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wakandasoldier · 7 years

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When Winter Came [Part 2 / ?]

Medieval AU Series

Summary: Between two kingdoms is the Middle, delved deep in the heart of winter, and when a blizzard brings a group of knights into Steve Rogers’ land, he has no choice but to let them in. Reader, Steve’s second-in-command, is curious about one knight in particular and that curiosity may lead to something forbidden.

Pairing: Knight!Bucky x Reader

Characters [in order of appearance]: Reader, Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow, Clint Barton, James “Bucky” Barnes, Robert (OC) and Mentions of Other Characters.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Mention of Violence, and Suggestive Themes.

Word Count: 4.6k+

A/N: I cannot believe it has been almost a year since this fic was posted, I have been gone for such a long time and it is so good to be back. I hope you all enjoy this much anticipated series and the installments to come! x. T

.: Part One :.

The howl of the ravenous winds carrying the thick of the blizzard rampaged outside, the storm hungry to swallow the land in snow. It made the pines bow to its demand and the barren branches of birches snap beneath its fury, there seemed to be no relent as the dark of night dragged on. The moon couldn’t provide her light behind the thick cover of the sky and this would be the first night in a long time that you couldn’t sleep; hindered by the howl outside your reinforced window and the buzz of your thoughts.

You were enveloped in warmth, nuzzled deep into silk sheets and elk furs, and you lay facing the thick-paned window crafted with the help of Stark. You exhaled slowly through your nose and shifted onto your back, staring blankly up at the stones on the ceiling. Sleep wasn’t going to come. You’ve been trying since you retired back to your chamber after walking Barnes to his room. The time dragged on a little longer and you finally reached up, scrubbing a hand over your face with a defeated huff, before you sat up and pushed the heavy covers away from you.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet and you tread to the entrance of your room, ghosting your fingers over one of the double doors until a knuckle touched the metal of a handle. You pulled it open and the guard stationed outside the door startled and scrambled to his feet from where he was asleep, his hands adjusting the helmet on his head before he narrowed his eyes at the sight of you, opening his mouth to speak.

“I will only be in the war room, so don’t fret,” you said softly, beating the guard to his chastise. He kept his gaze trained on your face and his throat bobbed in his nervousness, having had noticed that you were before him only in your sleepwear, which was much more revealing than it should be, and you had also caught him sleeping while on duty.

The guard simply bowed his head, at a loss for words, and you continued forward down the hall without the need to grab a light source to navigate to your destination. The cobblestones beneath your feet sent goosebumps whispering over your skin and you winded past crackling torches to a pair of large ornate doors, two sconces were lit on either side of the frame and you carefully pushed into the round room.

It was dark on your side, the grand table a few feet before you was made into the shape of the lands the Kingdoms reside with hand-carved wooden pieces in the shapes of different sigils strewn strategically over it, but there was no light to truly examine it. There were large bookshelves lining the curved walls brimming with tomes and scrolls, a desk was kept neat over by the fireplace that was flickering with flames and illuminating the rugs and chairs that were in front of it. Massive windows finished the room with curtains concealing the snow storm beyond and your eyes fell on a lone figure that sat with their back to you.

You padded over to the chair to the left of him and took a seat, tucking your legs beneath you on the cushion to maintain some warmth, and his head slightly turned in the corner of your eye as he finally acknowledged your presence. The sputtering of the fire filled the quiet for a long few beats before he asked, “Can’t sleep, either?”

“No,” you answered softly, “I’ve thought myself right out of sleep.” You cracked a smile when a breath of laughter escaped your Captain and he relaxed back into his chair, fingers drumming silently on the wooden arms. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

“I don't know if my decision about letting the knights stay in the keep was smart,” he voiced, his gaze fixated on the fireplace as his features echoed his troubles. You understood he valued your judgement and it most likely did not help ease his mind about you blatantly being against his choice, but right now you were tolerable of the Southerners and you wanted to make it known to Steve.

“It is not like it's going to be permanent,” you carefully said. “They haven’t caused any ill will, yet, but I think it would be worth it to be hospitable.” Steve was staring at you like you’d grown three heads, as you had a deep-rooted grudge against the Southern Kingdom, so the words spilling out of your mouth could only be described as a surprise, but even then it was an understatement. You had to prove you still weren’t going soft about your old opinion, though. “But, if they push their luck, they are gone, okay?”

