Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Clark had not had a proper bed for three months. He'd gotten used to the uneven earth under him and the fresh air that greeted him every morning. He woke up in Winterfell, fighting back a slight surprise to find himself indoors and on a level mattress.
However he was well-rested, having being so tired last night to think any of this. He got up from the bed and went through his morning stretches. He massaged his feet and wished he had his tennis ball to roll under his arches. His feet stopped complaining after a few weeks but they were still too tight. He went to the basin and poured some water into it, splashing himself lightly to wake up. Then he made the bed, pulling the covers taut.
That about covered all he could possible do in the room. He wanted to get out, eat breakfast and explore. Unfortunately he was still naked. Hoping to God that there was nobody in the corridor, he creaked the door open and looked down.
His clothes were folded in a neat pile on the floor next to a pair of boots that seemed way too clean to be his. He gathered them quickly and got inside. He placed the clothes on the bed. They all felt clean, and warm too. Clark brought the shirt to his face and smelled. Smoke from a fire. They must have just been deposited.
Clark dressed quickly, enjoying the clean wool on his skin. It didn't even itch anymore. He couldn't help but smile as he put on his boots. He left the room, leaving his cloak and his rucksack behind. He felt a little ridiculous, wearing a belt for his knife, but he was always glad to have it when he needed it.
Not knowing exactly where breakfast would be served, he wandered the halls of the castle. He saw a few corridors that looked familiar but ultimately he knew he would have to relearn everything about Winterfell and not keeping falling back on the show.
He exited a door into the main courtyard. The same one where he waited yesterday. Everyone was already awake and moving. It was a little too early for the harvest deliveries en route to storage, but there were still people working. Clark walked along the edges. He could smell iron works from the forge, wherever that was. He really wanted to eat, but he also really didn't want to ask anyone for directions. He didn't want to treat this place like a hotel. Determined to figure it out, he made a guess and walked to the biggest building he could see or the keep, as he should probably call it.
His guess proved correct, as smells of meat and hot bread wafted through the air. One corner and he found himself in the main hall. Same as last night. He looked to the front and saw Catelyn there with Bran. He was attempting to eat porridge.
"Good morning, Tiresias," she said as he approached. "Did you sleep well?"
"I did, thank you," he said. "Hals was kind enough to take these clothes down for a wash. And whomever was down there was kind enough to do them. He wasn't lying when he said there are servants who worked during the night for these sorts of things, was he? I'd hate himself if I kept a poor girl up all night for laundry."
"No, he was telling the truth. Please don't worry. Compare to what the children put them through, one set of clothes won't break their backs. Please, sit. Are you hungry?"
Clark sat down. A serving girl came up for his order. After settling for water over ale and ordering some bacon, eggs and bread, he and Catelyn talked for a while. It was strange. This woman was a genuinely good host and an engaging conversationalist. It was easy to forget her anger for Jon and what he meant to her. That was her weakness, it seemed. Clark felt no guilt about befriending her. If he was going to stay at Winterfell, it was essential that he charm the Lady of the castle. Or at least be on friendly terms with her.
He was wiping his plate with bread getting the last of his egg yolk when Ned entered the hall. He chewed quickly and managed to swallow and stand before Ned reached them.
"Lord Stark," Clark greeted. "Good morning."
Ned nodded. "Morning, Tiresias. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you. It was good to sleep in a bed for once."
Ned patted Bran's head, smoothing his hair down.
"If you're done with breakfast, I would like to continue our conversation."
Clark drained his cup. "Of course."
Ned turned to Catelyn. "I'll see you and the children in the evening. Do you need anything?"
"I'll be fine. Go be a serious Warden."
Ned smiled, bending down and kissing her on the cheek. "All right. Have a good day." He turned to Clark. "Come with me."
Clark nodded goodbye to Catelyn and proceeded to follow Ned. Five minutes later, he was walking through an archway, which opened up onto what Clark thought was a forest…
No…no, the godswood.
Once again, he had to make a conscious effort not to stop and gape. He'd always loved the outdoors and he found a forest infinitely more sacred than any church he had entered. But there was something different here. Something that made his skin tingle. He wasn't frightened though. The sensation that pervaded here was benevolent. Or at least not malevolent. There was magic here. He could feel it.
