What had caused the Red Wedding?

This was the question that had been plaguing Caitie ever since she had gotten her letter back. What had caused Roose Bolton to betray his king and ally himself with the Lannisters? What had caused the Freys to invite the King in the North to the Twins for a wedding and then, in violation of guest right, slaughter him and the entire Northern army?

Caitie had hoped that Jon would be right: that once she'd made peace with her brothers' deaths, she would be able to move on. But he'd been wrong. Instead of moving on, she had become unwaveringly curious about why her brothers had died.

The questions sat with Caitie while she trained, while she ate, while she slept. Every time she thought about the information Jon and Sam had given her, the less sense it all made.

And the more time she spent dwelling on it, the more determined she was to find out the truth. So Caitie had done what anyone would do in her situation: she had gone to Sam and cajoled him into helping her.

"Are you sure you want to see it?" he pressed, looking around nervously whilst they stood in a shadowy hallway near the library.

"Yes," Caitie replied. "I can handle it." She held out her hand and gave him an expectant look.

"It'll only bring you more pain, and you've been doing so well. Do you truly want to undo that?"

"Gods, Sam, I said I could handle it."

He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

Caitie sighed. "Please? I need to see it—for closure." She could tell Sam didn't believe her. "I'm not going to fall into a pit of despair again. I just... I need to see it with my own eyes."

Caitie waited with bated breath for him to answer.

"All right," he relented. "But you have to promise you'll come find me if—"

"If it upsets me," she finished. "I know. And thank you." She smiled and squeezed his hand.

Sam shook his head sadly, but he handed over the scroll. "Please be careful."

"I will," she assured him. "I promise."

It didn't take long for Caitie to find the privacy she needed. She ran to her quarters, which allowed her to sit down and unravel the scroll addressed to the late lord commander in peace.

She skimmed the list of the dead, eyes hovering over the names Owen Norrey and Cerys Norrey for a few extra seconds. When her chest constricted, she decided to move onto the bulk of the letter.

It was vague and disappointing.

There was no more information about the Red Wedding than what Jon and Sam had told her: Robb Stark, the King in the North, had brought his men to the Twins for a wedding between Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey. There, he, his mother, and his wife had all been slain, along with most of his men, betrayed by the Boltons and the Freys.

After that, a list of the "loyal" Northmen who had pledged fealty to Roose Bolton. Caitie refused to even glance at her father's name on it.

Well, if she couldn't get the information she needed from this letter, only one option was left to her.

It was time to take Cerys's advice.

Someone would need to cover for her while she went into town, as no one was allowed to leave Castle Black. It would be stupid to ask Jon—he'd never agree to it. And to be honest, Caitie wasn't sure she wanted him to know. He'd been through enough.

As for Sam, judging by his reaction to her asking for this letter, Caitie doubted he'd help her either. And expecting him to lie to Jon was a recipe for disaster. Sam never could keep things from him.

Which left Edd and Grenn.

Edd was… well, Edd. Caitie didn't know if he would agree—she could never quite predict his reaction to things.

No, there was only one person to ask: Grenn. Caitie should have thought of him first. He had been there for her when she'd gone to get her letter; she was sure he'd be there for her now.

She found him in the kitchen early the next morning, cutting up some onions, thankfully alone. "You look like shit," he said when he saw her.

Caitie grimaced. She must have looked more on edge than she'd thought.

Realizing how his comment sounded, he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't mean it like that."

She waved it off. "Can we talk?"

He stared at her, uncertainty lacing his features. But then he nodded and set down the knife, allowing her to lead him somewhere more private.

She took a deep breath. "I need a favor."

"A favor," he repeated dumbly.

She nodded. "I need to make a trip outside Castle Black. I know it's not allowed. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Could you just make my excuses? Say I'm… vomiting explosively or something."

Grenn laughed, but as he searched her face, the amusement left him. "Is this about your brothers?"

"I need answers about the Red Wedding—about what happened to them. I was going to go into Mole's Town and see if some whores might speak with me."

"You want to go to a brothel?" he asked in disbelief.

"Whores talk. That's what Cerys always said. If anyone has the details, it'll be them."

"I—I mean, I guess—" he broke off, completely flustered. Finally, "They won't talk to you without coin."

Caitie grinned, holding up a pouch. "I stole it from Dareon. He must have snuck a whore in at some point. I found a dress in his chambers, too." Grenn didn't say a word, so Caitie added, "Don't worry, I'll pay him back."

Really, it was more like borrowing, just without asking.

Well, she was desperate. And Dareon was from the Westerlands.

