"Was it true?" Jon asked the same evening, while they waited in the pantry for Sam to join them. The only light came from the torch he held, radiating outward, casting shadows on the walls of the little room.

"Hmm?" Caitie wasn't paying much attention as she stroked Ghost's head, who lay in between her and Jon on the dusty floor, snoring loudly. She'd only had a cup of ale, but she could feel its effects already. Her tolerance had grown since her arrival, but for the moment, she still had to pace herself.

"What you said about knowing how to prevent pregnancy," Jon clarified. "Was it true?"

Caitie snickered. "Still thinking about that, are you?"

He threw her a dirty look.

"Oh, calm down," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was only teasing earlier. Gods, you have no sense of humor."

In response, he scoffed. "I do. Sometimes. If the joke is good enough."

"I don't think I like what you're implying."

That earned her a wry smile. "Don't worry; I wouldn't dare insult your sense of humor."

Caitie snorted. She stopped petting Ghost and took a sip of ale. "Anyway, yes, it's true. Moon tea—"

"I already know about moon tea."

"And sheep intestine." When Jon gave her a blank stare, she clarified, "It goes on the, um," and gestured downward.

An incredulous laugh bubbled up from him. "Seven Hells, Caitie. How do you know that?"

She shrugged. "Owen and Cerys—but mostly Cerys. He's been going to brothels for almost as long as I can remember."

"My father refused to even swear around my sisters, never mind speak of brothels in front of them."

"Really? Why not?"

"He wanted to protect them."

The way Jon said it—like it was the most natural thing in the world—surprised her. Caitie pursed her lips, thinking.

She loved her brothers immensely, and she was grateful for the skills they'd given her—that they trusted her to look out for herself. But sometimes a part of Caitie wished she'd had a father who wanted to protect her—one who cared about her wellbeing.

It wasn't fair.

Apparently, Caitie had gone too long without responding because Jon said, defensively, "You don't approve?"

"What? No, it's not that. I suppose... I'm a bit jealous, honestly. My father never had any interest in protecting me. In fact, he usually went out of his way to do the opposite. He really liked to scream at me. Or whip me. Or both. All for my own benefit, of course—to make me into a good, obedient little lady. It never worked."

As soon as the words left her, she regretted speaking them. She hadn't meant to admit that.

Stupid alcohol.

"Anyway," she said, "the point is I would have loved a father who wanted to look out for me."

"What about your brothers?"

She rested her hand on her cheek, glad for the change in subject. "Owen and Cerys always said I had to learn to protect myself, so they taught me the skills I needed in order to do so."

"Which is why you know how to fight, even though you're a lady."

"It's not so unusual," Caitie said, frowning. She didn't like his implication that being a fighter and being a lady were somehow incompatible, though she knew it wasn't how he had meant his comment. "You said yourself your sister is learning swordplay. And House Mormont teaches their women to fight, too. My mother's mother was a Mormont; I suppose you could say I'm following tradition."

Jon stopped, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. "Wait, you're related to the lord commander?"

"Not closely. A distant cousin," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"I thought your mother was a southerner—that's what Maester Luwin taught us."

Caitie shifted. She didn't like being associated with the south; it felt... wrong, almost as if she was betraying someone. Which was silly, because she couldn't help her family history. But besides bringing a septa along with her to the North, her mother had never followed the Andal customs, never had believed in the Seven, and neither had her children. They were First Men, through and through. "She was raised there. My grandfather was a bannerman to the Baratheons." She paused. "Are we going to discuss my lineage all night? It's not very exciting."

"More exciting than mine," Jon said. He meant his words to be lighthearted, but they were a little too pointed to be effective as such.

Caitie probably should have left it alone—Jon enjoyed talking about his wonderful childhood about as much as she did hers. But she found herself speaking, anyway. "You really despise being a bastard, don't you?"

"You noticed."

"It's difficult not to," she said. "Was it that awful?"

Jon considered her words for a good long time before finally deciding to speak. "My entire life, I've been the Bastard of Winterfell, and no one has ever let me forget it. It was always something I couldn't escape."

He stopped and shook his head. But once he'd said the words, he couldn't seem to keep anything else back, so he told Caitie everything, the rest spilling out.

He described how Sansa had always called him her half-brother or bastard brother, how Robb was his father's favorite, the one who got all the attention, how Jon was always caught between love and jealousy for his brother, and how he hated himself for it. He described how everyone at Winterfell always referred to him as Ned Stark's bastard, and how Theon Greyjoy taunted him every chance he got, just because he was Ned Stark's ward and Jon was a bastard.

