“The shepherd guided them in and tended to those injured and cold.
He did so cautiously and the wolves regarded him with suspicion as well.
Shepherds are meant for sheep and they did not belong with wolves.” …
There was silence.
Clark waited for the rest, but Howland seemed like he was done.
“Is that it?” asked Clark, his worry growing.
“Maybe,” said Howland.
“So…most of the wolfpack survives and they growl at the man who saved them and the man is frightened as well?” “At first, yes.
He did not belong with them.
As I woke though, I felt the cave grow warm and relaxed.
He tended to them.” A small snake slithered onto Howland’s leg.
Clark jumped slightly but Howland seemed undisturbed.
He continued to speak.
“I’m going to say this once, Tiresias.
Don’t lose yourself in greendreams or however else you see the future.
It’s not set and even recounting the dream to you, I can’t tell what was lost or added due to my own prejudices.” “Are your dreams usually true?” The snake slithered off his leg and into the waters below.
“Usually,” said Howland.
“But I always miss most of what surrounds the vision.
It may not concern the Starks.
It’s just a dream at the end of it.
And it’s tempting to see yourself in the dream, when you may not even be there.
Are you the shepherd?
I cannot say.
Maybe you’re the cave.” “It was my blood.” “And it may have been an ordinary dream.
However…” Howland’s voice remained light, but his eyes were stone.
“If you’re right and the White Walkers do return, snow should command more significance.” “I didn’t say anything about White Walkers.” “No.
Just a return of magic and monsters from the North.” That warranted a short pause from Clark.
“Okay, fair enough.” “On the other hand,” said Howland.
“Perhaps the snow represents the calamity that come down on the Starks through Jon Snow himself.
If he’s discovered, Robert’s wrath will bury Ned and his family.
He’ll be unprepared and no one will be safe.” Clark threw a pebble.
“So what do I do?” Howland reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter.
He handed it to Clark, who noticed the red waxed seal.
It was a tiny little lion lizard.
He looked at Lord Reed.
“Your seal?” Howland stood and Clark joined him.
“You are not my subject.
I cannot tell you what to do.
If so many atrocities are converging all at once, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to flee.
However…if you’re serious about Westeros being your new home and you wish to help, I believe you could do far worse than to head north and be the eyes that the blind wolf lacks.” Clark looked at the letter.
“And this?” “A letter from an old friend, advocating for a stranger.
One thing I’m certain of from the greendream last night is you.
I know you’re telling the truth when you say you mean no harm to the Starks.
I saw a good nature from you.
I admit I don’t know what use you would be around Winterfell as a sailor, but I suggest you find one.
I think you will, won’t you?” “Yes.” Howland started walking back to the tent, Clark on his tail.
They entered and Howland turned with another question.
“Do you have enough coin to travel to Winterfell?” Clark blinked.
“I’m sorry?” “Coin.
Do you have enough?” He opened a chest and pulled out a purse.
He opened it onto the table and separated some silver.
“Will seven stags and ten stars do?” “Lord Reed, please that’s not necessary.
I can manage until…” “You’re lying,” said Howland lightly.
He left the allotted amount on the table, placing the purse back in the chest.
He scooped the coppers and silver from the table and deposited it in Clark’s hand, taking it from his side.
Clark stood there dumb.
“If it makes you feel better, this isn’t from the treasury.
This is my own private purse and I know I can spare it.
If you need any more help sleeping, you can call this a loan and not a gift.
But it is a gift.
Understand?” Clark nodded.
“Thank you, Lord Reed.
Thank you.” Howland beckoned and Clark followed him out of the tent.
“Don’t thank me yet, Tiresias.
You still need to get out of the Neck and I don’t trust you not to die on your way out.” “That’s reasonable,” he murmured.
“I can’t spare a whole group of crannogs to escort you, but I will give you one.” “Who?” asked Clark as they reached the last group left.
He looked and saw his question answered.
Annag’s scorn was back in full force.
Dallan and Martan were trying hard not to smile.
Howland stepped to them.
Dallan handed him a pouch of coins and a folded parchment, reporting their progress.
“Thank you, Dallan.
And you too, Martan.
I thank you both for continuing on, one crannog short.
Annag will join you back at Greywater when she is done with her task.
Be safe.” “Aye, m’Lord,” said Dallan, inclining his head.
Martan gave a short bow as well.
They both picked up their bags.
Clark and them exchanged a quick stare before Martan went forward and shook Clark’s hand.
Dallan did the same.
“Thank you,” said Clark.
Dallan glanced to Annag, before turning back to him.
“Good luck,” he said, releasing his hand.
With that, Dallan and Martan turned and disappeared into the western marshes, though Clark could hear them continue to march on the wet grounds.
That left Clark alone with Annag.
He looked at her and saw her picking up her bag.
She met his eyes.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said.
“Get your bag.
We need to go.” She marched off without another word.
Clark turned to Howland Reed, wanting desperately to say something else.
Anything.
However it all seemed so useless.
He settled for short and sweet.
“I’ll repay you one day, Lord Reed.
I swear it.” He stuck out his hand and Howland shook it.
“Be careful with what you know, say and do.
You have a great opportunity here, Tiresias.
Don’t waste it.” “I’ll do my best.
Good bye.” Howland nodded and Clark turned, stooping to grab his rucksack and cloak.
He ran after Annag, who was near the edge of the clearing, heading east.
It wouldn’t do to lose his reluctant guide moments after they started.
…
It took only two weeks to get to the Kingsroad.
Annag walked and navigated the way with a brisk purpose, to get this idiot out of the Neck alive and as quick as possible.
At least that’s what Clark assumed.
He was impressed that she kept her ire up.
Most of the rage and anger he’s felt during his life was short-lived.
It’s exhausting to be cross all the time.
Maybe that was just a testament to Annag’s endurance.
She walked northeast, through bogs and murk that she treated tenderly the month before.
Being light on her feet, she never destroyed anything in her way, but it was still jarring.
Clark followed as best he could.
Truthfully, he wasn’t doing terribly for an outsider, at least he thought so.
The month he spent with Martan, Dallan and a then more patient Annag toughened him up enough to where he only asked for a break once a day, as opposed to multiple times.
He didn’t even need more and didn’t hold out for bravado, he genuinely felt almost giddy to be dirty in a swamp.
He wondered once he got out, whether he would miss the frog-calls in the evenings as he fell asleep.
Perhaps he only felt so giddy because he had a guide to take him back to the Kingsroad.
He certainly didn’t want to live in the Neck forever.
He wanted to get north.
Still he felt good that he had a chance to travel with Dallan, Martan and Annag.
He hoped that they were amiable to visits in the future.
That last thought made him pause.
Christ, I’m desperate for friends.
I like them and I’m happy to have traveled with them, but I was their burden and I fucked up their schedule and their grouping…whenever I caused an inconvenience back home for someone, I’d send them an apology and a five dollar gift card.
The fuck do I do for this pissed woman in front of me?
He tried to temper his glee from there on in.
He tended to the fire every night and cooked.
He was getting pretty good with the flint and steel, stepping right back into his Eagle Scout shoes.
Annag took care of the light hunting and water gathering.
It was just quicker than watching some idiot stumble and scare away the animals.
Although a week in, Clark did spot some mushrooms that Dallan identified as safe in their travels.
He picked them and produced them for the stew that night.
Annag didn’t roll her eyes and placed them straight in, which Clark took for a win.
That night, in response to Clark’s polite “Good night,” she grunted.
Make that two wins.
…
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.