To Caitie's surprise, the next few days at Castle Black passed without incident, and though was strange to have such calm—especially considering their newest guests—she found she didn't mind. She spent the better part of her days relaxing with Jon and Tormund in the courtyard—or, well, as much as one could relax while sparring. When she wasn't with them, she was helping Edd as he settled into his new role. In the evenings, she would unwind in the library, along with Jon and Sansa, and even with Brienne hovering, throwing glares in her direction whenever possible, Caitie had to admit that she enjoyed the tentative friendship Sansa offered.

She was a good listener; that was the first thing Caitie really noticed about Sansa. She listened as Caitie and Jon regaled her with stories from the last few years—of Craster's Keep and the Fist of the First Men and the mutineers; of the battles and friendships and lost loved ones. She looked notably skeptical at the mention of White Walkers, but she was polite enough not to deny the possibility. She didn't speak as openly about her own experiences, though no one could blame her for it; there were things she held close to the heart and refused to speak about at all: her recent stay at Winterfell, mostly—although she let slip how she'd escaped with Theon Greyjoy, sending Jon into a mix of fury and melancholy for the better part of an afternoon.

There was an edge to her, too; a darkness deep within her soul. Sometimes it was hardly noticeable, but other times, when she thought no one was looking, a shadow of someone much older, much wiser, and much, much angrier crossed her features. And after so many years filled with so much suffering, Caitie knew it was likely that she would likely carry that darkness for the rest of her life.

The stories she did speak about came in short bursts, usually after she'd had one too many cups of ale, and some more easily than others. Caitie noticed it was the relatively happy memories she spoke of most often: her first marriage to Tyrion Lannister and the kindness with which he'd treated her; her complicated friendship with Margaery Tyrell, who, in the time since Joffrey's death, had married his younger brother and become queen; and the fashions in King's Landing—at which point Jon would leave before he died again, only this time of boredom.

"But as bored as I am," he said at one point, late into the evening as they finished their spar for the day, "it's good to see you two getting along."

In return, Caitie looked up at him, smiling. "Well, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought."

A little too much, perhaps. As different as they might be on a superficial level, in some ways, it felt as though Sansa was the parallel of Caitie—a fork in the road, leading them along different paths. Of course, Caitie's experiences weren't anywhere near as horrific as Sansa's; compared to Joffrey Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, and Ramsay Bolton—well, Alliser Thorne was about as cruel and manipulative as a daisy. Karl Tanner was a little more comparable, but thankfully, he hadn't discovered Caitie's identity until too late.

Still, she felt a kinship towards Sansa. And after hearing about everything she had gone through, from Winterfell to King's Landing and back again, Caitie hoped the feeling was mutual, because if anyone needed a friend, it was Sansa Stark.

On the fourth day after Sansa's arrival, one of Halder's men came to the library and informed Caitie that Wun-Wun was in sight. Without hesitation, she left Sansa—as well as a bemused and slightly irritable Brienne—and rushed off to the courtyard. She came to a stop outside the gate, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for it to open, half excited, half terrified of what she would find.

It didn't take long before she got her wish. The gates creaked open, and Caitie saw Wun-Wun lumber through, so tall he blocked the sun from view, familiar and strangely comforting, now. On either side of him, there were two much smaller figures—one of whom, the moment the gate opened, bolted away from his side and barrelled straight into Caitie.

"Caitie, Caitie, Caitie, Caitie!" Willa exclaimed in a rush, throwing her arms around Caitie's neck and almost knocking her over in the process. "I missed you!"

As soon as she found her footing, Caitie squeezed Willa tightly, and every muscle in her body relaxed. She'd been wound up tighter than a spring these last few days, without even realizing how bad it had gotten, half-already coming to terms with the idea that she would never see them or Wun-Wun again. But she'd been wrong, and she was endlessly grateful for it. "Ooh, I missed you, too," she said. "So, so much."

"Never leave us again. It was so boring without you."

"I'll try my very best." Pulling away to get a better look, Caitie placed one hand on each of Willa's shoulders. As she did, she noticed Johnna shuffling slowly towards them, uncharacteristically hesitant as her eyes darted away from them and her hands refused to stay at rest.

Caitie cocked her head to the side, worry setting back in. "Are you okay?"

