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.” …
Clark looked at the woman.
She didn’t break her eye contact and waited patiently for his response.
In truth, he had been thinking about his name since yesterday.
It wasn’t that he particularly liked or disliked the name Clark.
He didn’t think it sounded too out of place in Westeros.
But keeping it…made him wary somewhat.
As though if he were to truly live in this world for the remainder of his life, he would have to cut all ties with his old one.
His possessions, his career…and possibly his name too.
Else he would forever be pining to return when he was told it was impossible.
But what was to be his new name?
He went through names that sounded cool that no one here would know the story behind, which he claim for himself.
Fictional characters.
Shere Khan was a great name and no one here would connect the moniker to a man-eating tiger.
He could be Mercutio or Caesar or Odin.
He could take the name Gabriel and be a guardian angel to this world or Lucifer and leave it to be damned.
However, through his musings, he thought of a story he once read.
The story included a blind prophet who wandered into the kingdom of Thebes and saw the underlying catastrophe that was waiting to explode.
This blind prophet warned the king, but the king would not heed his warning and he suffered the consequences, blinding himself.
Clark thought of this prophet and hoped he would have better luck in these seven kingdoms.
And so he gave his new name.
“My name’s Tiresias.
Thank you for everything, Kerry.” Kerry nodded.
“Farewell, Tiresas.
We’ll pray for you.
Wherever you may be.” Clark nodded back and offered his hand to shake, hoping that women did such things here.
Kerry looked a little surprised but accepted it with grace.
Cullen climbed into the cart and grabbed the reins.
“Here we go.” He snapped the reins and the donkey started to walk.
Soon Clark saw the farm disappear with Kerry waving goodbye.
He waved back, silently wishing her a painless death.
They rounded the corner and she was gone.
The trip was boring.
No two ways about it.
There were only so many trees to look at and it was slow moving as Strawback settled into a steady walk.
Eventually Clark asked how the reins worked and the next hour riding was spent with him holding the reins.
He hoped he hadn’t added any time to their trip.
However thankfully, Fairmarket was only a few hours away and they arrived just around noon, or midday as noon would now be known from here on in.
Clark jumped down from the cart, ignoring the sad thought that he would never drive fast or again at all.
He thought of his task, looking around, getting his first look at a real Westerosi town.
There were yells about the place, each merchant competing against the others.
It also stank.
He realized how ridiculous he looked.
He was significantly taller than Cullen and the clothes showed it.
Cullen tied Strawback to the post and walked over to Clark.
“Town too big?” Clark shrugged.
“Just unfamiliar.
So…does Fairmarket live up to its name or do I have to keep my eyes on the prices?” “Nah, prices are fair enough.
But I’ll go with you just the same.
No sense wandering around trying to find the best.
Well, the best for us anyway.
You’re no secret prince, are you?” “No.” Cullen nodded.
“Good.
You can get boots here.” And so, Clark, with the help of Cullen, got himself a pair of leather boots.
He paid three stags for them.
Which irritated him until he realized that that was probably the most expensive thing he’d buy and Cullen assured him that was a good deal.
He wished they had laces though instead of buckles.
As for the clothing, Cullen took him to the central marketplace in the village where a sheep-herding family had set up a stand.
The women of the family took their wool and made clothing with it.
It was rudimentary but it served its purpose.
Clark was able to get thin burgundy hose that doubled as underwear and socks, dark tan trousers and a forest-green long sleeved shirt.
They were cheaper than he expected, but he supposed dyes were not too expensive.
At least some dyes weren’t.
Plus he was able to get a straw hat, though he was a little late for that.
He had already turned pink from yesterday.
He also was tempted to skip the cloak, as it was a little warm, but he remembered that he was heading up north when it was autumn.
He would be freezing in months.
So he purchased a dark blue cloak.
Cullen stood guard while Clark changed and gave him back the borrowed tunic and trousers.
He was grateful for the lack of mirrors, as he was sure he looked ridiculous.
There were other things that needed to be purchased besides clothes.
He stopped at the blacksmith and bought a small knife and belt.
Not enough to wage war but good for carving and small tasks.
He also bought flint and steel for starting fires, not wanting a repeat of the first night.
He hesitated about buying a straight razor, but in the end he gave in.
He needed some ritual to keep him sane and although he could grow a full beard rather quickly, he enjoyed the breeze on his face.
His last purchase was a small rucksack to keep this all in.
He folded the blue cloak tightly and placed it in as well.
Sensing that he was starting to get a reputation for big spending, he and Cullen rode out a little quickly.
They traveled east along the Blue Fork and came to a fork in road, one continuing along the Fork, the other back to the farm.
They paused there to eat their lunch.
Clark ate slowly, not wanting to leave one of the few kind people he knew in this world, but he knew Cullen had to get back.
He shook the farmer’s hand.
“I know you said to stop thanking you, but I need to say it again: thank you.” “You’re welcome.
We enjoyed your company.” Clark looked at the empty cart.
“And the supplies you forgot?” Cullen shrugged.
“I’ll get them when I need them.
Safe travels, Tiresias.” Clark tried to think what he could say to Cullen to make his future easier.
About the Hound and the small girl who would come along.
About his wife’s death.
About the coldest winter in living memory.
Instead he merely nodded, thanked him again and before he knew it, he was alone, with the donkey and cart disappearing around the bend.
Clark stood and observed the Blue Fork for a minute.
Eventually he just sat down.
He had his clothes and his purse.
What now?
Was he really headed for the North?
What for?
What did he plan to do?
Wouldn’t it be better to just head south?
Catch a ship to the Summer Isles and hide for the next decade while shit went down?
Why not drink himself to death?
It was certainly better than dying in the cold or in war.
Yes, he loved the characters in the show, but that was a show.
It wasn’t real.
He didn’t owe anyone anything.
What the hell could he possibly do?
He thought back to the House of Black and White and a small girl asking the guard to let her in, that she had no where else to go and the guard simply replied, “You have everywhere else to go.” Clark had everywhere else to go.
He was nobody here, only a stranger with a false name that no one else knew or cared for.
That was a freedom that both terrified and excited him.
When he got to the Kingsroad, he could fuck off forever and no one would be the wiser.
No one but him… Atrocities from the show began to pulse through his mind: the destruction of the Riverlands, Ned’s beheading, Shireen’s burning, the Red Wedding, the Free Folk lost to the Army of the Dead, the North under siege and under Bolton rule, blue fire, King’s Landing…he knew it wasn’t fair.
He didn’t belong here.
He shouldn’t be expected to make a difference.
But he was here.
For better or worse.
Christ, morality’s a fucking bear.
He exhaled through his nose, before standing, staring to the water.
He picked up a rock and tossed it in.
Waited until the ripples disappeared into the current before he started walking along the Fork to the Kingsroad.
This was by no means over in his mind.
He still didn’t know what he would do.
But as with the destruction and burial of his former life and the acquirement of a new guise, he had a task for himself: Below the North, there was the Neck and in the Neck was a reclusive little bastard (well, a lord actually, but still) with greensight.
Perhaps Howland Reed knew about him already.
He would try to speak to Lord Reed.
Then, if all seemed well, he would worry about Ned Stark and his family and the icy blue eyes beyond the Wall.
He shifted his rucksack.
Besides he thought, if I travel to Winterfell months from now and I’m laughed out, I’ll have plenty time before shit hits the fan to leave this fucking continent.
That is, unless they kill me first for being insane…I really need to work on my opening statement…also earn enough coin for better clothes.
Jesus Christ, these hose are itchy.
…
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.