Chapter 374: Morghul See Daylight Again

A few days later...

"Attack!!!"

In the turbulent waters of the disputed lands, several warships flying the flag of the Triarchy were brutally ambushed. They endured a relentless onslaught as a much larger fleet encircled them, firing fireballs from catapults that set the sea ablaze.

"Roar..."

The air shook with the roar of a dragon. A light silver dragon soared above, its scales glittering against the backdrop of smoke and fire.

Aboard the dragon, Laenor, his face aglow with the thrill of battle, shouted the command: "Dracarys!"

With a majestic swoop, the dragon, Sea Smoke, unleashed a torrent of orange flames that consumed the masts and sails of the enemy ships below.

As the dragon rained fire, the fleet activated its ramming horns, smashing into the sides of the Triarchy's ships as grappling hooks flew, latching onto the enemy ships and dragging them into chaos.

The battle was stark in its disparity; the presence of a dragon tipped the scales overwhelmingly. It was more of a massacre than a battle, and it was over quickly.

Within the hour, the forces under them methodically cleared the remnants of the battle from the water.

"Haha, let's go!" Laenor, exhilarated by the victory, slapped Sea Smoke's back and ordered the dragon to circle back.

After several such skirmishes, Laenor had found a wild joy in the heat of battle, the sensation of unleashing fiery destruction exhilarating beyond compare.

In his fervor, he had all but forgotten his former lover, "Cole," who was conspicuously absent from the battlefield - this Cole being a distinct individual, not to be confused with Kingsguard Criston Cole.

...

Bloodstone Island, Twin Castles

In the vast hall of Twin Castles, Rhaegar paced over a sprawling map of the Narrow Sea laid out on the floor. The markings of the three-headed red dragon dominated the location of Myr, while the stepstones bore the emblem of their base.

Around the free-trade city-states of Lys and Tyrosh, a complex web of sea serpents, towers, and purple grapes was meticulously arranged to represent the tightening grip of Rhaegar's forces around these crucial areas.

"After more than a month of preparation, our naval strength is formidable," Rhaegar mused with a confident smile. "Soon the Triarchy will fall into our domain."

His expression softened as he glanced up at the hall's banners, emblazoned with the three-headed red dragon. "My children will inherit vast territories."

A message from Rhaenyra had brought more good news: the twins she was carrying were active, and she believed they were trying to communicate.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hall. Aemond led the way, flanked by Aegon and Laenor.

Laenor, always the jovial one, announced cheerfully, "Rhaegar, we've cleared the Triarchy's pirates from the sea, and many wealthy merchants from Myr and Tyrosh have fled their cities by ship."

His admiration for Rhaegar had only deepened after several battles, and he had come to appreciate his cousin's talent for strategies that not only won military victories, but also the hearts of his followers.

With the strategic stronghold of the Twin Castles, their logistical worries were nil, allowing their forces to engage freely and with high morale, especially during the sieges that scattered the notorious pirate fleets of the three free city-states, creating a profound sense of accomplishment and honor among the troops.

Rhaegar's smile widened as he gave his next instruction, "If anyone tries to escape, let them. Make it spectacular." His strategy was clear: he wanted to take thriving territories, not ruins. The fleeing wealthy would likely return, ensuring continued prosperity and trade.

Laenor nodded enthusiastically, barely containing his amusement.

At that moment, Tormund interjected, "Prince, the Tiger and Elephant Parties of Volantis have reconciled their differences and agreed to send troops to secure Lys."

Volantis, an ancient city struggling under the shadows of Braavos and Pentos, sought rejuvenation through warfare, propelled by the ambitious Tiger Party, while the conservative Elephant Party prioritized trade.

Rhaegar pondered briefly before asking, "What of Daemon and Lord Corlys's efforts?"

Tormund replied, "Lord Corlys coordinates with the Volantene as he secures the Summer Sea, alongside fleets from Hightower, The Arbor, and the Lannisters."

He added seriously, "Daemon has joined forces with Princess Rhaenys and the Prince Pentos and is negotiating to force the Archon of Tyrosh to surrender."

Aegon, unable to contain his laughter at the complexity and audacity of their maneuvers, quickly covered his mouth.

Rhaegar, unfazed by the interruption, commanded firmly, "See that both sides accelerate their operations. I want our forces within the city walls in three days."

"As you wish," Tormund confirmed with a respectful nod.

...

Lys, the Dome Dragonpit

Under the cover of night, dark clouds enveloped the moon, casting deep shadows across the landscape. From within the Dome Dragonpit of Lys, a painful roar echoed, its reverberations slipping through the bronze gate and into the cold night air.

The roar was filled with fury, yet tinged with a distinct weakness - a clear sign that Morghul had been severely mistreated.

"Rotten gambler, we're almost there," Hugh whispered to his companions, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. His expression was taut with anticipation and fear.

Two hundred meters from the bronze gate, a long line of would-be dragon tamers stretched out, flanked by sword-wielding mercenaries. Tonight was a pivotal moment for dragon taming, drawing recruits from far and wide.

Denys shivered in the cold, trying to calm his nerves. "Don't rush, there's still a dozen or so ahead of us," he trilled nervously.

"That old man wants us go to now, imagine riding a dragon," Hugh rasped boldly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and bravado.

Silver Denys gave him a wide-eyed look. "I just saw the old priest and his disciples go in. Chances are, you and I won't even get a turn," he muttered.

In his heart, Denys felt a secret relief at the possibility of not facing the dragon. Feeling the heavy purse hidden in his robes, he wrestled with his anxiety.

Having already risked his fortune, Denys was not eager to risk his life on a dragon's back.

...

