Whatever hope Caitie had for her friends diminished quickly and steadily as the weeks went by. While her sixteenth nameday had come and gone, the wisdom everyone told her she would gain as she got older did nothing to help her figure out how to save Gilly.
Despite the three of them, no one could seem to come up with a plan that would actually work in practicality. The original idea—to cut Gilly's hair, and hide her and her baby amongst the rest of their brothers, had only made sense when the Night's Watch had a full party. But with two-thirds of their brothers gone, it just wasn't feasible anymore, leaving Caitie and her friends both desperate and frustrated.
"There's no point," Gilly had said one evening in an abandoned hut at the far end of the keep. Caitie had been sitting behind her, braiding her hair while Ghost stood guard for them.
"Maybe I could switch clothes with you so you and the baby could take my place," she'd mused. "Then I could follow the party later."
"You don't look anything like me. And how would you get back to the Wall all on your own?"
"Even if you did, you would be considered a deserter, Kitty," Sam had chimed in, disappointment lacing his voice.
Caitie had only shrugged. "Well, technically, I wouldn't be, considering I'd come back."
"I don't think the lord commander would see it that way. And it wouldn't help Gilly, either. If they know you switched places, they would execute her for impersonating a brother. Not to mention there's no way no one would notice a baby. We'll have to think of something else."
"What else?" Caitie and Gilly had snapped in unison.
Sam had opened his mouth to reply, blinked a few times, and then promptly closed it again, ending the argument. After that, the three of them had all gone back to silence, feeling defeated.
And as the weeks went by and Gilly's time with her son drew closer to an end, things at Craster's keep deteriorated further for the Night's Watch. From the lack of proper food and shelter, combined with injuries from the battle and the frigid temperatures of the north, everyone around Caitie seemed to waste away. The wounded succumbed to death, one by one. Each day they stayed in the gods-forsaken place, it got worse.
Not that their host cared about their health. He thrived on watching the Night's Watch starve and waste away.
It all came to a head after a brother named Bannen died of a broken leg. The rest of them had watched as his strength slowly ebbed away, as his body became weaker and weaker from the lack of food and cold, until finally, mercifully, he passed on.
The lord commander had quickly ordered a pyre, and by nightfall, the remaining brothers stood in a circle, watching as the smoke rose into the air. The funeral was solemn and quiet. Caitie could hear their stomachs growling from hunger. She stood with Sam on her right and Edd on her left, with the lord commander beside him as they watched the flames consume their brother's body.
"His name was Bannen," said Mormont. "He was a good man, a good ranger. He came to us from..." There was a pause as the lord commander shifted towards Edd and cleared his throat. "Where did he come from?" he asked quietly.
"Down White Harbor way," Edd said.
Mormont nodded in silent thanks and continued the speech. "He came to us from White Harbor. Never failed in his duty. He kept his vows the best we could. He rode far, fought fiercely." A second, pregnant pause followed before the lord commander ended his eulogy with, "We shall never see his like again."
"And now his watch is ended," the rest of them chanted in unison.
"And now his watch is ended." With that, the lord commander turned away to walk back to the keep.
The rest of them stayed put, wanting to pay their respects a little longer, and watched the funeral pyre continue to burn.
"Didn't think a broke foot could kill a man," said Grenn, watching the flames.
"It wasn't his foot that killed him," Rast answered. He, too, kept his eyes on the fire before him. "That bastard Craster starved him to death."
"Craster's got his daughter's to feed," Sam said.
"You on his side?"
"We can't just show up and steal all his food."
Caitie sighed at Sam's naivete. "As much as I hate to agree with Rast on anything, he's right. Craster has plenty of food to give us."
"We're brothers of the Night's Watch, not thieves."
"It's not thieving. We're cold, sick, and tired, and we're asking for hospitality. Guest Right."
"I don't think Craster cares about the Laws of Hospitality, Caitie."
No, she supposed he wouldn't. His gods weren't the Old Gods or even the Seven; his gods were the White Walkers. They didn't care about Guest Right, so why would Craster?
When nobody answered, Rast scoffed. "The day we leave," he said, "Craster will tap a barrel of our wine and sit down to a feast of ham and potatoes and laugh at us, starving in the snow. He's a bloody Wildling is all he is."
