Allison, Victoria, Brienne, and the Starks had been traveling for three weeks.
The North was vast, and traveling from one house to another took days. The roads were frozen, the winds were brutal, and the snow never seemed to stop falling.
In those three weeks, they had visited several smaller houses loyal to the Starks. Each visit followed a similar pattern: cautious greetings, tense negotiations, and ultimately, acceptance. One by one, the northern houses pledged their allegiance to King Jacob of House Alexandre. They had seen the Starks alive, had heard of the dragons and the army, and had made their choice.
The last house they visited was House Glover at Deepwood Motte. To everyone's surprise, the Glovers agreed to join Jacob's kingdom. Benjen had spoken to them with the weight of his years and reputation, making it clear that the Boltons were going to be destroyed. The Glovers weren't stupid—they chose the winning side.
Now, Allison and her group were heading to Bear Island, the ancestral home of House Mormont.
---
The Spread of News
While Allison and the Starks traveled, the news of King Jacob and House Alexandre spread across Westeros like wildfire.
It started with the twenty soldiers Jacob had spared after the Battle against Stannis. They had fled south in terror, their minds shattered by what they had witnessed. Some of them were so frightened that they told everyone they met about Jacob, afraid that he might find them if they didn't spread the news.
"There is a monster coming for everyone from the North!" one of them had burst into a tavern at White Harbor, shouting at the top of his lungs. "He calls himself King Jacob Alexandre! He killed a thousand men alone in a moment! He summons lightning and flew through the air! He breathed fire like a dragon!"
"His wives are just as bad!" he continued, grabbing a startled man by the collar and shaking him. "They cut through our army like we were nothing! They have powers—magic, sorcery, something!"
The patrons of the tavern had stared at him in stunned silence. Then the whispers had started, and the stories had begun to spread.
The brothers of the Night's Watch added their own accounts to the growing legend. They had seen Jacob at Castle Black. They had seen him defeat Stannis and his army with ease. They had seen his powers and the powers of his army. They had seen his nightmare horses and his massive army training near Castle Black every day.
They sent ravens south, their words carrying the weight of eyewitness testimony. The stories grew as they spread, each telling adding new details, new exaggerations. By the time they reached the southern kingdoms, King Jacob Alexandre had become a legend—a figure of terror and fascination.
Some said he was a dragon in human form. Others claimed he was a demon. A few whispered that he was the chosen one, destined to unite Westeros and bring peace to the land.
The truth, as always, was somewhere in between.
---
Winterfell — The Boltons
The great hall of Winterfell was cold, despite the roaring fire in the hearth. The ancient stones seemed to absorb the warmth, leaving the air chill and damp. Roose Bolton sat in the high seat, his eyes fixed on the raven scroll in his hand. His face was as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in his shoulders that betrayed his unease.
Ramsay stood beside him, his posture casual but his eyes sharp.
"This came this morning with a raven from Castle Black," Roose said, handing the scroll to Ramsay. "The rumors we heard a few days ago are true. A new king has risen in the North."
Ramsay read the scroll, his lips curling into a sneer. "This can't be true. I mean, it is acceptable to believe that this new king defeated Stannis. And that he has an army of wildlings. But they say he has a dragon and can defeat a thousand men alone. They say he can fly through the air and breathe fire. These rumors must be an exaggeration—a lie."
Roose nodded slowly. "I agree. Stannis's army was broken, starving. Anyone could have defeated him. And sure, this new king could have the wildlings fight for him. But everything else is probably a lie."
Ramsay's eyes narrowed. "Do you trust the man who sent you this news?"
Roose's expression was flat. "Not really, no."
Ramsay laughed—a harsh, mocking sound that echoed through the hall. "Then it's probably just this new king trying to make a name for himself by spreading fake stories about himself."
Roose's voice was measured, cautious. "Still, we need to prepare for war." He handed another scroll to Ramsay. "Sansa Stark is the wife of this King Jacob. And worse, the scroll says that the other Starks—Arya, Brandon, Rickon, the bastard Jon, and even Benjen—are with him. They went to recruit northern houses to join him."
