I know, I know, this is very late. I wish I could say I was busy being productive, but... no. What can I say? The Mass Effect trilogy was calling to me and whenever I start it, I can never stop until I've finished all three games. And it always takes for-fucking-ever because I'm a completionist. Sue me.

As she loaded a pack full of food onto their wagon, Caitie cast one eye over at Tormund. "This is really starting to get pathetic, you know."

He didn't acknowledge her; indeed, whether he even heard her was debatable. She tried to muster at least a shred of annoyance with him for it, but it was hard to do so when she wanted to laugh instead. For Brienne was training Podrick in the sparring circle a few feet away, and all her friend seemed to be able to do was watch with the dopiest expression known to man.

"I could be putting anything into this wagon," she continued lazily. "Horse shit, dog shit—"

"Can't you think of anything besides shit?"

So he was listening. "I'm sorry my wit isn't up to your standards. But it's early, and I didn't sleep well last night."

"I'll bet."

Caitie winced, but said nothing in such an open space. Maester Wolkan, under Jon's orders, had declared Rendon Norrey's demise an unfortunate accident, brought on by hunger and cold—and if anyone suspected more, they hadn't brought it up.

Until now, at least. But she didn't mind if Tormund knew.

"Caitie," he said, lower now, with none of his usual bravado.

"I'm fine." And for once, it was the truth. She had allowed herself to spend the better part of the night crying her eyes out until she fell to exhaustion, yet, somehow, she felt lighter upon waking up. Not everything could be mended in one night, but for the first time in her life, she was free of her father. Free from fear, from sorrow, from the years of rage and pain he'd caused. Whether the feeling would stay or not, Caitie didn't know, but she was happy to take this freedom for however long it might last.

"I don't believe you."

She rolled her eyes, but if Tormund didn't believe her, she saw no point in trying to convince him otherwise. "I just want to finish loading this stupid wagon, so I can go find Johnna and Willa and say goodbye."

"We'd be done by now if you'd let me help," Dim Dalba huffed. "You don't need to coddle me."

"On the contrary," Caitie said, "I have strict instructions from both your healer and Winterfell's maester to do exactly that until your leg heals." A horse had crushed Dim's left leg towards the end of the battle; he would never regain full movement, but so long as he didn't push himself too hard, everyone was confident he'd make a fair recovery. This, unfortunately, meant out-stubborning him at every turn. He already huffed and grumbled that no one was letting him do anything, but now that he knew he'd have to stay at Winterfell while the rest of his people left for Eastwatch, he was starting to really push against their—as he called it—coddling.

"Listen to Lady Crow, Dim," Tormund said. "I'm not gonna let you cripple yourself just 'cause you wanna be a stubborn git."

Dim muttered something no respectable lady would dare repeat and went back to sulking. Caitie and Tormund shook their heads before each returned to their tasks amidst the bustling courtyard.

Winterfell was teeming with life. All around, people rushed back and forth, carrying out their duties. There was the faint smell of smoke in the air, and the sun was shining, even if it was colder than Caitie could remember. It reminded her a little of Castle Black, if Castle Black had been larger, grander, and housed ten times the amount of people. This wasn't a bad thing, but despite the beauty and grandeur of the Stark's ancestral castle, she still preferred the intimacy of her old home.

"Oh, good—I was scared you'd left."

Caitie smiled at the sound of Johnna's voice. "You thought I would leave without saying goodbye?" But as she turned, and saw Johnna and Willa with traveling packs slung suspiciously over their shoulders, her smile turned to a frown. "Didn't we decide you're staying here until I get back?"

"We were gonna, at first," Johnna admitted. "But then I started thinking about it, and I realized I have to go back to Queenscrown. Get everyone packed up and away from there. I don't know if they'll want to come live at this castle, but I have to try. They shouldn't stay anywhere near the Wall, with—well, you know."

Caitie didn't know why this shocked her so much, but all she could do was stare, dumbfounded. "But… who will clear out all the spiders for you?"

Johnna smiled. "I'll be okay. I have Essence of Nightshade if it starts getting really bad. And I have to do this—for my people, for Mother. She gave everything to them. I want to do the same."

Caitie opened her mouth to argue, but she found she had none to make. For even though she wanted nothing more than to protect Johnna, she realized now that her young friend didn't need one any longer. So, instead, she smiled. "Well, well, well; look at you, taking responsibility."

