Summary - She navigates her father's oppressive rule and her growing bond with a steward's son, who is determined to protect her at all costs. As their friendship deepens, the stakes rise, and the shadows of their past threaten to unravel everything.
Pairing - Criston Cole x Dondarrion reader
Warnings - Parental abuse
Word count - 2785
"Stop it!" I laughed, reaching up as Criston dangled my book just out of reach, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. I jumped again, trying to grab it, but he effortlessly pulled it higher, teasing me as usual.
"Criston Cole, I mean it!" I tried to sound stern, but my voice faltered with amusement. He only smirked, holding the book even further away.
Despite my protests, I couldn't truly be upset with him.
It was only his second day of rigorous training to become a knight, and yet here I was, already distracting him from his duties. His dreams of knighthood were finally starting to take shape, and I was genuinely proud of him.
But I couldn't help the ache of missing the way things used to be—the easy camaraderie we once shared when the days seemed endless, and we spent hours doing everything and nothing at all.
My father, Lord Dondarrion of Blackhaven, would never understand the bond we had.
Criston's father was my father's steward, which meant we spent much of our childhood together, though our friendship had always been something I kept hidden from my father.
I feared what he might do if he found out—after all, I knew all too well the harsh consequences of his displeasure.
"Promise to stop pestering me, and I'll give you back your precious book," Criston teased, his smile widening as he watched my frustration grow.
I huffed, crossing my arms in mock defeat before finally nodding. "Fine."
True to his word, he handed me the book, but I couldn't resist a parting shot—I swung it lightly against his stomach. He grunted in surprise, laughing, but then playfully shoved my shoulder in retaliation.
The movement was gentle, but I winced, drawing in a sharp breath as a wave of pain radiated from a bruise hidden beneath my gown.
Criston's laughter faded instantly, his expression shifting from playful to concerned.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice soft but urgent as he studied me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. I forced a smile, trying to brush it off.
"Nothing, I'm fine," I said hurriedly, pulling my gown tighter around my shoulders, hoping to conceal the telltale mark. But Criston wasn't so easily fooled.
"Show me," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I shook my head, avoiding his gaze. "It's nothing, Criston. Really."
"Show me," he repeated, more firmly this time. His hand gently grasped my arm, pulling back the fabric just enough to reveal the dark purple bruise that marred my skin.
I looked away, my throat tightening. "It's nothing," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"You told me he stopped," Criston said, his voice laced with pain and disbelief. "You swore it."
"It was just one last time," I murmured, the words bitter on my tongue. "I made a mistake... but he promised it won't happen again."
Criston's jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid with anger. "I'll kill him," he growled, his eyes flashing with fury. I stepped back quickly, my heart racing.
"You can't," I said firmly. "They'll have your head before you even draw your sword." I met his gaze with a steady, unyielding look, willing him to understand the danger he was putting himself in.
After a tense moment, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Just... meet me later," I said, desperately trying to shift the conversation. "I'll sneak us some strawberry tarts, and we can watch the stars from my balcony like we used to."
Criston hesitated, his mind clearly still turning over thoughts of revenge. I gave him a pleading look, silently begging him to let it go, at least for now.
"Please?" I whispered.
After what felt like an eternity, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. A triumphant smile broke across my face, and before he could say anything else, I dashed away, eager to escape the moment.
As I rounded the corner, I collided with someone, sending my book tumbling to the floor.
A low groan escaped my lips as I looked up to find one of my father's guards standing over me. His hand steadied me, his expression unreadable.
"Your father wishes to speak with you, my lady," he said, his voice flat.
I sighed, my heart sinking as I nodded. The brief reprieve I had with Criston was already slipping away, and I knew what awaited me with my father would be far less forgiving.
Without a word, I followed the guard down the long, winding halls, dreading every step.
My father wasn't the sort of man to summon me casually, especially not when the guard's face had been so unreadable. I already knew something was wrong.
He had that way about him—an air that could shift from stern to dangerous in the blink of an eye. And right now, I could feel the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to break.
When we reached the grand chamber doors, the guard stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. I hesitated for a moment before gathering my courage and stepping inside.