Johnna blinked at that, as if she had expected Caitie to say something entirely different, before she rolled her eyes. "Why do you always assume something's wrong with me?" Caitie eyed Johnna, taking in the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, prompting Johnna to sigh dramatically. "Fine. It's just—I'm sorry."

Now Caitie was more confused than worried. "What for?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. Did you put animal droppings in my bed while I was gone?"

"Oh, ha, ha."

"I'm serious. I really don't know what you're talking about."

Johnna groaned, evidently disappointed that she would have to elaborate. "I'm sorry for what I said when you left Queenscrown. I know you just wanted to keep us safe." All of a sudden, her face crumpled, and realization dawned on Caitie. She had all but forgotten Johnna's reaction to her leaving, Jon's death and subsequent resurrection having eclipsed it. She opened her mouth to reply, but now that Johnna had begun, she couldn't seem to stop. "I just—it felt like Hardhome all over again, and I was just so scared because me and Willa need you and—"

The ramblings were cut off by Caitie as she pulled Johnna into the tightest hug possible. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she said. "I was never angry with you."

"You weren't?" asked Johnna, her voice muffled.

"Of course I wasn't. I knew you were just afraid, and I understood, because I was afraid, too."

"You never seem afraid of anything."

Caitie laughed. "I live in constant terror, I promise. I just do a good job of hiding it."

"Really?"

"Really."

Johnna exhaled a long breath. "I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse."

"A bit of both, maybe?"

"Yeah. A bit of both. But mostly worse," she finished with a tentative smile.

Caitie sighed dramatically. "And there's the Johnna we know and love."

Johnna stuck her tongue out just as Willa cried: "Hey, what about me! I'm lovable, too!"

Caitie laughed, extending one hand out to invite her to join them. Willa didn't hesitate; she grinned and enthusiastically bolted back in between them.

"So," Caitie said at length, with one arm still around each of the girls, "how was your journey here?" She eyed them both, looking for signs of injury. Fortunately, they looked happy and healthy—well, Johnna looked run down, but Caitie had expected that—although they were still covered in an inch of dirt from travel.

"Wun-Wun carried me half the way here," said Willa.

"Because she wouldn't stop complaining," Johnna muttered as an aside to Caitie. "First it was the cold, then it was her feet—"

"I didn't complain!"

Knowing Willa, Caitie doubted that was true. But she knew better than to get in the middle of an argument between the two sisters; instead, she left them to their inevitable bickering and smiled up at the giant in question, hovering just behind them. "Thank you."

Wun-Wun gave her a grunt, a nod, and the flicker of a smile in return. And Caitie, not really knowing what else to do, gave his arm a squeeze—or well, she tried, but said arm was much too large to get a grip on it. Still, Wun-Wun's smile grew a little at the attempt. She opened her mouth to ask him how his journey had been, as she knew that shepherding both girls for three days was a task not even a giant could easily finish, but before she had the chance, Willa tugged on the hem of her sleeve to get her attention. "Is it true that Jon's alive, Caitie?"

Willa's question sobered her instantly. She opened her mouth, but no words came out—because how the fuck was she supposed to explain the circumstances of Jon's return to two children? Johnna, maybe, would understand—but Willa was simply too young to comprehend or deal with the full truth.

"It's true," she said eventually. "It turns out he was… only mostly dead—so we were able to bring him back. But he's here now. And he's okay." Okay was probably a bit too far. But Jon was alive and in one piece, at least, and that was good enough for now.

Willa broke into a gigantic smile at this news—she'd had a soft spot for Jon ever since he and Caitie had taken her to the top of the Wall at Eastwatch—but Johnna's eyes narrowed, and Caitie resigned herself to explaining everything later. She was saved from further questioning, at least for the time being, when Tormund's voice shouted from above them, "There you are!"

The three girls looked up to where he was descending the steps to the courtyard. Jon trailed along after him. As soon as their boots hit the snow, Willa bolted forward. She threw herself at Jon and Tormund just as she had done to Caitie, though both men were much sturdier and therefore able to withstand the onslaught more easily. Johnna was slower, but she still followed her sister over to them.

Tormund ruffled Willa's hair, and she gave him a beaming smile before turning on Jon. "I'm glad you're not dead, Lord Commander."

Jon gave her a soft smile; the one he reserved only for children. "It's just Jon, now."

