The din of the dining hall at supper prevented Caitie from being able to hear Jon and Ser Alliser's conversation.
She sat packed in between Sam and Olly, with Pyp and Edd sitting across from her. Beside Olly was Grenn, but Caitie refused to acknowledge his existence, despite his attempts to make eye contact.
"He looks angry," Edd said, staring at Thorne.
She took a spoonful of stew before answering. "He always looks angry."
Thorne sat at the dais's main table; the expression on his face was ice cold and full of hatred as he spoke to Jon through a mouthful of chicken.
Caitie, however, was more worried about Janos Slynt. He sat to Thorne's left at the main table—despite not having any senior title—and she could have sworn he kept glancing at her, Grenn, and Pyp with beady, suspicious eyes. Neither Pyp nor Grenn seemed worried, but anxiety gnawed at Caitie's gut whenever she looked over at his ugly bald head and malicious sneer.
But as long as he didn't have proof, they were safe. Slynt wouldn't risk looking incompetent in front of Thorne. And Caitie had made sure there would be no evidence. It was why she'd worn a dress and why she'd told Grenn to stay outside the brothel. She had kept everything airtight; if Slynt looked into it, he would find nothing.
"Do you think he'll hurt Jon?" asked Olly. He looked about as nervous as she felt.
"I don't think so," Caitie replied. She had spent enough time around the taciturn old man to know his mannerisms. Judging by Thorne's facial expressions and body language, he looked more like he was admitting grudging defeat.
When Olly didn't look convinced, she leaned in and grinned to put him at ease. It helped her feel more at ease, too. "Ser Alliser's scary-looking, but that's about it. The most he's capable of is glaring and hollering."
Olly smiled back and nodded towards Jon. "Jon's brave, though."
"Or stupid, depending on how you want to look at it," said Edd.
"How can you say that?"
"Well," Caitie said, "he's never had a very good handle on his temper, for one thing."
Edd had to put his entire fist into his mouth to keep from laughing.
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Say what you will about me, Eddison," Edd threw her a nasty glare, which Caitie ignored, "but I never tried to put a knife in Ser Alliser's throat."
"When did Jon do that?" asked Olly.
"Years ago—right after we took our vows. Like I said, volatile temper on that one."
Sam frowned, interrupting the conversation. "What do you think they're talking about?"
"I don't know." As soon as she said it, she noticed Jon nod and turn around. "But I think we're about to get an answer."
He descended the steps from the dais and cleared his throat. "Brothers."
It was too quiet; his voice was lost in the throng. Seeing it, Grenn pounded his cup on the table. The room went still and silent.
Jon took a deep breath. "I'm going beyond the Wall to Craster's Keep," he said. "I'm going to capture the mutineers holed up there or kill them. I'm asking for volunteers to come with me."
He began to pace the room. "There's sixty miles of wilderness between us and Craster's, and Mance Rayder has an army bearing down on us. But we have to do this. Our survival may depend on us getting to these mutineers before Mance does. They know the Wall. They know our defenses. If Mance learns what they know, we're lost... But if that's not enough, then consider this: if the Night's Watch are truly brothers, then Lord Commander Mormont was our father. He lived and died for the Watch—and he was betrayed by his own men. Stabbed in the back by cowards! He deserved far better. All we can give him now is justice."
Jon steeled himself for the next question. "Who will join me?"
This was her chance to destroy the mutineers who had held her captive, to avenge the lord commander, and to free Ghost—if he was still alive—as well as Craster's daughters.
The ring of scars around Caitie's wrists started itching.
She bolted up to stand without any hesitation. There was the ghost of a smile as Jon inclined his head in thanks.
Grenn joined her a few seconds later and nodded solemnly at Jon. He glanced briefly at Caitie, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back. Grenn had taken much too long to stand, in her opinion.
She pretended that was her only reason for being upset with him.
Edd stood next, and Jon smiled at him, too. Others soon followed; she knew the names of two—Bedwyck and Dywen. The third and fourth were men she'd only seen in passing a few times.
Alliser put down his cup, his face falling from a smirk to a shocked scowl. Janos Slynt mimicked his expression.
