Chapter Text
It had been a year now since the Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, and the Princess broke his heart.
A year since Criston Cole tried to commit suicide, but was stopped by Queen Alicent.
A year since he became completely the Queen's ally and knight.
Now, both the Princess and the Queen have given birth to their sons. The Princess gave birth to her first son and heir, Jacaerys Velaryon. And before his birth, the Queen gave birth to her third child and second son, Aemond Targaryen.
Criston was standing behind the Queen as he watched the royal family with the children. King Viserys was smiling at his new grandson, not even paying any attention now to his five years old son, Aegon, his four years old daughter, Helaena, and even his new baby son, Aemond.
His Queen was hurt that her husband was paying more attention to his older daughter and son, and not their children.
Everyone knew that Jacaerys wasn't Laenor's son. They didn't look alike. Jacaerys's growing hair was brown, and he had brown eyes, while Laenor had the Valyrian features. The snowy white hair, the violet eyes.
Jacaerys was a bastard.
And the King didn't care.
Not since he's his daughter's son.
Criston was joining in on the hunt that was happening today, it will be him, the King, Laenor and others from the court. With a nod from Queen Alicent, he got on his horse and joined on the hunt.
The hunting party moved deeper into the Kingswood, following the tracks of a great stag. Criston rode behind King Viserys, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Something felt wrong in the air - a heaviness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
As they rounded a bend in the forest path, Criston felt a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn breeze. He pulled on his reins, bringing his mount to a halt. The rest of the party continued forward, their laughter and conversation fading among the trees.
"What is that?" he muttered, cocking his head to listen.
A faint wailing sound came from somewhere to his right, deeper in the woods. He glanced ahead where the King rode safely flanked by Ser Harrold and the others. They showed no sign of having heard the noise.
Hesitating only briefly, Criston turned his horse toward the sound. The King was well-protected, and something in that cry compelled him forward.
He navigated carefully through the underbrush, following the increasingly distressed sounds. When he came to a small clearing, he saw it - a small bundle wrapped in a dirty blanket, moving slightly on the forest floor.
"Seven hells," he breathed, dismounting quickly.
Tiny arms poked from the blanket's folds, reaching up desperately. Criston knelt beside the bundle and carefully pulled back the cloth.
It was a baby girl. Her olive-brown skin matched his own Dornish complexion, the sight making Criston's breath catch in his throat. He scanned the clearing frantically, searching for any sign of the mother or father, but saw only shadows between trees and heard nothing but distant birdsong.
With practiced hands, he tugged his leather gloves off and carefully lifted the infant, blanket and all. She wailed louder at the movement, her tiny face scrunched in distress.
"Shh, it's alright," he whispered, cradling her awkwardly against his armored chest. "You're safe now."
Gradually, her cries subsided to hiccupping whimpers. Dark eyes, still unfocused but somehow knowing, stared up at him. Criston felt something twist inside his chest as he adjusted her weight in one arm and reached with his free hand to touch her tiny fist.
The babe gurgled softly and latched onto his finger with surprising strength. A small, unbidden smile crossed his face before he caught himself and forced his expression back to stern vigilance as he surveyed the woods once more.
Looking down at her peaceful face, he estimated she couldn't be more than a few days old. Her umbilical stump was still fresh. What monster would abandon such a helpless creature to the mercies of the forest? To the wolves and foxes that prowled these woods?
He sighed deeply, his decision already made before he even acknowledged it. The hunting party would be wondering where he'd gone, but he couldn't simply leave her here to die.
"Well, little one," he murmured, "it seems you're coming with me."
Mounting his horse one-handed proved challenging, but Criston managed it, tucking the babe securely against his chest. He turned his mount back toward the hunting path, mind racing. What would the Queen say? What would anyone say? A Kingsguard with a child was unprecedented.
The ride back felt longer than it should have, each jolt of the horse making Criston anxious for the infant's comfort. He'd torn a strip from his undershirt to create a makeshift sling across his chest, securing the babe against him as he navigated the forest paths back to the hunting party.
When he finally emerged into the clearing where the royal entourage had gathered, all eyes turned to him. King Viserys stood beside a freshly killed boar, his expression changing from triumph to confusion at the sight of his Kingsguard approaching with something clutched to his chest.
