Teen Wolf: Dragon Among Wolves

Chapter 198: Chapter 198: Reunion with Jon

The south gate of Castle Black groaned open, its iron hinges protesting the cold.

Jon Snow didn’t wait for it to fully open. He squeezed through the gap and walked into the snow, his black cloak billowing behind him.

The three riders approached slowly. The first was a girl with short hair and a fierce face that Jon would have recognized anywhere. The second was a boy, sitting astride a black direwolf that was nearly as large as a horse. The third was a young woman with blue eyes and long, flowing red hair, wearing a dark blue gown with a sigil Jon didn’t recognize on her chest.

The three of them dismounted.

Arya didn’t walk. She ran.

She crashed into Jon like a small missile, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Her shoulders shook. Her hands gripped his cloak like she was afraid he would disappear.

Jon held her tight. His eyes were wet.

”I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered.

Jon’s throat tightened. ”I’m glad you’re alive too. I thought you were dead. I thought you were all dead.”

”We’re not dead. We’re here.” Arya said.

Rickon walked up next, slower, more hesitant. Shaggydog padded behind him.

Jon pulled back from Arya and looked at his youngest brother. His face broke into a smile.

”Rickon,” he said. ”Look at you. You’ve become a man.”

Rickon smiled, though his eyes were wet. ”I’ve grown.”

He stepped forward, and Jon pulled him into a hug. Shaggydog sniffed Jon’s hand, then licked it, tail wagging.

Then Sansa.

She stood a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression uncertain. She didn’t know what to say to him. The last time they had seen each other, they had been children—and she had been mean to him.

He stepped toward her. ”Sansa.”

She hesitated. Then Jon closed the distance and pulled her into his arms.

Sansa stiffened for a heartbeat—then she wrapped her arms around him.

They stood like that for a moment.

Finally, Sansa pulled back and wiped her eyes. She looked at Jon and smiled.

”You’ve become a beautiful lady,” Jon said. ”Like you always wanted to be.”

Sansa laughed. ”I wanted to be a queen. I didn’t know what that meant back then.”

Jon’s smile was soft. ”And now?”

Sansa glanced back at Jacob, who was still mounted on Shadow, watching from a respectful distance. ”Now I’m a queen anyway.”

Jon followed her gaze. ”Who is he?”

”My husband,” Sansa said.

Jon studied Jacob for a moment—the dark scaled armor, the red cape, the sigil of the black dragon, the massive black stallion beneath him, a beast that breathed steam like a dragon.

”He looks... dangerous,” Jon said.

Sansa smiled. ”He is. But not to us.”

Sansa’s smile faded. ”Jon, I need to apologize. For how I treated you. For calling you half-brother. For making you feel like you didn’t belong.” Her voice cracked. ”I was cruel. I was stupid. And I’m so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Jon shook his head. ”There’s nothing to forgive. We were children.”

Sansa’s tone turned playful but demanding. ”That’s not good enough. Forgive me.”

Jon blinked. ”What?”

”Forgive me,” she repeated, a hint of her old stubbornness creeping into her voice. ”I won’t feel better until you say it.”

Jon stared at her for a moment—then laughed. A real laugh, warm and genuine.

”You are forgiven,” he said.

Sansa hugged him again. ”I’m really glad to see you alive and well.”

Jon hugged her back. ”I’m glad to see all three of you alive and well.”

Arya and Rickon joined the hug. The four Starks stood together in the snow, holding each other, letting the years of separation and grief and fear finally drain away.

---

They broke apart when Jacob’s army began to arrive.

The ground trembled. Horses’ hooves pounded against the frozen earth. Banners snapped in the wind.

Jon watched them move in perfect formation: samurai in red armor with gleaming swords atop powerful horses. Behind them, foot soldiers marched in step, their spears rising and falling in unison.

And at their head, the young man on the black stallion.

Jacob dismounted and walked toward them.

Sansa stepped forward and took his hand. ”Jon, this is my husband. Jacob.”

Jacob extended his hand. ”Nice to meet you, Jon.”

Jon shook it. Jacob’s grip was firm—but not crushing. His eyes were warm, not cold.

”Likewise,” Jon said.

Jacob broke the handshake and looked toward Stannis’s camp. His expression hardened.

”I’d love to chat,” he said, ”but right now I’m busy. I have a princess to save and a witch to kill.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. ”You’re here for Stannis?”

Jacob turned to Jon. ”No. I’m here for you and the Free Folk. Stannis is just a bug I’m going to step on.”

”Jay!” Lydia called out from her horse.

