Jacob sat on the Iron Throne, leaning back with his legs crossed, and activated his X-ray vision. He scanned through the stone walls of the Great Hall, past corridors and chambers, until his eyes landed on the Small Council Chamber.
Cersei Lannister stood near a window, her golden hair catching the afternoon light. She was speaking to Mace Tyrell, who sat at the council table with a puffed chest and a foolish smile. Grand Maester Pycelle hunched in his seat, playing frail as always. And on another seat sat a thin man in dark robes—Qyburn, Cersei's loyal lackey, the disgraced former maester who had taken Varys's place as Master of Whisperers.
But Jacob wasn't interested in any of them.
His eyes locked onto the man standing in the shadows of the chamber. Tall. Blonde. Grim-faced. Wearing the golden-bronze armor of the Kingsguard, with a golden helm tucked under his arm.
Ser Meryn Trant.
Jacob teleported from the Iron Throne directly into the shadows of the Small Council Chamber, leaning against the cold stone wall with his arms crossed. No one noticed him. No one sensed him. He was a ghost in the corner, listening.
---
Cersei turned from the window, her voice smooth and commanding. "We must send an envoy to the Iron Bank. Someone of importance to show these bankers our respect." She looked directly at Mace Tyrell. "As the King's Master of Coin, I can think of no one more qualified."
Mace Tyrell swelled with pride. He placed a hand on his chest and beamed. "I would be honored, Your Grace."
Cersei's lips curled into a smirk. "The King has expressed concern about his good-father's safety on this voyage. He's ordered Ser Meryn to personally lead your escort."
Meryn Trant stepped forward from the shadows, his golden armor clanking with each step. He stopped beside Cersei, his face expressionless.
Mace Tyrell looked at the Kingsguard knight, then back at Cersei, his smile faltering slightly. "A member of the Kingsguard? Please, I..."
"Safe travels, Lord Tyrell," Cersei cut him off, her tone final.
Mace Tyrell hesitated, then recovered his smile. He stood and adjusted his robes. "Of course, of course. I'll give your regards to the Titan of Braavos."
Jacob stepped out of the shadows. His boots clicked against the stone floor. Everyone turned. They saw him.
Jacob smiled—polite, pleasant, entirely out of place. "I'm afraid you won't be able to go to Braavos."
Mace Tyrell squinted at him. "Why not? And who are you, boy?"
Jacob's smile didn't waver as he looked at Mace Tyrell. "Not you, old fool. I wasn't talking to you." His gaze shifted to Meryn Trant, and his smile turned sharp. "I was talking about him."
Cersei backed away slowly, her eyes fixed on Jacob. Qyburn rose from his chair and moved to stand beside her, his expression curious rather than frightened.
Meryn Trant drew his sword and stepped in front of Cersei. "Who are you? And how did you get past the guards?"
Jacob tilted his head. "I'm your worst nightmare, you bastard." His voice dropped, cold and quiet. "You hit my wife. You humiliated her. And now you're going to pay for it."
Meryn Trant laughed—a short, ugly sound. "Which whore is your wife? I meet a lot of whores every night. I can't remember them the next day." He grinned, showing teeth. "But maybe if you tell me her name, I might remember her."
Jacob didn't get angry.
He laughed.
It started as a chuckle, then grew into something louder—manic, unhinged, echoing off the stone walls. He walked toward Meryn Trant slowly, each step deliberate, and stopped a few feet away.
The laughter stopped.
"That was a good comeback," Jacob said, almost admiringly. "I'll give you that."
His smile faded.
The temperature in the room rose. The air grew thick, heavy. Everyone began to sweat. Grand Maester Pycelle wiped his brow with a trembling hand. Mace Tyrell tugged at his collar. Even Qyburn shifted uncomfortably.
Then they felt it.
Not heat. Not pressure.
Terror.
It pressed down on their chests like a giant hand squeezing their hearts. Their breaths came short. Their legs weakened. Cersei grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself.
Jacob's voice was low and deadly. "But as funny as that was... you shouldn't have said it." He took another step forward. "I already hated your guts. But I was just going to take you back to my wife and her sister so they could deal with you." Another step. "Now, I've changed my mind."
Meryn Trant's hand tightened on his sword. His heart pounded against his ribs. Every step Jacob took sounded like a drumbeat of doom.
When Jacob was only a meter away, Meryn Trant gathered all his courage and swung his sword.
The blade arced toward Jacob's neck.
To everyone's shock, Jacob caught the blade with his bare hand and shattered it like glass. His hand didn't stop—it continued through the broken blade and closed around Meryn's throat.
He lifted the Kingsguard knight off the ground.
Meryn Trant's eyes bulged. His legs kicked uselessly in the air.
Jacob slammed him onto the stone floor on his back. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs.
Jacob stepped on Meryn Trant's right arm. The bone snapped like a dry twig. Meryn screamed. Jacob stepped on his left arm. Another snap. Another scream. He stepped on his right leg. Then his left. Bones cracked. Meryn Trant howled.
Jacob tore the golden chest plate from Meryn's chest like it was paper. The metal screeched and folded in his hands. He tossed it aside.
Then he pressed his thumbs against Meryn Trant's rib cage and began breaking them. One by one.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
Meryn Trant's screams filled the chamber. High. Wet. Desperate.
Cersei and others watched in horror.
