Autumn Kiss 💋🍁 || Criston Cole

030 • VICTORY WITHOUT BLOODSHED

"I love you so much Ser Criston. Farewell. May the Warrior give you strength and wisdom."  The words of Alicent rang in his head like a gong as he sat on his horse, looking out on the fields.

Every night, Ser Criston looked North, while Dowager Queen Alicent looked South, both souls longing for each other. It was a common thing, the sorrow of soldiers and ones left behind until the armies marched home.

War was afoot. It took almost a week for the army to arrive at the border, stopping at one stronghold or another to encamp every night and be joined to March on by more men.

No doubt, the pair were one of thousands, tens of thousands. Even still, Criston had the advantage of being of status enough to send messages to Alicent, which she read as soon as she could lay eyes on them.

It was hard for him to veil his feelings for her so that prying eyes at court did not discover anything. They were merely inquiries into how Aemond was healing in case his dragon was needed in the war.

A reasonable enough pretense, one not look into too deeply by the palace's gossips. Still, it assuaged the loneliness somewhat as the days dragged on. They treasured the letters back and forth like rare gemstones.

Tedious as an army's advance is, the hours at least passed somewhat quick while on the move, time in Kings landing passed slowly in boredom and solitude. Alicent wanted nothing more than for the wait to be over, on one hand. She prayed to be back in his embrace every hour she went without.

She wanted nothing more than to be his wife in the sight of the gods. On the other, if Criston returned, her father would be dead or close to it. It was a strange thought, her own father's imminent death.

It would not be like Viserys', her father would die quite violently, she was sure. He brought it on himself, he brought the lack of sadness his family felt on himself. In losing his influence and his family's compliance, he had sunk lower than they ever imagined.

How strange it was to care so deeply about one who was but a guard to her not so long ago but to react so lightly to her fathers demise.

A demise she knew was coming, for Criston and that Daemon's dragon would put a stop to any of his hopes of troubling Westeros. It was almost absurd to think, the man she loves and sought to marry was soon to secure the death of her father. She clasped her hand to her necklace and kept staring out to the south. "Dear God's please bring him back to me, safe." Alicent had muttered while praying in the Sept of Baelor.

At camp a days march from being within sight of Dorne, Criston conferred with his captains. Were they to strike first? Were they to wait out the Dornish with the way forward blocked? Would they strike them in secret over weeks and chip away at their strength?

Unfortunately, his deliberation was cut short by the screeching sound of a dragon. King Consort Daemon Targaryen swooped down and dismounted Caraxes, some yards away from Criston's tent, approaching briskly.

"Your Grace."

"Your Grace."

"Your Grace." Knights greets the King Consort as he walked passed them.

Striding forward Daemon reached the table were Ser Criston and some other officials had gathered. All bowed curtly at the targaryen prince. "Your Grace."

"Evening, my lords, do forgive my interruption." Before any could speak, he resumed sternly. "Now, allow me to tell you what I have seen of the Dornish forces. Their army is camped perhaps ten miles from here, I am sure their scouts have placed this camp. It appears much smaller than anticipated, no more than four thousand."