Well. This got... explicit. To be honest, I'm still a bit uncomfortable writing smut, but I'm trying to branch out and force myself out of my comfort zones. Anyway, I thought I'd give you a warning in case you don't like that sort of stuff and want to skip the last quarter of the chapter.
It was only thanks to Owen and Cerys that Caitie thoroughly trounced four of her Night's Watch brothers in the training yard within the space of a single hour, for having just a little piece of her brothers with her had sent her into a perpetual battle focus. Every swing of her opponents' swords missed, and every one of Caitie's strikes hit true. Even her best friend couldn't hope to beat her. Generally, she would consider herself and Jon evenly matched—though she had to admit he was just a hair's length better, due mostly to the fact that he had not been forced to train in secret for all his life. They usually either traded wins or ended up sparring to a draw.
Not today.
The two of them danced around the courtyard—but while Jon slowed after countless of Caitie's evasions and provocations, she sped up, exhilarated. Finally, she used a riposte to counter his parry, catching him off balance, and mere seconds later, she had a dagger hovering over his heart.
"Seven Hells," he said, as he bent forward and caught his breath, "if that's what you plan to throw at the Free Folk, we might have a chance."
"I've got you to thank. Speaking of which, I did thank you for Owen and Cerys, didn't I?"
"A few times," Jon replied wryly, shaking his head at her. "I still can't believe you named them that."
"Well, it's not as pretentious as Longclaw, but I think I'll make do." She bowed to her opponent, who rolled his eyes, and readied herself for her next one.
Grenn. He watched her with a mixture of anticipation, apprehension, but above all, desire.
"Try and go easy on me," he said.
Caitie smiled at him, alight with mischief. "You know I can't do that."
Of course, Grenn was close to mastery, and other than Caitie and Jon, he was probably the best swordsman at Castle Black. But if Jon couldn't beat her, no one could. Not a moment later, and to no one's surprise, she thoroughly trounced Grenn, too.
"Ow," he groaned, sprawled on his back in the dirt.
Caitie offered him a hand and helped him back up. As soon as she could be sure he was upright, she spun around and addressed the courtyard. "Who's next?" she asked, clapping her hands together and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
There were only three people who didn't look as if she had beaten them to a pulp: Pyp, Edd, and Olly. When she glanced at the first two hopefully, they both backed away.
"Edd, please?"
"Couldn't pay me."
Caitie sighed. "Pyp, what about you?"
"I'll pass," he squeaked.
She frowned and crossed her arms, trying to come up with an incentive to convince them, but someone cleared his throat before she could. "I'll spar with you."
It was Olly who had spoken, and though it went against her better judgment, Caitie seriously considered his offer. She could try to go easier on him—and it wasn't as if Olly were completely inept. But really, she wanted to keep on sparring, and she couldn't be picky about her choice of opponents. She opened her mouth to agree, only stopping when Jon shot her a dark, warning look.
She sighed, shrugging. "Sorry, Olly."
"But—"
"It's not up to me." She nodded at Jon. "Blame that somber ass."
The others in the courtyard laughed.
"Well, if you're so eager to learn," Jon said, suppressing a smile as he nodded over to the weapons rack. "Go on. I'll teach you some basic moves."
Olly's small smile morphed into a beam. He ran for the rack and picked up a sword and shield much too heavy for him. Caitie watched him and Jon circle each other—noticing the way Jon fell into mentorship so naturally, the way his eyes softened as he guided Olly—and she realized how much he liked children. He was good with them, too; patient and kind and altogether less sullen. Though it surprised her, it also made sense—like Caitie, Jon had spent his childhood taking care of younger siblings.
And, like her, he might never see any of them again.
Before Caitie could become too depressed over the matter, a familiar warmth at her side roused her from her thoughts, and she turned to see Grenn. He looked around and, seeing everyone's attentions on Jon and Olly, bent down to whisper, "Come with me."
When he grinned as mischievously as she had earlier, all thoughts of sparring went out of Caitie's mind. "I suppose I could be finished for the day," she said, keeping her voice casual, "if you can promise certain things in return for my leaving."
