TIL I learned that this fic has a page on TV tropes! I have no idea which of you wonderful humans created it or when, but mad respect, because I wrote this stupid thing and I couldn't think up five tropes used, let alone the *checks notes* 22 you did (assuming I counted correctly). But also, just... thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Seriously, it really made my day :)
Oh, also, in case some of you didn't know: you now have to manually turn on your email notifications to get notified of new chapters (thanks FFN). And apparently, it also automatically turns off after six months, soooo yeah. That's my PSA.
Ghostlike was the word which described Norwood best.
Every room, every drafty corridor, every nook and cranny and cobweb held memories for Caitie. She could see each line of Owen's face, hear the exact timbre of Cerys's voice echoing as she walked. They were so vivid, now, in the place that had once been their home, and a part of her still expected to see her brothers come running down the halls to greet her—all of them, despite everything she knew to be true. When all was met with silence, she didn't know whether to be furious or devastated or both.
Norwood's Great Hall was similar to Winterfell's, but smaller and with Norrey banners rather than Stark. The sense of familiarity robbed her of her breath. She remembered the way her father used to rule over this room; she would sit to his left with Arthur beside her, bored out of her mind, terrified of doing something wrong and making her father angry. Only to then become angry with herself for allowing him to instill that fear in her.
But now her father was dead, and like it or not, it was Caitie who would rule.
Sitting at the great table, with Roland and Selwyn on either side of her, made her feel a little better, at least. She was sitting in his seat, commanding his men, governing his keep, and it was solid, tangible proof that he would never hurt her or her family again.
As she watched people trickle into the hall, with glances ranging from apprehensive to outright terrified thrown her way, Caitie swallowed. It was a mixture of servants, guards, and skilled workers. Some faces she recognized, some she did not. The one commonality between them, however, was that none looked happy to be there, eyes flitting nervously between her soldiers.
When the hall filled, Caitie cleared her throat. "I imagine this must be a surprise."
No one spoke. They only stared at her.
She took a breath and tried again, this time getting straight to the point. "I'm sure some of you remember me, but for those who don't, my name is Caitriona Norrey, daughter of Rendon Norrey, and sister to Owen, Cerys, and Arthur. The King in the North has declared me the Lady of Norwood until my younger brother can be found. I'd like to begin by discussing exactly what has happened to him."
Caitie didn't know it was possible for a hall to go so silent so quickly. Her new subjects froze in place, staring at her with wide eyes—some servants even cowered, hunching over as if trying to shrink themselves. And she had seen many looks thrown her way, but she hadn't seen so much terror directed specifically towards her in a very long time.
Her father's old steward, some distant cousin of House Burley, stood, his back straight, showing more courage than anyone else in the room. "With all due respect, my lady," he said slowly, "you ask us to accept a lot on faith. Your raven came with news of a new king—a Snow, no less—the end of the Boltons, your father captured, and I assume, by now, dead. Suddenly, we're asked to accept you as our liege lady and tell you everything we know. But why are you only claiming this seat now? After so long… where? And doing what? Owen loved you, I know, and I trusted him as the heir to Norwood. But how are we to trust you when we know nothing about you, save that you disappeared five years ago, only to reappear in a war against your own house?"
Caitie bristled at the implications, but she had been expecting something like this. "I didn't go to war against my house. I went to war against the Boltons, to keep them from doing any more harm to the North—and, by extension, my father, who had Owen and Cerys killed for supporting their king; the same king who he helped murder at the Red Wedding."
A slew of muttering broke out amongst everyone in the hall. Burley's face seemed to whiten. "Do you have evidence of this crime?"
"My father admitted to it, in front of an entire retinue, including the men you see beside me. He was executed on the orders of King Jon, Ned Stark's son and King Robb's brother by blood, for treason. I was chosen as the Lady of Norwood, by both the King in the North and my vassals."
The room went silent once more.
"And as for where I've been, I assume my father must have told you as soon as he knew."
"The Night's Watch," said Maester Harkon. "But none of us truly believed it."
"No, no one would," Caitie agreed. "And I know better than anyone not to believe the things my father said. But he didn't lie—not about that, in any case. Owen and Cerys sent me there after my betrothal to House Hightower, and I lived at Castle Black, hidden as a boy. That's how I met J—the king. When Ramsay Bolton killed his father and declared war on the remaining Starks, I helped the king and his sister retake Winterfell."
Maester Harkon shifted. "But you're… well? After so many years in such a place?"
Caitie nearly laughed as she imagined how these people would react if she told them exactly what her experiences at the Watch had been. But then she imagined Sansa's reaction to it, and that immediately sobered her. "I love the Night's Watch. Girl or not, it was my home. I don't regret leaving Norwood; I missed it and my family, but the only alternative was to marry a man who would have killed me in one way or another."
