Valyria, the land of dragons and magic has now fallen to doom. The land is filled with ash and soot, the remains of men and their mighty dragons littering its dark soil. Thirteen great volcanoes loom in the distance, darkening the skies and spewing hot magma, adding to the desolation of the place. As one of the volcanoes belch out a puff of smoke, a feeble yet frightening roar echoes out. The lone figure of a dragon, larger than the biggest of castles, stumble out of the volcanic ridges, riddled with wounds and magma dripping from its steel-hard scales. Jagged horns adorn its reptilian head, as if to form a crude crown. As it surveyed the land, its intelligent blue eyes contrasted with its red skinned body. It ruffled its tattered wings and unfolded it, casting a dark shadow over the doomed land. As quick as fire, anger envelops its entire frame and it lets out a cry of terror, promising death and suffering to all who betrayed it and its kin.
Theon was walking back slowly to his father's castle after ordering his men and their ships to settle down. Salmond Pyke, his second in command and his trusted adviser joined him, panting hard.
"Captain, I counted around 270 longships decked in Pyke's harbor alone. I think the Greenlanders will shit their breaches when they will the sails of the Ironborns fluttering in the wind."
"Yes, they will but something is wrong here. I don't see mother or any of my family on the docks to greet me." Theon's words were laced with worry and he didn't like it.
In the confusion, Theon failed to notice the figure of a muscular man looking at him from a rope bridge. A raven perched on his shoulders, its feathers moving lightly with the wind. The sea was calm, for the moment.
[3 WEEKS LATER]
Lana was a woman of much age. The cold weather and the harshness of the North was all she knew. She had never seen another settlement in her life. She had married a simple fisherman at a young age, lead a poor life and gave birth to many children; only 3 entered adulthood. Lana was used to a difficult life, from the unforgiving weather to the brutal raids by the scum from the Ironlands, from Skagos or even wildlings who were bold enough to pass the wall. However, things started changing for Lana and the rest of her village, nine years ago. Strange dreams from old gods started to occur many of them, guiding them with knowledge about crops, tools and trade changing their life drastically.
The greatest change came when Lord Stark sent them coins and stone workers to raise the ruins of the old keep, the remnants of once a strong castle. This provided the youth with plenty of work and coin. The whole village knew in their hearts that the Gods will bless them for their hardships. The half completed keep shall soon be visited by Lord Stark and if they were fortunate enough, it will be a child of their lord who shall visit them.
Lana's eyes filled with mirth, watching her youngest grandchild's antics. "Where are you running off to, Lora my sweet child?"
"Granny, mommy has gone to collect herbs and I am going to help her!" The six-year-old clenched some wild flowers in her small hands and pumped up and down defiantly.
"Oh, sweeties come over here. Mommy will be back soon so let me tell you a story " she called.
"No granny I am going to watch the sea!" The child lifted off the flap of the tent and ran out to the shore. As Lana gently walked out to follow the child, she started shouting.
"Granny look, ships!"
Dread filled Lana's old heart and her blood started pounding in her ears. An entire fleet of ships packed the horizon and Lana knew only one thing: they were not here for good.
The child wouldn't listen to her calls and Lana could do nothing from her tent in the grove. The child was just too far and excited to notice the old woman's desperate calls. Lana's heart sank even further as she realized that all the villagers were occupied with work far away from her isolated tent.
They stormed the beach like a pack of frenzied wolves with a strange hunger driving them. As she tried to scream and her voice gave away, she saw a wild and shaggy iron born cleave through her granddaughter with an axe and bathe in her innocent blood.
A shock went through her body and her mind numbed instantly. The cries from the invaders struck her ears with no avail as her body quavered and pain slowly seeped into the numbness. Her eyes flared and tears streamed out of it, but they were not tears of pain but of rage. Her voice curdled into something demonic as she looked around for the man who took her grandchild.
A voice started filling her mind. It sang old tales of Vengeance and retribution, which were lost to the ages. It demanded a prize, a prize that would appease the gods and bring down their wrath on her enemies. The old woman raised her dead husband's iron dagger and turned to the white tree in the middle of the grove. With shaking hands, she raised it to her chest and stabbed it swiftly. Her screams echoed in the salty wind and the leaves of the white tree trembled.
The old widow's blood soaked the soil and it climbed the ancient tree's roots to the mouth of the wierwood face. A sudden gust of wind shook the tree and the wierwood face lapped up all the blood. Soon a loud cry emanated from the tree and chilled the bones of the attackers.
Aelon Drumm had already started to celebrate their easy conquest with a pretty enough girl under him, when he heard a deep sound from the nearby forest. It was a cry of pure terror and it was enough to convince him to pull up his breaches.
The second he went outside the hut, visions of horror and destruction met his eyes. A gigantic tree occupied his camp, its white branches smoking and dripping with what seemed like blood. A bloody red face was carved crudely into its trunk and it seemed to move lightly, a frightful sight for any man.
His men were scattering to the trees left and right and the tree cried again, startling the man beyond words. As the monstrosity turned and looked at Aelon, he knew it was over.