The True and The Brave

𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫: 𝔅𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔩𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔰

{I am truly sorry for not updating beforehand, I am seriously trying to find the best ending for this book and I have been on time constraints that have not allowed me to ponder on this. Now, I am sure that this book will end within ten chapters and an epilogue. Please try to stay with me and please do continue commenting and liking this story. It really brings me pleasure to share this with you. }

Corlys Velaryon had felt grief that day Aemma had brought his wife rendered in white linen and beyond no recognition. No inkling of closure and no ebb and flow to that numbing pain that wanted to drown his enemies. There were no words for his grief, only the hope that he could have more time with her. He had sworn upon her to protect his family. 

Before Aemma all he cared about were history books and those names that would be written in that beautiful daunting parchment. History had been cruel with Rhaenys, why would it be any different with Aemma Velaryon?

And he had been wrong. 

History would have remained an amicable friend compared to all the trials and tribulations that sought to bring the young princess to her knees. And she did not yield. He knew then that it was not Targaryen blood that imbued her fire but it was the waves that crashed upon the rocks that bled through those same veins. She was unpicked and unfaltering Velaryon blood, the pure blood and spirit of his late son and daughter. 

"Brother, I believe our Queen has not called yet, but I will not believe that you or Rhaenys would have wanted her caged with such misery—", Vaemond babbled, his violet eyes swimming with rage. 

Corlys stood at the edge of the mast, his dim eyes that once shone with purpose seemed so defeated. Not only did he not mourn, but he did not find any other place in his blackened heart where he could mourn any more loss. He refused to tuck Aemma into that place of grief. 

"We will get her, Vaemond. We must. But I do not rely on luck, I rely on certainty. Tell that wolf that his hour is upon us. The hour of the wolf is here. Aemma trusted him with this", he held up that single piece of parchment. That decisive piece of parchment that he could not believe when it was first placed upon his hands. He had swivelled with so much fury and disdain. And yet his poor grandchild, his poor Aemma. 

She had carried the burden all this time. 

"We sail on the morrow, brother. We are the sea dragons and our people unified, blood to blood and soul to soul, together this is done, and only together will it be undone. Only Velaryons must undo this". 

Corlys looked contumely at the throne. Emma had shed her own blood for nothing. She would not even sit on the throne after all this. All this because a coward had not been strong enough to carry the weight of the future. 

"Corlys, you forget one Velaryon. Perhaps the most important—", his brother started. 

"No. Daemon has searched for him upon the week of the battle. His mount was found dead along with the usurper's brothers dragon. He is not here. Our King is dead, and we might face the truth soon—"

"My father is not dead, grandsire". 

Leanor Velaryon stood at the door, his figure adorned in those embellishments that once belonged to Corly's son. The ones he had left here for jousting and tourneys. And he had sworn for a second that it was his son, not Aemma's firstborn. 

Baela and Rhaena stood at his sides. Baela cradled her swollen belly. Rhaena stood like a warrior, her silver hair painted red and her armor a frenzy of smoke and salt.