There was nothing anyone could say to that, so they ignored him, the silence stretching on as they kept their thoughts to themselves, until Edd's dry voice cut through the quiet. "Never knew Bannen could smell so good."
Though her stomach growled, Caitie refused to dignify that with a response. She had done a lot to survive—more than she was comfortable with. But she would never eat another person—not to see her family again, not to bring Jon back, not even to end the war. Ser Alliser might have been willing to do so, but she wasn't Ser Alliser.
The others seemed to have a similar thought, for they didn't respond either. Instead, they followed the procession of brothers back towards the keep.
Caitie held off when she noticed Ghost whining behind her, eyes glinting in the darkness. He looked like a demon—all shadows and red eyes. Standing, he was as tall as a mare, and ten times more deadly. But he was a comfort, too. She couldn't believe she had ever been afraid of him.
"It's okay, Ghost," she said. "Go hunt. We'll be all right."
He didn't move, whining still. Caitie frowned at the sight, having never seen the direwolf so agitated before. She knew it was difficult for him—however starved they might be, Ghost had it worse, considering his size. But, somehow, she knew this was more than just hunger. He missed his master; he wanted him back. And Caitie, as much as she may have wanted, couldn't fix that. All she could do was give him permission to find more food.
"Go on. I know you're hungry." She jerked her head towards the forest. This time, the direwolf listened. After watching him bolt off, she sighed, hurrying after Sam and the rest.
Once back inside the warmth of the keep, Caitie sat on a bench in between Sam and Grenn, and allowed her mind to wander, trying, once again, to think up a plan to get Gilly out of this awful place. Nothing came to her. The atmosphere of the room didn't help; it remained pensive, wary, and generally foul.
Before she could stew for long, Craster started talking. Every brother of the Night's Watch went rigid at the sound of his voice.
"You have one son, don't you, Mormont?"
The lord commander looked up from the letter he was writing and nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral.
"I had my ninety-ninth. You ever meet a man with ninety-nine sons?"
Caitie held her tongue, but just barely, and only because Mormont's eyes landed on her for a beat. She could see the warning in them. If she spoke, it would bring down Craster's wrath upon them all. Caitie may be willing to risk her own skin for it, but she would never put Sam, Edd, or Grenn in harm's way just so she could run her mouth.
"And more daughters than I can count," Craster continued, oblivious.
"I'm glad for you," the lord commander said diplomatically.
"Are you now?" Craster didn't sound convinced. "Me, I'll be glad when you and yours are gone."
Caitie was dismayed to have something about which she and Craster agreed.
"As soon as our wounded are strong enough," Mormont promised.
"Bah. They're as strong as they're gonna get. Them that's dying—why don't you cut their throats and be done with it?"
At his words, Caitie saw some of the men in the room flinch. She grabbed hold of Sam's arm and clutched it tightly, while Grenn and Edd exchanged looks of disgust.
"Or leave them if you've not the stomach, and I'll sort them out myself."
The lord commander stayed completely silent, and Caitie wondered what was going through his mind. At least she knew he would never agree to Craster's suggestion. Mormont was many things, but above all, he cared about his men. That, she knew for certain.
Caitie hoped this would be the end of the conversation, and they could finish warming themselves quietly, but Karl Tanner had other ideas.
"Whose throat you gonna cut, old man?" he said coolly.
No one spoke. No one even moved. Tanner was looking for a fight, and no doubt, Craster would give him one. She wouldn't bet against Tanner being able to best him, but Mormont would never allow it, and nothing good could come of attempting to openly disobey the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
"Wait outside," ordered Mormont.
"It's cold outside, and there's nothing to eat."
"My wives gave you bread," Craster said.
"There's sawdust in the bread."
"You don't like it, you go out there and eat the snow."
Tanner advanced. "I'd rather eat what you've got hidden away."
The lord commander finally stood. "I told you to wait outside."
"He's sitting there, drinking our wine, eating his fill while we die!" Rast shouted.
Craster jumped to his feet. "I gave you crows enough—I've got to feed my women!"
Ah yes, how magnanimous of him—to make sure his daughters were fed while he raped and abused them.
"So, you admit you've got a hidden larder, then? How else'd you make it through winter?"
"Enough! Out!" Mormont bellowed. With the fury on his face and in his voice, he embodied the sigil of his house: an enraged bear, ready to attack. For a moment, Caitie thought everyone would listen to the order for fear of the Old Bear, alone.
