Chapter 1

Clark blinked. He was just coming to and all he could see was a blurred green. He blinked again and the green came into focus. He was lying in tall grass, his face against the ground. He could smell the dirt.

He laid there for a few minutes. He had no choice. He was sore, much too sore than he had any right to be. The last thing he remembered before this…was he walking toward his apartment? Was it night? Was there…Jesus, maybe there was a good reason he was sore. Was he drunk? Is that why he couldn't remember?

Anyway, recollections could be had at a later time. He focused his energy and got up. Every movement felt like a release. It was as though he had never stretched before. He savored the feeling. It was immensely pleasurable, as painful as it was. He placed his sunglasses on. Then, putting his arms over his head, he looked around, trying to figure out just where the hell he was.

Somewhere out in the country, that was a given. Probably way out. It was a little warm, but the mountains he saw still had vast snowcaps. Judging by the sun, after a careful glance, he guessed that they were east of him. They seemed to be a fair distance off. To the north, he saw a forest with at least two rivers flowing through it. There was land beyond the forest that looked plowed. Thank God for the small hill and the 20/20 vision. The west was the same forest with the same rivers, although he thought he could make out a road in the distance. And to the south, he saw the same forest with no road and no plowed fields.

Clark brought his hands to his sides. He felt himself beginning to panic and forced himself to take deep breaths. Counting them in. Counting them out. His mom showed him how to do that when he was a kid. It still worked. He felt his heart beat return to normal and he sat down, taking in the view.

Also…the smell. He hadn't noticed it until the deep breaths, but there was something different in the air here. Nothing bad. In fact, quite the opposite…it felt good. The air was pure. More pure than any country air Clark had ever breathed. He looked and saw that the air was clear as well. No smog or any kind of pollution. He was lost in this for a half minute before bringing himself down to earth.

Okay, Clark. Think. You don't know where you are and you don't remember how you got here. First thing's first. Are you hurt?

Clark quickly flexed his digits and gave himself a quick once-over.

No. Not that I can tell. Okay. Next, figure out where you are.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened the Maps app and waited for the screen to load around his blue locator dot…and waited…and waited…

He sat there for a long time until he finally looked to see that he had no service. He sighed. He should have known. He placed the phone back in his pocket. No sense wasting the battery. He took out his keys. All of them still in order. Nothing missing. He put them back and lifted his right ass cheek to fetch his wallet. Same situation. Everything was there. He was relieved at least that nothing was stolen. He had his two credit cards and enough cash for food at any restaurant or convenience store he found.

Okay, so a full wallet, keys, enough battery power on the phone to use it when he could, sunglasses, good shoes on his feet and a rain jacket. He went through the list in his head as he stood up. Not the worst scenario to be in. Next step was to decide where to go. East to the mountains was not smart. The farms up north looked promising, but perhaps it wasn't too bright to go straight there. The dirt road to the west was his best bet. Going through minimal foliage to reach whomever was working the fields. He ran his tongue over his teeth. His throat was a little parched but thankfully he wasn't hungry and the weather was very fair. It was unlikely that he would perish under these conditions before he would reach someone who could help him.

With that in mind and not wanting to waste any more time, he set off down the hill, swinging his arms as he went. He stopped though before he reached the edge of the forest. Focusing so he wouldn't veer off-kilter and fail to keep west. He just had to hit the road.

Refocused, he set off, placing his hands into the pockets of his rain jacket, feeling something curling around his left hand…

Clark stopped immediately, barely three steps into the forest. Slowly he moved his left hand around and relaxed. Whatever it was, it was inanimate. He closed his fingers around the object and retracted it. He stared. He was holding a rolled piece of parchment.

For a long time, he didn't move. The birdsong was the only sound he heard. He swallowed. He knew that he didn't put this in his pocket. He was sure despite everything.

Clark saw his fingers unfold the parchment and before he knew it, he was reading.

To Clark,

You can never return to the life you knew. You should accept that now if you can. This world is now your home, to live and die in. Abandon all hope of trying to return to your old world because it is impossible.

Your predicament is not my doing but I hope you will accept my condolences and forgive me for delivering this message.

