The first chapter of the Jon POV fic is up! Have fun, guys!

The grounds were quiet at night.

All the life which filled Winterfell during the day was gone when darkness fell, for no one wanted to stay out in the cold once the sun set. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the wind sliced right to the bone, but beyond that, it may as well have been a graveyard.

Caitie couldn't have cared less about it.

She walked through various open corridors and courtyards, unbothered by the chill or the eerie quiet. Her mind was blank of any destination; all her thoughts were directed towards a single room somewhere above her and the person occupying it. Truthfully, a part of her had always feared this moment of reckoning, but she'd been able to box it away, pretending that it was necessary for her own sanity. Now the facade was crumbling around her. She'd been so naïve, so stupid. Caitie had always believed she was the survivor, and only now did she understand how wrong she'd been. Throughout her whole childhood, she'd been protected from the worst of the world. She'd had a haven from their father, always—but Arthur had not. He was the survivor, not her. For Owen and Cerys may have done everything to protect their little sister, but they had failed their little brother.

And how was that possible? Did she truly know them so little? Or were the circumstances beyond them—just like they had been beyond her?

I wish you were here, she thought, looking up into the night sky and wondering if they watched her from above. When Jon had glimpsed death, he'd told her there was nothing but blackness in the great beyond, and never did she wish it weren't true more than now.

If you were here, everything would be okay. Arthur and I wouldn't be alone. You would have made him understand. Why didn't you make him understand?

A question to which she knew would never receive an answer.

Caitie thought she'd known Owen and Cerys, but she hadn't at all—not really. For all she'd adored them, they were strangers to her. And now, because of that, she would have to pick up the pieces of their broken family alone, when she hadn't the faintest idea how.

She thought of Edd, in that moment, and the brother from whom he'd been estranged these last twenty years. She remembered the way Elbert Tollett's eyes had sparked with hope and reticence when he'd asked Caitie to tell him about his brother. She didn't want that for her and Arthur. If she was sure of only one thing, it was that. She just didn't know how to fix it.

Caitie ducked through an archway, then a large doorway, still lost in thought as it opened up into one of the smaller, more ill-used courtyards towards the back of the castle. From the shadows, a pair of red eyes peered out at her.

"You found me," she said, her heart rate calming at the sight.

"Actually, you found us." Johnna emerged from behind Ghost, who padded towards Caitie.

She frowned as she stroked his ear. "I thought you would be asleep by now."

Johnna shrugged. "Couldn't. My thoughts won't turn off. I figured I'd take a walk, so I didn't wake Willa with all my pacing."

Caitie snorted. "Please—that girl would sleep through the White Walker invasion." As Johnna laughed, Caitie sat down on a wooden bench nearby and patted the spot next to her.

Johnna obliged, drawing her knees up to her chest as Ghost lay down at their feet.

"How are the dreams?" Caitie asked.

"Better," Johnna replied. "I haven't needed Essence of Nightshade to sleep as much, but I haven't been able to repeat what happened during the battle yet, either."

"That was to be expected. You're doing incredibly well, considering you're on your own."

"I know." She sighed, resting her head on Caitie's shoulder. "I really missed you, y'know."

Caitie rested an arm around Johnna. "I missed you, too."

"Mm. How'd the talk with Arthur go?"

She swallowed, looking away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That good, huh?"

Caitie didn't respond. It felt so… so wrong to lay such burdens on Johnna when she had so many of her own. Caitie still remembered her cries at night when they lived in Queenscrown. She remembered the terror on Johnna's face after seeing the aftermath of Stannis's battle. And Caitie was supposed to be the one to comfort her and help her—not the other way around. "It's… not something you need to worry about. I'll manage."

Johnna pulled away to scowl. "Don't do that."

Caitie blinked. "Do what?"

"It's one thing to bullshit Willa, it's another to bullshit me. I'm not stupid, and I don't want to be treated like a toddler just because you've got it in your head that you still need to protect me."

"I'm not trying to protect you. I'm just—you have so many responsibilities you have to worry about now, and you have so much to deal with on top of it; I don't want you worrying about my problems, too."

"You don't get to make that choice; I do. And I want to help."

Damn it, she hated being wrong. But Caitie was wrong, for Johnna may have still been a child, but she had taken on the burdens of adulthood, and she deserved the respect that came with such things. To treat her as less than she was could only be an insult.

