We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"Ser Bryndon, what's wrong?" Lord Unwyn Peake rode up to Ser Bryndon Hightower upon noticing the halt in the vanguard's advance.

"Something's off," Ser Bryndon replied, his gaze fixed on the dense woods of the Rosewood. The narrow dirt path winding through the valley was surrounded on three sides by high ground covered in thick forest—a perfect natural ambush site. Even without trying, Bryndon could imagine Alan Beesbury choosing this location for his next trap.

"How many men does Alan have? Two thousand at most," Unwyn Peake said with confidence. "Even if the Tullys and the Carons are backing him, with our numbers here, all we need to do is hold their first strike. Once Lord Ormund's main host arrives, they'll be fish on the chopping block. Besides—" He gestured to the sky. "We have a dragon. If they show themselves, we'll burn them."

"The blacks have dragons too," Ser Bryndon countered, tired of Unwyn's misplaced confidence. "Blue Queen is too small—even Prince Jacaerys' dragon can threaten her."

"The blacks dragonriders are probably too busy hosting orgies with that whore of a queen in King's Landing." Unwyn snorted, though his tone softened into a sigh. "Still, I do wonder about His Grace… I mean—"

"Enough, my lord," Bryndon cut in, unable to listen any further. "Go and oversee the rear. We need to prepare for a retreat. Let's avoid unnecessary risks and wait for Lord Ormund's main forces."

Bryndon knew all too well that the greens claim to the throne had lost its meaning the moment Draezell formally raised the black banner. The Targaryen dynasty's authority rested not on armies but on dragons. Whoever held more dragons—bigger and deadlier dragons—would wear the true crown. The greens only had Vhagar and Dreamfyre to rely on, while the blacks boasted numerous dragons led by battle-hardened riders.

Outmatched in raw power, the greens only hope for leverage lay in preserving their Riverland and Westerland armies. As long as those forces survived, even in defeat, they could negotiate a less humiliating outcome—assuming Rhaenyra didn't lose her mind entirely.

"Retreat? Wh—" Unwyn began, but his words were cut short by a piercing shriek from above. Blue Queen, who had been calmly scouting the skies moments earlier, suddenly let out an ear-splitting cry.

"Calm down, Tessarion! Easy!" Prince Daeron leaned low in his saddle, sensing the sudden alarm from his dragon. Through the bond they shared, Daeron immediately understood—another dragon, a dangerous one, was lurking in the woods below.

"It's an ambush! Rear becomes front! Full retreat!" Bryndon Hightower's voice rang out, confirming his worst suspicions. It wasn't just an ambush—it was a sizable one, likely involving a dragon. "Unwyn, ride to the rear and lead the withdrawal!"

Bryndon didn't wait for a response and struck Unwyn's horse sharply, sending the stunned Lord galloping toward the back lines. "Dismount, prepare for infantry combat! Longbowmen, crossbowmen—provide covering fire! Light cavalry, cover the flanks!"

A quiet chuckle broke the tension as Valar secured the last strap on Silverwing's saddle. "Never underestimate a dragon's senses. Silverwing, it's time for our debut. Jace, I'll take care of Tessarion. You go set fire to Hightower's vanguard."

Jacaerys nodded silently. Vermax shook free of its leafy camouflage, its wings unfurling in a sudden snap. With a single powerful thrust, the dark green dragon shot upward, soaring out of the woods.

Ser Bryndon Hightower let out a faint sigh of relief. Vermax was about the same size as Tessarion—not an overwhelming threat. The heavily armored knights dismounted, joining the vanguard's infantry to form a makeshift shield wall, ready to cover the retreat.

"Longbowmen, crossbowmen, cover Prince Daeron! Aim for the rider and the dragon's eyes!" Bryndon's order was barely finished when the woods erupted. A black cloud of arrows arced into the air, raining down on Hightower's forces. The vanguard, well-armored and shielded, weathered the first volley with few casualties. Arrows glanced off plate armor or lodged harmlessly into shields as Hightower's own archers returned fire.

"Keep firing!" barked Lord Vansen Laon, the aging head of House Laom and chief bannerman to Draezell.

Though well into his later years, Vansen remained a formidable commander. Years earlier, Draezell had rewarded him with the valley of East Blammyros, where Vansen built the sturdy stone fortress of kaon Hold. In the same year the castle was completed—his fifty-seventh—Vansen sired an heir with his twenty-three-year-old Valyrian descendent wife.

Draezell himself had named the boy "Rhaegon," a variation of his own son's name, Rhaegor, as a mark of honor and favor. Now three years old, Rhaegon was being raised alongside Rhaegor in the Dragonstone court.

Vansen Kaon had little to lose now. Clad in silver plate so heavy it bent his shoulders, he leaned on his long spear. Beside him stood Silverscorpion, the Unsullied commander of the Silverblood Legion. "Unsullied, advance! Hold against Hightower's infantry. Lord Tarly, your cavalry must remain ready. Lord Beesbury, your archers will cover the Unsullied's spears."