"But we have orders—"

"I'm only going to Mole's Town and back. It's maybe ten minutes away on horseback."

"If the Wildlings catch you—"

"Jon says they came over the Wall near Greyguard. They won't be near here for at least a month."

"It's still dangerous."

"It could be my last chance to go into town before the attack. I know how to be safe. I have to do this. Please?" She only felt a little bad as she batted her eyelashes.

"Seven Hells, you can be persuasive." And yet, he grinned.

She grinned back. "I know."

"But I'm not letting you go alone."

Caitie's smile died. That had not been what she was expecting. "You can't come with me," she argued. "You could get in serious trouble with Ser Alliser."

"So could you."

"The difference is I'm disobeying an order for myself. I can't ask you to put your life on the line for me."

He shrugged. "If you're going, then I'm going, too."

"He could execute you."

"Well, we're all about to die, anyway."

"Grenn—"

"No one should be traveling alone. 'Specially not now."

Gods, they were going in circles. "I hope you're aware of what a stubborn bastard you are."

"Yep."

Caitie rolled her eyes. "Fine. But we still need someone to cover our little excursion."

He looked thoughtful. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." Considering she had no choice in the matter, that seemed fairly obvious.

Grenn held out his hand. "Come with me then."

"Where?"

"To get Pyp."

Caitie blanched. Had he gone mad?

"I promise you can trust him."

Her first instinct was to flat-out refuse: the more people who knew, the riskier her position.

But then, she considered the idea.

Caitie wasn't alone in the same way she had been before. In her two years at Castle Black, she had found people she cared for; people she trusted. They wouldn't betray her. And it wasn't as if Caitie hadn't thought about telling Pyp the truth before now.

"Okay. But if he so much as looks as if he might tell Thorne, my dagger will be at his throat faster than you can say Targaryen."

"Fair enough," Grenn replied chuckling. "But I promise he won't. If I thought he might, I wouldn't tell him. I'd never put you in danger."

Caitie snorted. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? You said it yourself: we're all in danger."

"All right, fine. I'd never put you in more danger."

"And I thank you. I do a good enough job of finding it on my own."

"Yeah, you do. But it's one of the things I like best about you."

Caitie tried and failed not to smile at him. "Come on," she said. "If you really insist on joining me..."

Grenn moved closer to her—so close she could feel his body heat, and her words fell away. "Just try and stop me."

"A girl," Pyp said blankly, taking in her appearance with new eyes.

Grenn nodded. "Not just a girl. A lady."

"A lady!" Pyp looked flabbergasted.

"He wasn't supposed to mention that bit," Caitie grumbled. "But my name is Caitriona. Hello."

He barely seemed to hear her. "B-but I've said the word 'cock' in front of you!"

She furrowed her brows. "And I've said 'fuck' in front of you. What of it?"

"You're a lady—I shouldn't be saying 'cock' in front of a lady!"

A laugh bubbled up from Caitie's lips. "That's your first reaction? Not 'what the hell are you doing here?'"

Pyp shook his head. "But a lady!"

"Well," Caitie said, "at least you're not angry."

"I'm not angry," he agreed. "I'm just… shocked."

Grenn laughed. "Yeah, so was I."

"Hmm, I seem to recall you saying that you knew."

"No," he replied, not taking his eyes off her, "I said that I thought you were too pretty to be a boy. And you are."

"Why, thank you."

Grenn opened his mouth to comment back, but then both he and Caitie realized Pyp was staring at the two of them with a brow raised. They went quiet, staring down at the floor awkwardly. Caitie was almost sure she was blushing.

"Yes, well, anyway," she continued hurriedly, "I do have a reason for telling you this. I need to make a trip to Mole's Town, and Grenn has insisted on coming with me. Would you mind covering for us?"

Pyp guffawed. "What? Are you insane?"

"No—well, maybe a little. But this is important."

"Please?" Grenn added when Pyp looked as though he'd refuse.

"I… fine," he relented, shaking his head. "But if your plan goes to hell, I don't know nothing about it."

Caitie nodded. "I think that's fair. Thank you, Pyp."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."

She turned to Grenn. "All right, I'll pack my clothes, and then we'll be off?"

The two men stared at her in confusion.

"I can't very well walk into a brothel dressed in black, now, can I? I'm going to wear the dress I found in Dareon's room. Hopefully, the whores will be more forthcoming if I look like a girl."

Silence permeated the room.

"What?"

At the sound of her voice, Grenn cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm ready whenever you are."

"All right, then." She drew herself up to her full height and tried to sound confident. "Let's go find a whorehouse."

