For the most part, Maester Aemon's chambers were quiet as he cleaned Grenn and Edd's wounds.
His work was slow, but practiced and efficient compared to that of his student. Sam seemed to move at twice the speed of the old maester, but there was much less refinement or care in his technique, and even though Caitie was beyond glad to have him back, as her wrists stung from the antiseptic and the roughness of the cloth Sam used to apply it, she swiftly decided would have preferred Maester Aemon.
But worse than the pain would have been to wait, so there she sat with her wrists resting on the edge of a bucket of water, listening to Sam humming a tune she'd never heard before as he worked. She even bit back her annoyance when he ignored her sounds of protest at the stinging sensation he was causing.
Meanwhile, Jon, frustrated he could do nothing to help, paced the room.
"They'll be all right?" he asked for the second time in ten minutes.
"I have already answered your question," Maester Aemon replied, not bothering to look up from Grenn's wrists.
"You're sure?"
"I am a maester, am I not?"
Jon didn't answer. He flicked his gaze to Caitie, looked away, and flicked them to her again before she realized the underlying question. The same one he'd tried to pose twice before. She supposed she understood his worry; she'd never actually given him a verbal confirmation that she was okay.
"Seven Hells, Jon," she laughed, trying to put him at ease. "We're fine."
He didn't take his eyes off her shaking hands. Her wrists were red, angry, and swollen, and her fingers were tinted blue. "You don't look it."
"I can assure you," the maester said, "they will be."
When Jon still seemed unconvinced, Caitie sighed. Even after months apart, she still knew that look on his face, and she knew what it meant: he felt guilty for leaving. As if he could've stopped what had happened at the Fist of the First Men.
Or at Craster's Keep.
And when she glanced at Sam, looking for backup, she was met with a blatant stare, his brows creasing in unspoken worry. Caitie rolled her eyes, her irritation flaring. Jon and Sam weren't staring at Grenn and Edd with the same look.
"You don't need to fuss over me," she told Jon.
"I know, but—"
Finally, Maester Aemon had had enough. He spoke with a frustration Caitie had never seen before. "You are no help to your friends here—in fact, you are a hindrance. I must ask you to leave—now."
"See?" Caitie added. She jerked her head towards the door. "Go."
Jon threw her a look that meant the questioning was far from over, bent down, and whispered, "Pantry tonight. If you're feeling up to it."
No matter how annoyed Caitie might be with him, and no matter how tired or uncomfortable she was, she still grinned. "Just try and stop me."
Placated, Jon finally departed. She watched him go, frowning at the slight limp in his step. "What happened to him?" she asked softly.
"He and Qhorin Halfhand were captured by Mance Rayder's army," Sam answered, looking up from his work. "The Halfhand ordered Jon to kill him, so he could—" Sam swallowed. "So he could spy on them. He climbed the Wall with a band of Wildlings from the army, and then he escaped."
Caitie had figured something like that, but it was different hearing it—especially the part about climbing the fucking Wall. She knew Wildlings did so every once in a while, but it was always a risk, even for them. The thought that Jon had done so unnerved her. "How was he hurt?"
"He wouldn't say. All we know is he had three arrows in him when he arrived home. And—" Sam paused, thinking. "Well, I'll let him tell you."
All the tension and grief of losing Jon left Caitie in a whoosh of laughter. "I can't believe he survived."
"I can't believe you survived," Sam told her, with a small smile that died when he looked down at her wrists. "You're going to have scars."
Caitie grimaced. She had, of course, known this from the moment she'd escaped. But for some reason, it didn't feel real until Sam had said the truth out loud. Her skin would be marred by those stupid chains her whole life—however short it was likely to be.
She snorted. Of all the things to care about at this moment, vanity was ridiculous.
"I'm sorry I left you," he continued quietly, distracting Caitie from her self-pity.
"Don't apologize. I'm glad you got out." She lowered her voice. "Where's Gilly?"
"I sent her and the baby to Mole's Town. I didn't like the way the men were looking at her."
Caitie suppressed her disappointment. "Good," she said. "It's probably for the best."
"She was furious with me."
"When I've healed, we'll take a trip into Mole's Town. Maybe she'll have forgiven you by then."
"Ser Alliser ordered everyone to stay at Castle Black."
Caitie nearly laughed. After everything she'd just gone through, she wasn't about to let Thorne, of all people, keep her from seeing her friend. But it seemed a stupid idea to voice it with Maester Aemon right there.
