That I must bow so low? - Criston Cole I
"Ser Criston of House Cole does not deserve a page in The White Book, his nicknames are many, the Tongueless, the Honorless, the Oathbreaker and so many others that do not deserve to be written, may the gods let his presence and his stories turn to dust over the years."
- Lord Commander of the Royal Guard Rickard Thorne, in the Book of Brothers, shortly after the death of Ser Criston Cole
Criston Cole had lost his position as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, relegated to being just one of the other six not-so-important brothers, yet Ser Criston's duty was to protect the princes and princesses of the realm.
Criston understood his duty much better than many men.
He had, after all, been born in Blackhaven, in Dornish Marsh, he had fought day after day against filthy Dornese trying to invade the lands of the Seven Kingdoms.
In all the years he had spent in Blackhaven, Criston had only deviated from duty once.
Only once.
For a woman so beautiful that she outshone the sun, she was so sweet, so smiling, so malleable when she called him Criston in a voice breathless with desire and duty was lost.
It was once.
Just once, the thoughtless carelessness of a boy thirsting for a woman's touch, a green boy, naïve and foolish, a boy who didn't think clearly and who was seduced by sweet words and tender touches.
It was only once, but once was enough for his father to frown in disgust and look at him like dirt on his shoe.
Criston was sent away, a third son of nothing moving on after disgracing his family, losing his honor and his dignity.
A boy lost in the world to his fate, dumped in the Seven Kingdoms, without coins, without a horse, without a roof over his head to sleep under at night, all Criston had was a sword, his brain and his willpower.
And all this, all this, was the fault of a woman.
Criston would never see his father, his brothers or his sick mother again, he wouldn't be there at their funerals, nor at his brother's wedding, he would never take charge of anything in his brother's house.
It was a woman's fault.
It was her fault.
She had seduced him, with sweet words, sincere touches and big eyes and Criston, like an idiot, had fallen for her tricks like a duckling, desperate for a woman's affection and love.
Naive, naive and naive.
The day he was forced to leave his house with nothing but his sword and his clothes, Criston promised himself that he would never be manipulated by another woman.
He traveled the length and breadth of the Seven Kingdoms, wandering here and there, doing sword work so he could earn money to eat, entering tournaments to win bags of coin that were too small to pay for more than a few days in an inn room and a few meager meals.
Then there was the Maidenpool tournament, the celebration of King Viserys' coronation, and Criston figured it couldn't hurt to give a seven-day-old girl her name on a wreath.
It wasn't difficult to be appointed the Princess's sworn shield, she was very pretty, yes, but she was a little girl and little girls didn't have evil wiles planted in them.
Rhaenyra was no threat to anyone but herself, she was a smiling girl, who lived with her knees scraped even though Criston almost lost his voice saying don't run, Princess, Rhaenyra was no threat, she was so sweet, so honorable, so delicate, a perfect lady.
Criston should have been smarter and seen the future long before it happened.
In his belief that Rhaenyra was a little girl, he forgot that she would become a woman.
And women were deceitful beings made by Strange, nothing good came of them.
Criston was a fool again to believe in a woman, he was stupid, dishonorable, a man weak to the will of a Princess who seduced him with pretty words and soft lips as sweet as honey.
Rhaenyra may have been a Targaryen Princess, much closer to the gods than to men, and yet she was a woman, as flawed as all those who were not gods.
Being seduced, used and denied made his belief in women diminish even further, Criston was once again convinced that he could never believe in a woman again.
His decision was firm, Criston Cole would never trust a woman again.
But he needed to trust someone, he needed to, desperately, because Rhaenyra was not fit for the Iron Throne, her children would be bastards born of lust, sired by whoever managed to get their hands on her, a common servant, a street rat, anyone who got into the Princess's skirts.
Rhaenyra was doomed to sully the Iron Throne with her dirty bastards.
And that, that, Criston could not allow.
His duty as Kingsguard was to protect the King and his family, his duty as an honorable man and knight was to protect the people from the disastrous decisions of the Targaryens.
