King's Landing, 500 AC

Bellamy's never been to King's Landing before. He feels overdressed and uncomfortable as a young girl leads him to the Throne Room. Snow, his large direwolf is at his side. The girl seems very wary of the beast. It's a lot hotter than in Winterfell, which he had known, but hadn't really comprehended until now. Even Dragonstone, where he and his sister had been fostered years before with the Princess, was colder than this.

Of course, he's heard about the Iron Throne, heard the legends and the history, about all of the bloodshed that came before them, but he's never actually seen it. He has, however, seen the girl who will be sitting in it. He and his Princess had been through a lot together, had gotten as close as two people could be. And still, he had to let her go. He had Winterfell, but she had the whole kingodm to rule.

The throne room is large and largely empty. His footsteps echo on the hard floor as he walks. Finally, he looks straight ahead and faces the fiery blonde in the blue dress sitting upon the massive throne made of swords and the large black dragon wrapped around the base of the throne.

"Princess," he acknowledges softly with a smirk playing at his lips as he kneels.

"I've been Queen for two years now, as you very well know, Bellamy," Clarke reprimands with a small smile on her face.

"Well, I assume you didn't send for me just to make sure I knew it, Princess. Why am I here?"

Clarke shakes her head and nods to the girl standing silently by a pillar. She nods back and quietly walks off. "Straight to the point," she remarks. "Not everything changes, then." She doesn't mention the use of the nickname—for that's exactly what it is, not so much the title she once held.

Bellamy simply shrugs. It's not behavior befitting an audience with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but he doesn't really see her like that. He never has. She has been so much more to him before, he doesn't know how to pretend she's just his Queen.

"I want—no, I need you to be my Hand," she announces, sounding as queenly as he's ever heard before.

He cocks his head slightly to the side, Snow mirroring his movements beside him. "I thought your Martell girl was your hand. You don't need me."

"I want Raven as the Commander of my Queenguard. I want you as my Hand."

Clarke steps down from the throne, her dragon uncoiling beside her, making hissing noises. "There is—well, I don't know what is going on anymore. You know my mother almost drove the kingdoms into the first war the kingdoms have seen in nearly two hundred years." Bellamy nods. The former queen is now reluctantly being kept at Dragonstone, while her daughter rules as queen. "I think something else is going to happen soon. I need you here with me to do this again if it becomes necessary. I need your opinions and insights."

"I have Winterfell to look after now," he replies reluctantly. As Lord of Winterfell, he really shouldn't be moving down to King's Landing to help as Hand of the Queen. Historically, this didn't end well the last time one of his ancestors tried to help an old friend.

Clarke waves her hand regally. "Your sister would make a fine Lady of Winterfell. She would rule quite nicely alongside her not-so-wild Wildling, if the rumors I've heard are true." She's baiting him. He can tell by the playfull smile on her lips.

Bellamy tries not to look annoyed. Lincoln isn't that bad. Bellamy had just always wanted more for his sister, had tried to groom her to be a Lady so she could marry well. But she's as wild as her own direwolf's namesake.

Bellamy glances over at Snow, who has long since moved away from him and is now curled up with Nerys. The animals had been separated just as long as their human counterparts have been, but have quickly regained their previous intimacies.

"It's been so very long, Clarke," he protests weakly. His eyes are fixated on her mouth and the way her upper teeth are kneeding her lower lip. He holds back a groan.

She's right in front of him now, taking her hands in his. "I want you here, Bell, ruling at my side. I need you here. I miss you. Please tell me you'll stay with me."

At long last, he sighs. "Send word to Octavia," he finally declares. "She'll need to know her duties, and I'll need the rest of my things—I had only packed for a short trip."

Snow and Nerys look content, and Clarke's smile is starting to make him content with his decision as well. And, perhaps, he's been missing her, too, these past few years.