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Chapter 236: The Old Man of the River
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 13:58:21 +0000 UTCAs night fell, the ruins of Ny Sar took on a haunting presence. Sounds that had seemed ordinary during the day now carried an unsettling edge, making the atmosphere all the more eerie.
“Spending the night in the ruins is really not a good idea,” Marwyn muttered, lighting some insect-repelling herbs he had gathered earlier. As he waved the smoke around to ward off the swarming mosquitoes, he cast an envious glance at Lynd.
Though the weather had cooled, the Norvos Hills blocked the northern winds, keeping Ny Sar warm. This climate, combined with the stagnant water collected in the city's numerous fountains, created the perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. The moment night fell, they swarmed in overwhelming numbers, blanketing the city in a dense, buzzing cloud.
For Lynd, however, this was a non-issue. Using the frozen dragon rune, he formed a chilling aura around himself. The sudden drop in temperature drove the insects away, and those that didn’t flee were instantly frozen the moment they came into contact with the icy air. A thick carpet of frozen insect corpses had already begun to pile up around him.
Marwyn coughed twice as the thick smoke from the repellent herbs stung his throat. Seeing how the mosquitoes continued to buzz around despite his efforts, he scratched at a fresh bite swelling on his face and turned to Lynd, who was watching the river.
“Lord Lynd, could you add some protection for me as well?”
Lynd glanced at the disheveled Maester and the smoke-filled air around him. Without a word, he activated the power of the storm dragon rune, combining it with the frozen dragon rune. A dense, frigid mist rapidly spread across the ruins of Ny Sar.
In an instant, every mosquito was frozen solid, their lifeless bodies falling to the ground like black snow.
“My lord, if you had such an effective method, why didn’t you use it earlier?” Marwyn grumbled, scratching at the bites on his skin as he watched the swarm vanish before his eyes.
Lynd remained impassive. “I needed to conserve my magic in case the Old Man of the River appeared. Wasting power on mosquitoes wasn’t an option.”
The moment his words fell, a disturbance rippled across the surface of the Noyne River. It was subtle, barely noticeable in the darkness, but Lynd's sharp eyes caught it immediately. The movement suggested something large was gliding beneath the surface, making its way toward the docks.
Lynd turned to Marwyn. “It’s here. Get to safety—I might not be able to protect you if a fight breaks out.”
Marwyn shook his head. “No need. I’m a capable warrior. I’ve fought my fair share of battles across Essos,” he said, grabbing the axe at his waist and pulling a shield from his pack. “Lord Lynd, don’t mistake me for one of those soft Maesters from the Citadel.”
Seeing Marwyn’s determination, Lynd didn’t argue and let him stay.
Though he couldn’t see underwater, Lynd could sense the powerful magical energy radiating from whatever was approaching. It was far stronger than the Cannibal.
Faced with such a creature, Lynd wasn’t about to take chances. He placed his hands on the greatsword of the Banished Knight. While he hoped to tame the Old Man of the River, as he had with the Cannibal, he was prepared to destroy it if necessary. If he was serious about rebuilding Ny Sar, the creature lurking in these waters would be a major obstacle.
Just as Lynd braced himself, a towering wave suddenly rose from the river’s surface. Like a wall of water, it surged toward the deepwater bay, sweeping up the wreckage floating above and dragging the shattered hulls back into the depths.
The wave didn’t strike the pier. Instead, it crashed down just short of the docks, sending a massive spray of water hurtling toward Lynd and Marwyn.
Before the wave could reach them, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the air, diverting the spray to either side. The same gust caught a small boat lifted by the wave, spinning it around before gently settling it back onto the churning river.
Lynd gestured for Marwyn to stay where he was, then stepped forward onto the stone platform at the water’s edge, eyes locked on the restless surface.
Suddenly, the river went still.
The waves that had churned moments ago vanished, leaving the water as smooth as a mirror, perfectly reflecting the night sky above.
Then, the river in front of Lynd suddenly parted to the sides, and from beneath the water, a massive one-horned turtle emerged.
In appearance, this giant turtle was not too different from the river turtles Lynd had seen before, aside from the sharp horn protruding from its head and several smaller horns along its shell.
But in terms of size, it was a completely different beast—thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of times larger than an ordinary turtle. Roughly estimating, without counting its head and tail, its body alone spanned over twenty meters in diameter and towered more than ten meters high. From a distance, it resembled a small mountain.
Although its size was considerably smaller than that of the Cannibal, for a creature inhabiting an inland river, it was colossal—an unrivaled force in these waters.
Yet, despite its imposing presence, the giant turtle did not attack Lynd. Instead, it lowered its head slightly, moving closer to him, observing him with eyes that held an unmistakable spark of curiosity—one that seemed distinctly human.
If, when meeting the Cannibal for the first time, Lynd had sensed nothing but primal, animalistic instinct, then from this turtle, he felt something entirely different—an awareness, an intelligence. He could tell, with absolute certainty, that this creature possessed a keen mind, at least on par with, if not greater than, the Cannibal's.
With that realization, Lynd took the initiative to bow and, using the pure Rhoynar tongue he had learned from the orphans of the Greenblood, greeted it with respect.
“My respects to you, child of Mother Rhoyne, Old Man of the River.”
The turtle's expression shifted into something resembling human astonishment. It was clear this was the first time anyone had ever addressed it with such courtesy. Everyone it had encountered before had either screamed and fled, branded it a monster, or attacked it outright.
Just as Lynd had suspected, this one-horned giant turtle was intelligent—exceptionally so. Its ancestral memory allowed it to understand the ancient Rhoynar language, and from Lynd’s tone and actions, it could recognize his goodwill.
But alongside that goodwill, the turtle also sensed a threat.
