Chapter 223: The Dragon and the Mother of Dragons

Chapter 223: Chapter 223: The Dragon and the Mother of Dragons

After returning from their tour of King’s Landing, they settled around the council table.

Jacob sat calmly, his gaze locked on Daenerys with an intensity that made her heart race. Torchlight flickered across his face, casting shadows that made him appear both regal and dangerous.

Tyrion broke the silence. "Alright, King Jacob—why have you come to Meereen?"

Jacob didn’t look away from Daenerys. "I’m here for her. I want to marry her."

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed. "First, tell me what you did to me. Why do I feel such a strong attraction to you?"

Jacob leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I didn’t do anything to you. You see, I have this passive ability—makes me more charming to women I’m interested in. It’s not magic, not mind control, not manipulation. Just makes me a bit more appealing. That’s all." He studied her blushing face thoughtfully. "But maybe it’s affecting you more than other women because of what I am and what runs in your veins."

Daenerys frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Jacob said, "They say that Targaryens have dragon blood in their veins. Maybe that’s why you’re feeling such a strong attraction to me."

Tyrion interjected, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. "Do you also have dragon blood in your veins?"

Jacob smiled enigmatically. "You could say that."

Daenerys leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with interest. "Do you have Valyrian blood? Are you a Targaryen or a descendant of another dragonlord family from Old Valyria?"

Jacob shook his head. "No. I’m not a descendant of any dragonlord family."

Daenerys pressed further. "Then how do you have dragon blood?"

Jacob’s smirk widened. "Marry me, and I’ll tell you."

Daenerys snorted. "I heard you have more than one wife."

"Yes, I have five. But don’t worry—I treat my wives equally and make sure they are all happy." Jacob paused. "But I’m surprised you heard of me even in Meereen."

Tyrion said, "We heard you conquered the Free Folk and the North. We heard you have strange, dark powers. We were told you are a sorcerer. A demon. That you have aligned yourself with forces that would destroy the world. That you are an evil that must be stopped."

Jacob gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Who is slandering me?" He turned to Stiles. "Is it you who is spreading bad rumors about me?"

Stiles shrugged. "Not me, man. Why would I do that? Maybe it was Cogman. Maybe he thought if he told people that you are a demon that will destroy the world, they would attack you, and he could have fun killing them."

Jacob thought for a moment. "That sounds like something he would do. But no, it’s not him—he’s still busy with the satellites and the weapons."

He turned to Daenerys. "Who told you those rumors about me?"

Daenerys’s expression was serious. "A woman named Kinvara told me about you. She said she is the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. She told me that you are a threat to me and the entire world, and that I am the only one who can stop you and save the world."

Jacob’s eyes flashed with cold amusement. "That bastard R’hllor is spreading bad rumors about me. Stiles, remind me later to destroy the Red Temple of Volantis."

Stiles asked, "Why not just kill R’hllor and be done with it?"

Jacob said, "That would be boring. He’s probably the only creature in this world that can give me a good fight. Let him live for a while and send his servants to try to kill me. That will make life more interesting. Maybe he’ll even team up with other hidden demons in this world to deal with me."

Stiles gave him a look. "Then isn’t letting him live just stupid and dangerous?"

"No, it’s not," Jacob said, his tone casual. "I’m dangerous myself, as you know. And Allison and the others are dangerous too. We can kill a few demons."

Daenerys and the others were shocked about what the two lunatics were discussing.

Tyrion finally found his voice. "Are you two seriously talking about killing a god?"

Jacob looked at him and said, "Don’t be stupid. There’s only one God—and He can’t be killed or harmed."

Tyrion leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "Tell me more about your God. I want to know what you believe in."

Jacob’s expression softened, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his demeanor faded, replaced by something deeper—something approaching reverence.

