It's the one-year anniversary, bitches! I like to think my writing skills have vastly improved since I started. If you're one of the amazing people who has been here since the beginning, I am both incredibly grateful and terribly sorry. But hey, it can only keep getting better. Right?
PS: I'm putting a trigger warning on this chapter for gruesome descriptions of decapitation.
I know that considering the amount of death and blood and whatever else we've already gone through, a random decapitation is like a Sunday brunch with a mildly annoying extended family, but when I wrote this chapter, I had a pretty visceral response to it in a way that I didn't with the others. So, I think a TW is warranted, just in case.
Anyway, that's all I have to say! And now, back to our (not so) regularly scheduled programming.
There was nothing they could do.
That was the conclusion Caitie and Jon had come to, after hours of discussing it, hours of trying to think of something—anything. Hours of pacing, planning, scraping those plans, and then, finally, the dull ache of acceptance.
There was nothing they could do, and it killed them both.
A long night followed as they indulged on the rest of the Arbor gold, followed by Dornish red, followed by plain Night's Watch ale. Sam found them well into the night, passed out on the floor of Jon's office, the empty cups still clutched in their hands. But once morning arrived, they had their duties, and couldn't dwell on the Boltons for long. Jon was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; that in and of itself took up a good amount of his time.
There was no other choice than simply to continue on, no matter how much it hurt.
At least there was no shortage of things for Caitie to do; that was one of the best things about living in a place like Castle Black. Always a person to talk to or train with, always duties to attend to... it was almost easy to pretend everything outside of the Night's Watch didn't exist. In her limited free time, she usually hunkered down in the library with Maester Aemon, Sam, and Shireen, or in the training yard with Jon, Edd, and Olly, taking out her frustrations with her daggers. Sometimes, she would find Hobb and Gilly in the kitchens and let them use her as their personal taste-tester.
It was only when Jon decided to call his first meeting of the Night's Watch to allocate new duties, give out new titles, and everything else required of a new lord commander that Caitie found herself unsure of her place at Castle Black for the first time since the choosing. As much as she hated it, she'd even planned not to attend, not wanting to further antagonize the men who despised her—and Jon for allowing her to live—by inserting herself into a meeting meant only for black brothers.
But she also missed being at those meetings so much it hurt.
So, when Jon, Sam, and Edd assured her it would be fine, that they would make sure no one would even know she was there, she couldn't bring herself to deny them—or herself.
And that was how she found herself sitting in the dining hall after breakfast, packed in between Sam and Edd while those around them chatted away, cups of ale in their hands. No one seemed to notice her, but she still kept her head down as to not attract unnecessary attention, subtly watching Jon at the center of the head table as he took in the room and all the men who now looked to him as their leader. He seemed solemn as he stroked his beard, thinking, but she knew he was still in a bit of awe at his new title.
So was she, to be honest. It was still strange to see him at the center of the officer's table, with his air of authority that was almost never there when he was with friends. But she also had to admit that it was quite a sight, watching him command the room.
"Sam?" he asked, just loud enough for the ears of those at the table closest to his, and eyed the vacated seat next to him. "Maester Aemon?"
"He apologizes for not being here," Sam said, voice quivering slightly. "He's not feeling well."
They all knew the truth: Maester Aemon didn't have the strength to come to the Night's Watch meetings any longer, let alone sit at the head table, at the center of attention. He needed peace and quiet and rest.
Valar Morghulis, she supposed.
But Sam had never been very good at accepting these sorts of things.
"Take good care of him," Jon said.
Sam tried to muster a smile as he nodded. Caitie placed a hand on his shoulder, along with what she hoped was a comforting smile. She couldn't offer much else, however much she wished otherwise, but she could at least offer this.
Unfortunately, there was business to attend to, and Jon couldn't wait for Sam to collect himself before he started.
"Brothers," he called.
The chatter died, and they all looked up at him.
"As you all know too well, it's long past time to build a new latrine pit." Laughter sounded, but Jon ignored it. "First Builder Yarwyck and I have decided to appoint a latrine captain to oversee this crucial task."
