Chapter 122: Podrick Payne Is a Kind Child
"You see now? That's Podrick. A soft-hearted fool."
"Bronn, most of your worries are unnecessary. He's still just a child."
"If not for how steady he usually is, I'd forget he isn't even older than Joffrey."
"He's a prodigy—no matter how you look at it. Brains, body, talent."
"So if I can help it, I don't want him to become another Gregor or Sandor Clegane."
"He once saved my life. I haven't forgotten."
After parting ways with Podrick, Tyrion continued toward the Tower of the Hand, speaking quietly to the only man still walking beside him.
Bronn said nothing at first. Only when they reached the base of the tower did he finally speak.
"You sure you don't want to tell him about that?"
The sellsword tilted his head up, eyeing the tower.
Tyrion followed his gaze.
"…Not yet," he said after a pause. "Telling him now would only complicate things. Later will do."
Bronn smacked his lips and shrugged.
"Your call."
---
Podrick had only walked a few steps after leaving Tyrion when he found Ser Alliser Thorne waiting for him.
"Come with me, Ser Alliser."
Without waiting, Podrick turned and walked on.
Alliser snorted, glanced around, and followed, his resentment from the throne room still simmering.
"Of all the people in that hall," he muttered bitterly, "the only one willing to believe me was a child. What a bloody joke."
"At this rate, I almost wish the Others would take them all. Then they'd regret it—let the rabble laugh, and their families weep."
The drillmaster of Castle Black walked behind Podrick, grinding his teeth as he cursed.
Podrick shook his head.
"This isn't the Wall, Ser Alliser. You don't need to parade your arrogance here."
"If you were standing among those lords, and some Night's Watch brother staggered in reeking like a rag dragged through a latrine and left to dry, you wouldn't believe him either."
"You'd pinch your nose, curse the severed dead man's hand, and laugh—just like they laughed at you today."
"We're no different, Ser Alliser."
The barb was subtle, but Alliser caught the implication well enough.
He twitched his mouth, discreetly lifted his arm, sniffed himself once or twice, then muttered through clenched teeth, "I am not a rag."
"I know," Podrick said without turning back, waving a hand dismissively.
"You're a man, Ser Alliser. Unless one day you die, rise again with blue eyes and blackened fingers."
"Then I won't treat you as human."
"I'll burn you."
That remark dragged something ugly from Alliser's memory.
Aside from the corpse Jon Snow burned, there had been another brother—hacked to pieces. Even so, the severed hand and fingers had twitched on the ground, still trying to kill them.
Fire alone had stopped them.
"In that case," Alliser muttered darkly, "best burn me before I stand back up. I don't fancy having my corpse puppeted and my soul dragged about."
"I'll remember that. We're here."
"Where is this?"
"A good place. The first one the Hand of the King promised you."
"…The dungeons?"
Alliser had served in King's Landing before, but the Red Keep was still unfamiliar ground.
"Yes. With the exception of a few recent arrivals, everyone down here belongs to you."
Podrick stepped forward and entered.
Alliser hesitated at the doorway, something dawning on him. After a brief pause, he followed.
This time, he kept his mouth shut.
Even so, Podrick knew what he was thinking.
"You're not wrong. They're here—our Master of Coin, Littlefinger, and our Grand Maester, Pycelle."
"Lord Petyr Baelish still has his uses. Sending him to the Wall would be a waste—and likely make things worse."
"As for the Grand Maester, I'd love to ship him north, but I doubt he'd survive the journey."
The young Commander of the City Watch spoke casually as he walked.
But Alliser noticed something missing.
He waited a moment, then frowned.
"If I recall correctly, among the arrested councillors there was also an informant?"
Podrick nodded.
"A eunuch."
"I know him. Varys. So… he's not here?"
Alliser's thoughts immediately turned to how he might assign the Spider if he could drag him back to Castle Black.
But his hopes were dashed.
"Spiders scuttle quickly. I never even saw his shadow."
"Of the three, he's the one I'd most like to send north with you."
"Unfortunately, his ears grow on his legs. The moment the wind shifted, he vanished."
Podrick's voice echoed softly through the stone corridors, bouncing off the walls and dissolving into the distance.
Alliser shivered, an involuntary chill crawling up his spine.
At last, Podrick stopped before a small, solitary cell on the second level of the dungeon.
"Would you like to see the Grand Maester?" he asked lightly.
"If you wish, I can send him north with you. The Watch could use a learned scholar."
Two warriors of the Burned Men stood watch outside the cell.
One was missing an ear. The other, a finger.
"Podrick?"
They showed no overt emotion upon seeing him—only mild curiosity, and a guarded glance at the black-clad man behind him.
"Morning, Bennet. Wells."
"Open the door for me."
"I'd like to see our best Maester. I'm sure he has plenty to say."
"And fetch someone who can read and write. Paper and ink as well."
