Posting this early (and at 2 am, apparently) to make up for the shit show that happened with the last chapter. I'm like 90% sure I know what happened—my dog stepped on the keyboard when I wasn't looking. She almost messed up an entire research paper yesterday doing the same thing, so the likelihood is high.

Anyway, you don't care! Enjoy the chapter. It's mostly character development/set-up.

An icy blast of air bit into Caitie's skin, as hands with the strength of a thousand men gripped her shoulders. She struggled fruitlessly against them, knowing she needed to move forward, through the stone tunnel ahead, towards… Well, she wasn't quite sure. She couldn't see what lay beyond the gate, save for blinding white light filtering in through the slats of metal. All she knew was that she had to get away from her captor, and from the place where Grenn had died.

"Take her," the voice belonging to the hands said.

Caitie stopped struggling. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it in years, but oh, did she know it.

Twisting her head, she looked into her father's eyes. His face was the exact same as the last time she'd seen him—cropped brown hair that was just beginning to grey at the temple, calculating dark eyes, a neatly trimmed beard framing a strong jaw.

Take her, he had said, but Caitie didn't know to whom. How many people wanted her dead—or worse—at this point?

Then the gate rose, and she found out.

A group of White Walkers glided towards them, inhumanly graceful in their movements. At the front was the horned leader—the Night King. He flickered in and out of existence as he walked, with his arms raised like he had done back at Hardhome.

This was a dream—it had to be a dream. But it felt real.

Wake up, she willed herself.

The White Walkers glided closer. She could make out the faces of the one Jon had killed, of the Night King, but their features were distorted, mercurial and out of focus. She screamed and struggled against her father, but the ground was mush—his hands were the only thing keeping it from swallowing her whole. Nausea radiated out from the center of her stomach, clawing into her chest and throat. She was going to be sick. She was going to—she couldn't—

Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Her eyes snapped open.

Caitie took a gasping breath as she regained her senses. She shot up, disoriented, and searched through the dark space. There were small rows of beds, only visible by their outlines, but she could see the slight rise and fall of the blankets, and hear the snoring of her friends. "My name is Caitriona Norrey," she whispered, hoping it wouldn't wake anyone. "I am on one of Stannis's ships, sailing away from Hardhome. My father is not here. The White Walkers can't reach us. I am not in danger. I am safe."

She repeated the words over and over again until her heart rate calmed, just in time for another bout of nausea to wash over her. The boat must have hit a wave. It's what had woken her up.

Somehow, Caitie was grateful for her seasickness. She might not like nausea, but she'd take it over the dream she'd just had any day.

Deciding she needed some fresh air before she threw up all over herself, she tiptoed out of the sleeping quarters and headed up towards the deck, the wood beneath her feet rocking slowly back and forth as she walked. When the cool air hit her face, the nausea faded into some discomforting—but manageable—queasiness. Being out in the open instead of trapped in a small cabin under the water calmed her nerves, which had spiked from the nightmare. She felt… not safe, necessarily, but at least a little less on edge.

The night sky was cloudless. When she looked up, she could see thousands of stars twinkling above her. It was strange to think the horror that had taken place at Hardhome could exist in the same world as this.

By the railings, Caitie could make out the shape of a person. It wasn't the giant; he had taken up residence on the other side of the ship. And either way, the shape was too small. In fact, it was too small to be anyone but one of the Karsi's little girls, and it was too large to be Willa.

Caitie considered turning back around, leaving Johnna alone to grieve. She doubted she would be a wanted presence. But Johnna seemed to sense her. She jumped, startled, before Caitie could make an escape, and turned around.

When she saw who it was, she frowned. "Oh. It's you."

Caitie kept her stance relaxed and her expression open, readying herself for whatever Johnna was about to say. She wouldn't react to it, whatever it was, because Johnna didn't need someone to argue with her or get angry. She needed someone to let her scream and cry without judgment.

Caitie had already made the mistake of not understanding that once with Olly. She wasn't about to make it again.

"I didn't mean to bother you," she said. "I didn't think anyone else would be awake."

Johnna sighed, looking away towards the sea. "I couldn't sleep."

