Chapter 5

The cloak remained soaked for the entire month Clark spent traveling with the crannogmen. It was subject to the moist ground at night and it never dried completely during the day. The trees were too thick to allow much sun through. Luckily it was warm enough that Clark went without the cloak more often than not.

He never complained though, at least out loud. It was mostly because the crannogmen never did. For the first week, they traveled by boat, mooring by night to camp and during the day to inspect the various secrets that they held. At least that's Clark assumed. He mostly stayed in the boat with Martan, who kept a silent watch on him. The boat was small and having an extra man was quite a nuisance for the crannogmen. But none of them said a word. Clark usually sat next to Dallan, while Annag and Martan rowed. Dallan spent the first morning organizing his poison darts and needles, placing them in easily accessible places on himself. He gave Clark a few looks as he did. The message was clear: you may be close enough to harm us, but not before we could kill you.

Besides not trying to kill them, Clark tried to do some heavy-lifting around the camp. He carried sacks of supplies. He gathered firewood every night. Halfway during the first week, he was trusted enough to help row. Annag's scorn didn't disappear, but it did lessen somewhat. She did trust him enough to toss him his sheathed knife the last night they moored. He caught the knife, staring at her. Then she threw him a large fish.

"Your job tonight is to skin that. Can you handle that, sailor?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before walking away.

Clark gave a silent thanks to whomever the fuck was listening. He only knew how to skin one creature on earth and that was fish. His dad taught him during summer fishing trips. It had been a few years but he still managed to gut the fish and then section it without destroying the whole thing. It didn't look pretty though. He wondered if sailors cut fish often enough so that it looked nicer than his current work. Was it just fishermen who actually handled and sectioned fish?

Regardless, he placed the fish in the pot when everyone was busy. They didn't see his awkward chunks of flesh, as they softened into a fish stew. Annag came back to a simmering pot and a clean knife, which Clark handed back to her.

Over the next three weeks, as they traveled through swamps on pathways that barely rose above the water, Clark continued his usefulness as well as he could. He feared it wasn't enough. Traveling alone was simple. He could indulge in conversations with himself using modern language, sing Billy Joel, be inept in certain circumstances and no one was there to bear witness. With three crannogmen as constant companions, he had to remain on guard and his anxiety was ever present.

But it could lessen though. It did whenever Clark was engaged in learning a new skill. The constant companship of Annag, Dallan and Martan put Westerosi living in a closer perspective. He watched as they purified water for drinking, found tinder alternates for campfires, laid traps, and caught various creatures, including lizard lions, and skinned them.

He also learned all the gross things as well. He missed modern plumbing with all of his heart. It wasn't too bad before the Neck. Traveling along the road before meant that he could pick plenty of leaves that weren't poisonous to clean himself. In this swampland, where many things animal, plant or fungi could kill you, picking something to wipe your ass was a terrifying endeavor. He asked Dallan (when he was alone) straight out what he recommended. Dallan gave him a strange look and Clark hoped to God that people actually did wipe their asses in Westeros. Luckily Dallan apparently did and he showed him a few common plants in the vicinity that were skin safe. They never mentioned it again and Clark was sure that Dallan was no gossip, although Martan's eyes were suspiciously more full of mirth that night by the fire.

However, throughout the whole trip, he wasn't questioned again. Annag, Dallan and Martan were quite silent in most of their doings. He wondered if that was because he was there, fucking up the group dynamic. But as the month came to a close, he guessed that wasn't the case. For one, Martan couldn't even talk. However, if he could, he probably wouldn't have said much more than he already did. Annag and Dallan were quiet as well, but quite relaxed with each other. Clark was thankful for their indifference. He didn't think he could keep his story straight through more questioning. He wondered how he would conduct himself at Winterfell. If he ever got there.

A few days after the month ended, they heard a soft whistle pierce through the air around midday. Martan pulled out a whistle and blew back a response. They went back and forth a couple of times before the whistle was put away and they continued. Clark walked up to Annag.

