The Queen in the North sat stiffly, hands clenched into tight fists on the table, as Maester Luwin read to her.

It was a raven sent from the loyal Lord Hoster Blackwood, her husband's younger brother.

He'd taken it upon himself to send knights disguised as commoners to King's Landing.

"The city is in shambles. Rubble blocks the steps to the Red Keep as the small folk have taken to tearing down the castle one brick at a time," Luwin read, gray brows lifting incredulously.

Daenerys glanced at her fellow queen discretely.

Bellegere nodded along as her maester spoke, seeming pleased with this information.

"For the death of the good Queen Margaery Tyrell and the demolition of the Great Sept of Baelor, the smallfolk have begun the greatest demonstration of rebellion I have ever seen.

For this, Cersei Lannister has ordered her sellswords, the Golden Company, to kill any citizens who display any inkling of sedition."

The crowd in the Great Hall began to murmur amongst themselves.

"Your Majesties, I humbly submit that a siege should be enacted whilst Cersei Lannister is distracted by this uprising."

When Maester Luwin finished, the room was filled with the shocked whispers of their noble audience.

Bellegere shared a glance with her husband, her Hand, and then with the queen beside her.

It was clear to Daenerys what she was asking.

Would she support Bellegere if she announced her desire to march south now?

All it took was a small nod, and the Queen in the North stood.

"I find it difficult to express how proud I am of the smallfolk in King's Landing," Bellegere said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"They are ruled by a deranged tyrant that finds nothing wrong with queenslaying and destroying the largest symbol of faith and hope that her people have, yet they have the integrity to stand up against her. Even under the threat of death."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

"With that being said, I believe it is time to march south and end Cersei Lannister's reign of terror," Bellegere declared.

"We leave in three day's time."

When the council meeting was dismissed, Daenerys lingered behind.

She and Bellegere had made plans to visit the godswood.

However, Brynden abruptly pulled the queen to the side.

Beneath the curious eyes of her Hand and the red woman, Daenerys tried to hide her irritation.

She stared at his massive hand wrapped around her lover's wrist with thinly veiled annoyance.

"You're upset with my decision," Bellegere asked rhetorically.

It was clear on his face.

The hard set of his jaw. The slight pursing of his lips. The deep furrow of his thick, unruly brows.

He shook his head at her, sighing.

"Did you consider discussing this with me before setting it in stone?"

"I should have, yes, but I stand by my decision. You heard what Lord Hoster said. We should take advantage of the city's instability."

"I agree, but we've only just returned," Brynden said, frowning.

He took her hand, and the stubborn expression on her face softened.

"I've missed our family, Belle. Our babes have grown so much in the time that we spent away. Cregan and Alys are running about the halls like I've never seen before. Torrhen is even crawling and speaking full words now."

Bellegere lowered her head, feeling the impact of his words.

She'd missed her children terribly, and the thought of leaving them this soon made her feel ill.

"I know, husband," Bellegere said, nodding solemnly.

"But, I cannot rest. I cannot fully enjoy the time I spend with our children and our family until those who wish to harm us are dead. Surely, you understand this."

Brynden shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could say to get through to his wife.

"I do," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Unfortunately, I do."

Daenerys watched as they parted ways, feeling as if she'd just pried on a conversation that wasn't meant for her to hear. The dynamic between them intrigued her.

Daenerys didn't know much about Brynden Blackwood, but she knew that he loved his wife and children deeply.

Worse still, Belle loved him just as much.

"Are you ready?"

Startled, Daenerys turned to find a rather somber Bellegere behind her.

"I am."

The Stark nodded once.

"Follow me, your grace."

Standing atop the castle wall of Winterfell, Brynden Blackwood could see his wife and their esteemed guest.

They stood face to face beneath the heart tree as the snow fell slowly.

Bellegere in her finest armor and fur cloak, and Daenerys dressed in all white.

Brynden watched Belle's mouth move from afar, wishing he could hear what she was promising Daenerys so that he might help keep her word.

