The True and The Brave

𝔒𝔫𝔢: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔯

[No ghost reading] (please)

Cregan Stark glanced at the letter in his hand. His heart broke for Aemma Velaryon. His own uncle had taken temporary lordship after his father had passed from a fever that followed an infection. His last wish was to ask for the hand of Aemma Velaryon. To be happy, even if it meant leaving the North. But he now had to take care of his mother and the bastard that Cregan treated as family, Sara Snow.

The letter had been addressed at least three moons ago. And he was just opening the content. He was too late. Too late to try. Aemma Velaryon had been already betrothed to her uncle, one-eye Aemond. The rider of Vaghar, the warrior Prince.

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Was this done against her will? The last effort from her mother to send her far away? No, it would be idiotic to give the best evidence to the opposition. He did not quite understand the circumstance, but as he gripped the matching pendant he had made after Aemma left, he vowed always to protect her wishes. She has been a great friend, and a greater ally he appreciated more than he should. He could not fathom the idea of caging her wild nature here, in the frozen North, in the place she would never get out. A place where she would have to renounce all her claims.

Cregan Stark would not take it away from her. It was too late to even ponder the idea. Too late to know if she had been taken back to where she had been unhappiest in the first place. Still, Cregan searched for the Maester as he sent back his reply, offering the same thing she did— anything. Cregan would do anything for her. 

No Stark was born who forgot his oath. But Cregan's oath was to Aemma. The true-born heir of Driftmak. 

It had been three moons since her father died. Since Laenor Velaryon, her sweet and loving father perished from this earth too quickly. Ripped away from her. She felt as if she had lost a part of her, an extension of her limb. A part of her very spirit and soul. Her father— the person who was always there for her. The only person that promised to protect her. He had gone somewhere she could not possibly follow, and all he left were memories of him. 

Three moons since Aemond had profusely explained himself. And left her with time and thoughts. She remembered her father's funeral, how the Targaryen ships took off to leave the family in mourning, but Aemond stayed. He grasped her hand through the ordeal. And her mother. She was not here. Instead, on the eve of her father's funeral, a raven was sent by the Maester of Dragonstone, announcing the newfound union between Rhaenyra and Daemon. 

When she sent her furniture flying around the room in a fit of sudden rage, there was nothing to be done as the lurching beast began to creep into her thoughts. How she desperately clung to the light in her soul. How she herself gripped the god's hand that wanted to selfishly turn her coin into the other side— the rotten and rancid side that she would never let consume her being. 

Because her father was good. He was too good for this place. But she wanted to be good. Wanted to desperately yearn to be like him. Good. Just. Yet, she wanted to be like Corlys too, cunning and ambitious. And like Rhaenys, stern yet gentle. And strong as Aemond. 

Before Aemond left her to her own devices and vices, he owed an explanation. One that was her actual conundrum. The piece of thought she could not stop overthinking. He stood on the balcony overlooking the Seafyre as it swam and relished in the water he had been deprived of back in the North. 

Aemma saw Vhagar flying on top of them, finally resting on the same hill, waiting for his rider's command. Aemond turned to look at her, his face was neutral, almost unresponsive.