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

Tenth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC

In the end you decide upon at least attempting discretion, though it makes an already difficult letter almost torturous to write. On the surface it is a letter to a traitor to your house, one who was a mere child during the Usurper's war and whom you would be naturally inclined to offer at least the possibility of reconciliation, but beyond that you know the man you write to is not what he appears, though he may not know it himself... A simple greeting might be tangled by circumstance, much less a request to meet in a secluded spot away from walls and guards.

Letters fly back and forth to Evenfall Hall for the remainder of the day and well into the night, proposal and counter-proposal while you settle in the village almost three miles from the keep, somewhat regretful of fey hospitality of the Golden Hearth. The people of Tarth are happy enough to take your silver, though they do not spare you suspicious glances they likely give all those foreign to the island... likely not helped by the fact that you cannot name the ship that brought you here.

Ser Richard insists on watching through the night against foolish smallfolk and treacherous lords both, though thankfully the hours pass without incident.


Eleventh Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC

The morning's light finally brights the letter you sought, penned in the looping though somewhat untidy script you had come to recognize, requesting the meeting take place in a valley not far from the hall, with the lord of Tarth and his changeling lord setting out supposedly to hunt in the company of their most leal knights, eight in all to your four had been agreed upon.

"They look colorful if nothing else," Ser Richard snorts, looking across the grassy bowl of the valley to the Stormlander delegation. Indeed bright are surcoats of gold and black, red, blue, and green over shining armors.

"A blind man might think them a hunting party," Tyene agrees, then she pauses a moment, as though deep in thought. "Make that blind and deaf, they rattle and clank enough to scare the beasts out of half the forest."

Only half-listening to the banter you keep your gaze fixed on the advancing riders, trying to pick out the man who is 'a kind of Renly Baratheon.' Fortunately he is anything but shy in his approach: at the head of the company cantering forward is a man in gleaming green enameled armor, his hair black as a raven's wing to match the surcoat in the colors of House Baratheon. Though one might if pressed be able to pick out features alike to his brother Stannis, the way they all fit together could not have been more different. A face meant to smile and laugh you would call it, filled with youthful charm, such a visage the Usurper may have had on the eve of war...

Look though you may for some sign of otherworldly influence you can see nary a one with only the second sight, and even the deeper searching of magic meant to see beyond all the veils of the world shows naught but a shimmer engaged in silver light, like a reflection in rippling water on a summer day.

Besides him you see knights of lesser houses, most sworn directly to Storm's End you would guess, save one: a slender man of middle years and greying hair bearing the quartered sun and moon of Tarth. Lord Selwyn himself, your host of sorts in these lands looks at you with wary faded blue eyes.

How do you greet the Lord of Storm's End?

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OOC: Sorry this is late, had stuff to do IRL.