We're not starting the next arc quite yet. First, there's some character work we have to do. But rest assured, it's coming, and soon.
Also, before I forget: huge trigger warning. Seriously, I cannot stress that enough. We're dealing with the ramifications of rape—rape that was not only meant to inflict severe psychological and physical abuse but also to cause a pregnancy. I tried not to go into the details too much, but I still want people to be aware.
Caitie liked to think she was good at many things. Interacting with new people, however, was not one of them.
As a child, she hadn't had friends—although she'd had her brothers, and, to an extent, their friends, even if they only ever tolerated her presence. But her personality had always been that of constant opposition, constant anger, and the constant inability to keep her mouth shut, and this, she knew, made it difficult for people to get along with her. She could try to hold it all in for a while, but whenever she did, she was always left feeling exhausted, as if she'd spent the entire time holding up a heavy shield to keep everyone from seeing the truth of how she felt.
When she'd come to Castle Black, that had all changed. While her terrible hold over her tongue still got her into more trouble than was probably necessary and she still let her anger get the better of her more than she'd have liked, during her time in the Night's Watch she had, somehow, found people who understood her. Even when she'd needed to hide the parts of her that were the lady, she'd still felt freer than she ever had in her life.
So it was with a pang of frustration that, as she exited the door from her quarters in search of some breakfast the next morning, Caitie realized her how nervous she really was, and how her shield had gone up. Because today, she would meet Sansa Stark.
Caitie had no idea how to deal with this because the truth was, she wanted Jon's sister to like her, even if she couldn't put her finger on why it was so important. And she knew that between her mistake—or complete and utter fuck-up—with Brienne of Tarth, and the fact that Sansa had seen her in a… bad place at Winterfell, it would be lucky if she hadn't made a permanent mess of her first impressions.
Still, she forced herself forward and padded down the hallway towards the dining hall, wondering if Sansa and her companions would even be there—and the more Caitie thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. After everything that had happened to her, she wouldn't blame Sansa for wanting to stay far, far away from every single black brother in the castle.
That thought helped ease the anxiety in her chest.
She continued her journey, feeling a little lighter, until she turned a corner and came across Davos, exiting his own quarters, no doubt heading to the same place as Caitie. After a moment of hesitation, she steeled herself once more, determined to make amends for her previously cold attitude. If she could make peace with the red woman, she could certainly make peace with him.
And really, compared to the idea of meeting Jon's sister, this was nothing at all.
Davos spotted her a second after she spotted him, his hand freezing on his door handle. He cleared his throat. "My lady."
"Ser Davos," she replied, trying for a smile. She succeeded, though it felt tight.
He cocked his head to the side in surprise—apparently having expected animosity from her. "Did… you sleep well?"
She nodded. "What about you?"
"As well as I could, my lady," was his reply, and Caitie had lived with nightmares long enough to know what he meant by such a vague statement. She didn't really know what to say to it, though.
After a few seconds of tentative silence between them, she took a deep breath and spoke the words she'd been working up the courage to say since she'd seen him standing alone in the hallway. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Shireen. I didn't get the chance yesterday."
Surprise flashed in his eyes, intermingling with despair. "Thank you," he managed, his voice a fraction more gravelly than before. "I know she liked you very much."
Caitie's heart clenched. "I liked her too." That was an understatement; she had thought the world of Shireen. The grief for her went beyond missing her friendship, or the sadness that someone so immeasurably good had had the life snuffed out of them. Shireen had represented the future of the Seven Kingdoms—everything the realm should have been—and a part of Caitie's hope for the North and even beyond had died with the princess.
She wouldn't be telling Davos any of this, however. "If there's anything I can do—I know nothing can make it better, but—"
"I hadn't thought you would want to help the likes of me," he said, with a small but genuine smile on his face. Caitie couldn't tell if the smile was masking an accusation, or if he actually thought her opposition had been amusing.
She cleared her throat, averted her gaze from him, because she well and truly loathed admitting when she was wrong—especially to those who didn't know her.
But prideful was not something she wanted to be, and especially not when it came to this. "I'm sorry about that."
"Hmm?"
Caitie forced herself to look him in the eye. "All I ever saw was your allegiance to Stannis. But you helped us—on a number of occasions—and you didn't have to. So I'm sorry I judged you. I shouldn't have."
"There's no need to apologize." Davos's voice was softer now. "You're not the first to mistrust me for my loyalty to Stannis." He smiled fondly, evidently lost in a memory, but Caitie didn't push him to tell her, and soon enough, the smile faded. "The king… he knighted me, gave me a title and a house. For a long time, he was a fair and honorable man. But that changed in recent years, and I am sorry to say I helped him even so."
She glanced down at his right hand, gloved in black, and noticed that four of his five fingers were missing from the knuckles up. The nubs were too clean and even to have been anything other than deliberately cut, and she had a terrible feeling she knew why. "He did that to you, didn't he?" she murmured.
Davos followed her gaze. "Aye, he did. It was a just punishment."
Caitie snorted, shaking her head. She shouldn't jump to conclusions or make hasty judgments; she knew that. But of course, even in death, Stannis had to make it difficult.
She did, at least, stop herself from making a snotty comment about it—not that it mattered. It was as if Davos could read her mind. He answered as if she'd spoken. "I was a smuggler. A different man might have taken the whole hand."
Caitie pursed her lips. She couldn't deny he had a point. Smuggling had always been a crime in the Seven Kingdoms. That Stannis hadn't taken the whole hand was, in a way, a mercy.
