The king was, somehow, even more intimidating up close than he had been from afar. He stood so still, hands clasped behind his back and posture ramrod straight, that she wondered if he was actually a wight in disguise. It was only his eyes that told a different story; they gleamed with intelligence, piercing her soul and reading her thoughts. Luckily, Caitie's mind was completely blank; the only thing she had left were her reflexes—ones she didn't even realize she still possessed. She sank into a deep curtsy and moved aside for him to enter, all without a word, for Stannis Baratheon had rendered her speechless.

If Edd could see, he'd ask the king for his secret.

His hand followed him inside, but Caitie hardly noticed. "It is customary to kneel in the presence of a king," Stannis said, though his voice betrayed absolutely nothing.

It was impressive—Caitie had always prided herself on the ability to read people. Then again, she'd completely misread Lord Commander Mormont, so maybe it wasn't all that impressive.

When, after an awkward pause, Stannis arched an eyebrow, Caitie realized she still wasn't kneeling. And though she knew she should have, she couldn't bring herself to do so. As the rightful king, Caitie was supposed to treat Stannis as someone to revere—but blood didn't make a man worthy. Grenn had been a farm boy, and yet he had been ten times the man than any of the lords she'd met.

What was it the Wildlings said? We do not kneel. Staring up at Stannis Baratheon's cold, calculating expression, Caitie understood the sentiment more than ever.

Prideful, indeed.

But Caitie didn't care. She just couldn't do it. She couldn't kneel to someone who intended to inflict his sickening religion on her and her friends. She couldn't kneel to someone who had burned a man alive—someone who might do the same to her.

Ghost seemed to sense her distress, for he couldn't find a spot for himself. He kept peering up warily at the two newcomers, his hackles raised. She hoped he'd stay silent and inconspicuous before the king decided direwolves belonged on the other side of the Wall.

Or worse.

"I apologize, Your Grace," she said in the formal, ladylike way Septa Melarie taught her so long ago. Apparently, she still retained some of the manners forced into her head as a child. "My quarters are small for the three of us. I can hardly stand, let alone kneel."

Stannis accepted her point. Either that, or he didn't care if she kneeled or not—which, of course, only lent credence to the theory that he had come to burn her alive. Caitie had never thought dreams could ever be prophetic, but this was just too convenient.

Oh, she was so very dead.

"I know who you are," Stannis said.

She blinked. "You do?"

His head bobbed only once, perfectly controlled. "Lady Caitriona of House Norrey, daughter of Rendon Norrey, Lord of Norwood."

And somehow, her situation had just gotten even worse. How the fuck had that even happened?

When she didn't say anything, Stannis continued. "It took me longer to realize than I would have liked. A lesser man would never have guessed."

"Er... thank you?"

Ser Davos cleared his throat. "We have a proposal for you, if you'd be willing to hear it."

She raised a brow. "Do I have a choice?"

"Ah, well, no."

Oddly enough, Caitie smiled. Ser Davos possessed a certain warmth—she could see why he was Stannis's hand. It was a welcome contrast to the king.

"Your uncle was my bannerman," Stannis said. "A good man and a devout follower of the Lord of Light."

Her stomach soured, the way it always did when someone mentioned her blood ties to the south, but even more than usual at the thought of her relative following the Red God, but she tried not to show it.

"The False King Joffrey killed him in the Battle of the Blackwater. It's in his honor that I extend this offer: pledge your service in my efforts to retake Winterfell. In return, I shall pardon you for dishonoring the Night's Watch."

It took her a moment to comprehend his words. Once she did, Caitie almost fainted. This had to be a dream. She was a woman. She was a traitor. And Stannis was… well, Stannis. It just wasn't possible.

"What?" was the only thing she thought to ask.

Ser Davos spoke up to answer the question. "You're a capable warrior. Many of the men here see you as a hero."

"Not the ones who matter," she said.

"Aye, Ser Alliser doesn't. Unpleasant man. He's most likely to win, though. It would be a waste for you to die when you could still do some good."

Somehow, Caitie got the feeling her definition of "good" was much different from Ser Davos's.

