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“Daenerys,” Tyrion nearly yells, jolting the alpha from her thoughts. She looks up at him, at everyone in the room, and notices their eyes boring into her. “Should we resume this meeting some other time, your grace?”
“No,” she says sternly, focusing her attention back on the table in front of her. Her fingers tighten around the edges of the aged wood, a map carved by her ancestors long ago, to the point of turning her knuckles white.
Pieces had been moved, markers placed on different parts of land without her permission. It made her blood boil.
The sensible part of her knew that it would be wise to wait, but staying in this room and fighting a war within herself was a lot easier than admitting defeat and accepting the fact that she couldn’t control her wolf as well as she led everyone to believe she could.
Everyone kept warning her, telling her that she would end up just like her father if she wasn’t able to stop it from taking over. Her thirst for justice for all of the wrong in the world, and the power in knowing she had an army who would do anything at her command made it far too easy for her to lose control. No matter how hard she tried to relinquish her alpha’s tendencies, it was still pawing at the door, waiting for a chance to break through.
She wasn’t sure she could keep it at bay this time. Not with an omega she had grown quite fond of in the past few days, in heat. Sansa Stark may have been on the other side of the castle, but it didn’t stop the scent from finding its way to the war room. There was no doubt in her mind that every alpha within a three mile radius could smell her calling out to them, begging them to come find her.
The thought of someone else getting to her made Daenerys’ stomach churn.
“It would surely be no problem.”
“I’m fine,” she growls, her jaw clenching nearly hard enough to break a tooth.
Dany glances over to Missandei, the only person in the room who even had the slightest idea of what she’s going through, and the concern written all over her features causes her to second guess herself. Everyone else's heads are down, on the verge of bearing their necks, and it isn’t until she notices the omega attempting to fight the urge to submit that she realizes a vast amount of her own pheromones are filling the air.
Ashamed and unwilling to force everyone to endure her uncontrollable behavior she gives a remorseful glance over to Missandei, and says, "Excuse me."
The scent intensifies as she exits, and it takes everything in her not to allow her wolf to lead her to the door it’s emanating from. Thoughts of her teeth digging into creamy skin and being able to taste it on her tongue intrude her mind, and suddenly, the clothes covering her body feel like they’re constricting around her, suffocating her. Her temperature is rising and beads of sweat start forming on her skin.
“Your grace,” someone from behind her calls out to her, but Dany doesn’t stop.
Her legs are moving at their own accord, desperate to get to fresh air. She pants, attempting to taste anything but the sweet scent calling out to her like a siren, tempting her with something she’s secretly craved for a very long time – a mate.
Sold to a King, young and before she presented, made it difficult for her to truly understand what a mate was supposed to be like. Eventually, she came to love him with all of her heart, but they never had the chance to share the bond she desperately longed for. She wanted nothing more in the entire world than to make him proud and give him a son, but her body betrayed her, presenting her as an alpha. It wasn’t until the day her future mate died that she discovered so. She took it as a curse from the witch she had believed could save his life, only to present her with a human she barely recognized. One she couldn’t stand to look at.
A hand gently touching her arm brings her back to the present, causing a growl to escape her lips. She turns to see Missandei, recoiling as she realizes her mistake. The terror on her face causes Daenerys’ heart to fall into the pit of her stomach, and as badly as she wishes to reach out and comfort her, she holds herself back, knowing now wasn't the right time.
“I’m sorry,” the Queen apologizes. "I just need a moment. Maybe some air.”
“Your grace,” she starts, timidly, “I believe you’re going into a rut.”
The truth that she had been trying to ignore, evident from the moment she'd woken up with the warmth stirring in her belly, was spoken into reality. She could no longer push it to the back of her mind, pretending it wasn't something she'd been fighting with for the past few hours.
She didn’t have time to deal with it. They still had much planning to do before they began their journey up north, if what Sansa had said about this so-called Night King and his Army of the Dead was true. Depending on everyone else to do everything for her whilst she lay in bed, pleasing herself in attempt to satiate her situation wasn't something her pride would allow her accept.
Still unwilling to admit it out loud, she settles with, “Please, inform Lord Tyrion and the others that I am not feeling well. We will resume the meeting after Lady Sansa's heat is over.”
