Lynd was not one for formalities. He got straight to the point. "I sent people to the Citadel to find you, Maester, hoping to recruit you to work for me. Unfortunately, by then, you'd already left for Essos. Now that I've finally found you, I can extend the invitation in person."
"Very well, I accept," Marwyn replied just as directly.
Lynd was momentarily surprised at how quickly Marwyn agreed. He paused, then asked, "You're agreeing just like that? No hesitation?"
"No need to hesitate," Marwyn said plainly. "In fact, I was already planning to return to Westeros. Once I'm back, I'll head straight to your lands to serve you. I've dedicated my entire life to studying magic, and you are magic incarnate. There's no way I'd pass up this opportunity."
Although pleased by Marwyn's enthusiasm, Lynd still gave a serious warning. "Maester Marwyn, I suggest you think carefully. If you accept my invitation, you won't be able to leave again."
He then proceeded to explain certain things about the Black Cave. Yet rather than hesitating or expressing concern, Marwyn only grew more excited.
To him, the Black Cave was nothing short of a dream come true. He had spent years searching for a place where he could study magic alongside like-minded individuals. At first, he had believed the Citadel to be such a place. But instead, he had found it filled with what he called "gray-cloaked sheep"—men too afraid to even learn forbidden knowledge, let alone use it. All they did was hoard secrets and lock them away.
But now, Lynd's Black Cave not only housed vast amounts of forbidden knowledge but had already yielded results in magical research. For a man like Marwyn, such a place was irresistible. Even if Lynd hadn't extended an invitation, the moment he heard about it, he would have thrown himself in without hesitation—and no force on earth would be able to drag him out.
Marwyn made his stance clear. "No need to say more! Even if you tried to drive me away, I wouldn't leave."
Seeing his enthusiasm, Lynd didn't argue further. Instead, he felt a sense of satisfaction—he had finally secured a valuable addition to his magical research efforts.
Before leaving Summerhall, Malora had complained more than once about the lack of skilled researchers. She wasn't referring to alchemists or potion-makers, but to experts in ancient runes and magical studies.
In the entire Black Cave, Malora was the only person qualified to study magic in depth. Qyburn had no interest in magical research—only in how magic could be used—making him more suited as an assistant than a scholar. That left Malora to shoulder the full burden of research alone.
For a time, she had managed. But over the years, even her passion for magic would not protect her from exhaustion. What she needed were partners who could study vast amounts of esoteric knowledge alongside her, not just assistants to help test her results.
Lynd then asked, "I still need to go to Qohor before returning to Summerhall. Do you want to come with me, or should I give you a token so you can go ahead on your own?"
Marwyn thought for a moment before replying, "I'll travel with you. As it happens, I also need to go to Qohor."
"You're heading to Qohor?" Lynd asked, probing. "Is it because of the magical armor?"
"It seems we have the same destination." Marwyn nodded. "While I was in Norvos recently, I heard that the Sooid family in Qohor has mastered the art of crafting magical armor. They claim to have forged a perfect set and plan to unveil it in the city a month from now. I was planning to head there soon."
"A perfect magical armor..." Lynd immediately realized that Marwyn must be referring to his own armor. However, he didn't reveal this, instead asking, "If you were already planning to go to Qohor, how did you end up captured by these Dothraki?"
"I wasn't captured," Marwyn shook his head. "I know these Dothraki. I once treated their horses, so they recognize me. They didn't take me prisoner. I just happened to be here recording the runes of this ancient ruin before heading to Ghoyan Drohe to catch a ship to Qohor. They were camping here, and we crossed paths."
Glancing at the unconscious Dothraki, he then asked, "Do you have a grudge against them?"
Lynd's expression remained unreadable. "Are you asking for mercy on their behalf?"
"I just think it's a shame for so many capable warriors to die like this," Marwyn said. "Their leader is Zoko, the son of Khal Tarko. Over a decade ago, when Zoko was still a child, his father was defeated by the then-famous Khal Bharbo. Loyal followers of Tarko took Zoko and raised him, eventually making him the leader of this Dothraki band."