Because he loved Bellegere, and Bellegere loved Daenerys Targaryen.

As snow fell from an overcast sky, Bellegere Stark knelt before the heart tree in the godswood, praying silently.

She held Daenerys' hand and prayed to the gods to cleanse her womb of the curse bestowed upon it.

She asked for her safety in future wars.

She asked them to give her inner peace and comfort when they eventually parted ways.

Daenerys opened her eyes, surreptitiously watching the other woman.

Those thick, black eyebrows drew together as she spoke to her gods.

Her full lips moved slightly as she mouthed the words of a prayer.

Bellegere reflexively squeezed her hand and she responded in kind, causing her to smile.

When she was done, they stood together, watching the gentle snow fall.

Daenerys could not see the bones that lay beneath the snow, but Bellegere could feel them beneath her boots.

It was poetic, in the most sinister of ways.

"Can you feel your gods with you," Daenerys asked quietly.

"I can. Always."

"Do they comfort you?"

Bellegere thought for a moment before speaking, her eyebrows furrowing deeper and deeper.

"No, they suffocate."

Daenerys frowned, but decided not to pry into her thoughts.

She reached out and held Belle's hand beneath her fur cloak.

"This means more to me than you know. I will never forget this kindness."

"It is as important to me as it is to you," Bellegere said softly.

"Setting your succession aside, there is nothing like holding your own child in your arms. I want you to experience that one day."

"Will you be at my side when I give birth?"

She looked at her curiously.

"Would you like me to be?"

Daenerys blushed. "Of course."

"Then it is decided," Bellegere declared.

"I shall."

When the Stark gazed up at the sky, watching a large flock of crows pass by, Daenerys looked at her as if she were some rare, once in a lifetime phenomenon.

And to her, she was.

Suddenly, Bellegere tensed and turned around.

"What is it?"

"My wolf is close by."

Dany frowned. "How do you know?"

"Just a feeling," Bellegere muttered, scanning the treeline.

"Like being stalked by a predator."

Abruptly, a growling mass of pitch black fur tackled Bellegere to the ground.

Daenerys jumped back, watching in horror.

However, she slowly began to relax.

The huge beast growled, attacking the Bellegere's face with licks, and she laughed hysterically.

"I know, girl. I missed you, too."

Eventually, Bellegere stood up with her wolf, allowing Daenerys to get a good look. What she saw made her stiffen.

The direwolf was slightly taller than Bellegere, with fur as black as ink.

One of it's eyes was blind, eternally shut, and it's large, pink nose was scarred.

Daenerys had seen this wolf in a dream.

In her bloody mouth, she clutched Bellegere's twisted, weirwood crown.

Now, she just panted eagerly.

"This is Runa. Princess Runa, to be exact. I found her as a pup and she has been with me ever since," Bellegere said, petting her fur soothingly.

Daenerys couldn't help but notice how similar the two looked. As if Runa was the embodiment of Bellegere's soul.

"She's fought in more battles than most men ever will. She's protected me, my king, and our children. Most of all, when I was at my lowest point, Runa brought me comfort," she said proudly.

When the beast rumbled, leaning into her hand, she smiled softly.

"It is an honor to introduce you to my most loyal companion."

As the wolf approached, Daenerys stood still. Runa towered over her, as large as a horse, sniffing her scent fervently.

"I am Dany," she said, hesitantly reaching out. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

When Runa lowered her head to Dany's hand, begging to be petted, Bellegere laughed.

"Of course."

Hesitantly, Daenerys rubbed the wolf's head and Runa rumbled contentedly, pushing into her hand with so much force that she nearly knocked the Targaryen off her feet.

"Sit, Runa," Bellegere ordered in the Old Tongue.

The wolf obeyed her command, whining like a scolded child.

Daenerys continued to stroke Runa's head as she glanced at her companion curiously.

"It is the language spoken by the First Men," Bellegere said, answering her silent question.