Steve’s mouth curled into a smile and crow’s feet arose around his ocean eyes, he chuckled quietly and nodded his head so you knew he agreed with your last words. You couldn’t help the hushed laugh that bubbled out of you in return and the atmosphere felt much lighter now that both of your spirits had risen.

A bout of comfortable silence spanned out and you had started to become entranced with the hypnotic flutter of the flames as they dulled down, the sight calming and close to making you doze off, but Steve rose from his chair and you sat up to rest your gaze onto him. Steve approached the hearth and picked up the fire iron to turn the wood and add a little life into the flames, his actions triggering embers to billow out and up the chimney.

“This reminds me of when I’d stay up all night watching over you while you were sick,” you reminisced, looking at Steve when he turned his head.

He echoed the nostalgic smile on your face and gestured at the rug. “We’d make our beds in front of the fireplace and you never got a lick of sleep because of my coughing or shivering…”

“You let me tell you the same ten stories over and over again until you fell asleep.”

Steve nodded and set aside the fire iron to sit on the rug and absently stroke his auburn beard, the sight taking you back to when you were children and it made your chest tighten.

...

20 Years Ago | Northern Kingdom

...

“Steve, you gotta finish the stew. Your ma will get mad,” you whispered pleadingly to the frail, young boy who was sitting in front of the warm fire. It was pitch dark in the main room you lived in above the pub your father owned and you vowed to Mama Rogers that you would take good care of Steve while she worked the kitchens below through the night.

A lukewarm bowl of beef stew was cradled in your small hands, nearly empty, but the older boy was refusing to eat more. You looked to his quivering frame and set aside the soup, scooting forward to be next to him, and he clenched his hands into fists while the expression he bore was filled with frustration. He hoarsely snapped, “I hate being sick all the time. A knight never gets sick and definitely not even a squire! I’m never going to be a great fighter--”

“Nonsense,” you interrupted, “you’re the bravest person I know and the best fighter I know. I bet you’ll be the best knight ever.” You smiled at Steve and he hugged you, his body impossibly hot and you felt his forehead that was slick with sweat against your cheek, but you returned the favor and held him tightly.

“One day we can rule a Kingdom of our own,” Steve mumbled, “and you’ll be my second-in-command and we can make sure our people can be whatever they want to be.”

He straightened back up and quietly asked for the stew, to which you handed it to him and he spooned the last few bites of veggies into his mouth and finished off the broth. This wasn’t the first time Steve talked about his dream to rule lands of his own with you right there with him and you doubted it would ever happen, you were a pub owner’s daughter in the Aether district and Steve was even lower than you on the hierarchy scale. The Aether District was the poorest out of the six districts of the Royal City in the North and to become even a Lord was an unattainable fantasy, but you were never really a dreamer even at younger age.

You took the empty bowl from Steve and clambered to your feet, you straightened out your clothing and made your way easily through the dark to the makeshift kitchen and you placed the wooden dish onto the table. A bucket of water that you had earlier brought from the city well a block down the street was placed atop the chopping board, so you grasped the ladle and dipped into the shimmering liquid before taking a sip. You sometimes feared Steve would get you sick, but your father always told you to drink as much water as you can and, teasingly, ‘No kissing Steve!’.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought of kissing your best friend and shook your head as if to erase the mental picture from your mind, it was repulsive. Returning back to your place beside Steve, you huddled under a quilt and held vigilant watch over the now sleeping boy; refusing to rest because you would be nothing without him.

...

Now | The Middle

...

“I wonder what little you and me would think of all this,” you whispered, now cross-legged next to Steve with your head on his broad shoulder. The warmth that ebbed from his solid body mixed with the heat of the fire was beginning to make you sweat, the thin gown you wore sticking to the skin of your back, but you refused to move from your place.

This proximity you shared in this moment with the Captain was rare and no one was ever to bear witness, as you both were to maintain a certain front to the people of the Middle and even to your most trusted allies. Many knew you both came from the Northern Kingdom, but no one has the knowledge of just how long you’ve known each other and your pasts that intertwined. You couldn’t dwell on the history behind you and the cherishable memories you wish you could still be living, plus you were practically falling asleep on Steve so you mustered what you could and removed your weight from him.