But Craster had lost control of himself, screeching, "I am a godly man!" and a giggle burst from Caitie's lips before she could stop it.
Craster's head whipped in her direction. Caitie's eyes widened as he met her gaze. She covered her mouth with her hands, but it was too late. As Grenn moved in front of her, hand on his sword and a look that said you want her, you go through me, Rast screamed, "You're a stingy bastard!"
Craster turned his attention away from Caitie. "Bastard," he growled, picking up his axe and waving it at Rast threateningly. "Out with ya, you little thief!" He turned to Tanner, next. "And you!" Then he rounded on Caitie and her friends. "And you! Go sleep in the cold on empty bellies! I'll chop the hands on the next man who calls me bastard."
No one said a word, and Craster relaxed a little.
When all looked calm, Mormont grabbed Rast and dragged him towards the exit. But Caitie saw Tanner close his eyes and take a deep breath, and she knew it wasn't over for him—not even close.
When he spoke, it was with cold fury. "You are a bastard. A daughter-fucking, Wildling bastard."
Caitie's heart sped up as Craster bolted towards Tanner. Quick as lightning, Tanner had drawn his knife and lodged it in the older man's throat. He threw Craster to the floor and grabbed the nearest woman to him by her hair, forcing her to look at him. "Now show us where he hides the food, or you'll get the same as he did."
Seeing the commotion, the lord commander let Rast go and turned back around. "The Gods will curse us for this!" he shouted. "By all the laws—"
"There are no laws beyond the Wall," Tanner growled.
Mormont unsheathed his sword. "Unhand her."
Tanner seemed to realize that even he couldn't hope to beat the lord commander in combat. Without hesitation, he threw the girl down and raised his arms in surrender.
"I shall have your head for—" But before Mormont could complete the sentence, Rast, who had been standing behind the lord commander, stabbed him in the back.
The sword fell from Mormont's hands and clattered to the ground. That was all it took for Craster's Keep to devolve into chaos.
Grenn left Caitie's side to run at Tanner with a yell of fury, while Edd attacked another man of the Night's Watch, whom Caitie knew as Errold. Craster's daughters screamed and ran up the steps to their loft, trying to escape the carnage. Brother turned on brother, but it wasn't until she heard Sam cry, "Caitie!" that she saw a man dressed in black lunge at her with his sword.
She barely crossed her daggers in time, blocking the blade from killing her, but the danger hardly registered. All she could think was that she needed to keep these mutineers—especially Rast—away from Sam. If she could distract them for long enough, maybe he could find Gilly and slip away. Without taking her eyes off the mutineer attacking her, she yelled, "Sam, get out of here!"
Just as she spoke, the mutineer moved away to strike again, but before he could, without thinking, Caitie slid a dagger between his ribs. He choked on blood as he fell to the floor and died.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. She had never killed a man before—well, not a living one. In an instant, Caitie had stopped his heart, ended his life. He had been someone's friend, someone's son, someone's brother. He'd even had a name—Corwyn.
She had taken that all away, and there was no coming back from it.
But eventually, the need to make sure her friend was safe won out against the shock and horror. She forced herself to look back over to where Sam stood—or had. Her eyes flitted across the room, but he was nowhere in sight. Caitie hoped it meant he'd found Gilly and escaped with her and the baby.
Maybe they couldn't have helped her any other way.
Another mutineer rushed towards Caitie. She rolled out of the way, attempting to evade instead of kill—one death on her hands was enough. But he refused to relent, and after his third attempt at sticking his sword in her belly, Caitie's instincts took over. She didn't quite know how it happened, but her dagger found its way into the middle of his forehead, hot blood spurting from it. He was dead before he hit the ground.
She almost retched. The blood and guts were bad enough, but it was the smell, pungent and overwhelming, that caused her stomach to turn.
Holding her breath, she pulled her dagger out of the man's head; and not a moment too soon, either. When she looked up, Caitie saw the biggest opponent she'd ever faced rushing towards her with his sword raised; at least twenty-stone. This time, she didn't hesitate. She slipped between his legs and thrust her dagger into his back before he could even attempt a blow at her. He keeled over face-first onto the floor.
