Standing in the eye of the storm, at the very center of the Free Folk's encampment, stood a group of about twenty. Those in grey made up the bulk of it, the four others dressed in furs of varying colors. Grey tents dotted the landscape, snow dusted the ground, and as Caitie planted herself behind Jon, along with Sansa and Davos, the icy cold stung her skin.

"We said we'd fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes," Dim Dalba was saying, his hands on his hips and his expression firmly disapproving. "And we meant it. But this isn't what we agreed to. These aren't White Walkers. This isn't an army of the dead. This isn't our fight."

The words were spoken with such ferocity, such confidence, and they stung almost as much as the cold did. Though no one else in the circle of people spoke, she could feel the agreement among the other Free Folk elders.

And really, Caitie knew she should have expected this from the Free Folk. She had lived among them for long enough to know how stubborn and mistrustful they could be. It was honestly a wonder that Mance Rayder had united them all—and that had only been due to the threat of annihilation. What Jon asked of them went even further, against not only their nature but also against thousands of years of animosity.

But that didn't stop her disappointment, nor did it stop the worry that this might strain their alliance to its breaking point. For no matter the bonds of comradeship she and Jon had forged with the Free Folk, they would always be southerners.

"If it weren't for him, none of us would be here," said Tormund, who seemed their only ally at the moment, since Wun-Wun had, so far, remained silent. "All of you would be meat in the Night King's army. And I'd be a pile of charred bones, just like Mance."

Dim scoffed. "Remember Mance's camp? It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now." He looked around the circle of his fellows, broken and battered from years of fighting. "Look what's left of us. And if we lose this, we're gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We'll be the last of the Free Folk."

"That's what'll happen if we lose," Jon said, only just loud enough for them to hear. The Free Folk elders stared at him, shocked more than angry, and seeing the effect he'd had, Jon raised his voice. "The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers, the Norreys—they know you're here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they'll come for you. You're right; this isn't your fight. You shouldn't have to come to Winterfell with me; I shouldn't be asking you! It's not the deal we made. But I need you with me, if we're going to beat them, and we need to beat them if you're going to survive."

In the pause which followed, Caitie watched those around her, keeping her mouth firmly shut. She wanted to speak more than anything in the world, to beg Dim to understand why they were asking this of him. But she knew she couldn't. It was Jon's campaign, and if he didn't convince the Free Folk himself, then they would not follow him. As it went, she thought he'd done a fair job of it.

But then Dim rounded on Caitie, and she had no other choice. "And what about you?" he demanded. "You've been quiet this whole time. What've you to say about this?"

It was all she could do not to cower before his scowl. "Jon's right," she said, trying her best not to blink as she stared down Dim and the others. "If I thought you could survive by running, I'd tell you to. But you can't. There is no running from this. If we lose, Ramsay Bolton and his bannermen will wipe out the Free Folk, down to the last child." She hesitated before she continued. "We're all going to die either way. We might as well take as many of those fuckers with us when we do."

"The crows killed him because he spoke for the Free Folk when no other southerners would." Tormund gestured towards Jon as he moved to stand beside him. "He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we're cowards." His words worked a sort of magic on his fellows. They shuffled from foot to foot, looking away from Tormund in shame. "And if that's what we are," he said, with an air of finality about it, "we deserve to be the last of the Free Folk."

Dim Dalba held Tormund's gaze, who stared right back at him, without fear or shame. Caitie watched and waited, ready to intervene at a moment's notice if one tried to attack the other.

But it was Wun-Wun who broke the silence. He stood from the rock he'd been sitting on, sending shock waves through the dirt as the full weight of him settled on the ground. Then he looked down at Jon, and after another tension-filled pause, said in that deep, booming voice that betrayed almost no emotion at all, "Snow."

Jon breathed a sigh of relief. He gave Wun-Wun a nod, and the giant lumbered away. A rush of affection for him washed over Caitie as she watched.

Tormund turned back to Dim, waiting expectantly. Dim's eyes found another of the Free Folk elders, who nodded. And then, finally, he stepped forward towards Jon and held out his hand.