I cannot tell you much about this new world of yours. All I can say is that you will find it frighteningly familiar. You will think yourself insane when you realize what this place is and what will that imply, but I tell you now, no matter what you see or experience, this world IS real. And you must take it seriously, in order to survive. If ever you wanted to be someone else, someone new; now is your chance.

I don't have much time so I'll write the rest quickly. First, in order to assist you, I've gifted you with some abilities to help you face the dangers you'll face. Abilities which I'm afraid I cannot name, but you will have to discover. They will manifest over time. Some will take days, others weeks, months, even years. I know this is frustrating but they are there and they will help you. Please believe me.

Second, before you figure out what this world is, beware approaching anyone. You are an alien to them and if you act normally (or what passes for normal in your previous world), you will face dire consequences. Even if you don't believe the first part of this message, please heed that warning at least.

There is so much more I want to say, but that will have to do. Please be careful and take caution. I know those mean the same thing, but you must do it.

Best of luck,

A helping hand

PS: Right where you woke up, dig. I left something for you.

PPS: I know this will not satisfy your curiosity and will probably enrage you even more, but I must say it. Do not wonder who I am. You will never find out. I'm not allowed to say. I'm not even in your world (the old one or the new). I'm just someone with too much power and yet not enough of it. I hope I have used it wisely. I hope you come out of this safely, Clark.

PPPS: You are NOT insane.

Clark stared at the letter, trying to make sense of what he just read. New worlds, abilities, dangers…what? He felt himself going toward one thing in the letter he could make sense of: he ran back to the top of the hill where he woke. He came to the spot, sliding onto his knee and running his fingers through the soft dirt. He dug for a short time before he caught a lace. He pulled and extracted a small pull-pouch from the earth.

He dusted off the pouch and opened it, spilling the contents onto his hands...coins. Silver and copper coins. He examined them, doing his mother's breathing exercise all the while. He had nine silver coins, all of which featured a stag on one side. The copper pieces were a bit more diverse. He had four star ones. The rest varied in size but all had a seven pointed star on the back.

Clark took only a minute more before placing the coins back in the purse and pocketing it. He could figure out the currency later. Right now, he just had to keep moving. He forced himself not to run, forced himself to think about the letter. Was it real? Was this all a joke? He obviously wasn't in Portland anymore, but not even in Maine? In the United States? On planet Earth? He was gone?

No, no, no, he thought as he reached the forest and walked westward through the brush. What other world had breathable oxygen? And a forest? And birds? Nothing in the nearby solar system. Certainly nothing he could travel to quickly and still be as young as he was.

Clark felt his hand tremble and calmed down. He was getting ahead of himself. He obviously didn't travel through space. No matter what the reality was, he was here now, walking through a forest with no idea where he was. He needed to reach the road.

As he walked, he made another decision: despite the batshit insanity of the letter, it was a smart suggestion to avoid approaching strangers until he figured out what was going on. If nothing was up, worst case scenario is that he delays greeting friendly rural folk who would direct him to the nearest bus station. But if something was up…a little caution couldn't hurt.

Speaking of which, he realized how loudly he was crashing through virgin forest and slowed down, quieting his step. His rain jacket was forest green and he was wearing dark brown khakis so he was a little camouflaged. He was thankful for that. He found himself wondering what world this was. The letter said he would recognize it. He would recognize a different world…having never been on any other world but Earth…this was so fucking stupid.

However he maintained his cautious approach, and after forty-five minutes (he checked the time on his phone), he found himself on the tree line besides the dirt road he saw from the hilltop. He peered north and south down the road. Nobody was coming, as far as he could see.

Gingerly he stepped on the road, as though it was going to explode under his feet. He gave a quivering chuckle and shook himself. He set off north, determined to get to the farms before dusk. He kept to the edge though, having made the decision to dive back into the foliage should he hear anyone coming.

He didn't have to wait long. Coming from the north were the sounds of rolling wheels and the clip clop of hooves. Clark got himself under cover with plenty of time to spare. Didn't stop his heart from beating fast enough to kick his ribs.

