The journey to Winterfell from Dragonstone was a long one.

The fastest route was still two fortnights long. It required them to sail north, around the coast of Westeros, until they reached White Harbor.

With so much time to spare, Bellegere's mind raced with thoughts. She pondered the wars to come, and the safety of her family and the people of the North.

However, Daenerys Targaryen saturated her thoughts like a bloodstain on white linen.

It was a crime, how often Bellegere's mind circled back to her.

That was the reason she found herself in the Targaryen's chambers from time to time.

On occasion.

Every other night.

And then every night.

Both queens knew it was unbecoming of them to spend so much time alone together. Lord Tyrion expressed his concern as well, making it clear.

What if word spread and the wrong narrative was created about their relationship?

Bellegere heeded the warning, but as long as Brynden didn't have a problem with her spending time with Daenerys, she would continue to do so.

And Daenerys?

She couldn't care less.

"After the smoke settles from these wars, I won't have time to enjoy our victories. There is so much that needs to be done."

"Of course not," Bellegere agreed.

"There is no rest for us. A ruler must never sit too comfortably."

The Targaryen smirked at her playfullly.

"If so, then why are you lounging in my chair, Queen Bellegere?"

She laughed a bit too hard.

"I suppose you have a point."

Daenerys paced in front of the hearth in her flowing, crimson gown. The silver curls that framed her face bounced with each step that she took and Bellegere was transfixed.

How beautiful she was, silhouetted by the dancing flames. A visage of winter with the heart of an eternal summer.

Daenerys was a dream of spring.

"I plan to rebuild the area Tyrion calls Fleabottom, and ensure that every person in King's Landing has a home that can protect them from the elements," Daenerys said passionately.

"I also plan to rebuild the Great Sept of Baelor. In doing so, I hope to raise the spirits of the commonfolk. After Cersei destroyed it, I am certain that the people felt discouraged."

Bellegere nodded along thoughfully.

"I agree with everything you have in mind so far. However, I have a few suggestions."

A tipsy Daenerys stopped pacing to focus on her.

"Speaking from personal experience, these plans will gain you the favor of your population, but what you truly need is their confidence," Bellegere explained earnestly.

"The only way that can be gained is by fulfilling your basic duties as queen. That means marrying and birthing heirs. Shoring up your succession is the best way to ensure your people have confidence in you as their leader."

The melancholic expression on Daenerys' face took her off guard. Instinctively, Bellegere stood and took the shorter woman's hand. She gazed down at her softly, filled with concern.

"My dragons are the only children I will ever have," Daenerys said, almost so quietly that she could not hear her.

Frowning, Bellegere tilted her head.

"How do you know that?"

Daenerys recalled the memory of the blood maegi, Mirri Maz Duur, and the deaths of her beloved Drogo and their child.

"A witch told me after she killed my son inside me. She cursed my womb upon my husband's death."

Bellegere's jaw flexed as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling Dany into the warmest embrace she had ever known.

"That cannot stand."

It was instinct to put herself in Daenerys' place. To imagine herself and her husband in the same situation. Disgust was wrought in her expression.

"There isn't much I can do, but when you visit Winterfell, I will pray for you before my heart tree," Bellegere declared, gazing into the hearth.

"The Old Gods will hear my plea."

Curiously, Daenerys searched the wolf's face.

"Why would you do that for me?"

The question confused her.

"Because it is right, of course."

Throughout their short time together, Bellegere had been closed off at times but, on occasion, she had been rather vulnerable.

Sharing her inner thoughts, insecurities, and even traumatic experiences.

However, it was only now that Daenerys completely understood who she was at the core.

Even though, after all was said and done, Daenerys could easily betray her trust and declare the North as rightfully her's.

Bellegere would still choose to do everything in her power to ensure she had heirs.

Not because it was smart, or strategic.

But because, in her mind, it was right.

"It is an honor to call you my friend," Daenerys murmured softly.

For the first time, she witnessed a blush redden Bellegere's face. It made her look like a different woman. Softer, more beautiful than normal.

Perhaps, this was what she looked like as a girl.

Before her life became a never-ending funeral.

"I feel the same, Dany."

Their talks began with politics.

Like, Daenerys' plans for the future of Westeros and Bellegere's desire to triple the amount of men who guarded the wall.

However, discourse between queens transitioned into banter between friends.

Sometimes they laughed so hard that tears fell, or they sat in comfortable silence. On occasion, one of them would broach a sensitive topic.

It was always Daenerys.

"May I speak freely?"

Bellegere laughed, brows raised incredulously.

"All this time, I thought that was what we were doing. Whatever you wish to say to me in private, feel free to speak plainly from now on."

Daenerys nodded, blushing crimson.

The way she hesitated before she spoke peaked Bellegere's interest. She only did that when she was about to risk offending her.

"You and King Brynden," she said quietly. "For the life of me, I can't comprehend how it works. He is a pleasant man...but the more I get to know you, the less I understand your relationship."

Bellegere chuckled dryly.

"We prefer it that way."

Brynden Blackwood was the feeling in Bellegere's chest when she remembered some long forgotten, fond memory.

He was the smile that graced her lips when she pondered something her father once said.

He embodied who she was before grief tore her apart and set the shards on fire.

Graciously, he accepted the darkness within her.

He kept it at bay with the rays of warm light that poured from his eyes when he laughed, when he looked at her, and when he held their children in his arms.

Every night, beneath the candlelight of their bedchamber in Winterfell, her skin would glow from the sunshine of his love as they joined together. Two beings, united in mutual respect, understanding, and a love forged from duty.

But she couldn't tell Dany these things.

Something unholy and dishonorable within her knew the unfiltered truth would push her away.

So, instead, Bellegere spoke of the love of her life plainly, only revealing a sliver of how she truly felt about him.

This way, the flame of desire and hope in Daenerys' ethereal eyes would stay alive.

The soft touches and lingering glances would continue, and every night the blasphemous ache between her thighs would faithfully return.

It was wrong and selfish, but after so much pain and grief, she needed to feel something pleasant.

"Brynden found his way into my heart by being trustworthy and faithful. By doing exactly what he says he's going to do, no matter what," Bellegere said simply.

"Also, I would be remiss not to mention how well he's grown into his role as a king and a father. I long for the day our sons are old enough for him to begin grooming them into men."

Daenerys hummed thoughtfully.

"I understand. Your king is a good man and you respect him," she said, looking at her through long, silver eyelashes.

"Are you happy with him in every aspect?"

Silence filled the space as Bellegere decided if she wanted to grace her with a response. It was a silly question. A childish query.

"I didn't have two of his babes with hopes of having more because it was my dream to do so."

"No, but it is your duty," Daenerys stated plainly.

