Chapter 7

Clark sat in the riverbed, trying desperately to scrub himself. He supposed he was clean on some level, but without any soap, there was some grime that just wouldn't come off. He tried rubbing mud from the riverbed on himself, but that was just another mess.

Finally he just gave up and rinsed himself. He'd just have to wait until he found some soap merchants, or a bathhouse, or a hot spring.

That could happen. I'm very near a hot spring.

At two and a half weeks of travel on the Kingsroad, he came upon a castle and a town surrounding it. That night at the inn, he learned two things. One; the castle was Castle Cerwyn and two; it was a hundred miles from Winterfell, which surprised Clark. He'd assumed that Winterfell was much farther north, closer to the Wall. Apparently, it was more in the middle of the kingdom, which he supposed made sense for the seat of the Warden.

That news had filled him with an energy he hadn't previously felt in his trudge up North. He had walked briskly for the next three days after Cerwyn. Late the previous night, a farmer on the road told him he was ten miles away from Winterfell. He would reach it today.

That was the cause of his deep cleaning that morning. He guessed that Ned Stark wouldn't care whether he was pristine or not, but he still wanted to make a good first impression. If he was going to sound insane, he at least didn't want to look it.

Then again, he probably wouldn't have a choice. By the look of the approaching clouds from the east, it seemed there would be a heavy rain. He'd arrive at the gates looking not only insane, but soaked as well.

Not wanting to waste any more time, he quickly dried and dressed. He also gathered some dry tinder and kindling, along with a few sticks that he tied together and slung across his back with the rucksack. He didn't think he needed them, but if the rain proved too heavy and he needed a fire in some shelter, he would have dry material all ready to go. He slung his cloak over all of that. It was the first time he wore the cloak in the North. In the daytime at least. The autumn temperatures were actually very pleasant.

Thankfully the temperature didn't drop when it started to rain. Clark let the rain fall on his head for a few moments before raising his hood. He actually loved the rain. He grew up with it. But he knew that he should respect it. In this day and age, hypothermia would be a lot easier to come by and a lot harder to manage. However the cloak seemed to do the trick. His pack and sticks remained dry and he stayed relatively warm.

The rain continued for the entire morning and Clark felt that it slowed him down. He kept his spirit up though. Every minute that he delayed arriving to Winterfell was another minute to decide what to say to Ned Stark or anyone else there. He touched the letter from Howland Reed in his pocket multiple times. He knew that was a boon, but it might not be enough for the big information dumps or revelations about the future.

Clark sighed and trudged on, wiping his face. He tried to capture a little of the rainwater but he barely got a drip. He told himself not to worry. He was near enough to Winterfell not to die of thirst. At this point, he was just looking for things to worry him. He had no way to tell time or distance, but even in this weather, he knew he should be coming within sight of the castle soon.

Finally, Clark came out of a forest and onto a series of vast meadows. The rain was lessening and if he squinted, he could make out a large grey structure through the mist, a mile away. He let out a breath and started laughing. It was Winterfell. He could recognize it from here. Ned Stark was in that castle. So was Jon and Arya and Catelyn and…

He came back to reality. He had to make it to the castle first and he had to use the mile beforehand to calm down, and not act like an idiot in front of some stern fictional characters. They were real now and if he fucked up, he could do even worse damage than what he saw coming. He lowered his hood. He needed to feel the rain and clear his head for this task. He set off.

Twenty minutes later, he was walking through Winter Town, the same path that King Robert and the Unsullied marched up. He got a few odd looks; the ones that he had been receiving frequently as a passing outsider. Thankfully the interest died pretty quickly and he walked up to the castle unbothered. He stopped a couple hundred feet out to take it in. This was Winterfell before twenty thousand men marched south for the War of Five Kings. The large grey walls were topped with soldiers who were young and fit, prepared to kill. He saw past the gate and into the courtyard. There were dozens of artisans and craftsman, all working diligently for the oncoming winter.

His eyes fell on the guards outside the gate. He wondered if he'd be stopped. He shook his cloak of the excess water and took out the letter from Howland Reed, tucking it behind his cloak.

Okay, Tiresias. In for a penny, in for a pound.

He began walking in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner. He could smell ironworks as he approached. One of the guards turned toward him. He gave the guard a brief nod, hoping that pitched him as a trustworthy individual.

It didn't.

"Halt," the guard said, walking to block the entrance. The other three joined him. Clark quickly scanned their faces. Maybe it was his bias, but none of them seemed as mean as the Frey guards. They were in better shape at least. No one resembled Tubs in this group.

"Hello there," said Clark, deciding to start friendly.

The guard stared for a bit, then nodded. Clark sighed to himself. Maybe he should have faked an English accent. Or been a mute.

"Afternoon," said the guard. "What business have you in Winterfell?"

"I have a message for Lord Stark." He hoped that wasn't too brusque and that the Northerners hated conversational bullshit as much as he did.

The guards exchanged looks but they still seemed relaxed.