"Right. Jon. I mean, you've always been so nice to me—like when you took me to the top of the Wall."

A simpleton could have seen what she was doing, and Jon was no exception. "You want me to take you up?"

Willa's grin widened, and she nodded so enthusiastically it looked as though her head might fall off. "Yes, please!"

Chuckling, he kneeled so he was at her eye level. "All right. But you have to get your sister's permission first."

All eyes turned to Johnna, and Willa looked so hopeful that even Johnna, stubborn as she was, had no chance of resisting. "Oh, fine. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Willa scrunched her face up, trying to look indignant, and it wasn't difficult to realize where this was about to go—another argument. And as much as she loved Johnna and Willa, she wanted to get back inside where it was warm rather than listen to them bicker. "This works out well, actually. Jon can take Willa up, and you—" she nudged Johnna with her elbow, "—can come with me."

"Why?"

"Don't sound so suspicious. I have something for you."

Johnna's eyes narrowed again; even so, she sighed, nodding her assent.

"Tormund?" Jon asked.

He grinned, looking up at the terraces above them. "I'll stay here."

At his dopey expression, they all followed his gaze upwards to see what had caught his attention—not that it was difficult to guess. And sure enough, there was Sansa, standing side-by-side with Brienne, watching the five of them. Caitie winced at the look of disgust on Brienne's face, wondering how long it would be until the woman snapped and killed him—and Caitie too, just for good measure. "I think you may want to lay off a little, Tormund, before she murders you in your sleep."

He turned his grin on her. "Don't get jealous."

While Johnna laughed and Willa looked mildly bemused, Jon choked on his saliva in what she assumed was shock. But Caitie, all too used to Tormund's heavy-handed flirting by now, only smiled sweetly at him. "Arrogance is a very ugly trait, you know."

Tormund laughed, clapping her on the back before he started up the steps towards the two women. After bidding Wun-Wun goodbye, Caitie and Johnna followed, as their destination was in the same direction, leaving Willa to Jon's care. They came to a halt beside Tormund, and Caitie saw Brienne's hand flex around her sword's hilt. Whether it was an instinctual gesture or a premeditated one, Caitie didn't know; regardless, she subtly angled herself slightly in front of Johnna to shield her from it.

Sansa, who had picked up on the animosity between Caitie and Brienne, spoke first. "Hello," she said, with a softness in her voice Caitie had never heard before. "You must be Johnna. I've heard a lot about you."

Johnna blinked. "Sorry, but do I know you?"

Caitie tried and failed to suppress a laugh—because she highly doubted anyone had ever spoken to Sansa Stark so informally upon meeting her. When Sansa shot her an annoyed look, Caitie attempted to turn her laugh into a cough before she intervened. "Right—Johnna, this is Sansa Stark. She's Jon's sister."

"I didn't know Jon had a sister."

Caitie almost told Johnna that he had not only one sister, but two, and three brothers as well. But considering the fates of those siblings, she thought it better not to mention them—especially not in front of Sansa.

Fortunately, Johnna had moved on already, asking, "How do you know about me, anyway?"

"Caitriona talks," Sansa replied. "A lot."

Johnna cocked her head to the side. "Caitriona… you mean Caitie?"

"Did I never tell you my full name is Caitriona?" Caitie asked.

"No. Why don't you go by it?"

"I... well, I suppose I've gotten used to being called Caitie. Besides, Caitriona isn't exactly the prettiest of names."

"So what you're saying is I should start calling you Caitriona all the time, then."

Brienne coughed, attempting to cover a laugh, the same as Caitie had done moments before, though she did just as poor a job of it. And even though it was at Caitie's expense, she eased off, feeling a little less on edge, for Brienne's smile seemed genuine, and her posture had relaxed into something a little less aggressive.

Sansa cleared her throat and moved their conversation quickly onward, looking down at Johnna, who was only about half her height. "I've been told you've shown skill as a seamstress."

"I've been trying. I'm not very good, though."

"Well, you've only just started. It took me many years to master it. But I can help you if you'd like."

Caitie furrowed her brows. Sansa hadn't mentioned this idea to her at all, but it was… a kind offer. It also said a lot that she was willing, given Johnna's background.

"You can?" Johnna asked, and Caitie could hear the suspicion in the question.