Caitie shook her head. "Everything I thought I knew about my family was wrong. Owen and Cerys protected me from whatever they could, but they didn't protect Arthur. I didn't protect Arthur, and now he hates me for it."

Johnna snorted. "Nah, he doesn't."

"You didn't see him earlier."

"I didn't need to."

"He blames me for what happened to him, and now I'm starting to wonder if maybe he should."

Johnna pursed her lips, staring at a point in the distance, evidently thinking hard—but Caitie didn't know what about. "You know," she said at length, "he was a total cunt to me when he first woke up. Called me a… fuck, what was it?" She huffed. "Oh, it was something like 'a wildling savage who would carve him up and eat him alive.'"

Caitie winced. "I'm surprised you didn't kill him right then and there for that one."

Johnna smiled. "I got close. But then I told him I knew you, and he begged me to take him with us to Winterfell. He even said he was sorry for what he called me." She sighed. "The point is, he doesn't hate you as much as you think."

"But he still blames me for leaving him, and I don't know if he'll ever forgive that."

"He knows you didn't have a choice, deep down—just like he knows your dad was the one who chose to ship you off, and that your dad was the one who did all those things to him. But your dad isn't here anymore, so he can't send all his anger where it really belongs."

Caitie laughed despite herself. "Gods, how did you get so wise?"

"I learned from the best."

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes. "You, stupid. I don't think me or Willa would've survived without you."

Caitie wiped the snot from her nose as a new round of tears sprung to her eyes. "I don't know how I'd survive without you two, either," she said. "But I think that's the problem. I survived without Arthur just fine—in fact, I thrived, and all the while he was suffering."

"You couldn't've stopped it. But you can help him through the rest now."

"I'm not sure I know how to do that."

There was a twinge of sadness in Johnna's smile. "Yeah, you do. When Mother died, you remember what I was like. But you got me through the worst of it. You just need to figure out how to do the same for him."

Morning dawned bright and early, and with it came a new sense of purpose.

Caitie dressed with Kyra's help, feeling jittery despite having hardly slept. She'd spent the night mulling over Johnna's words, and while she still didn't know what, exactly, she needed to do to help her brother, she knew she had to try—for his sake, and for hers. It would be a difficult conversation and it might still end with him up at Castle Black, which was the last place she would ever want him to be. But that was okay. She would take it over losing Arthur for good.

When she finished dressing, she rushed out the door, intent on finding him first thing—only to be waylaid by one of Winterfell's guards; the same guard, Caitie quickly realized, who had questioned her identity days earlier.

He couldn't seem to meet her eyes, staring down at his boots instead. "I—um—I've got a message for you, my lady."

She had to fight a laugh. "You're acting as if I've walked out my chambers without my dress on," she said.

He reddened, still refusing to meet her eyes. "No, my lady, of course I wouldn't—"

She sighed, humor fading. It was times like these that she missed the Night's Watch. They always responded to her terrible jokes properly.

Then again, she had called him a moron the last time they'd spoken. "I was only joking. Henk, isn't it?"

"Aye, my lady."

"What's the message?"

"Lady Stark wants you. She's in the courtyard. Er, on the balcony."

"Is it important?"

He shrugged. "She just told me to tell you to join her."

Caitie's heart sank. "All right. I'll go now. And Henk?" Finally, he looked up at her. She smiled. "Don't worry about what happened at the gates last week. I'm not upset; it was actually rather funny. Oh, and I apologize for calling you a moron. That wasn't fair of me."

He stared at her, floundering. "Uh… thank you, my lady."

"Be sure to give your friend—what was his name?"

"Koner, my lady."

She smiled again. "Be sure to give Koner my apologies as well." And with that, she swept past him and towards the courtyard, setting a brisk pace; the faster she got there, the faster she could ask for a dismissal.

When she arrived, Sansa was watching the grounds below her, Maester Wolkan, Lord Royce, and Littlefinger at her side.

She cleared her throat. "You sent for me?"

Everyone turned to look at her; Sansa and Maester Wolkan, Caitie knew, but she'd never been so close to the others. Royce gave a respectful bow that slightly unnerved her with its formality, while Littlefinger merely watched her with his usual knowing smirk. Caitie tried not to fidget under his scrutiny, scrapping her plan to ask for leave immediately. The last thing she wanted was to give him insight to her family relations.