The source of the clip clops and the wheels came soon. Peering from his spot, Clark saw an old man and what looked to be his daughter atop a cart, being pulled by a donkey. There were sacks in the back. Both the old man and the woman were dressed in coarse material, him in trousers and tunic. She in a faded brown dress marked by work. Clark barely got a good look before they passed by, making good time. The clip clops faded and when Clark finally deemed it safe enough to emerge, they were disappearing around the bend, far away.

Clark continued to stare after them for far too long, before he turned north again. He forced himself to walk. They look like (he marveled that he was using this word seriously) peasants. Peasant farmers. And they weren't costumed. They had to be real. Their faces were marked by the elements, the sun and wind. They weren't using machinery with covering. They were driving a donkey, not a pickup. Had he smelled any gas since he's been here?

He slapped himself in the face. Question for later.

His slap brought him down to reality. Good thing too, because he had just noticed noises coming from the south. He heard hooves. Many many hooves…

Clark dove into the bushes, praying none of them were poisonous and that he wasn't seen diving like an idiot into them. He laid down flat, curling his head out just as far as he dared for a view. He felt vibrations through the earth. And sure enough, ten seconds later, a large group of horses were trotting quickly on the road, just below a gallop.

Moving his eyes up, Clark saw the horses carrying…knights…or least people in armor and boiled leather. He saw swords, shield, spears, bows and flags…flags of a white fish…a salmon on a red background…

Clark blinked several times. The salmon was still there and on the multiple flags carried by the company as they rode onward. He pinched himself hard. He realized his mouth was open and he couldn't quite close it. There was no fucking way…

Eventually, the men rode on and the road became still and quiet again. Clark stayed on the ground. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He did it again and again and again until eventually he was able to sit up. He leaned against a tree.

They are going to a location to shoot. They are a bunch of horse experts and riders and they are needed for a shoot. Or they're shooting here. I just can't see any crew members or equipment. That's it. That's it. It doesn't matter that they finished shooting a year ago. Or that the show ended. Because if what I think is happening is happening, then I am insane. I don't care what the letter says, I am insane, I'm fucking insane...

He felt tears come to his eyes. He took several breaths and took out the purse, examining the coins again. Silver stags. Pennies. Copper stars…seven-pointed stars…

Oh Christ…

He had no idea how long he sat there, breathing deeply and allowing the occasional tear to roll down his cheek. Midday had turned into late afternoon when he wiped his face and stood up. He did feel a little better and he walked back to the road, looking to his rear for any approaching travelers. He wasn't sure if he had entirely accepted this reality yet, but he was sure of one thing, he could not be caught in what he was wearing or with what he was carrying.

He walked for an hour more through the forest. Thankfully he encountered no one. The scariest moments being when he had to come two bridges with no cover either way. Eventually the forest gave way to open fields. Clark marked the spot mentally and set off along a road that sprang from the main one. He walked, keeping his eyes ahead and his ears to the back.

The road was getting smaller, turning into a trail. It was also getting muddy. He registered wheel marks and a few sets of boot prints. He froze.

Shit.

He wheeled around and stared. His own boot prints were in the mud. Going back at least a hundred feet or so. And they looked very conspicuous, with lines and zigzags for grips. He was pretty damn sure no one had grips like these on their shoes in this medieval period.

Jumping on the grass besides the road, Clark looked around and found a thick stick. Making sure no one was really around; he went back, careful to avoid the mud. He began marking the ground and obscuring the boot prints. It wasn't perfect and it still looked strange, but it couldn't be made out to be strange alien footwear from the future at least.

When he was done, he marched right away, cursing himself for his stupidity and for losing time.

No, that won't do anything useful. Breathe, Clark. Damn it. Just breathe.

The rest of the walk was spent avoiding mud in addition for watching for fellow travelers. Thankfully it was a short walk. Clark soon rounded a corner and found himself facing a small cottage. He went immediately into the cover of the forest and made his way toward the property. Settling into the bushes, hidden from the trail and the farm, he waited.

The cottage was definitely lived in. There was smoke coming out of the chimney. Laundry was hung. The field next to the cottage looked maintained. The modest barn next to the house was not decrepit.