Ramsay took the scroll and read it, his expression darkening. "That's going to be a problem."
Roose nodded grimly. "Indeed. The Starks are still remembered in the North. They could help him rally the North against us. We need to be ready for the worst."
Ramsay's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The two hundred men we sent to Moat Cailin? They never reported back. When I sent some men to check on them, they reported back that they didn't find anyone in Moat Cailin—only a few discarded weapons. It must be this new king's doing."
"Who knows?" Roose said, his voice flat. "Anyway, the Karstarks are probably the only house that will side with us. As for the other northern houses, most of them will probably turn on us."
Ramsay scoffed. "They wouldn't dare. I'll flay them all if they—"
"What you need to do now is prepare the defenses," Roose interrupted, his voice sharp. "If this king comes, we need to be ready. We have only five thousand men. This king have an army of thirty thousand. And if he truly has a dragon, we have a bigger problem than a few rebellious lords."
Ramsay's face flushed with anger, but he held his tongue. He knew better than to argue with his father when he was in this mood.
Roose continued, his voice cold and calculating. "Send ravens to the Karstarks and the other houses. Ask them to send men to defend Winterfell. Also send ravens to the Freys. We need to know where they stand. And send a raven to King's Landing. They need to know what's going on and send us help."
Ramsay nodded, his jaw tight. He turned and strode out of the hall, his boots echoing on the stone floor.
---
King's Landing — The Red Keep
Lady Olenna Tyrell sat in the garden of the Red Keep, a letter in her hand, her sharp eyes scanning the words. She had come to King's Landing because both of her grandchildren—Margaery and Loras—had been captured as prisoners by the High Sparrow. The situation was dire, and she was running out of options.
Her useless son, Mace Tyrell, sat across from her. He had not been sent to the Iron Bank yet—Cersei had gotten busy with Margaery and the High Sparrow and had forgotten about him after Jacob had taken Meryn Trant. His face was pale with worry, his hands trembling slightly.
"Mother," Mace said, his voice strained. "What does it say?"
Olenna set down the letter, her expression unreadable. "It says a new king has risen in the North. A king with strange powers, an army of wildlings, and—if the rumors are true—a dragon."
Mace's eyes widened in disbelief. "A dragon? There are no dragons in Westeros. Not since the Targaryens."
Olenna's voice was flat. "That doesn't mean a dragon couldn't appear."
Mace shook his head stubbornly. "It's probably just a lie."
Olenna snorted, her eyes flashing with irritation. "The world is full of surprises. And didn't you hear? There are three living dragons in Essos belonging to a Targaryen girl."
Mace coughed awkwardly. "Mother, tell me about this new king."
Olenna leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "He calls himself Jacob Alexandre. His sigil is a black dragon's head on a crimson field. He defeated Stannis. He brought the Free Folk south of the Wall. And he has an army of thirty thousand." She chuckled dryly. "And apparently, he is a romantic. He has more than one wife."
Mace's voice trembled. "What should we do?"
Olenna's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "For now, nothing. We wait. We watch. We see what this new king does next."
"But what if he marches south?" Mace asked.
Olenna's voice was cold and sharp. "Then we will have to decide whose side we're on. But for now, we do nothing. We let the North deal with its own problems." She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "We have bigger problems in our hands. We need to free Margaery and Loras. They are our future."
---
King's Landing — The Red Keep
Cersei Lannister sat in her chambers, a glass of wine in her hand, a satisfied smile on her lips. The High Sparrow had arrested Queen Margaery Tyrell, along with her brother Loras. The Tyrells were in chaos, and Cersei had finally gained the upper hand.
Then Qyburn entered, his face grave.
"Your Grace," he said, his voice low. "I have news from the North."
Cersei's smile faded. "What news?"
Qyburn's expression was troubled. "A new king has risen. A king with strange powers. His name is Jacob Alexandre. He defeated Stannis Baratheon. He brought the Free Folk south of the Wall. And he has an army of thirty thousand men."
