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Chapter 227: The Crystal Coffin
🕑 Added 2025-03-25 12:22:00 +0000 UTCSealord Ferrego was taken aback by the state of the enchanted armor. He had never expected that leaving it in the treasure vault for a while would cause it to turn into a block of ice.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached out to touch the ice.
But Lynd immediately stopped him, his tone stern as he warned, “If you want to die, go ahead and touch it.”
He then pointed to the rat, half of whose body was already encased in ice. It seemed the creature had touched the ice with its nose and had been completely frozen. As the ice continued to expand, it gradually enveloped the rest of its body.
Seeing this, Ferrego shuddered and quickly withdrew his hand. He turned to Lynd and asked, “Why is this happening?”
“Because the craftsmen and sorcerers of Qohor tampered with my armor’s design without permission and tried to replicate my magical runes, which led to a loss of control over the enchantment.” Lynd glanced at Ferrego and added, “This armor isn’t mine—it’s just a crude imitation. When the people of Qohor sold it to you, did they tell you anything about it?”
Ferrego’s expression darkened. He hadn’t expected that the armor he had paid a fortune for was nothing more than a poor imitation. His frustration toward the Qohorik craftsmen surged, and he had no intention of covering for them.
In a low voice, he said, “Balon of House Soyed told me they were working on another enchanted armor—one supposedly superior to this. He said that if I wanted it, they would offer it to me first.”
Lynd fell silent for a moment before explaining, “A few years ago, I commissioned Magister Illyrio of Pentos to find craftsmen in Qohor to forge a set of enchanted armor for me using only Valyrian steel. I provided the design myself. About ten or eleven months ago, I was informed that the armor was complete. Illyrio arranged for an escort to bring it back, but a month later, I received word that the escort had been ambushed by Dothraki raiders. Everyone was killed, and everything, including the armor, was stolen.”
“Later, Illyrio launched an investigation and found that no known Dothraki khalasar had claimed responsibility for the attack. Moreover, not long after the incident, House Soyed—the very people commissioned to forge the armor—secretly contacted some Dothraki. Shortly afterward, they sent a delegation to Braavos to meet with you, and soon after that, you announced that you had obtained an enchanted armor.”
After hearing this, Ferrego couldn't help but curse the Qohorik under his breath. Then, he said, “So you suspect that your Valyrian steel armor ended up in my hands, and that’s why you came to see me.”
Lynd shook his head. “No. In fact, back in Pentos, I had already guessed that the enchanted armor in your possession wasn’t mine. Illyrio had people investigate and even questioned those who attended the demonstration of the armor. Based on their descriptions, I could tell it wasn’t the same as mine.”
Ferrego gave him a wry smile. “If you already knew, why come to me at all?”
Lynd shrugged. “Even though I was fairly certain, I needed to see it with my own eyes. Besides, there was a chance you might have some clue about my armor.”
Ferrego took a deep breath, suppressing his irritation, before saying, “You’re right. I do have a lead that might be useful to you.” He hesitated for a moment, considering whether to use this information as a bargaining chip to strike a deal. But in the end, he decided against it. Lynd was too much of a troublemaker, and it was best to get rid of him as quickly as possible. So, instead, he simply said, “As far as I know, House Soyed maintains a band of Dothraki raiders who specialize in attacking merchant caravans while disguising their raids as typical Dothraki pillaging.”
Lynd’s expression hardened. “Are you saying that the so-called Dothraki who raided the escort were actually men hired by House Soyed?”
Ferrego shook his head. “I never said that. You came to that conclusion all on your own, Lord Lynd. If you want proof, you’ll have to go to Qohor yourself. After all, only by seeing it firsthand can you be sure, don’t you think, Lord Chosen One?”
Hearing Ferrego throw his own words back at him, Lynd chuckled and nodded. “You’re right. A trip to Qohor is necessary.”
With that, he turned to leave the vault. But after taking just two steps, he suddenly stopped and turned his gaze toward the depths of the treasure chamber, where a conspicuous crystal coffin stood.
At that moment, he recalled something—Maester Gubete, the ancient civilization ruins from Sothoryos, and the crystal coffin that had been transported from those ruins. He remembered that during peace negotiations between Pentos and Braavos, the coffin had been presented as a gift to the Sealord of Braavos.
Without hesitation, he turned and strode toward the crystal coffin.
Following closely behind, Ferrego noticed his sudden shift in attention and felt a pang of curiosity. Without a second thought, he followed, and soon, the three of them stood before the crystal coffin.
Ferrego halted five or six meters away from the crystal coffin and warned Lynd, “That thing is cursed. Get too close, and you’ll fall under its spell.”
But after issuing the warning, he regretted it. He realized he shouldn’t have said anything—he should have let Lynd linger near the coffin long enough for the curse to take hold.
Lynd, however, ignored his words and stepped right up to the crystal coffin, gazing at the ancient corpse lying within.
The moment he saw it, he understood. The ancient race that Maester Gubete had spoken of could only be the White Walkers. The figure in the crystal coffin was identical to the spectral beings of legend, except for one crucial difference—this corpse looked like a true, living being of flesh and blood, unlike the White Walkers, who seemed more like ice-made phantoms.
His attention shifted to the runes carved onto the coffin’s surface. They were all magical, brimming with power. Their enchantment not only preserved the corpse, preventing decay, but also cast a curse upon those who dared approach.
For ordinary people, the magic of this curse might have been deadly. But for Lynd, the moment the energy seeped into his body, it was instantly devoured by the Rune of the Nameless King.
“You recognize the race inside the coffin.” Ferrego, standing at a safe distance, observed Lynd’s thoughtful expression and ventured a guess.
Lynd turned his head to meet Ferrego’s gaze before nodding. “Yes. He is a White Walker.”
