We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

Words move like the wind.

Certain words, however, can travel even faster than the wind.

Under normal circumstances, a message from Volantis to Westeros would take months, perhaps even a lifetime, to arrive. But the emergence of a new dragonlord family was no ordinary event and defied normal expectations.

Through the intervention of Prince Regio of Pentos, the news spread with astonishing speed. High-flying ravens crossed the Narrow Sea, delivering letters penned by the prince himself to the stone fortress that stood atop the smoldering island.

Dragonstone.

"Keep your arm straight, like this." Prince Daemon lightly tapped the boy's elbow with a wooden sword.

The boy immediately straightened his arm, thrusting the wooden blade cleanly into the target.

The robust, handsome boy had thick brown hair, a flat nose, and brown eyes, features that set him apart but did not detract from his charm. For a time, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had struggled with the absence of Valyrian silver hair and purple eyes, but now, he accepted his distinct appearance with confidence.

What weighed on Jacaerys more at the moment was how to address the man training him—Daemon Targaryen, who was simultaneously his stepfather, great-uncle, and future father-in-law.

Their training session was interrupted when the castle's maester hurried out from the rookery, carrying a letter. He presented it to Daemon, who was preparing for the next phase of instruction.

Jacaerys watched as his stepfather's expression instantly changed. Never before had he seen Daemon look so grave.

"Keep training, Jace," Daemon said, patting the boy's shoulder reassuringly. He then discarded the wooden sword and strode quickly to a corner with the maester.

"Are you certain about this?" Daemon asked coldly.

The maester nodded. "It's Prince Regio's handwriting."

"This is serious," Daemon murmured, clasping his hands behind his back in thought. "Don't inform Rhaenyra just yet—let her rest. Send this letter to King's Landing immediately and ensure it reaches the king directly."

"As you command, Prince Daemon."

Moments later, a piercing roar echoed from Dragonmont.

The blood-red form of Caraxes, the "Blood Wyrm," rose into the sky, his serpentine body cutting through the air as he sped toward Driftmark.

In the castle's chambers, Rhaenyra slept soundly. Nearing her due date, she needed rest and was oblivious to her husband departing on dragonback.

"Daemon, what brings you here?"

Rhaenys Targaryen, clad in light armor, stood atop a hill near High Tide. Beside her loomed her dragon, Meleys, the Red Queen, whose crimson scales shimmered under the sunlight, her bright bronze horns and spines gleaming. She watched as Daemon descended on Caraxes.

Rhaenys, the eldest daughter of Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon, had once been a contender for the throne. After the deaths of her father and Prince Baelon, King Jaehaerys I convened the Great Council to decide the line of succession. Though Rhaenys was the king's eldest granddaughter, and her claim was supported by her powerful husband, Corlys Velaryon, she was ultimately passed over in favor of Viserys I. This earned her the title The Queen Who Never Was.

"Something serious has happened, Rhaenys," Daemon said as he dismounted from Caraxes, who cast a brief glance at Meleys before lowering his head to watch his rider.

Rhaenys dismounted smoothly from her dragon, her tone sharp. "What could be so dire that it has you in such a state?"

Daemon took a deep breath. "Another family has tamed Vermithor and Silverwing."

"What?"

Rhaenys staggered, staring at Daemon in disbelief. "Are you certain?"

"I'm certain," Daemon replied, his voice steady now. "We saw Vermithor and Silverwing leave Dragonmont before. I followed them briefly on dragonback and saw them hunting whales over the Narrow Sea. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now\..."

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. "So, you've come to ask me to join you in battle? Can you guarantee we'd kill our grandfather's dragons?"

"I've come to discuss our options, Rhaenys," Daemon said as he stepped closer. The Red Queen immediately lowered her massive head, releasing a puff of hot breath in warning.

Caraxes extended his neck and let out a low growl in response, his blood-red body coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

"If it were during our grandfather's reign—or even when our fathers were alive," Rhaenys began, "any outsider who hatched a dragon would have been immediately hunted down. Vermithor would have been saddled, and both the rider and their hatchling would be dead before word could spread. But times have changed."

Daemon nodded, continuing her thought. "Back then, House Targaryen had Vermithor, Silverwing, Vhagar, Caraxes, and Meleys ready for war. But now?"

"It's just you and me," Rhaenys replied with a sigh. "Rhaenyra is with child and can't ride into battle. Her sons' dragons are still too young—I doubt they could even make it across the Narrow Sea. And Vhagar?" She scoffed before continuing. "Its rider has just risen from his sickbed. I'm more concerned he'd fall from the saddle than contribute to the fight."

Noticing Daemon's expression shift, Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. "You know who tamed the dragons, don't you?"

Daemon nodded and pulled a silver badge from his pocket. It bore the sigil of a dragon surrounded by a laurel wreath. "It's the son of Princess Saera. Draezell Vaelarys and his twin brother, Valar Vaelarys."

"Saera married?" Rhaenys asked, astonished.

Daemon nodded again, looking slightly embarrassed. "She swore me to secrecy back then. Oh, Laena knew as well."

Rhaenys took a moment to process this revelation before regaining her composure. "So, what's your plan?"

"This can't be hidden for long," Daemon said, stroking his chin in thought. "I've already instructed the maester to inform the king directly. Let my indecisive brother make the final call."

Rhaenys gave him a sharp look. "Be serious, Daemon."

"Fine, fine," Daemon raised his hands in mock surrender. "You've won."

"The Vaelarys family is also of dragonlord blood. You know that as well as I do," Daemon added.

Rhaenys nodded; she had read the family archives and was familiar with the legacy of the Forty Dragonlords.

"With House Targaryen monopolizing dragon eggs, not even those of dragonlord blood within the Black Walls would have access to unclaimed dragons or eggs," Daemon continued. "For the Vaelarys brothers to tame dragons, there's more at play here."

"The ruins of Valyria?" Rhaenys immediately suggested, then shook her head. "Impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," Daemon replied. "Regardless of what decision the king makes, it will inevitably fall upon us to handle this situation."

Rhaenys agreed; facing dragonriders required dragonriders.

"We can't confirm what they've gained," Daemon added, raising a hand. "But we can't risk losing our own battle-ready dragons either. We need to approach this cautiously."

"You intend to win them over?" Rhaenys asked, attempting to ground her cousin. "Do you truly think a newly risen dragonlord family would willingly submit to another?"

Daemon suddenly smirked.

\---

Aboard the Silent Lord

The young men stared wide-eyed at the shattered dragon egg before Rey.

A small, cat-sized hatchling, entirely black and screeching loudly, had emerged.

"Can someone explain what just happened?" Draezell asked in utter disbelief, his gaze fixed on his younger brother.

Even Vermithor and Silverwing, circling above, lowered their heads to observe the newborn dragon.

Without warning, the hatchling leapt into Rey's clothes, vanishing from sight.

Blushing furiously, Rey stammered out an explanation. "I-I don't know what happened! On the way back, the black egg started glowing, then—then it cracked, and—and—this happened!"

Clumsily, Rey fished the tiny dragon out of his clothing, only to have it lick his face with its hot, sticky tongue.

"Congratulations, Rey," Draezell groaned, covering his face with his hands. "You now have your own dragon."

"Name it, little brother!" Valar exclaimed, leaning in excitedly to get a better look at the hatchling.

His enthusiasm was rewarded with a puff of smoke to the face.

"A name, huh..."