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[and-claudia]

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Last updated: June 2nd, 2026

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[and-claudia]

His Heir pt. 42 (Darth Maul x pregnant! reader)

A/N: What is this?!?! She lives?? Yes, I live... umm yeah so sorry this took so long... see my last post for more info about why I have been kinda MIA and posting very sporadically.... That being said I still won't have a consistent posting schedule, but I do want to get back into it more.

Warnings: smut (Figured yall deserved some...), oral... I think that is it... let me know if I missed one.

Wordcount: 2583

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True to his words, the housekeeping droids had in fact left us two outfits, one to sleep in and one for the next day. As Maul and I settled in for the night, I tried to get him to tell me where we were going, but he wouldn’t budge. Finally, I accepted that this would truly be a surprise and let it be as we both fell asleep. 

The following morning, I woke up to breakfast in bed before we got ready and headed to the hangar. To my surprise, Dasar and Totin were there to see us off. 

“You two go enjoy yourselves before my nephew gets here,” Dasar said, giving me a hug. 

“Well, I am hoping we will, but someone won’t tell me where we’re going…” I said, playfully cutting my eyes over at Maul. 

“Oh, don’t worry, he got our input on it, we wouldn’t let him take you somewhere you wouldn’t enjoy,” Totin said, giving me a hug as well. 

“Alright, well I am trusting you then… Congratulations, you two. I hope you both enjoy the rest of your wedding celebrations.” I said with a smile. 

“Thank you, and thank you for your help, it means the world to have my best friend play such a big role in my big day.” Dasar said. 

“You’re welcome, now stop that sappy crap, or I’m going to start crying.” I said, fanning my eyes. 

Maul said his congratulations and goodbyes as well before we boarded the ship. 

“Wait here, darling, I will go put our location into the ship's navigation,” Maul said, leading me over to one of the cushioned benches on the ship. 

When he returned, I asked once again, “Where are you taking us?” 

“I’ve already said you’ll have to wait and see… we should be there in about six or so hours… so, we have plenty of time, just the two of us.” He said, leaning in close. I could feel his breath against my neck. 

I smiled to myself, and instead of playing into it, I took the opportunity to try to get more information about our destination. 

“Oh, will we have company at our secret destination?” I asked, still tilting my head to give him better access to press his lips against my neck. 

He huffed a laugh against my neck before pulling away. I turned to face him, and he was smiling slightly while shaking his head, “I don’t plan on it, no… but why wait?” 

This time, I gave in. Our lips met and turned to face him more. My hands found the bottom of his tunic and tugged it up to untuck it. 

“Eager, are we?” Maul teased against my lips. 

“You started this.” I shot back. 

Maul pulled away fully from me. The look in his eyes was one I could never grow tired of seeing. The one that meant he was about to absolutely ruin me. 

“Perhaps we should move this to somewhere more comfortable, hm?” He asked, already standing up. 

He turned and offered me a hand up, which I took. Once, I was standing when a quiet alarm sounded through the ship. We were about to jump to lightspeed. Without a second thought, Maul pulled me against him and adjusted his stance slightly, preparing for the ship to make the jump and shudder slightly. After he was certain that there was no more risk of me losing my balance and falling, he released his grip on my hips and slid his hand into mine to lead us to the sleeping quarters on the ship. 

He guided me to the bed, where he gave me a gentle kiss before grabbing the hem of my top and pulling it over my head. He returned the favor and pulled off his own tunic before giving me another gentle kiss. 

Then his lips slowly left mine and began trailing down to my neck. Then from my neck to my collarbone, from my collarbone to my breast. He continued leaving a train of kisses down the side of my belly, right down to the waistband of the sweatpants I was wearing low so they sat under the lower curve of my belly. Admittedly, it wasn’t the sexiest outfit I could have been wearing, but I knew we’d be traveling today and I wanted to be comfortable… not that Maul seemed to mind. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look like this?” Maul asked, looking up at me from where he was now kneeling in front of me. 

“A few times, yes.” I teased, knowing he loves to remind me how much he enjoyed the way I looked currently. 

“And I will continue to do so.” He vowed, reaching up to grab the sides of my pants just below the waistband. He pulled them down gently. Then, upon seeing that I had nothing on underneath them, he sat back some to look up at me and raise his brow muscle at me. 

“What? I figured wherever we were going may take some time to get there…” I admitted. 

Maul didn’t answer, just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of my thigh. He was still leaning slightly to the side, he kept leaving a trail of kisses as he inched inward, closer to my core. And all at once I realized where this was going. 

He pulled away and sat back again, “Go sit on the bed, my love.” 

I couldn’t help the heat that rushed up to my cheeks as he said it. I obeyed his request and sat on the edge of the bed as he came closer. He positioned himself right between my legs. 

“Lie back, let me take care of you.” 

I did as he said and relaxed into the plush mattress and soft bed sheets. He wasted no time peppering kisses up the inside of one of my thighs, then turning and giving my leg the same attention. Then, when he reached my core again, he was so close I could feel his breath, sending shivers up my spine. 

A low growl-like sound left his lips before I felt his tongue slip into me. His movements brought a gentle sigh from me, as I relaxed evermore into bed while he continued to fuck me with his tongue. 

I was already getting breathless when I felt him pull away slightly, only to adjust himself, and this time, his mouth went to my clit. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending my senses into overdrive. 

“Oh fuck, Maul.” I said, head tipping back slightly as my hands grabbed the silky sheets below me. 

My moans mixed with the wet sounds of his work as I was getting closer to my climax. 

“M’close. Keep going…” I all but begged, as if he would actually stop. 

A few moments later, my legs were shaking, and I was coming. Maul moved from my clit back down to lap up every drop of my release that he could. When he was done, he sat back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up and coming over to lay beside me. I turned my head as he leaned closer and kissed me gently. 

“Can I return the favor?” I asked, already reaching for the waistband of his trousers, but he caught my wrist gently. 

“Perhaps later.” He said gently. 

Usually I would argue, but my mind was still fuzzy. Maul scooted closer, and I leaned into him more. Despite the warmth still flowing through my body, I nuzzled up against him. 

“How does a warm shower sound?” He asked gently. 

I hummed in response. 

“Is that a yes?” He asked. 

“Only if you join me.” I said. 

“Of course.” He said before kissing the top of my head. 

It was times like these when I was beyond grateful that the man I loved enjoyed traveling in style. Most ships' refreshers are tiny. Hell, in most refreshers on ships, you could do your business, wash your hands, and take a shower without really moving from a single spot. This ship, however, was the opposite. The refresher was quite large, and the shower had enough space for two. So that is where Maul and I found ourselves. Maul was always so gentle with me after sex. It was one of my many favorite things about him, honestly. 

I was bundled in a thick coat that Maul had insisted I wear before we even left the ship. I followed him down the transport ramp and promptly forgot every complaint I'd had about not knowing where he was taking me.

"Oh." The word escaped me in a breath.

Then another.

"Oh my Maker..."

Mountains. Endless mountains.

Towering peaks stretched across the horizon, their tops buried beneath brilliant white snow that glittered beneath the afternoon sun. Dense evergreen forests blanketed the lower slopes. They too were blanketed in snow, their dark green poking out against the pristine white landscape.

Everything looked untouched. Peaceful. Beautiful.

I stood frozen at the bottom of the ramp, staring.

Snow drifted lazily through the air around us. Actual snow. Not a holo. Not a picture. Real snow.

A grin spread across my face before I could stop it.

"Maul."

He stopped beside me. I looked up at him. Then back at the mountains. Then back at him.

"Maul."

There was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes now.

"I assume that is approval."

I laughed. "Approval?" I gestured wildly toward the scenery. "This is incredible."

The smile threatening his expression softened slightly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I simply stood there staring at everything. The fresh snow. The forests. The mountains. The crisp cold air.

It was unlike anywhere I'd ever spent any meaningful amount of time. Mandalore had never looked like this. Dathomir certainly didn't.

And despite the little traveling I had done with with Crimson Dawn, most of it involved spaceports, cities, casinos, meetings, and compounds.

Not this. Never this. Eventually, I glanced over at him.

"You planned this?"

"Obviously."

"How long?"

His expression became suspiciously neutral.

"Technically? ...Several months."

My eyes narrowed. "Technically?"

A slight nod. “It is technically an investment."

I nodded and looked back at the mountains. 

"I've always wanted to visit somewhere like this."

"I know."

The simple answer made me blink.

Then he continued, “That is why half the entire planet will be set aside. Left alone, untouched by whatever Crimson Dawn business might be moved here.” 

When I looked back at him, his gaze remained fixed on the scenery.

Not on me. The mountains. The snow. Anywhere except directly at me. Which meant he was about to say something sincere. Something he still wasn't entirely comfortable saying.

"I know I have not taken you many places."

My smile faded slightly.

"Maul…"

He continued before I could interrupt.

"You have spoken before about wanting to travel. Properly. Not for business. And I know that this isn’t exactly that, but…" he took a deep breath, “I hope it is a step in the right direction. I want you to see the galaxy, I want our son to see the galaxy… but I want you both to be safe. The thought of taking either of you somewhere that I do not have control, somewhere you could get hurt… or worse. I…” another pause, “I don’t know why I feel this way. I know you are more than capable of protecting yourself and that you would do whatever you needed to in order to protect our son. I wish I could let go of this… feeling, but anytime I try to convince myself it will be okay, it just comes back… I’m sorry.” 

I stared at him for a moment before stepping in front of him. I knew how difficult apologies were for him. But I wasn’t too sure that this warranted an apology. 

“Maul, look at me.” I said, taking both of his hands in mine. 

He reluctantly turned his gaze away from the mountains and down at me.

“You don’t have to apologize for wanting to protect us. And that feeling is anxiety. It’s normal and honestly quite expected when you’re in love in our line of work and when becoming new parents. It’s okay… and honestly, it’s quite sweet. You bought…” I stopped myself briefly as it occurred to me that the likelihood of that was slim, Maul rarely did things the easy way. “Acquired an entire planet for us. That takes care of me wanting to travel, you wanting to keep us safe, and both of us wanting to expand Crimon Dawn. It’s perfect, Maul, thank you.” I finished by lifting up onto my toes slightly and kissing him. 

We stayed for a few more moments before Maul pulled one of his hands from mine. “Shall we head to where we will be staying?” 

I nodded, and he began leading me to the cabin nearby.  It sat about halfway up the mountainside. There was a large open path in the trees that served as a landing area for our ship, which I was happy and extremely grateful for, knowing that if I would have had to hike up that mountain, it would have done me in. 

As we approached the cabin, I took in the view that surrounded us even more. Snow-covered trees. Frozen streams. Towering cliffs. And complete silence.

No Crimson Dawn. No guards. No datapads. No advisors. No meetings. Just us.

The cabin itself was small. Not tiny. But cozy. Built from dark wood with a stone chimney and a steep roof covered in snow. Warm light glowed from the windows. And somehow that made it even better.

"Oh, I love it."

Maul looked mildly surprised.

"You have not even been inside."

"I don't care."

I pointed dramatically at the cabin, "It looks like something out of a storybook." I said, thinking back to the books I used to sneakily read as a child from the library in the palace. 

He stared at it. Then at me. Then back at it.

"I am uncertain what a storybook cabin is."

I laughed.

"Trust me. This is one."

He shook his head and continued toward the door.

Inside, the cabin was just as perfect. A large stone fireplace dominated the living room. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling. Soft blankets covered oversized couches. A kitchen sat off to one side. A staircase led upstairs. There were a few modern conveniences hidden throughout, enough to keep things comfortable, but otherwise it was surprisingly simple.

No towering technology. No luxury penthouse aesthetics. No elaborate décor. Just warmth. Comfort. Home. Even if just for a week.

I slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in.

"It's perfect."

This time, Maul didn't look surprised.

Almost relieved.

"I thought you would like it."

I wandered toward the fireplace. Then the windows. Then the couch. Then immediately toward another window. Everything was fascinating.

I heard him chuckle quietly behind me.

"Excited?"

I turned around, "Very."

"Good." The softness in his voice made me smile.

Outside, snow continued to fall gently across the mountains. Inside, a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. And for the first time in months, there was absolutely nowhere either of us needed to be. No responsibilities. No meetings. No empire.

Just a week in the mountains. Together. And honestly? I couldn't imagine a better place to spend the last few months before our son's arrival.

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[and-claudia]

Pause... I need to go back through and read what I have done for Bound by Winter...

So I have challenged myself to not post a part until I have the next part done to keep me a little bit more on track with keeping up with writing (didn't help...) but I am sticking to this method still... but I was working on part 16... only to find a part 16 already written.... the one I was working on is cutently 5600+ words but now I am confused as to how I missed parts.... FUCK.

[and-claudia]

Hey guys!! Don’t know how many of yall will actually see this but I am trying to get back into my writing. I truly forgot how much I used to love it so I am trying to get back to it.

In other news, I am going to a ren faire this weekend and it’s way bigger than the one I’ve been to twice before. I am dressing up and I’ve decided to go as basically the reader (or like my OC of them kinda) from my story Bound By Winter and I am very excited!!

[and-claudia]

Okay.... I think I know why I have fallen out of writing over the past couple of years... about two years ago I started dating a guy that we now call "asshat" or "asshole" becuase that is what he was/is... I think at the time I just loved the idea of being in love even if that's not what it was. And he made me feel ashamed of being myself 100% so I put writing on the back burner becuase it wasn't something I wanted to have to explain to him, fastforward to almost a year of dating him, he breaks up with me after his mom was extremely rude to me and he sided with her (she also insulted my parents which she had 0 right to do having only met them once). Then a few months later I started dating another guy who I had been friends with for 3 years, we've been together almost 2 years now and I have told him everything about me and he loves me all the more for it. Even when I am telling him about my fics where I am writing reader inserts with smut, he supports me in it and has even said he'd like to read them... idk how I feel about that... but maybe one day I will let him. He wouldn't be surprised by some of it that's for sure xD.