It also seemed very unlike him.
Her curiosity, once again, got the better of her. "Why didn't he?"
"I helped him out of a tough spot during the rebellion. In return, he offered me a knightship, after cutting off my fingers." A smile. "Of course, I almost rejected the offer."
"What stopped you?"
"My son." His smile fell, and the sorrow in his voice was unmistakable. "I grew up in Flea Bottom. I don't know if you know where that is—"
"I do." She even had to fight a shudder, because just the mention of the name brought Karl Tanner back to mind. "I knew a man from Gin Alley."
Davos nodded, his expression suddenly grim. "Then you can understand why I didn't want my son to grow up in a place like that. I'd have done anything to get him out of there and give him a better life."
Shame bloomed in Caitie's chest, as she realized just how completely unfair she had been to Davos. She'd been a lady, after all, and despite the harms inflicted upon her, she'd been shielded from the worst the world had to offer for the first fourteen-and-a-half years of her existence. After she'd come to Castle Black, she'd still been given food and a bed, and even though she'd never known it, she'd been protected. For all she tried, Caitie couldn't imagine what it must have been like to grow up in a shit-soaked alley without any protections, not even knowing when her next meal might be, and having to resort to the worst sort of actions just to stay alive—or to give her children a future filled with something more than suffering.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I should never have… I've been so highborn."
A highborn, privileged little rich girl, angry because she was asked to do what was expected for a woman of her rank. And she knew what Owen and Cerys would have said, what Grenn would have said, and Sam and Gilly and even Jon—especially Jon: that just because she had grown up in a keep didn't make what her father had asked of her right.
But knowing didn't help.
"We all have our burdens," said Davos with a kind smile. "It's not for me to judge yours."
"I would if I were you. But maybe you're just a better person than me."
He chuckled. "Maybe. But don't be too hard on yourself. I've known plenty of highborns who deserved a better end than they got."
Caitie knew exactly to whom he was referring. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
They reached the doors to the dining hall, then, and Caitie felt a sort of peace fall between her and Ser Davos. He gave her another smile before pushing the doors open to reveal the dining hall, where Jon, Edd, and Tormund sitting side-by-side at the largest table towards the back of the room.
And across from them sat Sansa Stark.
She looked worlds better than she had the day before. Stripped of the dirt and grime, her hair, which she'd left down with only the front pulled back, was even more vibrant, looking like it was on fire as sunlight drifted in through the windows. Beside Sansa sat Brienne of Tarth and… Caitie hadn't learned his name yet. Brienne didn't bother hiding her distrustful expression, and as Caitie started over to the spot next to Jon, her shield went up.
Well, so much for a nice, calm breakfast.
Jon looked up from his bowl of mutton and smiled when he saw it was her. Caitie focused her attention on him, for he always had a way of calming her. Tormund hardly noticed the entry, too busy grinning at Brienne of Tarth, who studiously avoided eye contact, preferring to glare at Caitie and Davos.
"Where is everyone?" Caitie asked, glancing around the room. This was the first time since Jon's return that she'd ever seen the dining hall so empty. Not even Ghost was in sight, though that probably had to do with all the smells wafting in from the kitchens.
"Sent them on to start duties early," replied Edd, not looking up from his food. "We can't all sleep our days away."
Caitie almost retaliated to the insinuation with a rude gesture, but then she remembered the other three people in the room. So she chose to ignore Edd's insult and plopped herself down in between Jon and Davos. Still, she couldn't help but grab the lone piece of bread off Edd's tray. He shot her a nasty look, to which Caitie smiled sweetly.
"You're a woman." The comment came from a poised, cool voice across the table. Caitie looked over at Sansa Stark, whose eyes narrowed infinitesimally when they met hers. Though the rest of Sansa's face didn't change, Caitie knew she was being assessed for a threat.
Unsure how to properly reply when met with such a steely expression, she glanced down at her chest and back up, eyes wide with fake surprise. "Seven Hells, you're right!" She turned to glare at Jon and smacked him on the arm. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
The joke did not go over as well as Caitie had hoped. Of course, Tormund liked it, bursting into boisterous laughter. Edd snorted into his bowl of mutton, and Jon looked down to hide the way his lips twitched. Even Davos cracked a smile, though with Brienne in the room, he was trying to make himself as unassuming as possible. But the three newcomers' expressions ranged from bemused from the man, to outright disdain from Brienne. Sansa looked more affronted than anything else.
Thankfully, before the awkwardness could grow, Jon came to Caitie's rescue. "Sansa, this is Ser Davos Seaworth and Lady Caitriona Norrey."
His words had the opposite effect than he'd intended—rather than thawing, Sansa's countenance frosted further. "You're Rendon Norrey's daughter," she surmised, and though Caitie had told Jon he didn't have to hide her identity, she wished he hadn't volunteered it so readily, considering the cold look on his sister's face at the mention of her family name. "What is a Northern lady doing up here?"
Caitie understood the hidden meaning behind the question almost instantly: her father had allied himself with the Boltons, and Sansa wanted to know that Caitie hadn't, either. Although a part of her was offended by it, she also understood Sansa's question didn't come from a place of malice, but from fear. So she said, with an air of formality she wasn't used to, "Much the same reason as you, I expect."
Surprise registered on Sansa's face, her blue eyes widening and her mouth parting slightly. A moment later, it was gone, replaced with a mask of indifference. "It was rude of me to ask," she said with a ladylike nod.