And, oh, it felt so good to see it. Caitie couldn't hide her grin at them, but it fell away when Locke stood up.
"I can't let a recruit come north of the Wall," Jon told him.
"Then, let me say my vows," Locke said—as if it were no different than taking a meal. "If it's a fight you're heading for, then you need men who know how."
Caitie hated that he was right. Even she wasn't so stupid to turn down help against Karl Tanner.
Jon eyed Thorne, silently asking him for permission. Though he looked furious, the acting commander nodded.
There were times when Caitie didn't understand Ser Alliser Thorne, and this was one of them. He cared so deeply about the Watch, and yet he had almost crippled their defenses against the Wildlings all to spite Jon. It was ridiculous. She couldn't figure out why Thorne hated him so much.
Jon turned back to the crowd. "Thank you, brothers," he said. "We'll leave at first light tomorrow. Be ready."
There were grunts of approval, and then everyone went back to chattering among themselves.
Jon took two short strides and bent down beside her to whisper, "We need to talk."
Caitie stilled. She didn't like the ominous tone in her friend's voice. If it weren't for the way Grenn was staring down at his bowl of stew, flicking his gaze up to them every few seconds, she would have refused. But she didn't want to be around Grenn for longer than necessary. So, she followed Jon out the door, down to the courtyard, and into the alcove where they'd had their first fight.
"You shouldn't come with us."
Caitie crossed her arms and scoffed. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly. You could barely spar a few weeks ago."
"But I worked through it—you know that. I'm back to full strength—I even beat you the other day. And you need every person you can get."
Jon shook his head. "If you come, and the mutineers capture you—"
"They won't take me alive." She'd sneak poison from Maester Aemon's stock if she had to—Sam could tell her what she needed.
"You can't be—"
"Oh, yes, I can!" she interrupted furiously. "I'm not going to sit at Castle Black doing nothing while my friends risk their lives."
Caitie already abandoned one of her friends today; she would not, under any circumstances, abandon another.
"I'm trying to help you."
Caitie almost slapped him. "Well, I don't need your help. I need to kill some mutineers." She lowered her voice. "I have had the absolute worst day imaginable, and the last thing I need right now is you treating me as if I'm less capable because I'm a girl."
"I didn't mean it that way. I just meant there are extra risks for you."
"There are extra risks for me wherever I am. It's part of having a cunt." It came out more bitter than Caitie had intended. But after everything that had happened, she wasn't in the mood to mince words.
Jon winced, and she finally realized what was going on. Honestly, she should have known. "You feel guilty for leaving, don't you?"
"Of course I feel guilty for leaving!" he snapped. "When Sam told me about the mutineers… you could have been—"
"But I wasn't." She didn't want to hear him say it out loud. She didn't even want to think it for longer than absolutely necessary. "And what happened at Craster's Keep wasn't your fault."
"It feels like it was. You told me not to go. And because I didn't listen to you, you, Grenn, and Edd went through hell. The lord commander died by the hand of his own man, and everyone else was slaughtered."
Not Craster's daughters, Caitie thought. But she didn't say it. "And you think you could have prevented it?" she asked. "You probably would have just ended up dead along with the lord commander. If you recall, Tanner despised you."
Jon didn't answer the question, which Caitie took to mean he knew the truth.
"We were terrified for you," he said softly, his head bowed.
"I know. I was terrified for you, too, when you didn't come back to the Fist. But we both ended up okay. And I'm sure your time with the Wildlings was well worth it—for multiple reasons." She nudged him in the ribs.
It got him to elicit a small smile.
She nodded towards the door to the kitchens. "It sounds to me like you need a drink. I know I do."
Jon snorted. "When do you not need a drink?"
"Well," Caitie said, "considering the circumstances, I think all of us should be drunk, every moment of every day."
Jon considered her point. "All right, I can't disagree with you there. But I'm not having more than a cup. And neither should you," he said in the same self-assured, commanding voice that he had used during the speech. "We're to leave tomorrow morning, remember?"
She shot him a look—half-amused, half-annoyed. "You are absolutely no fun."