Johnna rolled her eyes. "It was your stupid influence."

"Nevertheless, I am extremely proud of you. Of course, I'll miss you more than words can say, but I'm still proud."

"But we're traveling with you and Tormund!" Willa said. "It'll be just like before, so you don't need to miss us yet."

The smile slid off Caitie's face. She wished, more than anything, that it could be like before. But if it had been, then they would have had Wun-Wun, and without him, it could never be the same.

Brienne, of all people, saved Caitie from having to answer. Not that it was intentional; she didn't think Brienne would ever save her from anything intentionally. But the spar with Podrick ended in a fist to his stomach; he doubled over and crumbled into a pile of snow, drawing Caitie, Johnna, and Willa's attention to the commotion. Tormund, meanwhile, walked over to admire Brienne more closely. He stared down at Podrick, grinning. "You're a lucky man."

Caitie put her head into her hands and groaned, wondering how Tormund had ever gotten any woman, the way he flirted.

Johnna sighed. "What an idiot. If I ever get like that over a stupid boy, promise you'll end it for me."

Caitie laughed. "You know, I remember saying something similar when I was your age. It didn't last."

"Let's just hope I'm smarter than you, then."

Willa crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Well, I think it's sweet."

"You would," Johnna grumbled.

Willa scowled at her sister. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Tormund stepped back towards them as Brienne climbed the steps up to the balcony, where Caitie saw Sansa standing, Littlefinger by her side.

Podrick followed Tormund, with one hand still clutching the side Brienne had struck. He gave the three girls a nod and a smile. "My ladies."

Willa beamed at the use of a title, while Johnna merely rolled her eyes. Again.

"Hello, Podrick," Caitie said pleasantly. She liked him much better than Brienne, as he at least, didn't treat her like a pebble in his shoe. "How's your training coming?"

"Very well, my lady. Brienne is a great teacher."

"I'm sure she is."

Podrick's lips twitched at the decided diplomacy in her tone, and Caitie wondered what Brienne must have told him about her. It couldn't have been anything good.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Caitie detected movement upon the steps Brienne had just gone up. It was Littlefinger, walking down the way she'd come and into the courtyard, every muscle in his body perfectly controlled, coiling with energy. It reminded her of a snake—right before it pounced on its prey.

She tensed. It was imperceptible to everyone, save Tormund, who went instantly alert. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "It's—"

"My lady." The silky smooth voice cut through the air like an arrow. Though he'd caught the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity, Littlefinger's grey eyes never left Caitie. He gave her the barest hint of a nod and a smirk before he continued on, disappearing into the Great Keep. And even though he'd said no more than two words to her, it was enough to undo all the calm she'd managed to force herself to feel since the night before.

What did he want from her?

"Don't worry about him," Tormund said under his breath. "He tries anything, you know how to make him stop."

She swallowed, forcing a lightness she didn't feel into her voice. "It'd involve a great deal of blood. I don't think Sansa would appreciate the mess."

He chuckled. "She'd forgive you. Probably."

Caitie didn't think she believed that. She looked back up to the balcony where Sansa was watching them, Brienne at her side in place of Littlefinger. Jon had joined them, too, while she had been busy speaking to Tormund, and now he watched the courtyard below, expression dark and ever-serious.

Johnna and Willa followed her gaze. Their eyes lit up at the sight of Jon, and together, they ran up the steps to say their goodbyes. Caitie took a step forward, intent on following, only to change her mind a moment later. She had said her goodbyes to Sansa earlier that morning, and she was already was reliving the day she'd left Castle Black for Queenscrown more vividly than ever. Though she knew Jon had Sansa, who would die before letting something happen to him, Caitie knew herself well enough to know that if she approached him, she might not have the strength to leave.

Besides, as she constantly reminded herself, it was better to keep her distance, especially with Littlefinger on the prowl.

And so, with a heavy heart, she gave Jon and Sansa a wave and a smile, before she turned around and left them behind.

Rolling plains covered in winter's snow turned to the dense foliage of the Wolf's Wood, and as she slept among the trees, Caitie's nightmares took a strange turn.

