible fate?"
"But he…" she trailed off because suddenly, every interaction with the lord commander finally made sense.
Mormont had been far more lenient with her than he should have. He had made her his steward in Jon's absence—he had made her a steward, to begin with, when anyone else would have assigned her to the rangers. He had ordered Karl Tanner to leave the stewards alone—leave her alone.
He had said something to her about her brother once, after she'd mentioned him. No doubt your brother had a different future in mind for you.
The memory it stirred was one she'd kept buried deep down, for it was too painful to think about. On the day she'd left for Castle Black, Owen had said to her: I wanted a different future for you, but this is where your path leads.
Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, had known who Caitie was all along.
She took a shaky breath, gripping the table to anchor herself; a million more questions to ask, not enough time to voice them all. She started with, "Then why did he take me north on the great ranging? Why didn't he leave me here where it was safe?"
"Your brothers were going to war, and the Seven Kingdoms were in chaos," Maester Aemon replied. "The lord commander was going beyond the Wall. To leave you at Castle Black, with only an old blind maester to protect you… you would be in danger wherever you were. In the end, Lord Commander Mormont decided it was best to keep you close."
"I thought they trusted me," she blurted.
It was such a childish thought. But Owen and Cerys had lied to her. They had told her they trusted her, they believed in her. And then they'd asked the lord commander of the Night's Watch to keep her safe.
Maester Aemon frowned. "Have you ever heard the tale of Brave Danny Flint?"
"No," she replied shortly.
He paused. "Ah, well, perhaps that is for the best."
"This whole time," she said, ignoring his comment, "I thought I was surviving, but I wasn't, was I? I was just a little lady, being protected like always." Caitie supposed she should have been grateful, but she wasn't. She was just angry. "Why didn't anyone tell me the truth?"
"A great many reasons," Maester Aemon said. "Among them… you may have become complacent, had you known. Or, had the lord commander shown you favoritism, Ser Alliser or another may have looked at you with a closer eye."
Which was why he'd barely acknowledged her existence before they went north of the Wall.
"So everyone just lied to me instead. And it didn't even work in the end! Ser Alliser is going to execute me, anyway."
Maester Aemon sighed. "He has not been respectful of Lord Commander Mormont's wishes, however… he is not lord commander yet. Another may prevail."
"Oh lovely," Caitie said. "So some other idiot will execute me, then." She put her head in her hands, remembering what Sam had told her earlier that day. It should have comforted her, but she knew the truth: whoever Jon backed may have a slight advantage, but it wouldn't be enough to overcome Ser Alliser.
No, this was well and truly the end for her—and for Jon, too, with Thorne as Lord Commander.
Caitie halted her self-pity as another question came to her. "Wait. How did you know who I was?"
Maester Aemon smiled. "Ah, but I knew when I first met you that you were a girl. Being blind," he said, "can open your eyes to things which no others would see. I went to the lord commander, and he informed me of your… situation."
"And you helped protect me? Why?"
He paused before he answered her question. "What do you know of the Sack of King's Landing?"
She knit her brows together. "What everyone knows, I suppose."
There wasn't a single lord or lady in Westeros who didn't know about one of the worst atrocities committed during Robert's rebellion. How Jaime Lannister had shoved his sword in Aerys Targaryen's back, breaking his oath as a member of the Kingsguard. How the Mountain—Ser Gregor Clegane—had raped and murdered Rhaegar Targaryen's wife, Elia Martell, along with her two young children, under Tywin Lannister's orders.
And how King Robert Baratheon had spat on their corpses.
Maester Aemon nodded. "And so you have your answer. You know who I was, don't you? You heard Samwell Tarly and I the night of the battle."
"Aemon Targaryen," she said. "Brother to King Aegon."
He smiled wistfully at the mention of the late king. "If my brother were ever in danger of a fate like yours, and I could not help him…" He sighed. "When the lord commander read me your brothers' letter—their fear for you, their love for you—what else could I do but help? My duty, my ailments, prevented me from protecting my family. It would not prevent me from protecting you."
Caitie couldn't think of anything to say.
"There will be a trial, and soon. Until then, I suggest you rest. I shall visit you as much as my duties allow. "
With that, she knew she had been dismissed.
Caitie shuffled back the way she had come; Ghost followed. Jon appeared from the stairwell just as they came to a stop.
When he saw her, his brow furrowed with worry. "What happened?"
She sucked in a breath. Her ribs ached as they expanded, but the pain was numbed—she was numbed. "He knew."
"What?"
"Lord Commander Mormont—he and my brothers—they—" She stopped to rub the tears out of her eyes. "He knew this whole time."
"Seven Hells. What exactly did Maester Aemon say?"
"My brothers... they asked Lord Commander Mormont to protect me. He lied to me. They all lied to me. Owen, Cerys, Mormont…" The world was spinning. Jon had to catch her before she fell. She clutched his arms to keep herself balanced and whispered, "How could they?"
She was grateful when he didn't answer her. Words wouldn't help. Her life had gone to hell, all at once: Grenn, her identity and probable execution, and now this. Everything was out of her control, slowly crushing her under its weight.
Caitie didn't think she could ever forgive her brothers for the lie, nor Lord Commander Mormont. Some things just hurt too much, and right then, she hated him, just like she hated Owen and Cerys. Just like she hated Grenn.
She hated them for protecting her when she didn't ask to be protected. She hated them for lying to her. She hated them for leaving her. Because they had died, and she had lived, and none of them had ever given a thought of whether she would want to, without them.
For my fellow Mass Effect fans, this chapter is giving me intense Javik vibes. "Stand amongst the ashes of a trillion dead souls, and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer."
That being said, I'm not sure Caitie is entirely right, here—half-right, maybe. But we'll get into that ethical conundrum later.
Also—guess who rewrote a bunch of stuff from earlier chapters? Me! It's a slow process, so it's going to take me a while to fix everything I want to fix, but I'm really glad I'm doing it (because let's be honest, the beginning of this WIP was quite... unpolished). I promise the core of the story hasn't changed at all, so it isn't technically necessary to reread—just recommended. You can probably just skim if you want.