He didn't take the bait. "Come on. You were right; I do need some ale."
"I'm always right," Caitie replied, much more lightly than she felt. She linked her arm with his. "It's one of my best talents."
Getting into Maester Aemon's cache of poisons and antidotes was easier said than done. Caitie was mindful of stepping lightly and carefully, testing for any creaks in the floor. She had to swallow her guilt down as she looked around the dimly lit office.
Maester Aemon had always been kind to her, kind to Sam, and kind to Jon.
When they returned, she promised to herself she would make it up to him.
The maester was snoring loudly in the room next door. Caitie froze when it stopped momentarily, waiting for him to stir. But after a heartbeat, it started up again. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Right where Sam's map had shown was a drawer with a tiny vial full of orange liquid: the essence of nightshade. Caitie clutched it tightly in her fist as she peeked out through the door.
When she was sufficiently convinced no one was in the hall, she slipped out.
Caitie kept her footsteps light as she moved through the hallway back to the kitchens. She had almost made it to the door when she heard movement—slight, but definitely there—and whipped around, clutching the vial in her hands even more tightly.
When she saw who it was, relief flooded through her—it wasn't one of Thorne's lackeys.
"Seven Hells," she swore. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Sorry," replied Grenn. He averted his gaze, and Caitie wondered bitterly if he was looking for an escape from her. But then narrowed his eyes, noticing the vial in her hand. "What is that?"
He tried to make a grab for it, but Caitie was too quick for him. She stepped back and held the poison out of his reach. "Nothing you need to worry about," she said nonchalantly.
"Caitie, tell me that isn't what I think it is."
Well, there was no reason to lie. "Jon pointed out that if the mutineers managed to capture me again, I might not be as lucky as last time. Think of this as insurance."
Grenn didn't reply.
"If that's all, I have to go."
"Wait, no, Caitie—"
"I really do need to find Jon and Sam." In truth, she just didn't want to hear another rejection. "We can talk later, yes?"
Before he could attempt to call her back, Caitie turned on her heel and fled.
She returned to the pantry two minutes later to find that Jon and Sam had broken out a second bottle of liquor.
"You're back," Sam said. "Did you get it?"
"Mm." Caitie held out the vial of poison. "Is this it?"
"Yes, but… are you sure this is a good idea?"
"For the last time, yes."
"But—"
"If I need to use poison, I'll be as good as dead, already. How is it any different from being killed in battle outright?"
Jon harrumphed. "If this is what you have to do—"
"I'm going to slap you if you say it again."
"You've been very punchy today," Sam said suspiciously.
"I haven't noticed."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with Grenn, would it?"
"No," Caitie lied, "why?"
"He couldn't take his eyes off you at supper, and you refused to even glance at him."
Now Jon was staring at her suspiciously, too.
"It doesn't have anything to do with Grenn." Caitie prided herself on the fact that she was telling a half-truth. "Now, would you just give me the ale already?"
Her friends gave each other knowing looks. It irked Caitie to no end, but she decided to forgive them when Sam poured her a full cup.
She downed it in one sitting. "So, if we leave tomorrow morning, we'll be at Craster's in what? Two days?"
"On horseback, yes," Jon agreed.
"I still don't like the idea of Locke coming with us."
He sighed. "We've had this conversation."
"We never finished it. There's something off about him."
"So you've told us."
"I say that as soon as the mutineers are dealt with, we slit his throat and leave him to rot."
"Caitriona!" Jon hissed.
She rolled her eyes but decided not to push him. If he was using her full name, she must have really annoyed him with her comment. "Fine, fine."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam asked, glancing at her nervously.
Caitie opened her mouth, but she wasn't sure what to say. She wanted to tell the truth—tell him where she'd been all day, the orders she'd defied, the friend she'd left behind—but she couldn't seem to make her mouth move. Caitie didn't think she'd be able to get the words out without loads more alcohol in her.
"I will be," she replied instead. "As soon as you give me another cup of ale."
A full cup later—her third of the evening—Caitie felt terrific: light and giggly and in a better mood than she'd been in weeks. It was a perfect balance: enough ale to lift her spirits, but not enough to make her feel like shit the next day.
