We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

The next morning, Lord Royce finally let out a sigh of relief as the dark silhouettes of the two dragons disappeared into the horizon. Standing beside him were his second son, Desmond Caron, and his niece, Tya Caron.

"Tya, didn't I tell you to…" Desmond growled in frustration, glaring at Tya as the dragons faded from view. "How could you—"

"I'm sorry, cousin," Tya said softly, her head bowed. "But I just couldn't... I woke up back in my own bed."

"Enough," Lord Royce interrupted, cutting off his son before he could say more. "This was a foolish idea to begin with. Don't provoke the Dragon Prince; it will bring nothing but ruin to our house."

He placed a comforting hand on Tya's head. "You've done well, my dear. Don't worry; I'll make it up to you." Casting a reproachful glance at Desmond, the lord turned and walked back toward the castle with Tya in tow.

Desmond stood frozen for a moment, disbelief etched on his face. Wasn't this your plan to begin with? Why am I the one taking the blame?

Frustrated, the second son spat on the ground before storming back toward the castle gates.

The wind swept through the towers of the Red Mountains, producing an eerie sound. Perhaps it was caused by the cracks and scars left behind from sieges decades or even centuries past. Regardless, the sound was far from the melodic tunes described in legends.

But neither Draezell nor Jacaerys were around to hear it.

---

Horn Hill

Horn Hill stood as a fortress among forested hills, its reflection shimmering on a verdant lake below. The castle was both dangerous and beautiful, surrounded by dense woodlands that teemed with life. Each year, Lord Tarly organized grand hunts in these forests—not only to train his soldiers but also to supplement the meat supplies for the region's common folk.

It was well known across the realm that Tarly's people were some of the finest hunters, producing legendary longbowmen. Perhaps the frequent hunts explained their extraordinary skill with the bow.

"My apologies, my lord. My father and mother are preparing to welcome the Prince and the young Prince in the hills," said Sansa Tarly, a young lady with striking auburn hair, addressing the long-waiting emissary

"Harwin Tyrell, my fair lady, the pleasure is mine," replied the visitor from Highgarden, bowing politely. He was a cousin of the current Lord of Highgarden and carried himself with the grace and refinement expected of his house. "I've come precisely for this matter."

"His Royal Highness's grand tour will pass through Highgarden, my lord," Sansa Tarly said as she opened the door to the main hall, signaling for Harwin Tyrell to take a seat. Harwin nodded, walking over to a corner and sitting down, while Sansa took her seat beside him. "You needn't have come here so early."

"Your father's castle is safe enough, my lady," Harwin replied, adjusting his clothes to reveal the rose sigil that had been hidden under his coat. "Highgarden is too vast, and it is not only roses that grow there."

"My lord, perhaps I am being presumptuous," Sansa said, standing up. "But when the hunter dances with the dragon, the rose must pay the price if it wishes to join the dance."

"I understand, my lady," Harwin said bluntly, "but you also know what kind of pressure House Tyrell will face if we lose the loyalty of House Tarly." The Tyrells were not as secure in the Reach as other noble houses. A stone thrown in the region could easily strike a descendant of the Greenhand, and the wealth and power of the lords didn't give much regard to Tyrell rule. In comparison, the Tarlys had been faithful servants of the realm, but even their loyalty was now in question.

"You should speak to my father about these matters," Sansa said with a soft smile. "The Prince and the King's son will soon arrive on their dragons. You may ask them for justice."

Harwin, sensing that Sansa was changing the subject, tried to bring the conversation back. "Lady Sansa, if I may, I understand you are on the marriage list being prepared for Prince Draezell. Should it be agreeable to you, House Tyrell would offer you our full support, if you would only—"

"Sir," Sansa's voice turned cold, cutting him off. "I will remind you for the last time: when the hunter dances with the dragon, don't try to be clever. The hunter will draw his bow, and the dragon's fire can turn green lands into ash."

Harwin, realizing that his advances were not being received, bowed his head. "Apologies, my lady. I have overstepped. Please forgive me."

Sansa ignored him and stood, walking out of the hall. The Tarly soldiers stationed in the hall gave Harwin a disapproving glance before turning their attention elsewhere, leaving him alone in the corner.