After it was over, she looked up, nostrils filling with the smell of decay once again. She ignored it this time, searching the room for Karl Tanner or Rast. They had started this—maybe if she killed them, she could end it.
She found the first easily enough. Grenn had engaged Tanner in combat, fighting with everything he had, but Tanner still outmatched him.
That was where she needed to go. Help Grenn, kill Tanner, end this mutiny.
Her legs propelled her forward, but just before she could reach Tanner, she was intercepted; five mutineers surrounded her, bloodlust in their eyes. She spotted Rast standing between the two largest, letting them guard him against any threats. Coward.
She killed the mutineer nearest to her by stabbing him in the eye so deep her dagger went out the back of his head. But just as she set her sights on Rast, the biggest of the four left lunged too fast for her to evade. He grabbed her by the waist and threw her to the ground as his friends laughed. They seemed none too concerned about the man she'd killed.
Caitie's daggers fell out of her hands. The mutineer who had defeated her picked them up, grinning. A second later, Errold shoved Grenn and Edd onto the floor next to her, and the sounds of fighting finally died. No one else remained; they were either dead or had taken part in the mutiny—Caitie was horrified to see it was mostly the latter.
Cowering women were scattered throughout the keep along with the carnage, but among it all, Caitie saw the body of Lord Commander Mormont. Someone, and she had a guess as to whom, had stabbed him so many times he barely looked like a man.
Caitie had spoken to the lord commander earlier today. How could he be full of life one moment, barking commands, and then just gone the next? Even with everything he had done, Mormont was her family, both by blood and through her vows. And these men had killed him.
"What are you waiting for?" Grenn shouted. "Kill us!"
Caitie tore her eyes away from the lord commander's body to look up at Tanner, waiting for the blow. If she was going to die, she wanted it to be now—before anyone found out the truth about her. She tried not to imagine what would happen to her body.
"We should," Rast said.
But all Tanner did was smile his vicious, unfriendly smile. "Not yet. Dirk—put 'em in chains and throw 'em in the outhouse."
Dirk, the good little henchman he was, grabbed some chains off a nearby wall and fastened them around Caitie, Grenn, and Edd's wrists, making sure they were too tight to be comfortable. Then he locked them in place and pocketed the key.
Karl Tanner's cold grin disappeared as he stared directly at Caitie. "Too bad that bastard Mormont ordered me to leave the stewards alone," he said. "You could have joined us."
Caitie blinked up at him in surprise. She'd always thought Tanner had gotten bored with her on their way to the Fist, but, if he was telling the truth, then that wasn't true. Mormont had made him stop. Why he had done so, Caitie wasn't sure. And now, she would never get the chance to ask. Yet another reason she wanted to retch at the sight of his mutilated corpse.
"But instead," Tanner sighed with no genuine emotion, "you killed four of my men. So you get to go with your friends."
He nodded at Dirk, who recruited three other mutineers and shepherded Caitie and her friends to the outhouse, gleefully jostling them the whole way. The outside of the keep was almost as bad as the inside—bodies strewn across the entire grounds, blood and guts and bone wherever she stepped.
By the time Dirk had thrown them in to rot and left, Caitie's heart felt as though it were trying to escape her chest. Her hands shook and her mind whirled with panic.
Lord Commander Mormont was dead, Sam was gone—Gods only knew if he and Gilly were okay—and Tanner's band of mutineers now had full control of Craster's Keep. Caitie could imagine what that meant for Craster's daughters. Ghost had been hunting, so at least she knew he would be all right for the moment, but if he came anywhere near the keep, he would be in danger.
And then there was the more immediate threat: she was now a captive of Tanner and Rast—and that it was only a matter of time until they discovered her.
So when Grenn asked her quietly, "You all right?" Caitie found herself laughing so hysterically tears leaked out of her eyes. When she finally calmed her laughs, she said, "Seven Hells, what do you think?"
"Well, I thought I'd ask." He tried to shrug, but it was difficult in chains. "At least they haven't killed us."
"Yet," she reminded him.
Edd grunted. "Well, if you ask me, I'd say we're fucked."
Caitie stared down at the chains binding her wrists, heard the screams of Craster's daughters being raped, and decided that Edd was right: she was well and truly fucked.
I always knew the show conveys time poorly, but season 3 really drove it home for me. I decided because no one explicitly says it, I'm going to act like more time has passed in episode 4 than was implied.