We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

Vermithor leisurely finished burning the last wave of Dornishmen, who screamed in agony, before slowly turning his dragon's head and flying toward Blackhaven. The great dragon circled the city several times but did not land immediately.

"Quick, quick, direct the prince to land!" Lord Edric waved his hands frantically.

Soldiers from House Dondarrion rushed up to the main tower of the castle and signaled with flags that the dragon could land in the open area.

Vermithor hesitated for a moment, glancing at the main tower of Blackhaven before carefully approaching it. His caution was evident as he slowly descended onto the tower.

Silverwing had fewer concerns. Its size was not large enough to worry about collapsing the castle, so once Vermithor took off, it immediately landed on the main tower.

Lord Edric, along with his Maester and attendants, stood obediently at the front of the main tower, waiting for the two brothers to descend. Soon, they saw the two dragonriders, dressed in Valyrian steel armor, approach them.

Draezell removed his helmet and bowed slightly. "I have come as requested."

"Your Highness, we are deeply grateful. May the Seven bless your greatness and kindness," Lord Edric said, showing no surprise at the youth of the two dragonriders. After all, he had assumed the title of Lord at this age, and his son had also fought Dornishmen at this age, living up to the fame of the Purple Lightning.

"Jon is with our people," Draezell said as he walked up to Lord Edric's side. "He will return to the frontier with the fleet."

"I trust your arrangements fully," Lord Edric replied, quickly signaling his servants to prepare the hall and food. "Please forgive us. Blackhaven has been under siege by the Dornish for some time, and we lack fresh meat."

"You have bread and salt, I hope," Valar joked. He had studied Westeros' knowledge aboard the ship and couldn't resist showing it off.

"Of course." Lord Edric straightened proudly. "The hospitality of House Dondarrion is renowned throughout the frontier and the Stormlands."

Upon entering the castle's main hall, the servants brought in a plate of torn white bread and a pinch of salt. Lord Edric didn't hesitate and took a piece of bread, dipped it in salt, and ate it. After he finished, Draezell took a piece of bread, dipped it in salt, and ate it too.

Westeros' white bread was a bit coarser compared to that of the Eastern Continent, but it had a richer taste.

The reception food was relatively generous: onions and green peas mixed together with a bit of salted meat, simmered into a hot, thick soup. Lord Edric had ordered the last few sheep in the castle to be slaughtered, making fresh lamb pies and lamb and turnip soup. There were also chopped turnips and cabbage mixed into a salad, sausages from the castle's stores, some roasted and others simmered with lamb offal into a thick broth. To drink, there was grape wine from Greenhouse Island and Dornish gold liquor, along with fine white bread and hearty barley porridge.

"Your Highness, I have prepared rooms for you and your princes. Until your castle is finished, the Lightning Tower will belong to you. The servants of House Dondarrion are at your service."

"Thank you." Draezell picked up a piece of roasted sausage. Though it had clearly been stored for a long time, it still tasted quite good. "I will pay rent."

"Your coming to our aid is payment enough," Lord Edric remarked with a sigh. "After this battle, my family will be lucky to recover in five years. The Wyl, those gods-forsaken bastards, scum, rats of the sewers, cockroaches, and those damned Dornish child slaves with their brains eaten out... I will skin them alive one day."

Draezell quietly enjoyed the meal, not touching the wine, simply listening to Lord Edric's grumbling. Valar, seeing his brother remain silent, swallowed his prepared boast along with his barley porridge.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Draezell wiped his mouth. "We will have to impose on you a bit longer. As for the Dornish, they will eventually pay the price for their foolishness. Debts must be repaid."

"I would like Jon to stay with you, if you don't mind," Lord Edric said.

"Ser Jon has already been knighted,"

Draezell shook his head. "My attendant is only Prince Jacaerys, but Ser Jon may join Lynn and the others in their training." He met the Lord's gaze. "I have several projects planned for the lands. If Ser Jon wishes to learn, he is free to do so."

"Thank you so much," Lord Edric said, hammering his fork down onto the table. Everyone in House Dondarrion raised their glasses. "If not for House Dondarrion's generations of loyalty to House Baratheon of the Stormlands, I would gladly have you as the true Governor of the Frontier."

"I respect your traditions," Draezell smiled, standing and raising his cup of fruit wine. "To the long-lasting friendship between us."

"To our friendship! Long live Prince Draezell!"

"To our friendship! Long live Prince Draezell!"

The bard, seeing the nod from the Lord, began to play the harp and sang praises of Draezell's rescue.