The laughter grew louder, and not even Jon could hold back his grin. Caitie used the opportunity to sneak a quick glance over at Ser Alliser and Slynt. It wasn't a surprise that they were giving Jon the most intense glares she had ever seen from them—and she had seen their glares towards her.
Jon was eyeing them, too, and for half a second, she wondered if he was going to slight Thorne by appointing him as the latrine captain. Or perhaps Slynt, for everything he had done in King's Landing.
She also knew that it wasn't Jon's way.
"Brian," he said at last. "Seems like a good job for a ginger."
Caitie was glad that no one else noticed the tense moment as the hall erupted into laughter again. Some of the brothers at Brian's table slapped him on the back while he grinned and raised his glass to Jon.
Once they settled, Jon cleared his throat. "Ser Alliser."
The animosity between Jon Snow and Alliser Thorne was no secret among the brothers of the Night's Watch. As a result, the temperature of the room dropped. No one spoke; no one moved. Jon's smile faded, though his voice maintained some semblance of civility. "You have more experience than any other ranger at Castle Black. You proved your valor many times over while defending the Wall from the Wildling attack." A pause. "I name you First Ranger."
A few of the brothers pounded on the tables with their cups. One even went so far as to shout, "Hear, hear!"
Caitie was only able to stare at her best friend in utter shock as Sam and Edd exchanged anxious looks, for this was the one thing on which she and Stannis agreed: Jon needed to send Ser Alliser away. If he didn't, it would undermine his authority, and Ser Alliser would make sure to capitalize on that.
She, Jon, and Sam had already discussed some of Stannis's advice—but it was mostly to do with the idea of speaking to Tormund Giantsbane. Jon had told them he would think about it, and since then, hadn't brought it up. Caitie took it to mean he couldn't bring himself to deal with it yet, so she'd left it alone. However, they hadn't discussed what he intended to do with Thorne. Caitie supposed she'd always thought Jon would take Stannis's advice.
Apparently not.
She figured this was Jon's version of a gesture of good faith. Though, if he believed Thorne would accept it… Well, at least he would go on rangings. That would keep him busy—and away from Castle Black as much as possible.
She hoped more than she believed it. But Jon had moved on already, so she tried to think happy, reassuring thoughts.
"Lord Janos," he said. "I'm giving you command of Greyguard."
Well, that certainly makes up for Thorne's appointment, Caitie thought, biting back a snort. She had to hand it to Jon; separating Ser Alliser from his second was one of his better ideas. It wasn't as if Slynt contributed anything of value to Castle Black, like Thorne did—and she would be more than glad never to see Janos Slynt's ugly little rat's face again.
His reaction, however, was not what anyone could have expected.
Slynt huffed, smiling with all the sweetness of soured milk. "Greyguard is a ruin."
Jon nodded. "Yes, the fort is in a sorry state. Restore it as best you can. First Builder Yarwyck can spare ten of his—"
"I was charged with the defense of King's Landing when you were soiling your swaddling clothes," Slynt snapped. "Keep your ruin."
Caitie's eyes flickered between Slynt and Jon as a few of the men seated at Thorne and Slynt's table muttered to each other. The mutters soon turned into shouting as arguments picked up between the two factions: those who supported Jon and those who had opposed him. In another life, Caitie would have told them all to shut up and sit down. But now, she was a woman; her brothers were never going to look at her the same again, and she had to remember that. She couldn't afford to draw attention to herself—especially not during a Night's Watch meeting.
"This is gonna get ugly," Edd murmured.
She could only nod in return.
"All right, all right," Sam yelled over the throng. "Enough of that!"
Finally, the voices quieted, and everyone turned their attentions back to the lord commander's seat. And in the time since Caitie had looked away, Jon's demeanor had gone from easy-going and friendly to… frighteningly cold.
She fidgeted in her seat and averted her eyes, unable to stand looking at him. Perhaps because, deep down, she knew where this was about to go.
"You mistake me, my lord," Jon said. "That was a command, not an offer. Pack your arms and armor, say your farewells…" His eyes bored into Slynt's, his voice quiet and deadly. "And ride for Greyguard."