But all of this to say is that I am trying to get back into it now that I have realized he's not going to judge me for it and is actually very supportive of it. And thank you to those who liked and commented it means the world to me.

[and-claudia]

Hey guys!! Don’t know how many of yall will actually see this but I am trying to get back into my writing. I truly forgot how much I used to love it so I am trying to get back to it.

In other news, I am going to a ren faire this weekend and it’s way bigger than the one I’ve been to twice before. I am dressing up and I’ve decided to go as basically the reader (or like my OC of them kinda) from my story Bound By Winter and I am very excited!!

[and-claudia]

Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 15

Hey... long time no update.... well here it is!!

words: 5100+

Warnings: discussion of religion, discussion of family planning

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“Spencer—” I said, my voice breaking open.

He was beside me in a heartbeat.

“Fuck.”

There wasn’t a second wasted.

Spencer turned on his heel and strode from the window, his voice ringing through the corridor before I could even move to follow.

“Raise the fire bell…now! Get word to the stables and the gatehouse!” he barked, loud enough that servants down the stairwell snapped to motion. “I want the fire brigade mounted and on the road in less than ten minutes.”

The keep jolted to life.

Boots thundered against stone. Someone dashed down the main stair shouting for cloaks and buckets. Stablehands were already flying toward the outer yard, calling for lanterns and snowhooks and the shovels kept ready for winter emergencies. The fire bell clanged overhead—sharp, clean, urgent—and within heartbeats, more men were appearing from rooms and corridors, fastening belts, gathering arms. Not for battle. For flame.

“Clear the road to the village!” Spencer called out, now halfway down the steps, already meeting one of the watchmen as he turned the corner. “I want scouts reporting back every mile…no one rides in blind.”

“Yes, m’lord!” came the quick response.

Servants moved with purpose. Guards gathered in clusters. The stone walls of Caerwatch Keep, which had been still and quiet only minutes earlier, now pulsed with a current of command. The practiced rhythm of a people who’d lived in winter long enough to know: fire could kill faster than any cold.

I stayed where I was by the window for a long moment, one hand resting lightly against the glass, watching the strange orange glow blur behind the veil of snow.

The blizzard had slowed. The winds no longer howled—but it was still snowing, steady and light, the way it did just before a storm broke for good. White dusted the courtyards below, the torches lining the gatehouse flickering as men ran past, all answering his call.

Spencer had gone from husband to Lord in the space between heartbeats.

He hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t asked questions. Hadn’t waited for a full report.

He just acted.

Even now, I could hear his voice below—issuing orders, redirecting men, calming a stablehand who fumbled with a lantern, telling someone else to send for the quartermaster in case the village families needed food or shelter.

He was everything a lord should be in a moment like this. And still… Still, my chest ached.

Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know what had caught fire. I didn’t know if anyone was hurt. I didn’t know how far it had spread, or if it could reach the woods, or what it would mean if it did. I didn’t know anything, and I hated it.

And I couldn't help him.

Not right now.

So instead, I turned from the window.

The corridor was quieter now—just the wind beyond the stone, and the occasional command echoing up from below. My feet carried me without much thought, away from the warmth of our chambers, away from the stairwell where the keep still buzzed with motion.

I needed quiet.

The godswood stood still beneath the snow, just past the side hall and through the arched door at the far end. It was a sacred place—even here in the north, far from the Great Septs of the south. I wasn’t sure if the gods could hear better through the snow, but I hoped they might.

I wrapped my cloak tighter and stepped outside, the soft crunch of fresh snow beneath my boots the only sound as I made my way toward the trees, and the ancient stillness that waited within them.

I passed Spencer briefly, and he saw the look on my face. He could see the worry. 

“We can’t do more than what’s been done right now,” he had told me, his voice low with frustration, and he didn’t try to hide.

“I know,” I whispered.

The fire brigade had lined up and were slowly but steadily making their way to the village. Soon they’d be there to help. They would get the fire put out.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

The wind nipped at the edges of my cloak as I stepped into the godswood. The frost had returned in the night, clinging like lace to the bark of every branch. The trees stood quiet and bone-still, their limbs weighed by winter, and beneath their silence, the sacred heart tree loomed at the center, its white bark streaked crimson by old sap.

I don’t know why I decided to come here specifically. I hadn’t been here in my time since arriving in Caerwatch. My brain had just decided that was where I needed to be right now.

When I stepped past the frost-laden archway of stone that marked the godswood’s threshold, I found someone already sitting beneath the tree.

Septa Amanda.

She turned as I approached, the heavy gray-blue cloak of her order pulled tightly over her shoulders. “You’re out late, my lady.”

“I… saw the fire.” I looked away, unsure of what to do with my hands. “I know Spencer’s sent the brigade, but I just… I needed to do something.”

Amanda’s eyes softened. “And so you came here?”

I gave a small nod, then glanced up toward the old carved face in the weirwood’s trunk.

“I came to pray for whoever was affected,” I said. “Or… I think that’s what I came here to do.”

Amanda tilted her head, curious. “I wasn’t aware you followed the Old Gods.”

“I don’t.” I shifted on my feet. “Or maybe I do. I don’t know, truly. We didn’t have a godswood at Seastar Hold. Just a little altar to the Seven in the main hall. But it always felt… distant. Formal.”

She didn’t interrupt, only waited.

“My uncle’s keep, Brightmere, had a godswood,” I went on. “I used to sneak into it sometimes, when I stayed there. Not to pray, exactly. Just to sit and think. It felt quieter than the Seven ever did. Closer.”

Amanda smiled at that. “That’s not uncommon.”

“I suppose my father wasn’t much of a believer either,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Not in his later years. He never told me what to believe, and I never quite figured it out for myself.”

A silence settled, but not an awkward one. The kind that made space.

Amanda finally spoke. “It’s more common than you think—to not know what you believe. To ask questions and not find answers.”

I looked at her. “Aren’t you supposed to convince me otherwise?”

She laughed gently. “No. That’s not what a good septa does.”

Amanda pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Some people follow the Seven. Some look to the Old Gods. Some say there are seven hells, others say there’s only one—and that we’re already living in it. Still others believe there’s no afterlife at all. Just… dust and quiet.”

“And what do you believe?” I asked.

Amanda looked toward the heart tree.

“I believe that doing good in this life matters. That kindness matters. That the people you help, the things you leave better than you found them—that’s what counts. I became a septa not because I believed in the gods, but because I wanted to serve. To be useful. To ease suffering where I could.”

She glanced back at me, smiling. “If there’s a reward after all that? Wonderful. If there’s not? I’ll still have lived a life I’m proud of.”

Her words filled the godswood like warmth in a cold room. I found myself swallowing hard.

“I think I needed to hear that,” I said.

“You don’t have to name what you believe, my lady,” Amanda said gently. “Sometimes, simply hoping that others are safe—that’s a kind of prayer. And if the gods—old or new—are listening, I think they understand that.”

The wind stirred faintly through the branches above. It almost sounded like a breath.

I stepped closer to the heart tree and looked up into its carved face. Not to speak, not to plead—just to stand there. Just to hope.

And for the first time since the chaos of the keep waking up, I didn’t feel so helpless.

I lingered in the godswood long after Amanda had left me alone with my thoughts.

I didn’t notice Spencer until I turned toward the archway. He stood beneath it, half-shadowed by the stone, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching me with quiet eyes. He didn’t look surprised to find me there. Just… curious.

“You’re up early,” I said softly as I approached.

“Never actually went to bed,” he murmured. “Did you?”

I gave a small shake of my head. “No. Too busy thinking.”

He fell into step beside me as we walked the quiet path back toward the keep. The air was still heavy with the cold of night, the torches along the walls flickering low and lazy. It was the kind of silence that felt thick enough to touch.

“I didn’t mean to watch you,” he said after a beat, voice thoughtful. “I was walking the wall and saw you out there. You were… still. Thought maybe you needed someone.”

“I did,” I said, smiling faintly. “But Amanda found me first.”

We crossed the courtyard in silence, the snow creaking softly beneath our boots.

“Would you come to the solar with me?” I asked as we reached the doors. “It’s warmer there… and I’d like to keep my hands busy.”

He nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

We had learned that it was a family home that burned. They suspect their hearth grew out of control and there was nothing they could do. Luckily, no one was hurt or lost, but their home and all their belongings are gone. There were three children and their parents. Everything was burnt to ash. Clothes, food, supplies, toys. All of it. It broke my heart. 

So, Spencer and I set about trying to do what we could to help them from the solar. 

A couple of hours later, in the solar, the fire was still crackling from earlier, casting soft gold across the table where we’d left our crafts. Two small baskets held the unfinished wooden buttons we were painting for the village children—a checkerboard set to replace the toys lost in the fire.

I folded myself onto the window bench, knees drawn up beneath my nightclothes, while Spencer sat beside me, reaching for the paints. He dipped his brush into the black ink first, then white, carefully painting the familiar form of an owl in profile—House Agnew’s sigil.

I smiled. “You’re good at that.”

He looked up. “I was an indoor child. Books and carving knives. Not a lot of swordplay in my early years.”

“That explains the handwriting.”

He snorted softly. “Sharp wit, even this early?”

“I’m tired,” I said, reaching for a shell-shaped button of my own. “Not dead.”

We worked in companionable quiet for a while. My fingers moved automatically, painting gentle curves of seafoam blue, matching the family sigil I hadn’t been born with but raised under, House McLaughlin’s wave crest.

I hesitated, holding the button in one hand and the paintbrush in the other.

“Spencer?”

“Mhm?” His gaze didn’t leave the button he was painting, but he paused, attentive.

“What do you believe in?”

That got his attention. His hand stilled, brush hovering over the table. He looked at me then—not confused, just caught a little off guard.

“I believe in people,” he said finally, voice quiet. “In choices. In consequences. The way we shape the world around us. That’s enough for me.”

“So you’re not religious?”

“Not anymore.”

“…Anymore?”

He nodded. “When I was young, I said the prayers. We all did. But after my mother died…” His eyes dropped back to the table. “After that, the words felt hollow.”

I turned back to the shell I was painting. “I don’t think I ever believed properly. Not in the way you're supposed to. There were shrines in Seastar Hold, but not a godswood. My uncle's keep had one, and I’d go sometimes. But even then, I didn’t know if I was supposed to pray or just… pretend to understand.”

Spencer’s voice was soft. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

“Do you think less of me for not knowing?” I asked.

His brow furrowed as he set his brush down. “Gods, no. If anything, I think more of you. You question. You think. You care. That’s better than a hundred hollow prayers muttered out of fear.”

I looked back at him, the low fire dancing in his silver-blue eyes.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that believing in something isn’t always about gods. Sometimes it’s about believing that what we do matters. That bringing firewood to the villagers matters. That painting checker pieces for children who’ve lost everything matters. That might be all the belief we ever need.”

He paused, thoughtful.

“And not doing it for others to see. Or because you want to play the hero,” he added. “It’s about doing it because you can. Because you want to help people—even if no one ever thanks you for it. Even if no one ever knows. That’s the kind of belief I can stand behind.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was warm. Full. The kind of silence where two hearts rest a little closer.

I reached for another button. “Some part of me still hopes there’s something. Something gentle. Somewhere kind.”

“If there is,” he said, “you’ll find it. You already carry it with you.”

We didn’t speak much more after that. Just the soft strokes of paintbrushes, the glow of the fire, and the easy rhythm of two people slowly building a world where kindness could still bloom in the snow.

And by the time the sun rose—casting honeyed light over Carewatch’s stone halls—we had two full checker sets ready for delivery.

The courtyard outside the main hall—broad and open, walled in by the keep’s high stone arches—was bustling again by the time we stepped through the heavy oak doors. Though the fire had long been put out, the air still carried a strange tension, the hush that followed in the wake of calamity. The soft scrape of boots in snow. The creak of cart wheels. The cold, bright clink of metal as soldiers adjusted straps and moved to their duties.

But something warmer waited for us near the center.

Angela was the first to spot us, standing with Arasha and two of the younger handmaids. Beside them stood Septa Amanda, wrapped in her thick gray cloak, and further down the line…

Matt. Our blacksmith.

They weren’t empty-handed.

Angela stepped forward first, holding out a bundle wrapped in a deep blue shawl. “We weren’t sure how many children were affected… or their ages,” she said, glancing toward Spencer and then to me. “So we made a few of everything. Enough to go ‘round, we hope.”

From the bundle, I could see soft knits peeking out—pale woolen blankets, little mittens, even a few clumsy but clearly hand-sewn hats. Arasha stepped beside her, lifting a cloth-lined basket. Nestled inside were small, stuffed toys shaped like sheep and birds, their seams still showing faint chalk marks. “These are from us,” she said softly. “For comfort. A soft thing to hold helps more than one thinks, after fire.”

“Especially for children who saw too much of it,” Amanda added, nodding gravely.

Matt cleared his throat and stepped forward with a humble nod. In his rough hands he held a crate, inside which rested a dozen or so hand-carved wooden figures. “Didn’t have much time,” he said, almost sheepishly, “but I thought the lads might like ‘em. Toy soldiers. Simple, aye, but strong. No burn’ll break ‘em.”

Spencer stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. “You’ve done well, Matt. This—this all of it—it means more than you know.”

“I do know, m’lord,” he said quietly. “That’s why we did it.”

I looked down at the offerings, then at the people who had made them. Most of them had worked all night. Some had seen the smoke themselves, others had only heard—but all of them had come with something in hand.

Spencer reached for my hand. His fingers were still cold, but they closed around mine with purpose.

“We’ll take them ourselves,” I said, voice soft but sure. “To the families.”

“We were hoping you would,” Angela said, a faint smile playing on her lips.

The snow had settled thick and heavy across the valley, piled high along the stone walls of the Keep and blanketing the forested path that led to the village below. 

