Chapter 45: The Truth of the Lie

Maps have always been the most vital source of information on warfare for any Lord or King, and thus, they could not be shared lightly. Only the Citadel possessed the means to compile and create a complete map of Westeros through the Maester advisors assigned to each Lord. This map was regarded as a top secret treasure by the Citadel, and no ordinary Maester could access it except for the Archmaester of the Citadel.

At the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty, when the Citadel submitted itself, it presented a map of all of Westeros. Yet, that map was incomplete. Whether this was deliberate or not remains unknown, but errors were scattered across it. For generations, Targaryen kings revised and corrected the map, eventually finalizing a version that was sealed within the royal library.

During the unrest in King's Landing a year ago, Varys transferred important materials from the royal library to his lair beneath the Red Keep, protecting them from potential destruction. Among these materials was the royal map of Westeros. Yet when Varys compared it to the map that Lynd had drawn, he realized it was far superior—far more accurate and detailed. Even islands omitted from the royal map, such as the Shield Islands, appeared clearly on Lynd's version.

What stunned him more was that alongside the Westerosi map lay an intricate map of Essos. Though Varys had never seen a complete map of the continent, his extensive geographical knowledge enabled him to judge its authenticity. And this map—precise and unprecedented—left him astounded.

These maps were unlike anything he had ever seen or even heard of. Yet here they were, casually drawn by a fifteen-year-old boy who had never left The Reach. At this moment, Varys found himself reluctantly beginning to believe Lynd's earlier, shocking claim. To draw such maps, one would indeed need to see the world from the sky itself.

After staring at the maps for a long time, Varys suppressed his disbelief and turned to Lynd with curiosity. "What happened next?" he asked.

Realizing that Varys had started to believe him, Lynd continued weaving the elaborate lie he had prepared. "Then the light carried me all the way north. We flew over The North, past the Great Wall, and into the land that is always frozen." He paused, his face paling as if recalling some terrifying memory. "Then I saw it—the army of wights led by the White Walkers. Millions of resurrected corpses stood in endless ranks across the icy wasteland, waiting for their chance to march south."

Varys wanted to scoff at Lynd's words, but the maps had shaken him too deeply. The fear etched on Lynd's face appeared so genuine that it only reinforced his claims. Against his better judgment, Varys found himself listening—troubled, but unable to dismiss what he was hearing.

Lynd took a deep breath, as if to steady himself, and continued, "After that, I flew back to White Holdfast. I saw myself lying on the bed—already a corpse. But then a white light descended and sent me back into my body, resurrecting me. I didn't return as I was, though. The white light granted me knowledge, including mastery of swordsmanship, and my body underwent extraordinary changes. I became tall and strong—like a true warrior. The light never revealed itself, but I could sense it was the Warrior of the Seven."

Varys drew in a sharp breath, trying to maintain a calm facade, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil inside.

After a long while, Varys asked doubtfully, "Do you think the Warrior resurrected you to deal with the army of White Walkers beyond the Great Wall?"

"I don't know. If the thoughts of the gods could be guessed, then they would cease to be gods," Lynd replied, shaking his head with a serious expression. "I can only do what I think is right. I will inch my way up, seize power, build an army, and wait for the day to come."

Varys regarded Lynd with a complex expression, momentarily at a loss for words.

Lynd could tell that Varys was beginning to believe him, but that belief wasn't yet deep enough. He decided to throw in one last piece of bait. Fixing his gaze on Varys, he said, "In fact, the knowledge bestowed upon me by the Seven Gods—the knowledge related to combat—only accounts for a very small part. There is other knowledge sealed in my mind. Normally, this knowledge remains inaccessible, but it can be unlocked when I meet certain individuals."

Varys stiffened, clearly startled. A flicker of alarm passed across his face before he hesitantly asked, "Could there also be knowledge related to me?"

Lynd gave no explanation. Instead, he simply said three names: "Aegon Targaryen, Jon Connington, and Illyrio Mopatis."

The color drained from Varys's face. He stumbled back a few steps, stopping only when his back hit the wall. His wide, panicked eyes fixed on Lynd, now filled with terror.

Those three names were the embodiment of his most closely guarded secret—one that no one else could possibly know. If this secret ever saw the light of day, it would mean his ruin and certain death. Yet Lynd had spoken those names as easily as breathing.

Varys's mind reeled as he tried to reconcile the impossible. It defied all logic: how could a fifteen-year-old boy from a remote village know such things? Combined with the maps and Lynd's fantastical account, Varys could no longer dismiss his claims. Whether or not he wanted to, he believed.

"Lord Varys, you don't need to worry," Lynd said calmly, his tone reassuring. "In fact, if you hadn't come to see me, I wouldn't have said a word of this. You may not yet realize the significance of what you've done. On the chessboard of the gods, you are the most important piece, and it is you who set the wheel of fate in motion."

The mysterious weight of Lynd's words struck Varys like a hammer. If anyone else had uttered such nonsense, he would have scoffed and dismissed it as absurdity. But these words came from Lynd—a boy who had demonstrated impossible knowledge and abilities. To Varys, who already viewed Lynd as an instrument of the Seven Gods, the words carried an almost prophetic weight.

For the first time in his life, Varys felt something he had never allowed himself to feel: a sense of divine purpose.

