The days after Jon's departure crept by slowly, and with a mounting sense of imminent doom.

Without him, Winterfell seemed cold and empty, the heat which flowed through the castle's walls doing nothing to drive it away. Caitie might have even returned to Norwood, for it would be easier to ignore Jon's absence in a place he'd never been, but Roland and Selwyn seemed to be keeping everything in order better than she ever could; every day, they sent her ravens, updating her on Norwood's progress. And as Sansa had asked her not to leave until Jon sent word from White Harbor, she didn't see a reason to hurry her return.

Especially with Littlefinger skulking about Winterfell.

Generally, he avoided Caitie, but she still saw the knowing looks he threw her way whenever they passed one another in the halls, and she hated them more than anything else at Winterfell.

"He's trying to unsettle you," Sansa said when Caitie had brought it up, not even bothering to look away from the letter she was writing. From what Caitie could tell, it was an order to shore up Winterfell's food stores for the long winter, which, considering the size and scope of the entire North, was a much more difficult task than shoring up Norwood's. "He believes you acted without the king's or my knowledge when you gave your father Essence of Nightshade; he wants you to know that he knows."

"You mean he wants to blackmail me?"

Sansa gave a single nod. "You're an advisor and friend to both me and my brother; you're in a position of great power and therefore a threat to his plans. As I've led him to believe I know nothing about your trip to the dungeons, he thinks he has information to limit your power—as well as to blackmail you, should he need to, and use your closeness to my brother and I to cause a rift between us."

Caitie blew out a breath. "And why have you led him to believe you don't know anything?"

"Because if I didn't, he would try to find some other way to discredit you. Or worse."

She groaned. "Fucking hell."

Sansa's lips twitched. "It's the Game of Thrones, Caitriona. He's playing to win. He can't have Jon ruling the North, so he needs to cause conflict between us. I believe he intends to use you to do so."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you have nothing to worry about. He'll try to make you uncomfortable for a while, but by the time he attempts to act against you, I will have found a means to control him. For now, ignore it."

"Easier said than done," Caitie grumbled.

Finally, Sansa looked up. "Caitriona," she said gently. "I'll protect you from him. I promise."

"See, that sounds nice, but I seem to recall you saying once that no one can protect anyone."

"And yet, you've been conspiring with Jon to protect me."

Instinctively, Caitie's hand clutched at the necklace he had given her, but her fingers merely brushed the fabric of her dress, for the chain was tucked away underneath it. "How did you know?"

"I know you both better than you think. And I do appreciate it, but this fight can't be won with weapons."

Caitie sighed, but she knew there was no point in arguing. Sansa was right, and just as she had placed her faith in Caitie, now Caitie would have to do the same. At least there were few people she trusted more.

Littlefinger aside, the days passed uneventfully. Ghost went wherever she did, and she was more than grateful for it. The only other person whom he would listen to was Sansa, but as she spent most of her time cooped up in her office, it was Caitie he followed throughout the day. He hunted with her, trained with her, slept beside her bed, and sat with her in the library. She could scarcely go anywhere without her white shadow. Not that she minded, of course; if it weren't for Ghost, she may have lost her mind. And then there was Dim Dalba, for he always had some way of lifting her spirits. Whenever she worried about Jon or Arthur or the girls; whenever she missed Wun-Wun and Shireen and everyone else so badly it burned through her like wildfire, he always found a way to distract her from it—whether it was with a joke, or simply arguing over what sort of duties he should be allowed to perform whilst healing.

The largest portion of her time, however, was spent in the courtyard, training the women and girls of Winterfell. Most were servants or wives and daughters of other lords and soldiers, and all were of rudimentary skill level, but they displayed a willingness to learn that was pleasantly surprising once they got used to the presence of the gigantic direwolf at their instructor's side. Most of them would never be warriors, but that was okay. They didn't need to be warriors, if all went well on Dragonstone. They just needed to be able to defend themselves.

Caitie took them through drills, using her dragonglass daggers, Nightsbane and Dawnbringer, rather than Owen and Cerys. It was better, she decided, to get herself used to them sooner rather than later.

It was near sunset, as she wrapped up one such training session, that she caught sight of the Valeman soldier.

An older man—younger than her father, though not by much—with a stocky build, snub nose, and cropped brown hair—there was nothing particularly familiar about his features, yet, she felt as though she knew him. It was a quality to his mannerisms as he went through his drill with a nearby dummy; the way he moved, the expression on his face as he concentrated…

"Aren't you coming to supper, my lady?" asked little Ned Umber, the lone boy in her class of girls. He never seemed to mind it though, and the older girls had all taken to him, Caitie included.