Jacob’s head snapped toward Stannis’s camp. He heard Shireen screaming—begging her parents not to burn her. His eyes glowed red—bright, burning, inhuman—making Jon take an involuntary step back.

”I heard,” Jacob said, his voice low.

Victoria dismounted and walked to Jacob’s side. ”Take me with you. I want to see what kind of mother would burn her own daughter alive.”

Jacob nodded. He looked at Ōishi. ”Ōishi, get your men ready for war. I want to see what you guys are capable of.”

Ōishi bowed. ”Right away, Your Grace.”

Jacob looked at Kai. ”Use your supernatural powers. Don’t hide them.”

Kai nodded. ”I will, Your Grace.”

Jacob looked at Victoria. ”Ready?”

She nodded.

”Alright,” Jacob said. ”We’ll be right back.”

He and Victoria vanished.

Jon stared at the empty space where they had been.

”Sansa,” he said slowly, ”is your husband a sorcerer?”

Sansa smiled. ”No. He’s not a sorcerer. He’s someone with supernatural powers.” She paused. ”So am I. And Arya.”

Jon’s eyes widened. ”What?”

Arya smirked. ”I can fight an army of a thousand people alone and win. I can even turn into a wolf.”

Jon’s voice was tight. ”Aren’t you just witches with magical powers?”

Allison dismounted and walked over.

”No,” she said. ”Witches borrow their power from other creatures—demons, spirits, or things like that. Our powers are innate. They come from our own bodies.” She met Jon’s eyes. ”We’re supernatural creatures.”

Jon asked, ”Are you not human?”

Allison shrugged. ”Not anymore, I suppose.”

She jumped.

Straight up.

She landed on the battlements above the gate—thirty feet in the air—as easily as if she had stepped off a curb.

Jon’s mouth dropped open.

Malia jumped up beside her. Then Lydia teleported to stand between them. The three girls stood on the battlements, their eyes glowing—Allison’s and Malia’s red, Lydia’s white—all staring toward Stannis’s camp.

The few brothers of the Night’s Watch on the battlements backed away in fear.

Jon turned to his sisters. ”Seriously. Who are these people? Where are they from?”

Sansa smiled. ”Jacob will explain everything later.”

Arya said, ”By the way, we came here to take you home. You’re not staying in this frozen wasteland.”

Jon shook his head. ”I can’t leave. Someone has to guard the Wall. Someone has to keep the things beyond the Wall from coming south.”

Arya said, ”You’re talking about the Night King and his army.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. ”How do you know about them?”

”Jacob told us,” Arya said. ”And we’ll deal with them when he says so.” She crossed her arms. ”Believe me when I say they’re not a problem.”

Jon’s voice was sharp. ”You haven’t seen them. They’re hard to kill. They—”

Arya cut him off. ”And you haven’t seen our powers.” She gestured to Allison, Malia, and Lydia on the battlements. ”Each of Jacob’s wives is terrifyingly strong. Including Sansa. And Jacob is even stronger than all of them combined. He’s a monster. A true monster. You’ll be shocked when you see his powers, and when you find out what he really is.”

Jon caught something. ”Wait. Wives? He has more than one?”

Arya nodded toward Allison and the others. ”Those three and Sansa are his wives. And there’s another one who isn’t with us.” She smiled at Jon. ”Are you jealous, brother?”

Jon stammered. ”Wh-what? No... No, of course not.”

Sansa smiled. ”Don’t worry. We’ll find you a few good wives if you want. Jacob said he’ll change the rules of Westeros after he takes over. Men will be able to marry multiple wives if they choose.”

Jon stared at her. ”And you’re... happy? Sharing your husband with other women?”

Sansa’s smile didn’t waver. ”I’m more than happy.”

Jon looked at Arya.

Arya shrugged. ”I don’t understand love and marriage. And we both know Sansa is a lovesick fool.” She paused. ”But I can tell you she’s happy. That I’m sure of.”

Sansa changed the subject. ”Anyway, we have some good news.”

Jon looked at her. ”What good news?”

Sansa’s voice softened. ”Bran is still alive. He’s beyond the Wall.”

Jon’s breath caught. ”What?”

Arya added, ”And Jacob said Uncle Benjen is still alive beyond the Wall too. Though he’s cursed by the White Walkers’ dark ice magic. He needs to be saved.”

Jon’s face changed. Joy, hope, disbelief—all of it flickered across his features.

”Bran?” he said. ”Uncle Benjen? They’re alive?”

