Winterfell
Two Weeks Later
Lady Melisandre's nails dug into her arm as she watched the heartbreaking scene before her.
She shared a glance with Sansa as a particularly piercing scream echoed in the room.
In all her years, she'd never known worry as powerful as she felt now.
"My queen, you must push."
"I am fucking pushing!"
"Please keep your head about you, my queen," one of the handmaids urged her. "You've done this twice before with no problems. Do not overstress yourself now."
Upon recieving news of all that had transpired during battle in the Riverlands, the stress and anguish forced Bellegere into an early labor.
Everyone knew, at this stage in her pregnancy, the baby had no chance of survival. And, the queen could very well die in the process as well.
The atmosphere in the room was thick with sorrow and dread.
"Mel," Bellegere called out to her.
She rushed to her side and took her outstretched hand. The grip was painfully tight, but she did not complain.
The queen yanked her down until their noses were nearly smashed together.
"I may die here," Bellegere gritted out as pain tore through her abdomen. "But I want Mya Stone executed for treason, no matter what."
Melisandre closed her eyes for a moment.
"Your grace-"
"As my Hand, I order you to end her," Bellegere demanded. "Do you hear me?"
She bowed her head obediently.
"Yes, your grace."
For hours, Melisandre and Sansa remained by the queen's side. Her screams shook the stone walls and the very foundations of the ancient castle as she fought to birth her premature child.
When finally her labors ended, Maester Luwin held the baby in his arms.
"It...is a girl, your grace."
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Give her to me," Bellegere said tiredly, reaching out to him. "Give me my daughter."
The two women stepped away as she held her child for the first time. The daughter that everyone knew she wanted.
"My sweet child."
Bellegere glanced down at the stillborn with wide, hopeful eyes. At any moment, she expected her to breathe or begin to cry. Grief took hold of her psyche and swallowed it whole.
Her mind fractured into a million tiny pieces when she saw her familiar, blue eyes. She had only seen a shade so blue on one other person.
Brynden Blackwood.
"Berena, my princess," she whispered to herself. "Your father would have loved to meet you. I promise he would be here if he could. He wanted you, too. So very much."
Bellegere rocked her back and forth slowly.
While hot tears fell from her eye, she spoke to Berena about her brothers, and her aunts and uncles. About the life they would have lived together and everything she wished to teach her.
Bellegere could not see anyone else.
She could not feel the heartbroken stares of the other people in the room. All of her focus remained on the tiny, bloodied corpse in her arms.
The culmination of every soft emotion she had ever felt. Her heart outside of her body.
Dead.
Never having breathed the fresh air of her ancestral home. Losing warmth with every passing moment.
The warmth that carried over from the embrace of her mother's womb.
"I've loved you every second of your life," she muttered, lost in a sea of grief. "And I will continue to love you, even in death. I swear it."
When Sansa moved forward to comfort her sister, Melisandre held her back.
"Give her time, princess," she said quietly. "This type of loss...She needs time with the babe. Time to process."
Sansa begrudgingly obeyed, even though she desperately wished to hug her sister and show her that she wasn't alone.
In the back of Bellegere's mind, she believed that this was a consequence of selling her soul to the Old Gods.
After gaining so much, it was to be expected that they would take the ultimate sacrifice from her.
They wanted to rip her apart from the inside.
"Haven't I given enough," she asked herself, rocking back and forth.
Every vessel of her heart laid bare. Devoid of empathy or compassion. Only a profound darkness that would serve their agenda.
Cold and lifeless, like the army of the dead beyond the wall.
The gods were cruel.
"If it is blood they want, I will give it to them," Bellegere mumbled to herself.
In her mind's eye, she saw Mya Stone's face.
The woman who betrayed her and would have happily watched her husband die. The apparent cause of her daughter's death. The woman she had loved her entire life.
And still loved.
Even after her betrayal.
"If it is my heart they want, I will provide it."
That same day, Berena Stark, second of her name, was buried in the godswood, beneath the heart tree.
As Bellegere watched her guards cover her only daughter's grave, she felt that she died as well.
Only, they forgot to bury her.
From that moment, until her last breath, Bellegere Stark would remember this as the blackest day.
For, in her grief, she could not see the sun.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
When Bellegere's army finally wiped out House Frey and secured the Twins, they returned to Winterfell.
With many injuries to be attended to, Brynden was forced into the care of the maesters.