"Oh, I think I can. I'm gonna make you sorry for beating me," he growled in a low voice, his breath tickling her ear as he placed a hand on the small of her back. And it was stupid, it was dangerous, to speak to each other like this so openly, but somehow, the danger only made her want him more.
"I'll meet you in the guest quarters in five minutes." She didn't dare say anything more suggestive in such an open place, as much as she may have wanted otherwise.
His eyes were dark. "Can't wait that long."
Caitie barely withstood the desire to ravish him right then and there. "If I can, you can."
Grenn swallowed hard, but he turned around, headed up the stairs, and disappeared through the door.
She turned to face Jon, who was watching Olly's form as he threw all his weight behind a blow towards Edd. "Shall we have a quick rematch before I go?"
He snorted and leaned in, whispering, "If I kept you longer than a minute, I think Grenn would kill me."
"Fair enough. I concede—this time." She grinned, removed her sparring vest, and walked up the steps and into the dining hall. Taking her time, she got some water and sipped it as she meandered through the corridors, waiting until she felt it was safe.
As promised, Caitie arrived at what she had taken to calling "our quarters" in her head five minutes later. She knocked on the door, for caution's sake. When it swung open, Grenn grabbed her hand. Before she could get a word in edge-wise, he pulled her through the doorway, shut the door behind them, and pushed her up against it, kissing her with all the intensity, heat, and passion that he possessed.
"You really couldn't wait, could you?" she said breathlessly against his lips.
"Watching you fight—Seven Hells, it's—" He cut himself off with a growl and ripped off her tunic.
Caitie laughed at his impatience, but it turned into a sigh as he kissed her neck. "If I knew watching me fight did this to you, I'd have shown it off sooner."
"I remember the first time I saw you—when you almost beat Jon. Even though I thought you were a boy, watching you got me hard. Scared the living hell out of me."
"Sorry about that."
"You've more than made it up to me."
She grinned wickedly and let her hands wander downward, undoing the clasps of his pants. He let out a strangled moan as she stroked him. She knew him so well, now—and she knew just how to unravel him.
"Do you know," she said, "I think I could stand to make it up a bit more."
It was unusually quiet as Caitie lay pressed up to Grenn in their little bed. He ran his fingers through her hair absentmindedly while she rested her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his breathing. She was close to sleep—until he spoke.
"Tell me about your father."
Caitie shot up to look at him. "Why do you want to know about him?" she asked sharply.
Grenn remained unfazed. "You talk about your brothers all the time. You talk about your mother, if I ask. But if anyone mentions your father, you get this look—not sure how to describe it. Like you've tasted something sour."
"I don't like to think about him if I can help it."
"'Cause he was gonna marry you off to 'the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms?'" he asked.
"It's more complicated than that."
"You said you hated him."
She bit her lip, thinking, trying to come up with the best way to make him understand. "Do you know how you wish more than anything that you knew your parents?"
He nodded.
"Well, for me, it's the opposite. I wish my father had never been a part of my life."
"I can't believe that. There's gotta be a part of you that—"
"There's not," she said, voice cold. Fury bubbled up in her chest. "Every day it was something else—something one of us had done wrong. 'For your own good' was what he told us when he punished us. It was for Arthur's own good when Father forced him to sleep in the dark, just to prove he had the power to do so. It was for my own good when he screamed at me for picking the cabbages out of my stew, and when he made me that stupid match. He ruined everything he could; anything that didn't give him exactly what he wanted—even my bloody nameday. It's all because of him that I hate them so much."
"What? Why?"
She sighed miserably. "Owen sewed me a dress for my eleventh nameday. When Father found out, he screamed at us for hours. 'It's not proper for the future lord of Norwood to sew dresses like some common serving girl,' he said. I argued with him about it, and he hit me. He said he'd allowed me too much freedom, and from then on, he whipped me when I misbehaved. He never did it hard enough to leave a permanent mark on me—Gods forbid anyone should know how he treated his children." She knew she sounded bitter, but she didn't care.
