Chapter 177: Sansa's Decision
May 6
Jacob waved his hand, releasing the Vale knights from his telekinetic grip. "Don't do anything stupid. I'm not your enemy. But I will kill you if you attack me. As for Sansa—you don't need to worry about her. I mean her no harm."
The knights looked to their commander, who sighed heavily and said, "Stand down. For now."
Jacob turned to Sansa with a charming smile. "I'm Jacob of House Alexander, King of Serendell, Protector of Women. I am the knight in shining armor—yes, the very one the songs tell about, though I must say the bards failed to capture my handsome appearance properly." He struck a pose. "I mean, look at me. I'm so handsome that when I look into a mirror, my own reflection gets jealous."
Arya snorted.
Sansa's eye twitched. "And what does a king of… Serendell… want with me, my lord?"
Jacob said, "I told you. I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife. And I promise you—I will keep you safe. I will make you strong enough to protect yourself. And I will help you get your revenge."
Sansa's voice was guarded. "What do you really want from me? Is it my name? To conquer the North?"
Jacob shook his head. "No, no. I can conquer the North without you. What I really want is you. I don't care about your name."
Sansa pressed. "Then how about you conquer the North first? Then I will marry you."
Jacob smiled. "No. Marriage first. As for conquering the North… wait until your other sisters get here."
Sansa frowned. "I only have one sister. And I don't even know if she's still alive." Her voice softened. "I hope she is. I really hope she's found a safe place to live. Peacefully."
Arya looked at Sansa but didn't speak.
Jacob chuckled. "Oh, no. I'm not talking about your sister. I'm talking about my other wives."
Sansa's eyes widened. "You have other wives?"
Jacob nodded. "Yes. And I won't lie to you—I will have more in the future. But don't worry. I treat all my wives equally. I treat them like queens. And they won't bully you or scheme against you. They will welcome you into the family with open arms." He smirked. "Actually, I'm more worried about myself."
Sansa's voice was flat. "Having multiple wives is forbidden in Westeros."
Jacob shrugged. "Who cares about that? The strong make the rules. And I will change the rules of Westeros."
Sansa looked at him for a long moment. "And if I refuse to marry you?"
Jacob waved his hand. Sansa flew toward him with a startled scream. He caught her waist, held her close, and looked into her eyes. "Then maybe I will have to kidnap you, beautiful. But don't worry—I will not force myself on you or abuse you. That's not who I am. I will show you how good I am, how good life with me could be, and win your love."
Sansa didn't resist. Her face was unreadable. "I don't have a choice, do I?"
Jacob sighed. "Alright, fine. I will not force you. I can let you go free—but you'll have to go back into hiding. Live in fear. Maybe someone else will sell you to the Boltons. Or the Lannisters." His voice softened. "With me, you don't need to hide. You don't need to live in fear. You don't need to conceal your emotions. You can be yourself. You don't need to scheme to survive or get what you want. You can just live happily and leave the rest to me. And if someone feels unpleasant to you, you just tell me, and I will kill them—but only people who truly deserve to die. I will not kill innocent people. And I can also make you strong. With powers like mine."
Sansa's eyes narrowed. "You mean make me a sorcerer like you?"
Jacob shook his head. "No. I'm not a sorcerer. Where I'm from, there are wizards and witches—but I'm not one. These powers are mine. And there are many people who have powers like mine. Some can change into animals. Some can fly. Some can use fire and ice to attack. Some can control plants." He released her waist. "Tell me, Sansa—do you know about wargs?"
Sansa nodded slowly. "Yes. I've heard stories. People who can enter the minds of animals."
Jacob said, "Those are not stories. That's a real ability. And all the Starks have it. You just haven't awakened yours yet." He stepped back. "Anyway, my powers are like that—they're mine. Sorcerers are just normal humans who usually borrow their powers from another creature. And in exchange, they have to sacrifice humans—or their own bodies—to that creature."
He spread his arms. "Now tell me your choice. Marry me, and I promise—as long as I'm alive—I will keep you safe and happy. Or turn around and leave with the Vale knights. I will not stop you."
Sansa hesitated, her eyes searching his face.
Arya, still wearing her mask, spoke. "You don't have to worry that he will betray you. Unlike others, he really is just here for you. Not your name. Not the powerful houses that would ally with him if you married him. He doesn't need that. He can defeat an army by himself."
Sansa turned to her. "And who are you? One of his wives?"
Arya shook her head. "No. I'm his Kingsguard." She looked at Jacob. "Can I take off my mask now?"
Jacob nodded. "Sure."
Arya removed her mask and smiled at Sansa. "Hello, sis."
Sansa's hands flew to her mouth. "Ar… Arya?" Tears spilled down her cheeks. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her sister, sobbing, her body shaking.
Arya stiffened in surprise—then hugged Sansa back. Despite herself, tears began falling from her own eyes.
Jacob watched in silence. The Vale knights stared in shock, realizing that Arya Stark was still alive.
After a long moment, Sansa and Arya broke the hug. Sansa wiped her tears and smiled.
"I never thought I would see you alive," she said. "But then again—if anyone could survive, it would be you." She took Arya's hand. "How have you been? Since the last time I saw you?"
Arya's voice was quiet. "Not good. But it can't be as bad as you."
Sansa smiled wistfully and said nothing.