Deciding to focus on something else, she asked, "Is Ghost here?"
The look on Sam's face told Caitie everything she needed to know.
She bit back a string of curse words, because she knew she should have gone back to Craster's Keep. Caitie had to hold back tears as she said, "I had hoped since Jon was alive, maybe Ghost would be here."
Sam frowned. "You sent him off to hunt before the mutiny, didn't you?" he asked. "You may have saved his life."
"I guess so."
But, much as Caitie wanted to believe Sam, she knew if Ghost had come anywhere near Craster's Keep, the mutineers would catch him. Even if they hadn't, there were worse things than Tanner and Rast beyond the Wall.
Sam was staring at her again, but she couldn't place his expression—sympathy, maybe. And worry. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.
Annoyance was a welcome distraction, and Caitie embraced it wholeheartedly. She rolled her eyes. "Gods, Sam, I'm fine."
"Don't worry, Sam." Grenn glanced at Maester Aemon, who was at the other end of the room, and whispered, "She's great. Got us out of there and everything."
Sam's eyes widened, looking back and forth between her and Grenn. In response, Caitie only shrugged.
Sam went quiet as he finished cleaning their wounds, but she could feel the desire to ask radiating from him. She suppressed a sigh. It seemed as if she would now be not only fielding questions from Jon later tonight, but Sam as well.
Oh, joy.
After Caitie's wrists had been cleaned and bandaged, and she'd been fed nice, warm broth, Maester Aemon finally released her. And with her newfound freedom, she decided there was only one place she wanted to go: the top of the Wall.
The view, thankfully, hadn't changed. It was still beautiful and calming, and everything else Caitie loved about it. She wished other things about Castle Black had remained the same, too.
New faces littered every hall; she couldn't avoid them no matter where she went. Thorne was the acting lord commander and was using his newfound powers to bully and abuse everyone he didn't like. And, most importantly, they were about to go to war with an army of Wildlings, one-hundred-thousand strong. Caitie had just escaped hell, and she was about to find herself thrust back into it.
Yet, even all this new horror, even the information that Ghost had not returned to Castle Black, even the scars on her wrists—none of it could dampen Caitie's spirits completely. Jon was alive. So were Sam, and Gilly, and the baby. So were Grenn and Edd. She was finally home, and she didn't want to think about the losses or their impending doom; she wanted to feel happy, if only for one evening.
By the time midnight came, Caitie was bursting from the seams, waiting for the chance to speak with her two best friends alone. She had so many questions for them; she'd been keeping a mental list of everything she wanted to ask. While she had gleaned quite a bit of information from eavesdropping on some of the others during her exploration of the Castle, it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy her.
As she entered the pantry and saw their worried expressions, however, she remembered that they had questions for her, too, and she was not looking forward to answering them. Because doing so would mean thinking about the last few months, and that would lead to crying, and Caitie didn't want to cry.
The two men exchanged glances before Sam spoke. "Now that we're alone, tell us, truthfully. Are you all right?"
She crossed her arms and snorted. If insisting she was okay hadn't worked, maybe sarcasm would. "I was in chains for a month with almost no food and water. How do you think I am?"
Both her friends grimaced, and then Sam went on. "You're sure they didn't…"
If they had, she highly doubted she would have been so blasé about the whole thing. But Sam didn't need to hear that, so she merely replied, "Seven Hells, for the last time: no. They barely checked on us, let alone got close enough to hurt me." Neither of her friends looked convinced. "Of course, I'm not saying I wasn't worried about it. Why do you think we escaped so quickly?"
"I'm not sure I'd call a month quickly," Sam said, grinning.
Caitie whacked him on the shoulder before Jon, who had been silent thus far, decided to voice his own question. "How did you escape?"
She almost, almost told them how she'd gotten out of her imprisonment at Craster's Keep. But she also got the feeling that learning the truth might actually kill her best friends. So instead, Caitie put a hand on her heart and sighed, pretending to be offended. "Do you have such little faith in us?"
He winced. "I didn't mean—"
"That was a joke, Jon. You really should try making one sometime."
Sam chuckled, and Jon threw him a half-hearted, dirty look.
"The point is," Caitie said, "I'm fine. Nothing happened. I'd rather know what happened to you two." She paused, looking over at Sam. "Did you really kill one of them?"
