Chapter 35

The excitement at his long-awaited departure couldn't be doused by a lingering fear that once he passed the gates of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister would see that he never reached home. He acknowledged the fear, but dismissed it. Would Tywin keep an eye on him and all his future movements as well as he can? Probably. Would he go through the trouble of assassinating him on his land, after hosting him for six weeks? Probably not.

At least not for the first hour or two. I have Tyrion as a guard.

It was for the little lord that he lingered in the courtyard. His wagon was packed, his horse hitched and all that was left was to wait for his brief traveling companion. Tyrion told him that he would ride with him down to the junction. Upon which, Tiresias would turn northeast onto the Riverroad and Tyrion would take the Goldroad to King's Landing. It wasn't necessary and it slowed his day, but Tiresias wasn't going to decline a final outing with Tyrion Lannister.

At least he hoped it wouldn't be his final one. Tyrion should be in Winterfell in a few years, when the King comes.

Who knows if that will still happen though? With everything I changed…

It was too soon to think of that. Though he did worry about his relationship with Tyrion. Perhaps drunken revelations from a guest about one's father did more to sour their friendship than anything else. However, when they both woke up the following morning on the rooftop, Tyrion didn't mention any part of their inebriated conversation. He was back to his old self. Fighting hangovers, they trudged back up to Casterly Rock where Tiresias kept to his quarters; sleeping, drinking water and generally recovering for the rest of the day.

As much as he wanted to leave Casterly Rock without seeing Tywin, he knew it would be unnecessarily insulting not to thank his host. His rather insistent host…

You're in the game now, mate. You're on the board. There are rules now.

So after breakfast, he took the long walk to Tywin's solar. The Old Lion curtly received his thanks and dismissed him, barely looking up from his desk. The brief exchange took all of thirty seconds.

After double-checking the wagon, there was nothing else to do. He stood, waiting for near an hour, but Tyrion didn't show. A part of him wondered if this move to King's Landing was nothing more than a drunken musing from the little lord. Tywin didn't mention his son's departure when Tiresias gave his thanks this morning. And he hadn't seen any trunks or wagons packed elsewhere.

Perhaps he would be waiting for Tyrion until sunset.

Probably deserve it too. Certainly kept a few people waiting myself these past several months…

However no sooner did he think that, did he heard horses approaching the courtyard from the stables. He counted about fifteen before they emerged. Tyrion Lannister lead a contingent of ten soldiers along with four horses attached to loaded wagons.

Climbing quickly aboard, Tiresias clicked his tongue and the wagon rolled forward. He turned to the gate as Tyrion rode up besides him.

"Morning, my friend," he stated, all signs of yesterday's hangover absent. He slowed the horse down to the speed of the wagon. "Apologies for the wait."

"Not at all," Tiresias replied. "How do you feel?"

"Excellent," Tyrion said, as they approached the Lion's Mouth, passing under the gate. "I'll wait, of course, 'til I'm far away to squeal with delight. But I'm truly happy leaving this place…even it means I'll be near my sister. And my sour little nephew."

"You'll be near your brother, too." Tiresias hoped his tone was light. "And Myrcella and Tommen. I've heard they're good children."

"Aye, thank the gods."

Conversation mostly ceased as they made their way down the cliff to the junction. Tiresias, to his surprise, found it easy not to gaze back at Casterly Rock. Tyrion didn't look back once.

It was another hour before they reached the junction. Tiresias looked briefly south down the Oceanroad.

Maybe one day.

He turned back to see Tyrion paused. The soldiers halted as well, waiting for their lord to start again. Huffs from the horses filled the air.

"Well, Tiresias," said Tyrion, with only the slightest sentimentality. "It was a pleasure. Out of all the men my father had brought to the Rock against their will, you are easily the best conversationalist. Not the best cyvasse player though."

"I do what I can, my lord," Tiresias said. "Thank you for the tomes and the food and the…well, everything else. Pleasure was mine."

Tyrion smiled, before turning to the men. "Captain, ride on a ways and wait for me."

He waited until all the guards had ridden along the Goldroad for a few hundred feet before halting. When Tyrion looked back, Tiresias was surprised to see his eyes so serious.

"Tiresias," he said, leaving no room for humor. "Don't return to the Westerlands. At least not while my father's still alive. Lay low for a few years."

The same thought crossed his mind earlier, but he was glad to hear it voiced. To hear it validated.

"I'll do my best," he said. "I've a warning for you too, if you'd like to hear it."

Tyrion gestured. "Please."

"Don't antagonize your sister and your nephew too much. It may feel good to slap him down…but he will be King one day and he's very petty. They both are. They'll remember everything."

"I'll try…" Tyrion was unable to hide a grin. "But have you met my nephew, Tiresias? He makes it so very easy."

"Tyrion," Tiresias said, cutting across him. "I'm serious. Be careful. I don't want to see your head on a spike."

All right, perhaps, he could have started with imprisonment or general bodily harm before going all the way to beheading, but he wanted to drive home the point. Tyrion stared at him, trying to find some frivolity but Tiresias gave him none. Finally he sighed and nodded.

"I'll do my best." He looked to the guard and back. "Well, Tiresias, I'm not sure when we'll see each other again. Feel free to write though. The Red Keep has quite the rookery and I'm always quick with a response."

He extended his hand and Tiresias shook it.

"Have a safe journey, my lord."

"You as well, my friend. Hope you can return to that Northern beauty of yours."

Tiresias didn't even blink. "I don't know what you're talking about."

That got a chuckle out of Tyrion. "That's the spirit. Farewell."

With that, Tyrion gently kicked his horse and cantered up to the guards, who fell in line behind him. Tiresias watched as they continued down the Goldroad and disappeared around a bend.

A breeze from the west drifted through the air. Tiresias caught the scent of salt from the sea. For the first time since King's Landing, he was alone. Which both relieved and slightly terrified him. He was still in the Westerlands. He still killed the Mountain. He needed to leave.

Brushing a reassuring hand across his dagger hilt, he took up the reins and steered the wagon northeast, onto the Riverroad. Now that he wasn't coming down a mountain, he put the horse to a faster pace. It would be at least eight days before he reached the Golden Tooth. Then it was Riverrun. From there Harroway onto the Crossroads. Then up the Kingsroad to Winterfell.

"Sorry, mate," he muttered to the horse, the same spotted mare that Jory brought south for him. "It's gonna be a long one."

The scent of the sea disappeared quickly though, replaced by the deep earth brought up by mineshafts. Along with cedars and fresh rivers from the mountains. It didn't smell like the North, but it was closer.

Rain found its way through the trees somehow and Tiresias was forced to wear his hood up. The tomes were protected well enough. Under trunk and burlap. But all this rain could not bode great for the wagon.

A part of him wanted to curse himself. It was his fault, his own impatience that spurned him forward. He didn't push the horse more than necessary, but he didn't dally when he could. Nearly two months of travel had made him only more eager to reach Winterfell and a little rain didn't deter him.