He sounded nothing like the Jon she knew.
The coldness in his voice didn't seem to intimidate Slynt in the least. He shook his head and stood up so fast he bumped his chair, which scraped loudly against the floor and made Caitie flinch. "I will not go meekly off to freeze and die. Give it to one of the fools who cast a stone for you," he snapped. "I will not have it. Did you hear me, boy? I will not have it!"
"Are you refusing to obey my order?" Jon asked. His tone was soft, but the threat was evident.
One could have cut the tension with a knife, the way he and Slynt were staring at each other, each unblinking, waiting for the other to relent first. Jon's face gave nothing away. There was no frown, no glare; just an empty void. Even at his angriest, Caitie had never seen him like this before, not even once.
Slynt gave Jon a sneer. "You can stick your order up your bastard ass."
At any other time, she might have been shocked by the sheer stupidity of Slynt's statement, or perhaps worried about how it might make Jon feel. But now... she just wanted to be gone from the hall.
There was a moment of tense silence in which no one quite knew what would happen. Ser Alliser smirked at Jon—taunting him, Caitie presumed; waiting to see his resolve crumble. At last, Jon nodded towards Edd. "Take Lord Janos outside."
Edd didn't hesitate to push himself up, using the table as leverage. As he started off, Slynt, for some unfathomable reason, smiled.
"Olly, bring me my sword."
Olly immediately scurried off to obey the order as everyone else stood, watching Edd maneuver his way to Thorne's table at the center of the room. A crowd of men formed around Slynt, shielding him from view. Ser Alliser Thorne stood at the front, waiting to come face to face with Edd.
For one moment, Caitie thought he might try to disobey Jon's orders, and wondered with horror what would happen if he did. Gods, it would be a bloodbath, considering how much Thorne's supporters hated Jon and how much Jon's hated Thorne's.
To Caitie's relief, Thorne merely shrugged and moved aside.
"Get out," Edd said gruffly, grabbing the back of Slynt's leather tunic.
His eyes widened as he struggled against Edd's grasp. "You cannot do this!" he shouted, finally realizing what was about to happen. "Get your hands off me!"
Struggle and cry though he did, Edd's grip wouldn't loosen. He hauled Slynt away, out through the double doors leading to the courtyard. The remaining fifty or so brothers left at Castle Black followed. They swarmed past Caitie, blocking the way while they tried to muscle through. She remained in her seat, unable to move until Sam squeezed her hand and half-guided, half-pulled her along with him.
She didn't want to go—she didn't want to see what was about to happen. But she still went without complaint.
Though they couldn't really see what was happening as they wound their way through their brothers, trying to get to the door, they could still hear Slynt's continued string of insults and vague threats. "Scum, all of you! If the boy thinks he can frighten me, he's mistaken! Yes, very mistaken!"
By the time she and Sam reached the outside, Olly had retrieved Longclaw and was waiting for Jon to emerge. They passed by him as they finished their descent down the steps and into the sea of men, all of whom were watching, waiting with anticipation. Their expressions ranged from disgust to fascination to glee.
Edd, with the help of two others, escorted Slynt to the elevator, where someone had set a stump on the landing between the two sets of steps up.
Bile rose in Caitie's throat. Every bit of her was screaming at her to run. Or to stop this from happening.
"Disgrace! I have friends!" Slynt shouted as Edd pushed his head down onto the stump. "Important friends in the capital. You'll see!"
Every set of eyes in the yard turned to Jon, making his way down the steps. Olly handed him his sword. He kept his head straight, face drawn, moving with purpose through the mud, through his men, not making eye contact with any of them—not Sam, not Edd, not even Caitie. He came to stand before Janos Slynt, slowly unsheathing Longclaw. Lowering it between his legs so the tip was touching the wooden planks, he said, "If you have any last words, my lord, now's the time."
Janos Slynt's head had twisted to the side, so he was looking up at the lord commander. She could hardly make out the expression on his face, but when he spoke, it was shrill and shaking. "I was wrong. You're the lord commander; we all serve you. I'm sorry. Not only for this. For all I've done and said. I was wrong."
