An Unexpected Song

Game of Thrones or any other media you shall recognize, does not belong to me. This story will have great quantities of songs and poems and phrases through it, none of them will belong to me, and if one ever does, be sure that I will say so.

Please, do read the author's note at the chapter's end. It is of dire importance.

Arriving - First Step to The Beginning

"Worthless scum!"

One more kick, of many others, was delivered to the hanging from the celling of a dark, cold cell. The figure had its harms suspended above it, held by heavy chains bruising and scrapping its long and slim arms. Dark, heavy clothes covered its body, many belts strapped along the cloth piece, so dark it was, there wasn't a way to know where it began and where it ended. A cough escaped the dark figure as its aggressor knee connected with its stomach, yet, it was a low sound, almost not there. Blood pooled out of its lips, hidden by yet another piece of cloth that served as a muzzle, so that it wouldn't bite any one. Its hair was dark and damp, hanging around its lowered head. Soon, it was still again, like it had stayed for days, never reacting or showing signs of life or fight.

"You should have been executed! Tortured!" The man, he was certainly a man with his large frame and rough appearance and voice, started to pace around the cell with frantic movements and hysteric voice, walking in circles around the hanging body. "Because of you, our trades agreements will never be installed! We will waste away in this freezing hell because of you!" He suddenly grabbed the figure's face with a hard grip, his short nails digging through the white flesh, the dark figure shuddered with the light pain, yet, it did not opened it's closed eyes, never once baking down by the man's violence.

With an icy and low voice, the large man brought the delicate face of the figure close to his own, with their noses touching and his jaw clenched, the man whispered. "My dammed lord uncle should never have agreed on your sentence, mercenary." With a rough push, making the figure bang itself on the wall not much far from it's back and then come swinging back to him, its neck lolling around with dizziness and pain, the figure met his leg in yet another kick. The man left it swinging in its chains, his fury palpable around him. He was gone from the figure's cell with a flourish of his heavy cape and two guards flanking his sides. "You dammed fucker!"

The figure was left alone in its cell, its body still being swung around by it's hanging arms. The strain was tiring, but it wanted until the noise of the aggressor's steps was far enough and it could not hear anything besides the noise of the droplets of water falling from the dungeon's celling echoing in its ears. When the silence came once again, its legs and arms were suddenly rigid and keeping it still, and with a pull of its arms as it grabbed the chains locking it in place, it lifted its body from its hanging position. With skill pulling its legs above its body and and flexing them. Keeping the position until its body was perfectly still, the chain no longer swinging its body around. Slowly, it lowered its body until it was hanging from celling again, this time, as still and silent as it had been for many days until the mediocre lord's visit to its cell.

And so it stayed for many still silent and cold hours, until the sound of steps approached it again. This time, it wasn't only three, of the little lord and his two minions. This time it was heavy boots, many of them. It could hear the swish of heavy capes and metal rocking against clothes. Silent and wary movements as well.

In the darkness of its cell, the dark figure opened its eyes for the first time to show vivid violet eyes, glowing with fire that the harsh cold of the North of Westeros could not extinguish.

"Prisoner of the the village of Tallinn of the North, killer of the new Lord of the Rael House, Lord Javelin Rael and his immediate family and thirty of his guard. By the power and word of the previous and now Lord of Tallinn, Lord Nabeli Rael, you are condemned to waste away and serve the Night's Watch until your life's end. You do not have a choice and shall take the oath."

"That monster killed your heir! How can you let him get away with it, alive nonetheless?" The same large man who'd assaulted their prisoner moments ago hissed to his lord uncle, Nabeli Rael, whom had assumed the leadership of their small village once again with the death of his son, Javelin.

The old man sighed in tiredness. "He won't leave unpunished. He will take the Black, whereas skill will be more useful."

"He killed thirty of our men. He killed your son and his family within an hour!"

"Do not dare to tell me what I've lost!" Javelin jumped out of his chair slamming his fist on his desk. "I know pretty well what he took from me, Gamin."

Gamin pursed his lips in his anger and slight fear of his uncle. He turned his eyes away from the old man and said with bitterness. "He didn't took only or family, my lord." He fisted his hands before staring the old man in his eyes. "His lady wife was part of an agreement with the village of Dulan, the agreement who would supply our food to pass through the winter. Like those Stark folks say, you know pretty well that the winter is coming. And our supplies are in it's end!" He took a deep breath before hissing out. "And now the loved daughter of the Dulan's Lord is dead."