"To me, there is only one true God—the Eternal, the First, who existed before all creation, with nothing before Him. He is the source of all existence, the Creator of all things. He neither begets nor is born, nor was He created. He simply is."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"If He wants something, He simply wills it, and it is. He is all-powerful, omnipotent. He doesn’t demand blood. He doesn’t ask us to burn our enemies alive to prove our devotion. He gives us life, free will, and the capacity to choose between good and evil. He lets us make our own choices. And He alone will judge us all with absolute justice after we die. That is the only God worth worshipping. That is my belief. That is my faith."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "And what about the other gods?"

Jacob shook his head firmly. "I don’t believe in them. I don’t believe they are gods. Like I said, to me, there is only one true God, and anything—or anyone—worshiped besides Him is a false god. But I’m not here to force my beliefs on anyone. God gave us free will and intellect to choose our own path. He gave us the ability to reason, to question, and to seek the truth for ourselves."

He met their eyes, one by one.

"Everyone is free to believe what they wish. I won’t burn people for it. I won’t punish them for it—as long as they don’t worship demons and burn people in their name, of course. That will not be allowed in my kingdom."

Tyrion nodded slowly. "That’s a nice faith you have. Maybe I will convert."

Jacob smiled. "Maybe you should."

Daenerys spoke up, her voice thoughtful. "Kinvara told us you are a demon. Of course, I don’t believe her, but why should I believe you? Why should I believe that R’hllor is a demon?"

Jacob gestured to Tyrion. "Let’s talk about facts. Tyrion, could you please tell us what the red priestesses and priests do in the name of R’hllor?"

Tyrion’s expression turned sour. "They burn non-believers because the Lord of Light apparently enjoys a good barbecue. They stare into the flames until their eyes go red, claiming they can read the future like a maester reads a scroll, though they usually manage to misread the most important parts. And if you don’t bow down to their glowing heart standard, they’ll happily carve your own out to keep the night from getting too chilly."

He looked at Daenerys and continued. "But it’s the human sacrifices where they truly shine. They’ll look a man in the eye, tell him his blood has royal magic, and then roast him like a prize pig just to see if the wind changes direction. They call it a sacred offering to keep the darkness at bay."

He turned to Jacob. "That’s all I know about them."

Jacob nodded approvingly. "Stiles, tell us what demons are."

Stiles leaned forward at the table, his voice dropping to a serious tone. "Demons are powerful supernatural creatures. They come to humans wearing masks of beauty or majesty, usually pretending to be gods. They whisper promises of unstoppable power, forbidden knowledge, or deepest desires fulfilled. And then they demand a price—blood, a sacrifice of the innocent. They especially like babies and virgin girls, for some reason. They claim the price is the fair cost of the bargain."

He paused, looking at everyone around the table.

"But a deal with a demon is always a cruel trick. Every gift they give is a cage. The power they lend is never enough, so people keep sacrificing more and more for them, keep obeying their demands. The knowledge they give drives people mad. And the moment you accept a demon’s offer, the demon begins to feast—not on your flesh, but on your soul. It drains you piece by piece until nothing remains but a hollow shell, bound to its will forever. By the time you realize you’ve been duped, you no longer own yourself. The demon owns you."

Stiles leaned back in his chair. "That’s what demons are."

Jacob looked at Daenerys. "That’s all you need to know to draw your own conclusion."

Daenerys’s brow furrowed. "Aren’t they like humans? Isn’t there good and evil among them?"

Jacob shrugged. "I don’t know. We’ve met three of them so far, and they are all evil. Maybe there are good and kind demons, but we haven’t met one yet."

Daenerys pressed further. "Why is R’hllor targeting you? Why would he say you are a danger to the world?"

Jacob’s expression grew cold. "I met him before. When I fought Stannis and his army, there was a red priestess called Melisandre with Stannis. She convinced him to burn his own eleven-year-old daughter so R’hllor would give him powers to win against me and sit on the Iron Throne. She even convinced Stannis that he was the hero that was promised to save humanity."

Missandei gasped. "Did he agree to burn his own daughter?"

Jacob nodded grimly. "Yes. Stannis and his wife agreed to burn Shireen. They tied her to a stake with another hundred men from his army, ready to burn them all. But I saved the little girl along with the hundred men. She’s now living with my family."