She put a hand on Johnna's shoulder, hoping to convey her encouragement. "That's not a terrible idea, actually. You'd be much better off with Sansa," she added. "She's a master seamstress."

The suspicion cleared from Johnna's face, replaced with skepticism as she looked up at Caitie, her big blue eyes the picture of innocence, save for the mischievous gleam in them. "Coming from you, that's not saying much."

Johnna was right, of course. But Caitie only pressed a hand to her heart in mock offense. "How very rude. I'll have you know, my brother always said I had potential."

"Is that the same brother who told you the mountain you tried to embroider looked more like a—"

"Okay, we're going now!" Caitie exclaimed as she grabbed Johnna's hand, unsure whether to be amused or embarrassed. "Sansa, thank you. I'll send her on later. Tormund, are you coming?"

Tormund didn't answer, too busy staring at Brienne with that same dopey smile on his face. Caitie rolled her eyes, sighing, but she didn't press him further.

"What is his problem?" Johnna asked as she followed Caitie through the doors to the dining hall and towards the kitchens.

"I'll tell you when you're older."

Johnna, never one to let anything go, frowned. "Why? Is he thinking with his cock?" Caitie stopped her walking abruptly and, eyes wide with astonishment, rounded on Johnna, who shrugged. "That's what Dim said about Styregg the other day when he wouldn't stop staring at some of the girls by the lake."

She was very glad that they came upon the door to the kitchens before she would have had to answer the question. Really, it shouldn't have been difficult to have this talk with Johnna—and better it came from her than from Tormund or Dim Dalba. But this was also a conversation for which Johnna needed a mother, and Caitie couldn't help but feel as though she would be trying to replace Karsi if she took over that role.

And so, instead of answering, she pushed it open to reveal Hobb milling about the room, in the middle of cooking something that looked vaguely like a chicken leg. When he saw them, he smiled. "Ah, Caitie. This must be the little one you mentioned."

Before Caitie was able to get a word out, Johnna scoffed. "I'm not little."

Hobb chuckled and looked back up to Caitie. "Come for the tea you told me about?"

"Tea?" Johnna asked.

Caitie nodded, smiling, and spun around to face her. "How are your dreams?"

"Like shit, thanks for asking."

"Well, you're in luck, because I have a fix." And in hindsight, she felt like an idiot, because the solution to Johnna's problem had been under Caitie's nose the entire time. She'd spent so long thinking of her poison as just that—a poison—that she'd completely forgotten the Essence of Nightshade's other uses until they were staring up at her from the page of a book; the same book Sansa had used, in fact.

"Here you go," said Hobb, gesturing to the counter beside him where the ingredients sat beside a cup of water, waiting for someone to make use of them. "Got the lavender and valerian out for you when I heard the horn."

"Thanks."

"What is this?" Johnna asked, looking over Caitie's shoulder as she double-checked the proportions and mixed them into the cup.

"Tea. Lavender, valerian root, and…" Caitie shoved a hand into the pack on her belt, rummaged around until she found what she was looking for, and added it to the concoction. "Two drops of Essence of Nightshade. It should let you sleep without any dreams."

"Really?"

Caitie smiled and handed the cup to Johnna. "Really."

Johnna took it greedily and put the cup to her lips. Half a second passed before she lowered it. "This isn't gonna help, though, is it? Not forever."

"Well," Caitie began, her smile falling, "you'll have to take it every night for it to—"

"No, I mean…" Johnna sighed. "I still won't be able to learn how to control my—abilities—powers—whatever it is."

"No," Caitie admitted, for she saw no point in lying just to make Johnna feel better. "From everything I've read, you won't be able to master warging without someone to train you." Johnna looked utterly defeated at the admittance, so Caitie placed a hand on her shoulder. "But this will let you sleep. And right now, that's what's important."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

It said a lot about Johnna's trust in Caitie that she downed the cup of tea without any more complaints. The moment the contents of the cup had been drained, Johnna looked up and pouted. "It's not working."

Hobb laughed. "Takes a bit longer than that, little one."

"I'm not—"

"How about I find you someplace to sleep?" Caitie cut in, knowing that Hobb was getting perilously close to setting off Johnna's temper.

She sighed. "Fine." They set off first to find Ghost, so he could guard the door while Johnna slept. As they walked, Johnna cleared her throat. "Caitie?"

"Mm?"

