So I posted this chapter last night, went to bed, and when I woke up, it was just gone. Like totally deleted. Not sure what happened. I don't know if it was technology hating me, or FFN, or my dog walking across the keyboard when I wasn't looking. Either way, I'm re-uploading it now.
I'm really sorry, guys. I promise I'll do my best never to let this happen again.
"They knew we were coming," Caitie choked when they stepped off the rowboat and onto their ship. As she remembered the White Walker who'd raised the dead, she added, "Their leader—he looked at us. At you." It felt like a taunt. As if he wanted Jon to know the power at his fingertips, and wanted all of them to see what he could do—what he would do—to them.
"The Night King." Tormund's voice cracked. "That's what my people call him."
Jon nodded. "Aye. I've heard of him. From Old Nan's stories."
Just hearing the name caused Caitie to shudder and look over her shoulder at the tiny speck of land behind them. She had the unsettling feeling she was being watched, even though they were too far away for the White Walkers to see them. And yet, the White Walkers knew the Night's Watch had come to take the Wildlings south.
Somehow, someway, they knew.
"What if they can see us?" she asked, her voice verging on frantic. "How do we know he can't watch whatever we're doing?"
Jon looked to Tormund. "A warg?"
"Might be. It'd explain how he can raise the dead."
"Wargs can't entire the minds of men," Jon said.
Caitie had heard of wargs before—she'd studied them as part of her lessons on the First Men back home. Some called them skinchangers—men and women who could enter the minds of animals and see through their eyes. The Wildlings supposedly had plenty, though how many were left after Hardhome, Caitie didn't know.
Either way, Jon was right: no one had ever warged another human. But the White Walkers weren't human; they were another matter entirely.
"Human wargs can't," she replied. "But we're not dealing with humans. We don't know what we're dealing with."
No one had an answer to that.
"How many of the Free Folk made it out of Hardhome?" Jon asked.
Tormund shook his head, face gaunt and full of helplessness. "I don't know."
Remembering what Karsi had said, Caitie's stomach turned. She didn't want to know, yet she found herself asking, "How many children were out there?"
Both men turned to her, and Tormund wiped his nose with his hand. "Too many."
She shut her eyes, but it did nothing to stop the images in her head of those who would never see south of the Wall: thousands of children, the Thenn whose name she didn't know but who had saved her life, and the Gods only knew who else.
The Battle at the Fist of the First Men was nothing compared to this. This was mindless slaughter on an incalculable scale. It was thousands of men, women, and children, massacred and turned into abominations.
She wanted to scream, pound her fists against something until they were broken and bloody. But what could it do? Those children were dead; screaming and punching wouldn't bring them back.
If it hadn't been for the sniffling behind her, Caitie didn't know what she might have done. She spun around to find the source, and saw a girl of ten—eleven at most—with long, sandy blonde hair, a dimple in her chin, and large blue eyes. Karsi's oldest daughter; Caitie hadn't caught the name.
"Wh-what happened?" the girl asked.
Neither Jon nor Tormund moved, but Caitie gathered her bearings and walked over to her, kneeling so they were eye to eye. Karsi had made Caitie promise to look out for her daughters. And she might not have been able to save everyone, but she could do this, to the best of her abilities.
Although she knew it was probably pointless, she prayed to the Old Gods that Karsi had somehow made it onto one of the ships.
"It's all right; you're safe. What's your name?" she asked gently.
The girl sniffled again and wiped the snot hastily from her nose. "Johnna."
Caitie tried for a smile. "Johnna," she repeated. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Caitie."
"Karsi's girls," Tormund muttered behind them. He and Jon had followed her over.
Caitie looked over her shoulder at him, a silent question in her eyes. In response, he shook his head, so slight that it was almost unnoticeable.
Chest tightening, Caitie turned back to Johnna, still trying to seem calm and reassuring. "You have a sister, right? I saw you both leave the docks."
"She's down below." Irritation flashed in Johnna's eyes. "What's going on?" When no one could answer her, she took a sharp breath, forcing out, "My mother's dead, isn't she?"
"Yes," Caitie said, voice hoarse. Perhaps it would have been easier to lie and say she didn't know, but that seemed crueler, somehow. "I'm so sorry."