His head immediately swiveled to place a questionable gaze onto you and he watched as you rose to your feet. Straightening your sleepwear and keen to get back to your chambers, you gently bade, “Goodnight, Ste--”

“Y/N, wait.”

He got up and just as you turned on your heel to face his impressive stature, you were devoured by his arms coming around you with his muscled frame pressing flush against yours and his bearded jaw scratching against your cheekbone. You inhaled sharply at the abrupt action and your lungs filled with the smell that clung to his underclothes; masculine with worn leather and a hint of pine. His hand came up into your hair and you exhaled, the taut muscles in your chest and back loosening as you tucked your forehead against his clavicle.

“Who knows when we’ll be able to do this again,” Steve murmured, “but, we can handle anything that comes at us, Y/N, and we sure as hell can deal with outsiders within our walls, so get some rest because I’m going to need you at my side.”

You parted from his embrace and nodded. “You rest up as well, Rogers. You have trainees to impress tomorrow.” His gaze could be felt on your back as you exited the war room and returned to your chambers, the guard opening your door for you and shutting it as soon as you slipped past.

You knocked out within moments of laying back down.

...

The worst of the blizzard had only come during the night and now all that remained was a relentless snowfall that would carry on for hopefully no more than a fortnight, to the optimist, but those who lived within the Middle stronghold knew deep in their hearts this winter would be the harshest and longest of them all. Everything was grey or white, the sky an amalgamation between the snow-laden clouds and the bright of the sun attempting to cast its shine to the white earth below. The towering walls of the keep were rimmed with torches that would help maintain the snow from turning into ice on the catwalks that cloaked archers dutifully kept guard upon.

The keep was teeming with life, the courtyards being cleared of snow and those on horseback riding out for patrols, it was never unusual for the day after a blizzard to be the busiest. You were encased in your riding gear with a heavy cloak lined with elk fur billowing behind you as you strode over to the barracks from the stables, working gloves onto your hands as fast as you could to protect from the biting cold that nipped at your face and chapped your lips.

“Commander, Captain Rogers is in the training grounds,” a guard informed as you approached and you took his word, stepping inside the massive doorway and passing through where men and women were busying themselves. It reeked of sweat and the air felt heavy as you trekked down the large hall, at the very end the doors were open and you could spot people training beyond, so you barreled past everyone that started to hush down and turn to look at you.

You stepped into the packed down snow of the training grounds and surveyed the collected groups of training or practicing men and women, before your gaze latched onto the back of a familiar head of hair and noticeable longsword. No one paid much heed to your presence in their focused tasks and you trudged to where Steve was parrying a young man’s amatuer attacks, you stopped a few feet away and gave the training demonstration your full attention.

“Try to use only one hand,” Steve coached, slicing up with his blade to meet his young opponent’s which ignited the clang of iron meeting vibranium. The trainee grimaced as his sword reflected off Steve’s and he let the weight drag it down to the churned snow, his body sagging slightly in defeat and exhaustion once the sword tip rest on the ground.

“‘m sorry, Captain. It's too heavy.”

Steve lowered his weapon and stated, “It is, but how else do you train yourself to hold a sword?” His disciple dropped his gaze and said nothing. “Pick it up and we’ll try one more time.”

Your focus was turned elsewhere as they went back at it and you anticipated the person who was now approaching, the sound of their advance coming forward from your right side but they were trying to make themselves known instead of conceal their presence. A dark figure pricked your periphery and finally you turned your head to gaze upon the disappointing sight of Sir Rumlow.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, a permanent smirk seemed to just be plastered on his face.

You pursed your lips and acknowledged, “Sir Rumlow.” A cloud of frost left with your words into the frigid air and you tried terribly hard to focus on what was occurring in front of you rather than spend too much time on the unpleasant man. He had a dangerous glint in his dark eyes that had kept you on your toes since your first saw him.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior, Commander Y/N.” Your brows furrowed and you looked to him in a bit of a stunned silence, hoping he would continue. “When I was growing up, a place such as this didn’t exist. Men became lords, knights, soldiers, and all those other titles I’m sure you don’t want me to list off and the women became ladies and nothing else. A lot of common folk don’t even believe the Middle exists in the, er… South, as you would call it,” Rumlow said. “What you and Captain Rogers have here is remarkable and I should’ve been respectful the moment I was here, so I am sorry.”