Lord Donald Tarly nodded, pulling his horse around. "Alan, stay close!" he called to his son. Alan Tarly quickly mounted his horse and drew his longsword.

Prince Daeron saw Vermax rise from the forest and allowed himself a breath of relief. "Tessarion, attack!"

Tessarion roared, her wings beating in a blur as she accelerated toward the newly risen Vermax. The Blue Queen's elegant head reared back, and a stream of cobalt flame burst forth, searing the air as it hurtled toward Vermax.

But Vermax was quick. Folding his wings, the green dragon dove into a sharp, spiraling descent, evading the flames. Just as Tessarion snapped her jaws shut, preparing for close combat, Vermax pulled up in a sudden climb, looping behind the Blue Queen.

"Get out of my way, you bastard!" Daeron snarled.

"Daeron, you're mistaken—I'm not your opponent." Jacaerys voice carried a trace of pity as he pressed himself tightly to his saddle. Vermax batted aside a volley of arrows with a single wingbeat, then exhaled a sphere of dark green flame. The fireball erupted just as Tessarion turned, its explosion scattering embers across the sky. Daeron shielded his face with his arm as the flames dissipated.

When the smoke cleared, Vermax was already diving toward the Hightower forces. The longbowmen and crossbowmen, momentarily distracted, shifted their fire to the dragon, abandoning their suppression of Kaon's Unsullied infantry. Arrowheads peppered the air, but they bounced harmlessly off Vermax's scales and thick hide.

Vermax's resilience was largely thanks to Shadowmare. The dragon with armor-like skin had grown alongside Vermax in a constant rivalry for food. From their early days, when Shadowmare was far smaller, the two had wrestled, clawed, and stolen meals from one another. Now, Shadowmare had caught up to Vermax's size, even surpassing him slightly in length. Despite their rivalry, the dragons shared an odd bond—often sneaking into Silverwing's cavern to pilfer her meals. More than once, dragonkeepers had caught the two scoundrels perched on the Twins' tower roof, seeking shelter after being chased from the dragon pit by Vermithor.

"Tessarion, stop Vermax!" Daeron shouted, waving a hand to clear the lingering smoke before his eyes. He caught sight of Vermax hurtling toward his forces. On the ground, his heavy infantry and dismounted knights had already clashed with the Unsullied spear line.

The two formations collided with a horrific screech of steel and the wet crunch of flesh. The Unsullied's spears, reaching nearly twenty feet long, struck out with terrifying precision—either battering down infantry or piercing through armor gaps. Yet the first rank of Hightower knights were no ordinary men. They sidestepped thrusts with practiced ease, driving longswords into joints and armor slits, or smashed through spears with war axes and hammers. The fight devolved into a brutal close combat bloodshed, where the ring of metal on metal dominated the field. The Unsullied, despite their impressive discipline and insensitivity to pain, began to falter under the sheer weight and ferocity of the knights assault.

Above, Tessarion roared and dove down toward Vermax, but before she could close the distance, a massive shadow rose from the trees. Daeron's heart sank as the much larger dragon burst into view—faster, stronger, and more vicious.

Bryndon Hightower crushed an Unsullied spear with a swing of his warhammer, the weapon slamming into the spiked helmet of the man before him. The Unsullied staggered but still attempted to thrust his spear again. Before he could, Ser Jon Roxton rode past on horseback, his Valyrian steel blade, Orphan-Maker, flashing in the sunlight as it cleanly took the Unsullied's head from his shoulders.

"Seven hells…" Bryndon's voice trailed off as he looked up. The silver dragon, Silverwing, dove on Tessarion like a hawk descending upon a sparrow.

With terrifying force, Silverwing snapped her jaws around Tessarion's wing. The Blue Queen shrieked in agony, twisting and flailing as deep blue flames shot from her slender maw. Silverwing's massive head twisted, dragging Tessarion in a brutal arc. Then, with a flick of her neck, she sent the smaller dragon tumbling toward the ground like a discarded rag doll.

"Tessarion, balance! Balance!" Daeron cried, yanking desperately on the reins. Tessarion screamed in pain but fought to stabilize herself. The damaged wing—nearly torn to ribbons—hung useless at her side, leaving her to struggle into a shaky, uneven flight with the remaining one.

"Daeron!" Valar's voice thundered across the battlefield. "Have you the courage to face me? Come on! Face me like Lucerys did!"

Daeron's silence was heavy as he pulled down the visor of his helm. "Tessarion, attack!"

The Blue Queen roared defiantly, hurtling once more toward the oncoming Silverwing.

Dragonfire lit up the battlefield, molten blood raining down from the dueling beasts. Wherever the burning drops landed—on Hightower men or Unsullied alike—horrific screams echoed as bodies writhed and twisted in unbearable agony.

"Forward, Tessarion! Attack!" Daeron shouted, voice raw with desperation. The Blue Queen plunged straight into the open maw of Silverwing.

The battlefield was chaos, steel and flame devouring all.