We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

Otto was the first to rise. "Your Grace, I must remind you that while Dorne is currently in turmoil, it does not mean we can fully conquer it. A single misstep could swiftly ruin this advantageous situation."

"Lord Hand, please, speak plainly," said Grand Maester Mellos, idly stroking the chains around his neck. With links in politics and diplomacy, Merros had some understanding of Otto's reasoning. To be truthful, he also feared that Viserys I might act impulsively and order a conquest of Dorne.

On the other hand, Kingsguard Lord Commander Criston Cole seemed visibly dissatisfied, though he suppressed this emotion for the moment. Now was not the time to show it.

Being from the Marches himself, Cole, an accomplished warrior, hailed from a minor noble family in Blackhaven. His father had served as steward to the Dondarrion family, and his brothers still served them. As a knight of the Stormlands, it galled him to have been absent from the recent conflicts where the Marcher lords unleashed their wrath upon Dorne. This slight to his pride weighed heavily on him.

But in the presence of the King and Queen, the Lord Commander could not show such sentiments—doing so would be an insult to the royal family.

"Your Grace, I believe the Crown should support Prince Draezell's retaliatory campaigns," Criston suggested, seizing an opportunity to speak before Otto could. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he was also the Crown's military advisor, responsible for offering counsel on matters of war. "Or, at the very least, we should require the Baratheon and Tyrell to permit their Marcher houses to join the campaign. That way, the Crown will not lose an opportunity to assert its influence in this conflict."

"Ser Criston, the Dorne question is not merely a military matter," Otto replied patiently. "It is also a political one. At present, Dorne has four kings. House Uller is too weak to be relevant, and Dayne is focused on consolidating western Dorne and has little concern for the east. The true struggle lies between the Yronwood and Martell families. Neither has the strength to decisively overcome the other.

"If external forces merely stir the waters lightly, the two factions may very well fight to the point of exhaustion and seek outside intervention. Ser Criston, I mean no disrespect to your family, but consider this: when lions and wolves fight, if the stag enters the fray when both are bloodied and exhausted, the stag will emerge victorious. However, if the stag charges in prematurely, it risks being mauled by both the lion and the wolf."

"Lord Hand, it seems your analogy targets more than just my family," Ser Tyland Lannister remarked with a laugh. "Too bad Lord Stark is in the North, and Lord Baratheon is still recovering at Storm's End. They'd surely enjoy your delightful metaphors."

Otto's reasoning was sound. Draezell had successfully fractured Dorne, but should the Iron Throne act prematurely, the Dornish factions might rally together against a common enemy, as they did in the past. However, with only minimal external pressure, they would remain divided, unable to unite.

Everyone present in King Viserys I's council was sharp enough to grasp the implications without further explanation.

"Your Grace, Lord Boromund Baratheon has sent a letter requesting the Crown's permission for Stormlands lords to muster troops. However, he assures that these forces will be used solely for border defense and not to launch an offensive," added Grand Maester Merros. "I imagine the Reach lords would similarly understand the Crown's constraints."

"Naturally," Otto replied smoothly. He had already written to his brother, Lord Hobert Hightower, and his nephew, Ser Ormund Hightower, to ensure the Reach remained calm. As one of the most influential houses in the South, the Hightowers had the leverage to keep the Reachlords in line. The only wrinkle was that Ser Ormund's wife, Samantha Tarly, hailed from House Tarly, which had already entered the fray. This had sparked rumors among the Reachlords that the Hightowers were covertly meddling in the conflict.

"Your Grace," coughed Lord Lyman Beesbury, drawing the room's attention back. "I must inform you of the treasury's current state. Regardless of how the Crown decides to intervene in this war, significant funds will be required. Unfortunately, while the treasury holds 1.5 million solid gold dragons and no fewer than 3 million debased coins, an active campaign would incur astronomical costs." The aging lord fixed his gaze on the King. "The construction projects in King's Landing require funding, as do the upkeep of the roads. And Your Grace must consider whether the people of the capital can bear the weight of higher taxes in the aftermath of war."

King Viserys I took a steadying breath, his earlier enthusiasm for action now tempered. "What, then, do you all propose the realm should do at this moment?"

"Your Grace, do nothing," Otto declared firmly. "Leave the frontlines to the right people. Pay no heed to Dornish envoys if they come to King's Landing. When the time is ripe, that is when we strike."

Viserys nodded slightly. Though he was aware of Otto's ambitions, the Hand's competence outweighed his scheming. A capable schemer, when properly managed, could bring immeasurable benefits to the realm.

"My lords, there is another matter to consider," said Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws. "What if the Dornish propose a marriage alliance with Prince Draezell?"

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the King.

