84

Chapter 84: Interlude: Cole IINotes:

I used to think that Rhaegar was hard to write, but now that I'm older and wiser, I find that compared to Cole, he's actually a lot easier.

You know, one of the reasons why I steered away from romance in this fic is because I know I'd do a bad job of writing it. I don't have a lot to reference. My two romantic relationships were basically: Start as friends, have sex while drunk, decide to try dating.

There were very little feelings to sort through.

But ah well, needs must. I hope this comes off as at least decent quality.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"We try to be better than ourselves, to be bastions of honour and duty, only to so utterly fail each and every time."

- Ser Bell the Beast, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under King Rhaenyra I Targaryen

113 AC, Red Keep

Ser Criston let out a long sigh, his breath fogging up in the air in front of him.

Winter had come, and King's Landing was covered in an almost picturesque coating of snow. Icicles trickled down from every rooftop and frost coated every window.

Bonfires burned in every town square in an attempt to chase away the cold, men bundled up in furs huffing and puffing as they cleared the roads of snow with shovels, helped and hindered by shrieking children dashing to and fro, hurling snowballs at one another.

Such energy and vigour would have hardly been seen in previous winters, where the people would huddle up in their houses for warmth, lethargically bundling up to save energy and reduce the amount of food they required to survive, praying that spring would arrive before their rations ran out.

As in all things, the discovery of Nordos caused a paradigm shift here as well. The people of the New North, had lived for two thousand years in a territory colder than all but the lands Beyond the Wall, and had learnt that hibernating through the winter was simply too unproductive. The risk of starvation was too omnipresent to just roll a dice on.

Ser Criston was passingly familiar with glass houses. Many towns in the North and Vale, and parts of the Westerlands, had those grass constructs built in order to grow food regardless of season. The New North on the other hand, took things to a whole new level.

The glasshouses of Nordos were to Westerosi glasshouses what Harrenhal was to castles. Massive behemoths of specially-tempered glass panes thicker than two balled fists, held up by a lattice made of iron and weirwood. Within these massive beasts, crops were stacked up on racks or grown twisting around pillars. In their lower layers, cattle and poultry lived in stone cells sheltered away from the wind and snow and feeding on fodder grown above. Bonfires provided warmth and light, and their dung was shovelled up and used to manure either the crops above or the racks upon racks of mushrooms grown in the basements below.

Through generations of breeding, the New North had managed to create over a dozen varieties of crops that could not just survive the coldest winters, but grow as long as the ground had not frozen over. Potatoes, spinach, kale, squash and more. The New North's proficiency in selective breeding had carried over to even animal husbandry. The prime result being a strange species of cattle. Great shaggy orange cows with fur instead of fat, capable of grazing unfazed in temperatures that would see normal cows freeze to death in barns.

Through the exchange of knowledge between the two nations, Rhaenyra had brought much of these farming methods home with her, setting up new winter farms throughout the Crownlands as a model for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms to follow.

Between these new methods, and the Valyrian ones as previously discovered, even the most conservative estimates saw the Seven Kingdoms as being food secure for the foreseeable future. While it was hardly sustainable, with the amount of food consumed being greater than the amount produced, the rate of decline in the granaries had been significantly slowed.

And as no winter had lasted longer than five years ever since the Conquest, King Viserys had deemed it fit to throw a grand feast for Rhaenyra's wedding.

Already, invitations had been sent out, and pretty much everyone whom was anyone was going to attend. It was to be a grand celebration rivalling that of the Golden Wedding half a century before.

And to Ser Criston, it felt like a sword hanging over his head.

The idea of Rhaenyra married was like seeing a great work of art be defaced by a child's scribblings. For dung to be thrown upon the most pristine of statues. For a beautiful vase to be smashed apart by a warhammer.

Criston vaguely looked over the battlements. How tempting it was now, to just take a single step forward. It would have spared him the pain of needing to see Rhaenyra kiss another man. But alas, there was a thick blanket of white snow beneath the wall, so he'd likely not even hurt himself from the fall.

Just then, the man caught sight of a flash of electrum out of the corner of his eye.

Rhaenyra? What was she doing all alone without any guards?

The Lord Commander found his feet moving without his commands, and before he knew it, he was right before the Heir to the Iron Throne.

"Ser Criston." The Crown Prince greeted, turning to face him.