"I know very well of the repercussions of the lady's death." The old man turned his back to Gamin as he stared out of the window of his office. His eyes gazing out at his small village. "With not even a year of marriage and his daughter is killed in her own home. And as bitter as that man is… we are doomed."

"And yet, you do not order for the killer's death." Gamin words brought a grimace to his lord's face.

"Yes… That boy will retain his life for now."

A knock cut their talk short, a voice came from the door.

"My lord, the wandering crow Yoren has come to take the prisoner away." A high voice came from the other side of the door.

The two men inside the room looked solemnly to each other, and without taking his eyes away from his nephew, Nabel ordered to bring the man to them. Tensely, they waited for the black brother who would take the assassin that doomed them to a winter without their precious supplies. They look to the the door when it opened after a short knock, a dark clothed man entering the office with heavy steps and cape. The man feared a foul smell and had a horrible face and what looked to be a wounded shoulder, his jaw was covered by a thick mass of beard and messy hair. He looked at them with grim eyes.

"Where's the so said mercenary?"

Gamin sneered at the man. "Won't you ask of his crimes?"

"You can tell me after I've seen him. Your letter told great things about his abilities, let's see how much of it is lies and then we can talk about his crimes." Gamin fisted his fists in anger and took a step in his direction, but was stopped by his uncle's voice.

"Gamin. Leave it be."

"But Uncle!"

"Leave it be, boy." Gamin glared at him, but kept his thoughts to himself. Nabeli looked at the black crow with old and tired eyes. "I assure you, Yoren." The man raised an eyebrow. "You surely has seen the chaos that is my castle's hall."

And the crow had certainly seen it. Even a blind man couldn't help but notice the faint scent of blood that permeated the room, even it the blood itself was rarely seen and it seemed as if every spray and pool of blood was placed meticulously where it was. It was like the blood was painted with painstakingly delicacy around the room, like a macabre painting made with scrupulous manner. There was blood everywhere of course, yet, it seemed to form a path. Like someone had carved a path trough a mass of bodies, and let the blood of those they killed rain on wherever they didn't pass through- and the most interesting thing, the path was directed to the upper levels of the castle, where most likely were the private rooms of the Lord of the castle and his family.

With a red smile, Yoren replied. "If that was painted by the mercenary you say you have, then I am quite more curious about why he would be here in your dungeon."

"We couldn't get much closer. If we ever touched his clothes, he would trash around firstly, but after…even chained to the celling, he killed three more of our men." Nabeli sighed tiredly, his eyes wary as he watched others drag the mercenary until the wagon where criminals were transported to the Wall. The man, if that thing could ever be called a man, walked slowly with a slouch and a lowered head. The man who was pulling him through his chain looked nervous. How could he not? He was one of Nabeli's remaining men, and saw what the other had done to his colleagues. "But we did get to take his weapons, a longsword and some black daggers."

Nabeli turned his eyes to Gamin, who was staring at the children who followed Yoren. They were mere youngsters, yet, were marching to a destiny they could never change of. He thought they foolish, but he was a minor nobel man who grew up with family, a roof and food. Even more than that, he had luxury and money, those children were most likely bastards and orphans. People without hope that searched for destiny they could at least live more than mere five and ten years.

"There is only one more prisoner inside the wagon, do you think he will cause problem?"

Gamin looked at the wagon, where the mercenary lifted himself up with only his legs and his still chained hands,all without looking up and ignoring the tentatives of assistance of one the older boys were offering. Gamin remembered the various weapons hidden trough his clothes, and the deadly sword that his men recovered from him, it was a noble sword with a slim handle that was more than likely made for a more feminine hand. "If the other fool inside the wagon wishes to retain his blood inside his body and not used to paint a gruesome painting, he better keep to himself."

It was cold. Stevie didn't like the cold.

Stevie was a gaunt man, some low born of a poor forgotten city. He wore tattered clothes, all of them robbed from different places. His hair was thin and oily, almost gone from his head. He was a coward and a rat.

No one really liked Stevie.

But that was fine, because Stevie didn't like that much. He did not like much people, no one now that he thought of it. So, Stevie liked to stay away from people and when people were too close to Stevie, like a cornered little rat, Stevie attacked. He bit, he scratched, he hurst.

