After a journey of cold, wet misery, the remnants of the Great Ranging finally arrived at Craster's Keep. It looked no different than it had months earlier; the only change was the lack of women bustling around the grounds. It was strange to think that just seven months ago, Caitie had been here. So much had changed since then—and none of it good.

The survivors of the battle at the Fist followed the lord commander to the keep's entrance, but Sam grabbed Caitie's arm before she could follow along with them. He jerked his head towards the left, to where Ghost was standing in a patch of light, staring off into the distance, nose twitching.

"Ghost!" Sam called.

The direwolf turned his gaze towards them, waiting for her permission. After Caitie nodded, he ran off.

"Let him hunt," she told Sam. "He'll be safe."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue with her, either. Since the day she'd almost set Ghost on Rast, Caitie been testing her limits, giving him commands, usually with food—but sometimes without. For the most part, he listened to her. Caitie wondered if it was because Jon had ordered him to obey her before sending him back, or if it had to do with her Northern ties. After all, Sam had tried to give an order, too, one evening, and Ghost had simply ignored him until he offered food.

After watching the direwolf take off after his prey, they followed the rest of their brothers to the entrance of the keep.

Craster stood in front of the doors, glaring at them all as they stood shivering from the cold. "What have we here?" he asked. "Frozen crows?"

"We've come a long way," Mormont said.

"Smaller flock than you went north with."

The lord commander's face remained passive. "We can talk inside."

Craster raised an eyebrow. "Oh, can we?" he said, relishing the fact that the ranging party was at his mercy.

He stayed silent for longer than he should've had any right to, watching with glee at their suffering. Finally, he gestured for them to enter the keep. Mormont nodded in thanks and walked through the door. The others took that as their cue to follow, and they filed in.

Like the grounds, the inside looked the same as the last time they'd been at the keep. Caitie sat between Sam and Grenn on one of the benches around the fire while Craster had his daughters give the ranging party some brown, lumpy stew that tasted as awful as it looked. She barely managed not to gag with each spoonful while Grenn tried not to laugh at her overreaction. All she could muster in return was a half-glare.

A scream pierced the air. Judging by the voices of the other women asking for water and cloths, Caitie guessed it was Gilly—she'd be due to give birth any day now.

Caitie had to ignore the cries, though it wasn't easy. Just the thought of giving birth—and the risks it posed—made her feel woozy. How anyone could have expected her to do the same as Gilly, and at a whole two years younger, Caitie would never know. Right then, she was more grateful than ever to her brothers for packing her off to the Watch.

Looking around the room in an attempt at distraction, Caitie noticed Tanner and Rast staring lustfully at some of the younger girls, whose faces were just visible from the loft above.

Craster noticed them, too. "Keep your eyes where they belong," he snarled, scowling at Rast. They're not for you."

Caitie clenched her fists. Craster's daughters weren't for anyone—as Sam had once said: they were people, not goats.

"Bet you feed that pig better than you feed us," Tanner said, ignoring the warning.

"Aye, that pig's got value to me." Craster put his hands behind his head. "You should all be kissing my feet for letting you in. I'd have turned you all away if I wasn't a godly man."

Mormont eyed him. "You are a godly man?"

"I am," Craster replied. "I got no fear of what's out there."

Caitie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Was he referring to the White Walkers?

She got her answer not two seconds later.

"When the white cold comes," he continued, "your swords and cloaks and bloody fires won't help you. The only ones left will be those who are right with the gods—the real gods."

As soon as Craster finished, and his words settled in, it all clicked into place. Caitie gasped before she could stop herself.

The white cold, the real gods, the absolute certainty they wouldn't harm him—if she combined that with Gilly's refusal to say what Craster did to his sons beyond him "sort of" killing them…

Seven fucking Hells.

Grenn glanced at her, furrowing his brows, but she hardly registered his presence. Caitie's mind was reeling, thoughts racing so fast she could barely decipher them.

The gods Craster believed in were the White Walkers, and he was sacrificing his sons to them. It's what Jon had seen—it's why he'd refused to tell her. He knew Caitie too well—she would have insisted they take Gilly; the consequences be damned.