I stood at the edge of the courtyard watching as the guards finished harnessing the horses to the sleds. Crates of food, satchels of dried herbs and smoked meat, sacks of coal, and thickly woven blankets were carefully loaded beside the smaller chest we’d packed ourselves — one filled with warm clothing from the Keep’s winter stores, and the hand-made toys some were even from Spencer that he had retrieved from an old storage chest he remembered from his own childhood.

Spencer stepped beside me, gloved hands slipping easily into mine. “Are you sure you want to go all the way out there? The path may be cleared, but it’s still not easy travel.”

“I’m sure,” I said, gripping his fingers tighter. “They lost everything, Spencer. I won’t just send things down. I want to be there.”

He studied my face for a moment — eyes soft with something almost like pride — and then nodded. “I had feeling you’d say something like that, just wanted to be sure.”

The trek down took just over an hour with the guards clearing the narrowest parts of the trail as we went. Snow still clung to the trees in thick drifts, and the air bit at my cheeks, but the adrenaline of purpose was keeping me warm.

When we reached the village, several townsfolk emerged to greet us, expressions weary but surprised to see their Lady and Lord stepping down from the sleds ourselves. I was a little werry myself, not having interacted with the village folk, but I tried not to let them show.

The family who had taken in the displaced ones — the Taylors — were already waiting by the fireside outside their home, two boys clinging to their mother’s skirts and the father nodding deeply in respect. Behind them, the family who had lost everything stood close together. The youngest child, barely older than a year, was bundled tightly in mismatched layers, cheeks red from the cold.

I stepped forward, my voice warm despite the chill in the wind. “I know this doesn’t undo what was lost,” I said, “but we brought supplies. Enough to carry both families through to the next delivery.”

The mother of the displaced family blinked rapidly, eyes shining. “My lady, you didn’t have to come down here y’self.”

I smiled gently. “I did. Because I wanted to.”

Guards began unloading the sleds as I approached with the chest. I set it down and opened it carefully, revealing folded dresses, small tunics, a pair of boots I hoped would fit the eldest boy, and beneath them, a half-dozen hand-made toys — a little horse, a tiny knight with a wooden sword, and a badly painted fox she had insisted on keeping in.

The children’s eyes lit up instantly, and one of the boys gasped. “Is this really for us?”

I knelt carefully, offering the fox to the smallest girl. “It is. His name is Pickle. But I think he’s been waiting for you to give him a new name.”

I noticed Spencer, standing nearby, trying to hide his grin — we’d playfully argued for half an hour while going through storage looking for items to bring over, whether the fox looked more like a “Pickle” or a “Francis.”

I glanced back over my shoulder at him before turning to the two mothers. “We’ve sent word to the Keep’s seamstress as well — she’ll be bringing more for the children in the next few days, clothes properly sized.”

“And we’ll have a small team come help between blizzards to help rebuild your home as quickly and safely as we can,” Spencer added.

The women murmured their thanks, overwhelmed, and the father of the second family looked between them, clearly struck silent by the gesture.

“We’re just glad you’re safe,” I said gently. “Homes can be rebuilt. People can’t.”

One of the little boys ran forward and hugged my legs — tight, sudden, and honest.

I blinked, touched, and rested my hand on his snowy head.

I didn’t expect them to invite us inside — the Taylors had barely enough room for themselves, let alone another family. But once the last crate was unloaded and little boots had stomped around the sleds, the door creaked open and the mother, red-cheeked and warm-eyed, insisted.

“It’s cold and you’ve done more than enough. Let us at least share some tea by the fire.”

Our guards exchanged wary looks, and one stepped closer. “My lady, perhaps it’d be best to return to—”

“I’ll be fine,” I said gently. “You’ll be just outside.”

Spencer raised a brow at me but said nothing, just held out a gloved hand as if to say, After you.

Inside, it was cramped but cozy — two families sharing one long room, the hearth crackling at one end while a bubbling pot gave off the rich scent of root stew. A makeshift cradle had been wedged into the corner, and all the beds had been pushed together to make more floor space.

The older two boys — maybe six and eight — hovered near the crates, clearly too shy to open the games until given permission.

“Would you like to learn how to play something?” I asked, kneeling beside them as I pulled the wooden checkerboard from the chest.

Their eyes lit up.

“It’s simple,” I said, setting the board between us on the floor. “But the pieces are special — see?”

One of the boys picked up a small round disc. “It’s got a shell on it.”

“That’s House McLaughlin,” I told him, smiling. “That’s my father’s house. And the owl on the others? That’s House Agnew — your lord’s house.”

They looked up at Spencer with wide eyes, as if seeing him differently now that his sigil was on a tiny game piece. Spencer just gave them a little nod and a faint smile from the table.

I showed them how to set up the board, how to move, how to hop and take pieces. They caught on quickly, squabbling good-naturedly over who got to be the owl first. I let them play a round together while I stayed at their side, offering tips.

Somewhere behind me, I heard the warm murmur of voices.

Third Person Point of View

Spencer had remained near the hearth, drawn into quiet conversation with the two husbands. They talked about repairs and travel routes and coal supplies, practical things, but Spencer kept glancing over his shoulder toward the corner where his wife sat cross-legged on the floor, two village boys now draped on either side of her, fully engrossed in the checkerboard between them.

She was laughing — not that ladylike, practiced one a Lady wore in court, but the real one. The unguarded one.

And then the baby — the one-year-old with flushed cheeks and a mess of dark curls — squirmed in his mother’s arms and reached toward Spencer with both stubby arms.

“Oh—oh, I’m sorry, my lord, he’s just—she likes new faces—”

But before she could stop him, Spencer had already lifted his arms.

He had never held a baby before. And yet the moment the child was in his hands, it was like something inside him just settled. The baby tucked against his chest, let out a squeaky little sigh, and blinked up at him with contentment.

Spencer stared down, stunned.

“Look at that,” one of the women said with a soft chuckle. “Like she’s known you forever.”

The baby reached up to grab at his beard, and Spencer instinctively ducked his chin and muttered, “Alright, little gremlin.”

First Person Point of View

Something shifted in the air.

I looked up from the checkerboard, ready to suggest a rematch, and my breath caught. There, across the room, Spencer stood with the baby nestled in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was gently swaying — not even aware he was doing it — and murmuring something to the child I couldn’t hear.

He looked… different. Softer. Not less powerful — no, Spencer could never be that — but more. Like I was watching the man who would build not only battlements and strategy, but home.

That was the moment.

Right there, in a crowded village home still lined with soot-stained walls, I knew it: I wanted a child with him.

Not because duty required it. Not for legacy. But because he was the one I wanted to raise one with — because the image of him cradling a child with such silent care would never leave me.

I looked back at the checkerboard, blinking quickly. The boys were too distracted with victory to notice me smiling like an absolute fool.

Later, I would tease him about it.

And when the time came — when I held our child, pressed warm to my chest — I’d remember this moment, and know I’d made the right choice.

Soon after a few more rounds of checkers, some shared tea, and Spencer being shown how to carefully lay down a sleeping baby into their crib without waking them, it was time to leave. 

The family thanked us again as we stepped back into the cold, their breath visible in the fading light. Spencer offered the father one last quiet assurance that supplies would continue to come, then clasped his shoulder in farewell.

We walked back to the path back to the keep in silence, the snow falling lightly again, as if the sky were exhaling. The wind had settled, the blizzard now only a memory in the hush of the evening. Beneath our boots, the packed trail crunched softly, flanked on either side by pale drifts and the charred scent of the fire lingering in the distance. The light from Caerwatch’s high windows glowed like lanterns in the gray.

Spencer didn’t speak until we reached the edge of the courtyard.

“They’ll be all right,” he said, low and thoughtful. “Not tonight, not tomorrow—but in time.”

I nodded. “You saw the way their son looked at you when you gave him the toy?”

Spencer exhaled, a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Hopeful. Like I had answers.”

“You did,” I said. “You showed up.”

He gave a small grunt, neither agreement nor dismissal, and held the door open for me. Warmth met us instantly, a rush of hearthfire and candlelight. We passed through the halls without speaking, each lost in our thoughts. The keep felt quieter than usual—measured footsteps, muffled voices. As if the stone walls themselves were trying not to disturb the weight of the day.

By the time we reached our chambers, I could feel something heavier pressing behind my ribs—not sadness exactly, but something aching. I sat on the edge of the bed as Spencer pulled off his gloves, then his sword belt, setting each aside carefully. The fire crackled in the hearth. His movements were slow, deliberate.

“Spencer?” I asked softly.

He looked up. His eyes were tired, but alert—attentive, in that way he always was when he sensed I had something heavier on my mind.

I hesitated for a beat, then said, “I saw you today. With the baby.”

His brow knit gently.

“In the village,” I continued. “When you held her. She looked at you like—like you’d hung the stars.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. “And you looked at her like… maybe the world wasn’t all terrible after all.”

He exhaled, a small, sheepish huff. “She was brave. She was so small, and yet she’s already to been to hell and back, lost everything she never even knew she had. It… pulled at something, I guess.”

“It did for me too.” My voice grew softer, my hands folding in my lap. “Watching you with her—it stirred something. Something I’ve tried to keep tucked away until the right time.”

His gaze searched mine, and I gathered my courage.

“When do you think… would be a good time to start trying?” I asked gently. “For a child?”

Spencer blinked once, shoulders shifting as he sat back slightly, caught off guard but not unkindly. “I figured… after the war,” he said slowly. “That way I could be here—really be here. I don’t want you going through the hard parts alone while I’m off at a war camp.”

I nodded, quietly understanding the reasoning. Of course that’s what he’d want—for me to be safe, for our child to be safe. For him to be present. But…

“I know that’s what makes the most sense,” I said carefully. “But I don’t know if that’s what’s best. Not really.”

His brow furrowed.

“I know the odds,” I went on. “You’ll likely come home. The battles ahead are dangerous, but you’re smart. Careful. But war is still war. And if something did happen…”

He sat very still.

“I could remarry, in time,” I said, almost to the fire. “Maybe I’d be expected to. But I don’t know if I could—emotionally, I mean. And even if I did, if I somehow found it in myself to start over with someone else… it wouldn’t be you.”

My voice cracked slightly.

“I don’t want just a child, Spencer. I want your child. Ours. A piece of us that carries on no matter what happens.”

The words hung in the air between us, soft but dense with meaning. Spencer’s gaze dropped for a moment to the floor, his jaw working. He was quiet, just breathing, as he often was when weighing something deeply.

I could see it happening behind his eyes—his quiet, careful mind walking through every angle, not with fear, but with consideration. This was how he made decisions: not in haste, not from sentiment, but from understanding. And yet I knew—knew—that this wasn’t just strategy to him. This was us.

Finally, he looked back at me. His hand reached out, warm and grounding, resting gently over mine.

“Then maybe…” he said slowly, “we don’t have to wait for the perfect moment. Maybe we don’t make it a plan, not yet—but we also stop trying to keep it from happening.”

I tilted my head.

“We stop not trying,” he said, a small, almost self-deprecating smile forming. “We just… let things be. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Not yet. But no more holding back.”

I stared at him for a long moment, heart thudding.

Then I nodded. “Not not trying,” I murmured.

He shifted closer, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “Exactly that.”

And though the fire crackled and the snow whispered against the window panes, the quiet between us was full—not of uncertainty, but of something resolute.

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[and-claudia]

I’m still alive I promise just crazy busy still 🙃🙃

[toastgull]

Reblog and you’re guaranteed to be successful at whatever you do next!

[itscrazycasey]

Need me some luck

[and-claudia]

So at my work, we have to do inventory on the last Sunday of the month every month, and because we produce all of our products we have to go in and hand count everything and guess when this month’s inventory hits… the night right before my first day of classes at my new college. And since I’m on management, that usually means I don’t get to leave the store until about 11:30 if not later. Yay.

[and-claudia]

I promise I’ll get back to writing soon, it’s been crazy this month. Between work and starting a second job, moving and school starting up soon life is straight up bonkers. But my main job should back off soon since we’re hiring more people (including another manager to take weight off of me) it should lighten up soon 🤞🏻

[and-claudia]

Flight Risk (Pilot! Spencer Agnew x Flight Attendant! Reader) (SMUT 18+)

Okay ngl I was watching Smosh and the Flight Simulator video came on and the short opening scene with Spencer dressed as a pilot inspired something... if yall like this one shot, I do have an idea for a second part...

Warnings: oral (male receiving, reader giving), not technically public, but also not totally private, if that makes sense, innapropriate work behavior

Word count: 1700+

Header made by me

I was halfway through pouring my first cup of coffee in the crew lounge when he walked in.

Captain Spencer Agnew.

Freshly promoted. Smug as hell. And wearing that stupidly crisp uniform like he knew exactly what it did to people. His aviators were pushed up into his curls, hat swinging casually in one hand, iced coffee in the other like this was his runway and we were just extras in his airline commercial.

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. I heard it in the cocky rhythm of his footsteps. The dramatic pause. And then:

“Ah, my favorite co-captain of the cabin,” he announced, far too cheerful for this ungodly hour.

I didn’t flinch. Just took a slow sip of my coffee and said, “You’re late, Captain Hotshot.”

“I prefer ‘Captain Handsome,’” he quipped, setting his hat down like he owned the table. “But I’ll answer to either.”

I finally looked at him. Mistake. The uniform was illegal. Unfair. And judging by the smug sparkle in his eyes, he knew it.

“We’re boarding in twenty,” I told him, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “You gonna dazzle the passengers with that same tired ‘first flight of the day’ bit?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, grinning around his straw. “If it ain’t broke…”

I rolled my eyes and went back to checking my cart inventory. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean in against the counter next to me, way too casual.

“I missed working with you,” he said, voice lower now. The kind that curled at the edges and made me feel it.

I kept my gaze on the clipboard. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” There was that grin again. “You make the pre-flight demo way more fun.”

“You make it way harder to keep a straight face,” I muttered, mostly to myself—but he heard it.

“Then my job here is done.”

God help me, I was smiling.

