"It is not often that you ask me to braid your hair twice in one day, your grace," Missandei said, adjusting the queen's head.

Daenerys chuckled.

"As I am entertaining a queen, I must ensure that I look my best at all times. I cannot allow her to see me the same way twice."

"Aren't you introducing her grace to your children?"

"Yes."

"Then, isn't it doubtful that she will notice your appearance faced with three dragons?"

Daenerys hummed thoughtfully.

"That is arguable."

Ever observant and perceptive, Missandei gave her a pointed glance through the mirror.

Daenerys dutifully ignored it.

"Queen Bellegere is very beautiful, your grace, but she is also married."

"I am well aware, Missandei."

"More than that, she seems...disturbed."

When Daenerys frowned, she continued.

"There is a darkness in her eye and it is not there for no reason," Missandei said quietly.

"Proceed with caution, my queen."

While the Missandei manipulated her hair, she pondered the warning.

Daenerys Targaryen was far from naive.

She was a woman grown, and she intimately understood what it meant to be attracted to another person.

Therefore, Daenerys knew that she wanted Queen Bellegere of House Stark, in all her tall, dark and mysterious glory.

There was no ignoring the feelings she evoked.

An interesting mixture of envy and lust, and so much more that she couldn't decipher.

However, Daenerys wasn't devoid of self restraint and decorum.

"Is it not acceptable to admire a person's beauty without pursuing anything more? Are we not allowed to look at someone and want while denying ourselves the thrill of the chase?"

The room was silent for a moment.

"Certainly," Missandei said quietly.

"However, our intentions often differ from our actions, your grace."


_


The Queen in the North stood before the most terrifying creature she'd ever seen.

A living dragon, a being of mythos and great lore.

It was not often that she dwelled on the Targaryen blood in her ancestry, but at this moment she prayed it would prove useful.

Staring up into the reptilian eyes of such a majestic beast, she realized how small and inconsequential she was in comparison.

With one breath, this monster could end her.

But like every other time fear warned her, Bellegere ignored the instinct to flee.

"This is Drogon," Daenerys said with a small smile. "Viserion and Rhaegal are hunting, but you will meet them soon enough."

Bellegere stiffened when the massive dragon moved closer to inhale her scent. It's nostrils flared and the loud rumbling sound of it's lungs echoed in her ears.

When Drogon turned his head to lock eyes with her, she could sense a level of sentience in his gaze. He displayed an intelligence that reminded her of Runa.

Drogon was seeing her and he was curious.

"I am Queen Bellegere of House Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Bellanora Otherys, the descendant of Aegon IV Targaryen and Bellegere Otherys the First," she said, ignoring Daenerys' amused stare.

"The blood of the First Men and the blood of Old Valyria flow through my veins."

When Drogon growled and moved toward her a bit too quickly, Daenerys stepped in front of her, prepared to stop him.

"Calm down," Bellegere said in High Valyrian.

"I am not a threat to you or your mother."

Drogon snorted, releasing a puff of smoke from his nose. When he did not advance toward her again, she lowered her hands and relaxed.

Daenerys stared at the other woman with wide eyes, pleasantly surprised.

"How do you know High Valyrian? I doubt they teach it in Winterfell."

"I visited my aunt throughout the entirety of my childhood," Bellegere said simply. "She taught me to speak High Valyrian, along with Braavosi and the Summer Tongue, in hopes that I would take her place one day."

Before Daenerys could reply, the shrill calls of her other two children met her ears.

Viserion and Rhaegal circled above them for a long time until they landed, shaking the ground beneath them.

All the while, Bellegere did not budge.

"You're extremely brave," Daenerys said quietly.

"I am impressed."

"The only time a person can be brave is when they are afraid. At least, that's what my father always told me."

"He was a wise man."

The Stark nodded solemnly.

"He was."

As her children approached, Daenerys admired her companion curiously.

Bellegere stood her ground, allowing the dragons to look at her and inhale her scent.

Fear ran cold in her veins, but she did not allow it to show. If they were anything like her direwolf, they could sense a weak heart.

However, when the second largest dragon nearly knocked her over with it's snout, she was shaken.

"Viserion has taken a liking to you," Daenerys said amusedly. "Perhaps he desires a petting?"

Bellegere's eye widened.

"I'm not sure about that."

When a small hand intertwined with her own and another rested on the small of her back, Bellegere stiffened dramatically.

From the prospect of being so close to this great creature, and the woman touching her so intimately.

"All will be fine," Daenerys murmured in her ear.

"Trust me."

She guided their joined hands forward until Bellegere came in contact with the dragon's rough, scaly skin.

It was feverishly hot against her own, almost unbearably so, but also oddly soothing.

Viserion gently leaned into her touch, as to not knock the women to the ground. His eyes closed, feeling her nails scratching his skin.

When the Stark relaxed enough to pet the dragon on her own, Daenerys reluctantly released her and stepped away.

"You're a sweet boy, aren't you," Bellegere whispered to the dragon in High Valyrian.

"You don't want to harm me, do you?"

Daenerys hadn't witnessed her children accept another person to such a degree.

Especially, not like this.

Her gaze softened while she watched Bellegere with undivided attention.

As Viserion rumbled contentedly under the queen's careful ministrations and loving murmurs, the admiration she held for the Stark began to grow.

It suited Bellegere, she thought, watching her with the dragons.

Although the queen's energy emulated the cold, hard environment she grew up in, there was a fire in her that the dragons recognized.

A fire that attracted her as well.

"It seems Viserion trusts you," Daenerys said as they made their way back to the castle.

"One day, you might take him for a ride?"

Bellegere rose her brows.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I would prefer to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. If I am to die, it will not be due to a free fall."

"Fine, but Viserion and I will hold out hope."

"In that case, you will be holding out for eternity."

When Daenerys stopped just before they reached her guards, Bellegere did as well. Curiously, she wondered what was on her companion's mind.

"Have you any plans tonight?"

"None yet, but I presume you have a proposal."

Daenerys sighed, clasping her hands together.

It had been a long time since she felt nervous, but she was now.