Cersei's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Strange powers?"
Qyburn nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. And I think the man we saw in the council chamber—the one who took Ser Meryn—I believe he is Jacob Alexandre."
Cersei's grip tightened on her wine glass, her knuckles white. "The sorcerer?"
"The same," Qyburn said. "He has Sansa Stark with him. Taking over the North is only a matter of time with her and his thirty thousand-man army. He is a threat, Your Grace."
Cersei's voice was cold, her eyes burning with barely contained fury. "What are his powers?"
Qyburn hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I have reports from the soldiers who survived the battle against him. They say he can fly. They say he can kill a hundred men with a wave of his hand. They say he has a dragon."
Cersei scoffed, but there was a hint of unease in her voice. "A dragon? There are no dragons in Westeros."
"They are just rumors, Your Grace," Qyburn said carefully. "But the soldiers who survived from Stannis's army are terrified. They speak of him as if he were a demon."
Cersei's jaw tightened. "Is the little whore Sansa Stark really with him?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "She is his wife."
Cersei's eyes flashed with anger. "The little bitch. She's been hiding all this time, waiting for her chance." She stood and paced the room, her heels clicking on the stone floor. "Haven't you found Baelish yet?"
Qyburn shook his head. "No. He disappeared after leaving the Vale, Your Grace."
Cersei's voice was venomous. "That bumbling bastard has either betrayed me and joined the sorcerer, or he is dead."
Qyburn said, "I'll keep looking for him, Your Grace."
Cersei stopped pacing, her expression hardening. "We need allies. We need gold. We need to crush this threat before it grows."
Qyburn asked, "What do you suggest?"
Cersei's voice was sharp and commanding. "Send word to the Boltons. Tell them we will offer them gold, supplies, and even men if they can hold the North." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "And send word to the Iron Bank. We need more gold."
"Of course, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "And what of the dragon?"
Cersei's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe he has a dragon. But even if he does, it must be a small one." She looked at him, her gaze piercing. "Did you find a way to deal with the Targaryen whore's dragons yet?"
Qyburn smiled, a hint of pride in his voice. "Yes, and I'm very close to finishing it. I call it the Scorpion. I promise you are going to be satisfied with it, Your Grace."
Cersei nodded. "And what of Myrcella? Any news?"
Qyburn's expression grew more serious. "I already hired some sellswords, but they haven't captured Tyene Sand yet, Your Grace."
Cersei's voice was cold. "Let me know when they catch her."
---
Meereen — The Great Pyramid
Daenerys Targaryen sat on her throne, her silver hair gleaming in the torchlight. Tyrion Lannister stood beside her, his wine glass in his hand. Grey Worm and Missandei stood nearby, their faces calm and attentive.
They had been discussing the fighting pits. Daenerys had agreed to reopen them, though she was uneasy about the decision and didn't like it at all. The compromise had been necessary, but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Then a soldier entered, bowing low. "Your Grace, a red priestess has arrived. She says she has urgent news for you."
Daenerys frowned. "A red priestess? From where?"
"She did not say, Your Grace. She only said she must speak with you."
Daenerys exchanged a glance with Tyrion. Then she nodded. "Let her in."
The soldier left, and a woman entered.
She was beautiful, with dark hair and green eyes. She wore red robes, and a golden choker inset with a glowing ruby around her neck. Her name was Kinvara, and she moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
She bowed, her movements graceful. "Your Grace. I am Kinvara, the first servant of the Lord of Light. The High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. I have come from Volantis to warn you."
Daenerys's eyes narrowed. "Warn me of what?"
Kinvara's voice was calm, but there was something dark lurking beneath the surface. "A great enemy is waiting for you in Westeros. A man who calls himself King Jacob. He has gathered an army of wildlings and northerners. He has strange, dark powers."
Daenerys looked at Tyrion, who shook his head slightly, indicating he didn't know what Kinvara was talking about.
