Chapter 199: Waiting for WarJune 11
Jacob appeared a short distance from Castle Black with Davos, Victoria, the unconscious Shireen, Melisandre's body, and his new army.
He turned to the two thousand soldiers who had sworn allegiance to him.
"Stay here for now," he commanded. "You are not going to participate in the war against Stannis. You will only watch."
Then he teleported again and reappeared next to Sansa with Victoria, Davos, the unconscious Shireen, and the body of Melisandre.
Allison, Lydia, and Malia jumped down from atop Castle Black's battlements, landing lightly on the snow-covered ground.
Lydia's eyes sparkled. "I heard your speech to those men. I saw how you cut through ten of them with your sword." She bit her lip. "That was hot. I like that serious side of you."
Jacob winked at her, then his gaze shifted to Melisandre's body.
Allison asked, "So you've made up your mind? You're going to rule Westeros?"
Jacob nodded, his eyes never leaving the Red Woman's corpse. "Yes."
Stiles dismounted his horse, walked to Jacob, and looked down at Melisandre's crumpled form. Her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were still open, glassy and vacant.
"She's dead, right?" Stiles asked. "Then why did you bring her body?"
Jacob smirked and looked at Stiles. "She's hot. And since you're into necrophilia, I thought you'd like her dead body. You're welcome."
Stiles's face turned red. "For the thousandth time, I am not into necrophilia!"
Allison and the others who understood what necrophilia meant burst out laughing.
Stiles sighed heavily. "Enough joking. Why did you really bring her?"
Jacob's smirk faded. "Because I want to see if I can make that thing behind her show itself." He turned to Melisandre's body and raised his voice. "Get up, you old hag. I know you aren't dead."
Stiles blinked. "She's not dead? Look at how crooked her neck is!"
Lydia crossed her arms. "She's definitely not dead."
Malia smirked. "Let me help you wake her."
She shot a ball of electricity from her hand. The blue-white bolt struck Melisandre's body, making it jerk and convulse on the ground.
Melisandre screamed.
She stopped pretending to be dead.
Jon wasn't surprised anymore by Jacob and his people's abilities. The ball of lightning from Malia's hand barely registered. His focus was on the screaming woman on the ground.
Samwell and Edd, now standing by Jon's side, had forgotten about the lightning bolt that had shocked them moments ago. They watched with wide eyes as Melisandre's body stopped convulsing, her neck cracked and fixed itself, and she stood up.
She was still looking at Jacob in terror.
Jacob locked his gaze onto Melisandre. But it was like he was looking at something else—something deep in her eyes, deep within her soul.
"Get out," Jacob commanded. "Show yourself, R'hllor. I can feel your disgusting presence hiding inside this old hag."
Melisandre froze. Her breath caught in her throat. But nothing happened.
Jacob's lips curled into a mocking smirk. He let out a sharp, condescending laugh.
"What? Are you afraid of me?" he taunted. "How about you come out and face me? Better yet, since you know exactly where I am, why don't you come here with your true body and fight me?" His voice hardened. "I can feel a sickening greed radiating from this woman, and I know it isn't hers—it's yours. I can feel how desperately you hunger for my flesh, my blood, my powers."
He continued, "Come and try to take my body with your own hands, you pathetic coward. Or tell me what wretched hole you're hiding in, and I will gladly come down there and rip you out of it myself."
Still, nothing happened. Melisandre just kept staring at Jacob in terror.
Jacob sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You call yourself a lord, but you're nothing but a parasite. Hiding in the dark like a rat, begging starving peasants to burn their own children just so you can feed." His voice dripped with contempt. "You have no power of your own. You're just a weak, starving beggar living on lies and suffering."
He took a step closer. "You're a demon. Doing what demons always do—deceiving people. You demand the blood of men, women, and the innocent. You trick your followers into worshiping a false lord, offering them in return a few parlor tricks and a flicker of flames that would die in the smallest gust of wind. If you truly possess even a shred of the power you claim to have, stop hiding. Come out and face me, you coward."
Finally, there was a reaction.
Melisandre's terrified face went blank. Then she screamed again, clutching her head. Fire ignited around her body. Two horns made of flame appeared on top of her head. The fire around her began to take the shape of a monstrous entity—bat-like wings, a hideous head with multiple horns, eyes burning like twin suns.
Jon, Samwell, and Edd backed away from the heat.
Jon's eyes went wide as he stared at the fire monster surrounding Melisandre's body. "What is that thing?"
Jacob didn't look away from the creature. "That's R'hllor. The creature people worship as the Lord of Light."
Melisandre spoke—but it was not her voice. It was deep, monstrous, ancient.
"Mortal. How dare you call a god a coward and a rat."
Jacob smirked. "Oh please. You're no god. You're just a greedy demon who lends his powers to stupid humans in exchange for their souls and human sacrifices."
"I am no demon, mortal. I am a god. I am the fire that warms all of humanity's blood. The light that drives back the shadow. I do not ask for sacrifices out of cruelty—I require fuel to lend humanity my strength. Without me, the Night King will turn this world into a frozen grave. I seek only to save you."
Jacob let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "You're no god. The one true God doesn't need human sacrifice to fuel His strength. He is all-powerful. He is omnipotent." His eyes narrowed. "You're just a demon pretending to be a god. You don't want to defeat the Night King to save humans. No. You're just protecting your cattle. Dead ice wights don't have blood to spill or flesh to burn. You need humans alive, terrified, and multiplying—so they keep burning each other in your name."
He took a step forward. "That twisted Azor Ahai prophecy isn't a promise of salvation. It's a blueprint for demonic contracts. You didn't give Azor Ahai a magic sword out of kindness. You demanded that the hero murder the most innocent, loving thing in his life—his own wife—to borrow your fire. You order your believers to burn anyone who doesn't believe you are a god. You trick desperate kings into burning their own children because you feast on the pain and agony of the sacrifice."
R'hllor's voice boomed. "I am your only hope against the dark god of ice whom the Night King serves."
Jacob threw his head back and laughed. "You really love the sound of your own lies, don't you? There is no dark god of ice sitting in the shadows of the far North. The Night King doesn't serve your made-up false god." His voice turned cold. "The Night King is nothing but a rogue weapon—a piece of dragonglass and old dark magic shoved into a man's chest by the Children of the Forest when they got desperate. He doesn't want to bring eternal darkness under the orders of a made-up god. He's just a weapon gone rogue, trying to fulfill his programming to erase humanity."
The fire monster flickered. R'hllor's voice softened—became almost kind, almost fatherly.
"I know you do not believe in me, my child. But I only want to save humanity. Let us join hands and defeat the Night King. A dead, frozen world serves neither of us. I will lend you my powers. I will make you even stronger." The fiery eyes shifted, looking past Jacob—at Victoria, Chris, Arya, Stiles, and finally at Kitty with greed. "You only need to sacrifice... that cat to me."
Kitty's fur bristled. She jumped onto Malia's shoulder and hissed. "Can we kill the fire bat already?"
Jon, Samwell, and Edd turned to stare at the talking cat in shock.
Malia stroked Kitty's fur calmly. "We can't. He's not really here. He's hiding in some hole somewhere."
Stiles stepped forward, his arms crossed. "If you were really a god, why not kill the so-called Night King yourself? Save this world from becoming a frozen wasteland?"
Jacob glanced at Stiles. "Because he can't. The Night King is immune to fire. And even if he could kill him, I don't think he wants to."
He turned back to R'hllor. "Now, how about you come here with your real body? I really want to fight you. I've killed one of your kind before, and I can't wait to kill another."
R'hllor's voice turned cold again. "If you will not join me, then I will destroy you."
The fire monster raised both hands. Flames erupted from Melisandre's palms and engulfed Jacob completely.
"Burn, mortal," R'hllor boomed. "Fuel my powers. I am excited to taste the blood of someone as powerful as you."
The fire roared.
But R'hllor's laughter died in his throat.
Something was wrong.
He looked around. Jacob's wives were smiling. Stiles and the others who knew Jacob's powers were looking at him like he was an idiot.
Kitty yawned. "Fool."
R'hllor turned back to the inferno.
Two red glowing eyes stared at him through the flames.