"Children of the Silver Dragon, children of the Silver Dragon.

Crossing the sea, the people sing.

The gods sing, and all life joins in.

Children of the Silver Dragon,

children of the Silver Dragon.

Bronze fury returns to the mortal world.

The kind silver wing soars once more.

Children of the Silver Dragon, children of the Silver Dragon.

Justice is served, the warriors call.

The dragon lord descends, thieves cower.

Dornish rats, Dornish rats.

Beneath dragon fire, only bones remain.

Dare to invade again, strangers shall greet you.

Children of the Silver Dragon, children of the Silver Dragon.

The people sing, the gods sing.

Saved from peril, an unpayable debt.

Sung here, all people witness.

Children of the Silver Dragon, children of the Silver Dragon.

The people praise, the people sing."

The banquet gradually drew to a close amidst the joyful songs.

In the late night at the Lightning Tower.

Draezell and Valar shared a spacious room. Valar had refused his assigned room and ran to his brother's side, borrowing a book to read before quickly falling asleep. Draezell was left alone, quietly reading a book sent by Lord Edric's Maester. The book, titled A Brief History of the Frontier Lands, detailed the history of the Frontier during King Jaehaerys I's reign and prior, as well as the numerous wars with Dorne.

Draezell's fluency in the Common Tongue had improved considerably. During their voyage, the crew had studied it in units, and his subjects fervently believed that Draezell and his family were divine beings. As gods perform divine actions, they too would strive to do so. By the time they crossed half of Essos and reached the west, nearly everyone—aside from a slight accent in Valyrian—spoke Common Tongue with fluency.

Knock, knock, knock.

A light knock sounded at the door.

Draezell looked up. "Enter."

A young servant entered, softly closing the door. His face flickered and transformed, settling into an ordinary young face.

"Your Highness," Kungor glanced at the sleeping Valar before silently walking toward Draezell. "There are two maids and a kitchen girl who were attempting to sneak into your and Lord Valar's room. Someone has already sent them back to their own rooms to sleep."

"Quite normal." Draezell closed the book. "You're quicker than I expected."

Kungor lowered his head and replied, "The training has been adequate, Your Highness. The Lightning Tower has been searched. There's only one secret passage. Should we..."

"Just keep an eye on it." Draezell said. "After all, it's their castle. To stay in Westeros for the long haul, one must respect the traditions here."

"You've done well." Kungor said sincerely, then furrowed his brows in confusion, almost wondering why he had said that.

Draezell smiled and nodded. "Go keep watch outside. By the way, did you bring it?"

Kungor pulled a rolled parchment from his clothing. It was a set of blueprints drawn by the a master architect, detailing Draezell's construction plans.

There was a fortress-like castle, which would eventually become the main stronghold of House Vaelarys. This castle would be built using ancient Valyrian architectural methods, a lost technique that Draezell, with both dragons and magic, could restore.

A large town would be established at the intersection of the roads near Summerfield, creating a complete city alongside the castle. The Vaelarys would settle the handcraft industries here and establish more villages in Summerfield and Balance Valley.

Several castles and at least one stronghold fortress guarding Bone Road. And a vast harbor.

With enough wealth to support them, even if not a single grain of wheat grew for three to five years, the people of House Vaelarys would not starve.

The vast wealth of the family was Draezell's vital strength.

After resting in Blackhaven for some time, the Vaelarys fleet had bypassed the treacherous seas of Stormlands, reaching the northern Dornish Sea, and burned the port of Wyl to the ground, leaving Lord UllenWyl at the ruined port to curse in anger.

Leaving Valar to look after Rey, who had just arrived with Shadowmare, Draezell set off.

His goal was simple: to survey the land of Summerfield.

Tom, a shepherd from a small village at the foot of the Red Mountains, was an old bachelor. His wife had been brutally killed by the Dornish, and he had lost an eye in the attack. He could only make a living by tending sheep.

The land of Summerfield was fertile, but there weren't many villages due to the constant raids from the Dornish and the bandits of the Red Mountains. Luckily, this was a royal demesne, and the Dragon King of King's Landing didn't pay much attention to the people here, even neglecting to collect taxes. This allowed the common folk to live relatively well.

Tom was driving his flock back to the pen, ready to go home for a meal. As he stepped out, he collided with the village elder.

"Tom, come count your sheep," Elder Jerry said, squinting his eyes as he tried to get a better look at the flock.

