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[and-claudia]

Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 7

Word Count: 6100+

Warnings: mentions of sex, teasing, mentions of having children, soft moments with Spencer (and a cat), snowstorms

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Waking up the next morning felt different. It felt like what waking up next to your husband should feel like. It was warm. It was calm. It was perfect. There was a dull ache between my legs, but it made me smile knowing what had caused it. 

“Good morning,” I said, smiling at Spencer. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone smiling this early in the morning.” He said, clearly fighting a smile of his own. 

“I can’t help it…” I said, slowly leaning over to press a kiss to his lips.

Spencer finally lost the battle with his emotions as I felt him smile into the kiss. 

“We need to get up,” He said, pulling away. 

“Awe, why can’t we just lay here and fuck forever?” I asked pouting playfully. 

“As lovely as that sounds, we have duties that require our attention.” He said, giving me one last kiss before getting up, with me following shortly after. 

Third Person Point of View 

Spencer was already out in the courtyard when Ser Damien arrived, the cold morning air barely biting at him. He had his cloak draped over his shoulders, sword at his side, and for the first time in weeks… a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

Not a grin. Not a smirk.

A real smile.

Damien, still shaking sleep from his eyes, froze halfway across the snow-covered cobbles. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh no.”

Spencer didn’t even look up from where he was checking the leather wrap around his sword hilt. “Morning to you, too.”

“No. Nope. Absolutely not.” Damien strode over, eyebrows raised. “What the hell is this? You’re in a good mood. Before breakfast. That’s suspicious as shit.”

Spencer sighed through his nose. “Maybe I just slept well.”

“You don’t sleep well, you brood and toss and mutter about strategic grain supplies in your damn dreams.” Damien circled him now, like a hawk sniffing out weakness. “So, what is it? Did you kill someone off the council? Did your warhorse have a foal? Or—” He stopped, eyes widening. Then his mouth fell open. “Oh. Seven hells. You finally—?”

Spencer gave him a sidelong glance, jaw tightening. “Don’t.”

Damien whooped, drawing the attention of two nearby guards. “You did! That’s what this is! That’s why you’re all light on your feet and not biting off heads!”

“Damien.”

“Oh, I’m proud of you, lad.” He thumped Spencer hard on the back. “Our brooding Lord of Caerwatch finally made his move. Took you long enough. She’s only been giving you those eyes for—well, for a while.”

“She didn’t—I didn’t—” Spencer exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t like that.”

Damien just grinned, ignoring the warning edge in Spencer’s tone. “Oh, I bet it wasn’t. Bet it was better. And judging by your face, you didn’t sleep much at all.”

Spencer straightened, biting back whatever sharp retort hovered behind his teeth.

But Damien wasn’t cruel. He caught the soft flicker in Spencer’s expression—the part of him still reeling, still processing something that had shifted—and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“Hey,” Damien said, voice dropping to something quieter. “I’m really glad, you know. She’s good for you.”

Spencer looked away, lips twitching slightly. “She’s… something.”

“You’re something,” Damien muttered, but his grin was fond now. “C’mon, let’s go find something warm to eat before you start composing love ballads.”

Spencer finally cracked a reluctant smile. “I’ll put you on night patrol for a week.”

Damien paled instantly. “Gods, no. Don’t do that. I do not need to hear whatever the hell is going on up there!”

Spencer’s grin widened, dangerously.

Damien groaned. “You’re evil. I helped you two get together, and this is how I’m repaid?”

“Consider it penance.”

They walked off toward the kitchens, the snow crunching softly beneath their boots, and the morning sky bleeding light over the peaks beyond the keep.

First Person Point of View 

The door flew open without a knock—of course—and Angela bustled in with her usual morning energy, braid bouncing behind her and a smug look already on her face.

“You’re up early and not in a sour mood about it,” she sang, arms full of freshly laundered linens. “And don’t even try to lie and say you were up simply waiting for me to grace you with my presence because you’ve got that glow.”

"Glow?" I asked from where I sat on the bed. 

Angela raised a brow, dropped the linens on a nearby bench, and pointedly looked toward the still-warm spot on the other side of the bed.

“You know. The post-brooding-Lord-of-Caerwatch-finally-did-something-about-his-feelings kind of glow.”

My cheeks flushed hotter than the embers in the hearth. “Angela.”

She gasped, mock scandalized. “You did! You wicked little thing!” Then she squealed and danced in place. “Oh, I knew it! That man’s been one long stare away from falling apart. I swear if I had to witness one more soft glance across the war table—”

“Nothing happened,” I tried feebly.

Angela gave me the flattest stare imaginable. “You’re in his tunic. You’ve got bed hair. And you're smiling like someone who got kissed real good last night.”

I groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “I hate that you notice everything.”

“I love that I notice everything. I’ve waited for this development.” She perched on the edge of the bed and narrowed her eyes. “So? Was it worth the wait? Was he all smolder and soft hands?”

I laughed into your hands, trying to smother it. “You are the worst.”

“Come on, give me something! Did he light the candles first? Whisper scandalous poetry? Or did he just throw you over his shoulder like a barbarian and—”

“Angela!”

She cracked up, full of delight, and reached out to squeeze my hand. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really. He’s not an easy man to know… but I see how he looks at you. And how you look at him when you think no one’s watching.”

I softened at that, my smile shy but genuine. “It wasn’t just about… that. It was slow. Kind. He asked if I was alright more times than I could count.”

Angela’s eyes misted over a little. “Stars above. I told you he was secretly soft.”

The two of us sat there in a rare quiet moment, the early sunlight spilling in through the frosted windows, golden on the stone floor. Angela reached for a comb and gestured for me to turn around so she could start on my hair.

As she gently began working through the tangles, she added with a grin, “Now, you know Damien’s going to be insufferable about this.”

“Oh no,” I groaned.

“Oh yes. You’d better brace yourself. Because the entire keep will know by noon.”

My morning was fairly uneventful. I had breakfast with Angela, then spent the morning with her, some other handmaidens and Septa Amanda. Although needlework wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, it was necessary for a wife to do at times. 

So here we sat in the women’s solar that smelled faintly of lavender oil and spiced tea. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the crisp mountain air. Pale winter light stretched across the wooden floors, catching in stray threads of silk and wool as the ladies of Caerwatch worked through their morning tasks.

Angela sat cross-legged on a low stool beside the hearth, cursing quietly under her breath as she fumbled with a tangled thread. “This is punishment for every sin I’ve ever committed.”

“You’ve committed more than enough to deserve it,” quipped Arasha, one of my other handmaidens with quick fingers and a sharper tongue.

I sat near the open window with Septa Amanda, my embroidery hoop nestled between gloved fingers, a length of pale blue linen stretched tight. Admittedly, my stitching was passable at best—uneven, uncertain—but I kept at it with quiet determination. 

“You’re improving,” Septa Amanda offered, her voice mild and knowing as she glanced over my shoulder.

“I still can’t keep the flowers symmetrical,” I murmured.

“Well, real ones rarely are,” Amanda replied, arching a brow. “Nature favors imperfection.”

The room lapsed into a lull, broken only by the rhythmic pricks of needles and the soft clatter of Angela dropping her spool again.

“Perhaps,” the septa continued, casually, “we might begin setting aside cloth for a different sort of project soon.”

I glanced up. “What do you mean?”

Amanda gave me a look that said she knew exactly what she meant. “Baby linens, of course. It’s not uncommon to prepare a few small things early, should the gods see fit.” 

Angela perked up immediately. “Oh, we should use the soft wool from Seastar! The silvers and pale blues—those would suit a little Lord Agnew.”

“Or a little Lady,” Arasha chimed in without looking up.

My hands paused, thread dangling between my fingers.

I hadn’t thought of it much. Not really. Not since the wedding. Save for last night in the heat of the moment. I knew it was expected—marriage brought alliance, and alliance would eventually bring children—but I'd kept it on the horizon, somewhere hazy and far.

But now…

Now I imagined a tiny tunic, no bigger than my hand. I imagined Spencer—messy-haired and muttering—cradling something impossibly small, staring down at it like it might disappear if he blinked.

My chest tightened.

It wasn’t a fearsome thing anymore, the idea of a child. Not with him. But not something I wanted now. Not with the war. Not with me slowly gaining the respect of the men here in the north. 

I bit my lip, eyes flicking back down to my hoop as my stitches blurred.

“It’s… not something I’m ready for yet,” I said quietly.

Amanda’s hand came to rest gently on my arm.

“And that’s perfectly fine, my lady,” she said warmly. “But the fact that you’re thinking of it at all—it says much.”

Angela leaned over, grinning. “It says you’re warming to our broody Lord Agnew.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I muttered, trying to focus again on my stitching.

Angela nudged me with her elbow. “You’re making a flower crown, not a dagger.”

“I’m considering both,” I said, though my lips twitched.

As laughter spilled into the solar, warm and easy, I looked back out the window.

The sky had cleared. Somewhere beyond the stone walls, Spencer was likely bickering with Ser Damien or reviewing troop rotations.

And for the first time, I wondered—if we ever had a child—would it inherit his wit? My stubbornness? Would it have dark curls like his or a serious mouth like mine?

The needle pricked my finger and I hissed in pain, shaking it out.

“Careful,” Amanda chided gently, offering me a cloth.

I took it, pressed it to my fingertip, and smiled to myself.

Not now. But maybe someday. And not just because it was expected. Because it might actually be… wanted. 

Around midafternoon, I found myself walking with Septa Amanda towards the public solar where the Winter Preparations Council was to take place. I hadn’t seen much of Spencer today, just small glances through the window of the woman’s solar. So when I saw him, sat at the head of the table, one arm braced on the chair’s worn armrest, the other nursing a mug of something steaming, I couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at the edges of my mouth. 

I went in and took my usual seat next to him. His hair was still damp, most likely from a rushed wash after a training session, and a few dark strands clung to his brow. He didn’t look particularly lordly—but then again, he rarely did. Not that I cared. 

To his right, Ser Damien sat sprawled with unbothered ease, fingers drumming against the wooden surface, expression far too smug for a mundane meeting. I was refusing to make eye contact with him in any capacity whatsoever. I could feel his smirk radiating like a second sun.

“First snow’s falling faster than the ravens predicted,” Septa Amanda said, spreading a small map across the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “We’ll need to confirm all grain stores are counted and dry. And the infirmary’s firewood—”

“Already being restocked,” I said quickly, voice a bit higher than usual. “I had Angela assign it to two of the stablehands yesterday.” 

Spencer flicked his gaze toward me, subtly amused. “You beat me to it,” he murmured under his breath.

I nodded and scribbled something into the small leather-bound ledger I’d brought with me. It gave me something—anything—to focus on besides the grin tugging at the corners of Ser Damien's mouth.

"Very efficient of you, my lady," Maester Tommy added from across the table, his voice a touch too cheerful. He had ink smudged on his cheek and one sleeve still tucked into his belt. “Although I do think we need to reconsider the insulation around the rookery tower—it's draftier than expected and the ravens have been refusing their feed.”

“You’ve been feeding them from your hand again, haven’t you?” Spencer asked dryly, not even looking up.

Maester Tommy blinked. “W-well, yes. They only bite a little now.”

Ser Damien snorted.

“Charming,” Spencer muttered, taking another sip of his drink.

“The storehouses are nearly at capacity, but I do believe we should begin rationing dried fruit and root vegetables for the northern villages. Some will be iced out before first frost.” Septa Amanda added. 

“Agreed,” I said, thankful my voice didn’t waver. “Draw up a list of which villages we can reach by the week’s end. We’ll send small packs with extra coal bricks from the reserve.”

Then, Chef Garrett, still wearing his apron and holding a wooden spoon like a sword, cleared his throat. “We’ve salted the last of the fish from the harbor run, and the butcher’s preparing the smoked boar. But we’ll need a decision on whether to host the harvest supper. Half the barley’s in storage, but the weather—”

“We’ll hold it,” I said, firmer this time. “Even a modest celebration gives the people something to hold onto as the snow deepens.”

Across the table, I could feel Damien’s eyes burning into me. And worse—his faint chuckle.

I finally glanced up, only to see him lean closer to Spencer and mutter, not quite softly enough, “Think she’s always that commanding after a night in your bed?”

I dropped my quill.

Spencer didn’t even blink. “Damien,” he said, without turning his head, “shut the fuck up.”

The knight just laughed harder, rocking back in his chair.

I cleared my throat and returned my eyes to the parchment in front of me, cheeks warm. “Maester Tommy,” I said, perhaps louder than necessary, “you were saying something about the lower cellars flooding?”

Tommy perked up. “Oh—yes! Yes, quite! That is—well, possibly. I heard from the steward that one of the tunnels might be… squishier than it should be.”

Spencer dragged a hand down his face. “Seven help us.”

My cheeks heated up, and Damien howled with laughter. I am pretty sure even the Septa was struggling not to laugh as well. 

Spencer rose, “Garrett, Maester, walk with me down to the lower cellars. I want to check on the frost seals.”

As the rest of the table began to clear, Ser Damien rose more slowly, scooping up his cup.

“Lady Agnew,” he said as he passed behind me. “Sleep well?”

I did not look up.

I simply said, “I will see to it you’re on roof-watch by first snowfall, Ser Damien.”

Damien barked a laugh and strolled off, calling over his shoulder, “That’ll only encourage me.”

Angela giggled. Septa Amanda tried very hard not to smile. 

After the meeting, Spencer and I had dinner together. Then we decided to go for an evening stroll. 

The snow had begun falling again by the time we left the hall. Dinner had been quiet but comfortable — no bickering, no awkward silences, just us and a shared bottle of spiced red wine. The kind of evening I’d once only imagined.

Spencer walked a step ahead, hands tucked in his coat, dark hair slightly tousled from the wind. He looked up at the sky with a sigh.

“Snow’ll stick tonight,” he muttered. “We’ll be buried by morning if the wind shifts west.”

“Good,” I said, smiling. “I like the quiet it brings.”

He glanced back at me, arching a brow. “You say that now. Wait until the shutters freeze shut and the stone bridges become death traps.”

I laughed. “You have such a gift for killing romantic moments.”

“I try.”

We rounded the stables when I heard it — a faint, high-pitched mewl. I stopped so suddenly that Spencer nearly ran into me.

“What now?”

“Shh,” I hissed, tilting my head. “Do you hear that?”

