Chapter 21: Chapter 21
The news of Ser Jorah's flight from Westeros reached Winterfell before Ned returned. Though Tiresias was certain that he wouldn't be horribly punished for withholding that piece of knowledge, he couldn't help but be anxious as he awaited Lord Stark's summon.
However, the summon didn't come. For the next week or so, whenever he encountered Ned Stark, the man greeted him politely. He supposed this was smart. It wouldn't do for the Warden of the North to check in with the librarian whenever he left for or returned from an important task. Tiresias had his work. A lord had his.
Ned only mentioned it later as Tiresias approached him on the balcony above the archery range. He was overseeing the children shooting and nodded in greeting as Tiresias approached.
"Tiresias."
"Lord Stark."
They watched the lesson below for a few moments in silence. Arya, now six, was hitting the marks as consistently as her older brothers. Only Theon was ahead of her. However even his cocky attitude waned slightly as Arya shot. Perhaps he could see her overtaking him.
As Arya finished and listened to the final adjustments and instructions by Robb and Jon, Theon stepped up. And for once, he was quiet about it.
With their eyes still on the young archers, Ned spoke quietly.
"I assume that Ser Jorah Mormont had a part to play in your visions?"
"Aye," Tiresias murmured. "He was exiled to Essos when I first saw him. He has his own path to follow."
"And did you know what he had done? To earn his exile?"
Tiresias said nothing and his silence was interpreted correctly. Ned turned to him.
"You allowed men to be sold into slavery," he said quietly.
"Aye." Tiresias met his eyes. "Just like I allowed Lannisport to burn."
And an innocent woman to hang.
However, he didn't see blame in Ned's eyes. Just a weary sadness. The Lord turned back to his children and ward. Their laughter and camaraderie seemed to strengthen him.
Tiresias could sense the dismissal. He nodded and turned to leave, before remembering one more thing.
"If I may, Lord Stark," he asked. "Did Ser Jorah Mormont leave behind Longclaw?"
"Aye. I had it sent to Castle Black, to the Lord Commander." The connection clicked for Ned Stark as he turned, his eyes piercing Tiresias. "Valyrian steel?"
Tiresias couldn't help a small smile and he swore he saw Ned's eyes lighten a little. There was no need to say anything more. He walked away, leaving Ned to his fatherly post.
The next year passed in relative comfort for the residents of Winterfell. Food was continuing to be stored. The Broken Stores was now at half-capacity. Which was slightly concerning for Lord Stark and Tiresias, as they were the only ones who knew of the upcoming winter. All others just saw the surplus.
However they haven't begun to import food from the Reach yet. That would be in two years and it would increase their stores exponentially.
The surplus of food made the dragonglass easier to import as well. An increasingly number of whispers were made among the servants as to Lord Stark's intentions and the purpose of reshaping the useless obsidian into daggers, spearheads, arrowheads and such. There were only so times Mikken could make his apprentices practice with the material. However, the dragonglass shipments were still spaced to every two months. And with the tale provided by Sorcha, who was questioned by a few curious inhabitants on her last visit and the increase of the food stores, Lord Stark's continual purchase of the dragonglass was seen in lighter terms than they expected.
At least Tiresias hoped. As far as he was aware, no whispers of the dragonglass have gone beyond Wintertown. It stayed in the crypts and the piles of it continued only to grow. It should remain safe until the day arrived when they would need it.
However, he was not Varys. He didn't have a network of spies throughout the Seven Kingdoms. And with Littlefinger dead, he could only imagine how the strength and reach of the Spider's knowledge had grown unabated. Was he even aware of the librarian up north and the things he had done?
Tiresia mused at some points that perhaps; that was why he continued to work as the Winterfell librarian, riding to keeps and collecting tomes. From Bear Island to Barrowton. And otherwise, leading a quiet, scholarly life in the castle. There were only so many times one could travel and disrupt life in Westeros with assassinations before being noticed. He valued his anonymity in this country. Treasured it more than most things. However, things were beginning to come to a head. Littlefinger and Craster were long dead and they weren't the only ones he had to deal with. Staying in the shadows may not be possible for long.
But he couldn't rush. It was good to stay hidden until absolutely necessary. And so he waited, worked and enjoyed the relative peace while it was here. And continued to train, watch and listen. Things would come. As they always have.
However, it wasn't always dour news he received. One evening, Tiresias waited in the training yard for Gord. Tonight the big man was running late. He didn't let that halt this exercise though; taking the pole staff and striking the training dummy precisely and repeatedly. After a while, he was so engrossed, he barely caught Gord sneaking up behind.
He turned and swung the pole staff to block the blunt of the training sword.
