The Seven who are one have gifted the men and women with a mortal life, during which they must roam the World to add their own stone to the Gods' creation before returning to them to submit to their judgment. Ser Criston Cole came into the World with nothing but his talent as a fighter, he fought for a year through the Dornish Marches, sending the incursions of the Rhoynish descendants back to Sunspear. He then defeated Prince Daemon of House Targaryen during Prince Baelon's tourney and was given his white cloak by the Queen to be; Rhaenyra. But what did he truly accomplish in the grand scheme of the Gods? What does a man need to value his existence? Especially a man as modest as Ser Criston? The kingsguard had asked himself this question many, many times. A Kingsguard duty is to protect the Royal Family, and to add his name to the White Book in order to be remembered by the next generations. As a Kingsguard, Cole had risen as high as he could have risen, far higher than he expected. Now, all he had to do was to defend the woman that would change the history of Westeros, that was Cole's purpose, the reason he lived and trained. His stone would be nothing more than a pebble, yet it would support the wall that Rhaenyra was going to build, of this he was sure.
His first opponent, Ser Ryman Crakehall, was a bulky man closer to seven feet than six, wearing complete steel boar's armor with another boar painted on his shield and the words "None so fierce" engraved in the wood.
Crakehall was taller and more than likely stronger than Cole, yet he was also heavierand his horse looked past his prime yet still strong, those meant that Ser Criston had a tremendous advantage over him.
Ser Criston breathed calmly, despite the violent emotions he was feeling since he had seen the argument between his Princess and the traitor. Watching Rhaenyra bend made him sick, an anger he had never felt before started rising in his chest. He would have charged at the Stark had he lacked self-control, instead, he would take his anger out on this westerman.
The joust did not last not would the others.
Ser Criston Cole used Crakehall's weight against him and took advantage of the horse's decline, hitting the western knight in the waist, unbalancing him and his mount whose nostrils went deep in the dust.
The Kingsguard did not even acknowledge his opponent's state or demand his arms and armor, he could not care less. He had no need for gold and no need for glory, all that mattered was his mission.
Unfortunately the participants were so numerous that the Kingsguard had had to wait for the next day to joust a second time. Which in return, gave him all the time he needed to figure out who his next opponent would be and how to defeat him.
His second opponent was none other than Lord Donald Tarly, which had Ser Criston confused since he knew that this Lord was married. However, the Kingsguard noticed that the Lord of Hornhill was wearing his wife's favour, meaning he might be here to honor the Princess, but Lady Jeyne was his candidate for the title of "Queen of Love and Beauty." Ser Criston respected that, but he would not let it happen.
Donald Tarly was smaller than Ryman Crakehall, but obviously far more experienced and intelligent, this joust would not end after the first impact.
Ser Criston stared at the Royal stand, saw that Arthur Stark was looking at him and smiled inside his helmet.
The Northman's worried gaze was all he needed to renew an unshakable confidence. Lord Donald was as good as fallen.
Ser Criston loved it, he felt as he was tearing the entire Realm apart in order to save his Princess from the Wolf's claws. He was Ser Criston Cole of the Kingsguard, Queen Rhaenyra's swornshield, such was his purpose, such was his stone. No tree would protect the traitor from his wrath.
(-)(-)(-)
This tournament was going poorly, at least that was what Arthur Stark thought.
He had not spoken to Rhaenyra since their argument in the Royal stand, but he could already see the first fruits of her plan.
The Lords and knights were grumbling, complaining about his seat in the Royal stand and the Stark Banner that was flying next to the numerous Targaryen banners. Arthur understood their anger, for he too, would have been annoyed to see the Hightower's banner fly next to the Targaryen's had Otto still been Hand.
The banquet that followed the first day of the tournament had almost been a complete disaster, for Arthur had been alone and surrounded by Lords of the South who had sharply questioned him regarding his work and legitimacy as Hand of the King. This, he had expected. After all, he was a young man from the North, unversed in the Faith of the Seven and whose experience in the South is but less than a year old.
Arthur had done his best to remain civil, speaking of what he considered to be the priority of the Realm and what needed to be done in order to prolong the Golden Age established by King Jaehaerys. However, what he had not expected was for the Lords to be far more concerned by his relationship with Rhaenyra than they were with the future of the Realm. Refraining from sighing all evening would have been the only victory he would have gotten that night, had it not been for the timely intervention of Queen Alicent.
Contrary to him, the Reachwoman had a splendid reputation in the South, her presence next to him cooled some of the Lords' tempers, her support had been far more than he could have asked for. The Queen had smiled at him once they were alone in the banquet hall and had revealed the actual purpose of her seeking his presence.
"What is going on between Rhaenyra and you?" She had asked with concern.