He went still. Another tiny cry came from under one of the overturned crates near the stable wall.

“Oh no,” I whispered, already hurrying toward it.

“Please don’t be a dying rat,” Spencer grumbled behind me.

I crouched low and gently lifted the edge of the crate. A tiny black kitten peered up at me with wide, watery eyes. It shivered, its tail curled tightly around its body. 

My heart melted instantly.

“Oh gods,” I said, voice thick. “Spencer…”

“No,” he said flatly before I even turned around. “Nope. I already know that tone. That’s the ‘we’re keeping it’ tone.”

I scooped the kitten into my arms. It fit perfectly against my chest, already purring weakly.

“He’s freezing,” I said. “He won’t survive the night out here.”

Spencer sighed so deeply it sounded like it came from his soul. “Then give him to the stablehands.”

“They’re already full with the war horses. You know that.”

“He’s probably feral.”

“He’s purring,” I argued. 

“He probably has fleas.”

“Then you’ll help me bathe him.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re going to guilt me into this, aren’t you?”

I gave him a look I knew would work. “He’ll die, Spencer.”

He groaned like he was in physical pain.

“…Fine. But he stays in the solar. Only the solar. Not in the bed. Not in my boots. And if he shits in my favorite chair, I’m blaming you.”

I grinned. “Thank you.”

He squinted at the kitten in my arms and said, “He looks like a jackass.”

“Spencer—”

“I’m calling him that.”

“You are not.”

“Jack,” he clarified. “Short for ‘jackass’ It’s perfect.”

The kitten sneezed in my direction.

“…Bless you,” I whispered. Spencer was already pretending not to smile.

We decided to cut our stroll short as the wind picked up. The warmth hit us the moment we stepped back inside, the door slamming shut behind Spencer with a grunt. Snow clung to our cloaks and boots, but the kitten—now bundled in my arms inside my coat—was the only one perfectly content, purring like he’d lived in Caerwatch all his life. 

We made our way to our solar, where Angela would most likely be waiting for me to assist in my nightly routine, should I ask her. And sure enough, when we entered, she looked up from the hearth where she was warming her hands, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What’s that?”

Spencer groaned. “Don’t start.”

The kitten let out a tiny chirp of a meow in response, its little head popping out from the fold of my cloak. Angela gasped and scrambled to her feet.

“Oh, Seven help us, you brought home another one.”

Spencer blinked. “Another?”

She came closer, gently scratching behind the kitten’s ears, beaming like a child.

“Not a kitten, but she used to do this all the time when we were little,” Angela said, shooting a grin at me. “Once it was a raven with a broken wing. Another time, it was a one-eyed possum you swore was your ‘forest prince.’ Your poor father never stood a chance.” 

Spencer gave me a look. “A possum?”

“It had character,” I mumbled defensively.

Angela barked a laugh and turned to Spencer. “So what’s this one called? Let me guess. Something noble and sweet like ‘Snowdrop’ or—?”

“Jackass,” he said flatly. “Or Jack, if that’s too harsh for delicate ears.”

Angela blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re such a softie!”

Spencer glared. “I am not.”

“You are! You let her bring in a half-frozen kitten, and now you’re naming him like a grumpy uncle who secretly knits scarves for his pet. Don’t think I don’t see you, Lord Agnew.”

“I said he stays in the solar, not the bed,” Spencer muttered, shrugging out of his cloak and avoiding both our gazes. “And he bites.”

Angela grinned. “Oh no, I definitely see you now.”

Jack yawned and curled tighter into my chest.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Spencer noticed—and looked away quickly.

Angela arched a brow at me. “If you bring home a second one, I’m writing to your father myself.”

“He always said no,” I said with a laugh, “but he never sent them back out.”

“Just like someone else,” she sing-songed, tossing a look at Spencer.

Spencer just sighed, tugged off his gloves, and grumbled, “You’re both lucky I like you.”

“Mm-hmm,” Angela said, already trying to fashion a tiny blanket out of a napkin for Jack.

He didn’t complain once. Not even when Jack settled into his lap ten minutes later and refused to move. 

“It’s late,” I sighed, leaning into Spencer’s side. Angela had already retired for the night after I assured her I wouldn’t need her assistance. 

“It is, someone’s already asleep.” He said, nodding down to this kitten curled up in his lap. 

“Poor thing,” I said, looking down at him as well. 

“I gotta move him,” Spencer said, and before I could protest, he was scooping up the small kitten, waking it, and setting it down on the couch. 

Spencer stood and then turned to me expectantly. I sighed and stood as well after leaning over to give Jack a goodnight pet. 

“I’ll come check on you in the morning,” I said to the small kitten before following Spencer to our chambers. 

The following days brought more snow. I knew it wasn’t the blizzard everyone was talking about, but with how thick the snow was getting, I was wondering what we would look like once it did come. 

Third Person Point of View 

Snow still drifted outside the high, narrow windows of the solar, blurring the world into quiet white. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing warm light across scattered maps, a half-finished ledger, and a napping gray kitten curled in the center of Spencer’s lap like he owned the place.

Spencer glanced down from his chair, ink-stained fingers paused mid-note. Jack shifted slightly, little pink paws twitching in a dream.

Spencer exhaled. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” he murmured. “You sleep all day, you won’t eat unless it’s warmed, and the moment I so much as move, you act like I’ve wronged your entire bloodline.”

Jack purred louder, clearly unaffected.

Spencer rolled his eyes and leaned back with a resigned groan. “I let you in once, and now you’re king of the solar. Typical.”

No response. Just a tiny sneeze from the fluff ball.

“…And you snore.”

He scratched behind Jack’s ears with the same gruff tenderness he denied having, shaking his head.

“You’re lucky she likes you,” he added under his breath. “Otherwise, I’d have tossed your arrogant little tail into the snow days ago.”

There was a quiet creak behind him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Spencer froze.

Slowly, he turned in his chair—just enough to spot Ser Damien leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk already blooming.

“You’re talking to him,” Damien said, gleeful disbelief in his voice. “You’re sitting there, mid-conversation, like he’s going to offer counsel.”

“He’s more helpful than you are,” Spencer deadpanned.

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“You’re petting him.”

“I was petting him. Now I’m reconsidering my choices.”

Damien strode in, grinning like a man who’d just discovered a state secret.

“This is incredible,” he said, crouching beside the chair. “Look at you. Lord of Caerwatch, scourge of snow and storm—gossiping with a cat.”

“He’s not gossiping,” Spencer muttered.

“Oh? What would you call it, then?”

“A tactical briefing.”

Damien cackled. “Seven save me, I’m going to tell everyone.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“Oh, I will. Angela. Chanse. Everyone.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “You tell one person, and I’m putting you on night patrol. Permanent. And you can explain to the guards why you’re stuck walking the outer wall with frostbite on your nose.”

Damien stood, dramatically brushing snow off his cloak like he’d just been knighted.

“So dramatic,” he said. “Maybe I should start writing to the kitten, since you seem to respect him more than me.”

“He’s quieter,” Spencer said, deadpan. “And doesn’t interrupt my peace every damn day.”

But as Damien turned to leave, Spencer glanced down again.

Jack was still asleep. Tiny paws curled around a bit of loose parchment.

Spencer sighed.

“…You’re still not sleeping in the bed,” he muttered.

From the hallway, Damien’s voice called back, sing-song:

“Spencer has a cat! Spencer has a cat! He loves it more than his sword!”

Spencer threw a quill at the door.

First Person Point of View 

I side-eyed Ser Damien as he went through the halls singing about Spencer having a cat. When I got to the door, I narrowly missed getting hit by a quill. 

“I sure do hope that wasn’t intended for me.” I teased. 

Spencer glanced over his shoulder and saw me. “My apologies. It was intended for Damien.” 

I nodded, walking over to where he was sitting at the desk. 

“Food and coal have been brought to the villages. Not just the northernmost ones, all of them received ample rations for this blizzard, the northern ones received enough to hopefully last them the winter, or so I was told…” I said, leaning against the desk beside him. 

He nodded, “Good, if they run low, an additional ration will be brought during a lull in the storms.” 

“When do you think the first storm will get here?” I asked. 

“By the look of the sky, two days, if we’re lucky. Tomorrow if we’re not.” He said with a sigh. 

I nodded as Jack jumped up beside me, and I scooped him up into my arms. 

“Will you keep us warm?” I asked, bringing Jack up to rub my cheek against his head. 

Spencer huffed, “You? Absolutely, can’t have my wife freeze in her first blizzard. That Jackass? Vertic is still out.” 

I laughed, setting the kitten back down beside Spencer before showing myself out to join my handmaidens and Speta Amanda in the ladies’ solar. 

By the same time the next day, the wind had started again.

Not the gentle kind that whispered along stone walls, but the sharp, rising howl that rattled the shutters and dragged icy fingers across the seams of the windows.

I was sitting on the couch and pulled the fur-lined blanket tighter around your shoulders and glanced toward the hearth where Spencer stood, poking at the fire with a bit more aggression than necessary. 

“That sound,” I murmured, “it’s louder than the last storm.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched as the flames licked up toward the newly added logs, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, “It’s not a storm. Not yet.”

I raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Spencer leaned the poker back against the wall and turned, his hands brushing soot from his sleeves. “This is just the teeth of it. The bite that comes before the blizzard sinks in.”

I tilted your head. “And the blizzard?”

His gaze shifted to the window, where snowflakes now danced like ash in the wind.

“It will come fast,” he said, voice low. “The sky turns gray as slate. The wind starts to scream. Then everything—everything—goes white. For days. Sometimes longer.”

I let out a breath. “And it’s always that bad?”

He nodded once. “Worse, sometimes. You’ll feel it in your teeth. In your bones. The walls will groan. The Keep goes quiet. Not from sleep, but survival.”

I stood and crossed the room slowly, settling near him by the hearth. “And the people? What do they do?”

“They hunker down. The servants prepare hot stones for the bedframes. Meals are kept simple, fires stoked constantly. No one travels. No one fights. It’s too cold to bleed properly, anyway.”

That earned a weak smile from me. “Comforting.”

Spencer huffed, then glanced sideways. “I’m not trying to frighten you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

A pause.

“Prepare you,” he said simply. “This place—it’s harsh in ways Brightmere or Seastar could never be. Winter here doesn’t just visit. It claims. You have to respect it. You have to listen when it speaks.”

The fire cracked between us, shadows moving over his face.

“But Caerwatch doesn’t fall easily,” he added. “Not to snow. Not to war. It’s stubborn, like the people who keep it.”

I let the quiet settle a moment before speaking again. “And the people who marry into it?”

He finally turned to look at me then, a glint of warmth buried beneath the guarded stare. “They’re the ones who survive it best.”

I smiled, soft and slow.

“And what do we do when it comes?”

“We ride it out,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to the storm-dark window. “We stay close to the fire. We stay warm. We wait.”

I stepped a little closer, shoulder brushing his arm. “Well, at least I have someone to show me how.”

His mouth twitched. “Just stay out of the snow. And don’t let the cat eat the firewood.”

Jack, from across the solar, yawned like he’d been listening the whole time. I let out a small laugh, glancing over at the kitten. 

“How often do the guards tend to the fires around the keep?” I asked, feeling worried about the small creature. 

The solars were quite large and got drafty on a normal day, even with the hearth going. I could only imagine how cold it’d begin to feel once the blizzard hit. 

“They try to do it often.” He said, clearly hesitating. 

I stayed quite debating if I should even ask if Jack could stay in our room during blizzards. 

“Perhaps he should stay in our room where it’ll be warmer during the storm.” He said before I got the chance to ask. 

“Really?” I asked and he gave a nod. 

“But, and I mean it, he stays out of our bed.” He said firmly, and I nodded. 

“Do you hear that, Jack? You can come sleep in our room!” I called out to him. 

A couple of hours later found us getting ready for bed. I made Jack a little bed near the fireplace, ensuring he had extra blankets just in case. 

In the short time that had passed, the world had gone still in that strange way that only winter could bring. No flickering candlelight. No creak of footsteps in the hall. Just the occasional groan of stone against ice as the Keep settled further into the season’s grip.

 I was curled beneath thick blankets, Jack had abandoned his bed, and now was curled in a warm loaf at my feet. I had slipped into a light sleep when something stirred beside me.

A hand.

Gentle fingers brushing against my shoulder, followed by the hushed rasp of Spencer’s voice.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

I blinked into the darkness. “What time is it?”

“Late.” He was already halfway out of bed, pulling on a heavy wool tunic. “Come see.”

I groaned, nestling deeper into the warmth. “See what? It’s freezing.”

His boots thudded softly against the floorboards. “Exactly.”

There was something different in his voice—not excitement exactly, but an urgency. A reverence.

Curious despite myself, I sat up, shivering as the cold bit at my skin. Spencer tossed me one of his thicker fur-lined cloaks from the chest at the end of the bed and gestured toward the small spiral staircase that led up to the private watchtower above our chambers.

I followed him barefoot, my fingers gripping the stone rail as I climbed. The air turned colder with every step, and when he unlatched the heavy wooden door at the top, a gust of air nearly knocked me back.

But then I saw it.

And all the breath left my lungs.

The valley below had vanished.

What had once been rocky hills and forested ridges now glowed with a haunting, colorless light—snow so thick it swallowed everything in its path. The sky above was slate gray, shifting with violent, restless clouds. Wind howled like wolves through the pass, carrying ice that whipped across the peaks like smoke.

I stepped closer to the edge of the archway, your hand reaching instinctively for Spencer’s.

“This is it,” he said, voice barely audible over the wind. “The first white. The real one.”

I stared out, wide-eyed. “It’s like the gods took the world and buried it.”

He gave a short nod. “That’s what it feels like. Like the rest of the Realm disappears. Just Caerwatch. Just us. Snow turns everything quiet... and sharp.”

We stood there together in silence, his hand warm despite the cold.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” I asked softly.

“No,” he said. Then added, “This is.”

He tilted his chin down the slope, where in the distance—just barely visible through the white curtain—you could make out the flicker of torches being hurriedly brought inside from the courtyard, the glow of hearthfires blooming in the windows of the Keep, and a line of guards huddling together as they pulled the gates closed tight.

The Keep locking itself down.

Preparing.

Surviving.

“It's beautiful,” I whispered.

Spencer glanced sideways at me. “It’s dangerous.”

“Like you, then.”

