Chapter 172: The Gatekeeper
"Given your status, Ser Payne, you are a valued guest wherever you go… On behalf of House Martell and Sunspear, I welcome you."
Faced with Podrick's teasing, the plain-looking young man showed no displeasure. On the contrary, he even inclined his head slightly, offering both apology and courtesy in equal measure.
One does not strike a smiling face. As a guest, Podrick had no reason to press the matter. He nodded in acceptance, then returned the politeness with a faint smile.
"Then it seems I stand before a noble prince. Might I have your name?"
"My name is Quentyn Martell, eldest son of my father, Prince Doran Martell, and my mother, Mellario of Norvos. I am the second child, after my sister Arianne."
Quentyn's eyes were dark and bright, his features sharp at the brow and nose, with faint streaks of silver already threading his black hair. Combined with his manner of speech and conduct, Podrick could tell—this was a decent, upright young man. Not one given to smiles, perhaps, but far steadier than his fiery sister despite his younger age.
Podrick returned the courtesy with a proper noble greeting.
"Good afternoon, Prince Quentyn. Forgive my sudden visit."
However, the clear difference in Podrick's tone toward Quentyn compared to how he had treated Arianne Martell immediately stirred dissatisfaction in the Dornish princess still seated on horseback.
"Brother, why waste words with him? Just because he claims he's Podrick Payne, he is?"
She snapped as she swung down from her horse in one fluid motion.
Though not tall—barely reaching what might be five-foot-two—her movements were practiced and agile. Beneath her ochre garments was a slit skirt that parted along the leg, revealing long, toned olive-skinned limbs as she dismounted. And beneath that… far less than propriety might suggest.
Podrick's eyes flickered—just for a moment.
He had only ever seen such boldness in places like King's Landing, and even there, only in very specific company.
So this… wasn't just recklessness.
Was this deliberate? A test? A performance between siblings—one stern, one wild?
Or was this simply Arianne being Arianne?
Podrick kept his expression neutral, though his thoughts ran quietly beneath the surface.
Arianne, for her part, seemed entirely unaware—or unconcerned—with what she had just revealed. She strode forward, still visibly annoyed, stopped right in front of Podrick, and pressed herself against his chest, tilting her chin up to glare at him.
"Tell me—what proof do you have that you are the so-called 'Gate Guardian War God,' Podrick Payne?!"
The sudden closeness caught Podrick off guard.
Not because of the accusation—but because of the contact.
Who in their right mind… pressed up like this?
For a brief moment, his thoughts stalled.
Was this a show of dominance… or something else entirely?
Then, before he could fully process it, her hands moved.
She began testing him—quite literally.
Her hands slipped beneath the edge of his clothing, running across his chest and abdomen as if verifying something.
Podrick froze.
Then blinked.
Then finally understood.
Right. Not a show of force.
A blatant opportunist.
Under broad daylight, no less.
Podrick's hand shot out, catching her wandering wrist mid-motion.
"Princess… if you're going to do that," he said flatly, "I'm going to have to start charging."
He almost laughed—but held it back, fixing her with a steady gaze.
Arianne, however, had already gone slightly flushed. Her breathing hitched faintly, her eyes lingering—just a second too long.
"House Martell has plenty of gold…" she muttered.
"Cough—Sister," Quentyn stepped in quickly, finally reacting, pulling her back. "Ser Payne is a guest. You cannot behave like this."
After separating them, he immediately turned back to Podrick, apologizing.
"My deepest apologies, Ser Payne. My sister… is not usually like this."
Podrick raised a brow.
Not usually?
He chose not to comment.
Quentyn continued, regaining composure.
"As for your concern—you need not prove your identity. We have already seen your likeness… in a portrait."
Podrick paused.
"…A portrait?"
Quentyn nodded.
"There was an artist in King's Landing who witnessed your stand firsthand. He later painted it. The Faith of the Seven acquired the work at great cost—and even brought the artist into their service."
"That painting has since been copied… many times. Replicas are being sent across the Seven Kingdoms."
"Other artists have followed suit. Your image… is spreading."
"In truth, among the nobility, you are already widely known."
Silence.
Podrick stared at them.
Then exhaled slowly.
"…And the title 'Gate Guardian War God'?"
Quentyn hesitated briefly—then answered honestly.
"After the battle… and your disappearance with Sansa Stark… many believe you to be the Warrior made manifest."
"The Faith has begun promoting this as a miracle."
"They claim it as a sign… a divine manifestation, not seen in generations."
