Chapter 178: Chapter 178: The Second Female Knight
[Quest: Saving Sansa Stark from her tragic marriage to Ramsay Bolton – Successful. Do you wish to sign in, Host?]
’System, sign in.’
[Quest Sign-In Successful. Rewards Obtained:
1️⃣ Compulsion Ability (The Vampire Diaries / The Originals): Lock eyes with a target and give a verbal command they cannot refuse.
Note: Does not work on supernatural creatures with powerful mental resistance.
2️⃣ The Cookpot of Perfect Meal: A cast-iron pot that can cook enough delicious food for twenty people. It requires no fire—simply add good ingredients with the right amount of seasoning, and the pot will cook the meal perfectly on its own. Never burns, never undercooks, never needs stirring. Also cleans itself.
3️⃣ Snowmobile]
Jacob read the first reward, and his eyes lit up. ’Great. I was about to torture Littlefinger to make him confess his crimes, but I don’t need to do that anymore. With the Compulsion ability, I’ll just let him spill all his secrets.’
He read the second and third rewards and smirked. ’Love the Cookpot. Can’t wait to try cooking in it. As for the snowmobile... I guess it could be useful. Maybe I’ll take Sansa on a date and we’ll ride through the snow.’
Jacob dismissed the notifications and looked down the mountain toward Moat Cailin. Littlefinger was already riding back toward them.
---
A Few Minutes Earlier — At the Gate of Moat Cailin
Littlefinger’s horse galloped down the rocky slope, heading straight for the ancient fortress below. His mind raced faster than the hooves beneath him.
’Where did that sorcerer come from? I’ve never seen or heard about the sigil on his chest. And that girl in the mask—she moved way too fast. Like nothing I’ve ever witnessed.’
He gripped the reins tighter. ’But it doesn’t matter. I’m alive. I chose to leave. He kept his word. Now I just need to reach Winterfell. Get the help of Roose Bolton. Come back. Eliminate him. Rescue Sansa. She’s too naive. She’ll believe whatever lies I tell her about why I ran. I can’t lose her if I want to sit on the Iron Throne. She is the key to the North.’
A small, cold smile crept onto his face. ’Yes. I’ll tell her I ran to gather an army. That I never abandoned her. That I love her. That I was coming back for her the whole time. She’s just a scared, naive little girl. She’ll believe me. Like she always does.’
Soon, Moat Cailin’s south gate came into view.
Littlefinger’s smile evaporated.
Three massive lizard-lions lounged directly in front of the gate. The smallest was easily twenty-three feet long. The largest looked like something out of a horror story—thirty feet of armored scales, teeth the size of daggers, and eyes that tracked his movement with cold, predatory intelligence.
Littlefinger pulled hard on the reins. The horse reared, nearly throwing him.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no..."
The largest lizard-lion—Bowser, though Littlefinger didn’t know that—lifted its massive head and let out a deep, rumbling hiss. The sound vibrated through Littlefinger’s chest like a war drum.
The other two rose to their feet.
Littlefinger’s horse panicked. It spun, bucked, and tried to flee back the way it had come. Littlefinger clung to the reins, his knuckles white, his carefully constructed composure cracking like thin ice.
"Easy," he breathed. "Easy..."
The smallest lizard-lion—Wally Gator—took a lazy step toward him.
That was all it took.
Littlefinger’s horse bolted. It spun around and galloped back toward the mountain he had just left, nearly throwing him twice. Mud splattered Littlefinger’s fine cloak. Somewhere behind him, he heard the deep, rumbling hiss of the creatures.
’He knew,’ Littlefinger realized, his mind scrambling to piece it together. ’The sorcerer knew those beasts were there. He knew I would run toward Moat Cailin. He never intended to let me escape. He just wanted to humiliate me first.’
His horse stumbled. He nearly flew over its head but managed to stay on.
’Think, Petyr. Think. You’ve survived worse. You’ve talked your way out of death before. You can do it again.’
But for the first time in years, Littlefinger’s mind came up empty.
---
Present — Back on the Mountain
Jacob looked at Littlefinger, who had just returned, his face pale, his fine clothes splattered with mud.
Jacob smiled. "Why did you come back? Did you regret your decision and decide to man up—give up your life to save Sansa?"
Littlefinger’s chest heaved. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. His voice, when it came, was strained—but still controlled. Still calculating.
"No," he said carefully. "I met three... creatures at the gate of Moat Cailin. I barely managed to escape." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew I could never truly escape from you."
Jacob shrugged. "I never asked you to escape toward Moat Cailin. You decided that on your own. You could have run south." He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "So don’t blame me for your bad luck."
Littlefinger’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. He was a master of the game. He had played lords and ladies, kings and queens. He had outmaneuvered the most powerful men in Westeros. He could outmaneuver a boy.
"Then are you still going to keep your word?" Littlefinger asked carefully. "You swore you would let me leave if I chose to leave. I chose. I left. Your word is your bond—isn’t it?"
Jacob shook his head slowly. "Sorry. You wasted your chance. You came back. Now you have to stay and confess all your crimes." He glanced at Sansa, then at Arya. "I’m sure my wife and sister-in-law would really like to hear what you have to say."
Littlefinger’s face went through several expressions in quick succession—confusion, calculation, cold fury, and then, finally, a flicker of genuine fear.
Then his eyes landed on Arya standing beside Jacob. He stared at her.
The short hair. The sharp eyes.
"You..." Littlefinger breathed. "You are Arya Stark."
Arya smirked, slow and dangerous. "Hello, Littlefinger. We haven’t seen each other since Harrenhal." Her eyes narrowed. "I heard you were the one behind the death of my father."
Sansa’s head snapped toward Arya. "What? Is that true, Arya?"
Arya nodded, her eyes never leaving Littlefinger’s pale face. "Yes. Jacob told me. And I believe him."
Littlefinger’s voice rose, sharp and desperate. "He is lying! I loved your mother! I respected your father!" He looked at Sansa desperately. "Sansa, you know me. You know I would never harm you. I saved you from King’s Landing. I risked my life to hide you..."
Jacob interrupted, his voice calm and cold. "I believe your exact words when you betrayed Ned Stark—when you sneaked behind him and put a knife to his throat—were: ’I did warn you not to trust me.’"
Littlefinger went white. Whiter than the snows of the far North.
He knew then. He didn’t know how the boy knew—but he knew. There was no talking his way out of this. No scheme. No lie. No betrayal he could spin into an advantage. He was caught. And if he didn’t escape, he was going to die.
From Littlefinger’s reaction, both Stark girls knew that Jacob was telling the truth. Sansa was shocked. Arya was boiling with anger.
Littlefinger whipped the reins of his horse, trying to flee.
Jacob simply waved his hand, using his telekinesis to snatch Littlefinger from the horse and drop him to the ground. The horse kept galloping away.
Jacob then took three chairs from his pocket dimension. "Sansa, Arya, sit. I’ll be right back." He looked at Arya. "If Littlefinger tries to run, break his legs."
Arya sat down with a smirk. "It would be my pleasure."
Sansa took her seat. "Where are you going?"
Jacob turned and looked toward a distant ridge. "There are two guys watching us from that mountain. They’ve been there for a while. I’ll bring them here." He disappeared.
Sansa looked around, then at Arya. "Where is he?"
Arya teased, "You just accepted being his wife, and you’re already worried about him?"
Sansa’s cheeks flushed. "No, no, it’s not like that... I just... I want to know how he disappeared."
Arya shrugged. "That’s one of his abilities. And he’ll be back—"
Jacob reappeared with two figures, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground.
Arya finished, "—see? He’s back."
The two figures were a tall, strong blonde woman with short hair wearing steel plate armor, and a short man wearing leather armor. The woman was Brienne of Tarth. The man was her loyal squire, Podrick Payne.
Podrick looked around, bewildered. "How did we get here?"
Sansa’s eyes widened. "Lady Brienne?"
Brienne stood and looked at Jacob warily, then at Sansa and Arya. She didn’t speak to them—she looked back at Jacob and drew her sword.
Jacob looked at Sansa. "Do you know her?"
Sansa nodded. "Yes. She found me a few days ago. She told me she had been my mother’s sworn sword. Before my mother died, she swore an oath to her—to find me and keep me safe."
Arya added, "I met her before too. She said the same thing to me."
Jacob ignored Brienne and walked toward Sansa, passing close to the armored woman. "Put your sword away. If you attack me, you’re only going to get yourself hurt."
Sansa spoke quickly. "Lady Brienne, put your sword away. Jacob is my husband."
Jacob sat on the chair between Sansa and Arya and caught Sansa’s hand. "I know I was gone for only a second, but did you miss me?"
Sansa blushed. "No."
Jacob kissed her hand. "Really? I missed you terribly. I thought you missed me too."
Sansa’s blush deepened. She tried to pull her hand away. "Let go of my hand. People are watching."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Seriously, you two? I thought you had changed, Sansa, but apparently not. You’re still a lovesick fool." She gave Jacob a look. "And you’re corny."
Jacob said, "Shut up, you stupid kid."
Arya snorted.
Jacob looked back at Sansa and smiled. "Now, where were we?"
Sansa said, "You were about to release my hand."
Jacob did not release her hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. "I wasn’t going to do any such thing."
Brienne watched the exchange, then walked in front of Sansa. She laid her sword on the ground at Sansa’s feet. "Lady Sansa, I offer my services once again. I swear I will shield your back, keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be."
Sansa looked at Jacob. He nodded. "I know she’s trustworthy, and one of the strongest warriors in Westeros." He looked at Brienne and released a fraction of his dragon aura, focused solely on her. "But first—I know you’re no traitor. You’re an honorable woman. But are you sure you can protect my wife? Even from the man who gave you that sword? If you had to choose between his life and Sansa’s, are you sure you could always choose Sansa?"
Brienne shivered under Jacob’s aura—but she met his eyes without hesitation. "I will always protect Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. I will gladly give my life for theirs if need be. As for Jaime Lannister, who gave me my sword—you don’t need to worry about him, my lord. He swore an oath to free the two Stark girls and return them to their mother. He swore he would never take up arms against House Stark or House Tully again. But by the time we returned to King’s Landing, Lady Arya was gone, and Lady Sansa was already married to Tyrion. He couldn’t help her—or he couldn’t find a way. And shortly after we returned, Joffrey died, and Sansa vanished. He couldn’t keep his promise to Lady Catelyn. Since Jaime had lost his sword hand and could no longer fight or travel easily, he gave me his Valyrian steel sword and he gave me armor and entrusted me to carry out the task of finding and protecting Lady Sansa and Lady Arya in his name."
Jacob’s voice was cold. "You still haven’t answered my question. All of Westeros knows that Jaime Lannister is an oathbreaker. What if he breaks his oath again and tries to harm Sansa or Arya? Would you protect them from him? Would you take his life to save theirs? Or would you let him kill you instead of fighting back?" He paused. "Think carefully before you answer."
Brienne did not hesitate. "He will not break his oath, my lord. But if he did... then he would no longer be the man I admire. I would fight him with all my strength. I would kill him if I can, or die trying. I will never give up. I will never let him kill me without a fight."
Jacob listened to her heart. She wasn’t lying. He smiled and restrained his aura. "Alright. Sansa doesn’t need your protection—but you can serve her if she wishes. As for Arya, she’s my Kingsguard. She doesn’t need your protection or your service."
He looked at Sansa. "I will make you strong. You won’t need anyone’s protection. The choice is yours—you can accept her service if you want. And I think you should."
Sansa nodded. She turned to Brienne. "I swear that you shall always have a place by my hearth... and meat at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor."
Jacob let go of Sansa’s hand. He stood and faced Brienne. "Stand up. I don’t like people kneeling. From now on, don’t kneel again."
Brienne stood.
Jacob asked, "You’re not a knight yet, are you?"
Brienne shook her head. "No, my lord. Women can’t be knights."
Jacob smiled. "That’s an old-fashioned tradition. Now that you’re serving my wife, that means you’re one of my people. I’m going to knight you—if you’d like."
Brienne asked cautiously, "Can you tell me first who you are, my lord?"
Arya sighed. "Oh no, here we go again."
Jacob cleared his throat loudly and dramatically. "I am Jacob of House Alexander. King of Dragons. King of Serendell. Also future King of Westeros. And King of Harems and Protector of Women. And—let us be honest with one another—the most handsome man alive."
The twelve Vale knights, Podrick, and even Littlefinger heard his arrogant self-introduction. They were deeply offended—and every one of them wished they could teach him a lesson.
Sansa murmured, "King of Harems? He didn’t say that before..."
Arya said, "You added a few titles again. And when you say ’King of Dragons,’ do you mean your three swamp puppies?"
Jacob ignored Arya. "My house words are ’Family First.’" He paused, smiling warmly. "That sounds warm, I know. A bit soft. A bit ’let us hold hands and sing by the fire.’ But let me clarify."
The smile vanished. Jacob released a little bit of his aura again—and this time, everyone felt it. The horses froze in fear. The Vale knights went rigid. Littlefinger and Podrick both went pale. Even Brienne’s hand trembled on her sword.
"Family First means I love my family. And I will kill—and destroy—anything that tries to harm them. I do not care if it is one person or a million. I will slaughter anyone who threatens my family. Without mercy."
Arya, who had felt his dragon aura before, wasn’t scared. "Jacob, stop. You’re scaring your new wife."
Jacob looked at Sansa—pale, shivering. He restrained his aura and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Sorry about that. I got a little carried away." He walked to her and pulled her into his arms. "But imagine if I released my aura in a room filled with the lords of the North. Do you think they would surrender without a fight?"
Sansa calmed down. "Probably not. They’d be scared of you, sure—but that would only make them try harder to get rid of you. They’d call you an evil sorcerer or something."
Jacob shrugged. "Well, if they want war, then war they’ll get, I guess. That’s more fun anyway."
He released her from his hug and turned back to Brienne. "Do you want to become the second female knight in Westeros, or not?"
Brienne asked, "Who’s the first?"
Arya smirked. "Me."
Brienne looked Arya up and down, then back at Jacob. "You know being a knight isn’t child’s play, right?"
Jacob smiled. "Then how about you spar with her?" He looked at Arya. "Make it quick."
Arya stood from her chair and walked in front of Brienne. "Let’s spar. You can use your sword and all your strength."
Brienne said, "Alright. I’ll play with you. But where’s your sword?"
Arya said, "I don’t need it. I’ll only use my dagger. Now attack—or I will."
Brienne drew her sword and attacked, intending to place the blade near Arya’s throat to end the fight quickly. But Arya sidestepped, caught Brienne’s arm, flipped her in the air with ease, and slammed her onto her back on the ground.
Sansa’s eyes went wide. The Vale knights, Littlefinger, and Podrick stared in shock.
Arya smirked down at Brienne. "Be more serious. If we were fighting for real, you’d be dead by now."
Brienne rose, her expression now focused. "Alright. I’m sorry I underestimated you. Let me see how strong the first female knight in Westeros really is."
She attacked again—cautiously at first, using only the flat of her blade, not wanting to hurt Arya. But soon she realized she couldn’t even touch her. Arya was too fast.
Brienne grew serious, swinging with all her might. Arya drew her combat knife and blocked every strike with ease. Then she decided to end the fight—she knocked the sword from Brienne’s hand and pressed her knife against Brienne’s throat.
Arya smiled. "You lost."
Brienne smiled back. "I did." She tilted her head. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Arya sheathed her knife. "Here and there."
Brienne asked, "And your strength? It’s impossible for someone your size to have such raw power."
Arya grinned. "That’s a secret." She returned to her chair.
Brienne walked to Jacob. "Your Grace, I ask for the honor of being made a knight."
She started to kneel. Jacob stopped her. "I already told you not to kneel. Kneeling is reserved for God alone. And I’m not a god—I’m just a creature of flesh and blood, like you."
Brienne straightened. "Then what should I do?"
Jacob said, "Place your right hand over your heart."
Brienne placed her hand on her heart. Jacob drew his sword and tapped the flat of the blade once on her right shoulder, once on her left.
"I charge you to act with courage when even brave men are scared. I charge you to be just—to judge with your head, not your heart. I charge you with mercy when mercy is needed."
He lowered the sword and smiled. "Congratulations. Now you are a knight. Ser Brienne of Tarth."
Brienne’s jaw trembled. She did not cry—but pride and honor shone in her eyes. She nodded, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Jacob sheathed his sword and waved a hand. "You can call me by my name. You only need to call me ’Your Grace’ or ’my king’ during formal meetings—with other lords or something like that. And one more thing: you only need to be loyal to Sansa, me, and our family. I will not restrict you if you want to hold land, marry, or have children. That’s an old, stupid tradition too."
Brienne said, "Thank you, Your Gr..."
Jacob interrupted. "I said call me Jacob."
Brienne shook her head. "I can’t do that, Your Grace. Please allow me to call you ’Your Grace.’"
Jacob sighed. "Fine. Do as you please."
He turned and walked slowly toward Littlefinger, an evil smile spreading across his face.
Littlefinger, still on the ground, began backing away in fear. His hands scraped the dirt. His eyes were wide.
Jacob used his earth element. A stone chair rose beneath Littlefinger, and stone shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles.
He walked to him and stood in front of him.
"Now, Littlefinger," Jacob said. "Look at me."
Littlefinger raised his head—and met Jacob’s glowing red eyes.
He froze.
Jacob activated his new Compulsion ability. "From now on, you will answer every question we ask you truthfully. You will not lie. You will only answer truthfully."
To be continued... 😊
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