But no.
He was truly in Westeros.
Sometime before the show began.
And it was all real.
It was his world now.
He was in Westeros.
He had to live the rest of his life in Westeros…
Son of a bitch.
…
If the farmers mistook his silent whirlwind of emotion as him being tired, he let them make that assumption.
He actually was exhausted.
Nobody said anything more as Clark ate.
The wife brought out a few slices of the densest bread Clark had ever tasted.
After another cup of water, Clark was quite satiated.
The wife came over with the hot cloths and a bottle of something.
“Come, sit over here,” she said.
Clark got up, realizing just how much taller he was before sitting down before the light of the fire.
She grabbed his face gently and pressed a cloth to the wound, wiping away the dirt.
“Your husband tells me you did laundry today, yes?” said Clark, trying not to wince.
“I did.” She finished wiping and was now dabbing a dry cloth with whatever was in the bottle.
“I’m wearing your fresh clothes and getting them dirty again.
I’m sorry.” The wife shrugged and pressed the cloth to the cut.
It stung and Clark shut his eyes trying to maintain some dignity.
The ointment smelled nice though.
“We work the land, stranger.
My husband and I aren’t afraid of dirt.
And handsome as you are, I don’t think I’d appreciate seeing you naked in my house.
Think nothing of it.” Clark smiled.
He liked this family.
He tried not to think about their future.
The wife washed the wound again and left him by the fire.
The farmer approached him.
“Would you care for an ale?
Or would you prefer to go to bed?” Clark considered the ale.
He would have loved any booze at the moment.
But for now, he felt tired.
More tired than he had ever been in his entire life.
“I think I just want to sleep now.” The farmer nodded.
“Right.
Follow me.” Clark and the farmer walked outside and to the barn.
The smell of animal hit Clark pretty hard, but it was warm and he was tired enough.
The farmer handed him a coarse blanket.
“You can sleep there,” he said pointing at the haystack.
“Or there,” pointing at the wooden loft.
“Or anywhere you find comfortable.
Just beware of Strawback here,” he said, patting the sleepy donkey.
“He’s a fine barnmate, but he needs his space.
My wife and I are having a rest day tomorrow.
I sold our harvest today in town.
Wake up when you feel like and join us for a meal.
Sleep well.” The farmer walked out and Clark fumbled his way to the loft.
The wooden surface was not the greatest mattress but he was too tired to care.
He pulled the blanket over himself as well as he could and closed his eyes.
Maybe he would wake up on another hill.
In Maine.
Or somewhere where he didn’t have to walk naked to avoid seeming crazy.
Strawback gave a sneeze.
That was the last thing that Clark heard before falling asleep.
…
Clark kept his eyes closed for a solid minute when he woke.
He hoped to find himself back in his own bed or even in the hospital, recovering from the most convincing hallucination he’d ever experienced.
However he felt the coarseness of the blanket and the wooden planks below.
This didn’t feel like his queen mattress or a hospital bed.
He cursed and opened his eyes.
Dust floated through the air, illuminated by the sunrise streaming in through the window and door.
Strawback was swatting flies in his sleep.
Clark got up, folding the blanket before he climbed down.
He exited the barn, feeling the cool dew between his toe.
It was quite pleasurable.
There was smoke coming from the cottage and early morning birdsong from the forest.
He went around the side of the barn into the nearby trees.
He urinated for a solid time, wiping his hands on some nearby grass to clean them.
Going back in front of the barn, he managed to find some dry ground and proceeded with his usual morning stretches.
He took his time and for ten minutes, he was completely alone.
There was no one else in the world.
Not the farmer and his family.
Not the Tullys or the Starks or the Targaryens across the sea.
Not the White Walkers… He shuddered and brought himself back to full height, giving his back one last stretch before relaxing.
He couldn’t plan for the long term when he had no plans for the short term.
So what to do today?
Just today.
He pondered for a while and considered just leaving the farmer and his wife without a word.
But he had no idea where he was to find food that day and they were friendly enough.
Clark strode to the door and knocked gently.
The farmer opened the door, greeting him amiably.
He saw the wife breastfeeding the babe.
He nodded politely and averted his eyes.
He was guided to the table and poured a cup of ale.