"We're discussing preparations for the winter. I thought you'd want to be here for it," Sansa said.

"Oh. Thank you."

She gave a single nod to acknowledge the thanks before turning back to the courtyard. Caitie followed her gaze. Across from them, men and women were skinning rabbits and preparing them for salting. Lower down, the gates of Winterfell were wide open, and through them, rolled wagons full to the brim with bushels of grain.

"With the stores as they are," said Maester Wolkan, "arrivals should continue throughout the week."

Sansa frowned as she watched, deep in thought. At last, she said, "How much do we have?"

"Four-thousand bushels, my lady."

She turned to look at her advisors. "What does that mean?"

"For the current occupants of the castle," said Lord Royce, "it's enough for a year, perhaps more."

Sansa pushed off from the wooden railings and started towards the steps down to the courtyard. Her four companions followed. "And what's the longest winter in the last one hundred years?"

"Uh, I'm not entirely certain," Maester Wolkan said. "I-I'll check Maester Luwin's records. He kept a copy of every raven scroll."

"Whatever it was, we should prepare for even longer than that," Caitie said as they rounded the corner and began their descent down the steps.

"It is likely that this winter may be longer," Lord Royce agreed, "considering the length of summer."

Sansa sighed. "You're telling me we don't have enough food, especially not if the armies of the North come back to defend Winterfell."

The steps gave way to the snow-trodden ground. Caitie fell into step beside Sansa. Littlefinger took the place on her other side, while Maester Wolkan and Lord Royce walked behind her. "No, my lady," Wolkan said. "Most likely not."

Sansa didn't miss a beat. "Then we must prepare for that eventuality. Whatever direction the threat comes from, this is the best place to be. We need to start building up our grain stores with regular shipments from every keep in the North. If we don't use it by winter's end, we'll give it back to them, but if the entire North has to flee to Winterfell, they won't have time to bring wagonloads of grain with them."

"Very wise, my lady," Royce said.

They walked through an archway into the alcove which housed the armory. "Caitriona, will that be a problem for Norwood?"

"Not at all." Indeed, Sansa's plan was the best she'd heard—so long as they left enough behind for those who had no choice but to stay—and it allowed Caitie an excuse to escape. "I'll send a raven to Norwood right now, if you'd like."

Sansa nodded her thanks and turned. "Maester Wolkan, you'll see to the rest?"

He gave a quick, stiff bow and left their party. Caitie followed him. They headed towards the rookery, housed across from the Bell Tower and connected to it by a bridge. "Even with grain from the other Northern keeps," Maester Wolkan said quietly, as he and Caitie walked up the tower's steps, "we still may not have enough food."

Caitie sighed. That would be one good thing about allying with Daenerys Targaryen, she supposed. With the Reach on their side, they wouldn't have to worry about food scarcity.

"We'll just have to hope things don't become too dire."

They arrived at the rookery, then: a small, semi-open, stone room full of ravens, white and black alike, all squawking from inside their cages. Caitie scribbled a quick scroll to Maester Harkon. As she handed it to Wolkan, she looked over at the desk on the other side of the room, hoping to see a letter from Jon amidst the pile of scrolls they had yet to sort. Alas, there was no direwolf seal; she saw only those of a few other Northern houses.

Disappointment was easier than fear, and Caitie latched onto it to keep the fear at bay—but he hadn't sent word since arriving in White Harbor, and by now, he must have reached Dragonstone.

She trailed after Maester Wolkan as he headed back towards Sansa's office, her throat tight. As they crossed the Bell Tower bridge, a guard intercepted them, wide-eyed and panting. "Someone at the gate!"

Maester Wolkan frowned. "Surely that's not an unusual occurrence."

The guard shook his head. "They're saying it's Brandon Stark, they are."

Caitie and Maester Wolkan exchanged stunned glances. Without another word towards the guard, she hitched up her skirts and bolted off the way she had come, the maester close behind. When she finally arrived at the courtyard, a crowd had formed; it seemed that every single inhabitant had come to see the arrival of the supposed Bran Stark.