Thankfully he didn't miss a beat in following Ned Stark deeper into the godswood. He didn't think he'd get lost, but it was bigger than he expected. Finally they came to the pool, with the weirwood tree right next to it. Clark stared at the tree, coming closer to the carved face that was forever watching.
"I'll take you on for one year." Ned Stark's voice cut through the spell and birdsong seem to echo through the godswood. Clark turned to see Ned. He was staring at the pool.
"Thank you, Lord Stark."
"I spoke with Maester Luwin last night. Most of the positions here which require literacy are taken. I can't take you on as a steward. You're too old and you're a stranger."
He turned to Clark.
"You have experience in archives, you said?"
"Aye, I do."
"How do you feel about libraries?"
Clark blinked. "I love them. Very peaceful."
"Our library in the tower is kept in relatively good condition by Maester Luwin but he has to balance it with all his regular duties. We haven't had a proper librarian in decades. Winterfell hasn't required it."
"And now?"
Ned had something of a smile on his face. "We're going to expand. I want to expand. That's what we'll say. The North cannot neglect its literary history anymore. The library now is only at half capacity. At least according to Maester Luwin. So we commit to one year of your services and we see whether or not this is a venture worth continuing."
Clark let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Thank you, Lord Stark. I…I don't know what to say, but thank you."
"You will have to actually work as a librarian. And give everyone ample reason to see you as such. If you cannot, the only work I can offer is simple labour, to whomever needs it."
"I promise, Lord Stark," said Clark. "You'll have your library."
Ned nodded and a silence fell on the godswood. Clark didn't trust it.
"Why are we here?" asked Clark. "You didn't need to take me into the godswood to offer me the position of Winterfell's librarian?"
Ned Stark turned to Clark and looked him directly in the eyes for the first time. It was all Clark could do not to blink.
"If the attack on Lannisport happens as you've foreseen, people will die."
Clark sighed. "I imagine so. The fleet will be the main casuality."
"And you wish for me to do nothing. Wait for them to strike. Not warn the Westerlands?"
"How are you going to warn Tywin Lannister?" asked Clark. "What are you going to say? That a stranger has wandered into your home, giving you glimpses of the future? Are you going to tell him what I said to you to make you believe me?"
"Of course not." said Ned. His voice remained calm, though his eyes shone brightly. "But we are speaking of an entire city. An Ironborn raid is devastating to those who aren't prepared for it."
"Do you believe me then that it will happen?"
"I don't know," said Ned. "But the Iron Islands have been quiet lately. It wouldn't be out of the question for them to attack and test Robert's reign. Whoever dies because we say nothing, their blood will be on our hands."
"You're the Lord of the North, not the Westerlands."
"That doesn't matter. For all I know, they could just as easily attack any port city on the Northern shore instead of Lannisport."
There was an unnatural quiet in the godswood for a while. Even the birdsong was gone.
"Have you sent any letters about this, Lord Stark? Have you told anyone?"
Ned shook his head. "No, I haven't."
"Lord Stark," Clark began, his voice soft. "When I started my journey here and I was going through all the possible things that I could do to help you and your family, I made a realization early on. I realized…that I was not going to be able to save everyone. If I could guide people through what I've seen coming and lose no one, I would. But that's not possible. People are going to have to die. My goal is to make sure that significantly less people do this time around.
"Now, as for the Ironborn, there are some good people there, but they're not in power now. Balon, his brother Euron, and his two oldest sons will be thorns in your side. They will strike Lannisport. They will kill and then you and the lords of Westeros will have cause to eliminate them.
"What I'm suggesting is not honorable. And perhaps it was unfair of me to share my burden with you. You don't want innocents to die. But the Iron Islands cannot be left to their own devices. They will endanger your family. And as we both know, you are able to sacrifice honor for the safety of your family."
Ned gave him a sharp look. Clark raised his hands.
"No judgment on my part. I'd done the same."
Ned's eyes relaxed. He sighed and Clark, for the first time, noticed the bags under his eyes.
"I take it you didn't sleep."
Ned laughed softly, his eyes falling to the pool again. "No."
Clark stepped forward and dropped his voice, even though he was sure no one was around.
"Please, I implore you, for the sake of your future and the safety of your family, don't say anything about Lannisport. Wait for them. Let them burn the fleet. It is essential that they draw first blood."
