Chapter 37 - Interlude: The Kingmaker

122 AC

The fifth day of the sixth moon.

Ser Criston POV

I gazed out at the waves flowing through the White Sword Tower, their crashing sound evoking memories of the training grounds in Blackhaven. It was there that I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into rising from the humble position of the steward's son to becoming the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It was the highest honor any knight could achieve.

Sometimes, I found myself wondering how different life would have been if I had never left Blackhaven. I would have been a household knight in service to House Dondarrion, married with children. But then, I would never have met Rhaenyra, the woman who was once the love of my life but had become someone I despised.

I had witnessed her transformation from a young girl to a breathtaking woman. She had given me her maidenhood, and I had given her my heart. But it was all in vain, for she turned out to be a selfish and self-serving individual.

"My White Knight," she used to call me whenever we were together. But everything changed.

Her betrothal was arranged with the Sword Swallower, Velaryon. I pleaded with her to leave with me. I was willing to give up everything in my life: my White Cloak, my sword, my very existence, just to be with her. And as I looked towards the sea the memories of the past came rushing back.

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Flashback

The heavy doors of the grand chamber swung open, revealing a dimly lit room adorned with tapestries and flickering candles. As I stepped inside, the scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the faint perfume that lingered on her skin. There she stood, the Princess, her gaze fixed upon me, her emerald eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and longing.

"I needed to see you, Princess," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips curled into a gentle smile, mirroring the warmth that radiated from her presence. "I confess I had a similar desire," she replied softly, her voice carrying a melody that echoed through my troubled heart.

"You have confided in me now and then over the years of our acquaintance. I feel, forgive me, that I know you... a bit," I confessed, my voice laced with vulnerability.

"You know more than a bit," she said, her smile widening, like a secret shared between kindred spirits.

"I've heard you express your disdain for the burdens and expectations of your position. You are to be married off at your father's whim, with no consideration for the desires of your own heart. And now, the day has come," I said, my voice tinged with a mixture of sympathy and concern.

Her gaze faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of sorrow crossing her features. "Laenor is a good and decent man, but you did not choose him," I continued, my voice filled with a hint of desperation.

"He was chosen for you. That's true," she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of a life restrained.

"If there were another path... one that led to freedom... would you take it?" I asked, my worry evident, as I reached out to touch her hand gently.

"Rhaenyra, before I came here, I was a knight in the Stormlands. I have deep knowledge of the port at Sunspear, where I've seen the ships of Essos setting sail with their holds full of oranges and cinnamon. I've always wished to see where they went," I explained, my voice trembling with a yearning for adventure.

"Are you asking for leave?" she inquired, her eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and hope.

"I'm asking you to come with me... away from all of this," I pleaded, my voice quivering with an unspoken longing.

"From the burdens and indignities of your inheritance. Let us leave it all behind and see the world together... where we'll be nameless and free. Free to go where we like, to love as we like. In Essos... you could marry me," I suggested, my voice filled with a fragile hope.

But then, with a flicker in her gaze, she revealed her true intentions, unraveling the threads of my dreams.

"I am the crown, Ser Criston. Or I will be. I may complain about my duties, but do you think I would choose infamy in exchange for a bushel of oranges or a ship to Asshai?" she declared, her voice carrying a regal resolve.

"It is my duty to marry a nobleman from a great house, and Ser Laenor will make a fine husband. But my... my marriage... does not have to be the end. Ser Criston, Laenor and I have an understanding," she revealed, her voice veiled with a hint of melancholy.

That's when the bitter truth hit me like a storm, shattering the fragile illusion I had woven in my mind. "So you want me to be your whore?" I asked, my voice laced with pain and bitter acceptance.

"I want us to continue as we began, with you as my sworn protector, my white knight," she replied, her voice gentle but firm, as though pleading for me to understand.

"I took an oath as a knight of the Kingsguard, an oath of chastity. I've broken it. I've soiled my white cloak. And it's the only thing I have to my fucking name! I thought if we were married, I might be able to restore it," I said, my voice filled with regret, a tinge of desperation coloring each word.

But she said nothing, her gaze fixed upon me, her eyes filled with a peculiar mix of amusement and sadness. In that moment, it was as if the weight of the world had settled upon my shoulders, and I realized that the road I had hoped to travel with her had diverged, leaving me standing at the crossroads of duty and desire.

I shook my head, trying to push away the painful memories of the past. But they still haunted me, causing me immeasurable pain.

It was during that moment of despair that I contemplated taking my own life. However, fate had other plans. The queen intervened and saved me from myself and for that she had my everlasting loyalty.

