After a journey of cold, wet misery, they finally arrived at Craster's Keep.

It looked no different than it had months earlier—the only change was the lack of women bustling around the grounds. Strange to think that only seven months ago, Caitie had been here. So much had changed since then, and none of it good.

The surviving rangers followed the lord commander to the keep's entrance, but Sam grabbed Caitie's arm before she could follow as well. He jerked his head towards the left, to where Ghost was standing in a patch of light, staring off into the distance.

"Ghost!" Sam called. He turned his gaze towards them. Caitie shook her head, and the direwolf ran off.

"Let him hunt," she told Sam. "He'll be safe."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue either as they followed the rest of their brothers.

Craster stood in front of the keep, glaring at them all as they stood shivering from the cold. "What have we here?" he asked. "Frozen crows?"

"We've come a long way," Mormont said.

"Smaller flock than you went north with."

The lord commander's face was passive. "We can talk inside."

Craster raised an eyebrow. "Oh, can we?" He seemed to relish the fact that the ranging party was at his mercy. Caitie wished, once again, that they could just kill him.

He stayed silent for longer than he should've had any right to, watching with glee as they suffered, but finally, he gestured for them to enter the keep.

Mormont nodded in thanks and walked through the door. The others took that as their cue to follow, and they filed in.

Once inside, Caitie sat between Sam and Grenn on a bench around the fire while Craster had his daughters give the ranging party some brown, lumpy stew. It looked so terrible Caitie almost outright refused, but her stomach felt like it her eating itself, and she had no choice but to accept. Still, she barely managed not to gag with each spoonful, while Grenn tried not to laugh at her overreaction. All she could muster in return was a half-glare.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air. By the sounds of the other women asking for water and cloths, Caitie guessed it was Gilly—she'd be due to give birth any day now.

Caitie had to ignore the cries, though it wasn't easy. Giving birth sounded dreadful. How anyone could have expected her to do the same, Caitie would never know. At that moment, she was more grateful than ever to her brothers for packing her off to the Watch.

Looking around the room in an attempt at distraction, Caitie noticed Tanner and Rast staring at some of the girls lustfully. She wanted to vomit watching Tanner leer unabashedly at a girl of about twelve.

Craster noticed them, too. "Keep your eyes where they belong," he snarled at Rast. They're not for you."

Caitie clenched her fists. Craster's daughters weren't for anyone—as Sam had once said: they were people, not goats.

"Bet you feed that pig better than you feed us," Tanner said, ignoring the warning.

"Aye, that pig's got value to me." Craster put his hands behind his head. "You should all be kissing my feet for letting you in. I'd have turned you all away if I wasn't a godly man."

Mormont eyed him skeptically. "You are a godly man?"

"I am," Craster replied. "I got no fear of what's out there."

Caitie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Was he referring to the White Walkers?

"When the white cold comes," he continued, "your swords and cloaks and bloody fires won't help you. The only ones left will be those who are right with the gods—the real gods."

As soon as Craster finished, and his words settled in, it all clicked into place. There was a sharp intake of breath before Caitie could stop it.

The white cold, the real gods, the absolute certainty they wouldn't harm him—if Caitie combined that with Gilly's refusal to say what Craster did to his sons beyond him "sort of" killing them…

Seven fucking Hells.

Grenn glanced at her, furrowing his brows, but she ignored him. Caitie's mind was reeling—her thoughts racing so fast she could barely decipher them.

The gods Craster believed in were the White Walkers, and he was sacrificing his sons to them. It's what Jon had seen—it's why he'd refused to tell her. He knew Caitie too well—she would have insisted they take Gilly; the consequences be damned.

She had to leave the room before she did something stupid—such as running Craster through.

Slipping behind the bench before Grenn or Sam could stop her, Caitie used the other men as cover until she could escape out the door as Gilly's wails of pain permeated the room.

Caitie wandered aimlessly around the keep for what had to be hours, still unsure of what to do, what to think, what to feel. She wanted to tell herself that her theory wasn't necessarily true—only speculation—but Gods, it made sense. With that little piece of information, everything fit together.