Daenerys exhaled slowly. "That’s good."

Jacob continued. "Anyway, I provoked R’hllor—who was watching me through Melisandre—until he possessed her and talked to me personally. Let’s just say I made him very angry, then killed his servant and promised him that one day I would kill him too."

Daenerys asked, "That’s why he hates you and wants me to join his priests to fight against you?"

Jacob nodded. "I think it’s more fear than hate. I think he’s scared of me."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Are you powerful enough to scare something that ancient?"

Stiles looked at Tyrion with a smile. "Trumpkin, you have no idea what this pervert can do."

Jacob looked at Stiles. "Trumpkin?"

Stiles said, "The dwarf from one of The Chronicles of Narnia films."

Jacob’s expression brightened with recognition. "Oh, I remember now." He looked at Tyrion. "It’s really him."

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Jacob smiled. "We’re talking about your doppelganger—a man who looks exactly like you from where we are. His name is Peter Dinklage."

Missandei looked at Jacob with confusion. "Excuse me, you are a king, right?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes."

Missandei pointed at Stiles. "Why does he keep disrespecting you and calling you a pervert?"

Jacob gave Stiles an evil smile. "She’s right. I should punish you when we go back home, peasant."

Stiles said, "Come on, it’s not like you care if I call you a pervert."

Jacob shrugged. "I don’t care, but you should respect me in front of outsiders."

Stiles said, "I don’t see any outsiders here." He looked at Daenerys. "I only see your wife and her people."

Jacob laughed heartily. "Good, good. You’re right—my wife’s people are my people. I will not punish you anymore."

Daenerys shot Stiles a glare. "Who said I agreed to marry him?"

Stiles grinned unapologetically. "My apologies, Your Highness. I just assumed the constant blushing and the dreamy looks you’ve been giving him since we got here meant something. You know—like you’re falling for him. Guess I read that wrong."

Daenerys’s face flushed crimson. She turned to Jacob with barely contained anger. "I demand you send your lowly vulgar servant outside!"

Jacob said, "Alright, Stiles, stop with the jokes." He looked at Daenerys. "He’s not my servant—he’s my friend, and my brother-in-law or whatever you call the stepbrother of your wife. Anyway, he’s family."

Daenerys’s voice was sharp. "I don’t like him."

Jacob shrugged. "I don’t like him either sometimes. Anyway, you can beat him after you marry me—or just ask Cogman to do it. He would love to beat Stiles and torture him for you."

Stiles panicked and said, "Hey, hey, hey, don’t give her ideas." He looked at Daenerys. "I’m sorry if I was rude. Just don’t ask Cogman to do anything to me. You know what, why don’t I leave and take everyone here with me so you can be alone with Jacob?"

Daenerys narrowed her eyes at him.

Stiles raised his hands. "Okay, okay, I’ll leave alone." He stood up and said to Jacob, "See you later, man." Then he teleported back to Serendell.

Jacob looked at Daenerys with a smile. "Don’t worry about Stiles. He’s just an idiot."

Tyrion said, "That Stiles—he has powers too?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes. Everyone in my family has powers."

Daenerys studied Jacob with her piercing blue-green eyes.

"Do you really have a dragon?" she asked.

Jacob nodded. "Yes. In fact, I have two. Little Alex is about the size of a horse now—he grows fast. And I have a big one. Her name is Kisarax. You guys will be shocked when you see her. Also, each of my wives has one."

Daenerys exchanged a look with Tyrion. They both saw the shock in each other’s eyes.

Tyrion found his voice first. "And how many wives do you have, if I may ask?"

Jacob counted on his fingers. "Five without counting Dany."

Daenerys’s voice was sharp. "Hey! I’m not your wife!"

Jacob looked at her blushing face and smiled. "You will be."

Tyrion said, "So you have seven dragons?"

Jacob shook his head. "No. There are nine dragons in my family, but only two of them are real ones."