The irritation in Johnna's eyes turned to anger. "You killed her, didn't you?" she spat. "You and your crows."
Tormund put a hand on Caitie's shoulder and she backed away, allowing him to take over. "This wasn't the crows," he said.
"You're lying!"
"I'm not. The White Walkers attacked. The crows risked their lives to save us."
Johnna's eyes welled with tears. "No," she insisted, backing away from them like a cornered animal. "No, no, no! I want off this boat! I want off!"
"Johnna," Tormund said with the air of a terrified parent trying not to show it. "Calm down."
"Leave me alone!" she screamed, bolting off down the steps to the hold.
For a moment, there was utter silence. Then, "I'll get her calm and tell Willa," Tormund said before he followed her down.
After he was gone, Caitie put her head in her hands and groaned, briefly taking note of the giant standing at the opposite end of the deck, looking out at the choppy waters. She tried not to let it unsettle her, but that giant was… too much, right now.
"There was nothing you could have done," Jon said.
She wished she could believe it. "I promised Karsi I would watch out for them."
"You are—you're going to see them south."
"I suppose."
But going south didn't change that the White Walkers had taken their mother, turning her into something irreparably monstrous.
And they'd be next soon enough.
"We need to talk about what happened."
Jon's voice cut through the silence; he sounded more serious than she'd ever heard him. But she knew what he meant, even if she wished she didn't.
"Really?" she snapped. "Now?"
"Aye, now," Jon replied, more tersely this time. "The White Walker would have killed you."
"I had the obsidian—"
"That doesn't matter. It was too fast, too strong, and it knew you were coming."
"And what about you?" Caitie asked heatedly, bristling at the implication that he had the skills to defeat a White Walker but she didn't.
"I had Longclaw."
"Because you definitely knew what Longclaw could do at the time."
Jon sighed. "Caitie…"
"Of everyone at Hardhome who needed to survive, it was you," she said. "What was I supposed to do?"
"If you had died—"
"If you had died, none of what we did would matter. Thorne would take your place, and then what do you think would happen to the Wildlings when they got to the Wall?"
"I gave the order—"
"Oh, don't bullshit me. You know the politics at play as well as I do. You are the only thing keeping this alliance intact. So why is it okay for you to risk your life but not me?"
"You're twisting my words."
"I am not!" she cried. "Seven fucking Hells, Jon—you were on the ground, barely able to breathe, with a White Walker on your tail. Do you have any idea how scary that was to see?"
"Aye, because that's how I felt watching you step in front of me."
As soon as the words left his mouth, both Caitie and Jon blinked. They each took a step back from each other, unable to find words. She felt... unsteady, all of a sudden, though she had no idea why. Nothing had been particularly out of the ordinary—in fact, as arguments went, this one was rather tame. Maybe it was just the boat finally getting to her.
Edd's voice filled the void. "Fucking hell, would you both just shut up already?"
Caitie and Jon jumped. Until now, Edd had been so quiet that she had forgotten he was still on deck with them. As her eyes found him, she noticed a network of small cuts on his face, and made a mental note to tend to them later. Jon's too, for he had a large open wound running from his hairline down through his left eyebrow onto his cheek. Sam would kill her if he arrived back home without his wounds cleaned.
"Edd," Jon warned.
He sounded every bit the lord commander, and yet it did nothing to stop Edd's tirade. "We just saw an army so big they'll crush us like insects and turn us into dead men walking, and you two are busy yelling at each other. We're all alive, so stop your bickering before my head explodes or I'll toss myself into the sea, and then you'll really have something to scream about."
Jon went silent with shock. Caitie didn't think he'd ever seen Edd lose control over his emotions so completely before. But this was all of their worst nightmares come to fruition, and Edd was entitled to some yelling—even if it was to his lord commander.
And, of course, he had a point.
"You're right," she said, calming her rising frustration and turning back to Jon. "Look, I think we're just exhausted and stressed and we're taking it out on each other. But you saved my life. So... thank you for that."
He took a deep, calming breath of his own. "You're welcome."
Edd scoffed. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go drink until I forget. Don't come find me until I'm piss-drunk."
Jon didn't stop him as he stalked off. This was Edd's way of handling what had happened, and even the lord commander wouldn't deny him that right.
"Will he be all right?" he asked.
