Chapter 165 — When I Return, You Will Be Mine
There was no denying the temptation in Qyburn's words.
Even Podrick had to admit—he had been moved, if only slightly.
But after a long silence, he still shook his head.
"…Forget it. Too much trouble."
His tone was light, almost leisurely, as if he were merely declining butter on his morning bread.
---
"Too… troublesome?"
The three of them stared at him, stunned.
Gendry was merely surprised. He didn't fully grasp what had just been proposed, nor did he care much for it. To him, such matters were distant and abstract. He had once dreamed of becoming someone important—but what that truly meant, or how one achieved it, he had no idea.
But Qyburn and Jalabhar Xho…
They simply couldn't understand.
---
Podrick sighed softly and gave his explanation.
"You're not wrong, Qyburn. If we followed your plan and helped Robb Stark take the Iron Throne, then perhaps the Westerlands would fall into my hands… assuming he's merciful, and nothing unexpected happens."
He raised a hand and shook his finger slowly, his expression firm.
"But that's not what I want. And it's not the way I want to get it."
He paused, giving them time to absorb his words before continuing.
"The war has already dragged on for months. And now summer is ending—winter is coming."
"Even if I did take the Westerlands, I have no confidence I could govern it well."
"There are… other things as well. You haven't forgotten the red comet that appeared not long ago, have you?"
"I'll be blunt—what it heralds is not a good omen."
"In the far north—beyond even what we know—there are enemies that aren't human. Creatures that bring endless night."
"So before that storm arrives, it's better to preserve our strength."
He leaned back slightly, his tone calm.
"I'm in no hurry."
"There's still plenty of time."
His reasoning was sincere.
But it didn't convince them.
Jalabhar stepped forward, unable to hold back.
"But if we help the King in the North take the throne, wouldn't that solve everything?"
His voice rose with urgency.
"The realm is in chaos. The Iron Throne stands empty. Once someone claims it, peace will return. And when that happens, any external threat will be far easier to deal with!"
Podrick let out a cold laugh.
He tapped the table lightly with his finger, the sharp knock, knock echoing in the room.
"You're oversimplifying things."
"Even if the House Stark takes the throne, how do they govern a realm so far from their base in the North?"
"What happens to Stannis Baratheon? Do we kill him, or make peace?"
"And if the Reach rises while we're busy, does power simply shift into their hands instead?"
"What about the Vale? What about Dorne?"
"Do they fight—or do they submit?"
"And what if Robb Stark doesn't become king?"
"Then who sits the throne? Stark? Baratheon? Lannister?"
"And when that question arises—do we fight another war to decide it?"
He looked at Jalabhar steadily.
"These aren't problems you solve with a clever plan and a few battles."
"Robb Stark might become a decent King in the North, relying on his father's legacy…"
"But ruling the Seven Kingdoms? He's nowhere near ready."
"And more importantly…"
Podrick's voice lowered slightly.
"What belongs to men… should remain with men."
"I shouldn't interfere in the current balance."
"The time isn't right."
"In my view, the best outcome for the Seven Kingdoms right now is stability in its current form."
"As for who sits the Iron Throne…"
"I don't care."
With that, he stood, no longer interested in continuing the discussion, and walked out.
---
Inside the room, Jalabhar stared after him, stunned. Just as he was about to follow, Qyburn placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
Jalabhar turned, confused.
After all, this entire proposal had been discussed between the two of them beforehand.
They both knew what needed to be done.
But without Podrick, they were no different from the countless others trapped in Lannisport—drifting helplessly in the tides of chaos.
Qyburn's expression, however, was unusually serious.
A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple.
"Jalabhar… don't treat our lord as an ordinary man."
He said nothing more.
After giving Jalabhar's shoulder a firm squeeze, he cast one last look toward the dark outside before returning to his bed.
Jalabhar remained seated, frozen.
Only after a moment did he realize his back was damp with sweat.
Gendry, meanwhile, scratched his head, still confused. After a brief hesitation, he followed Podrick out.
As a squire, he had every right to remain by his lord's side—even to the point of handing him a towel mid-training.
Though for now, he would be sleeping outside in the stables with Jalabhar. Space was limited, and Lannisport was overflowing with people.
War was coming again.
You could feel it in the air.
---
What had just taken place in that small room—
a discussion that could have reshaped the fate of the realm—
ended quietly, without resolution.
No one would ever know what had been proposed there.
As for Podrick—
He didn't dwell on it.
Because in truth, Qyburn's plan was too simple.
And the reasons he had given… were only part of the truth.
More importantly—
Even if he did take the Westerlands, it wouldn't necessarily be a good thing.
Power was easy to seize.
Much harder to hold.
What would he do when the lords refused to obey? Slaughter them all?
Yes—he could.
Rule as a tyrant, drenched in blood.
But then what?
Follow the path of Maegor I Targaryen?
And meet the same end?
---
He still didn't fully understand this world.
Its people. Its faith. Its structure.
