"You disappeared yesterday," Grenn said the next day as he and Caitie were hauling a second sack of potatoes over to their friends. Mormont had put the five of them—Caitie, Grenn, Edd, Sam, and Jon—on food duty that morning. Two hours later and three sacks of carrots and they had only just moved onto the potatoes, preferring to socialize over working.
"Jon followed you," he continued, as Caitie tried to avoid his gaze, "but you didn't come back for an hour. Never seen you so stiff before." He paused. "Are you all—"
"I'm fine," she cut him off, waving a hand dismissively. As much as she appreciated him asking, she didn't want to discuss this with him. She didn't want to discuss Craster's daughters ever again, if she could help it. She wanted to pretend none of it existed because it was the only way she could handle her powerlessness to change it.
Grenn stopped and frowned at her, and Caitie knew he didn't believe the lie. Who would, really?
"I needed to escape for a little while," she admitted. "I don't like it here."
He seemed to understand her meaning. "This Craster's a nasty bastard, isn't he?"
"That's one way of putting it."
"Well," he said, "I'm not gonna complain about having a roof over my head. But I get it. I'd like to look at a girl without losing my hand."
It took everything Caitie had not to laugh hysterically. Luckily, the keep was small, and they made it back to their friends before she had the chance.
Edd grumbled when he saw the two of them. "You took your sweet time."
"We haven't been gone that long." Caitie threw the sack of potatoes down on the table in front of them and took out her dagger to cut them up. Noticing an absence, she asked, "Where's Jon?"
"He went to sharpen Longclaw," Sam said, jerking his head to the left.
Caitie had to bite back a scoff, a little annoyed that Jon had left them to do the chores. But, figuring he was still bitter after she'd destroyed him yesterday at sparring, she only nodded and looked back down at all the vegetables in front of them. Picking up one of the knives, she joined in, chopping the potatoes in time with Edd and Grenn.
"I'm sick of potatoes," said Grenn after a few minutes of silence. "Can you die if you eat too much of the same thing?"
They all turned to Sam.
"You won't die," he said. "But if you eat nothing else, you'll waste away."
"I'd be okay dying if it meant I never had to eat another potato."
"Potatoes aren't so bad," Caitie put in. "Cabbages, though…" She shuddered. If there was a single food she despised, it was cabbages. One of her first memories was her brothers bribing her with cookies to finish her cabbage stew after her septa had tried—and failed—to force her. "I could die happily without ever eating a cabbage again."
"Cabbages are nothing, but the Gods are right bastards for coming up with potatoes."
"The Gods are right bastards in general," Edd said. He seemed to recall something, setting his knife down and furrowing his brows. "Y'know, someone once told me that the Gods want us to have dignity. Well, that's utter shit, so I said, if the gods wanted us to have dignity, they wouldn't make us fart when we die."
"We fart when we die?" Grenn asked incredulously.
"Oh, aye. My blessed mother. I was holding her hand when she went. She farted so hard the whole bed shook." To make his point, Edd started blowing raspberries in order to imitate the farts.
The sound cut through the otherwise quiet grounds. It was just the thing Caitie needed for a distraction. Because all of a sudden, she imagined her mother—her proper, beautiful, ladylike mother—farting violently, and somehow, she found herself cackling uncontrollably. "Seven Hells," she breathed through her chokes of laughter, "that's absolutely mad."
"You don't believe me?"
"Of course I do." Caitie giggled again. "But, Gods—no wonder my brothers didn't want me to see my mother when she died." That wasn't strictly accurate; it was Maester Harkon who tried to refuse her entry to her mother's deathbed. But maesters were only for highborn families, so Caitie omitted him. "I can just picture it."
"Seems a bit greedy for one man to have so many wives," Sam said. Apparently, he hadn't been paying attention to their discussion. "Wouldn't two or three be enough?"
Or none, Caitie thought, but she didn't voice it in front of the others. Her mood soured again.
Edd frowned. "We were having a serious conversation."
"Oh, very serious," she replied, a little more biting than she'd intended.