That night, when Bellegere visited her husband, she saw him cry for the second time since they met. Mourning the loss of their daughter.
Brynden held her close to him with his good arm while he sobbed violently, nearly toppling them both over. His warm tears fell onto her hair as they cried together.
United in grief.
As Brynden wept, Bellegere swore that she would never tell him that Berena had his eyes. Only to spare him the torment she endured every night.
They would always haunt her dreams.
The stillborn with his eyes.
The next morning, Bellegere was gone.
No matter how hard Brynden fought to search for his wife, his commands were not heard. She had ordered his guards to keep him abed.
There were matters she needed to attend to.
Alone.
Beneath the shadows of the weirwood trees, Arya Stark watched her sister twirl the jagged dagger in her hand with practiced grace.
Bellegere stood stiffly beneath the heart tree, as still as the roots that delved beneath the ground.
Without her eyepatch, she resembled one of the many faces of death. Anger marred her beautiful features, turning them into a cold mask of wrath.
Arya did not recognize her.
But, she knew a killer when she saw one.
"Hand, where is she?"
Melisandre flinched at the ice in her voice.
"They are on their way, my queen," she said apprehensively. "But, perhaps there is another way to punish Lady Mya, other than death."
A scarred brow rose.
"What would you suggest?"
Melisandre already knew what was going to take place here. She'd seen it in the flames.
However, it was her duty to provide counsel.
"You could take a hand or an eye. Maybe even give her a lashing. But you don't have to kill her," she said quietly.
"I know how much you care for her. This will hurt you more than you want to admit."
After a long stretch of silence, Bellegere gestured for her to come closer.
She hesitantly obeyed.
"Have you ever died before, my lady," the wolf asked, staring ahead. "It is a serious question."
Melisandre remained silent, unsure how to answer her.
"When the illusion of self is shattered, you simply cease to be. Though it may not seem that way to others, you know when it is true. You feel it. A stranger in your own body, an imposter...and nothing is the same ever again."
The queen studied her dagger, turning it over in her hands repeatedly.
"Every time I've lost someone I love, I have died," she said quietly. Her gaze lingered on her daughter's freshly covered grave.
"Each time, I lose another part of me. And, mind you, I don't have much to lose."
When Bellegere turned to look at her, Melisandre never felt so close to the Great Other.
The very antithesis of the Lord of Light and all things warm. A darkness lurked within her eye, unlike anything she ever witnessed.
Cold and unforgiving.
For the first time, she truly feared the wolf.
"Yet, Brynden has made me feel less like a walking corpse and more like a wife, a mother, a lover. He restored hope within me, after years of resignation," Bellegere said, holding her gaze.
"So when you say, take a hand or an eye, I cannot understand why you would suggest such a thing. Mya Stone committed the highest of treasons against her king and queen.
She knowingly betrayed me, the woman she claims to love. The woman who loves her so deeply with the tainted, sliver of a heart that she has left. For that...I cannot suffer her to live."
When the guards finally arrived, Bellegere stared Mya down, making her tremble with fear.
She had been under the impression that because they shared a long history of friendship and intense love, she would be spared from the queen's wrath.
Now, she understood this was not the case.
Mya glanced towards Melisandre with pleading eyes, but it was of no use.
The red woman tried to warn her on her several occasions, and not once did she listen.
"Tie her to the tree."
As the guards wrapped a thick rope around her midsection, Mya struggled against her restraints.
"Belle, please don't do this," she cried out, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Think of Alys! What about my baby? My little girl."
The queen looked at her incredulously. Her hand rested on her belly, as if Berena were still there.
"What about mine," Bellegere growled, her nostrils flaring. "I lost her, because of you. All because you could not let go of your claim on me. Now my daughter is dead and my husband is maimed. What about my family?"
Mya's eyes widened at her words.
Only now did she notice the queen's flat belly.
After losing her own son, she would never wish the death of a child on anyone. Not even her worst enemy.
Yet, the woman she loved miscarried because of her jealousy and inability to do what was right.
"I am so sorry-"
"Sorry?"
As the wolf advanced on her, she gripped the dagger in her hand so tightly that it shook.
"Oh, she is sorry. How sorry were you when my husband needed your help and you refused to give it to him," Bellegere growled, spittle flying from her mouth.
"Did you even think about what his death would do to me? Did you consider our children? You claim to love them, but you would allow their father to be killed. You claim to love me, but you cut me so deeply."
