Chapitre 3: Chapter 3
A few years ago, the summer after college, Clark backpacked alone throughout Europe. And though he never really passed for European (something about his gait), he was left alone. He had developed a face and an energy that he used to deter any unwanted attention: eyes that were dulled of any excitement belonging to a tourist. A pace that was decisive but not too quick, so he actually looked like he knew where he was going. Before approaching anyone with a question, he observed others to see if they answered his question without knowing it. He used this a lot finding sources of clean water on the Kingsroad, following others to wells and such.
And he kept his mouth shut, breathing only through his nose. He didn't exactly know why, but a lot of tourists were mouth-breathers. Also he realized that he shouldn't readily show his teeth, which were unnatural straight and white, thanks to modern orthodontics and dentistry. Although maybe not for long. He didn't have his retainer anymore.
All of these methods he used in his journey north on the Kingsroad and they worked for the most part. The travelers he met kept to their own business and at worst, only a few gave a nod, which he returned. But he did not talk to anyone. He wished to avoid any questions about his accent. When he came to an inn for some food, he stuck to "Aye" and "Thanks" in a vague English tone and that seemed to do the trick. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep a distance.
Travelers were much more frequent on the Kingsroad then they were on the first road where he had walked with his modern clothing. He wondered if whoever gave him that note and purse also arranged for him to wake up in an isolated location. He pushed the thought out whenever it came. It was no use wondering about such things.
His mind did wander though. He couldn't help it. The breakdown he predicted came during the first evening alone on the road. Sleep just wouldn't come and he thought of his old life now gone forever. He would no longer hike with his dad. No more talking with his mom whenever things got to be too much. His sister and her husband and their children. He never got the chance to be the fun uncle. His friends…
He cried that night. He didn't try to stop and when the sunrise finally came, it seemed like an eternity had passed. Having not slept the whole night, Clark stumbled onto the road and continued. He collapsed that evening and slept fitfully, almost against his will. He still wept occasionally, but less and less as the days went on.
Luckily he had plenty of distractions on the road. More than he thought. Despite the general paranoia of being a stranger in a strange land, he found himself generally enjoying his walk when he wasn't crushed under his despair. The scenery was lovely. He spotted numerous house banners. He was enjoying the expectation of ale at every meal. He wasn't a big drinker back home, but still. It was fun, for lack of a better word.
He tried not to indulge though. Meals at the inns were not expensive, but he still looked at his purse with an increasing worry. What trade could he possibly pass off? He supposed he could do day labor if that was still a thing. He had a friend back home, the son of a farmer, who said farming was essentially taking things from one pile and moving them to another pile.
Now he was sure the friend was simplifying to a ridiculous degree, but still if he had to move piles for quick coin, he could do it. He could read and write though and he had to think that was not too common for those outside the nobility. Maybe he could do something with that…
However he was okay for now. He ate sparingly at the inns. He didn't pay for rooms, electing to sleep outside. He bathed in the Fork in the evenings when there were fewer travelers. He tried to ignore the voice in his head warning him of real bandits and animals ready to kill. Keeping a close watch on his surroundings, he stole fruit from an orchard. He savored the fructose, feeling himself go momentarily stupid from the sugar. That was a good fix but he was careful not to do it too often. He didn't want to be caught and lose a hand or be sent to the Wall or something. Then again, he was tempted for the ride alone. He underestimated the sheer size of the country and especially how long it took to get anywhere just walking.
That thought consumed him late in the afternoon of the sixth day. Clark stopped by the side of the road and sat on a log to catch his breath, holding his stomach. The inns were offering only muttons and stews. He didn't allow himself to despair at the limited culinary, but he did grumble a bit. He was also hitting the expected sugar crash. He felt pretty low energy the last few days. He was also sweating a lot more than he should have been. He supposed in the long run, it would be worth it and he was ridding his body of an addictive substance. He still wanted some rainbow sherbet though.
He took a swig of water before getting up to continue, willing himself not to scratch his crotch.
The clothes hadn't become any less itchy but Clark told himself that he was getting used to it. It was a needed lie. Thankfully the clothes did their part. He was just an anonymous traveler on the Kingsroad and no longer had to dive into the bushes whenever anyone approached.
Late in the evening, he came upon an inn and went in for some supper. He hadn't stopped for lunch, electing to chew some dried beef he bought for a halfpenny from a passing butcher. At least he hoped it was beef. He took off his hat and wiped his brow. He felt quite warm from the walk.