He held his breath, waiting for Ned to acquiesce. Finally the Lord of Winterfell looked him in the eyes.
"I'll be silent and wait."
Clark breathed.
"Thank you, Lord Stark."
Ned nodded and turned, exiting the godswood. "We should find you a better room if you're staying for one year. After midday you should go to the library tower. Maester Luwin is there right now, in the middle of lessons for Jon and Robb. When he's free, he can take you through, show you what we have, what we want. I gave him a list of ideas last night. You can add your own and he'll run them by me. You'll be answering to him now. As for payment, we can discuss before lunch…"
Ned carried on as he walked and Clark followed him, turning back to see the weirwood tree and the face in the white bark staring back at him.
Are you watching me now, Three-Eyed Raven? Are you back in your past, Bran and seeing me? Do you know where I come from? And how I know you? Will you visit me in my dreams too? Let me know if I'm doing good? Or if I'm completely just fucking this up?
The tree didn't answer and Clark turned back to Ned Stark, narrowly avoiding a trip from a protruding root.
Clark stopped by his previous room to grab his rucksack and cloak, following Lord Stark deeper into the keep to the bigger guest rooms. He opened the door and was given the key. A bigger bed greeted him with a small hearth opposite. There was a desk topped with parchment, quills and inkwells. There was a window that opened, facing east. An empty drawer dresser stood next to it, along with a table with a basin and pitcher.
In short, it was luxury for a man who had traveled months on the road and who had no extra clothes to fill the drawers. Clark thanked Ned Stark profusely, who brushed them off. Once the rucksack and cloak were deposited and the key was in his trouser pocket, Clark followed Ned as he was shown the rest of the castle. The tour took a solid hour at least and they were not taking their time. It was a massive castle and Clark found himself doing double takes as he recognized one section after another from the show. It was invaluable to have it all laid out for him this way and he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
Lunch was a muted casual affair. Ned Stark showed him the kitchen and walked off to attend other duties after he gave Clark directions to the library tower. Grabbing a sausage and apple, Clark found a quiet corner to munch and watch. There were house guards and servants sitting down to eat when they could. Clark saw a few eyes wander over to him. He nodded and gave a small smile to each. He hardly received any in return, but he saw no reason to show how nervous he was.
On his way out, he saw Jon Snow enter the kitchens and approach the bakers. He chatted a little with the eldest one, a stout woman with quick hands that shaped dough like magic. She handed him a bread roll and shooed him away kindly, her eyes laughing. Jon turned and caught his eyes. Knowing he had to get to the library, Clark waved and walked away.
He arrived in the library with no trouble from the directions. Maester Luwin wasn't there yet, so Clark walked back and forth between the shelves. He took a book out and sighed in relief. It was a little fancy and contained vocabulary to the time, but it was still modern English. He had listened to authentic old English a few times on Youtube and it was a whole different language to him. He thought back to the farmer and his wife as he stood outside their house nude. If they spoke anything other than modern day English or German, he would have been screwed.
Clark was still perusing through the book ("The Last Gardener King") when he heard the library door open. He placed the book back on the shelf and moved out of the shelves. There was an older man in robes and chains moving to meet him. The last time Clark had seen this man, he was lying mortally wounded in the godswood.
Maester Luwin was just as bald as he was on the show, but the remaining hair was significantly less grey. Clark moved to him, extending his hand.
"You must be Maester Luwin," he said, careful to keep too much affection from his voice. "It's great to see you. I've heard good things about you."
Maester Luwin smiled amiably, but his eyes were still sharp and a little suspicious. He shook Clark's hand.
"You must be our new librarian, then. Lord Stark gave me your name, Tiresias?" he asked. "Am I pronouncing that correctly?"
"You are."
"Robb and Jon told me about you. Only good things as well."
"They're good boys. Are they good readers as well?"
Maester Luwin shrugged. "Well enough. Robb's a little impatient, but he's fine. Jon's quiet but even now he doesn't see a future for him that requires more than a basic understanding of words. You won't find them here in their free time."
They walked along the shelves. Luwin pulled some books and scrolls off the shelves.
"However," continued Luwin. "With you as the new librarian, that may change. They're very intrigued with you."
"How so?"