The tip of the blade poked into Mya's throat and she strained to get away from it. The shock of Belle threatening her in this way ground her shattered heart into dust.
"How dare you betray me," the queen said, scowling. "After all we've been through?"
The righteous wrath in Bellegere's eyes spoke a million words. There was no amount of pleading that would save her from death.
The crime she committed could only be paid for with her life. And, knowing that her love lost a child due to her own idiotic decision, she reckoned that she deserved her fate.
That was the only thing she felt remorse for.
"I'm not sorry for what I did. Only the pain it caused you," Mya said truthfully, gaining a hateful glare.
"I wanted him to die for taking you away from me. For making you love him as you once loved me. For forcing me to watch you carry his babes. Even now, I wish he was dead."
Bellegere trembled with rage and immense sorrow. Part of her understood her love's unfounded loathing, but another part of her wanted to slit her throat for speaking such vile words about her husband.
The man that embodied hope and everything good, in her mind.
"How dare you do this to me, to your daughter," Bellegere whispered, holding back tears.
Her voice shook with unbridled emotion.
"I can't save you now."
Deep down, she did not want to do this.
But too many witnesses were present during the act of treason.
Her daughter was gone. Her husband was injured severely. Her heart was in tatters.
Retribution was mandatory.
"I can't save us."
When Bellegere pressed their foreheads together, Mya closed her eyes.
Even in chains and tied to a tree, preparing for her death, goosebumps still rose on her skin at her touch. She asked herself how long it had been since she felt her love's skin against her own.
Many, many moons.
And Mya would have to wait an eternity to feel her again. In the darkness of the void that awaited her after death.
When Bellegere pulled away from her, what little will to live she had left went with her.
She felt as if she were dead already.
They just hadn't buried her yet.
"Lady Mya Stone of the Vale," Bellegere said with tears staining her face.
Every eye watched the queen.
It was common knowledge that Lady Stone was her lifelong companion. All could feel the intense sadness that oozed from her.
None of them knew if they could uphold honor and duty above their feelings in this situation, and they never wanted to find out.
"You are hereby sentenced to death for high treason against your king consort and your queen. If you have any last words, now is the time."
She stared into the reddened, silver eye of her beloved, unable to see anyone else.
"I gave you my whole life," Mya said, nodding to herself. "I gave you all of me."
Bellegere visibly trembled with tears blurring her vision. The memories burned across the surface of her mind, scorching her to the core.
When Mya was young and happy, she recalled her soul had a taste like gardens, flowers, and warm winds.
Now, they were both tainted by love and grief.
Only, in very different ways.
"Take good care of Alys. Make sure she remembers me for who I was, not who I am. I pray she never understands the sweet torment I have endured," Mya said tiredly. Her lip quivered, thinking of her child.
"I hope, one day, you can forgive me. More importantly...I hope you can forgive yourself."
She paused to admire Bellegere, memorizing her face now and for the last time.
Regret tasted bitter on her tongue.
"You may do your duty, my queen," Mya said stoically.
The end had come and she was not afraid.
"I wish to be with my mother and my son."
As the queen prepared to carry out the sentence she imposed. Her legs felt so incredibly weak beneath her.
"I swear to raise Alys as my own. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new," Bellegere whispered hoarsely, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek.
"Please. Forgive me, my love."
The dagger shook in her hand as she pressed it to her throat. Tearing into the sensitive flesh that she kissed hundreds, thousands of times before.
As the blade dealt it's fatal blow, Mya Stone did not feel an ounce of pain.
Only a shock of bitter cold.
In the end, time stood still and the world was as silent as deep water.
It embraced her as if she were coming home after a long voyage on the surface.
"Gods, no."
Melisandre struggled to watch as Bellegere stumbled backwards, dropping the dagger.
Her mouth hung open slightly in shock.
That silver eye was wide and brimming with tears as her first love choked on her own blood.
It spilled from throat and dripped down the heart tree, staining the pale roots.
When the queen began to sob, Melisandre motioned for the guards to leave. They did not need to see her in this way.
"This isn't happening," Bellegere whispered over and over again, shaking her head.
She wished to force the image out of her mind, or completely reverse what she did with sheer willpower, but the world did not work that way.
Her first love's blood was on her hands, and it would never be washed away.
Even in death.