"No," she replied, smiling down at him. "But you go on ahead and enjoy."

When Ned rushed off to catch up with the rest of the group, Caitie went back to observing the Valeman, trying to remember where she had seen him and coming up blank. The only Valeman she'd ever truly interacted with was that ridiculous pompous knight during the Battle of the Bastards, but he couldn't have been more dissimilar to the man she watched now.

After a moment or two, he finished his drill and turned around, catching sight of Caitie immediately due to Ghost beside her. Most she came across shied away from the direwolf, but the Valeman did not. Indeed, he didn't seem afraid at all, sparing Ghost only a glance before scowling at his mistress.

"What're you lookin' at?"

Caitie froze in place, flustered and more than a little embarrassed at being caught staring. "Sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to bother you."

"Yeah, well, bit too late for that."

She grimaced, wondering if she should simply leave. So what if her curiosity was eating away at her? She'd interrupted someone who quite obviously wanted to be left alone.

Except… somehow, though she still didn't know the reason, she knew the man before her wasn't truly angry for the interruption.

She hesitated, weighing her options, before deciding she had already embarrassed herself, so she may as well throw courtesy to the wind. "All right, this might be a strange question, but—have we met?"

It was the Valeman's turn to look surprised. "Don't think so. Pretty sure I'd remember meeting a lady like you."

The words themselves could have been flirtation, and yet, Caitie knew he had not meant it as such. "Like me?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

He shrugged. "Y'know—more likely to kill a man than marry him."

She couldn't help her laughter at that. "Well, I suppose that's fair." She stuck out a hand. "Caitriona Norrey."

He accepted and shook. "Elbert Tollett."

The laughter stopped, her smile died, her arm went limp. She could only stare at the man before her with newfound recognition. "You…"

Elbert Tollett was now looking at her as though she were mad—and even though the two looked nothing alike, the expression itself was so like Edd's, she couldn't believe she hadn't seen the connection before. "You lost your wits or somethin'?"

She burst into laughter anew. "You're Edd's brother!"

The change in Elbert Tollett's countenance was immediate; gone was the imperious look in his eyes, the defensiveness in his posture. He stared at Caitie with much the same expression of surprise as she felt. "You know Neddy?"

"Neddy?" She choked down her peal of laughter, but she could not stop the grin spreading across her face, for she had never been more delighted in her life. She could already picture Edd's expression when she started off her next letter with Dear Neddy. He'd probably ride down to Winterfell and kill her for it, but just the thought of his reaction was worth death.

But Elbert Tollett was looking at her like she had, as he had called it, lost her wits, so she cleared her throat and tried to sound sane. "I'm sorry. I just can't imagine him responding to a name like Neddy."

"But you do know him?"

"I do. I consider him one of my closest friends—"

"At the Night's Watch," Elbert said. "Aye, I've heard the stories about you."

Caitie shifted from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable. If she'd learned one thing in her miserable life, it was that rumors were never, ever a good thing. "Most of them aren't true, I promise."

"That's too bad," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I heard you fought off a bunch of dead men with nothin' but a torch."

How that story had circulated around the castle, Caitie didn't know, but as it went, there were much worse rumors people could spread about her. "Oh. Well, that one is true—half true, anyway. It was more running away from dead men than it was fighting them off. Edd was there for that, too, you know."

This did not go over as well as she'd hoped, for instead of smiling, Elbert sneered at the mention of his brother. "'Course he was. I told the stupid git not to join the Watch. Told him Mother wouldn't have wanted it. Just 'cause she respected them didn't mean she wanted her oldest son to go off and join those sorry sods. But did he listen to me? No, 'course not, 'cause Gods forbid he take advice from his little brother."

Caitie had absolutely no idea how to respond. Vaguely, she remembered Edd's comments about his brother: We didn't part on good terms; he wasn't happy when I took the black. She knew she should have backed off from the topic, yet she felt compelled to defend her friend, even if it wasn't her place. "He's actually done rather well for himself."

"Good for him."

"I just meant… he is the Lord Commander. And he's done a lot of good."

At this, Elbert gave a derisive snort. "I'm sure he has."