As far as dresses went, this one was on the plain side. It was grey, made with an itchy sort of fabric, and it didn't fit right—too tight in the chest area and too short. Whoever had owned it had to be younger than Caitie. Nevertheless, when she put the dress on and looked down at it, she remembered how much she missed her old wardrobe.

After all her buttons were buttoned, and she strapped one of her daggers at her waist and a small knife in her boot, Caitie came out behind the trees. She could see the gate to Mole's Town overhead, only a few steps away.

"I'm ready to go," she said.

There was no answer. For one scary moment, Caitie thought Grenn had left, but when she glanced around, it was an entirely different story.

He was standing as still as a statue, not looking at her face.

Caitie cleared her throat, and he snapped his gaze to her eyes. "Well, you definitely look like a girl."

She curtsied jokingly.

"I'll wait with the horses." He placed his hands on her shoulder. "You're sure you'll be okay on your own?"

Caitie laughed. "I've faced an army of wights—I think I'll be fine."

"Ah, yeah, you can handle a brothel, no problem."

Caitie smiled and started towards the entrance to Mole's Town, but she hadn't even gotten a few steps away when she made a split-second decision and turned around. Before she could change her mind, Caitie stood on her tip-toes and kissed Grenn's cheek. "Thank you."

And then, before she could see his reaction, she walked away, towards her answers.

The first thing Caitie noticed when she walked into the brothel were the breasts. Nearly every woman but herself was naked from the waist up. She must have looked very uncomfortable because at least three whores were watching her with pure amusement. The men only leered.

Caitie ignored it all as best she could, looking for the one person she desperately wanted to see. She moved through the main room, ignoring the sea of piss-drunk men and moaning women, searching every inch. Finally, at the very back, where the main room met the hallway, she saw a flash of brown hair and heard a baby.

Caitie followed the sound and came into the room just as Gilly put her son in his little make-shift crib.

"Seven Hells, he's gotten big."

Gilly turned around. Her face was white. "C-Caitie?"

"Hello, Gilly. It's wonderful to see you." And it was. Gilly looked incredible. Living in a brothel couldn't have been easy, but she seemed so full of life compared to when Caitie had last seen her—now that she and her son were safe.

"I thought you were dead," Gilly said, squeezing her tightly.

"Nearly. But I managed to avoid it—for now, anyway."

"My father—is he…?"

Caitie nodded. "Yes."

"Good."

She raised her eyebrows. Gilly wasn't one to express delight in someone's demise. Then again, even the kindest people had exceptions.

"How are you, though? No one's mistreated you?"

"I've gotten looks, but nothing else. Sam made sure the madame wouldn't give me other work."

The reassurance from Gilly allowed Caitie to relax a bit. Hearing it from the others hadn't been enough.

She glanced over her shoulder at the baby. "I heard you picked a name. Sam must have been overjoyed."

"Yeah," Gilly said, smiling softly. "He was."

"Did he get that look on his face where he's trying to play down how excited he is, but he just ends up looking nervous, instead?"

"He did! I thought he was upset at first when I named the baby after him."

"Somehow, I don't think he could ever be upset with you."

Gilly's smile faded. Caitie realized she must have touched a nerve.

"Could I see him?" she asked, trying to distract away from her comment. Gilly stepped aside so Caitie could take a better look.

Little Sam was even bigger than she'd thought. The eight-month-old had to be twice the size of Arthur at that age. He was looking around as if trying to figure out the world. When he noticed her and smiled, big dimples formed.

Caitie couldn't take her eyes off the baby. It was incredible. Against all the odds, Little Sam was here—alive and happy and mostly safe.

If anything was evidence that some good existed in the world, it was this.

"But Caitie, what are you doing here? No one's allowed to leave Castle Black."

Gilly's voice cut through her thoughts, and Caitie forced herself to remember why she'd come in the first place. "It's a long story." She bit her lip, thinking. "Well, maybe you can help me. I'm trying to find out what happened to the Northern army. Have you heard anything from the whores here?"

"No, I'm sorry, Caitie." Gilly frowned.

Caitie's heart sank.

"Wait, I think a couple of Northern deserters came through here."

"Do you know who saw them?"

She paused to think. "I'm not sure. You could ask the madame."

"Where can I find her?"

"Down the hall and to the left."

"Thanks. Oh," Caitie snapped her fingers and bent down to pull out the knife in her boot. "Here. In case anyone bothers you."

Gilly took it gingerly. "Thank you."

Taking one last look at Little Sam, Caitie stood to leave when her friend's voice called her back. "Wait, Caitie." She seemed unsure. "Has Sam—has he said anything about me?"