He rolled his eyes and mock-glared at her. Caitie stuck her tongue out at him, trying not to let Craster's Keep get to her.
She was trying to think up something witty to add when she noticed Grenn was staring at some of Craster's daughters, an appreciative grin on his face. "Would you look at that?"
Sam gazed at the pair of girls Grenn was watching. "Nothing like the sight of a woman walking away."
"I prefer watching them come towards me."
"I'm sure that's nice too."
"Yeah, well," Grenn said with an air of pride, "there was a milkmaid named Violet on the next farm from where I grew up. We were wrestling from the time we were six years old. Then we got older, and the wrestling, uh… changed."
At Grenn's snickering, Caitie's hand tightened around her dagger. It was ridiculous; she knew that. She didn't even know who this Violet was, but she wanted to—well, she wasn't exactly sure. She just hated the idea of it all.
Lovely, Caitie thought. You're jealous, and not even for a good reason.
This was just the thing she needed in her already complicated existence.
"You were with her?" Sam asked. He tried to seem nonchalant. "How many times?"
"Well, as many times as I could."
Sam sighed longingly. "I wish I grew up on a farm."
Caitie disagreed. Farms were now firmly on her list of places she never wanted to visit.
She was barely paying attention anymore as Edd told Sam to grab even more potatoes from the sledge. "Get the turnips, too," he added.
She tried to focus on the potatoes she was cutting up, but she couldn't get the thought of Grenn and that girl out of her mind. And the worst part of it was that she didn't know why. Grenn was a man of the Night's Watch. It wasn't like sleeping with women would be on his list of evening pastimes any longer, and whoever the girl was, he'd likely never see her again. Besides, it wasn't as if Caitie could have him—and this was assuming he would even want her, which seemed unlikely, considering.
Really, this whole thing was none of her business. She shouldn't have cared a jot about it.
And yet, it wasn't until she felt a stinging pain on her finger that Caitie came back to her reality. "Shit," she hissed, pulling her finger away from the knife.
Grenn furrowed his brow. "You good?"
"It's fine."
"It don't look fine." He grabbed the hand and observed the cut on her finger. It was shallow and would heal quickly, but Caitie was so embarrassed she wouldn't have cared had she cut her whole finger off.
It didn't help her inner turmoil that Grenn was now holding her hand.
"Really, it's okay." Caitie pulled her hand away as fast as she could. "I'd better get it wrapped. I'll see you both at supper?" The two men glanced at her strangely, but they didn't object as Caitie tore off.
Soon enough, she found Jon sitting with his back against a tree, his sword in one hand, and a whetstone in the other. It was only for show, really. Valyrian steel didn't need sharpening. But when she'd pointed it out, Jon had just shrugged and said sharpening his sword calmed his mind. Caitie could hardly judge him for that.
"What's with you?" he asked. Caitie realized she must have looked as upset as she felt. She was about to reply when he noticed her bleeding finger. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
Jon's face went flat as if to say, I don't believe you.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. Thankfully, he didn't push her, and Caitie plopped herself down next to him. "Do you have a bandage?"
Jon nodded and rummaged around in his pack for a bit until he found one and handed it to her. Caitie was winding it around her finger when Ghost found them. He sat down between her and Jon and looked around like he was waiting for something.
Soon enough, Sam appeared, along with the girl from the day before, the one who had repeated Craster's ridiculous line about being free.
Jon glared at him. "What are you doing?"
"This is Gilly," Sam said nervously. "She's one of Craster's... daughters."
Caitie gave Gilly a smile and a little wave, but Jon only glowered. "Hello, Gilly. What are you doing?"
"Sam said you could help—"
"I'm sorry, but Sam knows we're not supposed to—"
"She's pregnant," Sam blurted.
Caitie blinked, taking Gilly in again with fresh eyes as the gravity of what Craster did to his daughters hit her all over again.
Jon stared at Sam, at a complete loss of words, and Sam used it to press his advantage. "We have to take her with us when we leave."
"What?"