Then, finally, he told her the way Lady Stark had treated him; how she'd told him to leave when he went to tell Bran—who was on the brink of death from a fall—goodbye.

"As I sat there, with his little hand in mine, she said, 'I want you to leave.'" He shook his head. "But I was leaving. I was going to the Wall, never to grace her halls again. And she still hated me. No matter what I did, it never made a difference."

"What about your father?" Caitie asked.

Jon sighed. "My father tried to make me feel included. He gave me a lord's education and training. He took me hunting with Robb, gave me the same speeches and lessons—tried his best to groom me into a man. But she..." he clenched his fists. "Lady Catelyn always thought I was trying to take my brother's place. She thought so little of me, even when I went out of my way to make her life easier. The only thing she saw was the woman my father laid with." He shook his head. "She tried to stop me from attending Robb's nameday, you know. She said it wouldn't be appropriate. But Robb wanted me there, so she had to allow it."

"No wonder you brooded in a corner the entire time."

Jon snorted. "Aye." He stared down at Ghost's sleeping form. "When we found the direwolf pups, I only saw five—for each of Lord Stark's children. I said they were the sigil of his house, so it was meant to be. Bran asked me why I didn't get one. I told him it was because I wasn't a Stark."

"And then you found Ghost."

Jon nodded. "Lady Catelyn just loved that."

Caitie was at a loss for words. Looking at Jon's face, full of poorly concealed hurt, she hated Catelyn Stark. The Lady of Winterfell was why Jon had felt so much like an outsider, why he'd punished himself his whole life. It was why, even with a direwolf by his side, Jon refused to consider himself a Stark.

No child should ever hate who they are, Caitie thought. And Catelyn Stark had insured Jon would.

She didn't think he'd appreciate a sincere, I'm sorry, though—not now.

"Well," she said slowly, trying to think of a response. "I knew there was a reason I didn't like her."

She nudged Jon in an attempt to cheer him up, but he only looked down solemnly. Caitie couldn't blame him.

They sat like that, not speaking for a while. Eventually, Caitie took another sip of ale and tried again. "I know this won't make things better, but I'm sorry Lady Stark was such a cunt."

Jon stared, wide-eyed in shock.

"What?" she asked. "I've heard the word used that way before, and it seemed fitting here."

Jon still said nothing, and suddenly he was laughing so hard that tears leaked out his eyes. It went on for a good few minutes before he finally got control over his breath. "I can't believe you just called the Lady of Winterfell a cunt."

Well, she thought, this was better than the bleak atmosphere from before.

"I'm glad you found my remark amusing," Caitie said wryly.

"Amusing? Not exactly how I'd put it."

"Oh? And how would you put it?"

Jon thought for a minute. "Unladylike."

Caitie lightly punched his arm as he continued to laugh. She held out for a few moments before giggling herself. Perhaps it was just the ale, but calling her liege lord's wife the most—as Jon had said—unladylike word did strike her as rather funny.

The moment was cut short when Ghost's ears perked up, and he stared at the door, forcing Caitie and Jon to become clear-headed again.

They watched as the handle turned and Sam stepped into the pantry. "There you are," she said, sighing in relief that her friend hadn't been caught by Thorne or worse on his way. "I was starting to worry."

"I know I'm late. I'm sorry. I got distracted in the library."

"We would never have guessed."

He chuckled and ruffled her hair as he sat beside her. "Did I miss anything?"

Caitie and Jon eyed each other before she grinned. "Oh, nothing much of interest."

Sam looked between the two of them with mild suspicion. "I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not," Caitie replied. "At least not until you're very drunk."

Listen. I love Catelyn. I think she's an exceedingly strong, smart, and (generally) kind person. And honestly, most of the fan hate towards her on Jon's behalf should really be focused on Ned for his shady husbanding and parenting. But. Caitie doesn't know any of this and, let's face it, Jon isn't exactly unbiased when it comes to his feelings towards his parental figures. So... yeah, I just don't think there's any way in which Caitie would have a good opinion of Cat, unfortunate as it might be for us outside observers.

Oh, also, sheep intestines were used in ancient Rome, sort of like a medieval condom. I figure the Westerosi would have figured out how to use it, too. A little on the gross side, but these people shit in the same place they sleep, so really, what were we expecting?