"I enjoy speaking with you," Daenerys said, struggling to maintain eye contact. "And I would love for you to join me for dinner tonight."

Bellegere's lips twitched upward.

"There is plenty of Meereenese mead to go around and no one to share it with but you."

The Stark released that pleasant laugh that Daenerys enjoyed so much. It tinkled like bells, and her eye was alight with mirth.

"I find it hard to believe that Lord Tyrion dislikes any form of alcohol."

"You would be surprised," Daenerys said, grinning.

The Queen in the North stepped closer, light brown skin shimmering in the light of day.

Daenerys tensed as the taller woman invaded her personal space, smelling like the lemon tree that stood outside her bedroom window as a child.

Long, silver streaked braids fell into her face as she glanced down at her, smiling softly.

It seemed as though the sun glowed in her chest, and the moon echoed from her eye.

The Mother of Dragons stood firm in the face of death and much worse, only for her legs to shake in the presence of this woman.

However, it didn't unsettle her as it should have.

If the dragons trusted Bellegere, she would too.

"I enjoy you, Daenerys. One day, I might even call you a friend, but right now, war is afoot," Bellegere said bluntly.

"I did not come here to sip mead and share life stories. I came to offer my council and help you take back your throne. So, unless you wish to discuss military strategy or politics, I must decline your offer. Do not take it personally."

When Bellegere turned away, Daenerys reflexively grabbed her arm. The intense, one-eyed stare that followed was unnerving, but she met it head on.

"Although my Hand believes your plan is risky, I find it flawless. What more do we need to discuss?"

Bellegere narrowed her eye, taking note of Tyrion's opinion.

"Is this your way of telling me you've chosen to follow my plan? If so, I suggest you inform your other allies as soon as possible."

Daenerys frowned at Bellegere, feeling slighted by her desire to leave so hastily.

"Has something happened in Winterfell that requires your presence?"

"Not particularly."

"Then, why are you in such a hurry to go? I was under the impression that we were bonding."

"I believe you're forgetting an important piece of information," Bellegere said, moving impossibly closer. "Allow me to enlighten you."

The fur cloak Belle wore tickled against Daenerys' arm as she towered over her by several inches.

"I have three small children and three younger siblings who look at me as a mother figure. These wars don't cause me as much worry as being away from my family does."

Daenerys looked away.

She could only hope to have that same problem one day. A large family that loved her and needed her as much as Bellegere's did.

"Although I would enjoy sharing a drink and a nice conversation with you, we have responsibilities to focus on and very little time to waste," Bellegere said softly. "While we stand idle, we give Cersei Lannister more time to fortify her defenses."

She touched the shorter woman's shoulder, noticing the way she blushed.

"It would be smart to announce your plan of attack, so that I can prepare my army."

Daenerys sighed, knowing she was right.

However, she wished the situation was different.

Spending time with Bellegere, in the private comfort of her rooms, was the most relaxed she felt in a long time.

Having someone to talk to who did not fear her, did not filter themselves, and did not see her as a goddess reincarnated was a great relief.

What shame it was to feel so lonely while surrounded by men who would die for her.

None of them saw the woman behind the queen.

Yet, Bellegere did.

There was a distinct familiarity between them.

As they were both woman of the same age, they shared the feeling of being overwhelmed by the responsibilities they'd taken on.

The heavy burdens of their destinies weighed them down, and they could empathize with one another.

When they were alone together, Daenerys felt the urge to shed the mask of regality that she wore every second of every day.

She wanted to be Dany.

Not a khaleesi. Not a queen. Not the breaker of chains or the mother of dragons.

Just Dany.

She hoped Bellegere felt the same.

"On the morrow, I will declare my desire to follow your plan," Daenerys said, straightening her posture.

"After that, you are welcome to return to Winterfell. It is a shame it will be some time before we meet again. I am told the journey from Winterfell to King's Landing is long."

The Stark nodded curtly.

"Along the way I plan to stop and check in with the insufferable Warden of the East," Bellegere said, rolling her eye. "He has forty-five thousand men that he owes us."

She chuckled at the shock on Daenerys' face.

"I may have threatened Lord Baelish with dragonflame if he didn't rally his vassals in support of your claim to the iron throne. If you don't mind, I expect you to help me follow through on that if need be."

Daenerys admired her with a small smile.

The unfailing loyalty Bellegere displayed continued to astound her.

Without prompt, this woman rallied the lords of Westeros to her cause without ever meeting her.

This was the type of loyalty she'd always craved.

"If I am to help you burn a kingdom to the ground, perhaps we should join forces now, instead of meeting outside King's Landing?"

Bellegere frowned, humming thoughtfully.

"That is actually a good idea. It would be a great display of our alliance if we marched south with our combined armies," she said, crossing her arms.

"It is beneficial for the commonfolk to witness our loyalty to one another. Perhaps it would inspire them to accept you as I have."

"Then, it is decided. I will journey to Winterfell with you," Daenerys readily declared.

"We will show the people of Westeros that unity is not merely a dream. We will show them a glimpse of what the future holds."

Daenerys had not thought her offer through to this extent, but Bellegere's words made her realize how good of an idea it was.

All she'd been thinking of was spending more time with the woman who seemed to flood her thoughts as of late.

The prospect of continuing to build a relationship with the northern queen made her thrum with excitement.

"Think of the possibilities," Daenerys said, grabbing her hand abruptly.

"We could be unstoppable together. The realm could know the same peace that my forefather, Jaehaerys, once established. These endless wars and the perpetual poverty of the commonfolk could see an end if we put our minds together."

Bellegere tensed but did not pull away.

The motivated and determined expression on her companion's face was familiar. She often saw it in the mirror. It was refreshing to see it reflected in Daenerys.

"That is all I desire in this life," Bellegere said honestly. "Peace for my family, the North, and the people of Westeros. A calm existence, for once."

"I know we can achieve it together," Daenerys said adamantly.

"Once these wars are behind us, there is so much we could do to change Westeros for the better. I have a plethora of ideas."

The enthusiasm on her face overflowed.