She'd been waiting to ask this since hearing about it from Jon. The idea of killing a White Walker seemed almost impossible, but she trusted Sam more than almost anyone in the world. If he said he killed a White Walker on his and Gilly's journey home, then it had to be true.
"Why does no one believe me?" Sam moaned.
"Of course we do! Don't we, Jon?"
Jon nodded in agreement. "I trust you, Sam."
"But what was it like?" Caitie pressed. "Killing a White Walker."
Sam shuddered. "It was horrible. It was so cold, and I could barely think. I just had to do something—it would have killed Gilly and me, and taken the baby. And all I had was the dragonglass, so I stabbed it in the back, and it just... shattered."
"It's too bad we didn't know about dragonglass at the Fist."
Not that it mattered. It was done; those who'd died were dead, and thinking about that battle was just too much for her at the moment. Besides, Jon was glowering with a mixture of guilt and frustration, and Caitie could tell all three of them needed something happier to think about. "Well, I'm glad Gilly and her baby were okay. To think that Little Sam could have…" She shuddered. "Well, I don't want to think about it, actually."
"And what about me?" Sam replied indignantly. "I could have been skewered and turned into a wight!"
"You know I care about you, silly." She beamed, smacking him on the arm before she turned to Jon. "And what about you? Are you okay?"
"You don't need to mother me—not after what you've been through."
"Well," she said, "someone needs to. What you went through wasn't easy either; killing the Halfhand, spying on the Wildlings."
"It wasn't so bad."
Caitie bit back a snort. "Mm, I heard. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
He stared at her. "How did you even…"
"Please, it's the first thing I heard after Maester Aemon released me. 'Jon Snow broke his vows, laid with a Wildling girl.' Personally, I don't see anything wrong with it. However, now that you're a man, I think it's time you learned where babies came from."
In truth, she hadn't been sure what to think at first when she'd heard about Jon's little affair. Originally, she hadn't even believed it, but the more she learned about his foray into the Wildling army, the more it made sense. If Qhorin Halfhand had told Jon to do whatever it took to spy on Mance Rayder, then he would listen—even if it meant breaking his vows.
It was just so... odd to think about. Caitie couldn't quite put her finger on why, but for whatever reason, the news had set her off-balance. Luckily, she was also highly amused, and in the end, she decided to focus on the latter emotion.
"I know where babies come from," Jon said flatly.
"Do you? I'm shocked." She grinned. "Well, it could be worse; at least you finally learned where to put it. Honestly, I'm proud of you." As Sam snickered, Caitie sighed, growing serious. "Really, though, I know how you feel about... well, you know. I can't believe you would have done that if you hadn't felt something." She locked eyes with him and searched his face. "Are you sure coming back to the Watch is what you want?"
Caitie wasn't certain what she wanted his answer to be. Part of her wanted him to say there was no hesitation in coming back, but deep down, she would understand if his answer was no. After everything he'd gone through, she wouldn't blame him if he wanted to hide in a cave far away from other people for the rest of his life.
"I pledged my life to the Watch."
He stated it so matter-of-factly that Caitie almost believed him.
But only almost.
"You're allowed to feel conflicted, you know," she said. "If I'm honest, sometimes I feel that way, too." Both men stared at her, surprised at the admission. And it was ridiculous, for how could either of them think differently, after what they'd all seen? "Truly, I do," she said. "You remember when we stopped at Craster's Keep? How much I hated it? It's because those girls were me. Or they would have been, if... if things had gone differently."
"If you'd married," Jon said gravely.
She nodded, resisting the shiver that ran up her spine at the thought.
"Speaking of which, are you ever going to tell us the full story of your betrothal?" Sam asked.
Caitie smiled ruefully. "Someday—when I've had enough ale, I won't remember the conversation." If she never thought about the details of her betrothal again, it would be too soon. "The point I'm trying to make is that the Wildlings—they're just like us, aren't they? Some of them are good, some of them are bad; they're just people, right?"
She looked to Jon for confirmation, and he nodded slowly, confirming her suspicions.
"I wouldn't let Thorne hear you say that," Sam said.
"Hmph. Thorne can eat shit off his sword for all I care."
Jon chuckled at the vivid description. "You've been spending too much time with Edd."
"Well, it was hard not to, considering."
Both he and Sam frowned again.