"What was that?" he asked.

"A message from Lord Reed," she said. Her voice wasn't nearly as quietly threatening as it was when they first met, but it was still curt. "That was a scout. We're about a two hour walk away from the main camp."

Clark kept his face from showing his excitement. Two months of searching and traveling had brought him at last to someone who (he hoped) would help him. He shifted the extra pack he was carrying and walked on. The following hike were the slowest two hours he'd had in a while. He wandered how east they had traveled. That was their general direction anyway, despite the fact that they took major detours. They haven't gone much further north though. So if Howland Reed ejected him, it would probably be south into the Riverlands.

Finally they walked into a clearing. It was the largest patch of high ground that he had seen in a month. There were several tents placed on this ground and several crannogmen crossed between them, tending to fires, their catches or just going to lie down after a long day. Clark and his group walked into the fray. Annag, Dallan and Martan greeted quite a few people, but the greetings couldn't stop the whispers that began or the stares that Clark felt from everyone in the campsite. He thought briefly how he could make him less visible, but that was a doomed goal. He was a head taller than everyone in this group. The suspicion from Annag, Dallan and Martan may have lessened over the last month, but it was fresh here.

Feeling he may as well face it head-on, Clark looked at the nearest crannogman who was staring at him and nodded.

"Evening. It's good to meet you."

The crannogman turned to Annag.

"Annag, who is this?" he asked, ignoring Clark entirely.

Annag placed her pack on the grass and straightened up, cracking her back. "Says his name's Tiresias. He wants to talk to Lord Reed."

The crannogman stared at her. "And you actually brought him here?"

Annag shrugged. "He speaks of dangers in the future and of secrets. I was going to talk with Lord Reed beforehand. See what he wants to do. If he doesn't want to talk to our tall stranger, I'm throwing him out of the Neck myself."

"Lord Reed doesn't have time for the nonsense of an outsider."

A crowd was beginning to gather closer to the group. Dallan stepped in front of Clark. He could sense Martan go behind his back. If Annag was put off by the challenge of the crannogman, she didn't show it. She seemed quite bored actually.

"If Lord Reed doesn't have the time, then he'll tell me so himself," she said, her voice keeping level. She turned to another crannogman. "Arten, is he in his tent?"

Arten nodded. "Aye, he's only just gone in."

"That's fine," said Annag. She turned back to the whole group gathered. "I'll let Lord Reed decide if he'll hear what this stranger has to say. I'm going to go talk to him now. This man…" She pointed to Clark. "…is not to be harmed. He had broken bread with us and is under our protection, unless Lord Reed says otherwise. Dallan and Martan shouldn't have to keep their eyes peeled for any quick knives while I'm gone. Am I wrong? Or will you behave yourselves?"

There was a short silence before the grumpy crannogman who spoke up turned and left. The rest of the crannogmen dispersed to their tents. Annag, satisfied, turned to Clark.

"Wait here," she said. "If he wants to see you, I'll let you know." Then she walked off to the largest tent in the vicinity. Clark watched her disappear into it, before turning back to Dallan and Martan.

"Thank you," he said. Dallan grunted and went about his work. Martan nodded once and started pitching the tent. Clark helped him. Before long, they had their full camp going. Other crannogmen stopped to chat with Dallan. Clark did his best not to eavesdrop and started cutting an onion for the stew, borrowing Dallan's knife. Someone came behind him. He turned to see Annag and stopped, waiting with bated breath…

"He'll see you," she said.

He sighed, unable to stop himself from smiling. "Thank you, Annag, thank you so much…"

"He'll see you after dinner and when matters with our people are dealt with. When he's ready, he'll send a messenger."

Clark nodded. "When will that be? Did he say?"