Those light purple eyes had never been so bright and Bellegere enjoyed the sight.

At once, she remembered that they were both still young women who'd lost out on much of their childhood.

The Targaryen, even more so than her.

In their hearts, they were mere girls who'd become masters at dressing up as queens.

As such, Bellegere laughed amusedly.

"I would love to discuss that with you, Dany, but let us procure your throne first. Only then could your dreams become reality."

The blonde's brows rose.

"Dany? Does this mean we're friends," Daenerys asked in jest.

"Should I call you Belle?"

When the wolf chuckled dryly, she knew that their conversation was over. It was clear in the way she shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

Bellegere smiled in a manner that could only be heard, not seen.

"I hope we can continue these pleasant conversations when we have time to spare."

Daenerys glanced at their conjoined hands.

Once she spoke, her voice sounded much too soft and yielding for her liking.

"As do I, your grace."

Bellegere touched her forearm in a chaste, friendly manner.

"And, yes," she said.

"You may call me Belle, if it please you."

The rays of the sun reflected in Bellegere's eye, and she found herself transfixed.

"It does," Daenerys muttered under her breath.

The Mother of Dragons hadn't seen a woman more intimidatingly beautiful than this one, and it was doubtful she would find another in her lifetime.

Brynden Blackwood was a lucky man.

The luckiest man in the realm.

She wondered what the soft spoken man did to make Bellegere fall in love with him. She wished to know the method he chose in glorious detail.

"Good day, Dany."

As Bellegere released her and walked away, a fire ignited. A wild blaze that spoke to Daenerys, telling her that this woman should be so much more than a tentative acquaintance.

"Belle. Wait."

The Stark turned around halfway, brows raised.

"My offer still stands," Daenerys said, shoulders squared. "I will be having dinner alone tonight. You are welcome to to join me. Even if only for a short time."

Bellegere adjusted her fur cloak as it blew in the wind, studying the Targaryen closely.

"I will consider it, but I won't make any promises."

With that, the Queen in the North left without another word, leaving Daenerys to linger outside the castle, pondering their interactions.

She traced the goosebumps on her arm reverently, remembering Bellegere's touch, her gaze, and her rare, charming smile.

There was a powerful force between them that held so much potential.

If they could harness it, the future would be bright for Westeros and terribly dark for their enemies.

As Tyrion approached, he studied the queen's demeanor, noticing how stiffly she stood. She stared straight ahead at the ocean with a small frown.

"What has disturbed you to the point of brooding, my queen," he asked in jest. "Did the wolf queen scoff at your dragons?"

Daenerys was not in the mood for amusement.

"Bellegere Stark disturbs me."

The smile on his face vanished, and he hummed thoughtfully. Curiousity abounded within him, but he was too slow to speak.

Any questions he had were answered swiftly.

"I like her far more than I should," Daenerys declared, turning to stare at him.

"And that is not good for either of us. Not in any concieveable way."

Tyrion cleared his throat, hiding his shock at her unexpected confession.

He struggled to find words.

"In what way, your grace?"

She scoffed.

"Don't be coy, Tyrion."

As Daenerys frowned at the angry sea and the dark gray clouds on the horizon, Tyrion worried about what the future held.

She was right.

This was not good.

At all.

"You are wise beyond your years, my queen," he said slowly. "You would not allow your emotions to influence important decisions. Especially not as it pertains to Queen Bellegere."

Daenerys sighed heavily, closing her eyes.

"I hate to disappoint you, but I have chosen to accept Bellegere's plan of attack," she said, clearing her throat.

Tyrion stiffened.

"Pardon me? When?"

He had told Daenerys in confidence that Bellegere's plan was risky and could result in casualties, and he thought she listened to him.

"I have also decided to join forces with Queen Bellegere in Winterfell, and march south with her from there. We leave in a week's time."

He clenched his jaw tightly, but did not argue.

Only because his queen's tone left no room for argument. The decision was set in stone.

Yet, his tongue was defiant.

"Your grace, you've only known her for three days," Tyrion said, shaking his head. "Lust is a fleeting emotion. It is unlike you to allow such a thing to cloud your judgement."

Daenerys turned to him with furrowed brows.

"Lust? Is that what you think this is?"

When Tyrion nodded, she sighed heavily.

"If it weren't for her, we would still be in Meereen, without a fleet and nearly destitute. Terrified that the Sons of the Harpy would find a way into our rooms in the dead of the night and slit our throats," Daenerys said, frowning.

"Have you ever met a woman that would risk everything to help you achieve your dreams without laying eyes on you? Because I have."

Tyrion shook his head, eyes wide.

"I have not, your grace. However, what Bellegere did was strategic-"

"When you do, I promise you will feel emotions so much more powerful and complex than lust that you will forget what lust is," Daenerys said, pursing her lips.

"I know that my decision was rash and reckless, but I trust Bellegere. Not because of my attraction to her, but because she proved her dedication to me. It would be foolish not to display my own dedication in return."

As Tyrion opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find a rebuttal, Daenerys knew that he understood.

No matter how reckless it was for her to make decisions without consulting him, he understood.

"She is married," Tyrion pointed out.

"Happily married, in fact."

Daenerys nodded curtly.

"That is of no concern to me. It is not her heart I want. I desire the undying loyalty so many people have warned me of. That will suffice."

"And if it does not suffice?"

She paused.

"It will have to."

As Daenerys Targaryen gazed out over the turbulent waves of the sea with an intense expression, Tyrion did not believe her.

If he were to meet a woman who displayed the same loyalty to him that Bellegere gave Daenerys, friendship would never be enough.

No matter how impossible the relationship might be, he would strive to build it, risking everything.

That is why the cold fingers of dread tickled up Tyrion's spine as he pondered Daenerys' confession.

The dynamic between the two queens was already complicated enough.

This would only make it more volatile.


_


Later that day, upon entering her solar, Bellegere was surprised to hear raucous laughter.

Turning the corner, she found Brynden and Lord Tyrion Lannister engaged in an interesting conversation.

"The man shat himself when Bellegere passed the sentence. His face was covered in snot and tears, and he could barely breathe," Brynden said between laughs.

