Chapter 11

The Great Hall was full of soldiers and lords, preparing to ride out for their respective keeps. Clark had expected them to be gone by the time he went down for breakfast, but instead he walked into a relatively crowded hall of hungover, miserable men murmuring softly to one another. One young Karstark lad ran past him out the door, looking for a safe place to be sick. Laughter filled the end of the hall before stifling out.

Clark looked to the end of the hall to see Catelyn Stark, sitting with Bran. He strode toward them. It had been a while since he'd spoken to the Lady of Winterfell. Walking past a group of Glover men, he caught a few whispers and suppressed a grimace. He didn't know how quickly or far stories of last night's bout would travel. He certainly didn't need it spreading farther than Winterfell. For now though, it was only that one group and Clark heard no more whispers follow him up the hall.

Bran looked at Clark as he approached, having starting to recognize him in the past few months. He would be turning two soon. Catelyn followed Bran's gaze and locked eyes with Clark. She looked exhausted, but collected. He stopped before her table and nodded politely.

"Good morning, Lady Stark. How are you?" he said.

She smiled, but her eyes were strained. "I'm fine, Tiresias, thank you for asking. And how do you fare?"

"Fairly decent, my lady. Better than most here. Though I admit, not much of a standard to meet."

The shadow of a laugh went across her face.

"May I help you, Tiresias?"

"I wished to speak to you, my lady, about the library and its future contents. I'd figured…"

"Tiresias," Catelyn stated, interrupting. "I appreciate your diligent work to expand Winterfell's library. However, I'm afraid I don't have the time or energy today to worry about it. I need to see these men off. I need to check the stores. I need to speak to Maester Aemon about Theon Greyjoy. Those are my priorities now and I can't set them aside to deal with our literary revival. I need…"

She paused and looked at Bran, who was watching this conversation in utter fascination. Sighing, she reached over and broke his bacon in bite sized pieces.

"Come on, dear. Finish your breakfast, like a good boy, so you can grow," she said.

Bran gave one last look to his mother and Clark, before continuing to eat. Lady Catelyn turned to Clark.

"I apologize for my outburst, Tiresias. I appreciate your hard work, but I'm afraid I don't have the time to tend to the project."

"No apology is necessary, my lady," Clark said. "I had nothing immediate to discuss. I simply wanted to say that in my ongoing task to collect mores tomes and volumes for the library, if there are any specific works you would wish to acquire or topics on which you would want me to gather, Lord Stark, Maester Luwin and I would gladly welcome your suggestions. Your husband may rule the North, but you're the Lady of Winterfell. So when it comes to the library's expansion, well, it really wouldn't do in my view to not bring in your opinion. Should you wish to give it."

Lady Catelyn peered at him, not saying a word. Clark cleared his throat.

"That's all I really wanted to say. I know you'll be tremendously busy the next few days." He nodded again. "My lady," he said, making to turn away.

"Tiresias," Catelyn said. Clark stopped, looking at her.

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, my lady."

She gestured to the bench in front of her.

"Sit, please."

Clark did so. A serving girl came behind him immediately. He turned to see Mal.

"Morning, Mal."

She didn't look hungover. If she was surprised to see him with Lady Stark for breakfast, she didn't show it.

"Good morning," she said briskly.

Usually, Tiresias and she would have bantered. But the look in her eyes suggested that wouldn't be the case this morning. Too casual when serving the high lords and ladies. Even at breakfast.

"May I please have some bacon with a hardboiled egg and bread with butter if we have any left?" he asked.

She nodded. "We do. Ale?"

"Just water, thank you."

Mal went off and Clark was alone with Lady and little Lord Stark. Catelyn leaned back in the chair ever so slightly. It was hardly noticeable up close.

"It is tiring, hosting a group of rowdy Northerners, isn't it?" Clark asked.

Catelyn gave a slight smile. "They'll be off soon. Ned will be here. I'm very lucky, I know. Not many women still have their husbands after two wars. Well…" She shrugged. "One war and one rebellion, I suppose. I doubt history will label it anything more than that."

"Conflict is always a risk, my lady," Clark said. "I'm not just saying this because your lord husband gave me my position, but I'm very happy to see him back as well."

"Thank you, Tiresias," she said before attending to Bran, who decided to start running his fingers through the egg yolk. Clark waited as Catelyn handed him off to the governess. She kissed him goodbye. Bran's eyes went to Clark as he was led off, holding his governess's hand. He waved to the little lord, who promptly waved back before disappearing for a bath.

Catelyn turned back to him. "I was so distracted by the rebellion and everything else concerning Winterfell, that I forgot to say: the new layout is beautiful. I was worried it would seem overcrowded, but it's quite elegant."

"Thank you, my lady."

"I'm sure the children will enjoy it as they grow."

Clark shrugged. "Perhaps. Though some children, probably most, prefer to learn outside than in an old library."

"Robb is such a boy and I'm afraid Arya will follow him," said Catelyn, sipping her water. "She can't sit still."

"Robb reads a fair bit for his age. He just follows his interest…which is exclusively warfare, but he pursues it himself after his lessons. Arya will be the same. She has energy, but she's too intelligent not to want to learn what she's interested in."

Mal returned to the table with a cup, which she filled with water. Clark thanked her as she left and took a sip.

"We can hope," said Catelyn. "Though I will say, you've had quite an influence on them. The children find you fascinating. I'm glad they've grown accustomed to you in the past few months."

He placed his water down. "Were you in the library much as a child, Lady Stark? At Riverrun?"

She thought for a few seconds. "Not much, I believe. I enjoyed reading the old songs. They were romantic. I read many books concerning the Faith of the Seven. I suppose that's something I could ask you to keep a lookout for in your literary inquiry."

Already thinking of excuses not to do so, Clark nodded. "Yes, my lady."

