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One Month Later
Dragonstone
The first time Daenerys Targaryen met the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark, the crowned Queen of the North, she experienced a myriad of conflicting emotions.
The tales of magic, witchcraft, and brutal rituals disturbed her.
Word of her bloody godswood, filled with the hanging corpses of her enemies who's blood fed the thirsty, demon trees traveled far and wide.
It was whispered that the death of her father, brother, and stepmother drove her to practice the blood magic of the First Men and the Children of the Forest.
Apparently, she was the champion of the ever silent, Old Gods.
Then again, those were all merely rumors.
The first Queen of the North, Bellegere Stark, strode into her court with all the grace and exotic beauty of the Braavosi courtesans from which she descended, but she was dressed in the finest armor the North could offer.
Black armor hugged her curves, adorned with ancient runes. The Stark sigil engraved in the middle of her chest was painted crimson instead of gray.
Her ivory weirwood crown was eerily familiar to Daenerys. She'd seen it in a dream. Grasped in the jaws of a massive, black wolf.
The mere sight of Bellegere gave her pause.
For several opposing reasons.
There was no denying the specific, unique beauty she possessed. It was captivating.
However, the scar on her face and the hard look in her eye spoke a thousand words.
This woman knew battle and suffering.
On the other hand, Bellegere openly admired the queen who sat upon the throne.
Daenerys was more than what she expected.
It was known that Targaryens held a distinctive brand of beauty, but she hadn't expected her to be so ethereal. She resembled a fairy, with her silver, blonde hair and lilac eyes.
However, her expression was extremely stoic, altering her stunning features into a stony mask.
"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, and the Breaker of Chains."
While Missandei recited her many titles, the tall young woman leveled Daenerys with the most unreadable stare.
An intense gaze that she percieved as rude, although it was not meant to be.
Daenerys glared back despite herself, not cowering away from the apparent challenge.
One steel gray eye held her own while the blind left eye was masked by her crimson, weirwood leaf eyepatch.
A jagged, painful looking scar trailed from just above her left eyebrow, extending and curving to the bottom of her strong jaw.
Daenerys wondered how she got it, and why.
When Bellegere's giant of a husband stepped forward, her long, Braavosi styled braids fell down into her face as she turned her head to watch him.
Much of her raven hair was streaked with silver, a leftover trace of her storied ancestry. One that intertwined with Daenerys' own.
"You stand in the presence of Bellegere of House Stark, first of her name, the First Queen in the North, Crimson Thumb of the Godswood, Champion of the Old Gods, Butcher of the Boltons, and the Witch of Winterfell," Brynden Blackwood said proudly.
Next to the queen, Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pondered her titles.
Daenerys watched Bellegere smile at her husband, murmuring her gratitude, as he returned to her side.
The height difference between them reminded her of Drogo, but that was where the comparison ended. Despite his full beard and large stature, his face was narrow and rather feminine.
With Bellegere's more masculine aura and presentation, it made sense that she would find him attractive.
His long black hair was also braided in a way that she'd only seen in Braavos, making her question whether the Stark did it herself.
Daenerys took note of how closely they stood together, and the way the king consort kept his head on a swivel, assessing the room for any threats.
Even though his left arm was injured to the point of being bound in a sling, he was still prepared to protect his wife.
When Bellegere finally spoke, her voice was very feminine, but low and quite raspy.
As if the mechanisms that allowed her to speak had been injured in the past from yelling or screaming.
Possibly, from commanding her army.
She spoke with an aire of charisma that could only be achieved from years of leading her house, gaining and keeping everyone's attention.
"Queen Daenerys, it is a great relief to finally meet you in person," Bellegere said, offering her a ghost of a smile.
"I have impatiently awaited your arrival so that we might rid ourselves of Cersei Lannister and begin focusing on the true threat to Westeros."
The Targaryen nodded to her, pleased with how respectful she was being.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you as well, your grace. I hope your journey was easy," Daenerys said kindly.
"I've arranged the best quarters that I can muster for you and yours during your stay. Please, feel free to speak to my guards if you need anything as it pertains to accommodations."
Bellegere fought to keep her impatience at bay as her host went on to begin explaining meal times and other unimportant details.
In the end, her effort was in vain.
"I greatly appreciate your thoughtfulness and hospitality, your grace, but may we forgo these platitudes," she said, clasping her hands.
"I wish to discuss the intricacies of our alliance. Specifically, how many men you have, and what plans of attack you're considering on King's Landing. The sooner you sit the throne, the better for both of us."
Daenerys was unsure whether to be offended by her boldness or pleased that she wanted to get straight to business so quickly.