"By the seven hells, old Jerry, what do you want?" Tom hurriedly stepped in front of his sheep pen, protective of the flock he had spent many years building up.

"We have a new lord, a royal prince blessed by the Dragon God."

"Ah?"

Elder Jerry shrugged. "The tax collector will be coming to do an inventory. Afterward, they'll distribute some unclaimed land and pastures on the mountain."

"Ah!"

"The taxes we have to pay have been adjusted. They're lower than before."

"Still taxes. Will the prince protect us?" Tom asked curiously, not wanting to have his newly assigned pasture stolen by the Dornish.

"Don't say foolish things." Elder Jerry swatted Tom's head. "The prince has dragons."

"By the gods." Tom stared blankly at the space behind Elder Jerry.

"What's wrong with you now?" Elder Jerry turned around, confused.

"ROAR!"

A powerful dragon's roar echoed from the clouds above, and a massive shadow swept over them, circling the peak of a towering mountain in the Red Mountains.

"My gods..." Elder Jerry stood frozen in place.

Draezell gazed at the towering peak before him. Using his magical sight, he had confirmed that the Red Mountains were no ordinary range. The mountains were imbued with intense magical energy, and it was because of this that the climate in three nearby regions was so drastically different. Dorne was dry and scorching, the Reach was warm and humid, and the Stormlands was dense with vegetation and continuous storms.

But this magical energy was not as potent as the overflowing magic near the edges of the Valyrian ruins. It seemed to have been dormant for many years.

But that would only aid Draezell in his plans.

"Alright, it's up to you." Draezell, his face pale, freed one hand and lightly patted Vermithor. The dragon let out a joyous roar and aimed at a specific spot.

Draezell used the bone spike of Vermithor to cut open his palm, and the shimmering silver blood quickly seeped into Vermithor's body.

"Vermithor, Dracarys!"

After the last drop of blood was absorbed, Draezell yelled. Vermithor unleashed a continuous stream of dragon fire at the peak of the mountain.

The Red Mountains quickly darkened under the silver-tinted flames, the surface visibly blackening. Slowly, a liquid-like black substance began to flow down the mountainside. Draezell gripped the dragon saddle's handles tightly, carefully adjusting Vermithor's flame.

Before setting off, Draezell had mixed large amounts of blood imbued with enchantments into the meat he fed Vermithor. In his mind, he carefully envisioned the shape of the castle.

The same shape began to emerge on the mountain.

Nine tall towers gradually emerged from the melting peak, with the highest tower's top faintly resembling the form of a dragon.

Tall city walls also slowly began to separate from the mountain, the once solid black rock slowly melting and reshaping.

Vermithor seemed to enjoy the process, its membrane wings and scales slowly turning from bronze to molten gold under the continuous stream of dragon fire.

"Vermithor, stop."

Draezell sensed that the castle in his mind was taking shape and immediately halted Vermithor's breath, but the mountain continued to melt.

"Vermithor, ascend."

The dragon flew to the highest point of the peak, which was now gradually resembling a castle, and at Draezell's command, it breathed another stream of dragon fire tinged with silver.

The lower part of the mountain stopped melting, while the towers and walls above became more distinct under the heat of the dragon fire. Eventually, the towers and walls began to melt into the appropriate hollow spaces, allowing the dragon fire to continue burning inside, shaping the castle as Draezell had envisioned.

Feeling the weakening of his companion due to the blood loss, Vermithor stopped breathing fire after hollowing out the interiors of three towers. It turned its head toward Draezell, seemingly asking if a rest was needed.

"I'm fine, Vermithor," Draezell smiled and leaned down to pat Vermithor's body, showing it his gradually reddening face. "I am a blood mage, this amount of blood means nothing to me. Continue."

Vermithor gently shook its head, still not fully reassured.

"Don't worry." Draezell placed his hand on Vermithor, allowing it to feel the ebb and flow of magic within his body. "Don't underestimate your partner."

After sensing Draezell's energy returning, Vermithor resumed breathing fire, scorching the interiors of the remaining towers and the necessary sections of the mountain.

The nine towers slowly took shape. Vermithor folded its wings, lowered itself to the mountainside, and let out another breath of fire.

The mountain exploded with a loud crack, and the surging dragon fire burned through the interior of the mountain, linking the hollowed-out sections.

This would be their future lair.

"We'll call this castle Dragon's Nest," Draezell said, watching the massive cavern open up before him. He guided Vermithor higher into the sky, admiring the castle's emerging form.

"The rest of the work will be left to my craftsmen," Draezell thought to himself.