By the time we were boarded and settled, I already knew Spencer was going to show off.

I was at the front galley, pretending to organize napkins we didn’t even need, when I heard the click of the intercom and his voice came through—warm, smooth, and ridiculously proud of itself.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “this is your Captain speaking—Captain Agnew, in case you want to put a face to the voice later. Welcome aboard Flight 718 to Seattle, where the skies are friendly, the crew is friendlier—”

He paused just long enough to glance through the open curtain at me. His smirk was criminal.

“—and our top priority is your safety and comfort.”

I didn’t even try to hide the look I gave him: Are you serious right now?

He wasn’t done. Of course not.

“We’ll be cruising at an altitude of 33,000 feet. Flight time just under three hours, so sit back, relax, and let our lovely cabin crew take care of you. Especially the one in the front galley. She’s the real MVP.”

The passengers in row one laughed softly. I wanted to melt into the beverage cart.

I turned away, covering my grin with the back of my hand. Spencer hung up the mic like he’d just finished a stand-up set, gave me the most obnoxious little wink, and shut the cockpit door.

Unbelievable.

He was infuriating. Infuriating and charming and dangerous.

And it was going to be a very long flight.

Cruising altitude was smooth. Passengers were settled, snacks were distributed, and I was mostly pretending to be busy restocking stir sticks just to avoid thinking about how much I was thinking about him.

Spencer.

Captain Agnew.

Smug, charming menace of a man in a very well-fitted uniform.

I stared down at the two cups in my hands—his usual, and a backup for the co-pilot—and finally gave in to the excuse. Beverage service for the flight deck. Totally routine. Totally professional.

I knocked once before opening the door, balancing the cups in one hand.

“Captain,” I said, as breezy as I could fake it. “Thought I’d bring you someth—”

And paused.

The co-pilot’s seat was empty.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Hey. Perfect timing.”

I blinked. “Where’s…?”

“Bathroom,” he said, spinning his chair slightly to face me. “Stomach’s not loving the Burbank airport breakfast burrito. So it’s just me for the moment.” He nodded toward the control panel. “Auto-pilot’s on. We’re smooth sailing.”

I held out his cup. “That confident, huh?”

“I’m always confident,” he said, taking the drink—and the opportunity to let his fingers brush mine. “You know that.”

I swallowed, resisting the urge to glance down at his hands again. Big mistake last time. Bigger mistake this close.

“Take a seat,” he offered, patting the co-pilot’s chair like it wasn’t an extremely bad idea. “Just for a minute.”

I hesitated. Just a second. Then shut the door behind me and sank into the chair.

The door clicked locked.

I looked at him sideways. “Did you just lock that?”

“Protocol,” he said, all innocence. “Can’t have just anyone wandering into the cockpit.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered.

“Unbelievably charming,” he said.

He was still looking at me. Not at the controls. Not at the sky. Just me. His grin was slow and sure, a dangerous curl of lip and mischief.

“You know…” he leaned in slightly, voice dropping low, “there’s a reason they call it the cockpit.”

I let out a laugh before I could stop myself, biting my lip. “That was so bad.”

“But effective,” he said.

I didn’t argue. Because he was already flicking a switch I assumed was important and turning fully toward me.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” he said, one hand drifting toward my thigh but stopping just short. “You know that?”

I opened my mouth, maybe to deflect, maybe to flirt back—but then he leaned in and kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

Hard.

His hand moved fast—one to my jaw, the other already pulling me closer in that confined space—and somewhere between the soft hum of the engines and the buzz in my chest, I felt him shift something on the control panel.

I broke the kiss just long enough to glance at it.

“Auto-pilot’s still on, right?” I whispered.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Baby,” he said, voice all heat and challenge, “I can absolutely multitask.”

“Good.” I said, sinking to my knees beside him.

My hands reached for his belt, but I hesitated as I looked up at him, waiting for confirmation that this was okay. Which, technically speaking, it totally was not. If we got caught… 

But he gave me a nod, and any worries I had went out the window. I undid the buckle and undid his pants, just enough to allow his hardening cock to slip out. I gently grasped it in my hand and pumped it a few times, getting him fully hard, and he shifted in his seat slightly.

“Keep your eyes on the sky, captain,” I said before, sitting up more and leaning over his lap. 

I took the tip of his cock into my mouth slowly. My tongue swirled around his tip. I could hear the shaky breath he let out as he gripped the controls a little tighter. 

Then, without warning, I took as much of him into my mouth as I could. My movements started off slow, gently bobbing my head up and down, listening to him try to maintain his composure. Then I gradually sped up some, hollowing my cheeks, sucking his cock. 

I froze suddenly, hearing the radio chime on. I pulled off his cock with a small pop and looked up at him. 

Spencer kept one hand on the control and reached for his headset with the other. 

“Tower, Flight 718, this is Captain Agnew. We’re currently cruising at thirty-three thousand feet, requesting updated weather and any traffic advisories.”

He cleared his throat, but there was an unsteady catch in it, like he was trying really hard to keep his composure.

“Flight 718, you’re clear of traffic. Weather is calm with light clouds at cruising altitude. No issues reported.” The Air Traffic Control worker replied over the radio. 

I decided I had enough and decided to continue my work, taking him back into my mouth causing his breath to catch once again. 

He swallowed hard, voice coming out clipped, “Thank you, Tower. Flight 718 roger that.”

A soft gasp slipped out before he could stop it.

He shifted slightly, struggling to sound professional again. “Negative, Tower. Flight 718 is maintaining altitude, continuing on course.”

He all but ripped the headset off. 

“Fuck baby, I’m close…” I didn’t let up. I kept my pace, helping rush towards his climax. He shifted slightly under me, flipping autopilot back on. His hand found the back of my head and allowed him to take over my movements. 

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, sweetheart. Can I cum in your mouth?” He asked, clearly holding back. 

He loosened his grip, giving me the chance to pull my mouth off his cock if I wanted to, but I didn’t. Instead, I gave a small nod. He gently gripped the back of my head once again and took over, chasing his climax before I felt his cock twitch and he came in my mouth. I didn’t waste a single drop, swallowing every bit he gave me. When I slowly pulled off his dick, I sat back and used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. 

He quickly made himself decent as I attempted to fix my hair. 

“Here,” He said offering me his aviators off his face. 

I used the small reflection of myself in the lens to make myself not look like I just gave the pilot some mile-high club flight attention. 

I handed them back to him, but before I could get off my knees, the door opened. Spencer froze but I didn’t miss a beat. 

“Thank goodness I found that earring, I would’ve been so mad if I had to order new ones. Sorry, it ended up under your chair, Captain. I need to get some new backs, I guess.” I said, standing up, pretending to adjust my left earring. 

“It’s alright, I’m glad you found it.” Spencer said as his copilot stepped in. 

“Flight 718, you are clear to begin your approach.” I heard the radio say. 

“I should get back to my seat.” I said. 

Spencer nodded, “I think that’s best. Thank you for the coffee.” He said casually as if his cock hadn’t just been in my mouth. 

[and-claudia]

Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 14

(Make sure you've read the last part, tags messed up so I am not sure if yall got notified)

Words: 4600+

Warnings: Discussion of births, future plannings, mentions of war, cliffhanger

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header made by yours truly

The wind howled like something alive, its cry slipping between the shutters no matter how tight they were latched. Snow beat against the stone like fists. But inside, our chambers were warm—warmed by more than fire.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, untangling the last bit of ribbon from my lap when I heard the door open. Heavy footsteps. The soft clink of his belt as he unfastened it.

“Gods,” Spencer muttered as he shut the door behind him. “It’s worse than it was this morning. You can’t see more than a few paces past the courtyard.”

He stopped then, just inside the room, and I looked up.

His eyes weren’t on me.

They were on the garlands.

I followed his gaze to where pine boughs and dyed ribbon wound across the hearth mantle and up around the bedposts. Candle jars lined the windowsill, the flames flickering through layers of lace and colored dye—gold, sea green, midnight blue. And woven among the greenery were the shells Angela had brought, nestled like stars tucked into branches.

Spencer didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, hands still at his sides, brow furrowed—but not in displeasure.

In something closer to surprise.

Then he stepped forward, slowly, and reached out to run a finger along one of the garlands hanging over the hearth. His touch lingered near one of the small spiral shells, its iridescent inside catching the candlelight.

“These are… new,” he said.

I nodded. “From Seastar. Angela brought them.”

His mouth twitched—not quite a smile yet. “They catch the light. Makes the whole thing look like it’s glowing.”

I stayed quiet, watching him.

He glanced back at me, a little softer now. “It’s very you.”

That brought a smile to my lips. “You don’t mind?”

He shook his head, finally crossing to the bed. “I thought I might. When they first told me you were planning something for Starrest, I—” He hesitated. “It’s been a long time since I looked forward to it.”

I reached for his hand. He gave it.

“We don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” I said. “Not this year. Not ever. But maybe… just a little warmth. That’s something.”

Spencer sat beside me, our shoulders touching. Outside, the blizzard wailed against the stones of Caerwatch, but in here the flames danced, and the shells gleamed, and the silence between us felt like peace.

After a long moment, he squeezed my hand.

“I think you’ve already done it,” he murmured.

“Done what?”

“Made this place feel like something brighter than stone and snow.”

The next day brought the same ice rattling against the panes in sharp, irregular bursts—less like snow and more like thrown shards of glass. The air beyond the shutters pulsed with pressure, the kind that made your bones ache before you even stepped outside. But inside, our chambers were quiet, wrapped in the golden hush of firelight and thick stone, the world outside kept firmly at bay.

A pot of tea steamed on the table. The fire popped gently in the hearth. In our private solar, I sat curled in one of the armchairs by the window, a blanket around my shoulders and parchment in my lap, frowning hard enough to crease my forehead.

With all the decoration preparations, I still hadn’t figured out what to give Spencer. Sure, we still had time, but I wanted to make sure I got him something meaningful. 

He wasn’t the sort of man to want grand things. Not jewelry, not lavish robes, not rare wines or polished trinkets. He wore his title like he wore his cloak—functional, dependable, and usually dusted with snow. But he was still my lord, my husband, and I wanted to give him something worthy of him. Something useful, yes—but also personal. Something that said I saw him.

I thought back to a night weeks ago, when he’d been dressing for a patrol and went to strap on his belt.

He’d pulled his dagger halfway from the sheath, then cursed softly under his breath. “It’s come loose again,” he muttered, pressing his thumb to the hilt. “Handle’s half-rotted beneath the leather wrap. I’ll need to replace it before I end up with a blade and no way to grip it.”

He hadn’t mentioned it since. Probably too busy, too tired, too focused on everything else.

But I remembered.

And now, as the storm raged beyond the walls and my tea cooled beside me, I had my answer.

A new handle. For the blade he trusted most.

But not just any handle.

His.

I pulled on my boots carefully, tugged my heavy cloak around me, and tied it at the throat. Arasha would’ve scolded me for heading out in this weather, and Spencer might have outright carried me back to bed if he’d known. But he was down in the war chambers meeting with the quartermasters.

I could make it across the keep. Just to the smithy. Just long enough.

The air in the corridor bit through the cracks in the old stone, but I moved quickly, hood drawn and gloved hands tucked close. The snow in the courtyard had been partially cleared, but the wind had already blown fresh drifts across the path. I didn’t care.

The forge was glowing red and gold when I pushed open the door, heat washing over me like a second cloak.

The smith—a broad-shouldered man named Matt who’d worked at Caerwatch since Spencer was a boy—looked up from her work, goggles pushed onto her forehead.

“Lady Agnew,” he said, surprised. “Stars, what are you doing out in this storm?”

“I need something made,” I said simply, stepping closer to the table where tools were laid out. “For Spencer. A Starrest gift.”

Matt raised a brow but said nothing, just nodded for me to go on.

“His dagger—his favored one,” I said. “The handle’s loose. He mentioned needing it replaced. I want to commission something new. Something… personal.”

His face softened a bit, and I could see the way he had already started to imagine the project.

“It needs to be practical,” I continued. “It’s not a decoration. He carries it on patrol. But I’d like something at the base. A small inlay—a dark blue gem, if you have it. Sapphire or lapis. And something carved or engraved… feathers, maybe.”

“Feathers?”

I nodded. “For the owl.”

He smiled at that. “Aye. I can do that. Feathers etched down the pommel, almost like it’s been wrapped in wings.”

A warm thrill fluttered in my chest.

“He’d like that,” I said softly. “Just enough detail to make it his. But nothing too fine to hold.”

Matt nodded, already reaching for charcoal and a scrap of parchment to sketch with. “Come back in a week. Or I’ll send for you when it’s done. You’ll want to see it before it’s set.”

I pressed a coin into his hand and drew my cloak tighter.

“Don’t tell him,” I said, smiling faintly.

 Matt gave a knowing look. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time I returned to our chambers, the snow had found its way into my hood and lashes, and my cheeks burned with cold.

But inside, it was warm. And for the first time in days, my heart felt light.

Because I’d found it.

A gift worthy of a man who’d never asked for one.

3rd Person Point of View 

Spencer wasn’t in a meeting with the quartermasters.

He’d said it aloud as he left their chambers, cloak already fastened and war reports tucked under his arm for show. And technically, he had passed the quartermasters in the corridor.

But he didn’t stop.

Instead, he ducked into a lesser-used side room near the council hall, one with a hearth that smoked if you lit it too quickly and a desk that tilted slightly to the left. No one bothered him here. Which was what he needed.

Because he had no idea what to give her.

Starrest was just weeks away, and while the rest of the keep buzzed with garlands and candles and pine-scented distractions, Spencer had been quietly losing his mind.

Dresses felt too impersonal. Jewelry, too ornamental. She wouldn’t want trinkets. She had never needed finery to command a room.

She needed something that suited her.

Something with weight.

His fingers hovered over the charcoal stub he'd stolen from the war room, and then slowly, he began to sketch.

A sword.