That earned a small smirk, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled me closer beneath his own cloak, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin atop my head.

We stood there like that, watching the snow devour the world together.

Eventually, we retreated back down to our bed. And by the time morning rolled around the storm had not relented.

If anything, it had worsened overnight. The wind had become a beast, howling and groaning against the stone of Caerwatch like it meant to claw its way inside. Snow piled so high against the windows that only faint gray light managed to slip through the narrow slits of the tower walls.

And still, the Keep held fast.

I was bundled beneath a fortress of blankets, drowsy and warm, my limbs tangled in fur throws and linen sheets that smelled like pinewood smoke and faint remnants of Spencer’s skin. At some point in the night, he’d tucked me against his side, my back pressed to his chest and one of his hands sprawled possessively across my middle, unmoving even now in sleep.

And then there was Jack.

The cat had burrowed between our legs, curled into a compact, purring loaf so rooted into the bedding that it seemed he might have grown from it.

Spencer stirred behind me, muttering lowly.

“I swear to the gods… that cat weighs more every day.”

“He’s conserving warmth,” I murmured, eyes still closed. “He’s smart.”

“He’s smug,” Spencer grumbled, cracking one eye open to glare at the furred lump. “And territorial. He growled when I moved your leg last night.”

“You did kick him.”

“I nudged him. Gently.”

Jack let out a long, dramatic sigh through his nose—as if he knew the conversation was about him and had chosen to remain morally above it.

I laughed softly, pressing my face into the pillow. “You’re just mad he’s your competition.”

Spencer huffed but didn’t deny it.

There was a knock at the outer door, faint and muffled by the thick stone. Spencer reluctantly untangled himself from me and padded across the room, shirtless and barefoot, cursing softly about the cold. He cracked the door open and accepted a message from one of the morning guards.

He read it. Blinked. Then grabbed a quill, scrawled something, and handed the message back with a curt, “Send it to every quarter. Every level.”

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up slightly as Jack gave an annoyed grunt.

Spencer climbed back into bed and dropped the blanket over both of us again. “I’ve declared it a stay-warm-in-bed day.”

I blinked. “Is that a real title?”

“It is now. I’m the Lord of Caerwatch. I make the titles.”

I laughed. “So everyone’s just... staying in?”

“Unless they’re on patrol, in the kitchens, or bleeding to death, they’re to remain in their quarters until the wind dies down. The Maester agrees. It’s too dangerous out there—some of the lower halls are already snowed over.”

I curled closer to him, smiling softly. “You’re turning into a very responsible lord.”

He reached out and pulled me gently against him again. “Gods help us.”

Jack climbed further onto my legs, clearly satisfied that we weren’t getting up anytime soon. 

“You know, if we get too cold we could always warm up in other ways while staying in bed.” I said, playfully scooting back into him. 

“Careful, I may just take you up on that offer.” 

A/N: So, I actually start my new job tomorrow at 9am instead of Monday at 2:30pm... so that's fun. Also just to rant bc I can owning a uturus SUCKS!! I started my period today and am starting a new job tomorrow, ain't it. So wish me luck ig!!

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[thenameswinterfics]

BOUND BY FIRE

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader Settings: Season 1 Summary: As the child of Rhaenyra and born dragonless, you grow up enjoying the company of Sunfyre, whose bond is forged by your love and affection for Aegon. But when the duties of the crown tear you apart and the cries of a dragon echo in the night, it is up to you to mend the bond or let it break of its own accord. Word Count: 3,3 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, suggestive smut, Alicent is the mother she is, kind mention of canon typical incest, canon divergent, hopeful ending, no beta reading. A/N: This is another birthday present for my lovely @legitalicat . Happy birthday to you, lovely. Sorry if I only posted this now, but I hope you like it. This is my first time writing for Aegon, so sorry for the things you will read. I'm a bit rusty with the writing, so sorry even for this. Since I wrote and posted this in a rush, I could change some parts in the following days.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3 (COMING SOON)

A piercing wail broke the silence of the darkness and the sound of rattling chains echoed through the empty corridors. Muffled voices speaking an unfamiliar language could be heard in the distance, trying in vain to calm something in the pit. 

But the terrifying growls told a different story. 

Walking through the corridors of the Dragon's Pit was not an unfamiliar experience, for you had walked through these walls since you were a child, but this time it was a turbulent one. Each step brought a new wave of unease, and you felt an endless shiver run down your spine, releasing a breath you hadn't realised you were holding: the growls and snarls grew in intensity, and deep within you a heavy weight formed in your chest. 

It was a sound you had come to know well, as well as the emotions that flowed with each. The creature's roar was a land of emotions that only members of the house of dragon could feel - joy, anger, sorrow, or a deep sense of unease. You knew with a heart-wrenching certainty that those cries belonged to your lover too, and his dragon was only amplifying them. 

It had been a long time since your mother and the king's wife had been on good terms. Once inseparable childhood companions, their bond had withered over time, giving way to a frosty distance that neither could bridge. Your birth was another friction between them, as Rhaenyra walked through the corridors of the Red Keep and faced the humiliation and pain of labour while introducing you to Alicent, who demanded to see every child pushed out of her body since the birth of her firstborn. 

But the animosity between them has not stopped you from forming a special bond with one of the queen's children: Aegon has been at your side since you took your first steps, and the rumours surrounding your birth did not stop him from seeing you as his most beloved niece, despite the rocky relationship he had with your brothers. 

The genuine affection between you and Aegon did not go unnoticed by Rhaenyra, and a proposal of marriage came during a council to reunite a house divided by mistrust and old grudges: it was the princess's last request to the queen, a sincere attempt to heal the rift and restore the unity that once existed. 

However, Alicent harboured other plans for her firstborn, and certain that one day his father's crown would rest on his head, she demanded that every daughter of the Lords of the Noble Houses attend the Red Keep in the hope of finding him a suitable match. "No bastard's blood will mingle with the dragon's one," she once whispered to an ill and dull Viserys in his chambers, discussing Rhaenyra's proposal.

The affection between you blossomed into the purest and most torturous love, sharing stealing kisses in hidden alcoves and intimacy in the darkness of the castle's secret places. In time, Aegon's temper grew restless, and you began to notice signs of distress in Sunfyre as well. And from the moment Aegon ignored you things turned worse, and the visits to his dragon became sporadic.

Standing in the centre of the pit, you lifted your eyes to the golden creature before you, its huge, heavy body struggling desperately to break the chains that bound it. You recognised the two muffled voices of the two Dragonkeepers trying to calm it, but no Valyrian word was enough, and the dragon protested to be released. 

“We tried everything, but the dragon does not seem to quiet down, princess,” one of the dragonkeepers cried out, but you never met their gazes, “Prince Aegon’s presence is highly requested,” the second one urged, silently pleasing for you to summon Aegon and fetch him in the Dragon’s Pit. 

"Leave him to me," you commanded with a twang in your voice, your gaze still focused on Sunfyre as you took a few steps forward. The faces of the dragonkeepers were filled with consternation as they saw you approach the dragon, no fear on your face. 

"Princess, we cannot let you..." one began, his protest tinged with concern. 

"Leave him to me, I said," you cut him with a cold reply, addressing yourself with an authority worthy of a queen, "I shall call him down and put an end to this once and for all." 

You then turned your full attention to Sunfyre, who stood in all his glory and restlessness, chains adorning his long neck. Once those were removed, you were amazed to see how his behaviour changed, the beautiful golden dragon tentatively approaching you with a regal but uncertain gait. As Sunfyre approached, you couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance to Aegon: both carried the weight of royal blood with quiet dignity, but neither could see the burden of expectation on their shoulders. 

"Vēsperzys," you murmured in a warm and almost maternal voice - a stark contrast to the cold one you had used before - and you reached out tantalisingly for his muzzle, feeling the warmth of his scales under your palm, "lykirī," (Sunfyre, calm.)

The snarls began to falter, replaced by a faint rumble that surrendered to your touch. But once you lowered your guard down, Sunfyre jerked your hand nervously and his cries continued to echo through the pit. Determined to soothe him, you stepped close again and placed both of your hands on his snout, rubbing gently his golden scales.

“Nyke gīmigon ao sagon isse ōdres,” you spoke again softly in High Valyrian, your eyes searching for his, “se nyke gīmigon iksā mundagon syt Aegon. Yn iksan kesīr lēda ao, se kosti umazigho lyks hēnkirī,” you continued, soothing him with gentle movements of your hands. (I know you are in pain, and I know you are sad for Aegon. But I am here with you, and we can find peace together). 

It was then that Sunfyre's eyes met yours, and for that moment you felt a deep connection - a profound bond that was mirrored by the deep love and affection you felt for Aegon. You grew up together with the golden beast, sneaking into the Dragon's Pit whenever you could to listen to the golden beast sing, and riding on its back when it was big enough to carry both of you. Although you did not have a dragon of your own - no dragon egg was brooded to be placed in your cradle - you forged such a strong bond you came to think of Sunfyre as your own. 

You felt his body soothe under your touch, the dragon's mind no longer clouded by fear, and though he could still sense his rider's distress, your presence seemed enough to be a powerful balm. You heard his cries fade, replaced by a low, contented rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath your feet. 

A faint laugh escaped your lips as the dragon lovingly rubbed its snout against you, and in the depths of the pit - the Dragonkeepers' thanks were a distant echo to you - you still ached for Aegon's absence at your side, but a glimmer of hope warmed your heart, along with Sunfyre's quiet chant.

Confined to his chambers, Aegon paced nervously, his fingers running through the platinum strands of his hair as an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. Rays of moonlight streamed into the room through the large windows, casting a soft light on his face, accentuating his redden lilac eyes and his tear-streaked cheeks. 

He hated the conflict in his heart, forever torn between his sense of duty and the love he felt for you. As the king's male child, every lord looked to him to follow in his father's footsteps, to continue the line of peace and prosperity that Jaehaerys himself had set, and to keep the Targaryen glory at its peak. At least that was what his mother instilled in him.

“You are the King’s firstborn son, and what everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones is that one day you will be our king,” said Alicent one day in his chambers, anger in her voice as he declared he would never challenge his sister’s claim. What kind of brother would steal his sister’s birthright?, he always thought.

What kind of lover would do such a grave insult to the person they love? 

And when his mother announced that a noblewoman would be chosen to join him on the throne, his world collapsed into a thousand pieces. He would have gladly endured a marriage to his sister, for Helen knew that the match was a matter of duty and would not have blinked at the sight of you two together. But to marry another woman would have been a disrespect to you and the love that had always bound you together. 

It was not an easy decision to let you go, but the weight of the world pressed down on him in a way he could not escape. He could not look into your eyes or Sunfyre's with a light heart, shame nestled in his heart as he thought of what his family would force him to do and how he was not brave enough to face them, the mere thought of disappointing them was even more terrifying than dying in the dragonfire. 

His stream of consciousness was interrupted by a gentle knock on his door. The prince was about to dismiss the presence outside, thinking it was a servant, when he heard the soft sound of your voice. And he froze. 

"Please, uncle," you pleaded outside, the sadness in your voice coming straight to his ears like a sweet torture, "let me in for once. 

Aegon refused to answer, pacing the room nervously, his hands trembling in his hair. He thought that by ignoring you, you would give up and leave him to drown in his misery, but you were Rhaenyra's daughter: her stubbornness was yours too. 

"I am not mad with you for what the queen did at the council," you said, and suddenly you felt his footsteps stop, "I know you did not want any of this, and I know your heart has been torn ever since. But if it is no longer my company you seek, please," you felt the urge to swallow a lump in your throat, your voice faltering slightly, "do not make Sunfyre suffer this much. Allow me to ease your pain, as I always did.” 

A heavy silence followed your last words, and as you thought your words had gone unheeded and turned to leave, you heard the heavy doors of his chambers crack slightly, and soon you were allowed to leave. It was when you stepped inside that you took a look at your lover, the moon rays helping you helped you to see him clearly: his eyes were puffy from the endless tears spilled, and his hair were disheveled as well as his clothes, his gold-embroidered green coat opened to show his messy linen shirt. It hurt you to see him like this, though in your eyes he was still the most beautiful Targaryen you had ever seen. 

“Gaomagon ao pendagon issi hoskagon yno?” Aegon asked in High Valyrian, approaching you slowly and measuredly, his walk reminded you Sunfyre’s one, “Udligon nyke, mandianna. Gaomagon ao pendagon issi hoskagon yno?” (Do you think they are proud of me? Answer me, niece. Do you think they are happy with me?)

You lifted your gaze, locking your eyes in his as you took both of his hands in yours, squeezing them in a comforting way, “Iksan hoskagon hen ao. Eman va moriot issare,” you replied, showing him a warm smile as you tried to let him escape from his thoughts. But your lips soon pressed in a thin line as he shook his head, freeing his hands from your grasp and sitting on a chair, resting his wrists on the armrest. (I am proud of you. I have always been.)

Aegon looked at you, giving you a sad smile as he replied, “Īlen daor kimívagho nūmāzma ao, yn ñuha lentor,” (I was not talking about you, but my family).

“Iksi lentor,” you retorted, approaching him with gentleness, “ īlon stepagon keskydoso ānogar. Emi va moriot sytilībagon hēnkirī ” (We are family, we share the same blood. We have always belonged together.)

“This is not what the queen thinks,” Aegon replied back with weariness in his voice, standing up again and resuming his nervous walk, “Why else would she have forced me to meet every noble lady in this kingdom, making sure that I greeted them with frills and smiles? Why else would she have forced me in an uncomfortable position, forever torn by duty and personal desire?”

His words were full of anguish, and for a moment you felt the weight of his responsibilities on your shoulders too. It was not the crown that was scared of you; Jacaerys would sit on the Iron Throne after your mother, and even though the kingdom came to terms with the idea of a queen ruling, you don't think they would be too happy about a female heir again. It was the ambition the Hightowers put on him and their obsession for the throne, and the fear of losing him and Sunfyre forever that came roaring back strong in your heart. 

“She once told me that the realm knows in their blood and bones I will be king. That if I do not surrender to my sister, my life would be forfeit,” Aegon continued with a trembling voice, his gaze never meeting yours.