The serving girl (Clark didn't have the courage to yell "Tavern Wench" yet) came over to him with a cup and a smile.
"Hello," she said, placing the cup down in front of him.
Clark nodded. "'Lo. How are you?" he added automatically before cursing himself.
She stared a little before responding. It was probably the first time today she was asked that.
"I'm all right…You?"
Clark swallowed. "Good."
She nodded, laughing a bit. "Good. Ale? Water? Wine? We have a little mead left."
Clark pulled his waterskin strap off his shoulder. "Ale for the cup, please and if you could fill this with water," he said, handing her the waterskin, "I'd appreciate it."
She took the skin. "I can do that. You want anything to eat? We have chicken and apple sausages. Mutton. Some eggs. And bread. Rye and sour. We do have stew but honestly I don't know what sort of meat is in it."
Clark was tempted by the chicken and apple sausages but he knew that would be the most expensive item. He ordered two hard-boiled eggs, some mutton and some rye bread that he could use for his breakfast. The tavern girl walked back with his order and returned later with his full waterskin and pitcher of ale. She filled his cup.
"Thanks," he said, taking a sip.
She looked at him. She was still smiling, but she looked suspicious. She looked around the tavern, making sure that no one was flagging her down before she turned back to Clark. She placed the pitcher and the skin on the table but remained standing.
Shit.
"You're a polite one," she said.
Clark shrugged, placing his cup down, willing his hand not to shake.
"Not some lord in disguise, are you?" she asked, her eyes teasing.
He gave a light laugh, shaking his head, hoping to God he looked casual.
"No, I'm not."
Her smile grew. "No? You sip like one. You're shaved. Clean. Handsome. Those clothes look new. You just skipped down to market and buy some peasant wear?"
Clark kept his own smile, refusing to panic. "I was robbed of my clothes only a few days ago. Everything but my purse."
She laughed. "What?"
"I hid it. They were lousy bandits. I had to get new clothes and it cost me almost every coin I had. All I have is before you. You're lucky I'm able to eat here."
That was too much. He had talked too much. The girl was entertained though.
"I'm only teasing! I know you ain't no lord."
"How's that?" he asked.
Before she could answer, a man shouted across the inn.
"Oi, girl! Could we get some fucking ale here? Tonight? We're thirsty!"
Laughter and whistles followed the man's shout. He turned to see a group of soldiers sitting across the room. Red-faced and full of an energy that made Clark's skin crawl. He couldn't place their banner, a white catfish in front of several colors. To her credit, the girl didn't even flinch. She simply nodded to the group and looked back. Her smile was gone.
"You actually look at me. You talk to me. Lords yell like him," she said.
Clark glanced at the man who shouted and then back to her.
"He's no lord."
She picked up the pitcher. "He acts like one." And with that, she strode over to the table of laughing soldiers. Clark sipped his ale and watched, he hoped, inconspicuously.
She handled them well. Or at well as she could. She didn't apologize. She just went about and filled their cups. Comments were made. More than one of the men grabbed her ass, but she promptly ignored it and moved on, her face a mask. This was obviously routine.
Clark turned back to his cup. It was tough enough to watch this stuff on the show. Now it was in front of him and he couldn't do anything about it. At least not now. All he could do was be less of an ogre than the average man. Not a high bar.
The rest of the night was fine. His meal came, the girl smiling again and Clark knew better than to ask if she was all right. He just thanked her and ate.
An hour later, all full, the rye bread in his rucksack, Clark sat on a bench outside the inn. He couldn't bring himself to start walking yet. The fatigue was beginning to get to him. He had never hiked continuously this long before and certainly not under emotional duress. So he sat on the bench, under the night sky, looking at the stars.
The second night on the road, he tried looking for Orion. He hoped that the different world didn't mean a different solar system, but apparently that was the case. It saddened him. Orion was the only constellation he could pick out every night when he got home from work. He'd parked his old Acura, look up and see the ancient giant huntsman. It calmed him and allowed him to get through one more day without telling his supervisor to go fuck himself.
But Orion was gone and so Clark stared at the sky, hoping to find a new calming constellation. At least he had plenty of stars to choose from. Or more he could actually see. No light pollution made for a spectacular night sky.
