The True and The Brave

𝔗𝔴𝔬: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 ℜ𝔞𝔤𝔢

[AN: As you know, this fanfic is very canon and heavily au, so please do not expect the ending as similar to the original book or TV Show's predictions because it will not be happening clearly. This is the narrative of Aemma Velaryon, what her life would be like, and a very different Aemond Targaryen exposed to an additional factor, an original female character such as Aemma and another load of fanfics that we have been reading to quench our thirst with the little Ewan Mitchell crumbs we have. This story is nearing its end, there is no other way to say it. I think a few chapters is a just amount to give this story the rendition and ending it deserves. How happy? I do not know for certain. I have changed it lots of times now. I've probably changed the ending about five times, but I am certain that the one I have outlined might be the best and one which resonates personally with me. Bare with me, I promise to try my best to make this ending worthy for all of you who have dedicated much of your time reading or re-reading this story, and I sincerely hope you could relate to some characters and their take in this fanfiction]

There was something about this unnatural rage. About that rage that one person can only feel. The rage which barrels into the bare soul and makes nonsensical explanations and excuses for actions and deeds that are not your own— but the product of this unending rage. Aemma felt that when she had been planning her siege. 

She did not care how she would get Kings Landing to fall, for all she'd care, she could set it ablaze for what was done to her all these years. For what they had let happen. And now she was sitting with her brother, Jeoffrey and Daemon. A measly messenger with oily hair was before his knees, Aemond pointing Viserys's Blackfyre to his neck. 

"Your majesty, I cannot say—"

"You are a traitor to the realm, you should not get a say at all, but as your gracious queen, I will give you the decency of a choice, speak and die later, or don't speak and meet a worse fate than death", Aemma said, picking an invisible lint that was placed in her armor. 

"Prince Lucerys died under the command of Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed hand", the man said, trembling under his voice.

They had already departed, making their way south. Daemon and Jeoffrey would attack the ports first, and then Vhagar and Seafyre would render the city under fear. No one could escape in any way. The doors would be barred and the ports closed. It would be like weeding out the traitors, carefully plucking them, and shattering the root of the problem— Aegon. 

"So, that snake is the Usurper's hand now...", Aemma chortled, "Now, tell my council what you came to tell me. Look at a father, a brother, and a sister in the eye and tell me, messenger". 

Aemond shivered at the cold voice, that cool and collected voice hiding the guise of an unparalleled fire that sat behind that icy fortress. Gods above, there would be no other choice for this messenger other than his certain death. 

"Your graces, Prince Daemon, Prince Joffrey. Ser Cole dispatched an order for Prince Daeron to capture Prince Lucerys. The original plan was to kill his mount to install fear, but King Aegon demanded information. He was tortured for days, perhaps almost a moon. He did not say a word. It was useless. When I saw that they would kill him instead of negotiating I knew I had to come to inform you, my queen. I knew—"

He moved to stand, but Aemond clasped his hand on his dirty cloak and gripped Blackfyre tighter. 

"You knew what will follow if they killed one of my brothers, and so you came because you fear I will shatter your forces for what you've done. You came here so I can spare you.", Aemma said, a leg propped on the table in front of her. She swirled the liquid on her cup.