We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

By the time the Silver Fleet arrived at Bloodstone Island, all that remained were ruins on the island, smoldering wreckage drifting at sea, and ghostly green flames still burning.

Also there were Jacaerys scolding his brother, and Skyfyre glaring furiously at Sendros.

"Don't go blaming everything on Sendros," Jacaerys said, visibly irritated, staring at his younger brother who stood with his head lowered, rubbing his hands. "You're its dragonrider. If you don't give the signal, Sendros can't launch an attack on its own."

"Sendros told me it could take out the pirate ships while ensuring my safety," Dan said, sounding a little wronged. "I looked, too—their ships were really crudely equipped. The ballistae they had couldn't threaten Sendros' scales."

"And you?" Jacaerys grew even angrier. "Foolish little brother. You were still on its back! You think Sendros is made of candlelight or something, capable of shielding its rider effortlessly? Sure, the ballistae can't pierce Sendros' armor, but they could kill you easily! There were one hundred seventy pirate ships—do you even know how many of those were equipped with ballistae? Or are you hoping Daemon's son grows up without a father? Want me to go tell our older brother, our father—and our mother—about this?"

"No, Jace, I was wrong! I won't do it again!"

Dan immediately threw up his hands in surrender.

While Jacaerys was chastising his brother, Skyfyre let out a series of hoarse, continuous roars at Sendros.

"Wood. Danger. Not allowed next time!"—at least, that was the general meaning Jacaerys gathered.

Sendros merely gave a satisfied lick to its wing, then decisively wrapped its head in both wings, leaving only its massive horns sticking out.

Skyfyre, now the only dragon still moving, circled the curled-up Sendros again and again, shrieking shrilly the entire time.

Eventually, Skyfyre too grew tired and flopped down next to Sendros, panting heavily.

Jacaerys could tell that his brother knew he was in the wrong, so his tone softened. "Still, you did well. If I'm right, these ships were the last major fighting force of the pirates on the Weeping Coast. Reckless as you were, you did a good job. Just don't rush in so fast next time."

"It's not like I wanted to, Jace," Dan said with a helpless expression. "You know how Sendros is. If I don't let it fight its fill, it'll nag me to death."

Jacaerys took a deep breath. That was a headache he understood all too well. House Vaelarys treated dragons more like partners—friends, brothers, sisters. Some dragons were obedient and didn't ask for much. But others, like Sendros, had distinct personalities. Under Draezell's teachings, the Vaelarys children had learned to respect their dragons' wishes.

When Dan tamed Sendros, he'd nearly died in the process. Now, he saw the dragon as his brother, and he wasn't about to stop it from doing what it wanted.

"Listen, Dan. Once we regroup with the king, we'll fly to Lykar Laclen to destroy their fortifications and cover the landing force. When that time comes, you must stay by my side. Understand?"

"Got it, got it! Just don't tell Father or Mother! Or big brother—or Valenna, please?" Dan nodded so quickly he looked like a pecking chick, and only then did Jacaerys relax.

The royal fleet arrived at Bloodstone Island a full eleven days after the Silver Fleet. Once the two fleets merged, they set sail for the coast of the Red Mangroves, with the royal flagship—King Jacaerys I, a five-hundred-oar behemoth—leading the way.

This time, not a single fleet dared oppose them, not when they boasted hundreds of warships and six dragons.

Dragonfire burned.

The timber towers crumbled under the searing heat of dragonflame. The young dragon Hornstorm let out a gleeful roar as it flew toward the much larger dragons in the sky.

"Rhaegar, well done," said Daeron, never one to withhold praise from family—especially when Rhaegar had truly performed well. His riding had become excellent.

Rhaegar scratched the back of his head, slightly bashful. As Daeron's younger brother, he wasn't as naturally gifted, but under Samantha's guidance, he had grown into a disciplined young man. His dragon Hornstorm was one of the brood hatched years ago—the youngest and smallest among the dragons fighting in the war.

With Prince Illyon and Vermax providing protection, Daeron was comfortable letting his brother handle these outer watchposts.

This was the last outpost on the outskirts of Lykar Laclen.

"Your Grace, we may proceed to Lykar Laclen," came the deep voice of Prince Illyon.

He was Prince Viserys' son, younger brother to Princes Aegon and Aemon. Like Aemon, Illyon was polite, steady, and dependable. It was said that while Prince Aegon wasted his youth in brothels, Aemon and Illyon often disguised themselves as hedge knights, delivering justice near Oldtown—until they were discovered by Rhaegor and brought back to the city.

This story was even said to have been turned into a ballad, and surprisingly, it enjoyed a decent level of popularity.

Dareon glanced at the dragonriders gathered around him and gave a nod. "Let's move out."

Dreamfyre took to the skies first, followed by the massive Sendros, who bared its fangs the moment it spotted other dragons, ready to fight as always.

Among the Targaryen dragons, only Vermax bared its teeth in response, which puzzled Dareon—where had Dreamfyre's usual ferocity gone?

But there was no time for doubt; it was time to fly.

The capture of Lykar Laclen had to be swift. They needed a solid foothold.

This ancient city once belonged to the Rhoynar. During the Valyria-Rhoynar war, it was burned to the ground by an enraged Dragonlord atop his mount. After the Century of Blood, although people returned and warlords carved up its ruins, the city—whose name roughly meant Beautiful Forest Harbor—had never truly been rebuilt.

The place was filled with flea-infested slums and military camps. Men and women in mismatched armor darted frantically through the streets.

The dragons were coming.

That was the word from the watchposts. The city had descended into chaos, with no one sure whether to hold the walls or flee.

"Bastard!" shouted a Myrish mercenary as he chopped off a Lyseni knight's arm. "Go die on your own time! Don't block our escape!"

But before the mercenary could take more than a few steps with his loot, a Dothraki rider on horseback decapitated him with a single slash.

The city's major factions erupted into civil war on the spot.

The dragons had not even arrived, and half of Lykar Laclen was already in flames.

By the time the six dragons soared over the city, the entire place was burning.

"What now?" Rhaegar asked, clearly at a loss.

"Burn it," Dareon groaned, pressing a hand to his head. "Melt the gates. Leave not a single ship in the harbor."

At the harbor of Lykar Laclen—

The Lyseni warlord, who had just wrested control of the harbor from the Myrish forces, barely had a moment to catch his breath before witnessing the city's final moment.

One dragon. Two. Three.

Six dragons descended from the skies. The scalding steam rising from the sea vaporized everyone in the harbor within seconds.

Every dragon breathed fire. The city gates melted. Even the stone walls began to flow like wax.

And then came the realization: when the dragons truly arrived, it wasn't the flames from above that had killed them—it was the fires they had lit among themselves.

Dragonflame met mundane fire, and the explosion that followed was earth-shattering. Flames roared in every direction.

Lykar Laclen had become a dominion of fire.

But in the hearts of the dragonriders, there was only pain.

None more so than Dareon.

He stared at the burning city, thinking only of the gold melting within it, vanishing like the city itself.

"Seven hells," he muttered.