"As a child, I thirsted for knowledge. Specifically, knowledge that was scarce. I found a tome dedicated to keeping the Old Tongue alive and studied it night and day.

It turns out that direwolves are more eager to obey commands in that language than in the Common Tongue."

"Similar to my dragons with High Valyrian."

She nodded. "Precisely."

Beneath the shadow of the heart tree, Bellegere sat beside Daenerys Targaryen.

Runa lie down with her head in the blonde's lap, sleeping soundly, as pale fingers combed through her fur repetitively.

The silence between them was peaceful.

While the Queen in the North basked in the cold air of her homeland, she took in the wonder of Daenerys Targaryen.

How beautiful she was, adorned in a white dress, amongst the snow and the pale weirwood trees.

Long, silver curls framed her face, accenting soft, pink lips, and when she smiled, her teeth shone in the winter sun. She looked at home here, in the godswood.

Like she belonged.

"Runa is enamored with you," Bellegere said, smiling softly. "It is not often she accepts a stranger so swiftly."

"If only her mother felt the same way."

The atmosphere between them thickened, and Runa lifted her head, alert.

Bellegere's jaw clenched tightly.

"We agreed to never speak about this again."

"I know," Daenerys whispered, sighing heavily.

"But it is difficult not to acknowledge it when the emotions still rage inside me."

The Queen in the North did not look at her, though her neck strained to turn in her direction.

Without saying another word, Bellegere walked away with Runa trailing closely behind.

Each step was more difficult than the last.

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Jon Snow stood in the center of Bellegere's solar like a weed waiting to be yanked from the soil.

He looked around the room that was once their father's as if he'd never been inside it before.

As if he had never been allowed in.

Perhaps that was the case, Bellegere wasn't sure.

In their youth, she'd been too busy to notice the dynamic between Jon and their father.

Reading, traveling to Braavos, and chasing Mya Stone, among other things, took up most of Bellegere's time.

With the spare time she had, she loved her brother unconditionally.

Whether Lady Catelyn called him a bastard or not. Whether Lady Catelyn frowned upon it or not. Whether Lady Catelyn scolded her or not.

Belle claimed him as her responsibility.

A piece of her father. A part of their family, no less than herself. She always would.

"I noticed your discomfort upon my return," Bellegere said, frowning.

"Tell me what bothers you, and I will destroy it with my bare hands."

Although Bellegere spoke in jest, her hands briefly clenched into fists at her sides, and he knew she was speaking the truth.

Jon Snow remembered when they were small, not big enough to mount a horse or hold a sword.

Often, he would have night terrors.

In them, he was alone.

He had no family. No name.

Inevitably, he would wander into Belle's bedchamber.

She would awaken as if sensing his discomfort and pull back the furs for him with that ever-present smile that older sisters have. Waiting patiently.

The same way she did for all of their siblings.

As a man grown, Jon wondered how many sleepless nights Bellegere endured for them?

For Robb and Sansa and Arya and Brandon, and Rickon?

What about the nights they spent away from her? Some of them in unknown locations.

He didn't know if she slept at all.

What Jon knew was that, amidst the darkness, Belle would always hold him and reassure him that he was her brother.

The same as Robb or Brandon or Rickon.

Not a bastard, like Lady Catelyn called him, but a true Stark.

On how many occasions did she stand before their lady mother and defend him, even as she trembled with fear?

More than a dozen.

He knew that for certain.

"I'm not a Stark," Jon Snow said reluctantly, staring at the wall.

"I never was."

He didn't want to see the expression on her face. That angry, indignant look that she had now.

"I don't want to hear this nonsense."

"Listen to me," Jon said, stepping closer.

"I am not Ned Stark's son. I never was."

Where he expected to see shock, he found the complete opposite.

She pursed her lips and heaved a deep, calming breath.

"Jon," Bellegere said softly.

Her gaze was intense, imploring him to let this conversation end.