Inside the Dragonpit

The cavernous Dragonpit was lit by a huge bonfire, casting a bright halo of light that pierced the surrounding darkness and gloom.

In the deepest part of the lair lay Morghul, a mighty dragon, incapacitated and bound by chains around its neck and feet. Its eyes drooped helplessly, his breathing heavy and labored. The restraints and its injuries had driven it to a state of manic distress, leaving it both physically and mentally exhausted in time.

Near the bronze gate, a tense assembly gathered around the bonfire. Bambaro, visibly agitated, took cover behind a group of mercenaries. An elderly figure, bent and frail, was in the midst of a grim ritual, holding a dagger above a silver-haired youth.

In one swift motion, he sliced the youth's throat. Blood spurted out and collected in a copper basin with a chilling resonance. The old man was Ross, a priest skilled in the dark arts of blood magic.

As he chanted, Ross tossed rare ingredients into the basin amidst a chilling gust of wind. Nearby, a naked young man lay on his back, his expression blank as he stared at the ceiling. His features were striking - indigo eyes and a shaved head speckled with silver stubble.

After finishing his incantation, Ross dipped his hands into the blood-filled basin and began to trace arcane symbols across the young man's body. These were not mere touches, but precise strokes that formed Valyrian symbols representing fire, blood, wisdom, and other mystical elements.

Soon the young man's body was covered in these ominous, blood-red symbols, extending to his scalp. Ross whispered a final incantation, urging in a low voice, "Belle, prove your noble lineage."

The young man, now identified as Belle, blinked slowly as his senses seemed to return. Under Ross's constant prodding, Belle rose and walked naked toward Morghul, the bound dragon in the depths of the cave.

Bambarro stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. "Can he really tame the wild dragon, Lord Priest?"

"Perhaps," Ross replied, his voice hoarse, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. "I have woven around him a spell once used by ancient dragonlords to help their heirs tame dragons. However, I lack the key incantations and know only fragments of the ritual."

The outcome now depended on the dragon's weakened will and whether Belle could assert his dominance.

Bambarro watched, stunned by the audacity of the act, as if he were taking part in a high-stakes gamble.

His gaze shifted back to the few remaining youths in red robes and shaven heads, and he understood the harsh reality: with many candidates prepared to tame dragons, the loss of one was a risk they were willing to take.

...

Outside the Bronze Gate

Hundreds of would-be dragon riders milled about under the night sky, the sea breeze ruffling their cloaks as they whispered nervously among the mercenaries' shadows.

Hugh shifted restlessly, muttering under his breath, "Damn it, when will it be my turn?" His dreams of riding a dragon back to Westeros as a noble lord were growing impatient by the minute.

Beside him, Silver Denys wiped his runny nose and sighed heavily. Despite his ambitions, a nagging feeling told him that even if he managed to mount a dragon, it might not end well. "Noble money isn't easy to come by," he mused, remembering the hard lessons of a youth spent gambling.

Suddenly, the eerie silence was shattered by a deep, resounding roar that echoed across the sea.

Boom!

The bronze gate slowly creaked open, releasing a blast of searing air that rippled through the gathered crowd.

"Roar..."

A massive dragon head emerged from the darkness, its mouth spewing a cloud of ash-gray fire into the sky. The creature's vast, vaporous gray wings unfurled as it crawled out, its body a tapestry of silver and black scales that shimmered ominously in the moonlight. It looked like a beast summoned from the abyss.

All eyes were riveted to this magnificent and terrifying creature.

On the dragon's broad back sat a blood-stained figure.

"Roar..."

The dragon, identified as Morghul, let out a roar of sheer indignation. The steel shackles around its neck rattled loudly, a stark reminder of its recent captivity.

"By The Smith, the wild dragon has been tamed!" Hugh exclaimed in disbelief, his voice trembling with awe.

Denys breathed a sigh of relief, but remained wary as he watched the formidable Morghul and its rider. Something didn't seem right. The dragon seemed barely controlled, if at all.

"Morghul, quiet!" commanded Belle from atop the dragon, his grip tight on the creature's gray scales, his indigo eyes wide with alarm.

"Roar..."

Morghul paid no heed, thrashing violently as it climbed out of the dragonpit, wings scraping the ground for leverage.

From a safe distance, Denys's alarm turned to panic. He grabbed Hugh's arm, urging, "Quickly follow me!"

"Why should we run?" Hugh asked, stunned by the spectacle.

"Don't wait around to die," Denys snapped, seizing the moment to dash away while the mercenaries were distracted.

At that moment, Morghul let out a furious roar and took to the sky uncontrollably, spewing more of its ash-gray dragonfire.

The scene became chaotic as the dragonfire fell like a deadly mist, engulfing mercenaries and dragonseeds alike in the flames.

Pushing his legs to the limit, Denys dove into a nearby sewer.

Splash!

Someone else hit the water even faster, causing a huge splash.

"Roar..."

Morghul continued its rampage, circling back to unleash more fire upon the unfortunate souls below.

"No! No!" Belle's cries echoed over the chaos as she clung desperately to the dragon, struggling to steer the uncontrollable beast.

From under the safety of the bronze gate, Bambaro and Roth watched the spectacle unfold. "Are the scorpion crossbows ready?" a mercenary called out.

"Idiots, it took forever to tame that beast; I won't let it be shot down!" Bambaro barked back, frustrated but cautious.

"Give it time," Rose advised, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of fear and fascination. "It's retaliating, holding a grudge. It needs to wear off."

"Obey!"

Belle was thrown from the dragon's back and wrapped his arms around its back scales in a death grip.

Morghul, still in turmoil, soared into the night, its wings beating mightily as it tried to escape into the sky of Lys.

(Word count: 2,068)