"Fucker, I almost had you!" Gord backed away laughing.
"Almost, Gord, almost."
He did a double take. Gord was usually amiable, but this was borderline obnoxious. He was grinning, his eyes practically begging Tiresias to inquire…
Tiresias sighed. "What is it, Gord?"
Gord spread his arms. "What do you see?"
Tiresias poked him in the stomach with the pole-staff. Gently. "Your gut?"
"Nah, mate." He lowered his hands, the grin still strong. "You see a promised man."
Staking his pole into the ground, Tiresias felt his own grin growing. "Ginn?"
"Nah, Old Nan," said Gord, before shaking his head. "Fuck's sake, 'course it's Ginn. I asked and she said aye. Went to Lord Stark just now. He weds us in a month."
Tiresias started laughing, striding forward and embracing the man. "Congratulations, Gord! She's a lucky woman. And you're a lucky man."
"Aye, aye, we're all lucky." He patted Tiresias on the back before pushing him away and positioning himself.
"You still want to train?"
"Fuckin' aye, I do. I've so much vigor, I need to hit something. And then we celebrate. Whoever lands the most hits buys our drinks tonight.
"And tonight," he added, anticipating Tiresias' question. "No handicaps. Use your speed. Dance, ye bastard."
"You sure?" asked Tiresias, as he swung the staff to his starting position. "I was beating you before without it."
"I'm sure," said Gord, his big grin breaking out again. Tiresias had never seen him so happy. "I'm a man in love, mate. Tonight, no man can beat me."
That ended up not being true, but Gord didn't hold it against him. After a few rounds with Gord landing in the dirt laughing, the two called it an early night. They put their weapons away and strode for the western gates, gathering Jory, Otis and a few others. Tadd tagged along, much to Tiresias' displeasure, and they invaded the nearest tavern in Wintertown.
As much as he wanted to celebrate with his friend, Tiresias never allowed himself to become piss-drunk. He never wanted to risk saying something he shouldn't. Tonight was no exception. He danced around the offered drinks all night, laughing off the japes to his manhood and remained merry and relatively sober as the Winterfell guards descended into drink.
Gord began to challenge all in the tavern to arm-wrestling and the competition grew. Tiresias nursed his ale and cheered with the others as Jory slung his arm around his shoulder.
"You all right there, Jory?"
"Aye, aye, just…need your shoulder for a bit. Room's spinning. Apologies."
"No worries."
Gord smashed a farmer's hand into the table and Tiresias was worried that he actually hurt him. However the farmer laughed and shook Gord's hand.
"Will this be you one day, Jory?"
"What…Whatacha mean?" slurred the guard.
"When you meet a nice girl…you'll walk in here? Have a couple jars? Beat up the poor farmhands?"
Jory laughed. "Sure…sure, I mean, I do-I don't want to beat up anyone, but…that's, yeah, I'll have a drink…drinks…"
Tiresias chuckled lightly. Despite the slurring, Jory was the soberest man here, next to him. He supposed having Ser Rodrik as an uncle instilled some restraint.
"But first I have to find a girl...who'll have me."
"Shouldn't be too hard." Tiresias took a sip. "You're good-looking, Captain of the Guards…"
"Captain?" asked Jory, his eyebrows furrowing. "What?"
Shit.
"Future Captain, sorry."
Jory shrugged. "Maybe. If so…if so, it's only cause of me uncle…"
"It's only cause of Lord Reed I'm here at Winterfell," responded Tiresias lightly. "You're a good swordsman. And a good leader. When you're sober."
They burst into light laughter. Gord had managed to convince the tavernkeeper to sit across from him. The thin man looked petrified.
"Point is, I expect to see you where Gord is. Hopefully treating the tavernkeeper better."
"Cheers," said Jory, raising his cup.
The match ended quickly, though thankfully Gord had enough sense not to slam the keeper's hand into the table.
"Just need…just need to find someone," said Jory, taking a draught. "Don't have any special one in mind though, like Gord…like you…"
Tiresias froze, a tinge of energy running through him. He turned to Jory.
"Me?"
"Wot?"
"You said me. What do you mean me?"
Jory stared at him for a bit, opening his mouth and closing it several times, before clapping Tiresias on the back.
"I'm drunk," he clipped. "And it's your turn."
Tiresias just realized that Gord was calling for him to sit down. He turned back to Jory, but the man had already slipped away.
What the fuck did he mean?
"Tiresias! Get over here, ye bastard! You can't dodge this."
Feeling as though he was floating, he blinked and brought himself back to earth. He sat down across from Gord, holding out his hand.
Gord gripped it grinning.