Stevie didn't like people and people didn't like Stevie. And that was how the world worked.

And would continue to work like that.

Stevie swayed with the wagon's movement. Stevie didn't like to think about where the wagon was taking him. And he pretended that he was a king and that he was in his kingly transport, but then they stopped at another coldy little village and his peace was disturbed by the little blacky who jumped on his wagon.

Stevie didn't like little blacky. Even if blacky was kinda warm and brought his warm to Stevie's wagon and so Stevie wasn't as cold as before.

Yet, Stevie wanted to put little blacky to sleep forever, because little blacky didn't stop humming. Not that little blacky's voice was ugly. It was so nice and Stevie quite liked it. But it was the song, the song! The song reminded Stevie of where the crow was taking him.

Stevie didn't wanted to die, so when people reunited to decide his fate, Stevie behaved like a good boy, and no one really noticed little Stevie was not so sound of mind and little Stevie thought he would go away but they called the crow! They called the crow and now Stevie was cold. And little blacky wouldn't stop humming a bad song. Why did little blacky hummed a bad song? He had such pretty little voice.

"Stevie doesn't like your song with no words. Little blacky, stop. Great Seven don't like you if you keep goin'."

Little blacky liftted his purple pretty eyes to Stevie, but he kept song. This time, with words that were clear and sound.

"We were born sick"

You heard them say it

My church offers no absolutes

She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom"

The only heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you

I was born sick, but I love it

Command me to be well

Amen, amen, amen

Stevie didn't like little blacky.

Yoren

"What's your name, mercenary?" Yoren asked the dark figure couched on one of the wagon's sides, the other prisoner crouched as far away from him as he could be. The mercenary had kept humming during all of their travel, they weren't very far away from the Wall now, and he was quite happy that they hadn't caused any kind of trouble, besides the humming and the mad whispers. "That one is Stevie Rivers. Found him at a little village close to Rosby, quite like the one I found you in." The mad man looked sharply at him with his ratty eyes, sneering and then he was back to whispering to his own hands. "Now, what's the dammed name of yours? With the prowess you seem to have, I don't know how you're not know through these lands."

The mercenary only tilted his head at him, but did not showed any other kind of response. He was almost delicate- no, he really did looked delicate. He was slim and gracious, with a strong body. His hair was long, too long, reaching his middle back, it was black, curly and dirty. He had only glimpsed his face, but it was dirty and dainty. He had long eyelashes and thick eyebrows, his eyes, he thought they were violet, but it must had been the light playing tricks with him. The man had long legs and arms, with small hands overlaid by the shackles binding him. His small feet were tucked under his thighs, covered by black cloth and belts. Belts that were more than likely to secure his weapons. His mind was brought back to the sword and black daggers that were delivered to him with the words 'they belong to him'.

"You know," He turned his back to the wagon and stared to the boys pampering around the camp fire. "That longsword of yours, it is of Valyrian steel." He turned his head back slightly to see him tense. "And those daggers, most of them are of dragonglass." He looked to the youngsters again. "One could only wonder how you got them." He sighed. "At least, if you are not as useful as you seem to be, we will have some good weapons out of this. I hope you survive the cold that the Wall will bring to your bones." He took a step ahead but stopped when he heard his voice. An alluring sound that reached his ears and played with his hearing, and the words he sang resonated through his head during the rest of their travel.

Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins

So you can sharpen your knife

Offer me that deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life

He couldn't quite understand why'd he sang as an answers. But two boys started to brawl on the ground, and he could not ignore it. He looked back to the wagon, and dark eyes met violet ones. His last thought of their brief one-sided talk was that it wasn't a illusion, and what would that mean?

It happened as soon as they were taking the prisoners of the wagon.

They'd just arrived at Castle Black, and the prisoners (only two this time and so it was supposed to be easy) were being taken to their cell where they would stay until they knew enough about them and sorted he to where they were supposed to be working. Everything was going smoothly, until they passed through some of the younger trainees, where a kid was pushed towards the crazy prisoner. The rat looked down at the kid with crazed eyes, and then had attempted to do something quite normal, and he would have been reprehended afterwards and the kid would have been fine. If it weren't for the other one.

Stevie Rivers tried to kick the boy, who couldn't have more than two and ten.