"Well, for one thing, they say you speak strangely." They came to a table and Luwin placed the scrolls and books he gathered down. "I must say I agree with them. I've never heard your accent before. Where are you from?"
"Essos. My parents were nomads so I never stayed anywhere long enough to capture an accent." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just a freak of nature."
Luwin chuckled. "Perhaps. Do you really ride lizard lions to glory?"
Clark shook his head. "Nah. Got too fat for them."
Luwin gave a tut-tut with his tongue. "Pity." He opened a volume. "Did Lord Stark give any instructions on what he wanted for revitalizing and building the library?"
Clark shrugged. "Only that he wanted to expand and that the North has neglected its literary history. How much of it of a history is it?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. The North is older than the other kingdoms, but most of its stories were passed on orally and its earliest histories were spoken of in the Old Tongue, which many don't speak anymore. Only a few tribes can decipher the runes of the few volumes we have. I've heard many wildings speak it still, but a Warden of the North cannot bring them into Winterfell. Not without retaliation from the other lords."
Having picked up a volume from the table, Clark sifted through the pages, his fingers trailing the runes. "We'll see about that. It'll do well to understand what we actually have in the Old Tongue. What else?"
Luwin handed him another tome. "Histories, sciences. A complete recounting of Westeros. With Essos second and whatever we can find about Sothoryos and Ulthos. Obviously what we can't compete with the Citadel's collection. We don't have the capacity or the manpower to maintain such an archive. But a sufficient collection of worldly knowledge kept safe in one of the most impregnable holds in Westeros? I think it's a good venture."
Clark placed the volume down. "I'm not usurping your position as librarian too harshly, am I?
"Hardly. I'm glad for the help. I'll need it for what we're about to embark on. Someone to organize, travel and collect. I don't know why Lord Stark is only committing to one year of your services. This is a decade long venture at least."
It certainly seemed that way. They went through a basic list of the current collection at Winterfell (which would need to be audited), which subjects were needed more of and a starting plan for gathering said volumes. They next addressed the capacity. The shelves were almost full, but it was quite spacious and the shelves themselves were old and weak. Replacing the shelves and redesigning the layout would nearly double their capacity. Luwin gave him the name of the carpenter in Winterfell and promised to speak to him the following day.
The last thing they discussed was the temporary storage of the materials in the library during the remodel. Luwin gave him a list of books to pull from the shelves which he planned to assign Robb, Jon and Sansa during construction.
"They'll be disappointed to hear that they won't be getting a break from their studies," said Clark, as he walked Luwin to the door.
"Perhaps," said Luwin. "If they make a fuss, I'll remind them how more they'll have to read once the library is rebuilt."
"That would be grand." Clark was about to say goodbye, when he remembered. "Master Luwin?"
"Yes?"
"Would you happen to have any astronomy books or celestial maps on hand?"
Luwin pursed his lips, thinking. He then gave a nod. "Yes, I think we have a few here. Interested in the stars?"
"I am. They're a little far away, but I still think they're very pretty."
Smiling, Luwin walked back and gathered a few books from a low shelf, waving off Clark's attempt to help him.
"I can still gather volumes by myself, thank you," he said, handing the volumes over to Clark. "We'll need to make sure that the full contents of the library are still accessible, during the remodel."
Clark nodded. "We will."
Luwin stood back up. "Well, Tiresias. Thank you for your help. I look forward to working with you. If you'd excuse me."
With that, the maester exited the library. Clark spent the rest of the afternoon, gathering the volumes that Luwin wrote down for the children's lessons. His heart was light as he passed over the pages and pages in the big room. Even the runes that he couldn't read gave him joy. He had no way to know if he would ever get tired of reading. But it comforted him greatly to know that in the middle of trying to alter the future of Westeros, he had this library as a retreat.
At least for the year. I'll be right fucked if the Ironborn don't attack. I just hope my memory's good on that bit of trivia.
Later that night, Clark was atop the battlements, along the castle walls. He sat at a small table, topped with a lantern (which took him twenty minutes to figure out how to use) and a celestial map, detailing the autumn night sky. He was determined to find a constellation to settle him, a replacement for Orion. Lucky for him, the rain clouds had blown away and it was a clear night. The stars shone brightly, despite the numerous torches and fires provided by Winterfell.