Jon looked down at it as though he couldn't quite believe it was actually there. But when he looked up, there was a smile in his eyes, and he accepted Dim's outstretched arm with enthusiasm.

Dim gave one last single, jerking nod before he retracted it. And then he was gone, off to give orders to his men—who, until now, had been surreptitiously watching their meeting whilst pretending to set up their tents.

"Are you sure they'll come?" Jon asked Tormund quietly.

Tormund cocked a brow, a small smile on his face. "We're not clever like you southerners," he said. "When we say we'll do something, we'll do it."

And as Tormund, too, bid them goodbye with a nod, the rush of affection in Caitie swelled. Because that was precisely why she loved the Free Folk.

The largest of the tents in the Free Folk encampment housed their war table; the same one they'd used in Castle Black, with its rudimentary chips and faded map of the North. If it weren't for the dirt ground instead of the stone floor beneath their feet and the flimsy fabric that did very little to keep out the cold even with the candles they'd lit, Caitie could have closed her eyes and pretended she was still back home.

Jon peered over their map, his hands resting upon the table as his brow creased in concentration, joined by the same group of people who'd attended their last meeting, with the absences of Edd, Brienne, Podrick, and Melisandre—the last of whom had kept to her tent since leaving Castle Black.

"So," said Tormund, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the space, "where do we start?"

Caitie had been thinking about this very question ever since their last meeting, and fortunately, she'd readied a few suggestions. "I was thinking we could try the Cerwyns, considering what happened to their current lord's mother and father," she said, with a pointed look at Jon. "Then again, they do have ties to my father, and they're rather far south. But there's also the Mazins, up on Sea Dragon Point." She frowned, deep in thought. "I knew Lord Mazin's nephew; he was Cerys's best friend."

Cerys and Roland Knott had always been inseparable, especially after Lady Jocelyn's death. Roland, of course, had only ever tolerated Caitie's presence when she tagged along after her older brothers, but she'd spent enough time around him to learn quite a bit about the Mazins. Roland and his brothers had gone to visit Lord Rodrik Mazin at least once a year during her childhood, returning with stories of their stubborn, mirthful uncle, who treated his sister's sons with just as much love as he did his own.

And the more she'd remembered about it, the more the idea made sense to visit Lord Mazin first.

But then Davos cleared his throat, evidently having been waiting for his turn to speak. "Those are all good options. But if I might make a suggestion of my own," he said, looking to Jon, "Bear Island."

"Bear Island?" asked Sansa. "We'd need to take ship to get there—and we'd be leaving the majority of our army behind on the mainland. Shouldn't we wait until we have more houses on our side before we approach them? Otherwise, it would be a great risk—as well as a potential waste of time."

Caitie nodded in agreement. That was partially why she hadn't offered Mormont as their first stop—the other part being that she really, really did not want to get back on a boat.

"You're not wrong," said Davos, with an approving look towards Sansa. "But Lyanna Mormont is, I believe, the most likely to be receptive to us."

"How do you know that?"

"Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark," Jon answered, just as Davos made to speak.

Caitie grinned. "Seven Hells, I can't believe I forgot about that letter." It had been so long ago, now, and so many things had eclipsed it. But she really should have remembered, considering.

"What letter?" Sansa asked impatiently.

Jon explained the call to arms Stannis had sent out to the Northern lords and Lyanna Mormont's reply to it.

"So," Caitie added with an emphatic sigh, "as much as I hate the idea of getting back on a boat, I think I agree with Ser Davos. And don't forget that I have Mormont blood. I'm not sure if it will help, but it can't hurt, either."

This seemed to convince Sansa—but as soon as she had nodded her assent, another voice took over, angrier than Caitie had heard it in a long, long time.

"Mormont?" Tormund growled, his forehead scrunched up so intensely that it looked as though he had a mono-brow. He turned his fiery gaze on Caitie. "You're a Mormont? Like the last lord commander?"

She blinked at the sudden hostility in his voice. "I… yes. My grandmother was."