She had to leave. She had to calm herself before she did something stupid—such as running Craster through.

Silently slipping behind the bench before Grenn or Sam could stop her, Caitie used the other men as cover until she could escape out the door as Gilly's wails of pain permeated the room.

Caitie wandered aimlessly through the grounds of the keep for so long she lost all sense of time, still unsure of what to do, what to think, what to feel. She wanted to live in a happy state of denial, believing her theory might not be right—only speculation. But Gods, it made sense. With that little piece of information, everything fit together. She felt the same sort of satisfaction she might have after finishing a puzzle, only with grim horror accompanying it.

And the lord commander had to know what Craster was doing—Jon would have told him.

At some point, long after the sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the stars had appeared, she came across the man in question. Dread seeped into her bones. Of all the people she wanted to come across, Mormont was right behind Craster himself.

The lord commander acknowledged her first. "Caitie," he said gruffly.

She inclined her head. "M'lord."

There was silence. Though the lord commander looked as though he wanted to say something to her, he didn't speak. Instead, he hesitated a fraction, then continued on his way, walking past her.

"He's sacrificing his sons to the White Walkers," Caitie said before she could lose her courage. "Isn't he?"

Mormont spun back around to face her, face contorted into a scowl, waiting for her to continue.

"It's what Jon saw—Craster bringing one of his boys out of the keep."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye."

The look on his face forced her to reckon with the truth. "And you knew about it the entire time," she said in horror. "Before Jon told you, even."

"You're a sharp boy, aren't you? How did you figure it out?"

"Craster's little speech. He's so sure the Walkers won't harm him because he's 'right' with them. I put it together with Jon getting us kicked out."

She didn't add Gilly's part in her epiphany.

A bitter laugh bubbled up from Caitie's chest before she could stop it. "And I thought raping his daughters was as bad as it got with him." She forced herself to look the lord commander in the eye. "He's murdering babies. You saw what the White Walkers can do; you know what Craster's sacrifices mean."

Glowering, Mormont replied, "I'll tell you what I told Jon Snow. That man has been all that's stood between life and death for our rangers."

She bit back a scream, though she couldn't bite back her words. "But the only reason we send our rangers out beyond the Wall is to track Wildlings. And if this is what we have to condone to keep them out, then how can we say we're on the right side?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "You speak of things you don't understand."

"I suppose that's true," Caitie said bitterly, misliking the patronizing words Mormont had thrown at her. "But Jon is dead because of our war with the Wildlings. So is Qhorin Halfhand, and the gods only know how many others. Is keeping them trapped here with the White Walkers really worth all this loss? Worth letting Craster kill his own children?"

She knew what she was espousing was likely to get her executed, but damn it all, she didn't care. This wasn't something she could just accept. She'd seen the White Walkers and what they did to people. She'd seen exactly what was in store for those boys.

How could anyone just accept it?

"What you say is dangerous, Caitie," Mormont said. "I will only warn you once—no more."

Caitie opened her mouth to argue, and then she closed it again. Because what was the bloody point? Mormont was going to do what he was going to do, and she couldn't do a thing to stop it.

"Of course," she ground out, digging her nails into her palms. "Apologies, my lord."

She stopped in her tracks. M'lord, Caitriona, she thought. She had been so good at using the lowborn term—this was not a good time to break the streak, especially when the person who heard it was the lord fucking commander.

Thankfully, Mormont didn't seem to notice. "You're a good lad," he said quietly, "with a good heart. It'll get you killed if you aren't careful."

Caitie crossed her arms and gave the lord commander her most potent glare. "My brother once said it was the best thing about me."

Mormont's lips quirked up into a half-smile. "No doubt your brother had a different future in mind for you."

Despite herself, she snorted. "No one expects their brother to take the black, I suppose."

"Aye," he agreed, chuckling. But his eyes clouded as he continued, as if he were leagues away. "Nor their father."

Though it was faint, Caitie still detected a note of sorrow in his voice, and she wondered, as she looked at the melancholy expression on his face, if he was thinking about his son. She had heard about Ser Jorah Mormont's exile at length from Owen, who'd made it very clear how much he disapproved of the man in question. She understood why; selling slaves was a terrible thing to do. Even worse, knowing he was their relative.