He took a swig of water from his skin and looked back up, from consulting the map. He found a few planets, or wanderers as the map called them. The red one was the most prominent. Each planet was equated to a god of the Seven and this was the Smith.
He also found several constellations to choose from. He saw the Shadowcat, Annag's favorite and decided to let her have that one. Hanging low in the west was the Crone's Lantern. Up in the northeast was the Ice Dragon. The moon was accompanied by the Moonmaid at this hour. The east had the Sword of the Morning and right above (Clark had to crane his neck for this one) was the King's Crown.
Like the constellations back in his world, they required a bit of imagination but ultimately they came to life before him. As if tonight, the universe decided to showcase itself to one tiny outsider in Winterfell.
So Clark spent a good couple hours that night, both losing himself to the stars and listening to the hubbub around the castle. His spot was a good perch for him to take in the activity below. Not that he was particularly well-hidden, in fact some house guards were patrolling right next to him (he exchanged greetings and names amiably), but people seemed to forget that they were people above them. He heard laughter from some housemaids, the clinks of iron from the forge, singing from the hall, it all became a soothing background for him and his stargazing.
As he was beginning to pack up and go to bed, he heard something from the battlements. Something that was different than anything he had heard tonight. It was coming from the training yard. He focused his ears on the area, blocking out everything else…something was being struck again and again. The beats were erratic and they were accompanied by cries and grunts. They belonged to a young child…
Clark quickly put his map away, picked up the lantern and followed the cries to the training yard. He found himself on the balcony overlooking the yard (he had meant to be on the ground, but he was still learning the castle's layout). He blew out his lamp and peered down.
Jon Snow was alone in the yard and hitting a dummy with a wooden sword. The torch next to him was lit and it illuminated his face, streaked with tears. His strikes came clumsily, but they were quick. He couldn't have been training for more than a year at least.
Clark looked around for stairs but couldn't see any. He looked over the balcony.
Not a far jump. All right then.
He put the lamp down, climbed over the railing and dropped to the ground below. He prepared for some pain, but none came. It was a loud landing though and Jon whirled around to see him come slowly to a stand. Jon looked at him in bewilderment before realizing he was still crying and turned away, wiping away his tears furiously.
Clark stepped forward to the dummy. He examined it for a minute before turning to Jon.
"I think he's dead."
Jon fixed him with a withering stare. Clark continued.
"Or at least severely wounded."
"Please don't laugh at me," Jon mumbled, his gaze turning to the ground.
Clark sighed. He remembered being a kid and having his anger laughed at too.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I won't laugh at you." Clark walked over and squatted in front of Jon. "When I was a kid, I got very upset too sometimes. My mother taught me a technique to feel better. Would you like me to show it to you?"
He hoped he was reading the situation right. Ultimately though, Jon raised his head and looked at him with watery dark eyes. He nodded.
Clark had Jon sit next to him and lead him through the breathing technique that he employed so much of the last few months. Breathe in slowly, hold it and let go on a count. Repeat if necessary. It took a few times, but soon Jon was relaxed, his voice freed up from the strain of trying not to cry.
"Do you feel better?" asked Clark.
Jon nodded.
"Good." He walked over to the dummy and picked up the sword. "Do you come here when you're upset?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
A shrug was his only answer. Clark brought the wooden sword to his shoulder.
"Was it something someone had said?"
Jon looked at his feet.
"Do you want to say who it was?"
Jon shook his head.
"It's all right. You don't have to say." Clark swung the sword, absent-mindedly. He then gripped the sword with both of his hands. He brought the sword to the dummy and connected it with the neck, feeling the jolt run down his arm. He turned to see Jon watching him.
"Was that a good strike?"
"No," said Jon. "Your grip is wrong." He seemed to realize what he said and looked down again.
"Would you show me?" said Clark. Jon looked back up in confusion. Clark gestured to the sword. "Please?"
After about thirty seconds, Jon stood and crossed to him. Clark lowered his hands and let Jon move his fingers. After he was done, the boy stood clear and nodded.
"You can try again," Jon said. Clark nodded and swung toward the dummy, hitting the same spot. The jolt from that hit was considerably less.
"Is that better?" Clark asked. Jon nodded, but didn't offer anything else up. A few soldiers began to sing a tune a short ways away. That distant tune filled the yard.