Its gaze swept over Lynd’s form, pausing multiple times on the greatsword of the Banished Knight at his waist.
It could feel the danger radiating from the blade. That weapon exuded a power unlike anything it had encountered before. The last time it had felt such a sense of danger was long ago—when it had stood in the shadow of dragons. Yet, the aura emanating from this lone human before it felt even more menacing than that of the great winged beasts.
Because of this, the turtle's demeanor became markedly cautious. Almost immediately after Lynd bowed, it leaned in slightly and gave a subtle nod in return.
Unlike with Glory or the Cannibal, Lynd could sense the turtle’s intelligence, but he found no way to establish a mental connection with it. Whatever form of communication was possible, it would not be through thought alone.
Just as he was contemplating how to bridge the gap between them, the turtle suddenly raised its head and let out a deep, reverberating sound—something akin to the piercing whistle of a steam engine.
Instantly, the lingering mist of frozen air that Lynd had conjured dissipated without a trace. The ruins of Ny Sar returned to their natural state.
Lowering its head again, the turtle closed its mouth and let out a low, rumbling hum directed at Lynd.
Lynd observed the powerful fluctuations of magic rippling through the creature as it vocalized, but he sensed no hostility. So, he stood his ground, listening carefully to the deep resonance of its voice.
Then, suddenly, as if the meaning had been delivered directly into his mind, he understood.
It was asking why he carried the scent of a queen.
Lynd considered the question for a moment before responding in Rhoynar, “Queen? Do you mean Queen Nymeria?”
The giant turtle nodded.
Lynd explained, “My wife is also named Nymeria, and she is a descendant of Queen Nymeria.”
The giant turtle nodded again, then let out another low, magical hum, transmitting a new message to Lynd: “Are you here to fulfill the queen’s vow?”
“A vow?” Lynd was momentarily taken aback. “I’m sorry, I only came because I was curious about the reports of the Old Man of the River. I don’t know what vow your kind made with the Queen of the Rhoynar.”
As he spoke, he subtly tested whether the one-horned giant turtle was part of a group or a singular entity.
The turtle showed no reaction to his phrasing when he referred to the Old Men of the River as a collective. However, it was also possible that its focus was entirely on its disappointment that Lynd was not here to fulfill the ancient vow, leaving it oblivious to his deliberate probe.
Disheartened by Lynd’s response, the giant turtle lost interest in continuing the conversation and prepared to leave.
“Wait! Hold on a moment,” Lynd called out quickly. “What is this vow you speak of? I may not know the details, but my wife is a descendant of Queen Nymeria, and I have a duty to uphold her oaths.”
At Lynd’s words, the giant turtle stirred with excitement. Its massive body rocked the river, sending waves rolling outward before it gradually settled again.
Then, in another deep, resonant burst of magical sound, it revealed the story behind the oath.
Long ago, the Rhoynar had made a pact with the Old Men of the River—offering them worship in exchange for their aid in governing the Rhoyne’s waters.
This agreement lasted until the time of Nymeria. When the Rhoynar were defeated, Nymeria was forced to flee Essos, but before she left, she made a solemn vow to the Old Men of the River as their leader.
The vow was simple: Nymeria believed that one day she would return to Ny Sar and reestablish the Rhoynar city-states. Until that day, she asked the Old Men of the River to guard Ny Sar, to preserve it until she could reclaim it. Once she returned, she and her people would resume the traditions of worshipping them, as they had for countless generations.
At the time, Nymeria must have still had faith in her eventual return. But that hope was soon crushed by the overwhelming power of Valyria. She fled all the way to Dorne, and in the end, to ensure that no Rhoynar would attempt to return to Essos, she ordered the burning of their ships—severing any possibility of their people reclaiming their lost homeland.
“Why didn’t Nymeria take you with her when she left?” Lynd asked, curious after hearing the story.
The one-horned giant turtle responded quickly. Its kind were freshwater creatures, highly sensitive to seawater. Exposure to salt water caused them immense distress, making survival in the ocean impossible. Even approaching the sea was beyond their capabilities.
When Prince Garin led his army of 250,000 to attack Volantis, he had requested the Old Men of the River to aid him—just as they had when they unleashed a flood upon Volon Therys. He wanted them to do the same to Volantis.
However, Volantis stood at the mouth of the Rhoyne, where seawater mingled with freshwater. The presence of salt in the water made it nearly impossible for the one-horned turtles to function, let alone fight or wield their magic. In the end, none of them could participate in the battle, and they instead returned to Ny Sar.
Without their aid, and against the overwhelming might of Valyria’s dragonlords—who unleashed over a hundred dragons—Garin’s army was annihilated outside the gates of Volantis.
From the turtle’s words, Lynd could tell that it had personally fought in the war between Valyria and the Rhoynar. That meant it was at least a thousand years old, if not older. It also explained why the magical energy radiating from it was so much stronger than that of the Cannibal.
“I can fulfill Queen Nymeria’s vow,” Lynd declared. “I will rebuild Ny Sar and restore the Old Men of the River’s place of honor.”
At his words, the giant turtle trembled with excitement once more, causing the river to churn around it.
Lynd quickly used his wind magic to sweep away the splashing water, lifting himself into the air until he was level with the turtle’s massive head. Meeting its gaze, he continued, “But I have a condition.”
The turtle stilled, its gaze locked onto him, waiting for him to speak.
“I want to forge a new pact with your people—the Old Men of the River. But this time, it will not be with the Rhoynar. It will be with me, my wife Nymeria, and our descendants.”
The giant turtle fell silent for a long time.
Eventually, it looked up at Lynd, sensing the immense, ancient power that lay within him. Finally, it bowed its head slightly.
Then, instead of using magical resonance, it spoke in a voice audible to all.
“I humbly obey your decree, Ancient One.”
