Tucked away in the back of the library was a small round table with a perpetually lit candle at its center, where Caitie would sit every evening before supper, and converse in High Valyrian with Maester Aemon. No matter what duties he had, he would always make himself available for those scant few hours, and as a result, the library had become one of her favorite escapes from the rest of Castle Black. They would speak on any number of topics, from history to literature to music, all without a word of Common between them—and really, it was a wonder what something as simple as a change in location could do for learning. Though Caitie still softened her Rs too much and used iskos instead of iksos half the time, even she had to admit her pronunciation had improved over the last few weeks. If only Thorne hadn't confined her to her quarters for months on end, she might have been fluent by now.
Princess Shireen joined them when she could, as she spoke a bit of High Valyrian, herself. Caitie supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. Whatever else she had to say about Stannis Baratheon, there was no point in denying his brilliance. And while Shireen hadn't inherited her father's personality, she had definitely inherited his mind.
But Caitie didn't see the princess that evening as she stepped through the archway and into the library. All she saw was Maester Aemon's shock of white hair as he sat, waiting patiently for her like he always did.
"Rytsas, Giēñrȳī Aemon," she said. It was a simple greeting, and the first phrase she had ever learned: Hello, Maester Aemon.
He smiled and gestured for her to sit in the chair next to him. "Ziry iksos sȳz naejot ūndegon ao. Se skorkydoso glaesā bisa bantis?"
Caitie recognized the words as: It is good to see you. And how are you this evening?
"Sȳz," she replied, dropping into the chair and resting a hand on her cheek. "Se ao?"
Good. And you?
"About as well as can be expected," he answered, switching back to Common. "But it would be rude to continue speaking in High Valyrian, considering our guest."
"Oh, don't mind me," Gilly called from the other end of the library; Caitie had missed her among the shelves of books between them. "Shireen and I are busy reading."
Caitie heard the princess chuckle, though she couldn't see her face.
"Going well?" Caitie called back.
"Very." This came from Shireen. "Gilly's going to be as good as me, soon."
"You really think so?" asked Gilly.
"Of course I do!"
Caitie had to agree with Shireen. Much like swordplay was for her, reading, it seemed, was Gilly's passion. She devoured any and every book she could get her hands on, mouthing words to herself when she thought no one was looking, determined to learn everything Castle Black's library had to offer.
Exactly like Sam.
Once, Caitie had read that lovers were made for each other. She had never believed it before, but seeing Sam and Gilly, she thought she might have been wrong. They were each other's match in every way.
Unwillingly, she wondered if she could have said the same for her and Grenn. The answer should have been an easy yes, but truthfully, she didn't know.
She didn't think she wanted to, anyhow.
After Gilly and Shireen had gone back to conversing about how to pronounce some word or other, Caitie turned back to Maester Aemon. "Really though," she said, keeping her voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "How do you feel?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I am dying. It is as simple as that. If you are asking if I am in pain… no. I am—if not content, then at least at peace." Seemingly finished with this line of questioning, he gestured to the book in front of him—a book written entirely in Valyrian. "Now, shall we?"
Caitie took his hand in hers and squeezed. This was what gave Maester Aemon comfort, and so she would continue learning with him until he took his last breath.
"Hae ao jaelagon," she said.
As you wish.
For a while, they spoke only in Valyrian, with Shireen chiming in from the other end of the library when she felt like it. How she knew any Valyrian was a mystery to Caitie, but then, Shireen was so smart she probably could have picked it up from a single scroll on Dragonstone.
As the sun set below the horizon, Hobb came in looking for Gilly, stating that he needed someone to talk to while he "slaved over the stove to make you ungrateful, tasteless bastards supper. Oh, uh, not you, Maester Aemon."
Gilly laughed, closed her book, and left to help him. Shireen followed her out, leaving Caitie and Maester Aemon alone to continue their study session.
"Well, I think you will be happy to hear that you are getting much better," he said after another half-hour or so.
Caitie didn't take her eyes off the page in front of her. "I am?"