Until now, Caitie had never given much thought to the fact that the lord commander was Jorah Mormont's father. And she had to admit she was curious regarding what Mormont thought. As far as she was aware, he'd joined the Night's Watch long before the exile had occurred, but that didn't mean he hadn't cared.

But, curiosity or not, Caitie didn't voice her questions. She had pushed back against the lord commander enough already, and it was a wonder he hadn't executed her yet. Even Sam would be angry if she got herself killed just because of mere curiosity.

Mormont shook himself out of his thoughts. "Well, no matter. Your friends have been searching for you. You'll want to go speak to them before they turn the whole damn keep on its head. I trust I'll hear no more from you about Craster?"

"Would it accomplish anything?" Caitie bit down on her tongue a moment too late, and she knew she was truly in for it now.

But Mormont only chuckled. "Go, get on."

She nodded to acknowledge the lord commander's order before she walked away, for she knew any more resistance on her part, and the lord commander would stop being so lenient. But order or not, Caitie couldn't bring herself to put her heart into finding her friends. She simply wanted to be alone. And so she continued to wander with no destination in mind, trying to avoid everyone without looking like that was what she was doing.

As she walked, her mind whirled. She wished things were simple—that good and evil were easy to understand and everything and everyone fit into neat little boxes; where there were heroes and villains and nothing in between. But Jeor Mormont was both good and evil, a hero and a villain, or maybe none of those things at all.

And even knowing what the lord commander had allowed, Caitie couldn't hate him.

She just... she didn't know what to do. She knew what she wanted—which was to kill Craster and take every single one of his daughters back to Westeros—but there was no way to do that. Mormont would never allow it, and like it or not, he had authority over the situation. But she couldn't just leave them to Craster and the White Walkers. The little girl who Tanner was eyeing earlier—she didn't ask for this fate, any more than Caitie asked to grow up relatively safe and loved south of the Wall.

It was chance or luck or the Gods' design, and it was entirely unfair.

For the thousandth time, Caitie wanted Jon to be there so she could discuss all of this with him. She wanted to know what he thought of the lord commander's decision regarding Craster and the Wildlings, and she wanted to know if he would have told her the truth, eventually.

Most of all, she wanted to know if he would leave the Wildlings to rot, just like Mormont had done if he had a choice.

Because, after seeing the White Walkers, she wasn't sure she would.

"There you are."

Startled, Caitie looked up to see Edd sitting on a bench by the outdoor fire pit with a bottle in his hand. He waved her over. Knowing there was no escape, she steeled herself and joined him.

"Grenn's been looking for you everywhere," he said.

Caitie furrowed her brows. "What about Sam?"

"Craster said some..." he cleared his throat, "stuff to him after you ran off—haven't seen him since."

In any other situation, this might have worried Caitie, but Ghost would have returned by now; she had no doubt he'd look out for Sam, as she'd asked him to do for the past weeks. Besides, she knew her friend well enough to have an idea of where he'd gone—it was something he needed to do without her.

Edd used the pause to observe her. "You look white as a sheet."

"I always look white as a sheet," she replied weakly.

He raised a brow, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong.

"I…" she started, but the full effects of Craster's machinations hit her again, and she suddenly felt clammy. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Sit down, then."

"No, I—I can't."

When she started to pace, Edd barked, "Caitie, what the hell is wrong?"

"Craster," she blurted. Swallowing, Caitie took a deep breath, and the words fell out. "He's giving his sons to the White Walkers, so they'll leave him be."

He stared at her in shock. "You sure about that?"

"The lord commander confirmed it."

There was a long pause before Edd spoke again. "Well," he said, sighing, "'least the White Walkers won't come after us here."

Caitie's mouth fell open. "Did you not hear me when I said he's killing his children? Raping his daughters was horrid enough, but this is almost worse."

"Nothing we can do about it." He sounded almost bored.

"But—"

"But nothing." He shook his head and chortled. "You just thought you was gonna go around saving everybody when you became a black brother, didn't you?"