"Come on, mate. Guarantee you my hand weighs more than any tomes you've carried."
Tiresias swallowed and plastered a grin on his face.
"Certainly more than all the tomes you've ever carried, Gord."
That was perhaps a mistake. Tiresias held for a solid time, but ultimately he couldn't push back and Gord finally slammed his hand down. Afterwards, he forgot Jory's words, succumbing to painful laughter.
Tiresias had never seen so many people gathered in the godswood before. But then again, he had never seen a Northern wedding before.
At least, not in real life. Bran was quite right in a way. Her dress exquisite, her hair immaculate, Sansa did indeed look beautiful as she married here that cold night…
That will not happen. I'll make damn sure it doesn't.
Gord and Ginn made for a much more happy couple than Ramsay and Sansa. Though that wasn't a high standard. More modest too. Gord's attire was freshly laundered. Ginn didn't have a wedding dress of white, but she wore her best one. It was dark red, repaired and patterned quite beautifully. Mal had worked on it every evening this past month.
Ginn also wore a crown of flowers from the glass gardens. A gift from Catelyn Stark, who stood politely in front.
Catelyn Stark may not have worshipped the Old Gods, but she did her duty in supporting her household. She seemed genuinely happy for the couple. Ned Stark stood before Gord and Ginn. The entire ceremony was quick. Perhaps the fact that no nobility was wedded today helped, but Lord Stark said his words reverently and treated the affair as seriously as he ever did. He blessed the marriage and joined Ginn and Gord together to rapturous applause. Tiresias clapped along with the rest as the newlyweds kissed, Ginn disappearing a bit into Gord's beard, laughing as she came up for air.
Immediately afterwards they proceeded to the feast. It was modest as the wedding. They were permitted the kitchens to prepare the food, but they used the courtyard outside the kitchen to celebrate. Everyone thanked the old gods for the clear skies that meant no rain tonight. It would still be crisp, but that was what the braziers and drink were for.
And the drink did flow. Lord Stark had an ale, said his blessings and departed along with Lady Stark before the frivolities really began. Or perhaps that was the reason the drinking really began. Still, it was a safe place. Tiresias kept to his table, sipping ale. Again, never fully trusting himself.
So he ate plenty and drank little, alternating between water and booze. The same strategy Clark used when he was in college.
Tiresias paused, lowering the drink from his lips.
The same strategy Clark used…since when have I started referring to Clark as another person?
That thought was interrupted by instruments tuning and the cheers of the whole party. Musicians…well, servants who played with varying degrees of talent, appeared and tables were cleared for dancing.
Gord and Ginn stood up, their height disparity causing a light chuckle to ripple across the crowd. They smiled themselves, not too far gone to skip and dance the first jingle. They looked pleased and content, though not as much as Gord's mother who sat with happy tears running down her face.
The married couple quickly ended their first dance with a kiss and laughter, as they called on others to join. Seeing that as his cue for an overly long latrine break, Tiresias stood to leave.
Before he could turn however, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He pivoted to see Mal before him.
"Hello Mal," he said, nodding. "You having a good time?"
"Aye," she said. Her brown eyes seemed to shine a little brighter. "Dance with me?"
A stern voice from his past told him never to decline a dance request from a young woman. Was it his mother who said that? His sister? A friend? Whoever it was obviously made a strong impression. He nodded without really thinking about it.
"All right." He took her hand and they walked to the open area. He thanked God that there were already people out there. Of all the things he had studied rigorously in Westeros, dancing was not one of them. However, he'd picked up a few examples here and there. By sight only.
He and Mal placed their hands at the appropriate places.
"I warn you," he said. "It's not my strong suit."
Mal gave a light laugh. "Mine neither."
A small lump formed in his throat and he swallowed quickly. They counted the beat and began.
It was actually pretty fun. The music wasn't professional, but it was lively and the ones who danced couldn't have appreciated it more. Tiresias felt a genuine laugh escape from him more than once. And he heard a few from Mal as well. When was the last time he had danced? Before he came here certainly. That would make it years…
After a couple of minutes and only one apology for toes being stepped on, the song ended. Tiresias gave a short bow to Mal and thanked her. He was about to leave when Ginn pulled him in for the next one. He looked to Gord for help, but the big bastard was only laughing his ass off.
So he danced with Ginn, and then a cook named Maygen, then the scullery maid Hilde, Mal again, and a new servant named Breyna. By the time that was done, he was sweating. He certainly didn't intend to make up for all the dancing he had missed in one session.
He declined another offer as politely as possible and made his way back to his spot. Deciding the hell with his temperance, he sat and drained his mug, sighing in relief as the ale coursed through him.
