We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

The warriors of Winterfell eagerly formed a circle at the edge of the courtyard, excited to witness a duel between their young lord—undefeated across the North—and the dragon prince, whose reputation preceded him. These grizzled veterans, always hungry for spectacle, were eager to see whose skill would prove superior.

Cregan and Draezell stepped into the circle, facing each other. Cregan gripped Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark, while Draezell unsheathed Silverblood. Neither trusted in wooden training swords; their confidence demanded steel.

"Prince, I've heard of your skill," Cregan said as he lifted the massive greatsword and brought it crashing down. "Do not hold back."

Draezell sidestepped the strike with ease and countered with a precise slash that struck Ice, forcing Cregan back a step. The Stark's swordplay was unadorned and practical—solid chops, arcs, and hewing blows. There was no flair, only the weight and power of a man accustomed to delivering fatal strikes.

But Draezell's style was similarly unpretentious. He danced around Cregan's strikes, effortlessly maneuvering under and around the edges of Ice. His counter-blows struck with uncanny precision, diverting the greatsword when Cregan's strength began to falter, before withdrawing his blade at the perfect moment. Sparks—rainbow-like in their brilliance—sprang forth with every clash of Silverblood and Ice. Yet, with each collision, Cregan found himself pushed further and further back.

"My brother won't hold much longer," came a voice behind Jacaerys, startling him. Turning, he saw a wild-looking young woman with a striking beauty, who bore a faint resemblance to Cregan. "Sara Snow," she introduced herself proudly, unashamed of her bastardy. "Prince."

"Hello," Jacaerys said with a nod, his attention still on the duel. In the ring, Cregan was being utterly overwhelmed. Several times, he barely managed to lift Ice before Silverblood slammed it back down. At last, Draezell's blade gently pressed against Cregan's chest. The young wolf dropped his greatsword and raised his hands in surrender.

"The rumors are true," Cregan said, locking eyes with Draezell's deep violet gaze. "Perhaps you truly are the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms."

"If there's anyone left in this world who can force me to draw my blade," Draezell replied with a grin. He turned his gaze toward Jacaerys and the singular figure among the men—Sara Snow. "Is that your sister?"

Cregan nodded as his sister stepped forward and playfully punched him on the arm. "You've smiled more today than you do in a whole year. Why don't you grin like that with your vassals, huh? You act like you're made of ice."

"The wolf smiles for those who are strong," Cregan said simply, understanding her teasing tone. In the North, bastards were not as scorned as they were in the South. House Stark's natural-born children often served vital roles—either as trusted aides to the lord of Winterfell or as sworn brothers of the Night's Watch, rising to command positions on the Wall.

"Winter is coming," Cregan continued, clapping Sara on the shoulder. "To face it, we must be harsher than the winter itself."

"Forgive my sister's rough manners," he added, turning back to Draezell and Jacaerys. "Prince, my lords, a feast has been prepared in your honor. May our friendship endure."

---

Harrenhal, Riverlands.

Prince Daemon strode hastily into the Hundred Hearths Hall of Harrenhal, its vast space living up to its infamous reputation for being able to house an entire army. Black faction troops from the Riverlands filled the massive chamber. Beside Daemon, Lord Petyr Piper spoke in hushed tones.

"Prince, our supplies are ready, but there's an issue with feed for the dragons. Merchants from King's Landing bought up much of our sheep, so we can only guarantee pigs for now."

"That's fine; Caraxes doesn't mind pigs," Daemon replied without slowing his pace. He scanned the hall for two key figures—Lord Forrest Frey and Lady Alysanne Blackwood. The latter, after her father's death, had taken on the role of guiding her twelve-year-old nephew, Benjicot Blackwood, alongside her uncle, William Blackwood.

"How soon until our reinforcements arrive?" Daemon asked Lord Frey.

"Your Grace, at least two weeks," Forrest Frey replied helplessly. "It's harvest time. Pulling more men from the fields now is nearly impossible."

"Just tell me how many men we can gather," Daemon demanded.

"Twelve thousand," Lord Frey answered. "Within two weeks, every Riverlands army loyal to the queen can raise about twelve thousand. If we had another fortnight, we could call up an additional nine to ten thousand peasant levies."

"As soon as possible," Daemon said with a curt nod. "My informants tell me that the Westerlands army has already left Casterly Rock. They're gathering their vassals along routes carefully chosen to avoid dragonfire." He exhaled heavily. "Have the ravens to the North returned yet?"

"Not yet," Alysanne said as she adjusted the string of her bow. "Even ravens need time to fly, Your Grace."

Daemon nodded. "What of Riverrun? Do your lords still persist in their loyalty to traitors and usurpers?"

"Your Grace, it may be best if Ser Elmon speaks to you directly," Forrest Frey said.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to a cloaked figure standing among the crowd. The young man wore a black mantle that hid his sigil.

