Lancelot and his company had been trekking across the Great Grass Sea for a month since leaving Oros. Because they were hauling a massive amount of treasure, their pace was slow. Furthermore, to avoid unnecessary trouble, they slept during the day and traveled by night.
During this period, Lancelot's stats had skyrocketed. His current strength was enough to completely crush the version of himself that had never left King's Landing.
Name: Lancelot Lannister
Identity: Warden of the West, Heir to Casterly Rock (Tywin Lannister's heir)
Class: Knight, Mage
Strength: 14
Speed: 14
Intelligence: 14
Spirit: 14
Magic: 14
Talent: Skinchanger (Ability to project consciousness into other living beings and temporarily control their actions.)
---
Around noon, a southern wind kicked up, bringing a sandstorm with it. Lancelot and his men were resting in their tents when they felt the ground trembling. It sounded as if thousands of horses were charging right at them.
Lancelot stepped out to look. In the distance, a massive, dark wave of people was swarming over the hills and plains toward them.
"Dothraki. And a massive Khalasar at that. What do we do, Ser Lancelot?" Podrick asked nervously.
Lancelot scanned their surroundings. It was an endless, flat plain with absolutely no defensive terrain. He had barely eighty men, while the enemy had at least ten thousand, all cavalry.
What to do? What to do?
Lancelot racked his brain anxiously until a sudden idea struck him.
"Since this is the Great Grass Sea, let's start a prairie fire! Let's see who's crazier," Lancelot declared.
He pulled out ten jars of Wildfire and looked at Melisandre.
"First, burn all the grass nearby to ash to create a firebreak. Then we'll throw the Wildfire and use the wind to blow the flames toward the Dothraki."
Although Melisandre was curious about where Lancelot had produced the Wildfire from, she knew now was not the time for questions.
She used a Fireball spell to incinerate the grass within a few dozen feet of their camp, turning it to ash.
Then, she watched as Lancelot hurled the jars of Wildfire toward the charging Dothraki. He pulled out a scorpion crossbow and shot the jars in mid-air.
The Wildfire exploded violently.
Ten jars of the substance instantly ignited a raging inferno on the grasslands. Fueled by the strong southern wind, it turned into a rolling wall of green destruction, sweeping uncontrollably toward the Dothraki.
The charging Dothraki saw the sea of fire rushing toward them and their faces went pale with terror. They tried to turn their horses around, but the cavalry behind them kept pushing forward, causing a massive pile-up.
We can't escape, was the thought running through their minds.
Fortunately for Lancelot, it was the Long Summer. Eight years of warmth meant the grass on the plains had grown waist-high. It was also the dry season; the vegetation was brittle and ignited instantly.
Safe inside their ring of ash, Lancelot and his men watched the devastating wildfire from afar. Countless Dothraki cavalrymen perished in the sea of flames. Those who didn't die were mostly severely burned, losing most of their hair and eyebrows.
"While they're in chaos, we need to move. If they recover and regroup, we're done for."
Lancelot and his team immediately evacuated the area.
Because of the sandstorm, they couldn't quite tell which way was which, but as long as they were moving in the opposite direction of the Dothraki, it was good enough.
They walked for who knows how long. Once the sandstorm faded over the horizon, Lancelot and his team finally confirmed there wasn't a single Dothraki in sight.
"The good news is, we survived. The bad news is, we're lost," Lancelot announced.
"Ser, it seems you threw away the compass, and we can't see the sun clearly to tell the position. What do we do now?" Podrick asked.
"Wait for dark. We'll read the stars," Lancelot replied.
The sun went down, but the night sky was pitch black. There were only a few tiny stars on the horizon; the major navigational stars were completely obscured.
"Ser, what's the plan?" Podrick asked again.
"Eat. We'll talk after we fill our bellies."
Podrick went to start a fire and cook.
Lancelot took Brightroar and used it to slice off a piece of a regular steel sword. He then rubbed the steel fragment against Brightroar.
Once the metal was magnetized by the friction, Lancelot placed it inside a wooden cup filled with water, resting it on a floating leaf. The piece of iron began to spin on its own, eventually settling to point out North and South.
Lancelot realized their position. They had actually drifted even further away from Volantis.
"Looks like we need to change the plan," Lancelot thought.
He decided to head East toward Meereen and catch a ship back to Westeros from there.
He also planned to stop in Astapor to buy some Unsullied.
Years ago, Gerion Lannister had hired sailors and mercenaries, which led to his betrayal. Lancelot certainly wouldn't repeat that mistake.
Lannister soldiers knew how to sail—they had Lannisport, after all. They could serve as the crew; he just needed to buy a ship in Slaver's Bay.
As for the Unsullied, they were purely for security. After all, he currently had fewer than ninety men.
Podrick and the others finished cooking, and after eating, Lancelot shared his new plan.
"My Lord, if we sail back to Westeros, we'll likely have to pass the Ruins of Valyria and the Stepstones. Both are death traps! Maybe we should stick to the land route?" Podrick suggested.
"You have a point. Plus, I still want to catch a white lion, a Hrakkar. Might find one on the road," Lancelot mused.
Lancelot had overlooked one thing: sailing was heavily dependent on currents and wind direction. If the wind was blowing East, sailing West was nearly impossible. With current ship technology, fighting the wind and current wasn't a viable option. A single strong gale could blow a ship into unknown waters.
"We'll still go to Slaver's Bay. We need to exchange most of this treasure, buy Unsullied, horses, wagons, and supplies. Then, we'll cross the Dothraki Sea, head back to Pentos, and cross the Narrow Sea to King's Landing," Lancelot decided.
Even though he had ruled out the sea route, he felt he needed at least a thousand Unsullied soldiers to feel safe.
---
Meanwhile, the Khalasar Lancelot had defeated with the wildfire was being harvested by a much stronger one.
Khal Drogo laughed as he looked at his once-formidable rival, now so weak.
"Norvo, did you not eat? Why is your Khalasar in such a state?"
"Drogo... if we hadn't been hit by a sea of fire... green fire... and lost so many men... you would never have defeated us so easily," Khal Norvo wheezed. His whip was half-burned, and he had a fresh slash across his chest from Drogo's Arakh.
"You were attacked? By whom? That mercenary company? You're a Great Khal with ten thousand men, how did you not scout the situation beforehand?" Drogo asked.
"It was the first time I saw such fire... green fire... it burned so fast! I..."
Before he could finish, Khal Drogo slit his throat, slicing from stomach to neck.
"May your soul shine like the stars in the sky!"
Drogo gave his opponent enough respect before finishing him.
After absorbing Norvo's Khalasar, Drogo had become the most powerful Khal on the Dothraki Sea. Although he hadn't united the entire grassland yet, at his age and pace, he would likely achieve that great feat within ten years.