"And now you've come back with a Stark king on your side," Burley said. "But even if what you've said is true, none of it answers my question: what do you want?"
"To protect as many people as I can."
To Caitie, this was the obvious answer; there were few things upon which she and Lord Commander Mormont had agreed, but the one thing she'd learned from him was this: a good leader protected those under their power. And that was what she wanted—needed—to be, for she might not have wanted such power, but it had fallen into her lap. The only thing she could do was make sure everyone under Norwood's protection received what she owed to them.
Her words, however, only sparked skeptical looks from every single person in the room.
They don't know me, she thought. They don't know what I've been through, or what l care about. Of course they wouldn't trust me. After all, for years their liege lord had been her father, and he had ruled over them all with an iron fist. And here she was, his daughter; still highborn and privileged, without knowledge or care. If she wanted these men and women to accept her, to help her, then she had to prove she wasn't what they thought she was. She had to prove she was like Owen, who had always done his best to protect her and everyone else at Norwood, even if he hadn't always succeeded. She had to prove her worth, just like Jon had always done, over and over, no matter what stood in his way.
Roland opened his mouth to say something to Burley, but Caitie shook her head and held up a hand. She knew what she needed to do. She just hoped she could.
"I know I'm not what you expected," she said, thinking of her best friend, and the way he could command the attention of an entire room with only a few words. She hoped his skill at speeches had rubbed off on her. "I know I'm probably not what you wanted, and I can't really blame you for it. A few years ago, I was just a troublesome little girl, and it was my older brother you looked to for protection as the future Lord of Norwood."
A few of her subjects exchanged glances, but no one said a word.
"Owen should be sitting in this seat, not me. I wasn't born to rule, and I wasn't raised for it, either. I didn't even particularly want it. But this is my home, just as it was his. Norwood and its people mean everything to me. As long as I'm alive, whether I'm the Lady of Norwood or not, I will do everything in my power to protect our lands and people, as he would have."
She looked over to Selwyn on her left, then to Roland on her right, hoping for some sign of approval or otherwise. Both were smiling at her. She took it as a good sign.
Maester Harkon cleared his throat. "It is my duty to assist the Lord or Lady of Norwood in whatever way I am able. That certainly won't change now." He smiled. "And, on a personal note, Lord Owen would be very proud of you."
"Thank you, Maester," Caitie said softly, hoping he couldn't hear the tears that had thickened her throat. She had to clear it before she spoke again, holding her steward's gaze. "Does that answer your question?"
Burley nodded and said no more.
"Good. Now, is there any pressing business to attend to, or can we move on to the matter of my younger brother?" The atmosphere, which had lightened considerably after her speech, grew heavy again. Caitie ignored it. "From what I'd been told, my father had Arthur guarded day and night," she said, and she couldn't keep the hint of venom out of her voice. "So what happened?"
Her father's soldiers went visibly rigid, averting their eyes from the great table, and all she wanted in that moment to kill them for obeying him. It would be so easy to give the order, to watch them all hang for what they had done. But another part of her rebelled against it. To hang them would be unfair. She could hate them all she wanted, but she wouldn't blame them for the crimes of their liege.
It was not one of the soldiers who answered, but Maester Harkon again. "A few weeks after Lord Rendon departed, Arthur asked for maps of Norwood. He said he wanted to study the architecture of his ancestors, but there are quite a few passageways your father might not have known about. As he wasn't here, I had no reason to deny Arthur. And…" He drew himself up to his full height. "I wouldn't have, even if I'd had a reason. After your brothers' deaths, this place became his prison. I'm not sorry he escaped."
"You protected him," Caitie said, and that horrible knot in her stomach unfurled. Perhaps Arthur hadn't been as alone as she had thought.
"Aye, we did, unlike some people." This came, not from Maester Harkon, but from a girl only a few years older than Caitie, and, judging by her food-stained apron, one who likely worked in the kitchens. When she realized she had spoken out of turn, she reddened, mumbling, "Apologies, my lady."
Caitie frowned, unease settling in her gut. "I'm sorry; I don't know your name."
The girl blinked and looked up. "Wylla. My lady."
"And you protected Arthur from my father?"
"I tried," she said. "I didn't do a good job of it sometimes, but I did try. We all did."
"Knowing what I know about my father, trying is the best you could have done. Thank you."
Again, Wylla blinked, shifting from foot to foot. "Er… You're welcome."
"But what did my father do to him, exactly?" Caitie pressed. "Beyond the usual beatings and screaming, of course."
"He restricted his access to the library; forced him into sword training; starved him of meals if he stepped out of line," said Maester Harkon, his voice growing graver with each word. "He… ordered him to dole out punishments that would usually fall upon the Lord of Norwood."
Caitie tensed. "Executions?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"Fortunately not. But other, lesser punishments… a hand, here or there. A tongue."