He paused, then added more quietly:
"The Seven have, according to scripture, once walked among men… crowning kings in ancient Andalos. There is precedent."
Behind him, Qyburn and Jalabhar exchanged glances.
Even they hadn't expected… this.
As for Podrick—
He rubbed his temples.
"I'm not a god… although—" he stopped himself.
What was the point?
This kind of narrative… once it spread, logic had little power over it.
After a moment, he let out a quiet breath.
"…Well played. Whoever set this in motion."
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"If I'm not mistaken… King's Landing has already fallen back under Lannister control."
That made both siblings go still.
After a brief exchange of looks, Arianne answered this time—her tone now serious.
"…Yes. House Tyrell has acknowledged Joffrey Baratheon as the rightful king."
No more teasing. No more antics.
Now she looked every bit the princess she was meant to be.
Beautiful. Composed. Dangerous.
And Podrick, in turn, no longer underestimated them.
His gaze fixed on both siblings.
"Then what about you?"
Silence.
A heavy one.
Finally, Quentyn spoke.
"…We don't know."
There was something restrained in his voice.
Frustration. Anger.
Uncertainty.
Quentyn fell silent for a moment, then suddenly let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
"Well… I suppose that's fair. In truth, it has nothing to do with me either."
He paused briefly before adding, "But… what does my father say?"
"My father hasn't said anything."
This time, it was Arianne Martell who answered. There was no attempt to hide the heaviness in her tone.
"Then that means he's said everything," Podrick replied casually.
He didn't linger on the topic. Instead, he looked at the two siblings again.
"I still request an audience with Prince Doran Martell. I've brought a gift for House Martell. May I ask if it would be convenient?"
Arianne and Quentyn Martell exchanged a glance.
They hadn't expected Podrick—the very center of all this turmoil—to be so… indifferent.
And now, hearing him formally request an audience again, even mentioning a gift, their attitudes shifted noticeably, becoming more serious.
"Once we learned it was you," Quentyn said politely, stepping forward, "we already sent word to our father. However, he does not usually reside in Sunspear. He stays at a seaside palace three leagues to the west."
"His legs are not in good condition," he added gently. "If you don't mind, we can take you there."
Podrick raised a brow slightly. "And that place is?"
"The Water Gardens."
---
The Water Gardens—a palace of fountains and flowing water—stood along the coast west of Sunspear, separated by a winding seaside road.
It was, in fact, the very direction Podrick and his group had come from earlier.
This time, however, the treatment was entirely different.
The Martells had clearly taken his arrival seriously—so much so that they even prepared a palanquin normally reserved for Prince Doran himself.
Podrick refused it.
He chose instead to ride.
---
On the road to the Water Gardens, Quentyn—who had been nothing but courteous—was unceremoniously driven off by his sister.
Arianne stayed behind, riding alongside Podrick, her earlier sharpness replaced by an almost enthusiastic warmth.
As they rode, she began introducing her family's legacy.
"The Water Gardens were built by Prince Maron Martell," she said, her tone carrying a hint of pride. "They were a gift to his Targaryen bride, Princess Daenerys—and a symbol of Dorne joining the Iron Throne."
Podrick kept his expression neutral, though he was listening carefully.
"Maron Martell?"
The name rang faintly in his memory—important, certainly, but not something he knew in detail.
Seeing his interest, Arianne grew even more animated.
"He was one of Dorne's ruling princes," she explained. "After four years of war, his father—then Prince of Dorne—met with Baelor I Targaryen, the so-called Blessed, who came barefoot to negotiate peace."
"A pact was made. Maron's sister, Princess Myriah, would wed Baelor's nephew, Prince Daeron, once she came of age. That marriage laid the foundation for peace."
"Later, when Daeron II Targaryen ascended the throne, he sought to unite all seven kingdoms through diplomacy."
"He negotiated directly with Prince Maron. It took two years of back-and-forth before every term was settled."
"One of those terms… was that Maron would marry Daeron's sister, Princess Daenerys."
"The following year, they wed. That marriage marked Dorne's formal entry into the rule of House Targaryen—and at last, the Seven Kingdoms were unified in peace."
Arianne's voice softened slightly as she finished.
"Maron knelt to swear fealty to Daeron. The king lifted him up—not just as a subject, but as both brother and brother-in-law."
"They rode together to the Great Sept of Baelor, laid a wreath at Baelor's statue, and declared—"
"'Baelor… your wish has been fulfilled.'"