She never thought she would hear Janos Slynt apologize to another. But it was far too late for apologies now.
Jon closed his eyes, steeling himself for what he had to do. She could have sworn she saw his lips move—silently offering a prayer to the Old Gods. He was so cold, so in command, and Caitie couldn't look away, even though it made her feel like she might retch.
Jon went to swing his sword.
"My lord, please!"
He stopped, and stared down at the man on the stump, who had burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears.
"Mercy! Mercy! I'll go, I will! Please… I'm afraid. I've always been afraid," he whimpered, and once again, broke into terrible sobs.
And Caitie, for all she hated Janos Slynt, understood.
Oh, she would never have begged for her life, and she would never have gone to death in such a cowardly fashion. But the fear in his eyes was the same fear she'd seen every day in the mirror for months. It didn't matter that he'd called her every terrible name he could think up, that he'd been the one to uncover her and Grenn, even that he wanted her in the same position he was in now.
She wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone—not even Janos Slynt.
When Jon hesitated, Caitie thought he might allow Slynt to live. And though she knew he couldn't, a part of her desperately wanted him to, if only so Slynt's death could come at a less public time—so he could preserve some dignity, and, selfishly, so she wouldn't have to watch it happen.
But then Jon's face contorted with rage—and she knew it had nothing to do with Slynt's actions today. No, this rage was for Ned Stark, for Robb, for all Jon's younger siblings, for the Cerwyns, and every other Northerner suffering the Bolton's reign.
This was the closest to vengeance that Jon could get.
With both hands, he swung Longclaw in an arc and sliced Janos Slynt's head clean off his body. Caitie flinched but refused to look away. The head rolled down the staircase and into the dirt a few steps away from her; she couldn't take her eyes off of it. His eyes were closed, but beneath his lids, she could still see them moving rapidly. A part of her wondered with horror if he could still be conscious, though she knew it was impossible. Blood spilled from his neck, where she could see muscle and bone, mutilated and broken, until the muddy ground was covered in deep, oozing red liquid.
At least Jon kept his death quick and clean, Caitie told herself.
It was a poor consolation.
She had no control, no matter how hard she tried, helpless as she imagined the hands pressing into her back, the stump pressing against her jaw, her head in the same position, the swinging of the sword, and then her lifeless body laying on the platform.
Her blood on Jon's sword…
Caitie only knew one thing; she couldn't let any of the brothers see her like this. Digging her nails into her palms, she spun around to leave, only stopping when Sam's hand wrapped around her arm. "Caitie," he said. "Where are you—"
She tore her arm away and looked at him, silently begging him to let her go.
When Sam saw her expression, all the color drained out of his face. His arm dropped to his side, and he let her leave without another word.
To anyone who didn't know her, Caitie would have seemed calm, if a little stiff, as she walked with purpose down the halls of Castle Black.
Calm was the last thing she would have used to describe herself at that moment. All her focus was going towards staying upright, the pounding in her head making everything feel fuzzy and out of reach.
She needed to get as far away from the courtyard as she possibly could.
The furthest place she could go, which would still offer privacy, was her quarters, but she didn't want to go there. She didn't want to look at the place where she'd been imprisoned, awaiting—
No, her quarters were not an option.
The library would have Maester Aemon, Gilly, and Shireen. The pantry was inaccessible during the day, with Hobb in the kitchens. And if she stepped even a single foot in the guest quarters, she might completely dissolve.
Eventually, Caitie came upon a deserted hallway, far off on the western side of the castle, where the Night's Watch had yet to rebuild from the attack. The floorboards were half-destroyed and rotting, and the windowpane had shattered, letting cold air waft through and making her shiver.
She didn't care; even if she had, she wouldn't have been able to keep moving any longer. She leaned against the wall and slid down it, letting the tears spill down her cheeks. She tucked her head between her knees, trying to ward off the dizziness, the ache in her chest and head, the fear closing around her throat like an icy hand.
She was safe. So why did she feel like her death could come at any moment?
"Caitie?" Jon called softly.
