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

Nineteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Lya wastes no time restoring Nazath's arcane protections while you take on draconic shape, veil yourself in yet another ward against all sorcery and take the stillborn thing in your claws. The stone feels slick, almost moist upon your scales, though you cannot be sure if the feeling is truly there or a lingering memory of the mass of writhing flesh you had glimpsed before whatever its curse reestablished itself. Regardless, someone has to carry this thing since you have no intention to consecrate the Snare to the Merling King and given Relath's recent exploits you would rather not leave the task to him in case sheer spite should give the Stillborn Brain the strength to strike one more time before the dagger falls. Speaking of daggers...

"Does there seem to be anything special about the dagger we found in Faerex's lair?" you ask Nazath and Breath Taker in equal measure. "The thing did seem rather specifically worried about sacrificial daggers over other means it could be ended, though daggers are hardly the best way to shatter stone."

The priest takes the dagger Jeyne hands him shakily. "There does not seem to be any marking of hidden power upon it, though I imagine there would be no harm in using it. The Lord of the Deep would take this sacrifice even were it delivered upon the point of a sharpened rock."


The words prove prophetic, for one has but to fly above the temple of the Merling King to see the waters rush eagerly over the steps though the tide is near its lowest point. The Ferryman awaits his coin and you do not intend to have him wait long. The stone is set among the rushing brine, though it almost seems to recoil and twist in your hands. A feeble gesture, whether from the exhaustion of its last attempt or the lack of connection to the physical realm that Nazath's mind melding had wrought you do not know, and truth be told you do not care, happy just to be able to rid yourself of the foul burden.

Breath Taker utters a long prayer in the soft secret tongue of water, the voice of the sea entwining with his until one could not say where one begins and the other ends, then without warning or hesitation he raises the crystalline dagger high and strikes the stone. It is not the grating of stone against crystal that meets your ear, however, but the wet tearing of flesh and a long scream that grows higher and higher, louder and louder with every moment until it fills the world, like nails beaten into the mind.

The horrid sound cuts off abruptly, the stone shatters to rubble and it is only stone now you know, no more meaningful or magical than the work crews fuse into roads. You are half-tempted to hand it over for the task, that the feet of countless imperial citizens might tread over the final vestige of overweening pride and madness, but now is not the time for idle fancies. Before you stands a nereid, risen from the sea foam, and to your surprise a familiar face also.

"Lady Galaneia?" you bow in greeting, a question half-spoken upon your lips. What had her companions of the Expeditionary Fleet thought of her vanishing, you wonder. Then again, perhaps she had been in the sea's embrace where none could see when she was called to her Father's task.

"Hail to thee once more, Great King. What do you ask of my father for this most pleasing of endings?" she asks, a spark of genuine curiosity in her eyes beyond the duty that drives her.

"The Doom of Tiamat for which many powers are gathering," you say, presenting her with the ring so recently touched by the silver light of the Wayfarer's Lantern.

At this she gingerly picks up the circle of golden thread and lays upon it a kiss. There is no boom of thunder nor flash of light, but when you take the ring back from her it is weightier then before, though not in a manner felt in the mind.

"There is one other matter I would wish to discuss with you if you would spare the time, my lady," Lya interjects. "I have recently come upon the lore of R'hllor the Red that allows me to shape and ensoul flame. Is there a craft in your father's court that would allow the same, for I would much wish to know it?"

"And I would be willing to trade much for the privilege." you add, to make it clear that it is an honest trade you intend.

For a long while Galaneia is silent, though in thought rather than displeasure. "Such a thing was never carved in stone, not meant for mortal eyes for it is not my Father's way to concern himself with the beginning of things. Still, I can see why you might desire such lore and have found much joy in the company of the spirits of seaweed given form in the waters of Lys. I will speak to my sisters and seek out the answer. If it can be found you shall have it and its price within the moonturn."

"My thanks. my lady," Lya replies sincerely before turning her attention to the rubble left over from the sacrifice, just in case there might be some useful affinity to it you imagine.

After a moment's silence you add. "Do you wish me to carry you back the the fleet by sorcery or will you find your own way?"

"I would appreciate the passage," she replies, taking your arm with playful formality, like a partner in one of the stiffer Volantene dances.

As you fix the Queen Rhaella in your mind the fate of another ship is also not far from from it. Moonsong would not be returning to the Hunter's Moon. Another would have to captain it, hopefully someone with the sense not to use its history to annoy Stannis any more than he already is by it.

Who do you appoint as captain of the Hunter's Moon?

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OOC: We have not seen anything from the Fleet this month so I figured a visit timed with naming a new captain would make an interesting way to tie that in.