We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

3rd of Third Moon, the Hour of the Bat

The servant arrived as usual to administer the poppy milk. The frail king now relied on the substance to barely manage sleep. Even so, the servant had to return periodically throughout the night to ensure the king could rest.

After being frisked by Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard, the servant ascended the stairs of Maegor's Holdfast, moving cautiously toward the king's chamber. Gently, he pushed open the door.

"Your Grace, it's time... Your Grace? Your Grace?"

The servant approached the reclining chair softly.

Clatter.

The medicine jar slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor as the servant stumbled backward in shock. His face contorted in terror. Without thinking, he turned and bolted out of the chamber, leaving the shattered jar behind.

He descended the stairs in a frenzy, intending to report to Ser Rickard, who was on duty tonight. But as he passed the queen's chamber on the next floor, he stopped abruptly.

The servant recalled the words spoken by the Hand and the queen to the servants, as well as the bag of silver stags hidden in his lover's home in Flea Bottom.

Resolutely, he changed direction and entered the queen's floor.

He was immediately confronted by the white-clad, silver-armored Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole.

"What has happened?" Criston recognized the servant as one of the king's attendants and immediately sensed the gravity of the situation. Queen Alicent stepped out of her chamber as well.

"Don't panic. Speak slowly," she said gently.

"The king... the king has passed," the servant stammered. "When I entered, His Grace was already gone."

Queen Alicent felt the world spinning around her and nearly collapsed. Criston quickly caught her, helping her to steady herself.

"Does anyone else know of this?" Criston asked sternly. The servant shook his head vigorously.

Snapping out of her daze, Alicent rushed up the stairs, with Criston and the servant following closely behind. When they reached the king's chamber, Alicent knelt by Viserys' side, tears streaming down her face as she clutched his lifeless hand.

"His Grace has been called to the Stranger's embrace…" Alicent's voice cracked with emotion.

But Ser Criston was already alert, grabbing the servant by the arm as he tried to sneak away. "You've done a great service, but you can't leave now," Criston said, his grip firm.

"Don't treat him so harshly," Alicent said, wiping her tears. She removed a green gemstone from her gown and, after some thought, slipped off a gold ring set with a ruby, pressing both into the servant's trembling hands.

"Forgive the inconvenience, but you'll need to stay in the holdfast's lower chambers for now. Don't worry—you won't be there long."

"Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you, Your Grace!" The servant bowed repeatedly, his gratitude spilling over as the summoned guards dragged him away.

"Your Grace, we must act immediately," Ser Criston said in a low voice. "This is the moment. The Hand has prepared everything."

"Summon the council," Queen Alicent said firmly. "And say nothing more for now."

Criston nodded and immediately rushed out of Maegor's Holdfast, gathering Ser Rickard Thorne and hurrying to the White Sword Tower to awaken the other Kingsguard still in the Red Keep.

Outside, an owl's hoarse cry echoed ominously. The hour of the owl had arrived.

At that moment, Larys Strong awoke with a jolt, his keen instincts warning him of something amiss. Peering out the window of his quarters, he spotted a white-cloaked knight galloping toward his residence.

Without hesitation, Larys rang the bell by his bedside. Two servants burst through the door.

"Go immediately to the Spice and Dragonhead taverns. Inform their proprietors that something significant may have occurred in the Red Keep—possibly the king's passing. Use the back entrance to leave," Larys commanded in a low voice as he struggled to rise and limp toward the window.

"Yes, my lord."

The servants hurriedly exited.

As Ser Arryk Cargyll dismounted and gestured urgently from below, Larys nodded, signaling his understanding before withdrawing from the window.

Meanwhile, in a silent but synchronized operation, the White Cloaks roused the city's key officials. While they avoided alarming the populace, they ensured that every member of the small council was escorted to the queen.

Maegor's Holdfast, the Queen's Chambers

Otto Hightower stood beside Queen Alicent, observing as each summoned council member arrived. Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, appeared in silk nightclothes, while Lord Lyman Beesbury, the aging Master of Coin, seemed oddly alert—either from sleeplessness or insomnia. Grand Maester Orwyle looked similarly weary, while master os laws Jasper Wylde seemed hastily dressed, still shaking off sleep. Criston Cole stood vigilant in gleaming white armor, and Larys Strong appeared somber, impeccably dressed for the occasion.

"The king has passed," Alicent announced, tears glistening in her eyes.

The room fell silent as the council members bowed their heads in respect for the late monarch. After a moment of reverence, Grand Maester Orwyle was the first to speak, his voice quivering.

