A Girl of the Night's Watch

by thisgingerisareallybadwriter

After Lady Caitriona Norrey's father forces her into an unwanted betrothal to a southern lord, she and her elder brothers hatch a plan: disguise herself as a boy and hide in the Night's Watch. But dark forces are at work across Westeros and beyond, ancient evils threatening the world. To face it, she'll have to find the strength to become the shield that guards the realms of men.

63. The Parting of the Ways

Two days later, Sam and his family departed from Castle Black.

The morning was overcast—gloomy, chilly, generally depressing. The stone of Castle Black radiated cold, and the Wall wept, despite the cooler weather. Still, Caitie and Sam stepped out from the dining hall into the harsh morning light. Side by side, they hurried down the steps, into the mud of the courtyard where a cart filled with all of Sam and Gilly's meager belongings waited by the gate, ready to take them south, to White Harbor.

Caitie had her own traveling pack slung over her shoulder, ready to leave as soon as they did. There wasn't much inside: her brothers' last scroll, the songbook Sam had given her, the Valyrian book she used to read with Maester Aemon, her vial of poison, a change of clothes, and finally, her two dragonglass daggers. Owen and Cerys stayed strapped to her belt for easy access. It was comforting, in a way, that all her belongings could fit into a single satchel. Her friends didn't have that luxury.

"You have your cloak?" she asked as they neared the cart. The pace of their steps increased.

"Yes, Caitie," replied Sam.

"And food for the journey to White Harbor?"

"Yes."

"And—"

Sam stopped beside the cart, placing a hand on her shoulder to silence her vast array of stalling questions. "I have everything we'll need."

"Good. Good," she said, trying to convince herself more than him. "Well, then, you're all set."

Sam smiled. "You know, it's my job to worry about you, not the other way around."

"Please—when have I not worried about you, Sam?"

He didn't have an answer for her there.

They faced each other, neither knowing what else to say. Caitie's eyes darted around, looking anywhere but the cart. She couldn't bring herself to tell him goodbye; it felt too final. It felt like the day she'd left home.

That was a memory she'd been avoiding thinking about for over three years, but she couldn't seem to get it out of her head now, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. The day had been just like this one, with clouds overhead and a chill in the air. There had even been a cart nearby, though the one in her memories was full of Night's Watch recruits instead of personal belongings.

And yet...

"I don't want to leave you," her fourteen-year-old self whispered in her ear.

And though it was faint and faded by time, Owen's voice answered. "We don't want to leave you, either."

"There has to be another way. I don't want to go. Please, don't make me go."

"Caitie?" Sam asked, brows furrowed with worry.

Caitie blinked. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?"

She smiled, breathing in the smell of Castle Black. This wasn't Wood's Town. She wasn't saying goodbye to Owen and Cerys. Sam and Gilly would come back, and Sam would be a maester when they did. It was where he belonged, surrounded by books and minds greater, even, than his own.

As for Caitie—she would come back to the Wall in a few months, after everything had died down and Jon had re-established his authority as lord commander.

"I'm just going to miss you is all," she said.

"We'll see each other again. I promise."

"I know. But I'll still miss you."

Sam placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll miss you, too."

From up on the seat of the cart, Gilly, holding a slumbering Little Sam in her arms, asked, "Are you ready?"

Sam smiled up at her. "I'm ready." With some help from Caitie, he hoisted himself up, nodded to Dareon, who secured the horse to the cart and handed Sam the reins.

"Take care of each other," Caitie said.

Gilly smiled. "We always do."

"And give Little Sam a hug from me, every day."

"I will. I promise. Stay safe until we get back."

"I'll try my best." Caitie's eyes roved over her friends, committing their faces to memory, trying to burn them into her head so she would never forget what they looked like, just in case. When she was done, she took a deep breath. "I'll see you both soon."

