“Each day, you’d rise with me. Know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty. Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight."
Warning!: Set in the Game of Thrones world, childhood friends to lovers, some angst, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, mention of war, blood, hurt, comfort, happy ending
Summary: Throughout your youth, you and Spencer had been inseparable until one council changed everything. Now brought back together by duty and impending war, old wounds and unresolved feelings resurface.
Pairing: Knight!Spencer Agnew x Lady Stark!Reader
Words: 10.6k
Quick Note: Honestly, this one really got away from me, but I love everything GoT and fantasy. I was a little sad when the Damien Knight fic was scrapped, but what better way to scratch my itch with a 10k Spencer Knight fic?
Edit: I AM SO SORRY. I had a piece of my outline in the official post. So embarrassing
Your little body scurried up the stairs of the Library Tower, panting lightly. You pushed the great doors open, revealing many shelves lined with old books. The air was full of dust, the room was illuminated by the sunlight, and in front of you sat a curly haired boy, nose deep in a rather large book. You hiked up your skirt slightly as you walked towards the table, taking a seat in front of him. “Septa Elayne ought to walk into the Wolfswood and never return,” you said as you laid your head down on the table, smooshing your face into the wood.
The boy simply flipped the page of his text, “Did she try to show you needlepoint again?”
You leaned your chin on the table, peering up, “Yes. But is it not a menial task? I do not understand why father won’t permit me to learn sword skills with you.”
The boy finally looked over at you, seeing you pout deeply. “Because you are a woman and women obviously are only allowed to be skilled in stitching a tapestry, nothing more,” he said sarcastically.
You sat up straight and leaned over the table. You balled your hand into a fist and thumped his arm before leaning back into your seat. You folded your arms across your chest, “There were plenty of Stark women who carried a sword, Spencer.”
He rubbed his arm as if it hurt, “That is true and I do agree that you should be trained even a small amount. But you are no ordinary woman. You’re the future of the household, so I can understand why Lord Stark refuses you.”
“Ugghhhhh,” you dramatically threw your head back, “I know that.”
“At least I teach you whenever I can. Am I not skilled enough for your grace?”
“No,” you answered immediately.
“Oh? I can always cease our training then,” Spencer says as he places his arms on the table, resting his head on top of them.
Your head snapped up, looking wide eyed at Spencer, “No! I only jest. I enjoy our matches together and do not wish to stop.”
Spencer’s cheeks tinge pink at your words. Before he could say anything, there was a deep and sharp clear of a throat. You both turned towards the door to see your father standing tall in the doorway. His eyes fell onto you, “The Septa tells me you abandoned your lesson today. Young Spencer was sent up here to collect a book not too long ago and never returned. I thought I might find you here too.”
You slightly curl into yourself, “I apologize father, but-”
“I do not wish to hear it. It is important for you to learn and hone your skills. You are to make your way back to her and apologize.”
You mutter under your breath, “I do not wish to. Needlepoint is stupid and useless.”
Your father made his way over to the table, now turning his attention to Spencer. “And you. Are you not to be with Lord Commander Hecox for a lesson in the lay of the land?”
“My lord, I already know where everything is. I read the books and maps myself. The Commander is too slow for me.”
“Maybe patience should be your next lesson then.”
Both of your heads lean down, taking the scolding. Your eyes meet for a brief moment. Your father sighed, placing his hands on his hips, “I will give you both some moments together before I expect you to make your ways back to your lessons.”
You both looked up at him as he gave you one curt nod, turned away and exited the room. You looked at Spencer, “So, you judge me for missing my lesson, yet here you are-”
“Don’t,” he says while fighting a smile.
You smile brightly at him, staying there for a moment longer. You both eventually departed but made arrangements to meet in the kitchen during your break. Spencer begrudgingly made his way to the courtyard as you made yours to the Great Keep. As expected, Septa gave you a long speech about decorum and how a lady shouldn’t rough around.
Every stitch you made was met with a glance toward the open window of the keep. You silently measured the crawl of the sun in the sky, counting each moment. The Septa seemed to mistake your silence for focus and praised you. The instant the lesson ended, you were already halfway out the door before she could assign you any more tasks.
You had made your way to the kitchen inconspicuously and found Spencer standing by the door trying, and failing, to look unsuspicious. Your steps caught his ear as he turned towards you, “You’re late.”
“Apologies. Septa kept correcting my every stitch.”
Spencer tilted his head towards the door, “Cook made strawberry tarts this morning.”
Your eyes widened, gleaming with joy, “How many?”
He grinned at you, “Enough that two desserts will not be missed. The usual plan?”
You made your way inside first, hiding behind a barrel. After a second, you gestured towards Spencer to make his way in. He simply walked through the door, “Good day, Cook Tadd.”
The tall man looked down at the young boy in front of him, nodding once, “Good day, young one.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, suspicion written on his face, “What brings you to this side of the homestead?”
“I was hoping to request a dish of salted meat. I have physical training soon and thought I ought to have enough power from the food for my body.”
You slowly made your way to the next barrel, careful to not make a sound.
Cook Tadd paused for a second too long. “You have never requested such a thing,” he stated as he began to turn back towards the table.
Spencer thought with haste, “Lord Commander Hecox recommended it to me. Build up muscles since I am a growing boy.”
Tadd glanced back at Spencer as you made your way under the table, scooting closer to the position of the tarts.
“I suppose that does make sense,” he eyed the boy again before shrugging and making his way to a knapsack nearby but away from you. “How much would you like, boy?”
As Spencer made his way over, he scratched the back of his head, signaling you. “I believe about a pound will do.”
As the two men spoke, you made your way out and up, looking at the back of Cook Tadd. Quietly and carefully, you lifted your first layer of your skirt, grabbed and placed two tarts on it, wrapping it up and scurrying out of the kitchen. Out of his peripheral vision, Spencer watched you leave. A small smile grew on his lips. Cook cleared his throat, “Ahem. Will that be all?” He raised an eyebrow.