"What about what you want? Does he please you the way you deserve to be pleased?"

When she laughed, it took her by surprise.

"I see," Bellegere said amusedly. "You want to know if I'm satisfied with my sex life."

When she leaned forward in her seat, Daenerys' brows rose, intrigued.

"Brynden may be quiet and reserved around people he doesn't know, but he fucks me the way I need to be fucked. And I assure you, it is no small feat. I can be quite demanding."

The blush that reddened her pale cheeks was what Bellegere hoped for.

She smirked.

"Does that answer your question?"

Daenerys cleared her throat, feeling conflicting emotions at the image her words evoked.

"It certainly does."

On their journey to Winterfell, days turned into weeks, and each night their talks became even more intimate.

However, not in a positive way.

When Daenerys asked Bellegere about her mother, a decades old pain made itself known.

Warmed by the mead in her belly and the comforting flames of the hearth, she spoke freely about the woman who died birthing her.

"My father said that my mother moved out of her body. Decided it was no longer worthy," a drunken Bellegere Stark said, smiling up at the ceiling as if she could see the ghosts of her sires.

"It could not contain her laughter. Her spirit wanted to call the night her everlasting feast. She longed to adorn herself in finer attire. My mother now wears the world."

She listened intently, enraptured by how passionate the stoic queen was in this moment.

How tragic and beautiful.

Daenerys adored the texture of her mind.

"Bellanora Otherys dresses herself in the tall grasses. Blushes her cheeks with red clay. In her hair she wears the feathers of every bird."

Tears welled in Bellegere's eye, though her smile widened. She could envision her, despite never having the pleasure of meeting.

Bellegere knew her mother like she knew the gods. By heart, by faith, by blood.

"She laughs and a forest fire awakes. She laughs and every mountain bows to her sharp thunder. She laughs and each crow begins to speak."

Bellegere frowned then, running a hand through her silver streaked curls.

"I recall, one night, Winterfell was cloaked in steam. Fog traveled from some distant heat. Common sense told me that a wildfire had managed to take hold farther north, but my father insisted that I had it all wrong," she said, nibbling her bottom lip.

"He said, someone must have asked my mother to dance."

As tears fell freely from Bellegere's eye, Daenerys held her hand. A silent, but steadfast companion.

This night, Bellegere failed to stop the tears from flowing, and Daenerys comforted her through it all. Like a friend, or a sister, or a lover.

She wiped her tears, trying to compose herself.

"It is selfish of me to weep when you've experienced worse. You never met your parents," Bellegere said, caressing her hand.

"I can't imagine what you've been through."

Daenerys shook her head.

"We both know what it means to live without a father and a mother and so much more," she said softly. "How lonely we have been, Belle. How helpless, you and I. Crushed by longing and grief."

The brunette squeezed her shoulder, looking deeply in her eyes. Past the confidence and the regality, down into her tired soul.

A Targaryen, alone in the world, trying with all her might to save her house from the brink of extinction.

How lonely must she feel?

Completely estranged, like a castaway.

"If you honor the oath you made to me, I will always be there for you," Bellegere murmured softly. "Even when we are leagues apart, you can find solace in the knowledge that I will be there for you when you need me. I swear this to you."

Moved to her core, Daenerys fought the urge to kiss her. A bloody war was waged inside her before she found the strength to speak.

"I swear the same to you."

When Bellegere stood to leave that night, she realized that something felt different.

She lingered by the door too long, and felt a sense of loss at the thought of opening it.

It is happening again, Bellegere thought mournfully.

She could feel it moving through her body like a sickness, and there was no stopping it.

After spending so much time together, Bellegere knew she could not reconstruct the wall that Daenerys had destroyed in her heart.

Because, unlike Mya Stone, it was not a hammer she used. Unlike Brynden, it was not a chisel.

The dragon queen utilized the concept of intimacy itself, and Bellegere feared there would be no recovery this time.

"I didn't mean to ruin your night."

"You didn't," Bellegere said, clearing her throat.

"I feel better than I did when I arrived."

In the silence, lilac eyes burned into her own. Echoing with promises, pleas, and something so sweet and soft that she couldn't stand it.

"Then stay with me."

Daenerys Targaryen dared to touch her face.

A gentle hand to the cheek and a dangerous look in her eyes. A silent challenge.

It sent a chill down Bellegere's spine.

Made her stomach flutter as if she were a young girl again and not one of the most powerful women in Westeros.

Just a woman with blood on her hands and a heart that always yearned for everything she could not have.

She tensed like a wolf backed into a corner.

Yet, she did not pull away.

"What are you doing," Bellegere breathed.

Daenerys softly caressed her cheek.

"Touching you. Feeling you."

The deep, shaky breath that followed made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Strong, calloused hands found purchase on her waist as if to push her away, but in the end, they did not. Bellegere squeezed her hips, silently praying for the strength to leave.

"I know, Belle," she whispered. "I feel it too."

Lilac eyes traced her mouth as she moved closer.

Daenerys wanted to raise up on the tips of her toes and taste the plump, pink lips that haunted her dreams, day and night.

The longing within her had grown teeth and gnawed it's way to the surface.

She wanted Bellegere to see it.

To hold that terrible monster in her arms, and soothe it with the gentle caress of her tongue.

"One night," Daenerys said breathlessly.

"And then, we shall put this behind us forever."

Eye shut tight, Bellegere shook her head.

"I am married. I love my husband more than life itself and I would never betray him."

"If following your heart is a betrayal, then I must be the most unsightly wretch in existence."

The taller woman leaned down, pressing their foreheads together.

"We can't," she said firmly. "Let these late night talks be enough."

Daenerys clenched her teeth together.

"Why live the rest of your life in regret when I am here, practically begging you to touch me? Must I say it aloud?"

Eye to eye, skin to skin, she could see how much Bellegere wanted her. She felt the heat of it rising from beneath her flesh.

"Touch me," Daenerys pleaded, pulling her closer.

"Kiss me."

They were so close that they're noses brushed against one another.

That ethereal silver eye bore down into her own with such intensity that it made her body ache. Fingertips dug into hips, unsure whether to pull her in or push her away.

"Let me show you how badly I want you. Just once. Let me know you in every way."

"Daenerys."

Bellegere whispered her name repeatedly, like a prayer or a sacred mantra.

"Perhaps, in another life. Just not this one."

Consumed by need and frustration, Daenerys Targaryen grabbed the Queen in the North by the throat, but didn't choke her.

Just kissed her so deep that she forgot whose air she was breathing.

In truth, it was a mercy compared to what she wanted to do. She wanted to devour her. Instead, Bellegere was the one devouring her.

She expected to be shoved away and berated.

However, strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her impossibly closer. She melted into her body like she belonged there.

The wolf queen kissed like she was starving.

Rough. Desperate.

All dominance and control.

Begging to be known.

Remembered.

Bellegere nibbled on her lips, coaxing guttural moans from her body, and driving her closer to madness than she'd ever been.

Strong hands fisted in her hair, holding her still as Bellegere expertly gave her what she wanted and took what she needed.

When one of those hands moved down her body, caressing her breasts, Daenerys couldn't take it anymore. She guided that hand south, beneath her dress, where she needed her most.

Both released a moan as her lithe fingers explored the slickness of Daenerys' most sensitive place.

Bellegere clenched her thighs together as if she could feel what she was doing to her.

"Right there," Daenerys whimpered, clinging to her like a lifeline.

She was already so close, it hurt.

"Please. Don't stop."

Tightly imprisoned in this torturous embrace, Daenerys wanted to swallow Bellegere whole.

Have her melt and flow into her veins like lava, and then cool down.

Solidify inside her.

Stay there forever.

But, Bellegere Stark was liquid and untameable.

The daughter of the sea.

Every time she entered a space, she was already looking for an exit. Thinking of ways to leave and all the reasons why she should not stay.

The wild spirit in her was loathe to sit still.

Many things interested her, and none satisfied her entirely. Not even Brynden Blackwood. No matter how fervently she would deny it.

This was her way.

And Daenerys would come to loathe it.

"We must stop," Bellegere muttered, pulling away.

"This is wrong."

The beautiful woman in her arms didn't listen and, truthfully, she did not want her to.

What Bellegere wanted was to spend the same amount of hours exploring Daenerys' body as she'd spent exploring her mind.

As teeth sank into her neck, making her knees buckle, she realized even that wouldn't suffice.

"Stop."

Bellegere firmly pushed her away, holding her at an arm's length. She licked her bruised lips as guilt and shame fell down upon her shoulders like a heavy cloak.

Filled with forboding, Daenerys waited for the consequences of her actions.

She didn't dare raise her eyes to her terrible fate.

"Never speak a word of this to anyone," Bellegere said harshly.

"We must never do this again. Do you understand? Never again."

Ever defiant and headstrong, Daenerys scowled.

"We are queens. In privacy, we can do what we want," she argued. "I understand that you're married, but marriage has never stopped men from fucking other people. Male or female."

Bellegere shook her head.

"Brynden is not like these men you speak of. And no matter how deeply I want you, I will be damned if I betray him in such a way."

As Bellegere pulled her into an embrace, Daenerys felt like she was saying goodbye.

Not to her, but to her heart.

"For the rest of this journey, we should keep our distance," Bellegere whispered.

She stared at their shadows on the floor.

It was poetic how they danced together.

"Know it's for the better, Dany."

Before letting her go, she hesitantly placed a sweet kiss to her cheek.

It was pure.

Tragic and beautiful.

Their eyelashes tickled one another as she lingered there, reveling in the softness and warmth of her skin.

Daenerys watched her leave, frozen in place, staring at the door as melancholia set in.

She touched her lips and her cheek, remembering what it felt like to be kissed by Bellegere Stark.

The most intimidating, terrifying, sensitive, and understanding person she knew.

Bellegere felt so familiar.

Sturdy and safe.

Given the chance, Daenerys would cling to her dress, bury her face in the warm curve of her neck, and remain there until the world fell away from them.

Closing her eyes, she could imagine it, but when she opened them, she was alone again.

Painfully alone.

The light of the hearth caused Daenerys' lonely shadow to dance, and she turned away from the sad sight. The only thing she could do is try to comfort herself enough to rest.

"There is no reason to fret," Daenerys muttered under her breath.

"All she meant was good. Give her some time. Give her some space. All that she said was true."

Still, her mind raced.

Daenerys had never felt so alive and full of vitality when Bellegere was present, or so solitary and isolated when she left.

This night had opened her eyes, and Daenerys feared she would never sleep again.


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On the other side of the ship, Bellegere strode into her bedchamber with purpose.

Brynden Blackwood sat in the farthest corner of the room. Alone, shirtless, and content.

He leaned over his book, the muscles of his wide back flexing as he shifted unconsciously. A long, jet black braid ended just below his waist.

His pale, white skin shone beneath the orange light of the hearth and two dozen candles.

Bellegere silently watched him, unwilling to interrupt his moment of peace.

At times like this, she remembered how beautiful he was. If she were to tell him as much, he would frown and tell her that men could not be beautiful.

He would be wrong.

Sometimes Bellegere could not tell if she was in love with him or wanted to be him.

Brynden was perfect, and that made her traitorous desires all the worse.

He was kind and handsome and chivalrous.

The sort of man other men envied.

The kind of king the North didn't know it needed until he came along. The kind of man Bellegere hoped she would be if she were one.

She wanted to merge bodies with Brynden and become one being.

One entity that loved itself.

Because that was impossible, she supposed being married to him would suffice.

Bellegere longed to run her fingers through his hair and watch his massive, imposing body relax beneath her ministrations.

To kiss his thick lips and feel his hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise.

But, touching Brynden was never enough.

Like playing with fire.

There was always an urge to stoke the flame and watch it grow, and that rarely ended with anything other than sex. Which, she enjoyed.

However, after the death of their third child, Bellegere developed a deep fear of becoming pregnant again.

With trepidation, she realized that she had not been intimate with her husband in months and the thought made her grimace.

As a wife, one of her many duties was to keep her husband satisfied, in every way, and she was failing miserably.

It was clear in his eyes when they lie in bed.

His hands clenched to keep from exploring her body the way he was accustomed to. She always felt his need pressing against the back of her thigh as he held her beneath the furs.

If he was frustrated, he would never say it.

Although she hated it, this was his way.

Forever unwilling to complain.

"Welcome back, beloved," Brynden said, looking up from his tome.

"Did you enjoy your time with Queen Daenerys?"

Bellegere didn't speak.

Slowly, she crossed the room, feeling a lump rising in her throat.

She went to him, shedding her clothing along the way until she stood before him naked. Scars bared without fear or insecurity.

He knew them all by heart.

With his eyes and his fingertips.

With his tongue.

"Belle?"

Brynden's brows rose as she began to unbutton his breaches.

He stopped her, frowning.

They had not touched one another in a good while, and he understood why.

But now, he was hopelessly confused.

"Are you sure," Brynden asked softly.

Bellegere kissed him frantically, and the answer to his question was clear. He allowed her to continue, not bothering to speak another word.

When she needed him, like she did in this moment, he gave in every time.

Bellegere's hands explored the expanse of his pale chest, and then she was forcefully pushing him backwards in his chair.

