A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

Twenty-Fourth Day of the First Month 293 AC

"We have spoken to one far higher in the graces of the Old Gods than the wildlings' 'Godspeaker' to ensure that she would not overstep herself," you answer, hoping the Royces can read the honesty in your tone and will not press on the matter. Given Bloodraven's preferred tactics you suspect he would rather you avoid even that oblique mention. Then again you can hardly be blamed for the deeds of children, wildlings, or even wildling children given what you guessed of this sorceress' age.

"Whatever do you mean?" Lady Royce asks, sounding confused and worried in equal measure. "There are no septons of... trees." She waves vaguely into the distance. "I suppose the closest thing would be the Green Men, I think they are called, from the Island of Faces, but they have never done anything of the sort. Gods know half the Vale houses would be showering them in gold if they could bring the wildlings to heel."

"The world is changing, mother," Waymar speaks up quickly, possibly as much to hide his own disquiet at keeping Brynden Rivers' secrets from his parents. "Those who have lain silent can speak, and eyes that lay blind now see. More we cannot say for fear of calling down unwelcome attention upon Runestone and all who live within it."

"Wait a moment now, Waymar," the elder brother, Andar by name, interjects. "Since when do you care to keep hidden whatever crazed bastard can supposedly order wildlings around? I know the Old Gods are alright enough, a little musty and all but nothing distasteful when worshiped by civilized men, but I heard these wildlings..." He looks around the table awkwardly, eyes falling to his sister. "They have been worshiping in bloody and unwholesome ways," he settles at last.

"I can't..." Waymar flags.

"Mages we three may be, but we do not hide behind behind vague words and ominous warnings for the sake of it," you interject. "What your brother speaks is naught but the truth, the answer you seek would be a peril upon Runestone such as a hundred thousand wildlings could not match, and not from one quarter but many as the eyes of the powers would be drawn here."

"Hark... hark well the words true!" Winter croaks unexpectedly. "Strong are these walls and ancient the blood that binds them, but your eyes are still all-but-shut to the world. For those without wings it is best to look before you leap."

The bird did come from Bloodraven. Does it still hold some loyalty to the Last Greenseer even after binding its life to Waymar's? you wonder. Regardless you are quite glad for its intervention as words of warning spoken from a raven's beak rather than a man's tongue have rather cut the Royce heir's boldness.

"I see that all of your are still filled with worry over this matter, and I do not for a moment blame you," you say, the words mostly true. Inconvenient as such abiding loyalty and concern for family may be in this instance, it is admirable of its own merits... and will serve you well in the days to come, you suspect. "All of us will go in person to speak to this witch and make out own positions on the matter clear in a way even a wildling should understand. "

"You are just going to walk into the mountains and threaten a whole clan of the whor..." Robar Royce clears his throat loudly and finishes almost sheepishly, "Savages."

"Are wildlings more dangerous than the Baratheon Fleet?" Tyene asks with the faintest hint of a smile on her face.

"Alright. I've heard enough," Bronze Yohn says, sounding tired now more than angry. "It won't entirely set my mind at ease, but damned if I know any other course of action that could."

"I'm sorry," Ysilla says, looking up at her father and mother.

"As well you sh..." Lady Royce begins, but her husband raises a hand, silently calling for peace.

"You acted for an honorable cause, to give comfort to your brother whom you thought lost in distant lands beyond the solace of his kin," the old lord addresses his daughter. "The way you went about it is not any more ill-thought than a dozen like it I had at our age. Someone older and wiser should have forestalled or stopped you, yet we did not and in that I am afraid I am as guilty as those fool sluggard guards."

"I'm still sorry I upset you," Ysilla insists.

"Count yourself forgiven, then," Lord Royce sighs, though you rather suspect his lady wife is of a different mind. "As for the matter of.... learning magic I shall have to at least sleep on it."

With that announcement everyone returns to their desserts, though not for very long. While the meal ended in neither tears nor shouting it was a nearer thing than anyone could have expected.


Twenty-Fifth Day of the First Month 293 AC

The next morning dawns bright though a whistling wind races down from the mountains as lord Royce and his eldest sons prepare for the hunt, one in which they have with uncommon generosity agree to let Essosi traders participate in. If tongues had not been wagging before they certainly would now. You begin considering an actual favorable trade deal to give the ruse some substance is nothing else...

"So have you hunted boars before, master Delgos?" Robar called by some 'the Red' asks. Today he is living up to his moniker, garbed as he is in beautifully-etched crimson plate. Perhaps some might count it a touch excessive for the hunt, even of wily and dangerous boar, but it certainly is not for witnessing a knighting.


"Not boar, no, but I have hunted many dangerous and strange beasts just the same," you reply. "All of us have. Is that not so, my friends?"

Waymar and Ser Richard agree, the first with enthusiasm, the latter almost absentmindedly, possibly considering what manner of monster might decide to ambush you in the woods. Tyene alone would not be joining you openly, though you would be going to fetch her once at your destination.

"I just hope we shan't be meting any two-legged beasts," Andar mutters darkly under his breath, the tone rather suggesting the opposite of the words.

The elder Royce's armor is not nearly as resplendent as the younger's and it shall not hold a candle to your gift to Waymar, but he wears it with the easy grace of a skilled warrior. Perhaps there will even be time for a spar.


At the back of your mind you feel the faint pressure of Dark Sister stirring. What might the Royces make of her, a blade thought lost returned in the hand of one who would be king of the Seven Kingdoms?

As you ride out from Runestone your thoughts do not long dwell on such matters, fixed instead upon the ceremony ahead: a knighting unlike any other the Seven Kingdoms had seen.

[] Write in plans for knighting

OOC: The only pictures I could find or Robar were in armor so I moved the visual presentation later than the first meeting. As for Andar he has no proper pictures, but I could not just leave it like that, so I found a knight that looks somewhat like the pictures of Robar and went with that. Hope it works.