Chapter 169 — The Shield Islands, and a Girl Far Across the Sea
"Which island are we heading to?"
Podrick stood atop the highest part of the merchant ship's deck, having wandered up to where the captain steered. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looked out over the sea.
The ship drifted steadily across the vast ocean—not fast, but stable enough.
In the distance, four islands rose from the water, not far from the coastline. Lush and green, layered with rolling hills, they formed a striking silhouette against the horizon. Along their jagged shores, faint grey-white watchtowers could be seen, and here and there, flickers of firelight hinted at men standing guard.
At the helm, the captain kept his gaze fixed ahead, carefully guiding the ship along its course. Only after a moment did he respond.
"My lord, we're heading for Southshield—lands of House Serry. It's the southernmost of the four islands, closest to the mouth of the Mander, so it's the most prosperous. We'll be able to resupply there."
"Southshield… House Serry…"
Podrick murmured, recalling what little he knew.
The Shield Islands were not a single land, but four: Green Shield under House Chester, Grey Shield under House Grimm, Oakenshield under House Hewett, and Southshield under House Serry.
These were basic facts—things his original body remembered—but anything beyond that was vague.
Still, he could identify them well enough.
He pointed ahead.
"So we'll have to pass between them to reach Southshield?"
"Yes, my lord," the captain replied patiently. "There are reefs scattered all around these islands. We'll need to be careful, even if the ship's light."
The man—aboard the Crystal Lion, his hair dyed blue though streaked with grey—spoke with a respectful, almost deferential tone. He knew exactly what kind of person stood beside him, and offending such a man was not a risk worth taking.
He even forced a faint smile as he glanced sideways at Podrick before continuing.
"But there's no need to worry. We won't stay long—just enough to take on supplies, then we'll depart immediately."
The captain knew full well there was little worth lingering for on the Shield Islands.
There was no real trade, no entertainment to speak of. Even the brothels were scarce—two or three at most—and the women within were hardly worth mentioning, often older, sometimes even fishermen's wives earning a bit on the side.
They existed only to satisfy sailors desperate enough not to care.
Young prostitutes would never choose such a place when cities like Oldtown, Lannisport, or King's Landing existed—not to mention the Arbor or even far-off Gulltown. Even White Harbor was leagues better.
Because the Shield Islands had never been meant for pleasure.
They were built for war.
Positioned west of Highgarden, they served as a defensive barrier—a shield against raids from the Iron Islands, protecting the rich lands along the Mander.
And now—
Podrick was sailing straight into them.
And that… was how the Shield Islands got their name.
Even now, if one followed the jagged coastlines of those islands, one could still spot grey-bearded sentries standing watch in ancient towers. They upheld traditions passed down through generations—ever vigilant.
The moment a longship was sighted, beacon fires would be lit. Signals would leap from hill to hill, island to island, warning nearby villages and castles to prepare.
Because this—this chain of islands—was the first line of defense protecting the Reach from the raiders of the Iron Islands.
According to legend, it was "Oakenfist" Owen, son of Garth Greenhand, who first conquered these lands—driving the selkies and merfolk back into the sea, claiming the islands for mankind.
Yet history also records that during the Age of Heroes, the ironborn once seized these islands.
They slaughtered every man they found, enslaved the women, and sailed their longships upriver along the Mander—reaching as far as Bitterbridge—pillaging the very heart of the Reach.
It was only when the Gardener Kings armed the local fishermen that resistance began to take shape.
Eventually, Garth Gardener VII drove the ironborn out for good. He renamed the islands from the "Mist Isles" to the Shield Islands, and stationed his finest warriors and fleets there to guard the Mander's mouth.
Compared to Brandon the Builder, his deeds were no less impressive.
Thus, Garth VII earned the title "Garth Goldenhand", widely regarded as the greatest of the Gardener kings.
He ascended the throne at twelve… and died at ninety-three, seated upon the Oakenseat. Though frail in body at the end, his mind remained sharp as ever.
His reign lasted eighty-one years—yet fewer than ten were spent at war.
The rest was peace.
And that peace brought unprecedented prosperity, earning his era the name:
The Golden Age of the Reach.
---
Podrick caught the subtle implication hidden beneath the captain's smile. Memories stirred—fragments of knowledge about the Reach resurfacing in his mind.