"Do you know that I love you," she whispered.

"Do you know that I would never hurt you?"

Brynden nodded, but inside he felt a sense of forboding.

He knew that people only said those words before doing exactly what they said they wouldn't.

"I know, Belle."

As Brynden gazed at her with concern and love and desire mingling in his blue eyes, she silently apologized.

For, Bellegere wanted Daenerys Targaryen.

She yearned and ached and burned for her.

Even now.

It was disgraceful, at the least, how badly she wished to take Daenerys beneath the soft, ambient light of the hearth.

To hear the Mother of Dragons moan her name wantonly. The thought alone gave her chills, and it was unforgivable.

Later, she would tell him everything.

Now, she needed to atone.

"Relax, my king," Bellegere whispered.

She kneeled before him, preparing to repent.

As though Brynden were her very own heart tree, and she, the unworthy one, had come to be forgiven of her indiscretions.

"Let me show my love for you."

That night, whilst her king moved within her as if her body belonged to him and him alone, Bellegere reminisced.

It had been many years since she touched the body of a woman. She'd almost forgotten how terribly she missed it.

She remembered how powerful it felt to have Daenerys Targaryen moaning against her lips.

The feeling of full breasts pressed against her own and the feminine curves of her body.

How sweet she tasted, saturated with Meereenese mead and lust. How soft her skin was. How loudly her heart pounded. How wet she was beneath that extravagant gown.

Were they still just friends if Bellegere imagined herself in Brynden's place and Daenerys in her's?

So deep inside her body that submission was the only option. So connected that they didn't know where their bodies ended and the other's began.

Or was that crossing a line?

Was that going too far?

At her climax, Bellegere held Daenerys' name on the tip of her tongue.

While she sank her teeth into her husband's shoulder, holding him tighter and begging him not to stop, Daenerys was on her mind.

And through the night, she lie in the arms of her beloved king, wondering how she found herself in this predicament again.

It was a blessing and, simultaneously, the most horrendous curse to have her heart yanked in two directions at once.

First, it was Mya, and now Daenerys.

Except this time it was worse.

Because no matter what happened in their lives, Daenerys could only be her's in dreams.

They were doomed to be allies and nothing more from the moment they met.

Somehow, Bellegere had to cope with that.

The strong, pale arms that surrounded her naked body squeezed her gently and she closed her eye at the feeling of safety they provided.

"Sleep, beloved," Brynden murmured.

"Let whatever torments you rest for the night."

As he kissed the back of her neck, Bellegere had never known such immense guilt as she did in that moment.


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The next day, when Lord Varys whispered in her ear about the Queen in the North's early morning visit to the maester, she tried to appear unmoved.

Inside, Daenerys Targaryen was seething.

"I suppose this information might be considered irrelevant, but her grace asked for moon tea," said the spider, with his ever present smirk.

When she did not speak, he continued.

"Moon tea is known to prevent pregnancy-"

"I know what it is, my lord, and you're correct. It is irrelevant," Daenerys said, irritated.

"You may take your leave."

He bowed, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Good day, your grace."

From the corner of the room, Missandei watched the queen rub her temples and sigh.

She had never seen Daenerys behave in this way, but she had an idea who was responsible for it.

"Are you alright, my queen," Missandei asked hesitantly. "Can I be of service?"

Daenerys sighed heavily, closing her tired eyes.

"I'm fine. I just haven't been able to sleep on this damned ship," she said quietly.

"I should speak to the maester."

Missandei placed a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Perhaps, a maester is not what you need."

Daenerys didn't move. She didn't want to see that knowing look in her eyes.

"You can speak plainly, Missandei."

The handmaid sat down and took her hands.

"Was it the blue night, gone fragile? Was it the men, even your own Hand, in wonder? Was it the light ways, so frightening? Or was it both of your wills, distorted reflections of one another," Missandei asked as if she already knew.

"Tell me what led you on, my queen."

A pained look crossed the blonde's face and she squeezed her hands comfortingly. Seeing her like this broke Missandei's heart.

"Suffice to say, she has wandered into my heart and I will suffer for it. This is only the beginning."

No matter how badly Missandei wanted to be optimistic and give Daenerys the words of encouragement she needed it in this moment, she could not find them.

"Some tales are bound to stay apart. Endure a vague distance," Missandei said, looking away.

"And some hearts are better kept apart. Their love, bound to be inexistent."

For days after, Daenerys pondered those words.

Each time she sat beside Bellegere and her husband in the dining hall, and every time they stole glances at one another, she remembered what Missandei said.

However, sometimes, when Bellegere shook her hand in greeting, Daenerys forgot everything.

The touch of her skin erased all thoughts from her mind and reverted it back to a blank slate.

With only a week left in their journey, Daenerys could barely stand the distance between them any longer. It had begun to drive her mad.

Watching Bellegere walk around the ship with her husband made her stomach turn uncomfortably.

Not because she disliked him. He'd done nothing, except what he was expected to do as Bellegere's husband.

She simply felt slighted.

It was understandable that Bellegere wanted to create space between them, but was it necessary to stop spending time with her completely? Was it necessary to treat her like a stranger and ignore her like a peasant?

No, Daenerys thought. It was not.

Yet, she kept her frustration to herself. Held it back like a dragon on a leash. Even as it roared and breathed flames.

With every passing day, it grew stronger and more aggressive.

It was only a matter of time before it broke free.


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When the Queen in the North returned home with Daenerys Targaryen and her army in tow, the people of the North were wary.

It was known that northern folk did not take kindly to outsiders. So, their lack of enthusiasm was to be expected.

However, from the moment their queen entered the gates of Winterfell, she made it clear that any disrespect toward Daenerys Targaryen would not be tolerated.

Bellegere knew better than to say it.

She would allow her actions to speak for her.

The shriek of a dragon echoed above them, causing everyone to look towards the sky.

As Daenerys' children flew overhead, she smiled.

The frightened shouts and the chaos that erupted in the crowd was to be expected. Most people reacted this way at the sight of the mythic creatures.

However, the lack of reaction from Bellegere caught her attention the most.

She did not look up as the others did.

Instead, she was distracted by her husband.

The tall man pointed ahead, toward the open gates, where a group of people stood just inside.

Three of them held small children in their arms.

The brightest smile split Bellegere Stark's face in half, to the point that Daenerys could scarcely recognize her.

The scar on her face seemed to disappear as her expression shone with the sunshine of her happiness.

Intrigued, Daenerys watched as the queen and her husband rushed ahead to greet their family.

"Sweetlings. How I've missed you."

Bellegere immediately took Torrhen and Alys into her arms, while Brynden held Cregan.