Caitie almost laughed. "Will any of us?"
"I doubt it." He sighed, staring out at the water. His eyes looked glassy from unshed tears. "Is this how it felt after the Fist of the First Men?"
"Worse." And then, for some unfathomable reason, she found herself laughing. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop. She laughed and laughed until her sides hurt and tears leaked out of her eyes.
And it was strange, but laughing helped. It made the threat feel further away—almost unreal, like one big practical joke Cerys was playing on her.
Jon put a palm on the center of her back to steady her until finally the laughs died down and Caitie could breathe again.
"You know," she said once control over her voice, "when my brothers sent me to the Night's Watch, I thought I would just hide for a while until my father died. Clean some chamber pots, saddle a few horses, keep my head down, and eventually slip off to go home. But of all the things I expected, it was not to become embroiled in a thousands-year-long war between the living and the dead."
"Still better than being Lady Caitriona Norrey?" Jon asked.
"Becoming a wight or being a lady," she mused. "You know, I'll have to think about it." As Caitie turned to face him, the humor faded. "I meant it, you know. Thank you for saving me."
Jon's lips quirked up. "Well, I owed you for Castle Black," he said.
Caitie grinned. "You know, I'd say we're even, now."
In the hold of the ship, where the ground lurched under Caitie's feet, Edd tore open crate after crate and threw out what was inside carelessly on the floor behind him.
"I take it you haven't found anything strong enough."
He flinched at the sound of her voice. Without turning to face her, he growled, "'Course Stannis wouldn't supply his ships with the good ale. Fucking bastard. Should've just brought our own."
"If you think the Night's Watch ale is good, then maybe you're more injured than I thought," she replied, trying for a joke—though she knew it was a poor one.
Caitie got no answer in return, and for a moment, she wondered if Edd would tell her to leave. Then, with a deep sigh, he faced her. She could see the stress lines etched into his skin. "You were right."
All it took was those three little words, and the only thing she could do was stare at him in disbelief. Anything she might have thought to say turned to ash in her mouth.
Edd didn't even make a joke about it. That unnerved her more than anything else—even the giant on the decks above them. "A hundred thousand people are dead," he said, without a shred of his usual dry humor. "We should've let them south. They might've lived if we had."
"In all fairness," she replied quietly, close to tears again, "nobody believed in the White Walkers until a few years ago."
Edd laughed. It was devoid of any humor. "Well, I definitely believe it now."
"Dead people trying to kill you will do that."
He snorted. "Hells, I never thought you'd be the one to teach me something, kid."
"I wish I hadn't."
He snorted, and silence fell between them. What could they say at this point that would make sense of what they'd been through? Caitie didn't know.
Nothing, she supposed, was the answer; and so the silence stayed. That was, until she noticed the cuts on his face, still oozing blood. "Come on," she said. "Let's go up and I'll clean your wounds. They look painful." She held out her arm, hoping he'd accept it.
Furrowing his brow, Edd touched the cuts on his face. When he removed his hand, he looked down at the blood staining it. "Huh," he muttered, "didn't even notice."
Still, he accepted her outstretched arm, and together they started up the steps towards the galley of the ship. "Y'know," he said as they walked, "I never thought I'd miss the Fist."
"It wasn't all bad," Caitie agreed. "We had some good days there."
"Aye, we did. Didn't think so at the time, though." Edd laughed. "Hey, d'you remember when Sam tried talking to you just after you'd gotten up? You told him to stick a cactus in his ass and see if he still had his morning chipper afterward."
She nodded. "And then he thought the proper response was to tell me he couldn't because cacti don't grow in the north."
"I gotta admit, I was impressed. 'Course I'd never heard of a cactus before you brought it up, but the snark—now, that was somethin' to be proud of, especially for someone so tiny."
"I am not tiny," Caitie said. But when Edd looked like he was going to argue, she quickly changed the subject. "More importantly, how is it you didn't know what a cactus was?" she asked. "They grow all over Essos. Dorne, too."
"How do you know that? You're not from Dorne."
"Arthur used to read about them. He always loved plants. Winter roses, especially."
Edd huffed. "He sounds as bad as Sam."
Caitie smiled softly. "He was."