"While I enjoy your enthusiasm, I do not know you," Daenerys said, raising her brows.
Bellegere fought the scowl that pulled at her lips.
"You may have convinced your aunt to give me a fleet, but that doesn't mean I'm going to immediately trust you with sensitive information."
Tyrion narrowed his eyes as the Stark's jaw clenched tightly. When her gaze settled on him for a brief moment, he stiffened under it's intensity.
"Perhaps, but the knowledge that we both desire the same endgame should suffice. We both want the Lannisters off the throne and you on it. Is that not enough?"
"Sure, but if Cersei Lannister were not a factor, you would be rallying your armies, and readying to defend the North from me, my dragons, and my army," Daenerys said, raising a brow.
"You would have never reached out at all. The only reason you've gone to the great length of gaining this alliance is to avenge your family and secure the North for yourself. Is that not true?"
Queen Bellegere nodded once.
"There are more factors, but you've made an astute observation, your grace."
Daenerys regarded Bellegere with tentative respect, despite her immediate dislike.
Complete honesty, at the very least, was commendable. She remained truthful, even with the unspoken threat of being fed to her dragons.
However, she still didn't trust her as far as she could throw her.
"You've shown me that you are dedicated to our alliance, and I appreciate that," Daenerys said, inclining her head to the queen.
"However, as we are both queens with similar but innately different motives, I don't feel comfortable allowing you to know the intimate details of my military strategies before I know exactly who it is I will be trusting with that information. You could very well use anything I tell you against me at any point in time and take the throne for yourself."
Bellegere tilted her head incredulously.
She stepped closer with a cold expression on her face, forcing the Unsullied to ready themselves for an attack. Brynden and her guards flanked her incase they advanced.
"In one breath you express your gratitude, and in the next you question my integrity," Bellegere said in a deadly calm voice.
"You said that you don't know me, and that is abundantly clear. But, you will give me the respect I am due or our alliance is null and void."
Tyrion placed a hand on his queen's shoulder to calm her, but she shrugged it away and stood.
Daenerys Targaryen slowly descended the stairs of her dais, never taking her eyes off the irate queen at the bottom.
When she finally stood before her, she glared up at her. Their drastic height difference did not deter her in the slightest.
"Tell me, your grace. Why is it that you have a problem with me wanting to know my ally? Is there something you wish to hide? If so, do me the favor of being candid."
Bellegere moved closer, invading her personal space to the point where it unnerved her.
She stared down into the lilac eyes of the Targaryen without an ounce of fear.
"No, your grace. I simply have an issue with you questioning my integrity and wasting time that I could be spending with my young children," Bellegere whispered harshly.
Daenerys' glare softened when she noticed the longing in her eye. She did not have human children or a family, nor would she ever.
She didn't know how it would feel to be thousands of miles away from them.
Especially, during an open rebellion.
"I have procured a massive fleet for you, the full support of my army, and the Iron Bank," Bellegere said incredulously.
"My husband was horribly injured taking control of the Riverlands in your name, and I have all but ensured the Easterlands will join our cause as well. I've done all of this before even laying eyes on you. How much more loyalty could you ask for? Must I kill Cersei with my own two hands?"
Daenerys was too stunned to speak.
She did not know just how much her new ally had been fighting for her in the background.
It was astounding how a person she never met could be so dedicated to her cause.
"Why risk the life of your king and your soldiers for someone you don't know?"
Bellegere scoffed quietly.
"Cersei Lannister," she said as if it were obvious. "You said it yourself."
"But do you really loathe her so deeply?"
"This is not about hatred. This is about the greater good. As long as she sits the throne, my family will not be safe. Not to mention, the true war in the North against eternal darkness," Bellegere said passionately.
"Winter is coming, your grace. If any of us are to come out alive, Westeros must be united against this common foe and with Cersei on the throne there will never be unity. I believed that by showing my support to you and helping you achieve your goal, we could bring unity to the realm together."
Daenerys studied the other woman closely.
"Do you truly believe this prophecy or has your biased Hand convinced you of it's validity?"
"I don't just believe it. I know it to be true," Bellegere said without hesitation.
"My very own brother captured one of the white walkers and I saw it with my own eye. Soon, you will bare witness and your doubt will be erased."
Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching the intense scene before him.
The two queens stared at each other silently, as if challenging one another.
Daenerys, the embodiment of fire.
Bellegere, ice incarnate.
This was a meeting between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. The tension between them was palpable.
Tyrion did not expect the two women to be amicable, especially after the brutal tales he heard about the Stark and his profound knowledge of who his queen was as a person.
