The Princess and the Queen 10: The Queen's Man
The screams of Aemon became progressively louder until it was unbearable. Criston's ears hang at the babe's wailing, and his head started to pain. The Queen, Laena Velaryon, rocked the baby back and forth in her arms, but it was to no avail. Aemon, clad in cloth-of-bronze and baby blue, kicked and screamed and roared, unleashing his fury upon his poor mother.
Where is that boy's father?
For the few months since Aemon was born, Criston had to stand in or outside the Queen's chambers, listening to her suffer through the baby's wrath. This wouldn't have troubled Criston much since he knew some children were more restless than others. What troubled him was that Aemon's father, the King, had not carried him once. Throughout every day or night, it seemed as though His Grace didn't even realise that he had a second son, and that angered Criston.
Did the Seven not create men to take after the Father?
Disregarding Aemon, it seemed that the King had ignored Prince Daeron and Princess Baela most of the time, too, preferring to dote on his whore of a daughter. Watching the Queen struggle between attending council meetings, her other duties, and taking care of her three children made Criston feel pity for her. He did what he could in order to aid the woman he was sworn to, by training Daeron and Baela in the yard.
And they are both learning well.
At first, Daeron did not enjoy the training yard, but he was naturally gifted with a sword, as well as a dutiful lad, so he eventually grew to like training with Criston, and despite Baela being a girl, she loved training in the yard ever since she started. Both of them had come a long in the few years of training Criston had provided and were shaping up to be good fighters when they grew. Baelon, on the other hand...
He is lazy and untalented, just like his mother...
Criston had not offered to train Princess Rhaenyra's son, but the spoilt prince had just eventually joined Criston's sessions anyways, something likely organised by the King. Baelon was only four, but when Daeron and Baela were that age, Daeron was much more dutiful, and Baela much more talented. In order to improve the boy's skill at arms, Criston oft reprimanded him whenever he made errors. The King and his daughter were not happy about it, nor was Rhaenyra's whore, Ser Breakbones, stating that a prince should not be made to suffer such things in the yard.
"It is the only way he shall learn... through coddling and kindness, he shall never be a good fighter," Criston bluntly stated.
Even the Queen thought Criston went too far at times with Baelon, but Criston didn't.
Baelon shall thank me for my training when he grows. Battle should not be easy.
Criston's mind went to the next generation of children, and how they would fare in the training yard. He looked at little Aemon, screeching in his mother's arms, and whether his rage would make him a ferocious fighter in the future. Then, he thought about Joffrey, the second son of Rhaenyra.
I shall refuse to train a bastard...
At least Baelon was trueborn, no matter who his mother was. Joffrey, on the other hand, was an aberration born of adultery, and an insult to the gods and to the Iron Throne itself. It was even more insulting that the King refused to see Joffrey for what he was, and the sight of the brown-haired baby brought Criston even more rage than seeing Rhaenyra. His mind then went to the twins of Lady Alicent Velaryon, who Criston always prayed together with in the sept many years ago, and was the woman who saved Criston's life. He usually saw Lady Alicent in the sept, but she was not as warm and friendly as before. But that did not worry Criston; raising two twins must have been a strain upon anyone, no matter how well-behaved they were.
The Mother shall look upon her proudly.
Criston looked again to the Queen, another mother, and how she still struggled with Aemon. She had bags under her eyes, and her mouth was turned into a frown. Her curly silver hair was uncombed, and her dress was stained with Aemon's puke. She took a long sigh and put Aemon down on the bed before picking him back up, as that didn't work.
I should help.
"Your Grace... might I try... I am not familiar with holding babes... but it would ease your struggles..." Criston offered.
She looked up at him, her lilac eyes sad and tired. "It may not make a bloody difference... but go ahead," she sighed, giving Aemon over to Criston.
It's heavier than I thought.
He held Aemon as the cool, white metal of Criston's armour pressed against the bronze and blue cloths that were wrapped around Aemon. He imitated what he saw Laena and other women do, rhythmically rocking the babe. Surprisingly, Aemon stopped with his crying and eventually calmed. The Queen's eyes widened in shock at what just happened.
