We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"Your Grace, it's not that we don't trust your promises," said a raggedly dressed brother of the Faith, clutching an old but well-preserved copy of the Seven-Pointed Star. After finishing his bowl of bean soup, he stood up and spoke in a somber tone. "It's our lords we don't trust."

He swept his gaze across the gathered villagers around the young brown-haired king. Old, young, crippled — every person bore the scars of hardship.

"The lord will send tax collectors to collect taxes. He will also create new landed knights, who will come to collect taxes again. Knights need warhorses and armor, but the people need bread and salt. The conflict between the two is nearly irreconcilable. Your Grace, can you guarantee that before the relief arrives, the lords won't take the last copper coin or the last bean from our hands?"

Draezell silently regarded the barefoot monk, surprised by the man's poise and clarity. The old monk had a shaven crown, his scalp bare and smooth, with only sparse strands of hair remaining at the sides. Yet, his eyes were as clear as a child's. Draezell could even see the tattered satchel he carried, filled with herbs.

If Draezell was correct, this was one of the wandering mendicants serving in the local villages. Unlike septons stationed in wealthy towns with proper septs, these monks, sworn to uphold the Seven's teachings, traveled from village to village. They lived without shelter, teaching the Faith, healing the sick, and enduring the harshest poverty. Judging by his demeanor, this monk was exceptional even among his peers.

After hearing the monk's plea, Draezell looked to Jaecarys to see how the young king would respond. Jaecarys seemed deep in thought but soon turned to the monk with unwavering determination.

"Monk, I don't know your name," Jaecarys began, "but I would like to entrust you with overseeing the distribution of the relief grain once it arrives. My Hand of the King, Draezell Vaelarys, has already issued a levy in the Reach, with Lady Jenny acting on behalf of Lord Lyonel Tyrell to send grain northward. The Vale's grain is being loaded at Gulltown, and the Hightower's granaries have been opened. They will pay the price for their betrayal. What I can promise you is this: the grain will reach the Riverlands."

Jaecarys rose to his feet. "If the grain is not distributed to every village, I will personally ride my dragon to your lord's castle and hold them accountable. As for taxes, I will visit every castle and warn them to understand your plight."

The boy king bowed deeply to the people. "This is my promise as your king, and I will see it fulfilled."

"Empty words," muttered a one-armed man, his voice bitter. "It's just more of their nonsense." But the stern looks from those around him stopped him from saying more. He muttered something under his breath and stared at the ground.

The old monk, however, kept his gaze on the young king bowing before the people. Finally, he nodded and lowered his head in return. "I believe in your sincerity, Your Grace. Please do not let your subjects down."

Draezell watched as Jaecarys reassured the people again and again, vowing to help them survive the winter and the plague. The young king sat among the villagers, listening to their grievances and mediating disputes between neighboring villages. A faint smile crept onto Draezell's lips, but his thoughts returned to the prophecy of the mottled dragon that would die outside the Iron Throne. A long sigh escaped his heart.

What were the Targaryens thinking when they crafted such a symbolically loaded throne? Draezell often wondered. The dragon itself was the ultimate emblem of their rule, yet they chose to create a throne so fraught with danger under the guise of reminding their descendants of humility. The Iron Throne symbolized Aegon I's unification of Westeros, but it had also sown chaos for his heirs.

Shaking off the impulse to criticize further, Draezell refocused on plans for integrating his new lands. The population of the Dornish Marches was sparse, even less than that of the cold and barren North. Although he controlled the fertile northern valleys of Dorne and had attracted many immigrants during the Three Kings' War, the core of his population still consisted of Volantene settlers and Marcher folk.

Now, with the addition of the populous southern Reach territories and the near-complete unification of the Marches under his banner — barring House Swann of Stonehelm and House Grandison of Grandview, who remained loyal to the Baratheons of Storm's End — his domain had become vast and prosperous. The Reachmen would now be part of his system, alongside the three thousand hardy Northerners and the seasoned Winter Wolves who had chosen to remain in the South.

Lord Cregan Stark had been profoundly grateful to Draezell for sheltering his army. The Wolf of Winterfell had marched south with thirty thousand men but returned with only a few dozen retainers, over a hundred noblemen donning black cloaks, several hundred ships laden with grain and a new bride.

Cregan had fallen deeply in love with Alysanne Blackwood. After a day and night of heartfelt conversation, Alysanne joyfully accepted the wolf's proposal. Under the heart tree of Harrenhal, with Draezell and Jaecarys as witnesses, the wolf and the raven were wed.

But that was a digression. Returning to his thoughts, Draezell resolved that upon returning to his lands, he would prioritize the integration of his new population. To maintain stability, he would allocate new lands to his loyal retainers. Valar and Rey would also require lands to support their offspring. However, family members would remain as centralized as possible, with administrative and military duties entrusted to stewards appointed by Draezell. As long as taxes were paid on time, all would remain well.