"No, he didn't. But I suppose it will be hours from now. I'd stay close." With that, Annag walked off to see the other crannogmen. Clark turned back to the onions. Dinner that night was a quiet affair. More than usual. Clark wasn't hungry, but he forced himself to eat. Martan found a large dry log that brought the fire up to a blaze Clark hadn't seen in weeks. He hung his damp cloak in front of the fire and sat with his back to the flames, his eyes on Howland Reed's tent.

Dallan and Martan stayed close to the tent. As it was with many previous nights, they didn't say a word to him. Not that Clark minded. He was a loner growing up. He was used to not talking with others. As far as it could be, it was a comfortable silence. He actually saw Howland Reed, or at least whom he assumed to be Howland Reed, step out of his tent several times to welcome the different crannogmen. They stayed in the tent for several minutes at a time, a few of them staying for at least a half hour. At least it seemed like a half hour. He forced himself not to become frustrated though. Truth be told, he had no idea what he would say to Howland Reed when he actually saw him. He tried a few times to construct an opening statement in his head, but nothing sounded right. Everything just seemed wrong.

He lowered his head, sighing. That was not how he was going to win over Howland Reed. He had to relax. He was very tired from the month of bog travel and he was struggling to remain seated upright. Abandoning the fight, he lay down on the grass, his eyes on Howland Reed's tent. The fire was still to his back and very warm. He blinked and sighed. He was so tired…

"Wake up. Tiresias, wake up!"

He started, sitting up, his head immediately feeling light. Sunset was long past. He blinked and saw Annag in front of him. Behind her stood two crannogmen, one of which was the one who protested his initial arrival. He blinked again, feeling his world center and stood up.

"I'm sorry, Annag. I just…"

She cut him off. "It doesn't matter. He'll see you now. Come on."

She turned and started walking. Clark followed her, his legs a little wobbly from sleep. He felt the other two crannogmen trailing him. They crossed the camp; Clark had enough consciousness to feel eyes following him. Annag reached the tent flaps first. She stopped and held her hand up, halting Clark. The two guards walked by and entered first. Annag nodded and they both entered.

The tent was smaller than any lord's tent Clark could remember from the show; Tywin's, Renly's, even Jon Snow's. However, there was enough room for a cot, a brazier, two chests and a table with three chairs adorning it. Clark saw that the chairs were collapsible and on one of those chairs sat Howland Reed.

Clark rightly picked him out earlier. In the light from the brazier, he could see him more clearly. He did look much like the actor who played him in the Tower of Joy flashback. Several years more in the swamp had certainly aged him but not horribly. His brown hair was longer, his beard fuller. He seemed more wry. His green eyes reflected the brazier light intensely and for some reason, they relaxed Clark. Ever since arriving in Westeros, he had never breathed more freely. It almost didn't seem important whether or not Howland believed him. He was here. He'd made it.

Knowing however that that was a crazy thought and he did want Howland to believe him, he gave a short bow.

"Lord Reed, I presume?"

Howland Reed nodded and gestured for the chair in front of him. Clark crossed and sat down. Howland grabbed a pitcher from the table.

"Would you care for some wine?" he asked. "I'd offer to join you, but I'm afraid I've already drunk more I'm comfortable with this evening. Having to greet so many in one night. However, you're welcome to some if you'd like."

Clark eyed the pitcher. "You're not too drunk to speak with me, are you?"

Howland smiled. "No."

He nodded. "Good." His eyes traveled to the others still in the tent. "I'm afraid I'll decline your offer. I don't feel good drinking another man's booze when he's not partaking. Besides, I've already taken too much advantage of your people's hospitality."

Howland's eyebrows raised slightly. "Booze?"

Clark suppressed a wince. "Drink."

"Hmm," said Howland. He placed the pitcher down. "That's fair…your name is Tiresias, yes?"

"Yes."

"I've never heard of such a name or an accent such as yours. You are from Essos?"

"That's right." It was very warm in the tent. The relaxed feeling was disappearing quickly.

"Annag told me that you seek my counsel and that you hold my secret."