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

Jacob explained, "The creatures you call dragons—the ones like Daenerys has—we call them wyverns where I’m from. A real dragon has six limbs: two forelegs, two hindlegs, and two wings attached to the shoulders. Wyverns have only four limbs. And dragons are much stronger than wyverns—much, much stronger. They are also highly intelligent, sentient, and capable of speech."

Tyrion asked, "And you have two of these so-called real dragons?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes. There are two in my family, and the other seven are like Dany’s dragons. I also have a wyrm—a giant one."

Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

Daenerys came back to her senses first.

"You could take it," she said, her voice carrying genuine curiosity. "The Iron Throne. All of Westeros. You have the army, the dragons, the abilities I’ve heard of and seen with my own eyes. So why don’t you? Why not simply kill Cersei and claim what you could so easily seize?"

Jacob met her gaze, his expression steady and serious. "Because conquering a kingdom and ruling one are two very different things."

He leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "Could I take the Iron Throne any time I want? Yes. I could march south with my army, or unleash Kisarax upon King’s Landing, and reduce the Lannister army and the Red Keep to ash. Or I could simply go there alone—no army, no dragons—and still destroy any army that stood in my way and sit on that twisted pile of swords tomorrow."

"But then what? I’d be king of a shattered continent. The lords would rebel. The smallfolk would starve. My armies would be stretched thin holding territory I’m not ready to hold yet. I’d be enforcing laws that don’t yet exist."

"Conquest is the easy part, Dany. Anyone with enough power can break things. The true test—the measure of a king—is what he builds after the dust settles."

Daenerys asked, "So what is your plan, then?"

Jacob said, "I’ll conquer the North first and establish my kingdom there. I will build it properly, from the ground up. Laws that apply to everyone—noble and peasant alike. Healthcare so the sick don’t die in the streets because they can’t afford a maester. Schools so children can learn to read and write, regardless of their birth. An economy that doesn’t collapse every time a harvest fails—because we’ll have reserves, trade routes, and infrastructure that actually works. And we’ll teach farmers better ways to work the land. Crop rotation so the soil doesn’t tire out, irrigation so fields don’t dry up in summer, and grain stores so no village starves through winter."

He looked at Tyrion and continued.

"Then I’ll expand—slowly, methodically. The Vale, the Riverlands, the Reach—one region at a time. Each territory will be integrated into my kingdom before we move to the next. The lords can choose: accept my rule and keep their lands—or resist and lose everything. The common folk will have honest work and fair pay. Their children will learn to read and write without paying a copper. The sick and old will be cared for by the crown. Women who have no one will be given the means to live with dignity—no abuse, no need to sell themselves. And every orphan will be taken in and raised by the kingdom, not left to die in alleys."

He turned back to Daenerys, his eyes meeting hers.

"If I conquer too much too fast, I’ll overextend my resources and manpower. I’ll have rebellions on every border, supply issues in every region, administrative problems that multiply faster than I can solve them. I’ll spend all my time putting out fires instead of building something that lasts. A kingdom built on a solid foundation can withstand any storm. One built on sand will crumble the moment I look away."

Tyrion said, "All of what you said is nice, but you will definitely meet resistance. What will you do to anyone who opposes you?"

Jacob said calmly, "Anyone who takes up arms against me will receive no mercy. I will kill them and keep killing them until they either surrender or perish. Those who surrender but refuse to accept me as their king will have a choice: leave Westeros with everything they can carry—or face the alternative. I think you understand what that means."

Tyrion’s voice was sharp. "Aren’t you just a ruthless tyrant? A monster?"

Jacob shrugged—slow, almost bored—and his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "To build a better world, I have to be ruthless and destroy anyone who stands in my way. Sure, some people will call me a demon, a monster—but I couldn’t care less. I will never harm the innocent. I will never burn cities and villages. I will never abuse people. But I will show my cruel side to anyone who dares to be my enemy."

He met Tyrion’s gaze, releasing a small fraction of his dragon aura. His eyes glowed crimson with vertical pupils. "Because a king who can’t be feared by his enemies will never be loved by his people."