At this admission, Tormund's glare went colder than the top of the Wall, his posture tense and radiating anger, and in all the time she'd known him, she had never feared he would attack her as much as she did just then. Out of the corner of her eye, Caitie saw Jon move to shield her, his lip curling with disdain. As soon as he tried to step in front of her, she held out a hand to stop him, her eyes not leaving Tormund. This was between the two of them, and Jon, though she appreciated his care for her safety, couldn't solve it for her.

"Is this going to be a problem?" she asked, matching his cold tone with her own—but worry still slipped through.

Her words, or perhaps her tone, seemed to snap Tormund out of his frenzied state. He fell back, his center of gravity no longer poised for an attack, and said, "I like you, Caitie. You know that. But your kin hunted us like we were animals. And now you're asking me—us—to ally with the rest of his kin, too."

"You gave your word," Jon said, his tone devoid of any emotion at all.

"And we'll keep it. But you're still asking a lot."

The two men stared at each other, hurt and anger etched on both their features, and Caitie, though she had no clue what she was going to do, knew she had to do something to fix whatever had gone wrong.

"Lord Commander Mormont was... complicated," she said. "He didn't always do what I thought was right. I'm not going to deny it."

Tormund grunted. Whether he was showing agreement or derision, it was impossible to tell.

"But I'm not him. And neither is Lyanna Mormont."

Caitie watched the emotions flicker across his face, one after the other: hurt, anger, despair, and then, finally, grudging acceptance. After a terrible pause, he gave a long sigh. "Fine. We'll go talk to the fucking Mormonts."

Caitie didn't know what to say to that, and neither, it seemed, did anyone else. Davos took a decent stab at it, regardless. He cleared his throat and forced himself to sound optimistic. "Good. It's settled, then."

"It seems so," agreed Sansa. "Now, if we can move on to the rest of the matters at hand…"

They spent the next couple of hours debating the course of their journey. Finally, it was decided that, after traveling to the coast and sailing to Bear Island, they would head a little way south to Deepwood Motte, where they would appeal to Lord Glover. Then they would continue west up the peninsula to Sea Dragon Point, and attempt to persuade the Mazins to join them. Finally, if they had time before the winter snows hit once more, they would travel further south and then east, and recruit the houses down that way. In the meantime, they would send ravens to the larger houses they might not have time to visit: the Manderlys, the Cerwyns, the Hornwoods, to name a few. And also the Reeds—assuming their ravens could find Greywater Watch.

On and on the meeting dragged, and as it did, the tension between everyone in the tent dissipated. By the end of it, Tormund seemed back to his old self again. Jon, Sansa, and Davos took it as a sign that their little disagreement was long forgotten, but Caitie found herself stewing on it for the rest of the evening. Because the truth was, she had thought that she and Tormund were more than just allies; she'd thought they were friends, too. And it both hurt and infuriated her that all it took for him to turn his back on that friendship was finding out she had a single Mormont grandparent.

But if all he could see was her blood, then perhaps they had never been friends at all.

She said nothing about any of this, however—because she wasn't about to show weakness in front of the Wildling, now—and other than Jon, no one noticed, either. There wasn't much he could do in the way of comforting her, though, beyond a small smile or a brush of his arm against hers. But it was enough, at least for the time being.

When the light outside the tent faded into the golden glow of dusk, he gave a single, final nod. "All right, this is enough for now." He looked around at them, one by one, from Sansa to Caitie to Davos to Tormund. "We'd all better get some sleep. We'll leave at dawn tomorrow."

Caitie didn't sleep well that night. Everything about her surroundings was unfamiliar; it had been so long since she'd slept open to the elements that she wasn't used to the hard ground beneath her sleeping roll or the cold winds which cut through her cocoon of blankets. She tried to comfort herself with the reminder that at least this time around she had a tent, as well as Johnna and Willa beside her, both of which kept her warmer than she would have been otherwise. In truth, however, there was more to her insomnia than mere discomfort.