The others in the room were still, looking from Howland to Clark. He cleared his throat.

"I do."

Howland didn't seem perturbed. He yawned, obviously tired from the day's journey. Clark knew he had to act quickly.

"Lord Reed," he began. "Would it be possible to speak to you alone?"

"Absolutely not," The crannogman from earlier stepped forward. His face was red. "You have some nerve demanding a private meeting with Lord Reed."

"I'm not demanding anything. I'm asking."

"Asking, eh? And how do we know you're not some Frey assassin? Hired to infiltrate the Neck and kill our Lord?" He turned to Howland. "My lord, let us take him away and question him. Not waste anymore of your time."

"I took his knife away, Harn," said Annag, venom in her voice. "And I brought him. You think I'd endanger our Lord like that?"

"There are other ways to kill without a knife, Annag. You led him straight to our Lord!"

"Lord Reed," said Clark loudly, cutting the argument down. Howland didn't seem disturbed by it though. His green eyes continued to gleam. "I'm sorry for bringing discord into your camp. It was not my intention. I truly wanted to talk to you and I thank you for giving me your time, but this isn't enough. What I have to say to you, I can't say in front of anyone else, not even your closest confidants. If it would satisfy your guard, you may bind me and I'll speak to you then, but only if we're alone."

He turned to Harn and the other guard. "I'm no threat. And besides, I'd like to think I'm a little too handsome for House Frey."

Harn moved to speak again, but Howland raised his hand and there was silence. The brazier crackled along with the familiar nightsong of cicadas and frogs from outside. Finally Howland leaned back in his chair, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Harn, Annag, Null, leave and give us enough space around the tent to ensure privacy for Tiresias and I. He won't be bound."

Harn blanched. "My Lord, I protest this."

Howland nodded. "Your protest is noted. Now leave. I'll call if he stabs me."

Harn forced down his reply, bowed and left. The other guard, Null, left too. Annag followed them, leaving only the Lord of the Neck and Clark in the tent. Howland waited for a minute and then spoke at a normal level.

"Harn, Null, I changed my mind. Come back and bind this man immediately."

Clark looked at the tent's entrance. No one came. He turned back to Howland Reed, who seemed quite content.

"Satisfied?" he asked politely.

Clark nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Howland gestured toward the pitcher. "Are you sure I can't offer you some wine?"

"I'm sure," said Clark, leaning forward. "You might need more though, for yourself when you hear what I have to say."

"Really? Why's that?" Howland asked lightly. "Does it involve my secret?"

Clark discovered he'd been holding his breath. He exhaled. "Before I talk about that, I wanted to ask you some questions if I may?"

Howland nodded. "All right."

The brazier crackled for a while before Clark was able to open his mouth and speak.

"You're a greenseer, yes?"

"Yes," said Lord Reed quite casually. "Not the most proficient one, I'm afraid. Enough to recognize talent and gifts greater than my own."

"Do you know who I am? Have you seen me?"

Howland's gaze turned slowly into a peer. "Are you not Tiresias? Are you not from Essos?"

"Have you seen me?" Clark hoped the repeated question didn't come across as abrasive, but Howland didn't seem offended.

"No. I have never you seen before today. In dreams or otherwise."

Clark leaned back in his chair. He was disappointed on one level. He could use one less person to explain himself to. On the other hand, it was a relief to know that his arrival in Westeros was hidden from seers. However, Howland Reed wasn't the most powerful greenseer. There was still chance that the Three-Eyed Raven beyond the Wall knew of his arrival and his knowledge. And if that was true, it was certainly possible that the Night King knew as well…

He shivered involuntarily. Those were worries for another day. The Lord of the Neck was still before him and he wasn't done.

"So…is Tiresias your real name?" asked Howland.

"Yes," said Clark, beginning to believe it himself. After all, if he said so, who was there to contradict him? For all intents and purposes, it was his real name. He continued.