"My brother Robert went on often and loudly about how difficult the Northerners are to control," said Stannis. "If I'm to have a loyal North, I'll need loyal lords. If you were to join my army, it would persuade others to bend the knee."

"I... don't think they'd take kindly to a Northwoman fighting. A Northman, maybe, but—"

"Nevertheless," the king interrupted in a clipped tone, "I am giving you the chance."

Silence followed as Caitie pondered his offer. "So…" she said eventually, "just to be clear, you'll keep Ser Alliser from chopping off my head or letting anyone rape me if I join your army?"

"I will."

Seven Hells, this was her way out. It wasn't impossible or unreal—it was standing right in front of her.

But the part of her which always assumed the worst wondered what would come after? Would he make her devote herself to the Lord of Light? Disavow the Old Ways? And this was if he even won. However large his army, Stannis Baratheon was a southerner, and southerners never fared well in the North.

Caitie thought carefully about her next words. "And then what will happen?"

"You'll go back to Norwood Keep."

Ah. So that's what this was about. He thought he could use her skills to retake Winterfell and then use her to gain her father's loyalty. Well, that was too bad for Stannis, because all seven of the hells would have to freeze over before Caitie went back to that man. She would rather spend a week in the far north with no daggers. She would rather... she would rather burn alive.

"Your betrothal to House Hightower was broken after they followed the Tyrells and pledged fealty to the Lannisters," said Ser Davos, sensing her reservations. "There's no danger—"

"With all due respect, my lord, it's not about my betrothal."

Father would punish her in every way imaginable. He would lock her up in her chambers until he could find some other lord desperate enough to take her despite her lack of virginity, and she would never be free again. He would hold Arthur above her head until she became the obedient little girl he wanted, and torture them both in the process.

"It was your duty to marry your betrothed. If your father kneels to me, I have no choice but to return you to him and allow him to do as he sees fit," said Stannis. "If he does not, you will take his place as Lady of Norwood until your brother comes of age, presuming he, too, bends the knee."

Lady of Norwood, she thought, for a few years, at least.

But that was a fantasy. Her father would kneel if the king won, especially if it brought her back to him. He never burned any bridges, and that wasn't going to change—especially not with a pyre held over his head. No, the way Caitie saw it, she had nothing to gain by following the king. Assuming she didn't die in his battle to retake Winterfell, going home was not an option. Nor did she want to fight for a king who burned people alive—or who expected her and her people to follow his religion or suffer the same fate.

But, most of all, she didn't take kindly to, as Stannis had put it, being controlled.

Summoning all the diplomacy she possessed, Caitie clasped her hands behind her back and tried for an easy smile. "Your Grace, I am beyond grateful for your offer—truly, I am. But I can't accept. Girl or not, I made an oath to the Night's Watch. Even if it means my death, I have to honor it."

It wasn't a lie—not really. A part of her did believe in the oath and in honoring it, if not for the reasons most others did. This was her home, her family. She'd never leave them to deal with the White Walkers if she could help it.

Stannis scowled. "I am giving you the chance to clear your name, avoid an execution, and take your place as a lady of the North."

"I know. But I still can't accept."

His scowl deepened, but he seemed to realize there was no point in attempting to force the issue. "You have the Northern honor. And stubbornness." A pause. "But if you would prefer to die a traitor to the realm, then I shall leave you to your fate." The king turned on his heel and marched out of her quarters.

As soon as he did, Ghost seemed to relax, even when it became apparent that Ser Davos had stayed behind. Caitie relaxed a bit, too, once the direwolf had, though she didn't show it with the king's hand still in the room with her.

"My lady," Davos said, "I beg you to reconsider."

She bit back a scoff. "Reconsider what? The king made it very clear what will happen if I help him."

Davos didn't raise his voice. He stayed calm, despite her tone. "I wouldn't want to see a good person die when there's no need for it."

It would have been better to keep her head, to speak to him with the respect he was owed as Hand of the King, but she'd used up all her reserves of diplomacy. "It's better than the alternative. I'd rather burn alive than go home."