He heard the man's lumbering footsteps before he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.
"Feeling a little tired there, mate?" said Gord, snickering.
"Mercy, Gord," he responded. "I can't muster a dance with you. Not just yet. Give me a few minutes."
Gord's snicker turned into a full laugh. The man was drunk but he was still quite lucid.
"I'll spare you, Tiresias. But I'm not sure these women will. Like bees to a flower."
"Or flies to shit."
"Your words." He took another drink. "But seriously, what's your secret? Not that I care. I'm a married man now. But the others might."
Tiresias shrugged. "Everyone's drunk. Who knows? Maybe the women here have low standards. I bathe and I clean my teeth. All of a sudden, I'm handsome."
"What? Did the ladies not like you back in Essos?"
He set his empty mug down. The ale was going through him quickly.
"I have to piss. I know it's your wedding, Gord. Congratulations. But please, end the dancing if you could before I get back."
Thankfully Gord caught the sardonic tone in his voice and laughed.
"Only way the dancing ends is if we start singing."
Tiresias walked off, waving that away.
"Fine, fine. Whatever it takes."
"You'll regret those words, mate. You will!"
Tiresias went to the latrines. Unfortunately, he opened the door to find that it was not empty. Tadd and Saul were there as well, piss-drunk and pissing drunk. He walked past to a hole a respectful distance away and began to relieve himself.
"Tiresias!"
He turned slightly to see Tadd looking at him.
"Tadd," he responded lightly.
"Good time tonight?"
He nodded tightly. He hated talking during a bathroom break. He didn't know how women managed it.
"It's lovely," he said, hopefully with some finality. He lowered his eyes to his piss, but Tadd didn't take the hint.
"Lovely, yes, very lovely," he slurred from his latrine. "I have a question for yeh, Tiresias…apologies. Not fancy enough...I have an inquiry for you!"
"Yes, Tadd?"
"Which cunny do yeh have ye eye on tonight?"
Okay, that escalated quickly.
He kept his eyes on his piss. Nearly done.
"None, Tadd. And if I did, that's none of your concern."
He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Tadd had finished and was walking toward him, putting his cock away as he did so.
Thank Christ for small mercies.
"Well, now," he slurred. "That's not very nice. Just curious, mate. I saw yeh…yeh out there…skinny little shit…dancing with all sorts of cunny, small cunt, tall cunt, fat cunt, young cunt, old cunt…"
He was right next to Tiresias' right. He finished his piss and put himself away before facing Tadd.
"You're drunk," he said, resisting the urge to punch Tadd in his eye.
Tadd shrugged. "I am. So's he." He pointed to Saul. "Ye fucking point?"
"My point is you should go and sleep this off. Before you say all this out there and ruin the wedding."
He tried to end the conversation and walked past Tadd, but the soldier reached out and gripped his shoulder. Tiresias clenched and unclenched his hand. No need to strike. He could deescalate this.
"I haven't…finished me thought…my sentiment," he said, sniffing his nose. "What about that big word? Yeh like that…yeh smart cunt?"
"I'm not interested in your big words."
"Well, yeh should be." He spun Tiresias around, keeping his hand on his shoulder. He grounded himself as he felt Tadd sway.
"Yeh should…yeh should do us all a favor…and just…just pick one. Pick a cunt. Pick the one yeh like and leave the rest for us all…Night's getting on and we need to…we can only be polite for so long…"
It took Tiresias a minute to realize that he was standing stock still. That he forgot to breathe. That his fists were clenched. That he hadn't blinked since Tadd had started talking…
"For gods' sake," muttered Tadd. "Say the word and Mal will just…lovely little cunt…"
"Take your hand off my shoulder," said Tiresias, his voice a low murmur. "Now."
Sobriety briefly surfaced in Tadd's eyes. The guard started to laugh but it quickly dissipated as he met nothing but silence. Tiresias wasn't looking to Saul, but he could feel the old man's discomfort.
Finally, Tadd lifted his hand and backed off, his hands raised in mockery. He kept grinning to no response. Tiresias adjusted his shirt and made sure he was calm before he spoke.
"Don't ever touch me again. Just go to bed. Now. You bring that shit into Gord and Ginn's wedding, I'll beat the living piss out of you."
He didn't wait to see Tadd's response. He turned and walked out of the latrine, breathing heavily. He stopped to wash his hands in a basin. Before he knew it, he was back at his table.
An old woman was singing a ribald song. Tiresias had missed the beginning, but he quickly caught the gist: a farmer with a phallus so enormous, he ended up fainting when all the blood went south. His wife was mostly disappointed by this occurrence, but sometimes she appreciated the breather.