"He swore on his mother's grave that he didn't do it. He even swore on his dead son."

"Perhaps he was innocent?"

"Innocent? He was caught by his own wife raping a young boy. He'd been doing it for years."

Tyrion glanced over the king's shoulder, spotting the wolf queen leaning against the wall.

She nodded to him with a small smile.

"What happened to him?"

"The same thing that happens to all rapists, murderers, and molesters," Brynden said casually.

"The queen followed through on her word and promptly confiscated his slimy head. The North has no sympathy for the depraved and the dishonorable."

When Bellegere wrapped her arms around the king's neck from behind, he didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled softly and leaned back.

"Beloved."

"Husband."

Tyrion admired the strange couple, wondering how these two people with opposite personalities could work so well together.

The young man exuded a calm, welcoming warmth, while she was as cold and rigid as the wall in the far north.

Bellegere Stark was not the kind of woman that wanted men to swoon when she entered a room.

She would rather them flinch.

And they did.

Mya Stone crossed his mind, the girl he only ever saw glued to Bellegere's side. He wondered if Brynden knew of his wife's taste for the fairer sex.

Did Bellegere know of Daenerys' feelings?

He hoped not.

No matter how honorable Bellegere was considered to be, that knowledge could be used to manipulate his queen.

"My lord, I see you've made yourself comfortable in my chambers while I've been dodging death," Bellegere said in jest.

"Your queen's children don't know the meaning of personal space or decorum."

Tyrion chuckled.

"I can only imagine what you endured."

His smile faded when he saw the serious expression on her face.

Bellegere leaned down to kiss Brynden's temple and whisper in his ear.

"I have a few questions to ask your new friend."

He hummed curiously, staring at Tyrion.

"Questions about his queen."

At once, Brynden stood up, cradling his injured left arm. He smiled down at his wife fondly.

"Be kind, Belle. I enjoy him."

She rolled her eye as he kissed her forehead.

When Brynden left, tension filled the space he left behind. Bellegere sat down, leveling him with a steady stare, and Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Your grace-"

"Let's not waste one another's time with pleasantries," Bellegere cut him off.

There was something unsettling about this woman. That hard gaze seemed to see through him as if he were transparent.

"Tell me, Lord Tyrion, do you think your queen will honor the terms of our alliance?"

He didn't hesitate.

"I do."

"Are you sure?"

She leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"Tell me. What do you know that I don't?"

Tyrion swallowed thickly, trying to remember the last time someone made his usually quick tongue feel stiff in his mouth.

Tywin Lannister, he mused. His father was the only other person to shake him in this way.

"I know that Daenerys enjoys your company and wishes to befriend you," Tyrion said, brows raised.

The Stark's eye narrowed.

"I also know that she respects you and your dominion over the North more than you might think. Daenerys may be ruled by her ego at times, but she is not stupid," he said adamantly.

"It is also known throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the Queen in the North does not take well to oathbreakers. Your Hand and I both have made that clear to her."

"What I dislike does not matter when she owns a power Westeros has not seen in centuries."

Bellegere's nostrils flared as she pondered her experience with the dragons. Although she knew Daenerys did not intend to intimidate her with such a display of power, it did just that.

"If I were in her shoes, with three dragons, an entire house to save, and lacking the guidance of the gods, I would betray me in a heart beat."

"But you are not, and Daenerys does not need the guidance of deities," Tyrion stated boldly.

"The desire for the betterment of Westeros under her reign is what guides her and I've made it clear that turning against you would tear the realm apart."

When Bellegere hummed quietly, he realized he might have said too much.

The faint smile on her lips spoke volumes.

"I enjoyed our talk, my lord."

When Bellegere gestured toward the door, dismissing him, he chuckled dryly.

He was impressed by how easily she managed get the information she wanted from him.

Without any threats or persuasion.

Just an overbearing presence.

"Who would have thought the young girl I met in a brothel so long ago would wind up being the spitting image of my father," Tyrion said, smiling sardonically.

"It is a shame you never met him. If you were a man, you would be the son he always wanted."

Bellegere snorted.

"I can't lie, I would've loved to meet him. Despite how much I loathed him, he was to House Lannister what I aspire to be for House Stark," she said truthfully.

"It is a shame you murdered him before I could have the pleasure."

He was not surprised that the witch knew he was responsible for his father's death. It would have been more shocking if she didn't.

"The pleasure of meeting him or murdering him?"

"He did not deserve to die by crossbow," Bellegere said, lip curling in disgust. "I would have given him a more respectful death than the one's his lackies gave my brother and lady mother. A death befitting a man of his caliber."

Tyrion scoffed teasingly.

"What would you have done? The same atrocities you've committed against Ramsay Bolton?"

"His name is Lord Snow now, and no. Tywin was more dangerous and cunning than him. He and his house took more from me."

That silver eye seemed to turn black and Tyrion could not look upon it.

"Lord Snow may not be able to speak or piss standing up, but he still has the ability to be a great handmaid. However, your father deserved to become a vegetable, if you catch my drift. He deserved to live that way until he died naturally. That punishment would be worse than death for a man like him."

Tyrion did, in fact, catch her drift.

The image of his father without arms or legs made him cringe. No matter how much he hated the man who created him, he was not certain that Bellegere's brand of justice was morally correct.

Then again, many of Tywin's actions weren't moral either. Most of them weren't.

Without another word, he stood to leave.

"Before you go, Lord Tyrion," Bellegere called out.

He stopped, turning around slowly.

"You were right, Daenerys does quite enjoy my company," she said with a small grin.

"In confidence, she informed me that you dislike my plan of attack on King's Landing. She said you find it too risky?"

Tyrion did not allow his surprise to show.

He hadn't realized just how close the queens were becoming, and he wasn't certain if that was good or bad.

"I did and I stand by what I said."

"I respect that, but tell me, what in this cold world lacks a certain level of risk," Bellegere asked with a frown.

"Life itself is risky. So risky, in fact, that none of us are getting out alive. If a show of force is what we need to make Cersei surrender, so be it."