Missandei nods, but the concerned look painting her features doesn’t fade. Dany turns to leave, but the omega’s voice stops her again. “She’s been asking for you.”
The alpha stares at her, incredulous, and it takes a great deal of effort to keep her composure. Her wolf cries out from within her, longing for her to take the first step towards the door the sweet smell is coming from, but she resists. Sansa wasn’t thinking clearly. It was her heat-crazed thoughts forcing her to believe it’s what she wants.
Sansa had made it very clear that once the war between the living and the dead was over, she wanted nothing to do with whoever sat on the Iron Throne. “The North will never bow to any Southern ruler ever again.” She’d said more than once, and Dany began to despise her for it – for refusing to convince her brother, the King of the North, to bend the knee and help her take back what was rightfully hers.
But through the midst of all of the frustration and anger she had towards the girl with the fiery hair and personality, she began to admire her. She had realized that they both wanted the same thing – to rule the lands that were taken away from them. Perhaps, one day, she will put her pride aside and come to terms with the fact that she would never be able to rule the North. Even if she forced them, they would never fully be on her side, no matter how hard she tried to make them love her. Her father, and every other man who had forced them to bend the knee before, ruined that trust.
Perhaps, after all of this was over, and she had taken back the Iron Throne, she would grant the North their wishes.
She would grant Sansa her wishes.
Even though every fiber of her being told her not to, told her that she was the rightful Queen to all seven kingdoms. She blamed the dragon’s blood flowing through her veins for wanting to burn every human that blocked her path and didn’t agree with her ways. It blinded her from seeing that not all injustice deserved vengeance. If she wished for the people in Westeros to look at her in the same way the people in Essos did, she needed to learn to quench the thirst for power within her and replace it with mercy and grace.
She did not aspire to become like her father and rule over a city of ashes.
“Lady Sansa has never experienced a heat without suppressants, your grace,” she says, hesitantly, bringing Daenerys back from her thoughts. “Being someone who has dealt with her situation before, I can assure you she’s most likely in a great deal of pain.”
“What are you suggesting I do for her? There are no suppressants in Dragonstone, and by the time I am able to send someone to find them her heat will already be over.”
Missandei averts her gaze, and Dany can sense a sudden turmoil inside of her. It was obvious that she felt for Sansa, but she didn’t know if it was right to suggest for them to get through this together. “I don’t know, your grace,” she answers, eyes still cast down.
Thoughts of Sansa, naked and splayed out over her furs and shouting her name intrude her mind, reminding her of the ever growing need to claim the omega calling out to her.
“Tell Lord Tyrion to send a raven to Winterfell to inform Jon Snow of the delay,” Dany says with finality.
Missandei, obviously aware of the Queen’s need to make her way back to her room before matters got any worse, nods, before walking back to the room they exited from.
Once she’s out of sight, Dany continues through the throne room, but her legs lead her in the opposite direction of where she was intending to go. She finds herself wandering down the hall adorned with Unsullied lining the walls, and they carefully watch as she glides along the cold stone floor. They can smell the heady scent radiating off of her, she knows that to be true, but they do nothing to stop her. Grey Worm is positioned outside the door, spear in hand, ready to battle anyone who tries forcing their way in. There’s a look in his eyes that she can’t quite point out. Disapproval? Shock? Disbelief? She doesn’t know. Maybe it’s her mind playing tricks on her and she’s really only perceiving him to look at her that way because maybe, perhaps, she’s disappointed in herself for allowing her instincts to take control.
His gaze is fixed on her, a questioning look in his eyes, waiting for her to give the orders.
The little voice in the back of her mind begs her to turn around, says that she’s going to regret this – or worse, that Sansa is going to regret this when her heat was over – but her ability to make rational decisions was gone.
Daenerys nods and Grey Worm cautiously opens the door. She’s immediately hit with a wave of pheromones so powerful it nearly sends her to her knees. Wildflowers and crisp morning air along with some sort of lemon desert fills her nostrils as she makes her way inside. Her eyes land on the slim figure splayed out across the bed, a contrast of pale skin against the dark furs.
Sansa, body writhing underneath her own fingers, freezes once she realizes she’s no longer alone in the room. It almost seems as if she wants to cover herself, hide her body from the alpha taking in every inch of her with hungry eyes, but she doesn’t move to pull the covers over herself. She lies there, naked and on full display, drinking Daenerys in with her lustful gaze.