Caitie opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't know what she should say. Johnna didn't seem as hostile as before, but one wrong word could change that.

The two girls stood silently, Caitie taking deep breaths to quell her nausea. The fresh sea air helped.

"My grandfather died fighting crows, you know. So did my uncle," Johnna said eventually, breaking the quiet between them.

Caitie remembered Karsi saying the same at the meeting, before everything had devolved into chaos. She looked over, but Johnna's eyes were far away, gazing out at the Shivering Sea.

"I'm sorry," Caitie said.

Johnna didn't seem to hear her. "How many of my people have you killed?"

"I don't know," she said. It was the truth, but only because she'd killed so many.

"You regret it?"

"There's a lot I regret." Her whole life was filled with it.

Now Johnna looked at her, and Caitie saw the fear in her eyes, underneath all the anger. "You're not going to kill us when we get south of the Wall?" she asked.

Caitie came a little closer. "No," she said. "We're not going to kill you. I promise, by the Old Gods and the New."

A pause. Then, "I shouldn't believe you."

"I understand why you wouldn't. But it is true."

Johnna laughed bitterly, her calm pretense deteriorating rapidly. "What's the point of this? Why are the crows helping us now?"

"Because we were wrong not to, before."

When Johnna stopped in her tracks, wide-eyed and standing still, Caitie decided to tell her the truth—about everything. Caitie didn't know if it would make Johnna hate her more or less, but it would at least make her understand.

"My… friend died in the war with your people," she said. "He was my first love. Of course, we weren't supposed to be together in the first place—the Night's Watch has a strict code—but we fell in love, anyway. We had made plans for the future—to travel, to find his parents, to be together. But he died defending the Wall. And do you know what? He died for nothing. Because this stupid war between the Seven Kingdoms and your people—it means nothing. We've spent thousands of years fighting each other for no good reason. We've let children and parents and lovers die for no good reason. I want that to end. I don't want the people I love to suffer and die when there's no point in it. And I don't want to cause the suffering of others anymore."

Johnna didn't respond to Caitie, eyes trained on her hands as she frowned. "I'm just so… so angry." The words were so faint, Caitie almost missed them.

She gave a little half-laugh. "Well, I might not understand all of what you're going through, but at least I can understand that."

Johnna snorted. "No, you don't. You couldn't."

Caitie raised a brow at her. "You're angry at yourself, angry at all the people you feel have failed you, angry at the unfairness of the world, and angry at your own powerlessness to do anything about it."

Johnna's eyes widened. "How did you—"

"Because I've felt that way my entire life. I see how it looks every day in the mirror."

She stared down at her hands and sniffled. "I miss my mother. I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Caitie considered, briefly, putting a comforting arm around Johnna's shoulder, but quickly decided against it. Instead, she said, "I wish I could tell you it goes away—the missing."

"You mean it doesn't?"

"It gets better. There are good days and bad days. Some days, I barely think about the people I've lost. I'll go hours before I realize. Then there are days I can barely breathe."

"How do you deal with it?"

"I'm still figuring that one out. I suppose it's different for everyone. For me, it's taking comfort in those I still have. It's remembering I'm not alone."

Johnna was quiet for a long, long time, her expression unreadable. Finally, "Part of me still wants to kill you," she admitted. "But… I'm not sure that's right. I'm not sure what is right anymore. How am I s'posed to know without Mother?" She looked away from Caitie to stare down at her hands. "You said it gets easier when you're not alone. But I am alone. All alone."

"That's not true," Caitie said gently. "No one is alone."

Johnna's gaze turned sharp. "What are you talking about?"

Caitie looked up at the clear night sky—at the stars and the moon, and thought of Owen and Cerys. She had been so furious at them for asking Lord Commander Mormont to protect her. But they'd only done so because they didn't want her to be alone. Karsi had done the same for Johnna and Willa. And because of that, wherever they went, they would never be alone, just like Caitie.

She supposed that's what all good parents tried to do for their children.

"Sometimes people leave you before they're ready—or before you're ready," Caitie said. "Your mother isn't here, so it's up to you, now, to decide what's right, and to make your own choices. But that doesn't mean you're alone. You have your sister, you have Tormund."