"They aren't a traditional Khalasar but more akin to a mercenary company composed entirely of Dothraki. They take contracts from the powerful and, at times, resort to banditry. In this inland region, they wield considerable influence. If you were to take control of this force, it could make gaining dominance over this region much easier for you."
Lynd raised an eyebrow. "You think I'll want to control this inland territory?"
Marwyn spoke in a measured tone. "You've already set your sights on the Disputed Lands. I can't imagine you'd simply ignore the other Free Cities."
It was clear that Marwyn was not just an obsessive scholar of magic, as rumors suggested. He possessed a keen political mind as well—perhaps even sharper than many of the powerful figures who ruled the Free Cities.
However, even though Marwyn had a degree of political insight, his perspective was still limited. He did not stand in a position high enough to see the bigger picture. To him, these Dothraki warriors might be a potential asset, but to Lynd, they were nothing but a liability.
Lynd shook his head. "There's no need to keep these Dothraki. They're of no use to me. The only thing of value here is whatever information their leader has."
As he spoke, he instructed Marwyn to point out which one of them was the leader.
Lynd then rested his hand on the Banished Knight's greatsword at his waist. A wave of freezing energy radiated from his body, instantly turning the surrounding Dothraki into ice sculptures—all except for the leader Marwyn had identified.
A moment earlier, Marwyn had been lamenting the fate of these Dothraki, feeling pity for their impending deaths. But in the next moment, all his attention was drawn to the frozen corpses before him.
Lynd's earlier method of incapacitating them had certainly been impressive, but Marwyn could tell it was likely done through some kind of sleeping agent. While it was a sophisticated use of alchemy—allowing only certain people to be affected—it was still different from the true magic he sought.
But now, what he had just witnessed was something entirely beyond ordinary understanding. Lynd had frozen living men into statues of ice, right before his eyes. It was a moment that perfectly aligned with everything Marwyn had ever imagined magic to be. He wasted no time in beginning to study the frozen bodies.
While Marwyn was engrossed in his examination, Lynd took the opportunity to bind the Dothraki leader and gather up several hundred warhorses.
...
Several hours passed before the Dothraki warrior Lynd had left alive finally began to regain consciousness. The moment he woke, he sensed something was wrong. Realizing he was bound, he immediately opened his eyes and looked around.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
Everywhere around him stood ice sculptures—dozens upon dozens of them. Their faces were familiar. Every frozen expression was one of his own men. The sheer horror of it sent a terrified scream ripping from his throat, until his eyes landed on Marwyn and Lynd.
Gradually, he forced himself to calm down and began shouting in Dothraki at Marwyn.
Marwyn responded in the same tongue.
Lynd, with his limited grasp of the Dothraki language, could barely make out parts of their conversation. From what he understood, the captive was demanding to know what had happened, while Marwyn was attempting to explain.
But Lynd had no patience to waste on this.
Without hesitation, he retrieved a vial of truth serum—one commonly used by the Blood Armored Men for interrogations. Stepping forward, he grabbed the terrified Dothraki by the jaw, forced his mouth open, and poured the liquid down his throat before stepping back to wait for the drug to take effect.
It did not take long.
Within moments, the warrior's eyes grew glassy and unfocused, his expression dazed as if he were drunk.
Lynd wasted no time. In the best Dothraki he could manage, he asked, "What is your relationship with House Soyed of Qohor?"
The Dothraki responded quickly, but his accent was thick, and Lynd struggled to fully understand his words.
Marwyn stepped forward to act as a temporary translator and said, "He says that he and House Soyed have a cooperative relationship. He helps them deal with certain troubles, and in return, they provide him with weapons, horses, and food."
Lynd continued his questioning. "You attacked a mercenary company near Ghoyan Drohe that was transporting magical armor. Where is that armor now?"