They had always been vivid, and usually some level of terrifying, but now they were just plain annoying. It was the same every night: smoke and ash and snow floated through the air and covered the ground where she stood, alone and unable to move. She tried to call out, but she had no voice. Any breath she took only caused the ash to fill her lungs and make her fall to her knees choking. A figure stood in the distance, obscured by red-tinted shadows, growing closer and closer until she could make out a face—Jon's face, with a silver crown atop his head. He smiled and extended a hand, but when she tried to take it, a fire consumed them and he too crumbled to ash.

Caitie blamed Melisandre for these dreams. Of course, she still clung desperately to the hope that the Red Priestess was either lying or simply wrong, as she had been before. Caitie had tried her best to ignore the foretelling, to convince herself that it really was ridiculous—and she'd succeeded too, what with helping Jon and Sansa stabilize the North, planning her current journey, and worrying about Arthur. But there was little else to do besides stew on it without such distractions, and now, she feared that maybe there was something to Melisandre's words.

To fulfill his destiny, he must leave you behind.

But what did that mean? Caitie had left him behind at Winterfell, but that seemed a rather anticlimactic parting, especially considering she was set to return within the month. And either way, it wasn't him doing the leaving, so it didn't really matter, anyway.

On the night before they reached the mountain pass that would take her, Roland, and Selwyn to Norwood, the night before she would part with Johnna and Willa, Caitie's frustration reached a summit. The tent was stifling, the body heat of the two friends beside her even more so, and finally deciding that she needed some fresh air, she quickly made her exit.

They had set up next to a small stream; she could hear the gurgle of water as the blissfully cool air hit her face. The fire at the center of their little camp still burned bright. Someone was awake, hunched over and tending to it.

"What are you still doing up?" Caitie asked.

Tormund turned around to look at her from the log on which he sat. "Could ask you the same thing."

"Willa's snoring." The lie came so quickly, so easily, that Caitie hardly even registered that she'd said something until she'd already finished speaking. Sorry, Willa, she thought.

But Tormund only snorted. "If you're gonna lie, you should come up with a better one than that," he said, and patted the empty space beside him.

Caitie obliged, sighing. "I had a nightmare."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, too bad." Tormund crossed his arms. "We're out of that shit-hole they call a castle, and we can talk like normal people, now. So—your dad?"

"No," she said, sighing. "I've made my peace with that—with him."

"Mm. Jon, then?"

She blinked. "What?"

Tormund shrugged. "You've not been yourself around him, lately. And I'm not stupid."

Caitie felt her cheeks heat up, and not from the fire. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're really gonna tell me you don't want him?"

"Tormund!" she screeched, before remembering there were others around them, sleeping. Cheeks now firmly on fire, her eyes darted around the clearing, hoping no one had overheard them.

Tormund chuckled as he slapped Caitie on the back. "Well, his pecker's small, but it didn't bother Ygritte. Don't see why it would bother you either."

"That isn't the problem," she hissed, deciding that she was going to die, right then and there, and all because of Tormund's singular ability to mortify her. The image he had just put into her head was not helping matters. "Why don't you see a problem with it?"

Tormund knit his brows together. "What?"

She sighed, giving up on all pretense. He knew; denying it would only make her look even more ridiculous than she already must. And besides, a part of her wanted his advice. "I mean—you knew Ygritte. You know Jon loved her. You know she loved him. What kind of person does it make me to… intrude on that?"

"But Ygritte's been dead two years," Tormund said. "Jon loved her, but she's not here. Won't ever be here again. Doesn't make sense to worry about the past and forget to live."

"So it's okay to just throw myself at him, then, no matter who we loved before or what we promised them?"

Tormund arched a brow, and Caitie knew she'd given much more away than she'd meant. "This isn't just about Ygritte," he surmised.

She looked away, unable to stand his penetrating gaze for more than a second, and murmured, mostly to herself, "I'm just so confused."

"Why?"

"Because—because!" Caitie winced at her cry and lowered her voice, leaning in so Tormund could hear. "All right, fine. If you're so fucking eager to talk about it, then let's say you have a great love; the person you want to be with for the rest of your life. But then, due to… I don't know, a hunting accident, they die. Years pass, and eventually you find someone new, and you fall in love all over again. Is it the first person you were meant to be with, or the second? Are they both the one for you, and you just happened to meet the first person first? Or was the second person supposed to be first?"

He shook his head. "Don't you think it could all just be dumb luck?"

"Maybe," Caitie admitted, sagging. "But if I loved Grenn, then what I feel now is… a betrayal. I made a promise to him, and now I've betrayed him. And it's even worse because I'm dragging Jon and Ygritte into it, too." She put her head in her hands, her stomach twisting with the all-too-familiar feeling of guilt.

Tormund shifted in his seat, unusually quiet, before he asked, out of nowhere, "You love Johnna and Willa, right? Like sisters?"

Caitie looked up and immediately answered, "Of course I do."

"So you stopped loving your brothers, now that they're gone and you've replaced them with the girls?"

"I didn't replace them! How could you even say that? You know how much I—" But she stopped, staring, because Tormund's face suddenly looked unbearably smug. "What?"

"Well," he said, "there you have it. Taking in Johnna and Willa doesn't mean you don't love your brothers, or that you're betraying them. Just like loving Jon doesn't mean you didn't love Grenn. You can't go back, and it's better to go forward instead of staying still." He sighed. "And look; Ygritte was fierce and loyal—and she loved Jon, even when she wanted to hate him. I don't think she'd want him to go on lonely forever. Do you think Grenn would want you to?"

"I—well, it doesn't matter," Caitie said shortly, because in truth, she had no answer to his question. "Nothing is going to come of it, anyway."

"Why not?"

She bit back a snort. Oh, I don't know, maybe because even if Jon wanted me, too, one of us is more than likely to die in the war with the White Walkers. Or maybe because a crazy red priestess told me he would have to leave me behind, and I'm not sure if I could be with him, only to have to let him go. Or maybe because he already left me just like Grenn did. And I can't go through that yet again. Finally, she shook her head and spoke the truth for the first time; the real reason behind all her doubt. "Because it hurt too much the last time. For both of us."

Tormund sighed. "Well, I'm not gonna argue with you. You gotta do what you think is best for you."

She gave him a rueful smile. "It's funny you should say that, because whatever it is I may or may not want, we haven't actually considered how Jon feels. For all we know, he could find me repulsive."

"You're a lot of things, Caitie. But stupid isn't one of 'em."

She crossed her arms. "Hmph."

Tormund chuckled, but to Caitie's utter relief, he changed the subject. "I'm stopping at Castle Black 'fore I head to Eastwatch. Any messages you want me to pass along?"

Grateful for the change in topic, she smiled. "Tell Edd that if he's touched anything in my quarters, I'll come back home and skewer him. Oh, and tell Hobb I'll send up some good quality ingredients from Winterfell's kitchens." She paused. "And Tormund?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you'll come back."

He smiled fondly. "I promise, Lady Crow."

Caitriona Norrey had never considered herself particularly mountain-like.

Mountains were supposed to be tall, for one thing. Immovable, intimidating, indestructible. They were supposed to project fortitude, their strength lying in foundations of solid rock lasting thousands upon thousands of years, never moving or changing, no matter what.

Caitie was the opposite. If her house was the earth, then she was the tides; never able to stay still for more than a moment, and every emotion showed to the world. Her father had called it her greatest shortcoming, the reason for her failure—and now, as she looked up from the winding, leaf-strewn, jagged path to Norwood, half-hidden by a layer of wispy clouds and shrouded in the mountain's shadow, she felt it all the more.

High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. Well, that might have been good for Jenny, but if Caitie had her way, she would have turned her horse around, and left her own ghosts behind before they overwhelmed her. It was only the thought of her little brother that kept her from doing so.

That and the two men beside her.

Roland's knuckles were white as he held tightly to his horse's reins. He'd said very little on their journey, as had Selwyn. Whether it was to give Caitie time with her other friends before she said goodbye, or because they had their own ghosts to contend with, she didn't know—but she was grateful for it. She didn't think she could have handled the constant questioning of her decision to abdicate her position throughout the journey.

And oh, were they questioning.

No one had said so to her face, but she saw the nervous glances shared between Roland and Selwyn; she saw hushed whispers by the fire at night, and the way they looked at her when they thought she wasn't paying attention, brows perpetually furrowed. And though Caitie had ignored it these last weeks, now that Norwood stretched on before them, she had no other choice but to face their opposition.

"If you have something to say, I suggest you do it before we greet my father's men." Though she'd tried to sound politely disaffected, her tone came out harsh and commanding.

Roland winced, while Selwyn, as usual, furrowed his brows. "Lady Caitriona—"

"I'm sorry," she quickly amended, softening her voice. "But I know you're upset with me, and I know why."