"I meant it when I said to your people that I was no enemy. I hope I could be your friend eventually but right now that's all I can offer." He swallowed and swallowed his voice. "Lord Reed, I think it's time we talked about your secret."

Howland crossed his fingers, relaxing them on his stomach. "All right. What secret do you know?"

Okay, Clark or Tiresias, once again, here we fucking go.

"The secret that is currently being hid in Winterfell. A trueborn dragon in bastard wolf's clothing."

There was no movement from the crannogman. He sat still. Only his eyes seemed to gleam more brightly and Clark could hear his breath hitch. He took a breath himself.

"Lord Reed, I have no intention of revealing what I know to anyone else, except to Ned Stark if I can manage to speak to him. There is no leak to this. No one else knows. How I found out, no one else will be able to."

The Lord leaned forward. "How did you find out?"

His fingers felt clumsy. Clark looked down. He clenched and unclenched them. "I'm no greenseer. I don't read fortunes. But I do know things. My knowledge is limited, but I still know. I told you Jon Snow's truth in order to prove that I know things I shouldn't. And the other things that I know are coming are much worse than a secret Targaryen heir."

Every sign of weariness was gone from Howland Reed.

"What other things?" he asked.

"I don't know how much to tell you," said Clark. "I'm sure you must understand that sometimes things need to play out as they're meant to. Usually when someone tries to subvert catastrophe, they end up creating worse outcomes. And however much people may suffer, things will come to balance in the end. That's the future that I saw for this world. A return of magic from the East. Wars that will bleed the realm dry. Monsters that will come down from the North and monsters that will emerge from the people, noble and smallfolk alike."

He brought his gaze up to Howland's.

"But when I saw what happened to this country, I wasn't here. I wasn't around with the knowledge I have today. I couldn't have saved the people I desperately want to save now. And I wanted to ask you, what I should do? What should I do with the knowledge I have? Should I attempt to change things for the better? Should I just leave? Or…will you kill me to keep the secret and spare me the trouble of deciding what to do?"

There was a long pause in the tent. Howland finally got up and poured himself a cup of wine. He poured a second cup and gave it to Clark. He took it and drank with Lord Reed. It tasted like the wine at his Episcopal Church, which was slightly comforting.

"Who are you?" asked Howland, lowering his cup, his voice low.

Clark sensed the tension and knew that this next answer would either bury him or free him. He thought back to the letter he found in his pocket.

"I am a man…" he began. "I'm a man with both too much power and too little of it. I'm sure you can relate. I know of the calamities coming and I want to prevent the worse from occurring if I can. And that's really it. Anything else I was…I can never be again."

He felt tears began to form at his eyes, but his voice was steady.

"Everyone from my old life is gone. Whatever I learned for my future is now useless. Everything and everyone I loved belongs to my old world, which is now forever closed to me."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. He turned away and breathed, focusing on the brazier.

"I'm not from Westeros, but I'm here now and it's the only home I've ever have. And there are people here that I've never met that I'm attached to, probably even love. They're going to go through so much pain and I might be in a position to stop that from happening. So…"

He turned back to Howland Reed.

"Should I stop that from happening? Should I try?"

Howland's eyes were cloaked in shadow. After a full minute, he stood, placing his cup on the table and walked over to the brazier.

"Come here," he said quietly.

Clark stood and joined him. Every line of his face stood exposed in the light.

"Who are your gods?" asked Howland.

Clark hesitated. He had been an apatheist for years back home. Now he wasn't sure. It might be whomever dumped him here in the first place. So he answered.

"Whomever is listening. I'm sorry but I'm not very religious."

"Do you have someone you love unconditionally?"

He thought about his mother and father, his older sister. His dearest friends…

"Yes," said Clark.

"Look at me," said Howland Reed. "Do you swear by the love you hold that you're no enemy of mine or my people? Or the Starks?"

"Yes."

"Do you swear that you're here to help and not sabotage them?"

