We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"Today's catch is good, Old Jack!" A fisherman from Shipbreaker Bay exclaimed, raising a massive fish freshly hauled from the sea. Several boats had ventured out that morning, and together they had dragged a heavy net brimming with promise.

"Indeed," Old Harry agreed as he inspected the catch. Despite the storms that plagued Shipbreaker Bay, they often left blessings behind—a rare fortune amidst misfortune. "The Mother shows mercy. This will be enough to pay the taxes."

"Where's your boy? Haven't seen him for days," another fisherman asked curiously.

"I sent him south, along with my wife," Old Harry replied with a sigh. "The lords are calling men for levies. If I didn't act quickly, my boy wouldn't have escaped conscription. Down south, they say, the Prince has workshops and city walls under construction. Skilled workers can earn a decent handful of copper coins a week. The builders even provide meals—real black bread and thick beer without stones mixed in."

"Did you see the firelight in the sky last week?"

"Of course I did!" Old Harry shivered at the memory. At the time, he'd braved the storm to fish, desperate to scrape together coin for his family's journey south. "Scared me half to death. A dragon—like a mountain with wings—shot past, and the whole bloody sky lit up red. If I hadn't rowed away fast enough… gods."

"Wait, if you saw fire there…" The realization struck Old Harry. "It must've been this stretch of sea."

Before they could reflect further, the sky darkened ominously. "We'd better head back," another grizzled fisherman muttered, glancing upward. The day's haul had been plentiful enough—there was no need to risk a storm.

Several boats returned to shore, nets dragging heavily behind them. As they landed, the men began hauling the massive net onto the beach. "This is heavy! Looks like another great haul!" Old Harry rubbed his hands together eagerly. "All together now, pull!"

Groaning and straining, the men finally heaved the net ashore, only to stumble back in horror. "Seven hells… what is that?!"

"Demons! Devils!" one old fisherman stammered, pointing a trembling finger at the broken dragon corpse tangled in the net. Old Jack, who'd seen dragons hunt at sea before, rushed forward and clapped a hand over the man's mouth. "Quiet! Don't be saying that—it's a dragon—"

Before he could finish, a terrifying roar echoed from beyond the nearby hills. A massive yellow dragon swooped down like lightning, landing heavily near the petrified men. From its back, Rhaenyra dismounted swiftly, her face pale and somber as she approached the net. The fishermen were too frightened to move, barely daring to breathe. Syrax tilted its head, gave them a cursory glance, and screamed skyward in mourning.

A second dragon's cry answered—deeper, mournful, and furious. Silverwing descended moments later, twice Syrax's size, shaking the earth with its landing. Valar, clad in his polished Valyrian steel armor, strode forward without pause, his footsteps heavy with purpose. He tossed a bulging coin pouch onto the sand.

Old Harry peeked inside and froze as gold glinted back at him. Without a word, he quickly closed the pouch, his hands trembling.

"Split it among yourselves. You speak of nothing you've seen here today—not a single word," Valar growled, his voice a low rumble, thick with restrained rage.

He turned his gaze to Rhaenyra, who knelt before the net, her hands frantically pulling at the remains of the dragon corpse. Finally, she uncovered the small, bloated body tangled in the wreckage—the sea having taken its toll. Rhaenyra let out a guttural wail, clutching the mangled body of Lucerys in her arms as sobs wracked her frame.

Syrax keened in shared agony, a sound that made even the hardened fishermen shiver. Valar stood silently beside the grieving queen, head bowed in respect for his fallen squire. For a long time, no one spoke. The only sounds were the crash of waves and the echoes of Syrax's anguished cries.

At last, Rhaenyra lifted her tear-streaked face and reached for the straps binding Lucerys to the ruined dragon saddle. "I'm taking him home."

"Your Majesty, Lucerys was a true warrior," Valar said through clenched teeth. "I should have knighted him immediately. Damn that Aemond."

"Prince Valar," Rhaenyra said through strained breath as she carefully placed Lucerys's body onto Syrax's back, wiping away her tears. Her face was streaked with sea water and mud, giving her a grim, painted appearance. "I apologize for troubling you with this."

"If it were me, I would have acted even more aggressively," Valar tightened his fist. "When do we march on King's Landing?" He was eager to teach Aemond a lesson.

"We must wait for word from King's Landing, and for your brother to return," Queen Rhaenyra responded. "We haven't received any news from our people there yet, and Dragonstone only has two dragons capable of fighting. We're still far from a match for the usurper."

"My brother will return soon," Valar said, patting his chestplate. "With Rey, Shadowmare, and our army at Dragon's Nest, we'll be fine for now. I'll fly with you and my brother to King's Landing to make Aemond pay."

Rhaenyra nodded gravely, though she was unable to speak for a moment, her voice choked with emotion. Finally, she managed to continue, her voice cracking. "Prince Valar, after discussions with Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, we would like to arrange a marriage between Rhaena and Prince Rey."

"Rhaena?" Valar scratched his head. "Ah, I remember now. Lucerys's little fiancée. She's close to Leyla, I've met her a few times. She's a sweet, obedient girl. But I can't decide on this; you'll need to talk to my brother and third brother, Your Majesty."

"I understand," Rhaenyra nodded, her tears continuing to fall. "I wanted to go to Dragon's Nest myself, but now that you're here, I…"

"I'll escort you to Dragonstone," Valar said, turning to walk toward Silverwing. "We'll make sure the usurper and Aemond pay for what they've done. Dragonstone is ready for you anytime, and our purple palace will always welcome you."

