The Path to Freedom, a HOTD Fanfic

Chapter 7

All she could see was red.

The red dragons of the tapestries adorning her wall, the red stains of her golden gown splayed across the floor. The red that spread across the white washcloth like oil on canvas, the red tinging of the once clear water, as Rhaenyra furiously scrubbed Jason Lannister's blood off her skin.

Even her fury was red.

Rhaenyra ran a washcloth across her shoulder and winced. Removing the cloth, she finally noticed the gash across her shoulder, from holding the blade of Blackfyre.

Criston was behind her, watching silently until he noticed the wound. He reached for a clear bottle and dumped the liquid on a clean washcloth. He placed his free hand on Rhaenyra's untouched shoulder and whispered, "Hold still, this will sting."

Rhaenyra braced herself for the pain but it still hit her like one thousand iron blades. She clenched her teeth and tried to stay silent as Criston pressed the alcohol soaked rag on her injury.

Did Jason Lannister suffer like this, she wondered. No, it had to have been much worse.

Criston removed the cloth from her shoulder, and Rhaenyra sighed in relief. The burning lingered, with a mix of chill from the room air. She watched his hands as he nimbly began to dress the wound.

"Holding a sword like that is a rookie mistake," Criston mused.

Was that all he thought?  He had just watched his tiny wife cut a man in half, and all he could criticize was her swordsmanship?

Rhaenyra chuckled at the levity Criston provided. "We'll have plenty of time on the ship for you to teach me to hold it like a man."

Criston was silent for a moment, and said, "Plenty of men cannot weild a sword correctly."

"Hm," said Rhaenyra, "So you don't fear me, yet?"

She looked deep into his brown eyes, clouded with mixed emotions. She saw confusion, a bit of understanding, a bit of that fear that she never wanted to give him. But she was still a Targaryen, a descendant of men and women who lived to put fear in the eyes of men.

Criston flashed a smirk and said, "I did suggest burning."

Rhaeneyra scoffed. She wanted him to just answer her seriously.

Reading her expression, Criston said, "When I was a soldier in the Marches, we had plenty of our men who tried to flee. Not everyone is prepared for war. When we caught the deserters, my captain would be the one to execute them. He took no joy from it, and finally I offered to swing the blade for him."

Rhaenyra had to remind herself - Criston is no ordinary man. Not one of nobility. He had seen war, suffering, bloodshed. He had seen things these puking ladies in the throne room would have nightmares over. She remembered why she chose Criston as her father's kingsguard - because unlike the noblemen in the luxury of the Red Keep, he lived in the real world.

Criston continued, "My captain told me something I would never forget. The man who passes the sentence should be the one to swing the sword. I remembered that today, when I watched you carry your judgement. You could have let Ser Harrold drag him away, but you didn't.

Criston pressed his lips against the bandage on her shoulder, trailing up her neck. Rhaenery smiled, tingling at soft lips and warm breath as he whispered, "You'll be a great queen, Love."

Rhaenyra's shoulder stung as she raised her hand to run her fingers through his hair. "Will fire and blood truly be my future?"

His hands slid across the skin of her hips. "I think you spooked them too much, Princess."