Chapter 32 – Craster's Keep
"That's Craster's Keep up ahead," Qhorin said, pointing toward a structure perched atop a low earthen rise.
As they drew closer, the so-called keep proved to be little more than a long hall cobbled together from branches, packed earth, and mud. The sight drew clear disappointment from the group.
A crude earthen embankment encircled the hall. Inside the enclosure were pig pens and sheepfolds, and a narrow stream ran alongside it. The hall itself was long, squat, and oppressively low—so crude it barely deserved to be called a building.
Benjen spoke calmly when he saw their expressions.
"This is the only place beyond the Wall where Night's Watch rangers can reliably obtain supplies. When blizzards trap us, we sometimes take shelter here."
"The sun's going down," he added to Saelen.
"After we gather what information we can, we'll stay the night and trade for food and water."
Saelen studied the surroundings for a moment, then nodded.
Benjen's tone hardened as he turned to the others.
"Keep your eyes and hands to yourselves. Craster is a foul-tempered wildling—don't even think about his wives."
Everyone agreed at once. No one present had the slightest interest in a wildling's household.
---
"Ah—!"
Inside the embankment, women working the fields screamed when they spotted the strangers. Dropping their tools, they fled into the hall.
A short while later, an elderly wildling emerged.
His face was deeply lined and weather-beaten, his build thick and sturdy despite his age. Filth clung to his clothes and skin, and as he approached, a sour, unpleasant stench drifted toward them.
"Benjen? Qhorin?" Craster snarled, suspicion and irritation written plainly across his face.
"Damn you both—how did two filthy crows end up together?"
"We ran into trouble on patrol," Qhorin replied evenly.
"Our horses and supplies were lost. We need shelter—and some food and water."
"Trouble?" Craster scoffed, disbelief clear in his eyes.
"Lost horses and food?"
His gaze slid across Saelen, Robb, Jon, and the rest. He sniffed the air exaggeratedly, then sneered.
"New faces among the crows, eh? Southern lords, by the look of you."
He eyed their armor and weapons with open resentment—far better gear than the Watch usually carried.
"You can stay one night," Craster finally said.
"But you sleep outside, right there by the door. Pitch tents or lie in the dirt—I don't care."
"As for food and water," he continued gruffly,
"I've got enough for two days. Not a bite more. After that, you're on your own."
Qhorin nodded and said nothing more. He produced a sturdy hand axe and passed it to Craster.
Craster took the axe, ran a thumb along the edge, then nodded with clear satisfaction.
At that moment, Saelen spoke up.
"Our tents were lost along the way—we can't set camp anymore. Nights beyond the Wall are brutally cold. We need shelter from the wind, a hot meal, some hot broth, and one proper night's rest."
He glanced toward the long hall behind Craster.
"Your hall is spacious enough for all of us. Let us sleep inside for one night, and these two skins of Arbor wine are yours."
They had been sleeping rough in the open for over half a month. Everyone was at their limit. They needed warmth, hot food, and real rest—no more frozen nights under the sky.
Saelen held out his hand. His squire Gendry passed him the wineskins, which Saelen tossed toward Craster.
Craster's face twisted with instant fury. He opened his mouth to curse—
"Don't refuse so quickly," Saelen interrupted calmly.
"This is the finest Arbor gold from the south. Try it first. You won't be disappointed."
The curse stuck in Craster's throat.
He caught the wineskins, eyed the group suspiciously, then pulled the stopper and sniffed. The rich aroma made his eyes light up. He took a deep gulp.
"Hah! Good wine!" Craster laughed loudly.
"Fine. You can sleep in the hall tonight. But if you want plenty of food, I'll need another payment—one longsword."
Saelen didn't argue.
"Ode," he said, "give him a sword."
Ode's face darkened with displeasure, but he didn't dare question the order. He drew a longsword and handed it over.
Craster inspected the blade and nodded in approval.
"Come in," he said.
"And hear this well—don't touch my wives. Especially you two pretty little boys."
His gaze lingered on Robb and Jon as he spoke.
Robb and Jon exchanged glances but said nothing. Judging by Craster's appearance, neither of them had the slightest interest in his wives.
---
Inside the hall, Saelen's group gathered around several fire pits, warming themselves as they ate roasted bread and lamb, washing it down with steaming mutton broth. The exhaustion that had weighed on them for days melted away.
For the first time, Saelen truly felt how precious a bowl of hot soup could be.
Above them, the loft housed Craster and his wives. From time to time, muffled cries of women echoed down. Occasionally, faces appeared at the loft windows, peering nervously at the strangers below.
Craster had more than twenty wives—old and young alike.
Only now did everyone fully understand why Benjen had warned them.
Suddenly, Craster spoke up from across the fire, gnawing on a lamb leg while one of his wives poured him wine.
"So tell me, you filthy crows—what kind of trouble did you run into that left you this miserable? Horses gone, supplies gone?"
Conversation died at once. Only the distant cries of a woman echoed faintly from above.
Saelen answered calmly, half truth and half lie.
"We encountered something terrible on the road. They came with freezing winds. The ground iced over wherever they walked. They attacked any living thing they found—and our swords couldn't kill them. Our horses were slaughtered. In the end, we had no choice but to abandon supplies and flee."
As he spoke, the wind outside suddenly intensified. Its howling seeped through the cracks in the walls, carrying a bite of cold with it.
"Hah… hahahaha!" Craster burst out laughing.
"Boy, you're talking about the White Walkers, aren't you? Those things have been gone for years!"
Saelen took a long sip of hot broth, watching Craster's face carefully.
"You've lived beyond the Wall your whole life," he said lightly.
"Have you never noticed anything… unusual?"
Craster narrowed his eyes.
"What are you getting at?"
Saelen didn't look up, continuing to drink his soup.
"Nothing in particular. Just curiosity. White Walkers are hunting everywhere beyond the Wall—yet your place is untouched. Peaceful. Like a world apart."
He paused, then added casually:
"And with all these wives… you have no sons. Not one. Why is that?"
He lifted his bowl slightly.
"Of course, if that offends you, feel free not to answer. I'm just asking out of curiosity."
Craster's expression turned savage.
His right hand slowly moved toward the axe beside his seat.