We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

purposefully repeated the chapter to correct the chapters numbers.

"The war is over, Lord Stark," Lady Sabitha said, scanning the group of fierce Northerners around her. Most were young men dressed in tattered fur armor. Lady Sabitha knew the purpose of gathering such an army in the North: winter was coming. Even the Twins felt the cold winds blowing down from the North. This year's harvest had been much worse due to the war and the approaching winter, and with the Northern army having left Barrowtown, Alyssane and Benjicot immediately went north with Rodrik to prepare for the arrival of Lord Stark. It was also because of their nearly seven-thousand-strong army that Lady Sabitha didn't show any sign of fear in front of the intimidating men.

"The traitor's trial is not yet complete. I have not received word from the Westerlands' traitors to open the castles, nor have I seen their heads on the spires of King's Landing," Lord Cragen said calmly. Benjicot opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by a glare from Cragen. It was only now that he realized he was still just a child.

"The lords of the Westerlands have already surrendered," Alyssane stared directly into Cragen Stark's eyes. "Prince Draezell is about to lead his army north. He and Prince Jacaerys will preside over the trials in Harrenhal. If you want justice, go to Harrenhal and wait for Prince Draezell."

Cragen Stark stared at Alyssane for a moment, then calmly replied, "Very well, I will go to Harrenhal. I hope the great trial's result will satisfy the world."

As the Lord of Winterfell departed, the leaders of the Riverlands finally let out a sigh of relief.

"He is terrifying," Benjicot couldn't help but whisper. Alyssane looked at Cragen Stark's retreating figure, murmuring, "He is a leader. I feel the harshness of winter in him. Banji, do you know what thirty thousand men from the North means?"

Benjicot shook his head, and it was Rodrik Dustin who explained, "It means thirty thousand men who will never return to the North. The food they saved will feed our next generation." The old man continued, "From the moment we crossed the Neck, we have already become the dead."

---

Oldtown, the Citadel, the Jaehaerys Statue Square.

Archmaester Rosan of the Mystical Studies, Archmaester Rhaeson of History, Archmaester Korlon of Medicine, and Archmaester Mukun stood nervously before Draezell's desk, waiting for the young man to finish reading the massive book that had everyone on edge. Several other thick volumes were laid out on the desk.

Finally, Draezell gently set the book down and stared expressionlessly at the four doctors. "Come on, gentlemen, now that little Jace isn't here, explain yourselves." Draezell held up a large tome titled " The Reproduction and Rearing of Dragons: Theories on Valyrian Dragon-Taming Techniques" and waved it in front of the doctors before throwing it onto the floor at their feet. "Why is the Citadel researching this?"

Archmaester Rosan trembled and knelt, clearly seeing that Vermithor was lying behind Draezell, its mountainous body nearly filling the entire square. Just the sight of its head was like looking at a small mountain. There was no need to breathe fire; just a breath from the dragon would send these old men flying.

"And this," Draezell casually grabbed another book, glancing at the title. "Detailed Records of Dragon Egg Hatching Patterns. You've done thorough research, haven't you?" With a thud, the book was thrown onto the floor in front of them. "And this one, why were you organizing the royal family's breeding records?"

"Your Highness, I can explain the breeding records," Archmaester Korlon of Medicine nervously spoke. "The Citadel serves the royal family, and each Grand Maester's manuscripts and diaries are collected by the Conclave for archiving, so the next Grand Maester can review them and write histories. That's why we keep the royal family's medical and breeding records, as well as records of the royal council meetings."

Draezell quietly stared at Archmaester Korlon, who was unable to meet Draezell's gaze, more afraid of the dragon looming overhead than anything else. "Then explain why, shortly after the Citadel lost patient specimens, my lands and the surrounding areas of King's Landing were hit by Shivers and Dragonpox."

Draezell motioned with his hand, and Vermithor slowly lowered its head, coldly gazing at the terrified doctors. "My friend died of Dragonpox. The disease you released turned King's Landing into a ruin. Now, explain this."

Vermithor let its dragon kiss hover over the Archmaester heads. Archmaester Rosan could even see the dragon's neck turning red — a sign that the dragon was preparing to unleash its fire.

"This has nothing to do with us, Your Highness," Archmaester Korlon scrambled to kneel, trying to crawl toward Draezell, but Vermithor snorted, sending him flying onto the ground. The old Archmaester ignored his disheveled clothes and frantically pressed himself to the floor, trembling as he spoke. "We found it while patrolling the ice vault. The ice vault is supposed to be checked every three months. We don't know why this happened."

"Your Highness, it was Archmaester Vaegon who participated in the dragon studies," Archmaester. Rhaeson, the historian, suppressed his fear and tried to explain. "Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History by Septon Barth, Hand of the King of King Jaehaerys I, was returned to the Citadel, the scholars here began their research based on it. Archmaester Vaegon was also involved."

Draezell couldn't help but press his temple when he heard the name Vaegon. The infamous Dragonless, who, by bloodline, was his own uncle, the son of Jaehaerys I. Vaegon had earned his title as the Dragonless after choosing to become a scholar, ultimately joining the Citadel's council.