He was too angry to see the sense in it. If there was any to begin with.
But the audience seemed to enjoy it. Ginn's face was beet-red, but she laughed as hard as her husband. Tiresias couldn't hear any of it. He picked up his mug and drained half of it before putting it down. He forced himself to breathe, calming down.
This is a wedding. Gord and Ginn's wedding. Leave what Tadd said in the shitter where it belongs.
He casted an eye back but it seemed like no one else was coming from the latrines. He hoped that Tadd took his threat seriously. He certainly meant it in the moment but that didn't mean he wanted to bring violence into the wedding feast.
He felt a hand on his arm.
"Are you right, Tiresias?" said Mal. She was sitting right next to him. He didn't even notice. He nodded quickly.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
He shrugged. "Just some grief with a drunken house guard."
Her eyes narrowed. "Tadd?"
He didn't answer, but she seemed to sense his affirmation.
"Will there be trouble?" she asked.
"I hope not. But I'll keep an eye out."
"All right," she said. "Just don't do anything rash."
He turned to the old woman singing. "Do you like the song?"
She laughed. "It's…well, it's not something my mother would have liked to have heard me sing."
"So yes, you like it?"
"Aye." She smiled as she turned to him. "Aye, I do."
There was something in her smile that unnerved him. Thankfully the song ended with everyone laughing and cheering as the old woman curtsied. Gord came up and called for quiet.
"All right, all right, who's next?" he yelled in the night. "Come on, who's the one who'll next grace us with their beautiful tones on this beautiful evening?"
He seemed to be answering his own question as he turned his gaze toward Tiresias.
Oh, you shit son of a bitch…
"Tiresias! Come on, man! Sing a song," he called, pointing to him. "And don't tell me you can't sing. I've heard you before."
"That's not for decent people, Gord," Tiresias hollered back, but he couldn't help smiling. A few of the other wedding guests were shouting out, edging him on. He felt Mal nudge his arm.
"Come on, you'll be great," she said.
Gord came right before him and held out his hand.
"Get the fuck up. It's my wedding and I demand a song."
Resigning himself to his fate, he clasped Gord's hand and stood to applause.
"Is this the price I pay for requesting the dancing to stop?" he muttered to Gord.
"Nah, I was gonna pull you up here regardless."
"You curdled shitheel," Tiresias muttered through a smile.
He was brought to the center by Gord and abandoned quickly. All to laughing applause. He swallowed his nerves and faced the wedding couple.
"Ginn, Gord. Would you prefer something silly or something sincere?"
The crowd called out their preference, with most leaning toward silly. He turned back to them and called in mock outrage.
"I asked the bride and groom, not you. It's their wedding!" He turned back to the couple. "So…what say you?"
Gord turned to Ginn, leaving the choice to her.
"We just had something silly," she said. "Sing us something else."
Tiresias stood for a few seconds quietly, thinking about the possibilities. He nodded when he came to his decision.
He walked over to the musicians, to a portly man with a lute.
"May I borrow that please?" he said. The portly man handed it over. "Thank you."
He didn't know many songs on the guitar. The trick was to just play the few one knew really well. He hoped that this one transferred over smoothly enough to the lute. He tested a few chords. Good enough. Taking a last swallow, he faced the bride and groom.
"For you, Ginn. For you, Gord."
He strummed the beginning of the song, trying to think of the countless times he sang this in the car.
A car? Christ, I haven't thought about those in months.
"Beside a singing mountain stream
Where the willow grew
Where the silver leaf of maple
Sparkled in the morning dew
I braided twigs of willow
Made a string of buckeye beads
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need"
The crowd had quieted at this point. Tiresias continued to play; his spectators forgotten.
"I leaned against a bark of birch
And I breathed the honey dew
I saw a North-bound flock of geese
Against a sky of baby blue
Beside the lily pads
I carved a whistle from a reed
Mother Nature's quite a lady
But you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need."
He did his best with the guitar solo. Thankfully Cash wasn't Stevie Ray, but it was still something rusty. Though it was enough to cover him swallowing his spit.
"A cardinal sang just for me
And I thanked him for the song
Then the sun went slowly down west
And I had to move along
These were some of the things
On which my mind and spirit feed
But flesh and blood need flesh and blood
And you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need."
He relaxed his fingers, strumming softly for the end.
"So when the day was ended
I was still not satisfied
For I knew everything I touched
Would wither and would die
And love is all that will remain
And grow from all these seeds
Mother Nature's quite a lady
But you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need."
He finished the song to a quiet audience. Nobody said anything at first. He looked to Gord and Ginn, who sat in silence, holding hands. Finally they smiled and began to clap, which spurned the rest of the wedding party to applause. It wasn't the teary response that was often reported to accompany Prince Rhaegar. But it was enough.