"Until then," Sam agreed. He twisted around, looking at a point behind where Caitie stood. She followed his example and saw Jon up on a nearby balcony. Sam lifted his hand and gave him a sad smile. Jon returned the gesture. Caitie swore she saw a tear in his eye as he bid his silent farewell, but if Sam noticed, he didn't let it affect his choice. He turned back around and flicked his reins; the horse pulling the cart trotted forward and out the gate.

Even when she couldn't see them any longer, Caitie refused to take her eyes off the snowy expanse of the Gift.

"They'll make it."

She didn't jump, having sensed Jon walk over to stand by her. "I know."

Silence, and then, "Don't go." It was almost a whisper, but Caitie heard it like it was being shouted from a rooftop.

She kept her expression firm. "I have to. You know that."

"I had to try one more time."

Her gaze softened. "It's only for a few months. Then I'll come back. Besides, you have Edd, and whether you want to believe it or not, he's actually quite capable of giving good advice."

Jon opened his mouth to reply, but a whining noise beside him took hold of their attention before he had the chance. Ghost's red eyes peered up at the two of them.

Caitie reached out to him, stroking his ear. "Don't be angry with me," she said. "You know I have to go."

In response, he licked her nose, still whining, and Caitie threw her arms around his neck, heart too full for her chest. In the months during her recovery, Ghost had been her constant companion, even when she'd had no one else. She would miss him almost as much as she would miss Jon. "Take care of him for me," she murmured. "And Edd. You're smarter than both of them put together, so it's your job to keep them out of trouble."

Ghost simply nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck. When Caitie finally tore herself away from the direwolf and straightened up, she noticed Dareon waiting for her. He kept a respectful distance, of course, for the two had never been close, but there was no malice on his face when he spoke. "Should we ready your horse?"

She breathed in deep. "Yes, please."

"Hey!" a voice called; one that she would have been able to place anywhere. "You thought you was gonna leave without saying goodbye?"

Caitie and Jon turned, watching Edd come their way, followed closely by Hobb. They'd already said their goodbyes to Sam and Gilly at breakfast—Caitie had watched Hobb gift them one of the largest baskets of food she had ever seen—but she'd stayed away, allowing them privacy. Now, she supposed, it was her turn for goodbyes. With Hobb, it was easier; they were friends, of course, but he had always been closer to Gilly than to her.

Edd, though—Edd was family. That made it... less easy.

And she got the sense the feeling might have been mutual, for Edd crossed his arms over his chest, a furrow in his brow that she could have sworn was worry. "Can't believe you're leaving us."

She sighed. "Not you, too."

"You get to go off and do nothing all day long, while I have to get up at the crack of dawn. It's not fair."

"I'll hardly be doing nothing." When Edd merely made a disgruntled noise and rolled his eyes, she raised an eyebrow. "Is this your way of saying you'll miss me?"

"Please. What makes you think I'd ever miss you?"

"I'm very missable."

"You're a loony."

She grinned. "It keeps you on your toes."

"Only sometimes." Edd's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile, and he opened his arms. She didn't hesitate, wrapping her arms around his middle and holding on tight, the way she had done to Owen, once, long ago. Edd thumped her on the back while she tried to keep the tears prickling at the back of her eyes from falling, reminding herself for the thousandth time that this wasn't permanent.

When they pulled away from each other, his expression turned shrewd as he looked her over. "You sure this is what you want?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But it's what needs to happen—for me and for the Night's Watch."

Edd's face didn't change, but she swore she saw a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Well, then," he sighed, "stay safe. Don't die. And try not to kill anyone unless they really deserve it. Okay?"

Coming from Edd, that meant as much as I love you. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and forced a smile. "I make no promises."

He sighed. "I'll take what I can get from you."

When Edd moved aside, Hobb took his place. "Good luck," he said, extending his arm and grinning. "Now, Sam and Gilly said to look out for you. So I expect at least one raven a day. And if anyone bothers you, I've got my mighty hog-splitter. Not afraid of using it, either."

Caitie laughed, only half-sure that he was joking. "Noted."

