We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

The reception at Fish King's Square did not last long. Once it became clear that the primary objective of the visit could not be fulfilled, Draezell and Lord Desmond Manderly briefly discussed trade matters between their houses. Lord Manderly promised to open White Harbor's port to the Vaelarys fleet, reduce tariffs, and procure goods produced by Vaelarys workshops. Draezell, in turn, agreed to invest in building workshops and breweries in White Harbor, hiring local workers to produce silverware and rich ale—both hallmark industries of the harbor city.

Lord Desmond Manderly extended a heartfelt invitation to Draezell to attend a feast at the Merman's Court. He had prepared a grand meal of lamprey pie, endless seafood, and enough ale to intoxicate every soul in White Harbor. However, Draezell declined.

"We have already enjoyed many grand feasts and ate our fill at Dragonstone. All we need now is a warm bed and adequate provisions for our dragons."

In the end, Draezell persuaded Lord Manderly, who instead distributed the grand meal to the town's poor. He arranged accommodations for the prince and the king's son at the Merman's Court. Yet Draezell and Jacaerys first turned their attention to tending to their dragons. Since arriving at Dragonstone, Jacaerys had abandoned his King's Landing habit of chaining Vermax.

Although the dragons were wild by nature, they proved content to feast on what was brought to them, as long as they were not provoked by mortals. The thirty pigs and twenty long-haired sheep brought by White Harbor knights were far more appealing than the armored men themselves.

"All right, we're alone now," Draezell said as he took the brush Jacaerys handed him, carefully cleaning the dirt left on Vermithor's scales from their long flight. Vermithor rumbled contentedly, enjoying the grooming while devouring a freshly roasted pig. The young prince cast a sidelong glance at the grey-eyed boy lurking in the square's corner and motioned for him to step forward.

"Grey eyes," Jacaerys observed, intrigued by the boy who, despite being only five or six years his elder, carried himself with a maturity rivaling Draezell's—or perhaps even surpassing it. "Are you of House Stark?"

The boy hesitated for a moment before straightening his posture. "I am Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. Welcome to the North, Prince Draezell, Prince Jacaerys."

Draezell paused in his task, his hand resting on Vermithor's scale. Vermithor, curious about the interruption, tilted its head toward the intruding boy and let out a dissatisfied snort—a mere gust of hot wind.

Yet Cregan Stark stood firm, unflinching under the dragon's heated breath.

"Lord Cregan?" Draezell gave a slight bow as a gesture of courtesy. "I apologize that Winterfell's warm halls were not included in our travel plans. But why have you come here, and why is Ser Bennard not with you?"

Cregan Stark was only 15 years old, and the North was still under the regency of his uncle, Bennard Stark. However, the young lord's prowess in combat and exceptional political acumen were already celebrated across northern villages and castles. Several northern lords had petitioned Bennard Stark to allow the boy to assume his duties early, though their requests were consistently denied.

"I came for you, Your Grace." Cregan Stark's straightforwardness reflected the honesty of a true Northerner. He had no patience for small talk on matters of importance. "You are the new Dragonlord, and the Starks must reveal to you the secrets and truths of Westeros."

"Go on." Draezell gestured for Cregan to sit beside him, pulling Jacaerys down to sit cross-legged on the cobblestone ground as well. Vermithor lazily stretched a massive wing, its bronze expanse forming a canopy over the three.

Cregan seated himself without hesitation, lowering his voice.

"The history of House Stark stretches back 8,000 years. After the Long Night, our ancestor, Brandon the Builder, raised the Wall with the aid of ancient peoples."

Draezell recalled the fiery visions of his prophecies and the sight of the North upon his arrival: a colossal wall of ice, stretching 300 miles, its highest peaks reaching 700 feet. The Wall had left a profound impression on him. Vast quantities of magic were frozen within its structure, and anyone attuned to the supernatural could not help but be awed—and humbled—by its incomprehensible power.

That thing wasn't built to fend off wildlings, Draezell thought with certainty.

"Though most now dismiss tales of the Long Night, the Others, and the dead riding ice spiders as fantastical myths, every Stark who wields the greatsword Ice and vows to lead his people through the winter knows otherwise. These are no mere legends. Each long winter carries the potential to extinguish the flame of life, Your Grace."

Cregan's voice was cold as iron, but Draezell could feel the burning resolve within him.

Through the lens of his blood magic, Draezell saw more—visions of howling wolves and endless snow. He saw towering weirwood trees, their faces bleeding crimson sap.

