The Path to Freedom
Chapter 1
Criston Cole was again on the battlefield.
He had long forgotten the excitement, the fear, the rage that flowed through him when he fought his enemies. But on this night, he was welcoming an old friend.
It was as if the bloodlust never left him.
The feeling of bones crushing under his hands. The way they splintered and cracked as his knuckles dug harder, and harder. The hot blood staining his gloves and seeping in his skin. Criston had forgotten this part of him. He buried it the day he chose honor before everything. Before he became a knight.
The demon had woken once again, infecting the blood in his veins, filling his mind, traveling down to the fingers that gripped whatever bits of flesh were left.
He froze when the music had stopped. He had reawoken as he felt the hundreds of eyes bearing down on him. The tapping of shoes on the dance floor ceased. All was silent. All eyes were on him.
Criston, the man, had returned. And he had been horrified by what he had done.
His memory became hazy, forgetting much other than a right hook landing on Laenor Valeryon. A rush of men began to attack each other, using Criston's outburst simply as a reason to shed blood.
Criston did not know how he escaped unannounced. He kept going, stumbling along the hall, like a lost child. He was disengaged with reality, feeling nothing but deep, painful shame. Criston thought he had shed that part of him after the incursions. He lied to himself that he left that devil in the battlefield when he was knighted.
He realized tonight, that he was always that devil.
Criston would not let the king execute him. He didn't deserve an honorable death.
He stood in the godwood, looking up at the at the great oak. On beautiful nights like these, the princess and him sat among the stars, sharing stories of the constellations. He remembered her in this place during the day, tormenting the bard with the same, tired ballad of Princess Nymeria. Those were the few times he saw her at peace. Those days she truly looked like a maiden.
The Rhaenyra of today was a monster. Just like him.
Criston dropped to his knees, disrobing his now filthy white cloak. He unbuckled his long sword, saying his goodbye as he gently laid it to the ground.
Clang.
He slowly removed each piece of his armor, dropping it thoughtlessly to the ground. He could not be as gentle with it as Rhaenyra .
Clang.
The ceremony had surely begun by now. Was she happy with her decision? He wondered how quiet the words would escape her lips as she recited her vows.
I am yours and you are mine.
He dreamt of Rhaenyra's voice speaking that vow to him every night. The reality of her sharing them to another, at that very hour, brought him unbearable pain. He truly had nothing left go give.
Criston unsheathed the dagger. The moonlight flickered on the sharp blade, illuminating the steel.
He raised it to his chest.
A shrill scream filled the air.
Criston's shoulder slammed into the ground as a great force suddenly knocked him over. A stranger had jumped him, pinning his arms to reach for the dagger. While he was caught by surprise, Criston quickly surmised that this foe was no match for him. Criston gave a heavy push as the foreign hand gripped the blade of his dagger. Blood hit his face as his assailant unceremoniously flung to the ground.
Criston sat up, and his mouth dropped.
Rhaenyra sat up, groaning. The white and gold of her wedding dress was stained with dirt and blood. Her hair, previously styled up in elaborate braids, was now loose and disheveled. Her left palm was cut open, but she paid no mind to the wound. Her attention turned back to Criston, her eyes ablaze with a rage he had never seen.
Criston, still breathless, quickly jumped to his feet and towards her, raising her up to her feet.
"Mi'Lady--"
Rhaenyra slapped him across the cheek with her bloodied palm.
Criston gasped, his head fixed in place for a moment. He felt the the night's cool touch as the blood traveled down his skin.
Criston had no moment to feel insult as Rhaenyra attacked him again, grabbing his tunic with her bloodied hands. She screamed at him in a High Valyrian. She relentlessly slammed her delicate fists against his chest. Every beat against his muscle made a dull thump.
To an outsider, the scene would be absolutely comical. Criston's frustration quickly dissipated as he wondered how ridiculous they looked.
"Enough!" Criston exclaimed, unable to contain his laughter. He pushed her off gently enough to let her land on her feet. He rest his hands on her upper arms and looked down at her.
Beneath the fury of her blue eyes held a deep sorrow he recognized. He watched the fire of her fury dim, leaving behind a sheen of glass. In that moment he knew, he was not the only one suffering.
Criston cupped her cheek, thankful that she did not resist his kiss. Her lips were soft, and supple, and he leaned into her touch. His focus was solely on her, escaping from the dark events of the night. He remembered happier times, to them riding together on horseback. To feigning ignorance as she played tricks on his fellow kingsguards. To the first time he felt her skin against his as they shared her bed.
"Forgive me, Princess," he whispered against her lips, "for ruining your wedding day."
Rhaenyra scoffed and pulled away. "Save your apologies. We are leaving."
Criston bent to the ground, ripping a piece of his cloak. He took Rhaenyra's injured hand and began to wrap the wound.
"You came for me."
"Hm," said Rhaenyra, teary-eyed, "All these years you have come for me. Protected me. How can I not do the same?"