The Targaryens sure knew how to play their cards. Draezell thought to himself, realizing that they were fortunate that the scholars had been misled by the seemingly absurd theories of Barth. Additionally, it seemed the Targaryens had not inherited much of Valyria's ancient dragon knowledge, rendering the information Vaegon provided unreliable. Otherwise, these scholars might have discovered something truly dangerous.

"Enough. The more you explain, the more it sounds like you have something to hide," Draezell finally said, signaling the young Dothraki, Ago, to bring a cup filled with wine. Draezell sliced his finger, allowing a few drops of blood to drip into the wine. His finger healed instantly, and he pushed the cup in front of the Archmaesters. "Here, drink a sip, and swear in front of Vermithor that you've never had any ill thoughts toward the Dragon King's family. Go on."

The Archmaesters exchanged uneasy glances.

Eventually, Archmaester Rhaeson of history sighed heavily and stood up. "Your Grace, what the Citadel seeks is a world without magic." He took the cup and drank it all at once. "The Citadel craves knowledge, spreads knowledge, and for thousands of years, it has remained neutral, serving every lord. We've done so with a clear conscience. We have indeed studied magic and had many magicians, but Your Grace, have you ever thought that this world doesn't need magic?"

He glanced at Archmaester Rosan of Mysticism studies. Rosan knew that there had always been a small group in the Citadel that despised magic and rejected it. They had even influenced several generations of Archmaesters and High Septon. It was their influence that had caused the Ravenry Stud, which once bore traces of magic, to fully detach from it. Thousands of years ago, the Children of the Forest and the ancient wizards could understand the language of ravens, but now, the scholars who trained the ravens only knew how to direct them along paths and deliver messages. Even the Valyrian steel chains in the Mysticism School had been passed through by only a few students, and the magical elements in medicine had been completely eliminated. But what shocked Rosan was that these scholars had dared to do such a thing.

"So it was your people who stole my specimen," Archmaester Korlon's face turned ashen. He nearly choked in disbelief. "By the seven hells, you've doomed us all."

Archmaester Munkun wore a face of despair. He knew that if history studies had gone awry, it meant the Citadel's education system had failed. History was one of the three most important subjects, and all scholars were required to take it.

"Rest assured," Archmaester Rhaeson said, looking at Draezell. "I know your blood magic is formidable. I won't hide anything, but I ask that you spare the other innocent scholars. They had no knowledge of our plans."

Draezell remained silent, simply watching him. Archmaester Rhaeson slowly began naming names. The list wasn't long, but a few names, those of deceased individuals, made the other scholars gasp. These included several former Maesters from Dragonstone, Magor's Grand Maester Desmond, and Jaehaerys's Grand Maester Allar.

"Grand Maester Elysar wasn't one of us. That stubborn man didn't understand our plans and almost ruined everything," Rhaeson continued. "What we seek is a world of knowledge — without magic, without dragons. Their existence renders military studies worthless, and magic makes many other disciplines irrelevant. We don't need magic. A world without it would be far better."

Draezell shook his head. "You," he said, turning to the others Archmaesters. "If you want the Citadel to survive, those mentioned by Rhaeson, I expect their heads before we depart for Harrenhal. As for this Archmaester..." Draezell's hand suddenly clenched. "Who told you I used blood magic in the wine? This, now, is blood magic."

Rhaeson's expression changed, and with a scream, he clutched his chest and slowly collapsed. Vermithor opened his mouth, a small tongue of dragonfire engulfing the old Archmaester. The bronze mask melted away in the blink of an eye, the copper eating away at the man's now-charred face, eventually merging with it.

"Uncle! Uncle!" Just as Draezell was about to have Rhaeson's ashes cleared, Helaena suddenly ran in, looking even paler than usual, holding Jaehaerys, whose condition seemed even worse.

"What happened?" Draezell stood up immediately. He wouldn't allow Helaena and her son to come to harm.

"Jaehaerys suddenly complained of a headache last night," Helaena said in a panic. "This morning, his fever spiked. The scholars have tried several methods, but none have worked."

"What?" Archmaester Korlon, still kneeling, moved closer to Helaena and felt Jaehaerys's forehead. "How can it be so hot? What were those fools teaching in their fever treatment?"

Draezell furrowed his brow.

---

At the same time, far away in King's Landing, Daemon and Joffrey stood anxiously outside the queen's chamber. Benera stood guard at the door, preventing them from entering. The young girl had donned her veil and called out to the men, "Mother doesn't want you to come in. She's afraid she's infected and doesn't want to spread it to us."

"This can't be," Joffrey said in disbelief. "We were all together. How could it be Mother?" They had all returned from the Dragonpit together, yet it was Rhaenyra who had woken up with chills. Her illness progressed rapidly. Within hours, she went from shivering to uncontrollable trembling, and her coughing was relentless. The queen, unusually decisive, summoned everyone who had been near her after returning to the Red Keep. She locked the door and forbade anyone from coming close, including her children.

Only the scholar Gerardys, who had prepared medicine for her upon her return, was allowed to enter.

Daemon gripped his stepson's hand tightly.

---

If you can, support me on pa treon:

Pa treon. com/ RightTranslations (No spaces)

Up to 50 chapters ahead on the four novels i am translating.