Arya asked, "I heard you killed Joffrey. Did you?"
Sansa sighed. "I wish I had."
Arya's expression darkened. "Me too. I was so angry when I heard someone else had done it. However long my list got, he was always first."
Sansa tilted her head. "Your list?"
Arya's voice was cold. "Of people I'm going to kill."
Sansa laughed, thinking it was a joke.
Arya shrugged and laughed too.
When the laughter faded, Arya hugged Sansa again—this time, she was the one who initiated it.
Sansa hugged her back fiercely. "I missed you so much."
Arya's voice was muffled against Sansa's shoulder. "Me too."
They broke apart, and Sansa looked at Jacob. "Who is he? Is he really a king?"
Arya nodded. "He says he's a king. And I believe him." She paused. "But to be honest, we've only known each other for five days. Still, I do trust him. He's an idiot most of the time. He's kind to me. He treats me like a sister—like Jon used to treat me, maybe even better." Her voice dropped. "But I've seen how cruel he can be to his enemies. We killed two hundred Bolton soldiers yesterday."
Sansa's eyes went wide. "Two hundred men? Just the two of you?"
Arya said, "Yes. Well, we had three lizard-lions with us too. But make no mistake—Jacob could have killed those two hundred men alone in a single attack. That's how strong he is."
Sansa stared at Jacob, wide-eyed. Jacob winked at her.
Arya continued. "You can trust him, Sansa. If he wanted to harm you or force you to marry him, he would have done it already. Even if the entire Vale army—with their heavy cavalry—had been with you, they couldn't have stopped him."
Sansa was silent for a long moment. Then she said to Jacob. "What's your goal? What are you planning to do with the North?"
Jacob said, "My only goal right now is to make you my wife. As for the North—I'm planning to take it over and turn it into my own kingdom. Later, I'll probably take over all of Westeros. But I haven't really decided yet."
Sansa looked back at her sister.
Arya nodded. "We're Starks, we look after one another. Trust me, Sansa. Agree to marry him. It will be the best thing that's ever happened to you."
Sansa turned back to Jacob. "You said that you will protect me. That you will give me a happy life. That you are the knight in shining armor." She began, her voice steady. "The songs always forget that knights in shining armor are still men. And men…" She swallowed. "Men lie."
Jacob did not interrupt.
Sansa continued. "Joffrey wore golden armor. He smiled at me, and he gave me roses. And then he had my father's head cut off and made me look at it." Her voice did not break. "Littlefinger cloaks himself in kindness. He tells me he loves my mother. He tells me he wants to protect me. But he was going to give me to the Boltons." She moved closer—not timidly, but carefully, like a wolf testing a trap. "Everyone who has wanted to marry me has wanted to use me. For my name. For my claim to Winterfell."
She stopped a foot from him, her eyes holding his. "So when you say you want to marry me for no reason but me… I want to believe you. Part of me—the stupid little bird who used to live in my chest—she wants to sing again."
She drew a breath. "Arya trusts you. And I want to trust you too. So here is what I will say yes to. I will say yes if you swear that you will never raise a hand to me. Swear that you will never let your family—or anyone else—abuse me or humiliate me. Swear that you see me not as a princess, not as a pawn or a key to a castle, but just Sansa. Swear that if you ever grow tired of me, you will never give me to another man to be used. You will let me go free. Or at least have the dignity to end my life with your own hands."
She paused. "If you swear all of that… then yes, Jacob of House Alexander. Yes, I will marry you. And I will try my best to be a good wife to you. That's the least I can do for saving me from a tragic life with the Boltons."
Jacob met her eyes. "I already promised you. But I'll do it again." His voice was low, earnest. "I swear that I will never raise a hand to you. I swear that I will never let anyone abuse you or humiliate you. I swear that I only want you, Sansa. I don't care about your last name or what it means. If I want the North, I will take it with my own strength."
He smirked and pulled her close, hugging her against him. "And I swear that I will never, ever grow tired of you. As for giving you to another man—that's impossible. I will kill any man who even looks at you the wrong way, let alone give you away." His voice dropped. "When you know me better, you'll understand that I'm a very possessive and jealous man. And you'll laugh when you remember that you thought I might give you to another man."
Sansa did not resist his embrace. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was not. "Then I choose to trust you. And you will be the last man I ever trust." She held his gaze. "Please, do not make me regret it. Because I don't think I can live anymore if I am betrayed again."
Jacob listened to her heart. He knew she was telling the truth. "Don't worry. I will not make you regret being with me. From now on, I will make sure you live a good, happy life."
He kissed her forehead and hugged her tighter. "You've been through so much, haven't you? I'd like to hear your story, if you don't mind. I want to know the names of everyone who wronged you. I will make them beg you not for their lives, but for a merciful death." His voice softened. "And I want to learn about anyone who has been kind to you—so we can repay their kindness."
Sansa finally relaxed. She decided to trust him completely. She hugged him back and exhaled—a breath she felt she had been holding since King's Landing.
Arya smiled. 'Good for her,' she thought. 'I should listen to her story too. I resented her all these years. For her love of Joffrey. I hated her for standing with the Lannisters when they killed Father. I thought she had betrayed our family for her beloved prince.' Her expression softened. 'But it seems I was wrong.'