She blinked back tears, for she knew she couldn't let them fall, however much she wished to. But Gods, it was even worse than she'd imagined—and at that moment, Caitie wished she could bring her father back to life, just to kill him again.
"Right," she said, swallowing down her despair and trying to sound strong. "How do you suggest finding him?"
"I suggest you don't," Maester Harkon said. "If you love Arthur as you say, then don't force him back here."
"I wouldn't," she said, the facade of strength failing. "I just want to see my brother again. It's been so long, and…" She trailed off, grimacing, for she hadn't meant to say the last part aloud, and Sansa had said she needed to project strength and courtesy. Right now, she was projecting neither. "Where do you think he's gone?"
"If I had to guess, I'd say he was headed to the Wall. To you."
Caitie shook her head. "But I've been south of the Wall for months now."
"We didn't know that. We didn't know you traveled with two Starks, either; your father kept all of it from us. And as I said, we weren't even certain he was telling the truth about the Wall."
"Then why would Arthur go there, if you weren't even sure?"
Maester Harkon exchanged a dark look with Burley. "He was going to take the Black."
"He what?"
"It would have protected him against Lord Norrey."
She hardly heard those words. How could she, when her baby brother was on his way to the Wall, to take an oath that would bind him to it for life, right on the cusp of the worst northern invasion Westeros had ever seen? Did he know how to survive on his own until he reached his destination? Even if he did, and reached Castle Black, did he truly know what it meant to take such an oath?
And there was a small part of her—one she desperately hated—that had more selfish worries, because if Arthur took the black, then she might be stuck as the Lady of Norwood for good. For she had been wrong about him. He hadn't wanted their father's old title. He was cut from the same cloth as Caitie; he wanted to be free. And after everything he had gone through, she couldn't deny him that freedom if it was indeed what he desired.
She took a deep breath, trying to sound calm. "Perhaps that's true, but there are worse things than terrible fathers beyond the Wall. I'll send a raven to my friends at the Night's Watch and ask them to search for Arthur," she said, thinking to herself that she would go to Castle Black and personally kill Edd if he even considered letting her brother take the oath. "If he's looking for black brothers and they're looking for him, they should find each other quickly. And if I want to see him, I can simply go to him at Castle Black."
"If you believe your… friends can be trusted," Maester Harkon said uncertainly.
"There's no one I'd trust more. Arthur will be safe with them," Caitie replied, sighing the last of her energy drained. And she wasn't even through half of it. "If that's all…"
"I know you have things you probably want to do," Roland said, "and I hate to be the responsible one, but you need to deal with the keeps left behind by the Wulls, Burleys, and Liddles, first."
"Those keeps already have heirs, unless something has happened that I wasn't aware of."
"They do, but… they followed your father. Do you truly want to allow them to serve you as vassals?"
No, she really didn't. But Caitie eyed the rest of the hall, from Maester Harkon to her steward, to the servant Wylla and all the other servants and guards and soldiers in the room. How many of them had family living in the keeps belonging to her vassals? How many of them would lose that family because of her actions?
Caitie cleared her throat. "I don't see why I shouldn't. The king has pardoned Ned Umber and Alys Karstark and granted them lordship over their ancestral homes. Why shouldn't I do the same? This country has seen enough tragedy. I won't add to it. Besides which, the houses in question didn't technically do anything wrong. They followed their liege. He lost. They shouldn't be punished for his failure." She spared a glance at the steward and an idea suddenly came to her. "This involves your house, Steward. What do you think?"
Burley's eyes widened. He opened and closed his mouth twice before he replied to her question in an oddly quiet voice. "I think… I think I should thank you, my lady."
"There's no need for that," she said. "My point stands. None of us are responsible for the sins of our fathers. None of us should be punished for them. We'll send ravens to the keeps in question when we're finished here. If they reaffirm their fealty to House Norrey—and I don't see why they wouldn't—then there's no problem. As for the rest of you, may I assume I have your support as the Lady of Norwood?"
Caitie hadn't expected the chorus of Ayes and Lady of Norwoods that followed her question, but they warmed her heart, still. And even though Owen and Cerys were gone, she felt closer to them than she ever had since their deaths.
"Thank you, all," she said. "I won't keep you from your duties any longer. You may go." With a nod, she dismissed Selwyn and Roland as well, then turned to her old maester. "I'd like a word in private."
Caitie didn't wait for a reply before she stood from her seat and swept down from the dais, towards the archway that would take them to her father's old study. Every step she took towards it weighed her down a little more, but she had no choice, for it was her father's study she needed.
Maester Harkon followed. For a while, they walked in silence as he worked out what he wanted to say to her. Caitie was content to let him; she needed time to gather her own thoughts.
"If you were at Castle Black," he said at last, "did you know a maester by the name of Aemon?"
Caitie stopped in her tracks. "Yes," she said. "I did."
