We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

The mob surged into the Dragonpit like a swarm of ants. At the vast pit's bottom, two dragons had already awakened. Heavy iron chains bound each dragon to its respective lair. Sensing the flood of intruders, the dragons instantly recognized the danger.

The larger of the two, Shrykos, immediately unleashed a torrent of dragonfire toward the crowd. Morghul, the purple-black dragon, hung upside down from the ceiling of its lair, instinctively shielding its vulnerable underbelly.

Dragonfire consumed the advancing mob in an instant. Flames ignited the Dragonpit, and the first wave of intruders fell amidst the inferno. Burning figures screamed as they stumbled, attempting to retreat, their flesh peeling from charred bones. But more surged forward, undeterred by the carnage.

A man clad in heavy armor, his face obscured, advanced through the dragonfire. He reached Shrykos, who had just bitten a man to death and slain others with its claws and tail. The dragon, however, failed to notice the flaming figure. The man drove a spear through the young dragon's scaled hide.

Shrykos roared in pain and turned its head to unleash another burst of fire, but the man moved faster. Swinging an axe, he struck at the dragon's head. Taking advantage of the creature's agony, he leapt onto its neck, locking his legs tightly around it.

"For the Father!" The man shouted as he brought the axe down again, splintering scales to reveal the flesh beneath. Shrykos writhed in agony, struggling to take flight, but the chains yanked it back to the ground.

"Kill it!" someone shouted. A spear pierced the dragon's belly. "Kill it!" cried another, a man who seemed to be a mercenary, slashing through Shrykos's wing membrane.

Spears rained down on the young dragon. Shrykos roared in pain, desperately unleashing flames, but it was too young — its fire lacked the intensity and reach of its elder kin. Even its scales were thinner, offering little protection.

"For the Mother!" The armored man struck again, his axe shattering scales and cutting deep into the dragon's flesh.

"For the Maiden!" Boiling dragon blood gushed forth as the dragon's struggles grew more frenzied.

"For the Warrior!" Another heavy blow exposed Shrykos's skull.

"For the Smith!" The dragon roared again, trying to shake the man off, but more spears pierced its body, some wielded by men already ablaze or crushed under the dragon's thrashing.

"For the Stranger!" The final swing cleaved Shrykos's skull, the axe burying itself deep into its brain. The dragon let out a mournful cry before collapsing with a resounding crash.

The man had no time to celebrate. A torrent of dragonfire engulfed him from behind. Morghul, using a wall of corpses as cover, had unleashed its flames, reducing the would-be hero to ashes.

"Kill the other dragon!" The mob turned to attack Morghul, only to find no reinforcements arriving.

Instead, screams echoed from outside the Dragonpit. Morghul seized the moment, unleashing a blast of fire on the remaining intruders inside.

"The dragons are here! The dragons are here!"

Arryk Cargyll glared furiously as dragon after dragon emerged from the Red Keep. Stamping his foot in frustration, he watched Moondancer, with her crown of spines, lead the charge. The graceful dragon announced her arrival with a slender jet of flame.

Joffrey ultimately pushed Rhaenyra to make the decision to ride her dragon and suppress the revolt. The children's approach was simple: Baela dragged Joffrey down from Maegor's Holdfast, heading straight to the courtyard to mount their dragons. It took a moment for Queen Rhaenyra to realize what her children intended to do.

"What are you doing? Come back, it's too dangerous! Ser Erryk, Ser Steffon, bring my children back at once!" Queen Rhaenyra screamed, trying to stop her children from riding into battle. Ultimately, it was her advisors and even the fool Mushroom who persuaded her otherwise.

"Your Grace, if the mob slaughters dragons, the legitimacy and sanctity of House Targaryen will be lost," said Corlys Velaryon. Bartimos agreed with the Sea Snake's reasoning.

"Your Grace, the prince and princess's dragons are too young. They need your Syrax."

"Your Grace, if the rats realize they can kill chained lions, we cannot guarantee they won't start thinking about the lions behind stone walls," Mushroom added, leaping in front of the two Kingsguard knights to block their path.

Rhaenyra finally made her decision. She followed her children's lead and mounted her companion once more.

Moondancer soared the highest, unleashing streams of fire onto the mob below. Close behind was Tyraxes, the young purple dragon clinging to the Dragonpit's dome, spewing flames at those attempting to flood in. Last was Syrax.

The great yellow she-dragon flew above the crowd. The mob, with only a few bows and crossbows, posed no threat to the dragons high in the air.

"Everyone leave at once!" Joffrey shouted. "In the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, I command you to depart! No one will be harmed if you leave now!"