For a moment, she wondered how he'd found her so quickly, before it dawned on her that this was the exact same place he'd found her over a year ago, grieving Owen and Cerys. Jon sat down beside her and, so slowly she could feel the hesitation, laid a hand on her back, as if he thought she might flinch away.
She didn't, and before she looked up at him, she didn't know why he would hesitate. They'd never hesitated in their shows of comfort before. It wasn't until she saw the expression on his face—lips pressed together and brows knit with worry—that she realized that Jon thought her reaction was to him; that he was the source of her fear. But she could never be afraid of him, and she hated that he was worried about it.
Leaning into him, Caitie sputtered, "I'm s-s-sorry, I don't..." She tried to keep going, but she just couldn't. It was getting hard to breathe again, let alone speak, and soon she was sobbing again.
"It's all right," Jon said, pulling her into his arms and rubbing her back in small circles as she choked on her tears.
But it wasn't all right. Jon was Lord Commander. She didn't want him to feel like he'd done something wrong, because he hadn't. Caitie knew how the world worked. This was going to happen at one point or another, and it had been necessary today.
She tried to say all of this, to apologize and to explain, but every time she tried, her tears would choke the words away.
They sat together on the floor for so long that she lost track of time. It felt like thousands of years, though it couldn't have been more than a few hours. Dusk had just started to fall by the time her breathing evened out and she was able to form coherent sentences. "I'm sorry," she said once again, trying her best not to sniffle.
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I don't—I don't know what came over me. I know he had to die, and I know you had to be the one to kill him. The man who passes the sentence—"
"Swings the sword," Jon finished. The corners of his lips turned upward.
Caitie nodded. "The Laws of the First Men."
"My father lived by those words."
And he had not died by them—if the reports of his death from King's Landing were accurate.
All because of Slynt.
Jon seemed to have a similar thought; after a pause, he said, "I wanted to kill him myself, either way. After what he did to my father; after what he did to you… if it makes me a monster—"
"Of course it doesn't," Caitie interrupted, surprised but not unhappy as she realized that Jon hated Slynt not just for what happened to Ned Stark, but for what happened to her. She probably shouldn't have, but she felt a bit warmer with the knowledge. "You could never be a monster."
"You ran from me."
"Not you," she said, sighing. "I just… couldn't let the others see me like that. I kept imagining myself in Slynt's place, and I—" The image of his head lying in the muddy snow surfaced. She focused on Jon's face to rid herself of it.
"I would never—" he started.
"I know you wouldn't." She rubbed the crustiness out of her eyes, though they still burned. "But it could've been me. It almost was me."
His arms tensed around her, but he couldn't argue because it was true. A single vote had decided whether she lived or died. A shift in the wind could have changed the outcome.
"I thought I could just move on from the choosing," she said, sniffling. "I thought I had moved on."
"I don't think anyone could begrudge you a few tears after everything that happened to you."
"Yes, they could. In fact, if the wrong person at Castle Black saw me like this, they wouldn't hesitate to exploit it." She shook her head. "No one else had this reaction. Even Sam didn't, and you know how he normally is. How could I be so... so weak?"
Jon snorted. "You're as strong as any of the men here. You know that."
"They're not the ones who ran crying like a small child at the sight of a beheading."
"They've never had to face the prospect of one for months on end, either."
She looked away, the uncomfortable truth too much to bear. It was shameful how the fear of a beheading had festered during all those months she'd spent cooped up in her quarters. She thought it had gone away after the choosing, but it had stayed buried deep inside of her, waiting for the right time to strike at her.
For a while, there was nothing but silence as Jon stroked his beard, serious and contemplative. Then he spoke, his voice soft. "Some tears don't make you weak. They make you human. That's not a bad thing."
"I suppose," she murmured. "But Jon, what if I never move on from this?"
"You will."
It would be so easy to let herself believe him, yet she couldn't. "And what if you're wrong? What if every time someone refuses an order or breaks a vow and you have to execute them, I end up like this?"
"I'll have to execute them; that doesn't mean I'll have to behead them."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid. What else will you do? Challenge them to one-on-one combat?"
He ignored her. "The point, Caitie, is that we'll find a solution. Together."
