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

Twenty-Seventh Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC

Aemon Naremos is in many ways just the sort of mage you had hoped to draw to your side during the Festival—skilled, knowledgeable, and from what Malarys has told you experienced in battling the sorts of foes few would dare to stand again. That he is also inclined to carve them up for reagents or power is hardly something you can object to given your own proclivities.

Before all else you send word to Zherys by sorcery asking to speak with him by brazier and explain the situation. The offer of land was of course known from the Festival's announcement, but it pays to make it particularly clear to Aemon's current lord that he is about to have divided loyalties.

"He will work most assiduously to gain the powers of translocation or other swift travel," the High Speaker's voice hisses through the brazier, faintly amused. "For all his love of ritual and crafting, Aemon would wear out the floors pacing if he had to rusticate for more than a few months."

"Mantarys is near enough to reach by shadow steed," you note, glad that there is no resentment in Zherys' voice. "Volantis would be a bit more of a commitment to reach, but certainly not impossible."

It is on that note that you end the conversation and seek the mage himself.


The praise is well received as you had expected. The title of Vaeros is at first seen with more ambivalence until you explain that his lands are to be in the newly settled Imperial Province of Draconys. Though not the most beautiful or bountiful of lands it promises great opportunity due to laying so near the ruins of Old Valyria. The magister does not need you to spell out the implications for his own studies, nor does he hesitate more than a moment in accepting your offer.

"By the blood in my veins, by the name of my House, and the skill of my arts, I pledge to be thy client from this day while my line endures," he offers the ancient oath, little heard since the days of the Freehold, for rare indeed it is for a new House to rise into the ranks of the Old Blood of Volantis.

Aemon Naremos Given Land in the Province of Draconys

Though not strictly needed now you take the mage on a tour of the Hall of Horrors, not as you had done so many times before to show him the dangers of the world, for he would know them better than most, but to offer him a hint of the sorts of reagents he might gain in your service.

"To see all this..." he trails off. "It makes me both eager to take up my new seat and anxious to find a laboratory the better to craft the tools with which such horrors may be fought."

"As to that, Wisdom, I hope your prize will make a welcome beginning to the task," you offer, motioning to the low table where his prizes had been arranged.

He does not discount the gold as you thought he might but sets it carefully aside. A thrifty man, whatever his lands and fortunes in Volantis, but it is clear his eyes are mostly for the works of sorcery: from golden gloves to the delicate quill that stands on its tip, each is weighed carefully in hand and measured with arcane senses. Oddly enough he even regards the simple staff with a thoughtful look: "An interesting base for a project I have been considering," he explains.


"It is good to see you are not idle in your labors, my lord," you nod.

"The better to tax me, Excellence?" he offers with a pleased smile that belies the words.

"Of course, it is one the great metaphysical certainties of the world," you offer in like tone.


Moonsong requires a somewhat deft touch to extract from the company of her crew bent on revelry and song, but the promise of an interesting offer is more than enough to tempt the curious fey away. Firstly you explain that you would formally offer her a Vaeroseia if she so desires, one she will not have to manage if she does not wish to. Somewhat to your surprise she ponders the matter seriously: "Something with a good port, and not so far from the nearest city that I have to keep company with satyrs and wood sprites?"

"Yes, that can be arranged," you reply, thinking of the great map of Essos still laid out in the chart room.

"I'm not sure I want to be tied down like that..."

"Ah, well for that, my dear captain, I offer an opportunity unparalleled," you say with a dramatic flourish that draws an admiring look from the fey.

So it is that you introduce her to the Wyvern. You wait as she watches them in the air, her eyes growing wider with every twist and turn of the craft, with every bolt rattling forth. Still you can see her weighing her options still, careful in her bargains for all her headlong reputation. Easy enough to forget that the dashing Captain Moonsong is older than any of her crew, perhaps than all of them out together, if such things as age can even be said to matter in the confines of the Feywild.

"There is only room for one, a good mount but a poor ship," she notes. Then she catches the look in your eye: "You are planning to make a bigger one, aren't you?" The evening light sparks off her eyes like fire.

"Indeed, the Moonchaser will be a mighty vessel, able to travel the Planes with greater ease than the Hunter's Moon cuts through the waves of the Narrow Sea, with weapons unmatched in potency and armor proof against all but the mightiest of beings," you answer. "I shall have it built with the resources we have gathered and the many skilled enchanters who have entered our service, but I cannot be its captain." You let the offer hang a moment.

From the look she gives you it is clear enough she is ready to agree already, but does not wish to interrupt your part before it has been spoken in full, so you oblige. "You have grown far beyond the limits of your less outstanding kindred. You are ready for your own court, nay your own crew. Let it be upon a ship that charts the heavens and the Spheres of Being. For this and no less I ask for your pledge so long as my realm endures, Captain Moonsong."

"I accept," she says, the word startlingly simple, heavy with the weight of all her magic, of all her being. Then her smile bursting forth once again she asks: "So when will it be ready?"

"You did not ask that before you made the bargain?" you tease gently.

"Mountains would sooner uproot themselves and walk away than you would play those games with your sworn vassals," she sniffs.

"It shall be complete when you return from Yi Ti," you reply.


A note awaits you on your desk upon your return, sent though not signed or sealed by Wendel Manderly, inviting you to speak with him by the harbor while he 'stretches his legs'. Though you would have much rather invited him to dinner you understand the reticence. He is still a vassal of House Stark, a loyal one more than even the Umbers. Eating under your roof would have certain implications he clearly would not wish to take root. Yet for all that he is here and somehow you doubt it is chasing dragonsteel.

You take your walk disguised with Ser Richard walking beside you. The gulls, true and false, call out out over the crash of the waters and the scion of the merman's House walks by the shore.

"My lord," he bows his head, armor creaking slightly as he does so. "It is good of you to come."

"It is only polite to greet a guest who has come so far," you reply politely.

"My lord, I come bearing news of the first plot you have aided my House against, the devil's work. It brings me no pleasure to say this, and my father has long considered the necessities of our oaths, but..." He takes a long breath. "Through our own mages' efforts we have concluded that they originate in King's Landing with someone very well placed at court. Someone skilled in dealing with such matters had to know and we could not tell the Lannisters."

For all the seriousness of the moment, you have to suppress the urge to smile. It would not be welcome or understood... not unless you explained what happened in the Red Keep, but how much do you dare reveal?

What do you reply?

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OOC: Ser Quincy Peake will be mentioned in the next update.