Both Ferrego and Qarro, who had remained silent all this time, were stunned. They had not expected such an astonishing answer.
After a long pause, Ferrego finally recovered from his shock and challenged, “How can this be a White Walker? From all the stories I’ve heard, White Walkers are creatures made of ice and snow. That’s what you told your king when you returned to Westeros from Beyond the Wall.”
Lynd clarified, “He is a White Walker—just from before the transformation.”
Ferrego hesitated before speaking again. “So what you’re saying is that long ago, this race ruled the world, built many of the ancient structures we now consider wonders, and their greatest figures became the gods we worship today. Then, at the peak of their civilization, they abandoned everything, traveled to the Land of Always Winter, and turned themselves into the enemies of all life—White Walkers.” He let out a dry chuckle, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Honestly, Lord Lynd, your version of events sounds like a badly written play from a third-rate playwright.”
Clearly, Ferrego was familiar with Maester Gubete’s writings, which chronicled a lost civilization that had left behind most of the world's grandest ruins.
“Whether in Westeros, Essos, or even Sothoryos, there are legends of the Long Night and the Eternal Winter,” Lynd said evenly. “If those legends are more than mere stories—if the real Long Night was even harsher than the tales claim, with the cold swallowing all life and becoming the world's absolute ruler—then tell me, what could possibly survive in such an environment?”
Ferrego’s expression turned grim. He could almost see it—the Shivering Sea’s blizzards consuming Braavos, freezing the city solid just as the treasure vault before him had been encased in ice.
Qarro, who had remained silent, was now lost in thought. He followed Lynd’s reasoning to its natural conclusion, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse with unease. “They had to become part of the cold itself… just like the White Walkers.”
His words echoed through the vault.
Ferrego shivered involuntarily and turned a fearful glance toward the crystal coffin, as if expecting the corpse within to rise at any moment.
Having confirmed the connection between the ancient civilization and the White Walkers, Lynd saw no reason to linger. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the exit of the treasure vault.
Seeing Lynd leave, Ferrego hurried to catch up, sticking close behind him as if the treasure vault were filled with unseen dangers and only the presence of the Chosen One could ensure his safety.
As Lynd stepped out of the vault, he paused and glanced back at the crystal coffin, now partially obscured by the display racks. Though it remained intact, something about it felt off.
He didn’t dwell on the thought for long. When the massive bronze doors slowly swung shut behind him, his momentary unease was interrupted. Even if there was a problem, it wasn’t his concern—it was the Sealord of Braavos’ responsibility now.
...
After returning to the surface from the underground palace, Lynd was prepared to leave. He had no intention of lingering in the Sealord’s Palace any longer.
Perhaps because the matter had been settled and the enchanted armor preserved, Ferrego seemed far more at ease. Though Lynd had caused him some embarrassment, he figured that losing face before a god’s chosen incarnation was no great disgrace. So, while instructing Qarro to escort Lynd out, he also extended an invitation for him to attend the upcoming Moonsingers’ Day of Salvation celebration.
But Lynd had no interest in staying any longer. He was eager to return to Pentos and then head for Qohor, so he declined Ferrego’s offer.
As Qarro led Lynd out of the Sealord’s Palace, the guards stationed at the archway displayed obvious surprise. None of them could recall anyone like Lynd passing through their checkpoint to enter the palace.
Qarro, the First Sword, offered no explanation. However, once Lynd had left, it was certain that the Sealord’s guards would reassess their security measures. At the very least, they would take more precautions against poison.
...
After leaving the Sealord’s Palace, Lynd made his way to the House of Black and White to bid farewell to Jaqen, who presented him with a dagger.
The dagger was black and white, its handle and blade mirroring each other in opposite hues, and its design was highly unusual.
Though not forged from Valyrian steel, its sharpness rivaled that of any Valyrian blade. Moreover, it was a magical weapon—Lynd could sense the fluctuations of magic emanating from it.
Jaqen explained that the dagger was an ancient relic, imbued with the blessing of the Many-Faced God’s Eternal Sleep.
Lynd wasn’t sure why Jaqen would bestow upon him a sacred artifact of the Many-Faced God, but he knew that asking would yield no answers. So, he chose to accept it without question. As a token of gratitude, he gifted Jaqen a dragon-rune necklace in return.
...
Before leaving Braavos, Lynd also stopped by the temple of the Storm God to meet with his high priestess, Lyra, and informed her of his meeting with Ferrego.
However, Lyra seemed far less interested in politics and far more concerned with something else—Lynd’s performance at the Moon Pool earlier that day. She hoped he would leave behind the sheet music for the piece he had played so it could become the official hymn for future Storm God celebrations.
Lynd hadn’t expected his impromptu performance by the Moon Pool to spread through the city so quickly or to cause such a sensation.
At the time, a great number of bards, singers, and musicians from all over the world had been present. Many had managed to remember fragments of the melody. Among them were The Daughter of the Dusk and The Moonshadow—two courtesans renowned for their musical talent—who had also memorized portions of the tune.
Later, they attempted to reconstruct the piece and played it on various instruments. Though the music still stirred passion in those who heard it, everyone agreed that it was nowhere near as moving as Lynd’s original performance.
At that point, some people recalled Lynd’s other identity and turned to the temple of the Storm God, hoping that Priestess Lyra would persuade him to leave behind the sheet music. Some even wished for him to document the techniques for playing the violin.
Curious about what kind of music could have captivated an entire city, Lyra wasted no time making her request as soon as she saw Lynd.
Naturally, he had no reason to refuse. He left behind the sheet music, carefully noting its origins.
As for the violin techniques, he would have to write them down later when he had time—he could arrange for someone to send them to Braavos when they were ready.