Jacob broke the hug with Sansa and smiled. "Now, let's play with Littlefinger. He's coming back."
Sansa looked toward Moat Cailin and saw Littlefinger riding his horse fast toward them.
Arya walked to stand beside Jacob and smirked. "Looks like he met your three puppies."
Jacob laughed and focused on the system notification that had just appeared after Sansa agreed to marry him.
[Quest: Saving Sansa Stark from her tragic marriage to Ramsay Bolton – Successful.]
[Do you wish to sign in, Host?]
Chapter 178: The Second Female Knight
May 8
[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 self-proclaimed 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."
Chapter 179: The Confession
May 9
Jacob reached inside Littlefinger's clothes and pulled out a dagger. He drew the blade, examined it briefly, then sheathed it and turned around. He walked back to Sansa and Arya and tossed the dagger to Arya.
"Here," he said. "It's a Valyrian steel dagger called the Catspaw dagger. The same one used in the attempt to kill your brother Bran."
Arya caught the dagger, turned it over in her hands, and nodded. "Thanks." She tucked it into her belt.
Jacob sat back down in his chair, interlaced his fingers, and stared at Littlefinger with cold amusement. The stone chair held the master manipulator tight, his wrists and ankles bound by earthen shackles.
"Now, Littlefinger," Jacob said, his voice calm. "Let's start at the beginning. Tell us everything you did to the Starks. Every. Single. Thing."
Littlefinger's mouth opened. His lips twitched. He tried to form a lie—he could feel it, the familiar taste of deception on his tongue.
Instead, the truth came out.
"I poisoned Jon Arryn."
Brienne, Podrick, and the Vale knights stared in shock.
Sansa went rigid. "What?"
Littlefinger's face contorted. He tried to stop, tried to lie, but the truth kept coming. "I had a long affair with Lysa Arryn. Her son Robin is mine—not Jon Arryn's. But I hate that weak little bastard and his mother. I manipulated Lysa into poisoning her own husband. Then I had her send a letter to Catelyn, falsely claiming the Lannisters were responsible." His voice cracked with desperation. "This isn't me! He's a sorcerer, Sansa! He's using magic to make me say things I don't want to say!"
The Vale knights were even more shocked now.
"Keep going," Jacob interrupted.
Littlefinger tried to close his mouth, but the words spilled out like blood from a wound. "The dagger. The Valyrian steel dagger you just took—it was mine from the beginning. I'm the one who gave it to the assassin to use in the attempt on Bran Stark's life. Then I lied to Catelyn. I told her it belonged to Tyrion Lannister. I knew it would trigger a war between the Starks and the Lannisters."
Arya's hands curled into fists. Her knuckles went white.
"I wanted chaos," Littlefinger continued, his voice rising in panic even as he confessed. "Chaos is a ladder. I needed the great houses to tear each other apart so I could climb."
Sansa's voice was shaking. "You started the war. My father. My mother. Robb. Bran and Rickon. All those people who died… all of them… because of you."
Littlefinger tried to deny it. "No! I loved Catelyn! I never wanted her to die..."
Jacob said coldly. "Continue."
Littlefinger's face was slick with sweat. "Ned Stark. After Robert Baratheon died, I pretended to help him secure the City Watch. But I had already taken Cersei's gold. I bribed the Watch to turn on him. In the throne room…" He swallowed hard. "I held a knife to his throat. I told him, 'I did warn you not to trust me.'"
Arya shot to her feet. Her breathing turned ragged. Her hand went to her new dagger. "I'm going to kill you."
Jacob grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. "Not yet."
"Keep going," Jacob said. "What was your plan in bringing Sansa back to Winterfell?"
Littlefinger was desperate. He looked at Sansa, searching her face for mercy, but saw only sadness. "I arranged a marriage for her with Ramsay Bolton. I knew Roose Bolton murdered her brother. I knew Ramsay was a monster. But I needed the Boltons to control the North through her."
Sansa's face was pale. Tears streamed down her cheeks—but her eyes were no longer soft. They were hardening into something cold and sharp.
"Joffrey," Jacob prompted. "Tell them about Joffrey."
Littlefinger's voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "I was the one who whispered in Joffrey's ear and convinced him to execute Ned Stark. Later, I conspired with Olenna Tyrell. We poisoned Joffrey at his own wedding. I framed Tyrion and Sansa for the murder. Then I played the hero and took Sansa away from King's Landing."
Sansa's voice cracked. "You ruined my life. You used me. You killed people I loved. You started a war that butchered my family. And you did it all so you could climb your ugly ladder."
Littlefinger looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time, he saw no naive little girl. He saw an angry wolf.
"Sansa, please," he begged. "I never meant to hurt you or your mother. I loved Catelyn—"
"Don't," Sansa said, her voice like ice. "Don't you dare say her name."
Jacob leaned back, satisfied. "Now, Sansa. Do you have any questions for him? Anything specific you want to ask?"
Sansa was silent for a long moment. Her tears had stopped. She looked at Littlefinger with hatred and disgust.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I have one question."
She stood and walked toward Littlefinger. She stopped a few feet away, her blue eyes boring into his.
"Did you know that my aunt Lysa was there that day? When you kissed me?"
Littlefinger's mouth opened. He tried to say no. He tried to lie. But the Compulsion held.