Then Jacob was suddenly right in front of him, his hand wrapped around Melisandre's throat, lifting her into the air. His clothes weren't burned. His skin wasn't marked. The fire didn't bother him at all.
R'hllor's voice trembled. "You are no human. What are you?"
Jacob's smile was cold. "We've talked too much. Let's end things here today." His eyes glowed brighter. "I'm looking forward to meeting you in person."
He drove his hand into Melisandre's chest and unleashed his lightning power.
Her body disintegrated. Turned to ash. The fire monster screamed—then vanished.
The ash scattered in the wind.
Jacob dusted off his hands.
Allison asked, "Should we look for him?"
Jacob shook his head. "Actually, I can find him if I want to. I'm just too lazy to go after him yet."
Allison frowned. "How would you find him?"
Jacob reached into his pocket dimension and pulled out a compass. He tossed it to Allison.
"With this. It's a replica of Jack Sparrow's compass. It doesn't point north. It acts as a supernatural navigational tool—it points directly to whatever the person holding it wants most in the world at that moment."
Lydia snatched the compass from Allison's hand. "Let me see."
She held it. The needle spun—then pointed directly at Jacob.
Lydia grinned. "It really works." She looked at Jacob with a wink. "I really want you right now. I really like Serious Jacob of House Alexander."
Allison snatched the compass back. "Give that back. There are outsiders around us. Stop acting like a horny bitch."
Lydia smirked. "Oh please. I don't care about outsiders." She nodded at the compass in Allison's hand. "Besides, look at the compass in your hand and where it's pointing."
Allison looked down. The compass was pointing at Jacob.
Her face turned crimson.
She threw the compass back to Jacob. "Here. Take your stupid compass back."
Jacob caught it with a smile and put it back in his pocket dimension.
Lydia smiled at Allison. "So, you also want to take him to your room—"
Allison glared at her. "Shut up."
Lydia just laughed.
Jacob said, "Alright. Stannis has only four thousand men left. Probably more will desert his army. I'm giving him five hours to bring more men from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." He crossed his arms. "So now we wait."
Malia pointed at him. "Jay, you already had your fun. You are not allowed to participate in the war."
Cogman nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes. You are not allowed to participate, sir."
Jacob sighed. "Fine."
He looked at Shireen, who was still in Davos's arms, her eyes squeezed shut. "Shireen. Stop pretending to be unconscious. Get up."
Shireen opened her eyes. She looked at Jacob warily.
Davos set her down. Jacob walked to her and rubbed her head gently.
"Don't be afraid. I will not harm you." His voice softened. "I can erase your memories if you want. I can make you forget what your parents did to you. Or I can make you forget they were even your parents." He paused. "Or you can keep your memories. It's your choice."
Shireen's eyes filled with tears. "What happened to them? Did you kill them?"
Jacob said, "Your mother is dead. And in a few hours, I will fight your father and his army." He didn't look away. "I'm not going to lie to you. He will die."
Shireen's lip trembled. "What about me? What will happen to me?"
Jacob leaned down to her eye level. "Nothing will happen to you. You will stay with us. And I promise—no one will harm you."
Shireen was quiet for a long moment. "I want to keep my memories," she said. Her voice was steadier now. "And I want to be helpful. If you will allow me."
Jacob's eyebrow rose. "Do you know how to read and write?"
Shireen nodded. "Yes."
Jacob smiled. "Then you will become a teacher. You will teach people how to read and write." He looked at Rickon with a smirk. "Rickon. Come here."
Rickon walked over, looking suspicious.
Jacob patted him on the back. "This idiot will be your first student. Teach him well. Be strict with him."
Rickon's face fell. "Noooo! I want to learn swordsmanship! I want to become a great warrior! I don't want to learn how to read and write!"
Sansa caught his ear and twisted gently. "You will learn how to read and write from Shireen. Only then will Jon and Arya teach you how to fight."
Rickon yelped. "Ouch! Ouch! Okay, fine!"
Sansa released him. "Good boy."
Rickon rubbed his ear and looked at Jacob hopefully. "Can I have powers like Arya?"
Jacob nodded. "Learn how to read and write first. Then I'll ask my son to give you powers like Arya's."
Rickon's brow furrowed. "Your son?"
Jacob smirked. "Yeah. He's a wolf, like Arya." He looked at Stiles. "Where's Scott, anyway? Why hasn't he come home yet?"
Stiles said, "The last time I called him, he said he met some older emo biker chick. They agreed to date for a month or two."
Jacob's eyes widened. "What? Does Melissa know?" His voice sharpened. "How much money did he take with him?"
Stiles winced. "Oops. I shouldn't have said that." He looked at Jacob pleadingly. "Please don't tell Melissa. And Scott said Melissa gave him two hundred thousand before he left." He sighed. "That chick is going to take all his money, isn't she?"
Jacob asked, "What do you think?"
Stiles said, "I think he'll be lucky if he comes back home with his clothes on." He hesitated. "Should I warn him?"
Jacob waved a hand dismissively. "Nah. Let her teach him a lesson. But if he calls asking for money, don't send him any."
Stiles nodded. "Got it."
Jacob turned back to Shireen. "Once my wife comes back, I will ask her to heal the scars on your face." He met her eyes. "I'm not lying to you. She really can heal you."
Shireen forgot her sadness and pain. Hope flickered in her eyes. "Really?"
Jacob smiled. "Yes. Sansa and I could heal you too, but it would be very painful. We would have to burn the scars first, then heal them. So let's wait until Melissa comes back. She can do it without you feeling any pain."
Tears streamed down Shireen's face. "Thank you," she whispered.
Jacob rubbed her head. "Don't thank me. Thank Melissa after she heals you."
He walked away. "Rickon, Shireen, Osha—follow me."
He led them to a clearing next to Castle Black's gate and tossed the capsule. With a puff of smoke, the round, two-story house appeared.
Jacob siad, "Rickon, go in and watch some cartoons with Shireen."
Rickon grabbed Shireen's hand and ran to the door excitedly. He left his shoes on the porch. Shireen did the same, still wondering where the house had come from, and followed him inside.
Jacob handed Osha a large bag of food, snacks, and sodas. "Here. Go stay with them. Keep them there until the war ends." His voice softened. "Shireen doesn't need to see what will happen to her father. Even though he tried to burn her... he is still her father."
Osha took the food and drinks. "I will, Your Grace."
She went inside the capsule house.
Jacob walked back to Allison and the others.
Davos stepped forward. "Thank you, Your Grace." His voice was thick with emotion. "For saving her. For everything you've done for her."
Jacob nodded at him, then called out, "Kai, Ōishi! Bring some of your men to me."
Kai and Ōishi approached with a few knights. Jacob reached into his pocket dimension and pulled out large quantities of food and drink. He handed them over.
"We still have five hours before the fight with Stannis," Jacob said. "Distribute this to the men. Let them eat and relax for now."
Ōishi bowed. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He, Kai, and the knights took the food and drinks and began distributing them among the samurai and foot soldiers.
Jacob looked at Jon and smiled. "You're scared of me, brother-in-law. I can smell your fear."
Malia wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, me too. You stink of fear."
Arya looked at Malia. "Is that what fear smells like?"
Malia nodded.
Arya looked at Jon. "You don't need to be afraid of Jacob. He's a good guy. An idiot most of the time." She grinned. "He's only cruel to his enemies."
Jacob glared at her. "Who are you calling an idiot, you stupid dwarf?"
Arya stuck out her tongue and hid behind Malia.
Jacob shook his head with a smile.
Jon watched the exchange and relaxed slightly.
Jacob took out Jack Sparrow's compass, looked at it, and said, "I'm going hunting. Those two thousand men who just joined us need to eat. I'll be back soon."
Malia said, "I'm coming with you."
Stiles and Chris said at the same time, "Me too."
Jacob wrapped the three of them in his telekinesis and teleported in the direction the compass had pointed.
Half an hour later, he returned with dozens of elks—more than enough to feed two thousand men—and a large amount of wood. He dropped them near the soldiers.
"Butcher them and eat," he said.
The men thanked him. He teleported back to Allison and the others with Malia, Stiles, and Chris.
Jacob looked at Jon. "Where is Janos Slynt?"
Jon's brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"
Jacob's voice was cold. "He played a role in the capture and eventual execution of Ned Stark."