Indeed, if the Dornish sought to secure ties with Draezell through marriage, it would be difficult for him to refuse. Yet, the Crown's goal was to keep House Vaelarys within the Iron Throne's sphere of influence.

Unfortunately, every eligible daughter from the prominent families was already betrothed. Breaking an existing betrothal was not an option they could afford politically.

"Your Grace, the marriage arrangements of House Vaelarys are a pressing matter," Lord Lyman Beesbury interjected. "Prince Rey can wait, but both Prince Draezell and Prince Valar are already sixteen." He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Everyone understood his point: a suitable match needed to be found swiftly, preferably among the great houses, to prevent Draezell from marrying into the Dornish. Such an outcome would spell trouble for the realm.

"This matter will be discussed another day," Viserys said with a sigh, feeling the weight of the issue. Such delicate negotiations could lead to disaster if mishandled.

"Grand Maester, Otto, you are to identify suitable girls of age," the King commanded, dismissing the council.

---

After the meeting, Larys Strong hobbled through the halls of the Red Keep, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone floor. His thin lips were pressed together as if deep in thought.

Otto, passing him at a brisk pace, cast him a curious glance. "Lord Larys, is there something on your mind?"

"Nothing, my lord," Larys replied with a faint smile. "I was merely reflecting on Princess Rhaenyra's decisiveness. Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys are both at the frontlines of the Dornish war. A royal family member leading in battle—especially one victorious—will undoubtedly be immortalized as a hero in the songs of bards and the hearts of the people. Imagine the acclaim for a young prince who fights valiantly behind his uncle's banner."

His words were innocuous on the surface, but the undertone carried a subtle implication, one Otto Hightower would not miss.

Otto's expression darkened. "Lord Larys, it is the duty of the royal family members to bear the burdens of the realm. I am proud of both princes for their service."

"You are truly a pillar of the realm, my lord." Larys bowed low, his tone filled with an exaggerated reverence. "I salute you, our good Hand."

Otto gave a slight nod before heading toward the Tower of the Hand, where Queen Alicent awaited him in the central hall.

---

"Your Grace, you are the Queen," Otto said, noticing his daughter pacing nervously by the fireplace. He sighed. "At times like this, you should be by the King's side."

"Father, I need your counsel," Alicent said, brushing his advice aside as she lifted her skirts and hurried to him. "Rhaenyra's sons have earned military honors, while my sons are wasting away here in King's Landing. Aegon spends his days idling, and though Aemond commands the largest dragon alive, he has only ridden her once."

"You want Aegon and Aemond to join the war?" Otto rubbed his temples in frustration. "My dear daughter, my Queen, war is no game. Rhaenyra's sons are merely gaining experience by accompanying the army. The Dornish front already has two seasoned dragonriders. Involving Aegon and Aemond would only give the Dornish factions a reason to unite against us."

"And yet Rhaenyra's sons aren't a unifying threat?" Alicent said sharply, pressing on. "It is a fact that members of the royal family are already involved in this war. The bards of King's Landing have already begun singing of their bravery."

"They have a legitimate pretext," Otto said, his patience wearing thin. "They are participating as squires to Prince Draezell and Prince Valar. No one can fault a squire for following his knight onto the battlefield."

"Princes," Alicent said with a wry smile. "Father, have you forgotten you once promised to sell them, perhaps, one or two daughters?"

"Alicent, these matters are unrelated," Otto said, a wave of exhaustion washing over him.

"My son cannot be worse than Rhaenyra's son." Alicent took a few steps closer, forcing Otto to take a few steps back. "An excellent prince cannot lack military merit."

"I understand, I understand." Otto did not dare to speak harshly to his daughter at this time. "Now is not the right time. Once Prince Draezell has gained a firm foothold in Dorne and the war situation is clear, the Iron Throne will naturally send troops to maintain peace. That will be the best time for the princes to go out. 'Peacemaker', 'Liberator of Dorne', 'Unifier', 'Prince of Peace'. These titles will be more popular among the common people than warriors."

"but"

"Alison!" Otto finally found a chance to interrupt the queen. "You are the queen, you should be with the king at this time. Not..." He glanced around. "Not in the hand's Tower with your father."

"I understand." As if she understood that her father would eventually use this excuse to perfunctorily deal with her, Alison finally muttered, "I am the queen," while lifting her skirt and quickly leaving the Tower, leaving Otto to breathe a sigh of relief.

---

"Aemond, what are you waiting for?" Aegon, the old, excitedly asked his servants to put on leather armor for him.

Aemond, with a crystal clear sapphire in his eye socket, stood quietly beside his brother, crossed his arms and watched his brother look left and right in front of the mirror.