"I did know. I wanted her to see," Littlefinger continued, his voice mechanical, stripped of all charm. "I knew it would drive Lysa into a jealous rage. I knew she would try to hurt you. Maybe even kill you. I planned to show up at the right moment, save you by killing her, and then you would help me cover it up. That way, I could smoothly take over the Vale." He paused, then added with horrifying honesty, "And just as I thought, she tried to push you through the Moon Door. I saved you by pushing her instead."
Sansa staggered back and collapsed onto her chair as if she had been slapped.
"You planned that too," she said. "My aunt's death. My near death. All of it. Just another step up your ladder."
Littlefinger said nothing. He couldn't deny it.
Jacob's expression shifted. His easy humor drained away, replaced by something darker.
He turned to Sansa. "He kissed you?"
Sansa's eyes went wide. She saw the cold fury building in Jacob's face and panicked.
"He forced me," she said quickly. "I swear, Jacob. I didn't want to kiss him. I never—"
Jacob caught her hand and kissed it gently. "Relax," he said softly. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at him."
He stood up slowly and walked toward Littlefinger.
"You forced yourself on my woman," Jacob said, his voice low and dangerous.
Littlefinger's eyes went wide with terror. "I only kissed her! I swear! She is still a virgin! I never—"
"It doesn't matter," Jacob interrupted. His smirk was evil now, cruel. "You still forced yourself on my woman." He crouched down to Littlefinger's eye level. "Did you like that? Did you enjoy kissing a scared seventeen-year-old girl, you creepy old bastard?"
Littlefinger wanted to lie. He tried to lie.
He couldn't.
"She is beautiful," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I like her. So why wouldn't I enjoy kissing her?" He swallowed hard. "But as enjoyable as the kiss was, it was only part of my plan. Although I wanted to sleep with her very badly, I couldn't. Not for my grand plan. I had to deliver her as a virgin to the Boltons so she could marry Ramsay. That way, the Boltons would have more northern houses join them, and Stannis Baratheon would go to war with them. I needed both sides to bleed each other dry. Then I would swoop in with the Knights of the Vale, destroy the weakened victor, and rescue Sansa." He met Jacob's eyes, helpless to stop. "That way, I would control the North and earn Sansa's love."
Sansa's face was no longer pale. It was red—with rage.
Jacob smiled. It was not a happy smile.
"I'm going to enjoy what I'm about to do to you."
He pulled back his fist and punched Littlefinger square in the face.
The crack of bone echoed across the mountain. Littlefinger's head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his nose. But Jacob had held back, using only a fraction of his true strength. Enough to hurt. Not enough to kill.
Jacob punched him again. And again. And again.
Each blow landed with a wet, sickening crunch. Littlefinger's nose broke. His lips split. His teeth loosened. Blood dripped down his chin and stained his fine clothes.
Then Jacob stepped back and kicked him in the chest.
The stone chair shattered. The rock shackles crumbled. Littlefinger flew backward, rolling across the ground before coming to a stop several meters away. The kick had broken several of his ribs.
Littlefinger lay on his side, coughing. Blood bubbled from his lips. He was choking on his own blood, gasping for air.
Arya jumped to her feet and started running toward Jacob. She wanted to stop him. She wanted to kill Littlefinger herself. It was her revenge.
Jacob turned to her.
His eyes were glowing bright red.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice deeper than normal, almost monstrous. "I will not kill him. But I need to vent my anger first."
Arya stopped. She looked at his eyes—those terrifying, glowing eyes—and nodded once. Without a word, she turned and walked back to her chair.
She sat down.
Sansa leaned toward her, her voice trembling. "What's wrong with Jacob's voice and eyes?"
Arya shrugged, though her own heart was still racing. "It's part of his abilities. He didn't tell me about it."
Sansa stared at her new husband—at the monster wearing a handsome face—and said nothing.
Jacob walked to Littlefinger, who was still coughing, still bleeding, still gasping. He waved his hand.
White light enveloped Littlefinger's broken body. Bones knitted. Flesh mended. Cuts sealed. Within seconds, Littlefinger was whole again.
He sat up, patting his chest, his face, his nose. All healed.
He looked at Jacob with desperate, pleading eyes. "Please," he whispered. "Please have mercy." He turned to Sansa. "Sansa, please hel—"
Jacob waved his hand again.
Littlefinger flew forward as if yanked by an invisible rope. Jacob caught him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
"I'm a very jealous man," Jacob growled, his voice deep and terrifying. "You not only forcibly kissed my woman. You planned to sell her to the Boltons." He smiled. "So I'm going to make you wish you were dead."
He raised his free hand and curled his fingers into a claw.
Littlefinger's fingers—all ten of them—snapped at once.
Littlefinger screamed. A high, wet, awful sound.
Jacob dropped him.
Littlefinger fell to the ground, cradling his broken hands, sobbing.
Then Jacob raised his boot and brought it down on Littlefinger's groin.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Littlefinger's screams turned into a choked, gasping wheeze.
Jacob raised his boot one more time and stomped down hard.
Littlefinger's testicles and pelvis shattered. His body went into shock. His eyes rolled back. He stopped screaming—he couldn't anymore. He just lay there, twitching, tears streaming down his face.
Podrick winced. He closed his legs so tightly his thighs ached.
