The clanging of steel rang in Caitie's ears as she watched the courtyard, packed full of brothers of the Night's Watch and Baratheon soldiers. They mingled as they carried on with their morning duties; some stood in the middle of the courtyard, sparring with one another while others waited patiently on the sidelines for their turn, and stewards ran every which way, visiting the smithy or tending to the horses.
One-eyed Joe snarled something unsavory as he crossed paths with Caitie on his way to the stables.
She ignored it—she had gotten very, very good at that, of late.
Occasional glares aside, it was a happy sight, the courtyard. Castle Black had, for the most part, returned to its former state before the battle—with only one thing lacking. Though that was ever-so-slowly getting easier.
It was something she tried not to think about too much, for that was, in a way, worse than the pain of loss. While grief hurt like a knife plunged into her chest, the idea of healing, of not missing Grenn so intensely, terrified her, leaving Caitie in a constant battle with herself between wanting to feel better and not wanting to lose what little reminder of him she had.
But she refused to allow herself to wallow, so she turned her attention back to the display in front of her. Presently, Jon was engaged in a spar with Addam, a pick-pocket from King's Landing. He had never held a sword before being forced into the Night's Watch, but he bolstered loudly that he could steal any jewel and pick any lock.
It didn't stop Jon from annihilating him two seconds after the fight began. Addam grumbled, but he still clasped Jon's forearm and accepted the advice given to him.
As the next brother stepped forward for his turn, Jon's attention shifted to her. She smiled and rolled her eyes at him; he'd been doing this every two hours for the last four days since the beheading—his way of checking on her, she supposed. Caitie made jokes about it, but underneath, she appreciated that he understood—and that he cared.
With her reassurance, Jon resumed his duties, chatting and training with his men, even cracking a few smiles. He may have been a brooder, but Caitie had to admit he could be incredibly charming—even downright friendly—when he wanted.
The next few spars lost Caitie's attention; the fighters in question were so green they could barely hold their swords, leaving Jon to spend half his time explaining the basic stances. As she lost interest, her eyes wandered up to the balconies overlooking the yard. On her right, near the large double doors to the dining hall, Stannis Baratheon stood with his wife, who's face was set in a furious glare as she watched those in the yard.
Caitie wondered with mild interest if Queen Selyse ever smiled.
Doubtful.
Stannis leaned against the railings with his forearms, looking neither pleased nor displeased as he surveyed the grounds. And almost directly in front of Caitie, sitting on the steps up to the elevator, sat Shireen, watching the brothers spar with a smile on her face.
When the two made eye-contact, the princess waved and beckoned her over.
"I don't think I've seen you outside of the library since the day of the choosing," Caitie said as she sat down on the step below. Shireen was almost a permanent resident of the library, at this point. Caitie could always count on seeing her there when she went to see Maester Aemon, and Shireen always had something to add to the conversation. Almost no one could resist her charm, either. With a bit of effort, Caitie thought Shireen could make even Ser Alliser like her.
The princess laughed. "I can't be in the library all the time. Besides, I've already read most of the books there."
"Gods, I don't think Sam has even read all the books in the library."
"Sam's lucky. He has duties to keep him occupied."
"Mm. Bored?" Caitie asked sympathetically.
Shireen nodded. "And Gilly is busy helping Hobb in the kitchen today, so I can't help her with her reading." She eyed the courtyard, where Jon was sparring with the same two brothers at once, now. "But it's fun, watching all of you spar. I saw you and the lord commander earlier. Where did you learn to fight like that? I've never seen anyone use twin daggers before."
Caitie fiddled with Cerys's hilt. "My older brothers taught me."
"They didn't give you a sword?"
"No. They told me a sword and shield would only slow me down. They tried teaching me archery, too, but… Well, let's just say my oldest brother almost lost an eye, and we ended things there."
Shireen snickered, but as she watched Jon disarm Edd, her smile turned to a frown; one that was much too morose for a child. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
The princess broke her gaze from the spar and looked up. "Have you ever killed a man?"
Caitie blinked, mouth opening and closing twice as she tried to come up with something to say. But Seven Hells, how was she to answer a question like that?