She blinked. "We will?"
"Aye," he said. "I can't change what happened to you. I can't make it better. But I can make sure you don't have to face it alone."
She shook her head. "You don't have to do that."
"You've done the same for me."
And just like that, the weight on her chest lifted, for he was right: she wasn't alone. She had Sam, and Edd, and Gilly. She had Maester Aemon and even Hobb. Most of all, she had Jon. It might take time, and she knew she would never be the same as she was before, but she had hope, at least, that she was going to be okay. And if not—well, she wasn't going to let it stop her.
As if reading her shift in mood, Jon continued with a marginally lighter topic of conversation. "Sam was in a state of terror when I left to find you."
A rush of affection hit Caitie. "He worries too much," she said fondly. "I'll apologize for it when I see him next."
"Do you want to go back now and find him?"
They probably should, she knew. She needed to assure Sam that she was okay, and Jon had his duties to attend to. There were also the rumors that could circulate the longer the two of them were gone…
"Could we stay a little while longer?" she asked.
Someone else—someone smarter than either of them—might have said no.
But Jon didn't. Without question or hesitation, he settled against the wall, so it was supporting his back, and let her rest against him for as long as she needed.
It was longer than she would have liked before Caitie worked up the courage to return to the inhabited part of the castle, with Jon still at her side. They weaved through the halls in companionable silence, for the most part; every so often, when he thought she wasn't paying attention, he would look at her, brow furrowed with worry and perhaps a note of self-loathing, and she would assure him that she was okay.
And she was, mostly. Now that the initial reaction had dulled and she had time to recover from it, the execution seemed... less daunting. The residual anxiety wasn't gone, especially whenever she remembered how close she'd been to taking Slynt's place, but it was at least manageable. And while Caitie wouldn't have said she was happy, exactly, she knew it had been necessary, and she wasn't sorry Janos Slynt was dead.
It helped that the idea of giving him power over her, even in death, strengthened her resolve. Even though the image of his severed head rolling towards her wouldn't be going away anytime soon, Caitie would be damned if she let that man get the better of her, headless or not.
And she wasn't alone. She was safe with friends, who would look out for her just like she would for them.
The courtyard was deserted when she and Jon got there; the only light came from the torches on the walls. The sky was pitch black, not a star in sight, so Caitie didn't have any warning before a black fur cloak smothered her. Along with it, massive arms wrapped around her back, squeezing so tightly that she couldn't move. The first emotion Caitie registered was panic—an intense, visceral need to get out of the trap before it suffocated her or stabbed her or—
"Gods be good," the voice belonging to the arms breathed. "Are you all right?"
Her shoulders slumped as the adrenaline left her in a whoosh. It was just Sam—her best friend, her brother. She was safe. No one was going to hurt her. She repeated those words over and over as she hugged him back.
"I'm all right," she confirmed, though his cloak muffled it. "Just tired."
"Sam," Gilly said from just behind them, "let her go so she can breathe."
He listened, releasing her from the crushing embrace, but he still gripped her arms as he looked her over, reminding her of when Owen used to check her over for scrapes and bruises after a training session. To her surprise, the memory didn't make her angry or sorrowful. It just made her smile.
"But are you sure you're okay?" Sam asked. "You really weren't yourself. You were—I don't know how to describe it. You scared me."
"I know. I'm sorry. The execution just… got to me a bit."
"Why would it—oh. Because it was a beheading," he said, his already round eyes widening to the size of saucers. "Oh, Kitty, I'm so sorry. I should have realized. I should never have made you come with me. I don't know what I was thinking."
"You couldn't have known," Caitie said.
"Of course I could have known! And after everything you've been through… Gods be good, what is wrong with me? How could I have not thought of it?" Gilly put a hand on Sam's shoulder and tried to comfort him, but he hardly seemed to notice, too busy berating himself.
Caitie leaned back close to Jon and sighed. "He's going to be like this all week, now; isn't he?"
Jon chuckled. "Most likely."
"Lovely. Just lovely."
"I'm a terrible friend," Sam bemoaned, not hearing a word his friends had said.