"I know it sounds a bit mad—"
"No, it doesn't sound a bit mad; it's impossible," Jon argued, shooting up so he could argue at Sam's eye level. "The lord commander ordered us to—"
"We are sworn to protect."
"Sam, we can't—"
"Please, ser, please," Gilly finally said. "I can run if I have to."
Jon still insisted it was impossible, and Caitie decided she should speak. She stood up, so she was standing between her two friends, and fixed a glare at Jon. "I agree with Sam and Gilly. We should take her with us. We can figure out how, later."
"We can't."
"I'm going to have a baby; if it's a boy—" Gilly stopped abruptly and refused to say anything more.
"If it's a boy, what?"
Gilly looked around and closed her eyes, but she couldn't seem to muster up the courage to answer.
Jon gave her a pointed look and said, more harshly than was necessary, "You want us to risk our lives for you, and you won't even tell us why?"
No one said anything else. Gilly looked between the three of them in horror for a painfully long time before she ran off.
"What did you do that for?" Sam cried when she was gone.
"Do what? Ask her a question?"
"She didn't need to tell us why we should risk our lives for her. We already know the answer," Caitie said.
Jon glared at her, but Sam put a hand on Caitie's shoulder. "Thank you, Kitty." He turned to Jon. "You were cruel."
"Cruel? Sam, are you in such a hurry to lose a hand?"
"I didn't touch her!"
"No, you just want to steal her! What do you think Craster cuts off for that?"
Caitie was about to yell at Jon for the implication when Sam said, much more kindly than she would have, "I can't steal her. She's a person, not a goat."
Caitie beamed, but Jon refused to budge.
"We're heading deeper and deeper into Wildling territory. We can't take a girl with us, Mormont wouldn't have it. And even if he would, what would we do with her? Who's going to deliver a baby? You?"
Sam thought about it. "I could try," he said.
Jon shot him a look.
"What? I've read about it. A bit," he admitted. "But Caitie could help me. She has to know about birthing babies."
Caitie scoffed. "What? Just because I'm a girl, I must know about giving birth?"
Sam winced. "I didn't mean—"
She waved him down, sighing. "It's all right. I do know a bit about it. Not much, but enough so that I could try." Though, Caitie thought, most successful births were a matter of luck rather than skill. But she didn't tell her friends that.
"See?" Sam said, turning back to Jon.
He bowed his head and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam. We can't help her."
Angry and frustrated by Jon's insistence, Sam stomped his foot and ran off, presumably to follow Gilly.
Jon sighed as he sat back down against the tree. "Why were you encouraging him?" he asked Caitie.
She glared at him, trying to channel her mother's icy stare as best she could remember. "Because he's trying to do the right thing."
She let the implication set in. Jon glowered more deeply than Caitie thought was possible. "And I'm not; is that it?" he snapped.
"Yes, that's exactly it, actually."
"We can't—"
"But we can. We could cut her hair, blend her in—"
Jon put Longclaw down and grabbed Caitie's arm. He could tell she was about to pace. "Caitie, it isn't possible—you know that as well as Sam."
"You would say that. Gods, you're such a—ugh!" She wrenched her arm away and stood up to leave before saying something she couldn't take back.
"Where are you going?"
"For a walk," she replied tersely.
He tried to grab her arm again. "Will you please stop?"
"Leave me alone!"
Jon shook his head, frustrated. "Fine."
"Fine," Caitie hissed back, as she couldn't think of anything better to say.
Ghost barked and followed her. She heard Jon mutter, "Take her side, then," before grabbing his sword and the whetstone.
If Caitie weren't so angry, she would have laughed. Most likely, Ghost was only following her in the hopes of some food.
As the two of them walked along the outskirts of the Keep's grounds, the anger and frustration clouding her judgment cleared. And as much as she loathed to admit it, Jon was right. Logistically, they had no way to take Gilly with them without putting her in even more danger—and putting themselves and their brothers at risk, too.
Knowing this, however, didn't make it any easier to swallow. But the rage tinting her thoughts had subsided enough that she could admit she'd have to apologize.