Caitie wanted to tell her that it was fine, to smile and laugh and welcome her to the Wall. But there was still an edge to Sansa in spite of the courtesy, and Caitie couldn't help but be reminded of the girl she'd met so long ago at Winterfell—the one who had looked down on her; the one who had alienated Jon.
When Caitie said nothing, Sansa continued. "This is Brienne of Tarth, and her squire Podrick of House Payne."
Brienne merely scowled at Caitie and Davos, but Podrick gave them each a tentative smile. "Er, good to meet you, Ser—my lady," he said warmly.
Caitie smiled back. "Hello." Her eyes moved to Brienne, hoping to ease the tension between them. "I've never met another female fighter before." That wasn't quite true, but it wasn't really a lie, either. After all, Brienne might not have been the first female fighter she'd ever met, but she was the only one Caitie had ever met who came from the Seven Kingdoms. "I'd love to spar with you sometime."
"I have no time for sparring. My duty is to Lady Sansa."
Caitie winced, but she knew she probably deserved that. Underneath the table, Jon gave her arm a single squeeze before going back to his food. She shot him a grateful look, because somehow, this had gone even worse than expected, and it was nice to know he didn't hate her for it.
She was grateful, still, when he cleared his throat and changed the subject, coming to her rescue once again. "We're running low on supplies. Hobb asked me to go for a hunt; I need someone to come with me."
"Well, don't look at me," said Edd. "I've got shit of my own to do."
"And a good thing, too," said Caitie with a smile, all but forgetting the others in the room. This was nice, familiar—it was exactly what she needed—and after Edd's comment about her sleeping her day away, she rather thought he deserved some teasing. Although she did have another aim here. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."
Edd took the bait. "Oi, now listen here—I can hunt just as well as you do."
Caitie rolled her eyes. "Oh please, I don't think you did the hunting once while we were up north."
"That's a fucking lie. Jon, I'm coming too." He pointed a finger at Caitie, seemingly oblivious that this was what she'd intended all along. Because hunting with two of her best friends? That sounded more appealing than anything else she had planned for the day. "And I'll bet you twenty gold dragons that I can kill more than you."
"Good—it'll give the rest of us time to get to know each other," Tormund said, not taking his eyes off of Brienne. His grin widened. "I can spar, too. Works up a sweat, though. Might need to take my shirt off."
Caitie smothered a laugh, and even that was difficult after hearing such a hilariously abysmal attempt at flirtation. Edd was less successful than her; he snorted loudly, earning yet another glare from Brienne of Tarth. "As I said," she replied through clenched teeth, "my duty is to Lady Sansa."
Somehow, Caitie had almost forgotten about Sansa, and when she looked back over at her, she noticed the hint of amusement on the Stark girl's face. Yet it disappeared less than a second later, replaced with an expression so devoid of any emotion that Caitie believed she had simply imagined the smile.
While hunting had never been one of Caitie's preferred activities, she had to admit that hunting with Jon and Edd was the most fun she'd had in a very long time. The three of them set off a little while after breakfast, as they had to spend a good few minutes bribing Ghost away from the kitchens to come with them first. After that, they picked up their gear and a few snares, with Caitie and Edd bickering over who would catch more.
And once they were away from the confines of Castle Black—even if they were so close they could see the gates—a weight lifted off Caitie's shoulders. There were no tentative truces and strained acquaintances; there was just her and her dearest friends, teasing and laughing and fighting over whether a kill counted in their bet. And it was exactly what she needed.
In some ways, it reminded her of their rangings beyond the Wall; first, the Great Ranging with Lord Commander Mormont, and then their mission to Craster's Keep. Time had tinted those memories golden, and now all Caitie could remember about them was laughter and camaraderie, rather than hardship and death. It wasn't the same without Sam or Grenn, but it was nice, and it reminded her of a simpler time.
It brought out the best in Jon, too. He was quicker to laugh outside the castle, mediating her and Edd's multiple disputes with a wry smile. In the end, he beat them both with ten rabbits to their seven each, and even managed to kill a hart, as he was the only one who wielded a bow and arrow with any sort of precision.
Caitie grumbled about that for a good five minutes, mostly accusing him of getting Ghost to help him with it.
By the time they'd finished gathering everything to sate Hobb's demands, it was well past suppertime, so the three of them used a flintstone taken from Caitie's pack, built a fire, and feasted on one of the rabbits they'd caught. They didn't return to the castle until so late that the midnight watch had already started duty. There was little point to it anymore, but old habits died hard, and everyone in the castle needed some semblance of normalcy in their lives. So, by unspoken agreement, the twenty-seven remaining brothers at Castle Black had worked out a watch schedule.
All three of them were exhausted. Edd could hardly stand, fighting to keep his lids open, and he bid them goodnight immediately upon entering through the gate. Jon wasn't much better, with dark circles under his eyes and constantly trying not to yawn. Only Caitie was still wide-awake, buzzing with renewed energy.
Still, Jon seemed intent on trying to stay awake for a while longer. "I'll walk you to your quarters."
She shook her head. "It's all right. I'm not going to bed yet, anyway. I have to finish my letter to Sam and Gilly."
Jon understood the underlying sentiment. "Do you want me to write it?"
Caitie sighed. "No; Gilly, Shireen, and I were friends—it should come from me. I'll send Sam and Gilly your love, though."
"Er, maybe not my love."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine—your kindest regards. Is that better?"