At least that's what he told himself. He sniffed the air as the first drops fell and sensed a brief but heavy fall. The water wouldn't rise from the swamp and wash over the road. If it did, he would get down and lead the horse on foot.

It's better than your first trek up here. At least this time you're staying on the road all the way through.

That thought ran through his head multiple times. He was also grateful just to be in the Neck, where no one would ask his name and business…

Traveling through the Westerlands was a tricky balance. He tried to camp as often as he could, but for the sake of his horse, he needed to stable and purchase feed every couple of days. Inns were easy to find and hard to pass by.

Tiresias wondered if Tywin sent word of his coming to the lords along the Riverroad. He doubted that he meant the word to get down to the smallfolk. But the lords would tell someone and then they would tell someone else down the ladder and on and on until he would be eating in a tavern, nameless until he felt wide eyes on his back.

Thankfully only a few approached him. One or two serving girls. A stablemaster asked him to repeat his name, having heard it elsewhere. But other than that, it was just bewilderment and silent appraisal. He often heard scoffs and other sounds of disbelief along with such looks. Obviously, people didn't see a mighty warrior when they regarded him.

For that, he was thankful. However, he was no longer anonymous. He didn't know what gave away his identity. His wagon and trunk? His accent? His journey east?

My ridiculously handsome face?

He snorted at the thought. Whatever it was, he was a name now. And he had to live with it. He was just glad he had his right hand back to help him.

He didn't have to live it all the time though. Things improved immensely once he got past the Golden Tooth and entered the Riverlands. Looks of recognition followed him still, but they decreased as he made his way farther east. Eventually he was able to give a false name to all the inns he stayed at.

He was tempted to give his old name. Be Clark again for a month or so. However, he couldn't do it. When the innkeeper asked his name at the first night in the Riverlands, he hesitated; the name stuck in his throat.

Upon the innkeeper asking him a second time, he recovered and stated Johann. An old nickname from a German classroom. Clark was in that class.

But Clark was dead.

So Johann travelled east with the tomes. Johann was able to enter the taverns and satisfy any curious eyes with a single glance. Johann was able to be nobody.

And Johann was able to fade into the background, hearing conversations all around. He heard Tiresias mentioned quite a number of times. It was a challenge to eat and swallow languidly as he heard one tale after another.

His third night in the Riverlands, a group of three had come and joined his table, taking the other end. A fat man, a grey-whiskered man who smelled of horse and a baker. Tiresias glanced and saw the flour on his wrists.

Otherwise, he ignored them and they returned the favor. This continued for a while and it made for a wonderfully dull evening as he ate. However, he was no more than halfway done with his stew when the conversation unfortunately shifted.

"It's what I've heard, mate!" the baker said. "The Mountain was downed by a fucking librarian!"

The fat man snorted. "Horseshit."

"Why's it horseshit?"

"Yeh ever seen the Mountain?"

The baker shook his head. "No."

"Well, I 'ave! Tallest bastard I've ever seen. No other knight could touch him. So what's a fucking maester to do?"

"I told yeh. Weren't no maester. It was a librarian from Essos, Tyrias."

"Tyrias?"

The baker shrugged. "That's his name. So I heard. He's foreign."

Another snort came from the fat man. "Horseshit."

"Yeh keep saying horseshit, mate! What? Do yeh…"

He sensed the baker looking to him. Thankfully his eyes were on his stew.

Still the baker lowered his tone. "Yeh think the Mountain's not dead?"

"Nah." The fat man shook his head. "He's dead. Only thing all the stories agree on. Just don't believe a librarian killed him."

The baker turned to the third man.

"What, yeh used up all your words speaking to the horses? What'd yeh think?"

The grey-whiskered man took a draught before speaking.

"I saw him too once…years ago. He was comin' back from the Iron Islands. The rebellion. Tended to some horses. His and his men. Saw him up close."

Tiresias chanced a glance. The horsemaster was gazing into his mug.

"Don't think he got any shorter since then…or weaker. If he's dead, truly…then whoever killed him…"

The man breathed through his nose.

"Whoever killed him…must be a fucking beast…fucking beast just wearing a man's skin."

Lifting his face, he fixed his eyes on his friends. "But based on that day...tending to him and his men...I don't care who killed him. I salute him, man or beast."

A brief silence followed as the man drank, not waiting for his friends to return his toast.

The fat man turned to the baker and shrugged. "Well, there yeh go. Yeh ever know a man of letters to be a fucking beast?"

Tiresias took a sip of ale to cover his shaking hand.

"Well, he sure didn't used a book to fight," the baker retorted. "Dagger fits in the hand just as well. Better I say!"

The fat man laughed. "Weren't no librarian and weren't no fucking dagger. Yeh think some prick-blade could pierce that armor. He had to have had a sword."

"No, no…" The baker shook his head. "There weren't no sword. Haney said spear and dagger."

Tiresias was very grateful that he wore his cloak, which hid his sheath.

"And where'd Haney hear this?"

"From a smith who heard it from a knight. Came 'round bout month past. Traveling with the Marband outfit from the Tooth."

The fat man stared. "Did this knight see it? See this mad cunt take on the Mountain? With spear and dagger?"

"Well…well, I don't know! Haney was sure that the smith was sure that the knight was sure!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake…"

Over the last two months, he heard some variant of that conversation a couple dozen times. It was almost guaranteed if he ate at an inn. His pulse raced the first few times, but as he traveled, it was easier. He put Johann as a front and disappeared in plain view.

Being anonymous again...it was hard not to savor the feeling. How easy it was in this world to run away and not be found. To build anew. He didn't have to come from a different world to do so. If he was born in the Westerlands or the Stormlands or across the Narrow Sea, who would stop an anonymous stranger from making a new life?

It was a selfish thought though. He tried not to feed it. He'd worked hard for his place in Winterfell. He didn't want to give it up. Besides, he had been through too much bullshit not to return.

Riverrun was a short journey from the Golden Tooth. He halted the wagon and gazed at the moated castle from the road. A part of him was inclined to ask for shelter that evening. He could send a raven to Winterfell, informing Lord Stark of his progress.

He clicked his tongue and continued on. There were still many miles to travel yet. Purchasing feed at an inn, he camped out in the summer nights, riding from dawn to dusk. It was a little over three weeks before he arrived at Harroway. There it was less than a day to the Crossroads. Then up the Kingsroad all the way to Winterfell.

Back in the Neck, Tiresias patted his pocket. A small wrapped package was lodged there. Back in Harroway, he passed a silversmith and commissioned a gift for Mal. It took a night's stay, but it was worth it in his eyes. Using the extra day to rest the horse, he departed for the Crossroads.

Did this mean he made his decision? It probably did. He just hoped it wasn't too late. By the time he returned, ten months would have gone by. That was not their agreement and he was not looking forward to that conversation. How much would he have to tell to excuse himself? How much would she accept?