Not a ceremonial one. Not a broad, clumsy blade too heavy for her wrist. But a proper sword—elegant, practical, beautifully balanced. Something between a longsword and a coastal cutlass. Slightly curved, easier to maneuver, made to protect and strike. He knew how she moved, how she held her ground during their training sessions. Knew the way her strength showed in her wrists, not in brute force.

She didn’t need a man’s sword.

She needed hers.

The hilt would be wrapped in deep blue leather, like the sea at Seastarhold during a storm. The crossguard slightly flared, shaped like the wings of a seabird mid-flight. At the pommel, a carved silver inlay—a small northern owl, feathers etched in fine relief, its eyes set with tiny sea-glass green stones.

Coast and North. Her past and present.

Joined.

He stared down at the sketch, then blew out a slow breath through his nose.

“Alright,” he murmured. “That’s something.”

An hour later, Spencer stood just outside Septa Amanda’s chamber, one hand raised to knock.

She opened the door before he touched it.

She raised an eyebrow before stepping aside. “I’ve seen that look before. It’s the ‘I need something measured without being obvious about it’ face.”

Spencer gave her a wry half-smile. “Am I that transparent?”

“You’re in love with a woman who reads people like they’re inked in glass. I’d be worried if you weren’t learning from her.”

He stepped inside and quietly explained what he needed—belt measurements, scabbard width, anything the tailor had taken notes on in the last few months.

Amanda didn’t blink. She went directly to a chest near the wall, rifled through folded parchment, and handed him what he needed without fuss.

“She’ll love it,” she said quietly. “Not because it’s a sword. But because you thought she deserved one.”

Spencer swallowed, pressing the folded notes into his cloak.

“She deserves more than I can give her.”

Amanda raised a brow. “Then it’s a good thing you give her everything anyway.”

By nightfall, Spencer waited until the keep had settled into a hush—the time when candles were down to stubs and the guards in the western corridor always nodded off between rounds.

He slipped from their chambers with the sketch folded inside his sleeve and made for the forge.

Matt Raub was exactly where he expected him to be: at the anvil, sleeves pushed back, face dusted with soot and eyes sharp beneath heavy brows. The fire behind him roared like it had something to prove.

Matt didn’t look up as Spencer entered. “You’re here later than usual.”

Spencer held out the parchment.

“I need something made. Quietly.”

Matt finally glanced up, took the sketch, and studied it in silence.

When he looked back up, there was something close to a smile in the corner of his mouth. “For her?”

Spencer nodded.

Matt turned the parchment over and ran his thumb along the paper’s edge. “I’ll have it done before Starrest Eve. I’ve got steel that’ll hold its edge better than anything I gave your father.”

Spencer’s mouth pulled into a rare full smile. “Good.”

“And Spencer?” Matt added, already reaching for a fresh piece of charcoal. “It’s a good blade. She’ll carry it well.”

“I know,” Spencer said softly, already turning to leave. “That’s why she needs it.”

First Person Point of View 

The sea shimmered like molten glass beneath the sunlight, clear and wide and endlessly blue. Warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, not just on my skin but deep in my chest, as if the sun itself lived inside my ribs. I felt it in my blood, in my breath—summer. Real summer. Not the faint thaws that passed for it in the North, but full, golden summer—the kind I’d known as a girl on the southern coast, where the ocean met the horizon and the gardens bloomed bright enough to make the gods jealous.

I was barefoot, the sand warm and smooth beneath my toes. Salt kissed the air, and gulls wheeled in the distance. My skirts were light and breezy—dyed a deep violet that fluttered with each sea-swept breeze—and my hands were twined with Spencer’s. He walked beside me, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hair tousled by the wind, a smile softening his sharp features. He looked so unburdened in the sun—so free.

Just ahead of us, a small boy, our son, waddled through the shallows with chubby legs and arms flailing for balance, laughing with unrestrained glee each time the waves tickled his feet. His hair was exactly the same as Spencer's dark curls, a mess atop his head, and his giggles—pure and bubbling—carried over the wind like a song.

I started to move toward him, reaching out instinctively, not even realizing that I was crying until Spencer gently pulled me back by the hand. Not to stop me, but to look at me. His expression was tender, reverent, as if I’d just risen from the seafoam itself. His thumb brushed my cheek, catching the tear that had slipped down, and then he kissed me—slow, quiet, and sure. The waves kept rolling in. Our son squealed as one chased his ankles, and then turned to look at us both, reaching for me—

And the light shattered.

I woke with a quiet gasp, breath catching in my throat, my eyes stinging as the fire’s low crackle replaced the ocean’s song. The chamber was dim again—candlelit and silent, the snow still falling past the high windows.

The dream clung to me like damp silk.

My hand curled instinctively over my stomach, as if some part of me expected to feel the soft pressure of a child pressing back. But there was only me. Just me and the hollow quiet of the room.

I sat up slowly, my pulse still trailing behind somewhere back on that sunlit beach, and turned just in time to hear the soft groan of the door.

Spencer slipped inside, stamping snow from his boots, the cold clinging to his cloak and lashes. His eyes found me instantly—and then narrowed, not in suspicion but recognition. He shrugged the cloak off, tossed it to the nearest chair, and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps.

“You had a dream,” he said quietly, his voice low as the wind outside. “And now you’re thinking too hard about it.”

I gave a soft, sheepish huff. “That obvious?”

He knelt beside the bed, reaching to rest one hand over mine where it lay against the linen.

“You always get that look,” he murmured, eyes searching mine. “Like you woke up from somewhere you didn’t want to leave.”

My throat tightened. I blinked quickly, then nodded.

“It was summer,” I whispered. “Real summer. And we were... walking by the sea. Just us and a baby. He was laughing.”

Spencer’s hand tensed slightly over mine, and then he leaned in, resting his forehead against the back of it like he could feel the dream through my skin.

I threaded my fingers into his hair and whispered, “It felt like something that could be.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a soft breath: “Then we’ll make sure it is. One day.”

I closed my eyes and let the silence settle around us—warm now, not heavy. The dream was gone, but its echo lingered in Spencer’s touch, in the way he didn’t ask questions or try to pull me back too quickly to the now. He just stayed beside me, steady as stone, until my breathing evened out again.

And somewhere inside me, beneath the ache of winter and the weight of what was coming, the hope of that summer dream planted itself like a seed. I knew there were wars to fight come summer, but I held onto the hope that the North would win this war, that this would not be my and Spencer’s only summer. 

The snow was still falling when I woke—thinner now, but steady, like the sky had simply forgotten how to do anything else. The hearth was crackling softly, and Spencer was still asleep beside me, one arm heavy across my waist, his breath slow and even against my shoulder.

But the dream still lingered.

It had softened overnight, losing its edges like a smoothed stone in my chest—but the feeling hadn’t faded. That sunlit moment by the sea, our child toddling ahead of us, the warmth of Spencer’s hand around mine—it wasn’t just a dream anymore. It had become an ache. A question. A when, not if.

I slipped out of bed without waking him. Pulled on one of his thick tunics, tugged a cloak around my shoulders, and made my way through the quiet, snow-muffled halls toward the Septa’s chambers.

Septa Amanda looked up as I knocked lightly against the frame of her open door. She had a steaming cup in her hands and a book open on the table beside her.

“Lady Agnew,” she said with a smile, setting the cup down. “You’re up early.”

I stepped inside, brushing the damp from my cloak. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Her gaze softened. “Still thinking about the dream?”

I blinked. “How’d you know?”

She nodded once. “It’s early. And you’re here, so I assume whatever it was has settled in.”

I gave a quiet laugh and sank into the chair across from her. “You could say that.”

She waited, patient as always.

“I wanted to ask you something,” I said after a moment, twisting the edge of my sleeve between my fingers. “About pregnancy.”

Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I know the basics,” I went on. “Nine or ten moons. Some sickness in the beginning. Tired at the end. I’ve heard bits here and there—maids gossip, midwives whispering—but I don’t really know what it’s like. And I want to.”

Amanda nodded slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “You’re thinking of starting a family.”

“Not yet,” I said quickly. “Just... not not thinking about it anymore.”

She gave me a small, understanding smile. “So. You want to be prepared.”

“Yes.”

Amanda stood and crossed the room, reaching for a worn folio from her shelf. “Then let’s start with what most don’t tell you until it’s already begun.”

I listened. Really listened.

About the way the body changes before a woman even knows. The tender ache in the breasts. The odd taste in the mouth. How some women feel feverish, others chilled. The way the belly feels full long before it shows. The way some are sick from sun-up to sundown, and others don’t even blink until the fourth moon.

“How long before someone can know for sure?” I asked, voice quiet.

“A missed bleeding is the surest sign. That and tenderness that doesn’t ease.” She paused, tilting her head. “Have you had either?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No. I just... after the dream I had, it didn’t feel right not to ask. I want to know what to expect. When the time comes.”

Amanda studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s wise. Many don’t ask until it’s already upon them.”

I glanced toward the narrow window where snow still danced against the glass. “There’s been enough I didn’t see coming. I’d rather not add this to the list.”

Amanda chuckled softly and reached for the kettle. “Then sit with me a while longer. I’ll make you tea, and we’ll talk about the rest. Labor. Delivery. What happens after. The parts no one likes to put into songs.”

I exhaled slowly and let myself sink into the comfort of her presence, the quiet, the warmth. The storm could rage outside for a while longer. Inside, I was beginning to make space—for something new.

Amanda handed me a steaming cup, her movements calm and practiced. She settled back into her chair with the sort of grace that came from years of tending to others, her knees tucked beneath her robe and her expression unreadably serene.

I took a sip—chamomile, with something floral beneath it—and held it between my palms.

“You mentioned labor,” I said after a moment. “And what happens after.”

She gave a quiet hum, the kind that warned me this would not be the dainty sort of talk noblewomen passed around at embroidery circles.

“Well,” she said gently, “let’s begin where most stop singing. A child isn’t pulled from the womb like a ribbon from a sleeve. Even the easiest labors are long, and tiring. Sometimes a day or more. You bleed. You sweat. You lose your breath and your modesty both, and then lose them again.”

She smiled faintly, but there was kindness in it.

“Most women cry at some point, or shout,” she continued. “Some fall quiet, so deep in themselves they don’t speak until the babe is in their arms. Some panic, especially near the end. The pain shifts—it pulls in your back, or low in your belly, or sometimes into your thighs. Every woman is different, and no two labors are ever the same.”

I nodded, though the words sat heavy in my chest. I wanted the truth—but it still landed like a stone.

Amanda glanced toward the hearth. “When the babe crowns, the pressure is... immense. Like splitting open, though the body is made for it. You may tear. You may not. We prepare herbs, stitches if need be. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

I blinked, mouth going dry.

She noticed.

“It’s not meant to frighten you,” she said gently. “It sounds like a battle. And for some, it is. But most come through well, especially with care. You’ll have a Maester. A Septa. Your husband.”

My throat tightened a little at the thought of Spencer’s hand in mine. Would he look at me the same way after seeing me like that?

Amanda must’ve read it on my face. “He won’t love you less, girl. If anything, more.”

She let me breathe through that before continuing. “After the birth, there’s the afterbirth to pass. The womb must shrink, the bleeding ease. That can take days. You may feel faint, or sore for weeks. Some feel joy right away. Some feel sadness. Or nothing at all. That’s normal too.”

I swallowed hard. “Gods.”

Her smile softened. “It’s not all bad. There’s beauty in it, even in the mess. The first cry, the first latch. The moment the babe fits into the curve of your chest like they were always meant to be there. It is holy, even if it doesn’t look like the paintings.”

I stared into my cup, watching the ripples still.

“I didn’t know any of that,” I murmured.

“And now you do.”

“But not all women go through the worst of it?”

“No,” Amanda said kindly. “Some don’t tear. Some are up and walking the next day. Some babes come fast, in less than an hour. And some are slow and stubborn. Like their fathers.”

That got a small laugh out of me.

She leaned forward, folding her hands around her tea. “Your body will tell you what it needs, if you listen. And we’ll guide you through the rest. You are not alone in it. Not ever.”

I looked at her then—really looked. And for the first time, I believed it.

Still, when I stood to leave, my legs felt a little shakier than they had when I came in.

The stone corridor was quiet, save for the muffled crackle of distant hearths and the ghostly hush of snow against glass. I walked slowly, hands bundled into my sleeves, my mind still full of images I hadn’t expected—torn skin and trembling legs, that first cry, and the way Amanda had said holy as if it were both blessing and warning.

I wasn’t frightened. Not exactly. But the weight of it sat behind my ribs, like something waiting to hatch.

I turned the corner near the great hall—and stopped short.

Spencer was there, leaning against the archway wall like he’d been posted there by some quiet instinct. He didn’t startle, didn’t speak. Just looked at me with that furrow between his brows he got when he knew something was on my mind but didn’t want to spook me off.

I slowed. Stopped in front of him.

“Wasn’t sure where you’d gone,” he said softly. “I went to speak with Septa Amanda.”

His eyes flicked over my face. Still no judgment, only curiosity and quiet care. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” I said, and meant it. “I just… wanted to know more. About… things. For when the time comes.”

He tilted his head. “Things?”

“Pregnancy,” I said, almost in a whisper. “Labor. Birth. The in-between. I didn’t know as much as I thought.”

Spencer’s face shifted, not surprised—just gentle. Like he could feel how carefully I was holding it all inside.

“I’m not—” I started quickly, catching the implication in my own words. “I’m not pregnant. Gods, no... not yet.”

He held up a hand in quiet assurance. “I didn’t think you were.”

There was a short pause between us. The wind stirred outside.

“I just wanted to understand it,” I added. “So if… when we start trying, I’m not walking blind into it. Amanda said a few things I’d never heard before. Some of it’s… a lot.”

He nodded. “It is.”

His voice was low, warm. “We can talk tonight. Just us. After dinner. Away from listening ears”

I glanced up, and he was already looking at me the way he always did when I was tangled up in thought—like he was already halfway through untangling the knot for me.