Ser Davos grimaced. "The king isn't going to burn you. The Red Woman says it would be a mistake."

"How kind of her," Caitie said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

His mouth quirked up—almost a smile, Caitie thought, though it was hard to tell—but she was too busy contemplating the worst possible outcome to care about Davos's apparent disdain for the Red Woman. Ser Alliser would send her back to her father in exchange for more men once he knew the truth. If Stannis said anything…

"Is the king going to tell the Night's Watch who I am?"

"I... I'll ask him not to."

"You would do that?"

Davos looked unsurprised by her question. She wondered if he had faced ones like it before. "Aye, I would."

"But why?" she asked, shaking her head. "Why would you help me?"

"Because it's right."

"And you care about doing what's right?"

"I do. I can't defend all the king's actions. But I try to steer him towards the better options when I'm able."

"Like last night?"

Davos grimaced once again. Thankfully, before he could give more empty assurances of his decency, there was a knock on the door to her quarters. Ghost's ears perked up and his tail thumped on the floor. Caitie took it as a good sign.

"Who is it?" she called.

Sam's voice answered. "It's me. There aren't any guards at your door. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You'll see why in a moment."

The door swung open to reveal her friend. As soon as it did, Sam took a step back. "Ser Davos! I… well… hello."

"He was just leaving," Caitie said.

Davos looked between her and Sam before he bowed his head, sighing, and left them.

Once he'd gone, Caitie allowed her shoulders to slump. At least she'd avoided a burning—all she had to face was a beheading. Assuming Ser Davos stopped the king from telling Ser Alliser her family name, of course. Assuming Stannis didn't send her back home, regardless.

In hindsight, she probably should have acted more grateful.

Sam hurried forward and grabbed her shoulders. "Are you all right? Why was Ser Davos here? What did he—"

"Sam," Caitie said. "Calm down. I'm fine." He wrapped her up in a hug. "Well," she amended as he enveloped her, "I'm sort of fine."

He pulled away, scowling in a very unlike-Sam manner. "Sort of fine isn't fine, Caitie!"

"Sorry. It's been a difficult morning."

"What did Ser Davos want with you?"

"It wasn't just him," she admitted. "The king was here."

"The… you mean Stannis?"

"No, I mean Ghost, First of his Name, King of the Direwolves and Slayer of Bunny Rabbits." To prove her point, Ghost stretched out, lying with his front paws crossed and his head held high—very regal.

Sam was not amused by her sarcasm, nor Ghost's kingly demeanor, giving her yet another scowl.

"Sorry," she said once again. "Stannis wanted me to join his army."

"He wanted… oh." Caitie could see the gears in Sam's brain working. "You would have to go home."

"How did you—"

"Well," he said, cutting her question short, "the king would know all the houses under his rule, and he would know you've been missing. As much as I love you, Kitty, you have to admit you've never done a good job of hiding that you're highborn. I would make the connection, too, if I were him."

Caitie grumbled a bit at the slight, but she couldn't argue with him. She may have gotten less refined, but she still spoke like a highborn, and in some ways—a lot of ways—she acted like one, too.

"And if he knew your name—your real one," Sam went on, "then he would acknowledge your father's authority over you. If your father accepted his reign, of course."

Caitie narrowed her eyes. He was accurate—too accurate. "Were you listening outside the door?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed, looking offended. "I just… know things."

She always knew when Sam was lying, and that was how she knew he had not, in fact, been listening at the door. But he was hiding something from her. She could tell when he cleared his throat and tried to pretend he wasn't avoiding her gaze.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, a little too quickly.

Caitie crossed her arms and waited.

"Really, it's nothing," he said, this time a little more composed. "I'm just nervous, is all. It's the day of the choosing—between you and Gilly and Little Sam…"

"Think about how we must feel," she muttered.

Sam didn't hear her, too lost in his own thoughts. Finally, he remembered where he was and asked, "Anyway, how are you today?"

Caitie didn't quite know how to answer him, for there was suddenly a nagging at the back of her mind. It consumed any and all thoughts she might have otherwise had, and before she knew what she was doing, she blurted, "Can you do something for me?"