He nodded. "In a few years, if you keep up with your studies, I believe you could become fluent."
The compliment caught her off guard. "I… Thank you."
Maester Aemon smiled. "You are very welcome, Caitriona."
They went back to conversing only in High Valyrian, until a question burst out of Caitie before she could stop it, and she slipped back into Common. "Why do you call me Caitriona?" When she realized the mistake, she shook her head and repeated the question. "Sorry. Skoro syt gaomagon ao gaomagon Caitriona?"
Maester Aemon furrowed his brow. "It is your name."
"I know. But everyone else here calls me Caitie."
"Does your name make you uncomfortable?"
She shifted in her seat. "Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just..."
It was another reminder she didn't belong at Castle Black.
He sighed. "Caitriona is a part of you, as much as Caitie is. You are both a woman and a man of the Night's Watch. You should not forget who you are, or try to choose between the two."
"But isn't that what you did? Give up being Aemon Targaryen, so you could be Maester Aemon?"
He shook his head. "I gave up my title, but I never gave up myself. You see Caitie and Caitriona as two different sides, always warring with one another. You feel you have to hide one part of yourself, at the expense of the other. You may never be a lady again," he said, "but you are Caitriona."
Sometimes Caitie wondered if having no sight caused Maester Aemon to develop the ability to read minds, and now was no exception. Because he had looked inside of her and seen the truth: there had never been a time in Caitie's life where she didn't have to hide a part of herself. At Norwood, it had been the part who wanted to fight the world, hated being bound by what was expected of her. The only people who truly knew her were her brothers. But when she came to Castle Black, she had to sacrifice the part of herself who was her, beyond interests and studies—only able to show it to a select few.
She was trying to reconcile those sides now that she could, but it wasn't easy, especially when the only people who had known her as Caitriona were gone.
Before Caitie could question it, she asked, "Maester, do you think you could call me Riona?" And then, in a rush, because she was already feeling ridiculous for it, added, "It's what my brothers used to call me."
Maester Aemon broke into a wide grin which, this time, reached his milky eyes. "Hae ao jaelagon, Riona."
Somehow, hearing her old nickname, Caitie's heart felt lighter than it had in three years.
The rest of their study session passed uneventfully. They hardly spoke Common at all, and though she still had to stop and translate the words in her head sometimes, Caitie was proud to find that she had almost no trouble understanding what Maester Aemon was saying when he spoke in Valyrian. It was nice, this little oasis she and Maester Aemon had built away from Castle Black.
At least until Sam burst into the library, clutching a letter in his right hand.
As he sat down opposite Caitie, he said with breathless shock, "You have to hear this."
The letter, made from a type of sturdy yellow parchment that Caitie had never seen before, turned out to be a report from across the Narrow Sea—and to the surprise of everybody, one which contained news regarding Maester Aemon's only living relative: the daughter of the Mad King, Daenerys Targaryen.
How she had survived Robert's Rebellion, Caitie didn't know—and she wasn't sure she wanted to—but in the last few years, Maester Aemon's great-niece had somehow acquired three living dragons, the rule of Slaver's Bay in Essos, and a large army of soldiers. Under most circumstances, that would have terrified them all, but instead of sailing west to retake Westeros, as most would have expected, Daenerys had stayed in Essos, going from slave city to slave city to liberate whoever was there.
As Sam read, Caitie merely sat there, taking it all in, trying to figure out how she felt. Uneasy was what she soon decided. On the one hand, liberating slaves was a good thing—a wonderful thing, actually. There was a reason Jon's father had Lord Commander Mormont's son exiled.
On the other hand, it showed that Daenerys Targaryen really liked conquering places, and it was only a matter of time until she decided the slaves in Essos no longer needed her. The last thing Westeros needed was yet another Targaryen with dragons believing it was their innate right to rule; burning and murdering and destroying the vast and varied cultures of Westeros even more than they already had.
Because that had worked out oh-so-well the last time.