She almost didn't say the rest, for she wondered if it would only make Johnna hate her again. In the end, she couldn't help herself. "And you know, I promised your mother I would ensure you made it south—that I would keep you safe. It's not much comfort, but she made sure you wouldn't be alone."

"Why would she ask you to do that?"

Caitie didn't really know why Karsi had asked her, but she had an inkling, at the very least. "Because I'm a crow," she said. "It's my responsibility to guard the realms of men—and to right past wrongs."

Johnna thought about this for a while. Meanwhile, Caitie looked out at the sea, breathed in the salty air, remembering all the people she lost, and all the people she still had with her.

No one is alone. That was something she would do well to remember. Because it was what had caused the war between the Wildlings and the Night's Watch, and so many wars beyond it.

"I still hate crows," Johnna said, finally. "But don't think I hate you. Not saying I like you. But I don't hate you."

Caitie chuckled. "Well," she said, "I suppose it's a start."

The two of them fell into a companionable silence until a voice from behind cleared her throat. "Can I come out now?"

Johnna sighed at her sister's whinging tone. "How long have you been there?"

"Um…" Willa stepped out of her little hiding spot: a shadowy corner by the door to the inside. "Not long." She paused. "Well, a little long."

Caitie almost laughed at that. Instead, she just smiled at the little girl. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"Johnna left, and I can't sleep alone." She tilted her head to the side. "Is it true what you said about Momma? She asked you to watch out for us?"

Caitie wondered how Willa could be so calm regarding her mother's death, but she didn't comment on it. "She did."

"Well, I like you then, even if Johnna doesn't. But she hates everyone, anyway."

"Willa!" Johnna exclaimed.

Caitie bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I like you too, Willa. And you know what? Johnna's not so bad, either."

Johnna crossed her arms and pouted, staring down at the wooden slats of the deck, looking more childlike than ever before. Subtly, Caitie nudged her and nodded over to her sister.

She took the hint. "Come on, Wills," she sighed. "I'll finish that braid of yours."

Though she accepted her sister's hand without hesitation, Caitie heard Willa complaining about Johnna's terrible braiding skills until they were out of earshot.

She smiled as she listened to them bickering. Their path wouldn't be easy, and they'd already faced more than any child should, but somehow Caitie got the feeling Johnna and Willa would be all right.

They all would be, someday.

The trust between Johnna and Caitie was slow to build, but by the end of their journey to the Wall, the two had created something of a fragile truce.

The older of Karsi's daughters remained a little stand-off-ish, peppering both her and Jon with questions, looking for some sign of betrayal in their answers. But eventually, she seemed to accept there wasn't any, and slowly, every day, they won her over just a little more. The younger was another matter entirely. Willa harbored no resentment towards the Night's Watch. In fact, much like that first night on the ship, she didn't seem to be in the slightest bit affected by her mother's death. She smiled and laughed and asked questions; a seemingly endless supply of energy.

When Caitie voiced her worry about it, Tormund just shrugged and said, "She'll deal with it in her own time. We all will."

Knowing she wasn't the authority on either of the girls, Caitie accepted his word.

Otherwise, the rest of their journey passed mostly the same as their journey there, only this time with the weight of what they'd seen on their shoulders. No one was immune to it; Caitie swore she saw the giant shedding a tear at one point, though she didn't stay around him for long enough to get a better look.

When she wasn't praying for death on the deck of the ship or spending time with Johnna and Willa, Caitie went through the songbook Sam had given her. She hadn't told anyone her plans for it just yet, and she still wasn't sure if she would. It was such a personal, private thing she wanted to do. But it could wait until they got home and everything had settled down, anyway, giving her time to decide.

After another week of sailing, the Wall finally came into view. Caitie couldn't fathom a more beautiful sight, especially considering her newfound affinity for land. For late autumn, it was an unusually warm day; they could see the sunlight glinting off the Wall as it wept. Caitie wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Wow," Willa breathed, clutching the railing for balance as she stood on her tip-toes so she could see.

