The morning sun streamed through the windows of Serendell's palace, casting warm golden light across the bed. Jacob stirred slowly, his senses gradually awakening to the soft weight of Lydia curled against his chest.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, careful not to wake her. She murmured something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into his warmth.
Jacob smiled and slipped out of bed with practiced silence. He pulled the blanket up to cover her bare shoulders, then walked quietly to the bathroom.
After taking a shower, he made his way to the dining room, expecting to find his wives gathered for breakfast. Instead, he found only Cogman, who was polishing a silver platter.
"Good morning, sir," Cogman said without looking up. "Lady Malia and Lady Melissa are still asleep. Lady Sansa and Lady Allison are in Westeros."
Jacob nodded and filled his plate with eggs, sausages, and toast.
After breakfast, he walked out of the palace to the garden, feeling bored.
The past four weeks had been busy—visiting the Free Folk, helping Melissa treat the sick, training the army with Chris, taking his wives on dates in both Westeros and Beacon Hills. There had been no shortage of things to do.
But today, there was nothing.
He lay down on the grass, staring up at the sky, and let his mind wander. He thought about the upcoming battle for Winterfell. He thought about the demon in Beacon Hills, still hiding, still waiting.
And then he remembered the wildfire.
The green, volatile substance hidden beneath King's Landing. The same wildfire Cersei Lannister would eventually use to blow up the Sept of Baelor. Thousands of gallons of liquid death, just sitting there underground, waiting.
Jacob sat up, a grin spreading across his face.
"I'm going to take it," he said to himself. "Leave just enough for Cersei to blow up those fanatics. But take the rest."
Just as he stood up, Stiles walked out of the palace, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His hair stuck up in all directions, and he was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with one hand while clutching a bottle of orange juice in the other.
"Where are you going?" Stiles asked around a mouthful of sandwich.
Jacob said, "King's Landing. I'm going to take the wildfire."
Stiles's eyes lit up with excitement. "I'm coming with you."
Jacob shrugged. "Sure."
Stiles's expression grew mischievous. "Can we wear disguises?"
Jacob frowned. "Disguises? Why?"
Stiles smirked. "Because it's more fun that way."
Jacob considered this, then smiled. "Alright. I'm going as the Joker."
Stiles's face fell. "Damn it. I wanted to go as the Joker." He thought for a moment, then brightened. "Okay, I'm going as Ace Ventura. Wait here—I'm going to change my clothes."
Stiles teleported to his room. A few minutes later, he reappeared wearing an open Hawaiian shirt over a white tank top, striped pants, and boots. His face and hair had been transformed by the nano-mask into the features of Jim Carrey from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.
"How do I look?" Stiles asked, striking a ridiculous pose.
Jacob studied him. "Like an idiot." He nodded approvingly. "Perfect."
Jacob had already used his own nano-mask to transform his face and hair into Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight. He was wearing a purple suit, a green vest, and leather shoes he'd pulled from his pocket dimension.
Stiles stared at him. "You look cool, man."
Jacob smiled—a wide, manic grin that was genuinely unsettling. "I know."
---
They teleported to the Game of Thrones world, then Jacob teleported them directly into the underground chambers beneath King's Landing.
The tunnels were dark and damp, lit only by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls.
Jacob led the way through the labyrinth of passageways until they reached a massive chamber filled with barrels under the Sept of Baelor.
Hundreds of barrels filled the space. Thousands of gallons of green, glowing liquid.
Stiles's eyes went wide. "This is a lot of wildfire."
Jacob nodded. "This is what the Mad King was going to use to burn the city."
Stiles walked over to a small jar of the green liquid and picked it up, holding it to the torchlight. The liquid swirled inside, casting strange reflections on the walls. "So this thing is liquid fire, huh?" He tossed the jar casually in his hand.
Jacob snatched it out of his hands with lightning speed.
"Are you crazy?" Jacob hissed. "If you drop that, I'll survive. I'll save you. But the explosion from these barrels—" he gestured to the hundreds around them, "—will kill thousands of people above us."
Stiles's eyes went wide. He backed away from the barrels slowly, his hands raised in surrender. "Right. Okay. No playing with the exploding green stuff."
Jacob stored the wildfire in his pocket dimension. He left only a few barrels scattered around—just enough for Cersei to use when the time came.
"Alright," he said, dusting off his hands. "Let's go."
---
They emerged from the Red Keep and walked into the streets of King's Landing.
The city was bustling with activity—merchants hawking their wares, children running through the streets, nobles in fine clothes being carried in litters. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, sewage, and the faint stench of rotting garbage.
Jacob and Stiles drew a lot of attention with their strange clothes and Jacob's clown face. People stared, pointed, whispered behind their hands. Children laughed. One old woman muttered a prayer.
But the two of them didn't care.
Stiles stretched his arms wide and took a deep breath—then immediately regretted it. "Ugh! This is King's Landing, the capital of Westeros. It's disgusting. It smells like sewage." He looked at Jacob with genuine horror. "You're not going to make this place the capital of your kingdom, are you?"