A woman came out of the cottage with a basket. She headed toward the hung laundry and put the basket down. She reached into the basket and pulled out a baby. She tickled the little one, cooing and making the babe laugh. Clark felt himself relax. He was lucky. First house he's seen and she seemed a kind homeowner. She put the baby down on the ground and began to pile the laundry into the basket. She was just about to place the final shirt into the basket when a loud whistle pierced the air.

The woman turned west, to the corner in the road where Clark had turned previously. She smiled and began to wave. Clark looked to the corner himself and saw a man riding a cart, being pulled by a donkey. The man waved back and even from his distance, Clark could see the man smile.

Clark turned back to see the woman plop the baby back in the laundry basket on top of the fresh laundry. She made her way back in the house. The man was coming closer and Clark was able to make out his face. He looked very familiar…

He had seen this man before. Where? He racked his brain, trying to remember. Meanwhile, the farmer was turning into the pathway for his home. He pulled the reins, stopping the cart in front of the door. The woman came out and greeted him, as he jumped into the back of the cart and began handing the three covered baskets he had in the back to her. She took the baskets into the house and he walked over to the donkey and began to lead it toward the barn.

Clark watched the entire thing unfold and started to assess what his options were: Theft? Bribery? Death? He gave a brief snort to the idea that he could murder in cold blood. He wasn't a killer. Not yet anyway. But he could be a liar.

His hands ran over his phone, wallet, sunglasses and keys; all in his pockets. He felt his clothes and their machine-stitched perfection that he could never explain. His shoes…

Right now the only things that he could possibly pass off in this world was the parchment note and the sack of coins, of which he still had no idea of their true value.

He watched as the man, who had placed the donkey inside the barn, came back outside and began washing his face. Clark took advantage of his distraction and walked quickly into the forest, counting his steps as he went, breaking a branch every so often to mark his path.

He walked for ten minutes before he stopped. He was calm. In fact, he was a little scared with how calm he was. He knew that eventually he would break down. He would face the overwhelming truth in due time. However for now, he had a clear task to distract him. He breathed. In, hold and then out. He repeated this twice, eyeing the reddening sky. It would be dark soon. He didn't have much time.

Looking around to see that he was truly alone, he went about his task. He gathered as much tinder, kindling and dry wood as he could for a fire. He had no axe or saw to get the big logs that could really burn so he needed a ridiculous amount of sticks. He would be here a while.

Once he gathered enough, or at least what he hoped was enough, he took the big stick he used to obscure his muddy boot prints and began to dig. He dug as fast as he could without losing his breath. He was still thirsty and he was beginning to sweat. He couldn't afford to be dehydrated. Not now.

After fifteen minutes, with the stick broken twice, he was standing in a hole deep enough so that the ground was level with his knees. That was fine. He got out and began stacking the wood for a fire in the pit. The afternoons he spent with the Boy Scouts were coming back to him and he thanked his parents for forcing him to reach the Eagle rank and stick with it. Particularly for that one afternoon when they had to start a fire without any flint…

Clark took the dry tinder and two sticks. He arranged them with the tinder in between the two sticks for the friction point. Then he began to twirl. This was a long process and it took every ounce of patience that Clark had not to scream and give up. Digging the hole and stacking the firepit were easy. The important things here were preparation and persistence. He kept the driest materials he found. Kept building the friction. Kept twirling the sticks. Didn't start cursing after ten minutes of twirling. Didn't start panicking after twenty. Just kept going until…

He got smoke. He blew gently, encouraging the embers into a small flame. He brought the small flame to the kindling at the bottom of the pit. There were tense moments when he thought he would lose it, but finally it stabilized and he had a small fire going. He breathed deeply. That was not fun, but it was gratifying. He placed more sticks on top gently and brought the small fire to a raging medium one.

Clark sat for a minute. He was tempted to just watch his fire and let the evening come. He was very tired, but no. The sun was beginning to go down. He padded his pockets, taking out everything he had: his keys, wallet, sunglasses and phone.

He tossed the keys in first. They needed the most time, though he knew they wouldn't melt entirely. At the least the plastic around the car keys would go. He took out his cash and place that in separately hoping for more kindling. He shook his head at the thought.