"But how? How could I ever do this to the woman I love? How could I have the courage to look her in the eyes, sitting on a throne that is not mine and wearing a crown that has never belonged to me? And for what? For pleasing a man and a woman who never fucking cared about me?", the last words came out as an angry growl, so dangerous even the bravest of the dragons would lower its head. You watched as Aegon threw a jug of water on the ground, shattering it into thousands of pieces.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Aegon slowly walked over to it, sat down and played nervously with the ring on his finger, hiding his head under his shoulders. “I did not ask for this, sweet niece… never,” he broke the silence, his voice mingling with a few sobs escaping his lips, “I have done and endured what she had asked me for, hoping that mother and father would be proud of me. But it will never be enough for them. It will never be enough for everyone.”

You hesitated at this sight: you had seen him being distressed by his mother's demands, but never had you seen him so sad and defeated, so lost in a darkness he could not escape on his own.

You decided to step closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you kneeled down to him, “Look at me, please,” you demanded, delicately cupping his cheeks in your hands and raising it gently, forcing an eye contact. You smile at the sight of his eyes, reddened by tears but stunning and bright as two precious amethyst stones. 

“You are enough for me, Aegon. You have always been,” your voice came to his ear as soft as honey, and for a second his sobs stopped. “You are worthy just as you are, and there will not be your mistakes or burdens to define you.’

Your kind words made his shaking body stop, as if they were a milky drink that made him feel better. After a while, he looked up at you. At that moment, you could feel strong emotions, but you did not say what they were. Memories of the past and a love that was strong but also broken came back to you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The past and present collided, tangled in the silence, and you both knew you had to deal with them. Then, with a hesitant breath, he reached for you – his fingertips brushing against your hand, as if he was trying to find a way out of his own troubled state. And with the only sound of the crackling wood to break the silence of the night, your faces came closer, your lips timidly brushing at first before crushing together in a desperate and hungry kiss, which tasted of salty tears and unspoken words. 

In the moments that followed, the two of you lay together in bed, your clothes scattered on the floor as your bare bodies touched, exploring each other with an eagerness that had been suppressed for far too long, but at the same time with the calmness to savour it all again, for fear that this might be the most beautiful of dreams, or that one of you might simply disappear from the other's sight. 

You let out a sharp breath and arched your backs as the two of you became one, your bodies moving in a gentle but steady rhythm, your hands and lips savouring every inch of each other until you both reached your peak. You did not care if Aegon’s seed would blossom in your womb and make you round with his child: if this would bind both of you forever through blood and duty, then you would welcome the consequences without hesitation. 

You looked down at the canopy in front of you as you ran your fingers through Aegon's hair, his breath hot against your neck as his arms wrapped around your body as if afraid to let you go. The gentle rise and fall of his breath matched the rhythm of your own, and you closed your eyes, savouring the warmth of his body against yours, whispering words of love and promises to escape together until the slumber wrapped you like a warm blanket. 

Hen lantoti ānogar

Va sȳndroti vāedroma 

(Blood of two

Joined as one)

A cold shiver ran down your face, tingling your skin like a gentle caress, moving your hair in the wind like precious threads of silk, the jewels of your headdress swaying in a sweet melody. You stood still as Aegon approached, a shard of dragonglass in his hand, pressed against your lower lip as blood flowed through the cut. It was a sharp pain that struck you at first, but was eased by the cold wind that blew against your cut and the gentle brush of Aegon's fingerprint on your forehead, drawing a mark with your own blood.

Mēro perzot gīhoti

Elēdroma iārza sīr

Izulī ampā perzī

Prūmī lanti sēteksi

(Ghostly flame

And song of shadows

Two hearts as embers

Forged in fourteen fires)

When it was your turn, you mimicked his movements with smooth and precise movements. After that, the dragonglass sliced your skin again, a long cut on your palms, joined as one, like your own blood flowing in your veins. A ribbon wrapped around your hands, making them tight and united as blood flowed down your arms.

Hen jenȳ māzīlarion

Qēlossa ozūndesi 

Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo

Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi

(A future promised in glass

The stars stand witness

The vow spoken through time

Of darkness and light)

Even when you drank from the same cup, you never stopped looking at each other, your eyes were filled with a pure love that endured every duty and every obstacle. It was a moment of triumph for both of you, two dragons who finally break their chains and soar freely into the endless sky, no longer bound by fate or fear. When the last word in High Valyrian was spoken, you both poured your lips in a sealing kiss, the roars of Sunfyre sealed the union as it crossed the sky and danced on the lover’s heads.

You had always dreamed of running away with Aegon from King's Landing, far from the viper's nest that had torn you apart, of marrying in secret in a remote part of Westeros where neither Rhaenyra's court nor Alicent's would ever be able to find you and bring you home. 

But this time it was not a dream.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

[dreamfyre03]

A Dragon's Love

Warnings: smut, fingering

Dividers by: @zaldritzosrose

Header by: @zaldritzosrose

Chapter 12: What we do for family

Daenys sat with Helaena and the children as Aemond entered, his face set in a grim expression. “Daenys, a word?” He spoke briskly, and she quickly got up to follow him, but Jaehaerys grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Aunt Daenys! Stay with me!” He protested. She leaned down and kissed his forehead and said, “Worry not, my darling, I’ll return soon.” He reluctantly let her hand go, and she walked with Aemond until they made their way through the tunnels, to the secret room.

“What’s wrong?” She asked nervously. Aemond was locked in with Aegon’s small council for hours, and his grim expression didn’t bode well for them. “My grandsire has returned. Rhaenyra hasn’t accepted Aegon’s terms, no surprise there. I’m being sent to Storm’s End, to secure Borros Baratheon’s support.” He told her. 

She nodded. “How is Aegon?” She asked. “He spent half the meeting downing wine. He’s gone to his rooms, gods know I don’t wish to imagine what’s going to take place there.” He said. 

“How long will you be gone?” She asked. He sighed, and took her hands in his, and led her to sit on the settee. “I don’t know. I’ve been told to make sure I return with House Baratheon’s support.” She just kept nodding, her mind racing. Anything could happen. Rhaenyra and Daemon could attack any moment now, and just that knowledge alone had her on edge since Aegon was crowned. She had barely slept since her father died. The possibilities of what could happen, the danger to them all, it made her sick with worry. She felt even more sickened with worry when she felt as though there was nothing she could do. 

“Come back to me, Aemond.” She whispered, unable to look him in the eye. He pulled her to him, and she relished the safety she felt in his arms. “I will. I promise.” He replied, his response muffled by her hair. She sniffled and held him tighter. She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want any of this. But Aemond was nothing if not duty bound. When they finally released each other, he pulled her in for a kiss, and she pulled him closer, feeling his body’s warmth against her own. It was a desperate, frantic kiss, of two people who somehow knew that time was not on their side. His hands were in her hair, causing it to fall from its intricate braiding, and hers were on his chest, feeling the rippling muscled body he hid under his tunic.  “Aemond,” She moaned his name softly, pulling on his tunic to keep his as close as possible. “My sweet Daenys, mine, mine, all mine,” he murmured, lining the expanse of her neck with kisses.  She gasped at the feeling of his hands massaging her breasts over the fabric of her dress, the simulation sending waves of pleasure throughout her body as her nipples rubbed against the fabric of her dress. When he pulled it down, exposing her breasts to the cold air, he whispered, “Gevie,” (beautiful) as he latched onto one of her nipples, sucking and grazing it with his teeth as he rubbed the other between his fingers. 

“Yes, Aemond, please,” She whined, as he laid her back on the settee, and he lavished her breasts with attention. She felt his hands go under her skirt and slid against her legs, and Aemond released her breast from his mouth and said huskily, “Give me a taste of you before I go, my love, to carry with me.” She nodded frantically, as she pulled him up for a kiss once again, and then he got to his knees in front go her, hiking her skirts up over her legs, and he groaned as he felt her wetness over her smallclothes. “You’re so wet for me, sweet girl. I can’t wait to worship this body properly, but I’ll have to make this do for now,” he smirked, before rubbing his fingers over her smallclothes, the friction causing her to gasp, then grind against his hand desperately. “Aemond please,” she begged, as she felt a thin sheen of sweat form on her brow. “Please what, my sweet sister?” He taunted her. “Make me come,” She pleaded, uncaring of how wanton she sounded. 

“Good girl,” she heard his whisper, as he pulled her smallclothes off her and pulled her forward, rests her legs over each of his shoulders. 

“Such a pretty cunt,” He murmured, before slowly licking a strip up her wetness. Daenys gripped the handle of the settee, digging her nails in as her brother began to feast on her cunt like a starving man. She was a sweating, panting mess, chasing pleasure from her brother’s mouth like a common whore. When he slipped a finger inside her, she shuddered, as he curled it upwards, fucking her with his fingers until he found that spot within her that brought her the most pleasure. When she let out a choked cry, arching her back, he grinned, saying, “There it is, my princess.” 

He stretched her out by slipping another finger in, and fucking her with his fingers while sucking her clit in his mouth, making her head feel dizzy as he pleasured her. 

“Oh gods, brother,” She mewled under him, her legs wrapping around his head, pressing him impossibly closer to her cunt, as she felt her release getting closer. “Yes, Aemond, please, more,” She whimpered, desperate for release. He felt her desperation and redoubled his efforts on her clit, and she felt her peak wash over her so powerfully, she jerked her hips forward and cried out Aemond’s name, while he rode her through her orgasm, licking up every drop of her release, unwilling to let it go anywhere else but his hungry mouth. He gently lowered her legs to the ground and she blushed when she saw the bottom of his face shining with her juices, and he smirked as he helped her fix her clothes, and sat next to her. “Well, that will definitely tide me over until I return, won’t it?” He said as he pulled her in for a searing kiss, and she tasted herself on his mouth, which aroused her even more. She shook her head in amusement as she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, savouring the last of his warmth before he left for the Stormlands. 

.

.

.

Much to Daenys’s dismay, Aemond left for Storm’s End that afternoon, and right after he left, she was on her way to see her brother when she was intercepted by one of the Queen Mother’s servants, and bid to see her. So she changed courses and entered Alicent’s rooms, no longer the Queen’s rooms, for those were now Helaena’s, but rooms that were almost just as large. “Daenys, my girl, come sit.” Alicent said, as she sat with her father the Hand. 

Daenys sat with them, helping herself to some wine. “There is something important that we must discuss.” Alicent said nervously, glancing at her father. 

“As you may have heard, your sister has crowned herself as Queen, on Dragonstone, and has refused the King’s terms to relinquish her claim.” The Hand began, and Daenys nodded. 

“So, it seems that war is imminent. We need to secure our allies, support from the great houses. That is where you come in, Princess. You will leave for Winterfell in the morning, to affirm your betrothal and then wed Cregan Stark. We need the North’s support, it will ensure we are in a much stronger position to stand against your sister.” The Hand said. 

Her stomach dropped, and she fought to keep the panic off her face. “I presumed I would have more time,” was all she could muster. “Time is the last thing any of us have on our side.” He replied. She shifted hesitantly. Aemond certainly wouldn’t be back by tomorrow, and she felt her heart splitting in two, between Aemond and her duty, her chance to keep her family safe. 

Otto seemed to sense her resistance, and said, “Let me be quite clear, Princess. Do you know what happens if the support of somewhere so vital goes to your sister instead of the King? Allow me to paint you a picture. The North will be able to lend an invaluable amount of men. Your sister, along with her supporters, such as House Velaryon, who have the entire Velaryon fleet, mind you, will storm King’s Landing, and she and Daemon will slaughter every one of us. Starting with Aegon, your brothers, Aemond and Daeron, even Helaena and her innocent children. Can you imagine, an innocent child like Jaehaerys being slain because we could not do out duty to make sure he and his mother and siblings were protected?” 

The very thought sickened her. Maybe he was right. How selfish she was being, caring about her own wants and desires first, when she had a chance to give her brother an advantage. She was no better than Rhaenyra. Perhaps if the North declared for Aegon, it wouldn’t come to war, perhaps it could keep them all safe. She would rather Aemond be alive and married to another, than dead and hers. She couldn’t bear it if he died because she didn’t perform her duty. 

“Very well. In the morning, then, I shall depart.” She told them, as she resisted the tears that begged to fall. “Another thing, Princess.” Otto said as she got up to leave. 

She wiped her tears and turned around. “You won’t speak of this to anyone, not the King, or the Queen. We wouldn’t want the King’s fondness for his sister to blind his judgement, would we? After you’ve left, the King will learn of the marriage, and he will calm after he realises what an advantage it gives us all.” 

She nodded. He was right, Aegon would no doubt not want her to leave. 

So as she left the Queen Mother’s rooms, she kept reminding herself, it was all for her family, her siblings. To keep them alive. 

[yandins-beleagured-historian]

Entry #005.2ndcompany.v2[avaronedit].txt

--The Second Company, Part 1 of 5-- +Header Item: Pict-Capture, elements of the Second Company, Iron Fists Chapter, during deployments on Crucible, Poros Crusade, 985.M41. The Departmento Photartem formally apologises for resolution losses and degradation encountered during processing.+

Within every Astartes chapter, there is a company that occupies the lion's share of the spotlight. For some, this is the result of years of dutiful service, such as the Dark Angels' fifth company, or a hereditary, prominent position at the tip of the spear in the case of the Space Wolves' Blackmanes. The Ultramarines second company, oft-referred to as the Guardians of the Temple, exemplify this trend most clearly, thanks to their 'crafted...reputation as dynamic heroes'. The test for such prominence is fairly trivial, and requires that one merely browse the galleries of chapter artwork and identify the company heraldry that comes up most frequently. For the Iron Fists, this trend manifests strongest around the Second company, sometimes colloquially known as the black-blades, but more often referred to as simply "The Second". However, unlike the famous companies of first-founding chapters, the Second's prominence in the eyes of the outside world is not the result of a prodigiously long roll of honour, nor a saga of dramatic, galaxy-shaking deeds. It is a quirk of doctrine that makes the Iron Fists' Second stand out. The bespoke organisational layout of the Second dates back to around 350.M39, some half-century hence of the Fall of Taralus during Abaddon's tenth black crusade. With limited resources with which to rebuild the shattered chapter, surviving command staff were compelled to devise novel force structures in order to maximise the utility of what few assets they had. Swiftly-promoted from savant-initiate to captain (a normally unprecedented ascension that owed more to the lack of more senior candidates with more seniority), it was Llewellus Thoca who received the responsibility of reforging the Second.

