Chapter 6

The next day saw multiple groups staggering out of the clearing. All of who went to check in with Howland Reed before they departed. It was certainly the most relaxed feudal system that Clark had seen so far in Westeros. Not that he had much to compare it with at this point, but still even thinking about taxes or farming or serfdom…not much of it seem to apply to the crannogmen. Howland obviously got some sort of tribute, but Clark felt safe guessing that he was one of the poorest lords in the entire kingdom. He seemed happy enough though.

Maybe just living in the Neck was full time survival. To make it any more complicated was to doom themselves. They certainly made it impossible for anyone else to invade and conquer them. No army could march or ride through here. Not that the crannogmen had anything worth conquering for, at least in the eyes of those who ruled. If they had any treasure, they kept it secret.

In the back of his mind though, he wondered how many White Walkers and wights it would take for this place to be overrun. Probably fewer than he thought. He had been thinking about the Army of the Dead for a while now, especially considering the Battle of Winterfell. It seemed like they were most similar to ants, in his mind at least. How does one defend from a swarm of human-sized ants?

A question for another day.

That was a phrase he'd been repeating to himself quite often these days. He was nowhere near settled enough to try and influence the future he saw for Westeros, the one that he consumed for entertainment. If he was to try and influence future events anyway. He hadn't heard from Howland Reed yet. Maybe his day would end with him being killed or being sent south or across the Narrow Sea.

Eventually midday passed. Everything that their group possessed was packed and they were the last ones waiting to be dismissed by Howland Reed. The group before theirs was just disappearing to the north and Harn came up to them. His scowl hadn't moved from last night.

"Lord Reed wants to see you," he said, addressing Annag. He then turned to Dallan and Martan. "You two stay here and watch him." He jabbed his thumb at Clark, who exchanged a quick eyebrow raise with Martan.

What? Exactly what you've been doing?

Martan sighed under his breath, as if to say I suppose. Annag and Dallan exchanged a glance before she walked off to Howland's tent, with Harn following her. It was still up. Null, Arten and one other crannogman stood guard. She entered without any preamble. Harn took his position outside.

Clark looked around, but there was nothing to do. Dallan and Martan didn't seem pressed to accomplish anything in their time alone, so Clark took to their example and stood quietly, trying to follow the birdsong that was sounding through the trees. He actually followed a bird for two minutes to the north, at least he thought so. It was difficult to tell. Dallan sat on his pack, his eyes closed. Martan keep a lazy eye on him. Clark nodded and smiled, turning back to the trees. His straw hat was ruined the first day in the bog and discarded. His hood on the cloak was his only protection, but he didn't mind the sun too much anymore, although he still preferred the cold to the heat. His pink burns had turned into tans for the most part. He even found himself not squinting as much anymore, if at all. He had become a little tougher in these last two months.

At least he certainly hoped so, because Annag was returning to their group and she looked very angry. Calm, but still very angry.

"He wants to see you," she said, addressing Clark without looking at him. Knowing the futility of asking what was wrong, he stood immediately and walked toward Howland Reed's tent. He approached the entrance. Harn was glaring at him. Clark was tempted to throw him into another guard, as he did with the soldiers at the inn. But he simply nodded politely.

"Afternoon," he said, and walked in, not waiting for a reply.

Howland Reed was sitting. He seemed rested though and relaxed. He smiled at Clark, which he hoped was a good sign. The other entrance to the tent was open, allowing natural light to come in.

"Lord Reed," said Clark. He bowed slightly.

"Tiresias," said Howland, as he stood up. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes…did you?"

"Yes, I believe I did." Howland walked around the table, to the back exit. His limp was there, but it was slight. "Would you indulge me and take a small walk with me? I've been in this tent all day and I'd like some afternoon air."

He exited and Clark caught up with him. Outside, the guards began to follow but Howland waved his hand.

"Thank you, friends, but please don't. Relax for a few minutes. I'll be back shortly."

All the guards nodded and retreated back to their posts, including Harn. Clark walked with Howland, matching his slow pace. It was a good thing the clearing was so small. Clark decided to break the silence when they fell out of earshot.