"Thanks."

Caitie tucked Johnna under her arm as they continued their journey and smiled. "Any time."

After tucking Johnna into bed and blowing out the light, Caitie bolted the door to her quarters and left Ghost to stand guard outside of it. She patted his head as a silent thank you, and started back the way she came, content in the knowledge that Johnna would be safe while she slept.

In the meantime, Caitie had other things to do—namely, finding Jon and Willa.

Assuming they would still be up top, she took a left down the corridor in the direction of the courtyard. It had been a while since she'd gotten to go up to the top of the Wall, anyway. She picked up her pace at the thought, before she rounded a corner—and promptly found herself face to face with Brienne of Tarth.

"Where's Sansa?" was the question which came out of her mouth. It wasn't the most tactful way to begin a conversation, but she'd never seen Brienne parted from Sansa's side since their first day at Castle Black. And after the last time Caitie had found Sansa without her guard—well, she worried about her friend.

"Lady Sansa is readying herself for supper. I've stationed Podrick at her door. I left early to secure the dining hall."

"Oh," Caitie said lamely. It was early for supper, not even sunset, but Edd had had Hobb prepare it earlier than usual lately, so that Sansa could eat in the dining hall without the rest of the men at Castle Black disturbing her. Only a select few were invited to join, and Caitie was one of them—but she was still getting used to the idea of eating supper while it was still light out.

"Your friend," Brienne said at length, following a horribly awkward pause, "Johnna, was it?"

Caitie stiffened, feeling a surge of protectiveness come over her once more. "Yes."

"She's a Wildling?"

"She's Free Folk," Caitie corrected, with such conviction that Brienne actually looked a little taken aback by it. "And she's my friend."

Brienne's face softened a little. "She won't come to any harm with me. Lady Sansa has asked for Johnna to join her tomorrow morning."

"Oh," Caitie said again, her hackles lowering. "All right. I'll tell her when she wakes up."

After Brienne nodded curtly, the two women regarded each other, silent and watchful in the way only two warriors could be. Caitie chewed on her lip, wondering what to do. For the briefest moment, she even allowed her eyes to dart away from Brienne's so she could look for a potential escape. But then she remembered her conversation with Sansa the day before, and that stopped her in her tracks.

"Brienne doesn't like you," Sansa had said, her eyes flicking up from the book she was reading—an account of the Battle of Acorn Hall. It made Caitie think of Pyp, and her heart twinged.

She'd sighed, setting her own book down. "That's probably my fault. She and I—well, we didn't exactly get off on the right foot."

"Oh?"

"It's a long story." When Sansa had eyed her, Caitie told her what had transpired between them. After finishing her story, Sansa went quiet, and then, ever the diplomat, asked Caitie to try and make amends with Brienne.

She might as well get it over with now.

"I've actually been meaning to speak with you," Caitie said, thinking to herself that this was a terrible idea, even as she pressed onward. "I wanted to apologize. The day you came, I said things that were… insensitive." That was the best way she could think to describe it—because it wasn't like she had known Brienne's connection to Renly Baratheon. She certainly hadn't intended to imply that Brienne killed her former boss. "The comment about blood magic sort of took all my attention."

And learning that you killed Stannis. But she didn't say that.

"Yes, blood magic," said Brienne, iciness returning to her expression. "Which you didn't seem to have much of a problem with."

Caitie bristled at the implication, the contrition she'd felt swiftly giving way to offense. Because Brienne didn't know anything about her—she didn't know the losses suffered or the conflicts ended or the lives saved. She didn't know all the terrible things Caitie had witnessed over the last four years.

So what right did Brienne have to judge?

This must have been how Davos felt. She made a mental note to apologize to him again for her treatment of him, because this was honestly infuriating.

"Of course I have a problem with it," she snapped. The moment the words left her, she regretted it. Because, well—did she? Melisandre's ritual to bring back Jon, in hindsight, was a dark form of magic, too. And Caitie had not only allowed it to take place, but she was reaping the benefits of it.

Then again, it wasn't blood magic. There needed to be a sacrifice for blood magic to work, and there hadn't been one when they'd brought back Jon.

Taking a deep breath, Caitie calmed her rising temper. This was Sansa's guard, and she wasn't going to antagonize her more than she already had. "Look," she said, "I don't want to fight with you. You don't have to like me, but can we just—call a truce?"