Caitie scowled. "Of course not. I thought I'd put my head down and survive."

"Smart way of going about life."

"But I can't just put my head down and survive when I keep seeing horrible things I could be stopping."

"But here's the thing." He took a swig of his drink and set it down. "You can't stop it. There's nothing you can do to keep Craster from marrying his daughters or killing his sons. So why bother worrying about it?"

"Because it's wrong!" she exclaimed. "Because it's awful and—"

"You're what—fifteen?"

The question took Caitie by surprise. She lifted her chin in defiance, as she had the terrible feeling Edd was about to patronize her. "I'll be sixteen in a week."

He laughed heartily. "You're young—soon as you get on a few years, you'll come to grips with what you can't change."

Caitie nearly replied that if coming to grips with what she couldn't change meant only caring about herself—as he had done during the Battle at the Fist—she would pass.

But then a voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Sam's, told her it would have been wrong to hold the incident over Edd's head. Especially considering how he'd helped her protect their friend on the way to Craster's. After all, Edd had even taken a night shift to watch over Sam while he slept.

Seeing the expression on Caitie's face, Edd sighed and rolled his eyes. "You and Jon were just made for each other."

The comment took her by surprise. "What?"

"Both of you—all about being a hero—"

"I don't care about being a hero," she hissed, forgetting his mention of Jon. "I just don't want people like Craster to get away with being fucking monsters!"

At the outburst, Edd sighed and patted the seat next to him. "You need a drink."

"I need—"

"A drink," he insisted. "Now sit your ass down."

Caitie plopped herself beside him on the bench and pouted, perhaps childishly. Somehow, this conversation had taken a strange turn—reminding her of one of Owen's lectures when she'd misbehaved.

Edd handed her his bottle. "I had a brother like you, growing up. I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told him—if you want to survive, don't do stupid shit trying to be a hero."

"Thank you for such riveting advice."

He snorted, but his expression turned shrewd as he watched her. "Well, I imagine it's difficult not having control over everything after being a lordling."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Even if he thought her a lord instead of a lady, this was a step too close for comfort. She knew she'd done a poor job of concealing her education, but she didn't think she'd been that obvious.

Apparently, she'd been wrong.

Edd rolled his eyes. "You should be more subtle if you're gonna pose as a street urchin."

"I—" she started, but Edd cut her off.

"I'm not gonna tell, don't worry about that. None of my business who you are or why you're here."

Relieved, Caitie closed her eyes and blew out a breath. "Thank you."

He only shrugged. "You're one of the most annoying fucking people I've ever met. But I like you. 'Least I can do to return the favor."

That elicited a faint smile from her, but it faded quickly as the problem at hand wormed its way back into her mind. "I still can't forget what Craster's doing."

"Well, you've got to," he told her. "But I'll tell you what: you let this go, I'll give you the rest of my ale."

"I... Oh, all right," Caitie relented, grabbing the bottle from his hand.

In truth, she was far from letting it go. Caitie would get Gilly and her baby out of this miserable place if it was the last thing she ever did.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, she'd take the shitty ale that Craster supplied them with, and drink away her disgust until she was so inebriated she could barely think.

The next morning, Caitie woke with a splitting headache. Opening one eye, she peered out at the interior of the keep to see Ghost laying at her feet, Edd a few feet away, still asleep and snoring loudly, and finally, Grenn sitting beside her with an amused expression on his face.

"Had a good night?" he asked when he saw her eyes open.

Caitie groaned. "Ugh, could you please lower your voice?"

"Sorry." He cleared his throat and repeated quietly, "Had a good night?"

"Not exactly how I'd describe it," she muttered. With the way her head throbbed, she thought it might explode. As it went, she could barely think. Still, she forced herself to sit up and tried to remember the events of the night before.

After her and Edd's conversation, they had finished the rest of his bottle of ale and then went in search of more. Eventually, the pair stumbled upon a stash of beer Craster had hidden away, stolen a few bottles of it, and proceeded to get drunker than Caitie had ever been in her life. The rest was a haze, but it was slowly returning.

"Did Edd and I," she closed her eyes, "try to spar?"

