"I heard from the Maester in the hall that all of Maester Gubete's books and notes are with you. Would it be possible for me to take a look?" Lynd asked directly, not bothering with pleasantries as he stood inside Maester Hugh's study.
"You're interested in Maester Gubete's books and notes?" Hugh paused for a moment, then seemed to recall something, nodding. "Yes, I suppose you would be. After all, you've already used blood magic in your armor."
Hugh's words were somewhat cryptic, but Lynd understood the implication—Gubete's writings must contain significant information on magic and other arcane knowledge.
"Wait here," Hugh said without hesitation. He stood up, left the room, and returned shortly after, carrying an incredibly thick book.
Panting from the effort, he placed the book in front of Lynd, grabbed a cloth from the table, and wiped off the dust coating its cover. As he tilted his head to avoid the rising dust, he casually remarked, "Fifteen Chosen Gold Dragons, and it's yours."
"Huh?" Lynd blinked, momentarily surprised. He had only wanted to read Gubete's notes, yet it had suddenly turned into a transaction.
Still, he didn't refuse. Instead, he gestured toward the book and asked, "Can I at least take a look first?"
"Go ahead." Hugh pushed the book across the table toward him.
Lynd examined the cracked, dust-covered cover before flipping it open to inspect the contents.
"This isn't the original? You copied it?" he asked, frowning slightly.
Hugh chuckled. "Of course it's not the original. You can't buy the original for fifteen Chosen Gold Dragons. This is my handwritten copy. I can guarantee that it's identical to the original—every word, every detail. No errors. Plus, I've included my own research notes. You won't find a better deal."
Lynd almost laughed at the sight of the elderly, silver-haired Hugh acting like a shrewd merchant, but he said nothing further and focused on reading.
Hugh, not wanting to disturb him, moved to a nearby cabinet, pulled out a bottle of wine, and poured two cups—one for himself and one for Lynd.
"I don't drink," Lynd said, glancing at the untouched cup before shifting his gaze back to Hugh. He then added pointedly, "You said your copy is identical to the original, with no mistakes, correct?"
Hugh hesitated slightly, sensing the underlying meaning in Lynd's words. "Are you saying there's an error in my transcription?"
Lynd flipped to the page that contained the runes from the Hightower and pointed at a few of the copied symbols. "Are you sure these runes are accurate?"
Hugh looked at the runes carefully but saw nothing wrong. He frowned. "That's how they were in the original. I don't believe I copied them incorrectly."
"You're certain?" Lynd repeated with emphasis. As he spoke, he dipped a finger into the wine and quickly sketched several similar runes on the table.
At first glance, the symbols Lynd had drawn looked identical to those in the book. But upon closer inspection, key differences became apparent—the runes in the book had missing strokes, and the connections between them were fragmented, unlike the smooth and continuous lines Lynd had drawn.
"You've seen these runes before? Do you know what they mean?" Hugh immediately recognized the difference in quality and realized that Lynd must have encountered these symbols before—and frequently at that—to be able to replicate them so fluidly.
Lynd answered honestly, "Unfortunately, I don't know their meaning. I'd very much like to."
Hugh looked unconvinced. "That's impossible. If you don't understand them, why can you draw them so easily?"
Lynd hesitated for a moment, then considered something. "Were those breaks in your runes intentional? Did you leave them because you couldn't draw the symbols correctly?"
Hugh remained silent but took a page from Lynd's book—he dipped his finger in the wine and began drawing the same runes from the High Tower on the table.
Lynd observed him closely and quickly noticed Hugh's struggle. His exposed arm muscles tensed, veins bulging from exertion. Even though he was pressing down with great force, his fingers moved sluggishly, as if some invisible force was pushing back against him, resisting every stroke. Only when he deliberately left breaks in the lines or turned smooth curves into sharp angles did the pressure lessen. When he finished, the rune he had drawn matched the flawed version in the book.
Watching this, Lynd was genuinely surprised. He and Morroa had spent a long time studying these runes, yet they had never discovered that merely drawing them could be so difficult.
Qyburn had also been involved in their research, but his interest had always been in the effects of the symbols rather than the process of creating them. He had never attempted to draw the runes himself. Because of that, Lynd had assumed these runes were just like the dragon runes used by the Banished Knight—something anyone could inscribe.
It seemed he had been wrong.
"Do you know where these runes originate?" Hugh asked, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"These runes come from the High Tower, and these are from the Wall," Lynd replied, pointing at a few symbols he recognized.
"The High Tower and the Wall?" Hugh's face lit up with excitement. He began pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath, "It's true… it's all true! Maester Gubete was right! These ancient structures were all built by the same lost civilization—a civilization of gods!"
"A civilization of gods?" Lynd frowned. "Maester Hugh, can you explain what you mean by this so-called 'civilization of gods'?"
Hugh, still caught up in his emotions, struggled to articulate his thoughts. Instead, he walked to the table, flipped through the book to a later section, and pointed at a passage of notes. "It's complicated to explain. You can read it yourself."
The passage wasn't long. It was a summary Maester Gubete had written after returning to Pentos from the Wall, analyzing the commonalities among the ancient ruins he had visited and identifying distinct features of their civilization.
His conclusion was startling: in the distant past, a single civilization had ruled the entire world. All modern myths about gods and spirits were, in fact, remnants of real historical events from this lost civilization, distorted into divine legends over time through oral tradition.
The Lord of Light R'hllor, the Lightbringer Azor Ahai, the Lion of Night, the Three-Headed God, the Horse God, Yndros of the Twilight, and many others were not truly gods, but the leaders of this ancient civilization.