Arya, Sansa, and Jon said at the same time, "What?"
Jacob explained. "After Robert Baratheon's death, Ned counted on Slynt and the Gold Cloaks to help him arrest Cersei Lannister. Instead, Slynt accepted a bribe from Littlefinger and ordered his men to slaughter Ned's guards." His eyes hardened. "He directly led to your father's death."
Arya's eyes glowed yellow. She looked at Jon and growled. "Where is he?"
Jon stared at her glowing eyes, then sighed. "He's dead. I killed him myself for refusing my orders and insulting my authority in front of the brothers."
Arya's eyes faded back to normal. "Shame. If he were still alive, I would torture him first. Then I would kill him."
Jon's voice was concerned. "Arya, you're too young. You shouldn't be talking about killing and torturing people." He paused. "Not yet, at least."
Arya smirked. "I'm not young. And I've probably killed more people than you."
Jon looked at Jacob.
Jacob shrugged. "Don't look at me. She was killing people before she met me—before she had powers. Sure, she's young, but if she didn't kill, she would be the one dead. She had to survive."
Jon looked at Arya worriedly.
Sansa said, "Don't worry too much, Jon. Although she's a killer, she still knows right from wrong." She smiled. "And don't think about stopping her. She has a list of people she wants to kill—people who wronged our family. She recites their names in her sleep."
Jon looked at Arya. His expression softened. "I guess I should stop thinking of you as a little girl, huh?"
Arya smiled. "Of course. I'm a knight now. Soon my name will be known all around the world. They will call me the She-Wolf." She puffed out her chest. "The first female knight of Westeros."
Jon smiled. "Well, I hope you make a name for yourself, then."
Jacob pulled chairs and food from his pocket dimension. They sat down and ate while talking, waiting for Stannis to prepare his army.
Sansa and Arya sat next to Jon, talking to him about the past and what they had experienced, asking him about what he had experienced as well.
The hours passed.
The snow continued to fall.
And in the distance, Stannis's camp prepared for war.
Chapter 200: Tormund GiantsbaneJune 13
One hour remained of the five Jacob had given Stannis.
The snow had lightened to a gentle fall. The Nightmare Horses stood motionless, their breath steaming in the cold air. The samurai sat in disciplined rows, eating and sharpening their blades. The foot soldiers huddled around fires, passing chunks of roasted meat between them.
Jacob, who was sitting on a chair talking with Stiles and Chris, turned to Jon. "Bring me the wildling. Tormund."
Jon's brow furrowed. "Tormund? Why?"
Jacob said, "I want to conquer the Free Folk and bring them south of the Wall. Make them my people." He paused. "I will give them land to live in. Let them build their own city. A city in my kingdom."
Jon shook his head. "They won't follow you. The Free Folk don't like bending the knee. They'll never serve a southern king."
Jacob's voice was flat. "Just go bring him."
Jon looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Alright."
He turned and walked toward Castle Black.
Jacob watched him go, then turned to Brienne. She was sitting near Allison and the others.
Jacob said, "Brienne. I have a task for you."
Brienne straightened. "Your Grace?"
Jacob smiled. "I want you to duel Tormund. Play with him. Show him how strong you are."
Brienne nodded. "As you wish, Your Grace."
---
Soon, Jon returned.
Tormund Giantsbane walked beside him, his hands bound in thick iron cuffs. His red hair was wild, his beard matted, his blue eyes bright with defiance. Despite the chains, he walked with the swagger of a man who had never been afraid of anything in his life.
The first thing Tormund noticed wasn't Jacob. It wasn't Jacob's wives. It wasn't the massive Nightmare Horses, or the army of samurai in red armor.
His eyes locked onto Brienne.
His mouth fell open. His steps slowed. His chains clinked as he stopped walking.
Brienne shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
Tormund's eyes traveled up and down her tall frame—her broad shoulders, her strong jaw, her blonde hair pulled back. A slow, stupid grin spread across his face.
Jon cleared his throat. "Tormund?"
Tormund didn't look away from Brienne. "What a beautiful woman." His grin widened. "A big woman."
Brienne's jaw tightened.
Jon nudged Tormund with his elbow and pointed to Jacob. "He is the one you should be looking at."
Tormund's eyes finally shifted to Jacob. He looked him up and down—the dark scaled armor, the red cape, the sword at his waist, the sigil of the black dragon.
"So," Tormund said, his voice mocking, "you're the king Jon told me about? The one who wants to conquer the Free Folk?"
Jacob nodded. "Yes."
Tormund laughed—a loud, booming sound. "You? You look soft. Prettier than all the Free Folk women I've ever seen."
Jacob smirked. "Oh, really?"
Tormund nodded, still grinning. "Yeah. I've never seen a beautiful man like you before. If not for the fact that you're taller than me and have a manly voice, I would have thought you were a woman."
Jacob wasn't offended. He smiled—a pleased smile. "Thank you. I love it when people praise my beauty."
Tormund's grin faltered. He looked at Jon. "What's wrong with this southern twat?"
Jon shrugged. "I don't know him that well."
Tormund turned back to Jacob. "I won't bend the knee to you. Neither will my people." He smirked. "Now either kill me, or send me back to my cell." His smile turned lecherous. "Unless you want to suck my co—"
Jacob didn't let him finish.
He released a fraction of his dragon aura.
The air grew heavy. Everyone felt it—a crushing weight on their chests, a primal terror squeezing their hearts. Jon went pale. Samwell and Edd stumbled back and fell into the snow. The Night's Watch brothers on the battlements above gripped the stone for support.
The horses—the normal ones, not the Nightmares—whinnied and reared. Shaggydog, who had been lounging in front of the capsule house, tucked his tail between his legs and whined.
Tormund's body trembled. His chains rattled. His breath came in short gasps.
But he did not look away.
Jacob took a step toward him. "Don't go too far," he said, his voice low and cold. "Or you might really lose your life."
Tormund's jaw clenched. Despite his trembling body, despite the sweat on his brow, he met Jacob's eyes.
"I don't know what you are," he said, "but I'm not afraid of you. Release me and fight me like a man."
Jacob stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled and restrained his aura.
"You're brave," Jacob said. "I'll give you that."
He walked to Tormund and grabbed the thick iron cuffs around his wrists—one in each hand. Then he broke them. The iron snapped like dry twigs.
Tormund stared at the broken cuffs on the ground, then back at Jacob, his eyes wide.
Jacob smirked. "Now you're free."
Tormund rubbed his wrists, still staring at Jacob.
"Do you want a weapon too?" Jacob asked. He looked at Jon. "Bring this man his weapon."
Jon nodded to Edd, who hurried back into Castle Black.
Jacob crossed his arms. "I heard that unlike the people of the Seven Kingdoms, the Free Folk don't care about royal bloodlines, family names, or inheritance." He tilted his head. "You follow strength."
Tormund's eyes narrowed. "Aye. We do."
Jacob nodded toward Brienne. "Then fight my guard first. If you can beat her, I will grant you freedom."
Tormund looked at Brienne. His smile returned. "I like this deal."
Then he looked back at Jacob. "But if you want to prove something to me, draw your sword and fight me yourself."
Jacob shook his head. "I don't know how to spar with a sword."
Tormund's eyebrows rose. "Then what are you doing with that pretty one on your waist?"
Jacob shrugged. "Killing my enemies with it." He smiled. "Anyway. Beat my guard first. If you win, I will fight you. I won't even use a weapon."
Tormund studied him for a moment. Then he nodded. "Alright. Don't go back on your word."
His gaze landed on Brienne again. He stared at her—intensely, openly, hungrily.
"If I win," he said slowly, "I don't want to fight you. I want to take her as my woman."
Jacob smirked. "I can't decide that. Even if you win, you'll have to convince her to marry you yourself." He paused. "But let's wait until you win first."
Tormund grinned. "Oh, I'll win."
Edd returned with a massive two-handed axe, its blade nicked and worn. He handed it to Tormund.
Tormund swung it once, testing the weight. He nodded.
Jacob backed away. "Brienne. Teach him a lesson for me, will you? But don't kill him."
Brienne stepped forward, drawing her sword. "As you wish, Your Grace."
Tormund watched her approach, his grin so wide it looked painful.
