King's Landing, The Red Keep – 128 AC
I walked through the long corridor of the Black Cells with a smile on my face. The screams of Otto Hightower echoed through the damp, dark passageways, a haunting melody that brought a twisted sense of satisfaction. It was clear Daemon was having his fun, and now it was my turn. I whistled softly, the tune bouncing off the stone walls, and turned to Qarl, who walked beside me with a grim expression. Even in this horrid place, Qarl was a sight for sore eyes. I never thought I would find love again after Joffrey, but I had. Qarl and I would spend the rest of our lives together, but first, I had a score to settle.
We stopped before a particular cell, and I ordered the guards to leave. They bowed and left without question. Qarl moved to stand guard outside, his eyes scanning the corridor for any threats, while I stepped inside. Ser Criston Cole sat on the cold floor, his white cloak gone, his once-proud demeanor reduced to a pitiful state. He looked up at me with rage in his eyes, but he remained silent, defiant to the end.
I leaned back against the door, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared down at the man who had taken Joffrey from me—my Knight of Kisses. There had been a time when I wanted Cole to die, to suffer under Seasmoke's flames. Rhaenyra had offered me the chance to make that happen, but I had refused. I know better now. For Cole to truly suffer, he needed to live the rest of his life in shame, and shame was exactly what I intended to bring him.
"Ser Criston," I began, my voice calm but laced with contempt. "It's been a long time."
He didn't respond, just glared at me with those hateful eyes. I could see the anger burning within him, but I also saw the fear. He knew he was at my mercy.
"You took something from me," I continued, my tone steady. "Something precious. Joffrey was more than just a lover; he was my heart, my soul. And you ripped him away from me."
Cole's jaw clenched, but he still said nothing. I took a step closer, feeling the heat of my anger rising, but I kept it controlled. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose control.
"I wanted to kill you," I admitted. "I wanted to see you burn. But then I realized, death would be too easy for you. No, you deserve to live. You deserve to feel the weight of your actions, the shame of your deeds."
I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a crack in his stoic facade. It was small, but it was there.
"Your legacy will be one of disgrace," I said, leaning in closer. "You will be remembered not as a knight, but as a traitor. A murderer. A coward. And every day you live will be a reminder of the monster you've become."
For the first time, Cole's defiance wavered. He looked away, unable to meet my gaze. I felt a surge of satisfaction. This was what I wanted. To see him broken, to see him understand the magnitude of his crimes.
"You have no honor left," I said softly. "No pride. No future. Just a lifetime of regret."
I leaned in close, letting my smirk widen into a grin. "Did you really think that bedding a princess wouldn't come with consequences?" I asked, my voice dripping with cold satisfaction. I could see the moment realization dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, I saw doubt and a hint of regret in his gaze. Maybe he'd always had doubts, deep down, but his righteousness had blinded him to the truth. It was surprising how much people can choose to ignore, how they can deceive themselves into thinking they're untouchable.
Criston's face was a mix of anger and fear, but it was his fear that made me feel alive. I relished the power of this moment, the chance to turn the tables and make him confront the truth he had been running from. I took a step closer, making sure he could see the full force of my satisfaction.
"You didn't know," I said, letting my voice sink into a low, taunting whisper. I leaned in closer, savoring the moment as I watched Criston's eyes widen in horror. "The boy you called a bastard all his life, the one you tried so hard to torment and humiliate, was none other than the son you sired with Rhaenyra."
His face went ashen, and he stumbled back, as if I'd slapped him across the face. The realization was a physical blow, hitting him harder than any sword strike could. It was almost poetic to see the horror seep into his eyes, the disbelief of the truth crashing down around him like a tidal wave. For a moment, he looked as if the ground had been yanked from under him, and he struggled to keep his balance.
I took a step closer, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of seeing him unravel. "Yes, Jacaerys Velaryon," I continued, my voice steady and cruel. "The boy you despised, the one you made your personal target, is your own flesh and blood. And let me make it clear, Criston: he hates you. He will only ever see me as his father."
Criston's eyes, which had once burned with anger and righteousness, now flitted between fear and fury. His mouth opened as if to speak, but the words were choked out in ragged, desperate gasps. He was too stunned to form coherent thoughts, too overwhelmed by the enormity of the revelation. It was like watching a man slowly realize he's been walking off a cliff, the ground dropping away beneath him.
I couldn't help but revel in the sight of his crumbling composure. "You took my lover from me," I said, letting the bitterness seep into every word. "But I took something from you in return. I took your son, and he will grow up in the warmth of the sun, far from the shadows of your cruelty."
Criston's gaze, which had been filled with defiance, was now clouded with a deep, gnawing dread. The anger he tried to muster was weak and unsteady, overshadowed by the terror of the unknown fate that awaited him. He looked around as if searching for a way out, but there was no escape from this prison or from the truth I had just revealed.
The realization seemed to shake him to his core. His mind was racing, trying to piece together the implications of what I had said. The weight of it all was too much for him to bear, and I watched as he struggled to grasp the depth of his downfall. The smug satisfaction I felt was almost overwhelming as I took in the sight of him, broken by the very truth he had tried so hard to deny.
"You see," I continued, my voice a mix of triumph and malice, "this is what happens when you play games with people's lives. When you think you're untouchable, that there are no consequences for your actions. You tried to ruin me, to take everything from me, and now look where you are."
Criston's eyes darted to the door, to the darkness beyond the cell, but there was no salvation waiting for him. His thoughts were a chaotic storm of fear, regret, and desperation. He was finally facing the consequences of his actions, and it was a sight I had longed to see.
"You thought you could escape retribution," I said, almost pitying him for a fleeting moment. "But now, the game is over."