The Reach was ancient, fertile, and vast—second only to the North in size.
Before Aegon's Conquest, it had been an independent kingdom, named after the Mander River and its many tributaries.
Its open terrain, rich soil, and abundant irrigation made it the breadbasket of the Seven Kingdoms—fields of grain, orchards heavy with fruit, gardens overflowing with flowers.
It fed more people than anywhere else on the continent.
And it was also the cradle of knighthood—where honor, chivalry, and martial pride reigned supreme.
By all rights… such a land should have produced rulers of the realm.
Yet in the end—
It never did.
Podrick couldn't help but feel a quiet sigh rise in his chest.
History, it seemed, was always the same—no matter the world.
"So… our next stop is the Arbor, right?"
His interest in the islands had already faded. Just as the captain said—there was nothing here worth lingering for.
Unless, perhaps, they sailed up the Mander toward Highgarden.
That might be different.
"My lord's insight is unmatched," the captain immediately flattered. "Yes, the Arbor is indeed our next destination."
He chuckled lightly, unable to hide his merchant instincts.
"After all, letting a ship sail empty for this long is already generous enough. Every day we sail without cargo, gold is leaking out of my purse…"
He coughed, then continued eagerly:
"We'll restock at the Arbor. Fill every empty hold. I plan to purchase wine—the Arbor's is sweeter than Dornish vintages—and pears, large and juicy. It's harvest season now."
"And after that… my final destination will be far to the east—Qarth. Those goods sell exceptionally well there."
"…Wait."
Podrick suddenly froze.
"You said… Qarth?"
The captain's rambling flattery had already made Podrick's eyes roll, but this single word snapped his attention back instantly.
Seeing his reaction, the captain's eyes lit up.
"Ah! You're interested in Qarth, my lord?"
He leaned in, eager.
"It's a vast and wealthy city in the southeast of Essos—a city of warlocks and merchant princes. The Qartheen call it the center of the world—the gateway between north and south, the bridge between east and west—"
"Enough."
Podrick cut him off sharply, rubbing his temples in pain.
Dealing with this man was more exhausting than fighting Gregor Clegane.
"Focus on steering. I'll ask—you answer."
"Of course, my lord."
The captain hurriedly corrected the rudder, then turned back with an awkward smile.
Podrick's gaze sharpened.
"If someone were to sail from the Arbor… or Dorne… how long would it take to reach Qarth?"
A strange question.
Most people, when curious about a place, asked what it was like—not how long it took to get there.
The captain scratched his beard, thinking.
"…Hard to say exactly. But at least two to three months. Possibly up to half a year, depending on the winds—and the gods' favor."
"You'd have to leave the Sunset Sea, enter the Summer Sea, then—"
"Stop."
Podrick raised a hand again.
"If your destination is Qarth…"
He paused, then spoke plainly.
"I have something—and a letter. I want you to deliver them to someone."
The captain blinked.
That wasn't what he expected.
But after a brief moment, his expression turned eager again.
Connections—this was opportunity.
And opportunity meant profit.
"My lord, leave it to me. I guarantee it will be delivered."
He leaned forward, practically glowing.
"Our trading network spans the known world. From the Free Cities to the Dothraki Sea—only Yi Ti remains beyond my reach."
Podrick's eyes lit up.
"…You're actually useful."
Suddenly, the captain's endless chatter didn't seem so unbearable anymore.
After all—
A man like this was exactly what he needed.
Originally, Podrick had chosen this ship precisely because it was unremarkable—so he could disappear quietly after leaving Lannisport.
Otherwise, with his abilities, escape would have been effortless.
But he had chosen chaos instead—to mask his departure.
And now—
That choice had paid off.
"If what you're saying is true…"
Podrick murmured to himself.
"…then things just got easier."
--
Somewhere far away, across the sea—
There was someone he needed to reach.
But that would require preparation.
Careful preparation.
"That's for later," Podrick said finally. "I need time to get things ready."
Then, without another word, he turned and strode off toward his cabin—completely losing interest in the Shield Islands.
Behind him, the captain stood there, baffled for a moment.
Then he scratched his head… and returned to steering.
Ahead, the narrow strait between the four islands loomed.
He would need to follow the currents carefully.
One wrong move—and the reefs would tear the ship apart.