Dany, going against her better judgment, takes a step forward, and Sansa’s legs part even wider, inviting her in. Before her mind has the chance to stop her, she makes quick work of discarding her clothes, nearly tearing them off of her body as she strips completely naked. The alpha looks down at her bare skin, and she’s suddenly aware of what had grown between her legs. She’d never been uncomfortable showing off her body before, never felt the need to be. She’d shared a bed with a few people in her past, but never during a rut. No one’s ever seen her like this, and it makes her feel exposed in a way she never has before.
It’s a part of her that she finds herself forgetting she has more often than not.
When she looks up again, Sansa is staring, with pupils blown so wide Dany can barely make out the crystal blue irises surrounding them. They didn’t need to exchange any words for Daenerys to know what Sansa was thinking – what she wanted.
She takes the few remaining steps towards the bed and climbs on top of it, her eyes never leaving Sansa’s, making sure she isn’t overstepping her bounds. Their bodies mold together, Dany’s petite form fitting perfectly between Sansa’s legs as she hovers over her. The hips under her buck up, in search for any kind of friction, begging Daenerys to give her what her body desires.
“Please, Dany.” Sansa’s voice, low and desperate, breaks the silence, and Daenerys is no longer able to hold herself back.
---
The winds came at a brutal force by the edge of the cliff, where Drogon prefers to rest during the day. Why he enjoys being hit by cold gusts of salty air she will never know, and probably will never understand. It’s something she doubts she’s ever going to get used to, and prays that the weather is warmer, and the sun is hotter in King’s Landing.
His head rises off of the grassy bed as he sees her approaching, and the overjoyed screeches that emanate from his large form forces a smile to spread across her face. He moves closer, rumbling the ground beneath them with every step. When he finally reaches her, he lowers his head, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in almost a week, and the void in her chest she wasn’t aware she had was filled by the intense love she felt radiating off of him.
She reaches up, her hand forming to his armored skin as she runs her fingers up and down his snout, just like she did when he was small enough to rest his head in her lap. He chirps in contentment and closes his eyes, and she continues the movements until he suddenly becomes alarmed by something behind her. As he rises and hovers over her, Daenerys turns around to see her Hand, attempting to keep his composure as the massive dragon glares down at him, standing a few feet away.
There was no doubt in her mind that he'd come looking for her at some point. She'd only hoped she would have had a bit more time to herself before he had. Missandei saw her leaving Sansa’s room earlier that morning, a knowing look on her face, and Daenerys was sure the omega had caught a glimpse of the fresh mark on her neck. Even though she tried to hide it, she was aware her gown did little to cover it up.
Whether she’d informed Tyrion of her rut being over, she wasn’t sure, but Missandei had assured her that she would say nothing of where she was staying, or what she had been up to. It was enough to quell her anxiety in the moment, but the fact that it would only be a matter of time before everyone found out what had happened between the two of them, and not knowing how everyone would take it when they did, terrified her.
Afraid to see how Sansa was going to react when she had woken up to the realization of the decision that they had made, Daenerys left as soon as the sun started peaking over the horizon. The bond between them had given Dany a glimpse of what the omega was feeling – confusion, panic, worry. Sometimes, she dared to say, love. It was obvious Sansa was going to need time, but, unfortunately, it wasn’t on their side. They needed to leave, soon, if they wanted to make it to Winterfell before the snow piled up too high.
“I’m sorry to bother you, your grace,” Tyrion starts, trying to avoid eye contact with the beast. “I came to inform you that all of the dragonglass has been mined, and is ready to ship to Winterfell.”
“Good,” she says, sternly, acutely aware of the timid look in his eyes unsuccessfully hidden behind a façade. Dany looks up at Drogon, dismissing him with a small nod, and he returns back to his place on the ledge. “I don’t suppose that’s the only reason why you’ve come?”
Tyrion looks away, a sure sign that he’s uncertain of how to approach what he’s going to say next, and Daenerys folds her hands in front of herself as she waits.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he says, hesitantly, glancing up for a moment as if to check the alpha’s reaction. “I believe there’s a better chance of Jon bending the knee if Sansa has the time to talk with him, alone.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“The people who named him King in the North aren’t going to be very happy with your presence, or your proposal, and Sansa has already warned you that he isn’t going to give up that title easily.”
