We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

Vhagar sensed the presence of another dragon. Despite her great age, the ancient dragon could still distinguish familiar kin, especially those who had once struck fear into her heart. Among them was one she particularly despised, along with the "crunchy little hatchlings" that dared to parade in its shadow.

The mighty dragon turned her massive head toward the courtyard. If not for her current rider, she might have already unleashed a torrent of flames. Instead, she fixed her baleful gaze on Arrax, letting out a thunderous roar that made the very walls of Storm's End tremble.

Arrax shrank back, his neck recoiling slightly in fear, but soon he returned the glare. After all, he was used to such displays. Vermithor's roars back at Dragon's Nest, especially when guarding his meals, were far more terrifying than anything Vhagar could muster.

Lucerys gently stroked Arrax's neck, silently signaling him not to be afraid. With confidence, he approached the guards stationed at the gates of Storm's End.

"I come as an emissary of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, to deliver a message to Lord Borros Baratheon," Lucerys declared in a firm voice.

The Baratheon knights exchanged a look before nodding. They gestured for Lucerys to follow as they led him into the castle's great hall.

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The grand hall of Storm's End was immense, its towering walls lined with flickering torches. Despite the light, the hall remained cold and unwelcoming. Legend held that this ancient fortress was built during the Age of Heroes by Durran Godsgrief, the first Storm King, after he defied the gods.

Durran had fallen in love with Elenei, the daughter of the sea god and the storm goddess. Furious at the union, her divine parents unleashed their wrath, destroying Durran's first castle and drowning his kin and wedding guests. Only Durran himself survived, shielded by Elenei's magic.

Defiant, Durran declared war against the gods and rebuilt his castle six times, each one torn down by storms. The seventh, however, stood unbroken. With the help of the children of the forest and a young Brandon the Builder, Durran created the fortress that would become Storm's End—a stronghold so formidable that it withstood both divine wrath and the raging tempests of Shipbreaker Bay.

This indomitable castle passed into the hands of House Baratheon when Orys Baratheon, Aegon the Conqueror's half-brother and first Hand of the King, defeated Argilac the Arrogant. Orys married Argilac's daughter, taking his castle, sigil, and the blood of the Storm Kings, establishing House Baratheon as one of the most powerful families in Westeros.

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Lucerys, drenched to the bone, entered the hall and immediately regretted it. Before him sat Lord Borros Baratheon upon the ancient Storm King's throne, his expression cold and impassive. To his side stood his maester and four dark-haired daughters. And standing near one of them, grinning maliciously, was Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond's one remaining eye gleamed with malice as he scrutinized Lucerys.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon, welcome to Storm's End," Borros Baratheon greeted, his voice as unmoving as stone. He didn't so much as shift in his seat. "State your purpose here. And forgive me for not offering you the same welcome as your companion." His eyes briefly flicked to Aemond. "The storm came suddenly, and I wasn't able to prepare a feast or tourney in your honor, as I did for Prince Aemond."

"My lord," Aemond interjected with a mocking grin, "perhaps my dear nephew could use a fire to dry off before any feasting begins." His gaze roamed over Lucerys' soaked form. "Look at you, little nephew. Drenched from the rain—or did you piss yourself in fear?"

Lucerys ignored him, carefully extracting a dry letter from within his soaked cloak. "Lord Borros, I come as a messenger of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name."

"'Bastard of Dragonstone, treacherous usurper,'" Aemond's voice cut through the hall once more as he stepped forward. "The true king is Aegon II, crowned in King's Landing."

"Enough!" bellowed Borros Baratheon from his throne, summoning his guards to separate the two princes. Lucerys, expressionless, extended a hand to deliver the sealed letter to one of the Baratheon knights.

The knight took a few strides forward and handed the letter to Lord Borros, who was visibly suppressing his emotions but failed to hide the fact that he couldn't read.

Borros broke the wax seal and stared at the parchment as if examining it. His gaze quickly shifted to the maester, who hurried to his lord's side and read the letter aloud in hushed tones.

"In the name of Queen Rhaenyra I Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, I call upon you to honor the oath you swore to the late King Viserys and myself. Defend my sacred and unassailable rights and make the usurper pay the price for his treachery."

Borros frowned. An oath? That had been his father's doing over twenty-four years ago. Had he even sworn such an oath himself? And where were the rewards for honoring it?

Still, the fact that Lucerys had come alone to Storm's End spoke volumes about Rhaenyra's confidence. What could give her such certainty? Borros's fingers froze mid-stroke of his beard as a name came to him.

Draezell Vaelarys.

Could it be that he had joined Rhaenyra's cause? That would spell trouble. Storm's End was but a short flight away for a dragon, and there were three battle-ready dragons at the queen's disposal. Meanwhile, King's Landing boasted only four dragons, with one far away in Oldtown and another's rider utterly unsuited for combat.