"Your men are very concerned for your well-being."

"As they should be," replied Howland. "Harn's ire toward you may seem a little blunt. He is not used to outsiders and certainly not amiable toward strangers in our secret meeting grounds. There's something sacred about this clearing."

"You don't sound concerned about me being here."

Howland shrugged. "Whether or not a place is holy depends on the behavior of who is occupying the place. However you don't seem disrespectful to the land. A little ignorant perhaps if Annag is to be believed, but harmless."

Clark grinned a little. "Ignorant?"

"It's not the worst thing to be in your situation. Do you know where you are on a map? Could you find your way out of the Neck and then back to this place?"

"No," said Clark with no hesitation.

Howland Reed smiled. "Harn holds these lands above all else. He's proud of them. He sees you walking in like an idiot and surviving, it puts something into his head. But you're no threat. Not yet anyway."

With that, Howland sat down. Clark waited a second, before sitting down himself.

"Not yet?" he asked.

There was no answer. Clark checked to make sure they were clearly out of earshot and went with another question.

"Did you greendream last night?"

Howland shrugged. "Perhaps. It might have been an ordinary dream."

"What did you see?" Clark asked, the hair on his neck rising.

"A pack of wolves were running through the forest. They were of different sizes and coloring. They were content and happy to be together. Then a great snow started to fall. And the leader of the pack, the oldest, couldn't see. He was blind. The snow continued and his pack was beginning to be buried. The smallest was gone first and they still looked to the leader for guidance. But he couldn't help. He was strong, but he had never seen snow like this before. However, before the snow could claim another, a whistle pierced through the clearing. The leader turned toward the whistle. He howled. The whistle answered. So the blind wolf gathered what remained of his family and made for the whistle. They came upon a cave, with a roaring fire and a shepherd standing guard. The shepherd guided them in and tended to those injured and cold. He did so cautiously and the wolves regarded him with suspicion as well. Shepherds are meant for sheep and they did not belong with wolves."

There was silence. Clark waited for the rest, but Howland seemed like he was done.

"Is that it?" asked Clark, his worry growing.

"Maybe," said Howland.

"So…most of the wolfpack survives and they growl at the man who saved them and the man is frightened as well?"

"At first, yes. He did not belong with them. As I woke though, I felt the cave grow warm and relaxed. He tended to them."

A small snake slithered onto Howland's leg. Clark jumped slightly but Howland seemed undisturbed. He continued to speak.

"I'm going to say this once, Tiresias. Don't lose yourself in greendreams or however else you see the future. It's not set and even recounting the dream to you, I can't tell what was lost or added due to my own prejudices."

"Are your dreams usually true?"

The snake slithered off his leg and into the waters below.

"Usually," said Howland. "But I always miss most of what surrounds the vision. It may not concern the Starks. It's just a dream at the end of it. And it's tempting to see yourself in the dream, when you may not even be there. Are you the shepherd? I cannot say. Maybe you're the cave."

"It was my blood."

"And it may have been an ordinary dream. However…" Howland's voice remained light, but his eyes were stone. "If you're right and the White Walkers do return, snow should command more significance."

"I didn't say anything about White Walkers."

"No. Just a return of magic and monsters from the North."

That warranted a short pause from Clark.

"Okay, fair enough."

"On the other hand," said Howland. "Perhaps the snow represents the calamity that come down on the Starks through Jon Snow himself. If he's discovered, Robert's wrath will bury Ned and his family. He'll be unprepared and no one will be safe."

Clark threw a pebble.

"So what do I do?"

Howland reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter. He handed it to Clark, who noticed the red waxed seal. It was a tiny little lion lizard. He looked at Lord Reed.

"Your seal?"

Howland stood and Clark joined him. "You are not my subject. I cannot tell you what to do. If so many atrocities are converging at once, I wouldn't blame you if you decided to flee. However…if you are serious about Westeros being your new home and you wish to help, I believe you could do far worse than to head north and be the eyes that the blind wolf lacks."

Clark looked at the letter. "And this?"

