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

Twenty-Sixth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC

Haldon had not changed since last you saw him. The flickering firelight light plays across the same craggy face set in an expression of simple unwavering determination you had first seen in the face of a city haunted by the restless dead. When a young acolyte trips as she walks across the temple's great hall, possibly at the sight of you, he rushes over to help her up and gather up the parchments she had been carrying.

"Pardon the interruption, Your Grace, Brother Thoros," he says after sending the girl on her way. "I did not mean any discourtesy, it's just that I know how troubled young hearts can be over that sort of momentary embarrassment, especially under the circumstances." The words are heavy with unspoken meaning, one you are in no hurry to explore. Reports have made it clear that Lys is among the cities most filled with the belief among R'hllor's faithful that you are Azor Ahai. You suppose that if Haldon does believe you are this savior it speaks well of his character that he would sooner reassure a child than greet you with fulsome honors.

"Pardons are not needed," you hasten to assure him. "Thinking ill of a priest for caring for his flock would make me a fool indeed." Glancing at Thoros you note that the warrior priest seems ill at ease. He does not quite meet the Flame Keeper's eyes when he offers his own words of understanding. Perhaps it was being in the company of another blessed by R'hllor beside Lady Melisandre... You shake off the thought. It is not Thoros that concerns you here, not even Haldon truly, but the spindle that had come into his possession, thankfully without collusion on his part according to your divinations. "There is an arcane treasure in your vaults, one of Fey make. I would know how you came about it..." you begin, for there the portents had been strangely vague.

"You must be mistaken, Your Grace. I know of no Fey treasure and have no dealings with such," the Lyseni priest replies, startled, and unless he is a much more skilled mummer than you give him credit for, sincere.

"Perhaps it is best we discuss this matter in private," you interject. Still bemused, Haldon leads you to his private chambers, a set of rooms with simple whitewashed walls filled with the simple necessities of life and that eternal constant of every leader who takes his duties seriously, a desk upon which unread messages and unfinished replies roost like an unruly flock.

"What we seek a spindle that spins gold," you explain once the door is closed behind you.

"That... is a relic of the Lord of Light," Haldon replies slowly. "Aemie the Blind, an old slave woman who had just been freed from slavery, but sadly had no skills to work by nor kin to keep her was struggling to make her living picking thread from old cloth when the the Holy Fire came to her such that even she could see, and it gifted her this treasure to reward her faith in Him. She brought it to the temple, for she did not wish to hoard the work of R'hllor's own hand, and here she lived in comfort due one so blessed by the God for the last months of her life. During her passing she bequeathed the spindle to the temple."

"Where is it now?" Thoros asks wearily, while you do your best not to curse under your breath. A great fiery light, that could be Ymeri, though trying to prove such a thing publicly could be a nightmare.

"In our most holy vault, though in honor of Aemie's generosity I had it brought out to the reliquary for the faithful to see. We do not use it much if that is your concern, Your Grace," the priest offers turning to you. "The temple is not poor, and we have no desire to abuse His gifts to pile treasures beneath our feet."

"Holy One, I am afraid that was not a gift of your God, but one to the tokens that had first passed through the hands of Lys' last archon..." You lay the whole tale before him, wondering all the while why the Red God did not act if this was indeed some plot of Ymeri to subvert his worshipers. A power that had endured through the reign of dragons and the dragonlords, through the nadir of magic, one you had heard speak through Haldon himself would not lightly allow such trespass.

"I... who could have worked such blasphemy? Why?" Haldon asks, shaken. Thankfully he does not doubt your word.

What do you reply?

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OOC: The plot thickens.