Every single Knight of the Vale did the same.
Brienne swallowed hard. She leaned toward Podrick and whispered, "Never look at Lady Sansa the wrong way. Do you hear me? If you do, I won't be able to help you."
Podrick whispered back, his voice barely audible, "Not only will I not look at her the wrong way—I won't look at her at all."
Jacob waved his hand. White light enveloped Littlefinger again. His fingers straightened. His testicles and pelvis healed. He was whole.
Then Jacob stomped on his groin again.
Littlefinger's scream returned—raw, hoarse, broken.
Jacob healed him.
And stomped again.
And healed him.
And stomped again.
Each time, Littlefinger lost consciousness from the pain. Jacob zapped him with a bolt of electricity from his fingertips until he woke up screaming again.
After the tenth cycle, Littlefinger stopped screaming. He stopped begging. He just lay there, sobbing like a child, tears, snot, and blood mixing on his face.
He looked at Sansa—not with calculation, not with manipulation, but with genuine, broken desperation.
"Sansa," he wept. "Please. Please help me. Please."
Sansa looked at him.
Her face was cold. She said nothing.
Littlefinger sobbed harder.
Arya watched with a small, satisfied smile. She wasn't smiling because she was cruel. She was smiling because she had waited years for this—years of running, of hiding, of reciting names before bed. And now, one of those names was weeping on the ground.
'I should beat the others from my list near death and ask Jacob to help me heal them so I can beat them again and again,' she thought. 'Like he just did to Littlefinger.'
After finally venting his anger, Jacob healed Littlefinger one last time and stepped back. He left him lying on the ground—physically whole, but utterly broken.
Chapter 180: The Fall of Littlefinger
May 9
After finally venting his anger, Jacob healed Littlefinger one last time and stepped back. He left him lying on the ground—physically whole, but utterly broken.
Jacob walked back to his chair and sat down. He let out a long breath, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to Arya.
"Arya," he said, his eyes and voice normal again. "He's all yours."
Arya's smile widened. She stood up, cracked her knuckles, and walked toward Littlefinger.
Then Jacob turned to Sansa. His expression softened.
"Sorry you had to see that," he said quietly. "I love my wives and family. I'm very good and tolerant toward them. But I show no mercy to my enemies."
Sansa looked at him—at this strange, arrogant, terrifying, handsome gentleman who had appeared out of nowhere and inserted himself into her life.
She should have been afraid of him.
But somehow, she wasn't. He was even pleasing to her eyes.
"You don't need to apologize," she said softly. "He deserved much worse than that."
Arya walked toward Littlefinger, drawing her Catspaw dagger.
Littlefinger looked up at her—at the youngest Stark, the one he had never bothered to factor into his plans—and saw his death in her eyes.
"Wait," he begged. "Please. Don't kill me." He looked at Sansa desperately. "Sansa, please. I can give you the Vale. I can help you take back Winterfell. I can help you ally with the Tyrells and the Martells. I can help you destroy the Lannisters. I can give you the Iron Throne. Please—"
Sansa interrupted him. "You can't give me anything. And I don't want anything from you, Lord Baelish." She caught Jacob's hand and looked at him with a smile. "If I want something, my husband will give it to me. As for the Iron Throne—my husband said he wants it, and he will be the king of all Westeros. And I believe him."
Jacob just winked at her with a smile and said nothing.
Sansa turned back to Littlefinger. "Your scheming and plans end here, Lord Baelish." Her voice was cold, final. "Arya. Kill him."
Arya crouched down beside him and pressed the tip of her knife against his cheek.
"I will see how many stabs you can take before you die," she said. "Consider each stab is for my parents, my brothers, and every northern man, woman, and child who died in the war you caused."
Littlefinger stared at her in horror. Before he could say anything, Arya stabbed him in the arm—making him scream. Then she kept stabbing. His arms. His hands. His legs. His stomach. She finished with a few quick stabs to his chest and his heart, then slashed his throat.
She sheathed her dagger and watched the light go out of Littlefinger's eyes. Then she stood up.
"Don't worry, Littlefinger," she said quietly. "I will send Cersei and everyone else who wronged my family soon to join you in hell."
---
The Vale knights watched everything in stunned silence. Their leader cleared his throat and spoke carefully to Jacob. "Your Grace, may we leave?"
Jacob nodded. "Sure."
The leader hesitated, then asked, "Will Lady Sansa be staying with you, or will she be returning with us?"
Sansa shook her head. "No. You can go back. I'm staying with my husband and sister."
The leader bowed. "Alright, my lady. Stay safe." He turned to leave with the other knights.
Jacob's voice stopped them. "Wait a moment."
The knights turned. The leader asked, "What can we do for you, Your Grace?"
Jacob's expression was serious. "Tell Yohn Royce everything Littlefinger did. Tell him he manipulated Lysa into killing Jon Arryn, then killed her himself. Tell him that Robin isn't an Arryn—he's the bastard son of Littlefinger and Lysa." He paused. "And tell him that I will visit him soon—with Sansa and Arya. The entire Vale will have to choose: swear allegiance to me as their king, or go to war with me. I don't really care what they choose. I will take the Vale either way. But if they choose war… you know the consequences."
Jacob stomped his foot and used his earth element. Thirty rock golems emerged from the ground, surrounding the twelve knights.