"A letter from an old friend, advocating for a stranger. One thing I'm certain of from the greendream last night is you. I know you're telling the truth when you say you mean no harm to the Starks. I saw a good nature from you. I admit I don't know what use you would be around Winterfell as a sailor, but I suggest you find one. I think you will, won't you?"

"Yes."

Howland started walking back to the tent, Clark on his tail. They entered and Howland turned with another question.

"Do you have enough coin to travel to Winterfell?"

Clark blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Coin. Do you have enough?" He opened a chest and pulled out a purse. He opened it onto the table and separated some silver. "Will seven stags and ten stars do?"

Clark swallowed. "Lord Reed, please that's not necessary. I can manage until…"

"You're lying," said Howland lightly.

He left the allotted amount on the table, placing the purse back in the chest. He scooped the coppers and silver from the table and deposited it in Clark's hand, taking it from his side. Clark stood there dumb.

"If it makes you feel better, this isn't from the treasury. This is my own private purse and I know I can spare it. If you need any more help sleeping, you can call this a loan and not a gift. But it is a gift. Understand?"

Clark nodded. "Thank you, Lord Reed. Thank you."

Howland beckoned and Clark followed him out of the tent.

"Don't thank me yet, Tiresias. You still need to get out of the Neck and I don't trust you not to die on your way out."

"That's reasonable," said Clark.

"I can't spare a whole group of crannogs to escort you, but I will give you one," said Howland.

"Which one?" asked Clark as they reached the last group left. He looked to the group and saw his question answered. Annag's scorn was back in full force. Dallan and Martan were trying hard not to smile. Howland stepped to them. Dallan handed him a pouch of coins and a folded parchment, reporting their progress.

"Thank you, Dallan. And you too, Martan. I thank you both for continuing on, one crannog short. Annag will join you back at Greywater when she is done with her task. Be safe."

"Yes, my Lord," said Dallan, inclining his head. Martan gave a short bow as well. They both picked up their bags. Clark and them exchanged a quick stare before Martan went forward and shook Clark's hand. Dallan did the same.

"Thank you," said Clark.

Dallan glanced to Annag, before turning back to him. "Good luck," he said, releasing his hand. With that, Dallan and Martan turned and disappeared into the western marshes, though Clark could hear them continue to march on the wet grounds.

That left Clark alone with Annag. He looked at her and saw her picking up her bag. She met his eyes.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said. "Get your bag. We need to go."

She marched off without another word. Clark turned to Howland Reed, wanting desperately to say something else. Anything. However it all seemed so useless. He settled for short and sweet.

"I'll repay you one day, Lord Reed. I swear it."

He stuck out his hand and Howland shook it. "Be careful with what you know, say and do. You have a great opportunity here, Tiresias. Don't waste it."

"I'll do my best. Good bye."

Howland nodded and Clark turned, stooping to grab his rucksack and cloak. He ran after Annag, who was near the edge of the clearing, heading east. It wouldn't do to lose his reluctant guide moments after they started.

It took only two weeks to get to the Kingsroad. Annag walked and navigated the way with a brisk purpose, to get this idiot out of the Neck alive and as quick as possible. At least that's what Clark assumed. He was impressed that she kept her ire up. Most of the rage and anger he's felt during his life was short-lived. It's exhausting to be cross all the time. Maybe that was just a testament to Annag's endurance. She walked northeast, through bogs and murk that she treated tenderly the month before. Being light on her feet, she never destroyed anything in her way, but it was still jarring.

Clark followed as best he could. Truthfully, he wasn't doing terribly for an outsider, at least he thought so. The month he spent with Martan, Dallan and a then more patient Annag toughened him up enough to where he only asked for a break once a day, as opposed to multiple times. He didn't even need more and didn't hold out for bravado, he genuinely felt almost giddy to be dirty in a swamp. He wondered once he got out, whether he would miss the frog-calls in the evenings as he fell asleep.

Perhaps he only felt so giddy because he had a guide to take him back to the Kingsroad. He certainly didn't want to live in the Neck forever. He wanted to get North. Still he felt good that he had a chance to travel with Dallan, Martan and Annag. He hoped that they were amiable to visits in the future.

