Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you've all had a great Christmas full of wonderful gifts and zero family fights (I don't celebrate Christmas so I've avoided that, thank god). But for those of you who weren't so lucky, here's a new chapter to cheer you up!

When Caitriona Norrey was ten years old, she witnessed her very first hanging.

The day itself hadn't been anything special. It had been gloomy and boring, filled with nothing but stiff fingers from her abysmal attempts at sewing and cold, disdainful tones from her septa. Even the sky was an uninspiring grey color, which did nothing to help her mood, and up until she'd heard what would happen later that day, she had resigned herself to the boredom forced on her.

But then the news had come that Ser Rickard of House Harclay, the only knight Caitie had ever met, for his house was bound in service to hers, had refused an order so important that her father believed him worthy of execution. Owen and Cerys, of course, refused point blank to tell Caitriona what the order was, and it wasn't until she was much older—and much more experienced—that she realized why. In truth, the order itself didn't matter; a lord's word lived and died only by who would listen to it, and so an example had to be made.

Even if the lord had no right to order it in the first place.

Though most boys, highborn or otherwise, had seen an execution by her age, her father had ordered her to stay in her chambers, for she was a lady, and ladies were too fragile to witness such things. The rest of his men—a four-year-old Arthur included—would gather in the courtyard to watch the execution. But she was still a Norrey, and the Norrey children were always looking to break the rules. So, after creating a suitable distraction involving one of Cerys's old stink bombs in her quarters, Caitriona had snuck away from her septa and out of her chambers to watch the execution from her favorite spot; a small, secluded corner at the very edge of Norwood's ramparts, where she was sure no one could see her.

She, on the other hand, could see the entire courtyard from her vantage point. Immediately, Caitriona picked out Owen at the center of the crowd, his dark eyes heavy with the gravity of the situation, standing next to his best friend, Selwyn Harclay—Lord Harclay's heir—who had, apparently, known Ser Rickard well. They had been... cousins, she was pretty sure, although Caitriona had never been good at remembering that sort of thing. Cerys stood beside them, with his hands on Arthur's shoulders, trying to keep the little boy calm.

As for her father... He showed no emotion at all; no rage and no remorse. The perfect Lord of Norwood, attending to his duty.

When the barrel supporting the soldier's feet was kicked away, his body jerked uncontrollably whilst he gasped for breath, suspended in midair. Despite the horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach at the sight of it, she had forced herself to continue watching, wanting to feel as strong and grown-up as her brothers.

In theory, the experience should have prepared her for the hanging she was about to witness eight years later. But as Caitie waited among the crowd in the courtyard of Castle Black for Jon to appear, the sight of Olly caught her eye. He and the other three mutineers stood with their feet planted on a wooden plank, supported by barrels just as Ser Rickard's had, with a rope around their necks and their hands bound. The Night's Watch would deal with the rest of the mutineers later, but for the ones so intimately involved, only public execution would do.

There was a firm scowl on Olly's face, but if he was afraid, he hid it well, looking more furious than anything else. And seeing him up there with them, all she wanted to do was retch.

For the others, she had much less sympathy. Still, she had to have a little; Yarwyck and Marsh looked terrified, after all, and she knew how that must feel. The only one who didn't elicit any reaction from her was Thorne, who, in spite of everything, looked cool, calm, and collected, as if he wasn't about to take his final breaths.

Next to Caitie, Tormund stared up at the men awaiting execution, looking as grim as the occasion called for. The spot on her other side was now vacated; Edd had left it to fetch Jon, who hadn't emerged from his office all morning. In another circumstance, she might have been worried by that, but she knew Jon well enough to know that he needed to be alone while he prepared. Caitie almost volunteered to retrieve him herself, but after her journey into the dungeons the night before, she felt like she had a duty to stay in the courtyard—to stay with Olly—until the very end.

Her punishment, she supposed, for failing him.

Though nothing in the courtyard changed—there was no heightened tension, no shift in the wind, no rising voices—Caitie knew Jon had arrived. It was a strange sensation, like a sixth sense. She had always been intuitively aware of him on the battlefield; they'd been able to communicate without words, knowing where the other was and what they needed instinctively. It came from so many years of sparring together, she thought. But just then, it seemed stronger—in spite of the calm, she knew when he was near, and she could sense his eyes on her.