Firstly, there was the matter of the two girls beside her. Now that they were back with the Free Folk, Caitie knew it was time to leave them behind with the other children and non-combatants, but even with the knowledge that they would be safer far away from the long march, and eventually the battle that awaited those in the army, she couldn't bear to part with them. She had let Owen and Cerys go; she'd let Grenn go. She'd let Maester Aemon, and Shireen, and Jon go—and the moment she had, they were lost to her. Was it so wrong for her to want to keep Johnna and Willa close, after all that? Sam and Gilly were far beyond Caitie's reach—so was Edd—and she lived in fear every moment of every day that she would never see them again. But they were adults, at the very least, and had made their choices. They knew the risks of their positions and accepted them willingly.

If something happened to Johnna and Willa, because Caitie wasn't there—because she had left them behind on their own when they had begged her to bring them along with her—

Well, she didn't know what she would do. And in truth, she had known from the start she didn't have the willpower to refuse the girls if they pressed her.

The problem was convincing the others—namely, Jon and Tormund—to allow it.

Which brought to mind her other problem.

No. She wasn't thinking about that. She'd already decided not to bring up the... altercation—if one could call it that—between her and Tormund. And now she was going to force herself to let it go, because there was no other alternative.

But that was easier said and done. She'd never been good at letting anything go, and especially not personal slights. A part of her didn't even want morning to come, because it would mean having to look at Tormund, and she knew if she did, she would either start to cry or start to scream at him. Neither seemed like a good option.

But as stubborn as Caitie was, she couldn't stop the sun from rising. Eventually, the first light of dawn broke upon the horizon, and knowing they would be leaving as soon as the sun had risen fully, she abandoned her sleeping roll. Dressing with trepidation, she watched as the sliver of light through the tent flap got brighter and brighter. When she finished, she leaned down and shook Johnna's shoulder. "Come on, get up; it's time to go."

"Do I have to?" Johnna groaned as Caitie moved on to shake Willa, who groused and grumbled as she opened her eyes.

"You want to come with us, don't you?"

Johnna's eyes opened wide, now, the sleep fading from them almost instantly. She bolted up into a sitting position. Willa followed her sister's example, albeit more slowly, but grinning just as widely.

"You mean we can?" Johnna asked hopefully.

"If I can get Jon and Tormund to agree to it, then yes."

"Yes!" Willa exclaimed, punching the air. "I knew you'd let us come with you!"

"But," Caitie added, holding up a hand to silence Willa. "I have a few conditions."

The smiles fell, but she ignored it, quickly trying to think of what to say. Because truthfully, she hadn't actually thought of any conditions to give them.

"Firstly," she said after a moment or so of wracking her brain, "I want your word that you'll listen to orders. If we tell you to run, you run. If we tell you to hide, you hide. No matter what it is—if we tell you to do something, you do it. Okay?"

"But what if—" began Willa.

"No. No buts. No what-ifs. Where we're going will be extremely dangerous, and I need to know that you're taking it seriously. So if you want to come with us, you have to promise me you will listen when Tormund, Jon, Sansa, or I tell you to do something—without question."

Johnna and Willa exchanged glances, a silent conversation brewing between them, unknowable to everyone except the two sisters. Caitie waited as they spoke to each other in a wordless conversation until finally the girls gave each other a single nod and turned back to face Caitie.

"Okay," said Johnna. "We'll do whatever you tell us. No arguing."

"Thank you," Caitie sighed, pressing a forefinger to her temple. To be honest, she didn't expect them to adhere entirely to this rule, but she figured they would at least try, and that was enough for her.

After a pause, she continued. "Now, secondly, you're not to go anywhere outside our camp. No wandering off. If everything goes according to plan, we'll be gathering an army of Northmen to join us—but just because they're on our side doesn't make them safe. I don't want you anywhere near them, and especially not without protection. Ghost will accompany you wherever you go at all times."

Willa, who had spent half the time at Castle Black feeding Ghost treats, nodded excitedly. Johnna, meanwhile, sighed, "Fine. I don't really want to be around southern soldiers, anyway."

"Honestly, neither do I," said Caitie, thinking of years past at Norwood, and the way some of the stupider Norrey soldiers would look at her when they thought no one was watching. The Northern soldiers they recruited wouldn't likely try anything with her status as a highborn Northwoman, but it never hurt to be careful.