Jon cleared his throat. "I've sent a raven to Tormund, letting him know you're coming. He'll be there to greet you."

"Thanks," she said. "I'd rather not have them shoot me on sight."

Much too soon, Dareon led her newly saddled horse over. Though a part of her screamed not to, Caitie took the reins from him. Once she'd mounted her horse, she looked down at Jon and Edd. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"You hog all the stupid for yourself," Edd shot back. "Not enough left for the rest of us."

She stuck her tongue out at him, smiling properly despite their parting, for Edd always had that effect on her. But when her eyes moved to Jon and Ghost beside him, it all melted into the background; all except him, dressed in his lord commander's cloak with his dark curls dusted in snow. His eyes looked even more solemn than usual—haunted even. "Send a raven when you get there."

"I will," she replied. "I… I'll see you soon." Something hung in the air between the two of them after she'd finished speaking, but she didn't quite know what it was. Judging by the look of troubled confusion on Jon's face, she got the feeling he didn't know either.

As her eyes flickered from his to Edd's, she heard Owen's voice once more. "We're parting ways, Riona, no matter what you choose."

Caitie tried, tried, to lock the memory away—and she half-succeeded, too. Yet, she still could remember her response to him.

"We're parting ways," she repeated. And she burst into tears. "Will—will I ever see you again?"

Caitriona waited for an answer, for one of them to assure her that they would, but even Cerys, the one who usually blustered and pretended everything was okay even when it wasn't, didn't say a word.

Owen finally spoke up. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I hope so."

---

Once, Queenscrown had been the jewel of the Gift—a thriving town built up around a lake, where the holdfast itself stood tall on a rocky island at the center. Queen Alysanne had stayed there on her visit to the Wall, and the merlons of the holdfast had been painted gold in her honor, making Queenscrown grander than anywhere else north of Winterfell.

But that was over a century ago, before Caitie's mother's mother's mother had even been born, back in the time when the Targaryens traveled on dragons. Now, much like the rest of the Gift, Queenscrown was in disrepair. Caitie had passed through the place years ago, on her way to Castle Black for the first time. She remembered thinking it looked haunted with the crumbling infrastructure and complete lack of inhabitants.

At least that last part had changed.

As she brought her horse over the hill, she could see smoke rising into the air. It was the only sign of people; trees and hills obscured the rest—the town, the lake, and even the holdfast. There was only one exception: a mid-sized windmill, standing tall in a clearing at the top of one of the larger hills.

If she looked southward, she could see the Northern Mountain Range, tall and dark snow-capped peaks. It was hardly lost on Caitie that this was the closest to her home she'd been in three-and-a-half years. If she squinted hard enough, she swore she could see Norwood, even though she knew it was impossible.

Urging her horse forward, she maneuvered through the trees until she could see the town itself. Caitie's jaw dropped at the sight. Gone was the rotting wood and various other debris. The dirt pathways had been cleared, the stone buildings had been cleaned up, and she could see the beginning stages of construction to repair the wooden ones.

Caitie moved on until she could see the town square directly before her. It wasn't large, but it still managed to house a sparring circle at the center. At the front of the group awaiting her arrival, she could see a shock of ginger hair. It stood out amongst the rest of the Free Folk, who watched silently, waiting. Even from far off, she could feel the wariness emanating from the group. But Jon had said he'd sent Tormund a raven. They knew she wasn't an enemy.

She hoped.

Luckily, her fears remained unfounded. When she got close enough to see Tormund's face clearly, he grinned. "Couldn't stay away?"

Caitie laughed. "What can I say? You've got a special charm about you."

The other Free Folk started murmuring to one another. She saw a few faces she recognized: the elder who'd spoken for Jon's plan at Hardhome and a taller, middle-aged man with black hair and a long beard whose name Caitie hadn't learned, an elderly woman. She didn't see any sign of Johnna or Willa.

Caitie dismounted her horse and opened her mouth to ask where they were. But before she had the chance to find her feet, small arms wrapped around her midsection, answering the question for her.