"Lord Stark won't be taking petitioners or messengers until after midday. You can enter the castle then and present yourself along with the others."

Clark swallowed. "Gentlemen, with all respect, what I have to say to Lord Stark, I don't think he would like me to say to him in public. I require a private audience."

He felt the energy shift before him. It was miniscule, but he could see the minute movements of the guards before him. One wrong word and he would be taken down.

The head guard spoke again. "That's not going to happen. No stranger is allowed a private audience with Lord Stark. If you have words for him alone, you can write them down and it will be delivered to him to be read in private. Or you can stand with the other petitioners and give it over to him personally. If you wish."

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. Clark could read him easily and knew the best way forward was a firm politeness.

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid that's not an option. I can't put my message down into writing. It must be said to Lord Stark. Alone."

He raised his hand slowly, Howland Reed's letter in his grasp.

"I just came from the Neck. I have a letter here from Lord Reed for Lord Stark. He vouches for me. The Lord of Winterfell is safe with me. If he cannot meet me today, I will wait in Winter Town until he does, but I must speak with him privately."

Maybe it was a good thing he looked harmless. Or confident. Honestly he didn't know what he looked now after months of medieval living. He certainly didn't feel pretty anymore. Either way, the guards did little more than tighten their grips on their weapons. The main honcho took a minute and then reached out for the letter. Clark gave it over, hoping he was correct in reading this main guard as trustworthy. The guard turned the parchment over, observing the lizard lion seal on the back. He raised his eyes to meet Clark's and held them in a stare for a solid ten seconds.

"Wait here," he said, before turning to his fellow guards. "Keep an eye on him. I'll be back soon."

He turned and disappeared, leaving Clark with the three guards. Clark backed up a few feet. He figured they all could use the extra breathing space. He did his mom's exercises to calm down. He wasn't served by panicking, although he did fantasize, if he was run out of Winterfell, about making his way down to White Harbour. He could take a ship south and see if he could keep up with a Dornish woman.

He smiled a little. The answer was probably no. Anyway, he would melt in the south. He was more comfortable cold. It was stupid, he knew, but he was curious to experience a true Northern winter. At least one without ice zombies in it.

"You came from the Neck?" said a voice.

He came back to earth to see one of the guards looking at him. He was young, couldn't have been more than twenty. Curls of blonde hair stuck out from under his helm.

Clark nodded. "Yeah."

Damn it, Clark. Aye or yes. No yeahs.

"You're too tall to be a frog man," said Blonde Guard.

He wasn't sure if "frog man" was a deep insult to the crannogmen or a good-natured rib. He answered as if it was the latter, with a brief small smile.

"I'm not a crannogman. Just passing through."

Blondie didn't have much to say after that, for which Clark was thankful. A few more minutes passed before the main guard came back. He was staring straight at Clark, then he turned to the group.

"You two stay here. Vics," he said, referring to Blondie. "Come with me. And you," he turned to Clark. "Follow us and don't make trouble. Hand that knife over slow."

Clark unsheathed his knife and handed it to the guard, hilt first, much smoother than he was able to a while ago. His months in Westeros have deftly improved his knife skills. The guard stuck the knife in his belt and marched off with Vics, following him. Clark walked after him as they entered Winterfell, into the main courtyard. He knew it was years before the show began, but he couldn't help looking around for familiar faces. The guards walked to the other edge of the main courtyard and he kept up. A few eyes followed them, but they were left alone. Most others were too occupied with their own business.

Vics and the main guard stopped before a bench on the border of the yard, shielded by a balcony that ran from the wall to a keep.

"Sit," said the main guard. Clark did so, sighing internally in relief. He was quite tired from walking half the North. He tried not to look too pleased though. The guards didn't seem happy to be taking on this additional task.

"We'll be waiting here until you're summoned," the main guard said. "Until then, keep quiet and stay seated."

That suited Clark fine. He leaned against the wall and relaxed. He didn't expect to be shown in straight away, even with Howland Reed's letter.

He had no way to tell time. He could only assume that lunch had passed and that the multiple people stepping out of the big hall, one or two at a time, were petitioners. They came out every few minutes. The time in between the exits varied and there were many of them.

He sat for at least a couple of hours. It was a good thing the courtyard provided interesting sights. He was happy to sit and take it all in. The only times when he had been in castles, they had been stuffed with tourists. He could only imagine showing up here in sandals, shorts and a fanny pack. There were many people here though. He saw masons, smiths, weavers, farmers, the kennelmaster, practically too many to keep track of.

The sun began to go down. As the darkness grew, he felt himself growing more calm and accustomed to Winterfell. Well…maybe accustomed was the wrong word. But it was the same thought that occupied his mind during the final mile to Winterfell. If he had met Ned Stark right away, he would have been overwhelmed and constantly gaping around him like an idiot. Maybe now he could actually remain focused and talk properly after hours of sitting in the courtyard.