Marwyn hesitated for a moment upon hearing Lynd's question. It didn't take him long to realize that the supposed magical armor-making expertise claimed by House Soyed of Qohor might have actually come from Lynd. And the so-called perfect magical armor they intended to display might very well belong to him.
The Dothraki warrior quickly responded, and Marwyn translated his words. "He says it's the armor of a demon. Many of his men died while transporting it, and the armor has been sent to the mines."
"The mines?" Lynd was momentarily taken aback. Up until now, he had assumed that his magical armor was the one House Soyed planned to unveil in Qohor. But from what he was hearing, it hadn't been taken to the city at all.
"The mine he mentioned is likely the Velvet Hills mines, located deep within the Forest of Qohor to the north of the city," Marwyn explained. "There are several metal mines in that region, all critical to Qohor's economy. House Soied controls one of them. These Dothraki often capture merchants or people from towns along the lower Rhoyne and sell them as slaves to work in the mines."
Lynd suddenly understood why the Dothraki hadn't taken the armor directly to Qohor and why so many of them had died transporting it. The answer was obvious—the armor's magic had surged out of control.
When a set of Banished Knight armor is first forged, all of its dragon runes activate immediately, beginning to absorb ambient magical energy.
Thanks to its complete guiding runes, the armor does not behave like ordinary dragon runes, which directly convert absorbed magic into raw power, storing it on the surface and rapidly releasing it. Instead, the armor accumulates magic internally, storing it within the dragon runes until someone who understands how to wield them calls upon their power.
This means that, for a time, Banished Knight armor remains indistinguishable from ordinary plate. But as it continues to draw in magic, there comes a point when the energy can no longer be contained. If it isn't properly channeled, it will erupt in a magical explosion. These outbursts grow stronger and more devastating with each occurrence, expanding their area of effect.
Without question, if the armor Lynd had forged had been left unchecked to absorb magic all this time, its next eruption could freeze half a city the size of Pentos solid.
House Soyed must have realized that the armor's unstable magic posed a risk to Qohor itself, which is why they decided to hide it deep within the mines instead.
"Do you know where House Soyed's mine is located?" Lynd asked.
"Yes," Marwyn nodded. "It's not a difficult place to find."
As soon as Marwyn finished speaking, the Dothraki warrior—still under the effects of the truth serum—froze solid before their eyes, transformed into an ice sculpture.
Marwyn let out a small sigh and then asked, "Are we heading to the mine now?"
"No," Lynd replied. "First, we're going to Norvos. I have some unfinished business there." He then explained the situation with Kevira.
Marwyn listened, thought for a moment, then said, "I think I know why Quinon Tashi—or rather, House Tashi—is so determined to eliminate Kevira and seize control of Ghoyan Drohe."
"You know?" Lynd raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"For the treasure of the Rhoynar," Marwyn answered.
"The treasure of the Rhoynar?" Lynd's expression grew thoughtful. He had, in fact, heard rumors of the Rhoynar's lost wealth before.
The History of the Rhoynar Wars, a text preserved in the Citadel, recorded the entire conflict in detail. While the book claimed that the war between the Rhoynar city-states and Valyria lasted over two hundred years, in truth, most of that time had been marked by scattered border skirmishes rather than true war. The only event that could be considered an all-out war was Valyria's full-scale invasion of the Rhoynar.
During that catastrophic campaign, the Dragonlords of Valyria had obliterated the Rhoynar city-states with overwhelming force. It was in the aftermath of this destruction that the warrior-queen Nymeria led the surviving Rhoynar across the sea, seeking refuge in Westeros.
The book did not specify exactly how long the final battle had lasted, but based on other historical clues, Lynd estimated that it had taken no more than a month in total. The rapid downfall of the Rhoynar cities meant that their accumulated wealth had been left behind in the ruins—thus giving rise to the legend of the Rhoynar's lost treasure.