The Bastard Queen

cleansing her blade

When the young bastard, now princess came back to the castle, Ser Criston found himself almost instantly being wary of her, and even discovering a strange amount of dislike towards her. He had not woken up one day and decided to hate the thing, instead it seemed to fester in him like some disgusting disease. Maybe it was because he knew exactly of what her heritage consisted of. Her pure Valyrian blood tainted by that of a whore of the silk street. The blood of a god tainted by a commoner.

Yet even so, deep down Criston knew she could not help her parentage, just as he couldn't help his own or the young princes could not help there own. Yet the fact still remained that her father, wanted or not, is the one who risks everything unnerves him. While Criston himself attempts to become unlike his father, he does not know whether this girl holds the same insight to hers.

Ser Criston started everyday with a personal training session. Ever since the youngest prince had been gifted his eye after it being stolen, he'd been most eager and determined to get training from himself. It was tiring work, looking after a boy as young and energetic as the young prince, so Criston found himself doing an almost warm up an hour or two before the prince was arranged to train.

That day however, he walks into the training grounds one day to find the young bastard with a sword in her hand, though what confuses him is that she is not using it. Merely holding it in her hands as her arms possibly buckle under the weight of it. "I believe it would be much more beneficial for you if you could even lift the sword!" He calls out. It nearly brings a satisfied smile to his face when Alyssa drops the sword out of fear and swiftly turns around.

"I'm sorry my lord!" It was weird to hear the princess call him a lord. Though he supposed she would not have had the opportunity to see him around the castle much. "Please do not tell the queen of what I have been doing! I do not wish for her to worry or be any sort of distress..."

"I'm afraid I am no lord my princess. Only an ever loyal knight of the kingsguard. I must ask though, what it is you are doing with that sword? Ladies of such high status are not generally so accustomed to such... ruthlessness as sword wielding tends to bring the wielder." Criston says as he edged closer to the girl. She looked like a rabbit caught between a wall and a currently hunting fox. Still, he did not dare to even think of denying to himself how thrilling he found his current postion to be.

"Daemon used to train me, back in Pentos. I wished to continue my training Ser..." He found some strange pleasure in the way Daemons daughter practically quivered before him. Maybe it was due to his hatred for her father? Or maybe it was because he liked the power it gave him that he so desperately longed for...

"Well that training I must insist you forget. Your father obviously is not a very good teacher if you can't even lift a blade well enough to swing it. Here," Criston walks over to where the other swords were held and picks a smaller one. Not by much, but enough so at least she'll be able to swing it without the fear of toppling over. "This will be better suited to your size. Maybe in a few years you'll be able to actually lift that one..." Criston passes the sword to her, and can't deny the pride that fills him when he sees her look wistfully at him due to him being able to lift the previous blade.

"Thank you ser..." The pause is quite obviously meant to be for him to address himself and reveal his name. Yet he doesn't, as it's more fun to be this mysterious stranger for the girl rather than some good knight.

"Swing the sword at me as if I was your enemy in battle ready to kill you with no mercy." He says as he gets into a beginning pose, his sword gripped tightly as the young girl attempts to swing at him.

She has the ability for skill. A statement that even the most brainless of men would be able to witness and testify for. Yet she missed a basic skill that the prince Aemond himself hadn't even realised yet. The skill of taking the instructions, the knowledge of all the steps and hand movements, and only taking them with a pinch of salt. The real knights, the ones who are known throughout the kingdom, they fight with their heart. Not their head.

Criston had initially wished to train her until the Prince Aemond arrived for his morning training, but with the girls determination, it seems she'd refuse to admit she was tired even if her breath was harsh and bruises were clearly covering her whole body.

She got the basics quickly, and showed him how she was resourceful as she used her body to dodge his attacks. But when she moved however, it was stiff and rigid easily predictable and therefore easily stopped. Which is why it was easy to swing his sword and knock her own sword from her grip into the mud of the training ground.

"You're good, but more training is most definitely needed. You'll be joining the princes training from now on." He commanded. He can't deny the almost fatherly feeling he felt deep in his chest at her attentive manner, but he knows he cannot feel these things for Daemons kin. He cannot let himself be vulnerable for another women of house Targaryen. He barely managed to recover the first time. He can't take it once more.

———

Ser Criston Cole definitely deserves the name he was given. As throughout he months he's been training her, it's been rigorous, hard, and worth it.

The scars on her hand are looked at with various levels of disgust by the women of the castle, the queen most of all, as much as she tries to hide it.

The septa's are close though. They shake their heads with the disappointment that she won't be a proper acting princess. Wishing that she'd be dutiful, or at least try and show an interest in needlepoint like how Helaena does.

They all tend to whisper though that she possesses all the characteristics that her father did at her age. How she possessed his ability to be quick to anger in certain topics. How she possessed his stubbornness in the sword. In some cases, it was even whispered that she was quite practically Daemon himself reborn.

There were a rare amount of people that did not look at her like everyone else did. Such as Rhaenys, Corlys and Aegon and Aemond.

Alyssa wishes she could spend more time with the Velaryon lord and lady of the tides. They wrote their letters to her, just as she did to them. Yet they can only offer their embrace and affection so far with ink and paper.

Though even she must admit, Aegon is a good distraction, Aemond included much to Alyssa's own surprise. The two were so different in actions, and yet they somehow managed to compliment them as-well.

Aegon never hindered Alyssa's spirit. If anything, it seemed as though he encouraged her to fan her own flames. Aemond however managed to teach her the significance of letting her anger simmer, and letting the fire take what it needs before dying again.

When Alyssa looks at the Targaryen sons, she cannot help but feel at home. And no one will ever dare rip her away from her home.

Authors Note: Yeah... it's been a while. I've been focusing my attention a lot to my works on Tumblr. That and my dedication to this book has depleted, which is why I'm not writing for this as much as I used to be. I'll be writing when I can yes, but expect much bigger gaps and shorter chapters. I'm sorry