A wagon came through the gate and was halted before a doorway that must have led to some storage. A few men came out to unload the huge sacks that laid on top of the wagon. One of the men was significantly taller than the rest. He was a little heavy too and as he turned around, Clark's breath caught.

Hodor…

Hodor was across the yard and lifting two sacks at a time like it was nothing. Clark sat silently, absorbing his astonishment, trying not to freak out. He actually sank into himself a little, as though he was scared that Hodor might turn and see him, realizing that he didn't belong in this world.

Of course, that didn't happen. Hodor finished unloading with the others and the wagon continued to the stables. Hodor went back into the castle and Clark leaned forward with his breathing exercises, his head down. If the guards found it strange, they didn't say anything.

Clark was still focused on his boots when he sensed something coming from his left. There were mutters coming closer and closer. It took a second before he discerned the mutters as "M'lord."

He kept his eyes to the ground. He had to remain calm. He saw the main guard's boots leave his periphery, heard the following…

"Lord Stark," said the main guard.

"Halford," said Ned Stark. Clark recognized the northern burr instantly, although it wasn't quite as deep as he remembered it. He felt Ned Stark's gaze on him and heard him speak.

"Is that him?"

"Aye," said Halford. Clark was grateful for a name.

"Has he said anything?"

"Silent as the grave, m'Lord. Sat still too. We made sure of that."

"Thank you for your patience," said Ned Stark. "Both of you. I would have attended to him sooner if I could. You're dismissed for the evening. We can take it from here."

"Thank you, m'Lord. Good evening." Halford paused. "Also, his knife. If you decide he gets it back."

Clark heard him hand the knife over and walk away, seeing Vics' boots follow him. He kept his eyes down. He thought back to his childhood Christmases. How he would unwrap his presents as slowly as possible to keep the suspense going, the adrenaline rushing. It annoyed his family to an extent, but it was similar to what was happening here. He'd watched the whole show, walked so long and now Ned Stark was within earshot and just out of sight. It was thrilling.

But he knew that he couldn't stay aloof much longer without being offensive. So he took a deep breath, sat up and looked to the left, meeting Ned Stark's eyes.

The first thing he registered was how far away the Warden of the North stood. He could have sworn that he was much nearer, given how clear he heard the conversation. Second, he saw that Lord Stark had guards. Four of them and they looked much tougher than the ones at the main gate. Not that Halford, Vics and the others didn't look tough too. The North bred some hard eggshells and the Warden got the better ones. There was another man standing next to Ned Stark with graying hair and side-burns that were tied at the chin…

Okay, I'm seeing Rodrik Cassel as well…that's neat.

Rodrik Cassel was staring him with a calm suspicion. Ned Stark shared that look. He seemed like a tougher Boromir. He wasn't quite as lined and gruff as he seemed on the show, but he was still Ned Stark. Clark supposed that if he was going to survive, he was going to have to stop thinking about the actors that played them. It was going to be tough. His Grandma loved the BBC and was always watching it when he came over. Half the actors on the show were familiar to him before he watched it.

The stares between them lasted a few seconds. Clark knew that when it came to exuding toughness, he was going to lose. So he decided to keep things as light as possible. He could impress them later…somehow. He stood.

"Lord Stark, good evening," he called. "Thank you for seeing me."

Ned Stark walked forward, stopping a few feet away. He held the letter from Howland Reed. The seal was broken.

"You delivered this from Lord Reed?" he said.

Clark nodded. "That's right."

There was a silence. When he was waiting for Ned Stark appear, Clark became part of the background and was subsequently ignored by all. Now with the Lord of Winterfell staring him down, he could feel the curious looks coming their way from the whole yard. It was a little unnerving.

Finally Lord Stark turned to his guards.

"Walk with him," he said, before looking back to Clark. "Come with me." He turned and walked away. Clark followed him, the household guards following in step with him. He would be speared four ways if he stepped out of line. He was thankful for the cold. Otherwise he'd be sweating bullets right now.

Lord Stark entered the main entrance to the biggest building in the castle. The Great Keep? The First Keep? He'd figure it out later. Right now, Ned was walking up stone stairs and through corridors. There were less and less people present as they walked on. Finally after five minutes, they came onto a short empty hallway with a single door at the end. Ned Stark took a key out and unlocked the door, entering. Clark waited a few seconds before he followed.

This was the Winterfell solar. He knew that at once. It looked busy but it was organized well enough. The shelves around the room contained rolls of parchment and leather bound books. He could only imagined how much record keeping was needed to keep a whole kingdom going. There was a large table with a map of the North, along with various notes for the lands indicated. There was a fire going in the hearth. Two practical and comfortable looking chairs stood before it. Above the hearth hung a tapestry. There was a large group of people there; one stern-faced bearded man, a tall woman, three boys and a little girl…Ned's family before the Rebellion…at least that was his educated guess.