She was greeted with kisses and hugs from her siblings, though Jon and Rickon held onto her the longest.

"Welcome home, your grace," Jon said, smiling faintly. "I hope your journey was easy."

Bellegere frowned, noticing how tense his posture was. Something was off about her brother and she wanted to know why.

"We will speak soon," she promised. "I'm sure there is much to discuss."

Jon nodded, stepping aside to allow Lady Melisandre to come forward.

"My incomparable Hand."

The priestess wasted no time embracing her.

She chuckled as the two babes in Bellegere's arms began to play with her hair.

"My beloved queen," she said, sighing in relief.

"It brings me great joy to welcome you back home. You would not believe how much everyone has missed you and the king's presence."

"Thank you, my lady, for helping take care of my family and my home while I was away," Bellegere whispered.

"I only hope you didn't worry too much."

Melisandre pulled away, scoffing.

"For you, I have no need to worry."

From afar, Daenerys watched the scene with warmth and envy in her chest. She wondered how her ally felt returning to her home ancestral home and reuniting with her family.

What was it like to be greeted with the tenderness of people who love you unconditionally? How did it feel to hold your children, your flesh and blood, in your arms and look into their familiar eyes?

When Bellegere caught Daenerys' gaze, she beckoned her forward.

She stood beside her ally, confidently meeting the wary gazes of the Stark children and the distrustful eyes of the northern folk.

Their faces, she thought, were knives.

The way they pointed them at her and waited.

"Family, it is my honor to introduce you to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the rightful queen of the Six Kingdoms."

She shared discreet glances with her siblings and her Hand, letting them know she did not bend the knee. Just as she promised.

"It is a pleasure to meet Queen Bellegere's family," Daenerys said with a charming smile. "The North is just as beautiful as I imagined it would be."

"These strapping lads are Jon Snow and Prince Rickon, and these comely young women are Princess Arya and Princess Sansa," Bellegere announced, pointing to each of her siblings.

"Due to her age and capabilities, I have named Princess Sansa my heir apparent until my oldest boy is of an age to take her place. It was she who arranged the welcome and the accommodations for you and your army."

When the Dany turned to Sansa, the princess pursed her lips, gaining a glare from her older sister and brother.

She swiftly replaced it with a beguiling smile.

"It is an honor to host you, Queen Daenerys. We welcome you with open arms. Please, make yourself at home."

Daenerys nodded to Sansa respectfully, although she noticed that her demeanor was off.

She wondered why.

"Thank you, princess."

Bellegere touched her sister's shoulder and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"You did a wonderful job, little sister."

Sansa blushed, filled with pride.

"Thank you, your grace. I did my best."

"Your best was more than enough. Keep it up."

Happy and pleased with the welcome her guest had recieved, Bellegere turned to Daenerys with a smile on her face.

When she began to hand over the rather plump, black haired boy in her arms, Daenerys panicked.

"Are you sure?"

Bellegere gave her a pointed look.

"Take him," she insisted. "By allowing you to hold my son, I am displaying how much I trust you before the eyes of my people and my family."

"I understand."

Daenerys held the boy in her arms and tried not to stare at his clouded left eye. However, the lilac color beneath the milky film caught her attention.

He was beautiful, Daenerys mused.

With his shaggy, raven hair and unique eyes.

She could only see Bellegere in his small, sharp features and none of Brynden Blackwood.

While he babbled and twisted one of her silver curls, her heart overflowed with an unbearable warmth. She wondered how it was possible for anyone to be so adorable.

"You have already met my amazing Hand, Lady Melisandre. So, last but absolutely not least, these are my children," Bellegere said proudly.

"You are holding Torrhen, my youngest. Alys and Cregan are my eldest. My king and I hope to give them more siblings when the wars are over."

Brynden chuckled, smiling widely.

"Several more, if the queen has her way."

Daenerys glanced up to find the queen standing next to her husband, tucked into his side. His injured arm would have been wrapped around her shoulders were it not confined to a sling.

In Brynden's right arm he held their eldest son.

The boy was rather large for a toddler, and a spitting image of his father. He looked as if he were about to throw a fit any moment.

Bellegere held their foster child, Alys Blackwood, firmly against her side. Strangely enough, the orphan had the same steel gray eyes as her adoptive mother.

Faced with the beautiful sight of Bellegere's family and the close knit community of the northern folk, Daenerys had never felt so alone.

So...alienated.

Yet, the soft, encouraging look that Belle gave her and the giggles of the toddler in her arms made that feeling disappear.

Although the northern people did not care for her, their queen certainly did.

That was all that mattered.


Daenerys Targaryen and her army were welcomed into Winterfell with a feast that rivaled any she'd ever seen. So many people filled the Great Hall that some did not have a place to sit.

When the Queen in the North stood, the silence that fell over the massive crowd was deafening.

As Bellegere cast her one-eyed gaze over the audience, no one dared to speak.

"First and foremost, I would like to express how happy I am to be home. I also want to thank my Hand, Lady Melisandre, and my beloved sister, Princess Sansa, for taking care of my children and my duties while I was away," she said, looking at the two women proudly.

"With that being said, I ordered this feast to welcome the rightful queen of the Six Kingdoms, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, to the North. She is our ally, but she is also a woman who I have come to consider a trusted friend."

From her seat beside Brynden, the red woman's brows rose.

Discretely, she peered around the tall man to watch a deep blush rise over Daenerys' cheeks. She tried to hide it behind a stoic mask, but it was as clear as day to Melisandre.

"Queen Daenerys swore an oath of loyalty to House Stark and the North, and so far she has honored it without fail. As such, I find it necessary to swear my own oath to her," Bellegere said, lifting her goblet to the ceiling.

She turned to a shocked Daenerys and bowed her head respectfully.

"I raise my cup to the Mother of Dragons and swear an oath of loyalty to her. So long as she keeps her word, she will always be welcomed in the North with open arms. She will always have a seat at my table and a room in my home. I swear it, by the Old Gods and the new."

As the people within the Great Hall followed the queen's example and lifted their cups in support of the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys could not look away from her smiling host.

The soft, but rather intense glance they shared did not go unnoticed by Melisandre.

For the rest of the night, Bellegere introduced Daenerys to the lords and ladies of the North.

They toured the Great Hall, arms linked, sending a clear message to everyone in attendance.

To disrespect Daenerys Targaryen was to disrespect the Queen in the North, and no one would dare to disrespect her.

"Your grace, may I have a word," Melisandre asked politely.

Bellegere reluctantly pulled away from her companion, wondering what her Hand wanted.

"I will return shortly."

Daenerys nodded, dutifully ignoring the red woman's intense gaze.

"I will be waiting, your grace."

