Jacob I

Thousands died, dozens of thousands even, yet he knew that such would happen. War was a business that only a few profited from, Lords more often than not, corporations back in his own world. Sometimes brave men were knighted, sometimes a new lord was raised and the heroes memorized, but it was smallfolk that died by the thousands.

The war was over at least, for most. Dragonstone had still to be taken by Stannis, but it was considered more like a minor rebellion than a proper war at this point. The great Lords kneeled, the minor Lords had no right to talk back and the rest… no one noticed their existence. In the end war was the romance of only those that never fought in it.

Jacob's own musings were stopped by Eddard's thoughts. 'Maybe scythes? In the Vale they are more popular due to the lesser cost of steel, yet in the North many still use iron sickles to collect hay and wheat.' There were many such thoughts and ideas, sometimes even things like tools that one took for granted would be missing or not properly distributed. How was Jacob to know and remember it all? Why was it him that was chosen, or rather cursed into being sent into another world without a body of his own?

'Good idea.' Scythes would stay for dozens or hundreds of years, depending on how fast people could recreate reapers. It will still take years and increase productivity by mere one or two percent by allowing farmers to clear more land faster… every bit matters, especially since it would come in a package.

'It's axes, hatchets, scythes, saws, pitchforks and shovels that we should focus on, what else? Even with such a list to make enough for over half a million farms… How many wagons of iron would need to be brought to make it so?' 'Few thousand, perhaps more.' Jacob knew not exactly how many, nor did he care. It would be Luwin's job to count it, or some other fellow who could write and count. 'When I was kid, a wagon of iron came to Winterfell every month for Mikken's father to work on. For a few thousand to be worked…' 'It won't be Mikken who will do all of this, there are ways to make items faster and cheaper, even if it will take time to achieve that. And you are still a kid.' Gods only know how much a good large press would be useful for that, heated iron in, almost ready product out. Yet Jacob wasn't an engineer, how could he remember how machines were made? He could only speculate, sometimes hinting on a thing here and there. There are some things that he knew from documentaries and other such sources, yet it was more of a hobby to know how some things were made, not necessity.

War, he thought back to his initial thoughts. The Others were coming, White Walkers as some called them, if only George completed the books before Jacob died. Not that they were a hundred percent accurate, it was as if George was a prophet that had a dream of happenings in Westeros but decided to write it in a more interesting manner, as a novel should be. Jacob questioned his own words to Ned sometimes, how could he advise a man, claiming to know a future yet not truly believing it himself? What if Joffrey was indeed Robert's son? What if… It didn't matter in the end.

Winter would come, which was not something that Jacob understood properly before. "Crops could still be grown in winter." He remembered those words, from where he did not know. Winters lasted years, but they weren't really 'winters', they were quick ice ages that lowered overall temperature. Yet normal seasons still existed. The Westerosi year lasted 365 days, from which there was spring, summer, fall and winter, but it was not called so by the westerosi themselves. It was weird. He knew that proper winter was called "Summer snows" by westerosi.

In the North, during summer as they called it, snow would rain during three months of the year, then came three months of melting and regrowing of greenery, after that came three months of heat and sun which was followed by three months of falling leaves and somewhat colder days. It was weird, because it was normal.

In westerosi winters, temperatures would drop, randomly. Sometimes there would be a year of freezing cold where people would die and rivers freeze all year round. Other times the temperature would drop a few degrees making snow last longer but still clearing for "three months of proper summer and one month each for spring and fall". Crops could be grown in most winters as such, even if they sometimes failed or were lesser in quality, or rather quantity.

There were winters that brought snow that didn't melt for years, and gods only know how the one in almost twenty years will look like.

Ned spoke to every Lord of note, or not as he marched, many were eager to speak about their own lands and about themselves. Yet as Eddard asked more and more questions they faltered, there was only so much that one wished to speak about their lands, about how many smallfolk there were and what tools did they use.

"And horses and oxen? How many farmers own one or another?" Ned asked some minor Lord from a masterly house that was his own vassal. He didn't write it all down, since all of what the Lords told him was just estimates. Not many cared how many sheep were in their lands, it was weird since it was one of the most important aspects of their lands.

