Silver hairs

Many miles to the north-west, a hard week's ride from King's Landing, the sound of digging tools and tired voices filled the air. On a tall bare hill famously known as High Heart, worn labourers heaved damp earth up around the centre of large white wood stumps, the only remaining hints of the great weirwood grove that had crowned this hill. They were creating a wide deep pit, that could be easily be considered a pond if filled with water. Nearby, a large hut had been build or more of reconstructed considering the owner's demands.

The witch spied on her slaves through the blinds of the window, knowing very well that most would parish within the week. It didn't matter, for in death their flesh would be of use for the coming rite, giving their lowly lives some last purpose. When she had sensed this place, she had been quick to halt her work on the tapestry and focus on using what weak-willed followers she had to move to this sacred hill. She had communed with the dormant power, the ancient natural energy that was here. Such old history she had learned, giving her at last insight of this world's forgotten history and the foolish beings that tended these long-fallen trees.

"Oh, how weak the Children were. Fearful and cowardly…having so much power in their grasp yet lacking will to use it." She chuckled to herself as she paced about the tapestry room, gazing at her beautiful work. Indeed the piece depicting the crones was nearly complete, the labour has been long yet worthwhile. "Yet I have the will. Yes…the time draws near when the dawn of flame breaks. With it, the world with taking's its first breath for a new age. From that we will be together against sisters…" Mournfully she'd caress the tapestry, touching the fine material with such care unfitting for such a clawed limb.

Outside there'd be more coughing then gasping as one of the labours suddenly collapsed, the fellow workers keeping back as he fell over twitching before being still. Everyone paused, hesitant at first before two labours picked up the dead worker and dragged him to the hut, laying it before the doorway. Once they had hurried off, the hag's gnarled hand yanked the corpse quickly inside, followed by the sickening crack of bone and the gory smack of bloody flesh being stripped away.

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Somewhere in Dothraki sea, a dozen of Dothraki riders laid dead, their neck snapped. The other Dothraki riders surrounded the silver-haired man who caused all this. Khal Drogo glared at the man, Daenerys and Jorah by his side. Jorah had his sword pointed at the man. The man looked at them with his green feline eyes.

Sephiroth is a tall man with a muscular build. He wore a long black coat with silver pauldrons, black boots and black trousers. The top of his coat is open to reveal his chest, with his leather suspenders crossed over it. His long silver hair has bangs parted to either side of his face.

"I am trying to stop with all the mass murders. But your men try to capture me first." said the man.

No Dothraki understood what his words, but Jorah and Daenerys did.

"Who are you?" asked Jorah with sword held high.

"I am just a man, looking for his son. I was wandering the desert and then your men tried to capture me and I don't like them to ruin my hair. I want to leave, let me go there is no need for any bloodshed." replied the silver-haired man.

Jorah still with his sword held tightly looked at the Khal and said, "He says he was looking for his son when your men tried to capture him. He says he wants to leave without any more bloodshed."

Drogo stepped forward. Like most Dothraki, Drogo has copper-coloured skin, black hair, and black eyes. His strong aura made him stand out m. Tall and muscular. His long, drooping moustache and a long braid hung with tiny bells that hang down to his thighs, symbolizing his status among the Dothraki as an undefeated warlord.

"Your body will not be buried. You will not be buried."

Drogo spoke in Dothraki; he held his Dothraki Arakh in his hand as he stepped forward.

"Worms will eat your flesh, your skin would rot."

The Silver one smirked deciding whether to summon his blade or not. He decided not to his summon his blade.

The Khal swung his blade. One slice and a dismembered mortal head, but this was not a mortal man. Khal kept pushing, the blade unable to even put a scratch on the monster that stood in front of him.

"My turn."

Saying this, the man struck the Horse Lord's abdomen with his fist. The mighty Khal fell on his knees clenching his abdomen, blood gushed from the strike's gash. The others started eyes-widen in shock, their Khal who never lost one battle was down on his knees.

"That's it, I guess." The silver-haired man looked around and the Dothraki backed away from him. "I'll be leaving now."