They continued to trade stories from before the world had turned on its head until they reached the galley of the ship. If either thought of Grenn in their reminiscing, they didn't mention him. To bring him up would be like rubbing salt on a wound, she supposed.
When they got to the galley, it was almost empty. Caitie still felt confined, as if the walls of the ship were closing in on her. The feeling had crept up on her now that she wasn't so distracted. But it was more muted than it had been on the trip north, and she would take what she could get.
There was a table pushed up against the left wall where Jon sat on a long bench, staring down at Longclaw laying in front of him. He looked up when they came in. Edd took a seat next to him, while Caitie picked up Jon's pack, eyeing him to ask permission to go through it. When he nodded, she rummaged around for the bottle of antiseptic and cloth.
Jon cleared his throat. "You all right?"
Edd shrugged. "I'll live."
After Caitie found what she was looking for, she sat down beside Edd on the bench, opened the bottle, and applied the antiseptic to the cloth. As soon as it made contact with Edd's skin, he hissed. "Damn it, Caitie—that stings."
"It's supposed to," she replied.
"How come you never end up needing cuts cleaned?"
Caitie could think of quite a few instances where she had needed more than just cuts cleaned. As it went, she could feel bruises forming throughout her entire body from this battle. But she only smiled wryly. "I'm faster than you."
Edd mumbled something rude under his breath. Caitie pretended not to hear it, focusing on cleaning his wounds. Once she finished, she eyed Jon, holding up the bottle. He must have been in a lot of pain from that gaping one on his face, because he didn't push back against her. He simply nodded.
She switched seats with Edd. Holding Jon's chin to keep him steady, Caitie dabbed with the antiseptic. She could see his throat bob as she worked, but his injury took all of her attention. There was just so much blood, and no matter how much pressure she applied, it didn't want to stop coming out.
"I think it needs stitches," she said. "I've never done it before, but I've watched Sam and Maester Aemon. I could probably try."
Jon gave her a smile. "Caitie, you're my best friend—you know that. But I'm not gonna let you use my face to learn how to stitch a wound."
"It could scar. Are you sure?"
"I think he's pretty fucking sure," Edd put in.
She sighed, pulling back to observe his face. Other than his bleeding problem, he looked okay. "Well, then, I think this is the most I can do for you. Just keep pressing the cloth to the wound so you don't bleed everywhere."
Jon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the shuffling of feet sounded and Tormund appeared in the doorway leading to the sleeping quarters.
When they all saw who it was, Edd cleared his throat, shifting from his seat. "I'm gonna go see if I missed somethin'—I need ale."
Jon nodded his dismissal. He noticed as well as Caitie did the stiffness in Edd's shoulders when Tormund came into the room. Edd might have made his peace with letting the Wildlings past the Wall, but for him to be comfortable in their presence would take time.
Maybe it was true for all of them. Caitie didn't think she would ever be comfortable around that giant. Just the thought of him made her sick to her stomach.
She watched Edd walk away until he was down the steps and out of her sight. Afterward, she glanced back over at Tormund. "Karsi's daughters?"
"Asleep. Tried my best to explain what happened. Willa's not much for anger, but Johnna's always been… fiery. She'll come 'round at some point."
Caitie wasn't too sure about that. She knew what losing a mother could do to a child, and unlike Caitie, Johnna didn't have Owen and Cerys. Adding to it the fact that brothers of the Night's Watch had been there when it happened… Caitie wouldn't be surprised if Johnna never forgave them. Olly certainly hadn't forgiven the Wildlings. How was this different?
The thought of Olly set off a deep, shameful ache in her chest, so she looked over at Tormund, grasping for a distraction. "Did you know her well? Karsi, I mean."
"Aye," he replied. "She was a good friend. But she kept her girls close, after her man's death."
Caitie wanted to cry, but there wasn't any point. The dead were dead, and she'd long given up on the wish of bringing them back.
But she could help the living. And then she noticed blood trickling down from a wound on Tormund's forehead. "If you sit," she said, "I'll clean your wounds."
To Caitie's surprise, he didn't decline. Instead, he nodded and maneuvered in between her and Jon. She heard Jon clearing his throat as he moved aside, but otherwise, no one spoke at first; no one seemed to know what to say.