Even during his time in King's Landing, he had often felt out of place. Without people like Tyrion Lannister and Cersei Lannister, he might still be stumbling blindly.
Yes, perhaps he could marry Sansa Stark, have children, and eventually see the Westerlands bear the name Payne.
But…
He didn't care that much about what came after his death.
In the end—
It was better to live freely.
To see the world for himself.
And besides…
He wanted to see dragons.
If possible—
to tame one.
"So… beyond the sea…"
At some point, Podrick had wandered through the night, slipping past patrols of Lannister guards, until he reached the harbor.
Before him lay the vast expanse of the Sunset Sea.
Endless. Boundless.
The same sea that had swallowed the sun earlier that day.
---
To this day, no one in Westeros knew what lay beyond it.
No one had crossed it.
Not even Rhaenys Targaryen, who had once considered flying across it on her dragon—before dying in Dorne.
Legends spoke of sea dragons.
Creatures of myth that dwelled in these waters.
The Ironborn told of Nagga, the first sea dragon, slain by the Grey King. Her bones became his hall, her jaws his throne, her teeth his crown.
Yet no one had seen such a creature in thousands of years.
Many maesters dismissed them as fantasy.
But others still believed.
Podrick… was one of them.
After all—
Those bones still existed.
And legends like that…
Didn't feel entirely false.
In the original tales, Euron Greyjoy had been crowned King of the Iron Islands at the kingsmoot held upon Nagga's Hill—among the bleached ribs of the sea dragon itself.
That hill lay on Old Wyk, where the legendary hall of the Grey King once stood.
The land there was wild and overgrown, and from its heights one could look out over Nagga's Cradle Bay.
Forty-four ribs jutted from the earth—massive, white, and towering—like the trunks of ancient trees. Each one as thick as a ship's mast, yet twice as tall.
For generations, the Ironborn had gathered there to choose their king.
---
The Sunset Sea at night was deep and endless.
A lone moon hung high above, its light scattering across the dark waters in shimmering silver. Waves rolled in, one after another, crashing softly against reefs and wooden piers.
The wind carried the scent of salt and distance.
"Looks like I'll have to get a ship soon," Podrick murmured to himself, his gaze lingering on the vessels docked below. "With Stafford Lannister tightening control over Lannisport… causing a little trouble might be the only way."
The harbor was filled mostly with merchant and cargo ships—large, seaworthy vessels capable of crossing open waters.
Warships, meanwhile, were stationed at the narrow entrance beyond the docks.
The harbor itself was like a natural funnel—its narrow mouth protecting the ships within from storms, while also serving as a defensive choke point in times of war.
Like now.
With a single order from Tywin Lannister, everything—people, goods, movement—had been tightly restricted.
And Podrick had arrived at precisely the wrong moment.
"…Better act soon," he muttered.
With his decision made, his gaze shifted from the ships… back to the distant giant of stone.
Casterly Rock.
A fortress carved from living rock, shaped by time into something almost beyond human creation.
Under the night sky, his eyes gleamed.
Of all Qyburn's temptations earlier, it wasn't gold… nor power… nor even dominion over the Westerlands that had stirred him most.
It was this.
This impossible fortress.
Like a child staring at a toy he simply had to have.
"When I come back next time…"
"…you'll belong to me."
The sea breeze carried his quiet words away.
Podrick turned without hesitation and walked back toward the courtyard he had rented.
---
Inside, Gendry and Jalabhar Xho were curled up asleep in the hayloft above the stables. Even the horses lay folded beneath themselves, resting after days of labor.
Snoring filled the air—interrupted now and then by less dignified sounds—startling the already exhausted horses into irritated snorts.
Podrick only smiled faintly and ignored the noise as he stepped into the room, the door left slightly ajar for him.
Inside, Qyburn lay awake on one of the two beds, staring at the wooden beams above.
Moonlight streamed through the window, casting the room in pale silver.
At the sound of the door, he immediately sat up. Seeing Podrick, he relaxed slightly.
"My lord, you're back."
Podrick glanced at him, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"You're not upset?"
Qyburn let out a soft, wry laugh.
"After you left, I thought about it carefully. You're right, my lord. After all—"
---
"After all," Podrick interrupted calmly, stepping closer, "the Westerlands were never my goal."
He studied Qyburn for a moment, then added with a quiet smile:
"Perhaps you should think a little further ahead."
"For example… the Iron Throne."
For the first time, Qyburn's composure cracked.
The polite mask slipped from his face, replaced by genuine shock. He stared at Podrick, searching for any hint of jest—but found none.
After a moment, he exhaled and bowed slightly.
"I see… I was too short-sighted, my lord. Please forgive me."
Podrick placed a hand on his shoulder.
"That's why we need to leave."
"There's nothing for us here. And even if there were, it wouldn't matter much."
"Beyond the Wall, the threat is already stirring. And within the Seven Kingdoms… ambition is everywhere."
"I need strength."
"And time."
He looked directly at Qyburn.
"Come with me."
"I'll need your help."
"Whether it's your so-called necromancy… or anything else."