They were distorted mirrors of one another, while also being the exact opposite at the core. It was a given that they would clash.
However, to his surprise, their gazes softened.
Their defensive postures relaxed as they realized they were in the midst of a big misunderstanding.
Daenerys begrudgingly gathered herself and let go of her ego.
No matter how difficult it was to do so.
"I apologize for questioning your loyalty, Queen Bellegere. I truly meant no offense to you," she said quietly, so only the other woman could hear.
"I wasn't aware..."
Bellegere shook her head.
"No, I apologize for losing my composure. I should've remembered that I never told you about my recent exploits," she said in soft tone.
"In all honesty, if I were in your position, I would've went about this situation in the same way. You don't know who I am and what my true motive is. It's only right to be safe, your grace."
The Stark took a deep breath and stepped back.
"How about we start over? I don't wish to begin our alliance with confusion and animosity. After all, we are on the same side."
When Bellegere extended a scarred hand to her, Daenerys did not hesitate to take it.
It was cold and rather rough compared to her own. Battleworn and calloused from days spent training with the sword.
However, despite how powerful she knew this hand must be, the other woman's grip was ever so gentle.
"I would like that, your grace," Daenerys said, offering her a friendly smile.
Bellegere bowed her head respectfully, refusing to break eye contact. The Targaryen barely breathed beneath her silver stare.
"If you don't mind, my entourage and I are very tired from our voyage. Perhaps we could hold a council meeting on the morrow to discuss our plan of attack on King's Landing?"
"Yes, of course," Daenerys said a bit too eagerly.
She paused to clear her throat, unnerved by her companion's unrelenting gaze. Glancing down, she noticed Bellegere's hand was still in her's.
However, she did not let it go.
"I would also like to speak with you privately, at some point. So that we might get to know one another," Daenerys offered. "As we are set to be rulers of adjacent kingdoms, I would prefer us not to be strangers."
When Bellegere's mouth twitched at one corner, it irked her for some reason.
"As you wish, your grace."
Daenerys watched the wolf and her company be escorted from the throne room with an unreadable expression.
There were many aspects about the Stark that intrigued her to no end. Never had she met a woman like her and hundreds of questions swirled in her mind, begging to be answered.
At once, she understood why the Red Priestess urged her to summon Bellegere.
Much like herself, the woman was lead by a higher purpose. Meaning, anything or anyone that stood in her way would be mowed down mercilessly to achieve it.
Together, they held so much potential.
Tyrion cleared his throat, snapping the queen out of her thoughtful trance.
"I don't know about you, but she unsettles me," Tyrion muttered. "She is certainly not the girl I met so long ago."
Daenerys chuckled quietly.
"I've never known you to fear a woman, Lord Tyrion, but I understand. She is...intense."
He gulped his goblet of wine, trying to erase that heavy, one-eyed gaze from his mind. He could basically see all of the lives she had taken.
Tyrion had never been so happy to have been rejected in his life.
Brynden Blackwood had to be a strong man if he managed to remain married to her for so long and father her children.
"I believe it's safe to say that Bellegere Stark is no ordinary woman, my queen."
Daenerys hummed wistfully.
"No, but neither am I."
The next day, Bellegere sat at the Painted Table, along with the rest of Daenerys' allies.
Lady Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, and the Greyjoys.
Theon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid her piercing gaze. The scar that he left on her right hand was a reminder of what happened the last time they were this close to each other.
It was a reminder of his betrayal.
"Brother," Bellegere beckoned.
"How has life treated you?"
When Theon flinched, the woman beside him leaned forward aggressively.
"He isn't your brother, and he never was," she said sternly. "Do not speak to him."
Bellegere cocked her head.
"And who are you?"
"His sister."
Asha was lean and long legged, with dark eyes and black hair cut short. Her face was thin, with a big, sharp nose and wind-chafed skin. On her neck was a faded pink scar.
"Well, Theon's sister," Bellegere said quietly.
"If you don't wish to be mutilated like your brother, I suggest you hold your tongue."
Asha stood up abruptly, causing the Stark's guards to unsheath their swords.
Feeling Brynden's strong hand on her shoulder, Bellegere begrudgingly remained seated. After a long moment, she ordered her guards to relax.
Asha eyed her warily and sat back down.
Amidst the tense silence, a meek voice echoed.
"Did you really kill him? R-Ramsay, I mean."
Bellegere turned to Theon, frowning at the tremble in his voice and his timid demeanor.
The bitterness she felt towards him waned for a moment as she came to a realization.
The proud, jovial man she once knew had been devoured by a vile monster.