Sure enough, when the crowd parted, Jon, clad in clean black leathers under the lord commander's cloak, glanced over at Caitie. With a small—almost imperceptible—nod at her, he trudged forward, his head bowed, as though every step sapped what little strength he had. Edd followed right behind him, thankfully looking much more alert. The two men walked up the set of steps up to the platform, where the mutineers waited for them.

Jon stepped forward. When he spoke, she heard the emotion he was trying so hard to suppress. It wouldn't be noticeable to anyone else, but she knew the toll it was taking for him to hide it. "If you have any last words," he said, "now is the time."

"You shouldn't be alive," answered Bowen Marsh in a shrill, terrified voice. "It's not right."

Jon's head snapped up to meet Marsh's eyes. "Neither was killing me."

Marsh's face paled, but Jon ignored him, moving on to the next man. As he approached, Othell Yarwyck's eyes went wide with fear and his voice wavered. "My mother's still living in White Harbor. Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the Wildlings."

Jon didn't react to the words, stepping away from him. But Caitie knew Jon was too good to not honor Yarwyck's last request, so she filed the information away for later—she would write to Yarwyck's mother tonight. At least it would give Jon a slight reprieve.

When he came to a halt by Ser Alliser, Caitie's breath stuck in her throat. She didn't know why she was afraid, exactly; Thorne's hands were bound, and he had a rope around his neck. What she'd said was true: he would never hurt anyone ever again. But that residual fear was still there, and the cruel sneer on Thorne's face when he locked eyes with Jon did not help.

Then he spoke, and her fear was replaced with anger. "I had a choice, Lord Commander. Betray you or betray the Night's Watch. You brought an army of Wildlings into our lands." Caitie saw Thorne's eyes move away from Jon's to land on her and Tormund. "An army of raiders and murderers—and a woman—into our ranks. If I had to do it all over again, knowing where I'd end up," he said, "I pray I'd make the right choice again."

Jon's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "I'm sure you would, Ser Alliser."

"I fought. I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow—you'll be fighting their battles forever." With that, Ser Alliser Thorne lifted his head and said no more.

His final words were meant to unbalance Jon, to make him question himself and his decisions. But all it did—for Caitie, at least—was solidify that he was completely wrong. Because it wasn't just the Free Folk's battle; it was all of Westeros's, and especially the North's. Most of all, it was hers and Jon's. It had been since they were children, and it would be until their dying day.

She was proud of that—proud that she was finally doing something good in the world. She hoped that Jon was proud of it, too, whatever Thorne might say.

And if he had been the last of the mutineers, Jon might have managed. But he wasn't; Olly was next, and Caitie didn't know if Jon would be able to do what he needed if Olly spoke to him. As it went, Olly did not speak, but the fiery hatred in his eyes as he and Jon stared at each other said everything words could not. Jon seemed to age as their gazes stayed locked on one another. He broke first, tearing away from Olly's face, and after a deep breath, drew Longclaw.

But a moment passed, and then another, and Jon didn't swing. Instead, he looked down at the rope he needed to cut for the barrels supporting the mutineers to give way, his breaths coming hard and fast, and his normally handsome face contorted with sheer panic.

The onlookers beside Caitie watched silently as Jon stood there, his sword flagging at his side, no doubt wondering if he would be able to carry out the sentence. But then his face twisted with rage, and Longclaw swung up in an arc. The rope split, the plank and barrels fell back, leaving the mutineers suspended midair with the ropes digging into their necks. A few of their brothers looked away, but Caitie forced herself to watch as they choked and spluttered, as their legs flailed and their bodies jerked uncontrollably. Olly's face, in particular, would be just another among hundreds in her nightmares. She'd long gotten used to that.

She kept one eye on Jon throughout the whole thing—it was instinctive, really. He, too, watched the hanging, his shoulders shaking with fury and adrenaline.

