Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos

"What makes you a king? The crown? The throne? The armies, perhaps? But I tell you, all this is the result of one thing. The prestige you have built up over the years. Only that will make you and your descendants respected in the eyes of the people, and with that the crown, the throne, and the armies will appear before you as naturally as rain falling on the ground." Aenar Targaryen, age thirteen, after the beginning of the Reconquest.

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"Are you sure you want the throne, nephew?" Aemon asked, his frail, hoarse voice carrying a hint of concern. Even with a dragon, he knew all too well the difficulties Jon would have to go through to sit on the Iron Throne.

"Yes, I've been preparing for this since I was four, and I can't back down." Jon replied, raising the glass of water Clydas had respectfully served him to his lips. There was no going back on his decision. It was king or die trying, even if he didn't think he would lose the Game of Thrones.

With a sigh, Aemon said, "Please, Clydas, go under my bed. You'll see a loose wooden plank, take it out and get the hidden chest."

Clydas obeyed the order, and under Jon's surprised eyes, the man took out a low chest from a secret compartment under a false wooden plank.

"Nephew, I can't help you, I'm just a blind old man, but I hope this will be of some help." Aemon spoke, his voice carrying a hint of emotion.

If possible, he wanted to be like his counterpart, Aemon the Dragon Knight, but he couldn't and didn't have the strength for that. However, he could help his nephew with one last thing.

"The first item is mine, it was given to me at birth like all Targaryen princes and princesses. The second item was given to me by Brynden Rivers, Lord Bloodraven, one of the great bastards of Westeros." Aemon explained as Clydas opened the chest, revealing an egg and a sword.

The egg looked more like a work of art than an egg, its scales were silver with purple stripes, it looked bigger than any egg in the world.

A dragon's egg.

Jon immediately recognized the origin of the egg. It was a very beautiful dragon egg, resembling a mixture of silver and amethyst.

As for the sword, Jon also immediately recognized its origin.

Dark Sister.

There was no way he couldn't recognize the sword that had made him taste defeat countless times at the hands of its owner, Queen Visenya I Targaryen.

Jon approached the chest and held the sword by the hilt, raising it high as he appreciated the beauty of the Valyrian steel.

"It's beautiful, but it was made for a woman's hands." He commented with some emotion in his tone. Though it was a more than exquisite sword, it was not made for large hands, but for small or medium ones.

Aemon smiled and replied. "It doesn't matter, a sword is made to kill and only for that."

Jon agreed, but Dark Sister was different, together with Blackfire they were the symbols of the Targaryen dynasty, both swords could strengthen the solidity of his future rule.

It may sound strange, but prestige was something real and incredibly powerful. Would you trust a descendant of a powerful king or a nameless peasant? Even after nearly three hundred years, the names of Aegon, Jaehaerys, Daeron, and many other wise Targaryen kings helped their descendants stabilize House Targaryen's rule over Westeros.

This alone shows how powerful it was to have prestige; even if you weren't a great talent, many people would still follow you just because you were the descendant of great men.

Leaving the Dark Sister aside, Jon held up the dragon egg and smiled as he felt the warm touch pass through his hand. It was a living dragon egg!

"The dragon egg is beautiful." Jon complimented with a sincere tone, it really was a beautiful dragon egg.

"It was my mother, Lady Dyanna Dayne, who chose it for me when I was just a wrinkled baby." Aemon replied with a happy smile, listening to Jon's words. At the same time, he regretted that his egg hadn't hatched like his nephew's before him.

But his next words brought Aemon to a halt.

"I can make it hatch." Jon said with a smile. If in terms of happiness he couldn't be happier than this moment, he won the Dark Sister and a dragon, how could he not be happy.

After a while, Aemon let out a sigh of regret. "Unfortunately, I'm old."

Jon had no way to change that, at least not now, maybe in the future when his powers matured even more. But his uncle Aemon couldn't wait decades, he was almost a hundred years old.

Aemon didn't regret it for long and recovered in a few minutes. He had already lived almost a hundred years, he had lived long enough, at this point he just wanted to see his house returned to Jon's hands.

As for the rest, he would let fate decide his end.

Like all men and women.

-

A few months later.

"You're too rigid, remember that as warriors you don't wear plate armor, use this advantage of being light to your advantage. Don't just stand around defending, attack when you should attack and retreat when you should retreat." Jon commented as he walked in circles around three new Night's Watch recruits.