Sam knit his brows together. "I suppose so."

"After Ser Alliser—after he executes me, make sure my body is burned before something happens to it. Maester Aemon will help you, I'm sure."

His eyes widened to the size of saucers. "What—what are you talking about?"

She went back and forth for a good few seconds, weighing her options, before she told him the truth. "Ser Alliser wants to throw my body into the dungeons with the Wildlings."

"Oh." Sam blinked. "N-no. That's… He's not going to kill you." His voice wavered. "He's not going to win. He can't."

"Sam…" She took one of his hands in hers. "Listen to me. I'm going to die. You have to accept it. Knowing my body will be burned as soon as it happens is the best thing you can do to give me peace of mind."

"You can't ask this of me."

"I don't have any other choice!" she cried. "Promise me—please. I need to know it'll be taken care of."

"Oh, Caitie," Sam said, folding her into his arms. "You're not going to die."

There was no use. He was insistent, and Sam had his own stubborn streak to contend with. At least she had planted the idea in his head. He'd do what needed to be done once it was over.

She sighed. "Well, unless you can make Thorne suddenly become infatuated with me…"

"A love potion?"

She and Sam looked up. Jon stood in the doorway to her quarters, face tight with stress, and circles beneath his eyes that hadn't been there when he'd left earlier. Still, he was fighting a smile. Caitie took it to mean his conversation with Stannis had gone better than hers.

"It's a thought," she replied, shrugging.

He snorted, smiling properly, now. "Aye, a bad one."

"Well, it's better than anything else we've come up with. Not that it's saying much."

Seeing that she refused to let him console her, Sam sighed, defeated. "I should go. Maester Aemon will need my help getting to the long hall." With that, he left her and Jon to their own devices.

Now by themselves, Caitie crossed her arms and waited for Jon to tell her what had transpired between him and the king. "Well?" she prompted when he still didn't speak.

"He's not going to execute me," Jon said. "He wants... he wants to legitimize me and name me Lord of Winterfell."

Caitie shook her head, a bitter laugh falling from her lips. "Of course he does." When Jon furrowed his brows at her sarcasm, she added, "He made a similar offer to me not ten minutes ago—Lady of Norwood, if I agree to fight in his army and my father refuses to pledge fealty to him."

"He knew?"

"It turns out I even had an uncle all up the Lord of Light's ass."

"Charming."

"Why, thank you. I've always thought I was." He glared at Caitie, but she waved it off. "Anyway, it doesn't matter; I refused. Father will pledge to him, and Stannis will send me home to him. But enough about me—what about you?"

Jon took a while to speak, as if unsure of her reaction. "I haven't given him my answer yet, but I'm going to refuse, too."

Caitie had known he would—he was too honorable to do anything else. "I know it's difficult for you to turn it down."

"It is."

"Jon," she said softly, "if you stay here, Ser Alliser will make your life a living hell, if not kill you outright. Are you sure turning down Stannis's offer is what you want?"

"Of course it's not," he replied. "I've wanted to be Jon Stark for as long as I can remember. And to be Lord of Winterfell, to have a family... But Stannis will expect me to burn the heart trees and give up the ways of the Old Gods—he didn't say as much, but he will. And there's my vow, too. I have to keep it. What sort of Lord of Winterfell would I be if I didn't?"

"A great one—truly," she said. "But I understand why you can't be. There was a reason I didn't accept his offer, either, and it didn't only have to do with my father."

Jon chuckled. "You and the rest of the North. Did you know the lord commander's niece, Lyanna, is the Lady of Bear Island? A girl of ten. She refused Stannis's call to arms."

"That isn't so surprising, is it? Of all the Stark bannermen, I'd expect House Mormont the least likely to bend the knee."

"Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North," he agreed.

"She wrote that?"

"Aye."

Caitie burst into a fit of incredulous laughter. "Seven Hells, a ten-year-old girl essentially told Stannis Baratheon to go fuck himself. I'm impressed."

"So was I."

It gave her a strange sort of hope, knowing what Lyanna Mormont had written; a possibility that one day the Boltons might be defeated, and the Starks could take back their ancestral home. Because if that was the case, then anything was possible.

