Chapter 164 — Schemes
The tavern at night was loud and restless. Podrick and his companions were far from the only ones affected by the sudden restrictions—complaints filled the hall, voices overlapping in irritation and anger.
Especially among the merchants who had made fortunes off the war and had hoped to profit even further, only to find themselves inexplicably trapped in Lannisport.
As Podrick quietly weighed whether this was yet another move in Tywin Lannister's grand designs, a fat man dressed in fine silk suddenly staggered to his feet a few tables away.
Drunk and red-faced, he smashed his tankard onto the ground and burst into a stream of curses.
The words were vicious—he spared no one. The House Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Tywin, Stafford Lannister—even Robb Stark caught stray abuse.
And once he started, others followed.
Tankards shattered. Plates were hurled. Tables overturned.
The sudden chaos sent the serving girls into shrieks, while the prostitutes clung tightly to their patrons, seeking protection.
But those trapped here weren't just merchants.
Mercenaries, sailors, craftsmen—people from every walk of life filled the room. Most had come either to leave Lannisport or to gain something from it.
Now they were stuck. Unable to leave. Unable to sell. Unable to move their goods.
Worse still, rumors spread that the Lannisters were eyeing their wealth.
No one could stay calm under such pressure.
Podrick and the others exchanged glances, then calmly picked up their table and moved it to a corner, settling in to watch the spectacle unfold.
If nothing else, this was a good chance to understand what was happening in the city.
The tavern owner, naturally, couldn't tolerate this.
Under his urging, the mercenaries and hired swords tasked with maintaining order reluctantly rose—grumbling, unsteady—and pushed into the crowd.
Moments later, the shouting turned into fists.
Shoving became punches. Punches became a full-blown brawl.
These merchants were no harmless traders. Anyone bold enough to do business near a battlefield knew how to protect themselves—and sometimes, how to prey on others.
The fight escalated quickly.
Those who had been cursing moments before now instinctively backed away, clearing space for the brawl. Some even set up impromptu betting on the outcome, calling odds based on the number of fighters.
Reality unfolded like a chaotic stage play.
Podrick watched, half-amused, stuffing another piece of meat into his mouth just to keep from laughing outright.
---
The tavern owner, meanwhile, was on the verge of despair.
Unable to control the situation, he finally rushed outside and brought back a patrol of Lannister guards.
At their arrival, the crowd scattered like startled birds.
The drunken merchant who had started it all was dragged away. As for his fate—no one knew. One could only hope that when he sobered up, he wouldn't regret his words enough to consider hanging himself.
That, of course, assumed he lived long enough to leave a cell.
After all, in the Westerlands, insulting Joffrey might go unpunished—but insulting Tywin Lannister…
That was another matter entirely.
---
Since the guards were already there, they didn't stop at one arrest.
More than a dozen men were bound together and hauled off, beaten along the way—including the very mercenaries hired to keep order, now dismissed on the spot.
The tavern closed early that night.
---
Having watched their fill, Podrick and the others slipped away with the dispersing crowd, weaving through alleys before returning to their lodgings—a room purchased at a high price from another merchant.
---
"It's worse than we thought," Qyburn said, his brow furrowed.
"My lord, what do you intend to do next? The gates are open, but goods cannot leave. The harbor is sealed, and all ships have been requisitioned."
"If we proceed with your original plan…"
He hesitated, then finally voiced the concern.
---
"You're wondering whether we should leave by land instead," Podrick said calmly, tossing his cloak to Gendry as he entered.
Qyburn gave an awkward smile.
But he knew Podrick understood him.
"My lord… now that we're inside the city, if you intend to act, I will stand with you."
---
Those words lit a spark in Jalabhar Xho's eyes. His fists clenched, excitement barely contained.
Lannisport…
Once, such thoughts would have been unthinkable.
But the man before them was no ordinary lord.
---
Podrick remained silent for a moment, then pulled over a chair and sat down, arms crossed, gaze sharpening.
The three of them instinctively lined up before him.
Gendry looked confused. Jalabhar was eager. Qyburn was composed, but intense.
Podrick frowned slightly.
"Stop circling around it."
"What exactly are you trying to do?"
---
Gendry had no answer. Jalabhar glanced at Qyburn.
Qyburn, meanwhile, met Podrick's gaze and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment.
"My lord, Stafford Lannister is not a capable commander. The army he's gathering is mostly raw recruits—poorly trained and inexperienced."
"This…" he said, handing over the parchment, "is a map of Lannisport and Casterly Rock. I acquired it this evening."
---
Podrick didn't even need to ask.
The golden lion stamped on the back made it clear—this wasn't something bought casually from a merchant.
He chuckled softly, though there was a hint of coldness in his eyes.
"You're aiming high."