"Are you ready?" Brienne asked, her voice flat.
Tormund hefted his axe. "I'm ready, big beauty."
Brienne attacked.
The duel lasted longer than it should have—because Brienne was toying with him.
She could have ended it in seconds. The Mirakuru coursing through her veins made her stronger, faster. She could have disarmed him, or simply knocked him unconscious before he could blink.
But Jacob had told her to teach him a lesson. And she herself was enjoying beating him.
She parried his axe swings like they were nothing. She sidestepped his charges and tripped him into the snow. She smacked his backside with the flat of her blade when he overcommitted. She blocked his axe with her sword—one-handed—and held it there while he strained and grunted and pushed with all his strength.
Tormund went flying backward.
He landed in a heap, snow exploding around him.
He laughed.
He scrambled to his feet, wiped the blood from his split lip, and charged again.
Brienne dodged. Smacked his axe aside. Kicked his legs out from under him.
Tormund hit the ground. He laughed again.
"Again!" he shouted.
Brienne's eye twitched.
The Night's Watch brothers on the battlements watched in stunned silence. They had never seen anyone as strong as Brienne.
Jon stared, his mouth slightly open. He had fought wildlings. He had seen Tormund fight. The man was a terror on the battlefield.
And Brienne was treating him like a child.
Samwell tugged on Jon's sleeve. "Is she... is she using magic?"
Jon shook his head slowly. "I don't think so."
He glanced at Jacob, who was watching the fight with an amused smile. 'What kind of people are these?' Jon wondered.
Tormund charged again.
Brienne sidestepped, swept his legs, and sent him crashing into the snow for the tenth time.
"Yield," she said.
Tormund pushed himself up, his nose bleeding, his lip split, his grin somehow still intact. "No."
Brienne's jaw tightened. "Yield."
"No." He charged again.
She caught his axe with her blade, twisted, and sent it spinning out of his hands. It landed in the snow ten feet away.
Tormund stood there, unarmed, breathing hard.
Brienne swept his legs from under him, and he fell to the ground. She put her sword to his throat. "Yield."
Tormund looked at the blade, then at her face. His grin softened into something almost tender.
"No," he said. "I want you to beat me some more. It makes me feel like the happiest man alive."
Brienne's eye twitched again. She looked at Jacob. "Your Grace. Should I just kill him?"
Jacob shook his head, laughing. "No. You can stop."
Brienne sheathed her sword and walked back to Allison and the others, trying to hide her tall body behind them from Tormund's creepy gaze.
Tormund didn't bother to stand up. He just lay on the snow and kept staring at her, still grinning, still happy.
Lydia said to Brienne, "I think that idiot is in love with you, Brienne."
Brienne's frown deepened. "I don't think so, Your Grace. I think he's sick."
Lydia smiled. "You're right. His sickness is called lovesickness."
Brienne looked at Tormund and snorted. "I'm not interested in him."
Jacob walked over and kicked Tormund in the leg. "Get up, you masochist."
Tormund blinked. "Maso-what?"
Stiles stepped forward, smiling. "A masochist is someone who enjoys pain. You know, who actually gets a kick out of it."
Tormund's brow furrowed. "Gets a kick?"
Stiles sighed. "Never mind."
Tormund got up, dusting the powdery snow from his furs. He looked at Brienne and gave her a massive grin, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Brienne's jaw tightened, her hand resting heavily on the pommel of her sword as she glared back with pure disdain.
Finally, Tormund tore his eyes away and turned to Jacob.
Jacob's expression turned serious. "Tormund. I'm going to conquer the Free Folk."
Tormund's grin vanished, replaced by a low, rumbling laugh. "Conquer us? We don't bend the knee. Not to a southern king, not to a northern king, not to anybody. Kneeling is for weak twats who don't have bones in their legs."
"First of all, I'm not a southerner," Jacob replied calmly. "I'm not from Westeros at all. Second, I don't care about kneeling. In fact, I've explicitly forbidden my own people from kneeling to me."
Tormund's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. He tilted his head. "Then what do you want? Kings always want something."
Jacob met his gaze. "I want the Free Folk's allegiance. In return, I will bring them south of the Wall. All of them. The fighters, the women, the children, and the old. I will give them land. Good, rich land. Land with trees and rivers and more game than you can hunt. Land that isn't frozen half the year. You can build your own city. Your own homes. You will become my people. The only condition is that you follow my laws, and you never harm the innocent."
Tormund studied him for a long moment, then snorted. "And what's the catch? A man doesn't offer paradise like that out of the goodness of his heart. You're a trader. What are we trading?"
"Like I said, I want your allegiance," Jacob said. "You will call me your king. You will fight my wars, help me conquer Westeros, and stand by my side when we fight the Night King and his army of the dead."
Tormund opened his mouth to refuse, but Jacob cut him off with a raised hand.
"Don't be in a hurry to say no. Think about the children. Think about the women and the old folk who can't swing an axe. The Night King is marching. If you stay north of that Wall, you won't be free—you'll just be blue-eyed corpses marching in his army." Jacob stepped closer. "I know you people love your freedom. I won't restrict it. Anyone who wants to wander back into the far north to freeze there is welcome to do so. But in my kingdom, you will have a real city. A warm home to return to. Your children will go to schools to learn things you've never even heard of, and they will have access to healers and hospitals that can cure wounds and disease that would normally kill them."
Tormund scratched at his beard. The typical wildness in his eyes softened just a fraction as he thought of his people's survival. "I can't make a choice like that for everyone. The Free Folk don't work that way. I'm not their leader. They only followed Mance, and he is dead. They won't follow anyone else."
Jacob shrugged indifferently. "I know. We'll go visit them together after I finish dealing with Stannis. I'll prove my strength to them, and then I'll give them a choice. I won't force anyone. If they want to stay north of the Wall and die, I'll leave them be. It's not like I actually need them."
Tormund raised his bushy red eyebrows. "Hold on. Didn't you just say you needed our warriors to join your army and help you fight your wars?"
Jacob smiled, a confident, relaxed grin. "I don't need you. My family and I can conquer Westeros entirely on our own. It's just... I think it's fun to have a massive army. A king looks ridiculous riding into battle completely alone, don't you think? I want people to rule. I want an army to march with me. That's why I want the Free Folk."
Tormund stared at him as if Jacob had just grown a second head. "You... you can conquer the Seven Kingdoms without an army? With just your family?" Tormund looked around, dumbfounded. "How many people are in this family of yours? A million?"
Jacob shook his head. "No. We're just fifteen. And honestly, a few of them don't even like fighting, so they probably won't participate in the wars."
Tormund burst into a booming, roaring laugh. He clutched his stomach, tears nearly coming to his eyes. "A dozen people! You expect me to believe a dozen people are going to take the Iron Throne and slaughter the army of the dead?!"
"That's exactly why I told Jon to bring you here," Jacob said, his smile turning sharp. "I want you to watch with your own eyes. You're going to see our strength when we completely crush Stannis and his entire army."
Tormund stopped laughing, wiping his eyes, though a smirk remained. "You're mad. Completely mad." He glanced back at Brienne, then looked back at Jacob, his eyes glinting with a sudden, clever idea.
"Tell you what," Tormund said slowly, taking a step closer to Jacob. "If you really wipe out Stannis and his whole army, I'll think about following you. I'll even speak up for you when we meet the rest of the clans. They respect me. They'll listen." He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But... in exchange, you have to help me make her my woman." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward Brienne.
Jacob glanced over at Brienne. She was currently glaring at the back of Tormund's head with an expression that suggested she wanted to feed him his own beard.
Jacob chuckled, and patted Tormund's heavy, fur-clad shoulder. "I can't help you with that, my friend. A woman like that? You have to earn her love entirely on your own."
Tormund let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, looking deeply disappointed but accepting the answer. "Fine. Win your war against Stannis first, and I'll help you talk to the Free Folk. I can't promise they'll agree. But I'll try."
Jacob nodded and looked at Stannis's camp. He could see movement—soldiers forming ranks, banners being raised.
"Ōishi," Jacob called out, "get your men ready. Stannis seems to have gotten his reinforcements."
Ōishi bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."
He began giving orders, getting the three hundred samurai and six hundred foot soldiers into formation.