“He will if he wishes to use my army and my dragons to fight in a war I do not desire to partake in.”
Tyrion steps back and takes a deep breath. “Sending Sansa back with the dragonglass will show Jon that you’re a generous queen who is willing to help in his time of need. He would be more willing to accepting your proposal if he had time to think and realize it’s in his best interest.”
“That could take weeks,” she nearly growls. It’s unknown whether it’s because of her impatience for this so-called King in the North who didn’t comply with her request for him to meet her in Dragonstone, and instead, sent his sister in his place to barter for some kind of deal, or the thought of not being by Sansa’s side for the duration of that time. “There would be no need for all of this wasted time if he would have come here to meet me, himself.
“Yes, but he didn’t,” he says, carefully, watching her. “And you don’t truly wish he had, do you?”
The question takes her off guard - causes her jaw to clench as the statement he had just made rattles her to her core. Whether he’s insinuating what she thinks he is, or whether she’s thinking too much into it, she’s unsure. She knows for a fact that no one had witnessed the intimate moment she and Sansa had shared a couple of days prior to the omega’s heat. The possibility of him or someone else stopping by her bedchamber and realizing that she wasn’t in there was always in the forefront of her mind, but in the moment, she hadn’t cared. The repercussion of her actions wasn’t something she had been concerned about until her mind was cleared from the haze.
Tyrion is surely looking at her now, intently studying her reaction, but her stoic face doesn’t falter. She continues to stand, shoulders back and hands folded neatly in front of her, growing more impatient by the second and refusing to entertain his curiosity.
“I will talk with Lady Sansa and see what she would have us do.” Is all Daenerys says before she walks past him and back to the stone building, denying him a chance to respond.
---
The breeze gets colder as the day goes on, and although the balcony off of the war room offers no view of it she can tell the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. The sky that was as blue as the seas she sailed to get here is turning darker, and the clouds hanging overheard are painted with beautiful shades of orange and pink. Her dragons dance in the sun's rays, the same colors lighting up their dark, armored skin as they soak up what’s left of it.
She’d sent for Sansa hours ago, and she’s starting to feel a little foolish for continuing to wait for her, but the little hope she still has refuses to let her give up.
“It’s getting late, your grace,” Missandei says, quietly, concern lacing her voice.
Daenerys looks over to the taller girl beside her, noticing her features match her tone, and purses her lips. The question behind her statement is evident, and Dany knows, deep down, that the chances of Sansa coming to meet her at this hour are slim, and that she should retire for the night and try again in the morning.
After a long silence, the omega looks as if she wants to comfort her in some kind of way, but obviously decides against it. “I’m sure there’s a good reason.”
Daenerys’ shoulders slump as she exhales a deep sigh, stripping the placid expression she’d had on her face ever since she’d stepped out of Sansa Stark’s bedchamber, and laid herself out bare for the girl in front of her to see – the disappointment she’d been keeping behind the mask, now on full display. Unsure of what, exactly, to say, she settles with, “Yes, well.”
Missandei, always hesitant to pry, continues to look down at her, and Dany can see the questions swirling around behind her soft, brown eyes. Questions she most likely doesn’t even have the answers to.
She turns once again to face the ocean, letting the chilly, crisp air hit her face as she closes her eyes. The memory of Sansa, lying beneath her, fiery hair splayed out in waves over the furs as she says her name like a mantra replays in her mind. The feeling of sharp teeth still lingers on the skin between her shoulder and her neck, now imprinted on her forever. Sansa’s voice, hot and heavy, pleading for her to complete the bond, still rings in her ears.
There have been a few people in her life that have tried explaining to her what a mating bond would be like, but none of the stories she’d been told could have prepared her for the feeling of their souls mending together, forging a bond that could only truly be broken by death. In that moment, her entire world shifted. Her dreams of sitting on the Iron Throne, the one and only thing that had kept her alive and forced her to keep fighting, was no longer the most important thing in her life. The thought, so brief, that she’d give up everything she’d ever longed for if her mate asked her to, terrified her to her core.
Light footsteps against the stone floor brings her back from her thoughts, and as she turns to look, she notices the tall omega she’d been daydreaming about standing in the middle of the room.