The other one, the mercenary, was chained to the ratty one. Their shackles were connected by a chain between them, and the mercenary was at the back. His black mass of hair serving as curtain between him and the world, and his form was crouched, shoulders forward and his chest draw back with his arms in front of him, like he was hiding his chest. He didn't seem to pay much attention to whatever was happening around him, and so the rangers guarding them until their cells ignored him for most of their way, paying attention to the more unstable one. But it would not have stopped the mercenary if they were paying attention to him, it didn't mattered after when they did noticed and acted upon it.

As soon as Stevie lifted his leg, ready to strike the boy's head, he was pulled back by his chain, his body sliding on the frozen floor. He was stopped by a foot in his shoulder, the heeled boot digging in it. He looked up to meet fiery violet. The guards soon tried to stop the mercenary, unsheathing their swords and trying to attack him. The mercenary lifted his shackles and used them to meet the swords, skillfully deflecting the blows away and with a spin of his body, dragged the chain in-between him and Stevie around the two guards, one at time in one smooth movement. And Stevie screamed as he was dragged around and his arms were twisted by all the motion.

All was silent as the two guards were dragged down by the chain. Yoren couldn't quite believed what he'd just saw, all of it had happened in seconds, probably no more then five!

The mercenary stood on the snow covered floor, his back completely straight and his head held high. Now that he was no more crouched, Yoren could see why that all those delicate features belonged to a man.

The mad man cackled. "So little blacky was a little lady!"

The woman looked down at the craze man with blazing eyes, a sneer in her pretty full lips. She opened her mouth, whispering her answer.

"If I'm a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight to keep the goddess on my side. She demands a sacrifice…"

Her pretty voice echoed through the eery silent Castle as she approached the man. Yoren ran to her, her own sword at his hands drawn against her. She stepped aside and as he passed her, she quickly lifted her left leg and gave a strong kick to his back. As he tumbled down on to the snow, he tried to make a summersault so that he could quickly slice her own sword at her in response, but a pinch on his lower back stopped him and he fell down face first on the snow.

He turned his head back at the woman as she approached the man her voice only a whisper in the breeze.

"To drain the whole sea, get something shiny, something meaty for the main course…That's a fine looking high horse, What you got in the stable?"

She didn't stopped whispering as she lowered her leg and turned to the clacking man. Yoren could hear his brothers coming to take control of the situation and he could hear the little boy's cries of confusion as the other trainees tried to calm the boy down.

The woman stopped at Stevie's head, her hair flying around her with the cold breeze. She lifted her booted foot above his head and then brought it down at his nose, a sickly cracking noise could be heard as she broke the man's nose, who then immediately started to cry. She was then pushed to the ground by his brothers and another helped Yoren to get up.

His eyes caught hers as her face and body were hard pressed to the cold floor. She stared blankly at him, letting him know that they had her down only because she had allowed. They took the chained shackle off her and put another one in it's place. The one the Night's Watch had once used to bind to bind their most unstable prisoners.

One things was to have a rebelling prisoner trowing around some trainees and other prisoners, another one was that a completely calm killer totally defeat three of their ranks when said assassin was famished and exhausted, and doing it without even trying and still chained.

Yoren kneeled slowly at her side, his back still hurting and using her sword as leverage.

"You let yourself be caught." Her vivid and cat-like eyes stared at him. "You are here because you want to." She kept looking at him with blazing eyes full of violet fire. "But why did you do so… for what reason someone as skilled as you would want to be here?" That brought a response. A form of answer that he was starting to get used to, he thought as she said to him, her voice low and husky this time.

We've a lot of starving faithful

That looks tasty

That looks plenty

…

This is hungry work

"You brought a woman to the Wall!" Benjen Stark was quite the sight when angry. The Wolf Pup's blue eyes were sharp and cold as he stared at Yoren, his thin body covered by the black clothes of the Night's Watch and his gloved hands fisted above the desk in front of him. "A woman to take the oath! What were you thinking?"

"I did not know that she was a woman. And what will that change?" He looked back at the master who'd seen what had happened. The ancient man was gazing with blind eyes out of the window with his hands inside his sleeves. "She has much more skill than anyone one here could ever hope to have. She may not have the strength, but finesse?" He slowly brought his body to stood from his chair and look directly at his Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont. "She has it to perfection. I saw the smoothness of her movements." He turns to the maester. "You heard it as well." The ancient man only hummed in response. Yoren looked back at Benjen. "Besides…"

The man looked sharply at him. "Besides?"