This boy bore burdens too heavy for his years, so much that Draezell sighed inwardly in sympathy.

"Is this why Torrhen Stark bent the knee to the Conqueror?" Jacaerys, though skeptical, found the story captivating. At his age, it was easier to indulge in wonder, and it explained certain mysteries: Torrhen Stark's swift submission, and the many actions taken by Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne in the North, including the New Gift, strengthening the Night's Watch, and building new castles along the Wall.

Cregan glanced at Jacaerys with faint admiration and nodded. "My ancestor foresaw that the Conqueror could unify a fractured Westeros. He believed a united realm stood a better chance of surviving the Long Winter. History has proven him right."

"Then why share this with me, my lord?" Draezell asked, smiling.

"Because you, too, wield the world's most formidable weapon, Your Grace." Cregan's gaze shifted to the dragons. "Only fire can melt ice. Only the winds of summer can drive back the snow. When Queen Alysanne flew to the Wall, she rode your brother's dragon, Silverwing. Yet even a fully grown dragon refused to cross the Wall. I believe the dragons sense the dangers beyond. Thus, I must inform you: Westeros faces more than political intrigue and schemes. From the North comes a far greater threat."

The young lord paused, his expression dark. "True death."

"Thank you for this knowledge, my lord." Draezell thought of the blue eyes from his visions and the phantom pain in his mind. "What, then, do you expect of me? Assistance in reclaiming your power?"

Cregan shook his head. "My duty is only to warn you of the danger from the North. The power my uncle holds, I will take back myself, Your Grace. I ask only for a pact—a renewal of the agreement our ancestor made with the Conqueror."

Draezell straightened, his demeanor formal, and Jacaerys followed suit, his face turning serious.

"If winter falls, the Long Night begins, the dead rise, and the Wall stands imperiled, I ask that you, or your descendants, ride your dragons north to join House Stark against humanity's final foe. This is my request, Your Grace."

"I understand," Draezell replied, recognizing the weight of Cregan's words. He also realized the divine purpose behind his own existence.

The Song of Ice and Fire had already begun. If the Cold God succeeded in unleashing eternal winter and darkness upon this world, the only thing left would be absolute silence.

"Then let us seal the oath." Draezell extended his hand, gesturing for Cregan to do the same.

The young lord looked puzzled but complied, placing his hand beneath Draezell's palm.

Five drops of silvery blood fell from Draezell's hand and, in an instant, fused into Cregan's body.

"In the name of my blood, I swear this pact with the descendants of House Stark. If House Stark is willing to spill their blood to preserve humanity's flame when the Long Night descends and winter arrives, House Vaelarys will stand by your side with all its might. This is our duty."

"Thank you for your understanding." Cregan's voice was resolute. "The wolves of House Stark will honor this eternal oath. We will keep this promise until the last Stark sheds their blood. Winter is coming, Your Grace. The Starks never forget. The Starks never yield."

Draezell's grand tour concluded in White Harbor.

However, his work of building would last for years, perhaps even decades.

Four months passed slowly. The interior of Dragon's Nest grew ever more complete. A godswood was planted, with Cregan Stark personally arranging for House Manderly to deliver an ancient weirwood tree, over a thousand years old, from the North to adorn the castle's grove.

The Summerfield's framework was finished, accompanied by the ivory-white council chambers, the purple-tiled Vaelarys summer palace, a grand marble sept, and the sprawling Summer Market. Taverns, shops, and workshops began to line the streets in orderly rows. The construction of the city walls had also commenced.

First among the completed structures, however, was a massive tournament ground outside the city walls.

Meanwhile, the Vaelarys fleet's naval port was completed at the former site of Wyl Castle. After the castle's destruction, Draezell ordered the construction of a towering fortress named "Nebula Keep" on its ruins, overlooking the newly built military harbor, "Silver Dragon Port." The wooden docks that had initially accommodated the fleet were replaced with expansive stone quays capable of housing thousands of warships. Shipyards had also begun production on a new fleet.

To the north, Draezell established the foundations of a large harbor town, "Brandyport," at the site of the ancient Blackhaven. Centered around the formidable stone castle "Brandy Hall", the town hosted numerous Vaelarys workshops, distilleries, and vineyards. Vaelarys merchant ships docked here regularly, filling the port with activity.

In the south, Draezell planned another port town, which he intended to name "Silver Crown." However, half the land he desired lay under the control of House Yronwood. For now, his focus remained on the northern ports.

Time passed swiftly, and before long, the season of beasts mating began.