Taking a slight bow, he returned the lute to the portly player and walked back to his seat.
"Have it in yeh for another, Tiresias?" called Gord. Ginn gave him a light slap, laughing.
"No, I don't, Gord," he called back. "I'll leave that to someone else. And don't pull that day of my wedding nonsense either. I gave you two enough sincerity for one night."
Gord waved back and called for the musicians. They began to play again, prompting a few people up to dance. Tiresias sat at his place and sighed.
"Singing a song that tiring?" asked Mal.
He shrugged. "In some regards. Do you sing?"
"Only to myself. I do love the music though." She smiled at him. "No more songs then. Think I can drag you for another dance then?"
He shook his head, ignoring the firm voice that told Clark to accept all dances. "I'm sorry, Mal. But I'm tired. And I think I'm going to retire soon."
"Before the bedding? Not going to assist Ginn?"
"Nah. Don't have it in me to tear your work." He extended his feet before him. "Your embroidery is lovely."
"Thank you," she said, her voice quiet.
"All that work too. In just a month. Couldn't have been easy. Working a needle after serving the Great Hall all evening."
She shrugged. "It's not that bad, now that I'm not getting up early anymore to work the kitchens. Carrying pitchers doesn't hinder me from Mistress Bane's instruction."
Mistress Bane was the Winterfell seamstress. Whispers reached the kitchens that she was seeking an apprentice and Mal sought her out immediately. She showed enough promise with the samples from her embroidery hoop. Tiresias saw them himself and they were lovely with even stitches and a subtle creativity.
Gage the cook needed some persuading, but he eventually relinquished Mal from her cooking duties. She only served now in the Great Hall. Meanwhile she had been under Mistress Bane's stringent instruction for the past seven months.
"Well, it shows. Her dress looks quite nice." He couldn't resist a tease. "Though she's nothing compared to Gord. Handsome devil. How about it? You looking forward to tearing his clothes off?"
"What? No!" She couldn't stop a blush, but she started laughing. "I'm…I mean it's…it's not the first time I've seen…" Then she saw his face. "Oh shut up."
Tiresias chuckled. "Well, I'm sure Gord will appreciate the help."
"Stop it." She slapped his shoulder. "Gods, you're terrible."
"Yep," he responded simply. More honestly than the conversation warranted. The tone was still teasing, but he couldn't help the tiny bitterness that slipped in.
Mal picked it up though, facing him at the change. She looked ready to question it when Otis came up to their seats.
"Hello Mal, Tiresias," he said, nodding quickly to him before turning back to Mal. "Would you care to dance with me, Mal?"
One had to admire Otis. He spoke smoothly enough, though he was blushing furiously. Mal took only a second before responding.
"Aye, Otis, I would." She took his offered hand and they ventured into the dancing circle. Tiresias raised his mug and drank. This was his last for the evening. Barth had let the barrels sit in the running stream since yesterday to cool them and he could have kissed the man. He felt the delightly chilled brew run down his throat and sighed in relief.
Judging by the footsteps and the multiple congratulations that accompanied them, Tiresias didn't have to look to know that Gord was coming to his side. The newly wed soldier took Mal's seat and raised his mug. Tiresias clinked it without a word and they drank together.
"It's a good wedding, isn't it?" he asked Tiresias. "I wanted to give her that at least."
Tiresias shrugged. "I haven't seen any Westerosi weddings to compare to this."
At least, not in person. The weddings I saw in the show though…
"But this has been a wonderful evening and she looks very happy, so it seems to be a good wedding to me. Well done." He lowered his voice. "Could have done without me singing though."
"Ah, shut it. You've a good voice and you sing good songs. Strange, but good. Better than any singer we could afford."
Tiresias snorted. "Glad I could help."
"Don't be such a prick." Gord placed his hand on Tiresias' shoulder. "Tell you what, I'll give you a promise: on your wedding day, you can call on me to sing. Ginn will protest. My mother will protest. All those with working ears will protest, but I will do it anyway. 'Cause you're my friend."
Tiresias met his eyes.
"How drunk are you, Gord?"
"Not too drunk to make a promise. Or for later tonight when the miss and I are alone."
"You're going to terrify your wife."
He waved that away. "Ginn's a strong woman. She can handle me." He took another draught. "Anyway, the promise stands. At your wedding, I shall sing."
Tiresias gazed into his mug. "I don't plan on marrying, Gord."
"Ah, men always say that, but they come around. I did. You just…"
"Gord," Tiresias interrupted. "I'm not marrying. I can't."