Spencer took the small bag and placed it in his pocket, leaning back towards the door. “No, that will be all. Thank you kind sire,” he quickly said before bolting out of the kitchen.
Cook Tadd simply shook his head, “Those kids.” His attention settled on the oven, taking out two tart shells.
The Godswood had become your own hiding spot, though many visited often. The golden light of the sunset cast over the white tree. The red leaves rustling was the only sound that reached your spot. You both ran over with hearts beating fast as you collapsed onto the grass under the great tree. After a moment, you unraveled your skirt, revealing a myriad of crumbs and jelly paste, but also two tarts. Spencer fell into a laugh at the sight, "Successful as always, my lady.”
You chuckled, handing him one, “Did you ever doubt me?”
He took it from you, your hands meeting for only a heartbeat, “Never.”
You had stolen many items together ranging from apples to honeycakes, but strawberry tarts had always been your favorite. You took yours into your hands. He reached out his tart and you reached yours, clicking them together before taking a bite. You groaned at the sweet taste. Spencer nodded his head in agreement. He swiped the crumbs off his mouth before speaking, “You know, the cook is going to catch us one day.”
You smiled at him, jelly and pieces of strawberry smeared on your face, “Not today.”
Spencer’s heart warmed at the sight as he flashed you a just as warm smile, “No. Not today.”
The seasons changed from cool springs, to warm summer, to windy falls, and cold winters. With each change of the season, more time grew and the years passed by. You began to grow into a fine young lady, continuing your lessons. Spencer grew into a fierce soldier with harder and harder drills every day, along with his book studies. As your time became occupied, you always still made room for each other, whether it was studying together in the library or walking on top of the walls and simply speaking to one another. Over the years, you grew impossibly close. Wherever one of you was, the other was not far gone. He was your person.
However, for your eighteenth winter, fate played a cruel trick on you.
It was a particularly cold morning when everything seemed to change. You had barely finished your morning meal when you made your way to the Great Hall per your father’s request. As you entered, you were met by a few soldiers, the Lord Commander, and Spencer standing before your Lord father. Your brows pinched in confusion as you looked at him, taking your seat next to him. He didn’t spare a glance at you. You turned your eyes to Spencer who merely shrugged a shoulder, also showing slightly confusion. Your father sat up in his seat, “Lord Commander, I believe you have brought a proposition to me today.”
The Lord Commander Hecox nodded his head, “Yes, my lord. I will be on leave for a campaign with your Silver Army for the foreseeable future and would like to take Spencer as my apprentice. The boy shows great promise of knighthood one day.”
Your heartbeat stopped. The color drained from your face. Your head snapped to your side. “Father?” Your voice came out in an unintended whisper.
He nodded. “I agree. Spencer,” Lord Stark turned his attention to the boy before him, “your talents have outgrown these walls. I believe training privately with the Lord Commander and experiencing the world will do you wonders. I hope to continue to see your growth.”
Your mouth hung open, your eyes finding Spencers. He seemed to be just as taken aback. His eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing as if to say something, and his hands began to fidget with his tunic. Before he could speak, you spoke up rather loudly, “How would you be able to see his growth if he is not here?”
Your father finally turned to you, speaking patiently, “My child, lower your voice-”
“No! You intend to send him away while a war is beginning. You intend to put him in harm's way.”
Spencer spoke up meagerly, taking a step closer to you, “My lady, please calm.”
Your eyes shot to Spencer, looking at him incredulously, “Calm? You tell me to calm down when this- I- did you know about this?”
He shook his head fervently, “No, I promise you I did not know.”
“Then how can you be so placid?”
He swallowed hard before speaking, “Because…” His eyes met the floor for a long moment, thinking, before raising up to look at his Lord Commander, then directly into yours, “Because this is the opportunity I have been working towards for years of my life.” His voice softened as he reached out to you, “That does not make having to leave you any easier.” His eyes searched yours, silently pleading for you to understand.
The idea of Spencer leaving you made your breath hitch. Your stomach turned. Suddenly, the hall felt too small. What seemed to hurt most was his willingness to leave, as if he wanted to.
No one in the room dared to speak. The air that was already cold turned frozen as the people waited on bated breath. Spencer’s eyes locked onto yours as yours did his. For a moment, you both seemed to try to communicate but to no avail. Tears began to well in your eyes. His heart ached at the sight. He took one step closer, slowly making his way to you as though he was approaching something already broken. “Please, my dear, don’t-” Before he could say more, you rose quickly from your seat, running out of the hall.
Spencer froze, watching you leave. His hand was still reaching out. For a moment, no one moved.
Eventually, Lord Stark spoke. “You are excused,” he looked over at the boy, “Squire Agnew.”
Spencer was already halfway down the hall before Lord Stark finished speaking. He did not care to listen much more. He cared to see you okay again.
Your feet ran along the dirt passageways, kicking up dust as your dress dragged along the floor and your flats scraped not so gingerly. Many people around watched you, but you did not care. Your legs carried you to the Godswood. Your hands reached out to the tree as you threw yourself against it, letting tears fall freely. You slouched against the wood, holding onto it. Your heart ached in ways you have never felt. You couldn’t bear the idea of your boy leaving, maybe never to return. The world outside was cruel and unforgiving. You never know what awaits you in the dark. Thoughts flooded your head. For a moment, you covered your head, curling into yourself as if to be protected from the inevitable.
After some time, you heard the crunching of the crimson leaves and heavy breaths in front of you. The footsteps stopped. You dared not look up. The only sound in the moment was his breathing and your small hiccups. His hand twitched towards you before falling back to his side. Once his breathing calmed, he spoke up, “You know, it is not kind to make a gentleman run to your known spots simply to find you.”
He chuckled slightly, trying to break the ever growing tension, but you remained in the same position. Another silent beat passed before he spoke again, “I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to hurt you. I just…I wish to explain how meaningful this can be. I would finally be a squire to someone important. I would be able to hone my skills through true matches. I would-”
Your muttered words froze anything else he had to say for a second. He blinked. “What?”