Except, Caitie had seen the look on Tormund's face when he'd cut down his wighted daughter, and because she was incapable of leaving well-enough alone, she asked, "What was her name?" before she could second-guess herself.
If the question angered Tormund, he didn't show it. He just looked… like a man who'd lost his child, she guessed. Heartbroken and world-weary and just fucking exhausted.
"Munda," he said. Caitie could see the unshed tears in his eyes at the mention of his daughter's name, but they didn't fall. "She was my oldest—couldn't have been much older than you."
"What about your other daughter? You said you had two. Could she have gotten on the ships?"
He swallowed. "I don't know."
"We should have come earlier," Jon murmured, only just loud enough for them to hear.
Tormund looked between Jon and Caitie, his face grave. "Nothing you could've done. You were right—they knew we were coming."
The destruction of Hardhome—of the Wildling people—had been an inevitability. In some ways, Caitie thought that was worse than a failure on their part. Still, there was so much more they could have done; so many people who might be alive if they'd just made peace earlier.
"The Thenn," she said. "Did you know him?"
"Loboda," Tormund answered, knitting his brows together. "I knew him."
"He saved my life. Cut down some wights that were going to kill me. Even though he didn't trust me or like me, he still saved me."
Jon nodded. "He gave his life so I could get the dragonglass. I'm sorry I failed him."
Tormund furrowed his brows. "You didn't get it?"
"No," Jon rasped, as if in physical pain. "The White Walker stopped me. There are only two left, now. The others are lost."
Caitie's heart sped up as she realized those two daggers were attached to her belt. "I didn't even think…" she trailed off, fumbling to unhook them. When she finally did, she held one out for Jon to take. "Here. You promised them to our new allies."
"That was when we had a satchel of them," Jon replied, gently closing her hand around the hilt. "You've fought with these. They're yours."
She looked at Tormund, but he just bobbed his head in agreement. "You deserve them."
Caitie couldn't help the surprised expression on her face. "Thank you."
"Well, you fight fiercely. Would've made a good spearwife."
She cocked her head to the side, keeping her expression the perfect picture of innocence. "Is that a proposal?"
Tormund burst into incredulous laughter, while Jon fought a smirk of his own. "A spearwife is what the Free Folk call their women warriors," he said.
Tormund nodded. "They've gotta be tough. Wouldn't last long, otherwise."
"Aye." Jon paused, swallowing. "Ygritte told me she'd wear my cock around her neck, once."
Caitie eyed him. But she could tell he needed to talk about her, beyond just the heartache and betrayal at the end of their time together. Especially right now. "She was joking, right?"
"I never found out the answer to that one," Jon said. "But I think you'd have liked her. And she'd have liked you if she didn't kill you on sight for being a crow."
Caitie blinked in surprise. Of all the times she and Jon had spoken of Ygritte, he'd never said anything like that before.
When he cleared his throat, she came out of her shock and tried for a laugh. "Well, a lot of people have tried to kill me in the last few years," she said. "I've learned not to take it personally."
To that, Jon smiled. He nodded down to her dragonglass daggers. "They need names."
Caitie was able to stifle her groan just in time, but he knew what was going through her head, regardless. "Whatever you decide can't be worse than Dark and Sister."
"I should never have told you about that."
He chuckled as she glanced back down to her new set of daggers and sighed, thinking.
These daggers were from the Fist of the First Men. The others were lost to the White Walkers; the ones in her hands were all that remained, just like the Wildlings that had made it to the ships. But as long as she still had the dragonglass daggers, as long as some of the Wildlings lived on, there was still light.
"Nightsbane," she said as it came to her. "And Dawnbringer. A bit pretentious, but I think they fit." They were names to ward off the darkness, after all.
"I like them," said Jon.
She smiled. "Mm. So do I."
A small noise from the back of the galley tore Caitie and Jon's attention away from each other. Following Tormund's gaze, she spotted a little girl, eyelids drooping from exhaustion.
Willa looked like a miniature version of Karsi; the same shade of brown hair, the same big blue eyes, which she also shared with her sister. She didn't look upset—but Caitie figured it would be difficult for a seven-year-old to understand her mother had been killed by dead people.
"What're you doing up?" Tormund asked.
Willa yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Momma always braids my hair before bed. I can't sleep if it's not braided."