And he would protect the kingdom from Princess Rhaenyra and her bastards, from the Targaryens and their dishonor.
He just needed to find someone who would believe his words, Criston was a man with a conscience, he knew things that most men didn't, but he wasn't heir to a great house, he owned nothing but his memories, no one would believe his words.
Criston needed someone with enough of a voice to convince the King that Rhaenyra was a disgraced mother of bastards, an inferior woman, no better than a common prostitute.
But if there were others who were against Princess Rhaenyra at court, Criston didn't know them, everyone was too afraid to speak out against the Targaryens to dare think ill of the Princess.
But well... it was just a silly idea, but all men would like to be Kings and all women would like to be Queens, when he was a boy, Criston played Aegon the Conqueror with his brothers, even though he bore no resemblance to the Targaryens.
Of course, he could go to Lord Otto and tell him his worries, but Lord Hand would believe his concerns immediately, he disapproved of all Targaryens who didn't listen to him.
But still, Lord Otto was a conniving man who worked for the good of himself, and Criston worked for the good of the Kingdom.
Criston spoke to Lord Otto only once about his concerns for the Princess, of course, he mused, the Queen was friends with the Princess for as long as it suited herself, their friendship was fake, lasting only as long as necessary.
The Queen had to see the kind of person she was linked to, she had to see the Princess's impurity and realize that Aegon was the best for the Throne.
He didn't trust Queen Alicent, she was strange, her smiles were too sweet, her few words too ambiguous, she was, in essence, a mystery to be solved, one that Ser Criston couldn't solve no matter how hard he tried.
But as he stood by Princess Rhaenyra, protecting her, Criston couldn't help thinking that Alicent wanted the Throne for her children, but who better than the Queen to report to now that Criston knew the Princess was a filthy whore.
The Queen was simple-minded, her court games were obvious and her actions made everything even more obvious.
Even so, there wasn't a woman in the Kingdom who didn't fight for her children to sit on the Iron Throne.
That's what brings him to Queen Alicent's door.
He knows that she will listen to him, because Lord Otto has confirmed his suspicions, and because Criston knows that the Queen is a pious woman and that no decent woman would want a prostitute on the Throne.
The Queen was a simple woman, pretty enough but always quiet, her youthful wildness had died with her, and Criston didn't believe the rumors that she had killed Larys Strong, no, the Queen had been wild, but not murderous.
If there was anyone in the kingdom with a better claim to the throne than Rhaenyra, it was Aegon. The boy might not be much now, just a little five-day-old boy by name, but as he had learned from Rhaenyra, little boys grow up.
And even five-day-old boys had more right to the Throne than dirty whores.
He goes to the Queen because he knows she wants his son on the throne, it's the logical thing to do, the right thing to do, if women were made to rule, Aegon wouldn't have been the first King of the Seven Kingdoms, Visenya would have been the First Queen and The Queen Who Never Was would have been chosen before King Viserys.
The Queen listens to him, so pregnant that he fears she will explode, but she listens to him, silently, without judgment, with a face so open that Criston knows she believes him, knows that she is different from other women, she is not an envoy of the Stranger, she is a kind woman raised by faith, who understands the value of good manners and blood family.
The Queen understood.
She understood and Criston couldn't ask for more than that.
If the Queen understood that Rhaenyra was not fit to rule, she understood that Aegon was better for the Throne and that the seeds of rebellion were planted, it was enough to calm her fears.
Decency and honor prevailed in the kingdom, as they should.
But the Queen doesn't understand, of course not, at the end of the day, the Queen is a woman and a woman wouldn't understand her own debauchery until her mistakes were shown to her.
When the Queen makes Ser Rickard and one of the Cargyll twins hold him down, he promises himself that he will destroy Queen Alicent.
When the Queen puts the sewing scissors in his mouth, he promises that he will cut her head off with bigger, sharper scissors.
When the Queen cuts out his tongue and treats him with contempt, Criston vows that he will kill his entire lineage, his parents, his siblings, his children, all of them.