Brienne seemed to get a hold of her own temper because, after a long pause, she said, "All right. But just know—I won't allow any harm to come to Sansa Stark."

Caitie's blood boiled at the threat. "I understand," she said through gritted teeth. She hoped that Sam and Edd would be proud of her, if they could see the control she was exerting over herself.

But she wouldn't be able to keep that control forever. She needed to leave before she said something she would later regret. Without bothering to think of an excuse, Caitie simply walked past Brienne, trying to remember where she'd been planning to go before this lovely conversation had taken place.

"Those two," Brienne said, "are not to be trusted."

Caitie turned back around and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn't need Brienne to elaborate to know to whom she referred. "That hardly seems fair," she said, though she didn't quite know why she was defending them. She didn't really trust Melisandre, either, or even Davos—not fully, anyway. But the stubborn, oppositional part of herself didn't appreciate being told who she should and shouldn't trust, as if she weren't smart enough to figure it out on her own. "Do you even know them?"

"I know who they served. I know what they did for him."

Caitie had to admit that Brienne had her there, for she had made the exact same argument only a few months earlier. "Yeah," she sighed, feeling defeated, "Stannis really was an utter tit."

Brienne narrowed her eyes, even more suspicion entering her countenance, as if she were trying to figure out whether or not Caitie was mocking her. "Yes, well," she said shortly, "he's dead now."

And with that, Caitie knew the conversation was over. After an awkward nod, she continued on her way, taking a left, then a right, until finally she made it back to the door. Just as she went to put her hand on the doorknob, it twisted, clicked, and swung open. Jon stepped through, looking happier than he had in a long time, shaking his head to get the snow off it.

"There you are. I was just coming to find you—" She furrowed her brows as he shook his head and put a finger to his lips to stop her. She shot him a quizzical look, so he nodded down to his arms—well, arm—which held a sleeping Willa, her head on his shoulder as she drooled on his cloak.

"She got too tired to walk to the elevator," he explained in a whisper. "Fell asleep about halfway down."

Caitie smiled fondly at the sight of them. "Come on," she whispered back. "We'll put her in my quarters with Johnna. I've got Ghost standing guard."

Neither of them spoke, walking slowly and carefully towards her quarters to ensure they wouldn't wake Willa. Ghost lay in front of the door with his head resting on his paws, but he perked up when he saw his master, who gave his ears a scratch with his free hand. Slowly, Caitie turned the knob, and the door creaked open. She was happy to see Johnna still fast asleep, her chest slowly rising and falling and her long, dirty blonde hair spread out around her. Jon followed Caitie through the door and into the room. He laid Willa down beside her sister, tucked her under the covers, and when she was settled in the bed, the two of them slipped out of the room and shut the door behind them.

"Well, I take it you had a good time?" Caitie asked as they walked back the way they came.

Jon smiled. "She chattered my ear off for an hour before she got too tired to go on. I can see why you like her." Caitie scowled, but Jon's smile only grew. "Do you deny you like to talk?"

"No, but you don't have to be so gleeful about it."

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that Caitie hadn't seen in a very long time—before his death, definitely, but possibly even before the battle at Castle Black. "I died, Caitie," he said. "Let me have some glee where I can find it."

She snorted. "Are you going to use 'I died' as an excuse for everything now?"

"As long as it gets that reaction."

Schooling her features into a neutral expression, she asked, "Better?"

"A bit." There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, pulling a small vial out from the pocket of his leather tunic. "Ah, before I forget—Willa asked me to give you this."

Caitie blinked before she registered what it was. "I was wondering where I'd left that," she said, taking the vial from him. When furrowed his brows, she explained, "It's perfume—well, sort of. It's an extraction from pressed winter roses. We found some a bit north of Queenscrown."

"I didn't think winter roses grew outside the glass gardens in Winterfell."

"They usually don't, at least not during autumn and winter. That's why we pressed them; they'll probably be the last for years, and we didn't want them to wilt." She dabbed a bit of it onto her wrist and held it up for him to smell. "Here."

He leaned down and sniffed, and when he looked back up, he didn't seem to know what to say. "It smells… like winter roses."

Caitie laughed. "Yes, I know."

"My aunt loved them," he continued, a little more thoughtfully, now. "According to my father, at least."