"Lady of Norwood," she said, allowing herself to envision a version of it without Stannis involved. She would see her brother again. And she would be a lady, yet not have any of the drawbacks: no father to marry her off, no one telling her what to do and expecting immediate obedience.

But it would also mean presiding over the entirety of the mountain range. Her house and its vassals were some of the wealthier in the North due to their craftsmen and miners. Nowhere near the wealth of the Westerlands, who mined gold, but as houses in the North went, hers had been one of the largest, behind only the Starks, the Manderlys, and the Boltons, and now, only the Manderlys and the Boltons in terms of political power, and behind only the Manderlys, in terms of wealth. That made it a responsibility, one she had no desire to bear. Because being the Lady of Norwood meant being accountable for the lives and livelihoods of those workers. It meant everyone looking to her for answers when she didn't have any; where one wrong decision could lead to countless lives ruined or even snuffed out.

Leading and ruling was something she'd never been trained for and didn't trust herself to do properly. And, well... it scared her. She would fuck it up and people would die, and—Gods, who in their right mind would allow her to command an entire region of the North?

Hell, with Owen gone, they'd probably be better off with her father than her.

"It's ridiculous," Caitie finally said, snorting. "Could you imagine me as a leader?"

"Yes, I could."

She blinked. That had not been the answer she was expecting.

"You care about our people," Jon said. "You're fair, you're smart, and however much you may dislike it, you're honorable. You'd be everything the North needs."

Caitie wasn't quite sure she believed that. But few people had ever displayed such confidence in her.

Well, she hadn't, anyway.

"So would you," she said. "But I hope you know that it doesn't matter to me what you choose. You're my friend, my best friend, whatever your name is."

Jon smiled. "I know. And you're mine."

Somehow, she found herself smiling back. "Have you told Sam about Stannis's offer yet?"

"I'll tell him when I see him at the choosing."

She felt like someone had pushed her into an icy lake. After all the talk of legitimization and Northern succession, Caitie had nearly forgotten about the choosing. And so had Jon, apparently, because as soon as he mentioned it, his face fell. She hated that it was because of her.

"Jon," she said.

His brow creased with unspoken worry.

"Whatever happens—it wasn't your fault."

He smiled sadly. "It wasn't yours, either."

"I know. But I do so hate it when you're right," she sighed. But he had been right, this morning: whatever she'd done, she couldn't change it, and she may well have been found out, regardless. There was no point in punishing herself for what-ifs.

And yet, that didn't change the inevitable. Whether or not she was to blame couldn't fix her problems, for what she wished for was an end to the fear she felt; an end to the prospect of death. And that was something that could never happen.

Caitie paced.

For the better part of an hour, it was all she did, walking from one end of her room to the other and then back again, while Ghost's eyes followed her as he laid curled up in a ball on her floor. When pacing did absolutely nothing, she went through her combat stances—three times—and when that didn't work, she started vocal exercises. For she may never get the chance to sing with Pyp, but she could at least honor their deal as much as possible. And while it didn't work at calming her fraying nerves, she at least felt like a piece of her old self had come back to her.

When she remembered she wouldn't have any time to enjoy it, Caitie's nerves frayed even more. But at least she'd sound pretty while she died.

For the thousandth time since the choosing began, she wished she could be there with everyone else. In some ways, the worst part of her identity being known was that she wasn't allowed in the Night's Watch meetings any longer.

"You sound good."

She stopped mid-scale, and looked over to see Gilly standing in her doorway, Little Sam in her arms as he'd played with a strand of his mother's hair, oblivious to the turmoil around him.

"I've been trying to practice more," Caitie replied.

Taking that as an invitation inside, Gilly smiled as she crossed the room and sat down on the bed. Caitie followed her friend's example so they were sitting side-by-side.

"I remember when you sang for Little Sam, just after he was born," Gilly said, smiling fondly at the memory. At the mention of his name, the baby looked up at his mother, babbling something unintelligible. She stroked his hair, but Little Sam struggled as he attempted to break away from his mother's grasp.

