The wind had shifted. It carried with it a faint chill—unusual for the vast warmth of the Dothraki Sea—but Varek knew better than to trust the calm. Change was coming. The grass whispered of storms far beyond the horizon, and the horses sensed it too, restless beneath their riders.
Varek sat tall in the saddle, eyes scanning the distant line where the golden grass met the sky. His khalasar had grown larger since the battle with Drakhar—stronger, fiercer—but with new power came new dangers. The strange men with their fire-spitting weapons were only the beginning. Whispers of armored armies moving west, and lords from stone castles calling their banners, had reached his ears. The world beyond the grass was closing in.
Yet, no khal had ever conquered the Dothraki by fear. Varek's rule was forged in blood and steel, and he intended to keep it that way.
---
That morning, as the khalasar prepared to break camp, a rider burst through the crowd, his horse galloping hard, nostrils flared and eyes wide.
"Khal! Scouts bring news—two great armies march south. One wears the colors of the North, the other flies the banner of the Reach!"
Varek's dark eyes narrowed. The North and the Reach—houses Stark and Tyrell—were not strangers to each other, but why now would they send armies across the vast lands to the edge of the Dothraki Sea?
"Tell me everything," Varek commanded.
The rider slowed, breathless but steady. "They march toward the Jade Sea, vying for control of the fertile lands along the coast. Their soldiers carry steel and fire. The grass will be stained red."
Varek's lips pressed tight. The Dothraki had survived countless wars and countless foes, but this was something different. These were not scattered bands of sellswords or petty lords—they were organized armies, bringing the weight of kingdoms to the edge of the grass.
---
Varek called his bloodriders to a council, a rare gathering of minds under the open sky.
"We face not just men on horses, but men who march in ranks, who fight behind walls, who wield fire like lightning," Varek said, voice low but fierce.
His bloodrider Jhoran spat on the ground. "Then we shall burn their walls, break their ranks. Let them learn how the grass fights."
Another rider, the sharp-eyed Rylah, nodded. "But we must be clever. Their steel is strong, their fire burns like the sun. We cannot charge blindly."
Varek smiled grimly. "No. We strike like the wind—fast, unseen, unstoppable. We do not meet their fire with steel alone. We meet it with fury."
---
The khalasar moved like a living shadow across the grasslands, riding hard toward the Jade Sea. Their plan was simple: disrupt the armies before they could settle, before the ground could be claimed by stone and sword.
For days they tracked the armies' movements, watching as massive forces built camps, raised banners, and prepared for war. Varek's scouts brought back reports of knights in shining armor, foot soldiers drilling in ranks, and strange war machines designed to break walls and horses alike.
Yet, the khalasar remained elusive. They struck at supply lines, raided isolated patrols, and vanished before the enemy could rally. The grass was their home, and they used it like a weapon.
---
One evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the sky with blood-red streaks, Varek sat by a fire with his closest bloodriders. The flames flickered, casting sharp shadows on their faces.
"We cannot win this war by brute force alone," Rylah said softly. "We need allies."
Jhoran laughed, a harsh sound. "Allies? We take what we want by right of strength. What ally would ride with the Dothraki and not fear their own death?"
Varek considered this, then nodded slowly. "Maybe. But even the strongest khal knows when to strike a bargain."
He turned his gaze to the horizon, where smoke from distant campfires mingled with the stars.
---
The next day, Varek sent riders to the nearby Free Cities—places where men lived behind walls and traded gold and swords. He sought allies, weapons, and knowledge. Some met his demands with fear and caution; others with greed and open arms.
A merchant from Lys brought news of ships filled with steel, crossbows, and strange powders that burned and blinded. Another from Volantis spoke of a rising power beyond the Narrow Sea, a queen with dragons, and armies bound by fire and blood.
Varek listened but remained silent. Dragons were myths to many, but fire and blood were truths he understood well.
---
Weeks passed, and the armies from the North and the Reach tightened their grip on the Jade Sea coast. They built walls, fortifications, and watchtowers, staking claims with banners and blood.
Varek's khalasar struck again and again—raiding, burning, killing—until the armies could no longer ignore the threat. But the khal knew he could not face these armies head-on.
Instead, he prepared for a different kind of battle.
---
One dawn, scouts returned with urgent news. A small group of knights had crossed the grasslands, bearing a message for Varek. The knights rode boldly into camp, their armor gleaming and weapons at the ready, but they did not attack.
The leader, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, dismounted and spoke.
"Khal Varek, I am Ser Edric of the Reach. My lords wish to parley."
Varek watched him carefully, sensing the tension behind the knight's words.
"Speak," Varek said.
Ser Edric bowed slightly. "The lords of the North and Reach seek peace… or at least a truce. They do not wish to fight the grass and the horses, but they must secure their lands. They propose a meeting."
Varek's eyes narrowed. "And if I refuse?"
"Then war will come, and many will die."
The khal smiled, a slow, cruel curl of his lips. "War is the language of the Dothraki. But I am not without sense. Tell your lords I will meet them—on my terms."
---
The place chosen was a wide plain, a neutral ground where grass stretched as far as the eye could see. Varek rode there with his bloodriders, their horses powerful and proud. Across from them, banners fluttered in the wind, and knights clad in shining armor waited.
The meeting was tense, filled with cold words and sharper glances. The lords spoke of borders, peace, and shared interests. Varek listened but spoke little, his eyes always watching.
At last, he stood and addressed the lords.
"The grass belongs to the strongest. You come with words, but I have only known the way of the arakh and the horse. You want peace? Then bring me something I can hold in my hand. Something more than words."
He paused, his gaze cutting through the silence.
"I want your steel and your knowledge. Teach my khalasar to fight your wars—not with swords alone, but with strategy and fire. In return, I offer your armies safe passage through the grass, and the strength of the khalasar as an ally."
The lords exchanged uneasy glances. This was a deal born not of trust, but of necessity.
---
The days that followed were unlike any other in the Dothraki Sea. Knights taught the khalasar the art of siege, of shield walls, and disciplined ranks. Varek's bloodriders learned quickly, their natural ferocity tempered by new tactics. The khal himself studied maps and plans, his mind sharp and unyielding.
But old ways died hard.
One evening, as Varek practiced strikes with his arakh, Jhoran approached, his expression dark.
"You learn their ways, but do not forget who you are," Jhoran warned. "The grass will turn red with the blood of those who forget."
Varek nodded. "I will never forget. But to survive, we must grow stronger—not just in steel, but in mind."
---
The alliance was uneasy, but it changed the balance of power. When the armies from the North and Reach moved again, they faced not just a khalasar of horse and blade, but a force transformed—fierce and cunning, wild and disciplined.
The grass was no longer just a place to run and raid. It was a battlefield shaped by fire and steel, by old traditions and new ways.
And at its heart rode Khal Varek, a storm born of blood and wind, ready to carve his name into the world.
---
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains. Varek sat atop his horse, watching the stars emerge, each one a distant fire in the endless night.
The grass whispered around him, alive with secrets and promise.
The world was changing—but so was Khal Varek.