When his mouth becomes infected and his teeth seem about to fall out, Criston vows that he will have the heads of the three filthy little bastards that the Queen has sired on stakes outside the Red Keep.
He promises himself, the Queen will pay, Criston may lose his head in the process, but his head is not as important as that of the reborn Strange.
He will make her pay.
It doesn't matter if it takes a day or a thousand moons, Criston Cole will have Queen Alicent Hightower's head on a spear at the gates of the Red Keep and her filthy, impure little bastards will follow.
There's not much Criston can do after the Queen cuts out his tongue, he can't write to tell his side of the story, he can't speak, he can't beg, he's nothing more than a mute simpleton waiting for small moments of attention.
It shouldn't have been so humiliating when Ser Rickard Thorne rose to the rank of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, what hurt was knowing that Ser Rickard was the Queen's man, he had fought against the King, the most powerful man in the kingdom, for the Queen.
The Kingsguard was supposed to protect the royal family, but whatever the King did to the Queen was not their problem and Ser Rickard should remember that.
The Queen didn't deserve the consideration Ser Rickard had for her, she deserved to have died with the two filthy offspring she was carrying, it was good that one of the Queen's children had died, it was less work in the future, he would only have to kill three children, not four.
Criston is taken off the rounds for at least six full turns of the moon, until his scars heal and he can look less scary.
His other brothers-in-arms don't hesitate to choose sides, none of them liked the favoritism paid to Criston after Ser Harrold Westerling's death, none of them liked that he was passed over for Lord Commander, but none of them dared raise their voices about it.
Even surrounded by six brothers of the guard, Criston was as alone as if he were in the Dornish lands, his brothers had chosen a side and made it clear, their side was that of the false Queen, the impure Princess, her bastard brothers and her usurping sons.
They had all been corrupted by the Queen's taint.
He was sure that of all his brothers, the most corrupted was Ser Rickard.
Criston was sure that the man lying in the Queen's bed, he knew that at least one of his sons was Ser Rickard's, Criston knew it, he knew it like he knew the sun would rise and the sun would set, Ser Rickard Thorne was the father of one of the Queen's bastards.
He was sure it was Aemond, the little hell spawn cried like he was dying every time he saw him, Ser Rickard had to reshuffle all his guard shifts until he could find someone who didn't mock his presence.
Still, Aemond Targaryen might have the white hair and violet eyes of the Targaryens, but he didn't have a dragon; the Valerian coloring could be explained by the witchcraft the Queen had used to seduce Ser Rickard and the King.
No matter that Aemond was all Targaryen, he didn't have a dragon and that was further proof that the gods were right in his bastardry, no bastard would ride a dragon, a creature meant for legitimate Kings.
Princess Rhaenyra didn't want him near her in the guards, she hated him with her eyes, married to Daemon in such a short time that Criston wondered if he knew about the taint that stained her body, Prince Daemon might be a dirty, vile whore, but no man wanted damaged goods.
Queen Alicent was a resounding no and her children came with that no, Aegon screamed like a madman every time he saw him, Helaena had hidden so quickly behind Ser Arryk's cloak that Criston couldn't even imagine she was there.
In the end, he was stuck with King Viserys, the purest of the Targaryens, the King had no dragon, but he did have Balerion, the King was calm, measured and controlled, listening to his subjects and accepting their advice, unlike the other Targaryens, King Viserys followed the laws of men.
It was a real shame that Alicent had tamed the King like a common horse.
The Queen was not a simple woman, she was the most intelligent of them all and Criston was foolish enough not to see that before he lost his tongue.
She had been in control all her life, she had fought against his ascension to the White Robes, she had fought against his position as Lord Commander.
Criston had never gone to lessons with the Maester when he lived in Blackhaven, Maester cost money and only the heir and the spare were worth the lost coins, he didn't go to lessons when offered by the King either, he was supposed to keep The White Book up to date, but there were always more and more duties to fulfill, more and more things to do and he didn't have time for lessons.
