The Legend of Larra Stark: Barrow Raider

The great doors of Tywin's solar swung open to allow Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell admittance. The man was smaller than Tywin expected, though that may have been due to the lack of a cloak - unnecessary in the heat of the south. He didn't know why the man had ridden south to talk to him, especially since any discussion could have been done over raven. But still, refusing the meeting would have been considered an insult and Tywin could not imagine that the northerner, from a culture famed for solemnness would have come for anything less than crucial in his mind.

"Many thanks for seeing me at such short notice, my lord" said Rickard, striding down the hall and leaving his squire - bearing a leather wrapped parcel - in his wake. Tywin couldn't make out what the item enclosed within was, as the covering was clearly meant for something else entirely. Still he rose to his feet, presenting a bowl of salt and a loaf of fresh bread - as Guest Right demanded.

"It was my pleasure Lord Stark" said Tywin, "though I confess I was confused by your request for a private meeting." The last word held an obvious question, which Rickard recognised.

"I will not dither and waste time" the man said, after consuming the bread. He took the covered object from his squires hands. "I came to return this." And placing the artefact on the desk, he drew back the leather wrappings.

Tywin recognised it instantly.

Brightroar. The ancestral sword of House Lannister, lost on an ill-fated quest to Valyria.

But..."How?" Tywin whispered. He gingerly reached out for the blade. Valyrian Steel. It was unmistakable. His family's shame, returned...

But Rickard Stark looked embarrassed. "My daughter" he sighed, as if that explained everything. Tywin was not satisfied.

"Your...daughter?" he asked. Was the girl some sort of explorer, a reborn Lomas Longstrider?

"Larra" Rickard confirmed, "named for a cousin of my wife's. Since she was two and ten the girl has kept vanishing, disappearing for hours or days or weeks - only to turn up later lugging some ancient artifact behind her." He chuckled, exasperatedly shaking his head. "Believe me when I say that this" he said, pointing to Brightroar, "is one of the least strange things she's brought back."

"What could possibly make a Valyrian Steel sword look normal?" Tywin asked, suddenly wondering whether he should fetch ink and paper.

"The Ice Dragon for starters" Rickard muttered, sinking into a chair. "The strange gears from Tyrosh, the glowing dagger from Ib, the flaming greatsword from Volantis, the golem - as she calls it - from Braavos." He shook his head again. "My daughter is odd to say the least. Any ruin or cave or tomb - she'll be down there, armed with nothing but her bow and her wits. And by this point we're running out of space for all the artefacts."

Meanwhile in Winterfell...

"Ah, Larra. You're back again" said Brandon, already waist deep in his wine. "What have you found now?"

"Well brother" said Larra, that strange accent of hers shining through, "On my quest beyond the Wall I came across this fascinating giant graveyard..."