Sansa nodded. ”Yes. We’ll go get them after we deal with Stannis.” Her voice turned firm. ”After that, we’re going to Winterfell. And you’re coming with us. Don’t think you can stay here at Castle Black.”

Jon opened his mouth to argue.

Sansa raised a hand. ”Don’t. You’re our brother. You belong with us. Not freezing on a wall at the edge of the world.”

Jon looked at her—at this woman who had been a vain, selfish girl when he last saw her, now standing before him like a queen.

”Alright,” he said quietly. ”I’ll come.”

Sansa smiled.

---

Stannis’s Camp — The Clearing

The clearing was a nightmare.

A hundred stakes had been driven into the frozen ground, forming a rough semicircle around a central pyre. Wood was piled at the base of each stake—dry wood, soaked in oil, ready to catch.

Men were tied to the stakes. Some wept. Some prayed. Some screamed.

One man was not screaming.

Davos Seaworth stood tied to his stake, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the figure being dragged toward the empty stake at the center of the clearing.

Shireen.

The princess was struggling against the two knights who held her arms. Her small boots kicked at the frozen ground. Her voice was high and terrified.

”No! No! Let me go! Please!”

The knights ignored her. They tied her to the stake with thick ropes, pulling them tight across her chest, her waist, her wrists. Shireen’s face was white with terror.

”Father!” she screamed. ”Mother! Please! Don’t let them do this!”

The army watched from the edge of the clearing. Some were terrified. Some were already plotting their escape. And some—the fanatics—watched with eager eyes.

Stannis stood among his loyal knights, his face cold. His eyes never left his daughter, but he did not move.

Beside him, Selyse stood rigid, her hands clasped in front of her. Her lips moved silently—praying, perhaps, or convincing herself that this was right.

Melisandre walked forward, holding a torch.

She stopped in front of Shireen’s stake and raised the torch high.

”The Lord of Light requires a sacrifice,” Melisandre announced, her voice carrying across the clearing. ”A king’s blood. A princess’s blood. The fire will consume her, and the Lord will grant us victory.”

Shireen’s cries grew louder. More desperate. ”No! Please! Father! Father, please!”

Davos shouted, ”Melisandre! You evil bitch! She’s a child! She’s an innocent child! Let her go!”

Melisandre ignored him.

”Stannis!” Davos roared. ”You coward! You weak, miserable coward! She’s your daughter! Your blood! If you let her burn, you’re not a king—you’re nothing! You’re just a piece of shit!”

Shireen’s voice cracked. ”Father? Where are you, Father? Please—”

Stannis and Selyse stepped out from among their soldiers.

They stood at the edge of the clearing and looked at their daughter.

Shireen saw them. ”Father! Mother! Please! Don’t burn me! Please!”

They did not move. They did not speak.

They just stared.

Shireen stared at her mother—at the woman who had never loved her, who had barely touched her, who had looked at her greyscale scars with revulsion.

”Mother?” Shireen’s voice was small now. Broken. ”Please...”

Melisandre turned to Stannis.

He nodded.

Melisandre raised the torch higher. She began to recite something in a language no one there understood. The flames licked at the air, hungry and eager.

Davos thrashed against his ropes. ”No! No! Stop! Someone stop her!”

No one moved.

The men tied to the stakes wept. The soldiers watching from the edges of the clearing looked away. Some of them looked sick. Some of them looked relieved it wasn’t them.

Tears streamed down Shireen’s cheeks.

”Please,” she whispered. ”Please, don’t burn me!”

Melisandre threw the torch at the oil-soaked wood beneath Shireen’s feet.

Just then, Jacob and Victoria appeared out of nowhere.

Jacob waved his hand. The torch extinguished and shattered into splinters before a single spark could reach the oil-soaked wood.

Everyone froze.

Melisandre felt it—for a single heartbeat, when Jacob used his telekinesis, his concealment dropped. She felt the power radiating from him. The sheer, overwhelming force of it.

Her entire body trembled. She took shaky steps backward.

Shireen’s eyes went wide as she stared at the two strangers.

Victoria walked toward her. She moved with purpose, unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world. She drew a dagger and cut the ropes binding Shireen to the stake.

Shireen’s legs gave out. Victoria caught her.

”Th-thank you,” Shireen stammered.

Victoria’s cold expression softened for just a moment. ”You’re safe now.”

Shireen looked toward her parents. Her mother stood at the edge of the clearing, her face pale. Her father wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Jacob.

Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t go to them.

Victoria knocked her out with a precise strike to the neck and carried her back to Jacob.

Jacob looked at Davos. He waved his hand.