Harwin Tyrell stared at the empty hall, exhaling deeply. "Stubborn Tarlys, so bound by tradition... Seven bless them." He withdrew his gaze and looked up at the ornate ceiling. "Endless, unyielding..."

---

The dragons slowly descended on the hills, perhaps satisfied with their reception at Nightsong. Neither dragon was particularly hungry and paid no attention to the deer and goats brought by House Tarly.

Lord Donald Tarly awkwardly watched as the dragons ignored the food, his gaze shifting to Draezell, who had just dismounted. Draezell pressed his face against Vermithor's great form, listening quietly to the sounds emanating from beneath the dragon's scales before responding to Lord Tarly's discomfort. "Vermithor isn't particularly hungry yet, but please keep the food for now. We will be staying at Horn Hill for a few days."

Draezell patted the giant dragon and smiled. "Vermithor has a large appetite, and Vermax is still growing. We will need your help to supply them."

"It is our honor, Your Highness," Lady Jenny Tarly said, curtsying to Draezell, and then to Jacaerys. "Prince, welcome to Horn Hill."

"Lady Jenny, we are the ones who should be grateful," Draezell and Jacaerys responded with a chest gesture.

Seeing that his wife had handled the formalities, Lord Tarly approached. "Your Highness, I will be heading to Stone Road at the end of the month to take over from Lord Edric, as the farmers and soldiers need to be rotated in preparation for harvest."

"Donald," Lady Jenny pulled her husband aside, a hint of frustration in her tone. "The Prince is here to rest and to discuss marriage, not to bring battlefield matters home."

"Lady Jenny, it's no trouble," Draezell gestured to indicate that Lord Tarly's "lack of tact" was no offense.

"Apologies, Your Highness," Lord Tarly continued, "but this is something you must be aware of. Lewyn Yronwood is preparing to strike from two sides, attacking both Tenet and Godsgrace. If Yronwood is victorious, they will gain overwhelming power. This would put us at a disadvantage."

"I understand," Draezell said as they continued toward Horn Hill Castle, which was not far enough to warrant horseback riding. "Tygarro is handling the matter. Our soldiers will continue to stir the pot in Dorne."

"Tygaro is too young," Lord Tarly said. "And he is not a soldier, so he cannot judge the situation like one. Your Highness, we need to immediately weaken the Yronwood family's momentum. Perhaps we should march on Kingsgrave. The main forces of the Manwoody family are at Prince's Pass."

"My Lord Tarly, I lean towards satisfying Lewyn's pride," Draezell replied, gently tapping the hilt of Silverblood's sword. "They can't afford to focus on two fronts at once, even if the Martells suffer losses. A proud army will fail, my Lord."

Lord Tarly nodded lightly. "Your wisdom is impressive."

"But we should also be prepared, Lord Tarly. A meal is eaten one bite at a time. Forcing the Dornish to bow isn't something that can be achieved with just one victory," Draezell added. He understood that the key to conquering Dorne was not to allow the Dornish common folk to resist fully, nor should the Dornish nobility unite as one.

"The hunter will bring you victory," Lord Tarly said solemnly. "This is the hunter's honor."

Red-clad hunters, their banners rippling in the wind, looked toward the distance as a long welcoming procession slowly entered the castle of Horn hill.

"Father, mother," Sansa Tarly had been waiting at the castle gates for some time. "Your Highness, Your Grace." She curtsied, paying her respects to the royal family before whispering a few words to Lord Tarly.

"What is he here for?" Lord Tarly asked, confused. "This is a matter between the Tarly and the Vaelarys."

"Father, until you kneel and swear allegiance to the prince, the Tyrells are still your liege lords," Sansa whispered. "Sir harwin Tyrell is still the messenger of your lordship."

"Your Highness, there may be some unexpected developments." By the time they reached the hall's door, Lord Tarly had no choice but to report the situation to Draezell in a low voice. "Sir harwin Tyrell is also here. I'm not sure why he's come."

"For your cause, Your Highness, Your Grace," came harwin Tyrell's voice, respectful as he stood at the doorway, the family soldiers slowly opening the great hall doors.