Chapter 89 — Who's Really in a Hurry?
He slipped out of the city like a thief…
And came back like a conquering hero.
Podrick's little "hunting trip" beyond the walls wasn't just a raid—it was a statement.
He'd beaten the Reach right across the mouth—a region now openly resisting King Joffrey Baratheon's rule—and in doing so, he'd handed the Queen Regent a fat, gleaming slap of prestige.
More than that…
He'd brought King's Landing a "victory," the sort people could cheer about even with empty bellies.
Cart after cart rolled through the gates, piled high with goods.
Over a thousand gold cloaks marched on both sides, forming a black-and-gold river of steel.
The entire city erupted into noise.
It was impossible not to look.
Impossible not to talk.
---
As Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister personally rode out to receive him.
In the center of the returning column, Tyrion sat atop a sturdy brown horse. Around his neck hung the chain of office—links shaped like clasped hands of solid gold—glittering under the bright sunlight.
It was a perfect day. Clear skies. Crisp air.
A day fit for a parade.
Tyrion wore a smile, but the words coming out of his mouth were pure fury—each one sharp enough to peel skin.
"Didn't I tell you to take a stroll in the kingswood?"
---
Podrick Payne flashed a blinding grin.
He waved cheerfully to the citizens of King's Landing—those who cheered, those who cursed, those who stared coldly with dead eyes.
He acted as if he hadn't heard Tyrion at all.
Tyrion kept going, voice low and vicious, his tongue practically dripping poison.
"I sent you out to lie low."
"To cool things down."
"To hide from Cersei."
"To avoid that eunuch."
"And what do you do?"
"You come back dragging a disaster behind you big enough to crush a goddamn city."
The conflict between Renly Baratheon and Joffrey Baratheon was still—at least on the surface—only a war of words.
For now, both sides traded insults and declarations, but neither had taken the next step.
And if Tyrion had his way, maybe—maybe—it could end without the whole realm catching fire.
Whether such a thought was naïve didn't matter.
Preparation mattered.
Positioning mattered.
Giving both sides a way to back down mattered.
Because once blades were drawn…
There was no clean ending.
---
But Pod's stunt?
Podrick had lit the torch and tossed it into the oil.
They had struck first.
And if Renly was going to call himself king, he couldn't just swallow that insult.
If he didn't strike back, what would become of his authority?
What would the Reach lords who supported him think?
Would they still follow him if he let King's Landing raid them and then simply smiled and pretended it didn't hurt?
Of course not.
So it didn't take a maester to see what came next:
Retaliation.
Escalation.
A conflict that would spiral until both sides had beaten each other senseless and turned the realm into a butcher's yard.
And Tyrion—
Tyrion Lannister had come to King's Landing for this?
For Podrick Payne to kick over the board like a gleeful child?
---
Riding beside him, Podrick kept smiling and waving, as if he were some beloved champion returning from battle.
Tyrion stared at him so hard he looked ready to pry Pod's skull open with his bare hands and inspect the contents.
To see whether there was actually a brain inside—
Or just a barrel of madness.
---
Finally, Podrick turned slightly, still waving, still grinning like sunshine itself.
"My lord… with respect."
"I believe you're mistaken."
As he spoke, he continued greeting the crowd—
And at the same time, quietly, carefully, he memorized every face in the masses that didn't cheer.
The ones who stood too still.
The ones who looked away too quickly.
The ones whose eyes weren't angry or joyful—
Just cold.
Those people dared to look like that—those eyes, that attitude.
That alone was enough.
No need to think harder.
Something was wrong with them.
Podrick lowered his hand, then turned back toward Tyrion with a bright, shameless grin. Tyrion's face, meanwhile, had darkened like a brewing storm.
"Well," Pod said cheerfully, "the chains you had the smiths forge don't exactly look like something you plan to wrap around King Joffrey's neck, do they?"
Tyrion ground his teeth so hard they nearly sparked.
"Oh, I'd love to put those chains around his neck," the dwarf hissed. "And fix the other end to your head."