She gave a conceding sigh. "I do suppose I enjoyed the rivers more than the library. There are not many rivers here."

Clark swallowed. "Must have been a good childhood. You, your sister and brother? Lysa and Edmure?"

She nodded. "Yes, she was happy then."

"Was it just the three of you, then?"

"For the most part, yes."

"Whom else did you play with at Riverrun?" said Clark, praying he sounded natural.

"Many of the noble children if their lord fathers were calling on the court. My father had a ward. When we were younger and it was harmless, we'd played with the maids. One of them was very good at hiding."

"Whom did your father bring on as a ward?" asked Clark, as he brought the cup up to his mouth for a covering sip.

"Lord Petyr Baelish," said Catelyn. "Although we didn't call him that as children. He was simply Petyr or Littlefinger. His father became close with ours during the campaign against the Ninepenny Kings."

"Littlefinger?"

"Just a poor nickname of Edmure's that stuck." She looked nostalgic and Clark knew better to interrupt her. Just let her speak on. "He was quite small and his family came from the Fingers in the Vale. He must have been eight or so when he came to Riverrun. He was very witty and charming, a good friend but…"

Her voice trailed and her mouth thinned. Clark's thoughts flashed to the story of Petyr's unrequited love of Catelyn, Lysa's unrequited love of him, the duel between Petyr and Brandon, Hoster Tully forcing Lysa to abort…

He had no idea how much the general Westerosi public knew of the scandal. It was a good bet however, that he, Tiresias, foreign and humble librarian of Winterfell, would not know anything of it. He continued as such.

"Lady Stark, are you all right?"

Her eyes and face relaxed on cue and she smiled reassuringly.

"Quite all right, Tiresias. Thank you."

The hall began to empty, with benches clattering against the stone floor. Many of the soldiers were now due to depart.

"Where is he now?" Clark asked as offhandedly as he possibly could.

"Who?"

"Lord Baelish, where is he now?"

"I received a raven from last year from Petyr," she said. "He had become a customs officer at Gulltown. Lord Arryn appointed him. He's doing quite well for himself and for the port. Not that I ever doubted him in that regard. Petyr was always quite acute when it came to coin."

So he's not Master of Coin just yet…

"It sounds like a good arrangement for him. And you're here as Lady of Winterfell. I assume that Lord Edmure's at Riverrun? And Lady Arryn is at the Vale?"

"Actually Lysa is in King's Landing, with her husband."

"Any children?"

Catelyn's face fell. "She's tried multiple times. Unfortunately none of them…" she trailed off, before brightening again. "However, she's about to give birth in the next month. I pray that it will be a healthy babe."

Clark matched her smile, not trying to think how old that would make Robin at the start of the first season, when he was still breastfeeding…

Blinking that image out of his head, he congratulated Catelyn. His breakfast arrived shortly later, courtesy of Mal. He ate slowly. It became increasingly difficult to swallow, as he considered what he must do.

Two days later, Clark stood in the godswood, in front of the weirwood tree. Ned Stark told him to meet him there. There were no guards present when he approached the gates. Maybe no one really wasn't banned from entering. After all, it was a place of worship.

He wore his fur cloak for appearance's sake. He heard from Luwin that the weather was turning in the south and spring will probably be announced soon from the Citadel. Still there was snow and he didn't feel like explaining to Ned Stark that he didn't care about the cold.

As he waited, he realized this was the first time that he had been alone with the weirwood. His eyes locked with the hollow weeping ones in the white bark. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He knew that the Three-Eyed Raven could see everything, even when he was out of the godswood. But here he actually felt something watching him.

He walked in front of the tree, facing it head-on. Somehow the snow-laden godswood became even more silent.

"Do you hear me, Three Eyed Raven?" he asked quietly.

If it did, there was no response. Clark looked at his hand and placed his palm on the tree.

A bird chirped in the distance. Clark jumped slightly and laughed in spite of himself. He focused again on the carved face.

"Did you have a grand plan last time for what happened? I suppose there was balance at the end of it. But quite a few people suffered and died for it. Maybe it was worth it in the end. I wouldn't know."

He brought his hand down to his side.

"I'm already here. And maybe I'm doing horrible harm by being here. Handing the world over to ice and fire. I'll try not to do that. Try not to take the weapons for the living out before they can even be forged.

"I don't expect to hear from you. In dreams or otherwise. Maybe Jojen will come up in ten years and tell me on your behalf that I've ruined everything. If so, I'm sorry. You probably aren't interested in the apologies of mere mortals, but that's all I got. Do you already know what I want to do next?"

The tree remained silent. Clark sighed.

"Yeah, well, I hope it doesn't fuck this future up too badly."

He heard snow crunching from boots. Turning, he saw Ned coming into the clearing. The Lord of Winterfell came up to him and shook his hand.

"It's good to see you, Lord Stark."

Ned nodded. "You as well." He looked to see that they were alone before speaking. "Balon Greyjoy is dead. I'm sure you've heard. Along with his two eldest sons, Rodrik and Maron."

"And Euron?"

Ned sighed. "Missing. He was commanding the Iron Fleet with his brother, Aeron, when Lord Stannis caught them in the pincer. He wasn't accounted for after the battle and neither was one of the smaller vessels."

Clark bit his lip, lowering his head. It took a lot not to curse.

"It is possible he drowned," said Ned, though he sounded like he didn't believe it.

"More likely that he saw the rebellion was hopeless and ran." Clark rubbed his temples. "Euron's not the type to accept defeat gracefully. He'll get a crew together soon and a ship, starting pirating all over the known world."

"Is what happened in your vision?"

Clark shrugged. "My vision…Aeron Greyjoy sits in Pyke now, yes? As a puppet Lord?"

"He does."

"What's Aeron Greyjoy like?"

That wasn't the question Ned expected to hear.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Is he religious? Is he a fanatic for the Drowned God?" Clark asked, daring to hope.