Seeing the melancholy return to his face, Caitie bumped her shoulder against his. "Well, I'll lend you some of my perfume if you want. You can carry on the tradition."

"I think I like it on you more." The moment the words left his lips, the both of them went very quiet, for there was only one way that could be interpreted, and it was… obviously not what he had meant with the comment.

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity before she broke it, unsure why suddenly she felt as though she were drowning in terror. "Come on," she said, with a voice that shook even as she tried to sound upbeat. "I'm hungry. Let's get some supper and see if we can torture Edd."

Jon nodded stiffly, looking about as awkward as Caitie felt. And as they picked up their pace once more, neither said a word, and neither looked each other in the eye.

Supper was, to put it mildly, a miserable affair.

Well, that might have been a bit overdramatic—as everyone always delighted in telling Caitie, she could be quite... theatrical, sometimes. But she certainly felt miserable. On the surface, there really wasn't much of a difference between the supper this evening and the ones preceding it. With most of Castle Black's inhabitants still on duty, there were only seven occupants in the dining hall, sitting at the table closest to the fire burning at the center of the room. On one side sat Tormund, Jon, and Edd, with Caitie between the latter two, and on the other side, there was Sansa, sandwiched between her two guards.

But nobody spoke—the silence only broken by the crackling of the fire behind them—and that made the difference. Even when the three newcomers to Castle Black had said little at their suppers, Caitie could always count on Edd and Jon and Tormund to talk to her. And today, she needed it—needed chatter and laughter and just something to drown out the alarm bells blaring in her head. Hell, she would have taken Brienne's vague but thoroughly terrifying threats over the quiet.

But her usual allies were engaged elsewhere. Tormund was busy making eyes at Brienne as he chewed on a lamb bone, while Edd, on the flip-side, was refusing to make eye contact with anyone at all. And Jon… Jon dug into his stew without so much as a glance her way. That was the most unnerving part of the evening. Usually, she could have counted on him to at least look at her, even if it was simply to scowl at one of her terrible jokes. But now, it was as if she didn't exist.

No, it was more than that—he was actively avoiding her.

And the worst part was this: that even though she wanted him to look at her, a part of her was glad he didn't. Because she had a terrible feeling that if he did, the alarm bells wouldn't cease—they would just get louder.

Right, that's it, she thought. With new resolve, she looked around for a distraction—and thankfully found it in Sansa. Light streamed in through the windows as she forked a piece of her mutton and stared at it, trying to work up the courage to take a bite. Caitie couldn't blame her. Hobb really tried his best, and she shuddered to think what their food would be like without him, but even he couldn't make the ingredients they had into something decent—especially compared to the food Sansa had been privy to in King's Landing.

Edd, who sat directly across from Sansa, looked up from his mug of ale and, noticing the look on her face, said, "Sorry 'bout the food," with an expression that could only be described as earnest. "It's not what we're known for."

Caitie arched a brow at him, but he didn't even notice.

"It's all right. There are more important things," replied Sansa.

To Caitie's utter astonishment, Edd actually smiled, and though it was no more than a quirk of the lips, there was none of the usual sardonicism in it. In fact, Caitie didn't think she'd ever seen Edd smile so genuinely in all the years she'd known him. She gaped unashamedly at him, wondering where her friend had gone.

It seemed that Tormund wasn't the only person at Castle Black smitten with one of the newcomers.

Edd's smile lasted a fraction of a second before he noticed Caitie watching him, and a scowl replaced it. She looked away, trying to hide her smirk from him, but it didn't work. Edd's glare burned a hole in her skull.

Fortunately, the door to the outside opened before Edd could retaliate.

It swung closed with a soft thud behind Dareon, who stepped into the room and towards their table. As those still eating looked up from their bowls, he held out a small scroll with a red seal for Jon to take. Caitie couldn't see a sigil on it; she both hoped and feared that it was another letter from Sam.

"Message for you, Lord Commander."

Jon's expression darkened. "I'm not Lord Commander anymore."

Dareon, though he looked uncomfortable at the correction, gave a curt bow and left them to their supper, exiting the way he had come in. Once the door closed again, Jon looked down at the seal. His whole body went stiff—and immediately Caitie knew something was very, very wrong. He broke the seal and tossed it down on the table in front of him before quickly unrolling the scroll. Everyone else looked over at him, but Caitie glanced beyond at the seal he'd broken. She froze.