She pushed her way through, to the annoyance of several onlookers, until the crowd finally parted to reveal a small wagon at the center of it. Caitie couldn't see who was sitting there, as Sansa's body concealed them. Her whole being shook as she sobbed, which only solidified what the guard had told her, for nothing except Brandon Stark could have elicited such a response from Sansa. Caitie felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight of them.

Beside the wagon stood a girl around her age, hovering awkwardly, as if she didn't quite know what to do with herself. Her face was soft, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, and her black shoulder-length curls covered in a dusting of snow. She wore grey furs that reminded Caitie more of the Free Folk than anything in the North. Could Bran have been traveling with them? she wondered. What if the girl was one of Gilly's sisters? Caitie didn't remember seeing her at Craster's Keep, but there were so many girls there, she was bound to have missed a few. And Sam hadn't said anything about Bran's companions at the Nightfort beyond his direwolf, Summer—who, Caitie noted with a twinge of worry, was nowhere to be found—so perhaps she had met up with them at the keep. Maybe Gilly wasn't the last of Craster's daughters, after all.

When Bran's companion noticed Caitie staring, she gave a small smile, hoping that if the girl was one of Craster's daughters—or any Free Folk at all—she would know she was welcome at Winterfell.

At last, Sansa recovered her composure and pulled away from her brother. He stared at her, blank-faced, while she swallowed, her blue eyes rimmed red. Noticing Caitie watching them, she said, "Caitriona, would you be so kind as to escort Lady…" She looked at the girl, a silent question in her voice.

"Meera. Meera Reed."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Howland's daughter?"

Meera nodded.

So… not one of Gilly's sisters, then. Caitie didn't know why she was so disappointed by this. Well, no matter—at least it was a Northwoman, and one who had, until recently, been north of the Wall. Perhaps she could tell Caitie what had happened since Hardhome.

Her gut churned with a mix of excitement and dread at the thought.

"Caitriona," Sansa said.

Caitie blinked. "Hm?"

"Please escort Lady Meera inside and find her suitable accommodation. I'm sure she must be tired."

Tired was an understatement. Meera Reed looked about ready to drop right there. Nevertheless, Caitie gave her another smile. "Right, of course. Come with me."

Though she looked reluctant to part with Bran, Meera followed Caitie. She made for a dour companion. All the way from the courtyard into the great keep, up flights of steps and through winding corridors, she said nothing, her eyes focused on something that was invisible to everyone except her.

Caitie gave her space; she itched to ask the questions buzzing in her ears, but the journey had obviously taken its toll on Meera Reed, and Caitie shuddered to think who—or what—they had encountered. It wouldn't be right to subject her to questioning right now.

At last, they arrived at the door across from Caitie's chambers. The room behind it mirrored hers almost exactly, with only a thick layer of dust to distinguish it. She brought out a flint from her pack and created a fire at the hearth while Meera sunk into the chair beside it.

"Would you like some food?" Caitie asked. "I can have some sent up to you from the kitchens."

Meera Reed shook her head. "No, thank you."

"All right." Caitie shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. She knew she should leave; truly, she did. But so many questions were burning inside of her, now, and she couldn't stop herself. "You must have been through a lot, north of the Wall."

Meera turned sharply from her chair to stare at Caitie. Her eyes, which had been clouded with exhaustion before, were now sharp with focus—and suspicion. "How did you know we were north of the Wall?"

"When you passed through the Nightfort, you met my friend Sam. I don't know if you remember him—"

"I do," she said, eyebrows rising in surprise. "He let us through the tunnel. He gave us dragonglass. He's a friend of yours?"

Caitie nodded. "When he returned to Castle Black, he told Jon and I about meeting you."

Meera stared before asking, "What's your name again?"

"Caitriona Norrey. Nice to meet you." She grimaced at the forced cheer in her voice. "I'm sorry, this isn't a very good time for an introduction, is it?"

Meera gave her the tiniest of smiles. "No, it isn't. But that's not entirely your fault."

Caitie chewed on her bottom lip as an awkward silence brewed between them, trying to think of what to say and coming up short. "We looked for you, you know," she blurted. "We thought you might have gone to Craster's Keep—"

"We did. How—who are you, exactly? I mean, I knew your name. You're Rendon Norrey's daughter. But what were you doing at the Night's Watch with Bran's brother?"

She sighed. "It's a long, long story. But I lived there for a while, and I went north with the Night's Watch during the great ranging."