When Johnna and Willa looked at Caitie expectantly, she cleared her throat and said, "Right. Thirdly, when the battle begins, you do have to go back up north to stay with the other non-combatants."

This was the condition she knew the girls would have the most trouble accepting. And as expected, the moment she said it, they broke into protestations. "We can't just leave while you go off and fight!" cried Johnna.

Willa nodded vigorously in agreement with her sister.

"If you want to come with us, that's my condition."

"But why can't we fight?" Willa asked. "You and Tormund and Jon and Dim have all taught us how."

Caitie sighed, a little gentler now. They didn't understand—and of course they didn't. No one could understand what it was like to face battle until they already had, and Johnna and Willa were still so young. "We've taught you the basics, Wills; not to fight in battle. And even if we had, you're both too young."

"I'm only two years younger than you were when you fought in your first battle," said Johnna.

"Three years," Caitie corrected. "And I was too young, then, too."

Willa looked close to tears now. "But we want to help."

Johnna nodded. "Exactly. We can't just sit there and do nothing—not while you're..." She couldn't bring herself to finish, but she didn't need to for Caitie to know exactly what was going through both girls' minds: that Caitie would be fighting, and quite possibly dying, and how could she ask Johnna and Willa to leave someone they cared about behind under those circumstances yet again?

"All right, how about this: when it comes time for the battle, we'll find you a place close by to hide with Ghost—this way, you won't be near the battlefield, but you'll still be close by." Her eyes flicked between the two of them. "Is that a sufficient compromise?"

Both girls nodded.

"Good," Caitie said, relieved. "Now, fourthly..." but she trailed off because she couldn't think of anything else. She tried to come up with another rule that would minimize the danger, but it was no use. Because, in truth, there wasn't any minimizing the danger. The world itself was the height of danger—and no amount of safety precautions or rules could change that.

"Caitie," Johnna said at length, her voice completely devoid of its usual edge, "we'll be okay. We know it's dangerous—but we also know how to be as safe as we can."

To this, Caitie gave a broken laugh. "I'm supposed to be the one comforting you, not the other way around."

Willa took her hand. "You are comforting us, because we know you'd never let anything bad happen if you could help it. We trust you."

That should have made Caitie feel better, but it only made her gut churn with the fear of failing them—just like she'd failed Arthur. Only worse, because if she failed to protect Johnna and Willa, the consequences for them would be ten times that of her brother. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay behind with the other children? It'll be dreadfully boring where I'm going. At least if you stay here, you'll have others to play with."

"But you're our family," said Willa, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We want to be with you."

Tears sprang to Caitie's eyes. "You promise to follow the rules?"

"We do," the girls chorused.

She took a deep breath to leash her fear. There was no point in putting it off; better to face it before she lost her nerve entirely. "All right, then. Let's go."

She waited silently while the two of them bundled themselves in their furs. After Johnna and Willa had finished, they all gathered their things into their packs and, once ready, exited their tent into the freezing dawn. Their breaths came in puffs of mist as they started the work of taking the tent down and packing it up.

It was no warmer by the time they finished and headed over to the makeshift stables. Caitie found the horse the girls had ridden on their way from Castle Black, a small chestnut mare; she saddled it, before finally giving Johnna, and then Willa, a leg up. They'd gotten better at riding over the past few days, looking much more comfortable atop their horse, though there was still a bit of hesitancy in both their movements and expressions.

Caitie had just started towards her own horse when she heard exactly three sets of footsteps behind her. Before she could turn—or do anything more than take a breath, really—Jon spoke.

"Caitie, what in Seven Hells are you doing?"

Caitie winced at the sound of his voice. She had known, or at least suspected, that he would react like this—but knowing was different from seeing, and judging by the expression on his face, she knew it would take some careful wording to get him on board with her plan.

When she turned around to face Jon, she saw Sansa and Tormund beside him, both silent, but watching with narrowed eyes. Caitie refused to look guilty under their stares.