His musings were interrupted by an approaching scent. He took a sniff as nonchalantly as he could and relaxed. This one was very familiar. One of the first he ever detected.

It was a few more minutes before he turned his focus down to his left. Shortly after, Annag walked out of the marsh, her net still at her side, with the same three-pronged spear. Only a few greyed hairs along her scalp was any indication of time passed.

Tiresias smiled. He couldn't help it. Halting the wagon, he peered down at one of his first savoirs in Westeros. "Hello, Annag. How do you fare?"

"Well enough," she answered, not returning his smile. Though her eyes did lighten a bit. He counted that in his favor. "And you?"

"Same, I suppose. I'm alive."

She didn't answer to that. Frog calls and bird cries sang with the rain. Tiresias took advantage of the pause and reached for his waterskin, taking a draught.

"It's good to see you, Annag," he said, capping the skin. "But I can't imagine this to be a coincidence."

"I have a message from Lord Reed," she said, coming around to the front. She patted the mare's neck.

"How is he?"

She shrugged. "All right. He walks slower than he did before. Still sharp of mind though."

"Should hope so." Tiresias wiped the rain from his face. "He's not that old."

"His son, Jojen, is a greenseer as well." She looked to him. "Did you know that?"

Tiresias nodded. "How old is he?"

"Eight. The lad's been having nightmares. He wakes up and calms, but what he speaks of…" She looked at him. "The boy's too young to say for certain, and Lord Reed's not sure of what he even dreams. But Lord Reed is certain of this: you don't have as much time as you think."

The rain continued to fall, but Tiresias ceased to register it.

"Until what? The White Walkers? The South exploding into war? Something else?"

He almost mentioned Daenerys Targaryen before stopping himself. He hadn't informed anyone of that yet. Assuming Lord Stark hadn't read his letter.

"He didn't say," Annag replied. "Though the boy's already been asking about Winterfell for a year now. I'd say it's a fair wager what's coming for you more viciously."

Annag stepped back from the mare, who shook her head, ridding her mane of rainwater.

"So whatever you did in the South…I hope it was worth staying away from the North all this time."

He had set the preparations to continue when he left. The food stores continued to be filled. Dragonglass was still imported. Benjen and Jeor Mormont were trying to work beyond the Wall and get the Night's Watch and Free Folk under some compromise.

Still, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he spent nearly ten months away from Winterfell, the last part of which, he was wined and dined spectacularly.

Tiresias sighed. "Aye, I hope so too."

Annag turned to leave, but she hesitated and pivoted back.

"And the Mountain?" she asked. Tiresias heard the reluctant admiration in her voice. Along with a heaping amount of exasperation. "Was he worth it?"

Tiresias almost laughed. "Annag, I'm going to have to explain that bit of stupidity to everyone in Winterfell. Including a young woman that I'm very fond of. Do I have to explain it to you now?"

Annag considered it for a moment before sighing. "At least you killed him. How's your arm?"

He flexed his digits automatically. "All right. Not as strong as it was. Need to train it back up. How are Martan and Dallan?"

"Dallan's lost two fingers since last you saw him, but he's fine. Martan has a wife now. They just had a girl."

Tiresias nodded, his chest lightening at the news. "Would you tell them both I say hello? And congratulations to Martan?"

"Aye." She pulled her hood up and scoffed. "You know, I'm not sure whether or not I find it comforting; that you're the same dumb shite who wandered into the Neck with no plan to survive."

He considered it before shrugging. "Learned some things. I'm keeping to the road this time."

Annag walked back into the marsh.

"Low bar," she called back over the rain. "Good luck in Winterfell!"

Tiresias watched her disappear, before turning back and clicking his tongue. The wagon pulled through the mud and continued on. He sniffed the air. This rainfall would only last for a few more minutes.

Lord Reed's relayed warning ran through his mind, turning his stomach sour. He was not fond of shortened timelines. If it was the White Walkers who would move more quickly, what motivated them? Was it the Night King's necromancy that saw him working to undermine him? Was it just the Free Folk using the dragonglass in their skirmishes? Was it just plain bad luck?

He didn't know. And ultimately it wasn't too important. Balancing the oncoming wars from the North, in the South and from the East was not something he could accomplish while driving a wagon through the mud.

Just one day at a time, man. One task after another.

As eager as he was to reach Winterfell and as long as he had been away, Tiresias felt more and more anxious the farther north he rode. He briefly thought that he could attribute it to lingering fears from the Dreadfort, to the possibility of Locke and his men waiting for him along the Kingsroad.

However, no hunters awaited him. The only people he encountered were the innkeepers who sold him horsefeed, farmers and a few travelers. And so he drew nearer. To the castle which he had called home for over five years. He hoped he'd still be welcomed.

That's ridiculous, man. They know you and care for you.

Do they know me? They don't know Clark at all. How much do they know Tiresias? Who was Tiresias to them? Who is he now?

He couldn't answer these questions. Not by himself and certainly not on the road. He resisted the urge at Castle Cerywn to send the tomes onward and disappear. Find anonymity again. There were so many places in the world where no one had seen his face. Where nobody had heard of Tiresias. Maybe he'll switch again. Become Johann. That name fit well enough in the Riverlands…

Stop it! You made your decision years ago when you first traveled north. You have a life here now. It's not something a man walks away from.

So he set off from the inn outside of Castle Cerwyn. Determined to make it. And to have no regrets. About any of it.

Except maybe Rosie...

He was still nervous though. Four days later, before midday, he rolled out of a glen and came onto the meadows. It was a clear, cool day and Winterfell was quite visible in the distance. He halted the wagon and collected himself before continuing on.

Pulling his hood up, he hoped to deter any ruckus before it was absolutely necessary. However a wagon driving through Wintertown around midday drew glances. It began there. Tiresias was no king. He had no army or dragon. There were no shouts, no exclamations, but there were murmurs and silences. Both directed at him.

There were a few that he greeted by name. The candlemaker, Reben and his daughter. The pig farmer, Antorn. Both of whom managed to say hello back, despite their stares. Other than that, he kept his eyes forward, driving the wagon toward the castle.

He didn't see Halford at the front gate. Vics were there though, with three new guards. Tiresias couldn't help laughing a little. Vics was now the head guard at the gate. Still had the blonde curls though.

"Halt," Vics called. Tiresias pulled the wagon to a gentle stop. "What business do you have…?"

The guard stopped when he saw his face.

"Hello, Vics." Tiresias sighed, looking to the courtyard and back to the guard. "Can I go in? I'm very tired. And homesick."

"Ah…aye." Vics kept nodding his head slowly, looking at him. "You…you want I should go and tell Lord Stark you're here?"

"Nah," said Tiresias, shaking his head. "He'll figure it out. Gotta get these tomes to the library. They've traveled quite a way."

He leaned down. "Did Jory and a young blacksmith ever arrive? Are they here?"

"Aye," said Vics. "Aye, more than two months ago."