Yet, somehow she got the feeling Shireen would know if she lied. "Yes."
"Was it hard for you?"
"Yes. But it was either their deaths or mine."
Shireen stared at Caitie with her large, innocent doe-eyes, but her expression was deadly serious and there was harshness to it that didn't fit with the rest of her face. "I hate watching them burn," she said at last. "I hate to see them suffering."
Caitie's eyes immediately flickered to Stannis, hoping he couldn't hear them. She felt much better once she saw he was engaged in a conversation with Melisandre, now, and thankfully, out of earshot.
Shireen continued, oblivious, looking back out at the courtyard. "Lady Melisandre killed my uncle, you know. He refused to renounce the Seven, so she burned him alive. I heard it. He begged and begged for mercy, and nobody even flinched."
Caitie supposed she should have been surprised, but after seeing what Stannis and Melisandre had done to Mance, nothing they did could be a surprise anymore. Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't just as disgusted. If he wins the Iron Throne, then we're completely fucked.
Shireen rested her cheek on her hand. "I saw you in your window that night; when they burned the King-Beyond-the-Wall. You didn't look sad or scared like the others—you just looked angry. It was how I felt, but I couldn't show it. My mother would have told me I'm sinful and wicked."
Caitie put aside her own fury at Stannis at Shireen's words, for she got the distinct feeling this was something the princess had been wanting to admit for a long time, now. Shireen didn't speak much about her mother, at least not to Caitie, but she knew the signs of a parent who disapproved of their own child more than most would. She had lived with those signs all her life.
It wasn't something she would wish on anybody, and certainly not the girl in front of her.
On the bright side, it also meant Caitie knew exactly what to say to Shireen. "And if my father were here, he would tell me I'm an ungrateful disgrace to my house. It doesn't mean it's true."
"How sad." Shireen looked down at her hands and then back up at Caitie. "Sometimes I think my father is ashamed of me, but he still loves me. And he would never say something like that to my face. I don't think."
Caitie wasn't sure what to say to that. She couldn't very well tell Shireen that Stannis wasn't ashamed of her, because she didn't know if it was true, and therefore, Shireen wouldn't believe it.
"Well," she said slowly, wondering how dead she was going to be when she continued, "if he is, then he's an idiot."
Shireen burst into giggles. "Let's never tell Father you said that."
"You've got yourself a deal." Caitie stuck her arm out for a handshake, more at ease than she'd been since the beheading. Shireen, Caitie realized, had that effect on people.
The princess returned the handshake with a grin. And as they conversed through the morning, Caitie decided that today was going to be a good day.
She should have known better.
When Caitie was nine, Owen and Cerys had taken her into town to see a terrible production of the even more terrible play, The Dueling Cavalier, at the local theatre house in Wood's Town.
Full of awful lines and even worse delivery—with gems such as I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, and I think I hear a footstep—it was truly one of the most entertaining experiences Caitie ever had. She and Cerys had mockingly quoted lines from the play for weeks after, much to Owen's annoyance.
But sitting sideways in a chair in the corner of the Lord Commander's office before supper, with her feet draped over the side as she watched as Sam handed Jon letters to sign, Caitie decided that this was even better.
With every letter of the endless stack Sam put on the desk, the crease between Jon's brows would deepen, and the corners of his lips would turn downward. She didn't know why she found his looks of exasperation so entertaining, but she had to stifle a giggle whenever Sam handed him a new piece of parchment.
"Lord Ashford," Sam said, and Caitie watched Jon stare up at him with ever-increasing frustration as he put it down on the desk. Just as Jon signed it, Sam slid more towards him. "Lady Caulfield. Oh, Lord Smallwood."
"I've never even heard of these people," Jon said as he grudgingly signed those letters, too.
"They haven't heard of you either," Sam replied. "But we need men, and they have some." He set yet another piece of parchment down.
Jon looked it over. "How many men does this Lord Mazin have to send us?"
Caitie was quite sure Jon knew who the Mazins were, considering they were Northmen—some of her brother's friends had even been Lord Mazin's nephews—but she didn't see a point in mentioning it.
Sam looked down at the stack in his arms. "More than Lord Wibberley."