Clark took his eyes to the centerpiece of the room, a large desk, behind which Ned now stood. He had taken off his furs and his gaze was focused intently on Clark. Clark winced. He had gaped around like an idiot when he promised himself he wouldn't. Oh well, nothing to be done now. He waited for Ned Stark to speak, noticing that the letter and his knife were on his desk.

Ned sat down. "Your name is Tiresias?"

Clark breathed. "Yes."

"Tiresias, would you object to a search of yourself and your belongings?"

"A search, Lord Stark?"

"If you want to speak privately, that's the only way my men will leave the room."

He looked to the other men in the room, then back to Ned.

"Won't have to strip nude, will I?"

If Ned found the question funny, the slight pause before he spoke was the only hint of it.

"No," said Ned. "You won't."

Oh Christ. TSA of medieval times.

"Fine, go ahead," he said. He took off his cloak and placed it over the chair. He then tossed the bag to one of the guards and stretched out as another guard stepped forward and started checking him. Honestly the pat-down wasn't nearly as invasive as his latest airport adventure. He fucking hated the TSA. But it was over quickly. He supposed dangerous items were bigger in these times. If he could sneak a dagger up his ass, that would be a real trick.

Anyway, he relaxed and got his bag back as well with no objections. He placed the bag on the ground next to the chair and waited.

One of the guards turned to Ned.

"Just a razor in the bag, m'Lord."

Ned almost smiled. "I'm sure I can fight a razor, Trevor. All of you; leave us. Stand at the end of the hall and make sure we're not disturbed. Ser Rodrik, you're excused for the evening. Thank you for your company. I'll see you at dinner later."

Ser Rodrik and the four guards gave quick bows before leaving, Ser Rodrik giving Clark a warning look before closing the door. There was a silence as Clark listened to the footsteps grow dimmer as they walked away and took their places at the end of the hallway. He turned to see Ned Stark, watching him. He walked forward as calm as he could and stood before the desk. There was no chair.

Ned Stark touched the letter.

"This letter is dated over a month ago. Did you walk all the way here?"

"Yep."

Ned's eyes were probing him.

"Do you know what this letter says?" he asked.

Clark shrugged. "No. He said he vouched for me. If he instructed you to kill me or imprison me, I wouldn't know. Those are still viable options, I guess. I haven't eaten any bread and salt and those guards in the hall look very scary. The patdown was gentle enough though."

The only sound after that was the crackling of the fire.

Okay. Perhaps sarcasm isn't the best way to go.

"How was Lord Reed?" asked Ned. "How was his health?"

"He looked well. He has the limp still, but he's alive," said Clark. He steeled himself for his next sentence. And probably the next few ones after. "Not too bad for a man who stabbed Arthur Dayne in the back."

Ned kept his seat, but Clark could see his face tighten.

"I don't judge him," said Clark. "You should know that I don't judge him at all for what he did. He wanted to save you. His lord. His friend. If he hadn't, you would have died. You were disarmed after all."

Clark forced himself not to panic, for his voice not to shake. Calm would his only hope to get through this.

"Were you there?" Ned asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I wasn't there, but I saw it."

"What?"

Okay, Clark. Try to keep away from riddles in this conversation. If you can.

"Lord Stark, Before I say anything else, you should know; I'm not your enemy. Please keep that in mind when you hear what I have to say."

All of a sudden, he was thirsty. Not caring that he was probably breaking lord-peasant protocol, he took his waterskin and gulped twice. He turned back to Lord Stark, who seemed quite bewildered.

"Lord Stark, I'll tell you what I told Lord Reed. I'm no greenseer. I'm not a magician or an oracle. I was not at the Tower in Dorne all those years ago. But for some reason that I can't explain because I don't know how, I witnessed what happened and so much more. I'm…" He struggled for the right words and settled for simple. "I'm here because I want to help you. I want to help you and your family. You're all in great danger. Or rather you will be."

God, he was messing this up. He could feel his hand trembling and tried to relax. How to explain to a man that his simple life of medieval lordship was about to get really fucking brutal really fucking quick?

"What danger do you speak of?" asked Ned.

Clark drew himself up to full height.

"Before I answer that, I need to give you some evidence that I do know things that I shouldn't know. So you'll believe me when I say that you and everyone you know are in great danger."

He clenched and unclenched his hands.

"The fight between you, your men and the Kingsguard. I could have seen that from a distance." He lowered his voice. "Did you see me when your sister was dying? Was I in the room?"

The question was rhetorical and Ned seemed to know it. He was staring at Clark with a growing fear, but still calm. Clark pressed on as gently as he could.

"When you entered the room, Lyanna was lying in a bed of blood. You put Dawn at the foot of the bed and greeted her. She told you she wanted to be brave but she was scared. She didn't want to die. You told her she wouldn't. You yelled at the girl in the room for water and a maester. Lyanna stopped you, brought you close and whispered the secret you've been carrying ever since. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

He leaned forward.

"I have no intention of telling this secret to anyone. I will only say it now, just once for you so you know I speak true."

Ned didn't reply. His face was pale, but his eyes were bright. Clark swallowed.