“I’d like that,” I said quietly.

He reached out and touched my sleeve, not taking my hand but letting his fingers rest just at my wrist, as if reminding me he was here. No rush. No pressure.

“Then we’ll talk.”

And for the first time since Amanda had started explaining the parts no one sang about, I felt something uncoil in my chest.

We would talk.

Together.

Dinner lingered longer than usual, slow and soft beneath the golden sconces of the hall. No one asked why I was quiet, and Spencer didn’t press me, but I caught him watching me once or twice over the rim of his cup. There was no edge to it—just a steady knowing, a quiet waiting.

When the meal finally ended and the others drifted away in twos and threes, Spencer rose from the table and offered me his hand. I took it wordlessly, and together we stepped out into the dim hallway beyond the hearth's glow.

We didn’t speak much as we walked. The torches in the corridor flickered low, the stone underfoot still cold despite all the roaring fires. The blizzard had quieted some, but the wind still hissed now and then through the arrow slits and shutters. The kind of storm that lingered, dragging its heels.

We turned down the last corridor that led to our chambers. I could already feel the tightness in my chest beginning to loosen with the warmth and privacy ahead. The quiet talk we’d promised each other. Finally.

But just as I parted my lips to speak—

Something shifted in the corner of my eye.

I stopped.

There was a window along the wall, rimmed in thick frost. I might’ve missed it entirely if not for the glow. A strange, flickering light pulsing faintly through the ice.

I stepped toward it without thinking, letting go of Spencer’s hand. My fingers curled in the fabric of my sleeve as I wiped the glass clean, revealing a jagged, snow-strewn view of the valley below.

My heart stuttered.

The blizzard had hidden the world for nearly two days, burying everything in white. But now… the village in the valley—five miles out, maybe more—was visible again.

And glowing.

But not with torchlight. Not lanterns. Not fire pits.

Something… was alight.

“Spencer—” I said, my voice breaking open.

He was beside me in a heartbeat.

“Fuck.”

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Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 13

Words: 4400+

Warnings: Talks about a winter holiday (I am trying to not make it any specific holiday that already exists, so it's not Christmas or Hanukkah). Mentions of pregnancy and death.

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The wind howled against the thick shutters, a low groaning hum that rolled through the keep like some beast pacing at our doors. Snow lashed the windows in waves, an endless, white blur beyond the stone walls. But inside, all was warm.

I stirred slowly, limbs tangled with Spencer’s under the heavy furs. His arm was wrapped around my waist, his breath soft against the back of my neck. For a moment, I let myself pretend the day didn’t exist. That there were no meetings, no duties, no fires to stoke or villagers to worry over. Just us, warm in our bed, while the world outside vanished beneath snow and silence.

“Let’s never leave,” I mumbled sleepily, shifting closer to him.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Tempting. But unfortunately, I don’t think ‘the blizzard made us do it’ will hold up forever as a reason to abandon our responsibilities.”

I groaned and turned to face him, blinking up at his tired but amused expression. “Even if you issue an official ‘Lord’s decree’ that today’s a ‘stay in bed’ day?”

“I already tried that once. Amanda was not amused.” He leaned down, brushing a kiss against my forehead. “But I can bribe you with breakfast.”

That got me moving. Barely.

Not long after, we were seated in our private solar, a tray of warm porridge with dried cherries and small slices of leftover roast between us. Jack had stationed himself on the rug near the hearth, his tail twitching lazily as he soaked in the heat. The fire crackled, and a pot of tea steamed gently on the side table.

We ate quietly at first, still shaking the sleep from our eyes. Then Spencer spoke, his tone soft but purposeful.

“I’ve been thinking about the solstice.”

I glanced at him over my cup. “The shortest day?”

He nodded. “Sun barely clears the horizon before it vanishes again. When I was younger, my mother used to tell me it was the day the gods turned their heads away from the world, just briefly, to let the earth rest.”

I tilted my head. “That’s… oddly poetic.”

“She got that from my grandfather. He loved traditions. Especially the solstice feast.” Spencer stirred his porridge idly. “We used to hold one every year here at Carewatch. Big fire in the Great Hall, roasted meats, mulled wine, candied roots, dancing. A reminder that the light always returns, even at the darkest time.”

“And it just… stopped?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Fell out of favor. My father didn’t care for it. But I’ve been thinking of bringing it back.”

My eyes lit up despite myself. “Really?”

“I know you missed the harvest feast,” he said gently. “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you—how much you lit up talking about Seastar’s autumn festival. How you’d plan menus and decorations with your cousins. I… want that for you again. Something to look forward to. Something that’s yours, too.”

Warmth bloomed in my chest, curling into something bright and earnest.

“I’d like that,” I said softly.

“I’d like you to help plan it.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his. “You’ve got a gift for it. You make things feel… alive. Even in the middle of a snowstorm.”

I smiled, a little shy under his gaze. “Well, if you’re giving me control, I’m making candied chestnuts mandatory.”

Spencer laughed. “Deal. As long as I get at least two meat pies to myself.”

“One and a half.”

“Ruthless.” He grinned. “Fine. One and a half.”

The storm still raged outside. The snow still fell, the wind still howled. But inside our solar, the fire burned bright—and so did something else. Something new. A sense of purpose, of joy, stitched together from old traditions and new beginnings.

And maybe, just maybe, the feast would be the start of a new tradition entirely our own.

After breakfast, Spencer and I parted ways—him to meet with Damien about the status of the outer wall, me to follow up with Garrett about which dried fruits could be spared for the feast. 

I rounded a corner, heading toward the stairs that led to the kitchens, when I spotted Angela on one of the benches along the covered walkway. Her mending lay forgotten in her lap, her chin tucked into her scarf as she watched the snow whip across the courtyard.

“Angela?” I slowed, brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”

She blinked and sat up quickly, as if surprised she wasn’t alone. “Oh—yes, my lady. I was just…” Her voice trailed off. Then she sighed. “I was thinking about home.”

I sat beside her, tugging my cloak closer. “Do you miss your family?”

She nodded. “Especially this time of year. My brother and I would string ribbon lanterns from the rafters. We’d sneak honey-cakes before supper and light candles together on the eve of Starrest.”

The word tugged at something in my memory.

“Starrest,” I echoed. “That’s coming soon, isn’t it?”

“In a fortnight.” Angela offered a small, sheepish smile. “I thought maybe… someone would mention it. But I suppose, with the storm and the war…”

“I forgot about it entirely,” I admitted, feeling strangely guilty. “It was always a big deal at Seastar Hold. With stories around the fire, and little bundles of lavender under your pillow for dreams of protection.” I paused. “How does Carewatch celebrate it?”

Angela shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I thought I’d find out this year.” Her voice was soft again. “It’s not about the ribbons or the gifts, not really. It’s just… the feeling. Everyone coming together, even in the coldest part of winter. Remembering what we still have.”

My heart squeezed.

“I’ll make sure it’s celebrated,” I said firmly. “Even if I have to plan the whole damn thing myself.”

Angela looked at me with wide eyes, then grinned. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” I said. “And I’ll need your help.”

“Of course, my lady,” she said, smile brightening. “Anything.”

I reached over and gave her hand a light squeeze. “This place is home now—for both of us. Let’s make sure it feels like it.”

She looked as if she might cry, but blinked quickly and nodded. “Thank you.”

After parting ways with Angela, I wandered the halls of Carewatch in thought, my mind still tangled in memory and snow. I couldn’t shake the strange contradiction—Spencer had been so quick to bring up the solstice feast that morning, already dreaming aloud of dried berries, roast pheasant, and fir-scented candles. And yet… he hadn’t so much as mentioned Starrest. Not once.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Carewatch had never celebrated it.

But something about it—itched.

So I turned toward the library.

The fire was low when I stepped inside, but the room was warm enough, the scent of old parchment and soot clinging to the heavy winter air. I slipped between the shelves, trailing my fingers along the spines until I found a tome titled The Celebrations of Virelia: From Starbirth to Solstice. The binding creaked as I pulled it down and settled at the closest table.

It was thorough. Too thorough, maybe—I flipped past dozens of pages cataloging harvest rituals and southern coronation parades before I found the northern holidays. The section on Starrest was marked with a ribbon, brittle and faded.

I scanned the entries, eyes skimming over the years.

Starrest at Carewatch: Year 532 — A week of festivities. Lord Agnew invited several minor houses to share in the midwinter blessings.

Starrest at Carewatch: Year 533 — Small gathering. Lady Agnew arranged gifts for all children born within the year.

Starrest at Carewatch: Year 534 — Quiet observance. No visitors. Private family celebration…

The entries stopped at Starrest, Year 535.

I slowed down and began to read more carefully.

The Great Hall was dressed in white banners trimmed in silver. Lady Agnew wore her hair in a traditional braid-wreath and carried garlands of dried holly into the village with her son, Spencer, age twelve. She is nearing the end of her confinement, expecting their second child in late winter.

Lord Agnew oversaw the candle-lighting in the hall. The boy, Spencer, gifted the cooks a carved owl he made himself, and spent the evening beside the hearth with his mother. Music was played. Laughter echoed. A small feast was shared by all within the keep walls.

I froze. My breath caught somewhere in the hollow of my chest.

There was no Year 536. No Starrest the next year. Or the year after that.

I read the passage again. Lady Agnew, nearing the end of her pregnancy. Spencer, twelve. His little carving for the cooks. And then… nothing.

No mention of a baby.

No mention of her ever again.

My fingers went cold as I slowly closed the book.

She had died. I didn’t know exactly how, but it wasn’t hard to guess. And if Spencer never spoke of a sibling, then…

I sat there for a long moment, unsure what to do with the weight pressing on my ribs. My heart ached for the boy he must have been. For the man who now stood in my bedchamber brushing snow from my shoulders and asking me to help plan a feast, while quietly ignoring the holiday that must’ve haunted him.

I didn’t want to push him. I knew how easily he could shut down when something hit too close to that old, protected grief. But I needed to understand. For his sake as much as mine.

And there was only one person who might tell me.

I found Ser Damien just outside the armory, standing with a few younger knights going over sharpening schedules for the blades kept in the war wing. He noticed me immediately.

“My lady,” he said, blinking as he stepped forward. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I said gently. “Not wrong. Just…” I hesitated. “Do you have a moment?”

He gave the others a look and gestured for them to continue without him. We walked a little ways down the corridor, away from listening ears. The stone was colder here, the windows narrow and frosted over.

“I was in the library earlier,” I began. “Reading about Starrest. There was an entry from fifteen years ago. The last one.”

Damien’s face didn’t change, but I saw something shift in his eyes. The way his shoulders squared just slightly, his jaw flexed.

“It mentioned Spencer’s mother,” I continued. “And her pregnancy. But there were no entries after that. Just silence.” I looked at him. “Do you know what happened?”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“Two months after that Starrest,” he said, “Lady Agnew and her babe passed.”

The words sat like stone between us.

“She was kind,” he added. “Gentle, but strong. Spencer adored her. And when she… when they both died, his father unraveled a bit. The celebrations stopped. The music, the decorations… all of it. The keep changed.”

I swallowed. “And Spencer?”

“He never talks about it. Not really. Not even to me.” He looked down the corridor as if seeing a much younger version of Spencer somewhere in the shadows. “But I remember that last Starrest. We were boys. He carved that owl with his own hands. Used to ask me every day if I thought his mother would like it.” A faint smile ghosted his lips. “Carewatch looked beautiful that year. I still remember how the candlelight glowed off the snow. I haven’t seen it look like that since.”

My chest ached.

“I think he’s trying,” I said quietly. “Asking me to help with the solstice feast. Maybe he doesn’t even realize it.”

Damien looked at me. “If anyone can help him remember the warmth without the pain, it’s you.”

I nodded, eyes stinging.

“Thank you, Damien.”

He gave a small bow of his head. “Always.”

I had meant to go straight to our chambers after dinner, but my feet turned toward the solar instead.

The corridors were dim, lit only by torchlight, the stone echoing with the distant hush of wind curling against the keep’s walls. The snowstorm had thickened again, swirling over the courtyards and blanketing the windows with frost. It was quiet in the way only deep winter could be—still, solemn, waiting.

And so was I.

All through dinner, my mind had kept circling the same thought: How do I give him back something he’s lost, without asking him to relive the pain of it? How could I bring Starrest into our halls without unraveling everything he’d spent so long stitching closed?

But when I opened the solar door, I was surprised to find Spencer already there.

He was at the table, a book open in front of him though his eyes weren’t reading. Jack was curled up near the hearth, his tail twitching lazily, and the fire cast a warm glow across Spencer’s face, softening the shadows beneath his eyes. He looked tired, but not just from lack of sleep. A deeper kind of tired—something that clung to the ribs.

“Hey,” I said gently, closing the door behind me.

“Hey,” he echoed, his voice rough but quiet. “Didn’t hear you coming.”

I walked over and settled into the seat beside him. For a moment, I just sat there, watching the flames dance in the hearth. Then I spoke.

“I was in the library today,” I began slowly. “Reading about northern celebrations.”

His brow ticked up slightly. “Any good ones?”

“One stood out,” I said. “Starrest.”

He didn’t look surprised—just… still.

I turned toward him, resting my arms on the table. “You’ve mentioned your mother before. And that she was pregnant when you were young. But you never mention a sibling. I didn’t want to pry, but…” I paused. “I wondered.”

Spencer stared into the fire for a long time before speaking. “They died,” he said finally. “That winter.”

I didn’t press. Not about how. I only nodded, quiet and patient.

He went on, slowly. “After that, my father wouldn’t celebrate it. He wouldn’t decorate, wouldn’t speak of it. And when the servants tried, he’d shut it down. Eventually… people stopped trying.” He exhaled through his nose. “By the time he passed Carewatch to me, it had already been five years. I was just a boy still. And it didn’t feel right to bring it back when everyone still seemed to carry the silence with them. So I let it fade.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “That must’ve been so lonely.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “It was.”