"Cay!" he squealed, grabbing for Caitie with chubby arms.

When she nodded, Gilly handed him over to her, and for a moment, he was content to sit in Caitie's arms. But then something seemed to catch his eye. The squirming started up again as he tried reaching for the floor, and Caitie sighed. "I think you'd better let him explore."

Gilly nodded; Caitie set him down on the dusty floor. He made a beeline for Ghost, who sat patiently as Little Sam pet him. Caitie watched the interaction with a fond smile.

"I had a sister who liked to sing," Gilly continued. "She used to sing all sorts of songs for us before we went to bed. I don't think I've heard them since before Little Sam was born."

Caitie smiled sympathetically. Gilly rarely ever spoke her life before coming south. For her to mention this was a big step.

"It's got to be hard, without your sisters. I know you miss them."

"I do miss them," she admitted wistfully. "For a long time, they were all I had." The wistful expression faded away, replaced with pure love as she stared down at her son, who had abandoned Ghost to occupy himself with opening and closing the bottom drawer of Caitie's dresser. "But now I have him. I have Sam. And I have you."

Caitie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Gods, I'm so glad you're here, Gilly."

Gilly took her hand and squeezed. "Me too."

"There you are!"

Caitie had never heard this voice before, but judging by the young, warm, girlish tone, there was only one person it could be: Princess Shireen. Sure enough, the princess was standing in her quarters with them. A weathered, grey, rocky texture covering the left side of her face stood out, but her eyes were so open and expressive that Caitie hardly noticed it.

"Sam said you would be in the library, so I went back, but you weren't there. I wandered around the castle for an hour before I realized you'd be here. This is Caitie?"

Gilly nodded, her brow furrowed with confusion.

"It's nice to meet you, Princess," Caitie said.

"Please, just call me Shireen. I've heard a lot about you from Sam and Gilly. Is it true—"

"Shireen," Gilly interrupted. "You shouldn't be here. Your mother—"

"My mother doesn't need to know where I am all the time."

The oppositional tone piqued Caitie's curiosity. But she said nothing, because asking a princess personal questions about her terrible parents was a recipe for death and disaster.

"She hates me," said Gilly.

"She hates everybody."

"But you could get into trouble."

"I'm always in trouble with her," Shireen replied.

Caitie bit back a snort. Seven Hells, how Stannis Baratheon had produced this girl, she would never know.

With Gilly somewhat placated, Shireen looked to Caitie. "Is it true you're a lady from the North?"

"I am," she said.

"Is it true you've been to the Fist of the First Men?"

"It is."

Shireen tilted her head to the side. "Do you know how to say more than two words at once?" she asked innocently, as though she genuinely didn't know the answer.

Caitie had never seen Gilly laugh harder.

"Sorry," she said, laughing a little herself. "I haven't had new company for a while. I'm not used to good conversation."

Gilly's laughter stopped, and she whacked Caitie on the arm. "Hey!"

"Well, I didn't mean you!"

Before Gilly could argue back, Little Sam's hands clutched at his mother's skirt, and he babbled furiously for her attention. Gilly sighed and slid onto the floor to pull him onto her lap, trying to soothe him.

Shireen to took the vacated spot next to Caitie. "You're so lucky," she said. "Before the war, I'd never left Dragonstone. I've always wanted to go on an adventure, but Mother would never let me leave."

"Adventure isn't all it's made out to be, I promise. Better you get it from a book rather than in real life."

"I've been teaching Gilly to read, you know. I think I'm a good teacher, too. I taught Ser Davos, and old people are terrible at learning new things."

Caitie wasn't exactly sure what to make of that. She wasn't sure she trusted anyone who believed in Stannis so deeply, but Shireen obviously liked him, so Caitie kept her tone light. "Well, you can't be worse at it than Sam was."

"Oh, she's not," said Gilly. "She's great at it."

Shireen smiled. "It's because I have a great student. Although, you did call 'Osric' 'Ostrich' today. But I suppose everyone makes mistakes."

"It was on purpose!"

Caitie raised a brow. "Do I want to know?"