Jacob looked at Chris. "You should watch how Stannis and his army fight. Because you will be the general of our army and responsible for all military matters." He paused. "What do you think? Do you want that position or not?"
Chris grinned. "That sounds like a hassle." His grin widened. "But it also sounds fun. I'll take it."
Jacob looked at Victoria. "How about you become the Head of Law Enforcement in our kingdom? We need to make new laws, and we need a department to enforce them." He smiled. "Why don't you become the head of that department?"
Victoria smiled. "That sounds like fun. I do like enforcing the law."
Jacob smiled and looked at his wives, Kitty, Stiles, and Arya. "I know we can't protect every soldier in our army. And some of them will die. But today, I want you to keep an eye on Ōishi and our army during the fight. I don't want any of them to die if we can prevent it." He paused. "I'll help them too, since I'm not allowed to fight."
Allison, Malia, Lydia, Arya, Kitty, and Stiles all nodded.
Jacob turned to Cogman. "You can do whatever you want, but don't kill Stannis. Leave him for Brienne."
Cogman smiled. "Thank you, sir."
Jacob looked at Sansa. "You don't have to participate in the war if you don't want to."
Sansa said, "I want to participate. I don't want to be just a pretty bird locked in a cage to be looked at. I want to fight like Allison and the others. I want to be helpful."
Jacob walked to her and kissed her on the lips, making her blush. "You can fight if you want. But you need to understand something. I didn't marry you or my other wives because you are useful." His voice softened. "No. I married you because you girls are beautiful. Because I was attracted to you. Because I love you."
He smiled and looked at Allison and the others. "And just so you know, Malia, Allison, and Lydia aren't fighting because they want to be useful. Malia is fighting simply because she loves to fight and kill. Allison is fighting because she likes to fight too. And Lydia is fighting because Stannis tried to burn his daughter and his loyal men stood by and watched—so she thinks they all deserve to die."
He turned back to Sansa. "I gave you girls powers so you can protect yourselves if I'm not around. Not to be useful to me. Not so I can hide behind you and have you fight my battles."
Sansa didn't know what to say.
Jacob kissed her again and spoke against her lips. "Agreeing to marry me and loving me is all I need from you girls. I don't need anything else."
Sansa smiled, then kissed Jacob deeply.
When she broke the kiss, she saw everyone looking at her. Her face turned crimson. She hid her face in Jacob's chest, refusing to face anyone who was looking at her.
Jacob smiled and hugged her. He looked at Allison. "Alright. You girls go lead the army. I'll watch from behind."
Allison nodded. She came to Jacob, kissed him on the lips, then mounted her horse. Malia and Lydia kissed him too and mounted their horses.
Victoria, Arya, Cogman, Stiles, Brienne, and Podrick mounted their horses as well.
Allison called out, "Sansa, are you coming or not?"
Sansa broke the hug with Jacob. "Coming."
She mounted her horse.
With that, they rode toward Stannis and his approaching army—Ōishi, Kai, and the samurai behind them, then the foot soldiers.
Jacob and Chris mounted their horses.
Jacob looked at Chris. "Aren't you going to participate?"
Chris shook his head. "No. You said I should watch and learn how people fight wars in this world. So I'm going to stay behind and watch. I want to see how the samurai fight too, so I can better use them in future wars."
Jacob nodded. He looked at Jon and Tormund. "Jon, Tormund, find two horses and follow us. You'll want to watch this up close."
He urged Shadow forward and followed the army.
Jon turned to Edd. "Edd, go bring some horses."
Edd hurried off.
Tormund watched the army march toward Stannis's camp. His grin had faded. His eyes were thoughtful.
"Your king," Tormund said slowly, "is he really as strong as he says?"
Jon watched Jacob's retreating figure—the red cape flapping in the wind, the massive black stallion, the army moving with perfect discipline behind him.
Jon said, "He is not my king—not yet, at least. I know he has supernatural powers, but I don't know how strong he truly is. We are about to find out, though—about his strength, and that of his people."
Chapter 201: The Battle BeginsNewJune 15
Jon, Tormund, Davos, Edd, and Samwell followed Jacob and Chris on horses and stopped next to them, looking at the two armies facing each other.
The sky was grey, heavy with clouds that threatened more snow. The wind howled across the open ground, carrying the distant sounds of men shouting, horses stamping, and steel being drawn.
Jacob sat on Shadow, his red cape billowing behind him. His expression was calm, almost bored. Chris sat beside him on a large brown stallion, his arms crossed, watching the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes.
Allison, Lydia, Malia, Sansa, Victoria, Arya, Cogman, Stiles, Brienne, and Kitty were at the head of the army. The samurai formed ranks behind them—three hundred horsemen in red armor, their swords gleaming. Behind them stood six hundred foot soldiers with spears and bows.
Two hundred meters away, Stannis's army formed its own lines. Eight thousand men—knights in plate armor, men-at-arms in chainmail, archers with longbows, and levies with spears. Banners snapped in the wind: the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
Allison studied the enemy lines.
"Cogman," she called. "How many people are in that army?"
Cogman's eyes glowed blue for a second, scanning the enemy ranks with mechanical precision. "Approximately eight thousand, my lady."
Stiles let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of people to kill."
Cogman smiled—a cold, hungry smile. "Yes. A lot of prey."
Allison's voice was sharp. "We're only going to kill until they surrender."
Cogman's smile faltered. "But sir said to wipe them out."
"It's better to leave some of them alive," Allison said. "Use them as cannon fodder for our other wars. That way, we'll reduce the casualties of the people who chose to follow us willingly." She fixed Cogman with a stare. "So once they surrender, we will not kill them. I'm talking to you, Cogman."
Cogman sighed dramatically. "Yes, my lady." Then his smirk returned. "But I will make sure to kill as many as I can before they surrender." He paused. "I will not even torture them."
Allison shook her head and called out, "Kai. Go challenge them."
Kai nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."
He dismounted from his horse and walked alone toward Stannis's army—a single figure in red armor, his Tengu Sword at his waist, his black hair pulled back. He moved with the calm, unhurried grace of a man who had faced death many times.
Stiles frowned. "Shouldn't one of us go? What if he dies?"
Allison didn't look away from Kai. "He won't. Jay said he's a very skilled swordsman. And he has supernatural powers."
---
Kai stopped halfway between the two armies. He drew his sword and held it point-down in the snow, then raised his voice.
Kai called out. "I challenge any warrior in Stannis Baratheon's army to single combat! Send your best! Send your bravest!"
The enemy lines shifted. Men muttered to each other. Horses stamped nervously.
Stannis sat on his horse at the rear of his army, his jaw tight. He could see his men's faces. He could see the doubt in their eyes.
He needed a victory. Any victory. Something to raise their morale before the battle began.
"Ser Corliss," Stannis called out.
A knight in plate armor rode forward—tall, broad-shouldered, with a grim face and a longsword at his hip. Ser Corliss Penny was one of Stannis's most trusted commanders, a veteran of countless battles.
"Kill that man," Stannis commanded. "Quickly."
Ser Corliss dismounted and drew his sword. He walked toward Kai with heavy, deliberate steps, his armor clanking with each stride.
"You think you're brave," Ser Corliss said, "asking for a challenge to single combat. But you are just a fool rushing to his own death."
Kai smiled. "We shall see who the fool is."
They circled each other. Ser Corliss attacked first—a powerful overhead strike meant to split Kai's skull.
Kai sidestepped. His blade flashed.
Ser Corliss's sword clattered to the ground, his hand still gripping the hilt.
Then his head followed.
It hit the snow with a soft thud, rolled once, and stopped. Blood spread across the white ground like spilled wine.
The enemy lines went silent.
Kai flicked the blood from his blade. He looked at Stannis's army and called out, "Send another."
Stannis's face was grim. He nodded to two knights this time—Ser Horpe and Ser Suggs.
They dismounted and drew their swords.
The two knights attacked together, one from the left, one from the right. They were coordinated, professional, relentless.
Kai moved between their blades like water between stones.
He ducked under a swing. Stepped around a thrust. His sword sang.
Two more heads hit the snow.
The enemy lines rippled with fear. Men shifted backward. Spears wobbled. Bows dipped.
Arya watched from the front of Jacob's army, her eyes gleaming. "He's good. I need to ask him to teach me."