"Her face… It is not strange to me." He directed his red smile at the Stark. "I'm sure that I've looked at such a face before. Now…" He looked out of the window Aemon was standing in front of. "If I could only remember where it was that I've seen it before."

"What is her name?" Jeor asked with a low, but commanding voice.

"I do not know. All that she says to me are lyrics of strange songs and whispering riddles. Every time I heard her voice, she seems to mock me."

"Little bird…" They looked at the old maester as he chuckled. "The dear girl is a little bird."

"Girl?"

"Oh." He turned blind eyes at them with a little smile on his lips. "Didn't you noticed? That is not a woman, she is a mere girl who lived too much in her few years."

"You are blind, how can you know?"

His only answer was a smirk. The blind ancient man walked away from them, propped by his cane, the old man leaved them to ponder their questions.

But to him, Aemon Targaryen, the answer was quite obvious. She still sings, and so she must still be young and hopeful. Just like that foolish boy and his sad music…

Yoren

She was looking at the small window on the wall opposite to her. Yoren tilted his head as he chewed his sourleaf and watched the girl. He was standing in front of her cell for quite some time, but she kept her face hidden by shadows and dark hair, both indistinguishable in the darkness of her cell. Only one patch of light cutting through the darkness came from the small window high on one of wall of the cell. The light cut a path that ended at her side, forming a small rectangle of sunlight at her side. She had one knee hugged to her chest and one arm resting on top of the knee, her chin resting on top of it with her head angled towards the window.

Yoren wanted to see her luminescent eyes again; he wanted to see the vivid violet that was her eyes, with a blazing hell fire that the cold winter of the North couldn't extinguish. Her eyes were strange, not quite like the late Lady Ashara Dayne. Her eyes remembered him of another set of eyes. A set of eyes that wasn't seen in Westeros for sixteen years, since King Robert's Rebellion.

A bastard, perhaps? Bastards existed everywhere. And with such an antique trait as purple eyes, so common from that old family, was surprisingly not so uncommon to find. They were there, distantly related, many times not even to the Old Royal Family- but still there.

Targaryen bastards, not so much- those were truly extinct. But related to Old Valyrian Houses? Those were the origins of many whores and bourgeois. The famed ones; rich, skillful and beauty all in one purpled eyed or white haired package.

Of course, he was mostly contradicting his previous thoughts, but… He couldn't altogether deny his gut. And his gut was telling him that those eyes were different. Different from all those other bastards. And her face… Her face remembered him of the North. Of the First Man and their Wildness.

"You know…" He gruffly said while leaning on the cell's bars. "You will take the Oath. The first woman to ever do it." She didn't even acknowledged his presence. "I've spoken to my Lord and his maester." He clenched his jaw in annoyance when she appeared to not even hear his words.

"We are in need of your name, girl." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You won't escape this."

"I know." When her faint voice reached his ears, he looked sharply at her with pursing eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"To be clean."

"Clean?"

"I have sins."

"The lives you've taken."

"Don't be so stupid." Her lips curled in a ghost of a smile when she heard his growl at her response. She kept her turned to the little window of her cell. "There are sins bigger than you could ever imagine." Slowly she turned her head to him, and though her hair covered most of her face, the light of the window reflect from her eyes, making it so that she seemed to have luminescent jewels for eyes. "I'm not a pitiful mercenary that only wishes for recompenses." Her eyes shined sinisterly through her dark strands.

"I'm a assassin. Not a warrior or a mercenary. I fight to kill." She slowly leaned back on the wall and turned her face away from him, retreating to her previous position. And then she whispered with a faint, delicate and somewhat broken voice. "Make sure you don't forget it."

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont tried and failed to ignored Ser Alliser Thorne's words as he quickly strolled through Black Castle's halls. Word was out that there was a woman to take the oath, and his brothers were restless with such shocking news.

Not one woman in all history of the Wall has ever pledged herself to the Night's Watch. It was such a novice idea, a female in such a vile brand of life was something abominated and scoffed at. But yet…

"How could you give consent to such a ridicule?"

"Do not dare to forget who you are speaking to, Alliser." Jeer turned cold eyes to the bitter man.

The slim man pursed his lips in barely contained disgust and hissed out. "Yes, my Lord."

Jeor looked at him with tired but commanding eyes and quickly turned away from the man.