Grenn's smirk turned into a full-blown smile, and Caitie knew she had her answer.

"Seven Hells," she said, putting her head in her hands, thinking she might die from embarrassment.

"Don't worry," Grenn assured her, "I kept you from killing yourselves."

"How kind of you."

Grenn laughed, but he stopped when she glared at him. "Sorry," he said. "But you're the one who drank two bottles of ale."

"It was beer. And I had good reasons." When he looked as if he was about to ask for more information, Caitie realized she'd said too much. Quickly, she changed the subject. "Where's Sam?"

"Making up a story to the lord commander for you."

"Shit. I owe him for that, don't I?"

"Aye," Grenn agreed, handing her a waterskin. "Here—this'll make you feel better."

"It feels like an army of Northmen has trampled me. Somehow, I don't think water is going to fix that."

"It won't cure you, but it'll help—trust me."

Caitie huffed, not quite sure she believed him. But she was also desperate. "Oh, fine. Give it here."

She took the water and gulped it down. Like Grenn had promised, some of the fog cleared from her head instantly. He was right—she didn't feel entirely better, but she at least was well enough to try and stand after a minute or two.

In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have. Dizziness and nausea overtook her as she pushed herself up, but Grenn caught her before she could fall. "Woah," he said, steadying her.

Caitie tried to ignore that where he touched tingled. She blamed it on the aftereffects of the beer. "Remind me never to drink again."

He chuckled. "Give it a few more days here; you'll change your mind."

"Sadly, you're probably right." As soon as she was sure she wouldn't fall, Caitie pulled away. "I'd better find the lord commander before he kills me."

He grinned and gestured towards the door to the grounds. "Good luck."

With a small thankful smile at him, she pushed the door open and slowly stepped out into the harsh morning light, Ghost trailing behind her. It did not make her feel better.

Squinting, she looked around for Mormont or, preferably, Sam. Though her friend was nowhere in sight, Caitie found the lord commander easily enough. He was scolding Karl Tanner, most likely for leering at Craster's daughters. When he saw her, Ghost in tow, he narrowed his eyes at the way she was hunched over, avoiding the light. "Headache?" he asked much too loudly.

Caitie flinched at the noise. But though Mormont sighed, he didn't reprimand her. Instead, he silently handed over a list of her duties, which he'd scrawled onto a tiny piece of parchment. Caitie couldn't help feeling like maybe—just maybe—he understood her feelings more than he let on. She didn't know why, but it helped her feel better.

As the day went on, the headache gradually lessened. By the time she finally found Sam later that afternoon, it had faded into a dull pain that she could almost block out.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," she said when she saw him. "I wanted to…" Noticing his expression, she trailed off. Then, gathering her courage, asked, "What is it?"

"It's—it's Gilly."

Caitie's stomach dropped. How had she forgotten about Gilly already?

Oh, yes; the alcohol.

"She's not—"

"No, no," Sam said, knowing what she was about to ask. "She made it through the birth."

Whatever relief Caitie felt swiftly left her when Sam's somber expression didn't change.

"It's a boy, isn't it?"

He nodded, eyes cast down at the dirt beneath them.

"Did you know?" The words left her of their own volition. Maybe it was the wrong time to ask, but Caitie had to know the truth.

"Know what?"

"That Craster is giving his boys to the White Walkers. I assumed Jon would have told you."

When Sam winced, she knew she had her answer. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wanted to tell you, but you were already so furious over what Craster was doing to his girls. We knew you would get yourself in trouble and get hurt or killed. We were only worried—"

"Sam," she cut in, "it's okay. I'm not angry."

"You aren't?"

"I'm aware of how volatile my temper can be. Jon... He asked me to trust that I didn't want to know what was happening, and I'm glad I did. I probably would have gotten myself killed."

"Oh, Kitty," Sam said proudly. "You're growing up."

Caitie rolled her eyes, otherwise ignoring his statement. "But I'm not leaving Gilly behind again. We have to find a way to get her and her son out of this place."

"I know. I just can't think of how."

She sighed, at as much of a loss as Sam. Wanting to help came easily, but actually being able to help was a different story. "Me neither."