"You're raising the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. To the world, he is your bastard son, Jon Snow. You're protecting him from Robert's wrath. His real name is Aegon Targaryen, named for his Conqueror forbearer and his slain brother in King's Landing. You saw his brother and sister before you set out for Dorne. In the Keep, bleeding through their shrouds. Robert smiled. Dragonspawn."

It was beginning to rain again. Clark could see the drops splattering against the window. If he wasn't so tense, he would have rolled his eyes at the timing. So cinematic.

"I say it again: I'll never speak of this to anyone. That recounting was just for you, so you'll believe me when I say I know things I shouldn't. I have something much bigger to tell you. Something concerning your future."

Ned leaned back. His brow was glistening slightly. Clark couldn't blame him. He was sweating too.

"Lord Reed says you're trustworthy." He traced his hand across the letter again. "He's very right about these things usually. How did he come to trust you?"

Clark shrugged. "He dreamt about me. He saw me coming up here to guide you."

"Because you see the future?"

"One future. Based on what I tell you and what you decide to do, things may proceed and be completely different from what I saw. Or maybe nothing will change. Maybe the universe refuses to let you go from your fate."

Lord Stark's brow furrowed. "The universe?"

"Nevermind. Listen, you are in great danger. Or you will be, in a few years…I've said that already. Sorry. I…look, I'm just going to come out and say it. The White Walkers are coming back."

Now there was silence. Lord Stark remained seated. The fear that built up during the story of the Tower of Joy was replaced by incredulity. He didn't laugh though.

"White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years."

Clark sighed. "Yeah, well, they're coming back. It's shit luck for you…well, actually shit luck for your kids. You didn't worry about this from what I saw."

"What?"

Okay. I need to sit.

"I'm sorry. I don't know proper behavior for meeting with a Warden, but I'm going to use this." Clark turned and picked up one of the chairs from the hearth. He placed it in front of the desk and sat, his head in his hands. He took a few seconds before looking up. Ned's bewilderment was back.

All right. Here we go.

"I don't know how much I should tell you. The visions I saw of the future were spread across a decade. We'll be here all night if I tell you everything. And if you decide to act on any of this, I'm certain quite a few details will become useless. So here's the short version of the visions. Are you ready?"

Ned's mouth was slightly open. He still managed to look quite dignified. It must be a lord's thing. Clark clapped his hands together.

"All right then. Years from now, the White Walkers are going to begin to show activities near the Wall. Free Folk villages will disappear. So will Rangers from the Night's Watch. There'll be more deserters. The Walkers start to show. Odds are they're probably already showing themselves to the free folk beyond the wall. Maybe the northernmost tribes. Starting the recruitment for their army. In the future I saw, this contributed greatly to their Army of the Dead. They became wights, reanimated corpses to act as soldiers. Over one hundred thousand of them. Lots of dead people up there.

"Now that would be devastating for the North and the rest of the Kingdoms on a regular day. You….well, you and your…Oh god, you…well, you're…"

He immediately shut up. A big information dump was not the best way to go about this. He had a few years to go before Baelor. That reveal could come at another time.

"The other part of this is you. Humans. The different kingdoms. There's going to be a war that will rip apart Westeros. Many of the best warriors will die. Food storages will be depleted. All the usual outcomes of armed conflict. This war will take place on the tail end of the longest summer in living memory, which will probably be after this winter. That summer will turn into the coldest winter. And that winter will bring the Walkers and their army. The North was in poor condition. The living managed to win, but at a steep cost. Before the Wall came down, they had already lost so much to each other."

Ned leaned forward. "The Wall came down?"

Clark shrugged. "Section of it. At Eastwatch. Large enough to let an army of at least a hundred thousand corpses walk through."

"How?"

"I can't tell you yet. I've omitted many details for what I hope are good reasons. Saying how the Wall fell doesn't feel necessary at this point. You'll need to secure the North, reach out to the Free Folk, negotiate a truce, whatever you need to do. I'm no military man and you know this country better than I do. But the real threat is people. You will lose more of your family to conniving men than you will to the monsters beyond the Wall. If I earn your trust and you like me enough to keep me around, I'll try and keep all of you alive and away from treachery. Away from the connivers. Keep the North healthy enough to prevent a total massacre.

"Then again, if you want me to fuck off, I can do that as well. This is your fight. I just wanna help."

He hoped in his future conversations with Ned Stark that the man wouldn't take long pauses after every sentence. Not that he blamed him. A skinny weirdo turning up knowing a devastating secret and pronouncing doom for all had to be off-putting.

"Why?" said Lord Stark, the rumble of his voice barely above the flames. "Why do you want to help us? Help my family specifically?"

Clark sat back, sighing. "Throughout the visions, in between all the terrible things that happened to your family, I grew familiar with you. Not now, of course. Most of the visions are of your future. I saw your children grown. Your home. Your private moments. Of which I won't speak. I grew to like your family. You weren't the only ones. I saw others throughout the seven kingdoms and across the sea. I liked them too. However, the North is the frontier to the White Walker threat and the North will be battered heavily by war and will be ill-prepared for the cold. I want to protect people I care for.

