Chapter 61 — Have You Heard My Story, My Lord?
"Money goes without saying," Podrick began, counting on his fingers.
"There is nothing better for buying loyalty. All the fine words in the world can't compare to a single ounce of gold when it comes to moving hearts."
"Then there's food," he continued. "But what you don't realize, my lord, is that I don't actually need to use the grain. I only need it to be seen."
"No—more precisely, it isn't me who needs it. It's you."
"You need it so others can see it. So all of King's Landing can see it."
"Why?" Tyrion frowned, more confused the longer he listened.
"If I have something like that, why would I show it off?"
Seeing that Tyrion truly didn't understand, Podrick rubbed his face and explained more concretely.
"Didn't I just say it? This is about people's hearts. Do you remember Varys's riddle?"
"Of course," Tyrion nodded, still looking puzzled.
"It's the same principle," Podrick said, sitting up straight and tapping the desk between them.
"Fear comes from the unknown. What people choose to believe determines the direction the problem takes."
"So the solution becomes simple. The people need reassurance. Then we give them reassurance—confidence—even if it's false."
"And as long as the people don't know it's false, what difference does it make?"
Now Tyrion understood what Podrick was getting at—and that only made his brow knit tighter.
"You mean…" Tyrion said slowly,
"we deceive them first. Make them believe the food crisis has been resolved, and temporarily stabilize the situation?"
Podrick nodded. "That's only one step."
Tyrion pressed his lips together and said nothing, merely watching him. The meaning was clear.
So Podrick continued.
"Many of the problems in King's Landing, as I see them, are fundamentally problems of the human heart."
"Prices rising day by day. Empty markets. A war with no end in sight. A city where people feel unsafe even in their own homes."
"All of this combines into humanity's oldest and deepest emotion—fear."
"Fear can give rise to courage," Podrick said quietly,
"but it can just as easily give birth to destruction."
"So the first thing we need to deal with isn't the concrete issues themselves—but the fear in people's hearts."
"After all, my lord, are we truly so desperate for food and security right now? Are we really on the brink of collapse if these problems aren't solved immediately?"
"We're still drinking the finest wine. Banquets are still being held one after another. How many people do you see dying of starvation in the streets each day?"
Tyrion understood what Podrick meant—but his expression only grew more troubled.
He grasped the logic.
But he didn't fully accept it.
Seeing Tyrion deep in thought, Podrick didn't rush him. He simply lifted his cup again and sipped his wine in silence.
After a long while, Tyrion finally looked up, meeting Podrick's blue eyes.
"But illusions are still illusions," he said slowly.
"Lies will always be lies. They are never the truth."
"Every illusion eventually bursts, Podrick. Have you considered what happens when the lie collapses?"
"When that day comes—can we withstand the backlash?"
"Yes," Podrick replied with a smile.
"A lie is still a lie."
"But what we need, my lord, is time. Isn't that right?"
"What we truly face is a war we can already see coming. Everything else is secondary—almost unreal by comparison."
"So before that day arrives, what we need most is stability. A little breathing room. A little time."
"I believe that with those, we can do better."
"And that the problems will, in the end, be solved."
"…"
Tyrion felt something inside him give way.
He looked at Podrick seriously.
"How do you plan to do it?"
"I want the authority to impose a curfew," Podrick said calmly.
"Stricter enforcement than usual—and a little… discretionary power. Power that crosses the line."
"Do you realize what you're asking for?" Tyrion frowned.
"Podrick, your ideas are far too radical."
"No, Lord Tyrion," Podrick replied evenly.
"I'm actually a conservative."
"You mean I'm too conservative?"
"I never said that."
"..."
The dwarf's mouth twitched. He stared at the boy's confident, almost brazen face, unable to understand where such certainty came from.
So he reminded him instead.
"You spoke earlier about friends and enemies."
"But can you truly tell which is which?"
"That's your problem, Lord Tyrion," Podrick said with a smile.
"As long as you can tell them apart, that's enough."
He raised his cup and clinked it gently against Tyrion's.
The silver goblets rang with a crisp chime.
Tyrion let out a bitter chuckle and took a sip.
"Sometimes," he said quietly,
"I wish I had eyes that could see straight into a man's heart—to know at a glance who is loyal, and who harbors other intentions."
"That's two different questions, my lord."
...
Ser Jacelyn Bywater, known as Ironhand, was a knight of House Bywater and currently the captain of the Mud Gate garrison of the City Watch.
He was tall, with deep-set eyes, heavy brow ridges, and a broad jaw that made his face resemble a squat gourd. His hair was brown, streaked faintly with gray.
His right hand had been severed cleanly at the wrist and replaced with an iron prosthetic—hence the name Ironhand.
Jacelyn came from a minor, impoverished branch of House Bywater, too poor to afford knighthood on his own merits. During the suppression of Balon Greyjoy's rebellion, he fought in the assault on Pyke and lost his right hand in the battle. For his valor, King Robert knighted him afterward. He had held the post of Mud Gate captain for three years now.
Podrick studied the man standing before him in silence.
The uneasy quiet stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until Podrick suddenly seemed to snap back to himself and smiled.
"Sir Jacelyn, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Lord Varys spoke highly of you—said you are a man who values honor and possesses great courage."
"Your bravery during the Greyjoy Rebellion also commands my respect."
Jacelyn Bywater froze.
He had not expected such words—from Podrick Payne, the newly appointed Commander of the City Watch, and a boy no more than twelve.
He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to the youth seated before him—
to the bloodstained, iron-gray greatsword resting across Podrick's knees.
His voice trembled despite himself.
"M-my lord… your performance at the Battle of the Green Fork also fills me with admiration."
"Oh?" Podrick lifted his head, clearly intrigued, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked up at the knight.
"I didn't expect Sir Jacelyn Bywater to have heard my story."
At his feet lay two headless corpses.
The blood was still warm, thick with the stench of iron, spreading across the mud.
Nearby, two severed heads—faces frozen in disbelief—stared sightlessly at the sky, terror and emptiness locked forever in their wide, glassy eyes.