Sam was resting his head on Caitie's shoulder, even more inebriated she was having had almost an entire bottle to himself, while Jon was staring off into the distance, brooding—despite having had a cup of his own.
"Sometimes I wonder if you're unable to form any facial expression beyond a frown," she said, observing him. His black curls had grown out a bit since his recruit days. His eyes were weary and battle-hardened, and he had a few small scars on his face she hadn't noticed before. But regardless of all that, he looked good. Of course, Caitie always thought he looked good. She hadn't been completely joking when she told Grenn she'd always thought Jon was prettier than her.
Jon blinked up at her. "I was thinking," he replied defensively.
"I'm impressed. I didn't think you were capable."
Now, he glowered at her.
"Sorry, but you sort of walked into that one. Anyway, what were you thinking about?"
He took a sip of ale and locked eyes with her. "I was wondering… do you ever miss it?"
"Miss what?"
"Being a lady."
She couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Where'd that come from?"
"You were the trueborn daughter of a Northman. I just wondered if there's anything you miss about it."
Caitie pondered the question. "There are some things," she admitted. "I miss the dresses and not having to build my own fires. I miss Norwood and my family. But I don't miss duties that come with being a lady. I told you what it was like: you're less a person than a prize. Even if my betrothed hadn't been a nightmare, what would I have done? The only path open to a lady is to marry a lord and fill the world with sons."
Sometimes, Caitie thought about what might have happened if her father had died—if Owen and Cerys had lived. She'd always thought she would slip off and go home. But recently, she had started to wonder what it would accomplish. Owen would never have married her off if she didn't want it, but what other option did she have? The answer to that was: absolutely nothing.
"If your husband were a good man, would that be such a bad life?" Jon asked.
"It's about choice, Jon. Without choice, it's not a life; it's just slow suicide." She shook her head. "Besides, ladies are supposed to be pretty and demure and dutiful, and we both know I'm incapable of that." She pulled a face. "Gods, could you imagine me as demure?"
Jon chuckled. "No, I couldn't." A thought seemed to strike him, and he asked, "Did I ever tell you about my Aunt Lyanna?"
"I don't think so. Owen said he met her once. He was only maybe seven—it was right before the war." As soon as Caitie said it, she regretted it. The war to overthrow the Targaryens was inextricably tied with Lyanna Stark's fate—and her fate was not a pretty one. "But I don't think I've ever heard you talk about her," she finished hurriedly.
Jon looked into his cup of ale. "They called her the Wolf Maid," he said. "She was beautiful—but also fierce. Father used to tell us she had a wildness to her. She would have wielded a sword had my grandfather allowed it."
"Really?"
He nodded. "It was her wolf's blood, he said. Aunt Lyanna was willful and headstrong—she once poured a glass of wine on Uncle Benjen's head in front of an entire party of lords."
Caitie burst into laughter. "What did he do to deserve that?"
"I don't know—Uncle Benjen never said." Jon paused. "But I think she would have liked you."
Caitie beamed. "You do?"
"Aye. I could see you pouring wine on someone's head if they annoyed you."
"And you'd better keep that in mind the next time you decide to annoy me."
He gave her a wry look.
"Do you ever wish you could have met her?"
"Sometimes," he said. "I used to go down to the crypts with Arya and look at her statue. Father always said Arya reminded him of Aunt Lyanna."
Any semblance of a smile left Jon's face at the mention of his little sister.
"You'll see her again," Caitie promised. "Just like I'll see Arthur."
"You believe that?"
"I try to believe it. I'll let you know when I succeed."
He didn't answer beyond a slight humorless chuckle. For a few moments, the only sound was Sam stirring slightly and snorting.
Then, Jon took a sip of ale and spoke again. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"As ready as I'll ever be. I wish I had my daggers, though. I hate that I lost them."
"I understand how that feels."
Caitie tilted her head to the side. "When have you ever lost your sword before?" He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she snapped her fingers. "Right, Craster's, of course. I can't believe I forgot."