Thoca deserves a treatise all of his own (which I am told exists but am struggling to locate at present), but his restructuring of the Second was one of the earliest and most immediately effective measures of its kind. The company focused itself around a core of assault veterans who had survived the Fall of Taralus by near-constant ship defence actions. The successful utilisation of these squads would prove pivotal in the company's first actions since the fall, and gradually the company's doctrine would shift towards creating and exploiting scenarios where their effect could be maximised, usually in the form of rapid, pinpoint strikes on key enemy targets. This structure had its fair share of downsides. The Second had significantly less specialised resources at its disposal in comparison to its contemporaries. The company's core strength was bound up in close-range infantry, and if improperly commanded, that infantry would take heavy casualties, especially if tasked to handle threats they were incapable or inequipped to face. These core assault squads also required significant coordination inside and outside the Second, which required company command to establish and maintain high levels of trust and cooperation with outsiders.

Nevertheless, such hardships would foster unique levels of proficiency across the company's tactical, assault and devastator units, creating a company-wide focus on cohesion, diplomacy and quality intelligence gathering. The entombment of select veterans of the company into dreadnought chassis would further this trend by preserving hard-won expertise for future generations to learn from. In particular, the tactical squads of the second company would develop a bespoke reputation for quality, both within and beyond the chapter, and it was not uncommon for individual squads to be placed under the command of other captains in instances where well-disciplined line troops were vital.

Thus, when the Second was suitably managed and supported, their ability to turn the tide of battles or even whole campaigns was profound. Such deployments frequently put elements of the Second in positions of much greater visibility to mortal soldiery and imperial commanders alike, in stark comparison to the other four battle companies who were generally more capable of operating alone. This factor would be further enhanced by the personality of the Second's captains, who were chosen by vote from within the company and were generally selected for their zeal, inspirational abilities and diplomatic candor, all the better to secure the collaboration that made the Second effective.

+Supplementary Log, Cosrau Yandin, Captain, 7th Company Iron Fists+

As a former sergeant of the Second's sixth tactical squad, Captain Yandin had this to say when asked about the prominence of the company. [edited for brevity]

"This is a feature, not a glitch. The Second lives and dies on its reputation. The moment it is perceived as unreliable by those it fights alongside, it is no longer able to draw on the support, intelligence or specialist units that allow it to fight as well as it does. You've only to look to instances like Ibossim to see how the Second fares when fighting alone." "A lot of the training leverages this mechanic. While you always train with your squad, eight times out of ten your squad trains alone. This cultivates an understanding of what happens when you are unsupported. If you make a mistake, you die, and so do those around you. The pressure is extremely fierce, as a result." "This pressure extends to every part of the company . A warrior of the Second bears responsibility for the lives of those they fight beside. But a captain of the Second carries the entire company on their shoulders. It lives and dies with him. He must be considerate enough to soothe his allies, yet passionate enough to inspire them. He must carefully consider his stratagems, yet always be ready to join the fray himself. He must be open minded to new ideas, but throne forbid he make a mistake." "That's not to say it's all as brutal as it sounds. Yes, I mean it, stop looking at me like that. The Second has just as long a history of teaching its members as it does combat-simming them into perfectionists. Sharing knowledge strengthens the whole company. Ascendants teach the sergeants, who teach each other, who teach the rank and file. [Author's note: 'Ascendant' is a term used within the company to refer to those interred in dreadnoughts.] The first squad was a self-contained bladesmanship academy long before it was the captain's personal bodyguard, and those who do make captain often spend decades being prepared for the role by their predecessor. The last captain, Exitas, could trace the teachings he received all the way back into M40, when Hayabusa Shandar was wrestling necrons out of their night scythes."

"That tradition could've continued for another thousand years, had his tenure not ended so abruptly. Exitas died on Kalidos, during the retreat from the Stygius sector, barely thirty years into his tenure and with no suitable successor prepared. Throne, it wouldn't have been so bad if we'd just lost Exitas. Samas Tenebra was right there, Exitas' direct predecessor, the only First Captain in the chapter's history to have risen from the Second. There was literally no better to teach Exitas' successor, but then Saphyre happened, and before either of them were laid to rest in Taralan soil, our beloved Chapter Master bike-slides onto the Tsiolkovan and declares Throne-damned cog-brained Artos Myra as Second Captain and before you know it-"

+Log terminated: storage capacity exceeded+

Saved by the voxcaptor, Hester Vinchix Calimorre, Historiographer-Moderatus, Logos Historica Verita.

+Attached Image: Second Captain Shado Avaron in action at the head of first squad Zaio, second company, during the "Ibossim Bloodbath", circa 639.M41. Recovered from data-fragments extracted from Praetorian XIX regimental datalink.+

[strawberri-fiction]

Consider this my official intro post:

Haiii!! I'm Vixx but you can call me whatever you want, calling me by my kins names is highly encouraged on this blog but you can see my straw.page for more names of mine

Basic stuff like DNI and stuff is in my straw.page so I'll get into the more specifics of this particular blog

Doubles for anyone are all welcome, I don't really care

Sourcemates are highly, highly encouraged to engage if they want!

Kintypes:

(In no particular order)

Joringel Strauss [Blood and Sweet]

The Three Fingers [Elden Ring]

Nyarlathotep [H.P Lovecraft]

König [Call of Duty]

Lumina {Winter Lantern} [Bloodborne] (Canon-divergent)

Moonlight Cookie [Cookie Run Kingdom]

Rom, The Vacuous Spider [Bloodborne]

The Moon Presence [Bloodborne] (⭐️ ID/Highest Kin ⭐️)

Mohg, Lord of Blood [Elden Ring]

RED Pyro [Team Fortress 2]

Mystic Flour Cookie [Cookie Run Kingdom]

Yog-Sothoth [H.P Lovecraft]

Header & pfp credits: https://www.bloodborne-wiki.com/2017/08/moon-presence-gallery.html?m=1

Any questions are encouraged, I also take moodboard requests if anyone wants one of those. My main blog is @strawberripuffy if you enjoy my posts here :3

This post is bound to change in time so stay tuned!!

[panda-writing]

A/N: So this is an idea I got like last night. And I wanted to write it into something before I forgot it. I had a few ideas on how I planned to finish it. And it's very different from those ideas.

I was gonna add more to it, and make it more angst, but I got the fluff feels, and it ended up being more of a fluff piece at the end.

But, I did leave it open ended incase I ever come back to it and get more ideas.

Oh, one more thing. This is about my main OC I'm writing a huge story on rn. And her ship is Rex, because that's the one I typically do with her. ((Sometimes I do Fives, but I think Rex and Amaya balance each other out a bit more because my girl is unfiltered chaos at times))

Type: OC x Captain Rex

Story type: Fluff, Angst /Ficlet

And the beginning starts a little dramatic again because I have been doing that a lot more lately.

(And here's this header of Ryder I made because I briefly mention him in the story-

Calling this: Knowing (Rex x Amaya)

It had been only a few weeks.

But the time... It was like a silence.

And it felt so loud.

They lost people before.

He's lost brothers. And she's lost friends.

But this was different.

So much different.

It was in the way it happened. And.... It was Fives.

It was Fives.

That made all the difference in the world somehow.

He had been trained as a soldier. He was expected to move on.. But it was hard.

And then again.. Amaya didn't want him too.

The same thing happened when Echo died. She didn't want them to force themselves to move on.

Maybe it's why he's never heard a clone say a bad thing about her. She was always there for them.

The worst thing he'd heard was that she could be reckless. A fact she clearly had known well, as she said it herself multiple times.

But in the same way, it's what had him worried right now.

She was usually more of a talker. Happier.

Of course, the affect of the war was a likely cause too. But he knew better.

He knew her after all.

After Fives... She had barely spoken to him. It worried him. And brought out paranoia from deep within that he never knew existed in his own mind.

She'd tell him though. Right?

If she was mad at him. Or the even more alarming possibility, If there were regrets or second thoughts...

But she hadn't said anything of that inclination.

She hadn't said anything at all.

They spoke the day it happened. But she hadn't said much on her own feelings. She was more worried about him.

That... Was in her nature. But at this very moment, it had his nerves at an all time high.

She stayed with him and comforted him. She had always been open in telling him and his brothers that it was okay to feel.

Some clones still stuck closer to their programming in that regard.

He knew she wasn't technically supposed to go through her emotions the way most nat horns were either. In some cases the Jedi were unhappy with her disregard... For, well anything.

She would break rules or disobey command if she thought there was a better way. She openly told (him) that she thought the code was stupid at times. And her openness to emotion, she had explained was also against it.

But this far in the war, she really didn't seem to care too much anymore.

After what happened with Fives.. The next time Rex had actually gotten to see Amaya was around 2 weeks later. And that's when he noticed her acting strange. Especially in the way she wasn't speaking.

Well, outside of their duty-bound responsibilities. Because that aspect did.

It wasn't the same though.

Rex was looking through the outside of the window. It was a little quiet right now. The bridge on a Venator usually was, save for when there was a battle.

Or if Skywalker was there-

Rex was lost in thought, he almost didn't notice it as Ryder came behind him and tapped his shoulder.

He was the Commander of Amaya's legion. He wouldn't usually try to figure it out this way... But it was one sure way to figure what was going on..

"Hey Rex, do you have a minute?" He asked

"Y-yeah. Sure. What's going on?" He answered, quickly gaining composure.

Ryder was subtle as he glanced around the bridge area.

"You know- actually, it might be better if I show you." He excused

He was a better liar than a lot of clones. Of course, he had lots of practice considering he was constantly covering for his general since the beginning of the war.

"Okay.." Rex said, following him out.

There was nothing there. This earned Ryder an eyebrow raise.

"Rex, are you okay?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I swear I could feel the tension in the air, and obviously I'm not a Jedi but-" Ryder cut himself off

"There's something on your mind, right?"

"It could be nothing. I've had a lot on my mind lately." Rex excused

Now, it was Ryder's turn to give Rex a look. It was really more of a side-eye than a specific look.

"You really think I don't know you by now, vod?" he questioned

"Besides... If you don't think it's nothing, then it probably isn't. Mind telling me what's going on?"

"You never know, maybe I can help.."

He didn't exactly have many better options here, but it was still better that no one knew about his relationship with the general, so he'd be keeping it as vague as possible without being suspicious about it.

"Have you noticed anything off about the General lately?" he asked

Okay, so he hadn't exactly meant to get straight to the point, but here he was.

"I mean, personally I've always found there to be something off about Skywalker, and I mean that's saying something considering how my own can be at times, but-"

He was quickly cut off.

"I was talking about yours, actually.." Rex said all while giving him a look about making comments about his own general.

"Oh-"

Ryder cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Though... Now that you mention it... Pierce has been a lot less, well.. herself recently."

"She doesn't joke around a lot lately. More focused on getting through with the mission and whatever. But I didn't ask, because I figured she'd tell me if there was a problem. She's always pretty open with that kind of stuff."

It was good to know it wasn't just him, but it still wasn't a great feeling.

"She's been like this since what happened with Fives-" His expression widened and he cut himself off as he realized he'd said it out loud.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Ryder sighed as he looked down, but Rex patted his shoulder.

"Don't be sorry. What happened.... affected a lot of us." 

"I don't know if there's much I can do to help... But maybe it would help if you talked to her? She values your insight and friendship as much as mine. I'm sure she'd talk, if she realized it was from a place of concern." He offered

Yeah... Friendship. That was one word for it.

"It's worth a shot." Rex said

Sometimes Ryder thought there was something going on in the back of his mind. But he never cared enough to try and figure out if there was or wasn't.

Things were complicated enough lately, he'd rather the one thing that didn't feel that way to just... stay that way.

He tried reaching her on her comm.

After the second or third time, she finally answered. 

'If you could really call that a response'

"Hey."

Was she mad at him? She didn't sound mad, but it was always hard to tell with Jedi. Then again... he never seemed to have that problem with her..

"Uh hi... Do you have a minute to talk?" he asked

"Not really, I'm working on some stuff right now."

"It's important." He sighed

Now he definitely felt like he had to ask her.

He could hear her sigh over the other end.

"Okay."

"But It's gonna have to be quick. I have a lot of stuff to get done."

"Right." Rex said

"Where are you?"

"I'll meet you- actually.." she said

Her tone seemed odd, but he'd let it go, for now.

"Uh... meet me at..."

"We'll go to the briefing room-"

Okay, so it was obvious he was making this up as he went along. He had his doubts she even noticed, considering her lack of reaction to pretty much anything he said right now.

She didn't think much of it as she made her way over. She figured it was just stuff about their current missions, otherwise she may not have even come. 

She really didn't want to take a break from all of this, but in all truth... she had nothing. All she had was her gut feeling. And she was basically grasping at straws here.

She walked in with her datapad incase she got there first. 

Of course, she hadn't. He was already there.

There was a look on his face, but what was it? Was he worried..?

Focus.

"Uh.. Hey Rex."

"Hey." he walked up to her, making sure the door was shut so no one could hear him talk about how he was breaking multiple GAR regulations.

"You called?" she asked cutting to the chase.

"Yeah. I did."

He looked at her face. He hadn't specifically seen her in a few days... And right now she just looked tired. 

Instead of starting how he was going to, he looked on in concern and asked "When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't know. I'm not really that worried about it right now." She said in a nonchalant tone of voice

"Anyway, what did you need?"

What he needed was her to stop...

"I wasn't planning on asking about it like this, but I don't see any other way right now."

This was a them thing, she finally realized.

And it seemed to late to run off to avoid anything to deal with her mess of emotions surrounding her mind right now. Of course, if she had run off he'd either think he'd done something wrong, or likely catch her, and she had a feeling he was very capable of doing so if he really wanted to.

"I don't want to think about it right now." she sighed

He looked directly into her eyes, she avoided the eye contact.

"And why is that?" He challenged

"It has nothing to with you, But I can't... Not right now." 

"Do I get an actual answer? I've allowed you to essentially, ignore me for weeks upon weeks. I've hashed it out to you just needing space because of what happened with Fives..."

"But you can't keep avoiding me.." He hated how it felt, and being told that he wasn't gonna get a real answer had only made it worse

"It's not that simple." she turned and held her hand against her forehead for a moment.

he chuckled in a way that sounded both unamused and offended.

"If you think this is getting resolved without you telling me whatever the hell is going on with you, I suggest you reconsider that idea."

"I can't, okay?"

