Caitie had thought Jon would ignore their entire conversation, but she was happily proven wrong the next morning when he found her, Pyp, and Grenn in the dining hall at breakfast.
At first, Grenn and Pyp had regarded Caitie tentatively, eyeing each other as she sat down across from them with her tray of mutton and bread. Though her stomach sank at the thought of alienating her two new friends, she forced a smile and asked after Pyp's hand, which he'd twisted fighting Jon the day before. When he said it hurt, she gave both him and Grenn a bit of her bread as a peace offering. And by the time the door to the outside opened and Jon strode in, the three of them had gone back to their usual casual morning bickering.
Pyp noticed Jon first, looking up from his food. "Where've you been?"
"Watch duty," Jon answered, sitting down beside Caitie, "with Sam."
"Ah, Prince Porkchop!"
"Pyp," she warned, though she didn't put much effort into making it sound threatening. Not after what had happened yesterday.
He rolled his eyes and ignored her, turning back to Jon. "Where is he?"
"He wasn't hungry."
"Impossible!"
"That's enough," Jon snapped. He studiously avoided looking in Caitie's direction. "Sam's no different from the rest of us," he said. "There was no place for him in the world, so he's come here."
It took all her effort not to jump up and down on the table and sing, "I told you so!" While she managed not to, because that would be childish and wrong, she still couldn't stop herself from beaming—especially because she still hadn't been able to come up with a plan to stop Sam's tormenters that didn't include getting herself killed, at best.
"We're not going to hurt him in the training yard anymore. Never again, no matter what Thorne says. He's our brother now, and we're going to protect him."
After exchanging glances, Grenn and Pyp, while skeptical, seemed to accept his words.
It was unfortunate, then, that Rast had overheard the speech. "You are in love, Lord Snow," he said. As the others at Rast's table laughed, he spun around on the bench to face Caitie and Jon's table. "You girls can do as you please. But if Thorne puts me up against Lady Piggy, I'm gonna slice me off a side of bacon."
Jon scowled, refusing to give in to the taunt. Caitie only clutched her fork tighter.
After a minute or so of silence, he stood up, looked towards the door in a gesture for his friends to follow, and walked out of the hall. As soon as Rast lost interest, Caitie, Grenn, and Pyp followed.
When all four of them were outside, Jon spoke quietly. "We'll have to do something about him."
Caitie nodded in agreement. "Do you have a plan?"
"I might. We're going to convince him—really convince him."
Before he could continue with his line of thought, Grenn groaned. "Seven Hells, I can't believe I'm doing this."
"Well, unfortunately for you," Caitie said, crossing her arms and glaring, "you've been conscripted." When Grenn looked confused, she added, sighing, "It means that you're going to help."
He peered down at her, and Caitie remembered that she was nearly a foot shorter than him. It took all of her courage, but she stood her ground and refused to break eye contact, daring him to challenge her.
He didn't.
Instead, Grenn gave her a lopsided smile and said, "Okay. I'm in."
Caitie stared at him for a moment, having fully expected him to respond differently—likely with anger.
The fact that he hadn't was... interesting.
Caitie stopped the train of thought immediately. She was getting distracted, and it wouldn't do them—or her—any good.
"Are you ready?" Jon asked.
The rest of them nodded, and they listened as he told them of his plan to protect the newest member of the Night's Watch.
The recruits' quarters were silent, save for the soft footsteps of Jon, Caitie, Pyp, Grenn, and Ghost. The four of them and the ever-growing direwolf tiptoed their way through the room full of sleeping Night's Watch recruits to their destination—the cot where Rast slept. His mouth was askew as he snored, sleeping peacefully.
It didn't last long.
From behind, Jon pressed a piece of rope into Rast's mouth so he couldn't scream. He woke, gasping for breath, until he noticed the direwolf standing on top of him. Ghost growled ferociously; his red eyes bored into Rast's as he bared his teeth, while Jon threatened him, almost as ferocious as the Ghost, himself.
"No one touches Sam."
Rast was so petrified as they stood, letting the threat sink in, that Caitie was sure he wouldn't even look Sam in the eye tomorrow, let alone try to hurt him. In fact, if Rast ever spoke a word to any of them ever again, it would be a surprise.
Such a lovely thought.
After they finished the job and dispersed for the night, Caitie went down to the pantry. She poured herself a cup of tea, in a better mood than she'd been in weeks. A few hours later, Jon found her.
"I thought you'd be asleep by now," he said.
Caitie turned to look at him and shrugged. "I wasn't able to."
The truth was, she hadn't been sleeping well, lately. Even with her new friends, even with Jon and Ghost, the stress of her current predicament had set her on perpetual edge, keeping her awake until her body gave out and collapsed.
Well, other than tonight. Tonight, Caitie was celebrating.
"Me neither." Jon sat down across from her and gestured towards the cup in her hand.
"It's only tea," she told him. "I couldn't bring myself to drink the ale tonight."
Jon snorted. "Can't blame you."
"I don't think anyone who's tasted Night's Watch ale could."