The knights stared at the stone monsters around them in fear. Their leader swallowed hard. "I… I will tell Lord Yohn Royce everything you said, Your Grace. As for what he will decide… that's not up to me."
Jacob nodded. "Alright. You can leave."
He was about to make the golems disappear, but Arya spoke up. "Jacob, can I fight your rock puppets?"
Jacob paused. "Sure. Go ahead. But be careful—they're strong."
Arya smirked and attacked one of the golems. Jacob ordered it to fight back.
The rock golem's fist clashed with Arya's. The golem's fist cracked. Arya was sent flying backward, hit the ground, and rolled several times before she stood up. She clenched her aching fist and smiled excitedly.
She attacked again.
She managed to break the first golem's rocky arm. Jacob didn't bother to strengthen it. Arya only had beta werewolf strength, so he didn't give the golems too much energy—just enough to be almost as strong as a beta werewolf. Let Arya enjoy her fight.
Arya was fast, but the golems attacked together. Although they were slightly weaker than her, with thirty of them, she was getting beaten badly. But she didn't give up. She kept fighting and managed to destroy two of them.
The Vale knights, Sansa, Brienne, and Podrick watched in shock. The fight between Arya and the golems was terrifying. Every time Arya's fist or kick clashed with the golems, it sounded like thunder.
The knights swallowed hard, exchanged fearful glances, then mounted their horses and whipped them hard, fleeing as fast as they could.
Jacob hugged the stunned Sansa from behind and whispered in her ear. "Don't be too shocked. I will make you strong too. Strong enough to fight an army of knights—or even wyverns, or what you call dragons—and win with ease."
Sansa turned excitedly to Jacob. "Really?"
Jacob smirked. "Really."
Sansa realized her face was so close to Jacob's that her nose was touching his. She blushed and turned back to watch Arya fight the golems.
Jacob just smiled, rested his chin on her shoulder, and watched with her.
After a while, Arya lay on the ground, exhausted. She had destroyed ten more golems. Jacob made the rest melt back into the earth.
He released Sansa, waved his hand, and a fire serpent burst from his palm, burning Littlefinger's body to ash.
He stored the three chairs back in his pocket dimension, then took Sansa in his arms again, wrapped everyone in his telekinesis, and teleported to the gate of Moat Cailin.
When they reappeared, Sansa was dizzy but didn't fall—Jacob was still holding her.
Brienne and Podrick fell to the muddy ground.
Arya managed to stay standing, but barely. She looked at Jacob. "Can you warn me next time you use your tele-whatever ability?"
Jacob ignored her and looked at the three lizard-lions, who had spotted him and were moving toward him with excitement.
Sansa saw them and screamed. She hid behind Jacob and peeked out. "Oh my God! What are those?"
Brienne and Podrick scrambled to their feet. Brienne drew her sword. "Those are lizard-lions. But I've never heard of them being this big."
Jacob raised a hand. "Everyone, relax. They're just my sweet pets."
Sansa stared. "Pets?"
Jacob nodded and walked toward the three lizard-lions. They stood on their hind legs and awkwardly raised their front legs near their heads—a salute.
Jacob saluted back. "Nice. Your salute is almost perfect. Now I only need to teach you to walk upright and ask Cogman to make you suits and sunglasses. Then you'll be my bodyguards." He looked at Arya. "What do you think? It took me a lot of food and effort to teach them that. But they look cool saluting me, right?"
Arya shook her head. "No. They look scary and creepy. What's next? Are they going to talk?"
Jacob laughed. "I wish."
He looked back at the three lizard-lions. "You boys did a good job scaring Littlefinger. So I will reward you with a feast. But first…" He pointed at Sansa behind him, then at Brienne and Podrick. "Don't attack them. They're my people."
The three lizard-lions lowered themselves and studied Sansa and the others, memorizing their faces. Then they looked at Jacob expectantly.
Jacob smiled and bought enough Sea King meat and Sker Buffalo meat from the system store to fill the bellies of the three giant creatures. He tossed it to them. "Remember—don't fight."
The three lizard-lions ate without fighting.
Jacob turned to Brienne and Podrick, who were still dirty from the mud. He cast a cleaning spell on them, then handed them water bottles, bread, fruits, and four rotisserie chickens.
"This is your lunch and dinner," he said. "Find a place to stay in this castle tonight. Sansa, Arya, and I will be staying in the round white house inside the fortress. You'll know it when you see it—it's hard to miss. We'll see you tomorrow."
Brienne took the food. "Thank you, Your Grace. We will keep watch tonight. If anything happens, we'll let you know."
Jacob nodded, hugged Sansa, placed his hand on Arya's head, and teleported them in front of the capsule house.
He opened the door and smiled at Sansa. "Welcome home."
Sansa stared at the beautiful house—nothing like she had ever seen before. Then she looked at Jacob. "Just who are you really? And where did you come from?"
Jacob held the door wider. "Come on in. I'll tell you everything."
Arya bounced excitedly. "Can we watch The Lord of the Rings again? I want her to see Boromir."
Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that going to make her sad? Even you—who pretends to be a tough girl—cried when you saw him."
Arya shrugged. "Well, Boromir is the spitting image of him. I couldn't help it. And I think Sansa will be sad, but she will want to see him again—even though it's not really him."