The Lannister bowed his head respectfully.

"You are absolutely correct, your grace, but using dragons to destroy the Scorpions will cause unnecessary casualties to the innocent people of King's Landing," he said, stepping forward.

"I knew your father and I know that you share his most honorable qualities. Deep down, spilling the blood of innocents bothers you even more than it bothers me."

The queen exhaled slowly, looking away.

The mention of her beloved father never ceased to awaken a dull ache in her chest.

"I loved my father very much, but his brand of honor killed him. When he died, I realized there were things he taught me that I needed to unlearn in order for my house to survive," Bellegere said bluntly.

The more she spoke, the more Tyrion realized that he was not speaking to a female version of Eddard Stark.

This woman was her father's pride and joy for a reason, and he finally figured out why.

She was the best and worst of him.

With the perfect balance of honor and bloodthirsty ambition, the game of thrones was not a game at all.

It was a path, straight and narrow, as bloody as that path might be.

And she tread it with unbridled confidence.

"I sympathize with your desire to spare your sister the fate that she deserves, and I would hate to be in your position," Bellegere said honestly.

"However, the difference between you and I is that I am not above doing what it takes to ensure overall peace. If that means spilling the blood of innocents and killing a loved one, I will not shirk my responsibility."

Silence as thick as a fog filled the room while Tyrion narrowed his eyes at the stoic woman.

"I don't believe you," he said. "You may wear the facade of an ice queen, but you would never hurt the people you love."

Bellegere sighed deeply, loathe to speak the words what she was about say.

"Haven't you wondered why Mya isn't here?"

Tyrion tilted his head, confused.

"I heard she had a child. I reckoned she must be back at Winterfell."

"Correct, she is in Winterfell," Bellegere stated, looking away.

"More specifically, the godswood."

Tyrion lacked the words to respond.

In Belle's eye, he could see the sadness and grief. The raw pain, like a fresh wound packed with salt.

Tyrion Lannister recognized a piece of himself in the queen. His hands clenched at his sides as he remembered killing the whore he loved so deeply.

The one who betrayed him, as he knew Mya Stone must have betrayed Bellegere.

"It has a way of haunting you, doesn't it? Killing the woman you love."

She chuckled ruefully, seeing nothing but Mya's blue eyes in her mind.

Feeling nothing but the familiar pang of grief.

"We both know that memory is punishment. Nostalgia poisons our minds. We may know what is the right thing to do, but love stays the hand. It is a downfall," Bellegere said passionately.

"Our loyalty to the past is a dangerous trait. One that will cost us the most. But unlike you, I have declared war on my flaws. For your sake, I hope you will do the same."

Those words flayed Tyrion alive.

Within that statement lie a gentle warning that did not go unrecognized.

He held onto a stubborn love for who he thought Cersei once was, forgetting her true nature.

It would be his undoing if he failed to realize that his perception was not reality.

And somehow, she knew it.

With wisdom befitting a woman twice her age, Bellegere Stark knew it.

Suddenly, Tyrion was terribly exhausted.

He left the room in silence, respecting and fearing the Queen in the North far more than he did before.


_


Just as the moon graced the sky, the Queen in the North entered the chambers of Daenerys Targaryen, pleasantly surprising her.

"I wasn't sure you would come."

"My husband insisted," Bellegere said, shaking her head fondly. "Apparently I need to socialize more and he believes we could be good friends. I wonder what gave him that idea?"

Daenerys hummed, lips tugging into a smile.

"I like the way your king thinks."

"So do I...most of the time."

With a keen eye, Bellegere studied the subdued smile on the blonde's face and the obvious changes in her hair and attire.

Daenerys' silver hair hung freely with braids intermixed. A narrowed, gray eye trailed from her head, down to the rather form fitting gown that she wore with little to no discretion.

"You look very beautiful, your grace," Bellegere said, her tone casual but blunt as ever.

"That style of dress suits you."

Daenerys took a swig from her cup to hide the smile that grew on her lips.

"Thank you, Queen Bellegere," she said, looking her over thoroughly.

"You are enchanting as ever."

"Flattery doesn't get far with me, Dany."

The Targaryen smirked.

"Is it flattery if I'm being sincere?"

Bellegere laughed quietly.

"You have a point, I suppose."

Long, silver streaked curls fell down her back, reaching just above her waist. The cream colored dress she wore was clearly of Braavosi origins, judging by the more revealing cut.

The slit on her thigh revealed much of her light caramel skin. It opened and closed teasingly as she sauntered forward, unaware of how lovely she was.

So lovely, in fact, that the candles seemed to glow brighter when she passed.

As the queens enjoyed dinner together, Daenerys found herself studying the Stark more closely than she had previously.

She noticed the way Bellegere's smile always began at the left corner of her mouth.

The careful manner in which she gathered her food onto her utensils. Down to how often she would adjust her eye patch to cover her scar, though it would never hide all of it.

The scar, she mused.

When they eventually settled into their seats before the roaring hearth, Daenerys took the risk of offending the queen.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

Bellegere nodded curiously.

"Has your eye always been blind, and...how did you get the scar?"

A small frown grew on Bellegere's lips, and she couldn't tell if it was one of sadness or something more sinister.

"Yes, I was born half blind," Bellegere said simply. "Interestingly enough, my youngest son, Torrhen, shares the same defect I have. I've heard some say it is a curse, but the maesters believe it was passed down through my bloodline."

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully.

"I lost the eye in a battle."

Bellegere paused, trying to decide whether she should show her or not. The earnest expression on Daenerys' face was encouraging.

Carefully, she removed her beloved weirwood leaf eyepatch and felt the warm air touch the scarred skin that resided beneath.

Daenerys leaned in to examine it closely.

The scar itself was healed quite well, but several shades lighter than her skin. It was clear where the stitches that once held the gash together used to be.

Most shockingly, where Bellegere's eye used to reside, now an ivory, wooden orb sat in it's place.

A weirwood eye, she mused. Fitting.

It was perfectly carved to fit the cavity. To the point that it resembled an eye that had been turned to stone.

