Author's Note: I've been working on another project. This story will be on hiatus for the time being.

The monk was shivering. It was a bright summer's day outside the small council room with the heat of mid-July scorching through its wide balcony. Beams of harsh light lit all corners of the room yet still the novice appeared pale and near sickly blue. He spoke in such soft whispers that though Grandmaester Law demanded he speak up, he could only manage it in a quavering high pitch.

"It was during Laud- m-m'lord. During our usual morning service that the church bells tolled thrice."

His shifty, bloodshot eyes glanced towards the other council members and only after a solemn nod from Law did he continue.

"O-On the island, the bells toll thrice for disaster. They warn us of upcoming storms or perhaps a broken fire in one of the septs. I've been told Lindisfarne often suffered from heavy windstorms, s-so I assumed it was just that. But in the middle of service, when Brother Edmund barged in through the chapel doors, we knew something was wrong. I'd never seen him or anyone so frightened. It was like he'd seen the shadow of Satan himself."

His posture stiffened as he began recalling the events further.

"We heard the raiders before Edmund could say it. Hundreds of them on horseback. Like an earthquake shaking the ground beneath us. They banged their shields and axes crying in Northlandish tongue. Soon, the entire room devolved into chaos, each novice, monk and elder seeking refuge from the raiders. In the frenzy a few of us managed to escape and make way for the docks. I imagine the others were not as fortunate."

The monk steadily lowers his face into his hands and shakes his head. The room is left silent besides the odd songbirds chirping away outside.