Tyrion jumped from his chair in fear and fell to the floor. Missandei and Grey Worm felt the primal terror too, their bodies tensing with fight-or-flight instinct.

Jacob turned and looked at Daenerys with his glowing red eyes. Instead of fear, Daenerys felt her attraction to him deepen. Her face flushed as she whispered, "Your eyes! Those are a dragon’s eyes!"

Jacob’s eyes returned to normal, and his voice was serious. "Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen—will you marry me? Stand beside me and my wives, and together we’ll build something that will last. I’m not offering you a chair of swords—I’m offering you a kingdom worth ruling."

Daenerys was silent for a long moment, weighing his words. Her eyes studied him, searching for any trace of mockery or hidden intent. She found none.

She spoke carefully. "The Iron Throne is what I’ve been working toward my entire life. So what if I refuse your marriage? What if I said I want the Iron Throne—I want it to be mine alone?"

Jacob smiled, a confident, knowing smile. "Then I will not force you to marry me, and you’re welcome to compete for the Iron Throne. But you won’t win—and all you’ll achieve is the deaths of your army."

Daenerys studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiled—a small, genuine smile.

"I didn’t think a dangerous man like you would give up on me so easily. I’m disappointed."

Jacob raised a brow. "What? Who said I’ve given up on marrying you?" His smile was confident, almost cocky. "You will definitely become mine, Dany."

Daenerys’s voice was teasing. "Why so sure?"

Jacob’s smile widened. "Other than my handsome face, which no woman can say no to, I have something you want more than the Iron Throne."

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed. "And what’s that?"

Jacob said, "I can heal you."

Daenerys frowned and went silent.

Tyrion, finally finding the courage to stand and sit back in his chair, still wary of Jacob, and looked at Daenerys with concern. "Are you sick?"

Daenerys ignored him completely, her eyes locked on Jacob. "How do you know about that?"

Jacob’s voice was gentle. "Let’s just say I know a lot of things. You should have never trusted that witch."

Daenerys’s voice was barely a whisper. "Can you really heal me from dark magic? Can you really heal me from my curse?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes. I can heal you—and not only me. Two of my wives can heal you too." He paused. "Let me demonstrate my healing abilities."

He looked at Tyrion. "Do you want to get rid of that scar on your face?"

Tyrion smirked, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. "Of course not. The ladies love it. It’s a good conversation starter."

Jacob’s voice was flat. "I’m serious."

Tyrion considered for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Okay. Show us how you will heal it."

Jacob smirked and stood up. Before Tyrion could react, he drew his sword and slashed him accurately across the face, reopening the old wound.

Tyrion fell to the floor screaming.

Daenerys, Grey Worm, and Missandei panicked.

Jacob waved his hand, and a white light shot from his palm, enveloping Tyrion’s entire body before fading. He sheathed his sword and kicked Tyrion lightly. "Stop screaming and get up. Your face is already healed."

Tyrion stopped screaming and sat up, wiping the blood from his face. He felt no pain.

Missandei gasped. "You’re really healed! There’s no scar on your face!"

Daenerys studied Tyrion’s face briefly, but she didn’t ask Jacob to heal her. She understood the price—his help came with a proposal. Instead, she looked at Grey Worm, then back at Jacob. "Can you heal Grey—"

Jacob interrupted gently. "Sorry. The Unsullied undergo a total and brutal castration called ’The Cut’ when they are young boys. The slave masters of Astapor completely removed both their penis and their testicles. I can’t regrow missing body parts."

Grey Worm met Jacob’s gaze without flinching. "I do not need to be healed. I am what I am. I serve my queen. That is enough."

Jacob and Daenerys exchanged a glance, then sighed in unison. Neither spoke.

Tyrion touched his face, his expression one of wonder. "Did you have to wound me?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes. I can’t remove fully healed wounds unless I re-injure them and make them new."

Tyrion’s voice was sincere. "Thank you. And I feel my body is much lighter."