Ned shook his head. "I never met him. He was brought to Pyke after I left, but no. From I heard, he's like most men. He likes food, women and drink. My men told me they heard a rumor that Aeron spent most of his captivity waging pissing matches against his jailers. I suppose he believes in the Drowned God, as the Ironborn do, but nothing too extreme. At least from what I heard."

So, Aeron Greyjoy was not a fanatic yet. His near drowning must have taken place at some point after the rebellion. Perhaps he'll avoid it entirely.

At least Clark hoped. He breathed easier.

"In my vision, Balon would have not learned his lesson from this rebellion. He would have tried again. I'm glad that won't happen now. I suppose we can only hope that Aeron won't have the same stubborn blind ambition to be King of Salt and Rock."

Without finding anything humorous, Clark gave a small laugh. "Then again, if Aeron can't control his bannermen, they might just be stupid enough to rebel anyway. I'm not sure how much respect the Ironborn have for the youngest son appointed to be a puppet lord, even if he is a Greyjoy."

There was an odd look in Ned's eyes. He didn't speak for a few seconds.

Another stepping in for his slain older brother.

"And Euron?" said Ned, moving on.

"Gone for now, I suppose. It's not clear what he went through, but if the future's anything like I saw, he come back more deranged and dangerous than ever.

"He killed his brother, Balon and won over the men at a Kingsmoot." Ned's shoulders tensed at the mention of kinslaying. Clark continued. "Obviously, that won't happen, but I wouldn't be surprised if Aeron Greyjoy meets a similar end.

"Euron wants to rule by naval warfare and piracy. When he's done licking his wounds and becomes more twisted, he'll probably start with an Ironborn Kingsmoot. For him, it would seem uncivilized any other way. Knowing him, he'll wait until the rest of Westeros is distracted."

Ned sighed. "It seems we missed a grand opportunity to remove one infuriating thorn from our side."

Clark waved it away. "Balon's gone. Was that your doing?"

"King Robert asked for counsel. I said my piece."

"And Balon is now dead. I'm glad for that. As for Euron, if I were you, I'd keep an eye out around Pyke for him in the next few years. He'll come back there. One day. Besides he's just one man of many that should be removed to make our lives easier."

Ned looked at him strangely and Clark winced.

"Probably should not have told you what to do…Well I really said it's what I would do. So I hope that wasn't too impertinent."

"Who else would you have removed?" Ned asked. The Lord of Winterfell looked a little horrified at Clark's suggestion. He did his best not to crumple under the Lord's stare.

"I don't think I should tell you that. It wouldn't sit well with a man of your convictions."

"I have killed men on your suggestion."

"In an armed conflict, Lord Stark. What needs to happen now has to be convert. The ones that need to die are ones who have not moved against your family yet. They'll have to be dealt with beforehand."

A cold wind ran through the godswood. Neither Ned Stark or Clark shivered.

"How many?" Ned asked.

"I don't know yet," Clark replied honestly. "But there is one that I need to deal with as soon as possible."

"Will you tell me whom?"

"If you order me to, if you truly wish to know," said Clark, praying that Ned wouldn't insist. There was a long silence. Ned looked to the ground as he wrestled with his response. Clark figured this blind trust to kill didn't sit well with what he told Bran in the first episode.

"If I may say, Lord Stark, you're not the one passing the sentence and I'll be doing it myself," Clark said, hoping those were the magic words. "You won't be throwing out your honor entirely."

Ned met his eyes.

"What do you need from me?" he asked.

Clark relaxed. "I don't know yet. I still have to formulate a plan. Maybe nothing at all, but I'm not sure yet. If we talk again in a week, I should have something."

The Lord of Winterfell strode to the weirwood tree and sat. It was the same position that he had when he sharpened his sword as he learned of Lord Arryn's death. The same nook of roots. Clark didn't follow him. He stuck to the edge of the pond.

"And the Walkers?"

"That's your area, I'm afraid. I'm no lord. I'm not from the North. I barely know anything about your military, your keeps, your food storages. I feel that I would be a terrible advisor here. I can only tell you what I believe needs to happen. You can act on it how you wish. We'll keep it simple for now. No point in throwing you a bunch of balls you can't juggle.

"So I'll only say a few things today. Let's start easy: your food storages will need to be full, safe and probably expanded. You're going into the longest summer in living memory. Your harvests will be plentiful and you'll need to take advantage of that. The North was straining rations at the beginning of winter and that was after a bunch of Northerners were killed. Presumably if there are more people alive at the start of next winter, with hopefully one less war and with refugees, you'll need more than you think.

"Again, I know nothing about farming, food storage and such. So if you need to build more glasshouses, import more from the Reach or anything else, I would do it. Grain will become more valuable than gold."

Ned took that in very calmly. "I was thinking the same when I was riding back to Winterfell. I'll speak to Maester Aemon this week and also Vanyon Poole, see if we can increase the capacity for stores in Winterfell. Perhaps the Broken Tower."

He looked back to Clark. "Continue, please."

"My second suggestion is contact Dragonstone," said Clark, hoping he wouldn't have to go there himself. "Write to Lord Stannis Baratheon in King's Landing and set up a trade."

"What sort of trade?"

"I don't know what you can offer, but you need to import dragonglass."

That took the Lord of Winterfell back a bit.

"Dragonglass?"

"Yes, as much as you possibly can. There's a whole cavern of it on the beach next to the castle." Clark thought to the Children of the Forest and how they etched their history in those walls. He hated the thought of destroying it, but he knew what needed to be done. "You'll need to mine it."

"Whatever for? Dragonglass is useless."

Clark shook his head, almost smiling. It was hard at times, not to feel smug revealing knowledge like this. That was a feeling he would have to curb as soon as possible.