Grand Maester Pycelle, who usually pretended to be a frail, doddering old man, shot to his feet and scrambled toward the door.
Jacob didn't stop breaking ribs. "Old man," he said casually, "take one more step, and you'll be next."
Grand Maester Pycelle froze. He swallowed hard and didn't dare move.
Jacob finished breaking Meryn Trant's ribs. Then he started punching his face.
The first punch broke his nose. Blood sprayed across the floor. The second punch split his lip. The third punch caved in his cheekbone. Meryn Trant's face became a bloody, unrecognizable mess.
He lost consciousness.
Jacob zapped him with a bolt of electricity from his fingertips.
Meryn Trant woke up screaming.
Jacob stood up and stomped on his groin.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Crunch.
Meryn Trant's testicles shattered. His pelvis cracked. He screamed until his voice gave out, then he kept screaming silently, mouth open, tears and blood streaming down his ruined face.
He lost consciousness again.
Jacob stepped back. He waved his hand. White light enveloped Meryn Trant's broken body. Bones knitted. Flesh mended. Cuts sealed. Within seconds, he was whole again.
Meryn Trant sat up, gasping. He patted his face, his chest, his arms. All healed. If not for the blood soaking his clothes and pooling on the floor, he might have thought it was all a bad dream.
Jacob smirked. "Ready for round two?"
Meryn Trant's eyes went wide with primal terror. "NOOOOO!"
Jacob didn't listen.
He beat Meryn Trant half to death again. Broke his arms. Shattered his knees. Crushed his ribs. Stomped his groin.
Healed him.
Beat him again.
Healed him.
Beat him again.
Meryn Trant lost count. He lost track of time. He lost his sanity.
Finally, Jacob stopped. He healed Meryn Trant one last time.
Meryn sat on the floor, covered in blood, staring up at Jacob with hollow, broken eyes. He began crawling backward, his hands slipping in the blood.
"Please," he whimpered. "Please… just kill me. Please…"
Jacob walked toward him.
Meryn Trant started crying. "No… no… no… no, no, no, please… don't come near me… you demon… please…"
Jacob slapped him across the face—once, hard—and Meryn's eyes rolled back. He collapsed, unconscious.
Jacob turned to face Cersei and the others.
His face was splattered with Meryn's blood. His clothes were clean—enchanted, after all—but his skin was painted red. He waved his hand over himself, and a white light swept across his body. The blood vanished, leaving him spotless.
He gave them a gentle smile. "Sorry you had to see that. I just hate it when someone disrespects my family."
Grand Maester Pycelle and Mace Tyrell scrambled behind Cersei, using her as a shield. Qyburn stood his ground but his hands were trembling.
Cersei forced herself to stand straight. Her voice was steady, but Jacob could hear her heart hammering in her chest. "Who are you, sorcerer?"
Jacob shook his head. "No. I'm not a sorcerer. And you'll hear my name soon enough." He tilted his head. "You can relax. Although we are enemies, I'm not here for you today. I'm only here for this pig, Meryn."
Qyburn stepped forward slightly. His eyes studied the sigil on Jacob's chest—the black dragon's head with burning red eyes on a crimson field.
"That sigil," Qyburn said. "I've never seen it before. Are you related to the Targaryens?"
Jacob smirked. "No." He paused. "Not yet, at least."
Cersei's voice was tight. "Are you aiming for the Iron Throne? Is that why we are enemies?"
Jacob walked toward her.
She didn't back away. She was terrified—but she stood her ground and looked up into his eyes.
He stopped inches from her, close enough to count the freckles on her nose. He could hear her heartbeat. He could smell her fear.
He looked her up and down, then met her eyes.
"You must have been a beauty when you were young," he said. Then he shook his head. "Too bad. You're an evil woman and an incestuous bitch."
Cersei said nothing. She just stared at him, her face pale, her lips pressed together. She didn't dare show anger.
Jacob walked past her to the window behind the council table. He looked out at the city—at the rooftops and the distant sea.
Grand Maester Pycelle and Mace Tyrell, who had been hiding behind Cersei, dropped to the floor and began crawling away from him on their hands and knees.
Jacob ignored them.
"As for why we are enemies," he said, still looking out the window, "it's because you are the enemy of my wife. And you can never make peace with her. You hurt her too much. You hurt her family too much."
Cersei's mind raced. She thought through every possible candidate. Every noble house. Every surviving daughter.
"Who is your wife?" she asked.
Jacob turned from the window and walked toward Meryn Trant. He paused beside her.
"You're a smart woman," he said. "I'm sure you've already guessed."
He walked past her, and grabbed Meryn Trant by the ankle.
"My wife said that your daughter and Tommen were very kind to her." His voice was quieter now. "So let me give you a piece of advice. Save Myrcella as soon as possible. Ellaria Sand will definitely try to kill her." He glanced back at her. "And you'd better send an army. One man can't save her."
He was about to teleport—but stopped.
'I shouldn't teleport in front of them,' he thought. 'I want them to think they have a chance against me. Maybe they'll even send a few assassins after me. That could be fun.'
He dragged Meryn Trant out of the chamber and into the corridor. Guards rushed toward him, swords drawn.
Jacob didn't even look at them. He waved his hand, and telekinetic force slammed them against the stone walls. Their heads cracked against the rock. They slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Jacob teleported out of King's Landing.
To be continued… 😊
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