My father stood near the hearth, his back to me, staring into the crackling flames. Even without seeing his face, I could sense his mood—it was dark, simmering with barely restrained anger.
"Where were you?" His voice was cold, flat. He didn't bother to turn around.
My pulse quickened, and I fought to keep my voice steady. "I was... just reading in the gardens, Father." The lie felt weak even as I said it. He knew me too well.
He slowly turned to face me, his sharp eyes narrowing. "The gardens?" he repeated, his tone full of suspicion. "Do you think me a fool, girl?"
I swallowed hard, my fingers instinctively tightening around the fabric of my dress. I knew I had to be careful, but I couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. "I swear, I was only—"
"Enough," he snapped, his voice cutting through my excuse like a knife. He took a step forward, his presence looming over me. "I've been told you were with that steward's son. Criston Cole."
My heart dropped into my stomach. Of course, he knew.
I cursed myself for not being more careful, for not hiding my time with Criston better. I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out.
"You've been warned about him, haven't you?" His voice was dangerously low now, each word dripping with fury. "How many times must I remind you of your place? You think you can defy me—sneak around like some common girl with a steward's son?"
I took a step back, my pulse pounding in my ears. "Father, please, it's not what you think. We're just friends, nothing more—"
"Friends?" he spat the word as if it disgusted him. "I'll not have my daughter debasing herself by consorting with the likes of him. He's beneath you—his family is beneath us."
Before I could defend myself, his hand struck across my face, the force of the blow sending me stumbling backward. The sharp sting spread across my cheek, but I had no time to recover before he grabbed my arm, dragging me closer.
"You think you can lie to me?" His grip was iron, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me into the centre of the room. "You think you can disrespect me, after all I've done for you? For this family?"
"Father, please!" I cried out, trying to break free from his hold, but he was too strong. His fury was too much.
Another blow came, this one harder than the first, and I crumpled to the floor, my head swimming as pain radiated through my body.
My vision blurred, and I could barely make out his silhouette towering over me, his anger palpable, like a force suffocating the air around us.
"You will learn respect," he snarled. "I've allowed you far too much freedom. No more."
Before he could strike again, a loud voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Enough!"
Criston burst into the room, his eyes blazing with fury. He crossed the space between us in a flash, placing himself between me and my father. I could see the anger burning in his face, the way his fists clenched at his sides as he stood protectively in front of me.
"How dare you!" my father roared, his face red with rage. "You dare enter my home unannounced? To interfere with my family matters?"
Criston didn't flinch. "I won't stand by and let you hurt her," he said, his voice steady, though his eyes were wild with emotion. "I don't care if you're her father—you have no right to treat her like this."
My father's expression darkened, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
"You forget your place, boy," he growled, taking a step toward Criston. "You may be training to be a knight, but you are still the son of a steward. I pay for your training. Your father answers to me. So watch yourself."
Criston didn't move, didn't back down. "And you'd do well to remember, my lord, that no knight worthy of the title would ever stand by and allow an innocent woman to be harmed."
The room fell into a tense silence, the air crackling with the threat of violence.
My father's jaw clenched, his eyes flickering between me and Criston. I could see the war waging inside him—his fury against the need to maintain control.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a low, dangerous chuckle.
"You think you're brave, boy?" he said, his voice soft but venomous. "You think you can challenge me in my own home?"
Criston didn't waver. "I think someone has to."
For a moment, I feared my father would strike him, that he'd lose control completely and the situation would spiral into something far worse.
But instead, he sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
"Get out of my sight," he snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. "Both of you."
Criston hesitated, his eyes searching mine for a brief moment, but I gave him a small nod.
Slowly, he turned, pulling me gently to my feet. I was shaking, my body aching from my father's blows, but Criston's steady presence gave me strength.
As we left the room, my father's voice followed us, low and menacing. "And remember this, Criston Cole: cross me again, and no training, no knighthood, will save you."
Once we were out of my father's sight, Criston led me down the hall in silence. The cold stone walls seemed to press in on us, the weight of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air.
I could feel the throbbing sting from where my father had struck me, but the ache inside was worse—the feeling of shame, the helplessness that always came with these moments.
It was all too familiar.