"Dragonglass is one of the few things in this world that can kill White Walkers and wights. The Children of the Forest forged weapons out of dragonglass. Members of the Night's Watch stumbled across them beyond the wall and discovered their use. Without that, many more would have died.

"I don't know what excuse you can give Lord Stannis. I wouldn't speak the truth just yet. But you need to mine that cave and you need to import the dragonglass. Forge it into weapons, put them in traps, do whatever your military-savvy mind thinks of. But you should get it here."

Ned looked a little lost. "Military-savvy?"

Clark winced. "Sorry. Just…military-minded. Please don't repeat that."

Seemingly putting the new word out of his mind, Ned Stark became quiet. Clark could him focusing on the task at hand. He seemed a true leader, wasting no time in breaking down big undertakings and managing them at the small levels. It didn't seem overwhelming.

Clark hoped that wouldn't change with what he had to say next.

"My final bit of advice today is…" he began, taking a moment to swallow, "you have to bring the Free Folk south of the Wall."

There was a reason Clark began with food and dragonglass. He didn't think Ned a particularly prejudiced man, at least for a Northerner. He didn't imagine that he could make the same suggestion to an Umber or Lord Robbett Glover or anyone below the Neck. That didn't stop a look of incredulity from spreading over Ned's face. Clark didn't wait for him to respond.

"The greatest threat of the Army of the Dead was sheer numbers. When they attacked Winterfell in my vision, they numbered well over one hundred thousand. It won't matter how many soldiers the North can muster, they will be overwhelmed at some point, if the Night King manages to get an army of that size again. If you won't look at it as saving the lives of wildlings, look at it as the smart military move. Stifling your enemy's growth."

Ned's incredulity was replaced by grimness. His gaze fell from Clark's face to the pond. However he said nothing and so Clark continued:

"These are not ordinary soldiers. They're wights. Everyone who has died will be a fighter for them. Men, women, children, even creatures you think gone, like giants." He decided not to mention Viserion. That was a headache for another day. "The wights do not fear or feel. They do not grow tired. They will remain strong and fast until their end."

There was no response from Ned. Clark knelt next to him, his voice dropping to a hushed mutter. Why, he did not know.

"Lord Stark, you cannot give the Night King any more opportunity to build his army. His White Walkers will start attacking villages beyond the Wall. Killing everyone and resurrecting them as part of his army. There are many Free Folk up there and most will die. They'll be his for the taking if you don't bring them south."

Lord Stark raised his head and sighed.

"It may be the smart thing to do, for this war you see coming." He turned to face Clark. "But bringing thousands of wildlings south of the Wall will bring chaos to the North. Many of my bannermen will protest, refuse my orders and probably rebel. In a time when I will need the whole cooperation of the North in order to fortify, farm and prepare for this long winter. That won't happen if my men see their Warden opening the gates for wildlings. There's too much animosity there. Too much blood spilled on both sides."

"I know," said Clark. "To be honest, I'm not sure how you're going to do it. I'm not a politician, I'm no Northerner and in this case, when you can't say why you fear the second coming of the White Walkers, I don't know what you should say to convince them."

"Would you be willing to speak to the Northern Lords? Is there anything you could say to have them convinced what you say is true?"

Clark resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What would I say? The only things that convinced you were the letter from Howland Reed and the truth behind Little Jon. The trust and friendship you have with Howland is unique. No one else, not even in the North, respect the crannogmen as much as you. As for any other secrets I shouldn't know…" Clark shrugged. "Unless one of your bannermen is hiding a secret king as well, I have nothing on them."

"What happened in the beginning?" said Ned.

"What do you mean?"

"How did this start? What was the beginning of the White Walker army as you saw it?" Lord Stark's eyes were determined. Any signs of grimness were gone. It wasn't exactly hope, just a refusal to give in.

Thinking back to the first scene of the show, Clark almost smiled, despite himself. What was once entertainment for him was becoming a living nightmare.

"Well, the timeline's a little tricky," Clark began. "I'm gonna guess in about eight or nine years, the White Walkers are finally going to be south enough from the Land of Always Winter to be noticed. The villages that they raid will get the attention of the Night's Watch. They'll start sending rangers to investigate. They'll disappear. Including your brother, Benjen.

"My vision began with one range. It was led by the son of Yohn Royce. I forget his name…"

"Lord Yohn Royce has three sons" stated Ned. "Andar, Robar, Waymar…"

"Waymar, yes, that was it. Bit of a cocky lad. Anyway, he was in the Night's Watch at this point and he led a ranging with two others. Waymar and one other are killed. The other man flees, past the Wall and is captured by your men for desertion. I think his name was Will. Will tells you what he saw, that the White Walkers are back. You behead him."

Even though he didn't mean it, there was a hint of accusation in his voice. It wasn't warranted.

"You didn't know better. You simply did your duty. I was glad to see you didn't get any joy of it. To be honest, Will might have been relieved. I don't think he wanted to live in a world when he would meet a White Walker again."

"And you do?" Ned asked.

Clark gave a short unamused laugh. "Of course, I don't. But this is the only world I have now."

A break in the clouds allowed rare winter sunlight to shine on the godswood. The snow reflected it, causing Clark to shield his eyes from the brightness.

"So it seems we must start at the Night's Watch," Ned said.

"I suppose. The Free Folk will be organizing too. Probably for the first time, I'm not sure of their history. There's a man among them, Mance Rayder. I'm sure you've heard the name. As the attacks increase, Mance Rayder will convince many, if not all of the Free Folk to unite and attack the Wall, so that they could get across. Maybe you as Warden can start making overtures through the Night's Watch, especially as they start noticing Walker activity. Maybe you can begin to bring people down peacefully and under some agreement. Even if they won't cross the Wall straight away, at least they can settle closer, so that when they do decide to flee, it will be a quicker escape for them."