"My Prince." He nodded politely. "Where are your guards, may I ask?"

"Bell and Ser Jessamyn are sparring." Rhaenyra shrugged. "They seemed pretty engrossed so I didn't interrupt them."

"They are Kingsguard, you are and always will be their first priority."

"Surely I can walk back to my quarters by myself." Rhaenyra huffed. "I'm not a child, I shall have you know."

"Regardless, as Heir Apparent, your safety is tantamount. I shall accompany you to your destination."

"There is no nee—"

"I insist." Ser Criston said in a tone that brooked no argument.

The Crown Prince paused, clearly mulling over pros and cons of attempting to outright dismiss Ser Criston.

"Fine then." She finally conceded, before continuing her walk back to Maegor's Holdfast. There must have been some magic at work, for the Prince strode snow like stone, with not even footprints left behind.

Ser Criston hurried in her wake, muttering curses under his breath as he was forced to scuttle through nearly knee-deep snow like the mere mortal he was.

It was a relief when they reached the drawbridge to the castle-within-a-castle, Rhaenyra idly running a hand over her dress, and immediately all the lingering snow and dampness evaporated.

She paused, then took pity on Ser Criston, a ripple of warmth leaving her hand and enveloping the Lord Commander. His armour and furs immediately felt like they were fresh out from an oven, heating him in a warm embrace. Ser Criston letting out a pleasured sigh from the warmth.

"Thank you." He smiled at the Prince.

"No problem." She smiled back, and it was the most radiant thing Ser Criston had ever glimpsed. "Anything to keep our Lord Commander in tip-top shape."

A few twists and turns down the hallways, and they reached Rhaenyra's bedroom. The Prince unlocked the door, then paused as Ser Criston made to follow her.

"In my bedroom as well?" She asked somewhat incredulously. "Ser Criston, there is protectiveness, and there is overprotectiveness."

"For all you know some miscreant might have hid in your quarters while the maids cleaned the place." The Lord Commander stiffly replied.

"I would know, if that were the case." Rhaenyra coldly replied, with an iron firmness.

"You cannot—"

"Ser Criston, is there a problem here?" She sternly asked, indigo eyes gone cold.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have been overly protective of me today, even by your standards." The Crown Prince crossed her arms, glaring up into his eyes. "If there is a threat to my safety that warrants me being treated like a glass statuette, I fully expect to be briefed on it."

There was a long beat of silence as the two of them stared down the other in a battle of wills.

"… Fine." Ser Criston finally said. "But not out here."

The door closed behind him, and Rhaenyra made a show of locking it, before turning to face Ser Criston.

"All right, out with it." She commanded crossly.

Ser Criston let out a long breath. It would have been so easy to make any excuse as to his behaviour, but the man was a knight. He knew that sometimes, one had to do the risky and daresay, the foolish thing, in order to claim victory. He steeled himself once more, before taking the plunge.

"My Prince, it is regarding your upcoming wedding." Ser Criston nervously begun.

"What about it?" Rhaenyra frowned. "I was under the impression that all security concerns have already been addressed, no?"

"Laenor Velaryon." Criston blurted out.

"Huh?"

"He is unworthy of you."

Rhaenyra stood there, stunned into silence, lips moving to enunciate words that never left her mouth. Seeing that she wasn't speaking, Ser Criston decided to push ever forwards.

"Laenor Velaryon is a pillow-biter!" He declared, throwing his arms up for emphasis as he begun to angrily pace. "He's a mediocre knight at best, unskilled at arms. And though he's a skilled sailor, what exploits can we lay at his feet? He remained safe in Driftmark or King's Landing while his father was out exploring the world.

"He's won no tourneys, discovered nothing, and will not truly love you to boot!" Ser Criston finished, panting like a bull from the tirade.

He paused, then went to one knee before the woman he loved.

"Please, Milady. Rhaenyra. I can love you, far far more than he can." Ser Criston pleaded, taking her hand in his and holding it close. "We can run away, to Essos or Naeros or beyond! Run away and leave everything behind! Live happily ever after as husband and wife!

"I can make you happy, Rhaenyra. So please, give me a chance." He begged, almost in tears.