"Ramsay Bolton, the former Warden of the North, ordered me to vacate Winterfell, so I declared war, of course," Bellegere said, smiling faintly at the memory.

Now, Lord Snow could barely look upon her face, but back then, he was full of narcissistic pride.

She ripped that pride from the deepest recesses of his depraved, black soul and incinerated it.

"During the battle I was ambushed by two craven betrayers. I took a sword to the face but, I do not mourn. Because, that day, I may have lost an eye and a very good friend, but I gained the title of Queen in the North."

When she began to put her eyepatch back on, Daenerys stopped her.

"You don't have to cover yourself. It doesn't bother me in the slightest."

Bellegere tilted her head slightly.

"Are you sure? It's grotesque."

"I'm sure," Daenerys said reassuringly. "That scar doesn't make you any less beautiful."

The Stark furrowed her brow, but did not put the eyepatch back on.

"What about the scars on your neck? Did you get those in battle as well?"

Bellegere frowned.

"You're very interested in my flaws," she said, narrowing her eye. "Why is that?"

Daenerys rushed to defend herself.

"I don't see them as flaws. I'm only asking because there is a story behind every scar."

Silence reigned for a long moment as Bellegere took several long sips from her cup. Deciding whether or not to tell her what happened.

Part of her didn't want to speak about it at all.

In fact, only three other person knew about what transpired. Brynden had coaxed it out of her over the course of a year, but she never told Mya.

However, for reasons Bellegere couldn't ignore, she felt comfortable with Daenerys.

Something told her she would empathize.

"I got those scars as a young girl," Bellegere began, sighing heavily.

"My own cousin bestowed them upon me."

The other woman frowned, sensing her discomfort. Belle carressed the long, thin scars reverently, lost in a burning memory.

"I was visiting Lady Narha in Braavos, and her son... he tried to rape me at knifepoint. The only reason he didn't succeed is because I fought like hell until Isabelle, his sister, found us."

When Belle paused, Daenerys saw the rage that passed over her face.

It was fury borne from being taken advantage of.

The righteous wrath that boiled inside a person after being abused and not being able to exact your own brand of justice.

"After Narha found out what happened, I never saw him again," she said.

The smile on her face was malicious.

"In fact, his sisters never saw him again. No one ever saw him again. And, to this day, Lady Narha has my respect for that."

When Bellegere paused, Daenerys promptly took her clenched hand.

"For a long time, nightmares haunted me. When I killed my first man, I saw his face. When I killed my second and third and fourth, I saw him again," she said breathing out shakily.

"For so long, I gorged on hatred for that boy. For many moons I hated myself for mourning my cousin. I held back so many tears that I felt I would begin to weep blood."

Bellegere discretely touched her eye.

The motion was so quick and nonchalant that Daenerys almost missed it, but the glistening of moisture on the tip of her middle finger told her everything she needed to know.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Belle. I'm sure it wasn't easy for you."

She grabbed the other woman's hand. Her thumb passed over the back of it soothingly.

"Although our experiences differ, I have endured similar situations," Daenerys murmured softly.

"Because of this I know I lack the words of comfort you need, but I am willing to sit beside you until the memories fade."

At once, Bellegere felt seen.

There was a great intimacy in being understood.

When you feel comfortable enough to tell someone your truth.

When you show yourself to someone, laid bare, and are met with empathy and compassion.

Although it was an immensely comforting interaction, this level of intimacy unsettled her.

She longed for Mya Stone, the only other woman she would sit and talk to like this.

Bellegere began to regret being so vulnerable with someone she didn't know and trust.

It felt like a betrayal.

"The hour is late. I should go."

When Bellegere stood and attempted to release the hand clutched in her own, it would not budge.

Daenerys followed, frowning deeply.

"The moon has barely graced the sky. We still have plenty of time to-"

"Dany," Bellegere warned gently, trying not to become upset.

"Release me. Now."

As Daenerys gazed into the icy eye of the wolf, a large part of her wanted to refuse.

For, she was blood of the dragon.

Seed of Aegon the Conquerer.

No one commanded her to do anything.

If she wished to hold Bellegere's hand, she would. If she wished to kiss her until the pain became a distant memory, she would do it without fear.

And she wanted to do just that.

The only thing that stopped her was respect for the fact that Bellegere was happily married.

"Why," Daenerys challenged, refusing to break eye contact. "Are you upset that someone is attempting to befriend you? Does compassion offend you?"

Those words only irritated Bellegere.

"Friendship? Compassion? You jest. I know exactly what you want from me, and I know you're manipulating me to get it."

The confusion Daenerys felt was deep.

"I am not manipulating you."

"Intentionally or not, you are. I don't begrudge you for it, but don't act oblivious."

The taller woman leaned in so close that she could smell the cinnamon on her breath and feel the warmth of her skin.

The palpable tension between them was different now, and both women knew why that was.

Although neither would acknowledge it.

"I had an interesting chat with your Hand today and he told me something that gave me clarity," Bellegere said, brows furrowed deeply.

"If the greatest conquerer since Aegon and his sisterwives knows better than to take the North by force, perhaps she might use coercion instead?"

Bellegere twirled a silver curl between her fingers, making Daenerys clench her jaw. Her hands trembled at her sides as Bellegere accidentally grazed the skin of her cheek.

However, it was not anger she felt in that moment, but desire.

In it's most pure, untainted form.

When Bellegere pulled away, Daenerys longed to follow. She wished she could tower over the other woman and make her feel the way she did.

For this short moment, she was the only thing on Bellegere's mind, the only person in existence, and that made Daenerys feel less like a dragon queen and more like the anxious young woman she was on the inside.

She wondered what lurked within Bellegere Stark.

Could it be that she also hid her uncertainty behind a facade of regality?

Was Bellegere a wolf when she was alone with the man she loved, or just a scarred woman with a myriad of feelings that loomed behind her like a shadow?

She wanted to know.

Needed to see for herself.

"If we are to be life long allies, or even friends, I need it to be clear that you cannot manipulate me into bending the knee," Bellegere whispered softly.