That last thought made him pause. Christ, I'm desperate for friends. I like them and I'm happy to have traveled with them, but I was their burden and I fucked up their schedule and their grouping…whenever I caused an inconvenience back home for someone, I'd send them an apology and a five dollar gift card. The fuck do I do for this pissed woman in front of me?

He tried to temper his glee from there on in. He tended to the fire every night and cooked. He was getting pretty good with the flint and steel, stepping right back into his Eagle Scout shoes. Annag took care of the light hunting and water gathering. It was just quicker than watching some idiot stumble and scare away the animals. Although a week in, Clark did spot some mushrooms that Dallan identified as safe in their travels. He picked them and produced them for the stew that night. Annag didn't roll her eyes and placed them straight in, which Clark took for a win. That night, in response to Clark's polite "Good night," she grunted.

Make that two wins.

The following week was lighter. She still didn't speak to him but the intensity lessened and now it just seemed politely quiet at times.

The only time she spoke was at the end of the two weeks of traveling. She said that they would arrive the next day around midday and she'd walk him past Moat Cailin. Once he was on solid ground again, he was on his own. Clark thanked her and that was all what was spoken between them until later that night.

Dinner was done and the fire was out. They just laid out on their respective cloaks. Clark peered up to the sky. The trees were not as dense here and starlight was shining through, reflecting off the bog water.

"Do you have a favorite constellation, Annag?" he whispered, not knowing why he whispered.

He heard her turn over and felt her consternated gaze lock onto him. He met her eyes, surprised he could actually see them. The starlight was intense tonight. She looked surprised, but not annoyed. She brought her face up and peered. Nothing was said for a solid minute and then she pointed to the northwest.

"The Shadowcat. She's my favorite."

He followed her hand as best as he could. He knew better than to ask her to connect the dots, instead logging that name away for an astronomy book if he could even find one. Maybe in Winterfell. He hoped he could sweet talk Maester Luwin into letting him read that. Or anything for that matter.

Annag then pointed straight up.

"And the Mason. He's a right comfort."

"Aye," said Clark. "He is." He turned over, closing his eyes. "Good night, Annag."

He heard her turn as well and settle in with her usual grunt.

The next morning they made good time. Clark didn't even see the Kingsroad until he was right in front of it. He stepped onto solid ground for the first time in nearly seven weeks. He almost did a fist pump before stopping himself. He couldn't resist a victorious yell though. Annag joined him seconds later.

"I suppose I should be insulted. Are you so happy to be out of our big swamp?" she asked.

"Aren't you happy that I'm out of your big swamp?" Clark said, grinning like a maniac.

Annag tapped her shoes against a tree. "We've another few miles to go before we get past Moat Cailin. We'll get there before it's dark, but not that much before. Days are getting shorter. Come on."

With that, she turned north and walked. Clark assumed that when they stopped walking on bogs, he would have less trouble keeping up with her. But that wasn't the case. She still walked briskly and only by the grace of his height; did he manage to keep step with her.

Still, the Kingsroad did much to lift his spirits. It was the happiest he'd been in a long time. Forget the medieval clothing and it was almost like he was back in his old world, hiking with his dad on summer weekends. The memory cheered him but the thought hurt him. He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued to walk.

Moat Cailin was a fucking mess and that brought down the mood. He looked over the ruins and pondered. He knew that before it went into ruins, it essentially was a solid wall, preventing any southern army from invading. He considered telling Ned Stark that he should repair it. But then again, was it impenetrable from every angle? Could it hold off wights and White Walkers from the North? Dragons from the air? Besides, even if it could, rebuilding a fortress takes years. Did they have enough time?

Clark shook his head, then chuckled at himself. He needed a new way to process his flashes of inspiration and the disappointments that followed. He was beginning to resemble a horse, shaking his head, shaking off overwhelming tangent thoughts like flies.

Annag had stopped and Clark walked a little ahead of her. The sun was beginning to go down and there was still enough light to make out vast fields and meadows with clusters of wood in the distance.