There was a long silence as Rhaenyra stared at him, and for one moment, she didn't seem like a demigod walking on earth. Just a scared little girl, unsure of her bearings. But eventually, she got a grip on herself. The facade went back up, and the Dragonqueen descended once more.

"You're a good man, Ser Criston." She finally said, tugging her hands out of his and gently patting him on his shoulder. "I've seen the way you work so hard to keep the peace in the Kingsguard. You train day after day in the training yard, never satisfied no matter how strong or skilled you become, ever striving for greater heights.

He looked her in the eyes, green meeting indigo.

"But I cannot answer your feelings." She sadly said.

Ser Criston moved to object, but Rhaenyra put a single finger on his lips, silencing him. They were smaller than he thought, and shook with nervousness and uncertainty.

"You swore an oath once. I've sworn one as well." The Dragonqueen mourned. "In another life, maybe we could really have had a happy ending. But I am Crown Prince, and you my white knight. We are forbidden to love."

She let out a rattling breath, tears pooling in her eyes.

"We cannot. Can not, abandon our duty." Her indigo eyes moved away, unable to meet his gaze. "It is my duty to become King. To rule the Seven Kingdoms. To make us into the greatest empire on this earth. And I cannot give that up for anything.

"I know that Laenor Velaryon is not interested in women. I know that he will cavort with his male lovers behind my back. I know that he is no proper knight or warrior. No proper sailor or adventurer." Now she was weeping, tears dripping down her cheeks, leaving behind glistening rivers. "But still I must marry him, for it is my duty as Crown Prince."

She kissed him, lips gently touching Ser Criston's forehead, before she pulled away, all too soon.

"Let us both do our duty, shall we?" Rhaenyra sadly said. "Knight and lady."

"Knight and lady." Ser Criston reluctantly agreed, and the woman he loved helped himself to his feet. She hugged him tightly, then released the embrace, wiping away her tears and slowly escorting him out of her chambers.

———

Ser Criston did not know how long he passed staring forlornly at Rhaenyra's door. But eventually, he was roused from his almost meditative trance.

"Well, you look like you've been through the ringer." Someone said, snapping Ser Criston out of his fugue.

"Archsepton." The Lord Commander bowed politely to the man. "How may I help you?"

"Hmm, it seems to me that you're the one in need of help, Ser." Septon Eustace noted.

"I… I suppose."

"Come now, let's have a walk, shall we? I always find that a little exercise helps clear the mind." The fifty-year-old priest smiled, taking him by the hand and leading him away.

They walked in silence for near five minutes before the Septon saw fit to break it.

"Now then, what ails you, my friend?" He asked as they both ascended the Serpentine Steps, looking at the city sprawling out beneath them.

"I… I would rather not speak of it."

"Ah, one of those problems, isn't it." The old man sagely nodded. "If it shall benefit your soul, I can treat this conversation as a confession, and keep it under seal."

"You… you're sure?"

"Of course, of course." The Septon nodded. "Whatever is said in confession, is held in confidence between the Seven and I. Nothing can compel a man of the cloth to speak whatever sins you have to say. Rest assured, I shall take your secrets to the grave."

"I… I…"

"Hmm, no, no, this is not the proper place for such a conversation." Septon Eustace decided, nodding firmly.

Ser Criston expected the Castle Sept, but instead Septon Eustace took the Lord Commander into his quarters instead. A rather austere dwelling, but it was rather warm and cozy. The Archsepton sat Criston down at a table and busied himself with making tea in his small kitchenette.

He reappeared a moment later, bearing a silver platter with tea and biscuits on it.

"Help yourself, my friend." The old man smiled, gesturing to the platter.

"This seems rather improper." Ser Criston muttered.

"I find that a good cup of tea and some biscuits can reduce a great many problems into more manageable sizes." He beatifically said. "And that men are more willing to tell me their problems in a warm sitting than in a cramped closet."

There was a long moment of silence as Ser Criston poured himself a cup of tea and drank it slowly. He polished off the drink, pouring himself another cup before speaking.

"I told Rhaenyra that I loved her." He confessed. "Tried to get her to run away with me, to marry and live together. Far away from here."

"I take it that she rejected your proposal." The Archsepton idly said, as though they were discussing the matter, and not what might be termed as treason and betrayal of his oaths.

His calmness was infectious, and Ser Criston felt the great weight on his shoulders lessen somewhat.