As I made my way towards the Great Hall, the sounds of merriment filled the air. Nobles and courtiers were gathered, indulging in food, drink, and lively conversations. The atmosphere was festive, and the air was thick with excitement. Despite the weight of my own troubled thoughts, I couldn't help but absorb some of the energy around me.

As I entered the hall, my eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of the various nobles, each engaged in their own revelry. Laughter echoed off the high ceilings, blending with the melodious tunes played by minstrels in the corner. The Great Hall was adorned with grand tapestries depicting the glorious history of House Targaryen, reminding all who beheld them of the power and majesty that the dynasty once commanded.

Among the throng, I spotted the figure of King Viserys I Targaryen seated upon the Iron Throne, his regal presence commanding respect. His silver hair shimmered under the soft glow of the chandeliers, and his eyes twinkled with mirth as he noticed my approach.

"It was a good joust, Ser Criston," the king greeted me, his voice carrying warmth and approval.

"Thank you, Your Grace," I replied, inclining my head respectfully. It was an honor to receive commendation from the king himself.

However, before I could continue, a young voice piped up from nearby. It was Prince Jacaerys, Rhaenyra's oldest bastard, ever eager to voice his opinions.

"It was not that impressive, grandfather," he interjected, his tone laced with a touch of mischief. "Ulf's joust was much better when he defeated Ser Tyland Lannister."

The king chuckled at his grandson's boldness, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah, young Jace, always quick to judge. But you forget, my boy, Ser Criston here is a knight of great skill and valor. His joust was no less remarkable, even if it didn't have the same grandeur as Ulf's victory."

"You are right about that, brother, but you have to admit that my former squire is quite talented," Daemon remarked, his voice filled with a mix of pride and admiration.

"I believe that he has a good chance of winning the joust," Daemon continued, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he envisioned his protege's triumph.

"But he has to go through Ser Criston," Prince Aemond interjected, his voice carrying a hint of skepticism. Immediately, Prince Daemon's eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

"Experience always trumps talent, uncle," Aemond stated confidently, his words carrying a hint of challenge.

Hearing Prince Aemond's words, Daemon couldn't help but snort, his amusement mingling with a sense of defiance. "Is that what you say when people ask you how he defeated you in such a humiliating fashion? I remember quite vividly that you could barely stand after the squire's melee, dear nephew," he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

A flicker of anger flashed across Prince Aemond's face, his jaw tensing. "Or is it that you only fight seriously when you are facing young girls?" Daemon added, his words like arrows aimed at his rival.

"Peace, both of you," the king's voice resonated, firm and commanding, as he stepped between the two feuding princes. His presence exuded authority, calming the charged atmosphere that had enveloped the room.

Prince Daemon's gaze met his brother's, his features softening slightly, but a glimmer of defiance still burned in his eyes. The king's voice carried a weight of wisdom and a touch of weariness as he sought to diffuse the tension.

"There is no need for such animosity among kin," the king said, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of sadness. "We are family, and we must support and respect one another, especially in times of competition. Let the tourney be a celebration of our unity rather than a source of division."

"You are right, my king," Prince Daemon finally spoke, his voice filled with a mixture of respect and regret. "Forgive my harsh words, dear nephew." His voice trailed off, the sincerity of his apology hanging in the air. But as I looked at Daemon, I sensed a lingering undertone, a subtle flicker in his eyes that hinted at his true sentiments. It was clear that he did not mean his words of contrition, that his pride still simmered beneath the surface.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, seemed willing to accept the offered apology, though a shadow of wariness danced in his eyes. He nodded solemnly, a gesture of acknowledgement and a step towards reconciliation. It was clear that he, too, desired to mend the rift, even if caution lingered within his heart.

The king, ever the diplomat, wore a serene smile upon his face. His eyes gleamed with a glimmer of satisfaction, believing that he had successfully quelled another conflict within his fractious family.

"Ser Criston," came the queen's voice, drawing my attention away from the bustling hall. I immediately made my way towards her, concern etched on my face.

"Yes, my queen," I replied, a sense of urgency in my tone. "Is something the matter?" I asked, trying to reassure her.

"I cannot find Helaena," she said, her voice filled with a mix of worry and frustration. "I wish for you to go and find her, but be discreet, and bring her back to me," she continued, her gaze imploring me to undertake this task swiftly.

"Yes, my queen," I responded, my voice filled with determination. As I turned to leave, the queen spoke again, her words weighted with a tinge of sadness. "I believe that she may be with Ser Ulf," she confessed, her eyes darkening with a mix of apprehension and disappointment.

Hearing her words, I nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. It was clear that the queen's concerns were not unfounded, and I would do everything in my power to ensure the princess's safety and well-being.