Caitie grinned down, keeping a careful eye on Willa's balance. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

The little girl nodded, not taking her eyes off the view. For a moment, she couldn't seem to move. "I wanna see the top," she said as she wrenched her eyes away from the Wall to face Jon. He stood on her other side, pensively watching the Wall inch closer. Caitie knew a part of him dreaded returning home to the political nightmare he would undoubtedly face. "You said you'd take me—er, Lord Commander."

The pensive expression on Jon's face left in an instant. "Aye, I did. My offer still stands, if your sister agrees."

Willa groaned. "She'll never agree. She's so bossy."

Caitie had to stifle a snort. When she locked eyes with Jon, she could see he was doing the same.

"You can go," Johnna said from behind them. "But I come, too."

To this, Willa sighed dramatically. "Fiiine."

Johnna rolled her eyes at her sister and joined them at the edge of the deck. "What do you think?" Caitie asked.

She furrowed her brows. "I think it's too tall." But she still didn't take her eyes off the Wall.

Soon enough, the fleet came to a halt at the docks of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Wildlings and black brothers spilled out of the ships. Cotter Pyke, the commander of Eastwatch, greeted them. He shook hands with Jon, giving him a curt, "Lord Commander."

Caitie observed the interaction, looking for signs of discontent in Cotter Pyke's eyes. But whatever his opinion on this new alliance, he did a good job of hiding it.

Tormund had gone off in search of his daughter—although they all knew the likelihood of her being alive was slim, Caitie understood the need for him to check; to be absolutely certain before he could grieve for both the children he'd lost. Meanwhile, the giant stood watching everyone, not saying a word. In fact, Caitie didn't think she'd heard him speak more than one at a time—maybe two—since seeing him for the first time. Then again, she never was around him long enough to listen for it.

Beside her, Johnna was looking around the docks as if waiting for an ambush, while Jon left their side to keep things orderly. Willa, too, looked around the docks, frowning in confusion. By the time Jon returned to them with the news they would stay at Eastwatch for a day or so before moving on, she looked close to tears.

"Willa?" Caitie asked. "What's wrong?"

She blinked and stared up at Caitie with her big blue eyes. "I don't understand," she said. "Where's Momma?"

Caitie's chest clenched. She should have known something like this was coming.

Johnna furrowed her brows and looked down at her sister. "I told you, Willa. She's… she's gone."

"But… She was s'posed to be right behind us."

Despite the tears springing to her eyes, Johnna smoothed her features and kept her voice steady. It was more than Caitie could have done at her age. "I know, Willa. She tried. She just… couldn't."

"But—but she said—she said she was right behind us. She promised, Johnna!" Johnna's facade cracked; her face crumbled. But Willa wasn't finished. "I—I wanted to go with her."

"I know you did, but—" Willa burst into tears before Johnna could finish.

Johnna stared helplessly at her sister, unsure how to comfort her. She went to put a hand on Willa's shoulder and then pulled back to wipe the tears out of her own eyes.

Remembering something Owen had said to her before her mother's funeral, Caitie kneeled so she was eye-level with Willa. "You've been really, really brave," she said. "I know you're afraid, and I know you miss your momma. I'm so sorry, but your sister needs you to be brave just a little longer. Do you think you can do that?"

With tears still in her eyes, Willa nodded, wiping her eyes so hard she would have rubbed them raw, had no one intervened.

Gently, Caitie took her hand and lowered it, remembering what Jon had once said to her. "It's okay if you need to cry. There's nothing wrong with a few tears."

Willa sniffled. "It doesn't make me less brave?"

Caitie smiled. "Of course not. Brave people cry all the time. It's a part of being human."

"I want to go home," she murmured. "I just want to go home."

"I know you do. Leaving home is scary. But you have Johnna. She's your home, no matter where you are."

"That's right," Johnna said. In the span of Caitie and Willa's conversation, she had collected herself. "And I'll never leave you, no matter what."

Willa blinked up at her sister. "Promise?"

"Promise. I love you more than anyone."

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Okay… And Johnna? I love you, too."

Johnna's eyes shone with tears. She tried to speak, but she seemed to have lost her voice.

Caitie smiled again. "Why don't you both go find Tormund. I'm sure he'll want to eat with you."

Johnna nodded, composing herself remarkably fast. "Yeah, you're right. I'm hungry."

