The gray dawn settled like ash over Dragonstone, clouds heavy and low, as if the sky mourned what was to come. The sea beyond broke in restless waves against jagged black cliffs, a storm brewing unseen beneath the waves. Inside the ancient keep, the hearth fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on stone walls stained by centuries. Jon-Aegon stood before the great war table, his long white hair gleaming even in the dim light, his eyes sharp and steady beneath heavy brows.
Around him, the men and women who would form the core of his power waited. The air was thick with tension and unspoken questions. Tormund Giantsbane, fierce and weathered, leaned casually against a column, the fur of a direwolf cloak draped over broad shoulders. His beard was streaked with gray, but his eyes still burned with wild fire.
Lord Aerion Velaryon stood straight and regal, His silver hair and sharp features marked him a true son of the sea. His arms folded across a chest still hardened by years at sea.
Lord Manfryd Celtigar, proud and calculating, held scrolls and ledgers clutched tightly. His hawk-like gaze flicked across the room like a vulture circling prey.
And Arya Stark, Future Queen, stood near Jon's side, dressed in black leather, blade sheathed at her hip, her eyes unreadable but keenly alert. Flicking to Jon every so often, Ghost rested silently beneath the table, the white fur ghostly in the firelight.
Jon spoke first, his voice deep and steady, cutting through the silence like a hammer on steel. "This is no ordinary council." He gestured to the map spread before them, the worn parchment marked with sigils of every house in Westeros."This is the council that will decide the fate of the realm. Not only with sword and shield, but with coin, with words, with shadows and fire." He paced slowly."We have ships—forty-eight war galleys, fast and deadly, ready to tear through the seas and secure our supply lines. Lord Velaryon, what news of the fleets?" Aerion inclined his head."The ships are ready. Our sailors are loyal. We have deals in place for additional vessels if needed. But gold is the root of all things. Without it, the fleets will rot in port."
Jon nodded. Then we must ensure the coffers never run dry. Lord Celtigar, tell me the state of our finances." Manfryd unfurled a scroll, fingers tracing neat columns of numbers."Gold flows steadily in, but so does demand. The Iron Bank's loans help, but their patience is thin. Mercenaries ask for more coin in times of peace than in war, and we cannot keep all our forces on the field at once."
Tormund chuckled, loud and rough, "Free Folk don't ask for gold. They fight for something real—for blood, for Freedom, for fire in their bellies. You gave them that fire, Jon Snow. They follow you, not coin." Jon looked at Tormund and smiled briefly."Loyalty like that is rare and valuable. But it alone will not hold the realm together."
Arya stepped forward, voice cool and sharp."The Vale and the Riverlands wait in uncertainty and wary. Do we extend a hand to them? Or strike first, before they can raise banners against us?" Jon met her gaze evenly."We do both. We remind them that the world is shifting beneath their feet. We show strength, and we offer peace—on our terms." He tapped the map."The King's Road is our artery to the north and south. To move troops, supplies, and whispers, we will need siege engineers, spies, and messengers."
Manfryd raised an eyebrow."And who will be the eyes and ears of this new realm? Who will whisper in dark corners and palace halls?" Jon's expression darkened. "I will forge them myself." The council dispersed as evening fell. Jon remained behind, alone in the ancient library, surrounded by dust and forgotten knowledge.
He pulled a heavy tome from the shelves. The leather cover cracked with age as he opened it . Words written in the hand of Maesters long dead, speaking of secret orders, of guardians who walked unseen, of knowledge held in shadows, and power wielded in silence. His mind raced.
What if the war was fought not only with armies, but with minds? What if an order existed, loyal only to him,\composed of spies, theologians, scientists—masters of thought, of faith, and shadow? He began to sketch ideas secret society. An unseen hand in every court.Their loyalty to the House of Targaryen and him alone.Guardians of bloodlines, architects of futures, and advancers of the human race, moving unseen through webs of power and belief.
He would call them…
Bene Gesserit. They would be skilled in using psychological and physical methods, including special training and genetics, to achieve their goals. Their influence reaches deep into politics, and they are known for spreading religious legends and prophecies to manipulate societies and achieve their agendas. They will be Led By Arya, who will be the relevant mother, the leader of The Order.
The Bene Gesserit. It would be his eyes when he was blind. His voice was needed when silence was needed. His sword, when steel was too crude. They would manipulate thought, faith, and knowledge—turn enemies into allies, spread rumors to unsettle rivals, guard secrets that could unravel kingdoms. In this new age, war was not only fought on battlefields, but in minds and hearts.