"You will always be my brother, and soon, you will be my prince."

"What?"

Bellegere's words befuddled him.

All he'd ever truly wanted was to be her real brother.

A son worthy of Eddard Stark.

"You would do that for me," he whispered hoarsely, holding back his emotion.

Belle frowned in disbelief.

"I would do much and more for you. Have you forgotten so swiftly?"

Remembering that she brought him back from the dead, Jon lowered his head.

"I'm sorry for questioning you."

"No, don't apologize," Bellegere said. "Just tell me who told you."

"Only if you tell me who told you."

Jon shared a challenging stare with his sister and, for the first time, he won.

"Father," Bellegere said, looking away.

"He told me before he left for King's Landing. It was the last conversation we had."

Jon could barely breathe.

Even though he knew he was not Eddard Stark's son, it was difficult to hear his sister confirm it.

"He said you have Lyanna's smile," Bellegere whispered, lips trembling from some distant, complex pain.

It was not only her pain, but Jon's.

The guilt of killing their mothers.

The tragedy of living the rest of their lives trying to pick parts of her out of themselves so that they could piece her together.

So they could see their mothers.

Just once.

"You may ask yourself why father never told you. Why I never told you," Bellegere said, holding his shaky hand.

"The reason should be clear. You have always been protected from those who would wish to harm you. By your mother, by Ned Stark, and by me. Know that you are, and have always been, loved."

When Jon closed his eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from falling, Bellegere pulled him into her arms like he was a boy again.

They squeezed each other tighter and tried to pretend everything they had been through in their lives had never happened.

They were just kids again, and father was there, and so were Robb and Bran, and even Lady Catelyn.

"You truly mean to legitimize me?"

"Yes," Bellegere said simply. "Regardless of what anyone else might say, you have always been my brother, and soon you will be legitimized as such."

Jon pulled away, wiping his eyes discreetly.

"I have to tell Sansa and Arya. They need to know the truth."

A shadow passed over Bellegere's face.

"No."

Jon frowned, not understanding.

"They deserve to know who I really am."

Just thinking about the havoc and chaos this news would cause if it ever reached Daenerys or the general public made Bellegere's stomach twist in knots.

It would ruin everything they were about to go to war for.

Daenerys would come undone.

"You will do no such thing."

The tone of her voice, once filled with warmth and compassion, now frosted over with ice.

Jon stiffened as his sister stepped closer. She looked down at him sternly.

"As your queen, I command that you speak nothing of your true parentage to anyone ever again," Bellegere whispered.

"Is that understood?"

Although Jon wanted to argue, her tone left no room for it.

"Yes, your grace."

Bellegere was silent for a long moment, studying him for any sign of deception.

"On the morrow, you will be legitimized before the lords and ladies of the North, and none of this will matter to anyone but you and I," she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

"But first, you will tell me who told you this sensitive information."

After a long and meaningful conversation with Samwell Tarly, Bellegere was confident in his oath to never speak of Jon's parentage again.

There was no need to threaten him or speak harshly when her handmaid, Ramsey Bolton, was skulking about the room.

As silently broken as he was, just the sight of the former Warden of the North spoke volumes.

When Samwell left the room, wide-eyed and afraid, Bellegere was left alone with her former enemy.

He stood with his back turned as he neatly folded her husband's undergarments with shaking hands.

"Did you miss me, Lord Snow?"

Ramsey stiffened at the sound of her voice. That raspy, feminine tone sent well-deserved chills down his spine.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you did," Bellegere said, smiling faintly.

She made her way towards him slowly. The click of her boots made him shudder as memories resurfaced in his mind.

Horrible images drenched with blood.

"I was told you did a grand job preparing our guests' rooms," Bellegere said seriously.

Ramsey froze when she came to stand beside him, unsure what to do.

"Look at me, Lord Snow."

In this state of terror, his body wouldn't listen to his commands. He could only stand there, staring at the ground, as he trembled with fear.