Borros Baratheon shuddered and, with great care, handed the letter back to the maester. His tone softened. "Prince, what if I were inclined to stand with the queen?"

"'The Bastard of Dragonstone,'" Aemond corrected sharply. "As long as my brother sits the Iron Throne, she will never be a queen."

The one-eyed prince had noticed Borros's hesitation but was powerless to change it. Unless Otto Hightower succeeded in bringing back the hundreds of ships and thousands of soldiers he claimed to be mustering on Essos, or unless the southern armies marched quickly into the Reach, the Greens would stand no chance against even a single dragon like Vermithor in the north.

Borros scowled at Aemond. "Prince, no offense, but Rhaenyra has been crowned, and she was indeed the named heir of King Viserys. While I may not recognize a woman on the throne, I cannot disregard her coronation and treat her like a mere hunting dog calling me to heel."

The gruff lord spoke now with an unsettling calm. "Prince Lucerys, I have four daughters. Perhaps you could wed one of them?"

Lucerys frowned, prepared for this eventuality. "My lord, I cannot marry one of your daughters, nor decide for my brothers." Meeting Borros's eyes, he continued, "I am already betrothed to my cousin, Rhaena Targaryen. My elder brother is engaged to Baela Targaryen, and my younger brother Joffrey will wed Princess Aelassandra Martell in time. Prince Aegon is to marry Samantha Vaelarys, and my youngest brother Viserys will likely wed Daenyra Vaelarys."

"Ah," sighed Borros, turning to Aemond. "Your uncle, Prince Aemond, has agreed to marry one of my daughters, and I have pledged six thousand men as her dowry. Apologies, prince, but House Baratheon will only offer its loyalty to the true King of the Iron Throne."

Borros stood abruptly, addressing both princes. "The banners of Baratheon will bear neither green nor black. Prince Aemond, my appointed proxy, Ser Davos Connington, will lead your bride's dowry to your forces."

"My lord, that makes your allegiance clear," Lucerys retorted without hesitation, stripping away Borros's pretense. Even without banners bearing a crowned stag, six thousand soldiers from Storm's End would unmistakably signify his alignment with the Greens.

"Prince Lucerys, I will not hinder Prince Draezell's forces as they march north," Borros replied coolly. "My bannermen will ensure they are well-provisioned. My loyalty is to the Iron Throne, not to schemers who sow strife among kin."

The Baratheon lord's temper flared, and he slammed his hand against his throne. "Now, enough! Your time as my guests is over. Go back to your respective king and queen and tell them this: if they want Storm's End, let them prove they can hold the Iron Throne."

Aemond cast Borros an angry glance but said nothing. Six thousand soldiers from the lord of Storm's End were enough for now. He turned his attention back to Lucerys, seething at the sight of the younger prince leaving unscathed.

Lucerys had no intention of lingering either, already planning to reach Dragonstone. With Silverwing, he could outrun even Vhagar.

As Lucerys turned to leave, Aemond felt a rage boiling within him, consuming his self-control.

"Stop, Strong!" Aemond roared, ripping off his eye patch to reveal the sapphire given to him by Draezell. "Time to settle our debts, Strong. Is that toy at your hip for decoration? Did Valar only teach you to play with toys? Draw it and use it to carve out your eye! I'll even let you pick—left or right. I'm merciful like that."

Aemond stormed toward Lucerys, his greater strength overpowering the younger prince. Lucerys, though well-trained by Vaelar, could not match Aemond's nineteen years against his own thirteen. Though he struggled, he could only face Aemond with a cold glare.

"Aemond, I won't fight you," Lucerys said firmly, wrenching himself free. "I'm a messenger, not a knight."

"Coward. Craven. Traitor," Aemond spat venomously. " Strong Bastard, if you won't give me your eye, I'll take your head instead. Let's see if your whore mother mourns you." He reached for his sword, and Lucerys followed suit, gripping his own weapon.

"Enough! No blood will be spilled under my roof," Borros's thunderous voice echoed through the hall. "You are my guests, and I will not permit violence in my hall. Both of you, outside!"

Lucerys shot Aemond a glare before turning and running toward the courtyard, where Arrax was anxiously waiting. He threw his arms around the young dragon's neck. "Don't be afraid, Arrax. We'll fly. Once we're back at Dragon's Nest, we'll be safe." Without another word, he climbed onto the dragon's back.

Outside the castle, the storm raged on. Raindrops the size of beans and a howling wind strong enough to knock a man off his feet assaulted him, nearly stealing the breath from his lungs.

"Arrax, take off!"

The young dragon struggled to spread its wings and lift into the air, but the terrible weather severely hampered its speed.