Sam went quiet and then asked in a small voice, "Would you stand watch for me while I visit her?"

"Of course I would." Caitie exhaled a breath and turned to address Ghost. "Come on, boy," she said with a pat on his head. "We have a job to do."

The birthing house wasn't too far. When they got there, Caitie and Ghost stood guard outside the door, keeping an eye out for tattlers. Thankfully, Rast was busy bothering Grenn and Edd as they shoveled shit in the pigpen. No one else seemed to care or even notice.

Caitie tried her best not to listen in on Sam and Gilly's conversation, but she had little else to distract her.

At first, the baby's crying drowned out the voices of the adults in the room. A moment later, they quieted down, and she heard Sam's voice, slightly above a whisper. "Does he have a name?"

"No."

"Are you going to give him one?"

"Why?" Gilly asked shortly.

To that, Sam had no answer.

The cries started up again, and Caitie missed the next few words exchanged between them until Gilly, at the end of her rope, raised her voice. "I don't want your stupid thimble. I want to save my baby's life. Can you do that?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Can you?" she asked again, more forcefully than before. When he still didn't respond, she added, "I don't have time for you. I don't have time for anyone but him, because he doesn't have much time."

Gilly's baby screeched so loudly that Caitie's headache returned with a vengeance. It was at this point that she decided to intervene.

The first thing she noticed as she entered the room was that Gilly could stand. The observation lessened her nerves—the last time Caitie had seen a woman after giving birth, she had been laying in a bed of her own blood, pale, unable to move, and dying.

The thought of Caitie's mother didn't help matters, so she pushed it back.

"Sam," she said, "could we have a moment?"

She could tell he didn't want to, but still, he nodded, his eyes moving between the two girls, and turned to leave. Caitie watched the door to the birthing house open and close behind him before she returned her attention to Gilly.

The baby's screams hadn't quieted one bit. Gilly looked exhausted and miserable, but Caitie had an idea, borne from the early days after her mother's death, when not even the wet nurse or septa could get Arthur to sleep.

"May I hold him?" When Gilly only glared at her warily, Caitie elaborated. "I think I may be able to get him back to sleep."

While Gilly might not want to part with her son, the thought of getting him to quiet down settled things, and she handed Caitie the bundle.

"This always used to work on my brother," Caitie said. And then she sang.

"As long as in our hearts do burn,

Our Northern souls forever yearn;

The Twins unto the Gift, the price;

To protect Brandon's Wall of Ice.

O then our hope, not lost to tears,

The hope of a long ten thousand years;

To be a free peoples in our own land henceforth,

Our eternal home of the North."

The baby's eyes shut as Caitie finished the song. When she was sure he was asleep, she handed him back to his mother.

Gilly took her son into her arms, trying to contain her tears. "Thank you," she said through her sniffles.

"It was no trouble." Caitie looked over her friend's shoulder at the sleeping baby, wondering how anyone could want to hurt him. "He likes music," was all she could think to say.

Gilly wiped the snot from her nose. "It's a pretty song."

"My mother used to sing... a lot of songs to me, I don't even remember all of them, but that's the one I sang to my brother after she passed away. I guess it was my way of saying 'fuck you' to Song of the Seven."

Gilly stared blankly at her.

"Sorry—you probably don't care." Caitie didn't know what else to tell her. What in the world could be comforting in a situation like this?

She wished she could promise they would save the baby, but she didn't want to get Gilly's hopes up. So instead, she asked a more practical question. "How long do we have?"

Gilly caught her meaning. "He waits to make sure the baby stays strong."

Well, it didn't make much sense to Caitie, but she wasn't going to sit around complaining. There was time, and between Caitie, Gilly, and Sam, they could think of a way for Gilly and the baby to escape Craster's Keep.

They had no other choice.

So yes, I changed the song. If you're a longtime reader, you'll know this is the third time. But I'm sorry, I had to. I just did. Anyway, a gigantic thank you to Estora on AO3 for the lyrics. It's basically just an English translation of a particular song that she lore-ified and turned into a rhyme, but it's... it's just perfect. Truly.