Chapter 2

Clark kept his eyes closed for a solid minute when he woke. He hoped to find himself back in his own bed or even in the hospital, recovering from the most convincing hallucination he'd ever experienced. However he felt the coarseness of the blanket and the wooden planks below. This didn't feel like his queen mattress or a hospital bed. He cursed and opened his eyes.

Dust floated through the air, illuminated by the sunrise streaming in through the window and door. Strawback was swatting flies in his sleep. Clark got up, folding the blanket before he climbed down. He exited the barn, feeling the cool dew on the grass beneath his feet, which was quite pleasurable. There was smoke coming from the cottage and early morning birdsong from the forest. He went around the side of the barn into the nearby trees. He urinated for a solid time, wiping his hands on some morning dew to clean them.

Going back in front of the barn, he managed to find some dry ground and proceeded with his usual morning stretches. He took his time and for ten minutes, he was completely alone. There was no one else in the world. Not the farmer and his family. Not the Tullys or the Starks or the Targaryens across the sea. Not the White Walkers…

He shuddered and brought himself back to full height, giving his back one last stretch before relaxing. Right now he couldn't plan long term when he had no plans for the short term. So what to do today? Just today. He pondered for a while and considered just leaving the farmer and his wife with no word. But he had no idea where he was to find food that day and they were friendly enough.

First thing's first. He strode to the door and knocked gently. The farmer opened the door, greeting him amiably. He saw the wife breastfeeding the babe. He nodded politely and averted his eyes. He was guided to the table and poured a cup of ale.

"Eat, please," said the farmer, placing some bread and cheese before him.

"Thank you," said Clark. He ate bit by bit. He knew the food was safe, but he wasn't sure how his stomach would react to it. Best to eat slowly and be safe for now.

"So," said the farmer, sitting down with his own cup. "What's your plan for today? Where were you headed to before you were attacked?"

Clark chewed slowly and swallowed.

"I don't know. I worked a ship for a year and only came ashore two months ago. Wasn't thinking of the future, to be honest." He drank some ale. "Could use some work though."

"Well, it's autumn now, so you'll be finding plenty of work through the Riverlands with the harvest. North might be good too. Never been there though. I'd offer to bring you on here but I couldn't pay you. Besides, the farm's small enough that we don't need the help."

Clark smiled. "No worries. I'm grateful for what you've given me already." He rubbed his face, feeling the days that he neglected to shave. He took a breath, making up his mind for now. "I believe I want to head north in the next few days."

He supposed that was safe. It was autumn now, so he would have at least one non-wight winter before the long summer when the show began. In any case, it was years before any dead men roamed. It would be safe enough, or so he hoped. He continued.

"So I would like to get to the Kingsroad. But for now, I need to get some clothes so I can return yours and boots as well. Do you know somewhere I can go to purchase them?"

The wife spoke from her chair. "Fairmarket isn't too far from here. It's right by the Blue Fork and only a few hours by cart. You'll find what you need there."

Clark stared. "The Blue Fork?"

"Of the Trident," she said. If she found his question odd, she didn't show it.

The farmer leaned back. "Tell you what, I can take you to Fairmarket by cart. I can't do it today because Strawback's too tired. He's an old donkey. But I can do it tomorrow. And while we're there, after you have your own clothes, I'll point you in the direction of the Kingsroad."

Clark fought to keep his voice casual. "Is it far from Fairmarket?"

"It's a night on the road, but bearable. The real trouble is when you get on the Kingsroad itself. You could spend a few months walking that. All the way to the Wall if you want!"

The farmer laughed. Clark only managed a small grin.

"So what do you say? Tomorrow?"

Placing his cheese down, Clark tried to be polite. "Are you sure? That's an awful lot of traveling back and forth for just me. It's quite a bit of trouble."

"No trouble at all. I forgot some things in town anyway, as my beautiful wife was happy to tell me after you went to bed," he said, shooting a playful glare at his wife, who promptly ignored him.

Clark finished the ale. "Thank you. I mean it. Is there anything around here that I can help you with today? I may not be much of a farmer, but I can lift."

The farmer shook his head. "Not this morning, no. We're resting now. But in the afternoon, I might need some help putting the barn in order. It was a good harvest, but I allowed the mess to build."

Shaking off questions about seasonal farming in a world where seasons were vastly inconsistent, Clark stood.

"In that case, I want to go out to the place where I was attacked and see if I missed anything. Maybe the bandits dropped my clothes and I won't have to purchase new ones."

"Well now," said the farmer standing. "I don't like the idea of you going alone and barefoot into the forest where bandits are lurking. I'm not a fighter, but I can come for the numbers. Other than that, I think you should just consider your clothes lost. You have your purse and your life. Best not to risk them again."