"'And though Daenerys maintains her grip on Slaver's Bay,'" Sam read, "'forces rise against her from within and without. She refuses to leave until the freedom of the former slaves is secure.'" He eyed Maester Aemon with a smile. "She sounds like quite a woman."
The old maester was not as excited. "And she's alone, under siege, no family to guide her or protect her. Her last relation, thousands of miles away, useless, dying."
Sam's smile turned to a frown. "Don't say that, Maester."
"A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing."
He and Caitie exchanged a nervous look, for neither had ever seen Maester Aemon so frustrated at the prospect of his own death. But it wasn't death which frustrated him, she supposed; it was the thought of the last of his kin alone in the world, utterly unprotected.
"She'll be all right, Maester Aemon," Caitie said, taking his frail hand in hers. It was cold to the touch. "She has three dragons. I doubt anyone could hurt her."
Maester Aemon sighed. "I wish it was her health I worried for. It is… oh, you have never lived under a Targaryen reign. At our best, we are a force for great good. But alone, isolated and scared, we can be capable of terrible acts."
Caitie watched his face as he spoke, and looking at his expression, she wondered if Egg wasn't the only reason he had turned down the throne. After all, the Targaryens had been everything the Night's Watch was not.
"My nephew, Aerys…" Maester Aemon said, "He was such a bright young man—such potential. But isolated—you both know what befell the realm."
Sam made a little squeaking noise—the one he made when he had something he wanted to say, but didn't know if it was a good idea to say it.
"Something to add, Tarly?"
Sam hesitated. "But Aerys Targaryen wasn't supposed to be king, was he?"
Caitie furrowed her brows. She recalled hearing something like that, but the memories of her lessons on the Targaryen Dynasty were sometimes fuzzy. Maester Harkon's stood out better than Septa Melarie's, but that was a low bar.
"You are correct," Maester Aemon said. "It was his elder brother, my nephew, Duncan, who was meant to become King after my brother."
"He died at Summerhall," Caitie remembered as the lesson came back into focus—Maester Harkon making her repeat all her Targaryen history, over and over. It was no wonder she hated the house, considering how much she'd been forced to hear about them.
She shrunk back in her seat when she remembered that King Aegon had also died at Summerhall, too. "Sorry, Maester Aemon."
"Ah well, it is good to see you still remember some of your lessons," he replied. "The last time we discussed history, you claimed to have forgotten them."
"It's not Caitie's fault she's as smart as I am," Sam snickered, to which she stepped on his foot, prompting him to glare.
Maester Aemon either didn't notice or chose to ignore their little tiff. "But yes, my nephew died along with my brother and his namesake, Ser Duncan, at Summerhall."
"He gave up his title before that, though, didn't he?" Sam said. "For love."
Maester Aemon nodded. "Love is the death of duty—as you both know well. The Gods fashioned us for love. It is our great glory, and our great tragedy."
Caitie went still as stone, remembering sitting in the pantry with Jon on the day of Grenn's funeral. He had told her the same thing—because it was what Maester Aemon had told him.
The maester sensed her hesitancy. "I presume you have something you wish to say on the subject?"
She couldn't stop herself from answering. "It's only... you make it out like duty is better than love," she said. "More just. But my duty was to marry my betrothed and bear his children, no matter what that meant for my wellbeing or safety. That isn't just, is it?"
"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But a mother who loves her son—protecting him from all consequences, even when he seeks to do wrong—is that just? Or a prince who gives up his duty to be with his love, causing the realm to bleed?"
Caitie didn't answer straight away, thinking over his point. There was truth to his words, and she wasn't sure she knew the right answer.
Maybe there was no right answer.
Love had not saved the realm from the Mad King or Joffrey—and it hadn't saved Robb Stark and the North, whereas duty may have. But duty wouldn't have saved her, for even if her marriage had benefited her family and brought honor to her house, that didn't make the things she would have suffered acceptable.
"None are just," she said. "But they're not unjust because of duty. They're unjust because of what's right."
"And what do you think duty is?"
Caitie pursed her lips, once again not entirely sure how to answer.