Without another word, Melisandre sought out the loneliest corner of the room. What she was about to say needn't be heard by anyone else.

"My lady, I trust you're enjoying-"

"She loves you," the red woman said bluntly.

"And I suppose you feel the same?"

Before Bellegere could reply, she continued.

"I cannot say I'm surprised. You do have a distinct taste in women. Short. Light eyes. Imbued with an inner flame."

Bellegere scowled at her, trying to figure out where she found the audacity to question her about something so personal.

"I don't appreciate these vile insinuations."

Melisandre chuckled, unfazed by the threatening tone of her voice.

"Don't worry, your grace. I am only here to offer you council."

"On this matter, I need no advice from you."

The priestess tilted her head.

"Are you certain?"

When she hesitated, Melisandre continued.

"Let it be known that I am not judging you, my queen. You are not the first to desire Daenerys, and you won't be the last. Although, you are the loveliest."

The Stark hid her blush behind a glare.

"If you've come to warn me against pursuing her, you have no need," Bellegere whispered harshly.

"I am well aware of how idiotic and fruitless that would be. Not only that, I am married."

The red woman chuckled.

"Idiotic, maybe, but far from fruitless."

A steel gray eye narrowed at her, but she did not elaborate any further.

"What do you mean by that," Bellegere demanded.

"I have found, in some situations, less is more," Melisandre said, smiling faintly. "And this is one of those situations."

She bowed deeply before the wolf queen, noticing the contemplative expression on her face.

"I would tell you to enjoy your night, but I know you will, my queen."

"Wait."

Melisandre froze when a strong hand wrapped around her forearm. The queen pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear.

"Years ago, you told me I would have three loves in my lifetime. Each one forged from friendship, duty, or envy," Bellegere said, pausing.

"Which one is she?"

Somehow, within the crowded hall, Bellegere met Daenerys' curious, lilac gaze.

How enchanting she was, adorned in white, beneath the dancing flames of the braziers.

How stunning she looked when she was jealous.

"You know what Brynden is. So, there are only two options left. Friendship and envy," Melisandre stated plainly.

"Ask yourself this question, and be painfully honest. Which love was Mya Stone?"

Bellegere froze, in deep thought, allowing the priestess to slip back into the crowd.

For so long she considered Mya to be the love forged from friendship, but now, she wasn't sure.

Instead of returning to Daenerys, Bellegere decided to make her rounds about the room alone. The more time she spent with her, the more her attraction grew, and that was detrimental to both of them.

For the remainder of the night, they circled one another, their eyes catching from across the room. Every hour, they wandered closer.

Eventually, when Bellegere made her way back to the high table, Daenerys blocked her path.

The irritation on her face was clear.

"Your grace, I trust you're enjoying the feast."

"I am. Your people aren't as intimidating as I expected," she said, nodding. "Perhaps, your actions have something to do with that?"

Bellegere swallowed thickly.

"How are your dragons handling the cold so far? I meant to ask earlier, but I was preoccupied."

"They seem happy enough," Daenerys said, nibbling at her lip.

"That reminds me, I've been pondering how I could convince you to ride Viserion."

Bellegere chuckled. "That will never happen."

"Are you sure," asked Daenerys.

She continued in a whisper.

"Because I used to think the stoic, Queen Bellegere of House Stark would never touch me so intimately, but I was proven wrong."

The wolf's nostrils flared.

"Be careful, Dany."

She grabbed Bellegere's wrist to keep her from walking away.

The glare she recieved didn't faze her.

"Or what, Belle?"

The aggravation on her face made Daenerys' body ache with desire.

Delicious memories replayed in her mind.

"What are you doing," Bellegere demanded, looking around the room warily.

"People can see us."

From across the room, she caught Brynden's eye and blanched. His bushy, black brows rose ever so slightly before he turned away.

This did not concern him.

He was content to mind his own business.

However, her little sister was not so unbothered.

Arya frowned, prepared to step in if need be.

She shook her head, letting her know there was no need to worry.

"What do I need to do to get your attention," Daenerys demanded.

"You seem quite content with ignoring me."

Bellegere sighed deeply.

"I told you we need to keep our distance and that is what we've been doing."

"That doesn't mean you have to avoid me like I mean nothing to you," Daenerys whispered harshly.

The more she thought about it, the more upset she became. It was a slippery slope.

"And don't think I don't know about you asking for moon tea after our night together," she said through her teeth.

"Did you fuck him to spite me? Did you do it to anger me? Because you succeeded."

When Bellegere's jaw flexed, she knew she had hit a raw nerve. To keep up appearances, she hid her anger behind a smile and a light laugh, but she gripped Daenerys' arm tightly.

"Don't ever presume to question me about what I do with my husband," Bellegere whispered with a fake smile on her lips. "You can be upset with me all you want, but don't bring him into it."

Daenerys fought the scowl that tugged at her lips, but her eyes burned with frustration.

"Come with me. We need to talk privately."

"What more do we need to discuss? I've made myself perfectly clear."

She breathed out shakily and Bellegere could feel it reverberate through her body.

"Don't be coy with me," Daenerys hissed angrily. "Let us go somewhere we can speak freely. Meet me in my rooms tonight."

When Bellegere hesitated, she continued.

"Don't fight me on this, Belle. Please."

She gave in with a deep sigh.

"I will meet you there, but I can't stay for long."

"Thank you."

Daenerys softly caressed the inside of her wrist before walking away, brimming with anticipation.

She could feel the wolf's intense stare on her back all the way, and it was a struggle not to turn around.


When the feast ended Brynden Blackwood returned to his rooms.

There, he found his wife being attended to by Beth Cassel, one of her favorite handmaids.

Bellegere slumped in her chair, having fallen asleep under Beth's ministrations.

When Brynden spoke, she jolted awake.

"I presume Beth is preparing you to visit with Daenerys tonight?"

Bellegere rubbed her eye.

"How do you know," she rasped, sleepily.

"Just a guess."

Bellegere nibbled at her lip.

"Is that alright with you? If not, I won't go."

Brynden nodded solemnly, studying his queen.

"Of course it is."

Between them, an understanding had been reached years ago.

In the midst of their interpersonal growth, Brynden came to understand that he was the only man, and would always be the only man, that his wife allowed to touch her.

Her heart was not split in half, drawn to both the rough, masculinity of men and the yielding, feminine energy of women.

As such, Brynden was not surprised by her affinity for the dragon queen.

Bellegere eyed her husband as he stood next to them. The slight smile on his face made her raise a brow.

"She is attracted to you," he stated plainly.

"Are you attracted to her as well?"

There was no hesitation.

"I am," Bellegere said bluntly.

"Daenerys is a powerful and intelligent woman. It would be shocking if I weren't."