"Yes."

"And do you swear," his voice dropping to a murmur, "that you will keep the secret you've confessed tonight? Will Jon Snow remain Jon Snow? A bastard of Lord Stark?"

"I will. For as long as he remains in danger, I will."

Howland stared into his eyes and Clark tried hard not to blink. It was difficult though with the heat of the brazier. He hoped he'd told the truth for that last question. Finally Howland walked back to his table. Clark, trying hard not to sigh in relief, asked:

"So what should I do?"

"That is what I'm going to try and find out," said Howland. He came back with a knife. Clark automatically took a step back.

"What's that for?"

"I'm going to attempt a greendream tonight. Most of the time, they don't come if I try to force them, but it's worth a try."

Clark blinked. "And the knife?"

Howland held the knife out. "I need a little of your blood. Not much, mind you. Just a few drops."

Taking the knife, Clark hoped he wouldn't run into too many blood rituals in this country. He made a silent note to stay away from Dragonstone and Melisandre, whenever she showed up. If that was possible. He rolled up his shelve and pressed the knife to the outside of his forearm. He remembered his friend telling him that only idiots slice their palms for blood. He only hoped this was the correct safer alternative.

Howland certainly thought so. Or at least he didn't say anything when he returned with his cup of wine.

"Ready?" asked Clark.

"Yes."

He drew the knife across and let out a low hiss. More than a few drops flowed out, but thankfully it was pretty contained. Howland placed the cup under the forearm and caught a few drops. Clark thought he heard a slight breeze in the tent but he was probably imagining it. Howland procured a cloth, which Clark took and pressed to the wound. When he turned to Howland, he was already drinking the full cup of bloodied wine.

Clark stared at him, as Howland placed the empty cup back on the table and looked at him.

"I'll speak to you tomorrow afternoon, whether I greendream tonight or not."

"Thank you," said Clark, strangely not disturbed by the blood drops Howland swallowed. More just surprised.

Howland went to his cot and kicked off his boots.

"Make sure Annag cleans and bandages that. I'll send for you tomorrow. Good night, Tiresias."

Clark gave a short bow. "Thank you, Lord Reed, and thank you for listening. Good night, my lord."

"Send Harn and Null back in on your way out."

Clark exited the tent without looking back. Harn stood twenty feet away from the entrance. He looked very irritated. When he saw Clark exit, he marched right up to him, opening his mouth.

"Your Lord wants you and Null now," said Clark as he sidestepped Harn. He didn't look back, but he swore he could hear teeth grinding before Harn opened his mouth and yelled for Null, who had been guarding the other side of the tent.

Clark arrived back at the camp. The log Martan had found was now ashes. He was asleep and so was Dallan. Annag sat against a stone, whittling. She looked as Clark approached and grabbed his hung dry cloak.

"Well?" she asked as Clark placed his cloak on the ground and sat down. "Do we skin you alive for trespassing?"

"I don't think so," said Clark. His chest felt very light.

"Shame," she said. "What are we to do with you?"

He shrugged. "He'll tell me tomorrow." He smiled. "Might order us to be wed. What do you think of that?"

She flicked a chip in his direction. "I think you're still short one knife. I could return it to you tonight as you sleep. Right between your ribs."

"You're truly a lady. He did ask me though to ask you, to clean and bandage this," he said, revealing his cut on the forearm. "Could you please?"

Annag gave it a brief look, before reaching into her bag. She pulled out a small jar, filled with a brown paste. She tossed it to Clark and got up.

"Wash it with water first, then spread that paste around. I'll go get some clean bandages."

She walked off into the darkness. Clark could hear her fiddling with her other bag. He took his waterskin and began to clean the wound.

Despite the bleeding, he was feeling relieved. He hoped that Howland Reed gave him good news tomorrow. However, he took pleasure in the partial confession. It had left him feeling slightly giddy. That was until he applied the paste to the cut. It stung like a motherfucker.