"Caitie!" Willa cried happily. She seemed to have come from out of nowhere. "It's so good to see you. Wait until you hear what we've been doing. Me and Johnna have been helping grow plants—all sorts of fruits and vegetables. But the flowers! Have you ever seen winter roses, Caitie? They're so pretty—"

"Willa," Tormund cut in. "Stop chattering."

Willa winced. "Sorry."

Caitie only grinned and hugged her back. "It's good to see you, too, Willa," she said. "And yes, I have seen winter roses. They're rare, though."

Willa pulled away to look up at her, wide-eyed with excitement. "Really? We don't have anything like those in the north! Johnna's been trying to make them into a scent she can wear. Maybe you can help us!"

Caitie glanced around the courtyard for Karsi's older daughter. When she didn't see her, she asked, "Where is Johnna?"

"She's getting our cottage ready for you. You're gonna stay with us. Marna was, but she says she doesn't care where she sleeps, and I think she's gotten tired of listening to Johnna toss and turn all night. You don't mind staying with us, right?"

"Of course I don't mind. But only if Johnna doesn't either."

"It was her idea."

Caitie raised an eyebrow, and tried not to sound as skeptical as she felt. "Really?"

Willa nodded, and a disbelieving Caitie looked over at Tormund for confirmation. He inclined his head.

A smile crept onto her face. "Well then," she said cheerfully, "why don't you help me find the stables and the two of us can—" Caitie's speech died in her throat, watching as the giant lumbered towards the square.

Somehow, she hadn't given a thought to him when making her plans to leave. She'd been so focused on Jon's command, and her need to get away, and Sam and Gilly… and now she was stuck here, alone. She wanted to run, but she couldn't move. She couldn't blink or speak, but she could feel her mouth go dry, and each frantic beat of her heart, as if trying to escape her chest. She didn't know why the giant elicited such a reaction, either—after all, she'd managed on the ship, and on the way home from Eastwatch. It had been difficult, but she'd done it, and she had thought the worst was over. Now, it felt as though the ground beneath her had melted away, leaving her suspended in midair to fall to her death.

He's could kill me. All it would take is one squeeze of his fist, and my neck would snap, just like Grenn's, and what if he—what if—fuck—

Willa cocked her head. "Caitie?"

She blinked, vaguely aware that she wasn't alone, and glanced around, half-expecting an attack of some kind. Everyone was looking at her, each face a potential new enemy trying to kill her. If Tormund hadn't put a hand on her shoulder, she might have drawn her weapons, and wouldn't that have just gone over well.

"Hey," he said.

The hand steadied her, enough, at least, that she could speak. "Sorry, I just... got a bit lost in thought." Caitie swallowed the bile burning her throat. "Stables, all right? Then we can go see Johnna."

If Tormund suspected any lie on her part, he didn't say so, nor did he push. And the others in the crowd didn't care a bit. It was strange, but nice—not having men in black watching her every move, waiting for her to slip up and give them a weakness to exploit.

Willa slipped her hand into Caitie's, leading her up over a grassy hill to the outskirts of the town, where the tree cover was sparser. When the ground eventually leveled out, they came to a stone hut with a stable attached. Inside, there was a trough filled with water, more than enough hay, and even a few saddles over in the corner, covered only in a slight layer of dust. Whoever had lived here first—he hadn't been gone long.

Caitie tried not to think too hard about that.

Afterward, they headed back down the hill and towards the town until they came to a dirt path to a circle of older stone cottages that hadn't needed as much repair. Willa pushed open the wooden door of a smaller one to reveal Johnna, holding a mug of cider in her hands, waiting expectantly.

When she saw the door open, she set it down on a nearby table and strode over. "I didn't believe it when Tormund said you were coming. Didn't you say you have a duty at the Wall?"

Caitie sighed. "Well, right now, it's better for Jon if I'm not there." Looking around the cramped little living area she added, "Thank you for letting me stay with you."