"I also am looking for a new home. Despite the bleak future I described, I like the North. I've felt at home since I've arrived."

Ned's gaze turned even more inquisitive. If that were possible.

"Where is your home?"

Clark tried to take Annag's advice and come up with a better lie. Unfortunately, being in front of a man whose honesty and honor had been the death of him prompted Clark to the truth…or at least, not to lie.

"I can't explain it," he said. "I don't know how. All I can say is that I've traveled across spaces that don't exist to be here. I came to Westeros and I learned that my old world is forever closed to me. So this has to be my new home. I hope it will be Winterfell or somewhere in the North, but if not…"

Clark trailed off. He tried to read Ned's face, but it was closed.

"I don't know anyone. I don't have anyone. Everything I've known is gone. So if you decide I'm too dangerous to be alive, I suppose you could kill me with little to no hassle. No one will come looking for me."

Ned stood up.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said. Clark breathed. "I told you Howland Reed trusts you and I trust Howland Reed. He recommends you stay here."

"Do you believe me then?" asked Clark, not daring to hope.

Ned rubbed his eyes.

"I don't know," he said. "You were a phantom at my sister's death. You heard her final words. You saw my infant nephew. You shouldn't have been able to see that. Perhaps that means you do see a future that we could avoid.

"But what if you're wrong? You're talking of events and persons and wars that won't come into play for many years. You're giving vague rumblings of connivers and monsters. You won't even tell me who died. How do I work with that? How do I prepare? How am I to keep you here under that arrangement? As a resident oracle? There are wood witches for that sort of thing."

Ned paused. Clark's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. He hadn't eaten anything for several hours.

"Are you hungry?"

Clark nodded. "Very."

Ned walked around the desk, standing in front. He picked up Clark's knife off the desk.

"I don't know what arrangement I can make for you. Do you have any skills?"

"Archival work. I can read and write and be dumb muscle. I sing well too."

Ned almost chuckled. "We'll talk about that tomorrow. I'm not promising you can stay, but for tonight, I offer you food, a bed and a bath, should you want it."

Clark stood up. "Yes, Lord Stark. I would like that very much. Thank you."

Ned nodded. "Then, let's go down for supper. You'll be my guest. Put the chair back."

He turned to the door as Clark placed the chair back in front of the fire. Putting the chair down, Clark got an idea.

"Lord Stark?" he asked. "Do you have any wards?"

Ned looked confused. "I think you're a little old to be a ward."

"No, I'm just asking you. Do you have a ward? Now? Here in Winterfell?"

The suspicion was back in Ned's eyes. "No, I don't."

Clark stepped forward.

"I understand that a decade is a long time to wait to see if my visions hold true. So let me give another event that I've foreseen. In a short time, the Iron Islands will rebel. Balon Greyjoy will declare himself King and he will attack. He'll start with Lannisport, burning the Lannister fleet."

Ned's hand was still on the door handle. Clark tried not to swallow too loudly.

"I don't recommend you do anything to stop it. There are people who should die on the Islands. They'll make life difficult for you if they live. Keep me on for a year. When they attack, I'll give you more information if it's necessary. For now, just know: Lannisport will be first and the Lannister fleet will be destroyed."

Several seconds of silence followed.

"Is that all?" asked Ned, his composure back.

Clark thought. "I think so. Yeah. I hope you forgive me. It's my first time being a soothsayer. Am I still invited to dinner?"

He couldn't tell Ned's mood. The man was just regarding him, not knowing what to make of him. Clark waited, hoping to whatever brought him to Westeros that he hadn't fucked this up.

Ned opened the door.

"Of course, follow me."

Well, not now, at least. As far as he could tell.

He followed Ned Stark to the end of the hall, where the guards straightened. He was sure that they didn't expect the conversation to take this long.

"At ease," said Ned. The guards relaxed, a few eyeing Clark suspiciously. "Thank you for your vigil. Did anyone come up to see me?"

"Just the Lady Stark's handmaid, m'Lord, the new one" said the tallest guard. "Lady Stark wanted to know if you were coming soon to supper. We didn't say either way. We didn't know."

"That's fine," said Ned. "All of you are dismissed for the evening. I'm sure I'll survive until the night guards go on duty."

There was a chorus of "thank you, m'lord" and short bows all around. Lord Stark turned and walked back where they had walked previously, Clark keeping behind him.

"Lord Stark," he said, as they turned the corner. "May I have my knife back, please?"