"Perhaps thirty, my Lord. No more than that, but those are almost always older ones that are too old for our service, often with a broken back." Though there were always few that truly took care in their lands. "They are used to pull wagons most of the time, and once a year to prepare the field. Some are used by the miller to run the mill itself if the winds are not keen for many days." The windmills used in the North were mostly small, weak and outdated.

Eddard seemed to perk up on the answer, for he too was pleasantly surprised. "How many smallfolk are in your lands? Any craftsmen, if yes then how many and what is their trade?" The usual questioning routine started, it lasted for almost two hours yet Jacob listened to this all.

Usually in novels the main character over the course of a few years brings revolution to the world, yet in this age it was quality and quantity of steel works that limited technology growth which was in turn limited by food production efficiency. Northerners, due to the climate, had it worse, but it still was enough to make the lands sustain a sizable population. Even if 99% of the population barely sustained themselves.

"Eight hundred at most, my Lord. Two blacksmiths, a father and son that are not skilled enough to make proper quality steel and as such they focus on tools and simple arms. Most are farmers, some live off fishing in the White Knife and the Long Lake tributary." The minor Lord started counting off the people under his command, although his lands were almost empty they were at the important location. "We have a raft and charge people that wish to cross the river, both White Knife and its tributary. That's how we can afford castle steel." Both Eddard and Jacob thought of the man's armor that was full plate instead of riveted brigandine that was common for the lower nobility.

The minor Lord spoke proudly of his lands, yet as more and more minutes passed even he started to sound tired. Eddard wanted to know the North from inside out and thought he himself was teached to focus on nobility and their wants, Jacob told him that he should focus on the people and resources that they managed as well, for there were much more peasants than nobility. 'An information that would be best remembered, perhaps a bridge over a tributary that allows for river craft to pass under as it would be foolish to block it. A waterwheel to promote cheaper woodwork and grain milling to lessen dependence on wind and animals. Keep the man in mind.'

The costs would be low enough, at most fifty gold dragons would be spent for the materials to be worked and shipped for the watermill alone. A bridge would be more costly and would need to be built together with other infrastructure. It wouldn't be wise to send Winterfell builders to build a bridge where only few people wish to cross the river. Eddard seemed to think so as well even without Jacob telling him that. "How many pass the tributary, what do they carry while doing so? Any wagons?" Ned asked the minor Lord.

A sigh escaped the lordlings mouth which Jacob found funny, the man responded dutifully soon after. "The raft passes the tributary twice a day, at morning and at dawn to let people rest at our inn rather than on the riverside. As for how many…" The man started counting in his mind Jacob thought, it was no easy thing to remember such information after a year of fighting, away from one's home for so long. "Perhaps ten or so daily, two wagons at most with bigger homesteads travelling down to White Harbour or to Winter Town hoping to sell their produce, though only after harvests come in." That was more people than both Jacob and Ned expected.

Days passed as the army marched, their progress was slow to say at best, though it was to be expected of a host this size. As they made it deeper into the North more and more Lords left with their men, most if not all claimed that they would arrive at the harvest feast that would be hosted at Winterfell in a few months.

As Winterfell drew closer Eddard started to worry more and more, Jacob noticed. It was easy to know that since he could hear all of Ned's thoughts. Lyanna's son, Catelyn and even Benjen meant confrontation, not to mention the weight of being a Lord and all the loss that Ned experienced up to this point. Jacob was worrying as well, though mostly for Ned alone, as he was his only anchor in his own survival.

He has died in the past, Jacob deducted that easily enough, and as more time passed and as more he talked to Ned in their now shared mind he couldn't help but to like him, he couldn't help but to care for him. Acting silly helped, constant talking did as well. No matter what, Ned believed that the so-called 'Voice' would always be with him, always supporting him. If it meant that Eddard wouldn't fall into depression or get PTSD from all the killing that he saw and every person that he lost, Jacob was fine with acting silly.

As Eddard entered Winterfell and descended his horse in front of his brother and wife to approach them on foot Jacob could easily feel Ned's worriness, as such there was only one thing for him to say. 'Damn, pregnancy sure helped Catelyn with her… assets.' It felt all the better when Eddard's gaze fell on Catelyn's chest. 'Damn you.' Was his mind companion only response.