Stiles smiled. "Yes, he's very good. As one would expect from a doppelganger of Keanu Reeves."
Stannis saw the doubt in his men's eyes. He saw the fear spreading through their ranks like a disease.
He couldn't wait any longer.
"Archers!" Stannis roared. "Nock!"
Allison shouted, "Kai, come back!"
Kai turned and ran toward his lines, moving faster than any normal man.
Allison turned to Ōishi. "Go. Show us what you samurai are capable of." Her voice was steady. "And don't worry about the arrows. Sansa will take care of them."
Ōishi bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."
He turned to his men and began giving orders, his voice calm and commanding.
"Samurai! Form battle lines! Ashigaru, take position at the flanks! We advance in waves—first line at the trot, second line at the walk, third line in reserve! Archers, loose on my command!"
The samurai moved with precision, their training evident in every step. They formed three lines of a hundred men each, spears leveled, bows ready. The Ashigaru (foot soldiers) moved to the flanks, their long spears forming a wall of points.
Ōishi drew his sword and raised it high. "Charge!"
The first line of samurai advanced at a trot, their horses' hooves pounding the frozen ground. The second line followed at a walk. The third line held back, waiting.
Stannis roared, "Draw! Loose!"
Thousands of arrows rose into the grey sky like a black cloud of death.
Allison turned to the others. "Mom, Malia, Kitty, Cogman, Stiles, and Brienne—go. Control Stannis's army. Don't let too many of them pass you and overwhelm ours." She paused. "Let about a thousand pass. Keep the others busy."
Victoria nodded. Malia and Cogman grinned.
Allison looked at Sansa. "Protect the samurai from the arrows. Lydia and I will keep an eye on our army and save anyone in danger."
Sansa nodded. She raised both hands, her eyes glowing gold.
The arrows were falling now—thousands of them, a deadly rain.
Sansa's telekinesis caught them all.
The arrows stopped dead in the sky, frozen in mid-air. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then Sansa opened her hands.
The arrows teleported away from above Ōishi and the samurai and fell to the ground, harmless.
Stannis's archers stared in disbelief.
Malia and Cogman urged their Nightmare Horses forward. The massive black stallions' manes and hooves ignited with roaring flames. They galloped into the air, climbing higher and higher, then dove toward the center of Stannis's army.
Stiles watched them go, his eyes greedy. "I really want one of those."
Arya nodded. "Me too."
Victoria dismounted and drew two vibranium daggers—gifts from Cogman. "Let's go."
She ran toward Stannis's army, her supernatural speed carrying her across the snow in a blur. Arya and Stiles dismounted and followed, their own speeds matching hers. Brienne drew her sword and ran after them, her Mirakuru-enhanced body propelling her faster than any normal human.
---
Stannis saw the two flaming horses flying through the air. His eyes widened.
"Archers!" he shouted. "Shoot them down! Shoot them down!"
Hundreds of arrows flew toward Malia and Cogman.
The Nightmare Horses opened their mouths and breathed fire—a cone of flame that turned the arrows to ash before they could strike. Then they landed in the middle of Stannis's army.
Chaos erupted.
The horses breathed fire, burning men alive. Their flaming hooves crushed skulls, shattered shields, and melted armor. Men screamed and fled, only to be burned by the horses' fiery breath.
Malia dismounted and fought alongside her horse. She didn't draw her sword, Tessaiga. She didn't need to. Her claws tore through armor like paper, through flesh like butter, through bone like twigs. She moved through the enemy like a wolf through a flock of sheep—silent, deadly, unstoppable.
Kitty, who had come with Malia on her shoulder, jumped into the fight too. She wielded two vibranium daggers, moving like a shadow, killing men before they even saw her. One moment a soldier would be standing. The next, he would fall, his throat cut, Kitty already gone.
Cogman's hands transformed into swords—gleaming blades that extended from his wrists. He charged into the enemy ranks, his mechanical precision terrifying. Arms flew. Heads rolled. Men were cut in half at the waist. Cogman moved through the carnage with the grace of a dancer and the cruelty of a butcher.
Stannis shouted orders, his voice hoarse. "Shields! Form a shield wall! Cavalry, charge their lines! Infantry, hold! HOLD!"
His men tried to obey, but they were being torn apart from within. Malia, Kitty, and Cogman had become the center of a storm of death.
---
Victoria, Arya, Stiles, and Brienne passed Ōishi's advancing lines and clashed with Stannis's cavalry.
The first wave of enemy horsemen crashed into them—heavy knights in plate armor, lances lowered, horses screaming.
Victoria ducked under a lance and drove her dagger through the knight's visor. She ripped it out and threw the body from the saddle, then spun and cut the legs from another horse. The knight fell, and she finished him with a stab to the throat. Then she used the Firaga spell and sent a flaming ball that exploded, killing dozens of men and sending more flying backward, creating chaos in the advancing army.
Arya moved like a wolf—fast, low, savage. She didn't fight like a knight. She fought like a predator. She dodged under a sword swing, drove her claws into a knight's armpit—where the armor was weakest—and ripped. The knight fell, screaming. Arya was already moving to the next. Then she used her supernatural strength and started punching knights and horses alike, sending them flying backward and crashing into their comrades.
Stiles fought with a sword he had just taken from a knight. He had no real skill with the blade—but he didn't need any. His Hulk-enhanced strength turned clumsy swings into bone-shattering blows. After cutting down several knights, he hurled the blade like a spear, impaling a charging rider.
He caught a lance with his bare hand, snapped it in half, and drove the broken end through the knight's chest. He caught two heavily armored knights by the legs and started spinning, using them as weapons to batter the advancing army before hurling them away. Then he raised both hands and sent two Lightning Weasels that jumped from knight to knight, electrocuting both men and horses.
Brienne fought like a warrior—disciplined, precise, unstoppable. Her sword cut through armor and flesh with equal ease. She parried, thrust, and slashed, her movements economical and deadly.
They held the line. Only about a thousand cavalry and foot soldiers broke through them to face Ōishi's army. The rest were kept busy, pinned in place by Victoria, Arya, Stiles, and Brienne.
---
Ōishi's first line of samurai crashed into the thousand enemy soldiers who had broken through.
The samurai were outnumbered—a hundred against a thousand.
It didn't matter.
Ōishi rode at the head of his men, his Tengu Sword flashing. He cut down two knights with a single stroke, then wheeled his horse and cut down two more. His men fought beside him, their swords singing, their battle cries echoing across the field.
The samurai's horses were larger than the enemy's—Jacob had given them horses from Serendell. They were bigger, stronger, faster. They crashed through the enemy cavalry like a hammer through glass.
Kai fought on foot, his blade a blur. He moved so fast that the enemy couldn't see him—only the aftermath of his passing. Knights fell with their throats cut, their faces frozen in confusion. Men-at-arms collapsed with their armor and bodies sliced open. Kai was everywhere and nowhere, a ghost made of steel.
Ōishi shouted orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. The samurai moved in perfect coordination—one line would advance while the other held, then they would switch, giving each other time to breathe. Their swordsmanship was flawless, their discipline absolute.
The foot soldiers held the flanks, their long spears forming a wall that the enemy cavalry couldn't breach. They worked in pairs—one spearman would pin an enemy knight while another stabbed through the gaps in his armor.
But the enemy was still too many. The samurai were being pushed back.
Allison and Lydia swooped in from above.
Allison raised her hand, and a wind arrow materialized—a spear of compressed air that shot through the battlefield with the speed of a bullet. It punched through three enemy knights, then exploded into a cyclone that scattered a dozen more.
Lydia raised her hand, and a fire arrow appeared—a spear of flame that lanced through the enemy ranks, leaving burning corpses in its wake. She sent another, and another, each one finding its mark.
Whenever a samurai was surrounded, Allison or Lydia would kill his attackers with a single elemental arrow.
Whenever a foot soldier was wounded, Sansa would teleport and appear next to him, point a hand at him, and golden fire spread across his body, healing his wounds. Then he would go back to fight again.
Sansa kept teleporting to the next wounded soldier and healing him. And the next. And the next.
When enemy soldiers got too close while she was healing someone, she burned them to ash with her fire. She didn't enjoy it. She didn't hate it. She simply did what needed to be done.