As I spoke, I could see the last remnants of defiance in his eyes fading away. Criston was no longer the proud knight who had defied me; he was just a broken man, facing the consequences of his own failings. The bitter taste of vengeance was sweet on my tongue, and I savored the moment as he sat there, crushed by the weight of the truth.
I took a step back, letting the silence settle between us, broken only by the distant echo of Otto Hightower's tortured screams. The echoes seemed to mock Criston's fate, a cruel reminder that justice was finally being served.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" I asked, my tone cold and indifferent.
Criston stared at me, his eyes a mixture of pleading and fury. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The look on his face said more than any speech could; it was a portrait of defeat, painted with the brushstrokes of fear and regret.
I smiled, a cruel twist of my lips that reflected the satisfaction I felt. "Didn't think so," I said, enjoying the finality of it all. "It's too late for words now."
I knocked on the door of the cell, and Qarl entered, his face set in a grim expression. I could see him taking in the scene, the way Criston's eyes shifted from me to him, the fear growing in his gaze. Qarl stepped forward, a pair of leather straps in his hands, and moved to restrain Criston.
Criston's eyes went from me to Qarl, panic clearly written on his face. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "You can't do this! I'm a knight of the realm!"
I laughed, a cold and harsh sound that echoed in the small cell. "Oh, but we can, Ser Criston. And we will. You see, you have to pay for deflowering a princess."
Criston's eyes widened in horror, and he began to struggle against the restraints, but it was too late. Qarl held him down, his grip firm and unyielding. Criston's rage turned to pleading as he realized what was about to happen. "No! Please, no! I'll do anything, just don't—"
I cut him off with a sneer. "Too late for pleas and bargains, Ser Criston. You wanted to tear lives apart, now you'll pay the price. We will not rape you, but we will ensure you suffer for what you've done. First castration, and after this, you will be sent to the Wall, a place of punishment and exile."
Criston's face was a mask of terror as he looked up at me, his defiance replaced by desperate pleas. "Please, don't do this. I'm begging you—"
I ignored his pleas, taking a perverse pleasure in his suffering. I could see the fear in his eyes, the realization that his fate was sealed. I smiled through it all, a smile that was as cold and unfeeling as the stone walls surrounding us.
Qarl and I worked efficiently, and soon the deed was done. I watched as Criston's screams echoed through the Black Cells, a fitting symphony for his betrayal. His cries were music to my ears, a final note in the song of retribution that had played out over these long days.
I took one last look at Criston, whose face was twisted in agony and humiliation. It was a sight that would stay with me. I felt a strange mixture of relief and satisfaction, knowing that some justice had been served, even if it was just a small part of the larger story.
As I walked away from the Black Cells, the echoes of Otto Hightower's screams still ringing in my ears, my thoughts drifted back to Joffrey. My sweet Knight of Kisses. I could almost feel him beside me, the warmth of his presence a ghostly comfort against the cold emptiness of the corridors. I could still see his smiling face, the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the gentle touch of his hand against mine.
I had been so sure that we'd have forever together, that our lives would be filled with love and laughter. We had grown up together, inseparable, and I had thought we would grow old together. Those dreams were shattered in one brutal moment, and the weight of that loss still pressed heavily on my heart.
When I was set to marry Rhaenyra, there was a part of me that was relieved because she accepted Joffrey as my lover. I was happy. I was excited for our future, for the family we might build. Rhaenyra had been kind, understanding in a way that most wouldn't have been. I remember the way she smiled at us, the way she seemed to genuinely care about Joffrey and me. It was a small comfort in a world that was increasingly dark.
But then came that dreadful day. The day Criston Cole shattered everything I had hoped for. I still see the memory of Joffrey's broken body, laid out during the wedding banquet, a cruel mockery of what should have been a joyous occasion. His lifeless form, so out of place amid the celebration, haunted me. The laughter and music of the feast turned to shadows in my memory, replaced by the sight of Joffrey's cold, still face. It was a vision of heartbreak that never truly faded. I had tried to keep it hidden, to shield myself from the pain, but it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface.
What stung the most was that Criston, the man who had taken everything from me, was not punished for his crime. Instead, he was given a white cloak, a symbol of honor, and made the sworn shield of the queen. He was rewarded for his actions, a bitter slap in the face that mocked Joffrey's memory. How could the man who had caused such suffering to be elevated to such a position of respect? It was a betrayal of justice that cut deep, a wound that was never allowed to heal.
In the quiet moments of my life, I would think about what might have been if Joffrey had lived. I would imagine us growing old together, the two of us walking through gardens, sharing stories and dreams. I had envisioned a future where we could live without fear, where our love could flourish without the shadow of political intrigue hanging over us. But those dreams were stolen, leaving only memories and regrets.
Now, as I walked away from Criston's cell, I felt a twisted satisfaction. This was the justice I had been denied for so long. The pain that had been seared into my soul, the anger that had simmered beneath the surface, was finally finding a release. Criston had been punished, not just for the murder of Joffrey but for the way he had been rewarded for his villainy.
I could still see Joffrey's face in my mind, a young man full of promise and love. I could almost hear his laughter, the way he would tease me gently, the way he would look at me with those adoring eyes. I remembered the way he would hold me close, the way we had shared our dreams and fears.
I had carried that pain with me for so long, a constant reminder of what had been lost. But now, as I had watched Criston tremble and beg, I felt a measure of closure. This was my revenge, the justice for Joffrey that I had been denied. I was finally making him pay for what he had done, for the life he had taken and the way he had been honored for his treachery.
As I walked beside Qarl, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions, I felt a fleeting sense of peace. It wasn't a cure for the sorrow I carried, but it was a step towards finding some semblance of balance. I looked at Qarl in surprise but also warmth, as I felt him hold my hand in comfort.
"Let's go," I said to Qarl, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. "We've done what we came to do."