Over the centuries, their deeds had been elevated, their mortal existence transformed into divine mythology. Like most Maesters of the Citadel, Gubete had been a staunch atheist, firmly convinced that gods were merely the product of misremembered history.
At the end of his notes, Gubete posed a crucial question—why had this civilization suddenly disappeared?
The reason he emphasized "suddenly" was that during his explorations in Sothoryos, he had discovered an ancient ruin that had remained perfectly preserved due to its remote location. It had not changed in thousands of years. Inside, he found clear signs of daily life, as if the inhabitants had abandoned the place in an instant, leaving everything behind in disarray, as though they had vanished overnight.
More disturbingly, he had uncovered a fully sealed crystal coffin within the ruins. Inside lay a body—one of the lost civilization's people. Gubete had transported the coffin, along with the body, back to Pentos.
Lynd's curiosity surged. He pointed at the passage about the crystal coffin and turned to Hugh. "What's the story behind this coffin? Is it still at the Sphinx Academy?"
Hugh glanced at the text, then thought for a moment before replying, "I remember… decades ago, during the last war between Pentos and Braavos, Prince Nevio Narratys sued for peace with Braavos. As part of the offering, the crystal coffin was gifted to the Sealord of Braavos. If it still exists, it's likely in the Sealord's treasury."
"Does the Sphinx Academy have any records of what the body inside looked like?" Lynd asked.
"No," Hugh answered firmly. "There were rumors that the corpse was cursed. It was said that prolonged exposure to the coffin would cause a person's body to rot away until they died."
Lynd frowned. "Did Maester Gubete die from the curse? Did his body rot away?"
"No," Hugh shook his head. "He boarded Elissa Farman's Sun Chaser and disappeared into the depths of the Sunset Sea."
"Elissa Farman?" The name stirred something in Lynd's memory. He recalled that Tywin had once sent agents to seize control of Fair Isle to acquire Elissa Farman's legendary sea charts. Corlys Velaryon, the famed Sea Snake, had also claimed to have seen the Sun Chaser in Asshai.
But he pushed thoughts of Elissa aside and turned his attention back to Hugh, who had finally calmed down. "Maester Hugh, are you interested in researching ancient civilizations?" he asked.
"Of course," Hugh replied, though his tone suggested he sensed something more behind the question. "Why do you ask, Lord Ornstein? Are you offering to sponsor me?"
"No, not sponsor—hire you," Lynd said, his voice steady. "In fact, I don't just want you. I want the entire Sphinx Academy."
Hugh was momentarily stunned. His first instinct was to think Lynd was joking, but a glance at his expression told him otherwise. He was serious—he truly intended to claim the entire academy.
"Lord Ornstein… what exactly do you mean by that?" Hugh asked cautiously.
Lynd didn't mince words. "It seems the Sphinx Academy isn't thriving in Pentos. Would you consider moving it elsewhere?"
Although Hugh had spent most of his life inside the academy, he was no fool when it came to worldly matters. In a city like Pentos, where power struggles were relentless, surviving—and securing enough funding from nobles and merchant lords—required a sharp political mind.
So when Lynd mentioned relocating the Sphinx Academy, Hugh immediately grew more alert. He studied Lynd carefully before asking, "I assume 'Ornstein' isn't your real name. Who are you, really? And who do you represent?"
Lynd didn't conceal his identity. "My name is Lynd Tarren, Lord of Summerhall. Though most people call me the Chosen One."
Hugh's face filled with shock. That was not the answer he had expected. It took him a moment to recover before he asked again, "You are the Chosen One of Westeros? The new king of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones?"
"The new king of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones?" Lynd frowned. "I've never been called that before."
"It's a title given to you by the Free Cities," Hugh explained. "It originates from Daemon Targaryen. By custom, anyone who unifies the Stepstones is granted this title. But, Lord Lynd, it suits you well. Soon enough, the coastal Free Cities will likely invite your Miracle Fleet to patrol the Narrow Sea, ensuring its safety and hunting down pirates. The entire sea will be your domain. Calling you the King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones isn't inaccurate."
The title sounded grand, but Lynd didn't like it. He could sense that the Free Cities weren't inviting the Miracle Fleet out of goodwill.
Still, it didn't matter. Whatever the Free Cities intended, he was confident he could handle it.
Rather than dwelling on the title, he shifted the conversation to his real purpose—his plan to relocate the Sphinx Academy to Summerhall.
Illyrio had already agreed to help him weaken the Sphinx Academy's influence in Pentos, making it difficult for them to maintain their footing. But if he had an insider of sufficient standing within the academy, the relocation would go even smoother. Maester Hugh was the perfect candidate.
Hugh listened carefully to Lynd's proposal. Instead of rejecting it outright, he remained silent for a moment before asking, "If the Sphinx Academy moves to Summerhall, what kind of support would we receive?"
"The exact details haven't been finalized yet," Lynd admitted. "But financial support is a given. More importantly, the Sphinx Academy would become a crucial institution for training officials in my domain, much like how the army and navy barracks train officers."
If Lynd had immediately made grand promises, Hugh might have been suspicious. But his straightforward answer—stating that the specifics were yet to be determined while offering only a couple of basic guarantees—made him seem more credible.
"If we're to move the Sphinx Academy, the Headmistress is the key," Hugh mused. "She was born and raised in Pentos. She won't agree to relocate the academy so far away without a fight. We would need to…"
Though he hadn't explicitly agreed to help Lynd, it was clear that he was already considering the logistics of the move. In his mind, he had begun siding with Lynd.
Seeing Hugh so proactive, Lynd couldn't help but smile.