Maester Harkon smiled. "He was my mentor at the Citadel for a time. How is he?"
"Oh, you didn't know—he passed away a little over a year ago."
His face fell. "Ah. Well, he was a very old man. He died peacefully, I hope?"
She nodded. "We shall never see his like again." The words had slipped out before she'd even really thought about it, and the Night's Watch saying did not go unnoticed. Maester Harkon shifted once more, pulling on his maester's chain absentmindedly. He opened his mouth, but Caitie spoke before he could. "I know you must have questions for me. But if I answered them all, we would be here until winter's over. And unfortunately, we have more pressing matters."
He knit his brows together, but before he could ask for further information, they came to a stop in front of the door to her father's old study. She could picture what lay beyond in her mind's eye, and her throat constricted at such a vivid image. Realizing she wasn't going to open the door herself, Maester Harkon reached past her and twisted the doorknob.
She stepped inside, and a memory washed over her—of the very last time she had stepped foot into the room.
"Leyton Hightower hasn't left Hightower Castle in over a decade. His sons are the true power in Old Town," said Rendon Norrey. He sat at a large oak desk in the center of his personal study; a spacious room facing a large window from which the mountains below were visible. Behind his desk, there were rows and rows of handsome, leather-bound books. The collection had been built up by Norrey lords over the centuries.
"However," Rendon continued, "Ser Baelor's wife has not given him any sons, while Ser Garrett's wife gave him only daughters before her passing. Baelor is too honorable to put his wife aside, but that is of no importance. Once you have given Garrett a son, his father will certainly name him heir over his brother. You will be the Lady of Hightower Castle, and your son will be the Voice of Old Town, Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel, and Beacon of the South."
Caitriona, sitting in a plush chair across from him with her hands tightly clasped in her lap, swallowed the bile and acid rising in her throat. She kept her eyes fixed on the rows of bookshelves as she tried to keep her feelings from showing on her face. Marriage was terrifying enough, for it would mean losing the little freedom she had. It would mean leaving Owen and Cerys and Arthur and the home she had known her entire life.
But to marry Garrett Hightower? She would have sooner become a Silent Sister, her lack of faith in the Seven be damned.
When Owen had found their father's list of potential matches for the lone Norrey daughter, he'd had Cerys make thorough inquiries into each of the families. It seemed her altercation with Robb Stark had made her father angry enough to want to send her as far away from the North as possible. Every single house on the list was from one of the southernmost kingdoms: Dorne, the Reach, and the Stormlands.
It didn't take much for Cerys to find out all of Garrett Hightower's dirty little secrets. In fact, they were frighteningly well known, at least among those with whom her brother associated; the suspicious circumstances surrounding his first wife's death after birthing their fourth daughter, and worse, the rumors of his treatment towards said daughters.
"But Father—" Caitriona began, because even she could not believe her father would do something like this to her. But Rendon eyed her with a severe look, daring her to continue, and her jaw clicked shut.
When she said nothing, he went on. "I have let you run wild for too long. You've flowered; you're of marrying age. It is time you knew your duty to your house and name."
"If marrying Garrett Hightower is so important for our house, why don't you do it, then?" she snapped, regretting it the moment the words left her lips.
Rendon's eyes flashed with fury, but he did not move, only leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk, and spoke softly; kindly, almost. "Come here, Caitriona."
She refused to move. She knew what would happen if she did. She hated him for it.
"I will not repeat myself again. Come here." He sounded distinctly less soft, now.
And yet, Caitriona still couldn't bring herself to move. To move would be to admit defeat, and she hated giving her father what he wanted just as much as she feared him. She lifted her chin. "Why should I?"
"Would you prefer I call for Arthur to join us?"
Caitriona froze, for she registered the threat immediately. Owen and Cerys were off hunting this morning, on Father's orders—no doubt this meeting was why. Regardless, they couldn't help her or Arthur. And so, on shaking legs, she walked around the deck until she was close enough for her father to take her wrists.
A little pain, and then it would be over. She could handle that. She would handle it, because she refused to give him the satisfaction of scaring her.
When she looked back up at her father, the rage in his eyes was gone. He merely looked disappointed in her. "If you wish to speak like a Wildling savage, then I have no other choice than to treat you like such."
But Father was gone. He could never hurt her again. And however much she hated it, the privacy this study offered was necessary for the conversation she was about to have. Taking two strides into the office, she sat down in the chair her father had occupied so many years ago. Her anxiety tapered a little. He was not in charge anymore. She was.
Maester Harkon took the seat facing the desk. "You say we have pressing matters to discuss," he said, watching her shrewdly. "May I assume this is still about Arthur?"
Caitie shook her head. "No. As much as I'd like to run off and find him myself, I know that I can't. And as I'm rather helpless to stop it, the last thing I want to think about right now is the prospect of him taking the Black."
"I thought you said you loved the Night's Watch."