"Seven hells..." the Queen gasped. "How did you manage..."
"Not Seven hells, Your Grace," Criston explained. "He likes me, it seems."
"He does..." she replied, smiling for once.
Aemon cooed and laughed at Criston, his dark violet eyes looking curiously at him. Criston rocked him for some more before gently placing him into his cot. The Queen then wrapped a thin quilt over him as the pale-haired prince quietly went to sleep for what felt like the first time in weeks.
"I must... thank you, Ser Criston. That has granted me some hours of respite," she laughed.
Criston silently nodded and returned to the corner of the room.
"Ser Criston," the Queen asked.
"Y-Your Grace?" he replied.
"What are your motives for all of this?" she gently asked.
"I do not understand... my Queen..." he stuttered. "It is my duty to serve; that is all."
"I know that," sighed the Queen. "But to serve me. You were once the protector of my stepdaughter... but now... it seems you cannot stand the sight of her. You train Daeron and Baela, well, but scold Prince Baelon for every small misstep he makes. It's not as if I am not grateful... and I did doubt your loyalty when you pledged your sword to me... but after all of these years, despite you being my fiercest protector, I still wonder why did you have a change of heart?"
It was because of that night... but I cannot tell her... I cannot tell anyone... I already risked my life by telling the Lady Alicent... and even though Queen Laena is a good woman... it could mean death for me...
"Might I speak freely, Your Grace?" Criston asked, sweat running down his forehead.
"Yes."
"All those years of serving the Princess... I observed what kind of person she is daily. She is brazen and relentless," Criston said, feeling his blood boiling just speaking of Rhaenyra. "Like a spider who stings and sucks her prey dry."
The Queen nodded.
"She's..." began Criston. "She's a spoiled cunt."
Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "We can agree on that," she laughed. "But why did you never tell His Grace of her nature, if you were witness to it for so long?"
Because His Grace would take off my head if I said what happened.
"It's not as if he would believe me, would he, Your Grace? He bows to any of her wishes."
"You are correct, Ser Criston..." she laughed. "Even with my father here, and you as Lord Commander, and all of the allies I have... he still does not change his mind."
"Princess Rhaenyra should not be the heir... any other king would have banished her to the Silent Sisters," Criston said, relieved to finally speak his mind. "She neglects her duties, presents a bastard as a trueborn, lies openly in the eyes of Gods and Men... and yet she still remains heir. I have prayed to the Crone a time, to guide me, because it bewilders me at times."
"Sometimes, I feel he is blind," scoffed the Queen. "How can he not see that Joffrey is not that of Lord Jason's?"
"I do not know, Your Grace... as soon I as that whelp, it was clear that he is an abomination."
The Queen looked up and glared at Criston disapprovingly. "I would not go that far, Ser Criston," she laughed.
Criston bowed his head in apology.
"The rumours are growing, however," she said optimistically. "If they become loud enough, His Grace may have no choice."
"I hope that is the case. For then, honour and decency shall prevail."
She smiled slightly, and Criston returned to the corner of the chamber. He stood there in silence, as his duty required, until his posting ended. By then, Aemon had woken up again, angrier than ever. Luckily, a handmaiden took him for a feed, so Criston curtly begged his leave of the Queen, so he could go to the training yard and train the little dragons.
He arrived in the outer yard. It was bustling with people, men-at-arms, young knights training, guards standing at their posts, and pages and maids and servants rushing around. The air smelt of mud and metal, and the sounds of metal clanging with wooden shields filled the air. Two household guards nodded at Criston as he passed by. It felt like home to Criston. It was all he knew.
Daeron and Baela were already there in the yard. Daeron stood attentively, a silver breastplate covering his dark blue doublet and a wooden sword in his hands and digging into the mud. Baela, meanwhile, wearing the same cloths as her brother, swung wildly at a straw man, her silver hair flapping as she hacked and slashed. Baelon, however, was not to be seen.