More kindling for a raging fire. Jesus.

He put the wallet in, then his sunglasses. He hesitated with his phone. He scrolled through his downloaded music, trying to decide whether or not to quietly play a song for the last time. He would never hear the Princess Mononoke score again or Jimi Hendrix's Band of Gypsies or a growling wail from Tom Waits.

He placed the phone diagonally against a tree, stood up and crushed it with his boot, breaking it in half. He pulled it apart and threw the pieces into the fire. He knew that if he started playing songs for the last time, he would never stop and his fire would be long gone.

He watched the items burn, the fire crackling around them. He fed more sticks to the fire before standing, steeling his mind for what he had to do. He took out the pouch of money and parchment, placing them on the ground. He looked to the sky and sighed.

Now for the fun part.

He started easy and took off his boots. He placed them around the edges of the fire and tented them with sticks, so the flames would travel over and consume them. Same thing for the raincoat. He didn't know how well it could burn, but as least it would be destroyed. He took off his pants and placed them in as well, careful not to smother the fire. Luckily they caught fire quickly. Once they were sufficiently burned, he did the same for his shirt and socks. All the while he added more sticks to the areas covering his jacket and boots.

He put off the underwear until he had to. Finally there was nothing else for it. He stood and in clear view of anyone who would walk through this forest, he pulled off his boxers and tossed them on the flames. They caught fire and he spent another hour, or so he estimated, feeding the fire and shifting the items to ensure maximum destruction, trying to ignore the fact that he was naked. Which was a little difficult when sparks flew into the air.

When the fire had only a few more minutes before it would die out, Clark picked up the parchment note. He read it again. It wasn't anything that would get him in a lot of trouble, but it was still something that could complicate his situation should anyone else read it. He crumpled the parchment and threw into the fire, hoping he was making the right choice.

Clark ran his stick through the ruins when the fire was out, well aware of the ash that was clinging to his legs. He wished he had better light. There were clumps of material here and there, but there weren't too big and they were well destroyed. He stepped out and began piling the dirt back into the hole. When all the earth was replaced, he smoothed it as well as he could, throwing leaves and other debris on top and running the stick through that as well. He stood back. No trace was not exactly the case, but nobody was going to dig this place up. He hoped.

He leaned against a tree and breathed.

All right. That's done. I no longer look like an alien. I'm just a strange man with no clothes and a little money. Okay. Okay.

He picked up the purse, turned into the forest and began walking back, noting his marks and following their path. He stopped at a stream halfway. Night was here, but the moon was full and out of the clouds now, so he was able to see with only a little difficulty. He rubbed his legs clean and rid himself of the ash as well he could.

Finally when he was clean enough, he picked up a small stone. He placed the small stone to his left eye. He hated himself for what he was about to do. But he needed it for his story. And holding it off won't make it hurt any less.

He swung the stone down to his side and brought it up again quickly, hitting his cheek just below the eye. Not hard enough to break a bone, but still hard enough to leave a big mark. And to bleed. He threw the rock away and brought his hand cold from the stream water to his face.

"Fuuuuck," he moaned lowly, allowing himself one curse. He kneeled in the dirt for a bit, gathering himself before lying down. He rolled once, twice before getting up and continuing.

It seemed to take longer getting back to the cottage. There was moonlight now, but still. He had no footwear or anything else. He carried the purse in one hand and he pressed his eye with the other until finally he came to the road. He paused in the tree line, peering at the farm. There was firelight coming from the inside. Clark sighed.

All right. Dear Lord, please don't let me fuck this up.

Checking to make sure that no one was coming on the road, he crossed it and made his way to the door, noting the cart that was off to the side.

He paused before the door. Judging by the fact that they were still talking, they hadn't heard him approach. Remembering where he was, he wondered if he should affect an accent. He lived in Maine, but he grew in the Pacific Northwest. He spoke pretty flatly. He did speak some German though, and a few of the actors in the show were German. Maybe he could…

He grimaced and snapped out of it. There was no time for that. And in any case, he couldn't keep up the accent.