"But that doesn't mean I want that life for him—not now, when the Wall is quite possibly the most dangerous place to be."
Maester Harkon's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Because of the Wildlings? We've heard the rumors, but—"
Caitie didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. She merely shook her head. "No. The king has made peace with them; besides, the settlement near the Wall is made up of non-combatants. In fact, they rely on what's left of the Watch for protection." She hesitated, unsure how to tell Maester Harkon the truth without sounding mad. But she needed him on her side if she was to help Norwood prepare. "I meant the threat of the White Walkers."
He stared at her, awaiting a punchline that never came. "You're serious," he said flatly.
"Deadly. They're real, Maester. I've seen them; I've fought them. Do you want to know why the king made peace with the Free—the Wildlings? Because if he hadn't, they all would have died, and the Night King would have added them to his army of the dead."
Maester Harkon watched her for a moment, speechless, before he found his voice. "Lady Caitriona," he said in a diplomatic—and mildly patronizing—tone, "I want to believe you. But you can't expect—"
"Come to Winterfell and ask the king yourself, if you don't believe me. He'll tell you the same thing: the White Walkers are real, and sooner or later, they're going to bring about another Long Night unless we stop them."
"But my lady—"
"You're a maester. You should know how much history has been lost these last eight thousand years. Do you truly think Bran the Builder only put up the Wall to keep out Wildlings?"
"Perhaps not, but eight-thousand years is a long time. Even if they did exist—and I'll admit there may be evidence of that—there's no indication that they've returned."
Caitie wanted to scream, or to shake him—to do something to force him to understand. How could someone so smart, so learned, be so close-minded? Gods, I hope Sam is having better luck with the maesters down in the Citadel.
But closed-minded or not, she needed her maester's help. And so she reached out and grasped his hand, hoping it would compel him to listen. "Please, please, believe me. If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong—but if I'm not, then this is the greatest threat that Westeros has seen in thousands of years. Norwood needs to prepare, Maester, and I need your help if I'm to convince the others to listen to me."
A strange look passed across his face; as if he wanted, desperately, to deny her claims, but knew that he could not. Swallowing, he asked in a rather small voice, "You truly believe they're real?"
"I wish they weren't. But wishing won't change the truth."
"All right," he said. "Where do we start?"
Caitie suppressed a smile. "Well, the king has ordered every Northern maester to scour records relating to them. I was hoping you would help me go through Norwood's—starting with these." She gestured to her father's collection.
"He… Lord Norrey never allowed me to read them."
"Well, here's your chance," she said with a wry smile. "Now, let's get to work."
There were times during Caitie's childhood, and she could not count how many they might be, where she had wondered how just one person could run an entire keep. Things had always just seemed to appear when she needed them—the food on her plate, the fires in her hearth, the hot water for her baths—and, though she was ashamed to admit it, she'd rarely ever given thought to the work behind her comforts. In all honesty, sometimes it had felt as though her ancestors had just… ordered everything into existence, and those who'd come after them kept it going. It was only now, as her maester and steward apprised her of the numbers for Norwood's food stores, mining loads, and every other expense; as she listened to petition after petition from the smallfolk living in Wood's Town and made decision after decision regarding the livelihoods of those under her care, each of which she felt woefully unqualified to make; as she wrote and signed so many letters that she could hardly move her hand by the end of the day, that Caitie realized it was impossible for any one person to have done it alone.
Only once early on did she have any time to visit the crypts, to deliver her father's bones there. It had taken her days for her to decide what to do with them; in the end, she couldn't bring herself to let them rot away somewhere so far from home. She wanted his memory to remain, as a warning to future generations, if nothing else. So she laid his bones in the coffin beside her mother, when she noticed two new coffins that had not been there four years earlier. It took her a moment to realize whose bodies they housed.
And finally, she was allowed to say goodbye.
Otherwise, she slept very little, and worked late into the night, pouring over scrolls and ledgers, trying to make sense of their supply numbers and find solutions to them, relying on Maester Harkon and Steward Burley to make up for the skills she lacked. Her mind often drifted to Sam, and how she wished he were with her; she was no good with numbers, and now it was more important than ever. Her father had let their food stores dwindle since the war began; though Norwood still had enough to survive the winter, it would be a close thing. Their mining loads were sparser than they had been in years past, too, so they would not have the money to import anything should they need it. And Caitie knew better than most how important it was to have food, between her own experiences beyond the Wall at Craster's and Sansa's stories about riots in the streets of King's Landing against Joffrey. Starvation was a cruel death, and the prospect of it did terrible things to people. It was her duty to make sure that never happened.
Caitie hardly even thought of Jon, with how much time she spent on one task or another, trying to hold an entire town and all its people together. Which was a good thing, really. She'd needed to be away from him, to not constantly feel his presence. She'd needed to know that she could survive a parting.