He stared at Lynd in stunned silence, his mind in chaos. When he had sought out the boy, he had merely wanted to unravel the mystery surrounding him, to determine whether he could be a useful pawn in the future. Instead, everything had spun out of control, tangling him in prophecies, end-of-the-world visions, and his own most guarded secret. It was too much—too overwhelming.

Lynd, as though sensing the turmoil, fell silent. He leaned back, offering Varys time to process what he had heard.

In truth, Lynd's mind was elsewhere, his mind shifting into Glory, which had just reached the Dragonpit.

Careful to avoid the poor and destitute loitering around its perimeter, Glory slipped through a gap in the ruins. Moving silently through crevices and broken passageways, it made its way deeper into the desolate space.

The moment Glory entered the ruins, the restless, resentful energies of lingering spirits began to stir. As if drawn by an unseen force, they surged toward Glory, flowing into its form.

Lynd could feel it clearly: the energies of the vengeful spirits being absorbed into Glory and, through their spiritual connection, into his own body. The part of the energy that belonged to dragons, perhaps lingering remnants of the great beasts' spirits, was absorbed into him, a lingering effect of the Dragon Communion Ritual. The human energies, however, were rejected, pushed out of his body like an unwelcome force.

This strange influx of power left Lynd with an eerie, almost unnatural aura—cold, dark, and tinged with something otherworldly. Combined with the ominous setting of the ruins, his presence now exuded a chilling unease.

Varys, for all his confusion and inner turmoil, did not fail to notice the change. His sharp eyes quickly picked up on the unnatural shift in Lynd.

"What's wrong with you, Lord Lynd?" Varys asked warily, making no move to approach.

The changes in Lynd were undeniable—not just his demeanor but his very appearance. His face had drained of all color, turning pale as a corpse. The eerie aura that now surrounded him brought to mind his earlier claims of resurrection after death and the chilling tales of the White Walkers. A trace of fear crept into Varys's heart, and his hand instinctively tightened around the dagger hidden in his sleeve.

Before Varys could press further, Lynd's face gradually began to return to normal. The unnatural aura faded as though it had never been there. After a few moments, Lynd took a series of deep, calming breaths, his expression filled with lingering awe. He made the sign of prayer for the Seven Gods and said solemnly, "I just revealed something I shouldn't have and was punished by the Seven Gods. For a brief moment, He returned me to the state of death." He shuddered, as if reliving the experience. "I never want to feel that again."

Varys, having witnessed the transformation with his own eyes, felt a chill run down his spine. What he had just seen could not be dismissed as some simple trick or illusion; it had to involve a force far beyond his understanding. He had already started to believe Lynd's claims, but this only solidified that belief. The boy's resurrection—his connection to the divine—now seemed almost undeniable.

"Do you need me to do anything?" Varys asked cautiously, his voice low.

"No," Lynd replied, shaking his head. "Lord Varys, just forget what I said earlier. You continue to do what you wish, and I will do what I must. Everything will remain the same as before." His tone turned stern. "Lord Varys, I accept the conditions you set earlier. As long as it does not harm my interests or place me in danger, I am willing to assist you with certain matters."

Varys exhaled quietly, relief washing over him. He hadn't truly expected to ask for Lynd's help; it had been a mere formality. Now that Lynd had refused to demand anything substantial, Varys found himself oddly reassured.

After a brief pause, Varys nodded thoughtfully and said, "In that case, I will help you prepare the Valyrian steel. I will deliver it whenever you need it."

Lynd looked surprised. "Wait, Lord Varys, didn't you just offer to provide a place to store Valyrian steel?"

A faint smile tugged at Varys's lips, his earlier calm slowly returning. "In truth, the place I mentioned is not far. It lies underground, beneath the Red Keep."

Lynd blinked, momentarily stunned. He had not expected the Valyrian steel to be so close at hand.

Varys continued, "House Targaryen spent generations collecting Valyrian steel through various methods. Over the course of hundreds of years, they amassed quite a supply. However, as they lacked the knowledge to reforge it, they simply stored it in secret vaults. Before King's Landing fell, the Mad King ordered all of it moved to the underground passageways beneath the Red Keep, where it remains to this day. There's enough Valyrian steel there to forge a full suit of armor and two greatswords fit for knights."

He paused to let the information settle before adding, "Of course, while Lord Lynd is powerful, I doubt you could infiltrate the Red Keep, locate the Valyrian steel, and smuggle it out undetected. For me, however, it is a different story. With my status and knowledge of the tunnels, retrieving it will not be difficult."

Lynd didn't hesitate. "Then I will accept your offer."

Varys, however, hesitated again, his face clouded with thought. "But retrieving the Valyrian steel is only one part of the task. Reforging it requires a smith with extraordinary skill—knowledge that, as far as I know, only the smiths of Qohor possess. That process is a closely guarded secret."

"Don't worry about the smiths," Lynd replied calmly. "I know someone who possesses the knowledge to reforge Valyrian steel."

Varys looked genuinely surprised. "Who?"

"The heir to the largest smithy on the Street of Steel," Lynd answered.

Realization dawned on Varys's face. "Clint Mott's son—the one who traveled abroad to learn his craft?"

"Yes," Lynd confirmed with a nod. "He trained in Qohor, and now that he's returned, he should already be on his way back. When the time comes, Lord Varys, you can have him reforge the Valyrian steel according to my designs."

"Your designs?" Varys echoed, his brow furrowing in surprise.

"Yes," Lynd replied simply. "To be precise, the gods designed it. I merely transcribed what they showed me."