The battlefield had gone quiet.
Not silent never silent but the screams and clash of steel had faded into the low hum of men working, sorting, dragging bodies, and gathering spoils. Smoke drifted lazily from collapsed tents. The elephants were being watered. The lions lounged in the shade, bellies full, tails flicking lazily.
Vaelorion walked through the wreckage with Blackfyre resting across his shoulder, his lion padding beside him like a shadow. He wasn't celebrating. Not yet. There was too much to do.
The Purple Rhinos who surrendered were already stripped of their armor and weapons. Their coin purses, rings, and belts were taken. They sat in a guarded circle, heads down, waiting for judgment. The Black Lions didn't mistreat them Vaelorion didn't allow cruelty but they were defeated men, and they knew it.
His commanders were already sorting through the spoils. Piles of armor. Crates of dried food. Barrels of wine. A few chests of coin—less than expected. Always less than expected.
Vaelorion crouched beside a broken table where documents had been scattered. He sifted through them with surprising gentleness for a man of his size.
Then he froze.
Ship deeds. Ownership papers. Docking rights.
Exactly what he'd been hunting for.
He picked up a bundle of them, flipping through the seals and signatures. Three ships. Medium‑sized. Enough to carry nearly half his people if needed.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"Davos!"
His quartermaster appeared almost instantly, ink‑stained fingers already sorting through another pile of ledgers. Davos Stormborn was quick‑witted, sharp‑eyed, and annoyingly good at numbers.
Vaelorion held up the papers.
"Think we can use any of this? I know the ships are good, but the rest… it's scraps. Barely any coin. You're better with this shit than I am."
Davos took the papers, scanning them with practiced efficiency.
"Aye, captain. Enough to buy supplies grain, dried meats, spices, maybe some luxuries for trade."
He tapped the ship deeds.
"These are the real prize. But we'll need to speak to the shipmasters. They won't hand over their crews willingly."
Vaelorion raised a brow.
"Meaning?"
Davos shrugged casually.
"Meaning some of them might need to… disappear. Quietly. But the ships themselves? They're ours. Three more vessels. Enough to move half the company."
He continued flipping through the documents.
"We'll need crates for the animals. Strong ones. And space for the elephants, lions, and the other big cats. And the children gods, the children will need food, blankets, medicine. Westeros isn't gentle."
Vaelorion's expression softened.
The children.
The ones he'd freed.
The ones who followed him like he was some kind of myth.
He thought of their laughter, their small hands tugging at his armor, the way they looked at him with trust he didn't think he deserved.
A smile crept across his face.
"I wish we could do more for them," he murmured.
"Sometimes I feel selfish… leaving Essos for Westeros. Leaving all this behind."
Davos looked up from the papers.
"You're not leaving them behind, captain. You're taking them with you. All of them. You're giving them a future."
Vaelorion nodded slowly.
Then he straightened, voice firm again.
"Buy every slave we can afford. Any child, any family. Anyone who wants freedom. We take them in."
Davos grinned.
"Aye, Black Lion. I'll see it done."
Vaelorion looked out over the camp his people working, laughing, rebuilding, living.
He felt the weight of destiny pressing on him.
Westeros was calling.