"What happened to the dress?" Grenn asked softly.
"He tried to burn it, but it disappeared mysteriously." Caitie allowed herself a small smirk. "Cerys probably removed it from my chambers while Father was yelling at us. It always ended up back in my wardrobe whenever he went away to dine at Winterfell. And Owen never stopped sewing," she added. "He was just more quiet about it from then on. None of us Norrey children were ever good at following rules, and we always enjoyed making Father's life more difficult when we could get away with it."
Caitie heard Grenn chuckle. But even that couldn't make her feel better.
Then he said, "Never heard of a man sewing. Is that normal for highborns?"
"No," Caitie replied. "But Owen loved needlework. He always said that precision with a needle and precision with a sword were two sides of the same coin. I never believed him. I should have. I should have listened to him."
"You were young."
"I know. And I know Owen would understand. He and Cerys loved me no matter what, no matter how rotten I was. There are just so many things I wish I could tell all of them, especially Arthur." In some ways, it hurt worse knowing that her little brother was alive and yet unable to hear them.
"You know I get that." Grenn tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I'm here. And anything I can do to help you, I will."
She stared at him for a long while, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Thank you."
"'S nothing." He grinned lazily, propping himself up on his elbow. "D'you think they'd have liked me?"
She turned to lie on her stomach and rested her cheek on her hand, thinking. "Cerys, yes, although he'd make a bunch of lewd comments. Owen, on the other hand, was more protective—and traditional."
"So he'd try to kill me."
"I wouldn't go that far. There would be threats, though. He might insist on marriage."
Grenn's eyes went wide.
"I'm kidding," she said flatly, but looking at his stricken face made her burst into laughter. "Gods, you're too easy."
Grenn smiled sheepishly. "Not saying I'd be against it, but—"
"Your vows, I know." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, Arthur was too young to understand all that—at least he was when I saw him last." Speaking about Arthur was even worse than her stupid joke about marriage, so she changed the subject once again. "What about your parents? Well, not your real parents—but you know what I mean."
"Dunno about my mother. She was always hard to read. Don't think I ever saw her smile once in my life. My father'd probably just shrug and ask you to help with the harvest."
"Hmm," she mused, "I wonder if I would make a good farmer."
He snorted. "No, you wouldn't."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. You're a lady. Might not be good at it, but—"
Caitie cut him off by leaning up and kissing him, slow and thorough. Grenn reciprocated without complaint, but after she pulled away, he said with a mock-frown, "You did that to shut me up."
"Just a little," she admitted, smiling, but she sobered quickly. The comment about her being a lady had unnerved her, as those comments always did. "I have to ask—you don't care that I'm a lady, do you?"
"'Course not," he said immediately. "Why would I?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. A lot of people would care. I'm not supposed to be here, remember? The rule about women—"
Grenn pressed his forehead to hers so she couldn't look away. There was a strange look in his eyes—softer than she'd ever seen them. "I don't give two shits about the rules. Or that you're a lady. You're smart, and you're brave, and you're the only thing in this stupid world that matters to me."
Caitie lost all sense of thought. Her heart seemed to swell to twice its original size, and suddenly, she was seized with the need to do something to show him how she felt. "I had an idea, you know."
He furrowed his brows.
"Someday," she said, "if we live through this nightmare, I thought we could try to find your parents—your real ones."
Even as she spoke, she knew it was stupid to discuss the future; she'd told Jon as much, and she'd meant it. But Caitie couldn't help herself. The temptation was too strong. She wanted to discuss the possibility of a future with Grenn, whatever that future might be, even if, in the end, it was impossible.
It was his turn to be rendered speechless, opening and closing his mouth twice before he finally answered her. "What? Leave Castle Black?"
"After the battle, assuming we survive, the Night's Watch will need to find new recruits. We can ask whoever becomes the new Lord Commander—hopefully not Thorne—for the assignment. There's no rule that says we aren't allowed to take a few detours."