"Well, Sam was being…" Gilly trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

"Sam?" she supplied. Her best friend had never been the most patient of men, especially when it came to teaching.

"Right. He was reading about the youngest lord commander—"

"Osric Stark," Shireen put in helpfully.

Gilly nodded. "Yeah, him. And then he went on and on about how I needed to practice more, so I said he should get back to reading about Ostrich Stark because I knew it would piss him off."

Caitie grinned. "Ah, I've taught you well. I wish I could have seen the look on his face."

"Maybe," said Shireen, "when the choosing is over, you can join us in the library."

The two older girls exchanged heavy glances.

"I'd like that," Caitie said, trying to hide her fear at the thought of the choosing. "But I'm not sure it's a good idea to make plans for the future."

"Because of Ser Alliser? I could ask my father to protect you."

Well, fuck.

"Let's… not get ahead of ourselves. It won't be over for a while."

"How long do you think it will take?"

She thought about it, tapping her fingers on her bed as she did. "Everyone has to argue over each other for a while, first. They should just be finishing up with it, now. Then they have to all vote, and after that, they have to tally the votes."

"That sounds boring."

Caitie laughed. "Tell me about it."

It was as if the Gods were trying to prove her wrong, for as soon as she finished speaking, Edd barreled into her room, grinning from ear to ear. Caitie had to say that seeing such an uncharacteristic look on his face was slightly terrifying.

"Seems I was wrong," she said as her heart sped up with—dare she thought it—hope.

"You'll never fucking guess." With an eye at Shireen, he cleared his throat. "Sorry, princess."

"It's all right," she said, shrugging.

Caitie waved a hand impatiently. "Never mind that. What happened? Did Mallister win?"

Edd paused for what she assumed was dramatic effect.

"Edd, tell us."

"Fine," he huffed. "The new Lord Commander is Jon Snow."

Caitie gaped at him. "I swear to all the Gods, if this is a joke—"

"I wouldn't joke about something like this. You're safe—you both are!"

Little Sam garbled, "yay!" as his mother picked him up and spun him around, smiling from ear to ear.

Shireen smiled, too. "I really would like to stay and celebrate with you, but I should get back to my quarters before my mother notices I've disappeared. Will you promise to join us in the library tomorrow, Caitie?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I'll see both of you tomorrow." With another small nod, Princess Shireen left.

"Gods, Edd," Caitie said, "how did this happen?"

"Sam. That's why he wanted to see me at breakfast. He didn't say anything to either of you 'cause he wanna get your hopes up. Good thing, too. Came down to a single vote. Maester Aemon cast it for Jon."

Her stomach swooped. A single vote between her living and dying. She was going to be indebted to Maester Aemon for the rest of her life.

Sam, however, was a different story.

"I don't know whether to be furious at him for not telling me or to kiss him," Caitie said.

"Oh, please don't."

They all whipped their heads towards the door to the newcomer, who had scrunched up his face in mock disgust, and Caitie rolled her eyes. "Not that kind of kiss, you dummy."

Sam smiled at her, but not a moment later his eyes shifted to Gilly, whose face lit up as she made eye contact with him. They stared at each other as though they were the only two people in the room.

"Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick," Edd muttered as he and Caitie watched the show.

She chuckled. "I've gotten used to it."

"If I ever get used to it, kill me. I'm getting out of here 'fore I throw up." But before he made good on his promise, Edd grinned at her. "I'm glad you're all right. Wouldn't want to see you die just yet."

"Me neither."

With a shake of his head, he laughed his way through the door and out of her room.

Sam and Gilly were so wrapped up in each other, they didn't notice him leave. Then again, they didn't seem to notice anything at all. Caitie had to clear her throat to get their attention.

"Oh, Kitty, you're still here," Sam said, turning his smile back towards her.

"This is my room, isn't it?"

"Right, right, yes." He waved a hand dismissively. "Well, didn't I tell you Ser Alliser wouldn't win?"

"You did. Honestly, I'm impressed. I never knew you could be so sneaky."

"I'm a man of many talents," Sam said, puffing out his chest.

"So you are. But I've got to ask: how did you do it?"