Arthur had sighed this time, mostly because he himself did not know how to properly explain it.
His eyes looked for his Princess, who had been dancing with Ser Laenor of all people. The provocative grin she had sent him had been enough to sour his mood even further.
"I hate this game."
"I am not sure it is safe to say it with so many unwanted ears." He had answered, grimacing.
"Then I request that we speak in private, Lord Hand." She said using her queenly voice.
Arthur had gratefully smiled and had followed his Queen to the hall's corner with a cup of wine for him and a cup of water for the pregnant woman.
They waited until Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk had made sure they had enough space to talk without being listened to.
"To be honest, your Grace, I am not sure telling you everything would be a good idea."
Alicent had looked a bit shocked by his bluntness, yet she had shaken her head with a small smile.
"You have no idea how much your honesty means to me, my Lord, so I will forgive you and only ask what you are willing to share."
"Why can't Rhaenyra be more like you?" He had thought, though he knew the Princess would have never forgiven him had she been able to hear him.
In addition to that, Arthur was not sure if it was truly what he wanted, imagining Rhaenyra acting like Alicent… felt wrong. Alicent was far too… virtuous to fill the Princess's boots. Arthur knew he would never have had those conflicted feelings for his Queen had she had Rhaenyra's face, and for some reason, it mattered more to him than he had dared to admit.
He threw those thoughts away to focus on what actually mattered.
A ruler needed someone with as much fire as Rhaenyra, but if gentleness could not come from the future-Queen, what consort would be gentle enough to balance her?
"Rhaenyra wants to marry me." He said. "She does not care about this tourney or her courtship, she will stop at nothing until she gets what she wants."
Alicent did not look surprised, her compassionate gaze was something the Northerner had not expected.
"Would it be so bad?"
Arthur's eyes had turned into saucers; the Queen had risen a hand to stop him as he had been about to speak.
"Allow me to develop my thought: you have done an excellent job since my husband appointed you as his Hand, you have a splendid reputation as a fighter since you have defeated this Dornish Prince in Lord Baratheon's hall, you are a Stark of Winterfell, a descendant of the Kings of Winter. What makes you such a bad match?"
Arthur gently had shaken his head, he knew all of this of course, and his Queen's ignorance came from the fact that she was not a player of the Game of Thrones, which is why he had chosen to educate her.
"Look at Lord Corlys." He had whispered to her. "This is a man who has accomplished everything he had dreamed of, the Iron Throne is his only failure. Which is why he is so desperate to acquire it, the Throne is the greatest accomplishment he could ever dream of, he has obtained everything else: gold, a legend, the dragonblood for his offsprings, an army. Yet, he is still a vassal, and his wealth is at the disposal of a man who has never accomplished a quarter of what he has, Corlys Velaryon will not let his life's worth being trampled by a King or a Queen that cannot submit him. If I were to marry Rhaenyra… He would feel so insulted that he would spend his remaining years finding a way to have revenge. Make no mistake, your Grace, men need purpose, especially ambitious ones, Lord Corlys will not stop."
Alicent had felt a chill run down her spine as she looked at the Lord of the Tides, Corlys Velaryon was not dancing, nor was he drinking or eating. He had been gazing at Rhaenyra, at Viserys, and at them. Alicent had turned her head to look at the Hand of the King in order to escape the Sea Snake's greedy glare. Arthur Stark had been right.
"Then, there is your father." He had added. "Ser Otto is the same as Lord Corlys, he never had real power before Jaehaerys Targaryen named him Hand of the King. He made his way to Court, managed to acquire the Dragonblood for his bloodline, and now dreams of getting his hands on the Iron Throne. If I were to marry Rhaenyra, your father and your uncle, could very well start a war that would oppose the North and the South, your children and the ones I could potentially have with our Princess. And that is not my wish, as I am sure it is not yours."
Alicent had felt her hands shake, but before she could maim herself, Arthur had put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Calm down, your Grace." He had whispered with a gentle tone. "There is no need to alarm yourself, I am not marrying Rhaenyra."
Alicent had not been able to tell what had calmed her down. Perhaps it had been the warmth in his grey eyes, perhaps it had been the conviction in his words, whatever it had been, it had calmed her down after a long sigh.
Once he had been sure his Queen had relaxed, Arthur had spoken again:
"Rhaenyra does not understand…" He shook his head. "I'm lying, she does understand but… Well you know her; she'd rather fight for what she believes in than concede defeat in front of those who despise her, even if it is for the greater good."
Alicent had looked at her friend, who had apparently noticed them and turned her head in another direction. The Reachwoman took a deep breath.
"What about Daemon?"