"I could and would tell you anything else, but I can't with this. Even trying to look into- It doesn't matter. Please just drop it." 

"Like hell." he said sternly

"You're not gonna keep doing this, whatever it is."

"All it feels like now... is that I did something wrong, or you're mad at me."

"And it sucks."

She never wanted to hurt him...

But what choice did she have in this scenario? If someone finds out what she's doing, and for some reason they figure out he had even the smallest amount of knowledge on it... She'd be taking him down along with her.

"You know..."

"I just wasn't convinced by it."

"What are you talking about?" He asked

"I don't know if I can say... If this goes wrong.. I can't risk involving you."

"What are you up to?" He squinted at her

"Oh the usual, war crimes and breaking multiple laws."

 That- that was kind of a joke.

And before now, he'd have been happy she was making jokes. But now, he definitely wasn't in the mood for that.

Especially considering the fact that anyone who really knew her, would also know that she often used jokes to deflect.

"That's not funny."

'Guf'nor'i, He's pissed.' (Expletive in her native language closely related to fuck, but not quite)

She nervously looked down.

"It's for Fives." and that's where she planned to leave it, but she should've known better than to think he'd just leave it there.

His expression softened, but now it was confused.

"Rex.. I don't even have any proof of anything."

"But he was one of my closest friends... If there's even the possibility he might be right. It is more than just duty for me to figure that out."

"What do you mean?" He asked

"What are you doing?" 

She refused to go into too much detail. She wouldn't bring the person she loved more than anyone down with her if she was creating her own path of damnation.

"The inhibitor chips.. I just want to find out.."

"He was killed by a brother. After everything- He wasn't dangerous... He was just scared and I-" 

She looked away, she didn't want to cry again. Especially not in front of Rex. Fives would hurt him more than anyone else... Except for Echo, but now they were both gone.

"I wish he could've gotten that chance to explain.. If I find out anything.. or he's right... He'll get that chance through me."

And she meant every last word of it. 

There was much she didn't say. Including the fact that she thought the chancellor was full of shit by his explanation. Of course, she already hadn't trusted him for a bit, so it was even easier to doubt him than before.

But ever voicing that was kinda treasonous.

But she was tired... so tired..

She turned back to look at Rex and sighed before leaning her head against his chest.

"Do you ever get tired of it? All the fighting?"

"The death... Everyone we've lost?"

He sighed, pulling her into a tight hug.

It seemed like he needed it about as much as she did.

"I love you... and I'm so sorry for everything." She said quietly, the regret filled her voice.

he held his hand against her face, he moved his thumb against her cheek, "I love you too."

He understood why she didn't tell him. But at the same time didn't like the idea of her doing something that had the potential to get her in that much trouble..

"Please promise you'll talk to me from now on."

She couldn't lie to him..

"There's more to it. But I don't want to say anything else."

"You're exhausted... I think we all are to some capacity. But tell me someday... We've started this pretty much since the beginning of the war, I don't want to hurt you and I know you don't want to do that to me either.."

She was 19 then... Became a Jedi Knight younger than most. She knew it was mostly because they needed more Generals, and was very aware of the mistrust that surrounded her... Yet, she was still grateful.

Now she was 21. And so much had happened.

Sometimes she wasn't sure how she'd been able to stay this strong.

She cupped his cheek before kissing him.

He had missed her and didn't hesitate to kiss her back.

He wasn't sure this was exactly resolved... And that had him worried. Last thing he wanted was to have to worry about Amaya for the same reasons...

Eventually she broke it off so she could hold him closer.

And then she yawned.

"Okay, when did you really sleep last?"

"I have no idea."

"Take a break, you're guilty of overworking yourself. Same as you accuse me at times." He said

"Rex.."

"Yeah?"

"Are you busy, right now, I mean?" she asked

"No, not really.. I was just staring out of the window until I- Why do you ask?"

She took a hold of his hand.

"...right-" he said

So maybe he didn't always catch on right away.

She sat next to him against the backwall, there weren't exactly seats, so they just sat on the floor.

She mindlessly traced her thumb in circles against the back of his neck, as she held onto him.

"Get some rest, Mesh'la."

"I'll be fine... until tomorrow.. Besides, how else will I get to talk to you?"

He tilted his head, giving her that one specific expression. She was pretty sure this tact could be considered cheating. But he still got away with it-

She gently moved his head and kissed him again.

"You win this one." 

"I usually do." he said

"Don't fool yourself. Usually if you win, it's because I let you."

"I'm not convinced."

She chuckled before leaning against him.

He held her close and eventually, she fell asleep.

[bastet55]

Who I Am:

The header on my blog is getting far too long, so I will move the details down to here. All who read this are most welcome to the blog.

Bastet5 on AO3. Female. Christian. American Expatriate in the UK. Late 20s.

I'm currently getting a PhD in a field totally unrelated to creative writing, and I write fanfiction, for which I do copious amounts of research, in much of my spare time.

In the rest of my spare time, I'm probably playing Lord of the Rings Online or watching F1 (EO31, OB87, AA23, GR63).

My current fandom obsessions are primarily Tolkien and Masters of the Air, for which I have a sideblog.

As said above, Asks and DMs are always welcome, including asks from nonnies. If you want to talk about Masters of the Air or WW2, however, please direct any asks to my sideblog linked above.

Writing Masterlist:

Major Stories/Series:

Tolkien (LOTR/Silmarillion)

The Tale of the Laureónoni -- One well-known, the other lost to history, their story spans nearly ten-thousand years from the shores of Valinor in the Year of the Trees until the Fourth Age when the last Princess of the Noldor makes her final journey into the west. In their two lifetimes, Glorfindel and his twin sister Gloredhel traveled thousands upon thousands of miles on foot, by horse, by ship, and by eagle; saw kingdoms rise and fall; outlived most of their kindred; and saw marvels great and small. Their story is one of grief and despair, loss and hatred, hope and mercy, friendship and love, triumph and final reward.

The Halls of Mandos -- Darkness closes over Gondolin as the forces of Morgoth sweep through it. Its great captains perish, fighting to the end, and streets that were once lined with people going about their daily lives become carnage-covered. In the midst of this devastation, one dying captain ponders the nature of death and the course of her life as she passes into the Halls of Mandos. There she waits for judgment and searches for the family she long ago lost and, slowly, begins to heal.

My House Long Sundered -- Two long-dead scions of the House of Finwe return home to Tirion, unsure of the reception they will fine.

Many Meetings -- Rebirth, in a way, is a process, not an act. Gloredhel has been reborn into a new body and returned to her old home in Tirion, but learning to live in her new life, adjusting and renewing old ties and friendships, that is a process not so quickly completed. In the midst of this, there are unpleasant revelations to be made about the fate of Finwe's House in Beleriand in the First Age.

Homeward Bound -- Gloredhel wrestles with grief and learning what it is to be one half of a whole. Two more wanderers return to Tirion, and more details about the ongoing saga of her feud with Turgon as well as Maeglin's fate are revealed.

Duty Calls Me Back -- Gloredhel and Glorfindel return to Middle Earth on a mission of the Valar and find a land much changed from the one they remember long ago. As they meet many friends, old and new, more is revealed about the tasks that lie before them.

Fair and Strange Lands -- In the aftermath of their return to Middle Earth, Gloredhel and Glorfindel find their footing at Forlond and the court of yet another High King with all the political and cultural complexities that have come in the long-years since their deaths. In time, Gloredhel rides west to search for Gwaihir and to take counsel with Celebrimbor at Ost-in-Edhil, now that Annatar has been revealed as Gorthaur, the bane of Finwe’s house.

Scouring the Wild -- TA 3018, October. Non-linear snippets from the search for the Ringbearer in the wilds of Eriador and what came after in Rivendell.

FBI/FBI: Most Wanted

The Wild Hunt - Being a member of the Fugitive Task Force was rewarding and disturbing simultaneously. Horrific crime scenes, horrific fugitives, some of the worst sleaze balls and scumbags to walk the face of the earth, and you had to study them, think like them, all to catch them. BUT you got the satisfaction of bringing them to justice personally. That doesn't make it any easier to sleep some nights, though.

35 current sub-stories (too many to link separately)

Stargate SG1

The Forgotten Shall Return - Forced to flee Earth to escape being imprisoned for treason after helping the Tollan to escape from the NID, Daniel Jackson takes refuge with the Nox. Ohper advises him to seek out a powerful but forgotten race, who are planning the downfall of the Goa’uld, and take refuge with them. Who are they? The Furlings, a newly returned player on the inter-galactic stage. Emersed in a new culture and living in a distant galaxy, Daniel Jackson finds his life taking a hard-right turn … for the better.

Formula 1

Life in the Fast Lane ... Literally - In 2019, four new rookies were promoted to the F1 grid: George Russell, Lando Norris, Alexander Albon, and most surprisingly to many motor sport fans, who never thought they would see the day, for good or ill, Elise Stewart. The only female driver in F2 in 2018 became the first female F1 racing driver since Giovanna Amati in 1992. But what the hellscape that was certain sections of the Internet were also hung up on was that she was married, married to George Russell. All manner of other relatives had raced together or separately in F1 over the years. But now F1 had its first married couple.

Trainer for a Day (SMAU) - Silverstone 2021

Why Won't They Listen? - Imola 2022

The Race She Can't Remember - France 2022

Happy Horsey - Suzuka 2022

Ahhhhhh, My Ears!! - Belgium 2023

Broken Hopes and Shattered Dreams - Singapore 2023

Ups, Downs, and Bowling - Japan 2023

Horsey or a UFO? - Qatar 2023 (Part 1)

Lights, Camera, Vegas -- Vegas 2023

SMAU Shorts - Various Dates

Masters of the Air (AppleTV)

See my sideblog.

=======

Other Stories:

The Forgotten Queen: The Fall of Troy - With the conquest of Thessaly by Agamemnon, it seems that Greece will finally know some semblance of peace and that the Myrmidons will finally stop getting called up so frequently to fight for a king that they hate. Yet, this peace only last weeks, before through one foolish act by a Paris of Troy, that peace is shattered. The largest army ever gathered by the Greeks sails for Troy to take Helen back and avenge the insults done to the Greeks. For the Myrmidons, this war will win them everlasting renown, but they will pay a very heavy price for their glory and immortality. (IN-COMPLETE)

The Boneyard of ... Fic Ideas -- Abandoned WIPs

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Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 5

Word count: 6500+

Warnings: Language, slow burn, there are also switches from first person to third person point of views to give a glimpse of what happening in Spencer's head some, drinking and getting drunk, small mentions of throwing up (nothing graphic on that though because I can't even stand that), mentions of nudity and sex, Spencer finally falling for the reader?? MAYBE!!

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Bound by Winter Masterlist

Please leave comments and like!! I love reading y'all's comments!!

header made by yours truly

Also, the timeline in the beginning may be a bit confusing. The very beginning picks up right after the reader gets the letter from Spencer, and it's the same day that the battle happens, and Spencer receives the letter that same night. I hope that makes sense.

My breakfast had run cold as I wrote a letter back to Spencer, hoping that the storm wouldn’t delay the raven. However, I still scarfed it down quickly and dressed in my trousers and tunic once again to meet Lady Courtney in the training yard after I brought the letter to the Maester. 

I was running behind after getting the letter sent off and wasn’t paying attention as I rushed through the halls trying to make it to where Lady Courtney was surely already waiting for me. I rounded a corner and ran smack into Septa Amanda. 

“Umph, my apologies, Septa,” I said, my voice coming out rushed. 

“It’s quite alright, My Lady, but I must ask, where are you off to in such a haste?... And dressed like that? It’s not proper for a lady to wear trousers often.” She said. 

“I’ve taken up sword training with Lady Courtney. It’s quite difficult to train in heavy dresses.” I said, feeling like a child being scolded. 

“Yes, I saw you two yesterday.” She said, sounding disappointed. 

“With all due respect, are you spying on me, Septa?” I asked. 

“I’ve been watching over you. It’s not the same. But swordplay, my lady? With a bannerman’s daughter and not a proper armsmaster?” 

“Lady Courtney offered to train with me. I don’t see any of the men providing the same offer.” I pointed out, “Besides, I am not one to sit quietly while a war brews outside my door.” 

Septa Amanda fought a smile, “Spoken like a true Northern Lady. Forgive me, I wasn’t trying to sound disapproving… I believe some of Lord Agnew's old clothes are somewhere around here. I can alter them to fit you so you have more options to wear to train, if you'd like?” She offered. 

I was taken aback for a moment before smiling back at her, “That would be lovely. Thank you, Septa.” 

“Of course, now get going. Don’t want to keep Lady Courtney waiting.” She said. 

I nodded as I continued past her to the training grounds. When I got there, Lady Courtney was in fact waiting for me. 

“You’re late.” She said. 

“Sorry, got held up with Septa Amanda… got scared she was going to chew me out for training with you,” I admitted, grabbing my sparring sword. 

Courtney laughed, “Oh, don’t let her fool you. She’s like the momma bear of the keep. She’s big on tough love, but she wants you to be happy.” 

I sighed, “Well, she got me good.” 

I raised my sword and adjusted my grip as Courtney took her stance. Soon, the air was filled with the sound of our wooden sparring swords whacking against one another… and the occasional grunt from me when I failed to block one of her strikes, and the blow was delivered to some part of my body. 

We continued to train into the early afternoon. Eventually, though, we had to call it quits as I had a few duties to attend to before I went to bed. However, the next morning brought the same thing as I met her to train once again. 

Just as I was getting the hang of things and had her sword locked with mine, horns sounded. Riders were approaching. She took the opportunity of my distraction to swipe my feet out from under me, causing me to fall as she pointed her sword to my throat. 

“Tsk tsk, never get distracted, My Lady. You get distracted, you get stabbed.” She said, removing her wooden sword and offering me a hand up. 

“Sorry, but the horns… do you think?” I asked, trying not to get my hopes up. 

“Possibly.” 

Then, as if on cue, Ser Damien passed by, “The army is returning!” 

There was no time for me to change. I went off to ensure those in charge of tending to the wounded were prepared and that the stables were stocked for the returning horses. I also had to inform the kitchens so that a proper meal could be prepared for the returning men. Once everything was in order, I waited… I had intended to meet him in the courtyard, but after our awkward departure, I didn’t want to do it in front of prying eyes. Ser Damien had also informed me that Spencer preferred to stable his horse himself. So, after ensuring the glove he had given was tucked into my pocket, I headed for the stables. 