The two fell into a companionable silence as Jon got himself some ale, sat back down, and took a large gulp of it. "I meant to tell you," he said after a few minutes, "you were right about Sam."
At his admission, Caitie grinned triumphantly. She was always in the mood to be right. "Oh, I know."
He gave her a wry look. "You could try to be modest."
"Just be glad I resisted the urge to dance on top of the dining hall table singing 'I told you so' over and over."
At the image she'd created, Jon snorted. But it soon gave way to flickers of something much less light-hearted.
Seeing his expression, she felt a weight settle onto her chest. Perhaps she'd been a little too harsh towards him earlier. Owen had always told her she was overly intense sometimes. Bossy, too, according to Cerys.
And they were usually right, though she loathed to admit it.
After clearing her throat, Caitie continued more seriously. "I'm sorry if I made you feel like you did something wrong yesterday when we first met Sam. I didn't mean to snap at you or boss you around or... well, you know."
Jon's smile was brief, but it seemed genuine. "It's all right."
"I guess I'm just sensitive to these sorts of things. Call it a gift from my wonderful childhood." The moment she finished speaking, she froze, not sure where that had come from. She talked about Owen and Cerys from time to time, and she'd even told him about Arthur, but commenting on the rest—that was something she'd been very careful not to do. Quickly, she changed the subject before Jon could ask her to elaborate. "Don't get me wrong, I'm always in the mood to hear that I'm right. So, please do continue to tell me so."
He chuckled, the happier atmosphere returning. "Fair enough. But you weren't really thinking of dancing on top of the dining tables, were you?"
Caitie sighed. "No—not seriously, at least. But could you imagine the look on Thorne's face if I had? I think that vein in his forehead would finally pop and kill him."
"Seven Hells, that would be nice," he agreed. "Maybe you should do it."
She took another sip of her tea. "I wish I could, but it's probably a bad idea, drawing unnecessary attention to myself like that." Realizing she'd just brought up the topic she had desperately been trying to avoid yet again, Caitie added, "But maybe if I were drunk. Then again, I don't think I've ever been quite that drunk before. And I don't think I could stomach enough of the ale here, even if I wanted to. Nobody ever let me drink enough alcohol to develop a taste for it."
At her mindless, rambling statement, Jon went quiet, evidently thinking. "Can I ask you something?"
Caitie's good mood faded. She nodded, although she was certain she wouldn't like the question.
Jon proved her correct when he asked, "What are you doing here?"
Well, Caitie had known he would want answers, eventually. And truthfully, she'd brought this upon herself, especially after everything she'd told him about Arthur the day before.
"It's…" she paused. "Complicated."
Jon furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her curiously. For a moment, Caitie considered refusing to say any else. But Jon had kept her secret; he had allowed Ghost to stand guard when she needed privacy; most of all, he had become her friend—her first real friend. And she knew she wasn't the easiest person to be friends with.
If those things weren't enough to prove him trustworthy, then nothing would be.
Caitie picked up a stray leaf that someone had tracked in and started twirling it between her fingers—thinking about how to start. "When you're a lady," she said carefully, "the only worth you have is the alliances you can create for your family through marriage. It's all my father thought I was good for. To him, I wasn't his daughter; I was only an opportunity."
She tried to stop there but found she couldn't. The words kept coming. "He didn't care about me," she went on. "He didn't even bother to know me. He wanted a daughter who was demure and obedient and who would marry whoever he told her to, no matter how terrible—and I wouldn't."
"Wait, you were to be married?" Jon asked, surprised.
Caitie pursed her lips and cursed herself for admitting too much. Nevertheless, she answered honestly. "Yes, I was."
"And you didn't want to?"
She almost laughed. Such a simple way to put an emotion felt so intensely. "The morning my father told me of my betrothal was every nightmare I'd ever had, come to life in the worst way possible," she said. "Sometimes I even think he betrothed me to the worst man he could find, just to punish me for ruining any potential marriage with Robb at Winterfell."
Jon's mouth parted, as though he was trying not to gape. He opened it and closed it again twice before she continued onward, ignoring his look of surprise.
"The lord I was supposed to marry was a monster. And my father knew. He knew exactly what was in store for me if I were to marry him, and he still agreed to it. He didn't care what happened to me, as long as he benefited. My whole life has been like that—whatever he wanted, exactly how he wanted it, and Gods help you if you pushed back or failed." She said this in a rush, as though it was being physically pushed out of her.
"He was that bad?" Jon asked.
"Who? My father or my betrothed?"
He thought for a moment. "Both."
"My betrothed, yes. He was beyond terrible, and I'm being generous with my description. But my father?" She thought about it. "I'm not sure. Not always, I don't think. He was always distant—but from what little I remember, my mother knew how to temper his worst impulses. She died, though, birthing Arthur when I was six. I think, when it happened, any part of my father that was good, died too." Caitie sighed. "Or maybe he was always a thoroughly unpleasant person, and I just was too young to realize. I don't know. If Owen and Cerys did, they never told me."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged, as if all the hurt her father had caused was nothing more than an inconvenience. Because if she didn't wave it away, she might tell Jon everything, and Caitie wasn't ready for that. She'd already said far too much as it was. "I had my brothers. They loved me. And anyway, I'm sure your childhood couldn't have been easy either." She'd gleaned that much over the last month of being friends with him—not that he tried to hide it.