"I spoke to those who were undecided, and those who were voting for Mallister. Even a few who were planning to vote for Thorne. Soon, it became obvious that Jon was the best candidate to put up against him." Sam smiled. "All the brothers in our class of recruits voted for him, you know. And so did Hobb and Edd, of course. They helped me spread the word, too."

"So that's what Hobb was on about this morning," she mused. "Well, Jon must have either been more excited than a little girl on her nameday, or absolutely furious."

"Both," Jon said, leaning against her doorway with his arms crossed.

To someone who didn't know him, his expression was unreadable. But Caitie had spent the better part of three years learning the subtleties of Jon's body language.

He was ecstatic.

She grinned so wide her cheeks hurt. "My lord."

Jon grimaced. "Please don't call me that."

"Lord Commander?"

"No."

"Your excellency?"

"No."

"Lord Fussy Breeches?"

"Seven Hells, absolutely not!"

Caitie, along with Sam and Gilly, burst into laughter.

"All right, all right," she said, holding back the rest of her giggles. "How about just Jon?"

"Just Jon," he agreed, cracking a small smile. "At least when we're alone. When we're not... I may consider the first one. May."

Caitie stifled a snort. "You are entirely too boring. But, you know, at nineteen, you must be the youngest lord commander in ages—maybe ever."

"Oh, no, Osric Stark was the youngest, at ten," Sam said.

She feigned innocence as she rested her cheek on her hand. "Oh, that's funny; I thought his name was Ostrich."

Sam groaned, spinning around to face the woman he loved. "Gilly, you told her about that? I was trying to help."

"Well, you weren't! You had no patience, and you—"

"Wait, wait," Caitie interrupted to stop the two from bickering, "the Night's Watch put a ten-year-old in charge?"

"It was some political scheme or other. But he ruled for sixty years."

From this, the truth dawned on her. She didn't know why she hadn't realized it before. "You were looking to see if there was an age precedent for lord commander. Just how long have you been planning this?"

"Not long…" And then Sam smiled sheepishly. "Oh, all right, about a week."

"You still should have told me," Jon said.

"I knew you would tell me not to. But Denys Mallister wasn't going to win, so…"

"So now, Jon is following in the footsteps of his ancestors." Caitie grinned at him again. "Does this mean I'm allowed out of my quarters?"

Jon stood up straight, his expression suddenly serious. "Officially, you're a guest under the protection of the Night's Watch, same as Gilly and Little Sam, so long as you can make yourself useful." The coolness in his face and voice melted away. "But to me, you're a part of the Night's Watch, with all the privileges it affords. You always will be."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Allowing this could make your life a lot harder."

"I'm sure."

That settled it. Jon was resolute, and when he got that hard, stubborn look, Caitie knew there was no arguing with him. Not that she would have; she had no desire to leave her home, and neither did she have else to go.

Sam didn't seem troubled by the political implications of allowing Caitie to stay. Smiling, he put an arm around her shoulder. "The first sister of the Night's Watch. Congratulations, Kitty."

Caitie leaned into his hug and stared up at Jon. "Thank you. Both of you."

"I told you I wouldn't let Ser Alliser kill you," Jon said. He turned to Gilly. "Or you and Little Sam."

Gilly smiled warmly. "I know. And thank you, Jon. For everything."

Caitie snorted. "Oh, don't let him fool you. He had no plan. If not for this one—" she nudged Sam in the ribs, "—all of us would probably be headless by now, Jon included."

"Oh, good!" Sam exclaimed. "The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch owes me a life debt! I'll have to think of what I want."

Jon grinned as he made a grab at Sam, who tried to bolt away but failed, tripping on Ghost and falling onto Caitie's bed. Little Sam's little laugh rang out in the air, at first alone, and then, suddenly, the rest of them were breathless with laughter, too.

It felt like a spell had been lifted as Caitie joined in. Her imprisonment had finally come to its end, and knowing it was over—that she and her friends were safe—she laughed freely, heartily, happily, for the first time in months.

For Caitie had been given a second chance, and this time, she wouldn't waste it.