"I would rather be consumed by your dragons than allow the North to be ruled by anyone other than a Stark. You will have no choice but to kill me, and it won't be easy."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes.

"I have no desire to pursue the North, now or ever. I thought that was clear."

"Then what is the purpose of this," Bellegere asked, gesturing toward her dress.

"I'm sure Tyrion divulged my taste for the fairer sex. I wouldn't be surprised if he suggested using that against me. I know for certain that your Master of Whispers, the bald eunuch, certaintly recommended it."

Tense silence reigned for a spell.

The Targaryen's jaw flexed as she pondered her response. When she spoke again, her voice was just above a whisper, but her eyes were aflame.

"I would never attempt to coerce you. You're an intelligent woman. I think you know that."

The Stark shook her head, swiftly putting the pieces together. Deep down, it flattered her, but neither of them had time for this.

"If you own an ounce of wisdom, you will ignore whatever it is you think you feel."

"And just how do you suppose I do that," Daenerys said, moving closer.

"How do I look away, now that I've seen you?"

Each time Bellegere inhaled, she could feel her chest rise and fall. Feel the heat of her skin.

It was maddening.

Being this close, yet so far.

"I can envision everything we could achieve together with such clarity that it makes me dizzy, and I know you can too. How can I ignore the energy between us? How can I forget the way my dragons accepted you today? It was not a coincidence."

The taller woman sighed deeply, looking away.

"As the Queen of the Six Kingdoms, it is your responsibility lead without allowing your feelings to color your judgement," Bellegere said bluntly.

"There is so much more to focus on than your misleading emotions. Winter is coming. Remove your head from your arse and remember what your purpose is."

Bellegere spoke so adamantly, behind her mask of stoic bravado.

It was irritating that she could remain so regal while Daenerys struggled to breathe regularly in her presence.

"I could never forget my purpose, and you have become apart of it now," Daenerys said, throwing up her hands.

"We determine the future of Westeros. We are the future of Westeros. And after all you've done to prove your loyalty to me, can you really blame my heart for quickening at the sight of you?"

Bellegere scoffed.

"No, but I can blame you for indulging it."

As the women glared at one another, only the sound of the crackling hearth could be heard.

Even with frustration coursing through her veins, Daenerys could not stop herself from admiring the other woman. Somehow, the stern look on her face only served to make her more alluring.

Daenerys did not know much about Stark women, but if Lyanna Stark was anything like Bellegere, she understood why her eldest brother fell so deeply in love.

Wars were fought for chemistry like theirs.

Rivers of blood had been shed.

History told her that Targaryens and Starks had a way of being drawn to one another, but the results were rarely positive.

Still, the dragon beheld the wolf and wanted.

"Setting emotions aside, our alliance can only be as strong as our trust in one another," Bellegere said, taking a deep breath to calm down.

"As such, I need you to swear, before the Old Gods and the new, to never betray the trust I and my people are extending to you within our alliance."

With alcohol and the blood of the dragon flowing through her veins, Daenerys' anger was stoked like a flame.

"By accepting the terms your Hand laid before me, I gave you my word that I would never seek to declare my sovereignty over the North," she said sternly.

"I do not appreciate you questioning my integrity."

"The merit of your integrity has yet to be shown, and thus I am allowed to doubt you. Just as you doubted me when I arrived. Your house is not known for their honorable qualities."

Finally, Bellegere witnessed the fire within Daenerys' eyes.

That fire was the truth, who she was at the core.

Just as the ice was her own true nature.

Bellegere Stark did not journey to Dragonstone to become friends with this Targaryen.

Her duty was to ensure the North remained independent and under the rule of House Stark, by any means necessary.

If Daenerys Targaryen showed any sign of coveting the North for herself, honor be damned, she would kill her in this room.

Bellegere would gladly wrap her hands around the Targaryen's pale, slender throat and watch the flames extinguish from her eyes without any hesitation.

Even if that meant she and her beloved husband would die.

The well being of House Stark and the people of the North meant more to her than living or even seeing her young children again.

She gave her soul to the gods for that very reason, and she would die a martyr's death before she allowed an outsider to hold dominion over the North ever again.

As long as Bellegere Stark lived, her home would know no queen but she. And after her death, no one would sit the throne that did not share the blood of Eddard Stark or Brynden Blackwood.

"Humor me for a moment, Queen Bellegere," Daenerys said, clasping her hands. Anger was clear in her expression.

"After both of these wars have been fought and won, if I were to declare the North mine, what could you possibly do to stop me?"

An icy, silver eye locked with her own.

"I would declare war."

"Yes, I know, but how could an army of men hope to win against three large dragons and an army composed of the greatest soldiers in the world?"

To Daenerys' surprise, the Stark grinned.

Those plump, deep pink lips spread over her teeth in a manner reminiscent of a wolf.

This was what Bellegere wanted to discuss, not past traumas or emotions. Perhaps, she'd been waiting for this moment since they met.

"I mean no offense, your grace, but while you are a master at conquering, I have proven to be a master at ruling," Bellegere said simply.

"And for that, my house has gained more respect than yours."

Daenerys would never admit how much those words offended her.

She wished to rebuke her statement, but the disastrous situation that was Meereen only served to prove Bellegere's point.

Politics were not Daenerys' niche.

"Because of this, much of the realm would rally behind me. They know what I and my house stand for. They also know that I would die with a sword in my hand and a smile on my lips before I allow someone not of my blood to rule the North, and for that, they hold me in high regard."

The irritation on the blonde's face deepened.

"It doesn't matter how many houses rally behind you if none of them have a solution for the three dragons under my command," Daenerys said, glaring at her.

"The history of my house speaks for itself. Tell me, your grace, how can you survive a war against me?"

Bellegere shook her head.

"A good ruler inspires a delicate balance of fear and respect. Would burning everything to the ground in pursuit of the North level the scales or tip them over?"

"Answer me," Daenerys demanded.

"How could you survive?"

Bellegere pursed her lips, shrugging.

"I wouldn't, but luckily neither would you."

When the Targaryen frowned in confusion, she continued.

