We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

At least in the early months of the Year 122 AC, Westeros was at peace.

The North was quietly waiting for its Lord to die—oh, wait, the Lord of the North didn't survive last year. Now, the ruler of the North was a fourteen-year-old boy, Cregan Stark. However, the true ruler was actually Cregan's uncle, Ser Bennard Stark, the regent of the North.

The Vale was quietly remaining obscure. No one even knew what had happened behind the Bloody Gate.

The Riverlands were quietly chaotic. The Bracken killed the Blackwood chickens, while the Blackwoods stole the Brackens' water. In Harrenhal, the Strong rejected the leadership of the lame "Crookedfoot" Larys Strong, but allowed him to take the castle's gold. Everything was SO peaceful.

The Westerlands were quietly mining gold and sending substantial amounts to King's Landing, as the Lord's brother served as the King's Master of Ships.

The Reach was quietly playing dead, with House Hightower sending another group to King's Landing to assist the King's Hand, Ser Otto Hightower. The rebellious children of House Tarly ran away again, and Lord Donald Tarly was out with his family's Valyrian steel sword "Heartsbane" hunting down his son, Alan Tarly, and daughter, Diana Tarly.

Dorne was quietly playing dead as well, with Prince Qoren of Sunspear cautiously balancing the delicate relationships between the desert and mountain lords. The Yronwood family and the Wyl family were in heated conflict over land disputes. The proud female knight, Obara Dayne of House Dayne, had stolen the family's great sword "Dawn" and disappeared. It was said that this fiercely independent woman, whose views on love and loyalty were more aligned with the Andal ways, had overturned every man and woman who tried to court her before riding off from the castle.

A furious Lord Samwell Dayne had therefore issued a bounty on his own daughter.

As for the Stormlands, there was even less to say. There was not a single piece of news worthy of attention.

Dragonstone.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, who had suffered from continuous pregnancies, had lost much of her youthful beauty and was now sitting in a specially crafted chair, enjoying the breeze fanned by a maid.

She was pregnant again and was due to give birth soon.

"The little one is quite strong," Rhaenyra said, smiling as she stroked her bulging belly. Since becoming pregnant with this child, she hadn't ridden a dragon. It was said that Syrax, the magnificent golden beast, had been howling in Dragonmont for a long time. "It should be a boy."

The maid dared not respond to the princess.

Rhaenyra chuckled and shook her head. "Don't be afraid, a girl would be my little princess too. How are the children?"

The maid then replied, "Prince Joffrey is with Vermax on Dragonmont, Prince Lucerys and Prince Joffrey are still in their lessons, and Prince Aegon is still sleeping. The wet nurse just finished feeding the child."

"You've done well," the princess signaled for the maid to stop fanning. "Go rest. I wish to sleep alone for a while."

The maid stopped fanning, gave a slight curtsy, and said, "As you wish, Your Highness." As she turned to leave, she collided with a dusty Prince Daemon.

Daemon Targaryen was a strong man, his silver hair tied carelessly behind his head. Time had left its mark on him as well.

Daemon's unique charisma remained unchanged. His companion was the crimson behemoth Caraxes, the "Blood Wyrm." Both prince and dragon had built a formidable reputation over decades of glory.

Daemon smiled at the maid, gesturing for her to leave, before carefully unfastening the pack slung over his shoulder.

Inside was a dragon egg, still radiating heat.

Daemon opened the bronze brazier at the center of the room, its interior glowing with embers. He gently placed the egg inside.

"Syrax has done well," the prince said with a smile. "She laid another egg. A black wild dragon tried to steal it, but Caraxes and Syrax drove it away together."

"The Cannibal?" Rhaenyra asked, referring to the feral dragon notorious for preying on young dragons and stealing eggs. It had become a significant threat to Dragonstone's inhabitants. "Daemon, once the child is born, we should hunt that wild dragon together. We can't let it continue killing hatchlings."

"I understand, Rhaenyra," Daemon replied. He rinsed his hands and face in the basin nearby, then crouched beside his wife. Pressing his ear gently against her belly, he seemed to listen intently for the child within. His voice softened. "Don't worry about such things."

Just then, a thunderous roar echoed from outside the window.

Daemon instinctively covered Rhaenyra's ears, then turned to peer through the window at the shadowy sky.

A bronze-scaled dragon ascended into the heavens, its wings beating toward the west.

Trailing it was a softer, melodic roar. A silver dragon followed suit, wings slicing through the air as it, too, flew westward.

"Vermithor?" Daemon recognized the two great beasts. "And Silverwing? Are they heading out to hunt?"

Princess Rhaenyra shook her head.

Since the passing of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, the inseparable dragons had not been tamed by anyone.

Vermithor had once been the mount of King Jaehaerys I, the "Conciliator" and "Arbiter." The bronze-scaled colossus was the second largest dragon in Westeros, surpassed only by the aging leviathan Vhagar. Silverwing, on the other hand, had belonged to "Good Queen" Alysanne, a silver-scaled beauty smaller in size but known for flying across mountains and snowfields, spreading peace and prosperity.

No one knew what had prompted their flight.

A piercing roar, followed by a hiss like a serpent's, broke the stillness.

Syrax and Caraxes, stirred by the commotion, joined in the chorus with their roars but remained grounded.

Soon after, news of the event reached the king.

"Your Grace, a message from Dragonstone." Grand Maester Mellos handed the letter to King Viserys, who was engrossed in adjusting his model.

Viserys was a slightly stout man with silver hair and a soft expression. Before him lay a sprawling model of King's Landing, taking up much of the room.

This was Viserys I's grand ambition.

The capital, left in disarray by Aegon the Conqueror's unchecked expansion, had only begun to stabilize under the diligent reforms of King Jaehaerys I.

Viserys aimed to continue this legacy, reshaping the city's layout and guiding its rebirth.

Carefully, he swapped the positions of two miniature buildings before straightening up with some effort. He looked at Mellos. "Read it."

Mellos unfolded the letter. "Your Grace, news from Dragonstone. Vermithor and Silverwing have left Dragonstone, seemingly to hunt over the Narrow Sea. Prince Daemon pursued them briefly on dragonback but found nothing unusual."

"Hmm, I trust they can handle such minor matters. Anything else?"

Mellos glanced toward the door. "The Hand of the King requests an audience."

"Otto?" Viserys waved his hand dismissively, irritation evident. "Send him away. It's already late."

"As you wish, Your Grace."