Meera frowned, thinking. "Were you with them when they killed those deserters at Craster's Keep?"

Caitie's chest tightened. "You were there? You—you met the mutineers?"

Meera swallowed, nodding slowly, for she understood the true question. "They didn't… they tried, but the Night's Watch got there in time."

Thank the Gods for that, Caitie thought. She could imagine what Karl Tanner might do to a girl like Meera Reed. "We looked for you, afterwards, but we didn't see you."

"We were gone by the time the fighting was over."

"There was a Bolton man who infiltrated the Night's Watch—I thought he was looking for you too, but we found him dead, so we assumed you got away."

Meera nodded. "I remember him. He tried to take Bran, but Hodor…" She broke off with a sob. "I-I'm sorry."

Caitie sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't make you relive this—and certainly not to a complete stranger."

"It's just… They killed Hodor, they killed my brother, and Summer—"

"The mutineers?"

Meera shook her head. "No. It was—" She laughed, but it was full of bitterness. "You probably wouldn't believe me."

Caitie sucked in a breath as she watched Meera Reed's face. It was ashen and tear-stained, but the look in her eyes—Caitie knew that look, for she had seen it in the mirror a thousand times before.

"The Army of the Dead," she murmured. Even now, nearly two years after Hardhome, she could see them as clear as day; as if they were standing right in front of her.

Meera blanched. "You've seen them?"

"I fought them—"

"When? Why?"

Caitie took a deep, forcing back the memories before they consumed her to the point where she could not speak. "They attacked the ranging party at the Fist of the First Men. And then… we went to Hardhome, Jon and I. To make peace with the—"

"The Wildlings," Meera finished. "I saw them outside Winterfell."

"We tried to save them, but we… failed." Caitie tried to keep her voice steady, but it broke on the last word. "The Walkers killed most of them."

Meera's eyes squeezed shut. "I understand how that feels. They killed Jojen—my brother—on our way to the cave of the Three-eyed Raven." Caitie hadn't the first clue who or what the Three-eyed Raven was, but she merely nodded in understanding. "The Children of the Forest saved us; they brought us to his cave under a great weirwood tree."

Caitie might not have known any Three-eyed Ravens, but no Northern child could go through life without hearing stories about the Children of the Forest. Legend said they had ruled the forests of Westeros for thousands of years before the arrival of the First Men and, in turn, their subsequent extinction—or so she had thought. Caitie couldn't help the child-like wonder at the mention of them.

"The Children still exist? I mean, I suppose if the White Walkers still exist, then so would the children. But still… Is that why Bran went north? I know that Sam tried to convince him to go to Castle Black, but he insisted he couldn't."

"It's… it's a long story. A lot like yours."

Caitie laughed. "I can see that. What happened after you arrived at the cave?"

"We stayed there for months, maybe a year—Bran, Summer, Hodor, and me—while the Three-eyed Raven trained Bran in greenseeing."

"The White Walkers didn't find you?"

"No. His magic kept them out for a while, but—" She cut herself off, but Caitie didn't need her to finish to know what had happened.

Caitie squeezed Meera's arm, hoping that she wouldn't mind such a forward gesture. But seeing the White Walkers was something few could ever imagine—those who did were bound for life by the sheer horror of it. And with Jon away, Meera Reed was one of the few at Winterfell who understood. "I know it can't be easy to relive this. Thank you for telling me."

She managed a smile at the unspoken gesture of camaraderie. "You're welcome, Lady Caitriona."

"It's just Caitie. Now, I think I've troubled you enough for one evening. But if you need anything, my chambers are right across the hall. Come find me whenever you want, I won't mind, and if there's anything I can do to make your stay here easier, let me know."

"I'll only stay a few weeks," Meera said. "Until Bran is settled. Then I have to go home. I have to tell my father about…"

Her brother, Caitie thought. Her brother, who died fighting White Walkers. And here I am, with my brother alive and well, and I haven't even spoken to him since last night. I've taken him for granted. Again.

"Of course," she said absentmindedly, wondering if Arthur even cared about where she was. She stood to leave. "Oh, um, before I go, just one more question. Where did you pass through when you came back south?"

Meera blinked. "Castle Black. The lord commander greeted us."

Caitie grinned. "I hope he treated you well. Edd's a good friend, but he can be a little… standoffish sometimes."

