Chapter 141 Two women

Gavin hovered high above the carnage below, his sharp gaze scanning the smoke-choked horizon. The once-formidable Volantis fleet now lay in ruin. Towering plumes of smoke billowed skyward, darkening half the sky like the herald of a looming apocalypse.

As Gavin's fleet advanced, the remnants of the Volantis warships crumbled under the relentless assault.

His soldiers, disciplined and fierce, swarmed the decks of enemy vessels like wolves among sheep. One by one, Volantis warships fell under their control. The surviving slave soldiers, their will broken, dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, becoming prisoners without a fight.

The battle was over—its outcome now beyond doubt.

Gavin descended back onto the deck of the Bellerys. Hassan, awaiting his return, rushed forward, joy lighting up his face.

"My lord!" he exclaimed, barely able to contain himself. "A glorious victory! Shall we move to reclaim the Disputed Lands next?"

Gavin shook his head calmly, his voice measured. "No. Our numbers are limited. We'll need to allocate ships and soldiers to escort the captured vessels and prisoners back to the Stepstones first."

He paused, then added firmly, "Take the fleet and scour Volantis's coastline, as we discussed. Focus on their shipyards—leave nothing behind."

Hassan's brow furrowed. "My lord, the number of captives we've taken is massive. The Stepstones alone won't be able to support them. And Volantis still has more slaves—should we bring them too?"

Gavin gave a slow nod. "I intend to establish large-scale factories. The more people we have, the better. We have enough captured provisions to feed them for two years. Later, we'll purchase grain and cultivate the uninhabited islands. Don't worry. Take everything we can."

Hassan straightened, nodding with resolve. "Yes, my lord!" He turned sharply and began issuing commands, his presence radiating urgency and precision. The deck buzzed with focused activity.

As the sea breeze brushed Gavin's face and sunlight bathed the deck in gold, he looked out over the water, already planning his next move. After a series of devastating naval victories—and especially the destruction of Volantis's shipyards—he knew their maritime power, along with that of Tyrosh and Myr, had been crippled.

They wouldn't rebuild a fleet anytime soon. And Gavin would make sure they never did.

Now he had total control over the trade routes. He could set prices, demand tolls, even blockade the ports of the Free Cities, strangling their commerce. These merchant powers, dependent on maritime trade for survival, would have no choice but to bow to him.

With the eastern seas secure, only one threat remained—the Iron Throne to the west. But Gavin knew: he could become a king without ever needing to defeat its fleet.

After a grueling ten-day voyage, Margaery Tyrell finally set foot on Lys. The port was a whirlwind of activity. Soldiers herded lines of weary captives from the ships, while crates and barrels were unloaded in droves, stacking like miniature mountains across the docks.

The prisoners, hollow-eyed and broken in spirit, barely registered their surroundings. Margaery paid them little attention. After identifying herself to the port officials, she was swiftly escorted toward the Governor's Palace.

Inside the grand reception hall, she found a striking scene: a young girl, no older than herself, seated high upon a throne. Long, silver-gold hair cascaded like a waterfall over her shoulders, and a regal purple gown accentuated her commanding aura. At her feet lay a red-scaled baby dragon, over a meter long. It raised its horned head at the sound of Margaery's entrance, gave her a lazy glance, then resumed its nap.

Standing beside the throne was a tall knight clad in dark armor. His helmet shadowed most of his face, lending him an air of quiet menace.

Then, the knight's voice rang out with formal clarity:

"You stand before Daenerys Targaryen—the Stormborn, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Since her arrival with Gavin, Daenerys had clung to the identity of heir to the Iron Throne. And now, with Margaery Tyrell—the Rose of Highgarden—before her, she was eager to assert her dominance.

Margaery offered a polite smile, unmoved by the display. "Good day, Your Highness. I am Margaery Tyrell, daughter of Mace Tyrell, Duke of Highgarden and Warden of the South."

Daenerys's brows twitched. She lifted her chin defiantly.

"Lady Margaery," she said, her tone slightly clipped, "you should address me as 'Your Majesty.' As I understand, your father once served mine loyally."

Margaery's smile softened, her words gentle but resolute. "Yes, Your Highness. My father was loyal to King Aerys and led troops to Storm's End in his name. But, if I may be honest, you've never shown real interest in claiming the throne. Though it is your birthright, you've always spoken of being Ser Gavin's fiancée." She paused, her tone turning playful. "Unless I missed something—have you already taken the crown?"

Daenerys bit her lip, her eyes flashing with irritation. But she quickly recomposed herself.

"That may happen at any time," she said airily. "Now, what brings the Rose of Highgarden to Lys?"

"I came to meet my sworn knight, Ser Gavin Belerys," Margaery replied calmly, "and to discuss cooperation between the Tyrell family and his forces."

Daenerys's expression tightened. "Gavin isn't on Lys at the moment. I can speak for him. Tell me your proposal—I assure you, I'm more than capable."

Margaery bowed her head respectfully. "Thank you, Your Highness. But this concerns my family's long-term strategy. Only Ser Gavin can fully grasp the scope of our intentions. I'd prefer to speak with him directly. Can you tell me where he is?"

Daenerys hesitated, clearly annoyed. "He's at sea, with the fleet. His movements aren't easily tracked." Then, with a forced smile, she added, "You may wait here. A residence has been prepared for you. I hope your stay will be… pleasant."

"You are most kind," Margaery said with another graceful bow. "I hope I'm not imposing too long."

Daenerys waved a hand toward the knight, who stepped forward to escort Margaery.

As she left, Margaery glanced over her shoulder, offering a polite smile. Daenerys watched her go, a swirl of envy and unease in her eyes.