"Ser Criston, where've you been?" Queen Alicent asked, her voice carrying a mixture of concern and relief. She stepped forward, her green dress catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
"You were supposed to be by the King's side alongside me while on the hunt," Ser Harrold scolded, his weathered face contorting with disapproval. "A Kingsguard does not simply wander off."
"Apologize, Your Grace," Criston said with a respectful nod toward the King and Queen, deliberately ignoring Harrold's rebuke.
As he approached, the bundle in his arms shifted, drawing everyone's attention. The small blanket fell away slightly, revealing the tiny face within.
Criston glanced down at the babe, who had begun to stir from the jostling movement. "I had to change direction when I heard crying in the woods."
"That's..." Queen Alicent's words died on her lips as the infant let out a piercing wail, tiny fists flailing against Criston's breastplate.
"I found her abandoned in a clearing," Criston explained, awkwardly trying to soothe the crying child. "There was no sign of her mother or any caretaker. I couldn't have left her out there alone."
The Queen's face softened as she approached, her maternal instincts overriding court protocol. "The poor thing is hungry," she said, reaching out with practiced hands. "May I?"
Criston surrendered the bundle, watching as Alicent expertly cradled the infant against her chest. The Queen's fingers gently stroked the babe's cheek, quieting her momentarily.
With the babe secured in her arms, Queen Alicent walked toward the wagons where the wet nurses tended to Prince Aemond and the other royal children who had accompanied the hunt. She spoke quietly to one of the women, who nodded and took the small bundle with gentle competence.
"See that this little one is fed and cleaned," the Queen instructed as the wet nurse carried the infant into one of the carriages.
King Viserys approached Criston, his expression unreadable. "A curious find, Ser Criston. Not the quarry we expected from today's hunt."
"Indeed not, Your Grace," Criston replied, standing stiffly at attention.
"You've done well," King Viserys told Criston with an approving nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Not all hunts are for beasts. Sometimes the gods place other treasures in our path."
The King turned and walked away, Ser Harrold falling into step beside him. Criston watched them go, relieved that his abandonment of post had been forgiven so easily. His attention shifted to the closed door of the carriage where the wet nurse had taken the infant.
A prickling sensation at the back of his neck made him turn. Across the clearing, Princess Rhaenyra stood beside her husband Laenor, her eyes fixed on Criston. When their gazes met, she quickly looked away, pretending to adjust the sleeve of her riding dress. Even after a year, the sight of her still caused a dull ache in his chest.
"She will need a name," Queen Alicent said, appearing at his side and following his gaze to the carriage. "The little one you found."
Criston cleared his throat. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, Your Grace. I was merely concerned with her immediate safety."
"A noble concern," the Queen replied, her voice soft. "She appears to be of Dornish blood, like yourself."
"I noticed the resemblance," Criston admitted. "Though I know not how she came to be abandoned in the King's forest."
A brief silence fell between them before Criston asked, "What will happen with the babe, Your Grace?"
Queen Alicent folded her hands before her, considering. "She will need care beyond what a wet nurse can provide in the field. I will have the Grand Maester examine her when we return to the Keep." She paused, watching as servants began packing up the hunt's spoils. "Until we are certain of her health, she will remain in the Red Keep under my supervision."
Criston's brow furrowed. "Will His Grace approve of such arrangements? The child is not of royal blood."
"The King will allow it," Alicent assured him with quiet confidence. "He has already given his blessing in his own way."
Criston nodded, feeling an unexpected sense of relief. His gaze drifted back to the carriage.
The nursery room in the Red Keep was bathed in soft afternoon light when Criston entered. Queen Alicent stood by the window, swaying gently with the infant cradled against her shoulder. The sound of her humming filled the quiet space.
"She's finally settled," the Queen whispered when she noticed him. "Her appetite has improved considerably since you brought her to us."
"I've noticed," Criston replied, his voice unusually gentle. "The wet nurse says she takes her milk eagerly now."
As if sensing his presence, the child stirred against the Queen's shoulder. Tiny eyelids fluttered open, and dark eyes found him immediately. A small hand reached out, fingers grasping at the air between them.
