We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"Haahhh… huh?" A grizzled Northman veteran clad in furs and chainmail was the first to leap from the longship, shouting a war cry—only to fall silent halfway through as his eyes met the sight of the ancient city engulfed in flames. The man stared in stunned confusion.

As the vanguard, the landing force consisted of nobles and veterans. Some of them were even heads of noble houses themselves. What the younger, greener soldiers might not grasp, these older warriors and lords understood all too well—what this smoldering ruin meant.

One by one, the dragons descended before the landing army of the Iron Throne. The dragonriders all wore grim expressions. Daeron leapt from his dragon's back, his face like thunder, and strode toward the soldiers who had completed the landing and were unloading horses and provisions. Among them were Ser Adam, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Will Hunter, Lord Benjicot Blackwood, and Lord Hugh Arryn of the Vale.

"Your Grace… everyone…" Among the commanders, Lord Benjicot Blackwood, the most seasoned in war, stepped forward without pretense. "What in the Seven Hells happened here?"

"If I'm not mistaken, it must have been an internal conflict," Jacaerys said, as Skyfyre slowly crawled closer to the gathering. "Lykar Laclen is a city of turmoil, a nexus of many factions. Us destroying their watchposts likely tipped them off—we were coming."

"Fear," Illyon muttered. "Fear drove the city mad." Beneath him, Vermax bared his teeth and roared at Sendros, clearly displeased with the feral and aggressive dragon. During the earlier flight, Sendros had arrogantly shown off his flame and flying prowess in front of the others more than once.

Dreamfyre had become almost unnaturally docile of late, and neither Seasmoke nor Tyraxes could understand what Sendros was even fed with. The dragons raised in Dragon's Nest seemed to all be growing at an abnormal rate—Shadowmare, Starsong, and Sendros were growing at a terrifying pace. Even Candlelight, long kept in King's Landing, was developing faster than most dragons. Though still young, Sendros was now second only to Dreamfyre in size among the dragons in this campaign.

That, of course, was what let him act so brazenly. Still, perhaps due to the time spent together, the rebellious dragon seemed to give Skyfyre some degree of face and had also restrained himself under Dan's guidance.

"Your Grace, you underestimated the complexity of the Disputed Lands," Illyon continued. "Nor were we prepared for the city to be reduced to ashes. Dragonflame takes time to extinguish. It may be a while before we can occupy this city."

"Your Grace, the army cannot wait," Lord Benjicot said, stretching out a gauntleted hand to point at the burning Lykar Laclen. After the flames died down, who knew how many survivors would remain? But any soldier with experience—or even someone with basic knowledge—knew one thing: the vanguard of five thousand needed a base, provisions, rest, and blacksmiths to repair their weapons.

That's why Lykar Laclen had been so important. Once a city of the Rhoynar, even after being destroyed, it retained many structures and much of its original infrastructure. Valyrian colonists later rebuilt and expanded it, making it one of the largest cities in the Disputed Lands. Its population and facilities could support both the vanguard and the arriving main host.

But now…

Perhaps the Rhoynar's underground drainage systems were still intact, but whatever remained above ground—and whatever residents hadn't fled—was anyone's guess until the fire went out.

Daeron and the others had seen it clearly from above. The blaze had begun in the western wooden barracks, then rapidly spread to the timber palace and the wooden shanties and ancient shrubs scattered throughout the city. Despite the dragonriders' best efforts, their flames had only worsened the fire. They could still hear the occasional scream coming from within the city.

Even now, they couldn't say for certain when the fire would end.

Men on fire came screaming from the city gates, shouting in unrecognizable dialects: "Help me! Help me!" But when they saw the fully armed Westerosi soldiers flooding endlessly from the distant horizon of sails, they collapsed in despair, letting the flames consume them whole.

Only the commanders of Westeros were left, their faces like stone.

"Your Grace, I will write to my father and brother immediately," Dan stepped forward, seeing the shadow darken Daeron's face. "The supplies held in reserve at Silvercrown will set sail at once. What we have on hand is enough to sustain us until the next shipment."

"It's not enough, Prince," Benjicot interrupted him. "The destruction of Lykar Laclen will surely throw the Mangrove Coast—and possibly the entire interior of the Disputed Lands—into upheaval. We cannot guarantee whether they will fall into civil war… or unite to drive us out."

He cast a glance at King Daeron and sighed.

If it were Prince Daemon or Prince Draezell in charge, by now the city of Lykar Laclen would have been entirely delivered into the hands of the vanguard by the local forces they had either bought off or subjugated. And those "guides", who had either sought profit or been cowed into obedience, would already be prepared to coordinate in battle.

All it would have taken was slicing off a bit of meat. Whether that meat would still remain on the guides' bread after the battle—well, that was anyone's guess.

"Our main host is still gathering, Your Grace. If the warlords of the Disputed Lands rally together—or worse, enlist the support of one of those well-equipped mercenary companies—we must hold this undefended region of Lykar Laclen until our main host arrives," said Lord Benjicot with resolute certainty.

"I understand," Daeron nodded. Cold sweat still clung to his brow. The young king, though lacking in age, possessed a remarkable intuition for war. He knew Benjicot was speaking an unassailable truth. "Lord Benjicot, Lord Hugh—no, Rhaegar."

The young man with short silver hair and simple leather armor straightened at once.

"Take Hornstorm and scout the area around Lykar Laclen immediately."

King Daeron then turned to Dan and Jacaerys. "Uncles, I'll need you to write to Grandfather. Request his support in gathering intelligence."

"At once, Your Grace."

"Lord Benjicot, Lord Hugh, have the troops make camp here and rest. When Rhaegar returns, we'll relocate to a better site. Ser Adam, please have the fleet patrol the coastline."

Daeron gave orders swiftly and without hesitation. Once the machinery of the army was set back in motion, he turned his gaze toward the still-burning city with a grim scowl.

The screams were becoming more and more distinct. Dreamfyre let out a soft, low rumble and lowered her head beside King Daeron, gently nudging her distressed companion.

Daeron gently stroked her scaled flank, and slowly, his furrowed brow began to ease.

On the other side, Sendros roared and took to the sky. Dan, fearing the raven might not be swift enough, had decided to fly to Dragon's Nest himself to request aid.

Time was slipping away, and so were their chances at a swift victory. Daeron had no intention of repeating the mistakes of Baratheon.

He needed to move—fast. The faster, the better.