And the lord commander had to know about it—Jon would have told him, which only made even worse.

At some point—long after the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the stars had appeared—she came across the man in question.

"Caitie," Mormont said gruffly.

She inclined her head. "M'lord."

There was silence. The lord commander looked as though he wanted to say something to her, but he didn't. Instead, he started to walk past her.

"He's sacrificing his sons to the White Walkers," Caitie said before she could lose her courage. "Isn't he?"

Mormont turned back around to face her, now with a harsh expression as he waited for her to continue.

"It's what Jon saw—Craster bringing one of his boys out of the keep."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye."

The look on his face made her realize the truth. "And you knew about it the entire time," she said in horror. "Before Jon told you, even."

Mormont didn't answer the accusation. "You're a sharp boy, aren't you? How did you figure it out?"

Caitie scowled. "Craster's little speech. He's so sure the Walkers won't harm him because he's 'right' with them. I put it together with Jon getting us kicked out."

She didn't add Gilly's part in her epiphany.

A bitter laugh bubbled up from Caitie's chest. "And I thought raping his daughters was as bad as it got with him." She forced herself to look the lord commander in the eye. "He's murdering babies."

Glowering, Mormont replied, "I'll tell you what I told Jon Snow. That man has been all that's stood between life and death for our rangers."

"But the only reason we send our rangers out beyond the Wall is to track Wildlings. And if this is what we have to condone to keep them out, then how can we say we're on the right side?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "You speak of things you don't understand."

"I suppose that's true," Caitie said stonily. "But Jon is dead because of our war with the Wildlings. So is Qhorin Halfhand, and the gods only know how many others. Is keeping them trapped here with the White Walkers really worth all this loss?"

She knew what she was espousing was likely to get her killed, but damn it, she didn't care. Caitie knew right from wrong, and she wasn't going to pretend she didn't for anyone.

"What you say is dangerous, Caitie," Mormont said. "I will only warn you once—no more." His tone made it very clear he had no more tolerance for being questioned.

"Of course," she ground out, clenching her fists. "Apologies, my lord."

She stopped immediately.

M'lord, Caitriona, she thought. She had been so good at using the lowborn term—this was not a good time to break the streak.

Thankfully, Mormont didn't seem to notice. "You're a good lad," he said quietly, "with a good heart. It'll get you killed if you aren't careful."

Caitie crossed her arms defensively. "My brother once said it was the best thing about me."

"No doubt your brother had a different future in mind for you."

She snorted. "No one expects their brother to take the black, I suppose."

"Aye," he agreed, chuckling a bit. His expression became distant as he continued. "Nor their father."

Caitie wondered if he was thinking about his son—Ser Jorah Mormont. She had heard about his exile at length from Owen. But while she was curious, Caitie didn't ask. She had pushed back against the lord commander enough already. It was a wonder he hadn't executed her yet.

Mormont shook his head. "Well, no matter. Your friends have been searching for you. You may want to go speak to them before they turn the whole damn keep on its head."

She nodded to acknowledge the lord commander properly before she went off to find her friends. Caitie didn't particularly want to see them, though. She wanted to be alone, and so she continued to wander with no destination in mind, trying to avoid everyone.

Even knowing what the lord commander had allowed, Caitie couldn't hate him, and it frustrated her to no end. She wished things were simple—that good and evil were easily understood—but if Jeor Mormont was any indication, her wish was unachievable.

Gods, she didn't know what to do. Caitie knew what she wanted—which was to kill Craster and take every single one of his daughters back to Westeros. There was no way to do that, though—Mormont would never allow it.

But she couldn't just leave them to Craster and the White Walkers. The little girl who Tanner was eyeing earlier—she didn't ask for this fate, any more than Caitie asked to grow up relatively safe and loved south of the Wall. It was chance or luck or the Gods' stupid design, and it was entirely unfair.

For the thousandth time, Caitie wanted Jon to be there so she could discuss all of this with him. She wanted to know what he thought of the lord commander's decision regarding Craster and the Wildlings, and she wanted to know if he would have told her the truth eventually.