"Oh, I like the name Wibberley," Caitie said pleasantly as a fly buzzed around her head. She swatted it away, grinning at her friends. "Could you imagine if I belonged to their house? My name would be even more of a mouthful. Caitriona of House Wibberley. I'll bet you can't say that three times fast."
Other than a glare of exasperation from Jon and a chuckle from Sam, both her friends ignored her.
But she was in the mood for a ramble and wasn't going to let being ignored stop her. "Ooh, or how about Baratheon? Ours is the Fury suits me, don't you think? A descendant of the Storm Gods—that would be something."
"But then you'd be related to Stannis," Sam pointed out.
Caitie pulled a face. "Mm, point taken. Never mind."
With that settled, he looked back down at the stack of parchment in his arms. As soon as he did, his back stiffened, his eyes widened, and he glanced over at Jon before he hesitantly handed it over.
That piqued Caitie's interest, especially when Jon's hand froze, hovering over the letter as his expression went blank.
"Not him," he said stonily.
Her stomach dropped. She knew that tone.
Abandoning her chair, she crossed over to Jon's desk so she could look over his shoulder. As she'd guessed, the letter was addressed to Roose Bolton.
"I know, I'm sorry," Sam said, trying to sound comforting and utterly failing at it. "But we need men and supplies, and Roose Bolton's the Warden of the North."
"He murdered my brother."
When Sam looked as though he was going to argue, Caitie added, "Not to mention usurping the North, sending an assassin to the Night's Watch to find and kill Bran, and flaying men alive up and down the countryside."
And killing her brothers.
Gods—was that what the Boltons had done to them? To Robb?
She had to put it out of her mind before the idea ingrained itself into her head. "He's not trustworthy, Sam."
"We swore to be the watchers on the Wall. We can't watch the Wall with fifty men," Sam said, laying the parchment in front of Jon, eyes flitting between him and Caitie.
Jon could only stare in abject horror and disbelief.
"And we can't get more men," Sam went on, "without help from the Warden of the North."
Caitie bit back a groan. Damn it; he was right. And while the thought left a bitter taste in its wake, they both knew it.
With sheer force of will, Jon signed his name on the letter addressed to Roose Bolton. As soon as it was done, he used the desk as leverage to push his chair back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Caitie kneeled beside him. "I'm sorry," she murmured. It didn't feel like enough. But what else could she say?
Quite a lot, the more she thought about it.
Jon had risen to Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was brave, honorable, smart, likable, and had experience with leadership. Combine that with Northmen being stubborn as sin, and a good chunk of the Northern lords would take Ned Stark's bastard over a Bolton. Especially considering that Roose Bolton's heir had, at one point, been a bastard, as well.
If he believed Jon was a threat to his legitimacy… Well, the last thing they needed was another Locke.
Before she could voice this to Jon—Sam, with his stacks of parchment still in hand, stopped in the doorway of the office. Caitie looked up and saw that he'd almost run into Melisandre, who had come uninvited and unannounced.
"Apologies, my lady," Sam said.
Both he and Melisandre looked to Jon, waiting for his word. He dismissed Sam with a nod, but Caitie refused to budge from his side.
"You may go, too," Jon said. Then a little lower, he added, "I'll be all right."
She wasn't sure she believed that—in her opinion, no one was safe with Melisandre—but she could hardly argue with him. She shot him a glance before exiting the office, and picked up her speed as she turned a corner so she could catch up to Sam. When he saw her expression, he gave her a wry smile. "Something the matter?"
Caitie scowled at him. "You realize she wants something with Jon, don't you?"
"You mean she wants Jon." When all she could do was gape, he added, "Oh, she wants him to help Stannis, too, but make no mistake…" He trailed off as he wiggled his eyebrows.
She tried not to let the words bother her, but it was no use. Because Sam was right; Caitie knew what desire looked like, and it was written all over Melisandre's face. But… this was Jon they were talking about. There was no reason to be worried about him. He loved Ygritte, and he would never forgive himself for laying with another while he still did, nor would he forgive himself for breaking his vows again.
It didn't make her dislike Melisandre any less.
"It just has to be him, doesn't it?" Caitie grumbled.