You really underestimated this band of knights and you almost felt bad for being so harsh to begin with, but you wouldn’t let Rumlow off the hook this fast. Snowflakes were catching in your eyelashes through the quiet that stretched between you both and you blinked, before shifting on your feet in anticipation and facing the heavily cloaked HYDRA knight. He had an unreadable expression on his face, meeting your gaze while subtly wringing his gloved hands from the biting temperature.

You made him wait a beat longer before saying, “I suggest you keep calling me Commander, for future reference.”

Not waiting around to hear if he had to say anymore, you trudged the few feet over to the Captain who was standing patiently off to the side and watching a pair of trainees practice what he’s taught them, soft clumps of snowflakes progressively catching onto the grizzly pelt draped around his shoulders, making him appear larger than he already was. His head turned once you appeared at his side, a gloved fingertip scratching at his white-flecked beard and a brow rose in question towards you, to which you were obligated to speak at the subtle gesture.

“I hope your training is coming along much better than my hunting expedition right now,” you said, inhaling deeply through your nose and feeling the burn of the chilled air fill your lungs before exhaling heavily. Steve snorted and the corners of his mouth twitched in his refrainment of smiling.

He suddenly spoke up loudly and pointed at one of the facing off disciples, “Keep your elbows up, Peter.” Steve’s attention redirected to you and his voice softened, “I thought Barton and Romanoff were going with you. Where are they?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged. “I could go find--” you paused when Steve’s eyes flickered over your shoulder and his features hardened.

“I hate to barge in, but I’m sure my recruit and Barnes won’t mind goin’ with you,” Rumlow offered.

You looked to the Captain, your fingers curling over the hilt of the short sword at your hip and squeezing tightly; Rumlow still needing to be kept at arm’s length apparently. The decision was ultimately up to Steve, but you knew he would be smart with his answer either way. The knight’s offer was one that would prove beneficial to you both rather than moreso to the Southerners as you would be getting food for the keep and coming to understand the HYDRA men further.

Steve’s jaw clenched visibly and he simply nodded his head once, his gaze darting to where a loud shout came from his training group, and he ordered briefly, “Y/N, go find Barton and have Sir Robert and Barnes join you. Be back before dark.” He held your eyes for a second longer, the action speaking more than what actually fell from his red lips into the snowy air.

“Before dark,” you confirmed, turning from him and coming back the way you came with your boots crunching silently beneath the turmoil of ruckus going on around you. The heavy snowfall had let up within the timeframe you spoke with Rumlow and Rogers, only a gentle blanket of white flittered down from the skies above as you trekked back to the stables.

Two riders were on their way out as you stepped into the hay-scented area, the shoed hooves of the horses clopped loudly on the stone as they walked past, and the men atop the backs of the large animals nodded to you. It was lively everywhere you went and the horses were contributing an array of sounds the deeper you got into the fairly large building; snorting, stamping, and soft nickering echoing on all sides.

A stable boy had just finished cleaning out a stall when he spotted you approaching, he dropped his shovel and it thumped loudly against his wheelbarrow, before he sprang over to the end of the stables where two much larger stalls were kept. He reached up to a rope hung on a nail that was hammered into the wooden post nearest the entry of where a massive black horse was kept inside. By the time you picked up a thick blanket from the accompanying space beside your horse's’ stall, the boy had led the animal to the center of the walkway to be properly saddled up.

“Would you like me to fetch your tack, Commander?” he asked.

You answered ‘yes’ and placed the saddle blanket over the back of your steed, it’s sleek charcoal coat thick for the weather while you ran your glove over the side of his neck. The stallion had been nameless since you received him as a colt, he was a breed of horse commonly found in the far East where it was rumored that the kingdom of Asgard reside and Thor explained that they were excellent animals to ride into battle. His judgement had proven true as this massive, long-maned, loyal horse had never failed to be frightened of anything, let alone the chaos of war.

You placed your palm over the front of its nose and he leaned into your touch, nostrils flaring with loud breaths while you waited for the stable boy. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a bit of patience with me today,” you whispered, smiling fondly up at the stallion. “I’m going to need plenty of it if Clint doesn’t get along with Robert or Barnes.”