Although she often dreamed of killing him for betraying her family, she was happy that the man who tortured him was more destroyed than Theon would ever be.
Physically and mentally.
Bellegere softened, understanding that he had suffered enough at Ramsay's hands. There was no need to torment him any further.
"No, I did not kill him," Bellegere said, causing him to frown deeply.
"But, trust me, whatever Ramsay did to you doesn't compare to what he is enduring."
Only then did Theon look her in the eye, sharing a meaningful glance with her. He nodded once as if to show his gratitude, and she returned it.
Beside him, Asha relaxed in her seat regarding the queen with a small modicum of respect.
Bellegere cleared her throat, unnerved by the emotions and memories that Theon's presence evoked in her.
Now, she just wanted to be alone with Brynden, distracted from her buried pain.
"Where is your queen, imp," Bellegere demanded, gaining the attention of the room.
"Does she often keep her guests waiting?"
Tyrion smirked.
"No, one-eye. She does not."
When Brynden leaned forward aggressively, his wife touched his hand to stop him. The small smile on Bellegere's face was confusing.
"Interesting. With you being a dimwitted drunkard, I'm shocked you remember me."
"A drunkard, I may be, but my wit has never been dim, your grace," Tyrion said, enjoying the banter.
She scoffed teasingly.
"And how could I ever forget Ned Stark's pride and joy? The Black Pearl of Winterfell."
She glared at him, thoroughly offended.
"Never call me that again."
When they first met, he was visiting Winterfell with King Robert Baratheon.
Back then, Bellegere was a wild, comely young woman with a yearning for adventure. She and her companion, Mya, were never too far apart.
So when Tyrion came across the eldest Stark daughter and her bastard lover inside a brothel in Winter Town, he could not simply walk past her as if she were some commoner.
Bellegere was charming and magnetic, although she refused to call him anything but 'imp'.
In return, he fondly called her 'one-eye'.
Sadly, Tyrion studied the woman before him and could barely find the vibrant young lady he remembered.
All he knew about her now were the dark rumors that seemed so close to the truth.
"It's been a very long time, your grace. It seems we've both moved up in the world since we last spoke," Tyrion said, glancing at the man beside her curiously.
"I must say, it is a shame I couldn't have been your king consort. Did you truly find me so atrocious as to commit treason?"
He expected Brynden to be offended again, but now that he knew they were familiar with one another, the man was more amused than anything.
"Not atrocious at all, my lord. You are quite handsome," Bellegere said, winking at him.
"Just not...big enough."
Before Tyrion could snarkily reply, the doors to the room burst open, causing everyone to stand.
As Daenerys entered, her gaze lingered on the grinning Queen in the North, wondering what had her in such high spirits.
When the council meeting began, Bellegere did not speak at all.
Instead, choosing to listen to what every person had to say in regard to the plan of attack on King's Landing.
While Asha, Ellaria, and Olenna wanted to attack the city with the full might of their combined fleets, armies, and the dragons, Tyrion and Daenerys did not wish to shed more blood than necessary.
In place of an outright assault, they wanted to lay siege to the city and starve Cersei out. At the same time, Tyrion thought it best to send the Unsullied to take Casterly Rock.
From across the room, Daenerys noticed the queen's deep frown and became curious.
"Queen Bellegere, you've held your tongue through this entire meeting. Would you like to share your insight on the matter?"
While the room focused on Bellegere, she leaned toward her king consort and allowed him to whisper in her ear.
Daenerys waited patiently, studying the couple.
Until, finally, the Stark stood from her seat and addressed her directly.
"I appreciate your desire to show the realm your restraint and mercy, Queen Daenerys," Bellegere said, clasping her hands together. "And I do not envy the difficult decisions that you're being forced to make. But, may I speak plainly?"
Daenerys nodded once, greatly intrigued.
She focused on her as she began to walk along the Painted Table. The contemplative expression on her face deepened with each step.
"You said that you do not wish to be queen of the ashes, and I also heard Lord Tyrion mention that tens of thousands would die in the firestorm if you attacked the city with your dragons," Bellegere began, glancing at them both.
"On the other hand, the noble ladies at this table explained that our forces greatly outnumber Cersei's, and the city would fall in a day should we attack with all of our might. Lady Olenna even mentioned that the commoners and lords of Westeros won't obey you unless they fear you."
She paused for effect and turned to the Targaryen and her Hand full-on.
"If it were solely my choice, I would combine both of these opposing strategies. I would rally the lords of Westeros against Cersei.