"Planning to move against Lannisport… even Casterly Rock?"
"And if I recall, you said yourself that Casterly Rock has never fallen."
---
"That was before, my lord."
Qyburn's eyes burned with excitement now, no trace of hesitation left.
"With your abilities… and the current state of Lannisport, we have an opportunity."
---
Podrick didn't move.
"Just the four of us? And you want to turn this city upside down?"
"We don't need to do the killing," Jalabhar cut in with a grin. "We can… do other things."
The look on his face made it impossible to ignore what he meant.
---
"Even if you're right," Podrick said flatly, "have you thought about what happens after?"
"Let's say we take Lannisport—or even Casterly Rock. How do we hold it?"
"Do you think the lords of the Westerlands are fools?"
---
"We don't need to hold it," Qyburn replied quickly, cutting Jalabhar off.
"All we need… is a little chaos."
"Once that happens, Robb Stark will do the rest."
"And by the time everything is over, you won't need to fight for anything. You simply claim what remains."
"At that point… the lands of the Lannisters will bear a new name."
"Yours."
"Payne."
---
That… was something even Podrick hadn't considered.
For a moment, he froze.
Then, almost involuntarily, he followed Qyburn's reasoning—
And realized…
It might actually work.
---
Tywin's main force was cornered.
King's Landing—once their foundation—had already fallen.
In truth, the Lannisters had already lost everything.
And if, at this moment, chaos were to erupt in Lannisport or Casterly Rock—
Even without capturing them outright—
It would be a devastating blow to the entire Westerlands.
---
Even if the lords remained loyal…
If their liege lord's seat fell under threat, they would be forced to respond.
But could they abandon their own lands?
And would Robb Stark ignore such an opportunity?
Would he pass up the chance to invade the Westerlands—
to force Tywin Lannister into surrender?
---
For the first time—
Even Podrick had to admit.
This plan…
Was dangerously tempting.
Or perhaps the House Tyrell of the Reach, and the great southern lords—like House Redwyne of the Arbor and House Hightower of Oldtown—were all blind and deaf?
And what of the Ironborn?
Would the raiders of the Iron Islands really pass up the chance to feast in this once-in-a-generation banquet?
---
At a time when the fall of House Lannister was all but inevitable, Podrick didn't need more than a moment's thought to imagine what would happen once their final pillar collapsed.
Qyburn's plan wasn't just bold—
It was ruthless.
And fatal.
---
If things unfolded as he described, then Podrick Payne—having lit the fuse—would only need to bow his head slightly to the man destined to sit the Iron Throne, Robb Stark.
And the Westerlands would fall into his hands.
---
Titles would follow.
Lord of Casterly Rock.
Shield of Lannisport.
Warden of the West.
Savior of King's Landing.
Names that would shine like gold upon his shoulders.
And then—
Through marriage to Sansa Stark, now a princess, he would bind himself to House Stark, sharing both glory and fate.
At that point, the last obstacle to ruling the Westerlands would vanish.
---
The Lannisters were a house of a thousand years—steeped in legacy, pride, and blood.
But would Podrick Payne's descendants be any less?
Even if his origins were humble—
The Lannisters themselves traced their rise to an Andal adventurer and the daughter of an ancient king, their founder none other than the legendary trickster Lann the Clever.
And Podrick?
His children would carry the blood of the First Men through House Stark—
descendants of Brandon the Builder, the founder of Winterfell, a figure whose name stretched back into the Age of Heroes.
---
As for what name history would give Podrick Payne—
Did it matter?
The reputation he had carved out on the battlefield alone already rivaled any legend.
---
Qyburn's suggestion was like a guiding hand pointing toward a golden road.
If Podrick chose to walk it—
and played his pieces well—
Then one day, the Westerlands might truly bear the name Payne.
---
Qyburn had spoken plainly, without any attempt to disguise his intent.
Even Gendry, who hadn't thought deeply about it, was left staring in shock.
As for Jalabhar Xho, even his dark complexion couldn't hide the flush creeping into his face.
---
It was like stumbling into a dead end—only to suddenly find a new path opening before them.
When Podrick had refused Robb Stark's offer, Jalabhar had felt a trace of regret.
When Podrick later promised to accompany him back to the Summer Isles, he had felt relief.
But neither compared to this.
---
Warden of the West.
Lord of Casterly Rock.
Brother-in-law to the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
With ties like that… how could they possibly lose?
And if that future came to pass—
Then Jalabhar, who had already tied himself to Podrick, could return to the Summer Isles and reclaim everything that had once been his.
---
For a moment, the room fell into silence.
Then—
Three sets of heavy breathing filled the air.
Three pairs of eyes fixed on Podrick.
Waiting.
For him to nod—
and claim a destiny that seemed almost within reach.