Johnna furrowed her brows.

"Willa said it was your idea."

"Oh." She shrugged. "Consider it a thank you for helping us after… Well, after. What you said—it made me feel better. It helped." She eyed her sister. "Besides, Willa missed you."

"You did?" Caitie asked, looking down at Willa.

"'Course I did!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms back around Caitie's midsection. "You're my friend, Caitie. And not just mine. Johnna's, too."

Johnna rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "As much as anyone could be friends with a crow," she replied wryly. But there was no malice in her tone, and Caitie grinned, because Johnna could call her a crow all she wanted, if it meant they could be friends.

"I missed you, too—both of you," she said with an arm around Willa. "But tell me: how do you like it here?"

"It's weird," said Johnna. "The Wall's in the wrong direction."

"Well, I like it. It makes me feel safe," Willa replied. She frowned as she considered her next words. "But I don't like not having Momma. Sometimes I look for her and I remember that she's not here, and…" she sniffled. "But I—I think she'd be happy we got south. And she'd want us to be happy, too. Right?"

"Not that it matters, considering she's dead." Johnna's voice had gone quiet, and while there was a slight bite to her words, she didn't seem angry. But if Johnna was anything like her—and Caitie knew she was—then she needed something more than a simple your mother would want you to be happy.

However, Willa's little face crumpled at her sister's words, eyes misting with tears, and Caitie could see the regret in Johnna's at the sight of it. She looked away in shame, and Caitie didn't know what she was supposed to do or say; all she knew was that she had to fix this somehow. She had to make it better, for both the girls, even she hadn't the first clue how.

And then an idea occurred to her. "Do you know what? I'm going to tell you both something I've never told anyone before. Listen closely, all right?"

She started her story softly, praying that she would be able to get through it without tears as she spoke of Owen and Cerys and everything they'd sacrificed to get her where she was. As she did, the memory of their goodbye washed over her again.

But this time, she let it run its course.

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," Caitriona said, standing in a small alcove in the Wood's Town square. The sky was pitch black, but a brother of the Night's Watch stood taking a headcount of his five new recruits. "And I remember when you challenged Roland to a drinking contest."

Cerys smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I won it, didn't I?"

Yes, he had won it; the contest had ended with her brother's best friend passed out under the table, so sick the next day that he'd lain bedridden in their guest chambers for two full days. Cerys had felt so bad about it, he'd refrained from lording his victory—for the first hour, at least.

But she wasn't about to admit that to him. "You drank so much, you turned purple. I'm surprised you're still alive."

"I can survive anything, Riona. You know that."

She was about to reply with a cutting remark, but Owen halted their verbal sparring before she could. "You'll never hear me deny our brother can be on the impulsive side," he said. There was a twinkle in his eye, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Not unlike someone else I know."

Caitriona couldn't help the twitch of her lips.

"But," he sighed, "Cerys is right about this."

She blinked up at him. "Owen, you can't be serious. There has to be some other way—"

"You know what Father is like. You know how stubborn he is. We're lucky he didn't lock you in your chambers until your wedding, considering how important he believes this to be."

"Yes, he's drawn up quite the convoluted plan for House Hightower's succession," drawled Cerys. "Plans within plans within plans, or so he says."

"And he made them by turning me into a pawn." She couldn't help the hurt that bubbled inside her, even though she always knew he would do this, one day. Father was nothing if not politically expedient. And he'd made very clear how she factored into it—he had for many years, now.

"Which is why you have to leave," said Owen.

"I'll be living with the worst sort of men in the kingdom. Rapers, murderers—"

"Cut your hair and no one will suspect you're a girl. Keep your head down, don't draw too much attention. Show you know enough skill in combat so that you're left alone, but not enough that anyone could suspect you've had a highborn's training. No one will look twice at you," Cerys said.

"You'll be okay—better than okay," promised Owen. "You'll thrive at the Night's Watch."

"Might have to get used to building your own fires, though. Have fun with that."