"Kill them! Kill the monsters!" came the Shepherd's hoarse voice, rallying the mob. But Shrykos's dragonfire was the only answer they received.

"Prophet, I'm burning! It hurts!" A man engulfed in flames screamed, charging toward the Shepherd. The fire caught the mad prophet's robes, and in moments, he too was ablaze, consumed by dragonfire.

"The Seven save us! The Warrior shall come to slay the dragons!" the Shepherd cried, his voice piercing the chaos. But another stream of unrelenting fire rained down from above.

Rhaenyra finally exhaled in relief. A blood-red, serpent-like dragon descended, its crimson flames carving a brutal wall of fire through the mob.

Daemon had returned.

The prince's face was as cold as ice. He didn't speak a word, allowing Caraxes to rain fire upon every soul surrounding the Dragonpit, sparing none — whether they were trapped in the throng or fleeing in desperation.

Arryk Cargyll sighed deeply and wordlessly stepped into the firestorm Caraxes had unleashed. Syrax chirped in delight, unleashing her own torrents of flame onto the panicked crowd.

The Shepherd screamed as he was reduced to ashes in the inferno. No Warrior appeared, and the Shepherd was revealed to be just another mortal, his flesh peeling away in the flames. The mob broke apart. Some scrambled madly to escape, others dropped to their knees, begging for forgiveness, and a few simply leapt into the fire, accepting their fate.

Dawn finally broke. The Dragonpit, which had been alive with chaos throughout the night, now stood silent and empty. At the city gates, the garrison and the gold cloaks, reinvigorated by the sight of dragons, hacked their way through the mob, leaving a bloody trail.

Corpses covered the ground before the Dragonpit, piled high and reeking of death.

Syrax descended slowly onto the charred courtyard. Rhaenyra, suppressing her nausea, dismounted. Caraxes landed beside Shrykos, his massive form dwarfing the yellow dragon.

"What happened? How did King's Landing decay to such a state?" Daemon stared in shock at the mountain of corpses. Even now, beneath the Rhaenys' Hill, gold cloaks were executing rioters. The air was filled with pleas for mercy and wails of despair, punctuated by the dull thud of severed heads falling to the ground.

Rhaenyra remained silent, burdened by the weight of her own responsibility. She knew she could not absolve herself of blame. "The plague. It disrupted all my plans. If not for it, I would have already begun to reduce taxes and improve the lives of the smallfolk."

"A plague?" Daemon's expression darkened. "How could there be a plague?"

"We don't know," Joffrey said, exhaustion etched on his face as he emerged from the Dragonpit with Baela by his side. "Father, it broke out suddenly." He cast a reproachful glance at his mother. "Shrykos is dead, and Morghul is lightly wounded."

"What?" Daemon covered his face with his hands. Losing a dragon to commoners on Targaryen soil left him at a loss for words.

"The Usurper is dead," Daemon said after a moment, shifting the subject.

Rhaenyra's eyes lit up, the gloom of the revolt momentarily lifted. "Daemon, you've achieved a great victory for me."

"Our concern now should be the plague." Daemon gazed at the heaps of bodies and sighed. "So many dead... King's Landing will become a breeding ground for disease. Your Grace, we must organize mass cremations immediately."

Joffrey frowned as his gaze swept over the corpses near the Dragonpit's gates. Most were burned beyond recognition, but a few, crushed beneath the others, remained relatively intact.

The boy noticed the bluish hue of lips and the scratches covering some bodies. Startled, he quickly looked away, failing to notice that many other corpses bore similar marks. On some, yellow pus still oozed from open wounds.

As the chaos in King's Landing gradually subsided...

---

Dragon Nest

In the dim confines of the Dragonpit, Shadowmare and Stormcloud bared their sharp teeth, glaring at a group of ragged figures herded in by the city guard and Septon Corlan.

"Prince, I have had these heretics' tongues removed," Septon Corlan said with a sneer. "Their blasphemous words have no place in this world."

The lead penitent thrashed violently, as if desperate to say something, but with his tongue severed, no sound escaped his lips.

"I recommend burning them alive," Corlan declared, pointing at the prisoners. "Let the dragons mete out divine punishment and show them the abhorrence of their heresy."

Rey chuckled softly, motioning for Shadowmare to step closer. He gently scratched the emaciated black dragon's chin.

"Very well. Shadowmare, Dracarys."

Pale fire engulfed the cavern, consuming the heretics in a blinding blaze.

Septon Corlan watched, enraptured, as the dragonfire reduced the heretics to ash.

"Now this is a true miracle."