"I wouldn't say I'm upset. I'm merely… disappointed." Selwyn sighed, running a hand through his straw-colored hair and making it stick up in odd places. "I understand your loyalty to Arthur, and Owen would have been proud of you for it. But he's still a child, and he's been groomed by your father for the lordship. If there's any hope for peace in Norwood, it lies with you, not him."

Caitie thought of what Jon had told her, the day before her departure. And now she wondered if perhaps she should have taken their feelings into consideration before making such a decision. At least, she should have told them privately, before announcing herself to the entirety of Winterfell's court.

Caitie cast an eye to Roland, who was pointedly refusing to look at either of them, pretending he wasn't paying any attention at all by glancing back over his shoulder towards the soldiers—a mixture of Jon's and her own—stationed behind them. She hoped to all the Gods that they couldn't hear this conversation.

As she watched Roland and Selwyn, feeling lost and entirely out of her depth, she asked herself: what would Jon do? He'd probably give a rousing speech followed by an act of bravery, but the more she considered it, the less Caitie thought it would help in this situation. All right, then. What would Sansa do?

And there she had her solution.

"I should have told you my plans before the meeting," Caitie said, hoping the contrition in her voice would soften them to her side. "I'm sorry for that. But how is fighting Arthur any better for peace? If he wants Norwood, isn't it better that I help him instead of going against him?"

Neither of her bannermen had an answer to that.

"You know how much I care about Norwood," she went on. "If I thought for even a moment that Arthur was unfit, I would keep the title."

"But Riona," Roland said, finally looking her way, "how do you know he is fit?"

Caitie pursed her lips, the fears germinating in the back of her mind trying to take hold of her once more. "I don't," she admitted. "And I promise, if I'm wrong, you have my word I'll stay the Lady of Norwood. But Arthur was Owen's brother, too. And Cerys. They wouldn't want us to fight."

Selwyn and Roland eyed each other, a silent conversation brewing between them, before the latter sighed. "I agree. I can't imagine fighting with Edric over our titles, and I can't ask you to fight with Arthur over one unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Thank you," Caitie said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Selwyn?"

He nodded. "All I've ever wanted was peace for my family, and Owen avenged. You've given me both. I trust your judgment, and I trust you to do the right thing."

Caitie breathed a sigh of relief, and thought reverently, Thank you, Sansa. I promise I'll never underestimate the power of diplomacy again.

She signaled the soldiers behind her, and the party set off again. The path towards Norwood sloped upwards. The only sound came from the crunch of fallen leaves beneath their horse's hooves. Soon, they approached the ironwood gates looming before them.

"Who goes there?" a voice called from the other side.

Caitie waited for someone to announce them before she realized that everyone else was waiting for her to do so. She cleared her throat, fiddling with her horse's reins to keep her hands from shaking. "Caitriona of House Norrey, the Lady of Norwood."

These words were met with silence, and she worried, for one moment, that gaining entry to Norwood might prove a lot more difficult than she'd originally thought. But then the gates creaked open, and the soldier who'd spoken, adorned in the Norrey sigil, was staring at her, shock written all over his face. "My lady," he said in a voice laced with both awe and fear. "The raven said—but no one really thought…"

Damn it, if everyone gawked at her like this soldier, it would be years before she got to see Arthur. "Yes, yes, I know; you never believed I was really alive. But I am, and my father is dead. I have two hundred men hand-picked by King Jon to keep me safe, as well as Lords Knott and Harclay, so I suggest you lead us all inside and take me to see my brother. Because I guarantee that both the King in the North and the Lady of Winterfell will not be happy if they find out something has happened to my men, Arthur, or I."

The soldier's face went very pale, but he nodded and stepped aside.

Surrounded by high stone walls, the courtyard of Norwood had scarcely changed since Caitie had seen it last. It felt like stepping back in time, into a faded memory somehow come vividly to life. She had to force herself not to falter as she looked upon the places that had once held all her dearest memories, from the sparring ring where she had first learned to use her daggers, to the racks of armor and weapons in the secluded back corner where, at age five, she had caught Cerys kissing the blacksmith's daughter. He'd had to bribe her with cookies not to tell their mother.