Almost as if on cue, the scuffle of boots on the stone sounded and you peered back down the stable walkway to see the geared up figure of a certain archer carrying two bows coming towards you. He had a simple black cloak billowing around his shorter frame and you imitated the openly friendly expression on his face as he stopped in his tracks before you and the horse.

“It took me awhile to convince Stark to give up his new prototype so I could give you my old one on today’s hunt,” Clint said, raising his wonderfully crafted bow that he had only used a total of seven times before Tony Stark, the blacksmith and avid inventor, created a new and better one for him to use.

You grasped the slightly larger weapon from his fingers and tested the grip, seeing how it felt in your non-dominant hand while drawing the string back with a careful, fluid pull. It was effortless to snap it back into place and you felt no lurch in the grip. You couldn’t imagine how anything could be made better than this but the one now slung cross Clint’s chest was white in color, a drastic change from the inky shade pasted over your new weapon. A glance up at your comrade induced a wider smile on his face, the laughter lines deepening on his skin and he raised his brows in a ‘what do you think’ gesture.

“Thank you, Clint.” You set the bow atop a straw bale and turned at the glimpse of the stable boy struggling to heave your horse's saddle, you offhandedly said, “I’ll make good use of it.”

Intercepting the kid before he attempted to sling the tack, the weight slid into your grasp and your muscles strained slightly before you turned to heft the saddle onto your patient steed. You grunted once it was free from your arms and Clint summoned the boy over to him to go fetch his horse, the both of them receding a few stalls down.

It took no longer than ten minutes before you and Clint were walking side-by-side, reins in each of your hands as you led two additional horses out of the stables and to a hitch to be placed in wait for their riders. Tying a loose knot, you brushed your fingers on the flank of Barnes’s horse and the mare swatted her tail in response which nearly got your face in the process, but you avoided the action and glared at the horse, muttering curses.

“I’m surprised she didn’t kick you.”

Your head jerked up to meet the shadowed gaze of alluring grey eyes, the handsome planes of a distinctive face that had been burned into your mind since his arrival was lengths away, and your heart stuttered at the ghost of a simper gracing his lips. You thought it to merely be a fragment of your imagination that you spotted the expression as his features were blank and treacherous now, but there was little desire to dwell on it as you mentally scolded yourself for nearly gawking at him.

“You’re Barnes,” Clint stated, saving you from attempting to recover from not responding to the brooding man. He came to your side and crossed his arms over his chest, to which you instinctively knew he was examining the Southern knight from head to toe as Barton was a brilliantly judgemental man.

James simply nodded his head, moving past you both with a few quiet strides to draw his sword from its scabbard and slip it onto his saddle. You assumed it was a dismissal from him and exchanged a look with Clint, the archer shrugging and turning away to go mount his horse. It left you alone for a few moments with Barnes and you eyed his profile, the man dressed in Middle riding gear and his cloak eerily similar to your own, but you mostly took into account the crossbow he had strapped to his horse.

You had to say something about that.

“Using a crossbow isn’t a wise choice for hunting.”

James paused on tugging the cinch and remarked, “Get’s the job done.”

“Not unless you want your food all intact. It’ll damage the meat and pelt which can very well be used for plenty,” you explained, nearly scolding the man as you talked. He was intently listening and you looked over his shoulder to see Robert trudging through the snowpack, you offered a final piece of advice, “Arrow in the eye. Best shot.”

You went over to your horse and didn’t notice the knight remove the crossbow from his saddle and toss it off to the side. Placing your boot in the stirrup, you gripped the reins and hoisted yourself onto the stallion with ease, sitting as comfortably as possible before turning your horse and tapping your heels lightly on his flanks. The snow-flecked steed tossed its head and walked along to where Clint was waiting in the main courtyard, the archer adjusting the strap to his quiver when you drew your horse up beside his. You were noticeably taller.

“I’ll take the recruit and go down the east path,” Clint said.

You grumbled, “I can tolerate that one, Barton.”

The archer looked back before smiling at you, “Good, which makes it easier for me.” You could only stare playful daggers into the back of his head as he pointed at Robert who was riding up and ordered, “You’re with me.” Clint did not give him time to respond as he urged his horse forward and trotted through the gates of the keep. Robert had no choice except to go after him as Barnes halted his mare beside you and you met his gaze, wondering exactly how this was going to go.

“I guess you’re coming with me.”

[Read When Winter Came Part Three]

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