"He was nice, actually, once he realized who we were."

Caitie groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, because that could only mean one thing. "Please tell me he didn't accuse you of being wights."

For the first time since arriving at Winterfell, Meera laughed. "How did you know?"

"It's just something he would do. As if a wight would ever ask for entry." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'll leave you to rest. But it was very nice to meet you, Meera."

And with one last smile, Caitie slipped out the door, readying herself for the conversation she still wasn't sure she was ready to have.

When Caitie found Arthur, it was not in his chambers like she would have expected, nor the library, nor even the great hall. No, it was in that same small courtyard from the night before; the very place where Caitie had turned to Johnna for advice.

In daylight, Winterfell's walls towered over it. They obscured the sky, casting shadows on the ground. Running along the walls was a small wooden walkway, so that spectators could watch as they passed through the area. Caitie leaned against the archway through which she'd come, keeping to the shadows. Johnna, Willa, and Ghost had accompanied Arthur; Willa and Ghost sat side-by-side in a covered sitting area, watching in rapture as Johnna and Arthur trained with blunted steel.

She leapt forward, slicing with her twin daggers; he parried the blow, swinging at her with his longsword. She jumped out of the way, rolling to the side as she tried to flank him; he spun around to meet her.

Caitie watched their dance, the push and pull of their movements as they sparred; and it struck her just how young they both looked. Too young to wield weapons, too young to carry them with such confidence, blunted though they were.

She wondered if she and Jon had looked this young, back when they used to spar as recruits. A different courtyard, a different life.

Gods, she missed him.

As if he could sense the thought of his master, Ghost's nose found her. His eyes followed, and then he stood, shook his fur, and padded over to her. Willa's eyes trailed him until she saw Caitie. Her face lit up into a smile as she waved.

Caitie waved back, stroking Ghost's fur with her free hand. "Thank you for looking out for them," she said. The direwolf leaned against her, whining. She pressed the side of her head to his body. "You miss him too, huh?"

It was a silly question; Ghost likely missed Jon even more than Caitie did. "I'm sure it's just a storm keeping his raven from reaching us."

Unless he's locked in a cell in the pits of Dragonstone. She shook the thought away and turned her attention back to the spar. Arthur and Johnna's energies were both flagging; each connection of their weapons less forceful than the one before it. Yet they continued, determination making up for their exhaustion.

Caitie watched Arthur as he used a counter-riposte, remembering the little boy who had burst into tears when Cerys had placed a wooden training sword in his hand. It contrasted painfully with the person in front of her—closer to a man than a boy, and wielding the longsword like he was born to it.

He was a stranger, and she hated it. She hated the distance, the silence, the anger. She hated that everything that had made Arthur so special among all the Norrey siblings had been beaten out of him.

Once, Roland had asked her if it would matter, should she have the chance to see Arthur again—and she wanted to pretend it didn't. But it hurt like a knife to the heart to watch him. Caitie wanted the little boy she'd watched grow from a baby. And she wanted the person he might have been now, if it hadn't been for her father's influence.

At last, the spar came to its natural conclusion: Arthur, sprawled on his back in the dirt, his longsword just out of reach, and Johnna, possessing a confident—smug, almost—smile, standing over him with a boot to his chest. "Yield?" she asked.

He sighed. "Yield."

Grinning, she held out a hand. Arthur accepted, and she hauled him up to his feet. "Feel better?"

He rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, a bit. Thanks."

"I got to beat you into the ground; that's thanks enough." Arthur grimaced, and Johnna's grin grew wider. "I'm not still mad about it, if that's what you're worried about."

He glowered. "I wasn't worried."

Johnna laughed, unaffected. "Sure, sure. If you say so. 'Cause I'm a… what was it? A big, scary—"

"I didn't say you were big. I said—wait a minute, I thought it didn't matter, because you weren't upset anymore."

"Just seeing if you were paying attention." A smile twitched at Arthur's mouth as Johnna looked up. Her eyes met Caitie's. "Hey!" she called, waving. "How'd I do?"

As Arthur noticed her, the light in his eyes vanished. The smile on his face left as a mask slammed down over it.

Caitie's heart twisted into a knot of shame and despair as she walked towards them on shaking legs. She stopped and stared, trying to think of something to tell him. I'm sorry. I love you. I didn't mean to leave you behind.