The party came to a stop, and Caitie dismounted her horse, as did Roland, Selwyn, and the guards Jon had given. She looked around, hoping to see Arthur somewhere, but the courtyard might as well have been a city of ghosts. Oddly, there was no instinct giving her a warning of danger; no feeling of being watched. She half-expected the peace to be a ruse, and for arrows to come flying toward them.

None did.

With Caitie in the lead, the party ascended a long flight of stone steps leading to the ornate front doors of the keep. Waiting beside them was a familiar face, though not the one she so desperately wanted to see.

"Maester Harkon?" she asked in astonishment, though she didn't know why; the maester was old, yes, but he'd never seemed in bad health, and it hadn't been that long since she had left. While time had weathered his pointed features, Caitie would have known him anywhere.

He tried to smile at her, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Lady Caitriona." Eyeing Selwyn and Roland behind her, he added, "Lord Harclay; Lord Roland."

The shock of seeing her old maester still couldn't deter Caitie from her goal; she wasted no more time, deciding that she would explain everything later. The most important thing now was getting to see Arthur. "Where's my brother?"

The maester grimaced yet again. "My lady—"

She ignored him, looking around. "He should be here."

"If you would come inside and explain—"

"No, I want to see Arthur first."

"He isn't here."

Caitie stopped. She stared at the old man, eyes widening as her heart pounded in her chest. No. No, it couldn't be. Arthur was here; he had to be here. Everyone, from her father to her bannermen, had confirmed it.

Somehow, she managed to force a laugh. "We're in a keep in the mountains, and you expect me to believe he just disappeared into thin air?"

Maester Harkon straightened. "Three days before your raven arrived, I went to Arthur's chambers for his lessons, but he wasn't there. The soldiers searched the entire keep and all of Wood's Town; there was no sign of him, nor has there been in over a fortnight."

"I don't believe you."

"If you need to check the keep yourself, I'll step aside. But the fact of the matter is that he's not here. We don't know where he is."

Caitie clenched her fists. "And why, exactly, should I listen to a word you say?"

He fixed her with a most severe expression, and suddenly, she felt like a little girl again, about to be reprimanded for her sloppy letters. "I serve the Lord or Lady of Norwood," he said. "At present, that would be you. I have no reason to lie, and every reason to tell the truth."

Caitie grimaced. Maester Harkon had watched her grow up, and he had always been kind, even if he hadn't protected her from Father like Owen and Cerys always had. She softened her voice. "I'm sorry, Maester. Let's start over. How have you been these past few years?"

That won her a hesitant smile. "Well enough, though the circumstances made things difficult. It's certainly been an interesting few years, hasn't it?"

"You could say that, yes."

"I always did believe that you would return someday. This isn't precisely how I expected it, but… I am glad to see you."

"I'm sure Septa Melarie will disagree."

His face fell. "I'm sorry to say she died last year. One too many winters."

Caitie wasn't sorry to hear this in the slightest, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. Diplomacy, Caitriona. You promised yourself. "Well," she said, "I'm glad you're all right, at least." When Maester Harkon smiled, she added, "Look, I know you've had orders from my father to keep Arthur… confined. But my father is dead—" Maester Harkon went white as bone "—and, as you know, I'm now the Lady of Norwood. There's no reason to follow his orders anymore, so please, just take me to see my brother."

The look of astonishment on the maester's face gave way to one of pity. "Caitriona," he said, gently, as if speaking to a child. "Arthur isn't here. But if you come inside, I promise I'll tell you all I know."

Perhaps it was the look on his face which cut through her denial, for it was a look of pity, yes, but also worry. Whether for her or for Arthur, Caitie didn't know, but it left no doubt of the truth in Maester Harkon's words. And now, all she wanted was to pummel a stone wall with her bare fists. How many years had she wished she could see Arthur again? How many years had she hated herself for not being able to protect him?

She should have come straight to Norwood. Never mind Winterfell. Never mind Jon and Sansa and the Free Folk. They would have dealt without her just fine. But she had put her other duties over Arthur again, and now they were both paying the price.

"Fine," she growled, pulling herself up to her full height. "Order everyone at Norwood into the great hall. And I do mean everyone—not just Father's guards. I want to know every single thing that's happened since I left home."

And then I'm going to find Arthur, even if I have to break down every single door in the North.

Anyone pick up on the Ever After influences in this chapter? It's one of my absolute favorite movies, despite Drew Barrymore's not-so-great "British" accent.