We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

Volantis, Silver Dragon Dockyard.

After weeks of preparation and rest, Draezell finally announced the impending departure to the other nobles. The Bontarro family had been utterly dismantled, with their wealth and lands divided between the Tigers and the Elephants. Draezell secured a significant share of gold, along with 23 large ships and nearly a hundred smaller vessels.

All of these ships were now integrated into the Vaelarys family fleet.

Of course, not all of them would be used for this voyage.

During the preparations, Draezell carefully selected the ships for this expedition, including the newly constructed Weeping Boy and Silent Lord. The latter, serving as the flagship, was crafted using shipbuilding techniques left behind by Claelorius. These techniques eliminated the need for oars and equipped the ships with towering masts and massive sails that could blot out the sun.

It was said that these two warships were faster in trials than even the three-hundred-oar galleys.

In addition to these two giants, the fleet for this voyage included nine sail-only ships, twelve three-hundred-oar galleys, and sixty-five smaller vessels with two hundred and one hundred and fifty oars.

As long as they avoided storms, this navy could dominate the Summer Sea with ease.

A silver-haired boy leapt from his horse and, without hesitation, threw open his arms and rushed toward Draezell Vaelarys, who was waiting for him with his own arms open wide.

"Brother!" Valar tightly embraced Draezell, allowing his older brother to ruffle his hair and pat his shoulders.

"You've grown stronger again. About the assassination attempt—I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Draezell," Valar replied, letting go after a long embrace. "We were careless."

"I'm just glad you're safe." Draezell nodded toward Hoffa and Sebastian, who had accompanied Valar. "You two as well—safety first."

Both young men stood at attention, fists over their hearts in salute.

"Valar!" came a disgruntled voice from behind Draezell. Only then did Valar notice little Rey hiding behind their elder brother.

The boy had grown so quickly he seemed like a different person each day.

"And you," Valarr said with a grin, tousling Rey's hair enthusiastically. "The little brat has grown quite a bit."

"Hmph." Rey pouted but still gave his brother a big hug. "We were all worried about you, Valar."

"How's Flamewing?"

"Doing great! It gets to fly out and explore every day." Rey cast a resentful glance at Maester Visari, who had come to see them off. "It's got more freedom than I do."

"Flamewing is very old," Draezell sighed. "It might not live to see our return, which is why I've set it free."

The three boys mourned the falcon for a while before boarding the warship amidst the crowd's cheers.

Thanks to Draezell's prior announcement to the Senate regarding the fleet's departure, the dock was far less crowded. The waters near the dock had been cleared, providing ample room for the ships to depart side by side.

The Red Priest, Malak, now mostly recovered, had also come along and was quietly reading on the deck.

Vansen Kaon and Gonzo Pyrebane remained in Volantis, while Maester Visari and his young apprentice, Evens Dayne, returned to their residence.

Most of Draezell's young retainers followed him aboard the ship.

Lynn Valtaken donned a suit of purple armor and stood at his lord's side, alongside Argo, who wore no armor but carried an arakh at his hip. Hoffa and Sebastian were also aboard the flagship, Silent Lord, assisting Yamor in commanding the ship.

Tigarro and Adams took young Rey aboard the Weeping Boy. This vessel was designed with comfort in mind, featuring spacious and well-lit cabins.

Amos Fezer and Zesar Shadowweaver joined Aslan Londor on the three-hundred-oar warship Sailfish, overseeing the operations of this main battleship.

A deep, resounding horn echoed through the harbor.

The massive fleet began its slow departure from the port, guided by tugboats.

Waves crashed against the hulls as the ships advanced.

Far to the north...

In a place shrouded by thick mist, the towering Titan suddenly emerged, breaking through the fog and revealing the floating city behind it.

Hundreds of islands, large and small, sprawled across the immense city, connected by long bridges of gray, gold, or crimson stone.

This city was made entirely of stone—there wasn't a single trace of greenery.

On one of these water-encircled islands, atop a low rocky hill, stood a peculiar structure with black spires. It loomed silently, shrouded in mystery.

A twelve-foot-tall, intricately carved wooden door stood firmly shut. The left door, crafted of weirwood and white as bone, was adorned with a crescent moon carved from black ebony. The right door, made of black ebony as dark as night, bore a crescent moon carved from weirwood. Together, they formed a perfect black-and-white full moon.

A ten-foot-diameter pool of water rippled faintly, reflecting countless niches in the walls and thirty statues of varying forms.

Among them were the Weeping Woman, the Night Lion, the Hooded Walker, Bacalon, the Pale Maiden, the Stranger, and the Merman King. These deities stood in solemn silence, gazing at their reflections in the pool.

A man staggered toward the water's edge, collapsing onto his knees beside a figure cloaked in half black and half white. The hooded figure handed him a cup of water, which the man accepted without hesitation.

"May you find eternal rest."

The voice beneath the hood was indifferent, yet carried an eerie magnetism, as if some unseen power compelled one to listen, while simultaneously making the speaker's presence seem inconsequential. A red candle burned slowly nearby.

The black cup fell to the ground.

The man died silently, without struggle.

The hooded figure gently brushed a hand across the lifeless face.

In the next moment, the figure lifted his head.

The face was now the same as that of the dead man, though it bore no expression.

Suddenly, the man clutched his face, as if wracked by an overwhelming, explosive pain from within.

He crouched down in agony, muttering incomprehensible words.

After a long while, the man rose to his feet, his face devoid of emotion.

"The oracle of the Many-Faced God?" He touched his face, which was slowly rotting. "A descendant of the Breaker of Chains, the patron of the Faceless Men, is finally setting forth on their destined path?"

He lowered his head and walked slowly to the Stranger's statue, where he sat.

"The Faceless forget nothing," he murmured. "As the Many-Faced God wills, someone will do it. Someone must do it."

A tall, gaunt figure, also hooded, stepped out of the shadows.

"All men must die," the figure said.

"All men must serve."

The rotting man raised his head, revealing a face now half-decayed, though still expressionless.

"Someone answers the call."

The newcomer, now by the pool, lifted his head. Beneath his hood, there was nothing.

"Someone still serves," the decaying man replied, his remaining features now disintegrating further. "The price has been paid, and the gift will be given. Someone must travel east, to find the one whom the god has chosen to alter the symphony."

"Someone still has doubts."

"As the god wills." The man's face had now completely rotted away as he lowered his head again.

"Someone will speak without deceit."