Clark moved to the door. "I appreciate your concerns, but I'll be all right. I'll be back in an hour. Miss," he said, nodding to the wife. He shut the door before anyone could say another word.

Do people say 'Miss' here?

Whatever, that wasn't important. He had clear daylight now and he wanted to check his handiwork. To make sure his charred possessions would never be dug up. He followed the broken branches and soon found himself at the site. He looked at the ground. It really wasn't bad. In fact, there was actually little trace of the fire. He looked around. The most conspicuous thing was that he tore off every branch he could find in the near vicinity. However there was nothing he could do about that. He spread the leaves around a bit more naturally. He walked across the dirt. He really hoped he was able to judge correctly. But when he looked at the spot where he had burned and buried his previous life, it honestly looked any other forest floor.

Satisfied as much as he could be, Clark returned to the farm. He washed in the basin and walked along the fields. The farmer and his wife were kind but he needed to be alone. He needed his mind cleared and focused. He needed to figure out what to do.

Unfortunately he did not accomplish that in his walk around the fields. He went through as much trivia in his mind as he could about Westeros, the ruling families, the histories but he was really out of his element. He didn't even know what year it was. He tried to think how old Sally was in season four. Ten? Eleven? Maybe? How much time passed between the first and fourth season? How many…?

Eventually Clark threw a stone into the forest and collapsed under the shade. He stared at the sky and put all these thoughts out of mind. He needed clothes and boots first. He needed to get to Fairmarket.

He laid in the shade for a while, before wandering back to the barn. The farmer was already there. For the remaining afternoon, Clark and the farmer organized and cleaned the barn from one end to another. Clark was grateful for the work. It was the same with the fire yesterday. He just needed a task to distract himself. When he would be traveling, alone with his thoughts, that would be the real challenge.

The wife brought a fresh basin out and left to tend to Sally. The farmer stripped down and washed himself. Clark did the same, but kept his back toward the farmer. It was only a quick rinse though. After they were clean enough, they dressed and went inside for dinner, which consisted of mutton (though Clark didn't realized that it was mutton until halfway) and milk.

Clark realized to his slight horror, that his diet would be severely limited for the rest of his life. A lot of meat. A lot of diary. A lot of grain. And a lot of ale. All good things that Clark liked. But he wondered how he would fare when the sugar withdrawal really kicked in. Just how expensive was fruit anyway?

He stayed up with the farmer and his wife that night, drinking some ale. Clark only accepted one cup. He knew they were poor. And that made his next question more uncomfortable, but he had to ask it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins he had selected before dinner.

"I need your help, if I may ask for even more," he asked quietly.

"Certainly, fellow," said the farmer. "What ails you?"

Clark placed the different coins on the table. There were all copper coins.

"I'm a foreigner. I'm sure you've guessed that and I don't know your coins well. The golds and the silvers are easy. They have the symbols on the side. And this one is a star, I see. But the rest I don't know. I know there are pennies and halfpennies, but that's all. The amounts are confusing too. Would you teach me please, how it works?"

The fire crackled. Clark hoped that these two didn't question how this stranger could have survived two months in Westeros without knowing the coins or why a sailor wouldn't have learned the currency before he landed ashore. But thankfully no suspicion crossed their faces.

The wife picked up the second biggest copper.

"For all the coppers," she said. "Each one is worth twice the next coin down. This is a grout." She picked up the bigger copper star. "A star is two grouts." She continued to pick up each coin as she spoke. "A grout is two halfgrouts. A halfgrout is two pennies. A penny is two halfpennies…but you don't have any halfpennies."

She got up and went to the shelf, taking one coin out of a pouch stored there. Sitting back down, she presented the coin to Clark. "One halfpenny. Go on. You can hold it."

Clark looked at the halfpenny and gave it back. He viewed all the coins lined up. Coppers were a two-to-one system. Simple enough.

"As for the silvers," said the wife continuing. "There are moons and stags. One silver stag is worth seven copper stars. One silver moon is worth seven stags."

Clark nodded. He had nine stags in his purse. He hoped that would be enough until he could earn some money somehow.

"And the top coin," the wife said, her energy coming a bit down. "I've never had one meself. I've seen them though. At tourneys, the market and such. Gold dragons. A gold dragon is worth thirty silver moons."

Sitting back, Clark rubbed his chin. He picked up the coins and placed them back in the purse. No one spoke for a while. Clark finished his ale and stood. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver stag, which he placed on the table. The farmer and his wife stared at the coin. Clark saw them draw their breath to protest and spoke first.