Kinvara continued, her voice growing more intense. "He is not just a conqueror. He is a sorcerer. A demon. He has aligned himself with forces that would destroy the world. He is an evil that must be stopped."
Tyrion stepped forward, his voice dry and skeptical. "Forgive me, but I just arrived from Westeros and have never heard of this King Jacob."
Kinvara's expression didn't waver. "He just appeared in the North a month ago. He defeated Stannis Baratheon and conquered the Free Folk, bringing them south of the Wall."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "He just appeared from thin air?"
"We don't know where he came from," Kinvara admitted.
Tyrion's voice was sharp. "Then how do you know this 'King Jacob' is evil?"
Kinvara's gaze fixed on him, her eyes burning with conviction. "The Lord of Light revealed his true nature to me in the flames. And what I saw is a man who would drown the world in blood and darkness." Her voice softened, becoming almost seductive. "But there is hope." She turned to Daenerys. "You, Daenerys Stormborn, are the hero who will save this world from him. The flames have shown me your destiny. You will defeat him and claim the Iron Throne."
Tyrion chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, you claim to know the future, but you can't tell us where this King Jacob came from?"
Kinvara's voice remained calm. "I don't claim to know everything. I only know what the Lord lets me see in the flames."
Tyrion pointed to a torch by the wall. "Then go see where that king came from in that flame. We are waiting."
Kinvara's calmness wavered for a fraction of a second. Then she said, "That's not how it works."
Tyrion's voice was sharp. "If I recall correctly, there was one of you counseling Stannis Baratheon, saying he was the chosen one of your Lord. But you just said he died. Was your Lord wrong?"
Kinvara's expression remained serene. "The Lord never makes mistakes. But men and women do."
Tyrion nodded slowly. "I see. Then how do we know you didn't make a mistake too? How do we know this King Jacob isn't an evil demon like you said, but just a man who has enmity with you and your faith? How do we know you aren't trying to use us to get rid of him? Why should we trust you?"
Kinvara's eyes shifted from Tyrion back to Daenerys, completely ignoring him. Her voice was smooth, almost hypnotic. "You do not need to trust me, Lord Tyrion. You only need to trust the destiny that has been written for your Queen."
Tyrion took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Daenerys leaned forward on her throne, her expression unreadable. "Tell me more about this King Jacob."
Kinvara's voice was calm, measured. "He is younger than you. He has strange powers. He can defeat a thousand men by himself, and his wives and family are no less powerful than him. And he has horses that breathe flames."
Daenerys raised a brow. "Wives?"
Kinvara nodded. "He has more than one. And he probably aims for you too, as he calls himself the Father of Dragons."
Tyrion chuckled, looking at Daenerys. "My Queen, it seems tales of your beauty have spread to Westeros. Even this King Jacob is smitten and gave himself a false title just to match yours."
Daenerys smiled slightly, but Kinvara cut in, her voice sharp. "It's not a false title. He is unburnt like your Queen, and he has a dragon."
Daenerys stopped smiling, her expression hardening. "That's impossible."
Kinvara's voice remained calm. "Everything is possible, Your Grace. Everyone thought dragons were extinct until you hatched not one but three of them."
Daenerys's voice was sharp. "How big is his dragon?"
Kinvara's expression was thoughtful. "I've heard it's very large. But I think people have never seen dragons before, so they exaggerated its size. It should be a young dragon, only three or four years old. If it were really big, people might have seen it years ago."
Daenerys asked, "Is this man Jacob a Targaryen?"
Kinvara shook her head. "No, Your Grace. He has dark hair, and he calls himself Jacob Alexandre."
Daenerys looked at Tyrion. "Have you ever heard of House Alexandre?"
Tyrion shook his head. "No."
Daenerys looked back at Kinvara, her expression unreadable. She had dealt with warlocks before. She was not about to be tricked or believe another one.
"And what is it that you want from me, Kinvara?" Daenerys asked directly, her tone cool and commanding. "You didn't travel from Volantis to Meereen just to deliver warnings out of the goodness of your heart. What do you seek?"