"Well, he is very pretty."
Caitie snorted at the preposterousness of the situation. She didn't know why she was worried about Melisandre; it was beyond silly. "Prettier than I am, anyway," she joked. "Prettier than most women, for that matter."
"Aw, Kitty…" Sam grinned. "There's no need to be jealous. You might not be as pretty as Jon, but you're still a very nice-looking girl. I promise." He patted her hand and gave her a mischievous grin.
She had to admit that it worked like a charm at making her feel better. But then, Sam had always been good at that.
"Says the man who didn't want me to give him a kiss after he saved my life," she said.
"Well, it would be like kissing my sister, wouldn't it?"
"Pretty much, yes." Caitie linked her arm through his and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I love you, big brother." And it was true. It didn't matter that they hadn't come from the same mother, or hadn't grown up together. He was her brother, and she loved him no less than she had loved Owen and Cerys.
Sam, seeming to understand this without her having to say it all, smiled warmly. "I love you, too, little sister."
Despite parting with Sam at her door in good spirits after supper, an ominous cloud hung over Caitie's head as she paced her quarters once again, waiting for Jon to come and tell her what had transpired with Melisandre. The seat of the Lord Commander at the head table had been vacated at supper, and after a full hour of no word, she was expecting the worst, especially as the sky grew dark, and the only light came from the candles in her room.
From what she could tell, there were three possible worst outcomes: sex, a pyre, or retaking Winterfell. Caitie couldn't decide which option was the worst of them.
A pyre, probably. With sex as a close second.
No, sex would definitely be the worst—mostly because so few men could resist it. Even Grenn hadn't been immune. All Caitie would ever have to do to get his attention was let slip that she would be changing out of her clothes, and any and all other thoughts would leave his mind.
Caitie squashed down the thought before he could take hold of her; being worried and annoyed was easier than crying until she had no tears left. Better to refocus on Jon's predicament, even if she knew she was likely overthinking it. It wasn't as if Jon was in any real danger from Melisandre. And, even if he was, he was more than capable of handling it himself.
But if that were the case, then why hadn't she seen him since leaving his office over an hour ago?
And that thought was all it took for her chest to go tight with anxiety. She was about to rush out to find him, orders be damned, when a knock sounded at her door. Caitie breathed a sigh of relief as she went to open it—but that relief was short-lived.
What in Seven Hells was she doing here?
"My lady," Melisandre greeted. "May I come in?"
The red priestess didn't wait for Caitie's reply before she swept past into the quarters, long red hair glinting in the candlelight, and looked around at the room. Her eyes landed on Caitie's daggers, which were kept on her nightstand, visible for all to see.
"He gave you those, did he not?"
Caitie's eyes snapped to Melisandre's. She couldn't be talking about Jon, could she? Why would Jon tell Melisandre about his gift?
Whatever the reason, she didn't like it.
Melisandre clasped her hands together, smiling blandly, and changed the subject. "Jon Snow has decided not to join us when we march on Winterfell."
Caitie tried not to let the relief on her face show, but she still inched back a few steps, wanting to be as far from the woman in front of her as possible. "I see."
Melisandre raised one eyebrow but otherwise didn't move. It was eerie how still she could be. "You're not surprised."
"Should I be? He's the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He can't just abandon his post."
"He is meant to fight with us." She looked Caitie up and down, mouth curling into a smirk. "As are you."
At first, Caitie thought Melisandre was joking, but no, even with the awful smile, the red priestess looked utterly serious.
"Great," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest as if it could protect her. "So you can see the future now."
Melisandre either didn't detect the sarcasm, or she decided not to acknowledge it. Caitie wasn't sure which. "I have foreseen a great battle in the snow, yes."
A great battle... Two sides of Caitie warred with one another: one was a sick curiosity to know what exactly Melisandre claimed to see, and the other was the desire to hiss at her to get the hell out.
Before one side could overpower the other, Melisandre spoke again. "Convince the lord commander that this is the way. Of those left at Castle Black, the one he will listen to is you."