“Eat, please,” said the farmer, placing some bread and cheese before him.
“Thank you,” said Clark.
He ate bit by bit.
He knew the food was safe, but he wasn’t sure how his stomach would react to it.
Best to eat slowly and be safe for now.
“So,” said the farmer, sitting down with his own cup.
“What’s your plan for today?
Where was you headed before you was attacked?” Clark chewed slowly and swallowed.
“Don’t know.
I worked a ship for a year and only came ashore two months ago.
Wasn’t thinking of the future, to be honest.” He drank some ale.
“Could use some work now though.” “Well, it’s autumn at the moment, so you’ll be finding plenty of work through the Riverlands with the harvest.
The North might be good too.
Never been there though.
I’d offer to bring you on here but I couldn’t pay you.
Besides, the farm’s small enough that we don’t need the help.” Clark smiled.
“No worries.
I’m grateful for what you’ve given me already.” He rubbed his face, feeling the days that he neglected to shave.
He took a breath, making up his mind for now.
“I believe I want to head north in the next few days.” He supposed that was safe.
It was autumn now, so he would have at least one non-wight winter before the long summer when the show began.
In any case, it was years before any dead men roamed.
It would be safe enough, or so he hoped.
He continued.
“So I would like to get to the Kingsroad.
But for now, I need to get some clothes so I can return yours and boots as well.
Do you know somewhere I can go to purchase them?” The wife spoke from her chair.
“Fairmarket isn’t too far from here.
It’s right by the Blue Fork and only a few hours by cart.
You’ll find what you need there.” “The Blue Fork?” “Of the Trident,” she said.
If she found his question odd, she didn’t show it.
The farmer leaned back.
“Tell you what, I can take you to Fairmarket by cart.
I can’t do it today because Strawback’s too tired.
He’s an old donkey.
But I can do it tomorrow.
And while we’re there, after you have your own clothes, I’ll point you in the direction of the Kingsroad.” Clark fought to keep his voice casual.
“Is it far from Fairmarket?” “It’s a night on the road, but bearable.
The real trouble is when you get on the Kingsroad itself.
You could spend a few months walking that.
All the way to the Wall if you want!” The farmer laughed.
Clark only managed a small grin.
“So what do you say?
Tomorrow?” Placing his cheese down, Clark tried to be polite.
“Are you sure?
That’s an awful lot of traveling back and forth for just me.
It’s quite a bit of trouble.” “No trouble at all.
I forgot some things in town anyway, as my beautiful wife was happy to tell me after you went to bed,” he said, shooting a playful glare at his wife, who promptly ignored him.
Clark finished the ale.
“Thank you.
I mean it.
Is there anything around here that I can help you with today?
May not be much of a farmer, but I can lift.” The farmer shook his head.
“Not this morning, no.
We’re resting now.
But in the afternoon, I might need some help putting the barn in order.
It was a good harvest, but I allowed the mess to build.” Shaking off questions about seasonal farming in a world where seasons were vastly inconsistent, Clark stood.
“In that case, I want to go out to the place where I was attacked and see if I missed anything.
Maybe the bandits dropped my clothes and I won’t have to purchase new ones.” “Well now,” said the farmer standing.
“I don’t like the idea of you going alone and barefoot into the forest where bandits are lurking.
I’m not a fighter, but I can come for the numbers.
Other than that, I think you should just consider your clothes lost.
You have your purse and your life.
Best not to risk them again.” Clark moved to the door.
“I appreciate your concerns, but I’ll be all right.
I’ll be back in an hour.
Miss,” he said, nodding to the wife.
He shut the door before anyone could say another word.
Do people say ‘Miss’ here?
Whatever, that wasn’t important.
He had clear daylight now and he wanted to check his handiwork.
To make sure his charred possessions would never be dug up.
He followed the broken branches and soon found himself at the site, inspecting the ground.
It really wasn’t bad.
In fact, there was actually little trace of the fire.
He looked around.
The most conspicuous thing was that he tore off every branch he could find in the near vicinity.
However there was nothing he could do about that.
He spread the leaves around a bit more naturally.
He walked across the dirt.
He really hoped he was able to judge correctly.
But when he looked at the spot where he had burned and buried his previous life, it honestly looked the rest of the forest floor.
…
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.