We Bleed Silver(GOT/ASOIAF Fanfic)

"Alright, alright, it's not like I'm actually starving you." Hearing his father's wailing, the young man reluctantly turned back. "There's enough bread, pickled vegetables, and fresh water stored beneath the cell to last you three to five months. Forget about meat. Take this opportunity to lose some weight, Father."

After speaking, the young man casually waved his hand and left. Patricide was out of the question; after all, securing the crown without unnecessary complications was his priority. As long as his cousin wasn't lying to him, everything would fall into place within a few months. They didn't need to act rashly—just hold their position and keep an eye on the western Dornish lords. That was the bulk of their responsibility.

After that, a fractured Dorne would become the stage for the great houses to make their moves. The Dayne family would reclaim the crown of the King of the Torrent River.

The younger members of House Dayne, enamored by Obara's grand promises, eagerly followed her lead. They sealed off all news of the family's leadership changes. Ravens flying from High Hermitage and Starfall carried only reports of normalcy.

---

Sunspear.

This magnificent city, shaped like a ship sailing eastward, stood proudly at the site where Queen Nymeria had first landed.

Prince Qoren had just spent a considerable amount of time persuading Ullen Wyl, advising the Lord to apologize to the new Dragon King as soon as possible. Every time Dorne had suffered under dragonfire, it had taken years—sometimes decades—to recover. During the First Dornish War, even though Aegon I eventually withdrew, the jubilant Dornish soon realized the cost. It took years for the lords of Dorne's heartlands to regain even a fraction of their strength, and many of the burnt fields and oases had never returned to productivity.

Qoren only wished for calm. Maintaining the current order was the best course for Dorne. Exhausted, he sank into his soft chair and signaled for his cupbearer—heir to House Allyrion of Godsgrace—to bring him a chilled drink mixed with lemon and chili juice. He needed to quench his inner fire.

"Other than me, who else did Ullen have approached?"

The cupbearer hesitated for a moment before replying, "Your Grace, Lord Wyl only met with you in Sunspear. Beyond that, he sought out members of the Vulture Band. The old Vulture promised to rally the young men in the cities and towns—those who have no means of survival—and send them to the Red Mountains to support the new Vulture King."

Qoren's cup froze midair.

"The new Vulture King?" Qoren asked warily, sipping his chilled drink. "Who is this one? A son of House Blackmont or just another rogue?"

"The maesters and other lords believe he might be a bastard or legitimate son of House Blackmont," the cupbearer replied calmly. "The new Vulture King has inexplicable wealth and finely crafted weapons and armor. They've even raised over a hundred sand steeds. It's said that in their lair, vulture Cave, the Vulture King has amassed thousands of warriors. However, their provisions are reportedly scarce, likely supplied by certain lords."

"That fool, Ullen," Qoren muttered, slamming his cup down. "He's dragging all of Dorne into the flames of war. Go, tell the maester to send ravens to every noble. The Vulture King is our enemy too—let no one disturb this hard-earned peace."

"Yes, Your Grace."

---

Above the clouds of the Red Mountains, Vermithor soared, cloaked by the thick mist. Draezell's deep violet eyes gleamed with a faint red hue as he surveyed the terrain below. He had come to see what this so-called Vulture King truly was.

Suddenly, Vermithor let out a low growl, signaling that it had found something. Draezell focused his blood to enhance his vision.

Through the veil of clouds, he clearly spotted a castle. Hundreds of Dornishmen, clad in well-crafted armor, were feasting and reveling. Above the fortress, a crowned vulture spread its wings and soared.

Vermithor circled the skies, and Draezell's eyes sparkled. He had discovered a narrow southern passage leading to Vulture Cave.

A concealed mountain path—hidden enough that anyone without a dragon would likely never find it.

"Armored soldiers, and sand steeds too," Draezell murmured, patting Vermithor's neck to signal their return. "This could yield an unimaginable harvest." He had already devised a plan to force the Vulture King into battle.

Dragonstone's towers would take months to become habitable again, so for now, they remained in Blackhaven, awaiting the arrival of the two princes and their dragons, who were already on their way.

Vermithor ascended higher, vanishing into the sky.

Below, the Dornish soldiers continued their revelry, oblivious to the dragon's presence.

Inside the castle, however, the Vulture King stared impassively at the festivities. His maester—a mere assistant trained within his House, not a fully-fledged maester—was capable enough to relay messages and tend to injuries.

"Your Grace," the maester said, handing a letter to the Vulture King before reading it aloud: "Lord Wyl will dispatch 1,500 soldiers to join your ranks. They will bring 600 sand steeds, thousands of gold coins, and accompany you with 15 knights."

"Hired knights, no doubt," the Vulture King said coldly.

"Uncertain," the maester replied. "But the Wyl family just lost over a thousand men and several knights at Blackhaven. It's doubtful they could muster enough troops for this effort."

"Convey my thanks to Lord Wyl. I will ensure the fires of war rain down upon the cowardly lords of the borderlands," the Vulture King said with a sneer.

"Additionally, Lord Wyl has promised that he's already contacted the heads of vagrant gangs near Sunspear. They'll gather no fewer than 4,000 young men, women, and elders to head north and fight for you, though they lack proper equipment."

"That doesn't matter. What of the other noble lords?"

"Prince Qoren has publicly distanced himself from Your Grace and has called for all lords across the realm to cut off your supplies."

"Tch." The Vulture King spat on the ground in disdain. "Not an ounce of Prince Marion's courage. The Dornish must be blind to have chosen him as their prince—they'd have done better picking a woman."

"Among the lords contacted by Lord Wyl, Lord Toland of Ghost Hill has agreed to send troops to protect Wyl. However, they're only dispatching 800 spearmen. The other houses have refused outright. Lord Yronwood has even stationed 600 infantry along the border between their lands and Wyl lands."

The Vulture King pondered this news for a moment before the ground beneath him suddenly began to tremble. Startled, he leapt up and almost darted under the table.

"Your Grace, it doesn't seem to be an earthquake," the maester said, hurriedly pulling the panicked "king" back to his feet.

Emerging from his momentary fright, the Vulture King strode quickly to the window facing the direction of the tremors.

"Seven hells," he muttered.

Through the window, he saw clouds of dust rising in the southern mountains. His sharp instincts told him exactly what had happened.

His supply route was gone.

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