Chapter 170 — My Lord, You Will Have One Someday
Their stay at the Shield Islands turned out exactly as the captain had promised—brief to the point of being almost surprising.
The ship docked at noon. The captain personally led a team ashore to procure supplies, and within half a day, they were already back.
They stayed only one night.
After granting the crew—still shaken from the chaos at Lannisport—a short reprieve, the ship set sail again at dawn the next day, accompanied by a chorus of curses and complaints, heading south.
During that stop, Qyburn had also gone ashore.
Not for pleasure—but to gather… something.
And whatever it was, he promptly used it on Gendry.
By dinner the next evening, Podrick found himself staring at a pale but unmistakably revived Gendry.
The boy was eating like a man possessed—devouring fish after fish without pause.
It was… unsettling.
Podrick leaned slightly toward Qyburn, shielding his mouth with his hand as he muttered:
"…Don't tell me you killed him and brought him back with necromancy."
Qyburn froze.
Then—
His eyes lit up.
"Now that is an idea, my lord—"
"Stop."
Podrick raised a hand sharply, cutting him off.
His expression turned serious.
"Whatever you're thinking—don't ever use it on our own people. Understood?"
Qyburn's enthusiasm dimmed instantly.
He glanced regretfully at Gendry, then sighed.
"…Understood, my lord."
At the table, the tension lingered.
Jalabhar Xho kept his head down, pretending nothing had happened.
Gendry, meanwhile, looked up belatedly.
"…Did I miss something?"
"Nothing," Podrick said flatly. "Eat."
Meals at sea were quick and simple. Once finished, Jalabhar led Gendry away to check on his condition.
Podrick stayed behind, stopping Qyburn.
"What exactly did you do to him?"
Qyburn didn't seem surprised by the question.
"Basic treatment," he said calmly. "With… a few additional methods of my own."
"Will it harm him?"
"No."
Qyburn shook his head.
"That's why his appetite is so strong. I stimulated his latent potential—accelerated recovery."
Podrick exhaled, relieved.
Then, after a pause, he asked:
"…Can this be used on healthy people?"
Qyburn thought for a few seconds—then shook his head again.
"It can… but the effect is minimal. And unnecessary."
"In cases of real injury, it might even be fatal."
"Gendry only worked because it was seasickness—and even then, the cost is high and the process slow."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You were thinking about battlefield applications, weren't you?"
Podrick smiled faintly.
"…Something like that."
If such methods could be applied in war—especially against the looming threat beyond the Wall—then humanity's odds might change.
But not yet.
The time wasn't right.
"Still," Podrick added, "you should continue your research."
"Don't focus only on the dead. The living have far more potential."
Qyburn straightened slightly.
"…Yes, my lord."
Outside, the sun dipped low over the sea, casting its final golden light.
In the distance, a lighthouse flickered to life—guiding travelers through the dark.
They had arrived.
The Arbor
As the ship approached, all eyes were drawn—not to the island itself—but to the fleet anchored nearby.
A vast expanse of ships dominated the harbor.
"That," the captain said, appearing beside them again, "is the Redwyne Fleet."
"One of the three greatest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms."
Paxter Redwyne commanded it.
Two hundred warships.
And five times as many merchant vessels, wine barges, trading galleys, and whalers.
His flagship?
The Arbor Queen.
"My dream…" the captain muttered, eyes practically glowing, "is to have a fleet like that."
"…I only have three ships."
Podrick glanced at him—then quickly looked away, visibly disgusted by the man's lovestruck expression.
Though, truthfully—
His own gaze wasn't much different.
Qyburn, observing quietly, added:
"Besides the Redwyne Fleet, the other two great fleets are the Iron Fleet of the Iron Islands… and the royal fleet of the Iron Throne."
"But unlike the others, the Redwyne Fleet is usually defensive—protecting the Arbor."
He paused, then added:
"Though during Robert's Rebellion… they blockaded Storm's End."
Podrick gave a faint smile.
He didn't entirely believe that "defensive" claim.
A fleet of that scale?
Not for war?
That was almost laughable.
It simply meant—
The time hadn't come yet.
Qyburn didn't argue.
He only smiled faintly.
Because during the Greyjoy Rebellion, under Stannis Baratheon's command, the Redwyne Fleet had shattered the Iron Fleet at Fair Isle.
