We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

Two days passed in the blink of an eye.

Jacaerys's dragon was still young. The brown-haired boy, like Draezell, often seemed far more mature than his age, which led others to overlook just how young he truly was. By Westerosi reckoning, Jacaerys was only nine this year. Perhaps it was as the old saying about children of doubtful parentage went: both he and Luke grew faster than most children their age. Though not by much, which was why Aslan Rondell had so readily acknowledged his courage and skill.

After all, being able to hold his own against a seventeen-year-old for so long was proof enough of Jacaerys's mettle.

A hiss sounded as Vermax cautiously emerged from the dragon pit. Before it lay Vermithor, a massive and imposing creature, its eyes half-closed as if conserving energy. Vermax cast a wary glance at the ancient dragon, many times its size, and, seeing no reaction, nuzzled affectionately against Jacaerys, who was clad in riding gear adorned with the sigil of the three-headed dragon.

"Valar, the castle is yours while I'm away." Draezell, dressed in riding gear featuring a silver dragon and laurel motifs, clapped his brother on the shoulder. "If anything major happens in Dorne, contact me immediately. For minor issues, make your own decisions. As for the construction of the territory, you don't need to worry; the professionals are handling that."

"I understand. Don't worry, brother. I won't meddle in anything I don't understand," Valar promised. Draezell trusted his younger brother in this regard. Valar wasn't particularly clever, but he understood the simple truth of leaving what he didn't know to those who did.

Draezell nodded, then turned toward Vermithor.

The great dragon slowly raised its head, gently nudging Draezell in the chest. Draezell wrapped his arms around its massive snout, which dwarfed him entirely. "It's time for another journey, my friend."

Vermithor gave a slight nod, then lowered itself to the ground. Draezell grabbed the ladder and began climbing onto the dragon saddle with some effort.

Jacaerys's ascent was far simpler. With a quick leap, he was already in Vermax's saddle.

Like its rider, Vermax had grown quickly. Perhaps its semi-feral upbringing at Dragonstone and Dragon's nest had contributed to its robust development. Still, it couldn't compare to Vermithor.

"Jace, stick to formation flying; it'll conserve Vermax's strength," Draezell called down as he gripped the handles of his saddle.

"Understood, my lord. My mother and father taught me proper dragon-riding techniques," Jacaerys replied, gently pulling back on the reins.

The young dragon let out a piercing cry, spreading its wings and taking to the skies.

Vermithor shook its massive head, stretched its wings wide, and kicked up a cloud of dust as it launched into the air.

The dragons were airborne.

Draezell felt the wind brush past his ears as Vermithor adjusted its flight, flying more smoothly now that the younger dragon was accompanying them.

Jacaerys sensed the intent coming from Vermax beneath him. The presence of the larger dragon indeed made flying easier. After some exertion, Vermax leveled its wings, gliding on the currents generated by Vermithor.

This was one of Vermax's few flights since its hatching, and Jacaerys was gradually finding his rhythm, recalling the flying techniques he had once been taught. However, the more complex maneuvers were still beyond the young dragon's capabilities.

Flying proved to be the fastest way to travel. After a brief stop to allow Vermax to rest and eat half of a charred stag courtesy of Vermithor, the two dragons took off again, reaching their first destination in no time.

Nightsong was a beautiful yet battle-scarred castle. Legends claimed its towers sang ancient songs, but those were merely tales. The true significance of this castle lay in its location—guarding the northern end of the Prince's Pass. Over the centuries, this castle had endured at least 37 sieges, witnessing the conflicts between the Reach and the Stormlands, as well as the fickleness of Dorne.

Lord Royce Caron stood with his men in the castle courtyard, awaiting the dragons arrival. The news of Draezell's visit had thrown him into a deep internal conflict. By law, with the creation of the "Warden of the Marches," he was expected to pledge fealty to the Warden. However, the Caron family had served the Stormlands for centuries, and making such a decision was particularly difficult given that Royce's daughter was married to Borros Baratheon.

