We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

The dragons were truth incarnate.

This truth was reaffirmed once more when Aemon charged into the depths of the bunker.

Not since the era of the Valyrian Freehold had there been such a sight—seven dragons soaring over the vast eastern continent, their wings beating as they unleashed fire upon the land.

Robert the Golden Son was the first to return to the battlefield. The dragons tore down city walls, melted gold, and turned brave warriors to ash.

The second warlords to experience the inferno of dragonfire were Horus the Invincible and Motarion the Iron Bastion. Even their impregnable fortress complex succumbed to the siege of the Knight Prince and his dragons. Buried thousands of feet underground, they were still not beyond the reach of dragonflame and the blades of armored knights.

When Prince Aemon, Lord Reyne, and Lord Bolton stormed into the depths of the bunker, they found only Horus's corpse—he had taken his own life—and Motarion standing guard over his fallen master.

Aemon surveyed the wreckage of the hall. Horus had planned to dismiss his personal guards, but buried underground as they were, evacuation had proven impossible. In the end, those sworn to Horus for life drank the strongest wine, donned their finest armor, and charged out.

They were cut down like wheat before the scythes by the Westerosi knights—men of unmatched martial skill, brimming with pent-up energy.

Aemon's black sister blade had already drunk deep of Disputed Land blood. The young Knight Prince raised his hand to halt the White Knight and Lord Reyne beside him, then sheathed his Valyrian steel longsword.

"Motarion?"

"It is I, young Prince," the corpulent eunuch-architect said with a heavy sigh, removing his ill-fitting helm and kneeling before Aemon.

"You wish to surrender?"

"No, my prince. What I beg for is forgiveness."

"Forgiveness, Motarion?" Aemon walked toward the eunuch-architect. The two lords beside him, tense, lifted their weapons slightly. "Motarion, if you surrender, His Majesty will surely forgive you. Not only that—he has witnessed your talent during this war. Your fortress left even the dragons confounded. Had we not finally resolved to concentrate our dragons on the main keep, we might still be stalled outside. If you surrender, I swear I will persuade His Majesty to lift your bonds of slavery and appoint you Royal Master Builder. At the very least, Prince Draezell will offer you a post worthy of your skill."

"No, Your Highness, you misunderstand," Motarion said, shaking his head. "I speak not of myself, but of Horus the Great."

Aemon's face darkened, but he continued, "He is already dead. The Faith of the Seven teaches us that death cleanses sin. A corpse bears no guilt."

"Then I am at peace."

Motarion smiled in relief.

Then Aemon saw the color drain from his face. The eunuch's lips turned an unnatural shade of violet.

The enormous body collapsed with a thunderous thud, giving the stunned Aemon no time to react.

Moments later, Lord Domeric Bolton grabbed the furious Lord Reyne. "Harrold, calm down. Can't you see His Highness's face?"

Only then did Lord Reyne notice it—Aemon's expression was not one of shock or rage.

It was admiration. And longing.

The Knight Prince straightened his back, removed his dragon-shaped helmet still slick with blood, and revealed his clean-cut silver hair.

"Lord Motarion, you were a knight. A true knight."

He spoke the words with heartfelt reverence.

"I will have Seasmoke give you and Horus a dragon's funeral."

It was the rite of Valyria.

The dragons would carry away their bodies, and their souls would rise with the flames into the heavens.

Around the scorched, blackened "hell" of the bunker, ash-covered dragonriders gathered.

They watched as Aemon led his men out from the depths. The warriors returning in triumph received the highest honor—seven dragons gathered, singing an ancient and solemn hymn in their praise.

One by one, the dragons' songs faded into silence.

When Aemon had the two corpses brought forth, King Daeron pressed his lips together with some regret. He cared little for Horus—but Motarion was a different matter. His fortresses had cost the army dearly, and Daeron had found them deeply impressive.

After hearing Aemon's account, the Warrior King could not help but sigh. "He truly was a loyal and valiant knight. Aemon, I leave the matter entirely in your hands."

Once the review of the returning warriors was complete, Daeron saw Dan and Jacaerys dismounting from their dragons.

"Your Grace, my brother and I are here to take our leave," said Dan, dispensing with pleasantries and speaking directly. "Our mission is complete. The two pillars of the anti-Iron Throne alliance have been removed. Shariss has reached terms with you. And as for Khal Khargo—Your Grace, as long as there is a dragon in the sky, even if Khargo has a hundred thousand screaming warriors, they will be no match for you. The Disputed Lands are yours now, Your Grace."

"In such a hurry?" Daeron sounded reluctant, not just because he would miss the dragons—Sendros was truly a fierce beast, and even Dreamfyre might struggle against him in a drawn-out fight—but also because he would miss his uncles. Both Dan and Jacaerys were fiercely loyal and battle-hardened. With them by his side, he never had to worry about supply lines or the logistics of advancing the army.

He simply mounted his dragon and fought on instinct.

What could be more convenient?

"It was our father's command, Your Grace," Dan replied. "Our house seeks nothing in the Disputed Lands. We came for the kingdom's sake, and to fulfill our family's duty as part of that kingdom. That duty is now done." He added with a small smile, "Our children are waiting for us to come home."

"Very well, Uncle. Please send my greetings to Grandfather."

Dan bowed courteously, as did Jacaerys, and the two departed the royal tent.

Moments later, two dragons soared into the sky, leaving behind the land where the dust had all but settled.

At the dawn of the 169th year After the Conquest,

King Daeron's grand campaign came to a pause following the Battle of Lake Myr. The two great powers that had ruled the eastern Disputed Lands had fallen. Shariss surrendered to the king and was generously granted the title of duke as well as continued rule over his city. Khal Khargo, in his arrogance, attempted an assault on Shariss's city—

Only to have his khalasar consumed by dragonfire.

Under the charge of dragons and armored knights, resistance across the Disputed Lands slowly came to an end.

Thereafter, no more disputes.

Or were there?