Criston's grip on my hand was firm, steady, though his steps were tense with barely restrained anger. He pulled me into an alcove just outside one of the empty chambers, away from prying eyes.
The flickering light from a nearby torch cast long shadows on his face, but I could see the storm in his eyes.
"Let me see," he said softly, his voice rough with concern. He hadn't even given himself a moment to breathe after standing up to my father. His focus was entirely on me.
"I'm fine," I whispered, but the words felt hollow even to my own ears.
My body betrayed me, trembling with the lingering shock of the encounter. I tried to straighten up, to show some semblance of strength, but Criston wasn't having it.
"You're not fine," he said, more firmly this time. His fingers gently brushed against my cheek, his thumb carefully tracing the edge of the bruise that was already forming from my father's slap.
His touch was light, almost reverent as if he feared hurting me even more. "Gods, I'm sorry... I should've—"
"Don't," I cut him off, forcing a smile that felt weak and brittle. "You couldn't have done anything."
Criston's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he just stared at me, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled breaths. The helplessness in his eyes hurt almost as much as the bruises on my skin.
He was used to fighting battles with swords and shields, training to become a knight and face his enemies head-on. But this? This was a fight he couldn't win, no matter how much he wanted to.
"I hate him for this," he said through clenched teeth, his voice thick with rage. "I hate that he gets away with it. That he can just—" His words broke off, and he shook his head, his hand hovering over my shoulder as if he wasn't sure how to touch me without causing more pain.
I closed my eyes, my body still trembling from the aftermath of the violence.
For so long, I had kept it hidden from Criston, from everyone. The bruises, the fear. I thought I could handle it, that it was my burden to bear, but now that he knew, now that he had seen what my father was capable of, I felt raw, exposed. Vulnerable.
"I'm used to it," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "It's always been like this. I just— I try not to make him angry, and sometimes I fail."
Criston's eyes darkened with anguish, his hand dropping from where it had been hovering to gently grasp my uninjured arm. "You shouldn't have to be used to this. No one should."
I wanted to shrug off his concern, to tell him it didn't matter, that I'd survived worse.
But standing there in front of him, I couldn't. Not with the way he was looking at me like I was something fragile that had been shattered.
"I just—" My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard. "I just don't want you to get hurt because of me."
Criston's expression softened, his anger giving way to something gentler, though no less fierce. He cupped my face, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't even realized had fallen.
"You don't need to protect me from him," he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
"I'm not afraid of your father, not for myself. But for you..." His voice broke just slightly, and he shook his head. "I can't bear seeing you like this."
I bit my lip, feeling the warmth of his hand against my skin, the way his presence made everything feel a little less heavy, a little less hopeless.
"You shouldn't have stood up to him," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "He's dangerous, Criston. You have no idea what he's capable of."
"I don't care," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto mine. "I won't let him hurt you again."
I shook my head, trying to make him understand. "You don't get it. He controls everything. Your training, your future as a knight—he could take it all away. One word from him, and it's over."
Criston's eyes flashed with defiance, and for the first time, I saw not the boy I had grown up with, but the man he was becoming—the knight he was destined to be.
"Let him try," he said, his voice hard, resolute. "I'd rather lose everything than stand by and watch him hurt you."
Tears welled up in my eyes again, and this time I couldn't hold them back. "Criston, please... I don't want you to lose your dreams because of me. This is my fight, not yours."
He gently tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "It's our fight now," he said, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "You're not alone in this. I won't let you be."
For a long moment, we just stood there, the silence between us heavy with everything unspoken.
His hand still cradled my face, and I leaned into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his palm, in the steadiness of his presence.
Criston wiped away another tear and then, gently, carefully, he pulled me into his arms. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel entirely helpless. I didn't feel alone.
"I'll figure something out," he murmured softly into my hair, his voice a low, comforting hum. "I promise. We'll find a way."
I wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto the hope he was offering, but deep down, I knew the reality we faced.
My father wasn't a man who let go of his power easily, and the cost of defying him could be steep—for both of us.
But as Criston held me close, his arms wrapped protectively around me, I let myself believe, if only for a moment, that maybe there was a way out.
That maybe, together, we could find it.
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