"He said you weren't pleased with him for sending you here."

"I wasn't. But…" Gilly's face was sad, but also resolute. "I understand. Would you tell him that? And that I miss him?"

"Of course. Anything else you'd like me to relay?"

She shook her head.

"Well, in that case, I'd better go. But Gilly? It was really good to see you."

Gilly smiled a watery smile, and Caitie almost asked her to come back to the castle. But it was a stupid idea. Castle Black was home to some of the worst men in Westeros—they made Craster look positively kind by comparison. At least Caitie knew how to defend herself properly if she were found out. Gilly, even with the knife, didn't.

It was awful, but she was better off in this place. So, before Caitie could change her mind, she left.

It didn't take her long to run into the madame. She was standing in the hallway, not even ten steps away from Gilly's room.

When Caitie approached, the ugly older woman turned towards her and glared. "We've got nothin' you want," she said shortly.

Caitie ignored the tone. "I was told you have a girl who saw some Northern soldiers."

"What's it to you?"

She pulled out the pouch of coin. "I'd like to talk to her."

The madame stared at the pouch, thinking, and Caitie jiggled it so she could hear the coins rattling.

"Fine," she relented, grabbing the nearest whore. "Go find Cass, girl, and be quick about it." Once the whore had hurried off, the madame reached out and grabbed the pouch. Caitie scowled, but she managed to keep her temper in check. As long as she got what she needed, she would grit her teeth and bear the hostility.

"Someone here to see me?"

The girl who spoke, Cass, Caitie guessed, was only a few years older than her—nineteen at most.

The madame grunted. "This one wants to talk." She jerked her thumb at Caitie.

"Um, okay."

"Could we speak somewhere more private?" Caitie asked.

"I'm not givin' you one of my rooms just to talk. Go sit out in the main area if you have to."

Caitie pursed her lips. "Fine."

She followed Cass to a table, thankfully devoid of others, and sat down across from her. "My friend said you met some Northern soldiers."

"I did. They liked me best," Cass said pridefully.

She could see why. Cass was easily the prettiest woman in the brothel—long dark hair, dark eyes, and pale, flawless skin. Caitie may have been mildly envious.

"I want to know what exactly happened to the Northern Army. The events that led to the Red Wedding, specifically."

Cass furrowed her brows but agreed, telling her all she knew.

By the time she finished, Caitie was ready to flip the table on its head. "Are you sure?" she pressed the whore.

"Yes—the King in the North broke faith with House Frey to marry a lady from Volantis."

"And then he beheaded Rickard Karstark for killing two Lannister cousins."

Cass nodded in confirmation.

"So his men left, and Robb Stark went crawling back to Walder Frey, who conspired with the Lannisters to betray him along with the Boltons." Caitie rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache coming on. "And what of the Ironborn?"

"The king sent the Greyjoy Heir to the Iron Islands to broker an alliance, but they invaded and took parts of the North. Winterfell, Deepwood Motte; I'm not sure where else."

Before Caitie could ask—or even think—anything else, a large, balding man sat down next to her and put his hand on his thigh. "'Ello there, pretty thing."

She could smell the alcohol on his breath. It only disgusted her further. "Go away."

The man remained undeterred, his hand creeping higher. "Aw, don't be like that—"

"I am not in the mood to give you a second chance. Get your hand off my thigh, and leave."

The man turned from lustful to angry immediately. "I'll leave when I want, whore."

Caitie took his hand and forcefully removed it. He broke out of her grasp and grabbed her behind, trying to pull her closer, but Caitie was too quick. The dagger on her belt was at his groin before he could react.

"Call me a whore again, and I'll make sure you never have the pleasure of one for the rest of your life." She increased the pressure. The blood drained out of his face. "Now, get the hell out of here before I decide to skewer you instead."

He scrambled away and out the door, but not fast enough, as Caitie still managed to nick his pouch of coins.

Good, at least now she'd be able to pay Dareon back.

Caitie returned her attention to Cass. The whore was looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

"Thank you for the information," she said, pulling out a generous amount of coins from the new pouch and setting them on the table.

"Uh, you're welcome." Cass pocketed them and sent Caitie a brief, uncomfortable smile.

Caitie tried so hard to smile back, but it was impossible. The news had chilled her to the core.

It took every ounce of strength she possessed, but she used the table to push herself up and, on shaking legs, walked stiffly out of the brothel.

I honestly considered rewriting this plot thread, because I'm wasn't sure if it's plausible, but... aw, screw it. It's my story. And it's no worse than some of the plotlines in GoT.