"There you are."

Startled, Caitie looked up to see Edd sitting on a bench with a bottle in his hand. He waved her over, and, knowing there was no escape, she steeled herself and walked over to join him.

"Grenn's been lookin' for you everywhere," he said.

Caitie furrowed her brows. "What about Sam?"

"Craster said some," he shifted uncomfortably, "stuff to him after you ran off—haven't seen him since."

In any other situation, Caitie might have been worried, but she knew her friend well enough to have an idea of where he'd gone.

Edd observed her. "You look white as a sheet."

"I always look white as a sheet," she replied weakly.

He raised a brow.

"I…" she started, but the full effects of Craster's machinations hit her again, and she suddenly felt clammy. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Sit down, then."

"No," she shook her head, "I—I can't."

When she started to pace, Edd asked frustratedly, "Caitie, what the hell is wrong?"

"Craster," she blurted. Swallowing, Caitie took a deep breath and decided to tell him. "He's giving his sons to the White Walkers, so they'll leave him be."

He stared at her in shock. "You sure about that?"

"The lord commander confirmed it."

There was a long pause before Edd spoke again. "Well," he said, "'least the White Walkers won't come after us here."

Caitie's mouth fell open. "Did you not hear me when I said he's killing his children? Raping his daughters was horrid enough, but this is almost worse."

"Nothing we can do about it." He sounded almost bored.

"But—"

"But nothing." He shook his head and chortled. "You just thought you was gonna go around saving everybody when you became a black brother, didn't you?"

Caitie scowled. "Of course not. I thought I'd put my head down and survive."

"Smart way of going about life," Edd told her praisingly.

"But I can't just put my head down and survive when I keep seeing horrible things I could be stopping."

"But here's the thing." He took a swig of his drink and set it down. "You can't stop it. There's nothing you can do to keep Craster from marrying his daughters or killing his sons. So why bother worrying about it?"

"Because it's wrong!" she exclaimed. "Because it's awful and—"

"You're what—fifteen?"

The question took Caitie by surprise. She lifted her chin in defiance, as she had the terrible feeling Edd was about to patronize her. "I'll be sixteen in a week."

He laughed heartily. "You're young—soon as you get on a few years, you'll come to grips with what you can't change."

Seven Hells, what was it with everyone she knew telling her to somehow become apathetic?

Caitie nearly replied that if coming to grips with what she couldn't change meant only caring about herself—as he had done during the Battle at the Fist—she would pass.

But then a voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Sam's, told her it would have been wrong to hold the incident over Edd's head. Especially considering how he'd helped her protect their friend on the way to Craster's. Edd had even taken a night shift to watch over Sam while he slept.

Seeing the expression on Caitie's face, Edd sighed and rolled his eyes. "You and Jon were just made for each other."

The comment took her by surprise—it was a rather strange way to word things. "What?"

"Both of you—all about being a hero—"

"I don't care about being a damn hero," she hissed. "I just don't want bastards like Craster to get away with being fucking monsters!"

At the outburst, Edd sighed and patted the seat next to him. "You need a drink."

"I need—"

"A drink," he insisted. "Now sit your ass down."

Caitie plopped herself beside him on the bench and pouted childishly. Somehow, this conversation had taken a strange turn—reminding her of one of Owen's lectures when she'd misbehaved.

Edd handed her his bottle. "I had a brother like you, growing up. I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told him—if you want to survive, don't do stupid shit trying to be a hero."

"Thank you for such riveting advice," Caitie snarked back.

He snorted. "Well, I imagine it's difficult not having control over everything after being a lordling."

Her heart dropped into her stomach as she blanched. Even if he thought her a lord instead of a lady, he was still one step closer to the truth.

Edd rolled his eyes. "You should be more subtle if you're gonna pose as a street urchin."

Damn it, Caitie knew her mistakes would come back to haunt her.

"I—" she began, but Edd cut her off.

"I'm not gonna tell, don't worry about that. None of my business who you are or why you're here."

Caitie sighed in relief. "Thank you."

He only shrugged. "You're not bad to have around. 'Least I can do to return the favor."