"Good," Tiresias murmured, sitting back up. "Good, good."

He sighed. "Can I go through now?"

"Aye," said the guard said, still nodding. "Aye, go on."

He moved aside along with the rest of the guard. Tiresias clicked his tongue and rolled past the gate. Vics found his tongue as he did.

"How's your arm?"

Tiresias lifted it in response. "Still here."

Keeping his hood up, he didn't feel any more stares as he made his way to the stables. Hullen was out somewhere and a stableboy assisted him. Tiresias unhitched the mare, giving her a final pat as she was led away.

"Give her a nice rest. She's travelled far," he called after the lad. Once they unloaded the wagon and rolled it into the holding area, he turned and sniffed, taking in the whole courtyard.

It smelled exactly the same and based on the sensations emanating from the kitchens, he guessed it was just past the midday meal. He didn't feel like eating though and the anxiety of meeting someone…

He still had to get the tomes up. That was his excuse and he latched onto it. However, he couldn't lift the trunk alone.

Just then, he heard heavy footprints were coming toward him. He turned to see Hodor approaching him. He paused in front of Tiresias, looking him up and down.

"Hodor?"

Tiresias nodded. "Yep. I'm back." He smiled grimly. "How've you been, Hodor?"

"Hodor."

"Aye, me too." He turned to the trunk. "I'm guessing you can probably lift this whole thing by yourself. But could you please just grab one end and let me carry the other?"

Hodor looked to the trunk and went to the other side, sliding his huge hand through one of the handles. Tiresias grabbed the other one.

"Thanks, Hodor," he grunted, bending his knees. "Remember, use your legs."

In the end, Hodor still carried more of the weight but Tiresias walked ahead and guided the trunk through the halls and up the stairs. He encountered some familiar faces, like Maygen, the serving girl, who stared after him mute. Theon Greyjoy did the same, but ran off quickly toward the Great Hall, presumably to tell Robb and maybe Jon as well.

The midday meal meant no one was in the library tower. He and Hodor set the trunk down before his table. It was covered in backed-up work. Translations, donations and hundreds of scrolls of parchments that he would have to see to. Mercifully, they were divided neatly into piles. He supposed he had Maester Luwin to thank for that.

But today was not the day to deal with them. He turned to Hodor, the big man simply waiting for him to speak. There was the first time he had seen Hodor in the library. A tinge of regret went through him. He never went out of his way to speak to Hodor. To know him truly. There was just…so much to do…

Still, he felt guilty and stuck out his hand.

"Thank you, Hodor," he said. "That was very heavy and I couldn't have gotten it up here by myself. Thank you."

Hodor reached out and softly placed his hand on Tiresias' shoulder. He looked into his eyes and nodded.

"Hodor."

Tiresias patted his hand. "Thanks, Hodor. I'm glad to be home too."

With that, Hodor turned and exited the library. Tiresias made room on the table and deposited the eleven Old Tongue tomes. He would catalog them tomorrow. As for now, he was tired. He looked to the empty trunk and chuckled.

Free trunk. Thanks, Tywin.

He carried the trunk down to his quarters, much lighter without the tomes, lifting it so his face was hidden. Childish, sure, but he had no mute stares lodged at him this time. Plus, his feet knew the way. Soon he was at his door. Marveling at the fact that he hadn't lost his key during his entire trek, he unlocked his room and shut the door behind him.

Dropping the trunk, he threw his rucksack on the ground, unbuckled his belt with the sheath and collapsed onto the bed. It smelled so good. Like it was when he returned from Gulltown years ago, someone had come in and dusted.

A weariness took hold of him. He couldn't get up, but he managed to kick his boots off. It was ridiculous. He had sat on a wagon for over two months, warily relaxed at Casterly Rock beforehand. He shouldn't be this tired and there was so much work to do…

Just a few minutes…I only need a few minutes…

He adjusted his pillow underneath and closed his eyes.

A brisk knocking bolted him blindly from the bed. He swayed as he sat up, his hand darting to his side before remembering that he had removed his sheath and that he was in Winterfell. Blinking as he relaxed, he focused again on the door.

Probably don't need a dagger against someone who would knock.

The visitor rapped on the door again.

Tiresias wiped dried drool from his mouth. "Hello?"

Lord Stark opened the door, but remained at the entrance. Tiresias nodded.

"Lord Stark, afternoon. Or…" He turned back to the window and saw the orange sunset coloring the sky. "Evening, I guess."

"You've returned."

Tiresias swallowed. His mouth was too dry.

"Aye. Much later than I anticipated. I'm sorry about that. Sorry as well that I didn't come and see you right away, my lord. I only came here to deposit my things, but I…I was more tired than I thought."

Silence reigned for a good bit as Tiresias tried to read the Warden's face. He seemed to be collecting a whole range of emotions. There was relief, sure. But a grimness as well. Disbelief, a slight anger, exasperation…

And questions. Questions that seemed to fighting their way out of him.

Lord Stark started simple. "Your injuries. Are they all healed?"

"Aye, I was well looked after."

"And your arm?"

Tiresias flexed the digits, rotating the wrist. "Healed. I feel no pain, but it's not as strong as it once was. I'll need to train it back up."

Ned continued to look at him impassively. Tiresias sighed.

"Lord Stark…what I did…I…"

"We'll speak on that tomorrow," Ned cut across, though not ungently. "I want you in my solar after midday. Understood?"

Tiresias nodded. "Aye."

Lord Stark sighed. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head. "I was going to go down to the kitchen in a couple of hours. Grab something…"

"Come with me," said Lord Stark. "You'll sit with me tonight. And my family."

It was the gentlest of commands, but it was still a command. Lord Stark stood aside in the doorway and waited for him. He remained seated on the bed, gazing at his host. Ned returned his gaze, with patience and a certain understanding.

"You won't make it any easier if you hide away here, sneaking about the castle," he said. "Best walk with me and get it over with it."

Tiresias took an inhale, releasing it through his nose. After strapping his boots on, he stood and joined Ned Stark in the hallway. His fingers brushed his pocket as they walked. His gift was still there.

The corridors in Winterfell were mostly deserted, as it was time for supper. However, as they approached the Great Hall, he heard the rumble of conversation from a long ways off.

He took one more fortifying breath as they entered. Which was good as Ned Stark didn't allow him to pause beforehand. He entered as Lord of Winterfell, without hesitation and Tiresias could only follow.

At first, it was fine. Lord Stark was not a lord that demanded strict pomp and circumstance. The conversations that Tiresias heard approaching the Great Hall continued freely as they made their way to the high table. Only the nearby diners paused and greeted Ned Stark with "M'Lord".

That lasted for about thirty seconds. By then, it was abundantly clear whom Ned Stark was walking with and the Great Hall fell silent. The only sounds were the hearths blazing and the thuds of their boots walking up.

Tiresias kept his eyes on the back of Ned Stark. Perhaps the cowardly way to go, but he just didn't feel cavalier enough to nod blithely in greetings to the silent stares that followed him down the hall.