---
Jon watched.
His eyes went from Sansa—teleporting, healing, burning—to Arya—fighting like a beast, roaring with yellow eyes, tearing men apart with her claws—to Malia, Kitty, and Cogman—massacring hundreds on their own—to Victoria, Stiles, and Brienne—holding back thousands with their blades and magical powers—to the samurai—fighting with a discipline and skill he had never seen before.
He watched Sansa make the arrows freeze in mid-air.
He watched the horses fly.
He watched the wounded rise, healed, and return to battle.
His mouth was open. His eyes were wide. His hands gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles were white.
He turned to Jacob.
"Seriously," Jon said, his voice hoarse. "What are you people?"
Jacob didn't take his eyes off the battle. "We are supernatural creatures. And we are not from this world."
Samwell's voice was a squeak. "Not from this world?"
Jacob nodded. "Yes. We came from another world. A world where creatures from fairy tales and bedtime stories are real." He gestured toward the battlefield. "Take Arya, for example. She's a werewolf. That means she can turn into a wolf—or a mix between a wolf and a human. Her species are called shapeshifters. Creatures who can take the form of animals—wolves, lions, bears—you name it. Shapeshifters have supernatural powers. They heal fast—a severe wound or a broken arm will heal in under a minute. They have enhanced strength and enhanced senses—they can hear for miles, and they can smell not just scents but even feelings and emotions like fear and anger." He paused. "And some of them have other special abilities, like controlling fire."
Jon asked, "And you? What kind of shapeshifter are you?"
Jacob chuckled. "Me? I'm not a shapeshifter." He paused. "Well, I can be considered a shapeshifter since I can shift, too."
Jon pressed. "And what do you shift into?"
Jacob met his eyes. "I'm a dragon."
Jon blinked. "A dragon?"
Jacob nodded. "Yes. And not like the Targaryen ones. Something far stronger."
He looked at Tormund, who had been staring at the battlefield with his mouth slightly open. "Tormund. What do you think of the strength of my people? Do you think we can conquer Westeros on our own?" He smiled. "And keep in mind that none of my wives or my family have used their real strength."
Tormund tore his eyes away from Brienne—who had just thrown a horse at a group of enemy soldiers—and turned to Jacob.
"Aye," Tormund said slowly. "I think you can." He paused. "But I haven't seen your powers yet." His eyes gleamed. "Can you show us?"
Jacob smiled. "Alright. But let's wait a little bit. Let Malia and Cogman have their fun first."
On the battlefield, the carnage continued.
The snow was no longer white.
Chapter 202: Stannis's EndNew5 days ago
The battle continued. But the organized fighting had ended.
Stannis's army had broken. His soldiers—those still alive—were terrified and fighting a losing battle. The snow was soaked red. Bodies lay in heaps. The wounded groaned and crawled, trying to reach safety.
Brienne had been fighting her way toward Stannis for minutes, cutting through anyone who stood in her way. Her sword was red to the hilt. Her armor was clean, but her face was splattered with blood.
She fought through the last line of knights protecting their king. Her sword parried, thrust, and slashed. Men fell. She stepped over them.
And then she stood in front of Stannis.
He didn't run.
He was too proud for that. He stood facing her, his sword in his hand, his jaw set. His army was being destroyed. His cause was lost.
He sighed. Closed his eyes for a moment. Accepted his fate.
Then he opened them.
He attacked.
Brienne disarmed him with a single, effortless twist of her blade. His sword clattered to the ground. She put her sword to his throat.
"I am Brienne of Tarth," she said. "I was a kingsguard to Renly Baratheon. I was there when he was murdered by a shadow with your face."
Stannis looked at her. His face was calm. He said nothing.
Brienne asked, "Did you murder him? With blood magic?"
Stannis sighed. "I did."
Brienne's voice was steady. "I'm going to take revenge for him now. Do you have any last words?"
Stannis looked around at his army—what remained of it. Bodies everywhere. His banners trampled into the mud and snow. Less than half of his men were still alive.
He looked back at Brienne.
"Tell Shireen," he said, "that what I did can never be forgiven. But still... I'm sorry."
Brienne nodded. "I will tell her your last words."
Stannis closed his eyes. "Go on. Do your duty."
Brienne swung her sword.
Stannis Baratheon's head rolled across the snow. His body crumpled and fell.
Brienne stood over him, breathing hard. Then she turned and walked back toward the others, her face unreadable.
---
Salladhor Saan, the pirate captain who had commanded Stannis's fleet, saw his king fall.
He raised his hand.
"Enough!" he shouted. "We surrender! We surrender!"
His men—what remained of them, about twenty-five hundred sailors—dropped their weapons. They had no loyalty to Stannis's cause. They fought for gold, and gold was useless to a dead man.
Another five hundred of Stannis's own men—those who had been conscripted, who had never truly believed in Stannis's cause—surrendered as well. They threw down their swords and fell to their knees, begging for mercy.
But a thousand men did not surrender.
They were Stannis's fanatics—the ones who had watched him tie his own daughter to a stake. The ones who had lit the torches. The ones who had cheered when they thought Melisandre's false god would give them victory.
They turned and ran.
They ran toward Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, the easternmost castle on the Wall. They ran toward the Bay of Seals, where Salladhor Saan's ships were anchored. They ran to escape.
Jacob watched them.
"Alright," he said. "Time to show you some of my strength."
Jon frowned. "Are you going to kill those who fled? There's no need. They've already given up. They're heading toward Eastwatch. They'll probably leave Westeros."
Jacob shook his head. "If they had surrendered, I would have spared their lives. I would have used them as meat shields in my upcoming wars. And if they survived until I conquered Westeros, I would have rewarded them." His voice hardened. "But they chose to escape. They might go serve my enemies. They might go serve R'hllor." His eyes glowed red. "So it's better to get rid of them now."
Jon opened his mouth to protest.
Jacob cut him off. "Don't bother, brother-in-law. I will not spare those fanatics." He floated up from Shadow's back, his telekinesis lifting him into the air. "Now watch. I'll show you some of my strength."
He flew toward the fleeing thousand.
Jon exchanged shocked looks with Tormund, Davos, Samwell, and Edd. They were shocked to see Jacob fly, but they didn't say a word. They turned to watch what he would do.
---
The fleeing men ran through the snow, their armor weighing them down, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. They looked back over their shoulders, expecting arrows, expecting cavalry, expecting pursuit.
They did not expect a man floating in the air.
Jacob landed in front of them, blocking their path to Eastwatch.
The men skidded to a halt. The front ranks crashed into the back. Confusion rippled through them.
Jacob smirked and opened his mouth.
He unleashed a deafening roar using his dragon shout—Fus Ro Dah.
A destructive force erupted from his throat—a wall of pure, invisible power that slammed into the fleeing men with the force of a hurricane.
The front ranks were obliterated. Bodies flew backward, crashing into the men behind them. Armor crumpled. Bones shattered. Men died before they hit the ground.
More than a hundred men died, and more fell to the ground.
Jacob didn't wait for them to recover.
He raised both hands. Lightning erupted from his palms—not a single bolt, but a storm. Forked arcs of electricity jumped from man to man, cooking them inside their armor, turning the snow beneath them to steam.
Jacob stopped.
A hundred men lay dead again in seconds. The rest stared at him in terror.
He raised his hand again.
The ground beneath the remaining men erupted. Spikes of stone shot upward, impaling soldiers where they stood. Trenches opened, swallowing men whole. The earth itself was fighting against them.
The survivors tried to run—not toward Eastwatch, not anywhere. They just wanted to get away from the monster in front of them.
Jacob opened his mouth.
Dragon fire roared from his throat—not a stream, but a wave. A wall of flame fifty feet wide swept across the battlefield, turning snow to steam, turning men to ash.
When the fire passed, nothing remained but blackened ground and ash.
Jacob looked at the survivors—maybe two hundred men who had been at the edges of the flames and had escaped the worst of it.
He raised his head to the sky and roared. A lightning bolt shot from his mouth to the clouds.
He used his Storm Call ability.
Thunder rolled. Lightning cracked. The clouds above swirled and darkened.
Then the lightning came.
Bolts struck down, each one finding a target. Men were not simply electrocuted—they exploded as the lightning bolts hit them.