Then, I would send those combined armies, and the Greyjoy and Otherys fleets to surround King's Landing while simultaneously gaining a foothold in Casterly Rock. But, rather than wait for an attack or a surrender, I would give Cersei an ultimatum," Bellegere explained without pause.
"Either give up the throne within a specific time frame, let's say two fortnights, or be forced to surrender."
Daenerys couldn't remember if she blinked or took a breath while listening to the Stark. She spoke with such confidence that it was difficult to focus on anything else.
Beside her, Tyrion Lannister was coming to an epiphany. Now that Bellegere had arrived, there would be no more lollygagging. She was too driven to wait around for the perfect outcome.
With Bellegere and Daenerys working together toward the same goal, he could not think of a force in the world that could stop them. He only hoped Cersei was not reckless enough to try.
"You have three dragons, your grace, and Cersei knows it. My very own Hand relayed intelligence to me that Cersei has accounted for them by having Scorpions built, hoping to shoot them from the sky," Bellegere said, curling her lip.
Daenerys shuddered as she imagined that, feeling her anger growing.
"If Cersei does not surrender within the timeframe you decide, I say we attack with a specific purpose. We take out the Scorpions, regardless of the residual damage and casualties that might incur, and then Cersei would have no choice but to admit defeat.
For, only then would she realize there is no hope to win against the combined power of our forces and the three dragons. If she continues to hold fast, our armies would decimate the Lannister forces in a fair fight, without dragon flame.
In the end, you would gain the fear and respect you require to rule without challenge, and you would not be queen of the ashes. You would just be...the rightful queen."
When Bellegere finished her speech, the room settled into a stunned silence as they contemplated her plan.
Daenerys locked eyes with her fellow monarch, feeling a new level of respect and admiration blossom within her.
It took longer than she expected to regain proper usage and authority over her tongue.
"I am grateful, Queen Bellegere, for your council. I'm grateful to all of you. But I will need time to contemplate all of the ideas you've given me in this meeting today. It seems I may have to reconsider my plan of attack."
She paused, turning to the Stark.
"Your grace, may I speak with you alone?"
Bellegere shared a glance and a small touch with her husband before he followed the rest of the council out of the room.
Once the two women were alone, sitting face to face with another, a thick tension settled in the space between them. They both felt it, but neither woman would acknowledge it's presence.
"I realize you're only here out of hatred for Cersei and not love for me," Daenerys said bluntly.
"I also recognize that you respected my desire not to lay waste to King's Landing in your plan. But I have a feeling you would rather attack without hesitation, just as the others do."
When Bellegere chuckled dryly, her silver streaked braids glimmered in the candlelight, distracting Daenerys for a moment.
"In that, you are correct. If I had three dragons, the Red Keep would be transformed into a second Harrenhal when I was done with it. But that is my desire for revenge speaking," Bellegere said honestly.
"The plan I gave is a good one and I stand by it. Do not wait for Cersei to set the rules of the game. With three dragons, a stronger claim, and a much larger force behind you, it is your responsibility to do that."
Daenerys nodded thoughtfully, taking in her words. No matter how much she tried to find a fault in her plan, she could not.
The Stark's adept battle strategy and profound charisma could not be ignored. She would be a valuable asset. In truth, she already was.
"How long will you remain at Dragonstone, your grace?"
Bellegere's brows rose slightly.
"Until you decide on a plan of attack. So that I may send ravens to prepare my vassals. Why?"
"When you arrived, I told you that I do not wish for us to be strangers and I meant that," Daenerys said, sitting straighter in her chair.
"Perhaps, tomorrow evening, you might join me for a private dinner? So that we may get to know one another without talk of war."
Bellegere studied her for a moment, noting her earnest expression.
In truth, she was not in the mood for intimate conversations. Even if it was best to understand who her new ally was and who she would be ruling beside in the future.
Ever since the deaths of her daughter and her first love, Bellegere barely had the energy to get out of bed or speak.
It exhausted her, but she forced herself to do so each and every day because she had duties to fulfill. This was no different.
She exhaled deeply and nodded.
"I look forward to it, your grace."
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The next evening, when Bellegere entered the queen's chambers, a massive dinner awaited her.
"Your grace."
Daenerys stood from her seat and offered her esteemed guest a small smile.
"Please sit, Queen Bellegere," she said, gesturing toward the other end of the table.
"I hope you're hungry."
Bellegere obeyed, eyeing the plate in front of her warily. Her caution did not go unnoticed by Daenerys.
"I swear before the Old Gods and the new that I did not poison your food. I would have nothing to gain from such a thing."
Bellegere released a surprisingly pleasant laugh, making the other woman smile despite not understanding what was funny.