Excusing myself through the crowded hall, I navigated through the sea of people, my mind focused on the task at hand. However, as I attempted to make my way through the throng, a man stood in my path, refusing to yield.

"Ser Criston," the man called out, his voice laced with an air of arrogance. He stood tall, towering over me with his formidable height and imposing physique.

"Move," I said firmly, my patience waning as I attempted to brush past him.

"What's the hurry, Lord Commander? Are you scared?" he taunted, a smug smirk playing across his face.

Balling my fists, I met his gaze, my eyes ablaze with defiance. "Scared of what? You?" I retorted, my voice dripping with mockery. "What do you think? Who the fuck are you?"

Allowing my frustration to fuel my words, I continued, "You're just another fucking hedge knight who knows nothing about honor. And to add to that, you're a dragonseed. Do you even know who your father is, or are you just another bastard of some Targaryen prince?" My voice dripped with disdain as I sought to provoke a reaction.

Enraged by my words, the man clenched his fists, his stance threatening. It seemed as though a confrontation was imminent, and my hand instinctively rested on the hilt of my sword, prepared to defend myself if necessary.

However, before the situation could escalate further, another man swiftly stepped between us, diffusing the tension.

"Hugh, you need to calm down," the man said, his voice calm yet firm, his gaze shifting between me and the enraged man.

"He insulted me, Harlon, insulted my mother," Hugh seethed, his anger still palpable.

Harlon's voice remained steady as he spoke, attempting to reason with his friend. "So what? Tomorrow, beat him in the melee and show him that he was wrong," he suggested, attempting to redirect Hugh's anger towards a more constructive outlet. "Now, let's leave," he concluded, urging Hugh to move away.

As the two men finally yielded and cleared my path, I swiftly made my way out of the bustling hall, my steps quickening as I ventured towards the gardens. The air outside was refreshingly cool, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers and the faint rustle of leaves. It was a welcome respite from the tension that permeated the crowded halls of the keep.

Just as I rounded a corner, a familiar voice broke through the tranquility, sending a shiver down my spine. "They are near the gardens," came the low, cryptic tone of a man whom I knew well - Lord Larys Strong, the enigmatic advisor to the king. The Master Of Whisperers.

I turned towards him, finding his figure lurking in the shadows, his face partially obscured by the brim of his hat. Larys, also known as the Clubfoot, was renowned for his cunning intellect and his mastery of secrets. He had an uncanny ability to acquire knowledge from the darkest corners of the realm, making him a formidable ally and a fearsome adversary.

"Thank you, Lord Strong," I replied, my voice laced with gratitude and a hint of wariness. His knowledge always came at a price, and I couldn't help but wonder what secrets he held in this particular instance. His grin widened, revealing a glimpse of his teeth, as if relishing the anticipation that danced in the air.

Before I could inquire further, he simply nodded, his expression enigmatic and inscrutable, and with a turn of his heel, he disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors of the keep. It was typical of Larys Strong to offer cryptic clues, leaving me to unravel the puzzle on my own.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the task at hand. The gardens sprawled before me, a tapestry of vibrant colors and hidden alcoves. With each step, I scanned the surroundings, my senses heightened, searching for any signs of Princess Helaena and the company she kept.

As I meandered through the meticulously manicured pathways, a faint sound caught my attention. A hushed conversation drifted towards me, barely audible over the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. I followed the whispers, my footsteps cautious and deliberate, ensuring I remained discreet in my approach.

There, nestled amidst a grove of fragrant roses, I caught sight of them. Princess Helaena stood beside Ser Ulf, their figures intertwined in an intimate conversation. A mixture of relief and concern washed over me.

I approached them silently, careful not to disturb their discussion. It was essential to handle the situation delicately, mindful of the princess's emotions and the potential ramifications of this encounter. Their words carrying a sense of urgency and desperation.

Princess Helaena's eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability as she pleaded with Ser Ulf. Her voice trembled with suppressed emotions, her words a desperate plea for understanding and liberation. Ser Ulf, though guarded, appeared torn, his countenance revealing glimpses of conflict within.

"Ser Criston," the princess murmured, her voice laden with a combination of anger and apprehension. "You found me."

"Yes, Princess," I replied, my voice steady and reassuring. "The queen is waiting for you back in the hall."

Her eyes met mine, brimming with tumultuous emotions. Anger flashed across her features, but beneath it, I saw a glimmer of vulnerability. She had been seeking solace, a respite from the burdens that weighed upon her, and I had inadvertently disrupted that delicate balance.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as I observed the unspoken connection between Princess Helaena and Ser Ulf. There was a depth to their interaction, an unspoken bond that transcended the boundaries of duty and expectation. It was a love that defied convention and yet carried its own set of complications.