"Stop. You've helped me more…more than you could possibly know yesterday and today and tomorrow when we ride to Fairmarket. You've clothed me and fed me and I will never forget that. Please for my sake, take the coin. Besides," he added with a grin, "if you refuse to touch it, I'm just going to leave it here on the table. It will be here tomorrow when I leave. Good night."

He walked out before they could say another word. The barn's smell was still overwhelming, but it was clean now. He found his spot on the loft and settled down, trying hard not to think about the silver stag he had just relinquished. He hoped he wouldn't regret giving it away. He wondered if that silver stag would be part of the silver that Sandor would steal in the future, if it would past to Arya and then into the canals of Braavos to be forgotten forever. Maybe. Maybe it all depended on what he decided to do.

He turned over and made a silent promise. That was to be the last blind charitable deed he would do in Westeros. He needed what coins he had badly and he wasn't sure how soon he would be able to replace the silver that he just gave away.

He pulled the blanket over himself and sighed. He really wanted to brush his teeth.

The farmer came into the barn the next morning to hitch Strawback up for the ride. The donkey did not appear happy for the trip and he was gifted with a turnip for his cooperation. Clark climbed down and offered to help, but he was waved away and told to go eat.

He had a quiet breakfast with the farmer's wife. They didn't talk but it wasn't uncomfortable. Most of the conversation was provided by Sally on her mother's lap. Clark watched her for a while and tried to keep his thoughts from the image of her corpse swallowed by winter. He'd walked over her future grave multiple times. He wondered where they buried the mother…

Thankfully his thoughts were interrupted by the farmer, who came in to say that the cart was ready. Carrying a small lunch in a cloth, Clark climbed aboard. The wife came up to him and handed him a full waterskin.

"Thank you," said Clark.

"That's yours when you move on," she replied.

Clark began to shake his head. "That's too kind. You mustn't…"

"We've accepted your silver coin so please accept our waterskin. I have two more in the back. We've enjoyed your company and we were happy to have you."

"Thank you. I was happy to be here."

"And should you ever come through here again, stop by and see us if you can spare a visit."

Clark nodded. "I will. Thank you."

The wife smiled. "Who knows? Perhaps next time, you'll grace us with your name. I'm Kerry, by the way. My husband's name is Cullen."

Clark looked at the woman. She didn't break her eye contact and waited patiently for his response. In truth, he had been thinking about his name since yesterday. It wasn't that he particularly liked or disliked the name Clark. He didn't think it sounded too out of place in Westeros. But keeping it…made him wary somewhat. As though if he were to truly live in this world for the remainder of his life, he would have to cut all ties with his old one. His possessions, his career…and possibly his name too. Else he would forever be pining to return when he was told it was impossible.

But what was to be his new name? He went through names that sounded cool that no one here would know the story behind, which he claim for himself. Fictional characters. Shere Khan was a great name and no one here would connect the moniker to a man-eating tiger. He could be Mercutio or Caesar or Odin. He could take the name Gabriel and be a guardian angel to this world or Lucifer and leave it to be damned. However, through his musings, he thought of a story he once read. The story included a blind prophet who wandered into the kingdom of Thebes and saw the underlying catastrophe that was waiting to explode. This blind prophet warned the king, but the king would not heed his warning and he suffered the consequences, blinding himself. Clark thought of this prophet and hoped he would have better luck in these seven kingdoms.

And so he gave his new name.

"My name is Tiresias. Thank you for everything, Kerry."

Kerry nodded. "Farewell, Tiresas. We'll pray for you. Wherever you may be."

Clark nodded back and offered his hand to shake, hoping that women did such things here. Kerry looked a little surprised but accepted it with grace. Cullen climbed into the cart and grabbed the reins.

"Here we go." He snapped the reins and the donkey started to walk. Soon Clark saw the farm disappear with Kerry waving goodbye. He waved back, silently wishing her a painless death. They rounded the corner and she was gone.

The trip was boring. No two ways about it. There were only so many trees to look at and it was slow moving as Strawback settled into a steady walk. Eventually Clark asked how the reins worked and the next hour riding was spent with him holding the reins. He hoped he hadn't added any time to their trip. However thankfully, Fairmarket was only a few hours away and they arrived just around noon, or midday as noon would now be known from here on in.

Clark jumped down from the cart, ignoring the sad thought that he would never drive fast again or at all and thought of his task. He looked around, getting his first look at a real Westerosi town. There were yells about the place, each merchant competing against the others. It also stank. He realized how ridiculous he looked. He was significantly taller than Cullen and the clothes showed it. Cullen tied Strawback to the post and walked over to Clark.

"Town too big?"

Clark shrugged. "Just unfamiliar," he said. "So, does Fairmarket live up to its name or do I have to keep my eyes on the prices?"