Ned nodded. "That still leaves the lords of the North to contend with. The Night's Watch is respected and that might help with the migration if they can be convinced to make peace. But it might not be enough."

Clark stood, trying not to hiss. His legs fell asleep and they were stinging now.

"Well, it's not something we can accomplish one day in the godswood," he said. "I told you enough to occupy your mind and stress out any noble in the world. So I say we adjourn for now."

Lord Stark stood as well. "I'll hear about your first target before the week is over, yes?"

Clark nodded. "That's the plan." He resisted the urge to yell, "Break." Ned Stark nodded and strode away, ending the conversation. Clark stayed a minute more, savoring the sunshine, before it disappeared.

He couldn't help but think the whole situation rather quaint. Lord Stark and he, on a beautiful winter afternoon, thinking of a way to abort the oncoming ice apocalypse. Ned was right that the main obstacle would be the Northern lords. And to be honest, he had no idea how to handle them.

That didn't matter right now though. Right now, he had a target and the beginnings of a plan to execute said target. He only hoped he could assemble all parts of the plan.

Clark took a final look at the weirwood tree and walked off. He wondered the Three-Eyed Raven was guiding him as well. Maybe he wasn't a complete rogue agent, irreversibly damaging everything for the worse. It was a comforting thought. He wished he believed it.

Clark sat on Renei's bed, after a cup of rum, bracing himself. He'd tried to think of any other way he could do this. Ultimately though he couldn't. Apparently he was only human.

"I need to ask you something, Renei."

He could still feel the rum burning his tongue. Renei had just set aside her own empty cup.

"Well, don't you sound serious," she teased, her eyes lighting with small laughter. She fetched some matches from the table and turned to him, awaiting his serious question.

Clark swallowed. "Were you telling me the truth, months ago, when you said you came from Gulltown?"

She tapped the matches against the table. "Funny enough, I was. Tend to honor my deals."

"Do people know you're from Gulltown?"

"What do you mean?"

"The girls, Ambre, the other men here? Have you told them?"

Her smile didn't lessen, but her eyes narrowed. "The men here don't care where I'm from."

"And the girls?"

She extracted a match and shrugged. "Told Ambre I came north on the kingsroad. Let her think I'm from the Riverlands. Same with the others. They're all Northern. They can't tell Stones from Rivers."

"Are you a bastard?"

"No," she said lightly. "Just what they think."

She struck her match and proceeded to light her candles.

"How well do you know the city?"

"What city?" asked Renei, her back turned.

"Gulltown. How well do you know it?"

"Why?"

"I have business there. You said your family had a cottage, aye?"

She didn't move for a few seconds. Clark saw her shoulders set slightly before she turned around, her face nonchalant, still holding the lit match.

"The cottage is three miles north of Gulltown. I didn't grow up inside the city."

"But do you know it?"

She tossed the match into the fireplace. "My father used to take me and my brother there when he was still alive. And my sister when she got old enough. I…I haven't been there in years. Last time was when I boarded the ship to White Harbor." She began to undress.

"Would you like to go back?"

She paused pulling her dress down, looking at him warily. "What?"

"Not permanently. I need a traveling companion when I go there. Someone to help me not get lost."

Renei pulled her dress up. "No."

"Renei…"

"How you going to get lost? It's one port city. You can read. There's the city guard. You can ask for directions…"

"I can't draw attention to myself," said Clark. "I can't arrive in Gulltown with a strange accent, not knowing where I'm going, having to ask for directions, being the foreign idiot. It can't happen when I'm there."

Renei sighed. "Do you know how long it takes to get to Gulltown?"

"About a fortnight on the road to White Harbor. A sennight sail from there," said Clark. He had calculated this all last night. He considered going through the high road from the west, but that was a dangerous road to only two travelers. Plus, the road was currently closed due to the winter snows.

"And how long do you plan to stay in Gulltown?" asked Renei, her arms crossing.

"Two nights, maybe only one."

"So three weeks there, in good weather, mind. A night or two and then straight back means near two months I'm not working, if we're being generous. Don't know about you, but I'm not paid to travel."

"I'll pay you for your time," said Clark quietly.

Renei stared for a bit, and then started laughing. She laughed for a while, holding her side. Clark waited patiently.

"You? Two months of pay? Gods, you're a riot. I twist your arm to come here every fortnight and now you're going to pay me and Ambre out for two months."

She stopped laughing eventually when she saw the look on Clark's face.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"How much do you make here?" asked Clark.

"You trust me to tell you honest?"

Clark shrugged. "I'll decide that when you tell me how much."

She smiled. "Hundred dragons a month."

"I don't believe that."

"Well, now, ain't you smart." She dropped her smile and sighed. "I get about ten to fifteen dragons, depends. When I first came, I made fifty in my first three months. Men love a fresh one."

Her eyes glazed over a little when she revealed that, but it was gone the next moment. Clark saw one girl like that when he entered this evening. His conscience pinged a little when he saw her. Even though, he would never choose someone so young, he was still supporting the establishment that offered her to others.

It couldn't be helped now. He pressed on.

"How much will Ambre take to let you leave so that you'll have your room when you come back?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Fifteen dragons for two months sounds safe."

"I'll give you the fifteen dragons to pay her yourself and for you, I'll pay sixty dragons for your time. Two months."

The fire crackled. Renei and Clark stared at each other, refusing to break eye contact.

"Two months? As a traveling companion?"

"And guide. I'm not asking you to sleep with me. I don't need a bedwarmer."

Renei crossed to the bed and sat down. Her calm expression screamed for no bullshit, as she fixed her blue eyes on his.

"What do you need me for in Gulltown, really?" she asked quietly.

"I need an alibi," said Clark evenly. "When we arrive, we'll go about my business in the city quietly. Maybe I'll seem to search for a tome or two. And then before it gets dark, we head north, out of the city gate. We are seen plainly by the guards posted there, and then we head for your family's cottage."