His musing was interrupted by the door banging open. He turned to find the soldiers staggering out, heading to the stables. He bowed his head and stayed on the bench, perfectly still. The men walked by him, not paying them any mind. Or at least that's what he thought.
"Hey. Hey you!"
Clark looked and saw that one of the soldiers had staggered to a stop and was gazing at him. It was the one who had yelled across the tavern.
Fuck.
He forced himself to remain calm and debated whether or not to stand. Standing would leave him more options to either run or defend himself. But it was also an escalation. Plus sitting was a good power move, so he kept his ass on the bench and spoke.
"Yes?"
The soldier stepped forward. Clark did not like his eyes.
"She liked you…she was a mighty cunt to us, but she liked you…"
And it had escalated anyway. Clark stood up. Slowly. The rest of the men were back, all thoughts of retrieving their horses forgotten. The soldier stepped forward.
"You see…I wanted a little cunny tonight. You understand that, right? Just a sniff…she wasn't too busy…time for you. Why not time for me?"
Clark looked at the soldier. The man was shorter but had more muscle than he did. Plus he had backup. Five other men. Clark was sober and they were all piss drunk. That didn't fill him with too much confidence. He sighed internally. Maybe he would avoid the whole moral dilemma of this bizarre occurrence and be killed before he attempted to change anything.
The soldier was speaking again.
"Time for you…makes sense though…you are pretty…"
The other soldiers laughed. Clark used the laughter to make up his mind whether to fight or flee. He decided just in time before the soldiers' laughter subsided and braced himself.
"Thank you. I'm flattered," he said, allowing a small smile. "I'm afraid though, I don't like boys and even if I did, I wouldn't want your ugly ass."
There was a dead silence. As drunk as the men were, they all knew exactly what Clark just said. The soldier stood dumb, not quite believing what he just heard. Once he put it together though, Clark was sure he would come swinging. So he leaned forward and spoke to him softly.
"You're drunk," he said. "You don't want to do this. There's no shame in walking away. Just laugh. Call me a cunt. Go to your horses. And leave. That's your only warning."
A few seconds passed, the only sounds being the cicadas outside and the patrons inside the inn. Clark kept his eyes on the soldier, praying he'd not call his bluff.
Unfortunately he did. The soldier lifted his fist and Clark resigned himself to be beaten senseless. However, as the fist came toward him, Clark found himself leaning to the side, on some instinct he didn't recognize. The soldier's fist flew by his face and he stumbled, falling onto the bench headfirst and knocking himself to the ground.
There was another silence, as both Clark and the other soldiers looked to their man on the ground, clutching his skull. Clark brought his eyes up and found the soldiers each making eye contact with him, one by one.
Clark sighed. Oh fuck gang mentality.
He braced himself again for fists and worse, as the rest came at him, two at a time. He braced…only to find that the same foreign instinct that helped him dodge came back. He never threw a punch, but he never let one land either. The five soldiers punched, tried to tackle and otherwise beat the shit out of him, but they couldn't touch him. Clark ducked, he weaved, he stepped to the side. The worst he did was hold his foot out for a trip or two, sending one to the ground and one other into his staggering comrade. That left two soldiers and Clark's consternation was giving way to annoyance.
He was just so tired, damn it.
All of a sudden, he reached out for a passing thrown punch, grabbing the arm and swinging the soldier into the last one, their heads colliding. Both fell down. And there was quiet.
Well, not quite. There was moaning but Clark stood still and tall, over six fallen drunken sods and he was not going to question this right now. He walked over the first one, still clutching his head. He grabbed him by the collar and threw him to where the other ones were beginning to crawl and gather. He couldn't read their expression. It wasn't fear, but whatever it was, it was enough.
"Take your friends and get the fuck out of here," he said quietly. "I'm tired and I want to go to bed."
The soldiers stared for a split second before heading to the stables. They didn't run. Clark remained standing and didn't relax until they were riding across the front of the inn and onto the Kingsroad. He sighed in relief as he saw them turn right, heading south.
Clark let the silence wash over him. Slowly the tension leaked out of him and he found himself quivering. Adrenaline was coursing through him. He breathed and forced himself to calm down. He needed to get going. He turned to retrieve his rucksack and hat, only to find that the serving girl was outside, watching him.
Meeting her eyes only for a second, Clark walked over to the bench and picked up his rucksack.