The three adults in the room exchanged heavy glances.
"Can't Johnna do it?" Tormund asked.
Willa pulled a face. "Johnna's bad at it."
He looked back over at Jon and Caitie. "Uh, do either of you know how to braid hair?"
"I know how to do it," Caitie said with a small smile. She patted the spot between her and Tormund.
Willa came over and hopped up. "Two please!" she chirped. As Caitie started on the first braid, Willa spoke again. "I remember you. You helped Momma get my friends on the boats."
The smile faded. "I did," she said, remembering how Willa had asked to go with her mother. How her mother wouldn't hesitate to kill her if they ever crossed paths again.
Tormund squeezed the little girl's shoulder, hoping to comfort her. Jon looked down at Longclaw, eyes shut, no doubt torturing himself.
Willa seemed not to notice any of it. "My name's Willa," she said. "What's yours?"
"I'm Caitie, and this is Jon."
Jon inclined his head.
"Jon," Willa repeated. "Like Johnna?"
"I… suppose."
Willa looked delighted by this. "My sister has a boy's name?"
Caitie had to stifle her laughs. "No," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You see, Jon has a girl's name. It's very embarrassing for him, so be sure to mention it as much as you can."
Jon scowled at her, but when the little girl giggled, that scowl faded into a soft smile.
A moment later, Willa noticed the colors they wore. "Are you crows?" she asked, though it was less hostile and more curious, which came as a surprise.
"I'm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Jon told her.
The three of them waited for her response. She seemed to think about this information before speaking again. When she did, it was not what Caitie had expected. "Is it true the Wall is so tall you can't see the top?"
"Aye," Jon answered, not missing a beat. "When we get there, I'll take you up if you're not afraid."
"Really?" Willa asked. "How would we get up to it?"
"At Castle Black, there's an elevator," Caitie explained as she finished with the first braid and moved on to the second. "Someone mans it while we're inside. It goes all the way up to the top."
"What does being up so high feel like?"
"It feels… it feels like you're flying. Like nothing at all can hurt you."
Willa seemed to like that description, considering the way her eyes lit up. "I can't wait. Oh, is it true that—"
"Get away from them, Willa."
Everyone in the galley turned to the source of the cold, angry voice at the doorway to the sleeping quarters. Caitie's hands on Willa's second braid stilled at the expression on Johnna's face.
Her eyes matched her sister's exactly, but they were stormy with fury.
"But Johnna—" Willa began.
Her sister cut her off. "Mother said that I was in charge, and I'm telling you to get away from those crows. Now."
Defeated, Willa sighed and looked between Caitie and Jon. "Sorry. Thanks for braiding my hair." She brushed past her sister and down the steps without a second glance.
Johnna didn't follow. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at them and said, "You crows stay away from my sister."
"She asked me to braid her hair," Caitie replied softly.
The scowl on Johnna's face deepened. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. She doesn't understand what your kind has done to us."
Jon flinched, but Tormund opened his mouth to argue with her—to try again to convince her the crows weren't responsible for her mother's death.
Caitie held a hand up to silence him because she knew, somehow, that wasn't what Johnna needed. What Johnna needed was for someone to show it.
"All right," Caitie said. "We're sorry. It won't happen again."
Johnna blinked, and her eyes thawed for just a moment before they hardened back to ice. "Good." She stomped away, and no one dared to call her back.
The galley fell into silence. Caitie eyed Tormund, his expression a blank void, and wondered what was going through his head. Likely nothing good. She supposed she should have known it wouldn't be so easy. One battle fought together couldn't change thousands of years of bloodshed and grief. It couldn't bring their loved ones back from the dead.
So maybe Jon was right. Maybe the Night's Watch and the Wildlings couldn't be friends. Maybe all they could be were allies of convenience and survival, and nothing more.
About the Night King potentially being a warg—it's a pretty big fan theory. It originated on one of the fandom subreddits (r/gameofthrones, I think). But there are a ton of articles about it now. Whether it's true... the show doesn't really explain much (something I'm trying to rectify with my own interpretations of the lore and fan theories). And the books haven't even gotten close to answering any of these questions. True or not, it's a good theory, and I think it's something the characters would consider, knowing what they know about wargs.
What is the Night King, really? Well, we'll explore that later.