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By now, everyone knew just how terrifying Jimmy was with a blade.
Anyone who could stand in the middle of a crowd, get swarmed from all sides, and still win with ease…
People had long since stopped challenging him. They preferred testing themselves against Brienne instead. At least against her, victory felt possible.
Jon tossed Jimmy a three-foot wooden staff.
"Go easy on her. Arya, I really think you should get a better feel for Jimmy before you try fighting him."
"No need."
Arya drew Needle and settled into her stance.
The sharp clatter of wood and steel rang out.
It was obvious Jimmy was feeding her openings, guiding her through the exchange. While everyone laughed at the special treatment he was giving Arya, they were also struck by how impressive her swordsmanship had become.
Fast.
Precise.
Beautiful to watch.
And deadly.
Jimmy knocked Needle from Arya's hand. Arya lunged forward, a dagger flashing toward his throat.
Jimmy caught her wrist.
Arya let go at once, trying to catch the falling dagger with her left hand.
But Jimmy was faster.
"It's over, Arya."
Her fingers had only just closed around the dagger at Jimmy's waist when the blade Jimmy had caught was already pointed at her heart.
Brienne's eyes shone with admiration.
"Incredible. Truly incredible. Arya, you were born to be an assassin. Those last few moves. I'd never have dodged them."
"I think you need better weapons," Jimmy said, sliding the dagger back into Arya's belt.
"This one's already quite good," Arya replied, retrieving Needle.
"Not nearly good enough. Do you know what kind of enemy we're facing? White Walkers. They can only be killed with dragonglass or Valyrian steel. You'll need those."
"Dragonglass?" Arya asked.
"No. Valyrian steel."
With that, Jimmy pulled the dagger from his waist and handed it to her.
Arya drew it slowly.
The unmistakable rippled sheen of Valyrian steel caught the light. The blade was long, narrow, sharp, and wickedly pointed.
"Thank you."
"There's more."
Jimmy reached into the Horadric Cube and brought out a second weapon. Then another.
A Valyrian steel sword in the same style as Needle, only slightly longer.
And a double-ended spear that could split apart and rotate at the center.
A chorus of teasing whistles and amused exclamations rose from the people watching.
Under the eaves, Ned and Catelyn watched it all unfold.
"Jimmy certainly treats Arya differently."
"He does," Catelyn murmured. "Though Arya's still too young. Otherwise… they'd make a fine match."
"Until we know exactly who Jimmy is, it's too early to say anything like that."
The gifts Jimmy gave Arya seemed almost tailor-made for her. After only a few test movements, she was already eager to fight again.
Jimmy sighed.
"I hate fighting maniacs like you. Fine. One more round."
"You should use that long sword of yours."
"The horse-cutter?"
"It's called Horse-Cutter? Why?"
"Because it cuts horses in half."
Arya stared at him.
For the first time in a while, Jimmy managed to leave her completely speechless.
Then Jimmy drew one of Gendry's wooden training blades and settled into position.
Arya leveled the spear at Jimmy, and the fight began again.
No, not a fight.
A one-sided beating.
This time, Jimmy meant to teach the little battle-maniac a lesson. The wooden blade in his hand blurred as it moved, knocking aside the double-ended spear every single time before sliding neatly back to rest at Arya's throat.
After several exchanges, even Arya understood the gap between them. She lowered her head, clearly disappointed, and put the weapon away.
"Jimmy, you really are incredible."
"What's that compared to the rest of it?" Tormund chimed in. "Jimmy's stronger than Mag the giant, and he's still only using one blade here. The real Jimmy is the one with two swords."
Jimmy said nothing.
There was something strangely poetic about the way Tormund had phrased that.
Still, with someone as gloriously dense as Tormund, there was no point explaining. At most, Jimmy could just kick him a few extra times the next time they sparred.
Oddly enough, after all these training sessions, everyone else had improved at least a little.
Everyone except Tormund.
He seemed entirely immune to progress.
…
As the others drifted away, Tormund crept over to Jimmy with all the subtlety of a drunk bear pretending to be stealthy.
"Hey, Jimmy. I don't think Arya would make a very good wife. You might want to think that through again…"
Thunk.
Jimmy flicked him in the forehead with one finger.
Tormund dropped into a crouch on the spot, clutching his head.
"Arya is probably the second-best sword in all of Winterfell right now," Jimmy said flatly. "In a real fight, she could open your throat before you even knew what happened."
"Really? Swordplay like dancing can be that dangerous?" Tormund muttered, still rubbing his head. "Gods, Jimmy hit me so hard I think my skull cracked. I should probably eat something to recover…"
Still mumbling to himself, he glanced left and right, then slunk off toward the kitchens.
…
Two letters arrived at Winterfell.
One from Cersei.
One from Daenerys.
Cersei, shameless as ever, demanded that the North submit and recognize her as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
Tormund actually spat when he heard it.
Even he thought it was too absurd.
Daenerys's message carried much the same demand, though dressed in better language. She offered to help the North destroy Cersei, but only if the North came to Dragonstone and renewed its loyalty to House Targaryen.
The wording was polite enough.
The substance was not.
I have three dragons. Dothraki cavalry. Unsullied. The Second Sons. Victarion's fleet.
The threat was written between every line.
Though in truth, Victarion's fleet might no longer remain hers for long. If the North allied with Daenerys, Victarion would lose any chance of taking his revenge, which went directly against the terms of his arrangement.
Did the North need an alliance?
Absolutely.
At least until the Night King was dealt with, the North needed one. If nothing else, it needed other powers to stop tearing each other apart.
"I'll go to Dragonstone with Jon," Jimmy said. "And Tyrion comes too. As for King's Landing, that can wait. The one sitting the Iron Throne now could stare straight at the Night King and still close her eyes. You'll never wake someone pretending to sleep."
"Well," Tyrion said, "much as I hate to admit it, you're right."
And just like that, he gave up on the idea of going to King's Landing to reason with Cersei.
So it was decided.
Jimmy, Tyrion, Jon, and Davos would sail for Dragonstone and try to persuade Daenerys to agree to a truce and join forces against the Night King.
They were only four men.
But each carried weight.
Jimmy spoke for the Free Folk.
Tyrion for the North.
Davos came in Princess Shireen's name.
And Jon.
Jon was the only known Targaryen left in Westeros.
He had to be there.
Horus flew ahead of the ship, hauling it by rope across the waves. The vessel cut through the sea at frightening speed while Mag clung to a barrel and vomited as though his soul were trying to escape.
Jimmy handed him a sour apple.
"I told you not to come. You insisted you wanted to see dragons. They'll come north eventually. It's not like you were going to miss your chance."
"Mag… not good," Mag groaned.
Beside him, Wangwang stood smiling as steady as a tree.
"Wangwang fine. No dizzy."
"Wangwang…" Mag lifted his head, only for the rolling deck to send him straight back into misery. He could not understand it. They were both giants. So why was Wangwang perfectly fine while he felt like death?
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