"Anyway," she said pointedly, "the Wildlings just want to escape the White Walkers. How could I blame them for that? And the thought of Gilly trapped with Craster, her son sacrificed to the dead, all because she was born north of the Wall—it breaks my heart."
"You would make peace with the Wildlings?" Jon asked, astonished.
"I don't know what I would do if I had the power. Why?" she needled. "Do you think there's a chance for peace?"
"I—I don't know. Not with Ser Alliser in charge."
"Well, I suppose, then, that it doesn't matter what I would do. And either way, after hearing what they did to Olly's village—I won't let them hurt another child if I can help it."
Olly's story was the second thing Caitie learned about after getting released. Wildlings had raided his village and killed everyone but the twelve-year-old boy. They'd made him watch as they murdered his parents and then sent him to Castle Black in an attempt to draw out the Night's Watch.
She'd met Olly in the dining hall, briefly, after Maester Aemon had let her go. He'd been polite and kind, but his grief was visible in every look, every gesture, every word. His eyes were haunted in a way no child's should be.
If anything could convince her they had to stop Mance Rayder's army, it was Olly.
Caitie pushed these thoughts away. "But never mind that," she said. "You didn't answer my question."
"I'm okay," Jon answered. "Don't look at me like that," he added when she glanced at him skeptically.
Knowing that pressing him on the subject wouldn't do much unless he'd had enough ale first, she dropped the subject, taking a sip of her drink instead.
"Oh!" Sam exclaimed, changing the subject. "I almost forgot; Grenn and Edd—they know?"
Caitie shrugged. "I thought it was time. Not that I had much choice in the matter."
Jon gaped at the news. Sam just grinned.
"Oh, shut up," she told him, grinning herself, before turning to Jon. "And don't worry. I trust them."
"Well, that explains why Grenn was glaring at Jon earlier."
Caitie glowered, realizing what he was getting at. "Not funny."
"Very funny," Sam retorted, still grinning.
Both she and Jon ignored him, refusing to dignify that with a response.
"I like Grenn and Edd. You know I do. But are you sure you trust them?" Jon asked.
"I'm sure." She paused, frowning. "What I wonder is—should I tell Pyp? He's the only one of our friends who doesn't know now."
He sighed. "That's up to you."
"Oh, I don't know. We're not that close, but he's still my friend, and it feels wrong to keep it from him. Especially now that Grenn and Edd know." She took a good long while to think about it. She did trust Pyp—she trusted him with the lives of Grenn, and Jon, and even Sam. The question was: did she trust him with hers? She thought she might, but she wasn't sure she was ready to take that step. "But telling him just because I don't want him to feel left out would be stupid, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe," Sam said. "But if you want my opinion, I think Pyp's trustworthy. He's good at keeping secrets, too. Remember the day we took our vows?"
Caitie suppressed a smile at the memory. It had been a very long time since she'd thought about her and Jon's first proper fight. "Well," she said, "I suppose I have time to decide." At that, she yawned and stretched her arms. "All right, I'm exhausted, and apparently, I need sleep to heal properly, so I think I'll turn in." Caitie was about to stand when she noticed the look on her friends' faces. "What?"
Jon and Sam exchanged glances before the former spoke. "You should know…"
His ominous tone made Caitie's heart pound. "Know what, exactly?"
Jon looked pained. "The Northern army was destroyed."
No one said a word as Caitie's face morphed into pure horror. "H-how is that possible? They'd won the Battle at the Whispering Wood—taken Jaime Lannister as a hostage."
"Winterfell was lost. Theon—he betrayed Robb." Jon sounded positively bloodthirsty as he said the name of the Greyjoy heir. This was a personal betrayal for him. "He brought the Ironborn to take Winterfell while Robb was south."
"Weren't your two youngest brothers at Winterfell?"
Sam answered her question. "Yes, but they escaped. I saw Bran at the Shadow Tower." He tried to smile, but it came off more like a grimace.
That only left her with more questions than answers.
"And then," Jon continued, swallowing hard, "House Bolton and House Frey conspired with the Lannisters to—to kill my brother. He went to Walder Frey to make peace, and they slaughtered him. Roose Bolton is the new Warden of the North, and Walder Frey is Lord of Riverrun."
There was a heavy silence as Caitie adjusted to the news. The first emotion she had was anger—at the Boltons for betraying the North, at Theon Greyjoy for betraying Jon, at the Freys—though she didn't know much about them—for taking part in it all, and at the Lannisters who were behind everything. And then sadness, because Jon's brother was dead, the rest of his family scattered, and his ancestral home lost.
