The next day saw multiple groups staggering out of the clearing.
Each one went to check in with Howland Reed before they departed.
It was certainly the most relaxed feudal system Clark had seen so far in Westeros.
Not that he had much to compare it with at this point, but still considering taxes or farming or serfdom…not much of it seem to apply to the crannogmen.
Howland obviously got some sort of tribute, but Clark felt safe guessing that he was one of the poorest lords in the entire kingdom.
He seemed happy enough though.
Maybe just living in the Neck was full time survival.
To make it any more complicated was to doom themselves.
They certainly made it impossible for anyone else to invade and conquer them.
No army could march or ride through here.
Not that the crannogmen had anything worth conquering for, at least in the eyes of those who ruled.
If they had any treasure, they kept it secret.
In the back of his mind though, he wondered how many White Walkers and wights it would take to overrun this place.
Probably fewer than he thought.
He had been thinking about the Army of the Dead for a while now, especially considering the Battle of Winterfell.
It seemed like they were most similar to ants, in his mind at least.
How does one defend from a swarm of human-sized ants?
A question for another day.
That was a phrase he’d been repeating to himself quite often these days.
He was nowhere near settled enough to try and influence the future he saw for Westeros, the one that he consumed for entertainment.
If he were to try and influence future events anyway.
He hadn’t heard from Howland Reed yet.
Maybe his day would end with him being killed or being sent south or across the Narrow Sea.
Eventually midday passed.
Everything that their group possessed was packed and they were the last ones waiting to be dismissed by Howland Reed.
The group before theirs was just disappearing to the north and Harn came up to them.
His scowl hadn’t moved from last night.
“Lord Reed wants to see you,” he said, addressing Annag.
He then turned to Dallan and Martan.
“You two stay here and watch him.” He jabbed his thumb at Clark, who exchanged a quick eyebrow raise with Martan.
What?
Exactly what you’ve been doing?
Martan sighed under his breath, as if to say I suppose.
Annag and Dallan exchanged a glance before she walked off to Howland’s tent, with Harn following her.
It was still up.
Null, Arten and one other crannogman stood guard.
She entered without any preamble.
Harn took his position outside.
Clark looked around, but there was nothing to do.
Dallan and Martan didn’t seem pressed to accomplish anything in their time alone, so Clark took to their example and sat quietly, trying to follow the birdsong that was sounding through the trees.
He actually followed a bird for two minutes to the north, at least he thought so.
It was difficult to tell.
Dallan sat on his pack, his eyes closed.
Martan keep a lazy eye on him.
Clark nodded and smiled, turning back to the trees.
His straw hat was ruined the first day in the bog and discarded.
His hood on the cloak was his only protection, but he didn’t mind the sun too much anymore, although he still preferred the cold to the heat.
His pink burns had turned into tans for the most part.
He even found himself not squinting as much anymore, if at all.
He had become a little tougher in these last two months.
At least he certainly hoped so, because Annag was returning to their group and she looked very angry.
Calm, but still very angry.
“He wants to see you,” she said, addressing Clark without looking at him.
Knowing the futility of asking what was wrong, he stood immediately and walked toward Howland Reed’s tent.
He approached the entrance.
Harn was glaring at him.
Clark was tempted to throw him into another guard, as he did with the soldiers at the inn.
But he simply nodded politely.
“G’afternoon,” he said, and walked in, not waiting for a reply.
Howland Reed was sitting.
He seemed rested though and relaxed.
He smiled at Clark, which he hoped was a good sign.
The other entrance to the tent was open, allowing natural light to come in.
“Lord Reed.” He bowed slightly.
“Tiresias,” said Howland as he stood up.
“Did you sleep well?” “Yes…did you?” “Yes, I believe I did.” Howland walked around the table, to the back exit.
His limp was there, but it was slight.
“Would you indulge me and take a small walk with me?
I’ve been in this tent all day and I’d like some afternoon air.” He exited and Clark caught up with him.
Outside, the guards began to follow but Howland waved his hand.
“Thank you, friends, but please don’t.
Relax for a few minutes.
I’ll be back shortly.” All the guards nodded and retreated back to their posts, including Harn.
Clark walked with Howland, matching his slow pace.
It was a good thing the clearing was so small.
Clark decided to break the silence when they fell out of earshot.
“Your men are very concerned for your well-being.” “As they should be,” replied Howland.
“Harn’s ire toward you may seem a little blunt.
He is not used to outsiders and certainly not amiable toward strangers in our secret meeting grounds.
There’s something sacred about this clearing.” “You don’t sound concerned about me being here.” Howland shrugged.
“Whether or not a place is holy depends on the behavior of who is occupying the place.
However you don’t seem disrespectful to the land.
A little ignorant perhaps if Annag is to be believed, but harmless.” Clark grinned a little.
“Ignorant?” “It’s not the worst thing to be in your situation.
Do you know where you are on a map?
Could you find your way out of the Neck and then back to this place?” “No,” said Clark with no hesitation.
Howland Reed smiled.
“Harn holds these lands above all else.
He’s proud of them.
He sees you walking in like an idiot and surviving, it puts something into his head.
But you’re no threat.
Not yet anyway.” With that, Howland sat down.
Clark waited a second, before sitting down himself.
“Not yet?” There was no answer.
Clark checked to make sure they were clearly out of earshot and went with another question.
“Did you greendream last night?” Howland shrugged.
“Perhaps.
It might have been an ordinary dream.” “What did you see?” Clark asked, the hair on his neck rising.
“A pack of wolves were running through the forest.
They were of different sizes and coloring.
They were content and happy to be together.
Then a great snow started to fall.
And the leader of the pack, the oldest, couldn’t see.
He was blind.
The snow continued and his pack was beginning to be buried.
The smallest was gone first and they still looked to the leader for guidance.
But he couldn’t help.
He was strong, but he had never seen snow like this before.
However, before the snow could claim another, a whistle pierced through the clearing.
The leader turned toward the whistle.
He howled.
The whistle answered.
So the blind wolf gathered what remained of his family and made for the whistle.
They came upon a cave, with a roaring fire and a shepherd standing guard.
The shepherd guided them in and tended to those injured and cold.
He did so cautiously and the wolves regarded him with suspicion as well.
Shepherds are meant for sheep and they did not belong with wolves.” …
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.