Bellegere fell to her knees, unable to take her eye off of Mya's lifeless body. She rocked back and forth, subconsciously trying to soothe herself as the trauma set it's claws into her.
Those piercing, blue eyes were still opened, staring at her accusingly. Passing judgement, just like the heart tree.
The wind cut colder than it ever did before.
Her bones shivered beneath her flesh.
When warm arms wrapped around her, the icy air couldn't touch her any longer. She leaned into the embrace, seeking relief from the pain.
"You did your duty as queen," Melisandre said reassuringly. "The punishment matched the crime. Never forget that."
Bellegere could not hear her.
A sudden, rogue wind rustled the crimson leaves above her head. In the distance, the sound of Runa and her pack howling shook her eardrums.
Melisandre frowned deeply as she heard what seemed to be whispers in her ear. A thousand, indecipherable voices murmuring all at once.
She glanced through the trees as if she could find the source of that strange sound.
"You hear them now, too. Though, I doubt you will ever understand them."
The priestess' brows furrowed.
"The Old Gods are pleased," Bellegere explained tiredly, still staring into Mya's lifeless eyes.
"This was the truest of sacrifices. The one that they always wanted from me."
Melisandre lowered her head, understanding.
"My gods are cold and heartless, my lady. But I am their's. And, now...so is Mya."
As Bellegere stared up at the corpse of the woman she loved, Melisandre had a feeling that this thought did not comfort her.
After so much loss, she doubted anything could.
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Two Months Later
The Great Hall was filled to the brim as the Queen in the North held a conference with her subjects.
A raven had arrived from Dragonstone days ago. A summons from Queen Daenerys Targaryen.
Soon, she would be departing Winterfell to meet her new ally for the first time.
Many lords and ladies expressed discomfort with their young queen journeying so far south.
Especially to meet a Targaryen.
Bellegere patiently listened to their concerns and did her best to assuage them. Although, nothing would ever stop them from worrying about her.
Once the discussion ended, Maester Luwin leaned in to whisper in her ear.
"Lord Peytr Baelish of the Vale wishes to hold court with you," he said, frowning. "I believe he has an important proposal he wishes to be heard before you journey south."
When she stiffened, Brynden did as well, wondering what was bothering her.
"Lord Baelish, Warden of the East, please step forward," Bellegere announced. "I will hear this proposal you have for me."
He did as told, bowing before her.
"Thank you, your grace."
Littlefinger glanced over at Sansa, who sat at the same table as her sister. She went rigid as his lips twitched at the corner.
Forboding set in when he spoke.
"You have the full support of my house, my queen. However, despite my best efforts, the rest of the East require more than just my advocacy."
"And what do you suggest I do, my lord," Bellegere asked, her gaze unblinking. "Shall I set up a trade agreement between the Riverlands and the Vale? I doubt they have readied themselves for winter, as we have. Their food stores must be barren."
Peytr hummed to himself, admiring how politically adept and observant she was.
It was a very generous offer, but he could not allow it to prevail over his own.
"This is a wonderful idea, your grace, but I fear it will not suffice. The lords of the Vale are too pious and proud to admit they are ill prepared," Lord Baelish said, sighing.
Bellegere turned to her left to lock eyes with her Hand. Lady Melisandre tilted her head slightly, letting her know that she did not trust him.
The king consort studied his wife.
Outwardly, she appeared calm, but her lack of breathing spoke volumes.
She knew something he did not.
"Lord Baelish, speak plainly," Bellegere said exasperatedly. "What is your proposal?"
He shifted uncomfortably, noticing the silence of the room now. The northern nobility stared at him, unmoving. Carbon copies of their queen.
In the end, their opinions didn't matter.
Only Bellegere's.
"Your grace, I believe that uniting the North with the East through marriage would be a powerful show of good will to the valemen," Lord Baelish said confidently.
"As a result, you and Queen Daenerys would gain the full support of the Vale. Last I counted, the houses of the East can raise a minimum of forty-five thousand men when united under a common cause."
The queen studied him, and he took her contemplative expression as a good sign.
There was no way any monarch, smart or inept would deny forty-five thousand men during an open rebellion against the crown.
"I agree with you," Bellegere said, offering him a ghost of a smile.
"If you were to marry a princess of House Stark, the valemen would dedicate their lives to ensuring my success in the wars to come."
When Bellegere leaned forward in her throne, all eyes focused on her. She glanced towards Arya and Sansa, and then back to him curiously.