"Certainly." Ned took the knife out and handed it to him, Clark sheathing it. There was no more conversation for the rest of the walk. They entered the dining hall. It was no nowhere near as crowded as the feast for Robert's arrival or the celebration after the Battle for Winterfell. Ned and Clark walked through the rows of long tables, the few occupants pausing their conversation and nodding to Ned. Clark met a few curious eyes as well. He nodded politely back to them, trying to keep his excitement down. They were approaching a group of people at the end of a long table. A woman with dark red hair was sitting with several children…

She turned to them when they reached the table. Ned went behind her, gripping her shoulders affectionately.

"Hello Ned," said Catelyn. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Cat, everything's fine," Ned said lightly. "Evening, children."

"Evening, Father" said the two oldest children of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Robb and Sansa were following the gaze of their mother, who was looking at Clark with polite curiosity.

"Do we have a guest for dinner, Ned?" asked Catelyn.

"We do." Ned gestured to the bench for Clark to sit. "Children, Cat, this is Tiresias. He traveled here from the Neck. He has walked all the way and he's very tired. Be gentle with him."

Clark nodded to Catelyn. "Lady Stark, it's lovely to see you. Forgive me for intruding upon your meal. I could sit elsewhere and give your family privacy."

"Nonsense," Catelyn said. "Please sit. My husband usually brings someone up to sup with us in the evenings. Are you hungry?"

Clark sat, placing his bag under the bench. "Very."

"Good. You will be fed shortly. Are you staying the night?"

He looked to Ned for that one. One night sure. But as for the future…

Ned placed his cup down. "He's our guest for the foreseeable future. For one night at least. Although Lord Reed did recommend him for work."

"What sort of trade have you, Tiresias?" asked Cat.

A serving woman set a cup in front of Clark and poured him some ale.

"Thank you," he said, catching her eye before she took off. He turned to the table and saw the big eyes of Robb and Sansa following him. He leaned toward them, with an air of conspiracy.

"I'm tamer of lizard lions. I'm here to domesticate your lizard lions and ride them to glory. Where do your lizard lions roam, young lord and lady?"

Robb laughed, but Sansa looked quite serious.

"We don't have any lizard lions in Winterfell, your Lordship" she said.

Tiresias leaned back, sighed and took a sip of ale.

"Well, that's too bad," he said. "I suppose I'll have to do something else. And I'm no lord, my lady. I'm just Tiresias. What are your names?"

Sansa drew herself up. "My name is Sansa Stark. This is my older brother, Robb."

Robb gave something of a greeting with a mouth full of bread, earning him a light reprimand from Catelyn. Clark turned to his left. There was a chubby toddler with dark hair who was staring at him and making a mess of her dinner at the same time. She had grey eyes.

"Can you tell me your name?" asked Clark gently. He tried not to think about his own niece back home, only two years of age herself.

It took a few seconds, but Clark clearly heard her say "Arya."

"How old are you, Arya?"

She raised her hand and lifted two fingers.

"That's pretty old," said Clark.

"No, it's not," said Sansa across the table.

Clark fought the temptation to raise his eyebrows. "Forgive me, my lady," said Clark. "Where I come from, two-year-olds are practically adults."

Sansa looked suspicious. "That's not true"

Clark sighed dramatically. "You're right. It's not. I'm just being silly. How old are you?"

The rest of the evening meal passed evenly enough. Clark spoke to Robb, Sansa and Arya for a few more minutes until he and Ned received their food. It was a savory chicken thigh with roasted potato and parsnips. He ate more than one serving. He wasn't sure if he was being rude for overeating. But in all fairness, being on the road for months made him less anxious about taking free food. Plus they did offer multiple helpings.

Throughout the meal, Clark kept looking to the Stark family. He hoped he was discrete but he couldn't help it. There was another toddler younger than Arya in Catelyn's arms. He deduced it was Bran early on and indeed Catelyn confirmed that, helping Bran as he put most of his dinner on his face.

So Rickon was further down the line. Clark wondered where the other boy was…

His question was answered when his second serving arrived. Arya, with her parsnips smeared on her face, lit up and called "Jon!"

He looked up to see a small, slender boy with black hair sit next to Robb and smile at Arya. Clark tried to stay calm and chanced a glance at Catelyn Stark. She was fine, but he could definitely see a little tension. Next to her, Ned Stark was staring at him with slight apprehension. He smiled and nodded, hoping to convey that the secret was safe for now. Probably didn't work. He turned to Jon, who was eyeing him warily. A stranger at the table.

"Is your name Jon?" Clark said, after swallowing some chicken.

Jon nodded. "Jon Snow," he said for clarification.

Clark held out his hand to shake. Jon took it hesitantly. "Hello Jon Snow. My name is Tiresias. It's good to meet you. I was enjoying the company of your brother and sisters. Your other brother is too busy down there."

A full plate was put in front of Jon and he began to eat. He was polite but he still ate quickly.

"Where were you, Jon?" asked Robb. "We wanted to wait, but Mum made us start."

Jon shrugged. "Lost track of time."

Clark sipped his ale. It was a clear lie. The same tone that Jon used when Robb asked about his mother in the second episode and Jon said that she was very kind. He was sure that Jon was indeed checking the dining hall to make sure that Ned had joined the table before he joined them himself. He doubted that Catelyn would refuse the boy supper, but all the time, Ned was a shield that Jon wanted for family time.