Caitie rolled her eyes. "You know that isn't true. If anything, you're too good. It's annoying, really."
His eyes snapped back to hers. "It is not!" he argued, looking to Gilly for help.
"I'm sorry, Sam, but she's not wrong," said Gilly.
Sam mock pouted. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."
She ignored him, focusing her attention on Caitie instead. "Are you really okay? Sam told me what happened, but—"
"I'm okay. Really," Caitie replied, smiling. "A bit embarrassed, honestly. But it's nothing a good drink won't fix."
"You could've let us know it earlier," Edd's voice rang out from behind them, from the bottom of the steps to the dining hall, and Caitie stretched her neck so she could see his face over Sam's head.
When he met her gaze, he scowled. "What the hell were you thinking, goin' off on your own?"
She scoffed. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"Not in that state, you weren't."
Caitie opened her mouth to argue with him, but when she realized the truth—that Edd was worried—her jaw clicked shut. She hadn't even realized he'd been paying attention to her earlier. "Okay," she said, raising her arms in surrender. "I'm sorry. I promise to be more careful from now on."
"Ha, yeah, I'll believe that when I see it." But he didn't give her any more trouble. Instead, he crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on Jon. "You did good, Lord Commander. I'm glad I voted for you."
"I... Thank you, Edd," Jon replied, with thinly veiled astonishment.
Edd merely shrugged. "Yeah, well, I know it wasn't easy for you. But out of all the shits at Castle Black, I'm glad he was the one you got to first."
Caitie watched something pass between the two men, and much in the same way she knew he'd been worried about her, she realized that Edd was proud of Jon. Of course, they had always been friends, but there was a new respect behind Edd's eyes that hadn't been there before.
A smile rose to her lips that she had to suppress, because Eddison Tollet's good opinion was hard-earned and even harder to get him to admit.
"Don't look at me like that," he snapped, glaring at Sam, who had all the same feelings Caitie did, only written on his face.
"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's just… nice to see this side of you."
"Ugh. And now you've gone and ruined it."
"Oh, Edd," Sam sighed. "It was a compliment."
Gilly left Caitie's side to link her arm with Sam's and help him defend himself from Edd's teasing insults. Caitie chuckled to herself as she watched the three of them continue to snipe with each other until there was a gust of wind and she shivered from the cold. When Jon noticed, he moved close to her so she could lean in next to him and share his warmth.
"You're enjoying this too much," he said, nodding towards their friends: Edd getting progressively more annoyed with Sam's kind-hearted refusal to react to his insults, and Gilly trying not to laugh at them.
Caitie grinned and crossed her arms. "Probably. But I'll bet you five silver stags Edd loses it and tries to strangle Sam."
"I'm not gonna take that bet."
"Probably smart." She bumped his shoulder with hers, and they fell into silence again.
Then, "You look better," he said, quiet enough that only she could hear.
"I feel better." She broke her gaze away from their other two friends to look at him and smile. "You did the right thing, you know."
Jon released a long breath. "I know. But it's nice to hear you say it."
"Glad to be of service."
He opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Edd, who had started loudly complaining about the freezing temperatures.
"If I let you drink the liquor in my office, will you stop complaining about the cold?" Jon asked, crossing his arms.
Edd debated his answer for a good few seconds. "Depends. Is it the good stuff?"
"Ale. Maybe some beer, if you're lucky."
"Ah… fine. I'll take what I can get. Can we just get out of this shit-freezing place already?"
Jon cleared his throat and arched a brow.
"Ugh. Can we get out of this shit-freezing place, my lord?"
The lord commander broke into a grin and nodded.
As Caitie and her friends left the courtyard in favor of the warm fire in Jon's office, laughing and joking and bickering the whole way, she made a vow to herself: that after tonight, she would never waste a thought on Janos Slynt again.
I have never forgiven Jon for his shitty ginger comment, and if I could make him the villain of the story as punishment, I would.
Oh, and to hitman: Well, considering that Garrus ran off on C-Sec to become Archangel (aka Space Batman for my non-Mass Effect readers), I think he'll forgive me ;)