CHAPTER ELEVEN: RISE OF THE DRAGON

The sun filtered softly through the high windows of the royal bedchamber.

Jon-Aegon stirred beneath thick furs, his silver hair tangled across the pillow, eyes still half-lidded. Arya lay beside him, curled close, her dark hair spread over his chest. They spoke no words at first. There was no need. Their fingers laced slowly, their breath warm and slow. A kiss. Then another. Gentle. Familiar. 

"You slept well," Arya whispered, tracing a faint scar on his chest."I always do when you're near," Jon said. "Though I don't think we slept much," Arya smirked, rolled onto her back, and looked toward the open window. "The lords will be waiting." "Let them wait a bit longer," Jon murmured, drawing her close again. 

By midmorning, the great hall of Dragonstone hummed with tension. The Northern lords—Karstark, Manderly, Umber, Glover—sat around the long blackstone table, alongside Lord Velaryon and Lord Celtigar. Their voices were low but intense, reviewing maps, supply routes, and troops. Celtigar tapped a coastal chart. "If we strike Storm's End by sea, we draw the Baratheon's eye. But the real threat is Oldtown. The Hightowers have gold and influence." Just then, the great doors opened. Jon-Aegon entered in a black and crimson cloak draped over his shoulders. Arya walked beside him, hood thrown back, her expression unreadable. Tormund followed, grinning like a storm.

The lords rose. "Sit," Jon said. "Speak freely."Karstark glanced at Arya, then back at Jon. " My King, we've accepted your claim. We stand ready to march. But the matter of the North remains... unsettled." "Ledy Sansa," Glover said. "What is to be done with her?" Silence. Arya's voice broke it. "She will not yield. Not without blood."Jon sat. "There must be another way. She's still family."

Tormund leaned forward. "You want her gone? Say the word."No," Jon said. "No executions. Not unless she forces it. After the conquest, we'll revisit her fate."And the what of the Lord Peramount of the North. When the dust settles, who wears that mantle?" Jon glanced at Arya. Then at the lords."Someone who understands the North. It's people. It's gods. It's pain. Someone we can trust."The implication hung in the air. He has not named a Lord who will yet. But the seed had been planted. 

After the council, Jon returned to his solar. Alone. He stood before a warped, fire-blasted tapestry that had once depicted Aegon the Conqueror. He closed his eyes and imagined the Iron Throne. Gone. Melted by Drogon's wrath. A symbol of failure. He would build another. Not just a throne, but a monument to power. A seat of judgment, fire, and steel. Forged anew after the conquest. Larger. Harsher. A throne for an empire, not a kingdom. His mind wandered to Essos. The Free Cities. The remnants of Old Valyria. He would need them too. Not now. Not soon. But eventually. 

Outside, in the shadow of Dragonstone's outer walls, Arya walked the village paths. She wore simple black leather, her hood drawn low. Eyes watched her pass. Some are in awe. Some are in fear. Children whispered. She paused near the smithy, where two girls were wrestling in the mud, both no older than ten. One twisted the other's arm and grinned. Arya knelt, called them by name. She'd seen them before. Orphaned. Fierce. Unyielding. She smiled. The Bene Gesserit would need blades. And these girls had sharp edges. He returned to the keep and quietly marked their names in a journal of black leather.

That night, Jon stood at the map table. His hand hovered over Erye, then somewhere near. Bravos. He called two trusted scouts, gave them orders in hushed tones."Find them," he said. "Blackfyre. Dark Sister. No expense spared."They bowed and vanished into the night. Days passed. Then a week.

Arya trained recruits. Jon met with Smith. Plans were drawn. Alliances whispered into motion. 

That night, Arya sat before the mirror. She hadn't said anything at first. But she felt it—changed. Tiny at first. Then more. Her hair had grown longer in mere days. Fuller. Dark as ink, but shimmering faintly in firelight. It curled in waves she had never had before, falling past her shoulders. Her face had changed, too. Just slightly. A fine refinement, a sharper cheek, fuller lips. In candlelight, she looked older and younger all at once. Jon entered silently and stood behind her, studying her reflection.

"You look like..."Lyarra Our Grandmother," Arya said, finishing the thought. He nodded slowly."Do you think it's the Warp?" she asked."It must be. Perhaps it's changing more than you making your body stronger so you can carry our child ."She looked at herself again. Not afraid. Not unsettled. Only curious.

The following morning, Jon summoned his closest allies. They met in a secluded chamber, the windows shuttered. "Arya is with child," he said plainly. "The heir of House Targaryen."Shock. Murmurs. Tormund roared with laughter. "Of course she is! The wolf and the dragon!"Manderly bowed low. "Then we shall protect her as fiercely as we protect you." Celtigar's eyes burned with calculation. "This changes things. The succession is solidified."For now," Jon said, "this remains among us. No word leaves Dragonstone. Not until we are ready."Heads nodded. Loyalty sworn. 

Ageon would create his empire that spanned the whole world, he would bring peace, development, and lead humanity into a new Era of Peace, Prosperity, and Advancement towards a brighter future for Humanity 

A Emperor's strength lies in the unity he cultivates among his people