Bellegere sighed and gently lifted his head. His glassy eyes were wide and frightened like a startled deer.

Prey standing before it's predator, waiting to be violently consumed.

However, she'd lost her desire to destroy him many moons ago.

He belonged to her now.

Mind, body, and soul.

There was nothing left to take.

"You've no need to be afraid. You have paid for your crimes," she said quietly, gently brushing his greasy hair away from his scarred face.

In the beginning, he'd been full of pride and as stubborn as an ox. Even after losing his tongue and his cock.

For that, she took his nose.

Then his ears.

One finger and then two.

When threatened with the loss of an eye, he finally bent the knee. Whimpering incoherently like a beaten dog.

Bellegere found it ironic that he feared losing an eye to such an extent.

Yet he'd been so quick to sneer and tease her for a defect she was born with.

"As long as you continue to prove your worth, I will treat you with respect. Keep up this behavior and I might allow you more freedoms. Do you understand?"

Ramsey nodded, smiling faintly.

It looked more like a grimace.

"Now, for your hard work, I am rewarding you with a week to yourself. After that, I expect you to help Princess Sansa coordinate the preparations for my return once this battle has been won."

In the back of his mind, he prayed to whatever gods there were that she died a horrible death on the battlefield.

Then again, a sick part of him wished for her safety and swift return.

Perhaps it was because no one, other than she and her husband, treated him with anything resembling kindness.

The queen's siblings hated the sight of him. His fellow handmaids could barely look at him and seldom spoke to him.

Even though Bellegere inflicted tortures upon him that he tried to block out of his mind for his own sanity, he supposed he would rather be under her authority than anyone else's.

When they were alone, she talked to him and was kind. He knew as long he did his job well, she wouldn't hurt him or kill him.

That was good enough.

It had to be good enough.

"Go now, milord," Bellegere said, offering a strained smile.

"Enjoy your time how you see fit. No one shall bother you."

Ramsay bowed deeply in gratitude, and she watched him leave the room with a solemn expression.

Soon, Bellegere would be on the battlefield again, facing another enemy, and all she could think about was everything she wished she hadn't done.

Regret.

It tasted bitter, like rotten fruit.

She barely noticed when her king entered the room.

"Ramsay seemed less shaken than usual," Brynden said, studying her.

Bellegere nodded, rubbing her chin.

"Something is on your mind."

The silence that followed his statement concerned him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and she sighed heavily.

"I should have just killed him."

Brynden held his tongue, sensing there was more she needed to say.

"I wonder," Bellegere said, slowly becoming more disgusted at the thought of what she'd done.

"What would my father think if he could see me now? All the people I've killed. The men I've sacrificed. Mya..."

Brynden pulled her into his arms, even though she fought it.

"Take a breath and revaluate, beloved. Who has died by your hand that was not guilty of a crime? Be it treason or other heinous acts," he said softly.

"Just because it is difficult to understand why you've made certain choices in the past doesn't mean they are wrong in the present."

Bellegere could hear where he was coming from, but there were things he didn't know.

He did not know what she'd done to get to this point in her life.

To become queen and regain the majority of her family.

"After father, Robb, and Catelyn were murdered, I made the obscene decision to do something unforgivable for the sake of my house's survival," Bellegere said, looking her husband in the eyes.

Brynden frowned, not understanding.

"Whatever you did is not unforgivable."

"Listen to me. I was once a child that only wanted to heal things, but now I have become an abomination," she said, her jaw clenching.

"My soul belongs to the Old Gods because I swore it to them and sealed my oath in my own blood and that of my enemies. If my father were here, he would cast me out as a witch. If he loved me less, he would execute me."

Shocked into silence, Brynden couldn't find the words to reassure her.

Aa a follower of the Old Gods, he knew that what she'd done was unredeemable. If what the tomes said were true, the gods would not let her rest even after she died.

There would never be an end to the bloodshed for her. She would forever be charged with sating the thirst of the Old Gods. She was damned to whatever purpose they had for her.