But those feelings on her friend's behalf lessened soon after because she realized Jon didn't only look sorrowful, he looked sympathetic, too. And she could tell it was on her behalf.
Caitie's voice was quiet, barely a whisper, as she asked, "What is it?"
Jon closed his eyes and steeled himself. The seconds ticked by ever so slowly before he answered her question. "Owen and Cerys are dead."
Caitie blinked, looking between him and Sam. For a second or two, she said nothing at all, trying to make sense of what she'd just been told. "Dead," she repeated once she found her voice. "That's… no. No, that can't be true." She had to have misheard, or Jon had to have misunderstood, or something—anything. "You can't possibly know for certain—"
"Caitie," he said, gripping her arms and guiding her to look at him. His voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry. They're gone."
"But they can't be. They can't!"
"Kitty," Sam put a hand on her shoulder, "I read the letter to Maester Aemon myself. It accounted for all the dead."
The logical part of her knew it made sense. Owen and Cerys were loyal to the Starks—they were willing to die to save Ned Stark, and they would die before they betrayed Robb. If the Northern Army had been destroyed, then there was only one fate left to them.
But no, they couldn't be dead.
Then another frantic thought hit her. "What about Arthur?"
"Arthur wasn't on the list of the dead, and…" the two men eyed each other again as if debating something.
Jon finished the sentence for Sam. "And your father has pledged fealty to the Boltons. He's back at Norwood now. We don't know how he survived the Red Wedding, but—"
Caitie cut him off, neither knowing nor caring what the Red Wedding was. "Are you telling me my little brother is at Norwood with my father and no one to protect him?"
No, he couldn't be, because Owen and Cerys could not be dead. They had friends among their bannerman who would have protected them: Edric and Roland Knott, Selwyn Harclay...
But then, they were probably dead, too.
"I don't know," Sam replied forlornly. His hands engulfed hers, squeezing tightly, attempting to provide comfort. "I am so, so sorry, Caitie."
"So am I." Jon studied her for a long moment. "You're not considering going back, are you?"
In any other circumstance, Caitie would have laughed. Jon knew her well, even after a year apart.
Or perhaps she was just that easy to read.
"I want to," she admitted, her voice cracking. She wanted to grab her horse and ride south to Norwood as fast as possible. "More than anything. But I know that I can't."
Charging into Norwood wouldn't save Arthur. It would only undo the sacrifices Owen and Cerys had made when they'd sent her here. Even if they were really gone, that didn't change what they'd given up, just for her.
But, selfishly, it was the thought of going back to her father—the sick feeling it put in the pit of her stomach—which truly kept her firmly grounded in the reality of the situation. Father would punish her for running away, force her to marry the Hightower, or maybe even worse than that.
And girl or not, Caitie was a part of the Night's Watch. There were people counting on her here; people she cared about. She wouldn't leave them to defend the Wall without her.
Knowing all of this, however, didn't stop the ache in her chest at the thought of leaving her baby brother to their father's abuse.
"His least favorite son is now his heir." Caitie wanted to laugh at the irony, but she couldn't muster it. "Of course, that isn't a particularly high bar. He didn't like Owen and Cerys much either."
Gods, what kind of terrible sister was she? She had fought to go after Ghost a few days earlier, fought to go after Jon even earlier than that, and now she was just accepting that her brother was in the clutches of the father who hated him.
Owen and Cerys would kill her if they knew.
And at that thought, Caitie broke. "I'm never going to see them again, am I?" she asked through tears.
"No," Jon said. "I'm sorry."
She wanted to rage, to scream, to ride south and kill every single Bolton, Lannister, Frey, and Greyjoy alike. But she couldn't. The only option Caitie had was to throw herself at the nearest person to her—Jon—and collapse into his arms, weeping. Sam put a gentle hand on her back, and they allowed her to cry.
As she sobbed into Jon's cloak, Caitie kept repeating everything she'd been told in her head, like doing so would make sense of what had happened. But it was no use. There wasn't any point in trying to make sense of something so senseless.
The kingdom of the North had fallen once again, but this time, it had taken her family with it. And nothing could change that, no matter how much she wished otherwise.
Sorry, but I'm sure you knew it was bound to happen at some point.