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Jimmy's words carried an unspoken message.
Not reliable.
A blacksmith's apprentice was one thing, but a former Hand of the King?
You expect us to believe that?
What was this island supposed to be a kingdom of two men? And one of them held the highest office in the realm?
And as for the name Old Wolf Isle… in what world did this barren rock resemble a wolf? The cliffs didn't. The shoreline didn't. Even the silhouette against the horizon failed the test.
Daisy wasn't the only one thinking it. The others exchanged glances, and the verdict was unanimous.
This sounds absurd.
Still, one thing was clear: Jimmy meant them no harm And he clearly served no banner.
If he did, he would not have brought them to a nameless rock in the middle of nowhere.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Jimmy said casually. "I'll go find Gendry and the others."
Inside, they found a simple dwelling carved directly from the stone. The room was plain but solid, part of a cluster of a dozen similar chambers hollowed out along the rock face.
Jimmy set a cup down on the table and headed out.
Ned and Gendry were already on their way back.
The moment they had spotted the crimson eagle circling overhead, they packed up their gear. Judging by the heavy bucket Gendry carried, the day's fishing had gone well.
They walked side by side, talking.
"Think Jimmy's back yet?" Gendry asked.
"Could be," Ned replied. "I was hoping he might bring some proper steel this time. And perhaps a seasoned weirwood beam—I'd like to craft a few bows."
Gendry chuckled. "Uncle, you keep saying my father fought with a hammer, and I swing one at the forge, but fighting with one? I'll leave that to legends. I'd rather wield something like Jimmy's great blade. That long saber of his looks far deadlier."
Ned smiled faintly and shook his head.
"You misunderstand. It's not the blade that makes Jimmy dangerous. It's Jimmy. I've seen him fight with a single-handed sword. I doubt I could survive a single stroke."
…
"Hey! Old Wolf!" Jimmy called out, grinning as he approached. "You've got company. Your title of Hand of the King won't feel so lonely anymore. Looks like they'll be staying awhile."
"Company?" Ned's heart leapt despite himself. He dared not voice the hope forming in his chest. "Who?"
"You'll see soon enough," Jimmy replied with a mischievous smile.
Ned handed his fishing rod to Gendry and picked up his pace without thinking.
Jimmy watched him disappear up the narrow path.
"Well, well. Looks like the Hand's made a full recovery. Moves faster than a riverlands hare."
…
Inside the stone chamber, Robb had been drawn to a large sand table set upon the central table. The miniature terrain depicted the Riverlands in careful detail.
He leaned closer.
The markers showed battle formations eerily similar to his own campaigns. But something was different. The flayed man banner that should have marked Roose Bolton's forces had been painted over in red. The twin towers of House Frey—red. Even the lion sigil—red.
All of them are red.
Was this a projection of what the Riverlands had become?
Robb's mind raced.
Then Catelyn's voice rang out—sharp, trembling.
"Robb!"
He hurried to her side.
"What is it?"
When he saw what she was staring at, the words died in his throat.
Propped against the wall stood a greatsword taller than most men. Nearly six feet from pommel to tip—almost Robb's own height.
The hilt, long enough for two hands with room to spare, was carved from pale weirwood and polished smooth from years of use. The crossguard extended wide, flanked by tapered spikes meant to punch through armor.
Robb's hand trembled as he reached for it.
How many times had he longed to lift this blade? To prove himself worthy of bearing it?
He drew it partway from its resting place.
The steel shimmered dark as smoke—Valyrian steel.
Ice.
The ancestral sword of House Stark.
His father had carried it south to King's Landing.
So how could it be here?
Catelyn's breath came unevenly as she took in the room once more. The arrangement of furniture. The small details. The way certain items had been placed.
It had felt strangely familiar the moment she stepped inside.
Now she understood why.
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Could it be…"
…
"Who are you?"
The voice from the outer room was familiar.
Talisa froze, unsure how to answer.
Daisy's jaw nearly hit the floor.
"Lord Stark? My lord, I'm from Bear Island, You may call me Daisy. Daisy Mormont."
She dropped into a respectful bow.
"Ned!"
"Father!"
"Catelyn. Robb. It's truly you…"
The three of them closed the distance in an instant, embracing tightly. They held on as if afraid the others might vanish if they let go.
Only when Jimmy stepped inside did they finally part, tears shining in their eyes.
Ned turned to Jimmy again and again with heartfelt thanks. Robb formally introduced Talisa Maegyr. The air was thick with relief, disbelief, and something like rebirth.
Soon, the four Starks withdrew to speak privately, to share all that had passed.
Jimmy left them to it.
He motioned for Daisy and Gendry to follow him into the kitchen cavern to prepare supper.
Gendry set to work cleaning the sea fish with practiced hands, chatting as he did.
"If you could find me a proper weirwood beam," he said to Jimmy, "I could make bows that would outlast generations."
Jimmy nodded easily. "Done."
Daisy was still dazed.
A former Hand of the King.
An actual Hand.
Not some self-declared title on a deserted island.
Then she looked at Gendry.
"So you're the blacksmith?"
"Apprentice," he corrected. "I trained in King's Landing, at Tobho Mott's forge."
"Just… an apprentice?" Daisy pressed.
"Just that."
She exhaled quietly.
At least one ordinary person.
Jimmy chuckled.
"Daisy, you might want to ask him his surname."
Her gaze snapped back to Gendry.
"I don't rightly have one," he said. "But Lord Stark told me my blood runs Baratheon. King Robert's line has thinned dangerously."
Jimmy spoke up.
"Sixteen of Robert's bastards once scattered across the realm. Now? Two boys and two girls remain alive. One already carries the Stormlands in his name. The other stands right here."
He nodded toward Gendry.
"As for the one sitting the Iron Throne, he's a lion in stag's clothing. You can tell by the hair alone. Baratheon blood announces itself in black as night. Stubborn as a Stannis."
Daisy glanced at Gendry's coal-dark hair and swallowed.
"Jimmy… how did you save Lord Stark?" she asked. "The realm believes he was executed in King's Landing."
Jimmy shrugged.
"That's what puzzles me. I rescued this Ned Stark. Yet somehow King's Landing managed to behead another one."
He grinned faintly.
"Mine's the real article. The one they killed must've been the imposter. Perhaps that's why Joffrey was so eager to take his head."
The evening meal was hearty fresh fish, coarse bread, and strong drink.
Stories flowed. Laughter followed.
Jimmy instructed Gendry to begin forging armor and weapons for Daisy.
She hadn't taken the offer too seriously at first.
But when Ned raised his cup and asked if Robb might also be fitted with proper steel, Daisy realized this was no ordinary smithing.
Jimmy sighed, rubbing his temple.
"Fine. Robb gets a set too."
Young and reckless, that one, Jimmy thought. Brave, but too quick to burn.
Still, he nodded.
Ned lifted his cup high.
"To you, Jimmy."
He drained it in one swallow.
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