He nodded, lips quirking up into a small smile. "I'll keep you company, if you like."
Caitie opened her mouth to agree, because the truth was, she always would want his company. But she could see the exhaustion on Jon's face and in his posture, and that triumphed over her wants. "Jon, you can hardly stand. Go to bed." When he hesitated, she added, "Please? For me?"
That did the trick. "All right," he conceded. "Goodnight, Caitie."
There was a moment where neither moved, neither spoke, and neither seemed to know what to do. Caitie's instincts told her to step closer, to wrap her arms around his back and lay her head on his chest. But she'd never done anything like it before—all their physical intimacies had been in the name of comfort or relief, and nothing more than that. She'd never simply hugged him just to say goodnight; just for the purpose of being close to him because she liked how it felt to be in his arms—and to do so would mean something else.
"Goodnight," she said, her voice unnaturally shrill. She hurried away before Jon could wonder what was wrong with her, because if he wondered, then he would ask her, and truthfully, she didn't know. Everything had gotten so… confusing lately.
She would worry about it later; for now, she had a letter to write. And maybe, if she was very lucky, she could find an answer to Johnna's problem, too.
Before she headed to the library, Caitie swung by the kitchen and picked out a bottle of ale. If Maester Aemon or Sam knew about her bringing drink in there, they would have probably killed her. But neither were around to reprimand her for it, and Caitie desperately needed alcohol if she was going to put all the crap that had happened over the last few weeks into one little scroll.
She descended the winding steps to the library and walked through the domed archway, only stopping when she heard a subtle shift of movement coming from somewhere in the back. Strange, thought Caitie. Nobody came to the library this late other than Sam, and he was gone. For half a heartbeat, she thought she'd imagined the noise, but the library was small and ill-used now that its normal inhabitants weren't there, and it was easy to notice when something was out of place. When she saw two books missing from their usual shelves and the surrounding books disheveled in a way that would have driven Sam mad, she knew she wasn't alone.
Caitie rested a hand on Owen's hilt. It was only a reflex, really. She doubted she was in any danger, but it never hurt to be vigilant. "Hello?" she called.
No one answered, yet the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. With a candle in hand, she paced towards her usual table, looking down each aisle as she did, until, at last, she found the source of the noise. Sansa Stark sat on the floor in the very back of the room, her back up against the wall next to the table, holding a blown-out candle in one hand, and a book in the other.
The first thought Caitie had was that she herself looked a mess. She was in desperate need of a bath, her hair and clothes covered in dirt, and she swore there was a twig in her hair, even though neither she, Edd, nor Jon had been able to find it.
The second thought she had was that Sansa's behavior seemed utterly bizarre. She looked to be… hiding? Perhaps Sansa had thought Caitie was a black brother, but that didn't make sense, considering she'd announced herself. As it went, Sansa looked rather like a deer caught by a hunter. She tried to hide it behind that mask of indifference, but her eyes were slightly too wide and brimming with unshed tears.
She was afraid.
Caitie took all this in within half a second before Sansa scrambled to her feet, trying to maintain gracefulness and only half-succeeding. "I apologize," she said curtly. "I hadn't thought anyone would be in here so late."
The lack of emotion in Sansa's voice unnerved Caitie. It was so at odds with her outward appearance. "It's okay," Caitie said. "You'd usually be right."
Sansa didn't seem to know how to reply to that, so she went quiet, setting the book down on the table beside her and clasping her hands behind her back. Caitie pursed her lips, trying to think of what to say next. Eventually, she asked, "Were you looking for something specific to read?"
"No, I was simply curious. I'd heard stories of Castle Black's library." The lie rolled off Sansa's tongue so smoothly, Caitie almost believed her. But Sansa wouldn't have hidden if she had just been curious about Castle Black's library; moreover, she would have taken her guard with her. It might have been that she just wanted to be alone, but she could have just stayed in her quarters for that, or at least found somewhere more private than the library.
Besides, she looked terrible.
"This is probably none of my business," Caitie said slowly, "but are you okay?" It was a stupid question—of course Sansa wasn't okay. Still, she had to start somewhere.
Sansa straightened, swallowed, tried to look menacing, but she couldn't seem to get the energy for it to be effective. "You're right. It is none of your business."
Two parts of Caitie warred inside of her just then. The first part was offended by the dismissal and the contempt in Sansa's voice. But the other part could see what was going on. This wasn't a haughty, arrogant lady. This was a wounded, cornered animal, lashing out in fear. And that, at least, she knew how to deal with.
"All right," Caitie said, backing away to give her a bit of breathing room. "I'm sorry I pried. What if I got someone for you—someone you trust? Brienne or Jon—"
"No!" The cry was almost incoherent, her shoulders shaking, but a moment later Sansa's posture snapped back into rigidity. "No," she repeated. "I… apologize for my tone. I did not mean…" she trailed off, sighing, and her eyes strayed back to the book she'd set down.
Maester Umbert's Botanical Tinctures and Potions, Volume III
Caitie furrowed her brows. What in the world would Sansa Stark want with a book about obscure plant recipes?
It took a second longer than it should have for her to figure it out, and she felt dreadfully stupid that it had taken even that long. Because Caitie knew that book—she had used it herself, once, just to triple check the recipe for the moon tea she wanted to make.
Realization must have shown on her features because Sansa's face hardened, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Are you going to tell my brother?"
Caitie's eyes snapped back to Sansa's. "What would I have to tell him?"