"Guess I should thank them for fighting you outside and not breaking any tables," she said nonchalantly. He looked at her again. She was in the light from the inside. Her arms were crossed and her eyes were full of intent. He looked down.
"Are they here often?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Often enough. They ain't the worse I deal with. They can be bad but they ain't the worse."
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
He didn't have a response for that. She sighed through her nose.
"Will they remember me, you think?" Clark asked.
She smiled. "Aye, they will. Not fully. But they'll keep most of it intact."
He took a swig from his waterskin. More just to do anything than actually being thirsty.
"I should go then. If they come back for revenge, I'll need to be far away from here."
Her eyes pierced his. "If they be coming for revenge, it'll be tonight. They'll be riding up the road looking for you. In the morning, they have to go and report to Lord Shawney. I heard them talking. Should be safe then."
He sat down on the bench. "I can't pay for a room. Not with what I have and how long I have to go still."
The cicadas were very loud now and laughter rang from within.
"You can sleep in my room."
Clark turned to her. Her face was set, her eyes steady. He kept his shock off his face the best he could and she continued.
"I'll let you in and you can sleep. I got to work until the last man goes to bed. But the kitchen's closed so that shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. I'll join you then."
He stood up, not sure if his next steps would be toward the Kingsroad or toward her. She stayed where she was.
"You need a bed," she said. "You look exhausted. Sleep would do you good."
Clark took a breath. "Just sleep?"
She shrugged. "At least a few hours. If you don't mind me waking you. Either way, be comfortable than the dirt."
There was a moment when Clark waited for Puritan morality, the kind that had shamed him throughout his boyhood and teen years. The kind that told him he was disgusting for considering this, that this was dangerous, that this woman couldn't possibly be interested despite her clear invitation. He waited for that voice…
And it didn't come. He took one step toward her.
She didn't look surprised. "Come on," she said. She led him around the back where there was a door and opened it to a corridor. She led him past one door and opened the second one, entering the room.
"In here."
Clark entered into darkness.
"Wait ," she said before closing the door. He barely had time to acclimate to the dark, before she returned with a lit match and a bucket of water. She lit a candle, which softly illuminated the room. There was a bed along the wall, a small chest at the end and a table before a window, with the curtains drawn. There was a basin on the table with a rough cloth next to it.
The tavern girl was pouring water into the basin.
"Keep the curtains closed. You can wash yourself here."
"All right," said Clark. His mouth was working automatically.
"There," she said, finished pouring and then patting the cloth besides the cloth. "You can use that too. I have to get back. I'll be a few hours so sleep if you can."
Clark nodded. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, looking nervous for the first time, but only slightly. "When I come back, we need to be quiet. There's no one next to us. Both rooms are stores, but still, we should be quiet."
"I will," Clark promised. He still had his rucksack across his shoulder.
"All right. See you." She turned to leave.
"Wait," whispered Clark. She turned back, her hand on the door. "What's your name?"
She smiled, the flame from the candle reflected in her blue eyes.
"Sara. Yours?"
"Tiresias."
"Sleep well, Tiresias. Be back soon." And with that, she closed the door.
The next morning, Clark sat on the edge of the bed. Sara laid next to him. She was still in her shift and snoring lightly. He scratched his chest, trying to remember, but he had no recollection of waking the previous night. He had stripped, washed himself (taking an extra minute to scrub his genitals), and had gotten into bed. He closed his eyes and before he knew it, it was the next morning. The room was full of the grey light before dawn and Sara was sharing his bed, or her bed rather. He didn't remember her getting in.
Clark stood up and stretched, raising his arms high, before reaching for his hose. He was tempted to cut the legs out and have simple underwear and socks, but he wasn't fool enough to ruin clothes. That was a job for a more qualified seamstress than him. The only task Clark trusted himself with a needle was sewing buttons.
A rooster crowed nearby. Clark jumped lightly. He hated alarm clocks in any form. A moan came from the bed. Sara shifted under the blanket and managed to open one eye. Clark sat back down on the bed. She blinked and focused her eyes on him.
The rooster crowed again.
"Morning," Clark said softly.
"Morning," she murmured. She propped herself onto her side, facing him.
Clark bit his lip. "I don't remember anything of last night."
Sara smiled. "I came in here and you were sound asleep. Couldn't wake you. I tried for a couple of minutes. You came around for a bit. Pawed at me…but then you went back to sleep."