Lord Grover Tully of Riverrun had been a staunch, unshakable Green. When the raven from the Black faction arrived, Grover immediately attempted to summon his vassals to fight for King Aegon. However, his frail body succumbed to age, leaving him bedridden while his grandson, Ser Elmon, took control. Elmon's first act had been to shut Riverrun's gates and lower Aegon's banners.

"Your Grace, we are ready to support the queen's claim," Elmon said as he approached Daemon. "But we still fear the wrath of dragons."

"We will grant you protection," Daemon interrupted before Elmon could finish. "I will remain here in the Riverlands to lead the campaign. Caraxes will safeguard all lords who support the queen's cause."

"Riverrun thanks you for your mercy, Your Grace," Elmon said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, my grandfather still lives. For now, Riverrun's remains loyal to the usurper. I cannot change that."

"I understand, boy," Daemon replied with a faint smile. "If it were twenty years ago, I'd suggest you grant your grandfather one final kindness. But I know your burden. Go back. As long as Riverrun does not oppose us, we will not visit our wrath upon it."

Elmon Tully nodded gratefully and beckoned his squire to prepare for their return to Riverrun.

At that moment, Ser Simon Strong burst into the hall, his plump, aging body stumbling as he rushed forward. Before he could reach Daemon, he nearly collapsed, gasping for breath. "Your Grace... news from the Stormlands…"

Daemon's heart sank. He snatched the letter from the old Strong's hands, his face paling as he read. Before he could finish, his body swayed, though he forced himself to remain steady. "Aemond…" he muttered through gritted teeth.

Forrest Frey and Alysanne Blackwood heard the suppressed fury in his voice. Lord Forrest snuck a glance at the paper in Daemon's hand, his eyes widening in shock.

"This is kin-slaying… a crime abhorred by gods and men!" Lord Forrest roared, his face flushed with rage. Riverlords clustered around, quickly grasping the letter's contents.

"This is an unspeakable crime," Ser William Blackwood declared, his tone grim. "To slay a messenger and murder kin—Aemond's name will be a disgrace before the gods."

"It's just like a Blackwood to act this way!" growled the recently freed Lord Humfrey Bracken, paying no mind to the Blackwoods surrounding him. The Blackwoods, for their part, ignored his outburst.

"Vengeance!" shouted Lords Petyr Piper and Desmond Mallister, raising their swords high. "We will avenge the innocent Prince Lucerys!"

"We will avenge the innocent Prince Lucerys!" The cry echoed through the Hundred Hearths Hall. Knights who barely knew Lucerys joined in, swords gleaming in torchlight. Even Elmo Tully, standing near the door, raised his blade and added his voice to the declaration of vengeance.

"My stepson died as a warrior," Prince Daemon said, his eyes red with grief and fury. "Fishermen of Shipbreaker Bay and the watchmen of Storm's End saw him fight bravely against the old whore. The blood he spilled on the battlefield—we will answer for it with blood on the battlefield!"

"Vengeance!" "Vengeance!" "Vengeance!" The hall itself seemed to shake with the chorus, every sword raised, every man swearing to remember the name of Prince Lucerys Velaryon.

As black banners were raised in the North, swearing fealty to Rhaenyra's cause, the Hightower's in the South had begun their preparations to march northward.

Unwyn Peake was among the first lords of the Reach to openly declare for the Greens. The powerful lord, who held three castles, brought 4,500 men to join Lord Hightower's forces. Alongside them were other Reach lords loyal to the Greens, forming an army of 15,000, including 2,000 knights and cavalry, which met with House Hightower's standing army of 6,000 at the mouth of the Honeywine. More troops from the Reach were continuing to gather.

Opposing them were other great houses of the Reach. Lord Thaddeus Rowan of Goldengrove had raised Rhaenyra's banners. With him stood House Caswell of Bitterbridge, as well as the Hightower's own vassals, Houses Cuy and Beesbury. The acting head of House Beesbury, young Ser Alan, had publicly sent ravens to King's Landing and Oldtown, demanding the immediate release of his grandfather, Lord Lyman Beesbury.

The poor boy did not yet know that his grandfather had already become the first blood spilled in this conflict. When no reply came, Alan Beesbury took up arms and sent a desperate plea for aid to Horn Hill.

"These guerrilla attacks are infuriating!" Unwyn Peake snarled, hurling his helmet to the ground. His outriders had been decimated by Alan's skirmishers. "Mundy, they're stalling us, waiting for the Tarlys and Rowans to arrive. When will Oldtown's reinforcements get here?"

"Our greatest reinforcement has already arrived," Lord Hightower said confidently, pointing to the sky.

A sharp dragon's roar pierced through the clouds. A cobalt-blue dragon descended from above, landing with a powerful thud beside the Green lords.

"Mission accomplished, my lords," Prince Daeron called as he dismounted from the dragon's back. Tessarion, the Blue Queen, let out a lazy hiss, and Hightower men rushed forward, leading sheep to sate the dragon's hunger.

"There—our true strength has arrived," Lord Hightower said with a triumphant grin.

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