You looked up at him with puffy eyes, face flushed and stained with tears. The sight before him made him want to pull you into a hug and apologize profusely. Instead, he crouched down to you, sitting on the grass. Your eyes followed him as he lowered himself. You whispered, “You would leave me. You are going to leave me. We will never see each other again.”
“And you do not know that we will.”
Spencer looked to the face of the tree, searching for any clear answer, but none came to him. Because there wasn’t one. The grass beneath the white tree that had once held laughter now seemed to hold your grief. Slowly, Spencer reached for your hand. You did not pull away. Your fingers laced together, neither of you could find the words.
Above you, the red leaves rustled. Neither of you seemed to notice. For the first time since your shared childhood, there didn’t seem to be a plan to make things better. Quietly, Spencer tried. “I’ll come back to you.”
You stared at him, etching his features into your mind, afraid of forgetting him. After a long moment, you spoke once more, simply. “Promise?”
Spencer began to open his mouth but instead of repeating the word back to you, it hung there. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Because he couldn’t promise it. Instead, silence took over.
Above you, the red leaves fell one by one, settling around you. The seasons were changing. Childhood had ended long before winter arrived, only now did either of you realize it.
Spencer left three days after your father’s blessing. The day he left, Winterfell seemed to be quieter. Over the first few weeks, you would find yourself glancing towards the library whenever the Septa became unbearable. Whenever you managed to escape and made your way up, you had hoped to find a curly haired boy, nose in pages about Gods knew what. Your home under the Godswood lingered with his presence. Cook Tadd seemed to have even noticed that the kitchen no longer lost as many strawberry tarts. Your haunts with Spencer slowly became abandoned. He was no longer there. But the keep did not stop simply because you had a broken heart.
Years followed, filled with more lessons and less carefree laughter. Septa Elayne would start your mornings with etiquette lessons, another taught you diplomacy and history in the afternoon, and your father would show you how to properly handle Winterfell and its needs. Your evenings became a routine of sitting by his side, listening to the smallfolk and learning the burdens of what it means to be the Lady of Winterfell one day. Some days became harder than others, but the words spoken to you were always the same.
“The future of Winterfell will rest upon your shoulders.”
Slowly, over time, you stopped arguing. You stood straighter. Your words were carefully crafted just like your smile. You learned to hide your grief and any sadness with much practice. The young girl who ran away from lessons and stole treats turned into a poised lady who her people looked to for solace. Many took your composure for coldness, calling you The Northern Rose. Your beauty was unmatched, but many feared your approach.
But those who truly knew you and your heart knew better. Your kindness still extended to every servant who lived in your care. You still made the effort to visit the courtyard, training quietly with Wniterfell’s new General. The sword you carried remained hidden in the armoury as your father still did not approve. You found the time to help the maesters collect ingredients in the woods as many grew older. You cared for your people. The walls you built had become for the world beyond Winterfell, not the ones you loved.
Only after Winterfell had gone to sleep did you allow yourself to be simple again. You’d find yourself under the Godswood, writing letters to Spencer and reading his. For a while, you stayed in touch, receiving a raven every fortnight. However, as the seasons changed, the time between each letter became longer and longer to every other fortnight, then to once a moon. Eventually, they stopped altogether.
“The warring kingdoms are slowly yet surely gaining more allegiance and military power, preparing for a large war that may just be outside our doors. Therefore, I have sent word to the Lord Commander of our Silver Army to send men here for more protection,” Your father stated casually as you both sat at the table together in the Great Keep, writing ravens.
You glanced at him before returning your attention to your quill, “I understand. Shall I take inventory of our supplies? Winter is coming and we’ll have more mouths to feed.”
“That is an excellent decision, my daughter. There will be fifty additional men within our walls. Make sure the maesters prepare extra healing kits as well as a precaution.”
“Yes, father. I will add that to my list for the day. When will they be arriving?”
“I got word that they will be here once the sun sets today.”
“We should plan a feast in their honor. A small escape for them,” you looked up at him.
He nodded, eyes already on you “Another fair idea.”
“I will speak with Cook Tadd soon to see what we must do.”
There was a silent beat before he spoke, “You have grown into quite the lady.”
“Have you only now noticed,” you said teasingly.
Your father smiled, letting out a small laugh, “No. I always knew you would be.”
You got up from the table. “I learned from the best,” you smiled and made your way out of the hall.
Preparations seemed to have gone as smoothly as you hoped. Cook Tadd agreed to deliver a great feast, calling in all his people right away and began cooking. Servants were sent everywhere around the grounds with various tasks, but all hands were busy. You made sure there were plenty of beds for the men and enough food for everyone. The Septa thought to have your maidens make center pieces, bringing a pop of color to the hall. You opted out of making them. Before long, every corner buzzed in preparation for the eve.
While the day wore on, the Winterfell grew louder than it had in a long while. Servants hurried through corridors excitedly. Smoke curled from the kitchens as Tadd and his people worked vigorously. The Septa clothed you in your finest silver dress, allowing your long hair to flow freely.
As you finished getting ready, a knock was heard from your door. You opened it, revealing a young servant, slightly flushed from running around. “My lady,” he bowed quickly, “Your father has sent me to request your presence in the Great Hall.”
You nodded once, flashing the boy a small smile, “Thank you. No need to let him know I’ll be there. Please, get some water before the night begins.”
You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before he scurried away. You gingerly made your way to the hall, holding your posture all the way there. A guard opened the door for you, revealing many men lining the walls. Lord Stark already sat in the high seat. Aware of your presence, each man bowed before you as you walked down the middle, holding your head high. Your father watched as you made your way up the small stairs and took your rightful seat next to him. Without looking away from the men, he leaned to his side slightly, directing his words at you, “How much do you bet the feast will last well into mid night?”
You leaned in as well, “My coin is on till the marrow.”
Your father let out a huff, grinning lightly at your words.
After a couple of moments, a man walked in and spoke loudly, “Now introducing his Lord Commander of the Silver Army.” As the words were said, the surrounding soldiers straightened up ever so slightly and puffed out their chests.