The Bene Gesserit would be his tool, only known by a few
Jon dipped a quill in red ink and, with a steady hand, wrote the founding charter.
Let this be the covenant of the Bene Gesserit, the unseen flame in the darkness, whose loyalty is to House Targaryen and the future of mankind. Let them walk hidden among kings and priests, whispering truth and lies alike, safeguarding the blood and shaping destiny, in fire and shadow.*
He pressed his signet ring into the wax—The three-headed dragon reborn.
Above, Arya watched from the balcony, her eyes tracing Drogon's silhouette against the moonlit caves. Below, Jon extinguished his candle, and with the closing of that flame, a new force began to stir across Westeros, silent and deadly as a shadow at midnight.
The candle had long since died. Ash clung to the air. Outside, wind howled across Dragonstone's towers like the breath of an ancient beast. Jon-Aegon stood in the library, scroll sealed, eyes distant. Footsteps echoed behind him—light, measured, known.
He did not turn.
Arya approached, her voice low. "You've been here all night." Jne nodded.
"Forging something more dangerous than any blade." She leaned on the opposite side of the table, glancing at the open books and drawn diagrams."Another army?" "A secret order," Jon explained. She nodded, "The one you mentioned at the council".
Jon explained."Not soldiers. Not knights. Women trained in knowledge, secrecy, and precision. Scholars. Assassins. Theologians. Scientists. They will shape thought, not just war. And they will answer only to House Targaryen." Arya crossed her arms."You trust women to do this? "He looked her dead in the eye. "I trust you."
A pause. She tilted her head."What's it called?"Jon reached for the sealed parchment, sliding it to her."The Bene Gesserit." Arya stared at the name for a moment.
Then looked up, "You're putting me in charge. "I'm not putting you in charge," Jon said, stepping closer."I'm giving you what no one else could ever lead. You are the first. The Reverend Mother A beat passed. Her throat worked silently."You trust me that much?"He didn't hesitate. "With more than my life."
She ran her fingers over the wax seal, quiet for a moment. Then: "Only women?" Jon nodded.
"They move better through the cracks. Whisper softer. Think sharper in places men overlook."He added, "No chains. No collars. No titles. Only purpose. And loyalty to House Targaryen. And to you, Arya." and no one suspects women to be spies in this age
Arya looked down at the table, her voice barely above a whisper."So… I'm to be your shadow.
Your queen. And your dagger in the dark." He stepped around the table until they stood only a breath apart. "You're the only one I'd ever trust to be all three." The air between them shifted. Something long unspoken hung heavy, too large to ignore.
Jon hesitated. "I keep thinking about that night. When you said… 'How about me?'" Arya smirked faintly. "I didn't say it to tease you, you know.""I know," he said."I just didn't expect it to feel… right." Arya met his eyes, serious now."You think this is right?" He searched her face.
There was no mask there. No disguise.Only Arya.
And for the first time, Jon didn't see a girl, or a sister, or a ghost from Winterfell's halls.
He saw the woman before him. The blade in his shadow. The voice that steadied his storm.
He whispered, "Yes. I do."
Neither of them moved for a long time. Not until she said, softer than a breath:
"You're not afraid of what it means?"'I've lived afraid. Afraid of myself. Of Daenerys. Of the North. I'm tired of fear. "And of love?"Jon blinked slowly. "No. I think I'm ready to stop being afraid of that, too."
The night passed in silence, and in shared understanding Morning came gently. No trumpets. No banners. Just the hush of waves against rock, and the soft light of dawn spilling into the solar.
Jon stirred first, he lay in bed, hair lit silver in the morning glow. Arya shifted her head, resting on his shoulder, she looked up at him. Neither spoke for a moment. Then Jon said, "I dreamed of Winterfell." Arya tilted her head. "You miss it?""I miss what it used to be.
Before we all changed."She nodded."I miss the smell of snow. The way it creaked under my boots."A pause."You regret any of it?" she asked quietly. Her voice wasn't accusatory—just honest. Jon looked at her. His voice was calm, certain."No. Not if it led here."She smiled. Not wide. Not bright. But real.
They lay that way for a time, the stillness between them heavier than words. Then Arya turned slightly, looked up at him."What now?" Jon answered simply."We rise. We rule. Together."And then, without fanfare—without hesitation—he leaned forward, gently,
And their lips met. Soft. Certain.Not a storm.Not a blaze.But the beginning of something deep. Something inevitable, but it slowly turned heated till it became a blaze of passion