Sansa's eyes flashed with anger, but there was panic simmering beneath the surface; she knew the real question Caitie was asking her. She seemed to deliberate, sizing Caitie up. Then, "That I'm pregnant—with that monster's thing," she spat, as though it were a fate worse than death. Which, Caitie supposed, it must have been for someone in Sansa's situation.
"Are you sure?"
"I think I'd know," Sansa replied stonily.
Caitie winced, ready to apologize. But then she cocked her head to the side, because she hadn't realized until now that Sansa's question made no sense. "Wait—why would I tell Jon?"
Sansa blinked. "You are obviously close," she pointed out.
Caitie nodded slowly, trying to puzzle together Sansa's logic. "So you think I would tell Jon that you're pregnant—without your permission and against your express wishes—because he's my friend?" Sansa seemed to think her logic made perfect sense, because she nodded once, and Caitie couldn't decide whether or not she should be offended or not by the insinuation that she would spill such an intimate secret. "Well, I wouldn't—I won't."
Sansa relaxed, only slightly, gave a nod of thanks, but said nothing more.
As silence drew on between the two of them, Caitie hesitated, wondering what she should do next. Leave Sansa to it, probably, for Caitie doubted she would want company, and if she was being honest, she still didn't really know how to regard Sansa.
But something stopped her. Now, she didn't see the haughty young lady who had barely spoken a word to her at Winterfell; she didn't see the cold sister Jon had described, or the poised and proper lady she'd met this morning and had no clue how to interact with. She just saw a girl, only a year younger than herself, alone and afraid, desperately in need. And if Caitie could help her, she would.
"Look," she said at last, "I understand that you want to deal with this yourself. But moon tea is difficult to make and easy to fuck up, and it isn't something someone inexperienced should try to make on their own—especially if there's an actual pregnancy involved."
If Sansa was offended by Caitie's language, she didn't show it. Instead, she seemed to have a lengthy debate with herself before she answered, "And you would consider yourself experienced in making it?"
"If you consider making it every week for months 'experienced,' then yes. I am."
Sansa pursed her lips. "I… suppose I'll need someone who knows where the ingredients are kept." But even with the admission, she still looked hesitant.
"I really can go find Brienne if it'll make you feel safer," Caitie said. She might kill me first, though.
Sansa shook her head emphatically. "No. Please don't. Perhaps I'll tell her after, but… I apologize if I don't seem as grateful as I ought to be. I hadn't wanted anyone to know."
"You don't need to apologize. And you can take the book, too, if it'll make you feel better having it as a reference." After a pause, Sansa nodded, picking up Maester Umbert's collection, and gripping it tightly with both her hands, followed Caitie towards the library's exit. "So, how about this?" she began as they walked. "We'll get the ingredients from Maester Aemon's old office, and then we'll get Ghost to stand guard for us while we brew it in the kitchens."
"Ghost," Sansa breathed. He's alive?"
Caitie cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry. I thought you already knew."
"No, Jon never said…" she trailed off, then cleared her throat. "Yes. I think I would like that."
Getting Ghost out of Jon's quarters without waking the man himself was going to be a challenge, Caitie knew. Jon, while not the lightest of sleepers, was by no means a heavy one either. Luckily, his exhaustion seemed to keep him asleep in spite of his door creaking open, if his snoring was anything to go by. A sliver of candlelight peeked through the crack, and Caitie whispered, "Ghost."
The direwolf, laying on the floor next to the bed, lifted his head at the sound of her voice. His gleaming red eyes searched the room for a threat, but when he realized it was just Caitie, they fell shut and he laid his head back down, as if to say Leave me alone, I'm sleeping.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be lazy. I need your help."
Behind her, Sansa shifted slightly. Caitie glanced over her shoulder to see the ginger-headed girl fiddling idly with the pouch of ingredients she held. Though she still looked anxious, her expression had brightened a little at the prospect of seeing the direwolf.
When Caitie looked back to Jon's quarters, the direwolf hadn't moved. "Ghost," she whispered exasperatedly.
After a heartbeat, he reluctantly opened his eyes, yawning, and stretched out, giving her a half-glare as he padded over to the door. Slowly, as to keep the door from creaking too loudly, Caitie shut it. There was a soft thud and a click, and she waited for Jon's snores to stop. They did not—if anything, they got louder. She could hear them even with the wood between them, and she couldn't help her fond smile at the sound of it.
Caitie looked back over to Sansa, just in time to see her bending down so she was eye-level with Ghost, tears in her eyes at the sight of him and a smile—a real, genuine smile—on her face. Tentatively, Sansa reached a hand out to stroke his ear, and Ghost leaned into her touch. He licked her nose, and Sansa let out a puff of soft laughter. "He always used to growl at me."
Caitie said nothing; she didn't think Sansa had meant for her to hear. Still, she wondered, because she knew that all six of the Stark children had had direwolves. Jon had told her their names, once. Nymeria had been Arya's—named for the Dornish warrior queen. Robb's had been… Grey Storm—no, Grey Wind. Rickon's had been Shaggydog, which Caitie had always found adorable. But she couldn't remember the name of Sansa's or Bran's.
In the end, Caitie decided it was probably a bad idea to ask—she shuddered to think what would have happened to a direwolf in King's Landing, and the last thing she wanted to do was dredge up more painful memories.
Eventually, Sansa broke away from Ghost and stood, the smile disappearing from her face. "I'm ready."
