We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"That supreme, most magnificent kingdom, forged by fire and dragons."

The blazing white sun scorched a city that stretched beyond the horizon. Countless ships raised sails of various colors, packed together like sardines in an endless harbor. The broad Lhorren River flowed quietly. Above the river, a wide bridge spanning the river's mouth was broad enough for two carriages to pass side by side. Black stone-carved sphinxes, dragons, and manticores coldly observed the crowded people crossing the bridge.

A nimble falcon darted across the sky like lightning. A feather fell, carefully picked up by a slave bearing a maggot tattoo and placed in the simple basket on his back. A man with a tiger tattoo cracked a whip, directing a long line of slaves to sweep the broad street.

The falcon flew over the bustling port district, thick with mingled scents of fish, flowers, excrement, and decay. It passed merchants and sailors from around the world, passed tattooed slaves, flew before nobles sitting on golden chairs atop small elephants, wearing silk tokars, leaving a trail of indistinct curses. It flew past two-hundred-foot-high black walls.

Finally, the falcon landed on a peculiar black stone pillar topped with a coat of arms - a fire-breathing dragon encircled by laurel leaves, crafted of pure silver and glimmering in the sunlight. In the room opposite the pillar, an elderly man in a gray robe, holding a thick book, leaned against a fountain decorated with dragons and manticores, reading calmly.

A beautiful silver-haired boy looked up somewhat joyfully, secretly glancing at the falcon.

"Rey, listen carefully," the gray-robed elder said leisurely, reaching to touch the necklace of a dozen different metal rings on his chest.

"I'm sorry, I just miss 'Flame Wing' so much, Maester Visari. Please don't tell my brother," 12-year-old Rey quickly averted his gaze, looking at Visari with pleading eyes. This scholarly man came from a distant western place that those within the black walls called the Lands of Sunset. But Rey knew its true name was Westeros. His late parents often spoke of it.

It was the homeland his mother both longed for and despised.

"Your brother Draezell would not abandon the pursuit of knowledge for a mere falcon," the old scholar said gravely, turning the page. "Unless it were a young dragon."

"But we no longer have dragons."

The boy lowered his head, while the aged voice continued reciting in High Valyrian:

"Dawn shines upon a seemingly eternal kingdom, where the descendants of light and darkness, fire and ice, rule land and sea. Their reign lasted ten thousand years, until the destined moment: the Pearl Emperor ascended the throne, the Jade Emperor sewed royal garments, the Black Opal Emperor forged armor, the Topaz Emperor compiled books, the Amethyst Emperor sutured wounds. Order perished, the world descended into chaos, then came brother against sister, the long night, heroes drawing swords, the night lion mourning in grief."

"Just another worn-out mythical tale," Rey's thoughts had already flown to the falcon "Flame Wing". "But my brother loves it, perhaps because the Purple Crystal Empress had purple eyes. He thinks it might be related to our ancestors?" The boy blinked his beautiful violet eyes, pretending to listen carefully.

"Your ancestors rose from the endless mountains of the Fourteen Fires. They were the children of the mountains - brave warriors, exceptional scholars, mysterious wizards, and outstanding craftsmen."

"Legends are just legends. Our ancestors were shepherds' descendants," Rey silently thought to himself. "That much we know clearly."

"They awakened the children of the Fourteen Fires," Visari suddenly lowered his voice. "And thus the greatest nation was born. The Valyrians rode dragons and launched their great conquest. The beloved of the harpies, the ancient Ghiscari Empire was burned by dragon flame into salt marshes where crops would never grow again. And Rhoinar, with water magic capable of drowning dragons, their brave Prince Garin also died with hatred, consumed by the rage of three hundred dragons."

"Now it's getting interesting," Rey retracted his hand into the purple silk sleeve, a small silver dragon figurine mysteriously appearing in his palm. The boy gently caressed the statue, his thoughts finally returning to the thick book.

"During the peak of the Valyrian Free Hold, forty dragon lord families tamed thousands of dragons."

"But now only one dragon-rearing family remains, or rather, not so much dragon lords as fortunate exiles," Rey continued stroking the statue, recalling previous noble lessons.

"The dragon lords schemed in Valyria's high towers while dragons roared wildly on volcanos. Beneath the volcanos, millions of slaves labored in mines for the dragon lords. Across the known world, the Andals fled like rats, the sages of Sarnor crawled on their knees, the ancient Ghiscari were slaves to dragon lords, and the proud God-Emperor of Yi Ti considered it the greatest honor to marry a silver-haired noblewoman." The old scholar's voice gradually rose, as if singing a poem.

"The wise dreamwalker Daenys Targaryen foresaw the brewing disaster, so the doomed family carried their dragons westward. What followed was an apocalyptic cataclysm. Dragon lords turned to ash, dragons fell from the high heavens. The powerful kingdom was obliterated in a single night."

The old scholar cleared his throat and continued: "Your ancestor, the last Valyrian Emperor Aelon Vaelarys, was at this time stationed with his dragon in Qohor. The proud dragon lord believed this was an excellent opportunity, and greed consumed his reason. He spent his entire fortune, recruiting a thirty-thousand-strong army. This included wealth-seeking free mercenaries and farmers, Valyrian wandering warriors hoping to return home, and the black goat cavalry of Qohor. They obtained supplies in Volantis, where the dragon lord also left his descendants."