"Tir...Tiresa…" said Robb, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Tiresias," said Clark slowly. "How can I help you?"

"Are you from the Neck? Are you a crannogman?" he asked.

Clark shook his head. "No, little lord. I was only their guest. They saved me from the swamp and escorted me to Moat Cailin."

Robb stared at him. "You talk strange. Where are you from?"

"Robb," said Catelyn, her eyes bright. "You can ask our guest questions without telling him he speaks strangely. I'm sorry, Tiresias."

"It's all right, Lady Stark, it's all right," said Clark. He cut his potato into sections, careful not to eat too quickly. "I come from Essos. My parents were nomads. Didn't stay anywhere long enough for an accent. I arrived in Westeros only a few months ago. I walked all the way here from King's Landing."

"Can't you ride a horse?" asked Jon.

"Not well," said Clark.

Robb piped up. "I can. I'm the best rider in the family."

"You're the best pony rider in the family," said Jon.

"That counts!"

The rest of the meal continued this way. Clark was barraged by questions. He answered a couple. The children would go off on a tangent and he would be relieved. Only to face a different question when he swallowed his food. He didn't mind at all though. Besides the fact that he was both freaked out and really excited to see the Stark children all much younger, he actually really liked kids. Conversations with his two year niece would last for a solid time. Ned and Catelyn occasionally tried to get the children to stop bothering him, but it was nothing doing. As a result, dinner was substantial but eaten slowly.

After bread and red wine (for the adults), Clark could barely keep his eyes open. Catelyn, ever the hostess, saw his weariness and called to him.

"You look like you need some sleep. Would you care for a bath or would you simply like to go to bed?"

"Hmm," said Clark, before turning to his tiny dinner mates. "What do you think? Do I need a bath? Do I stink?"

Robb, Sansa and Jon all laughed, with Arya joining them out of solidarity. Sighing, Clark turned back to Catelyn.

"I think the consensus is yes, I need a bath. The children are repulsed by me."

He rejoiced a little, seeing Lady Catelyn swallowed her own laughter before responding. One small victory.

"Very well. We'll send you along to the springs. Hals here will escort you. Hals!" she called.

A portly man of medium height appeared.

"Would you please escort our guest to the hot springs for bath? Make sure he has fresh soap?"

Hals gave a bow. "Of course, my lady." He came to Clark, with a gesture for the exit. "This way, please."

Clark stood and nodded to Ned and Cat. "Thank you, Lady and Lord Stark, for your hospitality. I look forward to speaking to you again tomorrow."

"Of course," said Catelyn. "It's good to have you. Sleep well."

Ned nodded back, his eyes not quite as relaxed as Clark would have like. Oh well, no matter. He had a bed tonight. That was the important bit. He turned to the children and bowed.

"Good night, my lords and ladies. I hope to see you again."

All bade him good night as he turned and followed Hals out of the hall.

Twenty minutes later, he was squatting nude next to a spring, wet and scrubbing himself vigorously. Two months of filth was caked onto his skin. Turns out wading in the river robustly without soap wasn't a very effective way to clean oneself. He scrubbed, then rinsed and then scrubbed again. After he was rinsed for the final time, he felt more raw than clean. The dirt was gone but so was any moisture and natural oil from his skin.

After drying, he made the decision to forgo the hosen and just wear the trousers. He could feel the dirty clothing all the more after the cleanse. Hals was waiting for him to come out. Upon seeing him, he promptly escorted him to the guest chambers.

As they walked, Clark asked. "Excuse me, Hals. Would it be possible to borrow a laundry bucket or such?"

"Would you like some laundry done?" asked Hals. "I can give your clothes tonight to the maids. They can clean them tonight and have them ready for tomorrow morning."

Clark stared. "I don't want to keep servants up and away from sleep for some clothes, Hals. I can do them in the morning."

"The maids are part of the evening round. They do the nightly duties, which include some errant laundry and they prepare for the morning servants. It's no trouble to them."

Well…shit.

"So barely any trouble?"

"None at all."

"All right…I'll take your word for it. Thank you, Hals."

"Not at all…" Hals looked to Clark questioningly.

Clark shifted his bag. "Tiresias."

That was the last word exchanged that evening. Hals brought Clark to a small room with a bed and a table with a pitcher and basin on top. There was a lit candle. Clark gave all four items of clothing to Hals (he turned around as Clark removed his trousers), and also the boots to be cleaned. Clark thanked him and closed the door. He dropped the bag on the floor. He checked the bed for any bugs and then fell on top of it. The world seemed to spin from the booze and food, the heat from the bath, the end of the trek and the euphoria of finally reaching Winterfell.

He smiled. The dizziness felt so grand and he could sense sleep coming on. He summoned the last of his energy to raise his head and blow out the candle, before collapsing onto the pillow.