Aemond watched with smoldering hatred as Lucerys mounted the dragon and took flight. He turned back to Borros. "You're a traitor too, Lord Borros. Were it not for your daughter and her dowry, Vhagar would've already turned Storm's End to ash."

Borros's face turned pale, then flushed red, his mouth opening and closing as though unsure how to respond. An icy voice cut through the tense silence in the hall.

"Your Grace, are you a warrior or a messenger?" The speaker was Lady Maris, the least comely of Borros's four daughters and the first one Aemond had rejected.

"I am, of course, a warrior," Aemond replied, casting a curious look at the young woman.

"I thought you'd lost not just your eye but your manhood too, Your Grace. He's no warrior—you are." Maris laughed, her whole body shaking. "Good thing you didn't choose me. I'd prefer a husband who's whole."

"Maris, silence!" Borros shouted, his voice trembling with fear. He cast a terrified glance at Aemond, whose expression had turned to stone. Without a word, Aemond turned and strode toward the courtyard.

A deafening roar from Vhagar shook the very foundations of Storm's End, and Borros stormed over to his daughter, slapping her hard across the face.

"Are you trying to doom our entire house?" He glanced fearfully toward the door and the raging night beyond. "Seven hells."

In the storm, Arrax could barely fly. Lucerys soon heard the sound of Vhagar's massive wings beating closer and closer. The ancient dragon was catching up.

A blazing column of dragonfire narrowly missed Arrax, the searing flames almost engulfing the young dragon. Only Arrax's agility saved them from certain death.

Lucerys knew he might not be able to escape. The accursed storm that wreaked havoc on him and Arrax seemed to barely affect Vhagar. The young dragon tossed and swayed like a fragile ship on a stormy sea, unable to use its speed to outpace its massive pursuer.

"It's time to be a knight," Lucerys said calmly, lifting his head to meet the sight of Vhagar closing in. Upon its back, Aemond loomed like an ant atop a behemoth. "Uncle Valar, forgive me for failing to serve you longer." He patted Arrax's neck. "Arrax, will you fight with me?"

Arrax responded with a joyful dragon's roar, but Lucerys could hear the sorrow and anger within it. The young prince tightened the strap on the saddle, resolutely pulling the reins.

"Arrax, attack!"

The young dragon suddenly soared upward, battling the fierce wind and rain. Aemond hesitated for a moment, then immediately understood what his nephew was attempting. He quickly lay flat on the saddle. "Vhagar, target Arrax."

The ancient dragon let out a furious roar and raised its head, releasing another blast of dragonfire. But once again, it missed Arrax. The small dragon suddenly plummeted from the sky, unleashing a stream of dragonfire directly at Aemond on Vhagar's back.

Aemond quickly twisted the reins, and Vhagar's massive body clumsily shifted, but Arrax's slender flame landed on the old dragon's scales. The fiery breath enraged Vhagar, whose wings flapped violently as it chased after Arrax, catching up in the storm to bite down.

Arrax nimbly twisted its body, unleashing another jet of dragonfire toward Vhagar's wings. Though Arrax's flame was slender, it was still dragonfire, and the intense heat pierced a small hole in Vhagar's wing. But the ancient dragon was too large, and such a minor wound couldn't do much harm.

"Arrax, dracarys," Lucerys commanded, lying flat on the saddle. Arrax sped up and charged at Vhagar's wing, biting, clawing, and breathing fire. In the blink of an eye, the young dragon left several deep gashes on Vhagar's wing. Enraged, the elder dragon lashed out with its massive wings, sending Arrax spiraling through the air. Seizing the opportunity, Vhagar unleashed another stream of dragonfire toward the young dragon, who hadn't yet managed to turn.

Arrax struggled to rise, bracing its body to meet the fire with its belly.

"Arrax, no!"

The gray-white scales on Arrax's belly quickly blackened, the young dragon struggling to extinguish the flames that consumed it. Its body was nearly roasted, and its wings were in tatters as it plummeted toward the sea, while Lucerys only suffered some burns.

Following the dragonfire came the massive jaws of Vhagar.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Lucerys fell from the saddle, calmly watching as Vhagar chewed through Arrax's head, swallowing it whole. He looked on calmly as Aemond laughed, watching him and the shattered corpse of the dragon fall, as though he were witnessing the death of a stranger.

Goodbye, brother, mother, uncle, and little snow rabbit, the squirrel was unfaithful.

Lucerys closed his eyes, still gripping the reins tightly, like a true dragonrider. Or perhaps, like a true warrior of the skies.

Arrax's broken wings and body fell into the sea, dragging Lucerys down with it, both swallowed by the furious waves of the bay. Vhagar let out a triumphant roar.

All that remained across the sea was Aemond's laughter and the eternal fury of the storm.

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