Caitie nodded, and she and Sansa started towards the kitchens. Ghost fell into step between them. Caitie scratched his ear absentmindedly as they walked. It made for a good distraction from the awkwardness hanging between the two women. She could help Sansa easily enough, but she still didn't know how to interact with her outside of it, especially during such a serious occasion as this.
"He's fond of you." Sansa's voice filled the void of quiet. "Ghost," she clarified after Caitie furrowed her brows.
Somehow, she got the feeling Sansa was referring to more than just Ghost, but that might have just been her imagination. "Oh," she said. "Well, I'm fond of him, too."
"Mm," Sansa mused, and Caitie wondered what she was thinking. Then she added, "You must have spent a great deal of time together."
Caitie paused as she heard the underlying question in Sansa's voice. She couldn't blame Sansa for it; to the outside world, Caitie's presence at Castle Black would seem highly unusual. Still, she'd spent so long keeping things close to the chest around strangers, and a part of her wanted to, if not lie, then at least give as little information as possible. But Sansa didn't trust easily, and obscuring the truth would probably make her feel even less secure.
Besides, they would need something to talk about for the next few hours as they waited for the moon tea to do its work.
"We did. I don't know how much Jon has told you about the last few years, but he spent some time away from the Night's Watch when we all went north of the Wall. I was in charge of Ghost while he was gone."
"You've been north of the Wall?" Sansa sounded a mixture of awestruck and horrified. When Caitie nodded, she asked, with an air of utter disbelief, "Why?"
Caitie smothered the defensiveness rising within her, but she couldn't keep all of it out of her voice. "I didn't exactly have a choice. I was hiding as a boy and the lord commander took me as part of the Great Ranging. After that, there were… extenuating circumstances."
Sansa didn't ask for more information, and Caitie was grateful for it. Both women went quiet; for a while, the only sound was the scuff of their boots on the cold stone and Ghost's panting as he walked along beside them. Then, "You said you came here for the same reason as I did."
"Sort of," Caitie replied slowly, unsure how much information she wanted to give. "I came here to avoid a marriage, not to escape one. And for the first three years, no one even knew I was a girl—except for Jon and a few others."
"But you know about Ramsay."
Caitie paused, choosing her next words carefully. "Only a little. Jon told me that you were married to the Bolton heir and that it was… against your will."
For half a second, Sansa's face crumbled. There was anger, and fear, and something Caitie couldn't define—regret, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced with a hard sort of determination. "It was worse than that," she said. "He hurt me, tormented me, took joy in the pain he inflicted. The things he did…" As her voice trailed off, the tears returned to Sansa's eyes, but she blinked them away and recomposed herself in half of a second. "There is no good in him."
Caitie's stomach turned sour, because she knew men like that. And she knew the kinds of things they would have done to her if they'd had the chance. She had been lucky to avoid it.
Sansa had not.
"Well. I would say that I'm sorry, but I don't think it would help."
To that, Sansa gave a mirthless laugh. "No, it wouldn't." She paused, looking down at her middle. "But ending this will."
Caitie nodded as they finally came to a halt at the door to the kitchens. "Luckily, that is something I can help with."
She pushed the door open, and the three of them stepped inside. The kitchen was empty—thank the Gods—save for the mess Hobb had left. Dirty pots and pans covered every inch of the countertops. He hadn't bothered to clean up after supper, apparently having gotten used to Gilly doing it for him.
"Ghost," Caitie said, "keep an eye out for anyone coming."
It said a lot that he listened without any fuss.
For a while, the only noise was Caitie clearing off a space for them to work at the table in the center of the room, and after that, rummaging around for a kettle. She silently cursed Hobb for rearranging all the cupboards, but eventually, she found what she was looking for. She placed it on the stovetop and started warming it. It would take a while to boil, and as neither woman said a word, the tension only grew. Caitie passed the time by measuring out the ingredients, taking extra care to make sure they were exact. When she finished with that, she sat back on her stool and scratched behind Ghost's ears, wondering if she should try to say something.
As it turned out, she didn't have to, because Sansa broke the silence first.
"I suppose you'll want something in return for all of this."
Caitie blinked, glancing up from Ghost's head, a little taken aback as she wondered why in the world Sansa would think she expected something in return for this. It seemed so natural to want to help someone desperately in need of it. It was just... what she'd always done for her friends. What they had generally done for her.
But then Caitie thought of what Jon had said about the man who'd helped her escape King's Landing, only to turn around and sell her to the Boltons. For Sansa, this was not simply what was done. This was a transaction because to believe it could be anything else was dangerous.
Knowing that still didn't help Caitie figure out her reply. She had a feeling Sansa wouldn't believe it if she simply assured her there was no need. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then answered, hoping it was the right one. "Just consider this my apology for that terrible joke I made this morning. And all the ones I'll probably make in the future."
"I think that's a fair trade," Sansa said, a little more wryly now. She hesitated for a moment, and then, just as the water was beginning to make bubbling noises, she added, "Thank you."
Again, Caitie was caught off-guard, for Sansa didn't seem like one to give thanks easily. She furrowed her brows and waited for clarification.
"I imagine this must be an awkward situation for you, and you've still helped me."
She gave a smile, feeling more at ease. "It really is no trouble. And it's not awkward. Well—it is, but not because of this."
Sansa arched a brow, awaiting an explanation, and Caitie, realizing what she'd admitted, winced.
Well, there was no point in trying to hide it now. "I don't know if you remember your brother Robb's nameday celebration. My family came to Winterfell for it, and I…"
"Told him you would rather step in horse shit than dance with him," Sansa finished, with a dry little smile. "Yes, I remember."