"Nah, prices are fair enough. But I'll go with you just the same. No sense wandering around trying to find the best. Well, the best for us anyway. You're not a secret prince, are you?"

"No."

Cullen nodded. "Good. Then you can get boots here."

And so, Clark, with the help of Cullen, got himself a pair of leather boots. He paid three stags for them. Which irritated him until he realized that that was probably the most expensive thing he'd buy and Cullen assured him that was a good deal. He wished they had laces though instead of buckles. As for the clothing, Cullen took him to the central marketplace in the village where a sheepherding family had set up a stand. The women of the family took their wool and made clothing with it. It was rudimentary but it served its purpose. Clark was able to get thin burgundy hose that doubled as underwear and socks, dark tan trousers and a forest-green long sleeved shirt. They were cheaper than he expected, but he supposed dyes were not too expensive. At least some dyes weren't.

Plus he was able to get a straw hat, though he was a little late for that. He had already turned pink from yesterday. He also was tempted to skip the cloak, as it was a little warm, but he remembered that he was heading up North when it was autumn. He would be freezing in months. So he purchased a dark blue cloak.

Cullen stood guard while Clark changed and gave him back the borrowed tunic and trousers. He was grateful for the lack of mirrors, as he was sure he looked ridiculous.

There were other things that needed to be purchased besides clothes. He stopped at the blacksmith and bought a small knife and belt. Not enough to wage war but good for carving and small tasks. He also bought flint and steel for starting fires, not wanting a repeat of the first night. He hesitated about buying a straight razor, but in the end he gave in. He needed some ritual to keep him sane and although he could grow a full beard rather quickly, he enjoyed the breeze on his face.

His last purchase was a small rucksack to keep this all in. He folded the blue cloak tightly and placed it in as well. Sensing that he was starting to get a reputation for big spending, he and Cullen rode out a little quickly. They traveled east along the Blue Fork and came to a fork in road, one continuing along the Fork, the other back to the farm.

They paused here to eat their lunch. Clark ate slowly, not wanting to leave one of the few kind people he knew in this world, but he knew Cullen had to get back. He shook the farmer's hand.

"I know you said to stop thanking you, but I need to say it again: thank you."

"You're welcome. We enjoyed your company."

Clark looked at the empty cart. "And the supplies you forgot?"

Cullen shrugged. "I'll get them when I need them. Safe travels, Tiresias."

Clark tried to think what he could say to Cullen to make his future easier. About the Hound and the small girl who would come along. About his wife's death. About the coldest winter in living memory. Instead he merely nodded, thanked him again and before he knew it, he was alone, with the donkey and cart disappearing around the bend.

Clark stood and observed the Blue Fork for a minute. Eventually he just sat down. He had his clothes and his purse. What now? Was he really headed for the North? What for? What did he plan to do? Wouldn't it be better to just head south? Catch a ship to the Summer Isles and hide for the next decade while shit went down? Why not drink himself to death? It was better than dying in the cold or in war. Yes, he loved the characters in the show, but that was a show. It wasn't real. He didn't owe anyone anything. What the hell could he possibly do?

He thought back to the House of Black and White and a small girl asking the guard to let her in, that she had no where else to go and the guard simply replied, "You have everywhere else to go."

Clark had everywhere else to go. He was nobody here, only a stranger with a false name that no one else knew or cared for. That was a freedom that both terrified and excited him. When he got to the Kingsroad, he could fuck off forever and no one would be the wiser. No one but him…

Images of the atrocities in the show flashed through his mind: The destruction of the Riverlands, Ned's beheading, Shireen's burning, the Red Wedding, the Free Folk lost to the Army of the Dead, the North under siege and under Bolton rule, blue fire, King's Landing…he knew it wasn't fair. He didn't belong here. He shouldn't be expected to make a difference. But he was here. For better or worse.

He picked up a rock and tossed it in the river. Christ, morality was a fucking bear. He stood up and started walking along the Fork, which would take him to the Kingsroad.

This was by no means over in his mind. He still didn't know what he would do. But as with the destruction and burial of his former life and the acquirement of a new guise, he had a task for himself:

Below the North, there was the Neck and in the Neck was a reclusive little bastard (not really, a lord but still) who had greensight. Perhaps Howland Reed knew about him already. He would try to speak to Lord Reed. Then if all seemed well, he would worry about Ned Stark and his family and the icy blue eyes beyond the Wall.

He shifted his rucksack. Besides he thought, if I travel to Winterfell months from now and I'm laughed out, I'll have plenty time before shit hits the fan to leave this fucking continent. That is, unless they kill me first for being insane…I really need to work on my opening statement…also earn enough coin for better clothes.

Jesus Christ, these hose are itchy.