She tries to hide her shock as she glances over at Missandei, who has a slight smile creeping along her lips, and watches intently as she excuses herself.
“You wanted to see me, your grace?” Sansa asks, not even a hint of remorse in her voice.
At the very least, Daenerys expected an apology, but it was very obvious by the way Sansa stood, head high and arms behind her back, that she wasn’t going to get one.
“Yes,” she says, a little bit too coldly. “I’ve been informed that the dragonglass your brother requested has been mined and loaded onto your ship.”
“Thank you, your grace.” Sansa nearly matches her tone, her face still void of any emotion. “I’m sure he will be pleased to hear it.”
A war breaks out within her as she looks into Sansa’s desolate eyes – a complete contrast to the way she had looked at her merely hours ago. In the time she’d spent waiting, looking out over the sea and rehearsing every word of what she was going to say in her head, she’d tried so hard to convince herself that sitting on the Iron Throne and ruling over the seven kingdoms was still what she wanted most in the world. But now, with Sansa standing in front of her, she knows it isn’t true.
Ever since she was a little girl, she’d dreamed about what it would be like to sit on the chair her father had forged out of a thousand swords of his enemies. She imagined the swords towering so high above her that they reached the ceiling of the Great Hall.
Avenging her family and taking back what was rightfully hers was all she’d ever known. It was her only reason for existing.
Until she met Sansa Stark.
“My armies and dragons are yours.” It comes out before she has the chance to stop herself, so softly she’s unsure whether or not Sansa actually hears it.
She must, because her eyes widen as she stares at her, incredulous.
“What?”
Dany swallows down the pride, and pushes away the voice inside of her, screaming at her to force the King in the North to bend the knee before giving away all that she has. “I will fight alongside you and your people in the war beyond the wall.”
“But what about Jon? What if he doesn’t kneel?”
She wasn’t doing it for Jon. He no longer took part in her decision. No matter how much she hated letting him get away with not accepting her as the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she couldn’t take the risk of allowing Sansa to return home and possibly fight a war she’d been told they couldn’t win without her and her dragons by their side.
“Then I will fight for you,” Daenerys declares, her voice unwavering. “Hopefully, one day, when the war is won and I take my place on the Iron Throne, the North will come to see I’m nothing like my father, or any other southern ruler they’ve been forced to bow down to before.”
“I believe they will,” Sansa answers, taking a step forward. “They will come to see you for what you are.”
The hardened features that once covered the omegas face were gone, replaced with something between admiration and gratitude, and it causes something inside of her to erupt. Tears sting the back of her eyes, threaten to fall down her face in streams, but she blinks them away before they have the chance to.
“I hope so,” she murmurs, swallowing back the lump forming in her throat.
After a moment’s silence, Sansa takes the last few remaining steps towards her, and Dany barely has enough time to lick her lips before the omega’s mouth is pressing against hers. It’s deep and passionate, and nothing like the first kiss they’d shared, tucked away behind a rock down by the shore - the kiss Sansa had seemed to regret as soon as it had happened.
When Dany finally pulls away, she looks up into Sansa’s eyes and whispers, “Be my Queen.”
But it's a mistake, because she immediately takes a step back, putting an arm’s length between them as she completely removes herself from the alpha’s embrace. It feels like a blow to the chest, and as the air around them becomes thick and heavy she finds it harder to breathe. Sansa’s mouth opens, as if she wishes to say something, but no words form.
Attempting to fight off the ache within her, the Queen straightens her posture and folds her hands in front of herself once again, unwilling to let Sansa see the inner turmoil she’d caused.
“You regret it.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question as Daenerys’ gaze falls down to the portion of Sansa’s neck that was covered by the collar of her black dress, keeping the bond that they’d formed, hidden.
‘No,” Sansa’s reply comes so fast Daenerys would have missed it if she weren’t paying attention. “It’s just…”
“You’re afraid of what your people might think.”
Sansa’s gaze falters, moving to the dragon head on the wall next to them for a brief moment before looking back into Daenerys’ eyes. “On my journey down here I’d heard many stories about what you’ve accomplished during your time across the Narrow Sea – about how you conquered cities, punished unjust rulers and set slaves free. The people you brought with you from Essos are loyal to you and believe in you, it’s evident, but the hearts of the people of Westeros are less easily convinced. They’ve never seen an alpha queen sitting on the Iron Throne before, never mind two queens ruling over the entire Seven Kingdoms. I’m not sure they’ll accept it.”