Suddenly, a little four-year-old came rushing around a corner, wearing a silver breastplate too large for him, on top of a half-red, half-gold doublet. Baelon ran up to Criston and the children, huffing and wiping his golden hair away from his face.
"You're late, lad," Criston said sternly.
"S-Sorry... Ser Criston..." he panted. "I was getting my armour ready..."
"In a real battle, you shan't have the liberty of taking your time preparing."
"Is Ser Harwin not training us today?" Baelon asked, taking a wooden sword out of the pile.
"No. Now, lad, get to training," snapped Criston.
Eventually, the three children got to training. Daeron was entranced in fighting a straw man, his dark purple eyes focusing on his target. Criston walked up to him and observed his form. He poked at the straw man with the end of his sword, then released a backhand swing at the straw man's neck.
"Soften your knees," commanded Criston. "Feet light."
Daeron listened and adjusted his stance.
"Don't stand too upright, my prince. You would get knocked down."
He adjusted again and swung low at the belly now.
"Good lad," Criston said, patting Daeron earnestly on his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Baela angrily swung around the straw man, hitting it on the neck, then at its ribs, before darting round and sticking the man in the neck with the pointy end. After one downward strike at the end, she stepped away from the man, looking delighted.
"My enemies sue for mercy!" she laughed.
"In a real battle, girls wouldn't be there!" Baelon shouted, his hands on his hips, watching her train.
"Should you not be focusing on your own training?" Criston asked.
"Yes..."
"I've beaten the Ser Straw!" Baela cheered as Criston rubbed her curly hair proudly.
"Then you shall have a new opponent, my Lady of the Straws," Criston chuckled. "Baelon! You and Princess Baela shall spar with each other."
Baelon turned in surprise. "B-But... she is much bigger than me..." he said, his green eyes widening in panic.
"In battle, you cannot choose who your enemy shall be," Criston stated. "Now, both of you..."
"Are you sure, Ser Cris?" Baela asked nervously, spinning the wooden sword in her hand as Daeron paused to watch.
"It's not a fair match..." Daeron whispered.
"When steel is drawn, you can never expect a fair match," said Criston. "Blades up!"
They both lifted their wooden swords, pointing at each other. Baela looked unsure whether to continue, and Baelon's arms were shaking in fear.
"Engage."
Baela leapt at Baelon, swinging her wooden sword at him. She was only two years his elder, but the size and skill difference was clear. Panicking, Baelon tried to block the oncoming attacks, but to little effect. Baela advanced forwards, swing after swing until she pushed Baelon to the floor. There, he clutched his stomach in pain before getting up in anger.
"Continue!" Criston shouted.
Baelon stood up and ran angrily at Baela. She easily dodged his attacks before parrying one with her sword. She used her strength to push him away. The next time Baelon swung, he only hit a straw man, and Baela did not relent with her attacks.
"Stop!" cried Daeron. "Ser Criston, Baelon's getting hurt!"
"In battle, you cannot pause!" Criston commanded, and Baela continued.
She swung again and again and again, and Baelon was driven back even further.
"Thrust him backwards!" he shouted as Baela relentlessly slashed at Baelon.
"That's enough, Ser Criston!" Daeron wailed.
"Use your feet!" shouted Criston as Baela finally launched her leg into Baelon's stomach and sent him flying to the ground. He writhed on the floor, puffing and panting. "Stay on the attack!"
"Enough!" Daeron shouted, running up to his sister.
Then, Baela finally dropped her sword and reached out a hand to Baelon, who struggled on the ground. Baelon instead used his sword to help himself up. He whimpered and wiped his teary eyes, but refused to complain.
"Are you well?" asked Daeron, putting his shoulders on his nephew.
"I'm sorry, Baelon..." Baela whispered, putting her arm around him.
"It... It... is n-no... is-issue..." Baelon sniffled.
"Cole!" a deep voice shouted from across the yard.