The Rogue Prince had always been Alicent's main concern since she had married Viserys, his return after his victory in the Stepstones had been the spark that had led Arthur Stark to a trial for attempted rape. The King had banned Daemon for now, but everyone knew the Rogue Prince was bidding his time.
Stark, on the other Hand, had smiled at the memory of Rhaenyra's uncle.
"Daemon loathes me, because I broke his nose and because our Princess favors me over him since the last scandal he caused. He already despises your children because he considers them to be half-Targaryens at best, now imagine how he would feel if Rhaenyra chose to breed with a Northerner. I'm pretty sure he'd cut through the crowd and murder me before we had the time to say our vows. So… Nothing good can ever come out of a marriage between Rhaenyra and I. She needs someone that will strengthen her claim, and as a Northman, I refuse to force a war upon my people that would result in nothing but ruins. And for what? A throne of swords? It is simply not worth it to me."
Of course, there was something else, something Arthur had not been and would never be comfortable sharing with Alicent Hightower: he feared the kind of children that would come out of Rhaenyra's womb should they breed.
Mixing the blood of the Children of the Forest with the blood of Old Valyria… Could result in skinchangers that could wear the skins of dragons… What would happen if…? No… There had been no need to think about it and no reason to do so in the future.
Alicent had looked at Rhaenyra with sadness, thanked the Hand of the King for his wisdom and left to act as a Queen should act in a banquet. However, as she left with Ser Arryk, Ser Erryk had approached Arthur with a respectful look on his face.
"Whatever my words are worth, my Lord, I wanted to tell you that I believe you are the consort the Realm needs and deserves."
Arthur had shaken his head in amusement. He would not say it, but he hearing those words had made him proud and grateful.
"Thank you for your honesty Ser Erryk, but please, refrain yourself from listening to this kind of conversations in the future."
The Kingsguard had not answered, he had simply nodded and left to follow his Queen. Arthur had remained alone for most of the Banquet. Smiling at ladies and reassuring warried lords. Something he had called 'playing the southerner' and he hated it.
Just like he hated the looks that Ser Criston Cole had kept sending him after each one of his jousts. Roderick Dustin had also noted the Kingsguard's animosity towards the Hand of the King, the Lord of Barrowtown had been half a mind to confront the Stormlander, but Arthur had stopped him.
"Save yourself for the melee my Lord." He had said. "Let him play with his sticks."
Registering Lord Dustin and some of his fellow countrymen had been his response to Rhaenyra's plan. Arthur still did not know what she had in mind, but knowing Ser Criston was involved was more than enough. The joust meant nothing to him, this was a southern game and Cole was not the favorite.
Yet he won with disconcerting ease and his victory angered Arthur.
The Stormlander had faced Ser Harwin Strong, a man who had the reputation of being the strongest knight of the Realm. Ser Criston had not only defeated him, but broke his collarbone and elbow, sending him to the dust screaming in pain as the crowd roared in delight.
Stark had been impressed, more than that, he had been in awe at Cole's skills. Ser Criston was less than six feet tall, yet he had managed to knock men far taller than him off their horse. This was not an opponent that should be taken lightly.
Surprisingly, Ser Criston had not celebrated his victory with a tour around the arena to salute the people as knights traditionally do, he had gone straight to the servant that had been holding a crown of red and black roses on a cushion, picked it, dismounted and kneeled in front of the Royal stand.
"Princess Rhaenyra, though I cannot be your consort, I am your sword and shield and will stand in your enemies' way until the Stranger's visit. Before you become Queen of the Realm, will you do me the honor of being my Queen of Love and Beauty?"
Rhaenyra had smiled, a vicious and satisfied smile. For a moment, Arthur had thought that she had been about to send him a mocking grin. But she had remained the dignified Princess that she was and had gone down the arena to accept Ser Criston's crown. The crowd had cheered for their future-Queen but Arthur had not. Even though he was her most fervent supporter, he had been unable to do more than soberly applaud.
Something was going on… what? He could not tell yet, so he had sent his rats to listen to get a good measure of the consequences of Ser Criston's victory.
Needless to say, all the Lords and heirs that had hoped to gain the Princess's favors during the joust were not happy. Some of them, the pettiest, had called Rhaenyra 'foolish girl who tries to escape a woman's duty'. Others were blaming Arthur himself for the Valyrian girl's behaviour. According to them, Arthur was the mastermind behind Ser Criston's performance, hiding in the shadow of the Kingsguard to put down all the other contenders and ask for her hand once he was the last man standing.
This tournament was turning into a disaster, and Rhaenyra could not care less, she seemed to rejoice in the chaos she was causing.