You're a foreigner, Clark. From here on in, you're a foreigner. You can't hide it. So embrace it. Don't flaunt it though. And stop lingering on their doorstep naked!

He took a deep breath and knocked. He didn't wait for an answer as he immediately ran to the cart, going behind it. His bare ass was presented to the road but at least he was hidden from the couple inside.

He waited a little while before the door opened. Obviously no one visits these people at night. The man stepped out and peered, seeing no one.

"Hello?" he called.

Clark gritted his teeth.

Oh fuck me, here we go.

"Hello. Over here," he called back, trying to put fatigue and desperation in his voice. It wasn't too difficult. The farmer snapped his head to the cart and his eyes found Clark's.

"Hello. I'm sorry to bother you, but I was set upon by bandits and I need some help. Could you help me please?"

The farmer took a few steps forward.

"Why are you behind the cart?"

Clark took a breath. "Well sir," he said before cursing himself. Shit, don't call him sir. The only Sers here are actual knights. "Well friend, to be completely honest, I'm naked. I'm no danger to anyone. But I…I am naked."

There was a short silence. The wife came out cautiously.

"Why are you naked?" the farmer asked, sounding very confused.

"I was set upon by bandits. And being outnumbered and a bit cowardly, I ran into the forest. When I got out of their sight, I put my coin in a rabbit hole and ran on, until they caught up to me. When they searched me and saw I had no purse, they stripped me and gave me a light beating before leaving me in the forest. I think they were annoyed that I had led them on a chase for no reason."

The farmer and his wife were silhouetted by the firelight behind and Clark couldn't make out their faces. He pressed on.

"Look, I retrieved my purse when they were gone and I've been walking for a long time. I'm so sorry I disturbed you and your wife's evening. But if you had some clothing you could spare, a meal, water or any of the three, I'd be very grateful. I could paid you for your trouble."

The crickets were the only sound for a long time. Clark held his breath, realizing he probably should have scoped out a few more farms and seen which one seem the most amiable. He hoped that his initial feeling was true…

The farmer went back to his wife and they muttered to each other before she went back inside and he turned back to Clark.

"No need for payment, friend. You stay there and I'll bring you some clothes. My wife just did some laundry. After you're dressed, you can come on in and take supper with us."

Clark sighed in relief. "Thank you. Thank you so much." The farmer's wife came back out with a shirt and trousers and handed them to the farmer before going back in. The farmer approached the cart and tossed the clothing to Clark. Clark quickly dressed, slightly registering the roughness of the fabric but he didn't care. He was clothed.

He stepped out and shook the farmer's hand.

"Thank you."

The farmer smiled. "Don't mention it. You're tall. They may not fit well, but you covered at least."

Clark smiled and followed the farmer into the cottage. He felt the warmth wash over him like water. His eyes fell on the table. They had already eaten, but the wife was spooning stew into another bowl. She turned, pointing at the table.

"Come on, sit," she said, her eyes as kind as her husband's. Clark nodded and sat down. A cup of water was placed before him. He nodded at the farmer.

"Thank you," he said, before drinking gingerly. He knew better than to gulp water down when one was dehydrated.

The farmer sat down opposite him. "That's a nasty cut to your face. And a mark to go along with it."

Clark shrugged. "Could have been worse."

"Aye, it could have. Still, we could bandage that later."

Clark nodded. "Thank you."

The farmer waved his hand. "And stop thanking me. It's the way of Seven, to look after unfortunate travelers."

A cry echoed from a small cot in the room. The farmer got up and picked up the small child, patting her back gently.

Clark took a small sip of water. "How old is she?"

"Eight moons," said the wife, as she placed a bowl of stew before him.

"She's beautiful," said Clark, his mind wandering for a phrase. "Seven blessings."

The wife smiled. "Thank you." She sat down at the table, sighing. She looked exhausted.

The stew looked delicious, but Clark didn't eat right away. Thinking he looked hokey, but he did it anyway, he bowed his head, folded his hands under the table and began muttering under his breath. It seemed like a good thing to do in front of his saviors. Plus he had plenty of experience pretending to pray from his childhood.