"I can't…" Her chest constricted with panic. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," said Owen. "We believe in you."

Cerys nodded. "Aye. We trained you, remember? We know you can do it."

"But what will happen to you when Father finds out I'm gone? You know he'll be furious."

"You let us worry about Father."

"And what about Arthur? He needs me. He's too young to understand—I can't just leave him."

"We'll make sure he knows you didn't want to leave him—that you love him, even if you're not there. We'll tell him every day."

That should have eased her worries. But it only made her feel worse. "I don't want to leave you." It came out a choked whisper.

Her brothers' expressions softened. She could see their eyes glaze over with tears in the pale light of the morning. She hadn't seen that since the days after their mother's death.

"We don't want to leave you, either," Owen said.

When Caitriona couldn't respond with anything more than a whimper, Cerys took over. "Hey, listen to me," he said. "I love you. You're my baby sister. You always will be, even when you're old and grey. But for that to happen, you need to leave."

"There has to be another way. I don't want to go. Please, don't make me go."

Owen sighed. "We can't make this choice for you."

Cerys laughed through his tears. "We can't make you do anything you don't want to do. Learned that the hard way."

Owen glared, with a look that made it clear he felt Cerys was not helping. He took a deep breath and turned back to her. "But you know what Father is. You know what Garrett Hightower is. You know what will happen to you if you stay here. Is that what you want?"

Caitriona didn't answer.

"We're parting ways, Riona, no matter what you choose."

"We're parting ways," she repeated. And she burst into tears. "Will—will I ever see you again?"

Caitriona waited for an answer, for one of them to assure her that they would, but even Cerys, the one who usually blustered and pretended everything was okay even when it wasn't, didn't say a word.

Owen finally spoke up. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I hope so. I wanted a different future for you, but this is where your path leads. It's one you have to walk without us, but you'll have a better life than we could ever give you here."

He sounded so sure of it, and Caitriona couldn't help but believe him. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for whatever came next. "I—I'll go."

Owen smiled. "Good," he said. "I love you, so much." He glanced at Cerys, who, for once in his life, looked too overcome to speak. "We both do."

"Because of them," Caitie said after she'd finished, "I did have a better life. It's not perfect, it's not what anyone expected, but even though they're gone, what they did mattered. Just like your mother. Even though she's gone, I think that counts for something."

"What happened to them?" Johnna asked. "Your brothers."

"They were…" Betrayed, Caitie thought. Murdered by their own countrymen. Cut down in violation of sacred laws that should have protected them. "They were killed."

"Did you ever see them again?"

"No."

Grief hung heavy in the air, but it wasn't all-consuming in the way it had been before. It was a grief that could be shared; could be freed. It brought closure and kinship, not isolation and despair.

"So…" Willa said eventually, "you're like us, aren't you? Your family is dead, too."

Caitie almost laughed at her childlike bluntness. "My younger brother is out there somewhere. But… yes, I suppose I am."

"Well, then, we'll be your family," Willa said, without hesitation and with all the confidence in the world; confidence only a child could have. "And you can be ours." She turned to her sister. "Right, Johnna?"

Caitie expected Johnna to scoff and tell the younger off. But instead, she swallowed. "Yeah, you can." When Caitie didn't conceal her surprise fast enough, Johnna added, "You said yourself that no one's alone. That goes for you, too. Mother asked you to look out for us, so yeah. We're your family, and you're ours. If that's—if it's what you want."

Johnna's proclamation left Caitie at a loss for words. She'd never had a sister. Of course, she had a few vague memories of wanting Arthur to be a girl before he was born, but they were distant and foggy. By the night of his birth, her father had made sure she understood the duties of a lady, and she'd thanked the Gods that Arthur had not been a sister.

But somehow, Caitie had just wound up with two. She didn't even know if she knew how to be a big sister anymore; she'd already failed Arthur, after all, and so many others she cared about.

But she supposed that if she was going to be a sister again, she was glad she could be one to Johnna and Willa.