And fleets like that…
Were never built for peace alone.
The ship drifted closer to harbor.
And as Podrick watched the forest of masts and sails ahead, a thought quietly surfaced—
Not spoken.
But certain.
One day—
He would have a fleet of his own.
Strictly speaking, the Redwyne Fleet didn't boast many legendary victories.
At most, one could trace its achievements back to the era of the Andals' invasion—when the fleets of the Arbor and Oldtown worked together to prevent the Andals from landing in the Reach.
Nearby, Gendry—now fully recovered from seasickness and gradually accustomed to life aboard—pointed toward the distant fleet with open curiosity.
"So… why are all those ships just sitting there?"
"Who are they guarding against?"
Sometimes, the sharpest questions came from the least informed.
And on this ship, the one who truly understood the situation best… was Podrick.
"The sons of Paxter Redwyne—Horace and Hobber—were once held hostage by Cersei Lannister in the Red Keep."
"So aside from House Hightower, Paxter never fully supported Renly Baratheon."
"But now Renly is dead—killed, supposedly, by his brother Stannis Baratheon."
"And after the fall of King's Landing… the Lannisters have lost everything."
Podrick's tone remained calm as he explained.
"So what they're doing now…"
"…is preparing to defend against anyone who might become an enemy."
"Such as?" Gendry asked instinctively.
"Dorne. The Iron Islands."
"…and even the Lannisters themselves."
As a lord, teaching his follower came naturally to Podrick.
And Gendry, far from dull, caught on quickly.
"…So the Reach made a bad investment," he muttered.
Leaving the forge behind had sharpened him.
In just a few days aboard a merchant ship, he had already learned how to think in terms of "profit" and "loss."
Podrick shook his head slightly, correcting him with patience.
"Not a failed investment."
"Just one that hasn't paid off—yet."
"The game isn't decided. Anything can still happen."
"The Reach… is temptation itself. For anyone with ambition, it's the deciding weight on the scale."
"Whoever holds it—holds half the realm."
"So rather than a failure…"
"It's a prize."
"The most important piece on the board."
Gendry blinked.
Then nodded.
He didn't fully understand—but he didn't need to.
Podrick's words alone were enough to make his head spin.
Qyburn, however, understood perfectly.
He glanced at Podrick, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"My lord… are you thinking of—"
Podrick immediately shut his eyes.
"I'm thinking of nothing."
"I just want to leave quietly. Low-profile. That's all."
"…Of course, my lord."
What was the point of staring at someone else's fleet?
Podrick turned and went back to his cabin, deliberately ignoring the sight outside.
The sun had already set anyway.
There was nothing left to see.
Under the banner of a merchant vessel, their ship entered the harbor of the Arbor—Ryam's Port—without incident.
It was bustling.
Bright.
Alive.
Even at night, the docks were lit with countless lanterns.
Compared to Southshield, it was like heaven and earth.
They would stay here for about a week.
Time—was plentiful.
---
As one of the richest regions in all of Westeros, the Arbor was famed for its wine—the finest in the realm.
Legend said that Gilbert of the Vines, founder of House Redwyne, had taught the people how to cultivate grapes and brew wine.
Their reds were rich and smooth—sweeter than Dornish vintages.
And their golden wines?
Even more prized.
Captain Nicholas spent an entire week emptying his purse—
Only to refill every inch of his cargo hold with wine.
During that time, Podrick and his group blended in like ordinary merchants.
They explored the Arbor with the crew.
And eventually, they even split off to wander on their own.
Podrick familiarized himself with the nearby isles:
Stonecrab Cay.
The Isle of Pigs.
Mermaid's Palace.
Horseshoe Rock.
Bastard's Bay.
He also learned something else—
The Arbor wasn't just famous for wine.
It was also a thriving center of shipbuilding.
The surrounding islands provided ideal conditions for constructing vessels.
Timber. Harbors. Skilled craftsmen.
Everything one needed.
Podrick stood there, watching the docks.
Watching the ships.
That unmistakable look returned to his eyes.
Qyburn noticed.
And, as always, he spoke the truth plainly:
"We don't have the money to buy a ship."
"Nor the sailors to crew one."
A pause.
Then, more quietly—
"But we will, my lord."
His gaze lingered on Podrick.
Steady.
Certain.
"One day… you will command a fleet greater than even House Redwyne's."