We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"Where are the scouts?"

Robert, the Golden Son, anxiously tapped his gilded helmet. They were nearing the borders of the city-state of Lykar Laclen, but there was no sign of any Westerosi presence.

However, his army's supplies were beginning to run low. The disputed lands were accustomed to small-scale battles, and it had been a long time since any large-scale warfare involving tens of thousands had taken place. Warlords typically fought their competitors near their homes, which led to the collapse of the entire road system in the disputed lands. Supply lines were a mess, and the Anti-Iron Throne Alliance had been hastily formed, leaving the three leaders with little time to consider logistical matters.

As a result, Robert's army had to forage for food, relying on the supplies of the local warlords and the reinforcements from allied troops just to sustain them.

Robert had to eliminate the Iron Throne's army as soon as possible.

"What about our scouts?" the legion commander, seated in a chariot pulled by two elephants, growled.

"Commander, no one has returned," his deputy said, trembling. "All the scouts are gone. Our men are too afraid to stray far from the main force, and we can't search for them."

"Useless!" Anger spread across Robert's face. "Where is the Iron Throne's army camped? How are we supposed to deal with them if we don't know?"

Robert looked anxiously at the supply wagons being transported in the middle of the column. Inside those wagons were powerful, large crossbows, said to fire bolts capable of piercing the scales of a dragon.

But no one knew how effective they actually were.

Anonymous backers had provided thirty of these crossbows. But Robert had never been hopeful about his ability to bring down a dragon.

He knew his troops were a ragtag group. Besides his own ten thousand mercenaries, who still had some fighting ability, the rest were mostly the Dothraki—an unreliable cavalry force that had devastated many regions. Robert had little faith in these light cavalrymen; he didn't believe they could stand up to armored infantry and archers.

And the forces gathered by the warlords consisted of disappointed second sons, farmers armed with hoes and pitchforks, bastards, merchant sons, outlaws, and criminals. The quality of this army, cobbled together by hundreds of warlords, was, to put it mildly, lacking.

For centuries, the free trade city-states, especially the Three Daughters Kingdoms and Volantis before its collapse, had fought over this land. These numerous warlords were the product of that era, using the money of the free cities to recruit soldiers and act as enforcers, keeping the land divided and in turmoil.

Sadly, everything had changed.

None of the free cities wanted the Dragon Kings to return to the East.

Not even Lys.

So, these sworn enemies had suddenly become comrades-in-arms, replacing their equipment with money and making the army look well-equipped and battle-hardened.

Robert could only follow the roads left by the Rhoynar people—roads that had already been badly damaged during the Valyrian-Rhoynar War, and further destroyed after the Doom. He continued his march, the army's destination being a lumber village built along the road.

Robert was in the dark about the Iron Throne's forces, but with the help of the dragons, Daeron's group knew Robert's army's movements all too well.

Robert's army of fifty-five thousand was split into three groups. The central force was the Golden Hammer Legion, along with Robert's selected 10,000 men from the warlords' armies. The two columns of twenty thousand men formed four massive battle formations, slowly advancing along the road.

The warlords' 20,000 soldiers were scattered across the rear of the army. Robert did not expect these undisciplined weaklings to achieve anything in battle, nor could he afford the consequences of their potential interference with normal operations. He could only use them as rear support and reserves.

Meanwhile, the 15,000 cavalry of the Karasa were divided into dozens of smaller groups, swiftly advancing toward the Redwoods.

"Rega, Ilion, you two take care of the Dothraki," Daeron quickly issued orders. The young king had never been so nervous before. His entire army was cavalry, relying on the Silver Fleet and the Redwyn Fleet's extensive maritime experience. They had brought 7,000 warhorses, and not a single one had died. The 5,000 heavily armored cavalry were ready to mount and fight at a moment's notice.

"Make sure they can't get near the main force," Daeron looked at Dan and Jacaerys. "Uncle, let's charge the enemy's main force together."

Dan and Jacaerys nodded.

"Aemon, Uncle Joffrey, thank you for dealing with those stragglers."

After assigning the dragon riders, Daeron quickly donned his crown-shaped helmet and looked toward the cavalry, who were already mounted and ready for battle.

Five thousand cavalrymen, like an endless ocean, with armor of various types gleaming in the sunlight, and the spear tips rising like a forest, glinting with cold light.

"Everyone, save your horse power, no need to advance too quickly," Daeron laughed as he raised Blackfire. "Wait until our dragonflame tears apart the enemy's formation, then charge. Remember, no captives, no trophies, just win this battle, and all of you will be granted land."

Daeron pointed toward the vast plains in the distance. "The land of your enemies! Go, fight for land with your spears and swords, honor, land, and wealth are all beneath your feet."

The young king grabbed the reins of Dreamfire's saddle, leaping up and quickly climbing onto the dragon's back. He drew a hasty seven-pointed star on his chest. "The Seven bless us, warriors protect us, we shall be victorious."

He raised Blackfire once more. "Victory, long live!"

"Long live King Daeron!"

"Victory, long live!"

"Kill them!"

The shouts echoed through the ranks of the cavalry, rising and falling like the waves of the sea.

The sea of shimmering steel moved, knights advancing at a steady pace, gathering strength for the charge.

The dragons flew, one after another, soaring into the sky. Every time a dragon passed overhead, it was met with cheers from the riders below.

Robert's face turned ashen as he watched the fleeing Dothraki cavalry. These damned barbarians hadn't even encountered the Iron Throne's army.

But they had encountered the dragons.

These unworldly savages even thought the dragons were divine war horses. More than half of the Dothraki, upon seeing the dragon flames incinerate a whole contingent attempting to charge, turned and hacked at their own comrades. Some even kept kneeling and praying to the "winged warhorses" until the curved Arakh of their own brethren chopped off their heads.

Almost simultaneously with the dragonflames, the entire Dothraki army broke into infighting.

Dead Dothraki and unclaimed horses scattered the battlefield. Fifteen thousand men were torn apart by two dragons.

And what made Robert's face grow even darker was that he saw the dragons as well.