Kinvara bowed her head slightly, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "The one who calls himself King Jacob is a threat to the world, and the Lord of Light wants me to help you defeat him. As a servant of the Lord, I wish to see His will fulfilled. I am here to offer you my help. I will send hundreds of my priestesses and priests to Westeros. They will spread your name to the smallfolk. They will tell the world that Daenerys Stormborn is the protector sent to save them from the darkness. They will rally the common people to your cause, helping you defeat this Jacob and sit upon the Iron Throne. And I will personally guide you, protect you, and help you fulfill your destiny."
Daenerys stayed silent for a long moment, weighing the offer. An army of red priests spreading her name could be useful, but fanaticism was a dangerous fire to play with—even for a dragon.
"You offer a powerful gift," Daenerys said, her voice polite but distant. "But I must discuss this with my council before making any alliances with your temple. I will think on what you have said. You may leave us now."
Kinvara's smile did not fade. She bowed low, her red robes sweeping the stone floor. "The flames do not lie, Your Grace. We await your word."
With a final, lingering look at Tyrion, she turned and walked out of the throne room, her confidence unshaken.
Once the heavy doors closed behind the priestess, Daenerys exhaled a long breath and turned her gaze to her Hand.
"What do you think, Tyrion?" Daenerys asked.
Tyrion walked closer to the throne, swirling the remaining wine in his cup. His face was deeply troubled. "I think she's either sincere or a very good liar. But I don't trust her."
Daenerys's brow furrowed. "Why not?"
Tyrion's voice was sharp. "Because anyone who claims to know the future is either deluded or dangerous. And the red priests have their own agenda. They want power—the same as everyone else."
Daenerys's expression was thoughtful. "But what if what she said is true? What if there is a new king in Westeros?"
Tyrion nodded slowly. "I think this 'King Jacob' must be real. The Red Temple has spies and informants in every port. If they say a man has defeated Stannis Baratheon and marched an army of wildlings south of the Wall, it is because it actually happened. We cannot ignore him."
He paused, shaking his head firmly. "But I do not believe for a single second that he is a demon. To people like her, anyone who doesn't bow to their Lord of Light is branded a demon. I know what Stannis Baratheon's red priestess did on Dragonstone. She didn't use holy magic—she used terror. She burned loyal lords and innocent people alive on the beaches simply because they refused to convert to the Lord of Light. I do not trust Kinvara, and I do not trust her intentions. She wants to use your dragons to fight her holy war."
Daenerys's voice was thoughtful. "And what about what she said about him having a dragon? And what about his strange powers?"
Tyrion shook his head. "That's highly unlikely. Dragons haven't been seen in Westeros for over a century. And a man who can kill thousands with his bare hands? That's the stuff of legends."
Daenerys's expression was troubled. "But what if he really does have a dragon? What if he is a threat?"
Tyrion shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Then he is a threat we will deal with when we reach Westeros." He paused, his smile widening. "And if everything she said was true and we can't defeat him, you can always marry him."
Daenerys glared at him. "What?"
Tyrion's voice was calm, reasonable. "It's better than losing the war and dying. At least if you marry him, you will still be queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
Daenerys's voice was sharp. "You mean one of the multiple queens of the Seven Kingdoms."
Tyrion nodded. "It's still better than dying or trusting the Red Temple. But I only said if we can't win against him. We will try to win first. We will only talk about marriage if we have no hope of winning."
He took a sip of his drink and continued, "But for now, we have more immediate problems. The Sons of the Harpy are still a threat. We need to stabilize Meereen before we can even think about the Iron Throne."
Daenerys nodded slowly. "You're right. We focus on Meereen. We crush the Sons of the Harpy. And then, when the time is right, we go to Westeros."
Tyrion raised his wine glass. "To the future."
Daenerys glared at him. "I told you to stop drinking."
Tyrion took another sip, his expression innocent. "I did. This is just watered wine."
To be continued... 😊
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