He briskly walked into his office, and sat himself at his chair behind his desk. With his elbows on top of his desk, he crossed his finger and rested his chin on top of them, sharp eyes stared to the slim, black dressed man in front of him. With a sigh he decided it was best to be quick and direct, otherwise it would only bring him more headache.

"Alliser, you will watch over her training."

"My Lord, I do not think this is the best course of action."

The Commander sighed wearily. "Of course you don't think it so, Ser."

Alliser bristled at him, but otherwise remained silent in his anger. Jeor took a deep breath before saying his next words.

"You won't do it alone."

Alliser narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, looking down on his Lord Commander. Jeor ignored his disrespect.

"You and Benjen Stark are tasked on watching over training."

Benjen

Winter was coming, Benjen knew of it. And he also knew that a woman coming to the Wall was a clear sign of the oncoming harshness of Winter.

His gray eyes stared warily at the corridor in front of him. In one of the many cells in this corridor, resided the mercenary girl, and he wasn't sure what to think about her.

Well, he was quite sure what he thought about her by this point. And her existence, although he had not even met her, troubled him very much. Benjen always thought that woman should not ever be in such a environment as the Wall. The Wall had rapers and killers, man who'd not have seen a female for a long time. And he was afraid of what would befall of a female should one ever start for much long on the Wall.

Yet, he knew of the woman's wrong doings. He'd heard the tales from Yoren and had heard the ruckus she had caused when she entered Castle Black, and he knew she should be punished by her action and she had already chosen take the Black.

Still, he refused her stay on the Night's Watch. She would not survive.

He stared at the corridor and sighed tiredly, turning his back and deciding to not approach the female. He took his first step when he heard the song.

No masters or kings when the ritual begins.

There is no sweeter innocence

Than our gentle sin.

It was a haunting voice. So faint and delicate, it was almost desperate. For what? He didn't know, but he was almost afraid to take another step away from her. Afraid to somehow break the spell that had filled the air.

Slowly, he silently walked towards her cell, stopping in front of it. He stared at her small form curled by the wall opposite to the wall that had a small window that illuminated her cage. The faint moonlight shined down on her hair, the mess of curls forming a barrier around her.

She is still a girl…. She was a small little thing, curled up by the wall with dark clothes and dirty dark hair. He took a step forward but didn't get much farther then his first step. She lifted her head sharply and as the light of the full-moon illuminated her face and made her eyes shine with unnatural light, he felt his breath be taken away from him and his heart skip a beat.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene,

She kept looking at him when she sang, never taking her eyes from him and he couldn't turn his eyes away from her face.

Only then I am human, only then I am clean.

He felt the tears and disbelief in his eyes and soul as he gazed down at a dirty and young face that he hadn't seen for years. A face he knew he could only find back at his first-home, carved on cold stone and painted on fragile paintings.

Amen

He took a step back as he felt one tear run down his left cheek.

Amen

He ran away, chaotic memories and old scars torn open by a face he knew be dead to the world.

Amen.

Benjen ran away from the girl who was a ghost of his beloved late sister. He ran away from Lyanna.

And scene!

Okay, you're probably wondering whet the hell is this shit.

Well, it is a classic cliché. With a twist!

As you've noticed, our apparent main character has no name. Or she didn't said her name yet. Do not worry! This is exactly how it is to be. Her story will be revealed slowly, very slowly.

As to the length, this part will have only three chapters!

Why? This idea of mine happens to result into a monstrous story. This is kind of the prologue in which I test the waters, and try a little bit of dynamics. The main story will be posted much later, I will wait a little bit because of the new season, and because of my other stories. When I update more chapters to them, then I'll post the nicer bits that are more eventful.

About the song. VERY IMPORTANT!

There is a reason for she to know the song. A much important and relevant reason that shall not be revealed until the right time. Ok? Ok. Feel free to make your theories and ask about it. For those who don't know, it is Take Me To Church by Hozier. And I know that there some elements in the song that she should not know about, but it's okay. There is a reason, I swear that there is one!

This story will have many more music, there is a reason for that. A very thought-out reason. Please, give me a chance!

The three chapters of this prologue will divide into Arriving, Training and Vowing.

As to Lyanna and the eyes, pretty obvious I guess. But you guys don't know the whole story behind it! So, give me a chance in this risky idea, 'kay?

And I hope that you remember that there can only be three heads.

~MariDark