The three were young, too young, the youngest no more than twelve and the oldest fifteen. All in prison for stealing food to survive.

It wasn't just these three young men that Jon taught, there were other men from the Night's Watch watching him closely. Jon made no secret of the fact that he was teaching everyone everything he had learned from one of the strongest warriors Westeros had ever seen, Queen Visenya I Targaryen!

The three young men listened to his advice and advanced on Jon with swords of steel, though the blades were blunt.

Clang!!! Clang!!! Clang!!!

Jon dodged the attacks and parried another with an ease that made the onlookers sigh with sincere admiration.

"Your nephew is truly a great warrior, Benjen." Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, spoke in rare praise of Eddard Stark's young bastard.

The idea of the boy being his successor was a pleasant one, but unfortunately, fate didn't want it to happen. It wasn't hard to see that the Lord of Winterfell would probably ask the king to legitimize his bastard.

Fortunately, he still had an heir, the same man he was standing next to.

Benjen, a man of typical Stark appearance. Brown hair, gray eyes, and a long face, he smiled with pride as he watched the young man skillfully fight three opponents without difficulty.

"The boy has always been a prodigy, praised by my brother as the second coming of Ser Arthur Dayne and Aemon the Dragon Knight." Benjen commented with a smile.

Jeor nodded in agreement; to earn this level of praise from the Silent Wolf showed that Jon truly had a great talent for fencing.

"So, how are things going?" Jeor asked, showing a rare look of dignity.

Benjen showed a dignified expression as well. "Not well, it's not just the savages that are migrating in large numbers, even the animals are migrating south in large numbers. Almost like..."

Benjen didn't have to continue for Jeor to understand what he meant.

"Like running from something extremely frightening." Jeor finished his words with a serious, calm expression. Though he didn't want to believe it, he knew something strange was happening beyond the Wall, something big enough to drive all the wild tribes south.

Benjen nodded with a worried look on his face.

"I'm going to Winterfell and the other kingdoms to pick up some new recruits in case something happens." Benjen spoke, earning a nod from the Lord Commander. They desperately needed manpower to cover more ground and defend the Wall more effectively.

"Okay, that's all for today. You can rest." Jon calmly ended the training, apart from a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, he didn't show that he had just fought three people at once.

"Yes, instructor." The three young men spoke at the same time, looking at Jon with obvious admiration in their eyes.

Jon nodded and returned to Meister Aemon's Terre.

As soon as he entered, a shadow descended from the ceiling and fell over him.

Jon didn't flinch and opened his arms, letting the winged creature rest against his chest. Looking down, he saw a beautiful baby dragon.

No bigger than a puppy, it had shiny silver scales with purple spots, making the dragon cub a sight to behold.

It was the dragon that had hatched from Meister Aemon's egg, it had been born for just over a month and Jon already knew who the future rider of this beautiful little dragon was.

"She's as lively as a five-year-old, curious about everything." Aemon approached Jon, and surprisingly, his eyes didn't seem blind.

Blood Magic really was a magic capable of curing many things, including blindness. But Jon hadn't cured Aemon's eyes; to cure blindness, the blood of dozens of people had to be sacrificed. Something that Maester Aemon refused to do after learning of the price.

In the end, Jon opted to temporarily cure Aemon's blindness, it wasn't a permanent solution, it only lasted a few hours a day, but it was more than enough for Aemon. And the price for such a thing was not great, just one rabbit a day.

Aemon's eyes gazed at the dragon on his nephew's chest with a kind and warm gaze, it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life and he thanked the gods for being able to personally witness the birth of such a creature.

Aemon even wrote a book, teaching how to hatch a dragon according to Jon, so that future generations would never make House Targaryen weak again.

"I'm leaving, Uncle. I have many things to prepare and convince Eddard to go to war." Jon said, making the old Maester let out a sigh.

Although he knew this day would come, he still felt lonely knowing that he was about to part with Jon. Someone he had begun to think of as a grandson in the short space of a few months.

"Be careful and don't hesitate to ask me for help with anything," Aemon spoke with a hint of concern appearing in his gaze.

"I will, Uncle." Jon showed a serious expression.

It was time to start throwing this continent into the flames of war again.

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