The fire cracked gently, the only sound between us for a beat.

“I don’t know if Damien told you,” I said softly, “but he remembered the last Starrest before everything happened. Said you carved an owl for the cooks. Said the hall was glowing, and that it was beautiful.” I watched him carefully. “He said you loved it.”

“I did,” he admitted, so quietly I almost missed it.

I hesitated for just a moment, then reached out and placed my hand over his. “Would you want to bring it back?”

Spencer blinked, eyes flicking up to mine.

“I’m not asking you to pretend like nothing happened. I know there are memories tangled up in it—some beautiful, some painful. But maybe that’s why it matters. Maybe it’s time to make new ones. And you wouldn’t have to do it alone. I’d help. We all would.”

He didn’t answer right away. His thumb brushed slowly over the back of my hand as he stared down at the worn grain of the table.

Then he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Maybe.”

“Maybe’s a good start,” I said with a soft smile.

He looked at me, eyes full of something I couldn’t quite name—grief, yes, but something warmer underneath. Hope, maybe. Or something close to it.

“I’ll try,” he said. “For you. And for her.” He glanced up, but not as if he was looking at the ceiling, it was like he was looking beyond it

I leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a moment.

“For you, too,” I whispered. “You deserve a Starrest filled with joy again. Even if it’s just a small one this year.”

He didn’t speak, but he pulled me into his arms, holding me close against his chest. And in the silence, I knew we’d taken the first step toward building something that would mean more than either of us could yet know.

Jack had claimed the middle of the bed again.

He was sprawled sideways like a fur-covered mountain, tail twitching, chin nestled between two pillows as if he owned the place. Spencer and I had no choice but to settle on either side of him, facing one another across the great beast, legs tangled beneath the blankets and only the dim candlelight casting a golden glow over our faces.

Spencer propped his head up with one arm, watching me as I adjusted my pillow.

“He’s the true lord of this keep,” I muttered, nodding toward Jack, who gave a loud sigh in agreement.

Spencer chuckled. “We live and serve at his pleasure.”

We lay in a comfortable hush for a while, the snowstorm still murmuring just beyond the walls, wind threading through the cracks like a lullaby. Then, softly, Spencer asked, “What was Starrest like at Seastar Hold?”

I blinked, caught a little off-guard. “Oh…” A smile spread slowly across my face. “It was… everything. Warmth, music, light—especially when the wind howled through the cliffs.”

Spencer nodded, eyes on mine. “Tell me.”

So I did.

“My uncle Link always found the tallest ladders he could get his hands on so he could hang these little glass lanterns in the branches of the sea-pines that grew along the coast. They’d light them the night before Starrest so when you woke up, the fog would still be sitting on the cliffs, but the trees would be glowing through it. It looked like the stars had come down to rest on land.”

Spencer’s eyes softened as I spoke.

“My father would cook breakfast that morning—burnt toast, terrible sausage, but he always made it. And we’d all wear these ridiculous knit stockings on our heads as hats because my cousin started the tradition when she was five and none of us ever dared stop it after that.” I laughed quietly, closing my eyes for a second. “Septa Emily would bring a tin of candied sea-plums to the little temple courtyard and give them out to anyone who passed by, whether they were worshippers or not.”

I glanced back at Spencer. “It was messy. Loud. Full of sand tracked through the halls. But it felt… whole.”

His expression was hard to read for a moment, the candlelight flickering across his face. “I would’ve liked that,” he murmured. “All of it. Even the stockings.”

“I’ll knit you one,” I teased gently, “It will probably be horribly misshapen but I’ll make it for you. Maybe we could even get Jack into one.” 

He smiled faintly, then went quiet again. His hand shifted beneath the blanket, reaching for mine. I let my fingers twine with his, resting them on Jack’s warm back.

“There was one year,” he said finally, voice low. “I must’ve been seven, maybe eight. My mother helped me make these little paper stars out of leftover map parchment. I hung them all over the eastern windows—said the sun would catch them first that way.” He swallowed. “They looked awful. Crooked, floppy. But she told everyone I was a born craftsman.”

I squeezed his hand.

“She made orange cakes that year,” he went on. “With little sugared rinds on top. The keep smelled like honey and citrus for days.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “We ate them by the hearth. My father even smiled.”

Jack gave a soft huff between us, unconcerned by the gravity of our quiet.

I reached over and brushed a strand of hair from Spencer’s forehead. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” I whispered. “Orange cakes. Paper stars. Lanterns, stockings, sea-plum candy—anything we can remember. Anything that makes it yours. Ours.”

Spencer looked at me like he might say something more—but instead, he leaned across Jack and pressed a kiss to my lips. Gentle. Grateful.

When we pulled apart, I rested my forehead to his. “We’ll make it a good Starrest, Spence. I promise.”

He nodded. “With you, I believe it.”

By the next morning, the snow had piled so high outside the windows that it almost blocked the light, but the hearth in the solar was roaring, and that made the room feel brighter somehow. I stood at the center table, steaming mug in hand, as Septa Amanda, Angela, Arasha, Lizzy, and Olivia settled into the chairs and cushions around me, bundled in layers of wool and fur.

A small basket of half-finished embroidery sat beside the fire. The kettle whistled gently. And yet the air was full of anticipation.

“I’ve called you here for a mission,” I said lightly, setting my mug down with a soft thud. “A festive one.”

Angela leaned forward, eyes alight already. “Starrest?”

I nodded. “Starrest.”

That single word filled the room like sunlight. Even Septa Amanda smiled, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“I want to bring it back,” I said, glancing around at all of them. “Properly. With all the warmth and joy it’s supposed to bring—especially after the past few years.” My voice softened. “Spencer’s agreed. And I think this year more than ever, we need something to remind us of light.”

Arasha nodded, her earrings swaying as she did. “Then we’ll make it beautiful again.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said with a grin. “So—decorations first. We’ll need garlands for the corridors and candles for every table. The public solar, the great hall, even the servants’ quarters—every corner of the keep should feel the season.”

“I’ll start dyeing the cloth scraps,” Lizzy offered immediately. “Maybe I can even work in colors they use in Seastarhold as well.”

“I can begin working on pinecone charms,” said Olivia. “The children can help string them.”

Angela practically bounced in her seat. “I can do the candle jars! We used to wrap them with lace and bits of old thread so the flames would flicker like starlight—”

“Yes,” I said, holding back a laugh. “Exactly that.”

I turned to Septa Amanda. “Would you be willing to help lead the girls in the garland making? And maybe oversee the public solar? I want the women’s quarters to feel welcoming for everyone during the long night.”

She smiled with a gentle pride I hadn’t seen in a while. “It would be my pleasure. I’ve missed the sound of hands at work for joy rather than necessity.”

I placed both palms on the table, already thinking ten steps ahead. “We have about two weeks before Starrest begins. After that, we’ll need to turn our attention to the Solstice Feast. It’ll be larger, and more formal—but for now, all hands on deck for Starrest. Let’s focus on joy first.”

Angela clapped her hands together. “Should we tell the kitchen staff?”

“I’ll speak to Garrett myself,” I said. “He’ll know what to do.”

Arasha laughed softly. “You’ve become quite the Lady, you know.”

I smiled, but I didn’t say anything to that.

Because in that moment—surrounded by soft voices, warm laughter, and the sound of pens already scratching lists onto parchment—I finally felt like one.

That afternoon, the solar smelled of pine and hot cider. The garlands were already taking shape on the long table, a slow, joyful mess of clipped evergreen boughs, spools of thread, ribbon scraps, and the occasional scattering of pine needles that ended up on our skirts. Olivia had taken up the end of the table to carefully thread pinecones with bits of twine, her lips moving silently as she counted the spacing between each one. Beside her, Lizzy crouched near the hearth with her dye pots, the fire casting a golden sheen across her concentrated face.

“I think this one’s ready,” she said, lifting a piece of linen on a wooden rod. The cloth unfurled like a banner in the firelight—bright starlight gold, glowing almost as if it had absorbed the hearth itself.

I smiled, brushing pine from my palms. “It’s beautiful.”

“There’s more coming,” Lizzy added. “I’ve started a batch in sea green and another in soft blue—I thought the tones might bring a bit of home to your room. Then I’ll finish the midnight blue and grey, for the great hall and the outer corridors.”

She said it so casually, but my throat tightened. Home. She meant the coast, of course. But her tone made it clear: she meant this home, too. Caerwatch. Ours.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

The door creaked open then, and Angela bustled in with her cheeks flushed and her arms wrapped around a wide glass jar. The light caught something inside that shimmered faintly with pink and cream and opal.

“Careful,” she warned, setting the jar down on the table as if it were a sleeping babe. “I brought the shells.”

I straightened, surprised. “From Seastar?”

She nodded, already beginning to unscrew the lid. “I’ve had them wrapped up since I arrived. Thought I’d save them for a day I really needed them—and this feels right.”

The others leaned in as she began pulling them out, one by one. Small scallop shells, worn smooth by the tide. A tiny spiral, no bigger than a thimble. A sliver of pale coral, shaped like a crescent moon.

“They’re for the garlands in your chambers,” Angela said, glancing up at me. “And mine, if that’s alright. A little southern warmth for the northern stone.”

I didn’t answer right away. I just reached out and took one of the shells into my hand, its edges cool and worn. I remembered picking them as a girl with salt drying in my hair. I remembered stringing them on twine for festival crowns. I remembered home—and felt it settle here, in this room, like a second hearth.

“It’s more than alright,” I said at last. “Let’s place them where they’ll catch the candlelight.”

Angela beamed and passed me a strand of already-twined greenery. I began tucking shells between the knots of pine, threading them alongside bits of pale ribbon that Lizzy had laid out to dry.

The solar filled again with laughter and rustling and gentle conversation, the kind that made the hours pass unnoticed. Maela had started humming. Arasha had arrived with a tray of little honey cakes. Even Septa Amanda returned, her sleeves rolled and her hands already reaching for twine.

And I—knees tucked beneath me, thread in one hand and a shell in the other—felt the flicker of something that had been missing for a long time.

Not just light.

Belonging.

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[and-claudia]

Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 12

Words: 3200+

Warnings: I wrote this so long ago I genuinely don't know, it's not smut though. Traditions are being reenstated and yeah fluff.... enjoy!! Sorry I forgot to post this part.

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The snow had stopped two days prior, and yet the air hadn’t warmed. It hung strangely still, the kind of quiet that hummed behind the ears—unnatural, like the world holding its breath.

I noticed it first from the balcony above the main courtyard. Not a single flake drifted down. The wind, which had howled just days before, was gone—leaving the sky dull and low. I’d assumed it was a good sign, that perhaps we’d caught a lucky break between storms.

But when I mentioned it offhandedly to Maester Tommy as we passed in the hallway, his expression shifted.

“Blizzards don’t just stop,” he said, scratching behind his ear like he did when he was thinking. “They stall. Especially in the mountain passes. When that happens…” He trailed off, already reaching for the small bound book in his satchel. “We need to convene.”

Within the hour, I found myself in the solar closest to the kitchens. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows over the half-threadbare rug. Spencer stood near the hearth, arms crossed, expression tight. Damien leaned with his good shoulder against the wall, surveying a map of the region. Angela sat curled in one of the high-backed chairs, sipping a steaming mug, eyes sharp.

Maester Tommy had brought scrolls—records of past winters and grain calculations. Garrett, the head chef, carried a slate smudged with soot and grease, fresh from the kitchens.

Septa Amanda sat with her hands folded neatly over her lap, patient but attentive.

“Based on the way the wind dropped and the pressure’s holding…” Tommy flipped to a marked page in his book, “we’re looking at a true long blizzard. Maybe two weeks. Maybe more.”

Garrett grunted. “That long, and the lower pantries’ll need rationing. And if the carts don’t come in time, we’ll lose the citrus crates meant to ward off sickness.”

“We’ll manage it,” Spencer said, firm. “But we prepare now.”

Amanda nodded. “I’ll draft notices for ration limits in the outer kitchens. No panic yet.”

“I’ll begin repairs on the lower gates,” Damien said. “If the wind turns again, it’ll batter the southern scaffolding.”

I listened quietly, absorbing the seriousness in the room. Everyone had shifted into motion, spinning plans like thread through a loom.

But something tugged at me.

“And the villagers?” I asked suddenly. “What happens to them when the storm reaches us?”

The room paused.

Tommy blinked. “We’ll—well, we’ll send out extra provisions today. Maybe some blankets—”

“Not just food,” I said. “Firewood. Coal. Heat.”

Angela looked over her mug, brows raising slightly. Even Spencer turned to me more fully.

“They’ll burn what they have,” I continued, standing now, “but that won’t be enough if it lasts. And we all know Caerwatch eats through double what a village family would use to heat their home.”

Garrett opened his mouth, brow furrowed. “We’ve already used a quarter of the store, my lady. If we start hauling cords to the outlying homes—”

“Then we use less here,” I interrupted gently, but firmly. “If it dwindles too low, we’ll shutter most of the hearths. Keep the great hall lit. The solars. Our chambers. That’s enough. We huddle in with the rest if we have to.”

There was a quiet.

“It won’t be ideal. It won’t be comfortable. But we have walls and stores and servants to keep the rooms swept. They have their families and their fires. I will not let those fires go out.”

Spencer looked at me—really looked—and something flickered behind his winter eyes. He gave a slow nod, then turned back to the others.

“Start sending wagons within the hour,” he said.

Garrett gave a reluctant grunt but didn’t argue. Damien smirked slightly from where he leaned. Tommy was already scribbling a draft order on the back of one of his older scrolls.

And Amanda, when I glanced at her, gave me the softest, most approving nod.

The rest of the day went on as usual, the keep abuzz with preparations, I ensured that the men traveling to the villages on supply runs, as well as the men repairing the lower gates, were properly fed. I hadn’t seen much of Spencer since the meeting. 