Draezell didn't dwell too long on these matters. For now, he had to assist Jaecarys in stabilizing the kingdom. The young king's determination was commendable; he flew on Vermax, tirelessly visiting every castle in the Riverlands, from noble halls to small keeps. Often, he and Draezell would appear unannounced, summoning lords to gather their people and hold royal courts, personally mediating disputes.

There were no significant disputes, with the most intense conflict involving the continued strife between House Blackwood and House Bracken. After House Strong ceded their lands, portions of Harrenhal's territories were distributed as rewards to knights newly knighted during the war. One such knight of House Blackwood clashed with a House Bracken knight over a border mill, escalating to the point where Red Robb mobilized soldiers to the border. The conflict was only resolved when Jacaerys and Draezell arrived on dragons. Under Vermithor's imposing presence, the knights redefined the border, ending the dispute.

After completing his inspection of the Riverlands, Jacaerys flew to White Harbor, where he oversaw the delivery and distribution of grain shipments. Without delay, he then departed for the Westerlands.

---

The Iron Islands, Pyke.

Longships filled Lordsport, and the largest among them was unmistakably the Abyss King, flagship of Dalton Greyjoy, the "Red Kraken" and the current Lord of the Iron Islands. The young lord stood firmly on the rickety long bridge made of wood and iron chains outside the Sea Tower, his expression dark as he watched nearly a dozen longships sail into Lordsport.

Dalton was the pride of House Greyjoy, the house bearing the kraken as their sigil. This renowned Ironborn house had produced many Kings of the Iron Islands, rivaling the numbers of House Greyiron, House Hoare, and House Harlaw. The Greyjoys claimed descent from the Grey King of the Age of Heroes, the legendary figure who slew the sea dragon Nagga and built his hall from her pale bones. Like all Ironborn families, the Greyjoys followed the Old Way, plundering to thrive. By the age of ten, Dalton was raiding with his family, sailing to the Basilisk Isles. By fourteen, he captained his own longship and had taken four salt wives. His only defeat came during a clash with the Vaelarys silver fleet in the Summer Sea. In that battle, a fleet of 120 Ironborn longships faced 67 Velaryon war galleys. Only 12 longships survived, including Dalton's. The Red Kraken considered this defeat a personal humiliation. Afterward, he swore never to raid Varlarys trade routes again. That bloody encounter earned him the nickname "Red Kraken".

After rebuilding his strength, Dalton defeated his rivals and claimed a Valyrian steel longsword, Nightfall, solidifying his status. In 128 AC, at age sixteen, Dalton won the Kingsmoot and was crowned Lord of the Iron Islands, the "High Captain of the Ironborn". His sharp instincts warned him of impending turmoil, and he commanded the Ironborn to halt raiding temporarily, focusing instead on building ships, forging weapons, and preparing for opportunities amidst chaos.

His foresight proved correct. Within a year, King Viserys I died, and civil war erupted. Both the Blacks and the Greens sought Dalton's allegiance. The Greens, lacking naval strength, desired his fleet more desperately, while the Blacks required little naval support. The Queen's request was simple: harass the Greens along the Westerlands and Reach.

Dalton sided decisively with the Blacks and began rallying his fleet for a grand campaign of Old Way raids.

However, the war ended abruptly in just four months. The Greens' dragons and male heirs perished; House Hightower was annihilated, and the Greens suffered a catastrophic defeat.

Dalton was stunned. He hadn't even set sail yet, and now the war was over? What was he supposed to tell his pirate brethren? That their raid was canceled, and they should disband and go home?

Impossible. Lordsport was filled with Ironborn, their bloodlust palpable. Without the spoils of a glorious raid, the Ironborn would not leave.

Dalton Greyjoy stared southward in frustration. Damn the Hightowers, damn Aegon the Elder, damn Aemond One-Eye. Why couldn't they hold out a little longer?

If they had resisted for just two more months, he could have returned from the Westerlands with holds full of salt wives and gold. Useless. All of them were worthless, squandering the efforts of House Greyjoy.

No, Dalton decided. He couldn't leave it at that. With the war over, the Targaryens and Vaelarys would focus on mending the realm. This meant they would leave the Ironborn unchecked for now. But raiding Westeros itself would provoke retaliation, and Dalton shuddered at the thought of Vermithor's victory over Vhagar. That dragon alone could destroy the Iron Fleet.

If he couldn't raid Westeros or disband his raiders, there remained one target — one that would not invite retaliation, might even earn rewards, and could yield immense blood gold.

"The Kingdom of the Three Daughters."

The Red Kraken licked his lips.