But the one person she could not stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried, no matter what else she had to do, was Arthur. It didn't help when she received a raven from Edd, a mere week after she'd written to him, with the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear.
Caitie,
I've never taken any orders from you (no, Craster's does not count) and I sure as hell won't be starting now. Since you're a fancy-ass lady, you have no power over the Night's Watch, so fuck off and stop telling me what to do.
Now, with that out of the way, I wish I had better news for you. For us both, because the Night's Watch needs as many recruits as we can get, and even if he's only half as annoying as you are, your brother would be a good addition. But I've sent men searching (Hobb took his hog-splitter because I guess he thought a bunch of dried meat was gonna attack him), and we didn't find shit. We went down to the Free Folk settlement to ask them if they'd seen anything, but your little friend (the one whose name sounds like Jon) had already packed everyone up and gotten them moving back towards Winterfell. I'll tell Mallister and Pyke over at the other castles to be on lookout. There's no reason to think Arthur didn't go there instead. I'll keep looking, too, around the Gift and even the mountains, if you want. We'll find him, Caitie. I promise you that.
And also, it took you a damn long time to let me know, but I'm glad you're not dead. Not that I missed you, but Castle Black is too fucking quiet without your voice. I'm trying to lead, but Jon was much better at it than me. It's not as much of a disaster as I thought, but all I do all day is read, write, and tell people what to do because apparently, they're too stupid to figure it out on their own. I hope you're less fucked than I am.
Eddison Tollett, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch
"This friend of yours is certainly… interesting," said Maester Harkon as he peered over Caitie's shoulder to read the words Edd had written. The study was dark, save the candlelight dancing over the parchment. Night came earlier and earlier each day. "You're sure he's trustworthy?"
"Yes. I would trust him with the world, even if he is a little—"
"Acerbic?"
"That wasn't the word I'd have used, but yes."
The maester hummed. "Tollett… House Tollett, from the Vale?"
Caitie nodded absentmindedly as she reread the words on the page for the thousandth time, and frowned. She'd always hated it when Edd was right. But he was right; Night's Watch needed men, now more than ever, and Arthur was only a year younger than Caitie when she had left home. If he wanted to join them… Well, she had once counseled Jon to allow his brother to make his own choices. Now it was her turn.
Assuming Edd could find him.
"How much does Arthur know about surviving the wilderness?" she asked.
Maester Harkon frowned in thought as he took a seat in the chair opposite her. "Your father made him learn to hunt, and to my knowledge, he knows how to build a fire."
"Well, those are the basics." Caitie sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk and rubbing her temples with her fingers, remembering the last time she had fended for her life against nature. But unlike Arthur, she hadn't been alone. Without Grenn and Edd, she may not have made it home.
"You do intend to let him go, yes?" Maester Harkon asked, interpreting her silence as hesitation.
"I'll let him go or do whatever he needs, no matter what. Even if it means staying Lady of Norwood."
He nodded slowly as his hand stroked his thinning grey goatee. Then he said, "In that case… perhaps you ought to think about the continuation of your line."
Caitie stilled, staring at her maester as she felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn't given a thought to the prospect of that even once. She hadn't thought she would need to. Clearing her throat, she set the scroll Edd had sent her down onto the desk and crossed her arms over her chest, as if the action could protect her from the conversation. "That seems rather quick. I've only just gotten a handle on my current responsibilities—and that's being generous—and now you suggest I take on another one?"
"Perhaps a husband could help alleviate the burden of such responsibilities."
Or make more of them for me, Caitie thought.
"In the week since you've arrived, there have been letters from multiple houses. Dormund, Dustin, Flint—Cley Cerwyn even wrote personally to ask for your hand."
Caitie snorted at the thought of marrying Cley Cerwyn. She wondered if he would be so keen on her, had he known she wasn't a virgin. "Feel free to use those letters as kindling. With winter here, we'll need as much as we can get."
Maester Harkon fixed her with a most severe stare. "I know your thoughts on marriage, and I understand why you're reluctant. But this is not an order from your father, and these men are not southerners. Without Arthur, you have no heir, and I'll say it plainly—you need one."
Caitie pursed her lips and said nothing.
Tentatively, Maester Harkon added, "You and the king are rather close. He, too, will need an heir. Perhaps—"
Now she laughed, but it was without humor. She might as well have been fourteen again, utterly powerless and trapped in this... this nightmare of a place. "I never took you for a political man, Maester, but perhaps it's you I should thank for my betrothal to House Hightower."
Hurt flashed across his features. "I tried to stop it; I told Lord Norrey you were too young, that if he could not wait, he should at least marry you to a Northern lord with a good reputation. I did everything in my power to protect you, and don't you dare insinuate otherwise, Caitriona."