"To serve with honor," Sam said. "At least, that's what most people say."
Caitie nodded, for that was what she had always thought, too. Everyone around her conflated honor with duty, so she'd always considered them synonymous.
But Maester Aemon seemed to think differently. "Duty is a moral obligation," he said. "Nothing more, and nothing less. It is for all of us, as persons, to decide what drives our duty, and what does not. What is our duty, and what is not. Honor drives it in most—I count myself as one of them, to an extent. But honor is not the only drive."
Caitie pondered this for a while, and as she did, something occurred to her. She had always thought Owen put aside his duty to keep her safe, but she was wrong. It was his duty to keep her safe—even if honor bid him to do the opposite.
It was why Maester Aemon had protected her, and even… even Lord Commander Mormont.
She, herself, had been forced to choose between what she believed was the right thing to do—to keep people safe—and her love. Even with all the heartache, she knew it hadn't been the wrong choice. Thousands were alive because she and her friends had sacrificed. Because they were willing to make the hard choices when no one else would.
And then a small voice in the back of her head spoke: but what about love?
Was she supposed to believe loving Grenn made her a worse person? Was Jon supposed to believe the same about Ygritte? And Sam about Gilly?
"You're right about duty. But love... maybe love makes it more difficult, but I don't think that means we should just discard it. Because love makes us better people, too."
Maester Aemon smiled. "I wish it were so, but this is not always the case. Love can corrupt just as easily."
Caitie thought about this—and about whether it was even her place to argue with someone a thousand times smarter and wiser than she could ever hope to be.
But she also felt like she had to.
"Almost anything could corrupt; fear, anger, pride, even honor. But without all those things, there's nothing left to make us human." Without all those things, they may as well be wights—unseeing, unfeeling, unthinking.
"The point is that I can love," she continued. "And I can also realize there are more important things than just my love. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't at all or that it's wrong, because otherwise, I'd just be… empty. And I don't want that."
Loving Grenn wasn't something she would ever regret, but understanding that her love for him wasn't the only thing that mattered was what led her to advise Jon to talk to Tormund the day before. And it was the right thing to do.
Maester Aemon gave Caitie the saddest smile she had ever seen on another person. "You are a soul in ten thousand, Caitriona Norrey. And I am very glad to have known you. I hope my niece… I hope her soul is like yours."
Caitie had no clue how to answer that. In fact, she had no clue what to even think. Only that she wished Maester Aemon had more time. For he might've been ready for the Stranger to take him—ready to serve death—but she wasn't.
Fortunately, there was shuffling from the direction of the library's entrance, which saved Caitie from having to think up a response.
She didn't need to look to know who it would be, but she still followed Sam's gaze towards the archway to see Jon standing in it. "Maester Aemon," he greeted with a nod and a smile. His gaze flicked to his friends. "Sam, Caitie, I'd like to speak to the maester alone."
In response, Sam rushed to close the book in front of him without realizing it wasn't even his, and hopped up from his seat to follow Jon's request.
Caitie stood more slowly. She put a hand on Maester Aemon's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."
He chuckled. "I should think you know by now that I do not mind. One is never too old for stimulating conversation."
With one last squeeze of Maester Aemon's shoulder, Caitie followed Sam out the door, and while only made brief eye contact with Jon, even without a single word spoken between them, she knew what he was about to do.
The Night's Watch meeting was in disarray.
Besides her, Sam, and Edd, there wasn't a single brother in the room who wasn't arguing with another, some pointing fingers at each other as they did so. She even saw a few reach for the hilts of their swords, but thankfully, it hadn't come to blows.
Yet.
And while Edd didn't contribute to the arguments, Caitie could see his turmoil. His jaw was tight and his eyes were blank. His brow was creased and he sat hunched over, shoulders taut with tension, with his elbows resting on the table, clenching his cup of ale. She couldn't tell if he was angry or just conflicted, but either way, she worried.