"There are three ways you will die if you betray me. It will either be me, my loyalists, or my family. More specifically, my sons, when they come of age. Because no child of mine would suffer a queenslayer to live," Bellegere said bluntly.

"Are you prepared to kill me, all who follow me, and my entire family? Ask yourself if you have what it takes to rip House Stark out, root and stem? Will you have the gall to murder my babes after meeting them? Because I don't think you will, Dany."

The blonde looked away, reeling.

"I embody the values of my people. You can kill the Queen in the North, but the idea of the Queen in the North will not die so easily."

Daenerys clenched her teeth tightly.

Part of her hated that she understood what the other woman was saying, but deep down, she envied the influence she had in Westeros.

She admired Bellegere, no matter how much she wanted to despise her in this moment.

"My house is the North, and even the southron bastards that the northmen hate hold my people in high regard. Because of our history and what we stand for," Bellegere said in a proud and serious tone.

"If you, a foreign queen with a foreign army, betrays me, you betray Westeros itself. The smallfolk would never respect you, and trust me, the opinions of the smallfolk matter more than those of the lords."

Silence filled the space between them for a long moment as they shared a lingering glance.

With time, Daenerys softened, unable to ignore the logic and reasoning being thrown at her.

"I understand," she said quietly.

"Although my temper got the best of me, I hope you know that I never considered challenging you for the North. Not even for a moment."

Bellegere relaxed, nodding in acknowledgement.

"I believe you, but it is my responsibility to make sure of that. As a queen and, more importantly, as a mother I cannot afford to take risks."

"I respect that," Daenerys murmured softly.

"I respect you."

Bellegere offered a small smile.

"As do I, Dany."

No longer did they glare at one another.

Instead, the two queens came to a deeper understanding of what their relationship meant to them and to the realm.

Their alliance was deeper than just the iron throne and the war against the army of the dead beyond the wall.

Bellegere's words caused an important question to arise in both of their minds.

After all was said and done, how would Westeros change if the Queen in the North and the Queen in the South were loyal to one another instead of dividing the realm into two warring sides?

How prosperous could Westeros be?

They could both imagine it.

"I swear before the Old Gods and the new that I will never betray you or the North," Daenerys murmured softly, holding her gaze.

"I swear it with all my heart."

The Stark's brow furrowed.

"I believe an oath is life or death. Without honor, you're dead to me. Do you understand?"

Daenerys shook her head.

"I don't, but I'm sure I will one day."

A small smile grew on Bellegere's lips and the mood in the room began to lighten.

She laughed, causing the silver streaks in her curly, waist length tresses to shimmer as if encrusted with flawless diamonds.

"One day soon, if I have any say," Bellegere chuckled.

"Once we arrive at Winterfell, I will make sure you understand Northern customs and traditions."

Daenerys smiled softly, enjoying the Stark's rare display of excitement.

"When I say I look forward to it, I mean it."

Bellegere's eye brightened, but she was still unwilling to show the full extent of her enthusiasm in front of Daenerys.

Glancing between them, she noticed that they were still standing quite close. She took a step back and cleared her throat.

"We should part ways while we're still on good terms. I have a way of antagonizing you."

Daenerys smiled amusedly, but she was loathe to let her leave just yet.

"Stay," she implored. "Just a while longer."

When Bellegere hesitated, Daenerys understood.

No matter how stoic and intense she portrayed herself to be, the Queen in the North enjoyed their time together just as much as Daenerys did.

However, now that she knew how Daenerys felt towards her, she needed to create space.

"Enjoy your night," Bellegere muttered.

"I must return to my husband and prepare for your council meeting tomorrow."

Daenerys nodded sullenly.

"Of course."

For reasons unknown, Bellegere took the blonde's hand in her own, admiring the feeling of her soft, unblemished skin. The way the warmth of it seeped into her flesh.

A part of her that was buried with Mya Stone had returned from the grave, and it craved female companionship.

It was wrong but, in a state of mourning, she was not strong enough to control it.

"Sleep well, Dany," she said softly.

"Soon, we will journey to Winterfell. Closer to our destinies."

She avoided Daenerys' soft gaze as she left the room, unwilling to witness what she knew she would find in her eyes.

Daenerys looked at Bellegere as if she were some rare piece of art, a portrait of a goddess misremembered.

She could not see her for who she was.

Bellegere was a culmination of grief and rage that folded into itself when the moon rose in the sky.

Some nights, she dreamt of her dead father.

He always sat in the corner of her childhood room in Winterfell. With his crooked smile and brooding, gray eyes. Telling her that everything would be alright.

On rare occasions, her long dead mother would sit on the edge of her bed. The phantom sensation of fingertips would caress her forehead until she fell asleep.

Every now and again, Robb appeared.

She would turn over in her bed, and instead of finding Brynden, she would see her brother.

Not the man.

Not the king that was killed by Walder Frey's men, but her young, little brother who sought her out for comfort. She would imagine she was little again, too, and she'd hold him close.

Hoping he would stay. Praying that what happened to him was some fever dream.

Most nights, it was Mya Stone who haunted her.

Belle's beloved one.

Mya would caress her face, kiss her, and hold her tight. Whispering that she was forgiven for everything that was and was not her fault.

Other times, Mya would curse her name.

And she would accept it.

Knowing she deserved it.

On the worst nights, she held her stillborn child in her arms and cried crimson tears that never seemed to end.

In truth, Bellegere Stark was a bleeding heart that only continued to beat for naps beneath the heart tree and walks with Runa.

For love and justice and peace.

For quality time shared with her siblings, and her beloved children.

For soft moments devoid of forboding, and nights spent wrapped in the warmth of her husband's arms.

It was unsettling, how much she wished to share her heart's desires and the recurring torment of her restless nights with Daenerys.

However, Bellegere couldn't.

As a potential threat to her people and her family Daenerys was forbidden to truly know her, now and forever.

Although some lost piece of Bellegere's heart desired to build an honest, meaningful friendship with the dragon queen, she had to hold back.

For the safety of the North, of course.

But, for her own sake as well.


_