Caitie stared at Maester Harkon's outburst. She had never heard him use her given name, and without the title, at that. Nor had she expected such passionate anger from him—certainly not about this. He sat upright and rigid in his chair; face was flushed red and contorted with emotion. When he came back to himself, he seemed to shrink, and said, weakly, "Apologies, my lady."
"I didn't know you spoke up for me," she said softly. "I thought…"
"You thought we were all against you. All of us but Owen and Cerys; is that it?"
She looked away in shame, because that was exactly what she'd thought.
Maester Harkon sighed. "Do you truly think Owen and Cerys could have protected you without help? They were children when your mother died, just as much as you were."
She kept her hands clasped firmly in her lap so that the maester couldn't see them shaking. "I suppose… I suppose I believed that you simply chose to do as your liege lord commanded, instead of making trouble for yourself."
"I pulled each and every one of you Norrey children from your mother; you were as dear to me as any children I might have had. I could not show it, but that does not mean I didn't despise what was done to you."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, unsure what else she could say. It was impossibly unfair to blame him or anyone else for what her father had done—even old Septa Melarie. Caitie had hated her growing up, but in truth, all the woman had done was what her father had expected. Even if she'd wanted to have gone against him, it wouldn't have worked.
And Caitie knew that, because how many times had she been in that same position, powerless to help people—Craster's daughters, Arthur, Owen and Cerys; how many times had she wanted to help, but knew she could not?
Maester Harkon's face softened. "I don't suggest marriage lightly, my lady. I suggest it because you are now the Lady of Norwood, and with Arthur at the Night's Watch, it is necessary to produce an heir."
Caitie swallowed. He had a point, but she couldn't bring herself to agree to it. "I won't consider bringing a child into this world until the White Walkers are gone. I can't. And I don't need to make any alliances with the houses you've listed, as they're already pledged to the North. I promise I'm willing to revisit this conversation once the White Walkers are defeated, but not before. Unless we all die, of course, at which point it won't matter."
"I… suppose that will have to do," Maester Harkon conceded, though he looked reluctant to do so.
"Besides," Caitie added, more to herself than to him, "I can't risk dying now. Not when so many people need me."
He knit his brows together. "What do you mean?"
She had to stifle a bitter laugh. "Considering you were the one to help deliver Arthur, you should know very well what I mean."
"Ah," he said wearily. "I did tell Owen not to let you see her like that. You were too young, and it would have been better to remember your mother the way she had been before, rather than… Alas, the one trait all of you shared with your father was your stubbornness, and Owen was no exception."
Caitie said nothing; she had never liked being compared to Father, but she liked the idea of her brothers being compared to him even less so.
"You shouldn't worry too much about the birthing bed, my lady," Maester Harkon continued, oblivious. "The… complications Lady Jocelyn had were not something which would have passed to you." Caitie narrowed her eyes, and seeing her expression, he sighed. "Your mother was barely three and ten when she married your father. She had Owen not a year later, and Cerys not even two after that. Her body was more a child's than a woman's, and to give birth in such rapid succession… It was a miracle she survived. I warned your father, after both pregnancies nearly took her life, not to let her bear another child. For years, he listened—until, after a time, he wanted another son, and believed the risk worth it. After she had you and lived, he took it to mean I was wrong. But her body was irreparably damaged, each pregnancy weakening her further. When she gave birth to Arthur, it simply couldn't go on any longer."
A sharp pain spreading through Caitie's chest as she listened, and all the pieces of her childhood fell into perfect alignment. Of course, she had always known how quiet her mother was—not meek, exactly, but never energetic or talkative—she sung more than she spoke. She rarely left the lady's wing of the keep, and was always accompanied by her septa. Little Caitriona had always sat in her mother's lap, for she was sitting more than standing. Instead of raising her sons, her sons had waited on her hand and foot whenever they could spare a moment.
And Caitie never thought anything of it; to her, that was simply who her mother was. But... it wasn't. At least, not who she was meant to be.
"Caitriona," a voice said softly, and she looked back up at Maester Harkon in surprise. Somehow, she had forgotten he was there. "Maesters generally believe that seven and ten is perfectly safe for a woman to give birth, and you are two years older than that. You are not likely to die the way your mother did."
Caitie shook her head; how could he misunderstand her feelings so completely? For it wasn't fear that had her reeling. It was the fact that she'd only been fourteen when her father had agreed to marry her off. He'd seen with his own eyes what might have come of it, and he had not cared, because all she ever was to him was a broodmare to be sold to the highest bidder and put to use until her body gave out. And she had known his feelings on the matter for years already, but somehow, his knowledge of the particular risk for her mother made it worse. Generations of women, and none of them had mattered beyond what they could produce for their house and their husband, always expected to carry out a duty no person should be forced to bear.