Sansa looked between them. "Who is this Boromir you're talking about?"
Arya smiled. "You'll see him soon. Don't be too shocked."
Jacob sighed. "Fine. We'll watch The Lord of the Rings again. Now let's go inside."
He cast a cleaning spell on all three of them, and they entered the house.
Jacob and Arya gave Sansa a tour, explaining everything about the house—the lights, the refrigerator, the television. Then Jacob told her that he was from another world.
They sat at the table, and Jacob pulled out all kinds of food from his pocket dimension—pizza, burgers and fries, cooked steaks, salads, fruits, and sodas.
Arya ate happily. Sansa tried everything, surprised and delighted at how tasty it was.
When they finished eating, Jacob gave Sansa some of his clothes—sweatpants and a hoodie—to change into. Arya took her to a room upstairs, and they both changed.
Jacob changed into comfortable clothes too. Then the three of them gathered in the living room.
Jacob put on The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring and sat in the recliner. He opened his arms to Sansa. "Come sit with me."
Sansa blushed—but she walked to him and sat with him in the recliner. He hugged her close.
Arya sat on the couch alone, not caring about them. The three of them watched the movie together.
Chapter 181: Sansa's Story
May 11
As they started watching the first movie of The Lord of the Rings, Boromir appeared on the screen. Sansa froze. Her hands flew to her mouth. She began crying, her body trembling in Jacob's arms.
"That's not your father," Jacob explained gently. "That's just an actor—or what you call in your world a mummer. His name is Sean Bean. In my world, he plays characters in movies and shows. A movie is what's playing now on TV—it's a story recorded with a special device called a camera. I'll show it to you later. It's like a mummer's show, but recorded." He paused. "There are many worlds—like yours and mine. You could probably find someone who looks exactly like you or people you know in other worlds. Sean Bean just happens to look and sound like your father. He has nothing to do with him."
Sansa nodded, wiping her eyes, but she couldn't stop staring at Boromir. Younger than her father had been, but the same face. The same voice. The same sadness in the eyes.
Then Boromir died—pierced by arrows, trying to protect the hobbits—and Sansa broke down completely. Not quiet tears this time. Real, heaving sobs.
Arya cried too, though she tried to hide it by pretending to rub her eyes. Jacob just held Sansa tighter and said nothing.
When the movie ended, the room fell quiet except for the soft hum of the television and Sansa's occasional sniffles.
Jacob looked down at her. His expression was soft, but his eyes were serious.
"I hate to do this to you right after you cried," he said, "but can you tell me what happened to you in King's Landing?"
Arya sat up on the couch. Her face was serious. "I want to hear it too."
Sansa looked between them. Jacob's arm was still around her, warm and solid. Arya was watching her with an intensity that said she was ready to kill anyone who had ever wronged her sister.
She took a deep breath.
"I was so naive back then. So stupid. Unlike Arya, I was the good girl—the proper lady. I did everything I could to be what my mother wanted me to be." Sansa's voice was soft, distant, as if she were speaking about someone else. "When we left Winterfell, I was so happy. I was going to marry a prince. I was going to be a queen. I thought King's Landing would be like the songs. I thought Joffrey was the true knight I'd always dreamed of." She laughed bitterly. "But he was just a demon who turned my dream into a nightmare."
She paused, collecting herself. "I didn't see what he really was—not at first. Even after he had my wolf, Lady, killed… even then, part of me still wanted to believe there was good in him. I wanted to be his queen. I even lied and let my own sister down so I wouldn't ruin my engagement to him." She looked at Arya. "Sorry about that, by the way."
Arya sighed. "It's alright."
Sansa continued. "Not long after we arrived at King's Landing, the nightmare started with my father's arrest. 'Traitor's daughter'—that's what they called me. Cersei tried to manipulate me into believing Father was a traitor and that the only hope for his survival was for me to write a letter to Robb telling him to swear fealty to Joffrey. Naive and stupid as I was, I never believed her. I knew Father was no traitor—he was an honorable man. But to save him, I wrote the letter. I believed Robb would never fall for such an obvious lie."
Her voice trembled. "The day of the execution, the Lannisters made me stand on that platform with them against my will and made it look like I was there by choice. Cersei convinced me that if I publicly begged for mercy and Father confessed to his alleged false crimes, Joffrey would be merciful and let him live."
She swallowed hard. "I had an agreement with Cersei and Varys. I don't think they lied about that agreement, but they didn't account for Joffrey's recklessness and stupidity. Or Littlefinger's manipulation, as we learned today. The agreement was for Father to be sent to the Night's Watch—not executed. But Joffrey suddenly ordered the execution. I screamed. I fought to reach Father, but I was held back by the Kingsguard. That was the moment my naive world officially ended."
"After they killed Father, Joffrey made me walk out onto the bridge and look at his head on a spike. He told me he'd give me Robb's head next. Every day after that was a trial. If Joffrey was bored, he had his Kingsguard beat me. A knight named Meryn Trant would strike me in the face or stomach with his sword while the whole court watched. They stripped me in the throne room—in front of everyone. Just to shame me."
Arya's voice was cold. "Meryn Trant. He's on my list."
Sansa touched her cheek absently, as if she could still feel the sting. "I was alone in a city full of enemies. And the boy I thought loved me made sure I knew I was nothing."