Not knowing what else she should say, the two fell into an awkward silence. Caitie internally berated herself. She shouldn't have said anything; she shouldn't have gotten involved in a family squabble. It was none of her business. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I didn't mean to—I'll leave you to your drills—"

"Ugh. Just..." He squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a long, low breath, as if he knew was about to regret his next words. "Just tell me about him."

Caitie blinked mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open. Elbert was looking anywhere but at her. As she gathered her bearings, a slow smile spread across her face. "Only if you do the same. I'd be very interested to know what Edd was like as a child."

Elbert gave a long-suffering sigh. "He was a pain in the ass, is what he was."

"Ah well, that much hasn't changed. So, why Neddy?"

"He started callin' me Berty. I got mad."

Caitie laughed. "Was this before or after he glued your hair to a wall?"

Elbert blanched. "He told you about that?"

"He said your mother chased him out of the house with a frying pan and made him sleep out with the dogs."

His lips twitched. "Aye, she did. Our mother… was a force to be reckoned with. I'm just shocked he'd tell you that story. Never was one for givin' out secrets, Neddy. Always kept things close to himself. Even from me."

The underlying resentment in his tone did not go unnoticed by Caitie, but she ignored it and moved onto less fraught topics. As the two of them headed into the great hall for supper, still trading stories, she resolved to send Edd a raven as soon as she had a moment to spare. Though she knew he couldn't leave his post at Castle Black to come to Winterfell, she could at least let him know his brother lived—and that he still cared.

It was halfway through her tale of the mutiny at Craster's Keep, as she sat across from Elbert at a table, with a half-eaten bowl of stew in front of her, that the horn blew, long and low. The great hall, which had been filled with chatter and clanging of silverware, grew still and silent. It was well past sunset—who could be arriving, now?

But Jon had implemented the Night's Watch code, so when the horn blew again, a beat after the first, Caitie knew it must be Johnna and Willa.

Excusing herself with a promise to finish her story tomorrow, she tossed Ghost the bones leftover from her stew, and bolted from the hall, racing through corridors with her heart in her throat. By the time she made it to the courtyard, the wind had burned her nose and cheeks and tossed her hair every which way, but how could she care when she was about to reunite with her girls?

The gates opened; a river of Free Folk, elders and children, streamed through. And in the lead, with tired eyes and proud grins, walked Johnna and Willa.

When Willa saw Caitie waiting in front of the crowd that had formed, she gasped, exclaiming, "Caitie!"

Johnna looked up, but Caitie was already rushing forward to meet them, fighting tears as she tackled them both in a crushing hug. "You did it!"

"What are you doing here?" Johnna asked, laughing. "I thought you'd still be at Norwood!"

Caitie laughed, too, and pulled away, though Willa still kept both arms wrapped around her middle. "It's a long story, but thank the Gods I wasn't." She looked between them. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Me too," said Willa, her big blue eyes wide with excitement. "I missed you."

Johnna nodded. "It's a really good thing you're here, Caitie. I—" She stopped, brow furrowing as she looked around. "Where is he?" When her sister merely shrugged, Johnna scowled. "Willa, go find him."

"You're not the boss of me!"

"Willa."

Johnna's tone brooked no room for argument, and Willa, stubborn as she was, could only huff. "Fine. I'm going." She stomped off, arms crossed, grumbling to herself in a voice too low to hear.

Caitie turned to Johnna. "Did you lose someone?"

"He was right next to me a second ago. I don't know why…"

At the troubled look on Johnna's face, uneasiness settled in Caitie's stomach. "What is it?"

"It's—fine. I'm sure it's fine. How are you? How was Norwood?"

"It was… tiresome," Caitie said, but Johnna was hardly looking in her direction. "How was Queenscrown?"

Johnna blinked. "What?"

Caitie rolled her eyes. "I said: how was Queenscrown?"

"Oh. It was good. Everyone seemed okay and the journey here was..." She frowned, looking at something over Caitie's shoulder.

She'd never seen Johnna so distracted before, and it set her on edge, to say the least. "Johnna, you're starting to worry me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just—" She shook her head "It's nothing."

Caitie didn't think she believed Johnna, but there was no time to question her before Willa was darting back towards them, weaving through the crowd as she pulled someone along behind her. In the night, it was difficult to make out his features, and yet, no amount of darkness could conceal his identity to Caitie's eyes.

Every inch of her body froze, right down to the blood in her veins. Even as Willa dragged him along behind her, he walked with an easy grace; somehow, all semblance of clumsiness had left him. As they came closer and his face grew clearer, Caitie looked for any trace of the little boy she'd left behind at Norwood so long ago. He had blue eyes, the exact same shade as hers and sandy blonde hair which had belonged to their mother. But everything else—everything, from the soft slope of his nose to the square shape of his jaw—was Owen.