Jacob shook his head. "No. We'll build a new city."
Stiles asked, "What about this place?"
Jacob's expression was thoughtful. "Well, King's Landing is literally drowning in its own shit. We have to modernize it. First, we install indoor plumbing and actual bathrooms. Second, we lay down a massive underground sewer network to route the waste out of the city. Finally, instead of dumping it straight into the river, we pipe it into a treatment plant to clean the water before it hits the ocean. We should also deal with the trash. That way, we fix the stench, stop filth-borne diseases, and make this place livable."
Stiles shook his head. "That's a lot of work."
Jacob nodded. "Yeah, work that we have to do if we want to build a kingdom."
They kept strolling through the city, chatting idly, taking in the sights and sounds.
They reached the Flea Bottom district, where the stench intensified to almost unbearable levels. Jacob was about to suggest they leave when they heard a woman screaming.
---
The shadows in the back alleys of Flea Bottom remained dark and dangerous despite the morning sun shining brightly overhead.
Four Gold Cloaks had cornered a young woman against a rotting stone wall. She was sobbing, clutching her torn dress, screaming for mercy. The guards only laughed, their hands gripping her shoulders, completely ignoring her cries.
Suddenly, a loud, obnoxious whistling echoed down the alleyway.
"Excuse me! You lowly human scum!"
The Gold Cloaks turned and saw a weirdo wearing strange clothes standing behind them.
Stiles gave them an evil smile and launched himself into a flying kick. His boot connected with the nearest guard's chest, sending him flying into a pile of fish barrels. The barrels exploded, sending fish and seawater everywhere.
Jacob stepped calmly into the alley, a razor-sharp switchblade flicking open in his hand. He looked at the crying woman, then at the stunned guards, and giggled. "Now, now, boys. Is this how King Tommen teaches his soldiers to behave? Where are your manners?"
Before the guards could draw their swords, Stiles appeared next to one of them and delivered a series of rapid slaps to the poor guard's helmet, making a sound like a ringing bell. The guard collapsed, completely disoriented.
The woman, terrified by the arrival of a greasepainted clown in a purple suit and a lunatic in a Hawaiian shirt, screamed even louder. She scrambled past them and fled down the street.
Stiles watched her sprint away, shaking his head. "Well! You're welcome, lady!" He turned to Jacob and said, "She must have been terrified by you, Chuckles."
"People in this world are uncultured. How can she be scared of a handsome clown like me?" Jacob said, walking over to the two remaining standing Gold Cloaks, who were backed against the wall, stunned.
Jacob smiled, his scarred face twisting into something genuinely horrific. "You know... you look nervous. Is it the scars? Do you want to know how I got them?"
The guards drew their swords and stared at him warily, their weapons shaking in their hands.
Jacob used his telekinesis, and the two guards were frozen in place, unable to move.
"You see, my father was... a drunkard," Jacob whispered, leaning in so close his nose almost touched the guard's helmet. "One night, he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So—me watching—he stabbed her with the knife, laughing while he does it! Turns to me, and he says, 'Why so serious, boy?' He comes at me with the knife, 'Let's put a smile on that face!'" Jacob put his knife inside the guard's mouth and suddenly burst into a manic laugh. "Why so serious?"
With two lightning-fast slashes, Jacob left deep, bloody, smiling gashes across the guard's cheeks. He let him drop to the ground, screaming, then kicked him hard in the face, knocking him unconscious.
He turned to the second guard. "Let's put a smile on your face too, since you like to laugh while forcing yourself on women."
He caught the guard's head. The man was frozen with telekinesis, but his body was trembling in fear. Jacob smirked. "Don't be scared. It will end soon, and you will have a smile on your face for the rest of your life."
He slashed the guard's cheeks and released him from his telekinesis. The guard fell to the ground, howling in agony. Jacob knocked him unconscious as well.
"Now, Ace, watch my next magic trick!" Jacob announced, turning to the guard Stiles had knocked into the fish barrels.
As the man scrambled to escape, Jacob grabbed him by the head.
He pulled a small dagger from his sleeve. "I'm gonna make this pencil—pardon me, this dagger—disappear."
With a sudden, brutal jerk, Jacob slammed the guard's head down onto the upturned blade, embedding it deep into his skull. The guard slumped forward, instantly dead. Jacob clapped his hands, bowing. "Ta-da! It's... gone!"
Stiles crossed his arms. "That's an old trick."
Jacob's eyes narrowed playfully. "Not impressed, huh? Alright, do you want to see a human firework?"
Jacob turned to the last remaining, terrified Gold Cloak, who was frantically trying to crawl away. Reaching inside his purple coat, Jacob pulled out a grenade. He pulled the pin with his teeth, spat it out, and forcefully shoved the live grenade straight down the back of the guard's iron breastplate.
He gave the guard a heavy kick to the rear. "Run along now, little bastard! Run! Run!"
