A few years ago, the summer after college, Clark backpacked alone throughout Europe.
And though he never really passed for European (something about his gait), he was left alone.
He had developed a face and an energy that he used to deter any unwanted attention: eyes that were dulled of any excitement belonging to a tourist.
A pace that was decisive but not too quick, so he actually looked like he knew where he was going.
Before approaching anyone with a question, he observed others to see if they answered his question without knowing it.
He used this a lot finding sources of clean water on the Kingsroad, following others to wells and such.
And he kept his mouth shut, breathing only through his nose.
He didn’t exactly know why, but a lot of tourists were mouth-breathers.
Also he realized that he shouldn’t readily show his teeth, which were unnatural straight and white, thanks to modern orthodontics and dentistry.
Although maybe not for long.
He didn’t have his retainer anymore.
All of these methods he used in his journey north on the Kingsroad and they worked for the most part.
The travelers he met kept to their own business and at worst, only a few gave a nod, which he returned.
But he did not talk to anyone.
He wished to avoid any questions about his accent.
When he came to an inn for some food, he stuck to “Aye” and “Thanks” in a vague English tone and that seemed to do the trick.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep a distance.
Travelers were much more frequent on the Kingsroad then they were on the first road where he had walked with his modern clothing.
He wondered if whoever gave him that note and purse also arranged for him to wake up in an isolated location.
He pushed the thought out whenever it came.
It was no use wondering about such things.
His mind did wander though.
He couldn’t help it.
The breakdown he predicted came during the first evening alone on the road.
Sleep just wouldn’t come and he thought of his old life now gone forever.
He would no longer hike with his dad.
No more talking with his mom whenever things got to be too much.
His sister and her husband and their children.
He never got the chance to be the fun uncle.
His friends… He cried that night.
He didn’t try to stop and when the sunrise finally came, it seemed like an eternity had passed.
Having not slept the whole night, Clark stumbled onto the road and continued.
He collapsed that evening and slept fitfully, almost against his will.
He still wept occasionally, but less and less as the days went on.
Luckily he had plenty of distractions on the road.
More than he thought.
Despite the general paranoia of being a stranger in a strange land, he found himself generally enjoying his walk when he wasn’t crushed under his despair.
The scenery was lovely.
He spotted numerous house banners.
He was enjoying the expectation of ale at every meal.
He wasn’t a big drinker back home, but still.
It was fun, for lack of a better word.
He tried not to indulge though.
Meals at the inns were not expensive, but he still looked at his purse with an increasing worry.
What trade could he possibly pass off?
He supposed he could do day labor if that was still a thing.
He had a friend back home, the son of a farmer, who said farming was essentially taking things from one pile and moving them to another pile.
Now he was sure the friend was simplifying to a ridiculous degree, but still if he had to move piles for quick coin, he could do it.
He could read and write though and he had to think that was not too common for those outside the nobility.
Maybe he could do something with that… However he was okay for now.
He ate sparingly at the inns.
He didn’t pay for rooms, electing to sleep outside.
He bathed in the Fork in the evenings when there were fewer travelers.
He tried to ignore the voice in his head warning him of real bandits and animals ready to kill.
Keeping a close watch on his surroundings, he stole fruit from an orchard.
He savored the fructose, feeling himself go momentarily stupid from the sugar.
That was a good fix but he was careful not to do it too often.
He didn’t want to be caught and lose a hand or be sent to the Wall or something.
Then again, he was tempted for the ride alone.
He had underestimated the sheer size of the country and especially how long it took to get anywhere just by walking.
That thought consumed him late in the afternoon of the sixth day.
Clark stopped by the side of the road and sat on a log to catch his breath, holding his stomach.
The inns were offering only muttons and stews.
He didn’t allow himself to despair at the limited culinary, but he did grumble a bit.
He was also hitting the expected sugar crash.
He had felt pretty low on energy the last few days.
He was also sweating a lot more than he should have been.
He supposed in the long run, it would be worth it and he was ridding his body of an addictive substance.
He still wanted some rainbow sherbet though.
He took a swig of water before getting up to continue, willing himself not to scratch his crotch.
The clothes hadn’t become any less itchy but Clark told himself that he was getting used to it.
It was a needed lie.
Thankfully the clothes did their part.
He was just an anonymous traveler on the Kingsroad and no longer had to dive into the bushes whenever anyone approached.
Late in the evening, he came upon an inn and went in for some supper.
He hadn’t stopped for lunch, electing to chew some dried beef he bought for a halfpenny from a passing butcher.
At least he hoped it was beef.
He took off his hat and wiped his brow.
He felt quite warm from the walk.
The serving girl (Clark didn’t have the courage to yell “Tavern Wench” yet) came over to him with a cup and a smile.
“Hello,” she said, placing the cup down in front of him.
Clark nodded.
“‘Lo.
How are you?” he added automatically before cursing himself.
She stared a little before responding.
It was probably the first time today she was asked that.
“I’m all right…You?” Clark swallowed.
“Good.” She nodded, laughing a bit.
“Good.
Ale?
Water?
Wine?
We have a little mead left.” he pulled his waterskin strap off his shoulder.
“Ale for the cup, please and if you could fill this with water,” he said, handing her the waterskin, “I’d appreciate it.” She took the skin.
“I can do that.
You want anything to eat?
We have chicken and apple sausages.
Mutton.
Some eggs.
And bread.
Rye and sour.
We do have stew but honestly I don’t know what sort of meat is in it.” Clark was tempted by the chicken and apple sausages but he knew that would be the most expensive item.
He ordered two hard-boiled eggs, some mutton and some rye bread that he could use for his breakfast.
The tavern girl walked back with his order and returned later with his full waterskin and pitcher of ale.
She filled his cup.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip.
She looked at him.
She was still smiling, but she looked suspicious.
She looked around the tavern, making sure that no one was flagging her down before she turned back to Clark.
She placed the pitcher and the skin on the table but remained standing.
Shit.
“You’re a polite one,” she said.
Clark shrugged, placing his cup down, willing his hand not to shake.
“Not some lord in disguise, are you?” she asked, her eyes teasing.
He gave a light laugh, shaking his head, hoping to God he looked casual.
“No, I’m not.” Her smile grew.
“No?
You sip like one.
You’re shaved.
Clean.
Handsome.
Those clothes look new.
You just skipped down to market and buy some peasant wear?” Clark kept his own smile, refusing to panic.
“I was robbed of my clothes only a few days ago.
Everything but my purse.” She laughed.
“Wot?” “I hid it.
They were lousy bandits.
I had to get new clothes and it cost me almost every coin I had.
All I have is before you.
You’re lucky I’m able to eat here.” That was too much.
He had talked too much.
The girl was entertained though.
“I’m only teasing!
I know you ain’t no lord.” “Really?
How’s that?” Before she could answer, a man shouted across the inn.
“Oi, girl!
Could we get some fucking ale here?
Tonight?
We’re thirsty!” …
In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait.