Chapter 202: Chapter 202: Stannis’s End
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.
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, 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, Stiles, Cogman, 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.’
To be continued... 😊
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