Chapter 140 — Do Not Make Choices While Lost
After the war, King's Landing became a pot of boiling chaos.
Countless smallfolk who had come to the capital seeking refuge from the fighting never imagined disaster would find them even here.
Most did not leave the city.
They were exhausted from fleeing already—and even if they went on, they had no idea where they were supposed to go.
Still, many chose to keep running.
King's Road was packed with refugees—some arriving, some departing.
No one knew what their future held, yet all of them pinned their hope on the very places others had deemed hopeless and fled.
It was… a way of living that Podrick didn't quite know how to judge.
---
After leaving King's Landing, Podrick encountered a merchant on the road heading toward the city. He bought the man's horse and cart outright, along with most of the supplies the merchant had brought—cloaks, rain felt, salt, and other necessities—filling half the cart in one go.
And so now, the party of three traveled away from King's Road, riding through fields and farmland toward the Gods Eye.
Yes—three.
When Podrick took Sansa out of King's Landing, someone entirely unexpected chased after them, stubbornly insisting on following him. The man claimed he was willing to serve as a retainer—or even a servant—if Podrick would allow it.
Jalabhar Xho.
A rare sight in Westeros: a black-skinned man, an exiled prince of the Red Flower Vale of the Summer Isles, who had been residing in the Red Keep.
During Podrick's time as Commander of the City Watch, he had known of Jalabhar, but never closely.
So when this Summer Islander prince insisted on tagging along, Podrick found the situation amusing—and allowed it.
As for the money used to purchase the supplies, Jalabhar contributed it willingly.
Sansa could ride, but she could not endure long travel. She sat in the cart instead, beside the bundle that held Ilyn Payne's head.
Jalabhar, having appointed himself Podrick's follower, took up the reins without hesitation and drove the cart for the Stark girl.
His unfamiliarity showed.
The cart moved slowly, occasionally jolting or sinking into ruts along the way.
They had been gone from King's Landing for two days now.
The bright weather of earlier had given way to gloom, and a fine drizzle hung in the air.
---
"Where are we going?"
Wrapped in her cloak, Sansa Stark adjusted it tighter around herself for warmth, then turned her head to ask the knight riding beside the cart.
"Riverrun… probably."
Podrick no longer wore the conspicuous golden antlered helm. It hung from his saddle instead.
The Stark greatsword Ice rested on the opposite side.
His armor—washed clean in a stream Jalabhar had found—was still worn beneath a cloak. He hadn't raised the hood; rain dampened his half-long brown hair, and his blue eyes looked straight ahead.
"Probably?" Sansa echoed, puzzled.
Even Jalabhar glanced back while driving.
"It means roughly that."
"Before leaving King's Landing, Tyrion Lannister said his father—Lord Tywin—was already marching to relieve the city. I don't know if that's true."
"So I can't be sure your brother is still at Riverrun."
"That's why it's our destination for now."
Podrick explained calmly, his horse walking at an unhurried pace. He seemed in no rush at all.
His words filled Sansa with anticipation—but as she looked at the young knight riding beside her in the misty rain, an inexplicable reluctance welled up in her heart.
She didn't understand it.
Unconsciously, her hand rested again on the cloth-wrapped head beside her.
"IF… I mean, if, Ser Podrick…"
Her voice was hesitant, unsure even as the words reached her lips.
"If you take me back to my brother… or return me home… will you—will you leave after that?"
She looked at him with hope—yet fear as well. Afraid of the answer, she turned her face slightly away.
Podrick turned to look at her.
Sansa was biting her lip, kneeling in the back of the cart, wanting to look at him and yet not daring to.
"Yes," he said.
"I will leave. There is nothing here that belongs to me—nothing worth staying for."
"I—!"
The suddenness of his reply made her tense.
She twisted fully around, kneeling upright in the cart.
"I—I mean… my brother is King in the North now. You saved me—he would reward you richly. A castle, land—anything."
"I'm not interested," Podrick replied.
"If I wanted those things, the Lannisters could offer far more."
He turned his gaze back to the land ahead.
War had reduced the Riverlands to ashes.
Villagers lay dead or scattered. Homes were burned to ruins. Some fields stood ripe but unharvested; others had been trampled into mud.
The cost of war unfolded plainly before him with every mile.
Sansa opened her mouth, wanting to argue—but found no words.
The Payne family was no minor house. Loyal bannermen of the Lannisters, with deep roots in the Westerlands.
The man whose head lay beside her had once been captain of Lord Tywin Lannister's personal guard—back when Tywin was Hand to King Aerys II.
That was not a position given lightly.
Podrick Payne, though only a collateral branch, was still noble-born—not some insignificant hedge knight.
And with the strength he had shown, if he wished to claim his family's legacy, the house would only flourish further.
Why seek hardship in the North, when the Westerlands offered wealth beyond measure?
Podrick's words were true.
If he wanted something, it would come easily.
And yet—
He had abandoned everything.
Defied king and queen alike.
Killed his own kin.
And now escorted her back to House Stark.
All for nothing more than a knight's sense of justice.
Sansa finally understood.
And the weight of that realization left her silent.
There was no knight more noble than him in all the Seven Kingdoms.
The more Sansa thought about it, the more her thoughts spiraled—and the more anxious her heart became.
Before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.
"You… would you—?"
Podrick, riding beside the cart, turned his head with an amused look. Only then did Sansa realize what she was saying. Her face flushed crimson.