In an instant, the jerking bodies went still; the choking noises gave way to silence. The mutineers' eyes glazed over, wide and unseeing. Bile rose in Caitie's throat at the sight of Olly hanging limply, those unseeing eyes bulging from their sockets, the color—the life—drained from his face, but she swallowed it down. This was her fault; hers, and no one else's. She deserved to have to look at his body.

And yet, at the same time, relief swept through her, because finally, it was over.

Jon sheathed Longclaw and turned to face Edd. "We should burn the bodies," Edd said, looking over Jon's shoulder at them.

"You should." At Edd's confused expression, Jon pulled off his cloak—the cloak of the lord commander—and laid it in Edd's arms.

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Wear it, burn it. Whatever you want. You have Castle Black."

Edd's face morphed from confusion into shock, but Jon ignored it. He spun around, marched down the steps and through the gathered men. Every single eye trailed him, but it was as if none of them existed. And as he passed Caitie on his way out of the courtyard, she heard him say: "My watch has ended."

"You've got to talk to him," Edd said, looking more frantic than Caitie had ever seen him.

The two of them leaned against the wooden railings five minutes later, near the front of the elevator. The mutineers' bodies had already been taken away—they would burn later, although Edd refused to allow them a proper Night's Watch funeral. He had kept a lid on his panic just long enough to order four of his men to remove the bodies, and to yell at everyone else to get back to their normal duties. But once they'd all gone, it bubbled to the surface.

Caitie tried to stay calm enough for the both of them, but truthfully, she worried, too. The look on Jon's face while the mutineers had died… it unsettled her.

She hid her nerves the only way she knew how: by being flippant. "And what, exactly, am I supposed to tell him?"

"Tell him not to do this!" Edd shouted.

"Right, because ordering Jon not to do something always works out so well."

He growled in frustration. "Damn it, Caitie—please. Just… try."

Knowing that she had pushed Edd to his limit, she softened her voice a little. "What even makes you think I can convince him?"

"I don't know! You're more stubborn than he is, so just… outdo him."

She blanched. "I am not more stubborn than him."

Edd shot her a look, as if she'd just proved his point.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, mulling over her next words. She knew she needed to speak with Jon anyway, so, while she couldn't promise Edd anything, if it made him feel better, she could at least agree to this request. "All right, I'll talk to him. But don't get your hopes up."

As she spun around to begin her quest to find Jon, Edd's fingers wrapped around her arm. "Caitie," he said, "he's got to stay on."

She didn't trust herself to do anything more than nod, because if it came down to it, Caitie knew she wouldn't press him to stay. She'd seen his face when he'd executed the mutineers; he needed to deal with the ramifications of what had happened, and if he couldn't do that as the lord commander, then she couldn't ask him to continue in the role.

First, Caitie checked his office, only to find it entirely empty, which she supposed she should have expected, considering. She checked the pantry next, but he wasn't there, either. That was when anxiety settled her gut—because if he wasn't in his office and he wasn't in the pantry, then where the hell could he possibly be?

It wasn't until she checked his old quarters, the armory, and then the top of the Wall, each empty space furthering her panic, that she figured it out. Berating herself for not thinking of it first, she raced to Maester Aemon's solar. The door was open when she got there, which boded well. Looking inside, she saw the table where Jon's body had lain, still at the center of the room.

And beside it, there he was, sitting in a chair with his elbows resting on the table and two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Jon's shoulders were hunched, his head bowed, eyes closed, and so consumed by his emotions that he didn't notice her in the doorway. Ghost lay on the floor next to him, twitching and growling in his sleep.

"Jon?" she called softly. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes, and Caitie's chest constricted at the sight of it. She had seen him heartbroken and angry and afraid—but she had never seen him quite so... broken. "If you'd rather be alone—"

"No," he choked. "Stay. Please."

She didn't need more invitation than that. She took two strides and knelt so they were eye level. He looked so fragile, she was afraid to touch him for fear he might break.

"I killed a boy younger than Bran," he said. "I did what I thought was right, but... How am I supposed to go on after this?"

She wanted to give him an answer that would soothe him, but the truth was that she had no answers. They were in completely uncharted territory, here. "I don't know," she said. "I'm so sorry." And she meant it. For the first time since he'd woken up, Caitie well and truly regretted allowing Melisandre to bring him back. This wasn't something she would wish on her worst enemy, let alone Jon.