Clark sighed. He felt a little guilty.
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "You needed sleep. Anyway you were a good man to sleep next to. You only snored for a few minutes. You left me most of the blanket. You were warm."
Clark smiled back at her. She shut her eyes for a minute, then taking a deep breath, she got up.
"No sleeping in?" asked Clark. She went to the basin and splashed water on her face.
"Not without the miss knocking on my door in the next half-hour," she said. She reached for her dress and shoes. She began to get dressed, looking to Clark. "If you're feeling guilty, leaving me lonely last night, you can help me milk this morning. Just a thought," she added with a small grin.
"I don't have much experience around udders."
"You can carry the pail once I fill it," she said. "Not sure I actually trust you with Nettie."
Clark yawned. "Is this what you ask of all your lovers?"
"Only those not polite enough to keep awake."
And so, Clark found himself leaning against the barn door, waiting for Sara to finish milking. He watched the horizon. It was a proper sunrise now and he realized that he felt properly good. Last night was the first comfortable sleep he's had since arriving here. The morning chill was surprisingly pleasant. He even forgot the clothes were itchy, for a longer time at least.
Sara came to his side and lifted a full pail. He took it and began to walk back gingerly, Sara keeping his pace. Once back at the inn. Sara took the milk into the kitchen and came out with a honeyed pastry for him from yesterday. It was a little stale.
"No fresh ones yet," she said.
"It's fine. Thank you." He took a bite. "It's still good."
They sat on the same bench from last night. Neither one spoke. They enjoyed the silence until Sara shivered.
"Ain't you cold?" she asked.
Clark shook his head. "Do you know how far I am from the Neck?" he asked, in between bites.
Sara frowned. "Hundred miles. Maybe. That where you headed?"
Clark nodded. "For now."
"What's in the Neck?"
"A swamp."
She rolled her eyes. "Who's in the Neck?"
Clark didn't answer right away. He knew in this world, rumors could spread like wildfire. What else did people have to talk about? He finished the pastry.
"A friend who owes me some coin."
"It's a long way to go for some coin."
Clark shrugged. "It's my coin. He's a crannogman and he's at the castle. So he said. Greywater Watch. And I don't know how to find a moving castle."
He felt her eyes boring into him. He leaned against the wall, trying to look unaffected. He was sure he was failing miserably.
"You ain't from here, are you?" she asked.
He turned to her. Her face seemed open and honest. He shook his head.
"Where you from?"
"Across the Narrow Sea."
"Where?"
Clark shrugged and looked ahead. "Everywhere. I traveled with my mother. When she died, I ran to the ports and became a cabin boy. Then a sailor. I've never been to Westeros until two months ago."
"Why you headin' north?"
"I like the cold. It's more comfortable."
"You ever been to the Neck?"
Clark shook his head. "No."
"North on the Kingsroad," she said, "you'll pass through the outer reaches of the Neck. If you want to get closer to the center, you need to stay along the Fork when it goes northwest from the Kingsroad. That road on the Fork takes you to the Twins. You don't want to cross that bridge but you have to. On the opposite bank, you can follow the river into the center of the Neck."
Clark stared at her and she shrugged.
"Travelers talk. It's what I heard."
"And then what? Where's Greywater Watch?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice a little sharper. "Never heard that part and it moves, don't it? Besides, I ain't ever been up there. Farthest I ever been is Oldstones."
"All right, all right," said Clark. He didn't realize he sounded pushy with that last question. He took a breath, calming down. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," she said, her slight annoyance gone. "You want some more breakfast? Sorry I can't give you more for free."
Clark stood, shouldering the rucksack. "I need to keep going. Thank you, Sara, for everything. I mean it."
Sara smiled and stood. "Sure," she said. She walked up to Clark and pecked him lightly on the lips.
He blinked and she shrugged.
"Never kissed a man from Essos before. Goodbye, Tiresias," she said. Then without a second glance, she entered the inn, leaving Clark in a daze.
Clark stood in that daze for a few seconds before walking away, turning north onto the Kingsroad. He was tempted to memorize this place. In case he wanted to return. Perhaps he could spend an actual night with Sara. He put the idea out of his head. If the Ned Stark kicked him out of the North and he had to make alternate plans, it wouldn't do to follow his horny whims. They weren't going to solve his problems.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
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