At that moment, a flood of memories surged within me. Memories of Rhaenyra, the princess I had loved in secret, and the pain that had followed my shattered dreams. The wounds of my own heart reopened.

As I watched them gaze into each other's eyes, a sense of melancholy washed over me. Love had a way of intertwining lives and igniting both joy and anguish.

"Princess, I will follow you in some time. I wish to speak with Ser Ulf," I said, observing the worry etched on her face.

She glanced between Ser Ulf and me, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Sensing her apprehension, Ser Ulf nodded, his smile reassuring, and gave her a gentle nod of encouragement. She returned the gesture, a mix of gratitude and reluctance evident in her expression, before reluctantly turning to make her way back to the hall.

As the princess disappeared from sight, I took a seat on a weathered bench overlooking the vast expanse of Blackwater Bay. Ser Ulf joined me, his posture relaxed yet filled with a sense of anticipation.

"I admire you," I spoke, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

Surprise danced in Ser Ulf's eyes, momentarily taking him aback. A soft chuckle escaped my lips, recognizing the unexpected nature of my statement.

"I bet you were not expecting that," I remarked, a hint of amusement lacing my voice.

"Why?" he inquired, his curiosity evident.

"You remind me of myself," I confessed, a trace of nostalgia coloring my tone. "Both of us came from humble beginnings."

I leaned back, allowing the weight of my words to settle upon us. The memories of my own journey, from a steward's son to the esteemed position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, surged forth. The path I had traversed was not one predetermined by fate but shaped by resilience, determination, and unwavering commitment.

"It was never in my destiny to become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," I continued, my gaze fixed on the horizon. "Who would have thought that a steward's son could ascend to such heights?"

My words hung in the air, carrying a weight of both astonishment and pride. I turned my attention to Ser Ulf, appreciating the journey he had undertaken from his own humble beginnings to becoming the youngest knight in the Seven Kingdoms.

"The same goes for you, Ser Ulf," I acknowledged, a genuine sense of respect coloring my voice. "You were once just another smallfolk, but through hard work, determination, and resilience, you carved your path to knighthood."

A moment of silence passed between us, the crashing of waves against the shore providing a gentle backdrop to our conversation. I looked at Ser Ulf, meeting his eyes, and found a flicker of understanding in his gaze.

"And for that, I respect you," I concluded, my voice carrying a blend of admiration and caution.

"But..." I began, only to be interrupted by Ser Ulf's laughter, tinged with a touch of bitterness.

"There is always a 'but,'" he remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

I nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. I leaned forward slightly, my voice lowering in tone, a note of caution creeping in.

"I believe that you may have developed feelings for Princess Helaena," I stated, the weight of my words heavy with consequence. "But it is in your best interest to temper those emotions. Following your heart in this matter will likely bring consequences that could undo all the progress you have made."

I paused, allowing my words to sink in, knowing the conflict that must be raging within him. Memories of my own ill-fated love for a princess resurfaced, the pain and the cost of pursuing that path still etched in my heart.

"She is destined to be married, and there is little you can do to change that," I continued, my voice filled with a blend of resignation and caution. "I understand that, had circumstances been different, and you were born into a higher station, the love you both share would be deemed worthy. But the reality is different."

I took a deep breath, my gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the weight of my own regrets heavy in my chest.

"Some things are not meant to be," I mused, a tinge of sorrow seeping into my voice. "And I know firsthand how it feels, for I, too, was once in love with a princess. But it did not end well."

Ser Ulf's eyes widened, the weight of my words clearly affecting him. Yet, the full depth of my experiences remained unspoken, the pain and bitterness harbored within me over the years.

"But that was a long time ago," I continued, my voice tinged with a mix of melancholy and resolve. "Now, that love has turned to hate."

I turned to face Ser Ulf fully, my gaze intense, hoping to convey the weight of my words.

"Do you understand what I am trying to say?" I asked, my voice filled with a blend of caution and genuine concern. I wished for him to choose a different path than the one I had taken, knowing the inevitable suffering it would bring.

He nodded, his expression a tapestry of conflicting emotions. I could see the thoughts swirling in his mind, the struggle between his heart and the reality of their circumstances. In that moment, I hoped he would find the strength to make a choice that would spare him the anguish I had endured, a choice that would protect his heart and his honor.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm golden hue over the gardens, as we sat in contemplative silence. The weight of our shared experiences hung in the air, mingling with the whispers of the wind, as destiny wove its intricate tapestry, forever entangling our lives in its intricate threads.