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

Twenty-First Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC

Over the past few years people all over Essos had grown accustomed to them, the pale trees reaching out to the heavens, their leaves red as the dragon's banner, red as the blood he had spilled. Sorcerer's Trees they called them, all manner of legends and tales springing up around them beyond places like the Deep, Braavos, or Mantarys where the living servants of the Old Gods were present to explain their nature and that of the power that bound them. Little wonder that there was a thriving black market in deadwood and even leaves in Lys or Tyrosh for would-be sorcerers and fools looking to brew up a good fortune. Even Scholarum students have been known to try their hand at such foolishness occasionally, particularly ones that had not worked their first bit of magic yet.

Naria wondered if she should just tell them it was a waste of time now that, for the first time since the Days of Dawn, someone actually understood how it was weirwood trees served as the limbs of the Old Gods. The incarnate sighed. They probably wouldn't listen. Vee was right to say some people would always try to take the easy way, thinking they found some path for them and them alone when in fact they trod in the footsteps of fools by the score.

The Tree Connection Complete (35/30): Further research unlocked

And there went another one, she thought, seeing a young man in green pick up a piece of deadwood under the Scholar's Tree. Naria's assumption proved wrong however as the knight, for he had the spurs of Westerosi nobleman, did not surreptitiously abscond with it but instead sat down on one of the benches, pulled out a small carving knife, and began to carve it. He was whistling a tune that should have been cheerful but somehow echoed sadly through the creaking branches.

Naria was nothing if not curious and in any case she had nothing planned for this evening except a few quiet hours at the library leafing through old histories, maybe offering to index some of the new additions so she would know what they were before anyone else. Books could wait whereas this mystery likely would not.

"They don't like that you know," she called to the dark-haired knight by way of greeting. "The Old Gods I mean. If you are trying to make an offering you should try stone or bone tools."

The bright blue gaze that met hers reminded the incarnate of someone. Ceria... Ceria Strom, the face and name floated up to the the surface of her thoughts. She might not have her maker's perfect recall, but Naria had good memory and kept it well honed. Was this another Stormlander bastard?

"It is not an offering, my lady," he replied, gracefully rising to his feet to bow in greeting. "What I most wish for no god may give, nor should they."

So he is feeling guilty over something then, perhaps whatever had driven him to come to the Deep, the incarnate thought, more intrigued with every answer. "Naria the Loreseeker," she introduced herself with a nod and a smile, careful to keep both restrained. Young men of high birth were remarkably quick to read flirtation into one's manner and just as slow to admit error after the fact.

For a long moment he was silent, looking through her almost. No danger of unwanted attentions there. "You put me in a difficult position through no fault of your own," the man said at last. "Once I would have said I am Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, but I have laid aside the honor weeks ago as was only right and the name was never mine."

Sensing that simply pressing for answers might drive him to silence Naria instead motioned again to the piece of deadwood in his hand, still too new to guess what he might wish to make of it. "Do you enjoy carving then?"

"He did when he was a boy and all I have springs from him, like an image in rippling water..." the knight trailed off, meeting her still attentive gaze. "You don't think I'm mad yet?"

Another memory came to mind, this one faded and colorless, not hers, but one she had taken from her maker before her birth. "You are a fey changeling, aren't you?" Naria only half-asked.

He looked startled, almost afraid. "That is not common knowledge, is it? It would be damaging for my brother... for Stannis if it were known." Saying the name seemed to almost physically pain him.

"No, not common knowledge at all, I inherited the memory from she who molded me into being," the incarnate replied.

"Your mother?" the young man asked, a spark of genuine curiosity in sky-blue eyes.

"No... well, not unless we are teasing her," Naria laughed softly, going on to explain how she and her sisters had come into being and why as well as a little of her life since then, from indexing books to sleepless nights celebrating Scholarum graduations, for which she was a semi-permanent fixture, and arcane studies that might one day change the world.

They wandering fey grew more animated the longer she spoke, asking questions of his own, even showing the odd fleeting smile, but as her tale wound to an end he retreated again into melancholy. "I wish my memories would fade as well."

"Well, have you considered doing something not rooted in the past to help that along, something for yourself alone?" Naria asked plainly. "The world is wider and stranger than Renly Baratheon ever knew. I'm sure you'll find something."

"I..." For perhaps the first time since he had come ashore the knight looked, truly looked at the city around him. "I'll try."

OOC: There really was not much storytelling potential in the Tree Connection on its own, it's just an incremental research to a very long term project so I thought of the changeling who should have been arriving right about now. First it was going to be Vee who spoke to him, however the parallels between him and the arcanums made me change to Naria.