Chapter 356: Claiming the Horn

Daenerys gazed at the two Dornish knights kneeling before her, their expressions laden with guilt and grief. Beside them lay the charred remains of their prince—

No, not quite. Quentyn Martell was not yet dead.

For him, death might well have been a mercy.

His body was severely burned, his face a blackened husk of peeling skin, exposing the bone beneath. Where his eyes had once been, there were now two oozing, white, liquid masses.

The horrific sight rendered Daenerys speechless. Her words of reproach died on her lips.

Archibald, who had tried to extinguish the flames consuming Quentyn, had scorched his own hands in the process and now lay on the ground, screaming in pain.

Gerris, on the other hand, repeatedly apologized, begging Daenerys to allow them to take Quentyn's remains back to Dorne.

Seeing their pitiful state, Daenerys sighed, nodding her assent.

When she turned, she saw Samwell Caesar studying the green dragon Rhaegal.

"Sam," she called out, her voice anxious, "was that horn's sound earlier what made our dragons go wild? How is Rhaegal? And Viserion—where is he?"

Samwell was stroking Rhaegal's neck. The green dragon shifted uneasily but did not outright reject his touch.

"I suspect," he said, "the sound came from the Dragonhorn."

"Dragonhorn?" Daenerys frowned, her concern deepening. "What is it used for?"

To be honest, Samwell himself wasn't entirely certain.

The Dragonhorn's exact effects remained ambiguous in the original lore. It had never been blown in the story, and its full potential was left unexplored.

From what he had observed earlier, the horn seemed to forcefully summon dragons, overriding even their bond with riders.

But summoning wasn't the same as control.

Cleopatra was unaffected, thanks to the sorcery Samwell had learned in the ruins, which shielded her from the horn's power. Meanwhile, though Drogon and Rhaegal had been heavily influenced, the sound's cessation had restored them to normalcy.

This suggested the horn's effect was only temporary.

Samwell shared his deductions.

"So Viserion…" Daenerys's voice trembled. "The horn's master summoned him away?"

"Most likely," Samwell replied, rising to his feet and turning to leave. "I'll pursue them. You should stay here and stabilize the city."

"Alright." Daenerys hesitated. She wanted to join him, but Drogon was severely injured, and she knew she would only be a burden. "Be careful."

Samwell waved a hand dismissively, signaling her not to worry.

Having found a way to counteract the Dragonhorn, he no longer feared it.

The Pursuit

Samwell mounted Cleopatra and soared westward.

Passing over Meereen's walls and docks, he quickly reached the skies above Slaver's Bay.

Below him, a fleet of ships bearing banners emblazoned with golden krakens was unfurling their sails, preparing to flee the area.

Samwell urged Cleopatra into a dive, drawing the Ironborn's attention immediately.

The fleet erupted into chaos as sailors shouted warnings and hurled spears and axes skyward, attempting to fend off the dragon.

Samwell circled overhead, scanning for any sign of Viserion or the horn. He also waited, hoping someone would attempt to sound the horn again.

But neither the golden dragon nor the ominous sound made an appearance.

Frowning, he heard a sharp twang of bowstrings, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Samwell reacted instinctively, urging Cleopatra into an evasive turn.

Whoosh!

A massive bolt sliced through the air, narrowly missing the dragon's left wing.

His eyes followed the trajectory back to a ballista mounted on the deck of a warship.

The white dragon growled, unnerved by the attack, while Samwell quickly evaluated the situation.

Seizing a brief pause as the crew reloaded, he ordered Cleopatra into a dive.

The sailors scrambled to load another bolt but fumbled in their haste. By the time they had it ready, Cleopatra was already upon them.

The dragon's maw opened wide, and a torrent of molten fire cascaded down, engulfing the ballista and its operators.

The inferno spread rapidly across the deck, setting the ship ablaze. Flaming sailors dove into the sea, screaming in agony, as the mast toppled with a thunderous crash.

The sight sent panic rippling through the remaining Ironborn. They rowed frantically, their ships scattering in every direction.

Ignoring the smaller vessels, Samwell fixed his gaze on a larger ship that appeared to be the fleet's flagship.

This time, he was cautious. Climbing higher into the sky, he examined the ship closely before making his move.

Sure enough, he spotted another ballista stationed near the stern.

A bolt shot skyward but fell short, losing momentum before reaching Cleopatra.

Samwell didn't waste the opportunity. Guiding Cleopatra into a steep dive, he aimed straight for the flagship.

Suddenly, his instincts screamed danger.

Glancing to his right, he spotted another bolt hurtling toward Cleopatra from a second ship.

The massive projectile spiraled through the air, targeting the dragon's underbelly.

Samwell didn't hesitate. Pushing forward, he drew his greatsword from his back.

Crash!

The bolt collided with the blade, shattering into fragments.

The impact jarred Samwell's arms, splitting the skin of his palms. He lost his balance and fell—

Straight onto the deck of the flagship.

Cleopatra unleashed a furious burst of fire, incinerating the stern ballista before veering off.

Samwell scrambled to his feet, cutting down two sailors who rushed at him with axes.

Then he saw him.

At the ship's prow stood the red-robed priest Moqorro, holding an enormous, intricately carved horn nearly as tall as himself.

The Dragonhorn.

Cleopatra continued to breathe fire, her roars shaking the heavens, as Samwell advanced toward the priest. Blood dripped from his sword as his steps quickened.

Moqorro, however, showed no fear. He even managed a smile.

Thud!

Samwell's sword plunged into the priest's chest.

Moqorro staggered, releasing his grip on the horn. It clattered to the deck.

"Did your god tell you today was your death day?" Samwell sneered.

Blood bubbled from Moqorro's lips as he spoke, his voice steady despite his mortal wound.

"All mortals meet death, Caesar," he rasped. "You are no exception. In the flames, I have seen your end—reborn in blood, and to blood you shall return."

Samwell scoffed, withdrawing his sword. With a swift stroke, he severed the priest's head, letting him "Die in blood" first, muttering, "Let's test your prophecies."

He stooped to retrieve the Dragonhorn. Its surface was warm to the touch, the Valyrian runes carved into it faintly glowing.

Before the ship sank, Samwell climbed back onto Cleopatra's back.

As the Ironborn fleet scattered across the horizon, he ascended into the sky, the stolen horn securely in his grasp.

(End of Chapter)