After opening the door for Podrick, the two guards left one man behind while the other went to fetch what was requested.
Podrick stepped into the cell. Alliser followed closely behind him.
"Podrick Payne?!"
"You damned bastard—who gave you the nerve to do something like this?!"
The old man inside the cell looked utterly wretched. A thin, moldy blanket was wrapped around his shoulders as he trembled, curled up beneath it.
When he first noticed movement at the door, he panicked—then hope flickered in his eyes.
But the moment he saw that accursed little bastard step inside, hope vanished. Rage took over. He puffed his beard and glared.
Seeing his state, Podrick immediately remembered something—and laughed.
"Oh… so you really are afraid of the cold. Let me guess—when you had naked girls climb into your bed, it was truly just for warmth?"
"I absolutely must share this good news with Tyrion. Otherwise, when he's old and needs young girls to warm his—ah—old equipment, he won't know what excuse to use."
Podrick suddenly recalled that on the night Pycelle was arrested, they had indeed dragged him out of bed stark naked.
No wonder the old man had nearly frozen.
Still—he looked sturdy enough. Consider it early acclimatization to his new workplace.
Behind Podrick, Alliser Thorne entered the cell and froze, his mouth hanging open.
He knew this man—the dignified, venerable Grand Maester.
He had never imagined seeing him like this.
The once snow-white, wave-like beard was now caked with filth.
And the cell reeked of urine so strongly it clung to the air.
Podrick's mockery pushed Pycelle past humiliation into fury.
"You dare humiliate me like this, Podrick Payne?! I will report you to the Queen Regent! I'll have you hanged!"
Podrick frowned and turned toward the Burned Men warrior still at the door.
"Looks like you haven't had time to take care of the Grand Maester these past few days. Tell me—why does his breath stink so badly?"
The tribesman shrugged.
"Red Hand didn't want to kill him, so we left him alone."
Red Hand was a title roughly equivalent to war-chief among the Burned Men. The man himself—Timett—had burned out one of his own eyes during his coming-of-age ritual, earning the elders' fear and respect.
"He did right," Podrick said calmly.
Leaving Pycelle to these people unsupervised would've meant a corpse by morning.
"Should've called Shagga," Podrick muttered.
"I gave him the Master of Coin's cloak last time—he owes me."
The warrior looked intrigued.
"You want him for this?"
"He likes cutting off men's… parts," Podrick said lightly.
"I was thinking he could help me remove this old bastard's. He still doesn't seem to understand the situation."
The warrior thought of that warm golden cloak—far better than mountain shadowcat fur.
"If you give me a cloak like that, I'll do it."
"Be my guest."
Podrick stepped aside with a smile.
The tribesman drew his prized steel axe and entered the cell, grinning savagely.
When he lunged toward Pycelle, the old man screamed, flung off the blanket, and scrambled away in terror.
His manhood dangled uselessly as he lost control, urine spraying everywhere, soaking the already mildewed bedding.
The warrior missed his first grab, catching only Pycelle's beard.
He didn't mind.
The axe flashed—hack, hack—beard shredded.
"Careful not to miss," Podrick said helpfully.
"If your hand shakes, I can get someone else."
Alliser's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.
"Bennet's hand never shakes!" the tribesman snarled.
That only made his gaze more vicious.
"Stop—STOP! Tell him to stop!" Pycelle screamed.
"I'll tell you everything! Everything! Just ask!"
"I'll say anything the Imp wants—just tell me what he wants to know!"
The Grand Maester collapsed into the corner, sobbing uncontrollably, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Podrick smiled.
Sometimes, direct methods worked best.
He stopped Bennet, promised the cloak would be delivered soon, and sent him back to his post.
Pinching his nose, Podrick crouched a short distance from Pycelle.
"Grand Maester Pycelle… honestly, I preferred your earlier defiance."
"So why don't you recover it?"
The dull tone made goosebumps rise instantly.
Recover it?
His manhood had nearly been taken—that savage was serious.
Pycelle sobbed even harder.
The stench was unbearable. Podrick decided not to waste time.
"So," he said calmly,
"when did you become Cersei's spy? The Hand is very curious."
"And I'm curious how many people you've sold out."
"King's Landing's fall. Aerys. Eddard Stark. Tyrion Lannister. King Robert. Jon Arryn. Prince Rhaegar."
"Everyone here—except Tyrion—ended up dead. How did that happen?"
"One by one. Slowly. In detail."
"And don't lie."
"I can't promise I won't wake you up in the middle of the night and ask again."
"And if your answers disappoint me, Grand Maester—well, one member for one cloak is a very fair deal."
At that moment, Wells returned, having grabbed a random scholarly apprentice from the street.
The young man stood at the door clutching paper and ink, shaking visibly at the scene before him.
Hearing the movement, Podrick turned his head toward the doorway.
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