Her chest was too tight for breath, her head too muddled for thought. He came to a stop about five feet away from her, uncertainty flashing across his face, as if he didn't quite know how much closer he should come.

"Ar—Arthur?" It was half a gasp.

He gave a hesitant nod. "Caitriona."

The sound of his voice spurred her into action. She leapt forward and threw her arms around his neck, a sudden stream of tears pouring down her cheeks. "You're alive. You're okay."

Slowly, Arthur's arms came around her and he returned the hug, giving her an awkward pat on the back. "Yes," he said. "I am."

Caitie squeezed him all the more tightly, for everything might have changed in the years since their parting, but somehow, it didn't matter. Her baby brother was there. After so long, so much fear and anger and disappointment, there was nothing in the whole world that could matter more than this simple fact.

She pulled away and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve so she could look at him properly. Up close, the resemblance to their eldest brother was even clearer. "Gods, you look just like Owen."

"So I've been told."

Swallowing, she looked back and forth between him and the girls. "How in the world did you find each other?"

Arthur stiffened, and though he didn't speak, Caitie saw his expression darken.

"We found him just outside Queenscrown," Johnna said. "Almost dead."

"What?"

"It was nothing," Arthur insisted. "I was perfectly all right without help."

Johnna snorted. "Right, that's why Marna wouldn't leave your side for three whole days." She rolled her eyes and addressed Caitie. "She said it's lucky he didn't lose any limbs. He was freezing cold and shivering so hard he couldn't walk. Passed out as Styregg carried him inside." Arthur was glaring holes into Johnna's head now, but she ignored him. "Marna looked after him until he woke up. I knew he was your brother as soon as he opened his eyes; I was gonna bring him to Norwood once everyone here got settled, but you're already here, so…"

"I'll tell you about it later," Caitie said, for Johnna's expression had turned suddenly questioning. "If you find Sansa, she'll help you organize everyone. And—Ghost!" Caitie called, searching for her friend. It wasn't long before the crowd parted to give the direwolf a wide berth as he padded over to them.

There was a sudden intake of breath, and Caitie turned to her little brother, who was staring in abject terror.

She squeezed his arm. "It's all right; he's harmless. To us, anyway."

"That—that's a direwolf."

"His name is Ghost. He's a friend." Caitie scratched under his chin with her free hand. "Stay with Johnna and Willa; I'm counting on you to keep them safe." She looked over to the girls. "Your chambers haven't been touched. When you're done dealing with…" She gestured vaguely around to the Free Folk swarming the courtyard. "Send Ghost back to me, all right?"

"Sure," said Johnna. "We'll see you later."

"But—"

"Come on, Willa."

With a begrudging sigh, Willa allowed herself to be dragged along, and the two started off towards the balconies where Sansa watched the procession of Free Folk entering Winterfell's courtyard. Ghost's red eyes found Caitie's, and she gave a final nod. With a swish of his tail, he turned and trotted off to follow the girls.

Once they were gone, she took Arthur by the arm, caught between elation and… something else, quite like dread. Strange. She shook the feeling away and smiled. "Come on. We have a lot to talk about, and I don't know about you, but I'll need a drink to get through it all."

Two cups of good, hard ale later, and Caitie didn't know what to say.

It was infuriating. For so long, she had imagined this reunion. For so long, she had feared for his safety and wellbeing; had wondered what he might be like. There was so much to talk about, so many topics they needed to broach. Yet, when she opened her mouth, only air came out of it.

The two of them sat in the small sitting area of the guest chambers Sansa had generously gifted to Arthur; two cherry wood chairs opposite the hearth, and a small round table in between. Arthur stared into the flames of the fire Caitie had hastily built, with a mug of untouched ale in his hand, as silent as his sister.

He was so different. The child she'd known rarely stopped talking, but now—he had said not two words to her since leaving Johnna and Willa behind.

At last, Caitie set her cup down on the table, cleared her throat, and forced her voice to work. "I was at Norwood." Arthur looked up at her, though he said nothing. "I meant to stay there until word of you reached us, but things got… complicated," she finished weakly.

"Isn't that always the way?" he asked softly, an odd smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes.

Caitie shifted in her seat. "I… suppose."

