Before the union of Rhaenyra with Ser Laenor Velaryon, an event etched forever in memory took place when Daemon claimed Rhaenyra's innocence in the hidden corners of a brothel, planting a seed of life within the princess rightful to the Iron Throne...
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I know you, I've walked with you once upon a dream...
Since Ser Criston's last conversation between him and the Queen, he could not peel his mind from the rumor surrounding Rhaenerya's alleged firstborn. Had the child been a result of bedding Rhaenyra? Preposterous! The foul creature shan't inherit his dark locks or fighting skills. With every ounce of curiosity that fueled his mind, his body followed along with the sound of whispers—the soft caress of rumors that flowed throughout the castle. Could it be?
While storming through the castle, a sword laid at his side, Ser Criston followed the King's most trusted guards. Still, he was baffled that he, the most robust and capable knight, was not on the list! He scoffed at the thought, moving towards the herd of men surrounding an exceptionally tall tower hidden within the woods of King's Landing.
"Odd," the knight remarked, tugging at the sword strapped to his holster. Then, a shuffle escaped the bushes—a cold, chilling breeze swept across the leaves scattered amongst the forest, and like a shadow, it vanished. "Who goes there?" Ser Criston demanded, aiming his sword toward the unwarranted movement.
A small, frail shadow peered from the bushes, with leaves woven in the child's matted, pale blonde hair. Her eyes glimmered like a sparkling amethyst gem, looking cautiously at the knight.
Carefully, Ser Criston pushed his sword back into his holster and raised his hands in surrender. "Child, I am not to be feared. I, Ser Criston Cole, am the King's most trusted knight. I promise I shall not hurt you, not even a single stray hair on your precious little head."
With hesitation, the child pointed at the knight's chain armor. "What is that? Metal..." the little girl muttered.
Fumbling with his hands, he lifted his chain suit armor for the child to see. "Indeed, it is. Perhaps we could trade something we value?" The man suggested.
The little girl, who appeared to be around nine, smirked, "What do you offer?"
The knight chuckled. "In exchange for my holster, you pluck a single hair from your head, the longest strand you can. Deal?"
She thought about it with slight reluctance but ultimately decided to accept the knight's deal. "On the count of three," she ordered, pulling a long strand of her light-colored hair.
Nodding, Ser Criston agreed to the terms, "One...." He pulled the holster from his waistband.
"Two," the little girl clutched the pale strand of hair.
"Three," they said in unison as the knight tossed his holster towards the bushes, and the child carefully placed the hairs in his hands.
As the young girl picked up the knight's holster, she beamed, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, knight."