The Gold Cloak, having absolutely no concept of what a grenade or a pin was, assumed these two demons had spared him. Terrified out of his mind, he scrambled to his feet and ran down the alley as fast as his legs could carry him.
Three seconds later... BOOM!
A shower of iron armor, body parts, blood, and dirt rained down on the alley. Stiles stared at the smoking crater where the guard used to be, then looked at Jacob.
"You're sick," Stiles said.
Jacob shrugged, wiping a speck of blood off his purple coat, giggling. "Come on! That was a good magic trick! He really went out with a bang!"
Stiles smiled. "By the way, next time, I'll be the Joker."
Jacob said, "Sure. And I'll be Batman."
Just then, the heavy, rhythmic stomping of iron boots echoed from the main avenue. The explosion had alerted every guard in the sector. Dozens of Gold Cloaks were flooding into the alleyway.
"Uh-oh! The local authorities have arrived to critique the performance!" Jacob laughed. "Time to run!"
Stiles didn't move right away. Instead, he dropped into a deep squat, turned his back entirely to the incoming horde of Gold Cloaks, and manually grabbed his own butt cheeks, moving them like lips.
"See you later, loooo-sers!" Stiles said as if he was talking from his ass, then sprinted after Jacob.
The Gold Cloaks came to a halt, their momentum dying as confusion rippled through their ranks.
"Did that little shit just—" one started.
"Use his arse to talk? Aye," another finished, his face pale with disgust. "I think he did."
Their captain shoved past them, his face red with fury. "What are you all standing around for? They killed four of our men, and on top of that, they're mocking us! After them, you idiots! Kill them both!"
The guards snapped out of their stupor and charged forward.
The chase that followed completely paralyzed King's Landing.
Jacob and Stiles tore through the city like a two-man tornado. Stiles ran sideways along the market stalls, tripping Gold Cloaks with loose ropes, dumping crates of live chickens onto their heads, and executing perfect gymnastic flips over charging spears. Jacob moved like a ghost, casually stabbing guards in the gaps of their armor, tripping them into pig troughs, and laughing hysterically as the entire city guard fell into utter, disorganized chaos trying to catch them.
They ran to the massive marble steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, completely outpacing the winded guards. Inside the quiet sanctuary, a few Faith Militant fanatics tried to block their path with heavy wooden clubs.
Stiles asked, "Are these guys good or bad?"
Jacob shrugged. "I have no idea, but they're ruthless fanatics. Deal with them however you like."
Stiles took a giant ceremonial candle, used it like a baseball bat, and cracked two of them across the jaw. "Ouch! That's got to hurt!"
Jacob waved his hand, sending the rest of the Faith Militant crashing into walls and losing consciousness with his telekinesis.
In the center of the Sept, the High Sparrow was deep in a quiet, tense conversation with Lady Olenna Tyrell.
"Your grandson and granddaughter will face the judgment of the Seven, Lady Olenna," the High Sparrow said softly.
"Oh, shut up, you old hypocrite," a voice interrupted.
Olenna's eyes widened as she looked at the two strange men who had appeared behind the High Sparrow.
The High Sparrow turned, only to be grabbed violently by his dirty robes. Jacob pulled the old man close, his painted white face inches away. "Although I like what you did to Cersei and your fight against corruption and prostitution, I really hate hypocrite guys like you."
The High Sparrow tried to act calm, his voice trembling slightly. "My child..."
Jacob said, "I'm not your child. And I really hate your smug self-righteousness."
He began delivering sharp, stinging slaps across the High Sparrow's face. Smack! Smack! Smack!
"And you stink," Jacob yelled, slapping him again. "You need to take a bath, you old bastard."
After a few more slaps, the High Sparrow, completely stripped of his calmness and dignity, shook with absolute terror, whimpering as Jacob slapped him and shook him like a rag doll.
Stiles looked at Olenna and asked, "Chuckles, what about the old lady?"
Jacob dropped the High Sparrow to the ground and looked at Olenna. "Leave her be. She's not an enemy, and she might be an ally later."
Olenna frowned. "Where did you two weirdos come from?"
Stiles immediately smoothed down his hair, puffed out his chest, and walked over to her. He took her wrinkled hand, kissing it with grand, ridiculous theatricality.
"Excuse our rudeness, old lady!" Stiles said, winking aggressively. "I'm Ace." He pointed at Jacob. "And he is the Joker."
Olenna, utterly stunned but amused by the sheer audacity of this brightly colored lunatic, raised an eyebrow. "You still didn't tell me who you really are and where you come from."
Jacob said, "Maybe we will talk another time." He turned back to the High Sparrow and kicked him, "I have no reason to kill you. I just slapped you a few times because I hate people like you. So play dead and don't do anything stupid until we leave, and you might survive today."
He turned back to Olenna. "Excuse us, Lady Tyrell. We have some business to attend to." He started walking toward the back corridors where the dungeons were. "Let's go, Ace."
To be continued... 😊
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