Criston turned, and a large knight in black armour and a golden cloak walked up to Baelon, patting the boy on the head. Harwin Strong's brown hair was let loose, flowing down his shoulders, and his brown eyes were filled with rage. He walked around the yard, picking up the swords and placing them in a pile.
"Ser Harwin," Criston curtly said.
"Is this what you teach? Cruelty?" Strong asked, scoffing. "Baelon is clearly a weaker opponent. Neither would learn anything."
"Do you intend to encroach on my training sessions?" Criston smugly asked, throwing his own sword to the ground, making Strong bend over and pick it up. "You forget yourself; I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I know how to train the Princes and Princess."
"It was not a fair fight. Baela is larger and stronger than Baelon," he gruffly replied.
"As I said before, the battlefield does not care of how big you are. If you had seen actual battle, Strong, you would know this," Criston spat.
Strong glared at him, before ignoring the insult. Criston then sauntered over to the rack of swords, taking two blunted training swords. He threw one at Strong's feet and kept the other in his right hand.
"You are larger than I am. So I can prove my words, spar with me," smiled Criston.
"I would rather not," Strong replied, walking away. "I am just passing through, and have other matters to attend to."
"Do you?" Criston laughed. "Or are you too craven... Ser Brokenbones?"
He paused and turned around. His fists were clenched, and his eyebrows furrowed. Strong stormed back and looked as if he were to punch Criston in the face. Instead, he went back to the metal sword on the ground and picked it up. He reluctantly pointed at Criston, who smirked. The three children stood watching at the side, Baela gripping Baelon's hand and Daeron putting his arm around Baelon. Next, Criston lifted his sword and pointed it at Strong.
Then, Criston Cole and Harwin Strong flew at each other.
Strong's attacks were clumsy and heavy. His footing was all wrong, and he was nowhere near as agile as that melee all those years ago.
Past his prime.
Criston easily stopped every attack that came, twisting to the left and right. He twirled around and swung his sword into Strong's back. It was almost too easy.
I can just toy with him until he tires.
Instead of going in for the final blow, Criston pulled back at every moment, prolonging the duel even longer. Strong became visibly vexed, and his face became puffy and sweaty. He swung again, and Criston quickly moved out of the way. Then, he swung at Criston's head from the left, and Criston ducked before swinging at his right elbow, the same one Criston broke.
He shall feel that on the morrow.
Strong yelped out in pain but still did not yield. After another five minutes of failed swings, he still didn't. Strong looked as if he was going to faint, and tears bubbled in his eyes. Criston, meanwhile, still hadn't broken a sweat. Eventually, Criston grew bored of it all and finally decided to put an end to it.
This was fun, at least, albeit not very challenging.
Criston marched forwards, swinging hard into Strong's ribs, before kicking him to the ground. Strong lay on the floor, lifting his sword to block, but Criston continued to swing and punch.
I'd wager Prince Daeron would have been a more entertaining fight.
"Yield!" shouted Baelon, and Strong finally did.
The big knight groaned in pain and reached out his arm for Criston to pull him up. Criston ignored him. Growling, Strong slowly got to his feet and dusted mud off his knees. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, and he walked with a limp.
"There," said Criston calmly. "Even if your opponent is larger than you, it does not mean he is better."
"Baelon would do better if you gave him your attention." Strong spat before going over to Baelon, patting him on the shoulders, and limping away.
This is my chance.
"You do seem to take a keen interest in Baelon's training," Criston mused. "It's strange, really..."
"It is because you do not provide the Prince with adequate training, Cole," he countered, turning quickly and now unable to hide his fury. "I only compensate for your shortcomings."
That is no way to talk to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"Not just in the yard, Strong," replied Criston, ignoring Strong's remarks. "But outside of it. I spot you at feasts being unusually close with Prince Baelon, as well as the Princess Rhaenyra. You have also been quite close with her younger son, have you not? If I recall correctly, I once saw you cradling Joffrey. Most men would only such devotion to his kin... like a nephew... or a brother..."