The ropes binding Davos snapped. The old smuggler fell to the ground, caught himself on his hands, and scrambled to his feet.

”Your name is Davos, right?” Jacob said.

Davos nodded, breathing hard. ”Aye.”

”Come take care of Shireen.”

Davos walked to Victoria and took the unconscious princess from her arms. He held her close, his weathered face creased with grief and relief.

”Thank you, my lady,” he said to Victoria. ”Thank you for saving her.”

Victoria nodded. She looked at Queen Selyse, who was running toward them, crying her daughter’s name.

Jacob didn’t even glance at Selyse. His eyes were fixed on Melisandre.

Victoria watched Selyse approach. She had planned to scream at her. To curse her. To make her feel an ounce of the pain she had been willing to inflict on her own child.

But looking at the woman’s face—the desperate, fanatical, broken face—Victoria felt nothing but disgust.

She sighed.

As Selyse ran past her, reaching for Shireen, Victoria’s dagger flashed.

Selyse fell to the snow, clutching her throat with one hand. Her eyes were still fixed on her unconscious daughter. She tried to reach for her, her fingers stretching toward Shireen’s limp form.

She died before she touched her.

Jacob didn’t look away from Melisandre. ”I thought you wanted to scold her. To torture her even.”

Victoria sheathed her dagger. ”She wasn’t worth it.” She glanced at Stannis. ”What about him? Should I slice his throat too?”

Jacob shook his head. ”No. I need him to lead his army.”

Melisandre stared at Jacob and whispered, ”W-who are you?”

Jacob didn’t bother to answer.

He waved his hand.

Melisandre’s neck broke with an audible crack. Her eyes went wide, then empty. She collapsed into the snow, her red hair spreading around her head like a halo of blood.

Jacob waved his hand again. The ropes binding the hundred soldiers at the stakes all snapped at once. The men fell to the ground, gasping, crying, laughing with relief.

Then Jacob stepped forward toward Stannis and his army.

When he spoke, his voice cut through the howling wind, echoing with an unnatural clarity that reached the ears of every single soldier in Stannis’s ranks.

”Look at the man you call your king!”

Jacob pointed a dismissive finger at Stannis.

”You have all just witnessed what kind of leader Stannis Baratheon truly is. He is a fanatic. A fool who willingly feeds his own loyal soldiers to the flames because a witch whispered a lie in his ear. A monster who would have happily burned his innocent daughter alive for a crown he will never wear!”

He let the silence hang over the horrified, freezing army. Then he raised his hand.

”I am giving you three choices. Decide your fates now, because I will not offer them a second time.

First: Drop your weapons and leave. Go back to your families, or go find a piece of land to build a new life if you have nowhere to return. Live in peace. But heed my warning—if I ever learn that you have harmed an innocent soul, I will hunt you down and kill you. There will be no mercy. There will be no escaping to the Night’s Watch. You will simply die.

Second: Swear allegiance to me. Join my army, and I swear you will not be mistreated. Follow my commands, keep your blades away from the innocent, and I will feed you. I will pay you. And once all of Westeros belongs to me, you will be rewarded more generously than you ever dreamed possible.

Third: Draw your swords against me. Stand alongside your broken king, and I will show you absolutely no mercy. I will slaughter every last one of you who chooses to support a child-killer. I will wipe you out.”

Jacob stepped closer, his eyes scanning them.

”My name is Jacob of House Alexander. I am not here to play the petty games of your lords. I am not here to claim the Iron Throne through pathetic schemes, marriages, or birthright. I am here to conquer all of Westeros by absolute force.”

Stannis did not care about the death of Melisandre. He did not care about the death of his wife.

But one look at his men—at their faces, pale and uncertain—and panic gripped him. He felt the loyalty of some of them slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Terrified of losing the men he had spent a lifetime commanding, he pointed a finger at Jacob and roared.

”Do not listen to him! Kill him! He is a sorcerer, no different from the red witch!” His voice cracked. ”It was Melisandre who bewitched me! She is the one who convinced me to burn my own daughter and my loyal men! This man is just like her—a sorcerer! He will put you all on a sacrificial pyre too!”

Most of the army hesitated.

But ten of Stannis’s most fanatical, devoted knights—men blindly loyal to his birthright—drew their blades. With a collective battle cry, they lunged forward to cut Jacob down.

Jacob casually drew his sword, Griffin.

There were no elegant stances. No fancy, choreographed dueling moves. No theatrics.

He moved.