"Do you remember what we discussed?"

She shook her head exasperatedly.

"Don't. I told you not to bring that up again."

As the couple shared a heated glance, Beth knew that it was best to finish Belle's hair quickly.

The conversation they desired to have was not meant for her ears.

Once they were alone, Brynden placed his hand on the arm of his wife's chair and leaned in close, trapping her.

"You wish to bed Daenerys," Brynden said rhetorically. "If you were not married, you would have done it already."

Bellegere had yet to lie to her husband, and she would not start now.

"Yes."

Brynden had expected this the moment he saw Daenerys Targaryen.

He knew that Belle loved women of the strong, independent variety, and the Mother of Dragons was exactly her type.

That is why he encouraged her to spend as much time with her as possible, even if he truly wished to be with her instead.

After what happened between Belle and Mya Stone, and the immense sadness that caused, he hoped she was able to find some sort of relief in this relationship.

"There would be no ill feelings if you held deeper feelings for her," Brynden said softly.

"I understand that I am the only man you want, but I know that you would have chosen a wife for yourself if it were possible."

When Bellegere began to argue, he silenced her with a stern look. She promptly closed her mouth and allowed him to continue.

"It does not pain me. I've made peace with it."

Brynden caressed her scarred cheek and she leaned into his hand, closing her eye. A small smile grew on his lips when she kissed his palm.

Hands fisted in his undershirt, keeping him close.

"My presence in your life is a hindrance, even if you would never admit it. But I refuse to be the shackles on your feet, keeping you from expressing who you truly are."

"We are bound," Bellegere whispered harshly.

"I am your wife. Only you have access to my body. What are you even suggesting?"

Brynden's brows drew together.

"Have we ever made a vow of monogamy? If we did, I can't recall."

His words thoroughly irritated Bellegere.

"What is a marriage if not monogamous, Brynden? What is the purpose of binding one's soul to another if you don't mean to be faithful to that person?"

"Our marriage will be what we decide it is, because we both know I am not the person you wanted for yourself," Brynden said in a stern tone.

"You can lie to yourself but you can't lie to me."

It was not often that he used this tone, but when he did, Bellegere knew to listen.

Both of them understood that he was speaking of Mya Stone, but they were loathe to say her name. The wound was too fresh.

Speaking of Mya to Tyrion, so many weeks ago, was different. Bellegere's facade of complete control and stoic bravado was firmly in place.

But here, alone with the man who knew her as if he were half of her own soul, she would not dare to speak Mya's name.

Lest she begin to wail and never stop.

"I want you to be happy, and if that means allowing you to bed a woman every now and again then so be it. You will not live a repressed life at my side," Brynden said, throwing up his hand.

"From here onward, I allow you to do as your heart desires without judgement or contempt. Do you or do you not agree with this type of marriage?"

In Bellegere's mind, to touch another was to betray him and that was unforgivable.

She would never.

She could never.

However, Brynden would stop at nothing to free her from this self imposed suffering.

"Even if I wanted to, I don't know if I can," Bellegere said honestly. "I've devoted myself to you for so long..."

He sighed, nodding somberly.

"I understand. All or nothing, that is the way of your heart," Brynden murmured softly.

"But I have noticed how you look at her. Do it or don't, you will regret it either way."

Bellegere's lip quivered with emotion.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, holding back tears.

"If I could change my heart, I would."

Brynden shook his head, pulling her into his arms. He held her tight, surrounding her with love and understanding.

"Do not ever apologize for who you are and who you love," he said adamantly.

"On our wedding night, you told me that you had only ever been with a woman and it was then that I knew I would not suffice. It took time to accept, of course, but I came to understand that this was simply who you are and it cannot be changed."

He wiped the tears from face and smiled softly.

"Just as you once told me, I love you, Bellegere. All of you. Infinitely."

As she buried her face in his chest, sobbing, his heart broke for her.

"I still do," Bellegere said sincerely. "Despite what I feel for her, I hope you know that I still do."

Brynden kissed her hair, holding back tears.

"I know, beloved."

He also knew that matter how evident her devotion was to him, she would always crave more than he was capable of giving.

He was never surprised to find her looking at Lady Melisandre a bit too long, or holding Beth Cassel's hand as they discussed womanly things he held no interest in.

What she truly desired, he would never be able to provide. Despite their sultry intimate encounters, he could never fully satisfy her. It was Bellegere's nature to seek out a feminine presence.

Yet, he would continue to give her all of his love until his body gave out, knowing Bellegere would do the same. Knowing that she would die for him.

Kill for him, if the need arose.

Because it didn't matter to Bellegere that Brynden was too tall. That his body was too muscular, lacking the softness and the curves she subconsciously searched for.

She loved his soul, not his flesh.

As long as Brynden Blackwood drew breath, Bellegere would choose him. Even if that meant she would live a long life with underlying frustration spilling over in her heart.

She suffered in her loving and they both knew it.

To her, love was equivalent to compromise.

Sacrifice.

Doom.

And Brynden would never be able to change that.

No matter how hard he tried.


llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll


Later that night, when Bellegere entered her solar, Daenerys awaited her.

She looked at the brunette sheepishly.

"I apologize for losing my temper earlier. I just don't appreciate how easy it is for you to ignore me," Daenerys said quietly.

"If I'm honest, I can barely go a minute without thinking about the way your lips feel against my own or the way you touched me."

Bellegere looked away, ashamed.

"What happened between us was wrong. I should not have allowed it to happen."

"Belle, don't say that. Don't speak such nonsense to me," Daenerys said, taking her hands. "I felt how much you want me, and I know you felt how much I want you. How can that be wrong?"

When she moved closer, the other woman did not step back. That, in itself, was a victory.

"Daenerys..." breathed Bellegere, trying with all her might to stay strong in the presence of the woman who wreaked havok on her mind.

"The way you say my name," Daenerys murmured, daring to move closer.

Slowly, hesitantly, she pressed her lips against the corner of Bellegere's mouth. When the taller woman did not push her away, she relaxed, melding into her as if they were one being.

Beneath the soft, familiar caress of Daenerys' lips, Bellegere blushed like a maiden.

This was a test from the gods, she was certain.

Her hands, the same ones she'd used to kill so many men and even her own lover, trembled at her sides. She would have been embarrassed if she weren't completely enthralled by Daenerys.

Bellegere's soul begged to be touched by her.

Make me better than I am, it whispered. Teach me a kinder way to say my own name.

"We know how this ends. This is a story as old as time," Bellegere whispered. "One of us has to turn their back. It might as well be me."

Teasingly, Daenerys trailed small butterfly kisses along her jaw until she reached her ear.