Your father sat straight in his chair and you followed suit, folding your hands over your lap, watching. A man dressed in silver armour adorned with a white cape followed in rigidly. He didn’t seem as tall as many of the men, but his presence was strong. His stride was long and his hand stayed on his sword. Once he made his way in front of your father, he bowed perfectly. His voice came out, “Greetings, your Grace.” His light blue eyes met yours through his helm, “My Lady.” His eyes returned to your father, “I am the Lord Commander of this fleet and have brought as many men as you have requested of Lord Hecox. We are here to serve you and Winterfell.”
Your head tilted slightly. He seemed so familiar, as if you’ve heard his voice once. And his eyes an icy blue accentuated by the silver. There had only ever been one person with eyes like that.
“Welcome home, Lord Spencer Agnew,” your father gave one nod.
Spencer took off his helm, revealing longer curly hair, somewhat of a beard, yet the same face you remembered. His eyes fell on you.
You froze as you stared at the man in front of you. Your breath caught in your throat and your heart began to beat rapidly. He had survived. You thought the worst some times but here he was, taller and looked more worn down. To everyone else, it seemed as if you were simply watching the exchange. To Spencer and yourself, the world had stopped.
After a moment, Spencer’s eyes returned to your father, “Thank you, Lord Stark. It is good to be home.”
Your father gestured to you with a hand, “My daughter here has prepared a feast for you and your men that will commence soon. She has also prepared beds and goods. Please, take a moment to relax.”
Spencer turned to you, bowing his head before holding your gaze, “Thank you, my Lady. I do appreciate it.” A small smile appeared on his lips briefly.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Of course, Lord Agnew. If you are in need more, do not hesitate.”
He took a second before answering, but you noticed. “I won’t.”
Spencer turned his attention to his men and commanded them to take their supplies and such to where they’d be staying for the time being. As the men moved and the hall became noisy, you turned to your father, anger in your eyes. Yet, you spoke softly to him in a hushed whisper, “You knew.”
He watched the men, refusing to make eye contact with you, “I did. I learned of his promotion not too long ago. Hence the reason why I asked for this group of men.” He turned his head towards you, “I thought this would make you feel safer.”
Your jaw clenched slightly and your heart ached. You stood from your seat quicker than you intended to. “You are wrong.”
Before he could say any more to you, you turned and made your way out of the hall wishing to be alone. But you hadn’t noticed the eyes that followed you.
Your breathing picked up as you made your way outside. People ran around every which way, some shouting at others. But you heard none of it. You automatically bowed your head as you passed by, but your mind was occupied with the thought of the man who stood in front of you. Many questions filled your head and everything became too much all at once. Without thinking, you found your feet had taken you to the Godswood. There, the world was silent except for the whistling of the wind and the sway of the crimson leaves. You reached out, fingertips tracing the carved face. If your father had simply told you he would be coming back, you could have prepared better. At least you like to think you could’ve. But here you were, running away like a little girl, trying to hold yourself together.
Crunching footsteps could be heard behind you for a moment before they stopped. You didn’t turn. For a long while, deafening silence took over the atmosphere. Until the voice you used to need was heard from a respectful distance away, “I hoped I would find you here, my Lady.”
“You should not have,” you said immediately, your voice low.
Another beat of silence. “I remember you always did run here when you felt too much.”
“I am surprised you remember.”
“Could have fooled me, Lord Commander.”
Spencer flinched at your words. You curled in ever so slightly at them too. He tried again. “I do not believe there is a need for that kind of formality.”
“It is your title, is it not?” You finally turned around, looking at Spencer. Your body stood straighter than you ever had, chest slightly puffed up and head raised.
“It…it is, you are correct.”
“Then I will call you as such-”
“You cannot simply call me Spencer anymore?”
You paused for a moment. His eyes studied you, trying to read your face, but it remained blank. “Spencer was a boy I knew. You are not him.”
Spencer took a minute, absorbing your words. His brows curled in slight confusion. “What do you mean?”
You lip quivered as you spoke, “Do you know how many times I buried you?” You began to step close to the man in silver. “I have waited for your letters, any sign that you would return. The days following- no, the weeks following, I mourned you. Your lack of presence. Then you stopped writing to me. For years, I continued to send ravens only for none to return. Eventually, I learned to stop waiting for someone who was never coming back. I-” your voice betrayed you. You stood directly in front of him, only a few inches in between the two of you, “I thought the worst most nights, fearing for you. But you had forgotten me.” You sniffled, eyeing the ground for a moment before looking back up at him, “...because what else was I supposed to believe?”
Spencer’s hand twitched towards you before falling back to his side. The silence between you stretched for what seemed like forever. Your eyes had locked in on each other, taking in your new appearances.
“I read every letter. Your words always brought me joy. It made the days go by easier.”
You frowned, “Don’t.” He blinked. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”
“I knew the name of your new horse for your nineteenth name day. I knew when the first snow fell. I knew your father scolded you for not eating dinner due to Cook Tadd having burnt most of the food. I knew the Septa and everyone grew harder on you, so you grew harder on yourself.”
You stared at him as he spoke, heart clenching. You remembered writing those letters years ago.
“Do you think there was ever a day I did not want to come home?” His eyes searched yours. “Every fight, every battle, I thought of nothing but home. Of you.” He shoved a hand into his armour, pulling out a thick square of folded paper, old and colored from the sun. He held it out to you. You took it from him, unwrapping each one. “I kept your letters in my breastplate. I promised myself that one day I would return.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you skimmed each one. The dates were from various years, each with your writing scribbled on the parchment. Your eyes lifted, “You kept these?”
Your eyes softened at his words. You saw many of them had some type of damage over the years and large creases from being folded constantly. “Then why did you not write back?”
“We got called into battle one day and Lord Commander Hecox had to forbid ravens to ensure no one was sending word to any enemies. I tried my hardest to get him to make an exception, but he wouldn’t see to it. I had not meant to leave you, and I will bear that I did with me every day.”
You were quiet for a moment, thinking. You handed him the letter back. “I believe you…” Spencer looked relieved for a moment before you continued, “but that does not undo six years.”