"What can I do?" she asked, because it was the only thing she could.

"Stay with me."

She swallowed. "Okay."

And so she did, not speaking a word, because what Jon needed in that moment was a solid presence to keep him company, but not overwhelm him. At first, it was quiet, but Ghost's low growls soon turned into full-on barks and yips—what he dreamt about, Caitie hadn't the first clue. How long they stayed like this, she didn't know, either; it could have been minutes or hours before the silence broke.

"Sometimes I wonder," Jon said, so quietly that Caitie almost missed it, "if I'm still me."

She locked eyes with him, and replied, "Absolutely," not missing a beat. "You've been through things that would break most people—that's bound to have an effect. But you're definitely you—brooding and all." The wry comment won her a smile and a hoarse chuckle. Seeing it, she cocked her head to the side and tried for a lighter topic of conversation, something to distract him. "Though I have to say, I do prefer your old hair."

He sighed, ran a hand through his black curls. "I'll have to figure out something else to do with it." When he glanced back up at her, the smile fell away. "I'm gonna leave Castle Black," he said. "Go south. I'm not sure where, yet."

Even though Caitie should have expected something like this, she couldn't help the shock; the hurt; the anger. It was like a jolt of electricity igniting every sensation in her body. Because it was one thing for him to give up his title, but it was another to give up everything else. And the truth was, she didn't want him to leave Castle Black—

No, that wasn't right. She just didn't want him to leave her.

She chewed on her bottom lip, choosing her next words carefully. "Jon... I know you don't want to be the lord commander anymore, but—"

"It's not just about being the lord commander. It's—I'm done. I gave my life, and now I want to rest."

She kept her voice soft, but she couldn't keep all the venom out of it, no matter how she tried. "So… what? You're going to leave everything behind? Just like that?"

"You can't expect me to stay here after what's happened."

Caitie opened her mouth to argue. She wanted to push back against him, to tell him that he couldn't leave now and abandon the fight against the White Walkers; that he should stay, even if it wasn't in the capacity of the lord commander. But more than that, she wanted to tell him how much it hurt for him to leave her behind without a second thought—that despite everything they'd been through together, despite that he'd just said he needed her to stay with him, he still wanted to go.

But she couldn't, because she also understood why he wanted to distance himself from every single person he'd ever known during this horrible time in his life, and she had to respect it.

"You're right—I can't," she said. "I wouldn't want to stay here if what had happened to you had happened to me. So if you really want to leave, I'll… I'll support you."

Jon relaxed into his chair. "Thank you."

Caitie had to look away from his face, lest he see the hurt, and murmured, "You're welcome." She rubbed her temples with her forefingers, wondering how the hell she was going to get Edd to accept this, because if she thought she was angry, then he was going to be livid.

She was going through possible ways to tell Edd about Jon's plan when Jon cleared his throat, breaking her train of thought. She glanced up at him, hoping she didn't look as upset as she felt.

"You could—" he cleared his throat a second time, looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing second, "—come with me."

Caitie's eyes widened, her mouth parting into a silent O. Suddenly, she felt like a complete idiot, because he hadn't been saying he wanted to leave her at all. He wanted her to go with him.

When she went too long without replying, Jon added, "If you don't want to—"

"No!" Caitie exclaimed. It took her half a second to recompose herself. "No," she repeated, this time more calmly. "I was just surprised. I didn't think you wanted me to come."

"Of course I want you to come," Jon said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, you could have done a better job at conveying it."

He snorted. "Is that a yes?"

Caitie hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue, and her entire being screamed to say yes. But something held her back—something she quickly recognized as guilt. Because he didn't know, and the moment he did, he would hate her. "You don't want me to come with you," she said, forcing the words out of her throat.

Jon's expression changed from hurt to confusion in a matter of seconds before he asked, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because, when Melisandre and Davos came to us with their plan, I agreed to let them try to bring you back." Perhaps Edd held blame, too, for indulging in Melisandre's ritual, but Caitie had been the final resistance. And in the end, she'd broken.