However, that option was soon gone. Sure enough, they reached the high table and Ned Stark gestured for him to sit next to him. He did so, pulling his chair in and hearing the wood scrape along the floor. It echoed and he almost smiled. He remembered what an echo in this hall sounded like.

When he raised his head and looked across the table, it took a considerable effort not to look shocked. The children of House Stark were all staring at him and they looked more than ever like their show counterparts. Which he supposed made sense. They were only a few years away from the show's start and he had been away for ten months. That's enough time for a child to grow considerably.

A genuine smile came to his face. There were times he thought he would never see them again.

"Hello everyone." He made his way around the table. "Cara, Sansa, Robb, Theon, Bran, Arya, Jon. Sorry for being late." Ned just sat down and Tiresias turned to the lady on his other side. "Lady Stark, it's good to see you. You look well."

Catelyn nodded, more poised than anyone else, but she still seemed to be holding back her own questions.

"Thank you, Tiresias. Welcome back to Winterfell."

"Thank you, Lady Stark. It's good to be back."

Somehow, he found the strict formality of her greeting oddly comforting. He glanced to the hall, still hushed and staring at him. He looked to Lord Stark, a silent plea in his eyes.

Ned saw it. He didn't call out or address the hall. He merely picked up the pitcher and gestured for his cup. Tiresias dully handed it to him. The sounds of ale flowing into his cup filled the silent high table.

After handing back his full cup, Ned filled his own. He raised his cup and Tiresias met it with a clink. He drank deeply, savoring the Northern ale he'd become so accustomed to over the years. The wine at Casterly Rock couldn't compare…

Come on now. That's a harsh judgment. An unfair one, too. Still, I've missed this…

Ned lowered his cup and turned to Robb. "Robb, did Maester Luwin give you the fur trade accounts? From Deepwood Motte, Bear Island and Torrhen's Square?"

Robb managed to turn his questioning gaze from Tiresias and faced his father. It took a couple of seconds though.

"Aye, Father. I've haven't had a chance to read them through yet."

"Well, you don't have to memorize them. I just want you to be able to surmise them and to have some familiarity of their contents before I go over them with you in a few days."

By refusing to play up the return of Tiresias, Ned essentially told all others to continue on as such. It took a few seconds, but Tiresias, glancing out, saw Barth turn to his plate again and continue to eat. A couple more men followed him, the murmurs of conversation began anew and soon, the hall was back to its dinner. Tiresias still felt the stares, but he breathed for the first time since entering this place.

Of course, that was the rest of the Great Hall. He was still besieged by very curious diners at his table. Ones who wouldn't be distracted by Ned's attempt at subterfuge. Robb's training as future Lord of Winterfell wasn't nearly exciting enough.

He set his ale down, meeting the eyes of Arya who was sitting right opposite him. Her meat pie was quite forgotten.

"How have you been, milady?" he asked, hoping she'd forgive him for the title. It wasn't worth it in front of Catelyn.

"Did you really slay a giant?" Arya asked loudly, not even addressing the 'milady'.

"Arya Stark!" exclaimed Catelyn. Her eyes were very bright, but she kept her voice low enough to be confined to the table. "I told you beforehand, all of you, that that was not an appropriate conversation for dinner. Tiresias, I'm so sorry…"

"It's all right, Lady Stark, it's all right," he spoke as soothingly as possible, trying to calm the situation. He didn't wish to be responsible for a child's beratement.

He nodded to Catelyn, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face.

Not too wide of a smile, Tiresias. That's the key.

"I'm sure that I'll have to get used to those questions. I won't give explicit details, but I'm happy to explain it to her. Just so she doesn't have to rely on outlandish rumors for the story. Only if you approve, of course."

Catelyn looked to Ned, who nodded, before returning her gaze to Tiresias. She sighed.

"Very well," she said. "Only as much as you're comfortable saying."

Tiresias turned back to Arya, her eyes still wide.

"I dueled a man in the Westerlands, Arya, in Deep Den, a castle fort on the Goldroad, home of House Lydden. Do you know where it is?"

Arya nodded her head. "Robb showed me on a map."

"I see," Tiresias said. He felt Catelyn shoot Robb a pointed look, Robb trying not to wither under it…

"Anyway, it was a trial-by-combat and I volunteered as a champion. The man I dueled was very tall. He wasn't a giant. They reside north of the Wall. But he was the tallest man I've ever seen."

"Taller than Hodor?"

Tiresias took an unnecessary beat to consider it. "Aye. Taller than Hodor."

"You killed him, then? Ser Gregor Clegane?"

He looked to Arya's left. Jon Snow asked the question politely enough. Though he could sense the underlying questions underneath: what? Why? How the fuck?

Probably saving those for the training yard. Out of the ear of Lady and Lord Stark.

Making sure there was no boast in his tone before he answered, he nodded and spoke softly.

"Aye…aye, I did."

If he was sitting in front of Theon, he would have been asked for the gory details. He could feel the young Greyjoy practically bursting to on the other side of the table. Thankfully Jon didn't. The boy's dark eyes fell to his arm.

"You were hurt?"

"I was. It's why I didn't return with Jory and Gendry before. I had to recover before I could travel."

"How are your injuries, Tiresias?" Catelyn interrupted. The concern was genuine, but it came with an underlying message. This subject was now closed.

"As far as I know, my Lady, I'm completely healed," he responded. "I was tended to by a talented maester and he was able to save my arm."

"I'm very happy to hear that," she said. "The Seven were kind to you that day."

"They certainly were," Tiresias murmured. Maygen placed a plate first in front of Ned Stark and then in front of him. He said thanks, whilst staring out across the Great Hall, looking for another serving girl…

Mal wasn't in the Great Hall. Not that he could see. She was out at the moment. Or perhaps she wasn't serving anymore, with more responsibilities under Mistress Bane. He wished he had asked Gord in King's Landing.

His sweeping eyes met a few others who were staring at him. If he had time, he gave a nod, but they usually snapped back to their plates. It didn't seem to be fear. At the same time, it made him uncomfortable.

However, his heart lightened as he looked at the far back corner of the hall. Gendry was seated amongst a few other apprentices from the smithy. He could smell the ironworks on their clothes from the high table. Tiresias sighed in relief. Not that he doubted Jory's resolve. Vics told him at the gate, but it was another thing to see the boy himself, safe in Winterfell.

Gendry glanced up from his bowl to see his gaze and froze. Tiresias smiled and gave a small wave. The boy nodded back, smiling.

Though perhaps that was a mistake. The other boys surrounding Gendry saw whom he was nodding at. The conversation at their table began anew, all questions directed at the young blacksmith.

It didn't surprise Tiresias. There was plenty of time to think at Casterly Rock and one of his summations was that he was placing Jory and Gendry in awkward positions when they arrived at Winterfell, the only two witnesses to his actions at Deep Den. They were bound to be pestered.