She took Willa's hand, but before the older could lead the younger away, Willa turned back to Jon, nose still running. "Will you still take me up to the top of the Wall?"

Jon nodded, a soft smile gracing his features. "I'll take you after we've had some supper, I promise."

The promise placated Willa well enough for the moment. She followed her sister into the thinning crowd, towards Tormund, visible only due to his ginger hair.

"They'll be okay," Jon said beside Caitie as they watched Tormund lead both girls away into Eastwatch's dining hall, after the crowd.

She sighed, smiling ruefully. "I know. It's just not fair. They deserve to have their mother."

"They remind you of yourself." It wasn't a question.

"A little," Caitie admitted. "But it's more than that. It's… If we hadn't made peace, Johnna and Willa would be wights, right now. And the thought of that—it makes me want to cry and throw up at the same time. They already lost their mother. I don't want them to get hurt more than they already have."

Jon stayed silent for a little while, contemplating something. "I'm sorry," he said at last.

Caitie furrowed her brows and turned her head away from the view to look at him. "For what?"

He considered his words before he answered her question. "Any fool could see how much you love children."

Well. Whatever she'd expected him to say, it was not that. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I must like children," she said, more defensively than she meant.

Jon crossed his arms and stared at her. "I know. But you do. I saw you helping the Free Folk children to their boats at Hardhome. I saw you with Johnna and Willa. You want children of your own."

Caitie looked away at the intensity of his gaze. She remembered that strange feeling of longing as she'd watched mothers with their children at Hardhome, and the brief desire she'd refused to even think about when envisioning her future with Grenn before his death. She remembered reading and singing to Arthur and Little Sam, of playing monsters-and-maidens, of watching them learn to speak or take their first steps. She thought about her conversations with Willa and Johnna over the last week, and how fiercely protective she was of them, despite knowing them for only a week.

"It doesn't matter," she said, clamping down on these thoughts. "It's not in my future. Not now—not with the way things are."

"That doesn't mean you can't want. Before I joined the Night's Watch, I used to dream of having a family."

Caitie thought about it; the more she did, the more could picture him with a family, especially having seen the way he interacted with the younger recruits and the way he spoke about his younger siblings. "You'd have made a good father."

"And you'd have made a good mother," Jon replied. "But I can understand why you wouldn't want to birth a child after…"

After what had happened to her mother. But something felt... wrong about that.

"You know, it's funny," she found herself saying. "A year or two ago, and you would have been right. But now, after everything I've been through? I really don't know. If it were on my own terms, with someone I loved…" a little cry welled up in her chest, because that someone was dead and gone. She swallowed it down. "I do love children. And a part of me does want to have a family, someday—to be a mother."

Whether she would be a good mother—well, that was a different question. But she supposed it didn't matter in the end. Like she'd told Jon, it wasn't in her future, whether she wanted it to be or not.

The two of them looked out at the Bay of Seals, neither saying anything more. She didn't know what else there was to say.

"What would you name them?" Jon eventually asked. Caitie furrowed her brows, and he clarified, "Your children."

She blinked. "Oh. I don't know. I've never really given it much thought. For a girl—Jocelyn, maybe, for my mother. Or Arrana for my grandmother."

"The Mormont?"

"The Mormont. As for a boy—well, I'd say Owen or Cerys, but I've already named my daggers for them, so it would be terribly confusing." She paused, thinking. Then, like the sun bursting through a cloud layer, it came to her. "Jeor," she said. "I would name my son Jeor." And even though she'd never considered that name before, after her conversation with Johnna that first night on the ship, it felt right.

"I thought you hated him," Jon said, surprised.

Caitie smiled ruefully. "I wanted to. For a while, I thought I did. But he protected me—made sure I wasn't alone at the Night's Watch—and he didn't have to do that. Most in his position wouldn't have. He let me get away with much more than he probably would have liked. And for all the lord commander's faults, he cared for his men and for the North. He wasn't perfect, but he was a good man—he was my family. He deserves to be remembered." She sighed. "What about you? If you were to have children, what would you name them?"

"Eddard, for a boy," Jon said without hesitation. "For a girl—Lyanna."