Jon stared down at his hands. "I wasn't thinking of Craster's," he said quietly. At Caitie's questioning look, his lips quirked up. "Ygritte," he said. "She stole my sword."
Caitie blamed the alcohol for what she said next. "Heh, I'll bet she did," she choked out through a laugh.
"Caitie!" Jon went pink.
She burst into giggles.
"I don't understand," Sam slurred, looking up at her, his eyes at half-mast.
"His sword, Sam."
The confused expression didn't leave his face.
Caitie used her hand to mimic an unmentionable part of the male anatomy. "His sword," she repeated before cackling again so hard her stomach hurt and she had to double over.
"And now, I think it's time you put down the ale." Jon plucked the cup out of her hands.
"No-o-o-o," she whined, grabbing at it. "Give it back."
"If you're set on coming tomorrow, you need to be alert."
"Just because you get drunk faster than a five-year-old girl—"
He didn't let her finish. "No more alcohol."
"Try to tell me what to do one more time…"
"And you'll what? Kill me?"
"No, but I'll pour my ale on your head."
Jon looked down at the cup he'd taken and smirked. "What ale?"
Caitie scoffed, but before she could grab it back from him, Sam lifted his head off her shoulder. "I'm tired," he announced suddenly.
"You were asleep up until a moment ago."
He ignored her, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself up. "Goodnight," he said groggily. "Don't stay up too late."
"We'll try our best." Caitie watched as he opened the door to the pantry and slipped out. Her mind insisted she follow him to tell him the truth, but Caitie's heart decided against it. She'd tell him tomorrow; she promised herself. But not now.
Jon was staring at her with his brows knit together. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing's wrong."
"You stopped teasing me. That means something's wrong."
"It's not my fault you're so easy to tease."
"And now," he said, "you're deflecting. So what is it?"
"Give me back my ale, and I'll tell you."
Jon sighed and handed her the cup.
She took a long sip and set the cup down, thinking over how to tell him without telling him. "It's just… I don't know. Everything, I suppose. We're all living in this constant state of fear and anger and loss and…" she shook her head. "I don't think I can any longer."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm worried about Arthur; I'm worried about Gilly and Little Sam. I'm terrified about the battle, I miss Owen and Cerys, and I'm furious about—" she stopped. Caitie would not tell him about Robb. She took a moment and changed course. "This is going to sound mad, but I'm afraid of who I've become. I feel like—I feel like I'm losing myself, in a way."
"Losing yourself?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
"I killed Dirk, I killed a man outside a brothel—I didn't even hesitate. I told you we should leave Locke to rot up north with his throat cut open—and I'm not sure I didn't mean it. The girl who came to the Night's Watch two years ago wouldn't have done any of that."
Jon laughed. "Do you know how many times you spoke of killing Rast and Thorne when we were recruits?"
"Well, I'm a very dramatic person. I might have said it, but I wouldn't have meant it. Not seriously, anyway."
"You've been through a lot," he said. "Lost a lot."
"So? What does that matter?"
"It would change anyone."
"You've been through just as much as I have; lost just as much—arguably more. Has it changed you?"
"Of course it has. I've done plenty worse than you."
Caitie knew to what he was referring. "You didn't have a choice," she assured him.
Jon smiled sadly. "I know. But it doesn't change that I betrayed her."
"The girl you love or everyone else you know—that's not an easy choice to make. But… I think you made the right one—if it means anything. What the Wildlings would do to our people—what they did to Olly's village—they have to be stopped. If there were any way to make peace, you would have done it."
"And you would have been okay with that—with living alongside them?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But what I do know is that dozens of girls north of the Wall were raped by their father their whole lives, all because they were unlucky enough to live on the wrong side. It could have been me; it only wasn't because I was lucky enough to be born a lady in the North—I mean the south. Ugh, you know what I mean."
Jon nodded, stifling a laugh.
She looked up at the rows of food lining the walls and lowered her voice, just in case someone was nearby. "I know peace isn't an option, and I know that if we don't stop the Wildlings, then the result will be women raped and children beheaded. We have to defeat them—and I'm going to damn well try. But that still doesn't mean I have to relish it like Thorne and Slynt, and most everyone else here."