Though I'll probably take some of the heat off them. Now that I'm back.

The thought didn't cheer him. He resigned himself to a few explanations of what happened. To be cold, to take no joy in the violence, to be adamantly minimal with the details. He tried that with Arya just now and it was fine.

However, not every inquisitor would have Lady Stark behind them to restrain their curiosity. Many would not be satisfied by his minimal approach. The children weren't. He could see that in their eyes, as he brought his attention back to the table. Every one, with the exception of Cara Stark, was bursting to learn more.

He'd have to be careful. Only a select few should hear his full accounting. Lord Stark was one.

And Mal…if she ever showed. He glanced around the hall again and still saw no sign of her. He began to suspect that her absence was quite deliberate...

However the evening was still young. There would be time after. Breaking open his steak and ale pie, he turned to the children, switching to the Old Tongue.

"Who here knows, how many books I bring north? To Winterfell?"

All the children gave their guesses. And the dinner continued. After a short apology to Lord and Lady Stark, with their permission, he questioned the children in the Old Tongue, learning what they had been up to during his ten-month absence. Robb, Theon and Jon went hunting with Ser Rodrik and some other guards. They ended up camping for three days by a waterfall.

Tiresias felt his eyes drift to Jon, though Robb spoke.

Be willing to bet that's the same spot you ended your first dragon ride, Jon…

Bran had begun to climb and showed his hands where his littles palms had begun to callus. Though he spoke in the Old Tongue, he underestimated how much his mother could intuit. Or even just see.

Leaving Bran to be gently scolded by Catelyn, he turned to Sansa who was beginning to sew roses into her patterns. Reaching into his pocket, Tiresias produced the well-worn armband with the Stark insignia. He had only meant to show that he still kept it and appreciated it deeply. She snatched it from his fingers and promised to fix the stitches, asking as well to stitch a winter rose into the band as well. To which, Tiresias gave his blessing.

They continued talking for a while, in between bites. Strangely, even though he was sitting closest to them, Arya and Jon were the quietest. After their initial questions, they stayed relatively silent. The restraint that Tiresias sensed in Jon Snow was only more obvious in Arya. How they gripped their utensils, the furtive glances. The only difference were the looks of warning and reassurance that Jon shot Arya whenever she looked to speak up again.

Tiresias didn't have the heart to engage them in the Old Tongue. Not for mere practice. After the first few questions, he focused on finishing his meal. Twenty minutes after entering the Great Hall, he drained the rest of his ale and stood.

"Are you all right, Tiresias?" asked Catelyn. "Have you eaten enough?"

"Aye, my Lady, thank you." He nodded briskly. "I figured I should take care of a few things tonight. Tomorrow I begin to catch up with all the piled-up work in the library."

He turned to the rest of the table. "I'll see you all tomorrow there. Lord Stark; after midday tomorrow in your solar, aye?"

Ned nodded. "Aye. Rest well, Tiresias. It's good to have you back."

Tiresias couldn't help a small smile. "Thank you, my Lord. Good to be back. G'night."

He inclined his head, before turning to exit the hall. As he proceeded to the side door, he heard a fresh wave of renewed muttering behind him. Thanks to his ear, he still heard it as he proceeded down the hall.

That will calm down, man. It has to. Don't let it bother you.

However the mutterings didn't cease until he exited the Great Keep, stepping into the cool summer evening. He sniffed the chilled air appreciatively. There were no summer winds like these in Casterly Rock.

About to shut the door on the faded mutterings, he heard something coming down the hall. A pair of bootsteps, stepping lightly and quickly, coming his direction. He stepped away from the door, leaving it open. He craned his neck to stargaze, as he waited for the young man. Even after ten months away, he knew the lad's step.

He heard Jon Snow creak the door open and step out. Bringing his head down, he met the boy's eyes…well, not really a boy anymore. He smiled as Jon came forward.

He brought his hand up for a shake. Jon strode past his hand and fiercely embraced him. Tiresias returned it, patting the lad's back gently as he released him.

"It's good to see you, Jon." He clapped Jon's shoulder. "I'm sorry it took me so long to return."

"S'all right," said Jon. His eyes were wider than Arya's. "How…how did you…"

Tiresias raised his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you, Robb and Theon haven't badgered poor Jory for that story, aye?"

"Well, no…I mean, we did, but…" Jon seemed to be fighting for words. "He…he said you didn't have any armor, Clegane broke your arm and you were forced to Casterly Rock and…"

His voice trailed off and he just stared up at him, back to the one question.

"How?"

"I was very lucky, Jon. And very foolish." He squeezed Jon's shoulder. "I'll tell you about it one day. If you insist. But not tonight…there are things I need to see to."

He no longer had to kneel to meet Jon's eyes. But he did bend down a little.

"But know this…if Clegane and I fought a hundred duels, he probably would have won ninety-nine of them. It was a close match and I barely survived. It wasn't glorious. It was just what I felt I needed to do. Which didn't make it any less foolish. Do you understand?"

Jon blinked. "I think so?"

Cursing his mediocre explanation, Tiresias straightened. "Well, in any case, I need to go and see to the other things. I have quite a bit of work to catch up on. So it'll probably be another fortnight before I can get away in the evening to spar with you. Is that all right?"

"A spar?" Jon stated. "You still want to spar with me? After you beat the Mountain?"

"Aye, I missed it all these months." Tiresias smiled, before lowering his voice. "You and Arya been keeping up?"

"We have. She…she, um…" Jon rolled his sleeve to reveal a bruise on his forearm. "She gave me this."

Tiresias whistled. "Lovely little gift." He nodded back to the door. "You best get back. Night, Jon."

Jon nodded, striding to the Great Keep. He paused at the door though and looked back.

"Go," said Tiresias, allowing himself a small laugh. "I'll still be here in the morning. I swear."

A small smile escaped the lad, before he disappeared. Tiresias listened until his boots faded away before turning and walking around the keep. He didn't know if Mal was still serving in the kitchens, but he was sure that Maygen or Ginn would know where she was. Whether or not she would see him…

He halted. Once again, his pondering was interrupted by approaching footsteps. Coming around the Great Keep, from the main entrance. He counted three sets of footsteps; one too big, one too little and one that was just right…

Aye, well, perhaps these three bears aren't seeking you and your inflated sense of grandeur, mate.

However, he doubted that. He stepped into the light of a brazier and waited. Ten seconds later, the group rounded the corner and halted at the sight of him.

"Great shit!" exclaimed Gord. "You really are back."

Tiresias smiled. "Hello, Gord. Jory. Gendry."

The big man laughed and rushed forward. Tiresias tried to prepare himself but he couldn't help the little groan that escaped him as Gord picked him up in a bear hug. He heard Jory and Gendry approach as well.

Finally Gord put him down and gave his shoulder a punch. Not too lightly.

"I oughta fuckin' strangle you for what you did, mate! What the fuck were you thinking? Gods, man, you have any idea what we thought when we heard the news?"