Jon frowned, and all she wanted was to curl away from him, to hide from the guilt threatening to engulf her. But she didn't, because she couldn't keep something like this from him. "I knew you wouldn't want to… I knew you would want to rest. But I let them try, anyway."

Jon furrowed his brows, though she didn't see judgment in his features—confusion and anguish, yes, but not judgment, or even anger. "Why?"

"Because…" Because nothing in my life feels whole unless I've shared it with you. The thought hit her so abruptly that under normal circumstances, she would have blurted it out, but when she opened her mouth, she couldn't speak; a constricting pressure in her throat kept the words down.

After she decided on something else, it lifted. "Because the world needs you," she said, and before she could think better of it, she added, "And because I need you. When you died, I—well, it doesn't matter. But I didn't even think about what it would mean for you—"

"Caitie," Jon said softly—almost tenderly—and she froze. "There are few reasons I'm glad I'm not dead. You're one of them. Ser Alliser did this to me; not you."

That had not been the answer she'd expected, and as he spoke, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't think properly; it only got worse when he laced his fingers through hers. And it was absolutely maddening, because it wasn't as though he hadn't done this a thousand times before. It was just comfort, and nothing more.

"Well then," she said, clearing her throat, "I suppose it is a yes."

Jon smiled. "Good."

"But where do you want to go? Queenscrown, with the Free Folk?"

"For a while," he said. "But after that, I think I'd like to travel. I haven't been south of the Neck before."

"I've never known you to have a sense of adventure."

"I have a sense of adventure. Just because it doesn't include sneaking out to Mole's Town in the middle of the day—"

Caitie cut him off with a whack to his arm. And for the first time since his death, Jon laughed—a full, happy laugh that made her heart swell. "Ooh, all right," she said, thinking of the conversation with Hobb so long ago, now, "how about Dorne? They don't care if you're a bastard or if I'm a woman, the Red Mountains are supposed to be absolutely beautiful, and they have some of the best wine in the Seven Kingdoms."

"You just want to wear the dresses they have there."

"No!"

He arched one brow.

Caitie rolled her eyes, picturing the vivid colors and billowing skirts and plunging necklines she would get to wear even as she tried to suppress them. "Fine. Maybe a little."

At her concession, Jon seemed to give her suggestion serious thought. "I've never seen you in a dress."

"That's not true," she replied. "Winterfell, remember?"

"I was distracted by your comment about horse shit."

Caitie groaned. "Seven Hells. Six years later and I still haven't lived that one down."

Jon chuckled, briefly, but it soon gave way to a contemplative expression. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know you don't like people bringing it up."

She shrugged. "I don't mind when it's you."

"Good," he said softly. There was a long pause, as he considered her. "The Free Folk. And then Dorne. All right. I think… I think that's what I need."

"We'll come back though," she said. "Won't we?"

"Aye. I won't abandon our friends. I just need…" He struggled to finish, but Caitie knew; she had known the moment he mentioned leaving the Wall. And she especially knew, possibly too well, how he felt.

"To heal," she finished.

Jon nodded, a relieved sigh escaping him.

There would be much to do first, though, before they could even think about leaving Castle Black, let alone the North. Caitie had to write to Othell Yarwyck's mother and speak to Tormund, Johnna, and Willa—because she had a feeling that, no matter their destination, the girls would want to come. Then she and Jon would have to plan their journey meticulously in order to avoid any unwanted attention. And before they did any of that, they would have to convince Edd not to kill them both for leaving. It would take a few days to get everything together. And that was if he didn't succeed in killing them.

"Edd isn't going to like this," she said.

"He'll come around."

Caitie snorted in disbelief. She, it seemed, knew Edd better than Jon did; either that or Jon was woefully underestimating their friend. It would take a lot of convincing before Edd relented—and that was if he ever did. For all he called her stubborn, Edd was no better.

But when she glanced back over at Jon to see his features softening as the stress left him, she put all of it out of her mind. Everything else was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, she was content to look forward towards the future, beyond war.

And for the first time in a long time, there was a part of her that believed it might be possible.

Well, we all know that's not gonna happen. But it's nice to let them dream for a bit, even if it won't last long.