"What if I told you you're wrong? If you let go and allow yourself to be free for once, we could both find contentment. No one will know, but us."

Bellegere pursed her lips.

"If you think we can have a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. I am married. We are both queens of adjacent kingdoms. We are destined to be apart."

"Let's assume what you say is true. Why not take your chance," Daenerys said passionately.

"I'm here in the flesh now, but sooner than later we will be separated for years at a time. Would it not be smart to take me while I still want you with such intensity? While I still ache for you."

Perhaps, it was something Daenerys said, or how she said it. She couldn't be sure.

Whatever it was, she reaped the benefits.

Their first kiss had been rushed and frantic, but this one was slow and full of passion.

Bellegere's fingers threaded through her hair, caressing her scalp, as she kissed her deeply.

The throaty moan that Daenerys released resonated through her body. Arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her closer, as she poured all of her desire into the kiss.

She savored the taste, every sigh, and every gasp. Nails dug into her should blades, but she didn't register the pain. There was only pleasure and tenderness here, inside Daenerys' mouth.

They could kiss for hours and she would never tire of it. The feelings she provided.

When Bellegere pulled away to breathe, she followed, trying to capture her lips once more.

"Come to my bedchamber," Daenerys whispered, breathing hard and fast.

"Make love to me."

As Bellegere fixed her mouth to refuse, she kissed her repeatedly, stealing the excuses away.

"Soon, we will march south to retake my throne. Who knows what could happen," Daenerys murmured softly.

"What if I die? What if you die? I don't know what I would do-"

Bellegere gripped the back of her neck and pulled her close. Their foreheads pressed together as a silver eye stared into her own. The storm of emotion in it stole her breath away.

The possibility of Daenerys dying made her feel sick to her stomach. It brought about a sense of urgency. Made her realize that she spent so much time living in the future that she never stopped to enjoy the present.

Brynden's words repeated in her mind.

Do it or don't do it. You will regret both.

"Once and only once," Bellegere whispered harshly. "After tonight, we will never speak of this again. We will lock it away in our minds and throw away the key. Do you understand?"

Daenerys nodded frantically, desperately.

She understood and appreciated how difficult it was for Bellegere to give in to her flesh.

To betray the man she loved.

To betray her own honor.

"Yes, I understand."

The Queen in the North guided Daenerys to her bedchamber by the hand.

First, she removed her eyepatch, tossing it away. Then she stood in the doorway, casually undoing the strings of her jet black dress with ease.

Her heated gaze never strayed.

Not once.

"Have you become shy all of a sudden," Bellegere asked, raising a scarred brow.

"Is this your first time?"

"Not remotely," Daenerys whispered.

Her dress fell to the floor, revealing an endless expanse of light caramel skin.

There were so many scars and freckles and birthmarks that Daenerys was overwhelmed.

She did not know what to focus on.

The intricacy of Bellegere Stark or the perfection.

"Then remove your dress."

It was rare that Daenerys felt anxious, but she did in this moment. Being looked at like this, as if she were the only other person alive, made her heart race in her chest. It pounded restlessly.

Still, Daenerys eagerly obeyed.

"Slow down," Bellegere said, halting her.

"This will not be over quickly, and we will not rush this. I want us both to enjoy it."

That night, as Daenerys completely surrendered to the woman she'd come to adore, she realized that one night with Bellegere would never suffice.

Her fingers were too agile.

Her tongue too talented.

That unique beauty too immense.

When their eyes locked, Daenerys' heart whispered words she could never speak aloud.

Love me, it begged. Won't you love me?

The sounds she pulled from Daenerys' mouth originated from some deep, primal place that she didn't know existed.

When Bellegere stopped to whisper against the skin of her inner thigh, she thought she might implode right then.

"How is that?"

Daenerys wanted to tell her she was doing perfect, that she never wanted her to stop, but she couldn't find the strength to speak.

Instead, she gripped her long curls and guided her back to where she was needed. All it took was a few languid licks before Daenerys' legs began to shake uncontrollably for the third time.

Or was it the fourth?

The Witch of Winterfell was trying to claim her soul, but it was a pointless attempt, really.

Daenerys had already given it to her like a bouquet of flowers.

When Bellegere lie back amongst the furs, allowing Daenerys free reign of her body, she didn't know where to start.

In a way, it felt wrong to touch her skin.

That perfectly flawed canvas. That warm, living story of a life lived hard.

Yet, Daenerys did it anyway.

Fervently, wantonly.

The sounds of Bellegere's pleasure and the pain of her nails digging into the back of her neck would be branded in her mind for eternity.

Daenerys thought conquering Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen were the biggest accomplishments in her life so far, but now, watching the most beautiful woman she'd ever known wither beneath her ministrations, she wasn't sure.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Please."

Never, thought Daenerys.

She touched her, like a prayer for which no words exist, and Bellegere felt her heart taking root in her body, like she'd discovered something she didn't even have a name for.

When Bellegere climaxed, breathing her name like it was the last breath she would take, Daenerys refused to stop.

She needed to see her eye roll back and feel her twitch violently like she was doing now.

"Fuck," Bellegere moaned, weakly pushing her away. "I can't...no more."

Daenerys kissed her inner thigh as she came down, panting heavily. She was loathe to end this intimate encounter so quickly.

If she could convince her to stay until the sun replaced the moon, she would continue to make love to her for hours on end.

"Come to me," Bellegere said, arms outstretched and tears welling in her eye.

Without a second thought, Daenerys allowed herself to be pulled into her embrace. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this surrounded by warmth.

Here, naked and together, they forgot who they were supposed to be.

They were not queens here. They were not their titles. They were simply two young women.

Hopelessly in love.

"I found you only to lose you to reality," Bellegere whispered, lip trembling.

"What a tragedy we are, Dany."

Full of emotion, Daenerys closed her eyes to keep the tears from spilling over.

"I'm here now," she said, kissing her lips. "Let us make the most of the time we have. We may never share a moment like this again."

A tear fell from Bellegere's eye and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

"We won't."

"Are you sure," Daenerys asked, frowning.

She sniffled, squeezing the smaller woman to her chest as if someone might try to take her away.

"Know it's for the better."

That night, when Bellegere Stark departed, her face stained with tears, Daenerys had the most pleasant vision.

A vision of a world where she was not a queen and neither was Belle.

Their only responsibilities were living a simple life and milking every ounce of happiness out of it.

In that reality, they spent their time baking and doing laundry together. Singing songs and sitting in the most comfortable silence.

In that reality, they lived together in a cozy house with a red door, and they convened beneath a lemon tree in their free time.

In that sweet, unattainable reality, they laughed at the idea of a world where they could not be together.

When the vision faded away, Daenerys feared she would begin to weep blood.


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