"You'd help me?" he asked dumbly.
"If you want."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Seven Hells, I dunno where I'd even start."
"You grew up on a farm in the Riverlands, didn't you?" she said. "There have to be some towns nearby we could search." Assuming any of them were still standing after the war.
"And you'd really help me?"
Caitie rolled her eyes and kissed him. "What do you think?"
"I think—" He drew her close to him and kissed her back firmly, keeping his arms tight around her. "Thank you."
"It's the least I can do," she said, smiling.
He did not reply to this in so many words. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to the bed with her, feeling that familiar fire in her veins that ignited only at his touch. But then he stopped, looked at her, and said, "I want to do something for you. You trust me?"
"Always."
That was all the permission he needed. His kiss took her breath away, but it wasn't long before he broke it to move lower, to her neck, then her collarbone, her breasts, lower and lower until she could feel his beard rough against her thighs and his hands grasping her hips.
What was he doing?
Soon enough, she found out. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out when his mouth found the knot between her legs.
This was a kind of pleasure she had never experienced in all their times together. The sensation drowned her, and yet, she had never wanted air less. He teased her with his lips and his tongue, evidently relishing the effect it had. And then he struck fire, the flame growing and growing until she was shaking beneath him. She was so very close, and sensing it, he pulled away to look her in the eye.
His gaze was dark, his voice a rasp. "Do you want me?"
She didn't have a retort. She could only say: "Gods, yes."
It was all the encouragement he needed to plunge back in, coaxing her with even more enthusiasm. She squeezed his head between her legs and wove her fingers through his hair, her only anchor to the reality beyond. And she wondered, as she let the fire consume her, how there could be so much violence in a world with feelings such as this.
He climbed back up to her as she caught her breath in the aftermath. Their eyes met. "Fuck me," she begged. "Please."
He didn't wait to oblige her request, taking her in one swift movement. She gasped at the blissful sharpness of him inside her, and let her hands wander over the muscles in his arms, his torso, his back. She was drunk with the feel of him, drunk with the need for more.
They had done this so many times, now, that she knew when he was close, and wishing to even the score a little, she hooked a leg around his waist and flipped their positions, so she was on top. She grinned, feeling as if she'd just won a battle, and slowed their pace, almost removing herself from him entirely, teasing him as he'd teased her. "Do you want me?"
His breaths were ragged, and in his eyes was a fire, a burning desire—for her. "Yes."
With that, she allowed her own desire to guide her and sped up, hardly able to think as she rode him. He was the only thing in existence; his eyes which melted her, his hands which scorched her skin from mere touch alone. Her core dissolved, their cries mingled, and the world fell away entirely, leaving nothing but the two of them.
For a little while after, they just stayed in that position, catching their breaths, before she rolled off him, so they were lying side by side.
"That was…" he trailed off.
Caitie nodded, still reeling a little from the buzz of pleasure. "I know." She turned on her side so she was facing him.
Grenn did the same; he smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The burning desire in his eyes was muted now, and the strange, soft look had come back. He opened his mouth to speak—
A horn blew.
"What in Seven Hells?" He sat up, the blankets falling to his waist, which allowed her to get a good look at the rest of him. She wished she had more time to admire it, but if a horn had blown—even if only a single time—it couldn't mean anything good.
"Come on," he said, pulling on his clothes.
Caitie sighed and dressed, finger detangling her hair and generally making sure she didn't look as if she had just bedded a brother of the Night's Watch. Twice.
When finally they emerged from their cocoon, the courtyard was a bustle of activity. Everyone had coalesced at the southern gate. Pyp, Sam, and Edd were lost amongst the crowd as three brothers carried something—no, someone—dressed all in black into the castle's interior.
Caitie caught Jon's arm as he was rushing past to follow. "What's going on?"
His expression was grave, and his eyes were hard. When he spoke, it was as though someone had doused her body in ice water.
"They've raided Mole's Town."
There are two more chapters, and then the battle. Prepare yourselves.