“Not very well,” said Clark.
Robb piped up.
“I can.
I’m the best rider in the family.” “You’re the best pony rider in the family,” said Jon.
“That counts!” …
The rest of the meal continued this way.
Clark was barraged by questions.
He answered a couple.
The children would go off on a tangent and he would be relieved.
Only to face a different question when he swallowed his food.
He didn’t mind at all though.
Besides the fact that he was both freaked out and really excited to see the Stark children all much younger, he actually really liked kids.
Conversations with his two year niece would last for a solid time.
Ned and Catelyn occasionally tried to get the children to stop bothering him, but it was nothing doing.
As a result, dinner was substantial but eaten slowly.
After bread and red wine (for the adults), Clark could barely keep his eyes open.
Catelyn, ever the hostess, saw his weariness and called to him.
“You look like you need some sleep.
Would you care for a bath or would you simply like to go to bed?” “Hmm,” said Clark, before turning to his tiny dinner mates.
“What do you think?
Do I need a bath?
Do I stink?” Robb, Sansa and Jon all laughed, with Arya joining them out of solidarity.
Sighing, Clark turned back to Catelyn.
“I think the consensus is yes, I need a bath.
The children are repulsed by me.” He rejoiced a little, seeing Lady Catelyn swallowed her own laughter before responding.
One small victory.
“Very well.
We’ll send you along to the springs.
Hals here will escort you.
Hals!” she called.
A portly man of medium height appeared.
“Would you please escort our guest to the hot springs for bath?
Make sure he has fresh soap?” Hals gave a bow.
“Of course, my lady.” He came to Clark, with a gesture for the exit.
“This way, please.” Clark stood and nodded to Ned and Cat.
“Thank you, Lady and Lord Stark, for your hospitality.
I look forward to speaking to you again tomorrow.” “Of course,” said Catelyn.
“It’s good to have you.
Sleep well.” Ned nodded back, his eyes not quite as relaxed as Clark would have like.
Oh well, no matter.
He had a bed tonight.
That was the important bit.
He turned to the children and bowed.
“Good night, my lords and ladies.
I hope to see you again.” All bade him good night as he turned and followed Hals out of the hall.
Twenty minutes later, he was squatting nude next to a spring, wet and scrubbing himself vigorously.
Two months of filth was caked onto his skin.
Turns out wading in the river robustly without soap wasn’t a very effective way to clean oneself.
He scrubbed, then rinsed and then scrubbed again.
After he was rinsed for the final time, he felt more raw than clean.
The dirt was gone but so was any moisture and natural oil from his skin.
After drying, he made the decision to forgo the hosen and just wear the trousers.
He could feel the dirty clothing all the more after the cleanse.
Hals was waiting for him to come out.
Upon seeing him, he promptly escorted him to the guest chambers.
As they walked, Clark asked.
“Excuse me, Hals.
Would it be possible to borrow a laundry bucket or such?” “Would you like some laundry done?” asked Hals.
“I can give your clothes tonight to the maids.
They can clean them tonight and have them ready for tomorrow morning.” Clark stared.
“I don’t want to keep servants up and away from sleep for some clothes, Hals.
I can do them in the morning.” “The maids are part of the evening round.
They do the nightly duties, which include some errant laundry and they prepare for the morning servants.
It’s no trouble to them.” Well…shit.
“So barely any trouble?” “None at all.” “All right…I’ll take your word for it.
Thank you, Hals.” “Not at all…” Hals looked to Clark questioningly.
Clark shifted his bag.
“Tiresias.” That was the last word exchanged that evening.
Hals brought Clark to a small room with a bed and a table with a pitcher and basin on top.
There was a lit candle.
Clark gave all four items of clothing to Hals (he turned around as Clark removed his trousers), and also the boots to be cleaned.
Clark thanked him and closed the door.
He dropped the bag on the floor.
He checked the bed for any bugs and then fell on top of it.
The world seemed to spin from the booze and food, the heat from the bath, the end of the trek and the euphoria of finally reaching Winterfell.
He smiled.
The dizziness felt so grand and he could sense sleep coming on.
He summoned the last of his energy to raise his head and blow out the candle, before collapsing onto the pillow.
…
Clark hadn’t slept in a proper bed for three months.
He’d gotten used to the uneven earth under him and the fresh air that greeted him every morning.
He woke up in Winterfell, fighting back a slight surprise to find himself indoors and on a level mattress.
However he was well-rested, having been so tired last night to think any of this.
He got up from the bed and went through his morning stretches.
He massaged his feet and wished he had his tennis ball to roll under his arches.
His feet stopped complaining after a few weeks but they were still too tight.
He went to the basin and poured some water into it, splashing himself lightly to wake up.
Then he made the bed, pulling the covers taut.
That about covered all he could possible do in the room.
He wanted to get out, eat breakfast and explore.
Unfortunately he was still naked.
Hoping to God that there was nobody in the corridor, he creaked the door open and looked down.
His clothes were folded in a neat pile on the floor next to a pair of boots that seemed way too clean to be his.
He gathered them quickly and got inside.
He placed the clothes on the bed.
They all felt clean.
And warm too.
Clark brought the shirt to his face and smelled woodsmoke.
They must have just been deposited.
Clark dressed quickly, enjoying the clean wool on his skin.
It didn’t even itch anymore.
He couldn’t help but smile as he put on his boots.
He left the room, leaving his cloak and his rucksack behind.
He felt a little ridiculous, wearing a belt for his knife, but he was always glad to have it when he needed it.
Not knowing exactly where breakfast would be served, he wandered the halls of the castle.
He saw a few corridors that looked familiar but ultimately he knew he would have to relearn everything about Winterfell and not keeping falling back on the show.
He exited a door into the main courtyard.
The same one where he waited yesterday.
Everyone was already awake and moving.
It was a little too early for the harvest deliveries en route to storage, but there were still people working.
Clark walked along the edges.
He could smell iron works from the forge, wherever that was.
He really wanted to eat, but he also really didn’t want to ask anyone for directions.
He didn’t want to treat this place like a hotel.
Determined to figure it out, he made a guess and walked to the biggest building he could see or the keep, as he should probably call it.
His guess proved correct, as smells of meat and hot bread wafted through the air.
One corner and he found himself in the main hall.
Same as last night.
He looked to the front and saw Catelyn there with Bran.
He was attempting to eat porridge.
“Good morning, Tiresias,” she said as he approached.
“Did you sleep well?” “I did, thank you,” he said.
“Hals was kind enough to take these clothes down for a wash.
And whoever was down there was kind enough to do them.
He wasn’t lying when he said there are servants who worked during the night for these sorts of things, was he?
I’d hate himself if I kept a poor girl up all night for laundry.” “No, he was telling the truth.
Please don’t worry.
Compare to what the children put them through, one set of clothes won’t break their backs.
Please, sit.
Are you hungry?” …