We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

The streets of King's Landing had never been so crowded. Torches burned everywhere, and angry mobs filled the alleys and squares.

It had all begun with a mother wailing as she brought her young son's cold corpse to the Shepherd's feet, laying it alongside dozens of rotting bodies before the gaze of hundreds. From there, the situation spiraled out of control. Over the past weeks, countless people had died from the cold or succumbed to pustules that erupted and spread infection, taking entire families — or even entire streets — with them. More and more people gathered in Cobbler's Square, congregating at the Shepherd's feet.

Although heavy taxes had ceased, those already collected were not refunded. The queen distributed bread, but the coarse black loaves could barely feed a thousand people. Even so, the people endured.

What they could not endure, however, was the constant threat of death. Every day, someone nearby would suddenly shiver, cry out about the cold, and die convulsing, leaving everyone else to wonder who might be next.

And the queen had done nothing. She arrested the Shepherd's followers and ordered Ser Luthor Largent to lead the Gold Cloaks in dispersing the crowds by force. That was when the people finally erupted. From Flea Bottom to the River Gate, mobs took to the streets with torches in hand. They smashed shop doors, slaughtered wealthy merchants, and dragged noble daughters into the streets. Chaos engulfed the city. Flea Bottom was the first to burn, followed by the docks, then the alleys, and even the city gates. The Gold Cloaks, stretched thin and overwhelmed, struggled to maintain order amidst the flames.

"Doom has come! Doom has come!" The one-armed mad prophet wept as he gazed at the teeming masses. Some among them collapsed without warning, convulsing before turning blue-lipped and dying. "That blood-soaked monster on the Iron Throne, that bastard of incest and demons — The Seven will punish her evil! She has brought the Stranger and death upon us!"

"Prophet, save us!" Arryk Cargyll, dressed in ragged clothing, tore open his shirt to reveal the seven-pointed star tattooed on his chest, shouting with anguish. A septa fell to her knees, sobbing and praying, "Save us! Save us, oh Seven, save your lambs!"

One by one, the crowd began to cry. They gazed blankly at the Shepherd, waiting for his guidance.

"Only the Mother Above can save you, me, all of us. But we have erred. Our greed and blindness drove her away, and now the Stranger has come. He rides a black steed, with eyes like burning coals, wielding a fiery whip to scourge unbelievers and heretics. Do you hear it?" The Shepherd cupped his remaining hand over his ear. "Listen! Do you hear the sound of iron-shod hooves striking the earth? He is coming! He is coming!"

"He is coming!" The crowd echoed fervently. Slowly, the mob began to move. No one knew how many people had gathered — three thousand? Five thousand? Ten thousand? It no longer mattered. As the mass crawled toward Rhaenys's Hill, more and more citizens joined the Shepherd's army.

"Hoofbeats?" Amid the cries of "He is coming," Arryk Cargyll, with his keen knightly instincts, caught the sound of hooves clattering on cobblestones and flagstones. He immediately realized what was happening.

"Go home! Go home, you fools! You've been deceived!" Ser Luthor Largent rode a white, iron-plated charger, his golden cloak gleaming atop polished armor. Behind him marched 500 Gold Cloaks armed with short swords and spears. Each wore black mail and steel helmets, carried shields, and moved forward in disciplined ranks.

The crowd's outer edges scattered by the hundreds, but the mob was too massive for most to move. Trapped, they surged forward into the advancing spear wall. Luthor, seeing the danger, realized his small force couldn't control such a vast crowd. He urgently ordered his men to beat the drums, maintaining the spear formation, and raised his longsword to the people.

"Go home! No one will harm you if you return. But continue forward, and it will be treason. Go home! We only want the Shepherd—the traitor!"

The crowd kept pushing forward. Finally, a fat man wearing a cook's apron let out a painful groan as a spear pierced his stomach, spilling his entrails onto the ground. More people surged ahead, and a spearman could only watch in horror as a little girl was pushed onto his weapon.

"The Gold Cloaks are killing us! They're the demon queen's monstrous lackeys!" someone shouted. Instantly, chaos erupted. Stones and bricks flew through the air, and people swarmed from the surrounding rooftops, hurling projectiles. Among them, an archer — positioned somewhere across the square — began firing arrows at the Gold Cloaks.

Ser Luthor immediately abandoned any hope of dispersing the mob peacefully. "Capture the Shepherd! The crowd will disperse on its own!" he ordered, cutting down two peasants who had rushed toward him. He spurred his horse forward, attempting to trample through the throng. Behind him, the spear formation advanced step by step, leaving corpses in its wake.

But the mob was too large. A soldier fell, and his spot was instantly filled by several rioters. The Gold Cloak formation was quickly torn apart by the overwhelming tide of people. Arryk Cargyll hurled a rock with all his strength, striking Ser Luthor squarely on the head. Staggered, Luthor fell from his horse before he could react.

The mob swarmed the fallen captain, tearing him apart in moments. A leatherworker raised Luthor's longsword triumphantly and climbed onto the warhorse. "Charge! Charge!" he roared like a madman.

The Gold Cloaks were quickly overrun. Their weapons were seized, and the mob surged like a wave, leaving nothing but corpses and flames in its wake.