It seemed that Gord wasn't too drunk after all. His eyes focused and he sat up slowly.
"What do you mean you can't?" He didn't sound angry. Just worried.
If I have a wife and then children, how could I possibly affect the future? How could I leave and do unspeakable things, putting myself at risk when I have ones that rely on me at home.
Besides I've seen what happens in this world to people with loved ones. I'm a cipher in this world. No one can hurt me by hurting the ones I love.
He didn't respond for a while, but Gord waited for him. The man was patient and a good listener. Tiresias almost chuckled. He would make a great husband.
"I would be a terrible husband."
Gord blinked. "How so? You have a trade. So coin's not a problem, aye?"
Tiresias didn't answer, but Gord pressed on.
"Does your cock not work? Can you give a woman children?"
He sighed. "Aye, as far as I know."
"Do you plan to mistreat your wife? Bed other women? Beat your children?"
"Are the standards really that low?"
Gord shook his head. "Mate, I just don't understand why."
"Why do you need to understand? I don't want to marry. I don't need a reason why. It wasn't like that where I came from. We weren't forced to marry."
"And now your people are gone."
Tiresias didn't respond to that. Gord raised his hands.
"I'm sorry, mate. That was low."
"I'm not Westerosi, Gord. The North will carry on without me marrying," he murmured. He wanted to drain the rest of his mug and walk off. However he knew that was childish and so he remained seated. Gord didn't speak for a bit and they watched the dancing,
"It may have been like that where you came from, Tiresias. But here it's…" He sighed. "I love Ginn. She's bright and she's funny and I feel good around her. But I also married her for selfish reasons. I married her because I know that one day, I'm going to need help."
Tiresias turned to look at Gord. He had never seen the soldier like this. Gord wasn't even looking at him. He was staring into some unknown future.
"I'm big and I'm strong. And here, in the North, we protect those who can't protect themselves, those who are old, young or weak. Because I know that one day, I'm not going to be strong. I'm going to grow weaker and it'll be someone else who will need to be strong when I am not."
"That's idealistic," muttered Tiresias. Gord waved him off.
"I don't know what that word means, mate, but here, that's our truth. My mother continues to live in comfort because I'm there to look after her. What would she do if I wasn't here? Or a bastard who couldn't make a name for himself? When Ginn and I have our children, they'll be able to say, 'son of Gord' after their names and that will give them something. Maybe not much. But it will be something.
"And as for you? Who doesn't want to marry? What's in your future? Are you gonna just go to the brothel every month? Politely fuck your favorite kindhearted whore?"
"I haven't been to the brothel in years, Gord."
"My point still stands, mate. You're not building anything for yourself. You'll have no children to care for you. Considering that you don't get a whore pregnant. And even then, the child couldn't do much in this world. Not every bastard is as lucky as Jon Snow."
The music shifted to something soft and leisurely. The dancing slowed into the reverie and Gord's voice lowered.
"I'm sorry, friend. I only say this out of concern. You're a good man. And right now, you're steering yourself to a miserable future if you plan to stay here. Maybe where you came from, you could be happy and comfortable like that. But here, in the North, in Westeros, if you're no Lord, with no land or servants, you're only as strong as the people you make family."
Tiresias had nothing to say to that and Gord seemed to be done. He patted him on the shoulder and rose to return to Ginn. Before he departed though, he turned back.
"But if you truly plan not to marry, you best not lead on Mal any longer. She's definitely looks to marry and right now, you and her…well, it's been noticed."
That made Tiresias look Gord straight in the eye. The big man was deadly serious.
"I haven't…Gord, I…" he stumbled. "I treat her as I do everyone."
Gord's smile was small and almost pitying, as he shook his head. "No, mate. You don't," he said quietly.
Tiresias was stunned into silence. Thankfully, Gord seemed to realize that.
"Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, mate," he said. "You can't survive here on books and dreams."
He smiled kindly and patted Tiresias yet again on the shoulder.
"Thank you for singing at my wedding." And with that, the groom walked off.
A strange feeling came over Tiresias, a feeling he hadn't felt in ages. A vague memory came to him from Clark, when the boy was in middle school and a girl confessed her crush. He panicked and rejected her and he was cruel in his panic. That shame stayed with him for years before he could forgive himself. If he ever did…
He realized that Mal never came back to her seat. She was sitting with the other maids, gossiping, laughing. He looked at her for a while before he caught himself and averted his eyes. He took a trembling breath. What the hell was wrong with him?
He had always been so stupid about these sorts of things and he couldn't think straight here. Not anymore. He poured the rest of his ale onto the ground and exited, just as the wedding guests called for the bedding.