Strong turned his head to Criston, his arms quivering and his fist clenched into a red ball.
"Or a son..." whispered Criston.
Suddenly, Strong leapt at Criston, and in an instant, they were both on the floor. Strong climbed onto Criston. His fists met Criston's face. Once, twice, three times. Each blow landed harder than the other. Criston could taste blood in his mouth, and his head swung to each side as Harwin took another punch.
Then, the punches ended, and Criston opened his eyes. Ser Rickard Thorne and Ser Arryk Cargyll were pulling Strong away, struggling to hold back the huge knight. He cried and screamed, kicking away like a squalling babe, but they still pulled him away all the same. Criston moved his tongue around his mouth, checking for any lost teeth. Luckily there weren't any, but Criston still was in pain.
"I thought as much," laughed Criston as he lay on the dried mud.
Criston felt a throbbing feeling in his head, but it was still so satisfying. He let out a sigh as two other men helped him to his feet. Off in the distance, a group of men kept Strong pinned to the ground as Ser Rickard kicked him in the stomach.
"You do not attack the Lord Commander!" Ser Arryk shouted as he put his knee on Strong's back.
Later, following a quick visit to the maesters to ensure nothing was broken, he was summoned to the Small Council chambers for an emergency meeting. Criston donned his white armour and white cloak, along with his white helmet covering his scarred face. When he arrived, everyone was seated and had grave looks on their faces, apart from Lyonel Strong, the Hand, who stood facing the King with an apologetic look on his face.
"My deepest apologies, Ser Criston. This should not have happened," Lyonel Strong said.
"You are correct in that," replied the Queen, her tone panicked. "It is a bloody shame what happened. We are only lucky that this happened to Ser Criston, and not one of the children. To think that this was the man who we entrusted with training the Princes and Princess, and he does this."
"You forget, Your Grace," Rhaenyra replied, fury on her pale face. "He was still the son of the Lord Hand's son."
"That does not change what he did," replied Lord Corlys, a grin on his face. "He has been dismissed as Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, but that is not enough."
"Yes... My son has disgraced himself earlier today. That is why I am offering my resignation from the role of Hand. " Lyonel Strong gravely said as his son, Larys, stared at him. Usually, the Clubfoot would not display his emotions, but Criston could see a hint of anger in his weasel-like face.
"Thank you, Lord Strong. We thank you for your many-" the Queen began before the King stood up.
"No. Ser Harwin has been expelled from the City Watch. That seems punishment enough. I do not allow you to resign," the King plainly stated. "You have served me faithfully, and honourably for many, many years. Better than most. Your advice-"
"You speak kind words, Your Grace. But... there has been a shadow, cast upon my house, that is too large to ignore... I can no longer serve you without bias..."
"What is this shadow?" the Queen asked, leaning forwards and smiling. "Name it, then."
"We must have your reasoning spoken, Lord Strong," Lord Corlys agreed.
Lyonel Strong looked at both of them for a moment and back to the King. He sighed and rubbed his bald head.
"I cannot," he said.
"Then, I cannot accept your resignation," the King replied.
"If you so wish to resign, then state it plainly for His Grace to know," Lord Corlys protested.
"He has stated that he cannot," Rhaenyra interrupted, fear growing in her purple eyes.
"My King..." Lyonel Strong sighed. "If you insist I cannot resign, then I shall not. I shall continue to serve you as truthfully as I can."
"Then this matter is done," the King announced. "And the council is dismissed."
"Lord Husband! What of Ser Criston, and Lord Strong's intent-" the Queen said.
"No!" shouted the King. "This council is at an end!"
"If you allow, Your Grace... I wish to take leave to accompany Harwin to Harrenhal. He is my heir, and needs to learn how to rule and assume his duties there," he asked.
"Yes... very well..." the King sighed as he stood to leave the chambers.
As everyone stood to leave, the Queen quickly glanced at Criston. Despite Lyonel Strong not being given leave to resign, she still smiled somewhat.
Now the rumours are too large to ignore.