"I appreciate the fact that you swore an oath to me, but the image of your Hand teaching you about Westerosi and Northern customs is hilarious for some reason."
The Targaryen chuckled as she remembered the whole ordeal.
"It was quite ridiculous actually, considering I was not raised to believe in any gods. I've never fully understood the concept."
Bellegere frowned, unable to relate.
"May I ask why?"
Daenerys hesitated, desiring to go into detail about her past and not knowing why.
It was rare that she allowed herself to think back to a time before she hatched her dragons.
Before Rhaego and Drogo died.
Before Viserys was killed.
In the end, she let go of her apprehension, hoping her openess prompted her guest to do the same.
"Growing up, Viserys and I did not have time to believe in gods or miracles or blessings. We only had time for survival," Daenerys said in a matter of fact tone.
"After our only caretaker died, we became beggars. We traveled all over Essos begging strangers for food and money and help to return back to Westeros. Every host that took us in would inevitably force us back to the streets. All the while, Robert Baratheon's assassins nipped at our heels."
Bellegere frowned, disgusted by what she was hearing. It was difficult to imagine herself in that same situation and she didn't want to.
The solemn expression on the Targaryen's face spoke volumes.
"We were forced to sell every possession we owned. And to this day, I still remember when Viserys sold our mother's crown," Daenerys said, swallowing thickly.
"From that day onward, all of the joy in him had vanished, leaving only rage in it's wake. After that, I could never bring myself to believe any gods deserved my praise. Because, surely, they held no regard for mankind."
When Daenerys looked up at her guest again, she recognized the empathy and respect in her eye.
"I had no clue you'd been through so much. I shall never take my spoiled upbringing for granted again," Bellegere said sincerely.
"Thank you for sharing that with me, your grace."
Daenerys pursed her lips and nodded to her.
The pair descended into comfortable silence as they ate their food, only sharing small talk every now and again.
Once they finished their meal, the women found themselves sitting in front of the hearth.
"Oftentimes, I only tolerate wine, but this is really good," Bellegere said, raising her brows.
"Where is it from?"
Daenerys chuckled.
"This is actually cinnamon mead from Meereen. It is tasty but I must warn you, it's much stronger than wine."
"Are you trying to make me confess to something, your grace? Because it might work."
Daenerys smirked in amusement.
"Not necessarily."
While Bellegere sipped the mead gingerly, enjoying the spicy flavor of it, Daenerys stole glances at her.
A mound of black curls streaked with silver sat atop her head, exposing her long neck. Several small scars marred the light caramel expanse of her throat, making Daenerys' curiosity grow stronger.
The Stark had forsaken her armor in favor of a dark gray, Northern style dress that hugged her wide hips perfectly. The draping sleeves and high neckline were adorned with weirwood leaf embroidery, outlined in crimson thread.
It was Daenerys' first time seeing Northern attire, and she quite liked the conservative aesthetic.
Although, she had a gut feeling this style of dress wouldn't be as striking on anyone else.
Queen Bellegere made her modest attire look enticing due to years of honing her body into the lean, muscular unit that it was, but she doubted any other Northern lady could compare.
Even after bearing two children, her body managed to remain perfect, and she did not doubt that the queen could still fight with the same ferocity she did before.
Daenerys admired Bellegere over the cup pressed to her lips.
All the while, she wondered if the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach was envy or attraction.
Both were equally problematic.
"Your Hand informed me that you and your husband have welcomed two sons since you wed. I imagine it must be difficult to be so far away from them."
Bellegere did not speak for a long moment and her brows furrowed deeply.
"I have three now. Two boys and a girl," she said, clearing her throat. "My...a good friend of mine died recently and I took her daughter in."
Daenerys noticed how stiffly she sat and cursed herself for bringing up such a sensitive topic.
"I offer my condolences..."
Bellegere waved her off. She did not want to go into any further detail or even discuss her children with a stranger.
"Might we change the subject, your grace?"
Daenerys conceded, although she wished to know more. Either due to selfish desire or masochism, she wanted to hear Bellegere talk about her children in greater detail.
Perhaps, to live vicariously through her.
"Did Lady Narha explain why she wouldn't sail for Dragonstone? I expected to see her here."
Daenerys smiled, remembering her meeting with the older woman. The experience was interesting and rather enlightening.
"In so many words, she explained that she is too old to sail and she has no desire to come to Westeros if she does not intend to remain here," Daenerys said, smirking to herself.
Bellegere shook her head fondly, knowing that Narha hadn't been as demure as the queen was portraying her to be. She was a shrewd old woman with little to no couth or regard for platitudes.