"So you choose infamy after all, do you?"
Criston finished the dressing and their eyes met. He raised a free hand and gently wiped her tears away.
Rhaenyra chuckled. "I'm already infamous. Haven't you heard the whispers in the halls? That I lost my maiden-hood to my own uncle."
"Lies." Said Criston, "I know best of all."
They shared a smile. Criston kissed her cheek, savoring her presence.
"Now, Princess. To Essos?"
"Gods no, not Essos!" Rhaenyra cried out as she snatched her hand away. She pulled her dress up and kicked off her heels, running barefoot into the woods.
Criston retrieved the bloody dagger from the ground and sheathed it. He picked up his longsword and secured it to his belt. He stared at the torn cloak, stained with blood.
Voices in the distance broke Criston from his thoughts, and he quickly took after the princess.
He weaved right and left between the tall trees, trying to keep close to her. Criston was confused at her sense of direction. The only way out of the godswood was the castle itself, where everyone was searching for her. Surely she wasn't expecting to climb the wall. As they reach the wall, Criston saw his answer - a rope ladder, secured, leading to the top.
Criston placed his hand on the twine.
"An escape route when I was young," said Rhaynera, "when Mother would try to teach me sewing."
Criston, suspicious of its age, tugged on the ladder. It seemed sturdy enough. He guided Rhaenyra in front of him, so he may catch her should they fall.
The least he could do after everything.
Rhaenyra slipped her foot in between the makeshift steps and began to climb. Criston slowly followed, tensing with every snap the rope made. The climb felt eternal, and as the voices grew louder he became more unnerved.
"So," said Criston, "Once we reach the top of the wall, suppose what do we do? Do you expect us to jump down and land on both feet?"
Rhaenyra stopped, rocking the ladder. Her eyes gleamed down at him.
"Suppose I do, would you jump with me?"
"Please don't look down." Criston chided, ignoring the subtext of her question.
The wind was eager to greet them as they approached the top of the wall. Criston stepped to his feet and put an arm around Rhaenyra.
He hadn't realized how beautiful the city was at night. Laterns flickered below like tiny stars. Clouds above dimmed the light of the moon, casting an iridescent glow.
"And now?"
"And now we wait," said Rhaenyra. "Not for long. She has good eyes from afar."
"What are you doing?"
Rhaenyra had stepped away from him and reached under her gown. She unsheathed a belted dagger from her mid thigh. The patterns along the blade told Criston this was Valyrian steel. Rhaenyra raised the blade behind her, and ran it through her hair. The intricate braids were released one by one, and a gust of wind freed her hair.
She then brought the blade to the bust of her dress, tearing until it reached her waist. She slipped the fabric off of her shoulders, allowing the gown to drop to the ground. She hooked the fabric under her foot and tossed it over the wall. The bustier quickly followed.
She looked up at the moon, the wind tossing her hair back. She now wore nothing but a white chemise, the sheer, thin fabric leaving little to the knight's imagination.
Any typical nobleman would see this wild woman, half naked on a five hundred foot wall, and think of her as a witch or at least insane. Criston would have thought this himself, were it any other woman. But in that moment he saw the same fearless girl who flew to Dragonstone, stood between two armies and single handedly stopped a civil war. He saw the true queen for the first time in his young life.
He loved her wild.
A shadow caught Criston's eye, and he looked up. A silhouette appeared behind the clouds. It danced in the light, growing larger and lager before the sight could be made out, Criston trembled.
The dragon approached and braced her wings, the gust so strong it nearly blew the two off the ledge. Criston braced himself and instinctively pulled Rhaenyra close to him.
The dragons front claws grabbed the edge of the wall as she descended. She emitted a low growl at Criston.
"Syrax."
Rhaenyra left Criston's embrace and walked towards Syrax. She placed her hands, then her temple, along the beast's snout.
"Shhhhh, shhhh," Rhae said gently, speaking in her ancestral language. Syrax responded in soft growls. She released her hold on the wall and lowered herself, presenting her back to them.
"She's finally large enough for two." said Rhaenyra. She glanced at Criston and read his reaction.
"Don't worry, it's like riding a horse."
Criston frowned. "Doubtful."
Rhaenyra shook her head. "I can't believe after all this time you still haven't rode on dragon with me."
Criston carefully stepped towards Syrax. "I prefer the ground Mi'Lady."
"Hm. I'll let you take the saddle and I will stay on her back."
Criston, in between glances at the dragon, slowly placed his hands on the saddle. When she did not stir, he hooked his boot in the stirrup and raised himself over.
Just like riding a horse, he told himself, trying to look anywhere but down. Rhaenyra effortlessly climbed on, taking a seat in front of the him.
"And how, Princess, will you stay on the back of a flying dragon with no saddle?"
"It's simple." Rhaenyra shot a mischievous glance that left Criston again in awe.
"I am a dragon."