She didn't move but there grew a storm in her eyes.

"Why am I bringing you to meet my family?" Her voice remained quiet.

"You're bringing me to be seen by them. As your pretend husband. As a surprise. That'll be part of the excuse you give Ambre. You'll say you haven't been home in years, that you missed your family and you want to visit. Tonight you heard me talking about going to the Riverlands for work and asked to travel with me for safety."

For a minute, Renei didn't speak. She finally stood slowly and walked to the door. She opened it and stood aside, looking to him.

"Get out," she said.

"Renei, I…"

"Go. Now, bastard, before I start screaming" she said. He looked into her eyes and saw a deep fury. Sighing, he stood.

Well, Clark, you truly fucked this one up.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden dragon. It was one of the few he owned. He placed it on the table by the bed and walked to the open door, pausing before Renei.

"I'm sorry," he said. She didn't meet his eyes. He exited into the hallway without another word.

A brisk wind accompanied Clark on his walk home. He didn't even bother putting on his furs to pretend to be cold. Thankfully no one was out and about. It was as if normal respectable people knew to vacate the streets when whoring, manipulative assholes come to prowl…

He sighed. Why the hell did he think that was a good idea? Yes, he could use an extra man to help him as he attempted his first ever assassination. He just didn't think that…well, that was it. He just didn't think. Or he was just a selfish bastard, trying to save the world at whatever cost, no matter how people he made feel like shit…

These thoughts occupied Clark's mind until he was right outside the gates of Winterfell. He was about to raise his voice and call for the night guard to let him in when he hear snow crunching behind him. He turned and saw a dark figure marching quickly toward him.

Recognizing the shape, he walked back as the figure came into the moonlight. Renei was wrapped in a shawl, trembling a little.

"Damn it all, you walk fast," she said. Her teeth were chattering. Clark stepped forward and wrapped his fur cloak around her. She glared at him, but didn't protest.

"Walk me back?" she asked. "I told Ambre you forgot your gloves." She stared a little at him, probably realizing how underdressed he was. "Gods, do you even have gloves?"

Clark shook his head. Renei rolled her eyes.

"Fine, just walk me back." She didn't wait for an answer and turned back around. Clark followed, falling in right beside her. They didn't speak for a minute. Finally about halfway back to the brothel, she broke the silence.

"What do you really need to do in Gulltown? Why don't you need to draw attention to yourself?"

"Do you really want to know?"

She didn't answer that. But after a minute, she spoke again. "Are you going to hurt anyone?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You're more than a librarian. People talk. Maybe not much outside the castle, but they do. The boys from Deepwood Motte spoke a bit when they came to visit after the rebellion. The redbeard's face looked mighty pretty."

"Anthor?"

She shrugged. "I don't know his name. His mates didn't believe us or the Stark guards when we said you were just a librarian. I don't believe it either, you know."

He didn't know how to respond. Luckily she didn't seem to expect him to.

"My mother, my brother, my sister…they'll never leave their cottage. Maybe my sister when she weds…but they'll never step one foot outside the Vale." She kicked a pile of snow lightly, sending a flurry into an empty pigpen. "And I won't ever go back there. Not to live."

Clark felt his heart racing and breathed deeply to calm it. He learned from someone, he forgot whom, that remaining silent during a conversation often prompted the other person into talking much more than they intended.

Renei and he arrived at the brothel and stopped in front. She turned to face him, still wrapped deep in his furs. The hot fury he had seen earlier turned stone cold. There was a deep pause, with only laughing and the usual exaggerated moans of pleasure coloring the silence.

"What do you plan on saying to my family?" she asked, her voice low.

"Nothing," said Clark. "If I could, I would be a mute. Avoid questions about my accent."

She stepped forward. "As far as my family knows, I work as a maid in Winterfell. That's what I told them. That's where we met."

He nodded. "Sounds good."

She pointed to the brothel. "If they hear one word about this, I'll kill you. You understand?"

"I do."

She relaxed a little, crossing her arms, looking to her feet. "I might be able to talk Ambre down in the dragons she'll take for me being gone. She likes me. Plus, she has a new girl coming in."

"Thank you."

Her head snapped back up, meeting his eyes again. "I want a hundred."

"A hundred?"

"Yes, a hundred. If you expect me to lie to my family, introduce a fake husband and then piss off after two nights, having not seen them since I was fourteen, then I want one hundred dragons."

Clark looked around to see that they were truly alone. He turned back and nodded.

"All right, one hundred. Fifty before we leave. Fifty when we get back." He stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

Keeping her eyes locked with his, she shook his hand slowly. Afterwards, they stood in the quiet night. Well, relatively quiet. The brothel patrons were still quite enthusiastic.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

"As soon as we can, once I gather everything," said Clark. "I'll come tomorrow and tell you more."

She nodded. Looking back at the brothel, with the ghost of a smirk, she said, "If you want back in, you'll have to pay again."

He waved the suggestion away. "I don't have the energy." He looked to her. "Renei," he said sincerely. She looked at him coolly. "Thank you for this. I'll never forget it."

She snorted lightly, shaking her head. Clark scratched his head.

"I'm guessing you don't care about my eternal gratitude."

"You're a fucking fool," she said, unclasping the fur cloak and tossing it back to him. She went to go back inside, only turning at the door.

"Wear better clothes," she said. "I don't need you dying of cold before I get my coin."

And with that, she entered the brothel. Clark walked back through the streets of Wintertown, an odd combination of emotions welling up inside him. Renei agreed to come and for a smaller price than he imagined would be required. That was a relief. But he was also one step closer to his first deplorable act as a human being. That was quite stressful.

It felt like his heart was fluttering and constricting all at once. He put a hand to his chest and rubbed, breathing deeply. He tried not to think how frightened Renei was at the prospect of reuniting with her family.

