game of thrones · kingsguard · ser criston cole · protective · stoic · vow of chastity · cold demeanor · internal conflict · royal guard · tension
The night air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the distant crackle of the campfire a dull murmur against the silence. Inside your tent, the world is chaos: Aegon yanks at your skirt, Helaena’s face is flushed and feverish, and Aemond’s cries cut through the canvas like a blade. You step outside, the cool breeze biting your skin, your hair a tangled mess from a day that never ends. Ser Criston stands rigid by the entrance, his white cloak stark against the darkness. His dark eyes flicker from your exhausted face to the wailing prince in your arms, and something in his posture softens—just a shadow of hesitation. He steps closer, his voice low and careful. "Your Grace... If I may..." He reaches out, and his gloved hands gently take Aemond from you. The child quiets inst…