“They will,” she replies, trying to sound as convincing as possible, even though a part of her doesn’t believe it. She wants to add that they won’t have a choice, that they could live in her new world or die in their old one, but she purses her lips to stop the words from forming.
Out of the corner of her eye, Dany spots a figure in the doorway. A beta, only a few inches taller than her, with golden hair and bright blue eyes, stands with his arms on full display. She takes a step towards him, her eyes roaming up and down his body as she studies him. The scales that once covered his arms and blemished his skin were gone, and the overwhelming sense of relief causes another lump to form in the back of her throat. “You found a cure?”
“Yes.” He nods. “I return to your service, my Queen.”
Deep down, she knew the odds of him actually succeeding in finding a cure were slim, but she never gave up hope. She couldn’t. Even though every bone in her body wished she could hate him for lying to her and betraying her, she couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. He was the first true friend she’d ever had, the first person she’d ever trusted with her life, and he was more like a brother to her than Viserys ever was.
Without hesitation, she continues her walk towards him, a warm smile gracing her lips. Daenerys had never been a fan of hugging, but she couldn’t resist. Gently wrapping her arms around him, she pulls him into her embrace, but he doesn’t reciprocate. His arms never leave his sides, and she’s not entirely sure why until she pulls away and is hit by a strong scent coming from behind her.
Dany clears her throat as she takes a couple steps back.
“Lady Sansa, this is Ser Jorah Mormont,” she starts. “He has been one of my advisors for many years.”
For a moment, Sansa is silent as she stands with her shoulders back, truly showing off her height, even from a few feet away. It was one of the things that had attracted Daenerys to her to begin with – how bold and fearless Sansa was. How she defied boundaries and refused to allow anyone to treat her unfairly just because she was an omega.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser Jorah,” she finally says, a little too forcefully as a faint smile pulls at the ends of her lips.
He stares between the two of them, obviously piecing it together in his head. Although a beta, Daenerys had no doubt in her mind that he could smell the difference in her scent. His features change into something she cannot read, and a pang of guilt hits her as he takes another step away, putting more distance between them.
She couldn’t love him back, at least not in the way he wanted her to. She’d told him that a long time ago. It didn’t stop him from feeling the pain of her being with someone else, she knew that. She could see it in his eyes as he looked at her, silently questioning if it was true.
Daenerys looks away, unable to stand the scrutiny of his gaze any longer.
Sansa, on the other hand, doesn’t falter. Her eyes never leave the man standing in the doorway, and the tension permeates the room, thickening by the second.
“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Sansa,” he concludes, with a curt bow that Dany barely makes out in her peripheral vision.
A silence falls upon them once again and she can hardly stand to spend another second in it.
“I can imagine you’ve had a long journey here,” Daenerys states. “I’m sure Missandei will gladly show you to your room if you wish to retire for the night.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
As if on cue, Missandei appears behind him, a small smile adorning her face. He bows one last time before turning to leave, following the omega out into the throne room.
“He loves you.” There’s no question in Sansa’s voice, and it takes the alpha off guard.
Ser Jorah had never been one to keep his feelings for her concealed. It was blatantly obvious to those who had eyes and could see the way he looked at her, and ears to hear the way he spoke about her. But no one had ever been able to catch on so quickly. It made her wonder what Jorah had done to make it so obvious in the little amount of time he'd spent in the room.
“Yes,” she begins, “and he knows I can’t love him back. Not in the way he wants me to.”
Sansa hums in a tone that Dany can't depict, her expression barren of any hints. “Am I free to go?”
Daenerys nods, unwillingly, and Sansa doesn’t hesitate. Before she knows it, she’s left alone once again. No longer needing to keep her composure, she falls back and leans against the wooden map of Westeros as her body succumbs to exhaustion.
---
No longer were the thoughts of taking the Iron Throne the reason for her staying awake throughout the night. It was Sansa, and the unknown of what was going to happen once the wars were won – if she’d choose to stay home, in Winterfell, with her family. The thought of her mate being hundreds of miles away, and how Dany would spend years waiting for their bond to disappear, only to wonder what could have been, causes a deep pain in her chest. It was unclear whether she’d want to take another mate after that, or if she’d rather live out the rest of her days alone.