The first knight swung his longsword. Jacob’s blade met it—and cut through the steel like parchment. The knight’s sword shattered. Jacob’s blade continued through the man’s armor, through his body, and out the other side.

The knight collapsed in two halves.

The second knight thrust his sword at Jacob’s chest. Jacob sidestepped, swung Griffin in a horizontal arc, and bisected him at the waist.

The third knight tried to flank him. Jacob spun, decapitated the man, and used the momentum to bring his blade down on the fourth knight’s shoulder, cleaving him from collarbone to hip.

The fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth knights charged together.

Jacob met them head-on. He cut through their swords, their shields, their armor, their bodies. Steel shrieked. Blood sprayed. Men fell.

The ninth knight tried to run.

Jacob’s blade caught him in the back before he had taken three steps.

The tenth knight—the last one—dropped his sword and fell to his knees, begging. Jacob’s expression didn’t change. The blade swept across the man’s throat.

Jacob sheathed Griffin with a soft click.

The clearing was silent.

Every single man stared in frozen, paralyzing shock. The bodies of the ten knights lay scattered across the crimson-stained snow—cut in half, decapitated, cleaved. The entire exchange had taken less than ten seconds.

Victoria stood unmoved, her expression entirely calm, having already known the extent of his terrifying strength.

Jacob turned back to the trembling Stannis and his army and spoke loudly once more.

”I am no sorcerer. I am a man with supernatural powers. My power is my own. You have heard of people like me before—in the Targaryens who could walk through raging fires unscathed and control dragons, and in the wargs who could possess the minds of beasts to fight for them.”

He stepped over the shattered remains of the ten knights.

”I am not a follower of the false, parasitic gods like R’hllor, the Old Gods, or the Seven. I believe only in the One True God—the source of all existence. The Creator who created everything and wasn’t born or created. He requires no human sacrifices. A God who doesn’t need anyone’s help.”

”I will never sacrifice you. I ask only for your swords, your discipline, and your absolute obedience to my laws. Do this, and you will never be mistreated. The choice is yours.”

He let the silence hang.

”Those who wish to live, to eat, and to conquer under my banner—step forward and stand behind me.”

The soldiers looked at each other, uncertain.

Davos was the first to move. He walked forward, Shireen still cradled in his arms. ”I will follow you, Your Grace. If you’ll have an old fool like me.”

Jacob looked at him with a smile. ”You’re a good and brave man, Davos. You are welcome to join me.”

The hundred men who had been tied to the stakes—the ones Stannis had been about to burn—stepped forward next. They walked behind Jacob and knelt in the snow.

”We are willing to follow you, Your Grace,” one of them said. The others murmured their agreement.

Then the sellswords moved—the paid mercenaries Stannis had hired using the Iron Bank’s gold. They looked at each other, nodded, and walked behind Jacob. Two thousand men knelt in the snow, their heads bowed.

Jacob turned to the men kneeling behind him. ”Good. As long as you don’t hurt the innocent, you will be my people. And I take care of my people.”

He gestured. ”Now get up. I don’t like people kneeling to me. From now on, you will salute me like this.”

He demonstrated a salute.

Davos and the two thousand soldiers saluted him back. The sound of two thousand hands snapping to attention echoed across the clearing.

Jacob turned to Stannis.

”I will give you five hours to get ready for war. After that, I will attack with my army.” His smile was cold. ”So get ready. Command your army to fight against mine and die an honorable death.” He paused. ”And hey, you might even win.”

Then Jacob wrapped Victoria, Davos, the unconscious Shireen, the two thousand men, and even Melisandre’s body in his telekinesis.

And vanished.

Stannis and the remaining soldiers—about four thousand men—stood in shocked silence, staring at the empty space where two thousand men had been.

Some of the Stormland knights—men who had been fiercely loyal to Stannis for years—began to panic. Their king had tried to burn his own daughter. His witch was dead. His wife was dead. Two thousand of his men had just disappeared into thin air.

Stannis’s face was emotionless, but his hands were shaking.

He turned to his men and began barking orders. ”Get ready for war!”

His voice cracked, but his men obeyed.

He called one of his loyal knights. ”Ride to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Find Captain Salladhor Saan. Tell him to bring every man he has. We need them here. Now.”

The knight mounted his horse, and rode hard toward the east.

Stannis watched him go.

Four thousand men remained. Four thousand men against... what? He didn’t even know. He had seen Jacob’s power. He had seen him cut through ten knights like a scythe through wheat. He had seen him vanish with two thousand men as if they had never been there.

But Stannis Baratheon had never surrendered. And he would not start now.

To be continued... 😊

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