"Your Grace, we must summon Septon Eustace to administer the king's final rites. Ravens must be dispatched to Princess Rhaenyra at Dragonstone, informing her of the grievous news. Might I suggest, Your Grace, that you personally pen this letter? Surely, the princess will be deeply moved by such a gesture. Additionally, the bells must toll to inform the people of their beloved king's passing. Preparations for Queen Rhaenyra's coronation must commence immediately, and we should summon the Silent Sisters to tend to His Grace's body..."

"Grand Maester," Otto Hightower interrupted sharply, cutting through Orwyle's rambling. "All of that can wait. The most pressing matter is determining the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

"The rightful queen, Otto," Lord Beesbury interjected, his voice resolute.

"The rightful king, Lord Lyman," Alicent countered, wiping her tears. "By sacred law, the Iron Throne passes to the firstborn legitimate son of the late king, not to his daughter."

"By both sacred law and the king's decree, Princess Rhaenyra is the rightful heir," Lord Beesbury argued, refusing to yield. "All of you swore oaths to defend her claim. Have you forgotten your vows in these few short years?"

"Twenty-four years, my lord," Tyland Lannister said, cutting in. "It has been twenty-four years since those oaths were sworn. Most of the lords who took them are long dead—Boromund Baratheon is gone, Rickon Stark is gone. And as for me," Tyland shrugged, "I made no such vow. I was but a babe at the time."

"You impudent whelp!" Beesbury snarled, jabbing his cane toward Tyland.

"Let us not forget," Jasper Wylde said coldly, "that the legitimacy of King Viserys's reign itself stemmed from the principle of male primogeniture. The Great Council of 101 AC stripped women of succession rights. That precedent legitimized King Viserys's claim over Princess Rhaenys. If you now prioritize his decree over that foundational principle, you undermine the very basis of his rule."

"And this is not the first such instance," Wylde continued. "King Jaehaerys named 'Brave' Baelon as his heir, bypassing Princess Rhaenys. Sacred law clearly favors male inheritance."

Jasper Wylde continued, "And let us not forget precedent. If a firstborn daughter could inherit the throne, Queen Visenya or Princess Aerea would have ascended long ago. Lord Lyman, would you truly prefer to see your daughter inherit over your grandson, Alyn?"

"And what of Daemon, that madman even more deranged than Maegor?" Otto Hightower's voice was icy. "If Rhaenyra takes the throne, Daemon will have every one of us hanged. He'll turn King's Landing into a Flea Bottom."

"Otto, we are discussing Princess Rhaenyra's claim," Lord Beesbury snapped, leaning heavily on his cane. "This has nothing to do with Daemon."

"And what about me and my children?" Queen Alicent shrieked, her composure finally breaking. "Her bastards! If she sits the throne, the first thing she'll do is murder me and the late king's trueborn heirs! Don't forget—one of those Strongs maimed my son, took his eye! Bastards are born monsters!"

"Or perhaps you would prefer to see the Iron Throne sullied by the blood of bastards?" Criston Cole interjected. "Remember who Rhaenyra and Daemon are at their core. They'll turn the Red Keep into a brothel. No one—no lord's son, not even the youngest—will be safe under their rule. And do not forget Laenor."

"Are you trying to start a civil war?" Grand Maester Orwyle asked, aghast at the conspiratorial tone around him. "The princess has dragons. Not just one—many."

"She also has supporters," Beesbury countered, standing his ground. "Prince Draezell is sworn to Prince Jacaerys, and Prince Valar to Prince Lucerys. Prince Aegon serves as Prince Rey's sworn shield. The Vaelarys commands no fewer than ten thousand elite soldiers and six dragons—Vermithor among them, a beast rivaling Vhagar in size and ferocity."

Lord Beesbury cast a sharp glare at those gathered, particularly Otto and the queen. "There are still those in this world who value honor and oaths. They will not forget their sworn loyalty to the late king and his rightful heir. And I, my lords, am not so old that I will stand by and watch you commit treason!" Rising to his feet, he slammed his cane on the floor. "This is treason! You are all traitors!"

"Enough from you, old fool," Criston Cole snarled, stepping forward and drawing his sword. With a single stroke, he slit the aged lord's throat.

Beesbury's eyes widened in shock as he clutched at the gash, blood spurting between his fingers. He collapsed to the ground, his lifeblood staining the expensive Vaelarys carpet. The silver dragon emblazoned on the weave was darkened with crimson, almost black.

"The Vaelarys position is indeed critical," Larys Strong finally spoke, breaking his silence. "If they side with the princess, we stand no chance."

He glanced around the room. "Are you prepared to face the arrival of the princess in King's Landing with five fully grown dragons, one of which rivals Vhagar in power?"