Now, the hallways were dim with early twilight, that strange hour when the cold settled in deeper and the warmth of the hearths became a siren song.

I found Spencer in the kitchens—not in the main hearth room with the staff, but tucked away in one of the side larders, holding a dusty ceramic jar and frowning at its label as though trying to read ancient runes.

“You’re not about to eat that, are you?” I asked.

He turned, surprised, then gave a sheepish shrug. “Not quite. I was… looking for the dried juniper berries.”

“Juniper?” I raised a brow and stepped in, brushing a curl of my hair from under my hood. “Why?”

He hesitated for a beat, then chuckled under his breath and turned back to the shelves.

“It’s something my mother used to do,” he admitted. “Right before a big storm. She’d throw a few dried juniper berries into the fire in each hearth—said it would ‘keep the spirits of the cold’ from lingering.”

I blinked. “That’s… oddly poetic.”

“It’s nonsense,” he said quickly. “Just an old habit.”

“Do you believe it?”

He gave me a crooked smile, something tired and fond all at once. “I don’t know. But I still do it.”

I tilted my head. “Because it worked?”

He looked away for a moment, his gaze settling on nothing in particular. “Because she did.”

There was a silence then, soft as the falling snow outside.

I reached out and gently took the jar from his hand. “Then we’re doing it.”

Spencer looked at me like I’d just suggested we sing to the trees. “You want to burn herbs for ghost-warding?”

“No,” I said with a teasing smile, “I want to keep your mother’s tradition alive. And maybe keep some frost-spirits away while we’re at it.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh but warmer than a sigh. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. I’ll even do the village hearths too.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to say something else—something heavier—but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded and picked up another small bundle from the shelf. “Then we’d better start in the Great Hall.”

We spent the next hour quietly dropping pinches of juniper into the hearths, the smoke fragrant and sharp as it curled into the warm air. Spencer didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to. I could feel what it meant by the way his fingers lingered just a little too long over the flames, and how gently he unwrapped the cloth holding the berries.

By the time we reached the final hearth—the one in our shared solar—I had already tucked away the softest truth in my heart:

That sometimes love is not in the loud declarations or the grand gestures…

Sometimes, it’s in honoring the quiet, irrational things that make a person whole.

Even if they don’t realize they’re still grieving.

So I handed him the final pinch of berries and sat beside him, close enough that our knees touched. He tossed them into the fire, and we watched them crackle away to ash and memory.

And then I reached over and laced my fingers through his.

“We’ll keep doing it,” I said softly. “Every blizzard. Every winter. No questions asked.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then: “She would’ve liked you.”

Still hand in hand, Spencer and I went back to our chambers. Night had settled over the Keep, and everyone was going to sleep with the looming thought of when the blizzard would hit. Well, everyone except Jack, who was already curled up on the bed when we got there. 

We changed out of our day clothes and into our sleep ones in a comfortable silence. Spencer stoked the fire to ensure that it would burn throughout the night before going about and putting out the candles in our room. Once he settled into bed, I rolled over to face him, unable to wipe the smile off my face. 

He noticed. “What’s that look for?” he asked softly, one hand tucking beneath his head on the pillow.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Just… this. You. Us. It feels good. Even with the storm coming.”

Spencer reached out and brushed a thumb along my cheek. “It does,” he murmured. “Feels steady.”

I nestled in closer, and he shifted his arm so I could rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady and calm beneath my ear.

“Do you think we’ll always have this?” I asked quietly. “The quiet before the storm?”

He exhaled through his nose, his fingers moving gently along my arm. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’ll always make room for it. For you.”

We lay there in the hush, the only sound the occasional crackle from the fire and the wind tapping at the windows like fingers too timid to truly knock. Jack let out a soft chirp from his corner of the bed, as if agreeing with the sentiment.

Spencer leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Whatever comes tomorrow, I’m glad tonight was ours.”

I smiled against his chest. “Me too.”

His arms tightened around me, protective and warm, and I let myself begin to drift, anchored in the safety of him, of this room, of the space we had built together — even with a storm gathering just beyond the stone walls.

The wind had started wailing sometime in the early morning, but by midday it had become a voice of its own — low and constant, pressing against the stone walls of Caerwatch like some ancient, hungry thing. I stood at the window of the corridor that overlooked the east courtyard, watching the swirling gusts lift the already-heavy snow into great spirals. The world beyond the keep was fast disappearing behind a veil of white.

“It’s starting,” Spencer said quietly beside me.

I nodded. “Properly this time.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched the wind push a group of bundled stablehands racing toward the inner barn doors. Then he reached out and gently tugged the shawl I’d draped over my shoulders into a better position. “Garrett says the kitchens are sealed tight. And the grain’s been moved to the lower cellars.”

“And the villagers?”

Spencer gave me a look I’d come to know well—equal parts proud and protective. “The firewood made it to all five settlements before the pass closed. Damien had the last load delivered to Frostmere Hollow himself.”

I exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension I hadn’t realized I was holding.

It was done. The last of the preparations. There was nothing else we could do now but wait.

A soft knock came from behind us. We turned as Angela popped her head around the corridor’s bend, already bundled in her usual bright scarf. “My lord, my lady,” she said with a smile. “Ser Damien sent me to find you. He’s gathering everyone in the west solar for something he claims will boost morale.”

Spencer arched a brow. “Should I be concerned?

Angela grinned. “You’ll have to ask the jester yourself.”

The warmth of the solar hit me the moment we stepped inside. The fire blazed in the hearth, and several lanterns had been lit early to fight off the gray wash of snowlight from the windows. Damien stood near the fireplace, sleeves rolled up, chalking a line onto the stone wall. Beside him stood Chanse, dramatically polishing what looked like the point of a dart with the hem of his tunic.

Tommy, already seated with a mug of mulled wine, looked at us and waved. “Ah! The royal couple joins us at last.”

“We’re not royal yet,” I said, settling onto the nearest bench and letting Spencer ease in beside me.

“Don’t ruin my illusions,” Chanse said

“Alright, I have decided morale is low, snow is high, and so: a dart tournament,” Damien announced. 

Spencer gave him a wary look. “That seems dangerous in a room full of people.”

“Dangerous fun,” Chanse corrected.

Courtney, seated by the window next to Septa Amanda and Arasha, raised her cup. “I’m only here to watch him lose.”

“I resent that,” Chanse muttered.

Angela leaned in beside me. “He’s been talking about this for days. Wait until you see the rules.”

I turned to Spencer with a smirk. “You going to play?”

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “If I’m allowed to win.”

“You weren’t last time,” Damien reminded him, drawing the target circle. “You missed three in a row and blamed the wine.”

Chanse sighed deeply. “It’s a tragic tale. But today is a new day.”

I leaned my head against Spencer’s shoulder and watched as Chanse dramatically held the darts over his head like a sword before declaring the tournament officially begun.

Outside, the snow thickened. But in here, with firelight, friends, and the muffled laughter of people who had come to matter more than I’d ever expected, the blizzard could roar all it wanted.

As Damien set up the board and got the darts ready, drinks were poured and passed round. By the time we were ready to begin, Spencer was already flushed slightly from drink and laughter, leaned against the wall with a mug in hand, watching as Ser Damien landed another solid throw—just outside the center ring.

“Eight points,” Damien announced with a triumphant smirk. “Which brings my total to thirty-four.”

“You act like that’s impressive,” Chanse scoffed. “Wait ‘til I throw three bullseyes and win the meat pie.”

“The what now?” Angela asked, perched cross-legged on the nearest bench.

“Oh,” Chanse said with a mock-stern face, lifting his drink. “Did I not mention? Winner gets the last meat pie from dinner. It's currently sitting in the kitchen, untouched. Glorious. Still warm, probably.”

“I’m sure the kitchen staff would love us raiding leftovers while half the Keep’s on ration rotation,” Arasha quipped.

“Then I guess we better make it worth it,” Courtney grinned, holding up her darts.

As the rounds continued, the competition grew more intense—and more unhinged. Angela surprised everyone by nearly hitting the bullseye twice. Arasha kept getting exactly six points every throw, and Ser Damien looked like he was preparing for battle with every toss.

Then came Spencer’s turn.

He stepped forward, squared his shoulders, threw—and missed. Again.

Boos and groans echoed good-naturedly around the room.

“That’s—what is that, zero again?” Chanse said, stifling a snort.

Spencer held up both hands. “Tactical miss. Confuses the opponent.”

“Uh-huh,” Courtney said dryly.

A few more turns passed.

By the time his next round came, Spencer had already resigned himself to mockery, stepping up to the line with the determination of a man doomed to defeat.

First dart—thunk. Into the beam next to the board.

Second—pinged off the edge and rolled on the floor.

Third—bounced off the wall entirely.

The room exploded in laughter.

“Spence,” I said, blinking at him as I leaned into the crook of the bench, “have you actually gotten any points?”

He took a long, slow sip from his mug. “It would appear so.”

“Bummer,” I said, shrugging with a wicked grin. “Because the winner gets the leftovers. Meat pie.”

Spencer froze.

His eyes widened—dramatically widened—and he gasped like someone had just whispered ancient prophecy in his ear.

Everyone quieted, confused.

With a sudden burst of movement, Spencer spun around, cocked his arm, and—thunk.

Dead center.

A perfect bullseye.

The room exploded.

“What the—” Courtney started, nearly dropping her mug.

“By the gods—” Angela choked on her drink.

Spencer turned back around slowly, smug as sin.

He raised an eyebrow. “Did someone say meat pie?”

Even Ser Damien laughed, shaking his head. “Impressive,” he admitted. “But your turn was already over, Lord Agnew. Doesn’t count.”

Spencer placed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “You wound me, Damien. Truly.”

I was still laughing. “You’ve missed ten darts in a row but throw a perfect bullseye for a leftover dinner? I don’t know if that’s skill or sorcery.”

“Neither,” Spencer said, lifting his mug again. “That was the power of motivation. Never underestimate meat-based incentive.” 

Chanse didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, you sure don’t,” he said with a sly grin, raising his brows at Spencer and me. “Isn’t that how your wife got that glow? Little meat-based incentive after dark?”

The room howled. I buried my face in my hands, heat rushing to my cheeks.

Spencer didn’t flinch—just took a lazy sip of his drink and said, “Wouldn’t call it little, but sure.”

Now Damien choked on his wine.

Arasha was doubled over laughing. Angela was wheezing.

Damien finally caught his breath and muttered, “Gods help us all if their future child inherits that wit.”

Spencer just winked. “The heir to Carewatch will be devastating.”

“You mean traumatizing,” I mumbled into my hand.

Spencer leaned in and whispered near my ear, “You love it.”

I elbowed him gently. “Not when Chanse makes it weird!”

“That’s my job,” Chanse said proudly, raising his mug in a salute. “To meat pie, missed darts, and terrible innuendos.”

“To terrible innuendos,” the others echoed, laughter filling the solar while the blizzard raged on outside.

By the time we made it back to our chambers, my cheeks still ached from laughing. The corridor torches flickered against the stone, and the keep was quiet again, blanketed in snow and sleep.

Spencer shut the door behind us with a thud, then leaned back against it with a dramatic sigh. His hair was tousled, cheeks flushed with drink and heat, and he looked unfairly handsome for someone who’d missed nearly every dart he threw.

I slipped off my boots,shaking my head with a smile. “Remind me never to let you enter a dart tournament to defend my honor.”

Spencer straightened, affronted. “That was strategic chaos.”

“You didn’t hit a single point until someone mentioned meat pie.”

“And then I hit a bullseye.” He crossed the room, finger raised. “Let the record show.”

“Mhm.” I flopped onto the bed with a grin. “So as long as there’s a meat incentive, you’ll fight valiantly in my name?”

Spencer’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Only if there’s meat involved.”

I laughed into the blankets. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my shoulders. His voice dropped, teasing and suggestive. “Speaking of… would you care for a… meat incentive as reward for surviving the night’s tournament?”

I snorted. “I didn’t even win.”

Spencer deadpanned. “I’m trying to come up with a valid reason to fuck my wife, don’t ruin the moment.”

I dissolved into laughter, smacking his arm. “Spencer!”

But he was already leaning in, his mouth slanting over mine in a kiss that stole the breath right from my chest. Warm, hungry, full of the kind of affection that lingered in the marrow. His hand slipped around my waist as I melted into him, still smiling against his lips.

“You really didn’t need a reason,” I whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing me again. “But I like pretending I’m honorable.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting the rest of the keep—of the cold, the storm, the war—fade behind the thick stone walls of our chamber.

Tonight, it was just us. And whatever came next, I would always take him—tipsy, terrible at darts, and entirely mine.

Taglist: @fan-g0rl, @spennininomenon@mazzyowl@burrowedinnature77@apollothegod22@scratch-and-sniff-ghost33@areyoutheregoditsmecelia@cloverrwritess@readerihardlyknowher@lovergurl4life@goblynnrockz@ahhhiscute@happyclifford@jellysmosh@talkativecarnation@ladybugonfilm@teenyfinds@chamomiletea11@hot-dino-nuggies@aedeluca @hollicantstop @peaceloveandotherstuff @fandomwritesstuff @breakmeoffapieceofthatkitkat

(let me know if tags arent worling its being weird)

[and-claudia]

Part 14 of Bound by Winter is being beta read/edited!!

It'll be up soon hopfully!! I am actually taking my laptop to work tomrrow and so If i have time on my lunch I will post it then!!

[and-claudia]

I promise I am still here!!!

Work has picked up bc the other shift lead they hired left so I’ve been thrown into the manager duties earlier than expected. But I’m doing pretty damn good ngl. But it’s just taking up a lot of my time and energy. I am on vacation this weekend though and if my boyfriend drives part of it (which he probably will) I’ll sit in the front seat and write as much as I can for yall 🤍🤍

[and-claudia]

True love is letting your girlfriend (me) sing Hamilton drunkenly while I lay in your lap

[and-claudia]

I do not remember posting this… I was very drunk 😂😂