They descended into silence, for she had no idea what to say, and it was clear to her that Arthur either didn't want to speak or also didn't know what to say. And so she waited, staring down at her empty hands and wishing she hadn't put her cup down so she'd at least have something to do to fill the quiet.

"So, you're the Lady of Norwood, then."

She shook her head, grateful that he'd at least spoken again. "Not if you want it. Maester Harkon said you wouldn't, but if you do—"

"I don't," he said, and it was with such an air of cold finality that Caitie, once again, didn't know how to respond. "How is Maester Harkon?"

His voice was lighter now, and she relaxed ever so slightly. "He's doing well. He was worried about you." And he was right to be worried, evidently.

Arthur seemed genuinely confused by this piece of information. "Why? He's the one who helped me get out of that place."

"I know, but that doesn't mean he wasn't worried. Especially with…" She trailed off, the words sticking in her throat.

"What?"

Caitie toyed with a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. "I—were you really going to take the black?"

Arthur froze for a moment, his expression unreadable. "It's an honorable calling," he said at last, shrugging.

Well, she certainly couldn't disagree with the sentiment. "Did you know I was there?"

He shook his head. "Not until recently. Father told me just before he left Norwood to answer the Bolton's call."

"Oh." She hesitated, still fiddling with her hair as she tried to work up the courage to ask what she knew she must. "Do—do you still want to join?"

He did not reply, merely looking back down at his mug of ale.

It required all her willpower not to reach out and take his hand. There was such a barrier between them, and though she wanted to break it, to speak to him as her baby brother, she didn't feel as though she had the right. "How did you end up at Queenscrown?"

He sighed, slumping back into his chair. "It was my own fault. I got myself caught in a snare a few miles into the Gift. I wasn't badly hurt," he added, when Caitie's eyes widened with horror. "There wasn't any rot. But I had trouble walking or hunting or getting the materials to build a fire, and… Well, I guess it's just a good thing those Wildlings found me."

Caitie nodded, somehow finding the courage to muster a wry smile. "It was, though I don't suggest calling them Wildlings to their faces."

He snorted. "Something I learned the hard way."

"It does take some getting used to."

"But not for you, apparently," he said, and now there was a slight edge to his voice that had not been present before.

Fear crept up Caitie's spine. If Arthur believed anything their father had said concerning the Free Folk, or even if he held the same opinion as most Westerosi… "Well," she said carefully, "I'm glad you're here, and in one piece. Though I suppose I should send a raven to Castle Black and let them know I've found you—or that you've found me, at any rate."

Her brother stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"When Maester Harkon told me where you planned to go, I contacted the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch—he's a friend of mine—and asked him to keep a lookout for you."

"So you could drag me back home?"

The sudden change in Arthur's tone caught Caitie off guard; there was not even an attempt at calm now, but unbridled rage. "No, of course not. I just… I had to know you were safe. I was afraid."

"That would be a first," he muttered bitterly.

She swallowed. "Look, I know how you must feel—"

"I sincerely doubt that."

The words she'd prepared turned to ash in her mouth. She didn't know how to interact at all with the person in front of her—and it left her feeling as though she were drowning. "I only meant, I know it can't have been easy with Father—"

"I don't want to talk about Father."

She turned course, trying to think of some way to salvage the conversation. "O-okay. We can talk about something else, then. Anything you want."

Arthur took a slow, deep breath, closing his eyes as he exhaled. When he opened them, any inkling of emotion was gone. "Is he dead?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"How?"

"I gave him Essence of Nightshade."

"You should have let the king take his head. It's no more than he deserved."

She didn't argue, for she knew he was right. But her heart still ached. This scowling person in front of her—he was not her brother. The Arthur she'd known growing up would never have said such a thing, no matter if their father deserved it. But the boy before her now was a stranger. "Arthur," she said gently, "what happened to you?"

"Nothing," he said quickly.

Caitie felt as though her heart were breaking into a million pieces. "Maester Harkon and Steward Burley—they told me terrible things."

Arthur gave a single, barking laugh. "I'm sure they did."

"Arthur—"

"Well, what were you expecting? That Father went soft once Cerys and Owen died?"

"Of course I didn't. But I know the things I've been told, and I can't imagine—"

"And who's fault was that?" he snapped, shooting up from his chair. The ale dropped out of his hand and spilled out onto the floor, but he didn't seem to notice. "You up and left your family, ran off to the Night's Watch, and you wonder—"

"I didn't leave. I had no choice," Caitie said, her heart thudding against her chest as she stood to face him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This… this wasn't… it wasn't right.