"Lyanna," Caitie repeated, smiling. Ever since their drunken conversation in the pantry all that time ago, she had held a soft spot for Lyanna Stark.

"She should have lived," Jon said, "but she didn't. A piece of her should remain in the world. I know I'm not a Stark, but I'd like to honor her."

Caitie watched the flickers of sadness on his face and frowned. "It really does affect everything for you, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"Being a bastard. Every decision you make, every aspect of your life. The way you think of yourself. I've always known, but sometimes it astonishes me just how much."

He gave a wry half-smile. "I've never been good at hiding things from you."

"From anyone," she corrected with a laugh. "How you survived months as a spy, I'll never know. I guess I just don't understand why you think you're not Stark enough to name your child after your family. I know I can't really understand what it was like for you, but, Jon—you are a Stark, bastard or not."

Jon's smile soon faded, giving way to a deeper, more thoughtful expression. "My father always told me the same. I may not have had his name, but I had his blood," he said. "But if I was injured, my trueborn siblings would always take precedence. I wasn't allowed to sit at the high table at feasts with my family. The lady of the castle wanted me gone more than anything else. Theon would taunt me, and I couldn't respond, because he was the trueborn son of a lord and I wasn't.

"I didn't matter, because I wasn't a Stark. My father's blood couldn't change that. Only my name could."

That familiar anger bubbled up inside of Caitie again. Because Jon was a Stark—it was an undeniable fact—but she could shout it up to the stars, and it wouldn't make a difference unless he had the Stark name. Even though he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, had fought in battle after battle and become a hero in the process, had made something of himself—built entirely on merit—he would always see himself as the bastard boy; the outcast; Ned Stark's shame.

"You look upset," he observed.

Whether she wanted to laugh or scream, Caitie didn't know. "I'm not upset. I'm angry."

"At who?"

"I don't know. Everyone."

"That's a lot of people to be angry at."

Despite herself, she smiled. "You've learned to tell a joke."

"Blame the end of the world."

When he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak, she blurted, "I'm angry because you shouldn't have had to be trueborn to matter, especially not to your own family. I'm angry because you're a Stark, but no one ever treated you like it. I'm angry because you're good and you're honorable and you deserve better than to feel like you're less than the others or something to be ashamed of, all because of your name."

Jon blinked, apparently at a loss for words.

"I just…" She hesitated. "You matter. I know you think you don't, but it's not true. You do—regardless of whether you're Snow or Stark or if you didn't have any name at all. And I know my saying it doesn't change how you were treated. I just want you to know that you do matter—and that you deserved better."

There was a pause. Then, "You matter, too," Jon whispered.

She sighed. "Well, I've certainly mattered here. I'm not sure I would as Lady Caitriona."

"You'd matter to me."

And to that, Caitie had no reply.

"A bastard and a lady," Jon started, with a small smile.

She snorted. "That sounds like the start of a bad joke. A bastard and a lady walk into a tavern…"

Jon ignored her. "By all the laws, we should never have been friends," he said, meeting her eyes. "But I can't imagine being here without you."

"Nor I, you," Caitie replied softly, tentatively. After a pause, they looked away from each other—she didn't know who broke eye contact first. But their conversation had taken a strange turn, and it made her uneasy. "Come on," she said. "It's still a long way home, and I'd like some proper food before we march."

"I'll have to send a raven to Castle Black—tell them what happened. It's gonna be a—what was the term you used? A shit-fit?"

"I'm surprised you remembered that," Caitie said, smiling a little. "But you don't know for sure. It could go better than any of us expect."

Jon chuckled. "You're a worse liar than I am."

She did her best to scowl at him, but somehow, she found herself joining in with his laughter. "All right, I suppose that's fair. But whatever the shit-fit is, we'll deal with it together. Now," she said, holding out a hand, "Let's go home."

Blah blah blah, Into the Woods references in this chapter, blah blah blah, go watch it on YouTube (the 1991 version).

PS: I feel like the chaotic energy of my author's notes these last two chapters have made it pretty clear I'm starting up a new semester at college after a year-long hiatus. I'm stressed and sleep-deprived at the moment, surviving on coffee and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Point is, chapters might come out less frequently for a bit (but at least once a month, I promise).