When he was finished, he picked up his spoon and began to eat, as politely as he could. The wife was appraising him.

"Are you a man of faith?"

Nope.

Clark shook his head. "Just on my own time."

"Hmm," the wife said. She reached over and ran her finger gently over the cut under the eye. "Not too bad. You don't need a stitch. But I should clean it."

She got and began putting strips of cloths in the boiling water. Clark turned his attention to the baby.

"She got a name?" he asked, before inserting more stew in his mouth. It was really delicious.

"Sally," the farmer said proudly, rocking her gently.

It was a good thing that the husband and wife were distracted at the moment, because Clark felt a look of shock run across his face and he was sure he looked horrified. He put his face back to normal before the farmer made eye contact again.

It was one of those annoying things about his memory. He wasn't a fanatic about the show. He really enjoyed it, even loved it, but it's been years since he read the books and he wasn't an expert on everything that Martin put into the story or every detail in the show. However, sometimes he just held on to a certain fact or piece of trivia. For no reason that he could fathom. And right now, he remembered. He remembered why the farmer looked so familiar. This farmer was the same farmer that would be robbed of his silver by Sandor Clegane. His daughter was named Sally.

He glanced at the stew. Rabbit stew. The same stew that the little babe in her father's arms would learn how to make. Taught by her mother probably, who was still alive. But they would all die. Sooner than they thought. Sally in her father's arms, decomposing…

Clark swallowed his stew and continued to eat mechanically. He knew he had to eat, but still his mind wandered. He had held onto the belief still that this was all bullshit. That he was insane for burning and burying his possessions and that these medieval farmers were friendly nutjobs who wanted to get back to the olden times.

But no. He was truly in Westeros. Sometime before the show began. And it was all real. It was his world now. He was in Westeros. He had to live the rest of his life in Westeros...

Son of a bitch.

If the farmers mistook his silent whirlwind of emotion as him being tired, he let them make that assumption. He actually was exhausted. Nobody said anything more as Clark ate. The wife brought out a few slices of the densest bread Clark had ever tasted. After another cup of water, Clark was quite satiated.

The wife came over with the hot cloths and a bottle of something.

"Come, sit over here," she said. Clark got up, realizing just how much taller he was before sitting down before the light of the fire. She grabbed his face gently and pressed a cloth to the wound, wiping away the dirt.

"Your husband tells me you did laundry today, yes?" said Clark, trying not to wince.

"I did." She finished wiping and was now dabbing a dry cloth with whatever was in the bottle.

"I'm wearing your fresh clothes and getting them dirty again. I'm sorry."

The wife shrugged and pressed the cloth to the cut. It stung and Clark shut his eyes trying to maintain some dignity. The ointment smelled nice though.

"We work the land, stranger. My husband and I aren't afraid of dirt. And as handsome as you are, I don't think I'd appreciate seeing you naked in my house. Think nothing of it."

Clark smiled. He liked this family. He tried not to think about their future. The wife washed the wound again and left him by the fire. The farmer approached him.

"Would you care for an ale? Or would you prefer to go to bed?"

Clark considered the ale. He would have loved any booze at the moment. But for now, he felt tired. More tired than he had ever been in his entire life.

"I think I just want to sleep now."

The farmer nodded. "Right. Follow me."

Clark and the farmer walked outside and to the barn. The smell of animal hit Clark pretty hard, but it was warm and he was tired enough. The farmer handed him a coarse blanket.

"You can sleep there," he said pointing at the haystack. "Or there," pointing at the wooden loft. "Or anywhere you find comfortable. Just beware of Strawback here," he said, patting the sleepy donkey. "He's a fine barnmate, but he needs his space. My wife and I are having a rest day tomorrow. I sold our harvest today in town. Wake up when you feel like and join us for a meal. Sleep well."

The farmer walked out and Clark fumbled his way to the loft. The wooden surface was not the greatest mattress but he was too tired to care. He pulled the blanket over himself as well as he could and closed his eyes.

Maybe he would wake up on another hill. In Maine. Or somewhere where he didn't have to walk naked to avoid seeming crazy.

Strawback gave a sneeze. That was the last thing that Clark heard before falling asleep.