Before Caitie could turn around and find him, she and Ghost came upon Gilly, furiously throwing fruits and vegetables into their respective bowls at a covered table on the outskirts of the keep. Sam was nowhere to be found, and before Caitie could change her mind, she was walking towards the other girl, her big direwolf protector in tow.
Let Craster try to hurt her with Ghost at her back.
"If you can't help me," Gilly said when she approached, "then you shouldn't be talking to me."
Caitie sighed miserably. "I know, I'm so sorry. I wish I could help—honestly, I do."
"But you can't. Just like your friends."
"My friends are idiots," Caitie said. "They don't understand. Well, Sam tries to, at least, but even he hasn't a clue. Sometimes, I wonder how long they'd last in the world without their manly bits. I like to think it wouldn't be long."
Gilly stared at her. "What are you talking about?"
Caitie stopped and thought about her next words. What she was about to say was stupid and reckless—more than likely to get her raped, killed, or both.
She said it anyway.
"I'm not," she lowered her voice, "a black brother. Not really, anyway. My name is Caitriona."
"You…" Gilly observed her, and suddenly her expression changed from confusion to realization.
"You can't tell anyone," Caitie said.
"I won't." There was no hesitation, no fear, no judgment—and Caitie immediately knew she'd made the right choice.
She hesitated, trying to figure out what to say, but the curiosity was eating at her, and Caitie couldn't stop herself from asking, "What happens if your baby is a boy?"
Gilly looked down at her feet. "I can't tell you."
"Does Craster kill him?"
"Sort of." She shook her head. "Worse than 'sort of.'"
"Listen," Caitie said hurriedly, ignoring the vagueness of the answer, "we're going to the Fist of the First Men when we leave here. Maybe when we come back, I can sneak you out and take you with us to Castle Black."
"I don't have time for that," Gilly cried.
"I know, I'm sorry. But it's the best I can do. You wouldn't be safe out there, and neither would your baby."
Gilly closed her eyes, but it did nothing to stem her tears. Before Caitie could think about the consequences, she put her arm around the other girl's shoulder, wondering if Gilly had a mother or a sister or anyone to protect her—or even to just simply be there for her. Based on what Caitie had seen so far, she doubted it.
When at last her tears dried up, she sniffled and said, "Your—your friend, Sam. He's kind."
"He's one of the best men I know."
Gilly stared down at her hands, lost in thought. Then, "If you're a girl, what are you doing here?"
Caitie debated whether to tell her, but then she decided she was fucked anyway if Gilly said something, so why not? "My father betrothed me to the heir to House Hightower—a powerful family in the south. But he was... Well, not so different from your father. And I didn't want to marry him, so I ran instead."
"You're highborn?"
Caitie nodded slowly. The more she spoke, the more she decided this was, by far, the most ridiculously idiotic thing she had ever done.
"I've never met a highborn. You're nicer than I thought you'd be."
Despite her anxiety, Caitie chuckled. "Thanks—I think."
Gilly chuckled, too, but soon it faded, replaced with hesitancy. "Is your father like mine?"
"Not as bad. My betrothed, however... well, that's another story."
She was about to answer when Ghost's hackles went up. Caitie looked around. Although she couldn't see any unwanted observers, it was probably time to get away from Gilly before someone caught her. "I have to go, but I'll... see what I can do in the meantime."
Gilly nodded, but it was obvious the girl had no hope left. Caitie gave her one last sorrowful glance and walked off, wishing she could change the world.
Hightower is the house that rules Old Town. They're a decently powerful family in the lore. Gerold Hightower was Aerys's Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He was even killed by Ned and his party at the Tower of Joy. Meanwhile, Loras and Margaery's mother was a Hightower, and Jorah's wife was her sister.
Their father—Leyton—has a lot of children (like 9 or 10), so I added an extra one for my purposes. What can I say? I'm a bad person who fucks with the lore because it's only mentioned in the books and not the show. Hate me if you want. I probably deserve it.