The only ones who seemed to be enjoying themselves had been the Velaryons. Both Lord Corlys and Lady Rhaenys had been relaxing in the shadows, conversing with Lords and Ladies while keeping their eyes on Rhaenyra. Arthur had failed to spy on those two, he could not warg in a rat during a banquet where half the people had their eyes on him, and when he did try to spy on them in their bedchambers, they spoke of nothing but trivialities.
Arthur had felt overtaken by the events, and that had made him angry. They all had their own plans to provoke a catastrophe. Only Arthur was trying to maintain balance, but he could not do so with Rhaenyra in his head and behind his back.
What concerned him even more was the fact that her courtship had not resumed. She had been talking with Lords and heirs at banquets but had failed to put to practice what she had learned when they were at Storm's End. Meaning she was so obsessed with him that she was not collecting allies anymore, and Arthur was in no position to do this for her.
Arthur woke up with a headache. He had sent Shadow to the Kingswood before the tourney started, he had no use for him since he was spending his days in the Royal stand, at banquets or in his office, and a direwolf needed as much freedom as he could give him. Perhaps this would end up being a mistake, as Shadow, feeling the Northman's anger through their bond, had hunted more viciously than he usually did. Which in turn, had repercussions on the skinchanger's mind, as he woke up every morning with the taste of blood in his mouth and yellow eyes instead of grey.
He refused to indulge in wine in order to calm himself, he needed to have his mind clear and his senses on alert. On this day, the melee would take place, and Arthur had a bad feeling about it.
Nevertheless, he bathed, broke his fast in his chamber, and left for the Dragonpits with Ser Rodrick and his hundred northmen.
As he took place in the Royal stand for the sixth time in a week, Arthur wondered what catastrophe was upon him today. The joust had ended two days prior; the archery contest had started yesterday and would more than likely end during the morning. The melee would take place in the afternoon, and this damn tournament would finally end. All Arthur had to do was to make sure Rhaenyra's plan would not succeed. Unfortunately, he had no idea what she had in mind.
He was about to ask for a cup of water when Grandmaester Runciter put his hand on the Northman's shoulder.
"My apologies Lord Hand, a raven from Winterfell came this morning for you."
Arthur frowned, thanked the old master and broke the seal once he had been sure that no unwanted eyes were looking above his shoulder. The Royal family had not arrived yet, the Velaryons were busy talking with the Baratheons, he had but a few minutes to read what could only be his uncle's instructions -or his remonstrances-.
The content of this letter sparked a fury that no white walker would ever be able to freeze.
(-)(-)(-)
When Rhaenyra arrived in the Royal stand, she lost her confident grin the moment she saw Arthur's face. It was not unusual for her Northerner to wear a neutral expression, but this… This only appeared to be neutral, she had known him for long enough to know that he was fuming. Once she sat, she tried to reach for him, but he brutally yanked his arm away for her touch.
Rhaenyra was shocked, he had never acted like this towards her, never. What could have possibly made him so angry to make him forget that he was in public and that all of his actions were being noted.
"Arthur." She whispered. "What's wrong."
No answer, it was as if her voice had made him angrier. He looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes from turning yellow. Finally, he spoke:
"Do not… speak to me." He warned. "Not now…"
He looked at her, and the fury in his eyes was so palpable that Rhaenyra felt her body was being torn to shreds. She did not listen to her father's speech, nor did she pay attention to the contenders, something was wrong, something was very wrong. And for the first time since she had designed her plan to escape a forced marriage, Rhaenyra felt trapped in her own scheme.
(-)(-)(-)
Lord Larys Strong laughed quietly at the chaotic stage in which this tournament was taking place. It was fascinating to see an event as well organized to be the crib of such tension. The Realm was not on the verge of war yet, it would take many years for the warhorns to be blown. But Larys knew this was going the right way, Princess Rhaenyra's behavior towards her adviser was a testament to his plans. Ser Criston was playing his part perfectly, now all he needed to do was to win the melee. And then… Arthur Stark would either commit the biggest mistake of his life or be gone forever.
(-)(-)(-)
Ser Criston Cole knew the melee would be a lot more difficult than the joust. He had proven himself to be the main obstacle to all the other contenders, which had made him a prime target for every fighter in the arena.
But Ser Criston would not yield, he was the swornshield of the future-Queen, she had commanded him to win, and he would.
Fortunately for him, honor would serve as a better armor than his white cloak, as the contenders would not all attack him at the same time. Indeed, in order to prove their value to the Princess, they needed to defeat him in a fair dual. Ser Criston would suffer but he did not care, he would sacrifice his body and life for his Princess. As he descended in the arena with armor, shield, sword and morningstar, Ser Criston Cole readied himself for the greatest battle of his existence, the one he would obtain once he had gotten rid of all the obstacles in his way.