When the sun sets in the east and rises in the west.
It echoes in her mind, reminding her of the curse that had been put upon her from her own selfishness to keep Khal Drogo alive, when the gods had already written out his fate.
Her bloodline ended that day, the witch promised her that. She was condemned to be the last Targaryen on earth. The unfairness of asking anyone to give up the chance to ever bear a child made it easier for her to prefer the latter.
Through a whisper she’d told Sansa before they’d mated, and although the omega said she didn’t care, Dany feared one day she would. One day, when they were older, when they no longer needed to fear the wars to come, maybe she’d change her mind, and the thought of Sansa coming to despise her for not being able to give her the gift of a child almost made Daenerys want to make the decision for her.
She stares into the crackling fire, watching as it spits out chunks of burnt wood onto the floor, and brings the cup of wine she’s been slowly nursing on for the past hour up to her lips. The couch she’s seated on isn’t as soft or nearly as comfortable as the one she’d had in Meereen, but she’s still thankful for its ability to offer warmth from the flames.
As she’s about to stand and pour herself more wine, there’s a rasp at the door, but no voice follows. Quietly, she sets down her cup and makes her way over, and after a moment of hesitation she pulls it open just enough to see who’s on the other side. Sansa, standing in the dimly lit hallway, is looking down at her, and Dany’s heart nearly jumps into her throat.
“May I come in?” she asks, with a hint of uncertainty in her tone.
Daenerys nods, not trusting her voice to stay even in her slightly tipsy state, and steps aside to let her in. She looks away to keep herself from staring as Sansa enters, but once the door closes and she’s standing in the middle of the room, she can’t stop her eyes from wandering over to her, taking her in from head to toe.
Her auburn hair, usually pulled back in braids, flows over her shoulders and down her chest in waves. It glistens in the light of the fire, making the red and orange hues even more vibrant and beautiful, and compliments her bright blue eyes. Her white gown, which does little to cover her body, brings out the blush of her skin, giving it a tinge of color that isn’t usually visible.
If there were a way for her to capture this moment in more than just a memory she would, and she desperately wishes there was, because memories fade and the thought of losing it terrifies her.
Sansa clears her throat, and Dany immediately looks away as she realizes she’s been gawking at her like a little girl with a crush.
“I’m sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting you,” she explains. It was a poor excuse, but a valid one nonetheless.
The omega shifts on her feet, her gaze falling to the floor as she wrings her hands out in front of her. Her scent changes, and Daenerys can tell something is wrong, but her lack of sleep and the wine she had consumed makes it hard for her to discern what. The seconds feel like hours as she waits, watching as Sansa fiddles with her fingers.
In all of the days Dany had spent with her, she’d never seen her like this. She always had her walls up, almost as if she was afraid to let anyone in. It made her wonder what Sansa had gone through to make her that way – to be so resistant in seeming vulnerable in front of anyone.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Sansa finally looks back up to meet her gaze.
“I don’t know if we’ll defeat the Army of the Dead, or what will happen afterwards if we do,” she starts, “but I know I want to be by your side.”
Unable to form any words, Dany stares up at her, mouth agape. Her throat tries to elicit a sound, but her tongue doesn’t move. The woman in front of her must start to worry because she takes a step forward, and it isn’t until she’s no longer able to make out the features on Sansa’s face that she realizes tears are clouding her eyes.
“Are you sure?” the Queen asks, barely above a whisper, her voice giving out on her at the end.
A couple of footsteps are all Dany hears before lips are crashing onto hers, kissing her so fervently her knees threaten to buckle beneath her. One of Sansa’s hand makes its way into her hair, and another around her waist, pulling their bodies together and molding them like clay.
It wasn’t long until they found themselves entangled in the furs, nearly ripping the fabric off of each other’s bodies. Daenerys, lying naked and vulnerable beneath her, had never felt so loved and safe with anyone in her entire life.
And even though Sansa never had said it her answer was clear.
It was clear in the way her lips danced across Dany's skin. In the way she kissed her as if she were afraid to lose her. In the way she looked at her as if no one else in the world mattered.
In that moment, there was nothing Daenerys wanted more in the entire world than to stay locked away in this room with her forever.