That managed to elicit a faint smile from her, but it faded quickly as the problem at hand wormed it's way back into her mind. "I still can't accept what Craster's doing."

"Well, you've got to," he told her. "But I'll tell you what: you let this go, I'll give you the rest of my ale."

Coming from Dolorous Edd, that was a rather large sacrifice.

"Oh, all right," Caitie relented, grabbing the bottle from his hand.

In truth, she was far from letting it go. Caitie would get Gilly and her baby out of this miserable place if it was the last thing she ever did.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, she'd take the shitty ale that Craster supplied them with, and drink away her disgust until she was so inebriated she could barely think.

The next morning, Caitie woke with a splitting headache. Opening one eye, she peered out at the room to see Ghost laying at her feet, Edd a few feet away, still asleep and snoring loudly, and finally, Grenn sitting beside her with an amused expression on his face.

"Had a good night?" he asked when he saw her eyes open.

Caitie groaned. "Ugh, could you please lower your voice?"

"Sorry." He cleared his throat and repeated quietly, "Had a good night?"

"Not exactly how I'd describe it," she muttered. It felt as if her head might explode. The throbbing made it challenging to think. Still, she forced herself to sit up slowly and tried to remember the events of the night before.

After her and Edd's conversation, they had finished the rest of his bottle of ale and then went in search for more. Eventually, the pair stumbled upon a stash of beer Craster had hidden away, stolen a few bottles of it, and proceeded to get drunker than Caitie had ever been in her life. The rest was a haze, but it was slowly starting to return.

"Did Edd and I," she closed her eyes, "try to spar?"

Grenn's smirk turned into a full-blown smile, and Caitie had her answer.

"Seven Hells," she said, putting her head in her hands, thinking she might die from embarrassment.

"Don't worry," Grenn assured her, "I kept you from killing yourselves."

"How kind of you," she replied sarcastically.

Grenn laughed, but he stopped when she glared at him. "Sorry," he said. "But you're the one who drank two bottles of ale."

"It was beer. And I had good reasons." When he looked as if he was about to ask for more information, Caitie quickly changed the subject. "Where's Sam?"

"Making up a story to the lord commander for you."

"Shit. I owe him for that."

"Aye," Grenn agreed, handing her a waterskin. "Here—this'll make you feel better."

"It feels like an army of Northmen has trampled me. Somehow, I don't think water is going to fix that."

"It won't cure you, but it'll help—trust me."

Caitie huffed. "Oh, fine."

She took the water and gulped it down. Grenn was right—she didn't feel entirely better, but she at least was well enough to try and stand after a minute or two.

Dizziness and nausea overtook her as she pushed herself up, but Grenn caught her before she could fall.

"Woah," he said, steadying her.

Caitie tried to ignore that he was nearly holding her. "I am never drinking again," she groaned, rubbing her eyes.

He chuckled. "Give it a few more days here; you'll change your mind."

"Sadly, you're probably right." As soon as she was sure she wouldn't fall, Caitie pulled away. "I'd better find the lord commander before he kills me."

He grinned. "Good luck."

The morning light did not make Caitie feel better.

Squinting, she looked around for Mormont or Sam. Caitie found the lord commander easily enough—he was scolding Karl Tanner, probably for leering at Craster's daughters—but she saw no sign of Sam.

When he saw her, Ghost in tow, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the way she was hunched over, avoiding the light. "Headache?" he asked much too loudly.

Caitie flinched. Mormont shook his head disapprovingly, but only ordered her to bring him breakfast.

As the day went on, and Caitie carried out her duties, the headache gradually lessened. Drinking water helped immensely, so by the time she found Sam later that afternoon, it was nearly gone.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," she said when she saw him. "I wanted to…" Noticing his expression, she trailed off, and then, gathering her courage, asked, "What is it?"

"Gilly," he replied.

Caitie's stomach dropped. How had she forgotten about Gilly already?

Oh, yes—the alcohol.

"She's not—"

"No, no," Sam said, knowing what she was about to ask. "She made it through the birth."