Queen Alicent was startled awake. Ever since news had arrived of Prince Daeron's and Prince Aemond's deaths, she had been in a dazed state, her mind clouded by grief.

She stood silently at the window, watching the city engulfed in flames. And then, she laughed.

Slowly, Alicent stepped onto the windowsill, tears streaming down her face. She wasn't foolish; she knew what the deaths of her two sons meant. Their folly had brought them to ruin. She could already envision Aegon's fate, already foresee the destruction of House Hightower.

Whose fault was it, really? Her father's face flickered in her mind. But what did it matter now? Things had reached this point, and assigning blame was meaningless. Alicent closed her eyes, refusing to look down at the dry moat filled with sharpened stakes.

She jumped.

Rhaenyra clung to the window, staring anxiously at the inferno consuming King's Landing. "Your Grace, we can no longer control the situation," Corlys Velaryon, the "Sea Snake," said as he limped into the room. "I regret to report there's no word from Ser Luthor, nor from Ser Lorent Marbrand. Given the size of the mob, it's unlikely they survived."

"What about Mysaria?" Queen Rhaenyra took a deep breath. "How could this escalate so quickly?"

"Lady Mysaria doesn't reside in the Red Keep," Lord Bartimos Celtigar said fearfully. Had he not been preoccupied with accounting for the crown's gold, he might have met a similar fate. "She has likely been killed. Our messengers can't get out. The city is completely overrun by rioters."

"Mother, let us take to the skies with our dragons." Joffrey burst into the room, pushing the door open alongside Baela. The boy was clad in Lucerys's leather armor and wore his late brother's sword. "This is rebellion!" he declared loudly.

"What is the mob's route?" Queen Rhaenyra asked through gritted teeth.

Lord Bartimos Celtigar glanced outside. "They won't dare approach the Red Keep. As long as we shut the gates, they cannot breach it. I suspect..." He suddenly shivered. "They're heading for the Dragonpit!"

"They'll kill the dragons!" Baela exclaimed, realizing the danger at once. "Shrykos and Morghul are still in the Dragonpit!"

These were the young dragons of Queen Helaena's twin children, Jaehaerys's Shrykos and Jaehaera's Morghul. When Helaena had fled with her children, she hadn't taken the two hatchlings with her.

"Mother, we must act swiftly to suppress this rebellion," Joffrey said, stepping to his mother's side. "They will kill the dragons!"

"Dragonfire can stop them," Rhaenyra said, clenching her jaw. "Once my army returns, none of these rabble-rousers will escape justice."

"Your Grace, even a swarm of rats can bite a lion to death," the fool Mushroom interjected. The jester, who had once served King Viserys I, had been imprisoned after supporting Rhaenyra during her struggle for the throne. He had only been freed when she took control of King's Landing.

"Shrykos and Morghul are still young dragons, Mother. Make a decision quickly," Joffrey urged anxiously.

Baela added at the right moment, "Mother, if they truly kill the dragons, then none of our dragons will be safe. They will believe that slaying dragons is no longer a myth, and our rule will..." She hesitated, her voice laced with worry. "Moondancer isn't much larger than those two young dragons."

The remaining Kingsguard gathered, though only two White Cloaks remained by the queen's side: Ser Steffon Darklyn and Ser Erryk Cargyll.

Lord Corlys Velaryon cast an approving glance at his grandchildren before turning back to Queen Rhaenyra. She was still hesitant. "My children, you're too young..."

But the mob wouldn't grant Rhaenyra time to deliberate.

Led by the Shepherd, the rioters had gathered beneath Rhaenys's Hill. The procession, which had traversed half of King's Landing, now resembled an endless swarm of ants. Corpses and flames marked their path.

Inns were burning, the mansions of the wealthy were ablaze, and even septs were consumed by fire. The frenzied prophet directed the mob to drag septons from the sanctuaries, forcing them to join the ranks. Those who refused were beaten to death.

The Shepherd was lifted high by Arryk Cargyll. His piercing screams reached every ear.

"Brothers and sisters, do you hear the Stranger's hoofbeats? He is here! He brings divine punishment! He comes to judge our sins! Prayers are futile, confessions are meaningless. Only blood — your blood, my blood, and the blood of these demons — can save us!"

The Shepherd pointed toward the massive Dragonpit at the top of the hill. "The monster queen has thrown our brothers and sisters to those demons to be devoured! Think, brothers and sisters! If the dragons come for us, what will happen? Our flesh will blister and burn, our wives and children's eyes will melt in their sockets, their bones will be ripped apart. The devils are here! They are on that hill! If we don't act, the gods will punish us. If we don't act, we will perish in the jaws of dragons! Blood and fire! Fire and blood! Tears cannot quench dragonfire, but blood can! Brothers and sisters, slaughter them! Bathe in dragon blood, and we shall cleanse ourselves of sin! Extinguish the flames of hell!"

"Kill them! Kill them!" Tens of thousands of voices roared. Tens of thousands of feet thundered forward. The Dragonkeepers guarding the pit were quickly overwhelmed by the human tide.

A towering man swung a hammer, shattering one of the smaller gates. More and more people began breaking through the side doors of the Dragonpit.

They could already hear the awakening roars of the dragons.

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