Despite his being gone for over a week, these last few minutes seemed to be the longest I had ever waited for anything. To prevent me from wringing my hands together, I went over the grey mare that had unofficially become mine. I began to gently pet her, whispering to her how pretty she was and how nervous I was. 

The hoofbeats reached me first. Then the sound of the rider dismounting before entering the stables. I didn’t turn immediately. Then, after he passed me, leading his horse to its stall, I spoke up. 

“You're early,” I said, an odd contrast to the first words I had ever spoken to him. 

“Storms broke quicker than expected,” came Spencer’s voice, lower than I remembered, like it had scraped itself raw across days of shouting commands. “Thought I’d slip in quietly.”

“Bold of you to assume you could ever do anything quietly.”

A short laugh. I watched as he leaned against the post between the horse’s stalls. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me as if he were memorizing every detail. 

“I apologize for my attire… I know it’s not proper for a lady to be seen in such clothes.” I said, referring to the fact that the trousers I wore weren’t particularly tailored like the ones I had worn riding. 

“Who am I to tell you what to wear? So long as you aren’t running about the keep with your tits out for all the North to see, I don’t care what you wear.” He said, making my cheeks heat up slightly at the bluntness of his comment. 

“Besides, I don’t think I am much to look at right now either.” He added. 

I couldn’t disagree. He was covered in mud and sweat, and travel dust. The sharp line of his jaw was speckled with stubble, and his cloak had half-frozen edges. He also had a cut that would need to be cleaned properly and soon. But his eyes were the same — watchful, steady, a little more tired than before.

“That’s fair.” I teased. 

“I brought you something back.” He said after a beat of silence. 

“You didn’t have to bring anything.” My hands fidgeted at my sides.

“Didn’t say it was good. Just a rock from the riverbed. Cracked clean in two by the ridgefall. Thought you’d appreciate a souvenir from a well-executed ambush.” He said, pulling out a rock from his trouser pocket, it was in fact split in half, revealing a sparkling, crystallized center within.

She smiled despite herself. “A romantic.”

“Clearly.”

I hesitated, then reached into my coat pocket. Fingers brushed soft leather before I drew it out — his riding glove. Worn, darkened, still bearing the faint bend of his fingers.

“I have something for you as well, actually… I kept it,” I said, holding it out. “You said you’d want it back when you returned. But…”

“But?”

“I kept it with me the whole time. In my cloak pocket. I think Angela thought I was losing my mind.”

Spencer stepped forward, slowly. He didn’t take it from my hand. Just stared at it for a moment — and then at me.

“I thought about it,” he said. “Wondered if you’d toss it in the fire.”

“I thought about it, too,” I admitted. “Twice.”

Another pause.

“You didn’t write back until the end. And then you signed as Lord Agnew,” I said, trying to keep my tone even and not make him think I was saddened by it. 

He ran a hand through his windswept hair. “Didn’t know what to say or I was allowed to be.” 

“You’re my husband,” I said firmly. 

It wasn’t quite an invitation. Not yet.

But it was something.

Spencer’s eyes softened. “You know, you look like you’re dying to kiss me right now?”

My cheeks heated up once again, but I kept my composure, “Covered in grime like that? Think again, Lord Agnew.” 

He smiled, a flicker of it, as his gaze dropped to the glove still resting between us. Then, gently, he closed my fingers over it and pushed my hand back toward my chest.

“Keep it a little longer, my wife.”

And with that, he turned toward the doors, his shoulder brushing mine as he passed.

No declarations. No confessions.

Just the familiar, maddening, aching silence of two people who wanted, but weren’t ready to name it yet.

The feast to celebrate their successful battle was set for the following day. tonight, Spencer and I ate dinner again together in the small dining hall. Conversation was sparse as usual, but it beat the silence I had been taking my meals in during his absences. I asked how my plan went, and he said it was too much to thank them for their victory, which filled me with a new sense of pride. 

“I met your uncle, Lord Link, after the battle was won,” Spencer commented off-handedly, making me almost choke on the sip of wine I had just taken. 

“You did?” I asked, and he nodded. 

“He asked if you were making me work for affection, and I informed him that his particularly stubborn niece made me work for just about everything. He was pleased to hear that.” He said, making me smile as I pictured him saying that to my husband. 

“Battles should be sparse this far north for a while. Winter is beginning, and with it comes blizzards. Southern armies wouldn’t dare attack us when we are in our element. Your uncle and father’s army are set up about a hundred miles south in case any smaller skirmishes break out. Once winter ends, the northern armies will join them, and the real war will begin. The south had hoped this sad excuse would draw us out, but the north is not dumb enough to take the bait.” He said. 

I nodded, “Do the blizzards reach that far south?” 

He shook his head, “No, they may get some snow flurries, but that’s all. Perhaps when the north marches south to join them, you can accompany me. It would give you a chance to see your family… and thaw out from your first real winter. I’m sure my father, old as he is, can manage the keep for a couple months.” 

“I would like that,” I said, smiling. 

He nodded, “I’ll write to him soon to ensure he makes arrangements then.” 

His father didn’t live here at Caerwatch Keep; he was at one of the smaller keeps further north. From what I’ve heard, his father gave Caerwatch Keep to Spencer to give him something to be serious about and mature more before taking a wife… that was nearly 6 years ago. 

After dinner was finished, the two of us made our way to our chambers together. A comfortable and familiar silence fell between us as we both went about getting ready for bed. I had made sure the linens were changed while we were at dinner to give Spencer a fresh, clean bed to sleep in after being at the camp for over a week. Snow whispered against the window glass, gentle and rhythmic — not a storm, just a reminder of where we were. That we were home.

I was sat at my small vanity, brushing out my hair. Spencer moved about behind me, methodically snuffing out the candles. It had been my task while he was gone — I never did it as cleanly as he did. He hadn’t said anything about taking it back, just moved through the room quietly, like settling back into an old rhythm.

Then, before I could even process what I was doing, the brush had been set down, and I had turned in the chair. My hands were resting on the top of the back of the chair, and my chin rested on top of them. 

“I missed you.”

Although it was said in a whisper, the words cut through the air like steel slicing through flesh. The air hung heavily as I waited for him to react.

Spencer froze halfway to the last candle. For a second, he didn’t turn — like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. Then he straightened and looked over his shoulder at me.

I met his eyes, heart thudding like I’d said something scandalous. In a way, I guess I had. Neither of us had expressed such emotions towards one another; it was foreign to us.

“I didn’t know I would,” I said, voice still quiet as I rose from the chair. “But I did. Every morning. Every night. I missed you.”

Spencer turned fully then, his expression unreadable — not hard, not mocking, just… stunned.

“I thought about you constantly,” I went on, stepping closer. “Wondering if you were cold, if you’d eaten, if the snow had slowed you. I kept your glove with me; in a way, it made it feel like you weren’t so far. Every day I’d tuck it into my pocket, every evening, when I would go to bed, I set it on my bedside table. It felt like I was a little girl again, taking my favorite doll with me wherever I went. It was silly, honestly, but it made me feel better.”

He stared at me, barely breathing.

“I missed you,” I said again, softly.

And that’s when he crossed the space between us.

It wasn’t rushed. He didn’t sweep me off my feet like a gallant knight in some tale. He just stepped close, raised a hand to gently touch the edge of my hair — like he was grounding himself in the fact I was real. There. With him. Still waiting.

“I read your letter,” he said, finally breaking his silence quietly. “Over and over.”

I smiled, a little shy. “You didn’t say anything when you came home.”

“I don’t think I was ready to admit it… that I missed you too.” 

There was a brief moment where the world around us seemed to freeze in place, even the fire in the hearth seemed to still. 

And then he dipped his head, slowly, like he was giving me every chance to turn away. But I didn’t.

Our lips met — soft, searching, hesitant at first. It was nothing like the sad excuse of a kiss we shared at our wedding. That one was stiff, like kissing the cold stone walls of the keep. This one was full of warmth. A real kiss. Our first true kiss.

His hand curled behind my neck, fingers sliding into my hair, as my own fingers gripped the front of his tunic. He tasted like snow and ash and something uniquely Spencer — something I hadn’t known I craved until now.

When we pulled apart, my cheeks felt flushed, and my breath trembled.

“Next time you write to me, I expect more than just, Lord Agnew.” I said after a moment, pulling a whisper of a smile from the man in front of me. 

He nodded, “I think I can manage that.” 

“Good.” 

He kissed me again — deeper this time, a promise.

Then, he stepped away and went to put out the last of the candles, besides the ones on our side tables. I went over to my side and climbed in. Nothing more was said as Spencer climbed in on his side. There were no teasing remarks about the usual distance between the two that had shrank significantly. Only the slow movement of Spencer’s arm coming to rest around my waist as if he was testing to see if that was okay. I didn’t give him a direct answer, just sighed contentedly and whispered:

“I’m glad you came home.”

He tightened his arm around my waist.

“So am I.”

The following morning, I was expecting to wake up to an empty but still warm bed, assuming Spencer would wake before me like usual. I was not expecting to be woken up by Angela and Ser Damien barging into our chambers. My head was resting on Spencer’s chest, one hand gripping his tunic as he slept on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding me close. We were both startled awake by Damien’s thundering voice. 

“Rise and shine, lovebirds! The war council waits for no one—not even those tangled in wedded bliss!”

“Oh! Oh, look at them, they’re actually cuddling!” Angela gushed from beside Damien. 

I sat up, subtly scooting away from Spencer, and untangling our legs under the furs to allow him to sit up as well. 

“Not cuddling,” Spencer muttered, whipping his hand down his face. “Just… sleeping. In the same bed. Like married people do.”

“Oh no, darling,” Damien said with a smirk, crossing his arms. “That’s not just sleeping. That’s ‘I missed you while you were off playing soldier,’ sleeping. That’s ‘I have your glove under my pillow’ sleeping.”

I groaned and threw myself back onto the mattress. I grabbed the nearest pillow and held it over my face as I let out a groan. 

“Out,” Spencer growled, voice rough with sleep and mortification. “Out before I run you through with a dull spoon.” 

“You’ll be late,” Damien sang, already turning on his heel. “Get dressed, war hero.”

I removed the pillow from my face to see Angela grinning as she offered a dramatic curtsy before retreating with Damien, whispering something like “Told you something changed,” as the doors shut behind them.

I looked over to Spencer and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips. He glanced over to me, trying to hold his glare but failing, and cracked a smile as well. 

“We should get up, we’ve overslept.” He sighed, already pulling the furs off of him. 

I nodded, sitting back up and watching as he hastily grabbed a different pair of trousers before disappearing into the washroom. I stood as well and went over to the wardrobe to select a dress for today. I settled on a simple one that was easy enough to pull on quickly, so I wouldn’t be too far behind Spencer. When he exited the washroom, he was dressed only in his trousers and socks. I tried not to stare as he sat on the bed and put his boots on. Once they were on, he stood and came over to the wardrobe to grab a tunic. 

“I’ll send Angela in to help you get ready. Try to hurry, I am not sure how long I can stall the meeting.” He said, already heading for the door, tunic still in his hands as he unfolded it. 

Third Person Point of View

“Help Yn get ready,” Spencer said to Angela as he hurried out the door, still shirtless. 

He turned swiftly and began rushing down the hall with Ser Daimen hot on his trail. He yanked his tunic over his head, still grumbling under his breath as they crossed the Keep’s courtyard toward the meeting chambers.

Damien was whistling.

“Stop.” Spencer snapped at his friend. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking things. Loudly.”

“Oh, just that I didn’t expect to find you snuggling your wife like a lovesick pup—”

“She was cold.”

“She was wrapped around you like a winter cloak.”

Spencer cut him a glare.

Damien just shrugged, unbothered. “No judgment. In fact, I’m impressed. All that ‘we’re not friends’ posturing and now look at you two. Practically warm and gooey.”

Spencer’s ears went red. “We just... slept.”

“That wasn’t just sleep, and you know it.” 

Spencer didn’t respond—just walked a little faster.

Damien jogged to keep up, still grinning. “So what happens now? Should I mentally prepare for a mini Lord Agnew running around the keep?”

Spencer shoved open the council doors. “I swear to the Old Gods, Damien. Fuck. Off.”

First Person Point of View

Angela slipped in, and as soon as the door was shut, I shed my nightgown. 

“I swear, not a word, or I’ll send for Lizzy to come help me,” I said, pulling on my dress. 

“You’re glowing.”

The reader scoffed. “I’m flustered because I am late for a meeting. That’s all.”

“No. No, don’t do that. Don’t hide behind practicality,” Angela said, guiding me over to the vanity to fix my hair. “You missed him.”

I didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the mirror. My cheeks were still faintly flushed, and the corner of my mouth refused to stop twitching up.

Angela grinned at my reflection. “So? Was it weird? Or...”

“It was comfortable,” I finally admitted. “Like... falling asleep beside someone who makes the room feel quieter.”

Angela sighed dreamily. “That’s disgustingly poetic.”

I rolled my eyes. “We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

Angela looked entirely unconvinced. “Right. You just happened to wake up draped across him like a content cat in the sun.”

“Fine… we kissed,” I admitted. 

“That’s it?” She asked, slightly shocked. 

“What do you mean that’s it? That’s huge considering we just started conversing like decent humans with one another.” 

“Damn it… I owe Damien and Chanse two hart each… I thought for sure the two of you would finally break down and fuck.” She said. 

My mouth hung open, “You have bet?!” 

She laughed as she finished my hair, “I am sure half of Caerwatch does…” 

“I cannot believe that… Chanse and Damien, sure, but you, Angela? Really?” I asked, though I wasn’t really upset, more so shocked. 

She just shrugged before stooping down to help me put my shoes on. Soon, I was hurrying through the corridors, trying to make up for lost time. Once I got to the doors, I took a second to compose myself and catch my breath before pushing open the large wooden doors. 

The great doors of the war council chamber groaned open. The clatter of boot heels and trailing fabric echoed across the stone floor as I entered with measured calm, my posture poised despite the prickling sense of eyes tracking my every movement.

I had expected whispers. But still, the heat of them curled like smoke behind me.

“…late start,” someone muttered low, not low enough.

“…warm bed, no doubt…”

“…finally acting like a proper wife.”