The only two people who didn't look like they had any opinion were the king and Davos. They stood on the sidelines, not doing much besides than watching. Caitie wondered what Stannis thought about Jon's decision. Considering he'd given him the advice to speak to Tormund, she didn't think he would disapprove, necessarily. Although he probably didn't like the bit about letting them south without any knee-bending.
"You'd bring the Wildlings here, through our gates?" Othell Yarwyck asked, and Caitie forgot all about the king. Othell was seated beside Jon at the head table, hands set firmly in front of him. Next to Yarwyck sat Thorne, whose face had contorted into a furious sneer. Caitie hadn't seen him since their altercation in the courtyard, but he seemed completely unaware of her presence in the hall thanks to Jon's announcement. On Jon's other side was Bowen Marsh, but she couldn't read his expression.
"Men, women, and children will die by the thousands if we do nothing!" Jon exclaimed, looking down at the first builder.
"Let them die. We got our own to worry about. Less enemies for us."
Half the hall erupted into cheers. Caitie clutched the cup of ale in her hand so tightly her knuckles turned white. It was the only thing anchoring her to reality, reminding her not to speak, like she'd promised herself. Jon's plan was already going to be controversial—his men didn't need a reminder of the other controversy he'd created in their midst.
As the meeting wore on, however, Caitie found it harder and harder to keep her mouth shut.
Thankfully, she didn't have to speak. To her right, Sam stood up from his seat, and everyone quieted down. "Look, well, there's good farmland in the gift."
A quarter of the room burst into laughter. Another quarter glared. About half looked receptive. Caitie supposed that was a good thing.
Sam pushed on. "Land that no one uses now. A dozen abandoned villages—"
"And why do you think the farmers abandoned those villages? Because the Wildlings raided them for years," said Bowen Marsh. "Cut them down, just like they did this boy's people!" He pointed a finger at Olly, who was sitting at the table behind Caitie. He stared down at his hands, but she could see he was about to burst into a fit of angry tears.
She swore inwardly, because how could she have forgotten about Olly? She should have spoken with him and prepared him for the possibility of an alliance with the Wildlings as soon as she and Jon had discussed it.
But it was too late now.
As Sam sat down, defeated, Ser Alliser opened his mouth. He didn't stand; he didn't even move. He just looked up at Jon from where he was sitting and said with an eerie calmness about him, "We've been fighting them for thousands of years. They've slaughtered villages. They've slaughtered our brothers."
Jon kept his voice quiet in return. "And we've slaughtered theirs."
A chair scraped against the floor as Edd stood, eyes boring into Jon's, unrelenting. "I will follow you anywhere. You know that. But they killed Grenn. And they killed Pyp."
Caitie flinched. Jon's eyes flickered down to hers and then back to Edd's in an instant.
"Aye," came a voice from behind.
Caitie didn't bother turning to see who it was because Edd hadn't finished, and she could only focus on him. "They killed fifty of our brothers. I can't forget that. I can't forgive it."
"You were at the Fist of the First Men," Jon said gravely. "If we abandon them, you know what they become. We can learn to live with the Wildlings, or we can add them to the Army of the Dead." He raised his voice. "Whatever they are now... They're better than that."
There was nothing left to say.
As the meeting ended and everyone turned to each other to argue in low voices, Sam tried to grab hold of Edd's arm.
Edd was having none of it. He shrugged Sam off with a glare and strode out of the room.
Caitie lept up from her seat. The scars on her wrists felt like they were burning her skin as she rushed after him. "Edd, wait."
He didn't turn around, disappearing into the crowd of brothers scurrying away from the long hall. Caitie pushed past them, not caring how they looked at her, not caring about anything other than following Edd. Finally, the crowd thinned out, and she was able to pick out the familiar shoulder-length dark hair. She followed him through the corridors, until they were completely alone, and took a deep breath.
"Edd," she repeated, this time intent and commanding. "Stop."
With a growl, he spun on his heel and stalked towards her. The look in his dark eyes was murderous. "You knew, didn't you?"
Caitie drew herself up to her full height and stared right back at him. "Yes. I did."