Jacob interrupted the Storm Call and didn't let it go on for ten minutes.
When the storm stopped, the survivors—maybe fifty men—stared at the carnage around them. Their comrades lay dead. Their weapons were useless.
They threw down their swords and fell to their knees.
"Mercy!" they begged. "Please, mercy!"
Jacob looked at them with his glowing red eyes. His expression was cold.
He raised his hand and pointed at them and used his telekinesis. Thirty of them exploded into a bloody mist.
Then he lowered his hand and looked at the remaining twenty men.
"Go," he said. "I will not kill you." He turned and began walking away. "Tell others what you saw here. Tell them what happens to those who stand against me. Tell them about the strength of House Alexander. Tell them of King Jacob Flameborn—King of Dragons, Rightful King of Westeros, Protector of Women, the Most Handsome Man Alive, Father of Dragons. Especially the last title. Make sure that everyone in Westeros and Essos knows my title: Father of Dragons."
He flew back toward his horse.
He left them there—twenty broken men. They looked at each other, scrambled to their feet, and ran away as fast as they could.
---
Jon watched.
He had seen the battle. He had seen his sisters fight like monsters. He had seen horses fly, arrows freeze, and lightning come from human hands.
None of it prepared him for this.
Jacob had killed a thousand men in less than a minute. He had done it without breaking a sweat. He had done it like a man swatting flies.
Tormund's face was pale. His hands, usually so steady, were trembling.
Samwell whispered, "He's a monster. Scarier than any dragon I've ever read about or heard of."
Jacob returned and landed on Shadow. His clothes were clean—no blood, no ash, no evidence of the slaughter he had just committed.
He looked at Jon and Tormund. "How was that for a demonstration?"
Jon found his voice. "You killed them. All of them."
Jacob said, "I left twenty of them, didn't you see?"
Jon said, "Was that your mercy?"
Jacob shook his head. "Not at all. I didn't spare them for mercy."
Jon asked, "Then why?"
Jacob shrugged. "Dead men tell no tales. I left a few of them to spread word of what they saw today." He smiled. "I want the world to know my name and the name of my house."
Jon said, "People will either fear you and join you—or, more likely, unite to destroy you and your house."
Jacob said, "It doesn't matter, does it? If they join me, I will welcome them. As long as they follow my laws, they will always be my people. And if they unite to destroy my house..." His smile turned cold. "Well, you know what will happen."
Tormund turned to Jacob. His voice was different now—respectful, almost awed. "You said you wanted the Free Folk. After seeing that... I think they'll follow you. I think they'd be fools not to. I will try my best to convince them."
Jacob nodded. "Good. We'll go see them soon."
---
Back to the Battlefield
The snow continued to fall, soft and gentle, as if trying to cover the blood. But there was too much blood. It would take days of snowfall to hide what had happened here.
Jacob's army gathered the survivors—the three thousand who had surrendered. They were disarmed, bound, and made to sit in the snow. Their faces were blank. Their eyes were empty. They had seen too much.
Allison walked among them, her expression stern. "We do not kill men who surrender," she announced. "So rest assured, you will not be harmed. Now get up and follow us to see your new king."
The prisoners exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they nodded.
She mounted her Nightmare Horse and led the army back to Jacob.
Soon they reached Jacob.
Lydia smiled. "We didn't let any of our soldiers die."
Jacob said, "I saw. And I expected no less from you girls."
Jacob looked at Ōishi. "You guys are more skilled than I thought. You did a good job and didn't embarrass me. As a reward, you can go back to your families and spend a few days with them. When we march to take Winterfell, I will call you back."
Ōishi bowed. "Thank you, Your Grace. We only did our jobs."
Jacob nodded and opened a portal to the temporary village he had built for them in Serendell. "Go. Relax and enjoy life until I call you back."
He looked at Kai. "You can marry Mika and spend a few days with her. We won't be heading for Winterfell for at least a month. I still need to settle the Free Folk somewhere—if they choose to follow me."
Kai said gratefully, "Thank you, Your Grace."
Jacob said, "You're welcome. Now go."
Kai and Ōishi led the samurai and the foot soldiers through the portal to Serendell.
Jacob closed the portal after they disappeared and looked at the three thousand who had surrendered.
They all flinched. Then they sat on their knees and swore allegiance to Jacob as their new king.
Jacob said, "Get up. As long as you follow orders and don't harm the innocent, I won't kill you. If you survive three wars fighting for me, then you will become my people, and I will pay you and reward you generously after we conquer Westeros."
Jacob looked at Chris and smiled. "Chris, they're your problem now."
Chris sighed and looked at the three thousand soldiers. He ordered, "Go back to the battlefield and gather the dead to be burned, and gather the dead horses and butcher them for meat."
The soldiers did as they were told and went back to the battlefield.
Brienne walked to Jacob and said, "Before his death, Stannis asked me to tell Shireen that what he did could never be forgiven. But he was sorry."
Jacob said, "She doesn't need to know. His last words will only break her heart further."
---
Castle Black — Jon's Office
After the new three thousand soldiers had been fed, the wounded had been healed, and the dead were being burned, Allison, Lydia, Malia, Sansa, Victoria, Chris, and Kitty went back to Serendell.
Jacob, Arya, Brienne, Podrick, Jon, Samwell, Edd, Davos, and Tormund went inside Castle Black and sat in Jon's office.
The fire crackled in the hearth. The room was warm.
Arya sat next to Jacob and asked, "What's next?"
Jacob said, "We go north. We find Bran and Benjen and see what the Free Folk decide. Then, depending on their answer, we will decide what to do from there."
Jon stared into the fire. "And the Night King?"
Jacob shrugged. "He can wait. He's been waiting for thousands of years." He looked at Jon. "We will not fight him until we unite the North and create our own kingdom. And we should ask everyone from Westeros to fight him with us when the time comes—even the Lannisters. Not because I need them to win, but because I want them to participate in the war against the Night King."
Jon asked, "Why?"
Jacob leaned back. "There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. If they pay with their blood to gain peace, they will cherish it. They will unite on the idea to never lose it again. And when they see the powers of me and my family, they will willingly choose me as their king because I can protect them. That way, I can conquer them without bloodshed."
Jon said, "I see. But not all of them will choose you as their king. Some of them will see you as the next threat after the Night King is dealt with."
Jacob shrugged. "Then they will only have themselves to blame for what will happen to them."
Jacob then looked at Cogman. "We need to be able to use phones in this world. And we need to be able to monitor the Night King and his army. I don't want him someday showing up west of the Wall with his army without us noticing."
Cogman said, "I will take care of it. I'll go right now and make some satellites to launch in this world. But I need a lot of money to buy materials."
Jacob asked, "Do we have enough money?"
Cogman said, "We have more than enough. But I need to take some gold from the underwater palace."
Jacob waved his hand. "Take it."
Cogman teleported to Serendell. Stiles followed him.
Jacob looked at Jon. "You're not staying here. And after Cogman launches the satellites, there will be no need for the Night's Watch. All the brothers of the Night's Watch can go back to their homes or join my army—except the murderers and rapists. Those will be forced to join my army."
Jon said, "They will not agree."
Jacob's voice was cold. "Then they will die. We can't let them go back to normal life and hurt more people."
Jacob stood up and walked to the door.
Arya said, "Where are you going?"
Jacob said, "Walk around. Then head back home. You and Brienne should stay with Rickon and Shireen in the capsule house. I'll be back tomorrow."
Arya asked, "Can I take Jon there too?"
Jacob said, "Sure."
He left Jon's office and walked outside.
The brothers of the Night's Watch watched him with fear. They parted as he walked past, none of them daring to meet his eyes.
Jacob looked up at the Wall—seven hundred feet of solid ice.
He teleported to the top.
The wind howled around him. He looked north toward the endless white expanse of the haunted forest.
Then, he finally focused at the system notifications.
[System Notification]
[Quest Sign-In: Defeating Stannis and his army, killing Stannis and the Red Woman Melisandre, and saving Princess Shireen — Successful. Do you want to sign in, Host?]
[Location Sign-In: Sign in on top of the Wall. Do you want to sign in, Host?]
'System,' he thought. 'Do both sign-ins at once.'