Weak men would refer to her as a cunt, but in truth, she was just too old and wealthy to uphold a facade.
Much like Lady Olenna Tyrell.
"I must say, your aunt is a force of nature and so are her daughters. It seems a certain fire courses through the veins of Otherys women."
When Bellegere glanced at her, just barely raising a scarred brow, she realized what she was thinking.
"I assure you, that was not a reference to us being distant cousins," Daenerys said in an amused tone.
"I simply meant that all of the women on your mother's side have quite strong personalities. Your aunt claims that trait was passed down from your foremother."
Bellegere smiled sardonically, displaying a noticeable, but flattering gap in her front two teeth.
"Let me guess, she gave you a proud and exhaustive history lesson on our house. Specifically the first Black Pearl," Bellegere said sarcastically, waving her hands around.
Daenerys tried and failed to contain the laugh that bubbled up in her throat.
Bellegere's expression was hilariously wry and exasperated at the thought of her aunt forcing Daenerys to listen to propaganda and lore.
"I already knew alot, but Lady Narha certainly filled in the blanks for me over the course of several hours," Daenerys said, shaking her head.
"She also made sure to express her disappointment that you declined her offer to become the next Black Pearl. I don't mean to overstep, but is there a reason why?"
When Bellegere sighed deeply, there was a certain vulnerability in her eye. It was so out of place that Daenerys couldn't miss it.
"Narha believes, merely because I share the ancestral name of the founder of House Otherys, I am required to forsake my family and fulfill the same duty that all the other women with my name have fulfilled."
The more Bellegere thought about her aunt, the more she recognized the resentment she held for her. Even though she knew Narha loved her, she often made her feel insecure as a girl. Damaging her sense of self.
"Every time I visited her as a child, she would remind me of who my predecessor was. The great Bellegere Otherys, the first Black Pearl of Braavos and the famed pirate. The Basilisk Queen of the Narrow Sea. Each time I listened to her, I felt pressured to grow into shoes that do not and will never fit me."
Daenerys listened to her speak with rapt attention, sensing that she was finally opening up. She studied the other woman's deep frown with an empathetic gaze.
"I am not a courtesan. I am not a sailor or a pirate. I cannot replicate my foremother's legacy. No matter how much I hoped to as a child. No matter how much Narha wants me to."
With the pressure of saving an entire dynasty resting on Daenerys' shoulders, she resonated with what Bellegere was saying on a deep level.
Before her dragons hatched, she held the same belief. Never feeling worthy of her name. Lacking the confidence to take hold of her destiny.
"I love Narha but she never failed to remind me that I wear an ancestor's name and face. I look more like a dead woman than my own father. And all my life, that woman has stared back at me through my reflection," Bellegere continued, forgetting about her audience.
"I used to be afraid that she was disappointed in me. So I pushed myself to become stronger. Now, here I am. Physically and mentally scarred from battles. Eternally altered."
Daenerys peered into the flames of the hearth as those words struck a cord in her soul.
Sometimes, in the bath, she would look down and find a woman she didn't know. Shaking and deforming in the ripples of the water as she lie beneath the surface.
How many times had she glanced at her reflection and seen her ancestors peering through her eyes?
They visited her dreams, urging her to embrace the blood of the dragon.
Until the day came that she did.
"I often look at my hands and think of my mother. A woman I have never known. In a way, I suppose that means I have never known myself. Perhaps, I never truly will," she said, furrowing her brows.
Daenerys lowered her head thoughtfully.
She'd never known her mother or her father. It never occurred to her how that may have affected her mentally.
"But what I do know is that I will not force myself into shoes that don't fit me, simply because of other people's expectations. I won't ever fit the role of Black Pearl, but Queen in the North suits me just fine, if I say so myself."
When Bellegere finished speaking, she took a long sip of mead to surpress the regret that followed her impromptu rant.
She did not know this woman, and yet she was spilling her inner thoughts and insecurities in front of her. The alcohol was certaintly to blame.
Daenerys noticed her discomfort, and admired how mild the Stark's personality became when there was no need for brazen regality and bravado.
"If I may be frank, your grace. Before you arrived I was certain we would not mesh. But, I am pleased to have been proven wrong. We have more in common than I could've imagined," Daenerys said wistfully.
"While you may be intense at times, you are nowhere near as dreadful as rumors have lead me to believe."
Bellegere smirked at her, thoroughly amused. But, deep down, she was flattered.
"I assume your Hand informed you of my dark reputation. I would expect nothing less after I blatantly rejected him."
"You are correct, but he never told me anything as if it were a fact," Daenerys assured her.