The sigil molded into the wax was a flayed man.

"To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow," Jon read aloud, his voice suspiciously devoid of emotion. "You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see." After a pause to collect himself, he continued. "Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon—" His eyes widened and he looked up at his sister, who wore a matching expression of abject horror. The knuckles around her fork were white.

Caitie watched as Jon took the deepest of breaths, shaking with fear and horror; and still, he read, his voice full of exhaustion as if every word were a strike to his soul. "His direwolf's skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You—"

When Jon stopped reading and Caitie realized he wasn't simply gathering the courage to continue, she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't need to hear more of Ramsay Bolton's taunts. As it went, her breath caught in her throat, the air kept in her lungs by some invisible force. Her thoughts strayed to her quarters, where Johnna and Willa slept and her chest felt like it was being crushed with the weight of the image in her mind of them being—

Stop. Don't panic.

"Go on." Sansa's voice was quiet and full of terror, but resolute.

Jon shook his head, tossing the parchment down beside him. "It's just more of the same."

It was the wrong thing to say; his dismissiveness only spurred his sister on. She reached over and plucked the scroll up, reading the rest in a detached voice Caitie had only heard on her once before. "You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

As the full implications of the words in the letter set in, the only noise in the room was the crackling of the fire. Caitie couldn't move, could hardly even think.

Sansa had spoken very little about her imprisonment at Winterfell, but she had made it very clear what Ramsay was: a monster who took pleasure in hurting people. And while Caitie had believed her—she would never forget reading the letter about the Cerwyns, after all—she hadn't really understood its full implications.

Until now.

Not even Karl Tanner could compare. No one could. Caitie wanted to say something, but she couldn't find a voice, her mind too full of the images that letter had so gleefully described. She was going to be sick. She was going to—

Jon's voice pulled her back from the edge of panic threatening to engulf her. "Lord of Winterfell," he said, "and Warden of the North."

It was more a question than a statement, and Sansa had an answer ready. "His father's dead. Ramsay killed him. And now he has Rickon."

"We don't know that—"

"Yes, we do."

"How many men does he have in his army?" asked Tormund.

Sansa looked up for a moment, concentrating, before she answered. "I heard him say five thousand, once, when he was talking about Stannis's attack."

Jon turned away from Caitie to face Tormund. "How many do you have?"

"That can march and fight?" Tormund paused. "Two thousand. The rest are children and old people."

It wasn't enough, especially not when the Free Folk didn't have the discipline of armies in the Seven Kingdoms. Jon hesitated, evidently thinking something similar. He met Sansa's gaze.

"You're the son of the last true Warden of the North," she said. "Northern families are loyal. They'll fight for you if you ask."

In that moment, Jon looked so completely destroyed; any happiness and excitement for the future, extinguished. And with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Caitie realized why—because he knew where their future was about to take them: war. And even if they won, even if they defeated this fresh horror and reclaimed the North, the price would still be too high for her to bear. Because she knew there would only be more losses to come.

When Jon said nothing, Sansa reached out across the table and grabbed his hand. "A monster has taken our home and our brother," she pressed, even as Jon shot her an icy look. "We have to go back to Winterfell and save them both."

Everyone looked at him, awaiting his decision. And though he glared, though he looked so exhausted and angry and above all else, so profoundly sad, Caitie knew what his answer would be. For Jon loved his family too much to say no.

He swallowed, looked up, and nodded.

As the room descended back into grim silence, the letter caught Caitie's eye once more. At the very bottom of the parchment, there was writing—small and cramped, as if Ramsay had scribbled it on in haste right before he sent it. Sansa hadn't seen it.

Gingerly, Caitie picked up the scroll, half-expecting it to burst into flames the moment she touched it. And when she saw the words written on the page, she wished it would.

Ah yes, and how could I forget—Lord Norrey is looking forward to his daughter's return.

This chapter might take the gold for the most difficult to write—so far, at least—so I hope it wasn't too sloppy and/or boring to read. I also hope I'll be able to update more frequently now that I've gotten through it—because, at this point, I just want to finish the story before we all die in a nuclear hellfire.

PS: Did you notice the Princess Bride reference? What can I say—it was low-hanging fruit. I just couldn't resist.