Vermithor was the first to land, its massive form barely fitting in the courtyard, though it left enough space for Vermax to land.

"Your Grace." Lord Royce Caron bowed to Draezell. "My prince, I have prepared rooms and a feast for you both."

"One room will suffice," Draezell replied, nodding. "And ensure our dragons are fed as outlined in the letter."

"Everything has been prepared, Your Grace." Lord Royce gestured for his men to bring forward livestock—three cows and twenty sheep, all alive.

"We appreciate your generosity," Draezell said, following Lord Royce into the castle's banquet hall.

Jacaerys, ravenous by now, immediately dove into the food as soon as it was served, focusing all his attention on the lamb chops and roasted chicken in front of him.

"Lord Royce, I trust you understand the purpose of my visit," Draezell said directly. "I wish to hear your thoughts, as you are the elder among the lords of the Marches."

"I wouldn't dare presume, Your Grace," Royce sighed. "Strictly speaking, I should recuse myself, as my daughter is married to Ser Borros Baratheon. Her four daughters are among the candidates in question."

Draezell slowly chewed his food, silently observing Lord Royce, waiting to see what he would say next.

"Out of personal bias, I would recommend that you marry either my granddaughter or my niece." Lord Royce gestured toward a quiet girl who had been eating fruit at the table.

"Tya Caron, my niece," he introduced, as the petite and reserved girl rose to her feet.

"You must understand that my marriage is not a simple matter," Draezell said with a sigh. "Are you prepared for what it entails?"

Lord Royce sighed again, shaking his head. "Your Grace, the truth is that the loyalty and traditions of Housr Caron, established over centuries, are not so easily changed. My suggestion is merely that—a suggestion."

Tya Caron, realizing her uncle had said no more about her, and that Draezell's gaze had not lingered on her, could only sigh quietly as she returned to her seat. Though she had indeed been captivated by the prince's handsome appearance, she knew that matters of marriage were beyond her control.

Royce continued, "House Caron cannot pledge its loyalty to you, and thus, we cannot aspire to a marital alliance." He raised his cup. "But we can still stand as steadfast allies. After all, it has been centuries, and we finally see the accursed Dornish paying the price for their actions. Let us toast to the wisdom of Prince Draezell!"

The guests at the banquet raised their cups in unison, and Jacaerys raised his own cup of milk. Lord Royce led the toasts, draining his goblet of red wine in one go before a servant refilled it.

"Let us toast to the bravery of Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys!"

Once again, Lord Royce emptied his cup in a single gulp.

"And let us toast to His Majesty, King Viserys I!"

By the end of the feast, Lord Royce had to be carried back to his chambers. In contrast, Draezell and Jacaerys remained clear-headed. The Caron family had arranged a guest room with two large, comfortable beds, one of which had clearly been brought in recently.

"Your Grace, it seems Lord Royce is attempting to avoid facing reality," Prince Jacaerys said as he washed himself with fresh water before slipping into comfortable sleepwear.

"He does not wish to face the consequences of shifting his allegiance," Draezell replied, seated cross-legged on one of the beds. "After all, his interests are closely tied to House Baratheon. Go to sleep early, Jace. Tomorrow morning, we fly to Horn Hill."

"Understood." Jacaerys obediently climbed into bed.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

A plain-looking man slipped inside with surprising stealth.

"Your Grace, the girl has been escorted back to her quarters," said the Faceless Man, Kungor, who had somehow arrived in Nightsong even before Draezell. "She lingered at your door for some time."

"Tya Caron?"

Kungor nodded. "She seemed hesitant but ultimately did not decide to enter your room."

Draezell sighed. "You'll have to keep watch tonight. Sorry for the trouble."

"It is my duty," Kungor replied softly, his figure fading into the shadows.

Draezell watched the spot where Kungor had disappeared for a moment before blowing out the candle. Darkness enveloped the room entirely.