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

Ninth Day of the Ninth Month 293 AC

Most Devout Septon Kyle presents the opposite problem from the Archmaester—rather than being too private and restrained, the man seems to be living his entire waking life in public, from visits made with pomp and ceremony to the homes of other prelates and noblemen alike to charitable works. In fact, upon putting together one day's schedule for the man, Dany concludes that just like you he must have some ring or talisman that allows him to forgo all-but two hours of sleep every day.

"I doubt he is quite so enthusiastic at testing the limits of the magic as the two of you are," your mother notes with a brief shake of her head.

"We have gotten to the point of eating three times per day... most days at least," you note, glad for the brief moment of levity amidst the tangled plots and fathering foes.

Soon though you return to pondering how Dywen is to approach the Reacher septon. The most inconspicuous place for a somewhat battered wanderer to meet so illustrious a personage would probably be at one of the charities. Unfortunately that is when his unseen entourage of Fey guardians draws closest, no doubt worried about Deep One infiltration.

All you have spied have been sprite-kin of some manner, but you do not make the mistake of counting them insignificant by reason of their small stature or faint inherent power. Much like Moonsong, these silent green-clad archers had long outgrown their modest origins, skills forged through the aeons matched by true silver bows bright with power to any eyes sharp enough to pierce their glamours.

You are reasonably certain that your own glamours would be able to stand up to their scrutiny, but you would rather not take the chance unless there is no other way. To be revealed to the Court of Stars now would at best seriously complicate your efforts here, at worst it would cripple them.

So you are left with one other place open to any who would cross its threshold, the Starry Sept itself where the Fey do not enter, whether out of some respect for Septon Kyle's convictions or simply their disdain for all things divine you do not know nor does it matter for your purposes.


You pass the great black marble arch of the sept where Aegon had been crowned not with fanfare but as one of a vast jostling crowd of the faithful, not as a king but instead in dissembling guise, the glamour empowered until it can deceive even Leto's gaze. The scent of incense hangs in the air, the sound of prayer upon the lips of a people more nervous than hopeful. Uncertainly settles like some unseen fog over the crowd... then he enters.

Even were his vestments not resplendently woven in threads of gold and bright sapphires, even were there no crystal coronet upon his brow, you would have known this was Septon Kyle at once. He enters the sept like a king returning to his domain, the crowd like his loyal subjects, and here they are indeed, for once the hymns that had been sung and prayers spoken are triumphant, his words are as honey poured over thunder filled with the hopes of a new day, the promises of a better future.

Were this some other circumstance and he not a pawn of the Tyrells, and thus ultimately the Court of Stars, you would have been quite pleased with his sermon.

"The Seven are not a windmill, my friends, grinding all by some precise measure that we may find inscribed with ink on parchment—they are the Whirlwind, the Unknowable, they are the fire behind the sun and the light of an infant's smile. Theirs are miracles large and small, even those called black sorcery by some, for it is my belief that it is when those gifts are used for evil that they are wicked, just as a man turning to brigandage no longer walks in the Warrior's light."

The faithful listen in rapt silence, as though enchanted, though there is no power in the air... though at a closer look the septon is wearing a ring to make his words sound fairer. You suppose you cannot blame the man for practicing what he preaches.

"That these gifts are strange none can contest, but so too was iron strange when the Smith first revealed it among the hills of Andalos, yet now it guards the realm in the hand of every knight and serves it too in the hand of even the humblest farmer. So too is this an awakening, not some great and hateful beast to be yoked as some have said, for if one looks to another expecting hate then it is hate you sow. Let those of uncommon gifts prove themselves by their deeds."

As you entered sept you had carefully made your way towards the front of the hall nearer the altar so that at the end your voice could carry clearly to the Most Devout. And so in the guise of Dywen, who certainly seems to be naught but a humble begging brother at first sight, you call out for a moment of his time, that you may share with him the wisdom of your journeys.

No doubt he has seen quite a few such wanderers walk into his sept over the past few weeks, but as you had suspected seeing one so clearly pleased with what he was preaching is unexpected, enough so that he grants an audience, sending off one of the brothers in his entourage to make excuses should it be necessary.


Beyond the light of the stained-glass windows the dark marble of the sept casts shadows that almost remind you of the twisting geometries of the Shadow Tower, a comparison you suspect neither its maker nor its current custodian would appreciate overmuch. Still, Septon Kyle seems perfectly at ease here by lamplight, taking a seat upon a padded bench and courteously inviting you to do likewise.

"Tell me, brother, whence did you take these journeys you spoke of?" With an unexpected smile he adds, "For of course any journeys that lead to you to agree with my views must have been most fortuitous," he adds in faint jest.

What do you reply?

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OOC: Since I know you guys are going to ask, the sprite guards are walking around with so many abjuration auras they blur together and Kyle has at least a charisma boosting item.