Bellegere looked away, ashamed by her decisions, but unable to do anything to change what was already set in stone.

"I should have told you when we first met, but I was a coward."

"Don't fret," Brynden said, hugging her to his chest. "This changes nothing. I will always remain by your side."

Bellegere held onto him, thanking the gods for the blessing that he turned out to be.

Even now, knowing that one day she might have to resort to murdering innocent people to please the gods, he supported her.

"I won't let them take you, too," Bellegere whispered. "I swear it."

Brynden squeezed her tighter.

However, he knew that if the gods wanted to take him, there was nothing she could do to stop them.

"I trust you, beloved."

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"I, Queen Bellegere of House Stark, first of my name, hereby name you Prince Jon of House Stark. Therein, legitimizing you as a trueborn son of Eddard Stark and an heir to the throne of Winterfell."

Tyrion Lannister watched, gulping his wine, as Jon kneeled before his sister and received the greatest honor any bastard could hope for.

The northern nobility were absolutely thrilled by this act as Jon had proven himself in battle beside their queen.

As expected, the Stark sisters were visibly moved by Bellegere's impromptu decision.

Yet, Jon himself looked as though he might melt into a puddle of tears.

Tyrion supposed he could empathize.

"You knelt before me as a bastard," Bellegere said the word with disdain.

"Now, rise as a prince."

When Jon stood, she placed a black fur cloak around his shoulders as their audience erupted with cheers.

The siblings shared a meaningful glance full of emotions and shared history.

"I present to you, Prince Jon of House Stark," Bellegere announced, her proud voice bouncing off the walls.

As the entire hall applauded, Daenerys watched on with a small smile pulling at her lips.

"She is most beautiful when she is happy, isn't she?"

Daenerys turned to Brynden Blackwood, shocked that he was speaking to her of his own volition and not out of necessity.

"Her grace is always stunning," she said, unsure how to respond.

The amused look Brynden gave her would have been endearing if she hadn't slept with his wife several nights prior.

However, he didn't appear suspicious.

"Be sure to tell her that when she visits you tonight," Brynden said, chuckling.

"You will enjoy watching her cringe."

Daenerys' brows furrowed.

"I doubt she will come to my chambers."

"Don't worry, your grace. She will."

Before Daenerys ould reply, the king consort was already standing.

She watched him fade into the audience with a twinge of panic building in her stomach.

The idea of him knowing what happened between them was unsettling.

When the moon reigned supreme over the night sky and the halls of the Great Keep were silent, Daenerys Targaryen was startled by an unexpected visitor.

Missandei, who had been keeping her company, opened the door.

"Good evening, my lady. I wish to speak with your queen," Bellegere said kindly.

Although the handmaid gave her a welcoming smile, she could see the conflict in her eyes.

Daenerys stood up swiftly upon hearing her voice. Her heart pounded with excitement.

"Please come in, your grace."

Missandei stepped aside to allow Bellegere entry.

"You may retire for the night, Missandei."

Daenerys dutifully ignored the knowing look on her friend's face.

She didn't need to be reminded that what was happening between them was wrong and ill fated. That was a simple fact she was coming to terms with.

Once they were alone, Bellegere sat down with a small smile.

"I apologize for interrupting."

"You didn't. We weren't talking, really. Just enjoying the silence together," Daenerys assured her.

"Forgive my curiousity, but what brings you here? The hour is quite late."

"I couldn't sleep," Bellegere said honestly. "I haven't been able to since that night."

Bellegere watched Daenerys add wood to the hearth and then move about the room gathering cups and a cask of mead.

It didn't escape her that Daenerys had yet to look her in the eye since she entered the room.

"Which night?"

A low chuckle sent chills down her spine, and memories flickered through her mind.

"You amuse me, Dany."

She heard Bellegere stand and then the footsteps that followed as she slowly approached.

Eventually, the feeling of a warm body brushing against her back made her freeze in place.