"Welcome to the North," said Annag behind him.

A cool wind rippled across the fields and kissed his face. It felt wonderful after so much time spent in a swamp. He couldn't help but smile. It wasn't exactly like the pleasant chill back home, but it was so similar it didn't matter. He turned to see Annag, who was partly turned toward the south, eager to return to the Neck. He walked back to her and stuck out his hand.

"Thank you," he said. "I know I'm the idiot you got stuck with, but thank you all the same. I owe you my life."

Annag gazed at him for a few seconds before taking his hand and shaking it. She let go gently.

"Horrible things are really going to come, are they?" she said quietly. "Things that you have seen?"

"Not for a few years hopefully, but yes."

"Then forget owing me your life. Use it instead to do what you can."

Clark hesitated, then nodded. "All right. I'm still grateful."

Annag rolled her eyes. She then reached into her bag and pulled out the knife and belt, handing it to Clark, who put it on.

"Thank you," he said.

She stared at him. "A word of advice for you. You best come up with a better story for yourself. One you can carry. Cause you're no sailor."

The wind carried the silence for a bit. Clark sighed.

"What gave it away?"

"Your hands are too soft. You're a hard worker and you know knots, but you don't tie them often," she said. "A bit slow with them. Also, there's no Mason in the stars."

Clark blinked and looked up at the darkening sky, then back to Annag. There was a quiet triumph in her eyes, though she still didn't smile.

"I knew before then, but that only sealed it. I'd think a sailor would know his constellations better than anyone."

Scratching his head, Clark cursed himself. He should have known better than to converse about a subject that could trip him up. That was a stupid mistake.

"Yes, he would."

Annag turned to face him fully, her back against Moat Cailin.

"I don't know why you lied. Maybe you have a distasteful past. But you don't seem dangerous and Howland Reed says you're no enemy of ours. So I'm not angry. But…" she said, stepping forward and locking her eyes with his. "You're here to do important things, Howland Reed says that too, and they may help save many people. And if you fuck that with another paltry story like that sailor tune…that would make me angry. Furious even. So please…don't fuck it up."

Clark found himself staring, before nodding.

"I promise," he said. Annag sighed and they stood in silence for a bit before she spoke again.

"The next inn's not for another twenty miles or so down the road. I'd find myself a safe tree to lie under if I were you."

Clark nodded. "I will. Thank you, Annag. Goodbye. Say hello to Dallan and Martan for me when you see them."

She gave the slightest smile. "Goodbye, Tiresias." And with that, she turned south and starting marching toward Moat Cailin. He was tempted to watch her disappear but he needed to keep moving. Besides he'd probably have plenty of somber farewells to drag out in the future.

So he turned and began walking again. On the road to Winterfell. The excitement was back and although he knew that the long walk north would probably temper it in the weeks to come, it still wasn't the worse way to begin his time in the North.

He had no idea how far he traveled before setting down for the night. There didn't seem to be any danger around his sleeping spot, but he decided not to start a fire anyway. Dinner was smoked lizard jerky and the freshest water the Neck could provide. He chewed silently, watching the stars in total darkness. That potential book of constellations in Winterfell's library was sounding better and better. Anything to make sure that he didn't fall into that trap again. Plus, he liked pretty shiny celestial bodies. He looked to the west and wondered if the Shadowcat was real. He supposed he'd find out at some point.

He snuggled into his cloak, content with the day. Unfortunately it was a little marred when he was drifting off to sleep. He realized that he completely neglected to ask Howland Reed what year it was or how old Ned Stark's kids were.

After calling himself a stupid son-of-a-bitch for two minutes, Clark shrugged and closed his eyes.

Just one more fun surprise awaiting me at Winterfell. Still have to get there. Walk across a country as large as the other kingdoms. Oh Christ on a cracker, this will be such a motherfucker.

Clark fell asleep with a small grin, laughing at himself. He resolved to keep an ear out for Westerosi swearing in the upcoming weeks. He would need to sound a little more medieval when he was pissed off.