The following morning, Clark met with Ned. He told the Lord of Winterfell about his trip to Gulltown. He asked for a horse and cart with supplies, a lord's general missive so he wouldn't be harassed on the road, a signed letter corroborating the story of a maid he'd never heard of, and a grand total of one hundred and twenty dragons.

It took a little time, but he emerged before midday with all of those things promised to him. He talked to Hullen and secured a horse and cart more than big enough for two. Before dinner, after his duties, he walked down to the brothel to speak to Ambre. They spoke amiably about the forthcoming trip. Renei had already talked to her. He volunteered to write up an agreement between the two of them, guaranteeing her room back to her when she returned no later than three months.

Renei came in at the end. She was barely literate and so she took her time, but the agreement was brief. So she put her signature down and retreated back to her room to fetch the dragons to pay Ambre. Before she walked back, Clark asked for a quick word with Renei about traveling logistics and Ambre obliged. After they walked back to her room and locked the door, Clark opened his rucksack and extracted a pouch of sixty-five dragons, taking great care, so the coins didn't jingle.

"I hope you have somewhere safe you can put this," he said, setting it on the bed gingerly.

She approached the pouch warily, looking a little surprised. Reaching in and taking a gold piece out, she examined it.

"Half now as we agreed, plus the fifteen dragons for Ambre. The other half when we return."

Without saying a word, she took the pouch and tied it. She went to a small chest in the room that Clark had never seen before. She unlocked it, placed the dragons in and closed it. Locking it, she returned to Clark, her face set.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning. I have a horse and cart for us. Can you be ready?"

She nodded. He got up and went to the door.

"I'll be here at dawn. Good night."

He was the guest of honor at the Stark's table that night for supper. He announced his trip as casually as he could. It both saddened and slightly cheered him to see forlorn looks on the children's faces. He didn't think he would be so missed. Jon became quite taciturn for the rest of the meal.

After finishing and bidding the Starks farewell, he visited the kitchens and gathered dried foods for the journey. He was sure that they would use inns more than he did for the trek up to Winterfell. Still, there could be some nights when they just couldn't find shelter. He placed all supplies in the cart in preparation for the next morning.

He went to the yard for some light exercise. Not that he wasn't tempted to skip it with the heavy traveling coming up, but he was a little restless. When he got to the yard though, he saw Jon striking a dummy precisely. Ned Stark was sitting to the side, watching him.

Clark stayed in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt or intrude on this private moment. He was just out of earshot, but it was clear that Jon was demonstrating for his father, proudly showing what he had accomplished. He could sense rather than see Ned's smile from where he was standing. This continued for a while, with Jon striking and pausing to talk to Ned, Ned nodding and speaking himself.

How many moments did Jon get alone with Ned? A lord making time to see his bastard son? Not just sharing time with his siblings? Not that many probably. Between his other children, duties as a Warden and Catelyn's insecurities, Clark wouldn't be surprised if Ned could only steal a few moments alone with Jon every few days or so.

That didn't stop the two of them from enjoying themselves though. Jon's happiness could be felt across the training yard. He was still subdued, but his voice did raise a little and his eyes were brighter. Ned just drank it all in, as open as Clark had ever seen him.

Finally, Lord Stark stood, clasping Jon on the shoulder and speaking a few words to him. Jon nodded enthusiastically. Ned embraced him and walked away, leaving Jon to his dummy once again.

Ned Stark paused when he reached the outer skirts and turned to the shadows where Clark stood.

"My Lord," said Clark, stepping into the light of a brazier.

The Lord of Winterfell glanced back to Jon, practicing in the distance before returning his gaze to Clark.

"Jon's form looks well. His movements more fluid." Ned almost smiled. "Ser Rodrik tells me Jon has improved mightily over the last six months. Is that Ser Rodrik's doing or yours?"

Clark sighed. "Who told you?"

"Jon did. I asked if he'd been practicing by himself. He said he had a partner. A honest boy, that one."

Checking to see that the coast was clear, Clark leaned closer. "I'm not telling him anything I shouldn't. Just seemed the little man needed a friend." He chewed his tongue gently. "To be fair, he's the one corrupting me, teaching me to be a violent man."

Ned's eyebrows did the slightest of raises and Clark crumbled.

"All right, all right, bad joke," he mumbled, turning back to Jon, who was still striking with his sword. "Does he remind you of his mother?"

He wondered if he presumed too much with that remark, but Ned didn't seem offended. Just pensive.

"He does." He lowered his voice. "Less so now that Arya's learned to walk."

Clark laughed. "I imagine."

"Are you prepared to leave tomorrow?" Ned's tone turned serious immediately.

"Just my clothes before bed. All else is ready."

"You're off to kill a man in cold blood," Ned muttered.

There was no sugar-coating this. Not to Ned Stark. "I am."

"And you're absolutely sure that this is necessary."

Clark nodded. "I am. Without a doubt."

Ned sighed. "Then good luck. I won't see you off in the morning. You're just off to the Riverlands to inspect some tomes for a possible purchase."

"Your dragons will be put to good use," said Clark. "Not that anyone will never know it. Sorry about that."

"I'll find some excuse," said Ned. "Good night, Tiresias…"

"Lord Stark," interrupted Clark. "I'm sorry, but…in case, I fuck it all up and fail, I wanted…I wanted to say stay in the North. Keep your family and men in the North. That's where your strength is."

Ned looked a little bewildered, but nodded. Maybe he was getting used to vague warnings.

"All right," he said.

"Are you going to the Wall soon?" asked Clark.

Lord Stark shook his head. "Not yet. We're seeing to increase food production first, so the farmers are prepared to go come the first planting. I won't be going to the Wall for another six months."

Clark swallowed. "Well…if I'm not back by that time…there was a wildling man north of the Wall, named Craster. This man should be killed as soon as possible."