"Which one of my sisters do you wish to wed?"
Peytr did not spare Arya the slightest glance.
"Princess Sansa, your grace."
When she turned to Sansa, she could see the panic on her face as clear as day.
Bellegere's smile fell until it disappeared entirely.
"Go ahead then, Lord Baelish," she said, clasping her hands together.
He stared at her, thoroughly confused.
"If you wish to wed the princess, you must propose to her. Not me."
Littlefinger forced himself not to scowl at her. He did not expect her to place the power in her younger sister's hands.
He looked to Sansa and offered her a charming smile, but she saw through it like glass.
Beneath his mask of good faith, he was a snake, preparing to sink his fangs into her sister.
To what end? She could only speculate.
That was what made him so dangerous.
"Princess Sansa, it would be an honor to join our houses. Our union would ensure that our queen and her esteemed ally have enough forces to defeat her enemies in the South, and the forces beyond the wall," Lord Baelish said, pausing for effect.
"Also, I have always held feelings for you within my heart. If you were to accept my proposal, I swear that I would love and cherish you and our children to the fullest extent of my ability. Please, give me the privilege of being your husband."
Sansa could barely look at him.
His words were so very charming.
They dripped with honey and coercion.
If she were to refuse him, Bellegere would not gain the massive army that the Vale could provide. But if she accepted, she would be miserable and whatever plot he was running against her sister would prevail.
Sansa shared a meaningful glance with the queen and saw the devotion in her expression.
Whatever she chose, it did not matter. Because her sister would stand beside her.
That was all she needed to know.
"Thank you for your kind words, Lord Baelish. However, I must respectfully decline. If I am to marry, I wish to choose my own husband, and you are not him."
As if a candle were blown out, Littlefinger's beguiling smile vanished like smoke.
He turned to the queen in disbelief.
"My queen, I know that you love your sister dearly, but would you truly allow that love to cost you forty-five thousand men? Your duty as queen is to the people of the North, and now Daenerys Targaryen, not just your family."
Brynden gripped his wife's thigh beneath the table when she lurched forward. He could feel her anger oozing outward like a thick fog.
She heeded her king's warning, and took a deep breath to calm herself. As of late, her temper was out of control. Rightfully so, after all she endured.
There was little room for nicities anymore.
"My duty is to my family first, and it always will be. If my sister says that she does not desire you, then she does not desire you. End of story," Bellegere said in a saccharine sweet tone.
When he began to open his mouth, she smiled.
It was not kind, but bloodthirsty.
He could hardly look upon her.
"Choose your next words carefully, my lord. Because if you implore me to force my little sister into a marriage she does not want, then I will implore you to confess the truth of how you became Warden of the East. I highly doubt you will enjoy how that conversation ends."
Lord Peytr Baelish swallowed thickly as she stared him down with that unblinking gaze.
Only now did he recognize the darkness in her.
The subtle madness.
He cursed himself for not seeing it before.
In her eye, the promise of death lurked close to the surface. There was no apprehension or empathy in it's gray depths.
Whatever she needed to do to kill him, it would be done without the slightest hesitation.
Perhaps, she would even enjoy it.
Littlefinger recalled a handful of people he met in his life that were too dangerous to manipulate, and this young queen was now one of them.
If Eddard Stark held the slightest bit of this righteous madness within him, he would still be alive today, and Lord Baelish would be dead.
"I deeply apologize for any percieved disrespect that was felt by my proposal," Peytr backtracked, glancing between the sisters cautiously.
"If it please you, I shall return to the Vale and present your offer of a trade agreement with the Riverlands to my vassals. They would be foolish not to accept, your grace."
The queen leaned back in her throne.
"That is a very good idea, my lord. Perhaps, you should leave now," Bellegere said, raising a brow.
"I will expect all of your vassals to swear fealty to me within the next four months. Unless they want Queen Daenerys and I both to visit them."
She tilted her head at him, and he blanched.
"The first time a dragon visited the Vale, it was peaceful. But, if your vassals refuse to swear fealty to Queen Daenerys and I, believe me, I will make sure the next time will be the last. Do you understand, Lord Baelish?"
He bowed deeply, knowing that she was not making an empty threat.
It was the bloodiest of vows.
"I understand, your grace."
As Littlefinger left the Great Hall, he felt the weight of a hundred eyes on his back.
All of them, combined into one.