His face fell slightly as he nodded his head, “I understand.”
Silence filled the air once more. While much of your anger was gone, a sense of grief began to take over once more. Though it had not been his fault, you did not know the man before you. He still looked like Spencer, but just not your Spencer.
The wind gently pushed your hair. The silence settled between the two of you. The years couldn’t be taken back.
Spencer cleared his throat, “Ahem. So…The Northern Rose.”
Your nose scrunched ever so slightly at the name, “Wherever did you hear that?”
He shrugged, “I had heard tales of a young Stark lady that grew into the North’s greatest beauty, yet held a presence no one could break.”
You let out a humorousless laugh, “Yes, I have heard that name thrown around by some lords, especially the ones whose sons I had turned down.”
His head tilted, “You are not married?”
You looked at him, “No, of course not. I do not find love in any of them.”
“None of them please you?”
No words came to mind for a moment as Spencer questioned you. You had not expected this conversation. Your cheeks began to flush pink, “I simply do not wish to. I have other tasks that require my attention over speaking to a man.”
He looked at you for a long moment as though he were searching for an answer you refused to give. Spencer sent a teasing smirk, “Yet here you are, speaking to me instead of hosting the feast.”
You were rendered speechless. “I- You-,” you huffed, “I barely register you as a man, Lord Commander.”
He placed a hand on his heart, “Oh! You wound me.”
You balled your hand into a fist, hitting his arm but you immediately regretted the action as your hand met metal. You recoiled, shaking your hand and wincing slightly. Spencer reached out and took your hand in his, “I don’t wear tunics anymore, you know.”
You let him take your hand, “No, I did not know until today.”
He gently examined your hand, “Everything seems to be fine. You did not hit hard enough to break anything.”
“I could have told you that.”
“I needed to see for myself.”
Your warmth engulfed his skin. He held your hand for longer than he needed to, relishing the feeling. For a long while, neither of you moved.
But your duty is always called.
At the entrance of the Godswood, Septa Elayne spoke up, “My Lady Stark, your father requests yours and the Lord Agnew to the Great Hall to start the feast.”
Spencer held your hand slightly tighter, but you pulled away, taking a step back, “Thank you for the message Septa. We shall be right there.”
She nodded, turning her eyes towards Spencer, “It is good to see you again my child.”
He smiled at her, “As it is you, Septa.”
She bowed once, turning on her heels and shouting behind her, “Do not keep him waiting.”
You both stood there for a moment more before you spoke, “I shall see you at the feast, Spencer.”
He smiled warmly at you, “I will be right behind you, your Grace.”
You glanced at him once more before turning and walking back towards the hall, straightening yourself. Spencer took a moment to look at the white and crimson tree. His hand grazed over the bark, silently watching it. The cool wind blew through his curls and across his armour. He listened to the silence for a second longer before smiling to himself. He turned, quickly catching up and walked by your side. “I am unmarried as well,” Spencer blurted out.
“I figured as much,” you simply answered.
“Still as sharp as ever.”
Days passed by as the Silver Army settled in, creating a routine with the guards at Winterfell. Spencer could often be found by your father discussing future tactics and strategy. He was, in turn, around you as you accompanied him to council and such matters. Even if you weren’t by your father, Spencer would find you. Whether you were at the library, the Godswood, the courtyard, anywhere. It was as if he could sense where you’d be.
One day, you found yourself at the glass garden, tending to your own planted Solanaceae. You opted to wear your cotton tunic and breeches, allowing you to move freely. Your hair was tied into a neat bun, but a few strands fell framing your face. As you were watering your flowers hunched over, you heard the door open and close. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to walk in, so you paid no mind until the person spoke up. “Pardon me, but I was searching for Lady Stark. Have you seen her?”
You turned your head, about to possibly scold someone, when you saw Spencer standing before you holding a medium sized cloth. He was wearing his own tunic and leather pants which he typically wears for sword training. You stood up, dusting your clothing with your hands, “Well, luckily for you, I have.”
“That is rather perfect.”
You let out a small giggle despite yourself. He smiled at you. You cleared your throat right away, “Were you in need of something, Spencer?”
He shook his head, “No, no. I was hoping to have a small break from training to share these with you.” He held out his hand with the bundle.
Your eyebrow raised, “And what are they?”
He shrugged, “You will have to agree to a moment with me to get them.”
You eyed him suspiciously before setting the bucket of water down. “Lead the way then sir.”
He gestured for you to follow, opening the door for you. You stepped out with a small bow. Spencer led you down the dirt path and towards Hunter's Gate. Your brows pinched, “Where are we going? This leads out to Wolfwoods.”
Spencer gestured above the wall to the guard before turning his attention to you, “Do you trust me?”
You blinked at him, “I do, but-”
“Then you will simply have to see where this adventure takes us. Hm?” He said in a rather cheerful tone.
You were as confused as ever, but you did hold trust in Spencer, so you continued to follow. He leads you outside the gates and into the woods. You walked close by in silence, watching where you were to not lose your footing. After a minute, he brought you to a clearing of green grass and a meadow stretched as far as the eye could see. There, he sat down on the ground. He patted the space next to him. You sat down slowly, careful of anything that could be in the short grass, and stretched your legs out.
For a minute, you both sat enjoying the sun beaming down on you. The air was warm and sweet from the surrounding flowers. Eventually, Spencer set the cloth on his thighs, unraveling it and revealing two strawberry tarts. They were slightly lopsided but still intact. Your head perked up, “You brought strawberry tarts?”
He took out an extra cloth, placing one of them on it, “Mhm. Not stolen this time. I asked Cook Tadd to make a few for you. Well, more for us to share but I did ask him to make your favorite.”
He reached the tart out for you. You took it from his hand, grazing his fingers for a moment too long. You placed it on your lap, looking at it. “I have not had one in years.”
Spencer looked at you curiously, “Are they not your favorite anymore?”
You shook your head, “No, they are. I…I simply haven’t had the desire for them since…” Your words faded.