Rhaenyra nodded again and climbed back onto Syrax's back. She gently strapped Lucerys's body in front of the saddle before guiding the dragon into the sky.

Silverwing followed closely behind, the two great dragons flying in formation, leaving the beach behind with a few fishermen scrambling to collect the gold from the pouch Valar had thrown.

"The dragons were mine to discover. I should get a bigger share," a young fisherman greedily snatched the pouch, spilling the gold coins onto the ground. He bent down to gather them, muttering to himself as he did so.

"Yours? Everyone gets a share!" an older fisherman protested, tugging his son toward the pile of gold, trying to claim his portion. Meanwhile, Old Harry quietly picked up a single coin and ran off, leaving the others to fight over the scattered gold.

"You dare steal from me?!" a burly fisherman shouted, grabbing a harpoon and charging toward Old Harry.

"Aaargh!" A scream echoed across the beach, causing Old Harry to falter, but he kept running, never stopping.

As nightfall and dark clouds began to engulf the beach, the gold coins and the blood stains left behind remained, marking the grim aftermath of the day.

---

In the North, in the Wolfswood.

Draezell skillfully threw a spear, piercing a massive dire elk through the heart. As the beast collapsed, Jacaerys quickly cut off the antlers while the heads of various forest clans began carving up the meat, passing it to the cooks for roasting. "Your Grace, this is likely the biggest elk in all of Wolfswood."

"Whether it is or not, it's ours today," Draezell grinned as he sheathed his hunting spear. Their alliance efforts in the North had gone smoothly. Perhaps it was the pressure of two dragons overhead, or perhaps the Northern lords simply kept their word. Every lord of the North had personally come to Winterfell, ready to rally their forces as soon as the grain harvest was done and march south.

Draezell had promised to continue organizing fleets throughout the winter, buying cheap Eastern continent grain for the North, and selling it at low prices to the Northern lords. Jacaerys also reiterated Queen Alyssanne's earlier promises in the North, including a future marriage between the Stark and Targaryen families, or perhaps a Targaryen princess being married to the Stark heir. The Manderly family had also received a similar promise of an alliance.

Lord Rodrik Dustin and the elderly former lord of the Last Hearth, Lord Rob Umber—who, upon hearing about the formation of the Greybeard Wolf Army, had immediately passed his title to his grandson, donned his armor, grabbed his battle axe and steed, and joined Rodrik's forces—led two thousand grey-haired veterans. They had already set off days ago, marching south, riding the Northern long-haired horses, avoiding the Kingsroad in favor of faster routes through the Neck and over the Twins to reach the battlefield in the Riverlands as quickly as possible.

At that moment, Lord Domeric Bolton, with his amber-colored eyes, arrived at the camp riding swiftly on horseback. The young Bolton lord dismounted and immediately rushed to Lord Cragen's side. "My lord, the letters from Storm's End and Harrenhal."

Cragen opened both letters, and the expressionless look on his face quickly turned to one of coldness. He glanced up at Draezell and Prince Jacaerys, who was busy carving the elk meat, and sighed, handing the letters to Draezell.

Draezell read the letters and closed his eyes. Jacaerys, curious, took the letters from Draezell's hands. After reading them, he too fell into a long silence. If one looked closely, they could see the young prince's eyes reddening.

"Very well, very well," Draezell opened his eyes, and even Lord Cragen could feel the cold and murderous intent in Draezell's deep purple gaze. "Very well Lucerys, very well Aemond, very well indeed."

He immediately stood up. "Jace, we're flying to Harrenhal. My lord, I'm sorry, but we cannot stay in the North any longer."

"I offer my condolences for Lord Lucerys's fate," Lord Cragen made the Old Gods' prayer gesture, praying for Lucerys's soul. "The North will never forget. We will march south to join the fight as soon as we can."

Draezell nodded in gratitude, pulling the still motionless Jacaerys toward the resting place of the dragons.

"My lord... is this true? Lucerys, he..." It wasn't until they reached the agitated dragons that Jacaerys regained his composure and asked with a choked voice.

"Lucerys died as a warrior," Draezell climbed onto Womysol's saddle. "We will seek justice for him as a warrior, Jace. Let's go."

"Mm." Jacaerys wiped away the frozen tears from his eyes and leapt onto Womaks's back. The two dragons took off almost simultaneously, heading south.

---

At Duskendale

Vhagar coldly watched the burning town as Sunflare devoured the dead cattle and horses nearby. Aemond watched as Criston Cole forced Lord Gunthor Darklyn to kneel on a wooden stake. King Aegon stood before Gunthor, spitting in his face. "Traitor."

"You're the traitor, false king, oathbreaker, and regicide," Gunthor retorted, glaring at Aegon. "Your crown was stolen. Are you abandoning King's Landing now? Usurper."

Aegon's anger flared. "Criston, behead this traitor."

"Come, King's Champion," Gunthor shot a glance at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The Hand of the King raised his sword. "You've stained your white cloak. The gods will—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the sword came down. Lord Gunthor's head rolled across the ground and came to a stop, unmoving. The Hand of the King turned to the dejected soldiers of House Darklyn. "Now, you have one more chance. Swear fealty to the rightful king," he pointed to Aegon. "We will spare you."

As the soldiers of Duskendale knelt one by one, Aegon's smile returned to his face. "Brother, what's our next move?"

It was Aemond, who had been silent until now, who finally spoke up. "Rook's Rest, Your Majesty, Ser Criston. Our plan can begin now."

---

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