"And I suppose you were just conscripted into it?"

In her shock, Caitie couldn't do anything but gape. It was her worst fear coming to life. But Owen and Cerys had promised her they would explain. They had promised that Arthur would understand she had never wanted to leave him.

When she didn't reply, Arthur snorted. "That's what I thought."

As a wave of righteous indignation coursed through her, she came to her senses. "If I hadn't, I would've been shipped off to Old Town, anyway."

"You could have at least written letters, or come back to Norwood when everyone else went off to war. You could have taken me with you to Castle Black—" Arthur cut off, his hands balling into fists. "You got out; good for you. But I didn't. And I had to be the perfect son, to make up for what the rest of you did."

Caitie tried to breathe, but her lungs refused to fill. What could she say? She could tell him she had no choice every second of every day for the rest of her life, but did that matter when it wouldn't change anything that had happened in the last five years?

"Arthur, I'm so sorry—"

"Save it. I don't want your pity. I don't need it. I survived, all on my own; I don't need anything from you, or anyone else."

"Everyone needs someone," she said softly.

Arthur ground his teeth. "Don't. I spent three years on my own without you or Owen or Cerys—with no one but Father. I do not need anyone."

"Yes, you do. You shouldn't have had to be alone."

He laughed, a bitter, nigh unhinged laugh that seemed to reverberate through her skull. "You don't get it, do you? I survived without you. I did what I had to do, and I came out of it. I don't need you anymore."

Somehow, Caitie drew herself up to her full height, though her full height only hovered at Arthur's shoulder. "Then why are you here?" she asked. "You could have continued to Castle Black once you were well enough, or not gone there at all, but down to Old Town to become a maester instead. You could have gone anywhere, so why come find me?"

"Maybe I wanted to tell you that, before I left for good." His ice-blue eyes were alight with rage, and she wondered if this was how her eyes looked to others when she was angry—cold but bright and sharp with intelligence, as if looking for weaknesses. And it terrified her, because even though Rendon's eyes had always been dark, that glittering intelligence—that was him.

"You just wanted to hurt me? That's all?" She didn't know whether she wanted to burst into tears or scream. In truth, what she really wanted was to rage, to hurt Arthur as he was trying to hurt her. She wanted to tell him he might as well become their father if that was how he felt.

"And what if it is? What's wrong with that, when you and Owen and Cerys all hurt me first!"

It was those words that calmed the storm in her heart, for they weren't the words of her father. They were the words of a child—one who'd been abandoned by the people he loved, the people he had relied upon for protection. Her temper crashed, giving way to bitter regret and exhaustion. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said. "I love you—"

"You left me!" he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I woke up one day, and you were gone. Owen and Cerys wouldn't tell me where you went, and Father… he was so angry. But you—you were supposed to be my sister, and you left me!"

Caitie opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that she didn't want to leave him, that she'd never had any choice in the matter. But she knew, as she looked at her brother, that this wasn't entirely true. She'd always had a choice. She could have gone straight to Norwood after Jon's coronation—or even before, after Selwyn and Edric had joined forces with theirs and told her of Arthur's situation. But she had not. Instead, she'd put other responsibilities—other people—in front of him, over and over again. And she had told herself it was the right thing at the time, but maybe it hadn't been.

Maybe there had always been a small part of her afraid to face her brother.

Arthur wiped his nose, obscuring his face from view. When it was visible again, his expression had turned unreadable. "Just get out. I want to be alone."

All the fight drained out of Caitie. With shaking hands, she set her cup of ale down, strode over to the door, and let it shut behind her.

Sad, isn't it? Alas, Arthur is abandonment issues personified, and Caitie can't fix it with a few words. She needs at least 10. Maybe even 20.

Btw, guess who's writing an entire fic from Jon's POV covering (most of) his time on Dragonstone/beyond the Wall/King's Landing? I was honestly pretty hesitant to write him at first, but I am now having so much fun. Like, I have and will continue to bitch about the Winterhell plotline in S7, but Jon's scenes on Dragonstone? Fucking masterful. But I'll wait to talk more about that when I post the new fic. It's looking to be about 5 chapters, and I haven't decided whether to spread them out, posting at same time I post upcoming chapters on the main fic so the timelines all match up, or if I should dump them all at once later (feedback in that regard is appreciated). Tbh, it's more of a character piece than anything else, really; no new scenes, but Jon's inner monologue makes him a lot less stupid than he seems in the show.