The solar was quiet.
The fire burned low in the hearth. Light spilled through the tall window, soft and golden,
catching on the silver strands of Jon-Aegon's hair and the dark tangle of Arya's beside him. They lay in silence for a while. No words. Just warmth. Then, slowly, they rose. Arya stretched, satisfied beyond belief, her body marked by quiet bliss . Jon pulled on his tunic, watching her from the corner of his eye—the quiet way she moved, the way the firelight touched her cheekbones.
She smirked as she buckled her belt."Well. That happened."Jon gave a rare, quiet laugh. "I regret none of it." "Good," she said. "Because I'd kill you if you did."They dressed, brushing shoulders, sharing small glances, the kind only lovers trade. Then they stepped into the hall together.
Ghost padded ahead of them as they made their way to the high table. Tormund was already there, halfway through a roasted duck, grease in his beard."Well, well," he bellowed with a grin. "The dragon and the wolf finally stop circling each other, eh?"Arya rolled her eyes but grinned, tossing a grape at him. "Careful, red beard. You mock the queen now."
Tormund caught the grape midair in his mouth and winked."Aye, and a fine queen you are. If I were ten years older—" "You'd still smell like a goat," Arya quipped. Jon sat beside her, eating slowly. He said little. But his smile lingered longer than usual. After the meal, Jon stepped outside. The wind off the sea was cold but welcome. Drogon crouched near the cliff's edge, wings outstretched like a sleeping god. Jon approached slowly. The beast rumbled low in his throat but bowed his head as Jon placed a hand upon his snout.
Then—with a single leap—they soared into the sky. High above the world, Jon flew.
The wind whipped through his hair. His thoughts stretched wide.He no longer feared the Warp. He moved within it now, strengthening his reach, testing the flow of thought, touching hearts, glancing across distances his eyes could never see. He opened his mind like a blade, searching... searching...for something old. Two names burned in his memory: Blackfyre and Dark Sister. He would find them. Not for vanity. But for legacy.
Back at Dragonstone, Arya worked.
She had chosen a small chamber for her own—a room with maps, a long table, and racks of scrolls. Already, she was drafting plans for the Bene Gesserit. She would recruit them young. Girls who could listen without speaking. Who asked questions that others feared? Who could read a man's lie before his mouth opened? She would not lead an order of children. She would forge sisters. Weapons. Wolves cloaked in silk and silence.
When Jon returned for lunch, she was waiting. They spoke quietly over bread and fruit, heads bowed together. Stolen kisses.Loving touches beneath the table.Not desperate. Not loud. Just sure.
Later, Jon summoned Tormund to the council chamber. The wildling stepped in with a grunt, hand on his belt. Jon stood at the head of the table."A gift, Tormund." "Oh?" "You and the Free Folk followed me into exile. Now I offer you more. The lands just close to the Wall—open to your people. Yours to rule. No longer as wild men, but as a House ."
Tormund blinked." You mean to make me a lord?"A great one," Jon said."And maybe more. I want you to think beyond survival. Think of legacy. Of banners. Of a name for your house." Tormund sat down hard." That's a lot to ask of a man who used to eat snow and sleep on moss." Jon smiled faintly." You're more than that now. You'll need to choose a banner, a seat... maybe even a wife." Tormund scowled."If you try to marry me to some noblewoman with lace and manners—""I'd never be so cruel," Jon said, chuckling. But in truth, he was already thinking more. Of forging generals.Of Primarchs .Tormund would be the first. Later that day, while Arya trained with blades and two potential recruits in the yard, Jon returned to the library. There, he pushed further into the Warp. He saw lights across Westeros—minds like candles in the dark. Some burned red with anger. Some are blue with loyalty. Others are black with deception.
But two blades glimmered like beacons in his vision. One in a forgotten crypt, far east. Another lost in the dust of war. He would find them. Blackfyre.Dark Sister. He would carry the weight of legend. But before he could act horn blew.
Ghost stood, ears raised. From the north… ships. Jon descended the stairs with Arya and Tormund at his side. At the gates stood Sansa Stark, dressed in regal velvet, her auburn hair braided in southern fashion. Behind her were the lords of the North . Karstark. Manderly. Umber. Glover. Jon stepped forward. His silver hair shimmered in the stormlight. His armor caught the cold wind. Targaryen shoulder cloak, black armor, he looked majestic
Arya said nothing, but her hand drifted to the hilt of her sword. Sansa stepped forward, her voice sharp."You were to remain in exile. Instead, you raise banners. Call councils. Take titles.
Do you want another war?" Jon met her gaze, calm and unshaken. "I want peace. Real peace.
Not southern lies painted with northern words."
Sansa's face twisted. "You think yourself a king? "No," Arya said coolly.
"He is a king." Sansa's eyes narrowed."Your ambition blinds you both. You don't know what it's like to rule. To keep the North safe. I've made alliances. I've restored order." "By cutting weirwoods?" Jon asked."By building steps in places that never had them?By dressing like a queen from the South and ignoring your bannermen's customs?"
A murmur from the lords. Sansa turned. "You all swore to me."Jon raised a hand."Then let them choose no war. No blood. Only choice." He stepped forward. Voice steady. Warp reaching, reading their hearts. He felt it—their doubt. Their resentment.Their longing for a leader who understood them. "Who do you choose?"
Lord Manderly stepped forward first.
Dropped to one knee.
"I swore to House Stark. But I follow the blood of the dragon and the wolf.
My sword is yours, Aegon Targaryen."
Then came Karstark.
Then Umber.
Then Glover.
One by one, they knelt. The sound of knees hitting stone echoed like a drumbeat. they all spoke as one "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
Arya stood beside Jon, quiet pride in her eyes. Sansa stared, lips parted. Alone.