"She told me that we both have our duties. Mine to my white cloak, and hers to the Realm."

"An admirable sentiment." Septon Eustace praised. "I won't lie, I do not like Rhaenyra, but she does have a rather impressive sense of duty." 

"We agreed to stay knight and lady." He sighed. "But how can I do it, Septon? How can I bear to see the woman I love marry an unworthy man? See her despoiled by him and bearing his children?"

The Archsepton was quiet for a long moment, sipping his tea nonchalantly. He eventually brought the porcelain cup back down onto the saucer with a clatter.

"You are hardly the only knight that has such an… affliction." Septon Eustace noted. "There are many before you whom saw themselves torn between love and duty."

Cole knew. Such tragic romances were horridly popular among ladies born both high and low. When Cole was a boy, he'd even once watched a play of one such story, having snuck out of the castle to see it. A particularly tragic tale, about a Kingsguard stuck protecting a tyrant, and an unwilling wife of said tyrant. They found solace in one another, not that Maegor cared, and had both executed brutally. It was a… generous interpretation of Maegor the Cruel's fiendish reign, with the mummers inconsistently calling the Queen both Ceryse and Alys, but it got the point across pretty well.

Love between a lady and her sworn sword was forbidden.

"Ser Criston, do you ever wonder why no man of White or Black is allowed to take wives or father children?" The old Septon asked.

"No, can't say I ever did." It was one of those things Ser Criston had taken as fact. Like how apples that fell off trees stuck the ground, and how the sea was blue. It was just the way the world was.

"So they will not love, for love is the bane of honor, the death of duty." The Archsepton gravely said.

"Truly?"

"What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory your mother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy." The old man sighed.

Profound words. Most profound. Ser Criston thought. It was a lot to mull over, and the ever-patient priest let him, the two of them spending a comfortable silence together, broken only by the occasional sip of tea or munch on a biscuit.

"Then what advice can you give to me, holy father?" Ser Criston asked. "How may I ever overcome such a challenge?"

"You are still a boy." The Septon softly said. "Two-and-thirty, a man grown yet still a boy in so many ways. You are sweet, and innocent. But your burden is a cruel and joyless one. And so I shall give you this one piece of advice:

"Kill the boy." He declared, leaning forwards. "Kill the boy and let the man be born. Think yourself as dead now. You have lived your life. Now, take what's left and spend it properly."

The Septon's words seemed to ripple in the air, ringing with finality.

Ser Criston felt the command sink into himself, brand itself red-hot onto his soul, permanently marking him.

"Holy father, if you would please, I would request that you renew my vows." The white knight requested, kneeling before the priest.

"Of course, my dear child." Archsepton Eustace nodded, producing a thick leather-bound copy of the Seven-Pointed-Star for Ser Criston to place his hand on.

He cleared his throat.

"Do you, Ser Criston Cole, swear to protect the King from any harm or threat that may befall him?"

"I so swear."

"Do you swear to protect the Royal Family from any harm or threat that may befall them?"

"I so swear."

"Do you swear to obey the orders of the King, the royal family, the Hand and the Small Council?"

"I so swear."

"Do you swear to protect women? To be the shield of the innocent and defenceless?"

"I so swear."

"Do you swear to keep the King's secrets, and if asked, counsel him to the best of your abilities?"

"I so swear."

"Do you swear to take no wives and father no children?"

"I so swear."

"Do you swear to slay all evil?"

"I so swear."

"Arise, Ser Criston. Reborn knight of the Kingsguard."

As he rose to his feet, Criston Cole swore, right there and then, that he would protect Rhaenyra for the rest of her life and those of her children after her. He would redouble his efforts, double down on his duty as a Kingsguard. There would be no more indiscretions, no more oaths forsworn. His body was a temple, and Ser Criston would let nothing corrupt it.

He would be as a bastion of duty and honour, the epitome of what it meant to be a Kingsguard.

———

That renewed fervour and desire died that very same night, when Ser Criston saw Rhaenyra kissing Ser Jessamyn, as both women lay naked in bed.

Oddly, the very first thought that went through the Lord Commander's head was a hollow; Oh, so that's how two women couple…

Notes:

Before anyone asks, yes I'm aware that Rhae was acting out-of-character when rejecting Cole. It's almost as if she were a different person. Wink wink nudge nudge.