Caitie almost laughed. She had to hand it to the red woman—Melisandre was tenacious, if nothing else. "Lady Melisandre," she said, "you seem to be under the impression that I disagree with the lord commander. I don't. Your war for the Iron Throne isn't our war. Neither is taking Winterfell."
Melisandre's smirk widened. "There is only one war: life against death. You and he know it as well as I."
Caitie frowned, trying to ignore the blaring voice in her mind, screaming at her to run. Melisandre couldn't possibly know about the army of the dead. "How—"
"The fire shows me a great many things."
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Right. And if the fire showed you stripping naked and dancing on top of the dining tables at supper…" There was a part of her that knew she would live to regret her rudeness to one of Stannis's advisors, but it was the only thing keeping her rooted to the spot. Otherwise, she might have listened to that voice in her head and run screaming for the hills.
"You mock my lord," said Melisandre, "but he is the reason you and your friends live. Repay his mercy with your sword."
Obviously, Melisandre couldn't see everything because those words didn't have the intended effect on Caitie, who curled her hands into fists and tried very, very hard not to punch the woman in front of her. For where was Grenn's mercy? Where were her mother and brothers'; Mormont's and Pyp's and every other good person who had died for senseless, pointless reasons?
Where was Mance Rayder's?
"And why would I listen to someone who burns men alive?"
"I only do what my lord commands," Melisandre replied coolly.
"Your lord commands you to set people on fire, and you expect me to worship him?"
"He is the one true God."
Caitie rolled her eyes once again. "Oh, of course." Gods, Owen and Cerys would have just adored hearing that.
As if she could sense the thought, Melisandre replied, "Perhaps, if your brothers had believed in the one true God, they would now be alive."
Caitie gaped. "Excuse me?"
Even when met with such fury, Melisandre's expression didn't change, still smiling that twisted smile. "Perhaps, so would your lover."
"Stop it," Caitie snapped.
"You may well have gotten your wish."
"I said, stop it."
This time, Melisandre nodded, acquiescing, and made for the door. At the last second, she turned around. "For this night and all nights to come."
The air around Caitie halted as she froze in place. Only her lips moved. "What did you just say?"
Melisandre didn't answer the question. Instead, she turned on her heel, her black skirt swirling around her, and walked through Caitie's doorway and out of sight.
Caitie's legs gave way the moment Melisandre shut the door behind her. She couldn't know—she couldn't. There was absolutely no way.
Except… apparently, there was.
With that thought rearing its way into her head, Caitie quickly decided never to think about the conversation ever again. It didn't matter; not the Lord of Light or whatever Melisandre had claimed to have seen—had seen, a voice whispered. Caitie shook it away. She just needed ale; every last drop of Castle Black's inventory. That would do it. By morning, she wouldn't even remember the conversation.
It was late enough that the kitchens would be entirely empty, and along with it, the pantry. She hadn't been there since before the battle—she and her friends had the Lord Commander's office to meet in—but now seemed like as good a time as any to return there. It always gave Caitie comfort.
She grabbed Owen and Cerys off her nightstand, attached them to her belt, and started off. Every shadow, every stray sound, made her jump out of her skin; her heart beat at twice its normal rate. When she finally reached the right door, Caitie twisted the knob, and with a click, it swung open.
She wasn't surprised to see the pantry occupied.
As she saw Jon sitting on the floor, his back to her, with a cup of his own ale in hand and Ghost's snoring snout in his lap, Caitie's heartbeat slowed, finally allowing her to relax.
He didn't hear her come in—too lost in his own thoughts.
"You know," she said, "I never thought I'd see the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch sitting on the floor of the pantry, drinking ale."
Slowly, as to not disturb Ghost, Jon twisted around until he was looking in her direction. When he smiled, the last of her stress melted. He was all right—truly all right.
"I needed to get away," he said.
"I can't say I blame you." She sat down beside him and gestured for his cup. Somewhat reluctantly, Jon parted with it, allowing her to take a gulp.
It wasn't nearly enough.
"When is Stannis leaving again?" Caitie asked.
"A week more."
She groaned and took another drought of liquor. Too long."
"Had enough of him?"
Caitie's face darkened. "Not him."
Jon's brow creased with worry. "What happened?"
"Melisandre came to speak with me after supper."