"That would certainly make him behave," Podrick said, nodding gravely, "and become a model child—one of the greatest monarchs in history."
Then his grin widened.
"Of course… I don't mean the chains."
"I mean the thing at the other end of the chain."
"You know what I mean, my lord… heh."
Podrick pointed downward with his index finger, as if proclaiming himself invincible.
Banter?
Podrick didn't fear banter.
Give him a woman instead and he'd handle it with even more confidence.
---
Then, as if remembering something, his eyes rolled thoughtfully and he added—
"Oh, right! I also know this story about a monkey who got crushed under a mountain for five hundred years. If you've got time, I'll tell it to you someday, my lord."
"Seven Hells," Tyrion snapped. "Why didn't you let Alayaya and the others bury you under that mountain?"
Podrick spread his hands innocently.
"Because they can't."
"You're a bastard."
"I thought you knew that already."
"I asked them myself," Tyrion growled. "They told me you were a shy little boy."
"Oh, that boy?" Podrick nodded seriously. "That boy got buried down there."
"Really deep."
"Really… smooth."
"Gods damn you, Pod!" Tyrion finally exploded, his patience shattering. He turned, eyes like knives stabbing straight into Pod. "Tell me why you did it. I don't believe you did all this just for some grain."
"Even if you let your men take whatever they could carry, how much could it really be?"
If Tyrion's glare truly were blades, Podrick would've looked like a pincushion.
Podrick's smile faded.
The joking mask slipped away.
"Your worries aren't entirely wrong, my lord," Pod said calmly. "Except for one thing."
"It's not just about how much grain we can haul back."
"The symbolism alone is worth far more than what you're counting."
He lifted a finger.
"First—the Queen Regent and King Joffrey."
"I'd bet they're thrilled right now."
"They're probably discussing what reward they should toss me."
Podrick ticked off another finger, as though giving a report.
"And if that's true… then at the very least you don't have to worry about your sister slapping you again, do you?"
"If she and her son stop working against you…"
"Then the list of enemies you need to guard against becomes very short."
Podrick's expression was earnest now—almost studious.
"That should be good news for you."
Tyrion's face didn't change.
Not even a little.
Pod sighed faintly, then shrugged.
"Fine. Then let's talk about the others."
He gestured broadly toward the roaring city around them—the carts, the cheering, the excitement.
"Look at them, my lord."
"They're happy."
"All it took was one small piece of good news—nothing even that important—and you can see what it did."
"How many people it gave hope."
His tone sharpened slightly, more serious.
"In times like these, hearts are unstable."
"They sway. They crack."
"So we give them something solid."
"We give them the feeling that the city is safe."
"At the very least—so they won't hate us."
Pod's smile returned, light and sunny again.
"And if they don't hate us…"
"Everything we need to do becomes easier."
He spread his hands in mock sincerity.
"Upstairs, downstairs—everyone gets an explanation."
"That's what work is, isn't it?"
Then he waved dismissively.
"Of course."
"Everything I just said is nonsense."
"Because that isn't what you're really worried about."
Podrick leaned a fraction closer.
"If you're afraid of Renly Baratheon taking revenge…"
"I don't think you need to be."
"Stannis doesn't want to make a choice," Pod said, voice steady. "But he will make the choice he's meant to make."
"No one doubts that."
"And that's exactly why you ordered the chains."
The chains that were never meant for Joffrey's throat.
"But Renly…"
Podrick's eyes narrowed slightly—sharp, bright, calculating.
"Renly wants to make a choice."
"And he's already acted."
"But will he really make the choice he should make?"
Podrick tilted his head, almost amused.
"Let me guess."
"Someone out there wants to sit back and watch the dragons fight."
"To let lion and stag tear each other apart…"
"And then collect the spoils like a fisherman hauling in a net."
"But what if…"
Podrick's smile turned sly, dangerous.
"What if we help him make that choice?"
He paused.
And in that pause—Tyrion could hear the trap closing.
Then Podrick spoke the final line softly, almost playfully.
"Now here's the interesting part."
"If we do that…"
Who will really start to panic?
Who would be the one truly in a hurry?