Ned went still. "Why?"

Besides the fact that this man rapes his own daughters?

"It's a little fantastic…but the longer that Craster lives, the stronger the Army of the Dead will become. Whatever arrangement the Night Watch has with Craster, it isn't worth it. They should end it and him all together."

Ned took a moment before nodding. "I'll pass on the message. Is there anything else you wish, in case you die horribly?"

Clark laughed. "Just thank you for having me." He stuck out his hand. "I'll see you in two months."

Ned shook it. "Good luck, Tiresias."

Lord Stark exited the training yard, leaving Clark alone with a very focused Jon Snow hitting a dummy. He didn't even notice the librarian until Clark was right behind him.

"You shouldn't let your enemy sneak up on you so easily." Clark patted his shoulder and went to get a practice sword.

"How long are you going to be away?" Jon's voice was calm, but he could hear a little anxiety under it.

"Only two months, possibly three," he said, trying to sound casual. He selected his favorite and went to get in position. "I'm leaving very early in the morning, so we will only have a short spar tonight. Ready?" He prepared for a strike, but relaxed when he saw Jon's face.

"I'm going to inspect some tomes, Jon. I'm not sailing to the end of the world. And it won't be the last trip I'll take either."

Jon nodded, his brave face on. Clark sighed and knelt in front of him.

"I'm going to miss your lessons while I'm away. I won't have a lot of time to practice." He placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "But do you know who love some sword lessons?"

His answer was a blank look and Clark resisted the urge to chuckle.

"I'll give you a hint. She follows you everywhere."

Jon's eyes went wide. "I can't teach Arya," he muttered, looking around. "I would get into so much trouble."

"Well, don't tell anyone then. I won't." Sensing that wouldn't be enough, he tried again. "Jon, your sister adores you and she would love a chance to learn from you. You're a great teacher. Who knows? She could grow to be the greatest warrior in the North."

"I'm just a child…"

"Well, Arya's a child too. Even smaller than you. Sounds perfect."

He stood up at that point. Jon's eyes followed him.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

Clark nodded. "Aye, I am."

"And you're coming back?"

"Barring any tragic accident, I promise to return. And when I do, I want to make up for the time I lost. Does that sound all right?"

Jon nodded resolutely. Clark stood and took his position.

"One short spar. Make it count, Jon."

The clashes of the practice swords echoed throughout the yard. Clark wouldn't be surprised if they were heard all the way to the godswood. He couldn't help but think the next time he raised a blade; it would probably be for real.

The streets of Wintertown were dead silent with just the hint of dawn beginning to break in the east. The only sounds were the roll of the cart wheel and the hooves of the horse leading. Clark thanked Cullen silently, for showing him how to handle such a vehicle.

As he neared the brothel, he heard the last remnants of the night finally winding down. He halted the cart and climbed down, heading for the door. Two house guards stumbled out. Clark stepped out of their way, as they carried themselves past. He doubted they even noticed him. Ambre came to the door, presumably to lock up when she saw Clark.

"Morning, Tiresias. She's almost ready. I'll call her. Come on in."

Clark came in, keeping near the doorway. No one approached him. He assumed that they all knew Renei was hitching a ride today. Most of the girls were yawning and heading to sleep. He nodded politely as they passed.

A young girl with red hair just came out, throwing a robe over herself. She barely looked sixteen. Clark averted his eyes, but she called to him.

"We're closed now," she said. "You'll have to come back tonight."

"I'm not a customer."

He heard her come closer.

"You're the one taking Renei down the Kingsroad?"

"Aye," said Clark, looking at her. He did a double take.

Is this who I think this is?

"What?" she said, not too impatiently. Clark shook his head.

"You look familiar, is all."

She shrugged. "Grew up around here. Maybe you saw me in town." She smiled. "What's your name?"

Automatically, Clark stuck out his hand. "Tiresias."

She shook his hand, looking bemused. "You work at the castle, right?"

"I'm the librarian."

"That's lovely." she said. "I'm Ros."

Clark felt his hand tremble and he was sure Ros felt it too. However, judging from the look on her face, she misinterpreted it. Her tired smile took a teasing quality. He released her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Ros."

"Likewise," she said. "When you come back to Winterfell, if you want someone different for a change, I'll be right here."

Clark forced a smile. "Maybe."

Not a moment too soon, Renei entered from the corridor with a bag. She was wearing a modest dress and more bundled than Clark had ever seen her. Ambre followed her.

"Morning," said Clark.

Renei ignored him, walking to the door and exiting. Clark looked to Ambre.

"Don't mind her," Ambre said, with a wave of her hand. "She's always grumpy in the morning."

Clark nodded. "Right. Goodbye, Ambre. Ros."

"Safe travels, Tiresias. Take good care of our girl," said Ambre, as Ros gave a light wave.

"I will," Clark promised, before exiting and walking to his transport. Renei was already seated in the passenger seat, her bag in the back with the rest. Clark climbed aboard and grabbed a blanket from the back.

"Here," he said, offering it to Renei, who took it immediately, wrapping herself tightly against the morning chill. He took a hold of the reins.

"You ready?" he asked. Renei nodded. "All right." He clicked his tongue and the horse began to walk. They proceeded a little slowly through the town. However, once they were out and onto the Kingsroad, the horse picked up some speed and they were off.

The sun was peering brightly now over the horizon.

"My name is Clare," said Renei, over the noise of the cart.

"What?" said Clark.

"When we get to White Harbor, and then to Gulltown, you'll have to call me by my real name. It's Clare."

She did not look happy to reveal that information.

"All right," said Clark. "It's good to meet you Clare."

"Not before White Harbor. I'm still Renei now. I'll always be Renei here. Even to you."

Clark took a moment to scratch his ear before responding.

"Well, it'll be good to meet Clare at White Harbor then."