A/N: From now on, if you want daily chapters, you’ll have to reach a goal.
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.
…
Annag didn’t roll her eyes and placed them straight in, which Clark took for a win.
That night, in response to Clark’s polite “Good night,” she grunted.
Make that two wins.
…
The following week was lighter.
She still didn’t speak to him but the intensity lessened and now it just seemed politely quiet at times.
The only time she spoke was at the end of the two weeks of traveling.
She said that they would arrive the next day around midday and she’d walk him past Moat Cailin.
Once he was on solid ground again, he was on his own.
Clark thanked her and that was all what was spoken between them until later that night.
Dinner was done and the fire was out.
They just laid out on their respective cloaks.
Clark peered up to the sky.
The trees were not as dense here and starlight was shining through, reflecting off the bog water.
“Do you have a favorite constellation, Annag?” he whispered, not knowing why he whispered.
He heard her turn over and felt her consternated gaze lock onto him.
He met her eyes, surprised he could actually see them.
The starlight was intense tonight.
She looked surprised, but not annoyed.
She brought her face up and peered.
Nothing was said for a solid minute and then she pointed to the northwest.
“The Shadowcat.
She’s my favorite.” He followed her hand as best as he could.
He knew better than to ask her to connect the dots, instead logging that name away for an astronomy book if he could even find one.
Maybe in Winterfell.
He hoped he could sweet talk Maester Luwin into letting him read that.
Or anything for that matter.
Annag then pointed straight up.
“And the Mason.
He’s a right comfort.” “Aye, he is.” He turned over, closing his eyes.
“G’night, Annag.” He heard her turn as well and settle in with her usual grunt.
The next morning they made good time.
Clark didn’t even see the Kingsroad until he was right in front of it.
He stepped onto solid ground for the first time in nearly seven weeks.
He almost did a fist pump before stopping himself.
He couldn’t resist a victorious yell though.
Annag joined him seconds later.
“I suppose I should be insulted.
Are you so happy to be out of our big swamp?” “Aren’t you happy that I’m out of your big swamp?” Clark said, grinning like a maniac.
Annag tapped her shoes against a tree.
“We’ve another few miles to go before we get past Moat Cailin.
We’ll get there before it’s dark, but not that much before.
Days are getting shorter.
Come on.” With that, she turned north and walked.
Clark assumed that when they stopped walking on bogs, he would have less trouble keeping up with her.
But that wasn’t the case.
She still walked briskly and only by the grace of his height; did he manage to keep step with her.
Still, the Kingsroad did much to lift his spirits.
It was the happiest he’d been in a long time.
Forget the medieval clothing and it was almost like he was back in his old world, hiking with his dad on summer weekends.
The memory cheered him but the thought hurt him.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued to walk.
Moat Cailin was a fucking mess and that brought down the mood.
He looked over the ruins and pondered.
He knew that before it went into ruins, it essentially was a solid wall, preventing any southern army from invading.
He considered telling Ned Stark that he should repair it.
But then again, was it impenetrable from every angle?
Could it hold off wights and White Walkers from the North?
Dragons from the air?
Besides, even if it could, rebuilding a fortress takes years.
Did they have enough time?
Clark shook his head, then chuckled at himself.
He needed a new way to process his flashes of inspiration and the disappointments that followed.
He was beginning to resemble a horse, shaking his head, shaking off overwhelming tangent thoughts like flies.
Annag had stopped and Clark walked a little ahead of her.
The sun was beginning to go down and there was still enough light to make out vast fields and meadows with clusters of wood in the distance.
“Welcome to the North,” said Annag behind him.
A cool wind rippled across the fields and kissed his face.
It felt wonderful after so much time spent in a swamp.
He couldn’t help but smile.
It wasn’t exactly like the pleasant chill back home, but it was so similar it didn’t matter.
He turned to see Annag, who was partly turned toward the south, eager to return to the Neck.
He walked back to her and stuck out his hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I know I’m the idiot you got stuck with, but thank you all the same.
I owe you my life.” Annag gazed at him for a few seconds before taking his hand and shaking it.
She let go gently.
“Horrible things are really going to come, are they?” she said quietly.
“Things that you have seen?” “Not for a few years hopefully, but yes.” “Then forget owing me your life.
Use it instead to do what you can.” Clark hesitated, then nodded.
“All right.
I’m still grateful.” Annag rolled her eyes.
She then reached into her bag and pulled out the knife and belt, handing it to Clark, who put it on.
“Thank you.” She peered at him.
“Bit of advice for you.
You best come up with a better story for yourself.
One you can carry.
Cause you’re no sailor.” The wind carried the silence for a bit.
Clark sighed.
“What gave it away?” “Your hands are too soft.
You’re a hard worker and you know knots, but you don’t tie them often,” she said.
“A bit slow with them.
Also, there’s no Mason in the stars.” Clark blinked and looked up at the darkening sky, then back to Annag.
There was a quiet triumph in her eyes, though she still didn’t smile.
“I knew before then, but that only sealed it.
I’d figure a sailor’d know his constellations better than anyone.” Scratching his head, Clark cursed himself.
He should have known better than to converse about a subject that could trip him up.
That was a stupid mistake.
“Yes, he would.” Annag turned to face him fully, her back against Moat Cailin.
“I don’t know why you lied.
Maybe you have a distasteful past.
But you don’t seem dangerous and Howland Reed says you’re no enemy of ours.
So I’m not angry.
But…” she said, stepping forward and locking her eyes with his.
“You’re here to do important things, Howland Reed says that too, and they may help save many people.
And if you fuck that with another paltry story like that sailor tune…that would make me angry.
Furious even.
So please…don’t fuck it up.” Clark found himself staring, before nodding.
“I promise,” he said.
Annag sighed and they stood in silence for a bit before she spoke again.
“The next inn’s not for another twenty miles or so down the road.
I’d find myself a safe tree to lie under tonight if I were you.” Clark nodded.
“Thank you, Annag.
G’bye.
Say hello to Dallan and Martan for me when you see them.” She gave the slightest smile.
“Goodbye, Tiresias.” And with that, she turned south and starting marching toward Moat Cailin.
He was tempted to watch her disappear but he needed to keep moving.
So he turned and began walking again.
On the road to Winterfell.
The excitement was back and although he knew that the long walk north would probably temper it in the weeks to come, it still wasn’t the worse way to begin his time in the North.
He had no idea how far he traveled before setting down for the night.
There didn’t seem to be any danger around his sleeping spot, but he decided not to start a fire anyway.
Dinner was smoked lizard jerky and the freshest water the Neck could provide.
He chewed silently, watching the stars in total darkness.
That potential book of constellations in Winterfell’s library was sounding better and better.
Anything to make sure that he didn’t fall into that trap again.
Plus, he liked pretty shiny celestial bodies.
He looked to the west and wondered if the Shadowcat was real.
He supposed he’d find out at some point.
He snuggled into his cloak, content with the day.
Unfortunately it was a little marred when he was drifting off to sleep.
He realized that he completely neglected to ask Howland Reed what year it was or how old Ned Stark’s kids were.
After calling himself a stupid son-of-a-bitch for two minutes, Clark shrugged and closed his eyes.
Just one more fun surprise awaiting me at Winterfell.
Still have to get there.
Walk across a country as large as the other kingdoms…Christ, this will be such a motherfucker.
Clark fell asleep with a small grin, laughing at himself.
He resolved to keep an ear out for Westerosi swearing in the upcoming weeks.
He would need to sound a little more medieval when he was pissed off.
…
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.