Edd swore. "Why? Why would you want to make peace with the men who murdered Grenn?"
She had to stop herself from flinching again at the accusation in his tone. At the name he'd spoken. "It's not about what I want. It's about doing what's right."
"What's right? Have you gone fucking mad?"
"You remember the Fist." Edd scoffed, but Caitie didn't stop. "I know you do. You saw what those things do to the people they massacre."
"And that makes what happened to Grenn okay?"
"Of course it doesn't!" she exclaimed. "Nothing will ever make it okay—you know that!"
"Do I? Seems to me like you've already forgotten." Angry tears sprang to her eyes, but Edd didn't stop. "You're all too willing to let the Wildlings through. Did you ever even care about any of us? Or are we just your brothers 'til it's inconvenient?"
Caitie had never once struck someone she cared about in anger, but she was close to it now. The only thing which kept her hand at her side was the thought of her father, and how it was something he would do.
Forcing herself to calm the storm raging inside her, she grabbed Edd's hand. He tried to tug it away, but she tightened her grip until her nails were digging into his skin to keep him from moving.
"Listen to me," she said. "You know what Grenn meant to me, how much we loved each other. I will never forget why or how he died. But if I use it as an excuse to kill the Wildlings, then they'll just kill more people that I love, and the cycle will never end. At some point, one of us has to say 'enough,' and take the first step. We can either point fingers forever, or we can band together and fight the real threat."
"They killed him, Caitie!"
"You think I don't know that?" Tears streamed down her cheeks, her voice low and shaky under their weight. She couldn't even bother to hide it. "I live with it every single day! But I don't want to spend my life fighting a war that never ends. Because all it does is take, and take until we're all just empty and alone. And is that what you want? To be so consumed with hatred and revenge that there's nothing else left of you and everyone you love is gone?"
Silence echoed in the hall as Edd closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. "No," he finally said. "No, it's not."
She loosened her grip on his hand. "I loved Grenn," she said. "But he's not here, and we are. All we can do is hope he'd understand."
"You think he would?"
Caitie sighed. Grenn was dead and ashes; he had no opinion on any of this.
And yet, it still mattered to her what he would have thought.
"You know, he found me at the Fist of the First Men during the attack. We saw one of... them." A shiver ran down her spine at the memory. "It was like looking at death itself. I can't describe the terror I felt, and I can't imagine he felt any differently. So I think, if Grenn were here, he'd tell us to get as many people away from those fuckers as we possibly can."
She could almost hear his voice saying the words.
When Edd choked on his laugh, Caitie realized that his eyes were rimmed red with tears of his own. She didn't comment on it, knowing he would probably kill her if she did.
"You're damn persuasive, y'know that?" He sighed. "Look, I don't know if I'll ever forgive what they've done. But… I trust Jon. And I trust you."
"Thank you," Caitie said.
He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a reproachful look. "You don't think they'll kill us as soon as they see us?"
"It's possible, but I don't think so," she said. "A few might try, but… Jon can be persuasive in his own right. And if they do, then they lose all chance of coming south."
"You're willing to die for just a chance?"
That gave her pause, because Edd had a point.
But she also knew some chances were worth taking.
"Well," she said, with more confidence than she felt, "if they try to kill us, then we kill them instead. We're good at that."
A note about the Targaryen family tree:
In the tv show, they removed a generation. In the books, it goes Aegon V, Jaehaerys II, Aerys, and then Rhaegar. The show removed Jaehaerys, making Duncan Aemon's nephew and Aerys's brother instead of his great-nephew and nephew, respectively. I flip-flopped between using the show lore or the book lore, but in the end, I went with show lore for consistency's sake.
PS: I got a review from a guest asking if Caitie and Jon are together. The answer to that is a definite no. This isn't to say they aren't attracted to each other romantically, but I don't think either is in a mental or emotional state where they can acknowledge it, even to themselves. And when they finally do, you can be damn sure there'll be a whole lot of guilt and anxiety involved.
Well, I did say this was going to be a super slow burn, didn't I?