I kept my chin high, gaze trained forward. My hair was swept back in a neat coil, though a few strands had betrayed me during the morning's rush. I was wearing a deep navy blue wool dress, trimmed in silver thread. A clear nod to the colors of House Agnew. 

Spencer was already at the far end of the room, leaning one hip against the long table as he conversed quietly with Lord Commander Ian and Lady Courtney. At the sound of my footsteps, he glanced up — and though his expression didn’t shift much, something in his stance sharpened, shoulders rising subtly. His eyes flicked past me to the gathered men, catching the tail end of a snide smirk and one raised brow too many.

He straightened.

“I hope everyone’s tongues are warm enough from wagging,” he said dryly, lifting his voice just enough to cut through the low hum. “But unless someone's here to discuss my bedsheets, I suggest we get back to matters of war.”

A brief, awkward silence fell. One of the older northern lords cleared his throat and looked away. Another shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Spencer didn’t look at me again, but he slid a seat back beside his own.I moved to take it, my hands steady even as my heartbeat thrummed beneath my skin. I didn’t thank him aloud. I didn’t have to. But as I sat, I let the edge of my skirt brush against his leg. And under the table, I felt the briefest press of his knee against mine — subtle, anchoring.

Let them whisper.

Let them wonder.

There were more important things to speak of. 

“With winter setting in soon, the southern enemies wouldn’t dare travel this far and fight us when we have a clear advantage. So, in the meantime, we do everything necessary to prepare. That means forging weapons, armor. Ensuring that food stocks are adequate not only for the winter but for the war to come.” Spencer began. 

“I will also taks the towns women to continue to prepare bandages as well as begin weaving canvas for tents.” I added, and Spencer gave a nod. 

“In the meantime… we have a battle to celebrate… I believe preparations for that are already in the works?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at me. 

“Yes, the chefs should already be working on preparing a feast. The large main hall will be used to house the higher-ranked soldiers, including all you men here. I have also arranged for food to be delivered to the villages for the men who have returned home to their wives and children as well.” I said. 

“That’s a waste. The townspeople join us because it is their duty. They do not need such rewards.” One of the lords, Lord Todd, said. 

“Did the townsfolk not fight beside you?” I asked him. 

“Aye, they did bu-” 

“Do you not call the men who fight alongside you your brothers?” 

“Aye, we do, however, my la-” 

“Then they will be rewarded. That’s final.” I said firmly. 

I thought I had successfully shut him down, but turns out he wasn’t finished with his temper tantrum. 

“Where does a southern bastard get the idea that she gets to call the orders in a war meeting?” Lord Todd sneered. 

I remained calm and slowly turned to Spencer beside me. 

“How many men did we lose in this battle?” I asked. 

“Less than twenty.” 

“Mhm, and if we had used another tactic instead of the one I suggested, how many men do you think we would have lost, charging head-on into the valley?” 

“More than twenty,” Spencer said, glancing at me. 

I nodded, “Lord Todd, I won’t sit here and pretend to be a soldier. I am far from it. However, two things are true about me. One, I grew up going to war councils with my father. I learned war strategies not by running my mouth and swinging a sword around, but I learned them by observing and listening. Perhaps you should take up that strategy; it may serve you well. The second truth is, I am Lady Agnew now. And you will respect me. That means, should you ever disagree with my command, you bring it properly, not by blurting out that what I have ordered was wrong. Disrespect me like that again, and I will see to it that you are dealt with properly.” I said, leaving no room for argument. 

Lord Todd’s eyes were wide, and as he shifted his gaze from me to Spencer, as if to ask him if he agreed. 

“Don’t look to me to be your savior here. You heard my wife.” He said simply.

Under the cover of the table, Spencer reached over and gently grabbed my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. I expected him to retract his hand shortly after, but he kept it there until the end of the meeting. 

After everyone had filed out, Spencer turned to me, that faint smile that I was growing to like even more present once again. 

“You should put northern lords in their place more often.” He said. 

“I think I already do that enough with my husband.” I teased. 

He shook his head, looking down, clearly trying to hide his smile. 

“You know you can smile around me. I quite like it actually.” I said, standing up. 

“Old habits are hard to break.” He admitted. 

I nodded understandingly. 

“Come, we have a feast to get ready for.” I said, offering him my hand. 

That night, the great hall was warm with firelight and loud with laughter, heavy with the scent of roasted venison and spiced squash, and sweet mead that was saved for special occasions and flowed like it had something to prove. I hadn’t meant to drink as much as I did.

Truly.

But it only took one cup to take the edge off the nerves that had followed me since the council meeting. And then another, when Angela slid her goblet toward me with a wink and said, “Tonight, my lady, we feast like queens.”

I’m not even sure when the third happened. Or the fourth.

By the time the musicians were playing their third round of reels and Chanse was halfway into a story about a goat, a bannerman’s daughter, and a set of antlers, which I was struggling to determine if it was true or not, my cheeks were warm, my words a little looser, and my legs delightfully wobbly beneath the table.

“I adore you,” I slurred at Angela, throwing my arm dramatically over her shoulder. “You’re my absolute favorite woman in this keep, perhaps in all of Virelia. In fact, I’d marry you if I hadn’t already been shoved into holy wedlock with Lord Frowns-a-lot.”

Angela cackled, leaning into me. “You’d have to fight the goat, I’m afraid. He got to me first.”

Chanse snorted ale out of his nose. “You know, My Lady, if you tire of the frowns, I’d make a dashing concubine. I’ve been told I snore less than most men.” He said, batting his eyes at me. 

I patted his cheek with a grin. “If I get tired of frowns, and Angela still chooses the goat over me, I’ll let you keep my lap warm, Chanse.” 

That was about when Spencer barked out a laugh — a real laugh, not his usual half-amused huff. I blinked, turning toward him. 

He was a few seats down the table, nursing a tankard of mead with his chin resting on one hand, watching me like someone observing a small, drunken bird who had wandered in from the cold.

“Are you laughing at me?” I demanded, pointing at him with the confidence of a war general.

“Never,” he said, smiling into his cup. “I’m laughing near you.”

I narrowed my eyes, then promptly stumbled sideways into Angela’s lap. The room swayed. Or maybe that was me. “I think I’m drunk.”

Spencer stood, sliding his chair back. “You think?”

“I’m going to bed,” I announced, trying to rise with dignity, which was difficult when your knees have conspired against you.

“I’ll walk her,” Spencer said to no one in particular, already at my side, one hand at my elbow.

Angela gave a mock salute. “Try not to let her seduce you, my lord.”

Spencer gave an exaggerated wince as he helped me stand. “Noted.”

We made it out of the hall and into the quieter corridors of Caerwatch. I still swayed slightly on my feet, looking at my husband.

“You’re very warm,” I muttered, leaning into him.

“You’re very drunk.” 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” I asked, squinting up at him.

He huffed a breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. “I think you’re going to regret every word of this tomorrow.”

“Nah…I bet you think I’m so pretty,” I whispered, poking his chest.

He didn’t answer. Just shook his head and steered me toward our chamber door.

Inside, he helped me out of my cloak, his hands steady and patient. I turned to him once he had it hung by the hearth.

I gasped and turned to him.

“Spencer.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you trying to undress me?” I asked, shocked. 

“I am trying to help you into your night gown so you can sleep comfortably,” He said, guiding me to the chair to sit down so he could take my shoes off, clearly not trusting my abilities to balance on one foot. 

I gasped again as he reached under my skirt slightly to grab my foot. 

“You are trying to undress me!” 

He looked up at me from where he was crouched in front of me, “Would you like to sleep in your gown, corset, and shoes?” 

“No.” I drew out the word.

“That’s what I thought, stay here, I am going to grab your night gown.” He said, setting my shoes off to the side before standing up. 

“You know, Spencer,” I tried to say his name seductively, “I didn’t say that I didn’t want you to undress me…” 

He ignored my comment, walking back over to me, night gown in hand, “Stand up.” 

I stood and was chest to chest with him. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“I did.” He said, carefully helping me out of the dress, then helping me carefully step over where it had pooled at my feet. 

“Turn around, let me undo the corset.” He said, hands already on my shoulders, turning me around.

He was surprisingly careful as he undid the laces and slid it off my body. 

“So… what do you say, want to fuck your wife tonight?” 

Once again, he ignored my question, “Here, can you get your shift off and put this on?” 

“Or you could do it.” 

He sighed, clearly seeing he wasn’t going to win this battle. 

“Arms up,” he said, holding the nightgown out to make sure he had it the right way before reaching over to pull my shift over my head. 

Then he carefully pulled the night gown over my head, making sure my arms went into the right holes and making sure I was covered. The whole time, he was looking up, focusing on the ceiling. 

“If you’re not going to fuck me, you could at least look at me…” I said, pouting. 

“I could have, but I was trying to be respectful to my very drunk wife, whom I’ve never seen naked, and who I would like to make the conscious decision to be naked in front of me when she’s not drunk.” He said. 

If I had been sober, I would have probably melted at that, but in my intoxicated state, all I could do was pout even more. 

“Oh, now who’s being miss frowns a lot?” He teased. 

I crossed my arms over my chest like a child who was moments away from a tantrum. 

“I’ll tell you what, we can discuss this tomorrow. Deal?” 

I sighed dramatically, “Fine.” 

“Okay, bedtime then.” He said, guiding me over to the bed. 

He pulled back the furs and helped get in before tucking me in. 

“Will you at least stay?” I whispered, suddenly very tired.

He nodded. “Of course.”

I think I fell asleep. I know I woke again, stomach turning, head pounding. I barely made it to the chamber pot in time.

He was there in an instant. Holding my hair back. Steadying me. Saying nothing.

When I was done and thoroughly mortified, he handed me a damp cloth. “You done conquering your liver, my lady?”

I groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I glared at him through damp lashes. “Don’t tell Damien.”

He smiled again — that same maddening smile — as he tucked me back under the covers. “It’ll be our little secret.”

And this time, when he climbed into bed beside me, I curled toward him without thinking.

He didn’t pull away.

He just breathed in, slow and quiet.

And stayed.

When I woke again, the fire in the hearth was the only light. The curtains had been drawn over the windows. I glanced around and found a folded piece of parchment on the side table. I picked it up and squinted in the dim light to read it. 

Good Morning, My Wife

Not sure if you remember much of it, but you had quite the time at the feast. I figured you would be at least a bit hungover this morning, so I let you sleep. I will be by around lunch to check on you. Get some rest. 

Lord Agnew

Sorry, Your Husband, Spencer 

I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he had crossed out the first sign-off and rewritten it. I didn’t remember much of the night before, but I remember drinking a lot of mead. 

I laid back down, head pounding, and closed my eyes. It wasn’t too long before the door gently opened. I squinted in the light to see Spencer entering. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” He teased. 

I groaned, covering my face with the pillow until I heard the door shut. 

“How late is it?” 

“You’ve slept through lunch. I can have Lizzy bring you something soon.” He said, walking in to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Sorry about last night…” I mumbled. 

“Happens to the best of us… I’m just glad it wasn’t Damien this time.” 

I huffed a laugh, “My head is pounding.” I groaned. 

“I figured,” He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small vial, “Here, drink this, it should help.” 

I gave him a weird look as I sat up. 

“It’s not poison.” He said, seeing the look I gave him. 

I took it from and pinched my nose as I downed it. I wiped my mouth and looked at him. 

“Please tell me I didn’t say or, gods forbid, do anything embarrassing,” I said. 

“Well, I guess that depends on your definition of embarrassing…” 

“Oh no, what did I do?” I asked, already dreading the answer. 

“Well, you flirted a lot… with Angela, Chanse, and me… I got you to our chambers and helped you out of your dress and into your night gown…” 

My heart began to race as thoughts of what could have happened next popped up. 

“You asked me to fuck you… I refused. You told me if I wasn’t going to fuck you, I could at least look at you while you were changing but again, I refused. I wasn’t going to take advantage of you like that… then you passed out and woke up to hurl. And that was about it.” 

“Spencer, I am so sorry, I didn’t know what I was saying…” 

“It’s okay, you were actually quite funny. But just so we’re clear, nothing happened, I didn’t even kiss you. Just held you while you fell asleep.” He said. 

“Thank you…” I whispered, “For not taking away my first time like that… a lot of men would’ve.” 

“Your first time? Not our first time?” He asked. 

I nodded, suddenly even more embarrassed, “Yeah… I’ve never… done anything… with anyone, or even myself…” I confessed. 

“Hey,” He reached over and placed his hand over mine, “that doesn’t matter to me… and besides, it’s not something that can’t be learned.” 

I scoffed, “Oh yeah, and who do I go to to learn it?” 

“I can show you.” He said.

There was no teasing in his tone. It was honestly one of the most genuine things I think he’s ever said in his entire life. 

“Really?” I asked gently. 

His eyes softened, reminding me of the stray puppies that would wander through the villages back at Seastar Hold, and he nodded softly. 

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[thenameswinterfics]

This is the masterlist that contains all the fics and works related to all the characters from the TV show "House of the Dragon", broadcasted on HBO and HBO Max. Currently, it mainly contains works about Cregan Stark, Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen, but more characters will be probably add in the future.

I do not own neither the characters, nor the show or the opera they appear in. All the rights are reserved to George R. R. Martin and HBO.

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Masterlists under the cut.

CREGAN STARK MASTERLIST

This section contains all the fics and works related to Jacaerys Velaryon, portrayed by Harry Collett.

Coming soon...

This section contains all the fics and works related to Daeron Targaryen, a character that will made his official appearance in the third season. Since the casting has not been announced yet, his faceclaims will be Harry Gilby and Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen.

Coming soon...

This section contains all the fics and works related to Aegon Targaryen, portrayed by Tom Glynn-Carney.

BOUND BY FIRE || Words: 3,3 K || Warnings: Fluff, angst, suggestive smut, Alicent is the mother she is, kind mention of canon typical incest, canon divergent, hopeful ending, no beta reading. || AO3 LINK || 18 + ; MINORS DNI

As the child of Rhaenyra and born dragonless, you grow up enjoying the company of Sunfyre, whose bond is forged by your love and affection for Aegon. But when the duties of the crown tear you apart and the cries of a dragon echo in the night, it is up to you to mend the bond or let it break of its own accord.

[fireheartlady]

bound by the past headers

• credits to @kencnlotus on twitter if you save/use it

[herondaledits]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙛𝙞𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙨

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[flytomystuff]

dante and valentina headers.

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