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

Seventeenth Day of the Third Month 293 AC

Mere moments after you arrive in Braavos, near a long dried fountain cast in shadow by two ancient tenements leaning precariously close, Glyra and Maelor vanish into the fog, two more urchins in a city filled with them it would seem to most eyes, for all the fey spirit had all but glutted herself on magic to help in her schemes and the boy carries enough gold to buy a modest manse about. Woe betide the poor fools who might try to rob him. Glyra might remember them during her games with her kin.

Lost 2000 Gold

By contrast you and Lya are garbed with the restrained affluence typical of the Braavosi aristocracy, in soft greys and blacks relieved only by a modest splash of color at the throat or the waist, the sort of people who would be admitted into the Sealord's presence for some minor matter soon forgotten, who would take a somewhat roundabout journey there and pay an extra pit of silver to the boatman for paying no mind to their words. Hardly a perfect guise, but as the Lord of Braavos himself told you, your exile is a sham that has all but outlived its time.

"It feels a little strange to be going in there again," Lya admits as she looks up at the facade of the palace emerging from the coils of mist.

"You don't have to," you answer instantly.

She gives you a lingering look, heavy with unspoken promises, yours and hers in equal measure. "I think I do."

You nod, acknowledging the point as the two of you are ushered swiftly into Ferrengo Antarion's presence, again seemingly alone save for his First Sword, less for protection and more for advice, to judge from the water dancer's relaxed stance, though he meets your eyes without even a trace of fear whatever rumors he may have heard about you.

"Welcome, my friend," the Sealord clasps your hand as an equal, not bothering with the formality of bows. "A drink? Would you prefer a Lyseni vintage or a Myrish one?"

"I'm still pondering the matter, Serenity," you answer, carefully considering the man before you. His hair is still white, but some of the tenseness had gone from his shoulders since last you saw him, and though his smile is just as polished as you have ever, it seems to come a touch more readily. "I am glad to find you in such good spirits," you add after a moment.

He pauses visibly for a moment, perhaps surprised that you had seen beneath his facade. "I have discovered an important lesson in the past few months. Appearances notwithstanding, I am not quite so old as to be unable to learn new tricks."

"Magic?" Lya asks in surprise.

"Not quite," the Sealord replies easily. "Even if it could be done I do not have the time to go through another apprenticeship with all the other calls in my time. However one does not need to be a carpenter to profit from woodworking, nor yet an architect to gain an understanding of the value of fortifications."

"Knowledge is always a comfort," Lya agrees understandingly, and obviously more at ease herself for it.

Ferrengo Antarion turns to you. "I must admit, I am curious as to why you called for this meeting, though admittedly less filled with trepidation than I might once have been."

"I have come into the possession of a certain personage whom I would rather banish from my lands than kill, and who might serve as bait for a gathering of would-be foes we spoke of when last we met," you answer, testing the waters.

"The former Archon?" the man facing you proves again that his mind is as sharper as any bravo's blade. At your nod he continues, "What manner of man is he by your reckoning?"

"A fool," you answer plainly. "He tried to have me poisoned days after I spared him and saved as many of his kin as I could from their own guards turned traitor."

The Sealord actually chokes on his drink slightly at the words. "I know the Tyroshi did not oft elect their archons for wit, but that is... remarkable. Could he not count the number of dragons in the sky on the night you claimed the city..."

The question implicit in his words is clear, though subtle enough that you can pass it by without giving offense. Thse answers and more he would know, listening very carefully to anything you might care to share, beyond public speeches you suspect he has reported to the letter.

What do you tell the Sealord of your allies and the means by which you took Tyrosh?

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OOC: You rolled really well for sense motive to catch the Sealord's mood.