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The North's harvest had begun.
And it had to be said, when it ca to serving as Hand, Tyrion was the best Ned had ever seen.
The grain was coming in. The Free Folk had been organized into proper military units.
The Wall was now manned jointly by the Free Folk, the wildlings, and what remained of the Night's Watch.
Dragonglass weapons were being stockpiled atop the Wall, along with massive reserves of wildfire.
For the mont at least, the North could truly be called peaceful and prosperous.
Thanks to the tight control over information, old Walder Frey was too busy grabbing land in the Riverlands to pay any attention to what was happening in the North.
Tyrion had even managed, through careful maneuvering, to get Greatjon Umber back. After Greatjon returned and saw both Robb and Ned alive, any remaining thoughts of resistance vanished completely.
Last Hearth had been given away, but compared to Last Hearth, Moat Cailin was clearly far better suited for people to live in.
That was, of course, assuming there was no war.
But House Umber had never feared war.
For them, it was a perfect fit.
And with that, the North had finally beco solid as iron.
Every day, Jimmy traveled back and forth between Valyria Island and Winterfell. Great slabs of dragonglass were hauled in, then worked by smiths into weapons, arrowheads, and whatever else was needed.
The goal was simple.
Every man and woman would have one.
As for Valyrian steel swords, every usable blade had been brought out and distributed. Nearly everyone of importance had been given one.
Jimmy had even asked Gendry to forge a double-ended spear, a slender sword like Arya's Needle, and a dagger, then had them all put away for safekeeping.
At that mont, Jimmy was in Winterfell's training yard, using two practice swords to drill the others.
Eddison, Jon, Robb, Greatjon, Gendry, Tormund, who kept shouting and occasionally got kicked flying, and Daisy, who kept trying to sneak in surprise attacks whenever she saw an opening.
Jimmy's twin training swords spun in his hands, weaving arcs of flashing wood as he pointed out each of their flaws one by one.
"Robb, too flashy, way too many wasted movents."
"Jon, your stance is unstable."
"Edd, you're holding back too much."
"Greatjon, you've got the opposite problem. You commit too hard, which makes it impossible to shift techniques."
"Gendry, you hesitate too much. Opportunities vanish in a blink."
"Daisy, attack, If you never press forward, where's the pressure?"
"And this one's an idiot. You're already blocking the enemy's line of attack, Honestly, I think you should all start by knocking Tormund flat."
As he spoke, Jimmy kicked Tormund flying yet again.
Under the eaves, Ned stood watching Jimmy keep the others entirely at bay with nothing but two wooden swords, his eyes full of quiet amusent.
"Jimmy's amazing," Rickon said, staring out at the yard.
"Ned," Tyrion said, holding a pickled turnip in one hand and a cup of wine in the other, "where would you rank Jimmy's swordsmanship among the greatest you've known?"
The turnip was from this year's northern crop. Jimmy had shown them how to pickle them into a salty, sour preserve that paired remarkably well with a drink.
"The best," Ned said without hesitation. "Even Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, would not have beaten him."
"Arthur Dayne?" Tyrion raised a brow. "But weren't you the one who defeated him?"
"Defeated?" Ned let out a dry laugh. "Not in any way worth taking pride in."
Before long, Jimmy had had enough.
One sword reversed, one forward, he smacked Greatjon flat, then sent Tormund flying with a kick.
He caught Jon's blade, drove an elbow into him, and took him out of the fight. Then he used Jon as a shield and flung him straight into Robb.
Robb had barely started to catch him when a fist the size of a sandbag drove straight into his face.
Jimmy finished by drawing a practice blade lightly across Daisy's throat.
The match was over.
"Gods," Robb muttered from the ground, rubbing his face, "Jimmy, you're not even human. I'm starting to think you're a dragon pretending to be a man."
"I never should've joined this madness," Tormund grumbled. "Magg doesn't even hit as hard as he does…"
He said sothing like that every ti.
And yet every ti, he still ca back for more.
Even landing a single hit on Jimmy would have made him proud for weeks.
Unfortunately for him, after all this ti, he still hadn't managed it.
"Alright, children," Ned called, tapping the railing. "Ti to eat."
"Coming!" Tormund shouted, tossing aside his axe and bolting off first.
Edd set down his practice sword and shook his head.
"Tormund, you've got no sha at all. Since when are you a child?"
"Of course I am. I'm only seventeen this year. Hardly older than you," Tormund argued with complete confidence.
"If you told you were thirty-seven, I'd still say that was low," Edd shot back.
Edd and Tormund both now served under Jon, and as one black brother and one wildling, the two had never exactly gotten along.
Still, after a year of rubbing against each other, the edge had worn down. They still looked for every possible chance to insult one another, but the old hostility had faded into sothing rougher and strangely more familiar.
As for Sigorn, Mag, and the others, they rarely bothered with that sort of thing. They preferred tending the Wolfswood, planting more fruit trees, and raising more deer.
Sigorn and Mag held the Wall around the Shadow Tower together with n from Deepwood Motte and Bear Island. Jimmy's Free Folk army seed to exist half outside the rest of the North, hidden away in the Wolfswood like a force unto itself.
…
Suddenly, a ssenger ca running in.
"My lord Robb, Theon Greyjoy and Asha Greyjoy have landed at Sea Dragon Point. Ironborn ships were chasing them, but the giants drove them off with stones. The Free Folk didn't know what to do with the pair, so they've been sent here to Winterfell."
"Bring them to the audience chamber. I'll go see them." Robb turned to Jimmy. "Coming?"
Jimmy was still busy wrestling with a slab of venison and waved him off, making it clear he had no interest in dealing with that pack of salt-soaked trouble.
…
A while later, Robb returned, frowning.
"Jimmy, I think we'll need Horus to make another trip."
Jimmy looked up.
"The Iron Islands are under Victarion now. He's no friend to House Stark. I want Theon or Asha back in control there."
Jimmy studied him for a mont. "You decided?"
"At the very least, either of them would be better than Victarion."
"That much is true." Jimmy nodded. "Horus, take a trip. Burn their ships."
With a sweep of his wings, Horus spiraled into the sky and disappeared.
…
"A raven from Castle Black."
Jon unrolled the ssage.
"Bran has reached Castle Black."
The excitent in his voice was impossible to miss.
"That's wonderful."
Everyone else shared the relief.
Jimmy, however, fell into deep thought.
It was ti to speak with lisandre.
…
"The greenseer has returned," Jimmy said, lowering the torch.
"Everything has already appeared in the flas," lisandre replied.
"What's your plan?" Jimmy asked.
"The greenseer will stage a performance. When that happens, we turn the act into reality and kill him for real."
"Fine. Do you need anything from ?"
"Let go. I can't be seen near him, or he'll grow suspicious."
"Alright."
Jimmy opened the cell door and let lisandre walk free.
He had always hated this sort of thing. All these gods and their servants speaking in riddles, acting as though everything was already in the palm of their hand.
…
Watching lisandre vanish into the dark, Jimmy let out a long breath.
At last, it was almost over.
The rewards this ti had been generous enough, but the sheer length of the whole affair had started to wear on even him.
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