It was her fault, he knew now, it had to be her fault.
She would pay for it.
Criston would make her pay.
He would protect the Targaryens from outside threats and protect the kingdom of men from a foolish, arrogant and dishonorable woman.
If he could only leave her alone, the Queen was always surrounded by people, Ser Rickard followed her everywhere accompanied by one of the Cargyll twins, her children were always surrounded by guards, even if some of them were more like nannies and servants.
Criston had always been a patient man, he could wait for an opportunity.
It never came, of course not.
More foolish men thought that women had no power, but they did, women were the most dangerous beings in the Seven Kingdoms simply because they had painfully pretty faces and a pussy between their legs.
He had learned his lesson with the sweet and pathetic Rhaenyra, a slut adorned with pretty dresses and a small smile, Rhaenyra was an inconsequential slut, a bastard-breeding whore who would destroy the kingdom as soon as she got her hands on the crown.
Criston had learned his lesson from Queen Alicent, even when she was pregnant and as big as a cow, the bloody, indecorous whore still managed to cut out his tongue as if Criston were an ordinary boy running around the streets of Flea Bottom.
Even though she was the most dangerous woman in the Seven Kingdoms, Queen Alicent couldn't see the merits of duty and honor, she couldn't understand that Rhaenyra was a dishonorable whore who had lost her honor, and with it, all claim to the throne, Rhaenyra didn't deserve the Throne.
She would pay, she would pay for it, and the price would not be small.
She would pay for the tarnished honor Rhaenyra had given her, she would pay for her severed tongue, she would pay for sleeping with Ser Rickard, she would pay, for every single sin she had committed as the wife of King Viserys.
Of all the Queen's crimes, none was as grave as the one she committed on the day of Lady Laena's death.
Honors could be restored, tongues could be compensated and bastards could be forgiven, every crime had a pardon when properly brought into the Light of the Seven.
There was only one unforgivable sin.
Kinslaying.
Seven times cursed the murderers of relatives.
He knew it was the Queen who had killed Lord Otto when he found the body.
He knew it was her.
Lord Otto was one of the worst men Ser Criston knew, there was nothing he wouldn't do for power, but there was no man in the Realm who could say that Otto Hightower was not a clever man.
Lord Otto was one of the cleverest men in the Realm.
No one could kill him but his daughter twice as smart.
And being killed in a brothel, no less, everyone knew Lord Hightower would never dishonor his late wife by lying with a prostitute.
Criston got his confirmation when the Queen returned to the Capital accompanied by Princess Rhaenyra, her worthless husband, and their brood of bastards.
Princess Rhaenyra proudly wore the Lord Hand's brooch on her black and red Targaryen cloak, Queen Alicent seemed smug, spinning the Lord Hand's ring on her finger, and Daemon looked like a peacock he was so puffed up.
Gods, Criston hated them.
He hated Aegon, the rightful King, as dumb as a rat and as bad with a sword as a woman, he hated Helaena, mad in the head, always surrounded by bugs that belong in the garden, not to a woman of her position, he hated Aemond and his face identical to Ser Rickard's and his false dragon won with his mother's sorcery.
He hated every one of the Targaryens.
How King Viserys could keep the succession so broken, Criston did not yet know, there's a Queen mother of bastards born of magic, a dishonored, unclean, and undignified daughter, a brother so wicked that even the Stranger himself would fear him.
He hated the Queen's swagger, her unchecked arrogance.
He hated that the Queen could do whatever she pleased without consequences.
He hated that each of the Targaryens could burn a whole city just to stave off boredom and nothing would happen to them.
The Targaryens would pay, if not with Fire and Blood, then with tears and strength.
"— One moon after King Viserys I's death, when Queen Rhaenyra was crowned, Ser Criston Cole awaited Queen Dowager Alicent hidden in her chambers, what followed was called the Red Night."
- Maester Cressen, to Gendry Baratheon, Heir of Storm's End in 300 AC