Queen Alicent's lips curved into a knowing smile. "It seems your little foundling prefers her shining knight to a queen." She crossed the room and carefully transferred the bundle into his waiting arms. "Go on, then. She's been waiting for you."
The weight of the child felt familiar now as she nestled against his shoulder, her small head finding its place beneath his chin. For a man trained to wield sword and shield, Criston had surprised himself with how quickly his hands had learned this gentler purpose.
"She favors you, Ser Criston," Queen Alicent said softly, watching as the infant nestled comfortably against Criston's neck. "Children have a way of recognizing those who truly care for them."
Criston smiled a little as the babe nestled against him, her tiny eyelids growing heavy before closing completely. A small yawn escaped her lips before she settled into sleep.
"She trusts you," Queen Alicent observed, her own smile fading as she moved to straighten the blankets in the nearby cradle. "The King asked me this morning what our intentions are regarding her future. Now that Grand Maester Mellos has declared her healthy, Viserys expects a decision."
Criston's smile vanished. He nodded slightly, his eyes still on the sleeping infant. "Have you found someone suitable to take her, Your Grace?"
The Queen shook her head, her fingers tracing the embroidered dragons on the cradle's linen. "In truth, I haven't been looking with much... enthusiasm." She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on the babe's back. "I fear I've allowed myself to grow fond of this little one. The thought of simply handing her away..." Her voice trailed off.
"I understand," Criston said quietly, unconsciously tightening his hold on the child. The thought of never seeing her again created a hollow feeling in his chest he hadn't anticipated.
"Princess Rhaenyra approached the King yesterday," Alicent continued, her voice cooling at the mention of her stepdaughter. "She suggested placing the child in the Children's House in Flea Bottom. Said perhaps someone there would want her."
Criston's head snapped up, his expression one of disbelief. "The Children's House?"
The Queen scoffed, shaking her head. "The Princess clearly has no notion of what befalls many of those poor children. The fortunate ones become servants. The others..." She didn't finish the thought.
Criston's jaw tightened as his gaze moved to the door, glaring as if Rhaenyra herself stood there. The child in his arms stirred slightly at his tension, and he immediately forced himself to relax.
Alicent watched him for a long moment, noting how protectively he cradled the infant. Her eyes softened with sudden understanding.
"You care for her," she said. It wasn't a question.
Criston looked down at the sleeping child, her tiny hand curled against his white cloak. "I found her," he said simply, as if that explained everything.
"There is another option," the Queen said carefully, moving to the window to gaze out at the city below. "One I've been considering since you brought her to us."
"Your Grace?"
"You could claim her as your own," Alicent suggested, turning to face him. "Officially adopt her as your daughter."
Criston froze, his expression unreadable. "A Kingsguard is forbidden to father children, Your Grace. We take vows--"
"Vows against fathering children, yes. But this child already exists." The Queen approached him, her green eyes intent. "The vows speak nothing of adoption, particularly of an orphaned child who shares your Dornish coloring."
Criston looked down at the babe, considering the Queen's words. The child's olive skin and dark hair indeed matched his own. Anyone who saw them together would assume a blood relation.
"I would need to arrange quarters outside the White Sword Tower," he said slowly, thinking aloud. "A Kingsguard with a child would be unprecedented."
"Not entirely," Alicent replied. "There have been widowers who joined with children. They simply didn't live within the Tower." She smiled slightly. "I could arrange suitable apartments within the Keep. And nurses when your duties require your absence."
Criston studied the child's peaceful face. "She would need a name."
"She would," the Queen agreed. "Something fitting for the daughter of a knight."
Criston was silent for a long moment, weighing possibilities against duty, want against wisdom. Finally, he looked up at Alicent.
"Vera," he said softly. "Her name is Vera Cole."
The Queen's smile returned, genuine and warm. "A beautiful name. I'll speak with the King tonight. He will agree, I'm certain of it."
As if sensing her future had been decided, the newly-named Vera Cole stirred in Criston's arms, her tiny hand reaching up to touch his chin. When her dark eyes opened and found his, Criston felt something shift and settle within him.
"Hello, Vera," he whispered, and for the first time in a year, the ache in his chest eased.