"Bet you called horseshit." After Tiresias rubbed his shoulder, he stuck his hand out to Jory, who shook it vigorously. "Least 'til this man arrived. Good to see you, Jory."

"You as well, Tiresias."

He turned to Gendry, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "Gendry, not too cold for you up here, right?"

Gendry shook his head. "Not yet. Forge is hot. Still have your jacket."

"Keep it. Other lads treatin' you fine?"

"Aye. They laugh at me accent, I laugh at theirs."

"Good for you."

"Tiresias," said Jory, glancing at Gord before continuing. "Those items…I got them to Lord Stark and I put the other in your room."

Tiresias exhaled, glad to have that weight off his mind. "Good. Thank you, Jory. I never doubted you."

Gord snorted. "That's fucking mysterious."

The big man raised his hands as they looked to them. "Well, I'm not one to judge. I delivered something for you too, remember?"

"I do," muttered Tiresias. "She get the threads then?"

"Aye, I put 'em right in her hands."

"She liked them?"

Gord shrugged. "Aye, I think…she was…well, she was down when she saw you weren't riding with us. The threads…perked her a little…but then stories came from the south...you and the Mountain…"

Any levity left Gord as he shuffled his feet. "Best you speak to her yourself, mate."

"I know." Tiresias sighed. "I was looking for her now. She in the kitchens?"

Gord shook his head. "Nah. She don't serve no more. Hadn't for months. Works full-on for Mistress Bane. Probably in the servant quarters now."

"All right," murmured Tiresias, his heart beginning to race. He turned to Jory, scratching the back of his head.

"Have you been bombarded since you arrived back with folks wanting to know what happened in Deep Den?"

Jory shrugged. "Nah, people aren't that curious."

There was a silence. Even without the growing grins from Gendry and Gord.

Tiresias scoffed. "Oh, piss off."

"You piss off." Jory broke and laughed. "Aye, Tiresias. I've been asked many…many, many times what happened. From everyone. And so has Gendry."

The grin on his face shrunk in a light grimace.

"I figured that. What've you been saying?"

"I spoke to Lord Stark first," Jory said. "Told him all I could. Others…I mostly just said what was horseshit and what wasn't."

He turned to Gendry who shrugged.

"I didn't even see the duel," Gendry said. "Keep telling them that, but they keep asking. It's not all bad though. Mikken makes them shut up if we're in the forge. They don't know I honed the blades that cut the Mountain down. I haven't said. That helps."

"Good," muttered Tiresias. "Good, good…"

"Tiresias," said Jory. "I told Mal…when I delivered your message, I told her what happened. Not as much as I told Lord Stark, but…more than the others."

A soft wind came from the west. Tiresias felt it kiss his face. Nobody said anything for a little while.

"I have somewhere I need to be," he said.

"Aye, you do," said Jory. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Tiresias mumbled, turning away. The servant quarters were in the northern part of the castle.

"Tiresias!" called Gord. He turned back to his tall friend, who seemed hesitant. "She's been…she has been using the threads. The ones you got her."

The western air continued to sing. Tiresias waited for Gord to elaborate. What was she making? Who was it for?

But Gord merely shrugged. "It's what Ginn says anyway. She rooms with Maygen now."

"Ginn?"

"No, you dolt. Mal. Mal rooms with Maygen now. Ginn lives with me, her husband."

Tiresias swallowed. "Right. See you lot."

He proceeded to the north of the castle, passing the Great Hall and crossing the welcoming courtyard, past the stables. The barest remnants of a summer snow remained, packed away in the corners.

Before long, he came to the servant's quarters. The men lived on the ground floor and the women on the second floor. He stalled before the door. It wasn't forbidden to enter. However it just didn't seem right. He didn't want to speak to her at her doorway. Where she had nowhere to escape, should she want to.

Resolving himself, he found a short barrel and sat. He looked to the stars and waited. Not for long though. Before a half hour passed, serving girls were returning from the Great Hall. A few stared at him as they passed, entering their quarters but he was only searching for one.

Maygen froze when she saw him. He stood and walked over to her, stopping at a respectful distance.

"Hello, Maygen."

She nodded automatically. "Tiresias."

"Is she in?"

There was no need to jerk his head back to the quarters or say her name. Maygen knew whom he was referring to.

"She was when I left to serve tonight," she said quietly. "Sharpening the sewing needles…think she's still at it."

"Could you tell her I'm here, please?" asked Tiresias, saying the words he wanted to say for the past four months. He spoke more quietly than Maygen. "Tell her I want to speak to her…if she would hear me."

Did Magyen hesitate before she nodded? A part of him thought she did. Nevertheless, she walked past him, pausing at the door.

"Wait here," she said, before disappearing.

Tiresias was left alone with the western wind, gazing up at the stars.

Less than a year ago…doing the exact same thing…waiting for her outside…

This time though, he kept his ears alert. Determined to hear her steps again. To turn and see her brown eyes as she came out of the door. For the first time in ten months…

She didn't come immediately. He stared at the stars, trying to make the time go faster. It didn't. His heart pulsing quickly since he left the Great Hall slowed and punched gently in his ears. The minutes refused to go by quickly…

But they did go by. And finally Tiresias heard the soft platter of her shoes against the stone.

He turned back to the door and caught her coming out, her brown eyes shining in the moonlight, her hair tied back, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

She walked forward, stopping a fair distance from him. He closed the gap, stepping forward. As he came closer, she tucked her head. Tiresias halted. He heard her trying to control her breath.

He cleared his throat. "Hello, Mal."

Mal didn't raise her head. She didn't say anything.

Tiresias looked behind him. Others were beginning to come down from their evening duties. He felt curious eyes centered on him. On her.

He turned back to Mal. "Do you want to talk somewhere more private?"

Without saying a word, she turned and walked, heading east. Tiresias followed her. They walked along the walls, past the kennels. The dogs only gave them a weary glance before falling back asleep.

It was only when they came to the underpass of a covered bridge, next to the tool sheds, that Mal halted and turned to him. Her eyes were still down though.

Tiresias stepped to her. "Mal, I'm…well, I'm back. And I'm very late. I know that."

"Jory said your arm was broken."

He nodded. "Aye, it was."

Mal kept her eyes down. "Is it healed now?"

"It is."

She lifted her head and Tiresias saw the anger in her eyes.

He saw the slap coming, but he didn't defend himself. His cheek stung as he brought it back and faced her again. Mal began to hit him and not softly either. She struck his shoulders and his chest. He took it silently, not raising his arms.

Finally she stopped and backed away. Tears were at her eyes, but she didn't cry out.

Tiresias rubbed the spots she struck. "Maybe you should have fought the Mountain instead of me."

"Don't you fucking jape! Not now!" she said, wiping her eyes.

He sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" she repeated, staring at him. "You're sorry?"

She stepped up to him. "A few months to half a year. That's what you promised. It's been ten months."

"I know."

