Chapter 340

Another attempt to control her dragons? Another fool playing with fire?

Did everyone who called themselves an ally secretly covet her children? The young queen felt the slumbering beast within her stir—this time, the news sparked her maternal rage.

In the brief moments between entering the pyramid and the start of the council meeting, Daenerys had already received a quick debriefing from Petyr Baelish, who summarized the major events that had transpired during her absence.

The victory in the first Battle of Meereen filled her with joy, but the report of Prince Quentyn Martell’s attempt to steal her dragons—and his resulting fiery death—was a heavy blow. The prince’s naive, foolish actions not only released two uncontrollable dragons but also cost him his life. Quentyn, heir to Dorne and a potential marriage alliance for Daenerys, had died under her protection. This tragedy would undoubtedly complicate her efforts to secure Dorne's support in her eventual conquest of Westeros.

And now, another would-be dragon thief—Victarion Greyjoy—had emerged. How had he gotten the idea to tame dragons? And more importantly, how had he come into contact with her freed dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal?

...

“Victarion’s older brother, Euron Greyjoy—the current king of the Iron Islands—gave him something before sending him off to find you: a dragon horn,” said the Red Priest Moqorro, his expression unreadable but tinged with a faint hint of amusement. “He called it ‘Dragonbinder’ and claimed that blowing the horn would give him control over your dragons.”

The priest’s words left the council members uneasy, but Daenerys pressed on, her curiosity piqued. “And does it not?” she asked, barely restraining her anger.

“Dragons are immense, powerful creatures—apex predators that require vast territories to hunt and roam. The Valyrians learned long ago that dragons cannot be caged,” Moqorro replied matter-of-factly. “However, dragons were not mere pets; they were living weapons of mass destruction, and in times of war, the Valyrians needed a way to summon them from their free-roaming territories to form cohesive dragon armies. At the height of its power, Valyria recorded hundreds of adult dragons, but their enemies—like the Ghiscari and Rhoynar—were equally formidable, often wielding their own supernatural forces. To summon and organize these beasts for battle, the Valyrians created the role of the Dragon Shepherd.”

Daenerys, despite being a Targaryen and a descendant of Valyria, listened intently, eager for knowledge about her lost homeland.

“A shepherd can use dogs to herd sheep, but dragons are no sheep. They are solitary creatures, apex predators with no natural hierarchy or leader. Even the Valyrians could not train a creature to lead the others. Instead, they created the Dragon Shepherds, who used enchanted horns—such as the one Euron gave Victarion—to summon dragons from afar.

“These dragon horns produced sounds unlike anything humans had ever heard—deafening and disorienting to humans, but perfectly tuned to draw the attention of dragons from dozens, even hundreds of miles away. In that sense, Dragonbinder could ‘control’ dragons—but only to gather them. To truly wield dragons in war, a dragonrider was needed. A one-to-one bond was required for control, meaning every dragon on the battlefield needed its own rider. The horn itself was always just a tool, never a substitute for a rider’s bond.”

Moqorro’s explanation illuminated much about the Valyrians’ ancient practices, but it also painted a grim picture of the events that had unfolded.

Daenerys could imagine the scene vividly now: Victarion, horn in hand, had blown it, producing an ear-splitting, otherworldly sound that echoed across the skies, drawing Viserion and Rhaegal from their lairs. But these dragons had no training, no understanding of what the horn was. Perhaps they came out of curiosity—or irritation.

And then, the ironborn captain, emboldened by his supposed triumph, had approached the majestic beasts. Perhaps he attempted to touch them, or perhaps he made the fatal mistake of trying to mount one. Either way, the result was the same: the dragons, enraged or simply defensive, unleashed their fiery wrath, reducing Victarion Greyjoy to a smoldering heap of ash.

...

“So you knew the horn couldn’t truly control dragons,” one of the ironborn, Newt the Barber, accused Moqorro sharply. “Why didn’t you warn him? Why let him march to his death?”

“I tried,” Moqorro replied evenly. “But do you think he would have listened? Victarion was consumed by jealousy and hatred for his brother. With that horn in his hand, his head was full of grandiose dreams: taming dragons, marrying the most beautiful woman in the world, and making his brother suffer the same humiliation he had endured. Had I told him the truth, he would’ve branded me a liar—or worse, thrown me into the sea as a sacrifice to his Drowned God.”

Newt and his fellow ironborn exchanged uneasy glances. The truth stung, but they couldn’t deny the plausibility of Moqorro’s words. Euron’s past sins—seducing Victarion’s favorite salt wife—were infamous among the ironborn. The thought that Victarion had hoped to one-up his brother by winning Daenerys for himself suddenly seemed all too plausible.

Worse still, the implications of Moqorro’s testimony unsettled them even more: had Euron given Victarion the horn knowing it would fail? Had he sent his brother on this mission fully expecting him to die, conveniently removing a powerful rival while appearing blameless?

The ironborn warriors, now consumed by doubt, sat back in silence, their earlier bravado extinguished.

...

Daenerys, meanwhile, felt her anger simmering. She could tolerate ambition and schemes directed at herself, but any threat to her dragons—the children she had raised—was intolerable. The ironborn’s earlier goodwill was now overshadowed by the revelation that they had carried such a dangerous artifact. Only her strategic mind, aware of her need for their ships and sailors, kept her fury in check.

“And where is this Dragonbinder horn now?” she demanded.

“It wasn’t destroyed by dragonfire,” Moqorro answered. “I believe one of the ironborn retrieved it. But know this, Your Grace: blowing the horn comes at a cost. For ordinary mortals, it consumes their life force. For someone like you, with extraordinary strength, the toll would be less severe. That said, such an artifact has limited use to someone who already wields dragons—but it would be unwise to let it remain unaccounted for.”

Daenerys nodded. Even without Moqorro’s advice, she had already resolved to recover the horn. Turning her gaze to Newt and his companion, her tone turned cold.

“Brave warriors,” she began, her words laced with frost. “I am grateful for your courage during the defense of Meereen. But as your queen, I demand you find that horn and bring it to me before nightfall. I suggest you leave now.”

Her message was clear: they were no longer welcome at the council meeting. Head bowed, the ironborn muttered their assent before hurrying to carry out her orders.

...