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.
…
As satisfied as he could be, Clark returned to the farm.
He washed in the basin and walked along the fields.
The farmer and his wife were kind but he needed to be alone.
He needed his mind cleared and focused.
He needed to figure out what to do.
Unfortunately he did not accomplish that in his walk around the fields.
He went through as much trivia in his mind as he could about Westeros, the ruling families, the histories, but he was really out of his element.
He didn’t even know what year it was.
He tried to think how old Sally was in season four.
Ten?
Eleven, maybe?
How much time passed between the first and fourth season?
How many…?
Eventually Clark threw a stone into the forest and collapsed under the shade.
He stared at the sky and put all these thoughts out of mind.
He needed clothes and boots first.
He needed to get to Fairmarket.
He laid in the shade for a while, before wandering back to the barn.
The farmer was already there.
For the remaining afternoon, Clark and the farmer organized and cleaned the barn from one end to another.
Clark was grateful for the work.
It was the same with the fire yesterday.
He just needed a task to distract himself.
When he would be traveling, alone with his thoughts…that would be the real challenge.
The wife brought a fresh basin out and left to tend to Sally.
The farmer stripped down and washed himself.
Clark did the same, but kept his back toward the farmer.
It was only a quick rinse though.
After they were clean enough, they dressed and went inside for dinner, which consisted of mutton (though Clark didn’t realized that it was mutton until halfway) and milk.
Clark realized to his slight horror, that his diet would be severely limited for the rest of his life.
A lot of meat.
A lot of diary.
A lot of grain.
And a lot of ale.
All good things that Clark liked.
But he wondered how he would fare when the sugar withdrawal really kicked in.
Just how expensive was fruit anyway?
He stayed up with the farmer and his wife that night, drinking some ale.
Clark only accepted one cup.
He knew they were poor.
And that made his next question more uncomfortable, but he had to ask it.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins he had selected before dinner.
“I need your help, if I may even ask for more,” he asked quietly.
“Certainly, fellow,” said the farmer.
“What ails you?” Clark placed the different coins on the table.
There were all copper coins.
“I’m a foreigner.
I’m sure you’ve guessed that and I don’t know your coins well.
The golds and the silvers are easy.
They have the symbols on the side.
And this one is a star, I see.
But the rest I don’t know.
I know there are pennies and halfpennies, but that’s all.
The amounts are confusing too.
Would you teach me please?
How it works?” The fire crackled.
Clark hoped that these two didn’t question how this stranger could have survived two months in Westeros without knowing the coins or why a sailor wouldn’t have learned the currency before he landed ashore.
But thankfully no suspicion crossed their faces.
The wife picked up the second biggest copper.
“For all the coppers,” she said.
“Each one is worth twice the next coin down.
This is a grout.” She picked up the bigger copper star.
“A star is two grouts.” She continued to pick up each coin as she spoke.
“A grout is two halfgrouts.
A halfgrout is two pennies.
A penny is two halfpennies…but you don’t have any halfpennies.” She got up and went to the shelf, taking one coin out of a pouch stored there.
Sitting back down, she presented the coin to Clark.
“One halfpenny.
Go on.
You can hold it.” Clark looked at the halfpenny and gave it back.
He viewed all the coins lined up.
Coppers were a two-to-one system.
Simple enough.
“As for the silvers,” said the wife continuing.
“There are moons and stags.
One silver stag is worth seven copper stars.
One silver moon is worth seven stags.” Clark nodded.
He had nine stags in his purse.
He hoped that would be enough until he could earn some money somehow.
“And the top coin,” the wife said, her energy coming a bit down.
“I’ve never had one meself.
I’ve seen them though.
At tourneys, the market and such.
Gold dragons.
A gold dragon is worth thirty silver moons.” Sitting back, Clark rubbed his chin.
He picked up the coins and placed them back in the purse.
No one spoke for a while.
Clark finished his ale and stood.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver stag and placed it on the table.
The farmer and his wife stared at the coin.
Clark saw them draw their breath to protest and spoke first.
“Stop.
You’ve helped me more than you could possibly know yesterday and today…and tomorrow when we ride to Fairmarket.
You’ve clothed me, fed me and I will never forget that.
Please for my sake, take the coin.
Besides,” he added with a small smile, “if you refuse to touch it, I’m just going to leave it here on the table.
It will be here tomorrow when I leave.
G’night.” He walked out before they could say another word.
The barn’s smell was still overwhelming, but it was clean now.
He found his spot on the loft and settled down, trying hard not to think about the silver stag he had just relinquished.
He hoped he wouldn’t regret giving it away.
He wondered if that silver stag would be part of the silver that Sandor would steal in the future, if it would past to Arya and then into the canals of Braavos to be forgotten forever.
Maybe.
Maybe it all depended on what he decided to do.
He turned over and made a silent promise.
That was the last blind charitable deed he would do in Westeros.
He needed what coins he had left badly and he wasn’t sure how soon he would be able to replace the silver that he just gave away.
He pulled the blanket over himself and sighed.
He really wanted to brush his teeth.
…
The farmer came into the barn the next morning to hitch Strawback up for the ride.
The donkey did not appear happy for the trip and he was gifted with a turnip for his cooperation.
Clark climbed down and offered to help, but he was waved away and told to go eat.
He had a quiet breakfast with the farmer’s wife.
They didn’t talk but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Most of the conversation was provided by Sally on her mother’s lap.
Clark watched her for a while and tried to keep his thoughts from the image of her corpse swallowed by winter.
He’d walked over her future grave multiple times.
He wondered where they buried the mother… Thankfully his thoughts were interrupted by the farmer, who came in to say that the cart was ready.
Carrying a small lunch in a cloth, Clark climbed aboard.
The wife came up to him and handed him a full waterskin.
“Thank you.” “That’s yours when you move on,” she replied.
Clark began to shake his head.
“That’s too kind.
You mustn’t…” “We’ve accepted your silver coin so please accept our waterskin.
I have two more in the back.
We’ve enjoyed your company and we were happy to have you.” “Thank you.
I was happy to be here.” “And should you ever come through here again, stop by and see us if you can spare a visit.” Clark nodded.
“I will.
Thank you.” The wife smiled.
“Who knows?
Perhaps next time, you’ll grace us with your name.
I’m Kerry, by the way.
M’husband’s name is Cullen.” …
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.