"Aye, I know you know! That makes it worse!" She wiped her eyes again. "You went down to King's Landing. You chose to do that, knowing I was waiting. You went west, knowing I was waiting! And you fought the Mountain, knowing that I was waiting!"

"I did," Tiresias muttered quietly.

She stared at him. "When you…when you volunteered to fight…did you think you'd win?"

"I didn't think it likely, no."

He didn't hesitate to say so. Something in the air told him this was no time for bullshit.

Maybe it was just the look in Mal's eyes. All the pain, worry, hurt and rage she'd felt over the past few months was shining though. It took a significant effort to not wither from her stare.

"You volunteered to die," she said. She reached out and shoved him again. "For some stranger you didn't even know!"

He took the shove. "I did my best not to."

"You nearly did! Jory told me. He broke your arm, he had you by the throat, he…he…"

She wiped her eyes again furiously.

"You didn't even wear armor!"

For the first time, she turned away, breathing trying to calm herself. Tiresias resisted the urge to go to her. She didn't want him to. Not now. He didn't need to sense her face heating from anger to know that.

After she collected herself, she turned back to him.

"Why did you even go to the Westerlands anyway? Why…why'd you even go to the capital?"

"Business for Lord Stark," he remarked shortly.

A small unamused laugh escaped her. "Is that…is that the complicated work you spoke of?"

"It is."

She breathed and exhaled, trying to calm herself.

"Did Lord Stark keep you away from Winterfell? More than the half year? Did he give you one complicated bit of work after another?"

Tiresias shook his head. "No…no, I acted on his behalf...but I was the one who decided to act."

Mal scoffed lightly. "Do you also decide what you wanted when you were away? You had four extra months to think on it. Did it even cross your mind? Did I?"

"You did," he murmured. "Many…many times."

Tiresias reached into his pocket and pulled out the gift he commissioned in Harroway. He held out the tiny bundle of cloth. Mal eyed him as she took it. She unraveled the cloth to reveal a silver thimble. Pocketing the cloth, she placed the thimble on her thumb, turning it over lightly.

"It's very nice," she said, before looking back to him. "What you do mean by it?"

"I would like to be with you," Tiresias stated softly. The words came out of him more easily than he expected. "I would, but Mal…"

He looked around and sighed. "The complicated work…I told you last time we talked that…that I was more than a librarian. Though, I'm sure everyone knows that by now."

"So, what are you?" asked Mal, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the answer.

"Someone who's trying to prevent disaster from coming onto Westeros. I…" He sighed. "I foresaw a future for this country, this land and I came to Lord Stark to offer my services. Whatever I could do. For five years, that's meant slowly preparing the North for what's coming."

"What'd you mean? How'd...how'd you see this future?"

"I dreamt it."

Mal tried to scoff, but it died when she gazed back to him. There was no humor in his eyes. Soon there was none in hers.

"So, what's coming?" she asked softly.

"I can't say for now. You'll find out soon. Everyone will."

The tool shed creaked in the wind.

"The point is...I tried to move slow. To be unnoticed. To be no one of importance." He shrugged. "Maybe that's why I was so determined to be blind to your feelings."

He flexed his fingers down at his waist.

"But this time around…things got out of my control. I acted as well as I could…but I was also impulsive. I've made enemies, Mal. And not just down south. In the North as well…"

Mal looked out to check that they were alone before she spoke.

"The bandits? Riding back from the Dreadfort?"

"They weren't bandits, Mal," he muttered quietly. He saw in her eyes that he didn't have to mentioned Lord Bolton out loud.

"And with all that's happened, a part of me…a very rational part of me believes that…I'm not suited for a woman and the comforts of a home. The people that I've antagonized…they wouldn't hesitate to hurt you to get to me. You know that. You've eyes and ears.

"But it's not just that…I've done things, Mal. Things that…make me think I don't deserve to be with anyone…to have anyone's comfort. And with what I've done..."

He swallowed before continuing.

"I can't wash it out, Mal. I can't wash out the bad...but I can't wash out the good either. So I figure I have no choice…but do more good. Isolating myself, wallowing in that misery…it is what it is, but I figure I'd rather try and do good with someone. Try and…"

He sighed. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Aye, you are," she said. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "You'd put me in danger, then?"

Tiresias nodded. "I'd be in danger too. This journey I took…slaying giants, sneaking about…it won't be the last. My priority is the safety of Westeros. It includes you, but it's not just you. I'll be gone. Many times. With one task after another. It could be very dangerous and though I'd try…I couldn't guarantee that I would come back."

"From where?"

He shrugged. "Wherever I need to go."

She kept her brown eyes on him. "Down south again?"

"One day. Probably."

"To the Wall?"

"Beyond it if I need to."

Another gust of wind buffeted them from the west.

"Essos?"

"I truly hope not. But I would."

He thought of Ser Davos and the wife he was forever absent from. Ser Davos was a good man. As good as a man could be in this place and time. He still left her in the Stormlands. Risked his life for kings and causes he had no ties to…

Did his wife seethe in anger over her husband's exploits?

"I did think of you," he said quietly. "I truly did. Even when I ventured farther from Winterfell and took up arms against that monster, I did think of you. I barely came out of it, but it was easier when I had the North as a beacon. The winds, the library, you..."

You and your brown eyes.

He couldn't voice that last part. He could only look further into them. There was a strength there that extended to the rest of her. She didn't even seem bothered by the chilled wind.

"It won't be easy. Being with me. I can't imagine that appeals to you. I'm certain that you thought being wife to a mere librarian meant more stable ground to stand on. That won't be the case with me. You got…you got a very rude lesson on that during these past ten months. I'm sorry for that. But that's a very possible future for us. Should you still want to be with me."

His head dropped as he said those words. Swallowing, he worked up the nerve to ask the question and met her gaze.

"Would you be with me then? Knowing that?"

Silence ensued between them, but Mal didn't drop her eyes and continued to look at him. Despite everything, he found it easy to meet them.

He had missed those brown eyes.

Without another word, she turned and walked off. Tiresias was about to sigh when he heard her stop.

She turned back. "What was the worst thing you did? The thing that made you think you shouldn't be with anyone?"

True fear billowed up inside of him. He saw fear in her as well, but she had a steely resolve. Stronger than him at any rate.

"Do you need to hear that answer?"

She glanced to the ground, before coming up to him. "Was it rape?"

"No."

"Murder?"

He swallowed. "Aye."

The wind quieted and he heard his heart pounding in the silence. He expected Rosie's face to flash before him but he only saw Mal, her gaze unblinking.

"Was it necessary?" she asked softly.

"I thought it was. When I did it. But now…I don't know, Mal. I don't know."

Mal didn't respond to that, only regarding him. He couldn't read her. Her face remained impassive.

Finally she turned and walked away in the night. Her feet didn't hit the ground with anger or disgust. In fact, she strode calmly, not looking back and this time, Tiresias was the one who watched her leave without an answer.

Ah well, it's the least you deserve.