Determined not to stare, he ignored the shouts of frivolity and laughter as he left the yard. Knowing that he was way too amped up to sleep, he turned and proceeded to the training yard. Afterall, the rest of the soldiers were at their post or the wedding. The yard should be empty, with enough space to clear his thoughts.
That thought was ill-warranted as it turned out. He instantly knew he was not alone, hearing laughter and groans from around the corner. He turned to see Robb, Theon and Jon by the spear rack. They were gathered by the lit brazier and very, very drunk.
Tiresias stilled and debated what to do. He knew that this warranted punishment. However, he wasn't in the mood to snitch. He stepped forward, clearing his throat. The boys all jumped, or at least attempted to. Jon Snow could barely rise from the post he was sitting against. Robb and Theon stared back, trying not to sway and failing miserably. Each held a wineskin.
He let the brazier crackle for a minute before speaking.
"Evening, boys," he said. "Having fun?"
Robb stepped forward. He nodded, a little fitfully.
"Aye," he slurred. "Very fun…very...much fun."
Christ, he's drunker than Tadd.
"Well, I'm glad to hear that." He looked to them all, one by one. "Is this your first time drinking?"
Jon nodded, his eyes barely open. Robb considered the question and Theon shook his head, a ludicrous smile on his face.
"I've drunk before…with the Iron…Ironborn. Since I was born…the women there…" He looked to be sick for a moment before settling. "Suckled drink out of…the teat…"
He started laughing. Robb joined him without probably knowing what had started it. It just felt good to laugh with your friends in a drunken stupor.
Deciding to be the adult, Tiresias reached out and casually took the skins away from Robb and Theon. It took them a few seconds to notice.
"Hey," said Theon. "We weren't…we weren't finished with those…"
Tiresias walked past them to Jon and knelt down with his hand out. The boy surrendered his half-empty skin. He stood back up.
"I believe you are," he said. "In fact, I think you hit your limit back with your first skin. Come on. We're gonna drink some water and then get you to bed."
"We're not…we're not going to bed!" said Theon. He mustered a little focus into his eyes. Up for the fight. "We're still drinking! And after, we were going to…"
"Theon," said Robb, his tone warning. Tiresias looked between the two boys, who now looked comically guilty.
"You were what?" he asked. "What were you going to do after you drank these?"
"Go into town," moaned a voice behind him. He turned to see Jon, his eyes struggling to stay open. "Brot…the brothel…"
Tiresias let the silence sit for a bit, processing that confession. Jon and Robb had just turned thirteen. They still seemed so young to him. But people tended to grow up quicker in this world. He should have guessed…
He turned to Theon and Robb, who trying to stand straight and look betrayed.
"Well, gentlemen," he said. "Speaking from experience, which believe me, I'm only one here qualified to do, despite what Theon says, you three are in no shape to be with a woman. Actually given your condition, I'd be amazed if you made it halfway through Wintertown.
"So I leave this choice to you; either Lord and Lady Stark discover you three and you are all punished for months on end or you come with me, drink some water and go to bed. Decide now. Because I'm tired and this evening has carried on long enough."
The silence carried on a little longer than he would have liked. But Jon nodded first and Robb followed suit. Theon didn't nod, but he could see the forfeit in his eyes.
"All right, then," he said. He stooped to pick up Jon, supporting him around the shoulders. "Follow me please."
They proceeded to the kitchen, where Tiresias stored what remained of their wine and sat them down. He watched as they drank at least two full cups of water. The cooks that night worked around them, ignoring the three drunken boys in their midst.
Tiresias then escorted each of the boys to their respective rooms. Jon, first on the lower floor. Then Theon and ending with Robb. He didn't go inside, instead just warning them to sleep on their side, shutting the door and nodding to each of the posted house guards, every one of whom seemed to wear a shit-eating grin.
By the time Tiresias had returned to his room, he had completely forgotten the wedding, about Gord and Ginn, and Mal and the song he sang. His mind buzzing with what he just witnessed.
It wasn't just that the three boys had occupied a solid hour and a half of his time. Maybe not for Theon, but this was the first time he'd seen Robb and Jon expressing any desire for a woman. And a part of him was waiting for that carnality to act on another phase of his plan.
Because there was another boy in the North. And he was about the same age as Robb and Jon. He would probably be feeling that carnality as well. Lusting after young women. Except his way of wooing was far more sadistic and cruel than visiting a brothel as a nervous and polite newcomer.
Tiresias lit a fire that night. Never needing one for warmth, it was more ritual than anything else. To focus his mind and energy. He would need every bit he had if he were to venture farther to the north. To the Dreadfort. To see the Bolton bastard to his end.
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