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Ned finally cleared his throat.
"That's enough, Jimmy, Eat, After supper, I have something I need to ask of you."
Jimmy clicked his tongue.
"Fine, you know I won't lose my temper with you." He glanced at Robb. "The boy isn't hopeless. He just needs time. He's young. That much I can forgive."
Ned smiled faintly. "You speak as though you're decades older."
Jimmy shrugged. "Age isn't counted in years,.It's counted in what you've lived through,.What you've learned. How you face the world."
…
Dinner ended quickly, though there was no shortage of conversation waiting to be had.
Still, one matter overshadowed all the rest.
Rickon.
In the end, the solution pointed in only one direction.
Jimmy.
Ned folded his hands carefully, choosing his words with uncharacteristic caution.
"Jimmy… I dislike asking this But I must."
"You said Bran walks his own path, I trust your judgment there."
"But Rickon… he is my youngest, He has barely begun to see the world, I would not have him swallowed by it before his time."
The plea cost him something. Pride, perhaps But a father's pride weighs less than a son's life.
Jimmy studied him for a moment.
"All right," he said. "Rickon, I'll retrieve, and Sansa too, if her situation turns dire."
Then he tilted his head slightly.
"But what do I get in return?"
Ned fell silent.
Jimmy's eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Tell you what, Swear by Jon Snow's true parents that you will release him from his Night's Watch vows and restore his rightful name. Do that, and I'll agree."
Ned answered without hesitation.
"I swear, by myself and by—"
Catelyn stiffened.
That old wound.
The day Ned had returned from war with a child in his arms. A bastard, he'd said. Jon Snow.
Ned Stark, so rigid in honor, fathering a bastard?
Worse, Jon had always seemed older than Robb by several months.
Meaning whatever had happened… had happened before their marriage.
What sort of woman had turned Ned's head?
Catelyn had never asked. Pride had kept her silent.
That did not mean she had never wondered.
Just as Ned began to speak, Jimmy cut in sharply.
"Old Wolf, don't insult me."
He shook his head slowly.
"I offer to save your children in good faith, and you answer me with half-truths?"
He leaned forward.
"I thought only men like Petyr Baelish trafficked in lies. Didn't expect it from you."
Ned froze.
How could he possibly—
Jimmy continued casually.
"There's no point guarding that secret now. Robert's dead."
He looked Ned straight in the eye.
"Say it properly. Swear by the true parents of Jon Snow—Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."
Silence shattered.
"What?!" Catelyn's voice rang out so sharply it echoed off the stone walls.
She shot to her feet.
Ned's face drained of color.
"So… you knew."
Robb stared, stunned.
"Mother's sister's child?"
Jimmy rubbed his ear exaggeratedly.
"Easy, Lady Catelyn, I know it's a shock, but must you announce it to the entire Summer Sea?"
All eyes turned to Ned.
He exhaled slowly.
"I had hoped to carry this secret to my grave," he said at last. "But as Jimmy said… There is no longer a reason to keep it buried."
"Jon should truly bear the name Blackfyre," Jimmy added lightly, "though in the present circumstances, Targaryen will do."
He flashed a wicked grin.
Spoiling secrets had its pleasures.
Ned studied him carefully. "I am more curious how you came by this knowledge."
Jimmy waved it off with a laugh. "Me? I know things, That's hardly the point."
Ned's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your oath was never the point, You only wanted the truth spoken aloud."
He shook his head. "A childish indulgence, Very well, you've had your amusement. When will you bring Rickon back?"
Jimmy leaned back in his chair.
"Rickon won't be returning here," he said casually. "Robb's injured, and you're about to become a grandfather, I've enough on my plate."
"This time, Daisy and I are heading north to make certain arrangements, I won't be back for a while."
He stretched lazily.
"So if you need anything, make a list. Supplies, tools, steel, I'll gather what I can before I leave."
"Oh, and I'll be making a quick trip to Valyria. See if there's anything left worth salvaging."
He sighed dramatically.
"Imagine it, me, Jimmy; Reduced to scavenging through ruins like a common treasure hunter."
Daisy immediately spoke up. "My lord, I can assist—"
Jimmy cut her off.
"Don't be foolish, The air in Valyria could poison an elephant with a single breath. No one sets foot there but me."
…
Over the next several days, Jimmy scoured the smoking remnants of Valyria.
He gathered gold in abundance and reclaimed what fragments of Valyrian steel remained. After his search, Horus's keen eye of value was left behind.
There was no weirwood to be found, though he secured plenty of oak for Gendry, He assembled provisions, tools, raw materials. Nearly half a month passed in preparation.
Then he set course for the North.
…
The temperature shifted sharply as he left the warmth of the Summer Sea.
Jimmy scowled.
He had stocked food, He had gathered steel, He had filled crates with supplies.
And forgotten winter clothing entirely.
He did not fear the cold. But that did not mean he enjoyed it.
"Horus," he muttered, arms folded against the wind, "if you spot a bear or wolf, let me know, I could use a proper coat."
He could feel his skin freezing, healing, freezing again in endless cycles.
It was deeply unpleasant.
Meanwhile, the North had changed.
Roose Bolton now ruled from the Dreadfort, Ravens had flown across the land, summoning every Northern lord to swear fealty before winter set in.
Those who failed to appear would find Bolton's army at their gates come spring.
Winterfell itself was held by Ramsay Snow.
Roose had left him in charge and if Ramsay could secure the Iron Islands, Roose might even grant him the Bolton name.
But Ramsay was no ordinary man.
He delighted in cruelty.
In mere months, Winterfell had begun to resemble the Dreadfort.
Gallows and flaying crosses lined the roads beyond the castle walls, one every few hundred yards. The corpses left hanging were grim reminders of Ramsay's rule.
The smallfolk fled in droves.
No one felt safe. Every traveler feared the thunder of hooves behind them the riders of the Dreadfort coming to claim another victim.
The North was no longer merely cold.
It was terrified.
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