Jon didn't say a word, but he looked at Caitie as if he were seeing her for the first time. After a moment, he started laughing. "And you think you've become a bad person? After that speech?"
Caitie smiled and rolled her eyes. She felt a bit less awful, now. "If you want to compare speeches, I think you'd win. Yours today was one of the best I've heard—very inspiring. All the men looked at you as a leader. Honestly, the expression on Thorne's face was priceless."
"Happy to know I've made him hate me even more."
She snorted. "I don't think that's possible."
"Wait," Jon said suddenly, looking at her with confusion. "When did you kill a man outside a brothel?"
Oh, fuck.
"You caught that," she sighed. Well, she could give him part of the truth. Caitie had a feeling Jon would know if she were lying if she didn't. "I wanted to find out what happened to the North, so I… snuck out to the Mole's Town brothel."
Jon's mouth fell open. "You—what the hell were you thinking?"
Caitie hugged her arms to herself. "I wasn't, I suppose."
"You could've been killed. You could've been caught."
"I know."
When she didn't argue with him, Jon looked even more unnerved. "Now you're starting to worry me."
"Well," she replied, "you're right. We almost were caught, and now I think Slynt suspects something. He won't find proof—don't worry about that—and he's a complete idiot, but it was still one of the most reckless, stupid things I've ever done."
"Seven Hells," he said incredulously. "You're sure he won't find anything?"
"I dressed as a girl. I made sure to have an excuse for the missing horses. And I was careful that no one in town would see," she swallowed, "Grenn." Caitie had to force herself to say his name. "He insisted on coming with me. Pyp covered for us."
"Did you—"
"Tell him? Yes. But I trust him. He knows what I would do if he told anyone. I probably scare him more than Thorne does."
Jon smiled. "You scare me more than Thorne does, sometimes. But, Caitie, promise me you won't do something like that again. No more sneaking out."
She didn't hesitate. "I promise—by the Old Gods and the New."
He sighed in relief, but then his expression turned unsure. "What did you find… about home?"
"Nothing good."
"Tell me."
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to think of what to say. "Do you remember when we were at Craster's? You told me to trust you when I asked what you'd seen to make Craster so angry?"
Jon opened his mouth to speak, but Caitie held up a hand to stop him.
"You did the right thing. It would have killed me to leave those girls behind had you told me. But now I'm asking you to trust me when I tell you the same thing: you don't want to know."
For a moment, he looked like he was about to argue, but then he saw her expression. "Okay," he said. "I trust you."
"Thank you." She squeezed his hand. Jon's trust meant more to her than words could say.
"Did you see Gilly?" he asked after a while.
Caitie nodded slowly. She didn't want to admit it, but she had to tell someone. "I didn't even think about taking her back. I thought she'd be safer, I guess. Sam's going to kill me. I haven't figured out a way to tell him yet."
"She wasn't safe here. You know that, and so does he."
"How is it any less safe for her than it is for me?"
"Do you really need an answer to that?"
No, she didn't, because she had known the answer back at the brothel. Gilly's situation was incomparable. She was a Wildling, a known woman, and unable to defend herself.
"I hate it when you're right," Caitie said.
Jon's mouth curved up a bit. "I thought you said you were always right."
She smiled back, ruefully.
"If only that were true."
Holy crap, this chapter got away from me. I wanted to split it up, but I couldn't figure out how. So I hope you don't mind.
Anyway, I'm going to answer comments from the last chapter because I got some fun ones.
willow441988: Thank you! And yeah, watching seasons 2&3 is so difficult for me because of the long string of bad decisions Robb makes.
goldenrose420: Yes, she did! But it was really hard (no pun intended) to write. How romance authors write full-on sex scenes without dying of embarrassment, I will never know.
BLACKGATOMON21: Ah, crap, I kind of do, too. But, as going down that route would require me to rewrite about 70k words, I'll have to stick to my original plan and write them as friends/partners in crime. But, hey, you never know. A Caitie/Tormund AU is always a future possibility—especially if this pandemic keeps on rendering me without things to do.
Guest: Wow, thank you!