Caitie grimaced, and suddenly the truth came tumbling from her lips. "I've never been a very good lady. And you saw me at my worst that evening. But you're Jon's sister and I wanted to get along with you. Except, I never really knew how to interact with girls—especially ladies—my own age, because all I ever really had were my brothers. And after four years here, I definitely don't know how."
Caitie hadn't realized how hard the edge to Sansa's expression had been until it softened, and she said, "It's not entirely your fault. I could have made more of an effort. You've done nothing to me; I have no reason to distrust you."
"After what you've been through, I think you've earned the right to be a little distrustful."
Sansa gave a genuine smile this time. "Yes, well, you're right about that."
The kettle whistled, distracting them both from the conversation, but Caitie thought—hoped—that they might have reached an understanding. She removed the kettle from the stovetop and poured the boiling water into a cup, placing the other ingredients in with it. Eager to have it done with, Sansa reached out to take the cup, and Caitie shook her head. "Not yet. Give it a few minutes."
Sansa nodded, though Caitie could see reluctance—and anxiety—in her eyes. As she sat on the stool next to Caitie, her leg bounced with nerves, and her hands shook a little.
Caitie frowned, trying to think of some way to keep Sansa calm. Really, she didn't know what in the world would do that, considering the circumstances. But she had to try, didn't she? "What's your favorite color?" Sansa looked taken aback by the question, so Caitie shrugged. "You need a distraction. I can go first, if you want."
Sansa hesitated before she nodded again.
"Well, I can never decide between pink and blue. I love pink, but it always made me look even paler than I already am. Blue brings out my eyes."
"My mother loved me in blue for the same reason, but—" Sansa stopped, shook her head, and changed the subject. "Well, I don't imagine you have many chances to wear dresses up here."
Caitie sighed wistfully, pretending not to notice Sansa's redirection. "No. We have a few in storage, but they don't fit me—and they're not exactly the height of fashion, anyway."
"You couldn't make one for yourself?"
Caitie only just stopped herself from bursting into laughter. "Gods, no. I can't sew. I'm terrible at it. I've been teaching my friend Johnna—she's only twelve, and she's already better than I am. Before I ran away, my septa used to make all my dresses. And Owen." She allowed herself a wistful smile at the thought.
"Your eldest brother," Sansa said gravely, and Caitie nodded. "The Red Wedding?"
"My other older brother, too. Cerys." She didn't know why, but her voice cracked a little at the mention of her brothers' names. That hadn't happened in a long time, but for some reason, speaking about it with Sansa had made the grief feel raw again, like a scab that had been picked off.
"I'm sorry."
Caitie gave a humorless laugh. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that to you?"
Sansa swallowed, her eyes somewhere far away. "Perhaps." After a pause, her eyes cleared, and she asked, "How did you come to terms with it when you learned?"
"Extremely poorly," Caitie laughed, a bit more mirthfully this time. "When I found out my brothers had been killed, and that my father pledged fealty to the men who did it, I was furious—at him, at the south, at the world in general. So I broke some rules, killed some rapers, called someone innocent a whore. I'm not proud of it. I could have gotten in big trouble—could have gotten my friends in big trouble." She shook her head. "Well, anyway, by the time I got my act together, I'd given the wrong people the right idea."
Sansa frowned, but this time it was sympathetic. "I understand," she said, and somehow, Caitie got the feeling Sansa did understand, possibly better than anyone else could.
Caitie looked down at the table, remembering the tea, and checked it for the right hue. Satisfied, she removed the herbs, added a little honey, and handed the cup to Sansa. "You'll need to drink all of it. Do you know what to expect?"
Sansa didn't answer as she gulped down the tea. When it was all gone, the tension in her shoulders lifted, and she looked more… alive, Caitie supposed. Her eyes were brighter—a blue very similar to Caitie's—and her posture was just a bit straighter.
"You might be more comfortable lying down in your quarters."
"No," Sansa said firmly. "I would prefer to stay here. Being alone in that room, I would feel…"
"Trapped?"
The moment Caitie spoke, Sansa's eyes flared with panic, as if the simple act of guessing her feelings had stripped her bare and left her vulnerable. Caitie backtracked immediately. "You don't need to explain. You're welcome to go wherever you want in Castle Black."
Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she said, and after a moment's hesitation, added, "I have a question."
"Go ahead."
"Is your knowledge of moon tea due to my brother?"
In hindsight, Caitie should have expected that question. But she had not, and she was so utterly floored by it that she coughed on her own saliva. "Seven Hells, no—absolutely not—I—we're just… we're friends." But even as she finished, she knew she sounded weak—which was stupid, because it was true. "We've been through a lot together, and we're close because of it, but we really are just friends," she said, this time with more confidence. Sansa seemed to believe her, but her expression darkened, and Caitie realized what she must think. "It wasn't that, either," she assured her, not giving voice to the shared fear all women had. "I don't know how I avoided it—I think I just got really lucky."
"Then…"
"His name was Grenn." Caitie sighed at Sansa's pitying expression. "It was a while ago, now. During the battle with the Free Folk. A lot has changed since then."
"Yes, that was a surprise—finding Wildlings as guests at Castle Black."
Caitie gave a wry smile, thankful for the change in topic. "Wait until I tell you about our mission to bring them south."
"Mm. Well, I suppose there are worse allies to have," Sansa mused. "I would trust a Wildling more than I would trust most southerners."