Jacob smiled. "You’re welcome."

He looked at Daenerys, his expression softening. "You don’t have to give me an answer now. I’ll be at Daznak’s Pit tomorrow during the Great Games. You can give me your answer after the games. And if something happens during the games, you can ask for my help—you only need to shout my name, even if you don’t see me. But calling my name is equal to accepting my marriage proposal. So think carefully before you accept my help. Because once you do, you will be mine—I don’t let go of what’s mine."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "You sound confident something will go wrong."

Jacob shrugged. "Call it a hunch. The Sons of the Harpy and the slave masters aren’t exactly fond of Dany."

He paused, his voice hardening. "One more thing, Dany—I’m a very jealous and possessive man. End whatever you have with that sellsword, Daario. If he touches you again, I’ll know. End it cleanly, or I’ll end him."

He walked toward her. Grey Worm tried to stop him by standing between them and raising his shortsword.

Jacob smirked and waved his hand, using his telekinesis. Grey Worm flew backward and stuck to the wall, unable to move.

Daenerys, Missandei, and Tyrion were shocked.

Jacob walked to Daenerys and lifted her chin with his fingers so she would look at him. "I’ll see you tomorrow, gorgeous."

He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Her breath hitched, her heart raced, and a deep blush spread across her face.

Jacob smiled, then vanished—teleporting back to Serendell.

The moment Jacob disappeared, Grey Worm—who was still stuck to the wall—fell to the ground as he was freed from Jacob’s telekinesis.

Daenerys composed herself and looked at him. "Are you okay?"

Grey Worm stood, his expression pained. "Yes, Your Grace. Please punish me for not protecting you."

Daenerys waved her hand dismissively. "That’s not your fault. You can’t protect me from a man like him."

She turned to Tyrion. "What do you think of Jacob?"

Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine, took a long sip, and sat back at the table. "The man is terrifying—no question about that. And he’s no fool. There’s a sharp mind behind all that arrogance. And what I find interesting is the world he wants to create—and the methodical way he plans to go about it. That’s not the talk of a madman—that’s the talk of a ruler."

Daenerys asked, "Should I accept his offer?"

Tyrion took another sip of his wine and set the cup down. "Your Grace, I’ve met a great many men in my life—kings, lords, sellswords, fools. Jacob is something else entirely. He’s terrifying, yes. But he’s also competent, which is more than I can say for most rulers. So if I may speak freely—I think you should accept his offer. I don’t know what ails you, but he clearly can heal it. And with his powers, his family’s abilities, and his dragons... marrying him seems the wisest path. You’ve already agreed to marry Hizdahr zo Loraq for political gain, so why not choose the better option? Jacob is stronger, smarter, and more interesting than Hizdahr could ever hope to be. And Jacob can make you queen of the Seven Kingdoms—not Meereen."

"One of the queens," she said flatly.

Tyrion took a sip and shrugged. "One of the queens is still a queen. And he did say he wouldn’t force you, so the choice is yours. You could refuse him, stay in Meereen, and build your own kingdom here. He doesn’t seem to care much for Essos—that might be your best chance at ruling without sharing."

Daenerys rose from her seat. "Meereen is not my home. And call it a hunch, call it instinct—but I’m sure that man will never let me go." She fell silent for a moment, then let out a sigh. "I’ll take the night to think properly about his proposal."

She moved toward the door. "I’m tired. I need to rest. We have a long day tomorrow." She paused and looked at Grey Worm. "If Daario comes looking for me, send him away."

She stepped out and called over her shoulder, "Missandei, come. You’ll stay with me tonight."

Missandei followed, with Grey Worm and a few guards trailing behind.

Tyrion remained in the council chamber, staring into his cup. He took a long drink, then let out a heavy sigh. "Well, Cersei and Jaime are f***ed. There’s no defeating that terrifying monster." He swirled his wine and muttered, "I know Cersei will never surrender—but I’ll do what I can to help Jaime keep his life."

To be continued... ??

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