"You're a good teacher," said Clark. "How long have you been fighting with swords?"
Jon shifted his feet. "I've only fought with wooden swords. Actually I've never fought. Only trained with Robb and slowly. Ser Rodrik teaches us."
Clark swung the sword, careful to keep the new grip. "Well, for how old you are, you're good. If you keep your training up, you'll be great one day. I saw your natural talent when you were whacking this dummy here."
Jon swallowed. "Thank you, my lord."
"I've told you, Jon. I'm not a lord. I'm just Tiresias."
The tune ended prematurely from the soldiers, with a clash and roaring laughter accompanying it.
"Do you come here every night, Jon? To train on your own?"
"Sometimes."
Clark passed him the wooden sword. "May I ask you a huge favor, Jon?"
Jon looked at him with wide eyes. "What?"
"Would you be willing to teach me how to fight?"
He saw Jon's eyes go to suspicious right away. "Teach you? Why?"
Clark shrugged. "I don't know how to fight. You seem like a good teacher. I would like to learn."
"I told you not to laugh at me."
Clark knelt before him. "Jon, look at me. I'm not laughing. I'm serious when I say I want to learn from you. I think it would be good for us both."
"What?"
"My mother taught me another thing besides breathing. She told me that if you want to improve at something, teach it. Force yourself to become better for the sake of your student."
"But I…I don't know how! I'm not a knight. I'm not master at arms."
"That's perfect for me. You show me what you have learned and I take it step by step. I'm older than you so I'll be strong enough to take your blows and you're quicker and know more swordplay than I do. It will balance out."
Jon looked at him, determined to see if he was just ridiculing him. Clark met his eyes steadily. Finally Jon nodded.
"Thank you, Jon," said Clark.
Without responding, Jon ran off. At first, Clark thought that was it for the night and stood to leave. He heard rattling in the dark however and saw Jon returning with another practice sword. He handed it to Clark, who gripped it tightly and swung, once Jon was out of range. This sword was longer and better suited for him. Jon guessed his proper sword size correctly just on sight.
After a few more practice swings, Clark saw Jon had retrieved his own practice sword and stood waiting. Clark walked over and saw Jon swallow his nerves before issuing his first instruction.
"Robb and I are still doing basics. We do them every day. So…stand like this."
He went into his first position, holding his sword out. Clark followed, treating this as seriously as Jon did, the nervousness in his eyes giving way to a determined steeled look. The sound of the soldiers singing and laughing was soon tuned out.
Clark shut the door on his new room, illuminating his way with the lantern. He used the lantern to light the two candles in his room before blowing it out. He sat down on the bed, letting the silence weigh in on him.
Before in his old life, after work and when he came back to his apartment, his life was full of noises and things to do. He could watch movies, listen to music, call his friends and family, watch porn, many things to stave off the silence. Even when he arrived in Westeros, he was bombarded with the reality of being transplanted into this world. He was busy fending for himself, for food, water and shelter. And there was the whole matter of getting to Winterfell.
Now he was here. For the next year at least, he had room and board. He had a job and he was alone here in this room. He had fewer things that distracted him from the future.
That was why he asked Jon to help him. Perhaps it was a little strange to ask a little boy for help, but he knew what it felt like to feel important at that age. Jon definitely needed a little confidence boost. Plus, they were pretty evenly matched, as far as fairplay with swords went. Clark definitely didn't have the skills to train effectively with adults. He didn't care what happened at the inn in the Riverlands.
He had to get stronger. He couldn't be entirely useless when the wights came crawling south. Standing up, he stripped himself of his boots, shirt, and trousers, leaving only his hose on. When he was about to fall to the floor for some push-ups, he saw something above the door. He walked over and saw a ridge heading the doorway. It wasn't wide, but still something in Clark's hand tingled and he found himself preparing to jump.
One…two…and three!
Clark leapt and grabbed the ledge. He breathed quickly. He hung loosely, testing it out and waiting for the strain to be unbearable, for his fingers to slip…
However, a couple of seconds passed and his fingers were settled quite…well, he wouldn't say comfortably, but he was stable. He settled his breath, steadied himself and for the first time since high school, began to do pull ups.
One…two…three…
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