After admiring his heroic appearance, Aegon tossed his hair and walked quickly to his brother. "Ride Vhagar, we will go to the Stone Road today. Vhagar will be slower, but three or four days will be enough."

"You're insane," Aemond said calmly, glancing at his older brother's hand resting on his shoulder.

"I'm not insane." Aegon met Aemond's remaining eye with determination. "This is a perfect opportunity. Uncle Draezell has just won a decisive victory. Now, the Stone Road and a large swath of territory in Dorne belong to the Crown. The Dornish are in disarray. All we need to do is fly over Dorne, make a brief show of strength, and when we return, the bards will sing of our valor. Aemond, think about it—after this, every tavern and brothel you visit will be filled with commoners and whores praising your glorious name. Doesn't that sound fantastic?"

"Did Father approve?" Aemond fixed his sapphire eye on his older brother, silencing him with a single question.

"W-well…"

"My dear brother," Aemond said, prying Aegon's hand off his shoulder. "Do you have any idea what would happen if two true princes riding dragons suddenly appeared in Dorne?"

"What…" Aegon hesitated before shivering. "They'd think the Crown had declared all-out war."

Aemond rolled his eye but gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "At least you're not entirely hopeless. I've studied the maps and the battle reports, brother. Have you?"

Aegon shook his head, though he still tried to defend himself. "I've heard talk. They say Dorne's broken into pieces. The Yronwoods and the Martells are practically tearing each other apart."

"Without outside support, the Yronwoods wouldn't be able to challenge House Martell so decisively. The ambush at Great Dune, where Lewyn Yronwood's 1,500 cavalry smashed Prince Qoren's force of nearly ten thousand? That's not possible without substantial intelligence backing. And that means only one thing—our dear cousin, Draezell, is behind the Yronwood rebellion."

Aemond's tone sharpened as he continued. "With the support of a dragonlord uninterested in swallowing all of Dorne at once, the Yronwoods have enough confidence to defy House Martell. But if we were to intervene, the balance would shatter. Prince Qoren could rally the Dornish under the banner of resistance against the Targaryens. The sands that have scattered would unify once again."

He paused, watching Aegon's deflation with an almost clinical detachment. Then, in an even tone, he added, "Besides, Vhagar and our cousins' dragons have no fear of scorpions. What about Sunfyre?"

Aegon visibly flinched. His magnificent Sunfyre, though radiant and mighty, was still a young dragon. Its shimmering golden scales, while strong, lacked the impenetrable resilience of a mature dragon's hide. A well-aimed scorpion bolt could wound—or worse.

"Oh, I understand now." Aegon looked down at his armor with a hint of reluctance, sighing as he lowered his head. "But our nephews have already won military honors. People in King's Landing are singing their praises."

"Oh, how mighty they must be," Aemond muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm.

In the shadows, Helaena silently observed the conversation between her brothers. She said nothing, retreating quietly to her chambers. Sitting in her dimly lit room, she stared at the extinguished brazier and the cold hearth, her thoughts inscrutable.

---

Dragonstone

Princess Rhaenyra, who had recently given birth to a healthy baby boy, held a letter in her hands. She remained silent for a long time, her expression unreadable.

In the cradle beside her, her newborn son, little Viserys—named after her father—slept soundly. However, one detail weighed heavily on her mind: the dragon egg placed in the cradle with him had failed to hatch. This was unlike her other sons, whose eggs had all hatched without issue.

The sound of crisp footsteps echoed from the corridor. Prince Daemon, dressed in a fitted combat outfit, pushed the door open.

"The baby is sleeping," Rhaenyra gently reminded her husband as he approached the cradle to admire their child. "Have you read the reports from the South?"

"I have," Daemon replied softly, sitting beside her. "Draezell has learned from the mistakes of the last Dornish war. He's playing it smart—pushing just enough, inciting infighting. He's succeeded. Now, it's just a matter of time before the fruit falls into his hands."

"Don't the Dornish lords see this?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Greed blinds even the wisest, my love," Daemon said with a sly smile. "Even if they suspect it, the spoils they've already claimed will keep them bound. As long as they focus on consolidating Dorne before dealing with Draezell, we will remain undefeated."

"You've found good knights for Jace and Luke," Rhaenyra said softly with a smile. "I've already heard singers calling them the 'Valiant Princes.' It's said the borderlanders hold them in high regard because they share the same hardships as the soldiers during the campaign."

"That's a good thing," Daemon replied with a grin. "Enough heroic tales can make people forget the whispers of gossip."

"Still, I must pray to the Seven," Rhaenyra said, looking into her husband's eyes. "They are my sons. Putting them in danger makes my heart uneasy."

"Then let us pray together," Daemon said, taking her hand. "The gods will watch over them."