"What does it look like?" she asked, her voice decidedly casual.

"It looks like you're about to bring Johnna and Willa with us."

Johnna opened her mouth to say something, but Caitie shot her a look of warning—one that clearly said let me do the talking—before ushering Jon and the others far enough away so that the girls couldn't overhear their conversation. "Yes, all right—Johnna and Willa are coming with us. We discussed it, and I've come up with some ground rules for them. They've agreed to follow—"

"Caitie, they're children. You can't bring children on a march, certainly not to war."

Tormund cleared his throat, evidently offended. "Free Folk children aren't soft like your children are. We're made of harder stuff."

Caitie hadn't expected Tormund to be on her side, and especially not after yesterday. But she was more than willing to ignore her resentment towards him at that moment, so long as it meant another ally. She would not, however, thank him for it. "See?" she said, looking only at Jon. "And they've agreed to follow certain safety precautions. And Ghost will stay with them at all times."

"It's still not safe—"

"Nowhere is safe," said Sansa, and as she spoke she shot her brother a withering look. "Hiding them away will do nothing to protect them. Eventually, Ramsay will come, regardless of where they are, and when he does, he will make examples of them. What is the point of hiding them away?"

Jon blinked and fell silent. Finally, after spending a long time presumably weighing the options of fighting Caitie, Tormund, and Sansa on the issue, he sighed and asked, "What are the rules you've come up with?"

Caitie told him everything she'd required Johnna and Willa to agree to. When she finished, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I… fine. If Tormund agrees, I'll allow it."

Tormund grunted his assent. "As long as they're away from the battle, I don't care. Wun-Wun and I'll stay with 'em while you fancy folk are up with your southern cunts."

If she hadn't been so annoyed with Tormund, Caitie would have smiled. As it went, she merely crossed her arms and nodded curtly.

With the matter now settled, he and Sansa turned and started the walk back towards Johnna and Willa. But when Caitie made to follow, Jon caught her arm. "Are you sure about this?"

She looked up at him, and beneath the frustration, she saw the worry in Jon's features; worry for her, for Sansa, and even for Johnna and Willa. It was the same worry that Caitie felt for all of them mirrored back at her—and she couldn't be upset at Jon for that.

She smiled softly to put him at ease. "You know, I think I am."

Despite himself, he let out a wry chuckle. "Well, it's something."

For the briefest of moments, they merely stared at each other, and Caitie realized his fingers were still wrapped around her arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "After yesterday with Tormund, you looked…"

"I'm fine," she said, grateful for the end of the silence, but frustrated and more than a little resentful at the mention of Tormund. "I just worry."

"Aye, me too. If we gain any Northern support, we'll have to figure out the best way to introduce the soldiers to the Free Folk."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Caitie glanced over Jon's shoulder, where she could see Tormund chatting away happily with Johnna and Willa. "I just thought, after everything…"

"You hoped he'd see you as more than your blood."

She blinked, surprised that Jon had described her feelings so exactly; but then, of course he would. He'd gone his whole life hoping people would see him for more than his blood—or lack thereof. "I suppose I did."

Jon sighed. "That was always what I liked best about the Free Folk: they never cared about me being a Snow. But I should have guessed they'd care about you being a Mormont."

"It's all right," she lied.

"No, it's not. He shouldn't have hurt you."

A smile tugged at her lips, affection for her friend making her heart swell. "I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Jon admitted, returning the smile. "A little too well."

"And don't you forget it."

He chuckled and opened his mouth to speak again, but whatever he was about to say was lost when the very man they'd been discussing called out to them. "We're all ready. Just waiting on you two."

The smile disappeared from Jon's face in an instant, replaced with the hard mask of the commander. He turned on the spot, walking decisively back towards their camp. Caitie followed him, readying herself for the journey to come. One step closer, she thought—to Rickon Stark, to Winterfell, and to the last family Caitie had left.

I'll see you soon, Arthur. I promise.

I teeter back and forth between loving my writing and hating my writing—and right now it's definitely swinging towards the latter. I think what I need is some motivation, so reviews are appreciated, if you can spare a few words.