Spencer understood what you meant. Before silence could take over, he spoke, “We ought to enjoy these ones then. Tadd made them specially for you and it would be a shame to waste.”
You slowly picked up the pastry, hesitating for a second before taking a bite. It was as delicious as you had remembered. The sweetness of the jam, the tart strawberries that were slightly out of season, and the softness of the shell. You let out a small hum in response, “Gods, I’d forgotten how wonderful these were.”
He chuckled at your response, having taken his own bite. “They are quite the best sweet.”
You sat in a comfortable silence, enjoying the tarts together like you did as kids. Your eyes couldn’t help but to glance over Spencer’s form, taking in the well built man. But what caught your attention was the scar on his chest that you could see in the V of his neck. You stared at it for longer than you had intended, you didn’t notice his growing smirk. “Has the Septa taught you that it is not kind to stare?”
Your eyes snapped up to his face, ears turning a shade of pink, “I apologize. I was observing the scar on your chest.”
He looked down seeing the exposed skin, “Oh, this?” He pointed at his chest, looking back up at you. “When Lord Hecox first trained me, he had me go against some rather large people I was not quite prepared for. He said it would teach me resilience, but they only beat my ass.”
You chuckled, “What happened in that particular fight?”
“I was dueling a man with swords, but he was fairly brutal in his style. He had cut me across my chest, shallow but enough to draw blood and hurt.”
You stared back at his chest for a moment, “You said across your chest, yet I only see a small one in the middle there.”
“Mm, the illusion of a cover up, my lady,” Spencer pulled the opening of his tunic across his chest, revealing a scar that went from his left shoulder and slightly down to his right peck. Your eyes widened. They had traveled the faded pink line as he watched you. “It has healed well but it is still rather hideous to look at in the mirror.”
You blurted out, “It is not hideous.”
Spencer froze for a minute at your words. Simple, but it had hit him. He wasn’t one to show off his scars in fear of ridicule or tease. But you proved different. His cheeks warmed, not just from the sun. “Thank you, my lady. I am glad you do not think so. It would be a shame if you did.”
Unable to continue the conversation without the both of you flushing profusely, Spencer thankfully changed the subject, making small talk and learning more about you.
The two of you stayed in the woods until the sun began to set. You were sure your father or the Septa was looking for you, but you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you had a day to yourself, carefree. Sitting beside Spencer again beneath the sun felt like home again.
As the days passed into weeks, Spencer grew the habit of finding you wherever you were hidden. If you were in the library, he would bring a stack of books to your table claiming to study though he spent the time talking. If you took solace by the Godswood, he would appear with pastries and goods in hand. Spencer would even help you tend to your garden, or simply watched you, keeping you company. Quietly, you built a routine together that neither of you spoke of. Conversations became easier, and silence grew into comfort.
One afternoon, you searched the castle endlessly, trying to find your father. As you passed by the courtyard, a series of clangs could be heard, striking you as odd since the Silver Army was in the midst of a meal. You followed the sound towards the training yard. There, you found Spencer, alone, swinging at a straw man. You watched him for a long minute in the nearby archway. When you used to train as kids, his moves had been slow and sloppy, but now, he was quick and sharp with the blade.
You gently gathered your skirt as you made your way into the yard. Spencer kept swinging until he heard your voice, “It is usually not recommended to miss meals, especially those for soldiers.”
Panting lightly, Spencer stopped his movements and turned towards you, “Apologies, my lady. My men take up all the equipment so it is hard to find time to train myself. Can not afford to get rusty.”
You scoffed, “Please. You have been skilled with the sword since we were young. I doubt you will become rusty after one meal.” You made your way over to his other sword set by the mannequin, picking it up and leaning on it.
He watched you for a moment. “You make a fair point,” he picked up his sword again, continuing, “but I have already asked the cooks to save me a plate for later.”
You nodded slowly, “Smart.” You raised the sword in your hand, pointing its tip at Spencer, “Then shall you practice with a real target?”
One of his eyebrows raised, “My dear, I do not believe this is wise.”
“Come on. It will bring more satisfaction.”
He paused for a moment, thinking, before making his way into the open yard. “If my lady insists.” You turned as he raised his sword haphazardly. “I shall take it soft on you.”
You said nothing as you raised your sword in a defensive position. You nodded once. Spencer swung his sword, holding back immensely. Instead of you falling back as he had expected, you swept your foot to the side, maneuvering yourself to the side. You slid your sword around his and easily pushed it out of his hand, disarming him. He watched his sword fall to the ground. He blinked a couple of times. His eyes found you, smiling smugly. Spencer’s face was written with surprise, his voice reflecting such, “You still remember your footwork?”
You let out a laugh, “You think I stopped simply because you left?”
A small smile grew on his lips as he picked his sword back up, taking the practice seriously. He tilted his head, “Show me.”
You both sparred for a long while. At first, Spencer didn’t use much force, but with every disarm and every time your sword reached his throat in defeat, he began to use more power. If he sent an attack towards you, you would easily block. If you attacked and he blocked you, you’d hit him from the position he put you in. Once, Spencer switched to a tactic you were unfamiliar with and almost lost, but quickly recovered after briefly watching his attack pattern. Admittedly, he had expected the same skills he had trained you in, expecting a little girl, but he was sorely mistaken. While you remained playful in your fight, you also never let your guard down.
Spencer had stopped thinking about winning several rounds ago. Instead, he watched the confidence in your movements. He found himself smiling before he realized it.
As you both took a small break, Spencer spoke up, “Who taught you?”
You smiled at him, “You did.”
“I did not teach you that well.”
“Hm. True. I did have a member of our guard continue lessons with me, but I used what you showed me and improved it over the years.”
“I wish I’d been here to see how far you had come,” he said without thinking.
Your eyes met for a long while, communicating without speaking.
You spoke softly, “You were here. Every lesson began with something you had taught me. You just weren’t here to see the rest.
A small lump formed in Spencer’s throat. He swallowed in an attempt to relieve it, “I do not think I will be making that mistake again.”