"I… I mean… I could—"
She looked at his smile, at those deep brown eyes, and suddenly found an unexpected surge of courage. Stammering, she tried to voice what was in her heart.
(Note: Podrick Payne's eye color is never explicitly mentioned in the books, but the actor who played him had brown eyes, so let's go with that.)
But Podrick reached out and gently pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her before she could finish.
"Don't make choices when you're lost in your life," he said softly.
"Have patience. See more of the world. When you're surrounded by fog, you can't yet tell what's real."
"Once you walk through that fog, you'll find the world is far richer than you imagined. And then, you won't regret the choices you made in panic—like a drowning person grasping blindly for anything."
"When great matters arise, remember this: keep a calm heart. Don't rush."
"Haste only leads to mistakes. Mistakes breed chaos. And chaos spirals beyond control."
With that, Podrick withdrew his finger, leaving Sansa staring at him in stunned silence.
She remained kneeling in the cart, hands gripping the railing, leaning forward as if frozen in place.
The girl who had impulsively tried to confess now felt her mind go completely blank. His words echoed in her head, yet she couldn't grasp any single thought clearly. She didn't even know what she was supposed to feel.
Podrick, meanwhile, didn't dwell on it.
If Sansa had been older—or if she were another woman—he wouldn't have minded something happening. But with Sansa Stark, he had no such intentions.
To do otherwise would only wound an already innocent, suffering girl. Nothing good would come of it.
Sansa, however, seemed to understand something at last.
She slowly retreated back into the cart, curling up into herself, burying her face against her knees.
Jalabhar Xho, driving the cart, tactfully pretended to be deaf and continued focusing on the road.
Silence settled once more.
After a while, Podrick—soft-hearted after all—spoke again.
"Your mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, made this very mistake once. And it led to consequences that could never be undone."
"Everything you see now traces back to a single impulsive decision she made at an inn."
"Countless people paid for that mistake with their lives. That's why the world looks like this today."
"And that's why—even though your mother is now with the army that has entered the city—I didn't take you to her."
"Don't be foolish, Sansa. Your future is long. Learn how to stop and think in silence."
After saying this, Podrick had no more desire to talk. He looked up at the darkening sky and then spoke to Jalabhar.
"Go on ahead. See if you can find a village—or at least somewhere near water. Night's falling fast, and this rain won't stop anytime soon. We need to settle down."
"Yes, Lord Payne."
Jalabhar nodded, flicked the reins, and the cart picked up speed.
---
Autumn nights in Westeros fell swiftly.
When it became clear they wouldn't find a village before dark, the three of them settled near a small stream.
Sansa stepped down from the cart, her mood still subdued.
Jalabhar immediately took on the duties of a servant. He chose a rock face sheltered from the wind and began setting up a tent. Once finished, he went off to gather dry firewood.
Podrick, meanwhile, disappeared silently into the nearby woods with bow in hand.
He returned not long after—with two squirrels, a bird of unknown kind, a rabbit, and a struggling piglet.
The smaller game was slung at his waist; the piglet he carried upside down by its hind leg.
Sansa—trying to help with the fire and mostly getting in the way—and Jalabhar—trying very hard not to swear—heard the piglet's shrill squealing long before Podrick appeared.
Both jumped to their feet, coughing from the smoke, alarmed.
Night had fallen, and camping in the wild made them wary of a boar attack.
But when they saw the truth, both let out relieved breaths.
Seeing their expressions and the smoke swirling around them, Podrick immediately understood.
"I was hoping the piglet might lure its mother over," he said awkwardly, scratching his head. "Guess it didn't work."
He snapped the piglet's neck swiftly, ending its miserable squealing, then tossed it aside and drew his dagger to begin dressing the game.
Sansa hurried over to help—clumsily.
With her out of the way, Jalabhar quickly got the fire going properly and joined Podrick in preparing the meat.
Skinning. Plucking. Cleaning the entrails.
Once everything was ready, Podrick waved both of them off.
He took the meat to the stream to wash it, scored it, rubbed it with spices bought from the merchant, and set it over the fire to roast.
By now it was fully dark.
The three of them sat around the fire for warmth, eyes fixed on the roasting meat, swallowing again and again.
No one had known Podrick could cook.
The scent of sizzling fat and spices filled the air, utterly irresistible. Even Sansa forgot the heaviness of the day, staring at the food with bright eyes.
"The squirrels are ready," Podrick said. "The bird and pork need a bit more time. And the corn and potatoes buried in the embers should be done."
Unable to endure their looks any longer, he handed each of them a roasted squirrel.
Then he poked into the embers and pulled out corn still wrapped in husks, and potatoes coated in ash.
When the husks were peeled back, sweet fragrance burst into the air.
The potatoes, split open, were just as tempting.
Meat, corn, potatoes—an unexpected feast in the wilderness.
The three of them ate ravenously, using clean corn husks as makeshift bowls.
Before long, Sansa and Jalabhar were full. Podrick set aside half the pig for breakfast and ate the rest himself without hesitation.
Leaning against a fallen log, wiping grease from his mouth, Podrick picked his teeth with his Valyrian steel dragonbone-handled dagger.
He looked toward Jalabhar, who was cleaning up the remains to burn them in the fire.
Then Podrick spoke casually:
"Jalabhar Xho… I haven't asked yet. Why did you choose to follow me? What is it you want me to help you with?"