"You're very good."

Arthur looked away from her. "I didn't have much choice."

"I know," she said. She looked over, clearing her throat. "Johnna—"

"Yeah, yeah. Willa and I'll be in our room; I need a bath. C'mon Ghost."

She slung an arm over her sister's shoulder. After a quick nod from Caitie, Ghost followed them out of the courtyard, leaving her and Arthur alone.

They stared at each other.

"Arthur—"

"You're sorry," he finished. "I know." He didn't sound angry any longer. Just—blank. As if dead inside. And wasn't that how Olly had sounded? Right before he…

"No, I—" she stopped, took a breath. "No. Saying sorry won't do anything. It won't fix what I did, what Father did, what Owen and Cerys did. But can we just… talk? Please?"

Arthur laughed, bitter and full of resentment. "What else is there to say?"

"Gods, everything."

He snorted. "Do you want to know what he said to me?"

Though she'd heard it secondhand from Maester Harkon, she wouldn't decline to hear Arthur's version. "If you want to tell me."

"He told me you hated me."

Caitie's heart dropped into her stomach. Her voice was strangled as she asked, "He what?"

"He told me you left because of me. Because I couldn't protect you, like brothers have to do for their sisters. He said that you didn't want me anymore, because I wasn't strong enough."

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she hardly felt them trickle down her cheeks, for her whole body was numb, down to her fingertips. The things she'd been told were all rooted in the physical—the beatings, the training, the punishments towards their subjects. But this… she thought she might retch.

"I never believed him," he continued. "I did what he wanted, because if I didn't—I was scared of what he'd do. But I never believed him. Not until…" Arthur trailed off, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Arthur, I never wanted to leave you," she said, trying to impress the urgency of her words upon him. "Owen and Cerys—they promised me they would make sure you knew that."

"They said as much. But it wasn't long before they left, too."

Caitie's chest tightened, for that was all anyone had done Arthur's whole life, wasn't it? Their mother had left before he could even remember her. Then Caitie had left, and Owen and Cerys. His life was a steady stream of people abandoning him, even if none of it was by choice. And what did it matter, in the end, when he was the one made to bear the brunt of their losses?

He had been all alone with Father. That he wasn't a blubbering mess was a miracle all on its own.

"I don't know how to make what happened better," she said. "I wish I did. I wish I could go back and kill Father all over again for what he did to you. But whatever it is you need from me, I'll do it."

Arthur sighed. And it was full of emotion again; but this time with despair instead of anger. She didn't know if that was better or worse. "You can't undo the past, Riona."

"No, I can't. But I can make sure the future is different."

"Can you?" he asked, and his voice broke. "Because when I needed you, you weren't there. And then I ended up with the Wildlings, and Johnna and Willa, and they love you so much. Do you know how much that hurts? That you were there for them, but not for me?"

"I'm here now."

Arthur shook his head. "But for how long? How long until someone else is more important?"

"No one is more important. And I'll be here for as long as you want. For as long as you're willing to put up with me." She grabbed his hand with hers, clutching it like a lifeline. "Just—don't go to the Wall," she pleaded. "Stay at Winterfell and live a life of leisure; I'll worry about Norwood, so you don't have to take on the title. But don't leave—not now, not when we've only just found each other again."

He swallowed. "Is that what you want? Really?"

Perhaps for the first time since reuniting with him, Caitie saw flickers of the little boy she'd watched grow up. She nodded. "Of course. Arthur, I love you. I have from the moment you were born; before it, even. And the last thing I would ever want is to lose you. You're the only family I have left."

"That's not true," he said. "I see the way Johnna and Willa look at you; I hear the way you talk about your friends from the Night's Watch. You have a family with them. But I—I don't." His voice broke again.

"You do." Her voice was full of steel, even as her heart broke. "You are the most important person in my life, and from now on, you come first. If you don't believe me now, that's okay. But I promise I'm not leaving you again."

Arthur blinked in rapid succession, trying to stem the tears that were now flowing freely down his cheeks. She pulled him into a hug so tight she worried he might not be able to breathe. But he only buried his head in her shoulder, shaking with his ragged sobs.

Eventually, his tears slowed into hiccups. He took a few deep breaths and said, "I missed you."

She choked on a sob of her own, but for once in her life, it was due to joy instead of grief. "Me too."