You smiled warmly at him, a smile he had not seen in so long, “Good. I could use a sparring partner.”
He laughed quietly, sheathing his sword, “Then I suppose it is time for me to receive lessons of my own.”
Together, you walked back toward the castle, talking and teasing one another as if you were young again.
“Lord Stark, Lord Commander Agnew, the Boltons have reached villages nearby and do not intend on stopping,” a young man rushed into the war room, relaying his knowledge.
Your father stood up straight, “Very well. We must prepare the walls.”
Spencer looked at the boy, “Tell the men to arm themselves and be ready to march forward.”
The boy bowed quickly before making his way back out. Your eyes stayed glued to the map sprawled out across the table, pointing to various locations, “If they have moved into these villages, we can still evacuate the people in these ones.”
“Excellent,” your father said, “I will send word to the Chieftains to bring their people within the walls.”
“I will send the maesters down with all supplies and send the servants to make sure we have enough to care for incoming people.”
He nodded once at you, turning his attention to Spencer, “I will send some of my additional men with you and notify them of your charge.”
“Thank you, Lord Stark. We will begin our march forward.”
You each nodded at each other. You and Spencer left the room with quick paces. Neither of you spoke for a long while, focused on the upcoming battle. You couldn’t help but to pray internally for their safety, especially Spencer’s. Eventually, you reached a hallway where your paths would split. You both turned to one another and stood there for a moment. Your eyes were full of worry. His were filled with determination. You both nodded once before begrudgingly departing. As your back turned and your feet carried you, your heart ached and your stomach twisted. There was a feeling you couldn’t shake. Without thinking, you turned back around, running towards Spencer and yelling, “Wait!”
As he turned around, you caught his wrist in your hand, looking down at it. You were too shy to look up at him. His eyes watched you with some concern before you found your voice again, “Please, do not make unnecessary sacrifices. Your men need their Commander alive.”
Spencer paused for a long moment, surprised by your sudden words. His shoulders and face softened, however. His other hand reached your wrist, pulling your hand down into his and laced your fingers together. He spoke softly, almost in a whisper as his words were only for you, “I will not, my lady.”
You finally looked up at him, eyebrows laced with concern and eyes with silent fear. “Do you promise?”
You watched his eyes for a long moment, an internal battle in his own head. He picked up your hand and kissed the back of it gently. His thumb brushed once over your knuckles, “I will find my way back to you.”
Slowly, Spencer lowered your hand to your side, squeezing it once before reluctantly letting go. He walked backwards for a long moment, watching you, before turning fully around towards his men. You stood there for a long moment, watching him leave. Only when the sound of marching boots faded into the distance did you allow yourself to breathe. You held trust in Spencer, but it was the battle you did not.
You took a deep breath. There was still work to be done. You made your way to the Courtyard quickly. There, servants were running around with supplies and helping wherever they were needed. Many stopped only a moment long enough to receive your instructions before scurrying once more. Septa Elayne took charge of the maids, handing out demands like candy. The maesters had set up tents, prepared to tend to wounds. Wherever there was uncertainty, someone’s eyes found yours. You made your rounds, making sure everyone had what was needed and gathered what wasn’t present. As villagers began to make their way through, you gently greeted and escorted them to whatever their need was. While you took charge of Winterfell, Spencer and his men made their way to the battlefield with him at the front on horseback.
As time carried on, more refugees arrived with several wounds and many hungry. Ravens came and went at your father's behest, some relayed to you. You kept working, helping the maesters with the many wounds. Your hands became covered in blood and your dress had long been ruined, but you paid no mind. Even though your mind became occupied, your worry for Spencer never faded, staying at the front of your thoughts. By midday, every bed and cot was taken, filling the Great Hall. By afternoon, food began to be taken from the winter storage supply. By the eve, your people had begun to settle. The sun began to slowly set but the casualties did not stop.
You had found a child, sitting alone holding their arm. You gently made your way towards them, bending down to their level. “Hello, dear child.” She simply looked up at you with big round eyes. “Have you been tended to?” She shook her head. “May I?” You asked, pointing to her arm. She looked unsure, hesitant. You smiled warmly, “I promise to be gentle.” She took in your words for a long moment before reaching it out to you. You took it in your hands carefully, examining the wound. You took out supplies from the apron you had donned. You spoke to her as you cleaned it, “Quite the wound you have. Does it hurt you?” She shook her head again. “Wow, you must be so brave. I would have been crying on the floor, whining over and over.” She giggled at you as you wrapped up the rather large cut. “Have you eaten yet? I hear there are honey cakes in the Great Hall.” Her ears perked up at the mention. As you set her arm down, you whispered to her, “Ask for Cook Tadd and say that Lady Stark sent you. He will understand.” Ever so quietly, she thanked you and ran off to the hall. You watched her silently before raising yourself, tending to others.
Eventually, you heard a guard yell for the gates. You turned towards the opening, waiting, unable to breathe for a moment. The gates opened. All eyes turned and all conversations died out. Then, horses entered, followed by silver banners. Many began to cheer and celebrate the men, but you didn’t listen. Your eyes searched for Spencer as he wasn’t at the front. Your heart increased as worry took over, but you recognized his horse at the end of the line. You made your way forward, towards the side of the gate. You sighed in relief for a moment, until you saw him fully. He was covered in blood and dirt, his armour was dented in some places, and his arm curled into his side as the other held onto the reins. Before you realized your feet had moved, you were already crossing the sea of people to him. You intercepted the horse, easing it to a stop. Two of his men came to your side, helping him off the horse as gently as they could. There, Spencer took off his helm, revealing even more bruises. His eye had begun to swell and blood crusted on his cut lip. Patches of his skin had turned purple already and he looked exhausted. For one terrifying moment, you couldn’t tell whose blood covered him. But here he was, still standing…barely.
Spencer stumbled slightly as he tried to walk forward, but you caught him quickly, wrapping his good arm around your shoulder, “Hey, hey. I have you.”
He smiled weakly at you before being interrupted by one of the men, “Commander, you are bleeding.”