Daenerys bit her lip as she poured the mead into the cups with shaky hands.

"I am not thirsty, your grace," Bellegere said, gently prying the cup and cask from Dany's hands.

She braced herself on the table, effectively trapping the smaller queen. Her lips tickled the shell of Daenerys' ear when she leaned down to whisper.

"I have come to apologize for the way I behaved yesterday, and for the way our relationship has to be," she said softly.

"I've come to let it be known that it pains me as much as it pains you."

Daenerys closed her eyes as arms wrapped around her body from behind.

There were only two sensations sweeter.

Kissing Bellegere and making love to her.

She turned around and buried her face into the warm curve of the taller queen's neck, reveling in her touch.

"We leave tomorrow," Daenerys whispered, trembling in her arms.

Bellegere kissed her hair and squeezed her tighter.

"I've never regretted my hasty decision making more than I do now."

Daenerys pulled away to look at her with watery eyes. The sight broke her heart.

"Is it weak...is it wrong of me to dread it," she asked in a whisper.

Bellegere frowned.

"Leaving?"

"No," Daenerys said, looking down.

"Sitting the throne."

Bellegere felt an immense wave of guilt.

This was her fault.

If she stuck to her code of honor and dignity, none of this would have happened.

Daenerys would not be so lovesick that she feared taking the iron throne, and Bellegere would be able to sleep at night without having nightmares about them never seeing each other again.

She had been reckless and frivolous, but there was no giing back.

However, if Bellegere was granted the ability to go back in time and never open her heart to Daenerys, she wasn't sure if she would do it.

"When all is said and done, and these wars are behind us. When you are here and I am leagues away, will you think of me," Daenerys asked, looking up at her with a storm of emotion in her lilac eyes.

"I will," Bellegere said firmly.

Lips like warm, soft clouds touched her own, but they were gone too soon.

Daenerys held her face as though she might vanish at any moment.

"If I summon you, will you come? Even if all I want is to talk to you... to see you... to feel you."

"Yes."

"Promise me."

Bellgere pressed their heads together, trying to convey her sincerity through her gaze and her voice.

"I promise."

Daenerys kissed her again, soft and sweet. It oozed with love and trust.

"I know we can't predict it," Daenerys said, shaking her head.

"But promise your heart will be with me, even when we are apart. Promise that you will always feel the same as you do right now."

Bellegere looked away then.

She wanted nothing more than to make that promise and keep it, but that was out of her control.

Her heart, that stubborn, erratic entity, had always been untameable.

"I apologize. I can't make that promise to you," Bellegere whispered, caressing her cheek lovingly.

"But I swear that what I feel for you right now, I have never and will never feel for anyone else."

The way Daenerys was looking up at her now, with the light of hope aglow in her eyes, she would never forget it.

"What is left of my heart belongs to you," Bellegere murmured softly.

"Nothing can change that."

As Daenerys kissed her like it was the last time, Bellegere let go of everything that held her back.

She opened her heart completely and allowed what she truly felt for her lover to see the light of day.

The kiss deepened with each passing moment until they felt as though they might merge into one being.

When Bellegere moved away, Daenerys considered begging her to come back.

As it pertained to the Queen in the North, pride was nonexistent.

"I only wish to hold you tonight," Belle muttured embarrassedly.

Lilac eyes lingered on her face, drinking in this rare moment of the formidable wolf queen indulging in sentimentality.

"If it please you..."

Daenerys leaned into her, their noses brushing ever so lightly. Her thumb gently carressed the scar that marred Belle's cheek.

"Nothing would please me more."

That night, as they lie interwined like the roots of the weirwood trees, Daenerys shed a lonely tear.

For all of the years that she had not known Bellegere Stark, and all of the years that she would have to live with the knowledge that she existed far, far away from her.

She let it fall down her cheek, not bothering to wipe it away.

For Bellegere, the love of her life that would never be, was not awake to notice.