---

Wyl ruins

Prince Draezell's main army had established its camp in the ruins of Wyl. The former inhabitants of House Wyl's lands had readily accepted the rule of their new lord.

After all, Draezell had abolished taxes for a year, drastically reduced levies, and brought affordable food supplies. Even the construction of fortifications and the camp had been generously compensated.

The Dornish, though free-spirited and less bound by the rigid customs of the North, were still human. They had their own sense of honor. Draezell's triumphs over Ullen Wyl, the remnants of House Wyl, and several prominent noble families had earned him admiration among the martial-minded Dornish.

Even more so, Draezell had defeated numerous knights who had come to challenge him, further elevating his status.

The Dornish despised conquerors but revered gallant heroes.

Thus, Draezell's rule progressed unexpectedly smoothly. Borderlanders and settlers brought by Draezell were gradually filling the population void left in Wyl's lands.

"Prince Draezell of House Vaelarys, Lord of Dragon's nest, Warden of the Boneway, Governor of the Marches, Protector of the Stone Road, Scion of Silver Blood, Heir of Valyria, the Slayer of Serpents, the Destroyer of Toland."

"Stop, stop," Draezell said with a weary wave of his hand, signaling for the list of titles to be cut short. Beside him, Valar was already stifling a laugh, while Hoffa the Lawkeeper stood stiffly, his face a stoic mask. The young Dothraki, Argo, mirrored his rigid posture as they flanked their lord. Hoffa's lips moved slightly, as if silently reciting Draezell's many titles.

Lord Edric Dondarrion paused mid-recital, leaving off the rest of the epithets. "I have renounced my oath of fealty to Lord Baratheon and received his acknowledgment. Your Highness, the lords of the Marches must kneel and swear loyalty to the true Warden of the Marches." He glanced at Lord Gerold Selmy and Lord Donnald Tarly before continuing. "From this day forth, the House Dondarrion of Blackhaven pledges itself to House Vaelarys as its liege. The purple lightning shall strike down all obstacles for you. Until the walls of Blackhaven crumble and the last of House Dondarrion perishes, our loyalty is yours and yours alone. Before the Old Gods and the New, we swear this day and every day to come."

Edric lifted his sword, presenting it with both hands above his head.

Draezell smiled and took the blade. "I accept your loyalty. There will always be a place for House Dondarrion in the halls of Dragon's nest."

"It is an honor, Your Highness," Lord Edric replied with utmost respect.

Behind him, soldiers who had distinguished themselves in battle came forward, one by one, to receive their rewards.

Miles Hermosa, a landless knight who, along with his grandson, had fought valiantly, was granted a parcel of land near the Dornish Sea, elevating them to landed knights.

Rodrik Isabur, a Vale sell-sword who had slain several knights of House Wyl and led a small contingent to annihilate over a hundred Dornish foot soldiers, was rewarded with a small estate in the Red Mountains.

Draezell's generosity did not end with land. He also bestowed upon them sums of gold sufficient to construct modest castles.

Both newly minted lords were overwhelmed with emotion, swearing oaths of eternal loyalty to House Vaelarys before the Seven.

"Your Highness," one of the assembled knights stepped forward.

A woman's voice came from outside the tent. Moments later, a plainly dressed woman in a coarse wool dress entered, her head bowed, leading a tall, thin boy by the hand.

"My husband, Abor Haydon, was the lord of Stonebridge. He died heroically during the bastards of House Wyl's invasion of our lands. I... I wish to..." Her voice caught as she mentioned her late husband, tears streaming down her face. Her son, mature beyond his years, gently wiped them away for her.

"Your Highness, my mother wishes to request a decree reaffirming House Haydon's rightful ownership of the Stonebridge lands," the boy said, stepping forward. His voice was clear, his use of the Common Tongue precise.

"That is only just," Draezell said, his gaze settling on the boy. "The loyal and brave must never be forgotten." He turned to Lord Edric Dondarrion.

"Lord Abor was a valiant knight," Edric replied solemnly. "He fought beside my son and died at his side on the battlefield."

"What is your name?" Draezell asked the boy.

"Revil, Your Highness."

"Well then, young Revil, would you like to join my court?" Draezell descended from his seat, stepping toward the boy and his mother. "I will personally draft a decree to confirm House Haydon's claim to Stonebridge. Lady, would you consent to Revil coming to my court? I will ensure the loyal knight's son receives the best education and care."

"It would be an honor for House Haydon, Your Highness," the woman said, hurriedly curtsying. "House Haydon will always be your sharpest sword."

Draezell placed a hand on young Revil's head briefly before returning to his seat.

The next person to enter was a Dornishman.

---

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