"No, I can't say it was," Jon said, barking out an ironic laugh.
Caitie was about to ask for more details when they heard a crash come from the other side of the kitchens. The two of them eyed each other nervously. She stood up, her heart pounding, and pulled out her daggers while Jon drew his sword. Slowly and carefully, they moved towards the source of the noise.
It was Sam.
He stood, paralyzed, next to a pot that had fallen onto the floor.
"Sam?" Jon asked. He put his sword away, but Caitie refused to do the same for her weapons. However much she may have felt a protective instinct towards Sam, the thought of all those rapers finding out about her outweighed it.
"How much did you hear?" When Sam said nothing, only stared, wide-eyed, at her daggers, she growled fiercely, "How much?"
"Caitie, stop." Jon put a hand on one of her daggers' hilts, trying to force her to lower her weapons.
"I'm sorry," Sam squeaked.
He sounded so scared—like Arthur, when their father was about to go into a rage. Caitie never wanted someone to feel that way because of her. Reluctantly, she relaxed her stance.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just was looking for Jon, and I saw him leave his quarters and followed him here." He paused, gathering his courage, and asked, "Are you really a girl?"
Silence. And then, "Please don't tell anyone," Caitie found herself begging, giving him a look of utter distress.
"How—how is that possible?"
Caitie and Jon exchanged glances. "He's trustworthy."
She hesitated, almost refusing, but Caitie had just admitted to trusting Jon, and if he trusted Sam, well, the damage was already done. What was the harm now?
She closed her eyes and nodded to Jon, who ushered Sam over to the pantry. "Come on."
Caitie had picked the pantry out as a hiding spot because—ignoring that it was close to the ale—it was tucked away in a far corner of the kitchens. No one ever went in there at night. But that didn't matter if she and Jon could be overheard from far away. "I need to be more careful," she said as she followed them.
"I'll have Ghost stand guard from now on."
"If others can listen in on us..."
"He'll be able to warn us should anyone try."
"I have excellent hearing if it makes you feel better," Sam added uncertainly.
Caitie almost laughed as the three sat on the pantry floor, an unspoken agreement passing between them to speak in a whisper.
Sam looked down, eyes flickering to the floor, back up at her, and then down again. "I'm sorry about your father."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course you heard that."
"I think I heard most of it. I'm so sorry."
Caitie tried to take a deep, steadying breath to get a handle on her fear. What came out was a humorless chuckle. "Gods, I'm doing a miserable job of keeping this a secret, aren't I? Next, it'll be Ser Alliser who finds out."
"I would never tell anyone. I know what it's like to have a father who's cruel."
She stopped, stared, waiting for Sam to elaborate.
"I was heir to Horn Hill. But my father..." He trailed off, hands shaking. After exchanging a look with Jon, he took a deep breath and continued. "On the morning of my eighteenth nameday, my father came to me. 'You're almost a man now,' he said. 'But you're not worthy of my land and titles. Tomorrow, you're going to take the black, forsake all claim to your inheritance, and start north.'" He took a second, shuddering breath, and continued. His voice shook as he did. "'If you do not,' he said, 'then we'll have a hunt. And somewhere in these woods, your horse will stumble, and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die. Or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more.' So, that day, I left, and came here."
Although she had known from the start that Sam's story would not be a happy one, his story still shocked her. Even her father had never threatened to kill his children so blatantly. He may have been a bully, but he was at least a smart one.
By the time Sam finished, Caitie's jaw had dropped, and even though she had never met him, she felt an intense urge to find and kill Randyll Tarly in the most painful manner she could think up. Of course, it wasn't an option, and so she had to swallow the spitting rage rising in her chest. "Gods," she breathed. "I'm... I'd say I was sorry, but I don't think it would suffice."
Sam looked down, miserable, and suddenly, she had the desire to hug him like she used to hug her brothers.
Caitie resisted, but only barely. Instead, she pulled herself together and said, "Well, at least we'll be able to commiserate with each other." The comment managed to get a weak smile from Sam, and she continued, unable to stop herself from asking. "You'll keep my secret? Truly?"
"Of course I will," Sam replied, brightening. "We're friends now, aren't we?"
"We are?"
"Yes!" Sam laughed. "I told you about my terrible father, and you told me about yours, in a manner of speaking. And you protected me from Rast and Ser Alliser. I think that's as good a basis for friendship as any."
"Well, Jon did, too." A slow smile spread across her face as she looked between her two new friends. "So I suppose it's the three of us?"
"Aye," Jon agreed. As he did, Caitie realized something: for the first time since she'd arrived at Castle Black, she felt truly and utterly at home.