"Which leads me to ask you if any of those sinister whispers are true. Are you really a witch? Do you actually sacrifice men and feed them to your weirwood trees?"
For a short moment, Bellegere remained silent, pondering how much to divulge and the manner in which she should do so.
"In the North, we have followed the Old Gods for thousands of years, tracing back to the era of the First Men. Although many of the rituals my ancestors practiced have died out, they live on through me," Bellegere explained patiently, leaning forward in her seat.
While she spoke earnestly, her focused gaze never left Daenerys.
"Simply put, yes. I have sacrificed people before my heart tree. And most definitely, I have hung their bodies in my godswood as offerings to my gods. But every one of those men either betrayed me and my family, or they committed crimes punishable by death. I am not a murderer."
Daenerys did not flinch at this confirmation, as she had crucified the masters of Meereen without mercy.
All one hundred and sixty three of them nailed to wooden posts, each one pointing to the next.
What bothered her was that she called herself a witch. It reminded her of the blood maegi, Mirri Maz Duur. The witch that killed her beloved Khal and her son, Rhaego. The woman who cursed her with perpetual infertility.
From that point onward, she held a distrust for them that she could never foresee herself overcoming.
"And why do you call yourself the Witch of Winterfell? Do you practice blood magic?"
Bellegere noticed the queen's stiffened posture and serious tone.
"That title is more satirical than anything, your grace. If I am a witch, then a Red Priestess of R'hllor could be considered a goddess," she said simply.
"I merely pray to the gods and sometimes they answer me. Many might say they bless me more than others. However, that does not qualify as witchcraft, in my opinion."
Daenerys nodded thoughtfully, taking a deep swig of her mead. The queen's words comforted her.
"That is a great relief."
The knowledge that the unsettling dream which haunted her months ago was not sent to her using some sort of dark magic helped her trust the other woman even more.
"Why is that, your grace?"
"I quite enjoy your company."
When Bellegere arched a scarred brow at her, Daenerys blanched.
She placed her cup back onto the table and decided not to touch it for the rest of the night.
Sure, they were being rather candid with one another, but she wanted to keep some of her cards close to her chest.
Letting the other woman know that she enjoyed her presence was the last thing she wanted to do.
Apparently, the mead had different plans.
"You honor me, your grace," Bellegere said with a small smile on her lips.
A gray eye traced Daenerys' features of it's own accord, admiring the red tint of a blush on her cheeks and the way the queen pretended it wasn't there at all.
"I have enjoyed our conversation as well, but the hour is quite late."
Daenerys glanced at the window and noticed how dark it was. She wondered how many hours had passed since her guest arrived.
"Then I suppose we should retire for the night," she said, standing up. "I'm sure you would like to return to your husband."
When Bellegere stood, she surprised her by extending a hand.
Instinctively, Daenerys took it.
Unlike the first time, it was not cold but just as warm as her own.
Daenerys looked up into her silver eye, feeling much more comfortable than she did when they first met.
"Queen Daenerys, I would like to thank you for your hospitality and kindness," Bellegere said in an amiable tone of voice.
"I had my own silly reservations about meeting you as well. But, after this pleasant conversation, I believe we could have a powerful allegiance. That is, if we continue to resonate with one another on this level."
The light of the hearth reflected in the Bellegere's eye and the streaks of silver in her hair glimmered like small pearls.
Daenerys tried not to be distracted by her beauty, but in the end, her efforts were in vain.
"I wholeheartedly agree. I forsee an amicable relationship between our houses," Daenerys murmured, pausing for a spell.
"Henceforth, when we are alone, feel free to call me by my given name or Dany. I believe we can forgo perpetual formalities at this point."
Bellegere nodded.
"You are free to do the same. I look forward to our next talk."
The Stark released her hand but Daenerys tightened her grip to keep her in place.
Their height difference was dramatic, but she confidently met the narrowed, gray eye that stared down at her.
"If it please you, I would enjoy your company on the morrow," Daenerys said, studying her face.
"As we are now allies, it is only right for you to meet my dragons. Unless you have personal reservations?"
Bellegere's mouth twitched at the corner as she sensed the underlying challenge in her words.
"I have no qualms about it, as long as you agree to meet my direwolf," she said, smirking faintly. "Runa is an excellent judge of character."
Daenerys chuckled quietly.
"I look forward to it."
Bellegere smiled, bowing her head respectfully.
"Sleep well, Daenerys."
As the Queen in the North floated out of the room with unparalleled grace, Daenerys Targaryen watched her leave.
That night, sleep did not embrace her.