Jacob's arm tightened around her. His jaw was tight. His eyes flickered red for just a moment before he controlled himself. "Too bad that little shit Joffrey is dead, or I'd make him beg for a merciful, quick death. But Meryn Trant will get what he deserves for beating and humiliating you," he said.
"Did anyone else hurt you?" he asked. "I want names."
Sansa's voice grew steadier. "Cersei. She was worse than Joffrey in some ways. She never hit me—not with her hands. But her words…" She shuddered. "She would smile at me while telling me how my mother was probably dead. How my brothers were probably dead. How I was a fool for ever believing in love or honor. She made me undress in front of her while she inspected me. She made sure I knew I was a hostage, not a guest. That my only value was as a womb to carry Lannister children."
She paused. "Tyrion was kind to me. He never hurt me. He never even looked at me the way other men did. He was the only Lannister who treated me with basic human decency. He intervened to stop Joffrey's public beatings, and after our forced marriage, he never laid a hand on me."
Sansa looked at her sister. "Do you remember what I was like before? All the songs and the stories and the silly dreams about handsome princes?"
Arya nodded slowly.
Sansa smiled—a small, sad smile. "I hated you for calling me stupid. For saying I was blind. But you were right. I was stupid. I was blind. And I paid for it."
Arya's voice was softer now. "Well, you were just a little girl back then. But don't worry, sister." She nodded toward Jacob. "I think you finally found your handsome prince. And I think this one is a good one."
Sansa turned back to Jacob with a smile. "I think so too."
Jacob kissed her forehead.
Sansa sighed and continued her story. "When Joffrey decided to marry Margaery Tyrell instead of me, I was so happy. I thought I was free. I thought he would send me back to Winterfell—or at least let me live quietly somewhere away from him. I remember I couldn't control myself. A laugh escaped my mouth. I had to quickly hide my happiness."
Her voice hardened. "But Littlefinger didn't let me enjoy that happiness—not even for a moment. He appeared before me. He told me Joffrey would never let me go, even after he married Margaery. That he would keep me in King's Landing forever—as a plaything. That he would still visit my bed and abuse me whenever he wanted, still have his guards beat me, or marry me off to someone cruel." She swallowed. "And I believed him. Because I already knew Joffrey was a monster. Why wouldn't he do that?"
She paused. "I naively thought Littlefinger was a friend. So when he offered to take me away, I went. I had no one else—no family, no allies. Just a man who said he loved my mother and wanted to protect me." Her voice dropped. "But it turned out he was the worst of them all."
Jacob asked, "Anyone else?"
"Margaery was kind to me," Sansa said with a bittersweet shrug. "She gave me cakes and spoke of sisterhood. I know she was just trying to use me—to get me to marry her brother so the Tyrells could control the North—but it was still nice to have a friend, even a fake one. Myrcella and Tommen never actually hurt me."
She thought for a moment. "Myrcella and Tommen were just children… they were the only ones in that city who smiled at me and meant it. They didn't inherit any of Joffrey and Cersei's cruelty. Myrcella was a sweet, gentle girl, and Tommen reminded me of my brother Bran." She paused again. "And there was the Hound. Sandor Clegane. He was a monster to everyone else, and to be honest, he creeped me out too. But he was the only one who told me the truth. He frequently insulted me, called me a 'little bird' who only sang what she was told—but I think he did it to toughen me up so I could survive. He saved me from being raped and probably killed by a mob during a riot in King's Landing. He cut through the attackers and carried me back to safety. And during the Battle of the Blackwater, he came to my room—drunk and terrified of the fire—and offered to take me to Winterfell. But I was too scared of him to go."
She exhaled. "That was my life there. Until I escaped in Joffrey's wedding chaos with Littlefinger's help."
She fell silent.
Jacob pulled her closer. "You're safe now."
Sansa pressed her face into his chest. "I know."
Arya stood from the couch. She walked to the recliner and, without asking, squeezed in next to Sansa.
"I'm sorry," Arya said quietly. "I hated you from the day I saw you standing with the Lannisters when they killed Father. I'm sorry for thinking you betrayed our family and chose them over us."
Sansa wrapped an arm around her sister. "I'm sorry too. For not defending you when you needed me. For lying to King Robert. For being mean when we were kids. For calling you Horseface."
Arya snorted. "You called me Horseface because you thought it hurt my feelings. It didn't. I always knew I was prettier than you."
Sansa laughed—a real laugh. "You are not."
"Am too."
"Are not."
Jacob watched them bicker, a small smile on his face. Then he looked at the TV, then back at the sisters.
"So," he said, "should we watch the second Lord of the Rings movie—The Two Towers? Or do something else?"
Sansa looked at Arya. Arya looked at Sansa.
"Let's watch the movie," Arya said.
Sansa nodded. "Yes. I want to see how the story ends. You said there are three movies. Let's watch them all."
Jacob grinned. "Alright." Then he glared at Arya. "Arya, go back to the couch. I want to snuggle with Sansa."
Arya hugged Sansa tighter. "You go to the couch. I want to hug my sister. I haven't seen her in years."
Sansa smiled. "How about we all stay like this?"
Jacob snorted. Arya smirked.
And the three of them settled in, pressed close together, and started watching the next movie.