The mention of the south reminded Caitie of why she'd found Sansa in the first place. At this rate, Sam would be at the Citadel by the time she finished her damn letter. She eyed Sansa. "Would you be okay if I left you with Ghost for a moment? I need to run back to the library and grab some parchment."
"You're writing a letter," Sansa said, a bit of suspicion returning to her expression. "That's why you came to the library so late."
Caitie nodded, sighing. "I've spent the last two days trying to figure out what to write; I just don't know what to say. It's not good news I'm sending."
Sansa clasped her hands together, pursed her lips. And then, "Would you like some help?"
"You would do that?" Caitie asked.
"You've helped me. And I do have experience in writing letters."
"I… All right," was the only response she could think to give, because Caitie had a distinct feeling that Sansa believed the letter might be regarding her whereabouts. Sure enough, when Caitie explained about Sam and Gilly and Shireen, and how there was so much that had happened since he and Gilly had left that she didn't even know where to begin, the suspicion on Sansa's face faded, replaced with sympathy.
Then, after a quick dash to the library and back, they set about writing, and finally, Caitie figured out how to put everything she needed to say into words.
Dear Sam and Gilly,
I'm so relieved you made it safely to White Harbor and to Horn Hill (I assume you did, anyway). A lot has happened since you left, and very little of it has been good. I will say that Jon, Edd, Ghost, and I are all okay. So are Hobb and everyone else from our class of recruits. But the rest… Well, I've spent the last two days unable to figure out how to write this letter because it's just so awful.
The first thing you should know is that Stannis's army was defeated by the Boltons, and Princess Shireen was among the casualties. I don't know the exact details, but I doubt it's good. I wish I had something comforting to say. I'm going to miss her so, so much, and I know you will too. When you come home, maybe we can have a memorial service for her. She deserves more, but at least we can give her that.
The second thing you should know is that not long after you and I left Castle Black, Ser Alliser, along with the other officers and Olly, staged a mutiny against Jon. It's a long story how he survived it, and I'd rather not put it in a letter. But Jon executed them all, Olly included. I just don't want you to feel like it was your fault, because it wasn't. Olly was… well. You know how he was. And it was my fault for not seeing it sooner.
Jon has given up his command, though. He is no longer a part of the Night's Watch—and yes, it's been sanctioned. He sends his kindest regards (he won't let me say he sends his love, the idiot), and we all miss you three so, so much. Edd doesn't say so, but I know he does, too. So get to the Citadel and get your chain soon so you can come home.
Love,
Caitie
"I can't believe I actually finished tonight," she said a few hours later, looking up from the letters parchment she'd so painstakingly written out. It was still rough, and she would need to refine it before actually sending it to Horn Hill, but Gods, compared to the mere two words she'd managed to write before, this was on the level of a maester's work. "Thank you."
"Of course," Sansa replied as she shifted into a more comfortable position for herself, grimacing from a wave of pain as she did. The first had happened a few minutes earlier, but no other symptoms had presented themselves yet.
"Are you sure you don't want to lie down?"
Sansa hesitated before she shook her head. "I can't return to my chambers; Brienne will be there."
Caitie furrowed her brows as a thought occurred to her. "Speaking of which, how did you get away without her noticing?"
"My window opens."
Against her better judgment, Caitie burst into a fit of laughter, for the thought of the perfectly ladylike Sansa Stark forcing herself through her window was just too funny to bear. "I'm sorry," she said—well, choked—through her laughs. "Did you actually manage to squeeze through that thing?"
To her surprise, Sansa gave a small, ladylike chuckle, too. "It wasn't easy. But yes, I did."
"Seven Hells, I'm impressed. I'm a head shorter than you, and I don't think I could have done that." Caitie shook her head as she continued to laugh, unable to remember why she'd been so nervous to talk with Sansa. It wasn't any different from talking to Shireen, or even Gilly.
When her laughter finally died down, she said, "If you want, you can use my quarters. Ghost and I will stay with you, and once you're feeling better, we'll sneak you back into yours."
Sansa blew out a breath. "I... yes. That would be nice." She pursed her lips, and whatever she wanted to say, it seemed to unnerve her. But at last she voiced it, small and slightly strained, but genuine nonetheless. "Thank you, Caitriona."
Caitie almost corrected her, then, and asked Sansa to use her nickname, but the impulse passed the moment she opened her mouth, as she remembered what Maester Aemon had once told her: that she could be both Caitie and Caitriona at the same time.
And so she simply smiled. "You're very welcome, Lady Stark—"
"Sansa." When Caitie cocked her head to the side, Sansa added, "I think we're past titles now."
"Sansa," Caitie repeated, her smile growing wider. "I think I can manage to call you that."
I know, I know—this chapter is probably going to be controversial, and I was honestly a little scared to post it, but this has been my personal headcanon for almost six years—since before this fic was even a twinkle in my eye—and I just couldn't bring myself to not include it. I didn't just pull it out of nowhere, either. There really was a theory that Sansa was pregnant with Ramsay's child when S6 was airing, due to some clues in the dialogue, specifically in her conversation with Littlefinger in E5. People theorized she was actually gonna give birth to Ramsay Jr., but the Sansa I know would rather die than do that.
Anyway, I really hope I did okay in portraying such a heavy topic—I did a fuck-ton of research on how to approach it respectfully and accurately, but I'm only human, and I make mistakes. So please, if you see a problem, point it out to me and I'll do what I can to fix it.