He swore under his breath. "What did she want with you?"
"To convince you to join Stannis's army. And me—I think. She wasn't exactly clear. Why?" Caitie asked as she saw his expression shift to discomfort. "What did she want with you?"
"Same as you. But then she, uh—" Jon cleared his throat. "She got naked in my office and tried to…"
"Oh," Caitie murmured, unusually subdued. She had, of course, expected this. But it was different hearing Jon say so out loud. "And, um, what did you do?"
"I refused."
She closed her eyes and blew out a breath.
"Relieved?" he asked wryly.
"Oh, definitely. Gods only know how many diseases that woman is carrying."
"Maybe Stannis'll die young, then."
"One can only hope."
And she meant it. Caitie would take Shireen as the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms over her father any day.
The conversation seemed to have run its course, and the two of them fell into a friendly silence. It wasn't until after Caitie got up to fill her own cup of ale and sat back down that Jon spoke again, this time with hesitancy. "Something she said, though…"
There was a familiar frown on his face—one Caitie knew well. It was the frown he got when he was thinking of Ygritte.
Sure enough, "It was something Ygritte used to say to me before she died. Melisandre knew."
Caitie inhaled sharply and set her drink down on the floor before she accidentally dropped it.
"What is it?" Jon asked.
"I… she said something similar to me. Something Grenn told me."
Jon pulled her towards him, and she settled her head into the crook of his arm, a form of wordless comfort that she desperately needed right now. Ghost only briefly took notice of it, nuzzling his snout into Caitie's stomach as he closed his eyes and drifted off again. Smiling, she scratched his head.
Jon cleared his throat. "You don't think…"
"That the Red God exists?" Caitie finished.
"Aye."
As she thought about it, unable to come up with a definitive answer, frustration took the place of worry. She never did like not knowing things. "Oh, I don't know," she finally said. "Obviously, something exists—but there's no proof it's a god."
He was silent. Then, "And if it is?"
Caitie struggled with the answer. It was a thought that had wormed into her head as well. Finally, she said, "Does it matter? If it is a god, then it's one who believes in torturing human sacrifices to death. That's not any god I'm interested in worshipping—real or otherwise."
"Even if it condemns you?"
"Even if it condemns me." There was no question about it. After all, Caitie hated being told what to do—or believe.
She pulled away to look up at his face. "Why? You're not thinking of converting, are you?"
"Never," Jon said. He raised one eyebrow. "You thought I would?"
Caitie hadn't, but it was still nice to have the reassurance. "It takes a strong man to resist a woman like Melisandre. Why do you think Stannis converted in the first place?"
"It wasn't so hard."
Her smile turned mischievous. She always loved it when Jon walked right into her jokes, and she desperately needed a joke right now. "Oh, so that's why you refused her."
It took him a moment to understand just exactly what Caitie was implying, but when he did, she swore she could see his eye twitch as he blanched. "Seven Hells, Caitie!"
She carried on as if he hadn't spoken. "You know there are herbs just for this sort of thing. I'm sure Maester Aemon would be willing to supply you with some, so long as you promised not to use them with that woman."
All she received in response was a flat glare.
Caitie rolled her eyes. "Gods, you've got to get yourself a sense of humor one of these days."
"I have a sense of humor," Jon replied. "You're just not as funny as you think you are."
"Dangerous words, Snow. Very dangerous."
He smiled wryly as he looked her up and down. "Forgive me if I'm not shaking."
For a quick second, Caitie thought about continuing to defend her absolutely incredible sense of humor—with daggers, if necessary. But in the end, she decided she didn't really care. She was just glad Jon was safe, away from Melisandre and Stannis, drinking ale with her in the pantry.
Like it should be.
I won't go into too much detail, but I lost two very close family members suddenly and unexpectedly this week, and I could use some cheering up. Writing this story is my escape at the moment from, well... everything, so any comments you have about this chapter (and the story at large) would go a long way to helping me feel better :) Just be gentle. I'm fragile right now.
PS: You get extra points if you noticed the Singin' in the Rain references. I just rewatched it yesterday (it's one of my favorite comfort movies, and I definitely needed some comfort) hence why I included it in here.