"It's a boy, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"Did you know?" It was an awful time to ask, but Caitie had to know the truth.

"What?"

"That Craster is giving his boys to the White Walkers. I assumed Jon told you."

Sam winced. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but he knew it would upset you, and you were already so furious over what Craster was doing to his girls, he knew you would get yourself in trouble and get hurt or killed. He was only worried—"

"Sam," she cut in, "it's okay. I'm not angry."

"You aren't?"

"I... I know my temper can get the better of me. I understand why Jon didn't say anything. I probably would have gotten myself killed."

"Oh, Kitty," Sam said proudly. "You're growing up."

Caitie rolled her eyes and ignored his statement. "But we have to find a way to save Gilly and her son."

"I know. I just can't think of how."

She sighed miserably. "Me neither."

Sam went quiet and then asked in a small voice, "Would you stand watch for me while I visit her?"

"Of course, I would." Caitie exhaled a breath and turned to address Ghost. "Come on, boy. We have a job to do."

The two of them stood guard outside the birthing house, keeping an eye out for tattlers. Thankfully, Rast was busy bothering Grenn and Edd as they shoveled shit in the pig-pen. No one else seemed to care or even notice.

Caitie tried her best not to listen in on Sam and Gilly's conversation, but she had little to distract her.

There was some arguing, and then Gilly said, "I don't want your stupid thimble. I want to save my baby's life. Can you do that?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Can you?" she asked again, more angrily than before. "I don't have time for you. I don't have time for anyone but him, because he doesn't have much time."

Gilly's baby started screeching so loudly it was making Caitie's head start to pound, and she decided it was time to intervene.

The first thing she noticed as she entered the room was that Gilly could stand. The observation lessened her anxiety—the last time Caitie had seen a woman after giving birth, she had been laying in a bed with blood everywhere, pale, unable to move, and dying.

The thought of Caitie's mother didn't help matters, so she pushed it back.

"Sam," she said, "could we have a moment?"

He nodded, his eyes moving between the two girls, and turned to leave.

The baby's screams hadn't quieted one bit. Gilly looked exhausted and miserable, but Caitie had an idea.

"May I hold him?" When Gilly only glared at her warily, Caitie elaborated. "I think I may be able to get him back to sleep."

The thought of getting her son to quiet down settled things, and Gilly handed Caitie the bundle.

She stared down at the squalling baby. "This always used to work on my brother."

And then Caitie began to sing for the first time in two years.

"I loved a maid as fair as summer

with sunlight in her hair.

I loved a maid as red as autumn

with sunset in her hair.

I loved a maid as white as winter

with moonglow in her hair.

I loved a maid as fresh as spring

with sunrise in her hair."

The baby's eyes shut as Caitie sang the last verse for the second time. When she was sure he was asleep, she handed him back to his mother.

Gilly took her son into her arms, crying softly. "Thank you," she said through sniffles.

"It was no trouble."

Caitie looked over her friend's shoulder at the sleeping baby. He was so small and quiet and innocent looking. How could anyone want to hurt him?

"He likes music," was all Caitie could think to say.

Gilly wiped the snot away from her nose. "It's a pretty song."

"My mother used to sing it to me, and I sang it to my brother after she passed away. I always preferred it to Song of the Seven."

Gilly stared at her.

"Sorry—you probably don't care." Caitie didn't know what else to tell her. What the hell would be comforting in a situation like this?

Caitie wished she could promise they would find a way to save her son, but she didn't want to get Gilly's hopes up, so instead, she asked, "How long do we have?"

Gilly caught her meaning. "He waits a few months to make sure the baby stays strong."

It didn't make much sense to Caitie, but she wasn't going to sit around to complain. There was time, and maybe, between Caitie, Gilly, and Sam, they could think of a way to escape Craster. All three of them were smart; together, they could do this.

They had no other choice.

Another longer-than-usual chapter. I think this is going to be the new norm, though. As the story gets longer and more complicated, so do the chapters, I guess.

By the way, the song I used is called The Seasons of My Love. Officially, it only has three verses, but thankfully someone finished the last verse on the ASOIAF Reddit.