But Caitie would not be that. Not for anyone; not even Jon. If she had children, it would be when she wanted them, how she wanted them. It would be when she knew she could give them a life full of happiness and a future full of possibilities. It would not be for her house, not for her husband. Not for an heir.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, knowing that otherwise, her response would be one of volcanic destruction. And it didn't matter, now. She knew her course. "I'll think about what you've said. For now, is there any other business?"
Maester Harkon looked disappointed but resigned at her change in subject. "There is, though not much. Lord Manderly has asked us to ship some of the iron ore from our mines; he's in need of extra steel."
"Can I assume he has something to trade, or does he just expect me to give him whatever he wants without complaint?"
Maester Harkon grimaced, for he knew to what she referred. There had been an influx of letters from the other Northern lords lately—ones who believed that, because Caitie was young, and a girl, and inexperienced, they could manipulate her into giving them whatever they wished. The first had been Lord Hornwood, who wrote with the expectation that Caitie would supply him with men and grain to make up for what he'd lost in the Battle of the Bastards. In return, he had offered to give her a perfume from Essos.
Caitie had written back personally to reject his offer, and though she'd tried to be as courteous as Sansa always managed, the letter had quickly… devolved into something more akin to Edd. Then again, Lord Hornwood had not asked for anything since, so perhaps it wasn't the worst thing in the world. And the letters which came after were, at least, marginally less insulting.
"Tell Lord Manderly that I am more than willing to provide him with steel, if he's willing to provide us with some wool and fur to clothe our people."
This won her a small smile. "As you say, my lady."
She nodded. "Now, if that's all, I'd like to try to get some sleep before morning."
"Of course." He stood from his seat, but before she could follow, there was a knock on her door. Caitie cleared her throat, trying not to feel too disappointed; she should have known there would be some business or other that needed her attention. "Come in."
The door creaked as it opened, and Roland popped his head inside, grinning. "Did you miss me?"
For the first time since arriving at Norwood, Caitie laughed. But she hadn't seen Roland in days, and with no other friends to keep her company in his absence, she had found herself missing him. Caitie liked Selwyn, of course, but Cerys was right—in fact, to call Selwyn boring would have been an understatement. And without that laughter, she'd been incredibly lonely.
Not that she'd tell him that. "Don't flatter yourself. How's Frederick?"
Roland's grin faded. "He kept asking for Edric. I tried to explain what happened, but it's hard for a child to understand. And now he's suddenly lord of a castle, when he wasn't prepared to take on the role for years. But he has my good-sister, and she's agreed to act in his stead until he's of age."
"I'm glad," Caitie said, gesturing for Roland to take the chair beside Maester Harkon.
As he sat down, he said, "I ran into your steward back in the hall. He asked me to give this to you." Leaning forward, Roland held out a hand, revealing a small scroll, with a direwolf sigil.
Caitie took it eagerly and tore the seal off. Sansa? she wondered. Or Jon?
She unrolled the scroll, eyes devouring the words on the parchment, but with each one she read, the less she believed the story they told.
It couldn't be.
For a moment, Caitie simply sat there, unable to move. She stared down at what Jon had written, and tried to force her mind to accept them.
"Riona?" Roland asked.
She looked up, only half-remembering where she was. "I… I have to go back to Winterfell."
Both Roland and Maester Harkon gaped at her. "What?" the former asked, as the latter began, "My lady—"
Caitie shot up from her seat, skirts swirling around her. Their protests sounded far away. "I'll leave you and Selwyn in charge of Norwood, Roland, if your uncle and Serena can spare you; there's no one I'd trust more. Maester Harkon, I'm sure you'll help. If I leave now and ride hard, I should make it back to Winterfell in a day. Any news of Arthur, send directly to me."
"Riona," Roland said, "you said you'd stay until you found him—"
"I know, and I wish I could," she replied, her chest tightening. She felt as though she was abandoning Arthur all over again. But if what Jon had written to her was true… "But this is from the king. I can't ignore it."
Roland snorted. "You could tell the king to go fuck himself in front of all his bannermen, and he'd probably thank you. Don't pretend this is a royal summons."
"It's not—he received a raven last night. He needs my help."
Maester Harkon frowned. "What news could be so important to require your presence?"
Caitie glanced down again at the parchment in her hands, and she realized they were shaking. She steeled herself, looked back up at Maester Harkon and Roland, and, hoping that if she said the words aloud, maybe she would finally believe them, said, "Dragons have returned to Westeros."
To Hitman: nah, only the original trilogy. I don't despise Andromeda like a lot of people do, but I'm not a huge fan of the semi-open world aspect, and I didn't really connect with the story/characters like I did with the trilogy, so I only played it once when it first came out.
To Guest: I see your Shakarian and raise you a Shenko. Not that I don't love Garrus, he's my favorite character (alongside Wrex and Mordin, of course), but for me, Kaidan has a slight edge in the romance department, as his romance arc is basically Persuasion in space and I am a huge Jane Austen nerd.