The scholar looked at Rey, wise as he was, already seeing the boy's distraction. "That is, your direct ancestor, the 'Dragonless' Lingol Vaelarys."

"I know him," Rey's violet eyes lit up, finally reaching his favorite family anecdote segment. "To avoid assassination by those with ulterior motives, his mother, a noblewoman from a dragon lord family but without dragons, smashed the dragon egg left by Lord Aelon for his son, of course, he also failed to hatch a dragon." The boy thought to himself.

"The great army disappeared in Valyria, and no one ever saw Lord Aelon and his red dragon again. Thus, the Vaelarys family, once ranked seventh among the forty dragon lords and at its peak owning 150 adult dragons, fell into decline." The old scholar sighed deeply, turning to the next page of the book and continuing to narrate the history of the Vaelarys family after their migration to the black walls of Volantis.

"When Gaemond Vaelarys died, the Vaelarys family had already amassed enormous wealth. They owned vast fertile lands between the Lhorren and Valarna rivers, twelve sugar plantations, twenty-five vineyards, six silk workshops, two private forests, one gold mine, two silver mines, and seven rich iron mines."

The scholar turned to the last page of the book.

"Claelorius Vaelarys, the most legendary patriarch in family history. Some say he was a madman, some say a genius, others say a terrifying wizard. In the first twenty years, he was a wastrel who squandered two-thirds of the family's fortune. In the next twenty years, he was a miracle worker who tripled the family's wealth on Gaemond's foundation. His glass was crystal clear, selling far and wide in Slaver's Bay and the Nine Free Cities. The silver wine he brewed was rich and sweet, even the horse lords of the Dothraki were captivated. He tripled silk production, with luxurious silk bearing silver dragon and laurel leaf patterns that even reached Yi Ti. He increased the yield of wheat, rice, sugar beets, and saffron year after year. His metallurgical designs doubled the output of gold and silver mines. His improved metal smelting techniques could forge steel second only to Valyrian steel and Qohor blood steel. The ships he designed were comparable to the Purple Sails of Braavos and the Swan Ships of the Summer Isles."

"If I hadn't witnessed the old master's glory with my own eyes, I would never have believed that a nobleman who never received an education from the Citadel could achieve these things," Maester Visari thought to himself while speaking.

"He organized great maritime expeditions to Asshai and Westeros, earning countless gold through maritime trade. He liberated the family's slaves, elevating them to contract workers and servants. From among them, he selected six thousand brave boys. From that day, Volanris 'Silver Blood Army' and the 'Weepers' were born. The nobles within the black walls said he conducted semi-public magical experiments. Shadow binders, warlocks, fire mages, blood sorcerers from Asshai, Wizards from Qarth, moon singers, and red priests from the Great Temple of Rholor all frequented his palace. No one knew what your father wanted to do, until he rushed out of the palace like a madman, carrying treasures that could only be transported by nine elephants, and charged into a notorious brothel in Volantis."

"He married our mother," Rey stared into the old scholar's eyes, thinking to himself. "That mother who passed away when I was born."

"In my homeland, people called her the 'Whore Princess'. Her name was Saera Targaryen," Visari paused, a hint of regret in his eyes.

"She was the ninth daughter of the former king Jaehaerys Targeryan I. In the wild first half of her life, she had more men around her than her own silver hairs."

"I know," Rey had never respected his mother. Even as a young boy, he often felt sad about her past. "There are several of her bloodlines around his brother alone. And that silver-haired bastard from the former regent's family," the boy thought to himself.

"23 years ago, the princess ended her dissolute life in Lys, came to settle in Volantis, and established her own brothel a year later - the infamous 'House of Dragon Bastards'. No one understood why your father would marry a prostitute, despite her blood being from the only dragon lord family with dragons. Even less did anyone understand what reason the princess had for accepting your father's proposal, and then self-imprisoning for two years to purify her bloodline."

Visari closed the book. "I can't understand it either, but history happened this way. In the third year of their marriage, your elder brother Draezell Vaelarys and Valar Vaelarys were born. The twin birth almost killed the aging princess. She thereafter lingered on her sickbed, and the old master seemingly lost his passion for his wife, turning his energy to your wise elder brother. Master Draezell was no less intelligent than the old master. At 7, he was familiar with all family businesses and affairs, and at 9, he independently completed trade with Braavos and Lys. In his final days, the old master passed all his wisdom to your elder brother, until he passed away in his own laboratory. Hmm? Where are you going?"

The old scholar's voice cut off as the silver-haired boy suddenly sprang up like a monkey, running unceremoniously towards the main hall.

The silver dragon statue in his sleeve suddenly became scorching hot, as if burning. Rey immediately realized what was happening. "Brother is back. I'm going to see him, Maester Visari. We'll make up today's lesson tomorrow," Rey's clear voice echoed through the corridor intertwined with stone pillars and grapevines.

The old scholar smiled bitterly and shook his head. Softly he said, "But your lesson for today has already ended." He straightened his gray robe and necklace. Draezell Vaelarys was his master, so naturally he needed to go and greet him.

The silver dragon statue in his sleeve grew hotter and hotter, but Rey felt no pain, only comfort.

The boy ran through the corridor, just passing the dragon crystal-carved dragon statue. A round object rolled and tumbled to his feet.

Rey's heart felt like it was suddenly gripped by a large hand. His hand involuntarily rose to cover his mouth, forcibly suppressing the scream that had reached his throat.

It was a human head.