“I’m standing,” he answered gruffly.
“See that boy there first. He took a heavy hit.”
The two men shared a look, unsure. You spoke for them, “You heard your Lord Commander. Please, tend to others and yourselves. There is plenty of water and meat, and the maesters are around in the tent beyond there.” You gestured your head towards a wall.
The men bowed quickly before making their way off. Spencer scoffed lightly as he shifted his weight onto you more, “Would have thought you were their commander and not me.”
“They worry for you as do I. We must get you some attention.” You slowly began to walk forward, but Spencer stayed planted.
“No.” The simple word seemed to wind him as he paused to catch his breath. “Those spots must be saved for my men. They need treatment more than I do.”
You sighed at his stubbornness, thinking to a long moment. “If you will not see a maester, will you please let me take you to the Keep to tend to your wounds?” You looked at him with pleading eyes.
His own eyes softened at the sight of you. Your hair had become loose, evidence of your hurry around the ground. Your hands were worn and held dried blood, not his, but the blood of the people you spent the day saving. Spencer saw the worrying creases around your face, but more importantly, he saw immense care behind your eyes. He nodded his head as much as he could.
With all your might, you helped him move slowly but surely. His feet seemed to drag under him but he tried just as hard as you did to carry him. Eventually, you reached the inside of the keep. You guided Spencer to the chamber across the maester’s quarters. There, you placed him gently on the bed. He groaned in pain, scrunching his face, but soon settled. You stood up straight, rummaging through your apron. You began to back out of the room, “Stay there. I must replenish my supply.”
He smiled at you with bloodied teeth, “I am not going anywhere, my dear.”
Your heart ached at the sight, but it was not time to dwell. You made your way out the door and into the quarters. You kept both doors open, glancing at Spencer every so often as you collected any materials you thought you would need. He watched you methodically, yet quickly, grab various herbs and ointments. Watching you, he allowed himself to sag against the stone wall. Not long after, your apron became filled to the brim.
Once you gathered your supplies, you quickly made your way back to Spencer. You lit the sconces and gently closed the door. Silence filled the room as you set some immediate use supply on the table next to you. After a moment, you spoke firmly like a maester, “I need you to sit up so we may get your armour off.”
He listened, straightening as much as he could. He hummed, “Mm, I fought a battle for you not a moment ago and now you are already requesting that I strip-”
“Spencer,” you said as your eyes stared at him.
He laughed lightly, but instantly winced at the action, “Apologies, my lady.”
Together, you peeled off the silver armour, piece by piece. Each part revealed new cuts and bruises. The sight pinched your heart, thinking about how much pain he must be in. Soon enough, his top layer was shed, presenting himself bare to you. You looked over at him, examining and taking note of what needed to be done. You swiftly doused his cuts in a cleaning solution, causing him to wince and look away briefly from the sting. Apologies kept leaving your mouth as you had to continue. Carefully, you took a clean cloth and wiped away the dirt and blood from the wounds. Spencer watched as you worked, breathing heavily from the pain and overwhelming emotion. But he couldn’t seem to find his words. Both had much to say but unsure how to say it.
Your hands reached up to his face, cupping his cheeks as you tilted him to clean the swelling eye and lip. His eyes never left yours as yours flashed everywhere around his face. “Most of it is not mine,” He said casually. You looked at him with pinched eyebrows. “The blood. Much of it is the enemy.”
You returned your focus, “It still needs to be cleaned.”
He nodded in your hands as he softly leaned into your touch. “When did you learn all this? I do not recall you having interest in herbs.”
You smiled faintly, “After you had left.”
“Because I could not fight beside our soldiers,” you looked in his eyes, “so I decided to learn to save the ones who came home.” You leaned over to the table, picking up an ointment and placing it over his eye and various cuts.
Spencer was slightly stunned at your words. You were always so kind and that kindness seemed to have only grown with you. Silence grew between you again. Spencer could feel your hands shake. Sometimes, you would press too hard, causing a whimper. Gradually, his adrenaline wore off, leaving a more exhausted figure.
Without meaning to, your hand stopped moving and your jaw clenched. Spencer’s face grew worried. His mouth opened to speak, but your words came first, “You frightened me.”
His heart sank. A hand reached up, engulfing yours, “I am here.”
You shook your head, “Today.”
Spencer could see the tears start to form in your eyes, threatening to drop. He gently brought his hand up to your eye, wiping under it. Quietly, he spoke, “When I rode into that battle, I wondered if I would get the chance to see you once more.” Your hands fell from his face, continuing to wrap wounds. You looked away from his eyes, unable to meet them. But he continued, “I had come to understand today that the thought of never coming home did not mean Winterfell itself.” His eyes searched your face, “It had meant you.”
Your hands stopped, resting on his chest. He couldn’t see your eyes for a long moment as your hair covered your face, but your shoulders gave you away as you shook. Spencer moved his hand to your chin, lifting your face up to him. Your lips had become puffy from biting them, trying to hold back. Similarly, your cheeks had puffed out from your pout. Your eyes were filled with water that had yet to spill. His face softened at the sight. Through a whisper and broken sound, you had admitted your true view, “When I saw you covered in blood, I thought I had lost or would lose you twice.”
Without a word, his hand made its way down to your hand, holding it tightly. You didn’t let go. You rested your forehead on his, closing your eyes, listening and feeling his breath. It was shallow, but there. For a long moment, you stood above him, feeling each other’s presence. You eventually calmed down as much as your body would permit. Slowly, you opened your eyes only to be met with Spencer’s blue ones already looking at you. You leaned your head back very slightly, taking in his appearance. His hand left yours, raising and settling on the back of where your head and neck met. Your breath hitched. He waited for a hesitant moment before leaning closer to you at an agonizing pace, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You closed the small distance between your lips, placing a soft kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you softly cradled his head, bringing him impossibly closer. You both stayed there for a long moment, relishing in the feeling of choosing each other.
Spencer pulled back to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against yours again. Neither of you spoke. Instead, your eyes met and warm smiles beamed, sharing wordless feelings.
