Chapter 161 — You Have Your Father's Courage, Gendry
"…Yeah."
Ha… now I just need a dragon and I could start filming a Game of Thrones version of Journey to the West.
After dealing with Qyburn, Podrick gazed out over the devastated battlefield and couldn't help but sigh.
He had barely made it any real distance into the Westerlands, and already his group had gained another member—
a maester exiled by the Citadel for delving into forbidden, depraved studies… a man obsessed with corpses.
Honestly, even Podrick himself was a little baffled.
They had simply been minding their own business, camp set up peacefully—
and out of nowhere, a group appeared, said nothing, and immediately started killing.
It was like choking on water you'd barely swallowed, or managing to hurt yourself doing absolutely nothing. Completely absurd.
But life was often like that—strange, unpredictable.
Something bizarre would always leap out from some corner and hand you an "unexpected surprise."
---
As Podrick stood there lamenting the chaos of life, not far away, Gendry—who had been on watch with Jalabhar Xho—said a few words to the Summer Islander before walking over.
As he passed the elderly maester, whose gray hair far outweighed the white, Gendry gave him a strange look.
The old man's undisguised delight felt… unsettling.
Still, Gendry didn't dwell on it. He simply assumed Podrick had spared an innocent old scholar.
Stopping in front of Podrick, he spoke clearly:
"My lord, Jalabhar says we might need to move camp. There are too many bodies here—we can't deal with them, and it's not suitable to stay the night."
"And he asked… if you'd like to clean up before we set off."
---
The newly appointed squire still didn't understand much.
Jalabhar had practically become his caretaker, teaching him everything step by step.
Hearing Gendry relay the message so bluntly—without even softening the phrasing—Podrick couldn't help but shake his head.
He glanced toward Jalabhar, gave a thumbs-up in acknowledgment, then turned back to Gendry with a faint smile.
---
In the distance, Jalabhar Xho caught the signal and immediately called over Qyburn, who had just finished speaking with Podrick.
Unlike Gendry, Jalabhar clearly understood what it meant to have a man like that join them.
Qyburn, for his part, was tactful enough. After a few exchanges, he followed Jalabhar toward the corpses scattered across the Goldroad.
After all—who fights a battle and doesn't collect the spoils?
Even if they hadn't wiped out the mercenary company completely, the bodies and abandoned supplies still counted as wealth.
And before night fully fell, they still had time.
---
Meanwhile, after sending Jalabhar off to handle things, Podrick casually draped an arm over Gendry's shoulder and led him back beneath the tree where they had camped earlier.
The fire Gendry had started was nearly burned out.
After sitting down, Podrick casually snapped a couple of pieces of firewood in half with his bare hands and tossed them into the flames.
Then he picked up the two wild ducks Gendry had butchered rather… brutally.
As he cleaned them—gutting, seasoning—he asked casually:
"Were you afraid? Have you killed before?"
---
Gendry's eyes widened at the sight of Podrick tearing wood apart with his bare hands so effortlessly.
He was so stunned that he didn't even react immediately to the question.
Only when the discarded entrails hit the fire with a sizzling hiss did he snap back to reality.
"I… I have."
"As for being afraid… a little, I guess."
"…I just wanted to survive."
His gaze drifted, as though pulled into distant memories. His voice carried a heavy weight.
---
Podrick found that answer slightly surprising—though not entirely unexpected.
Because earlier, when Gendry fought, it wasn't just brute strength.
There had been a raw ferocity to him—something fearless, something carved deep into his bones.
He hadn't hesitated.
Once blood was drawn, he'd charged forward, hammer swinging, chasing enemies down without pause.
There had been none of the awkwardness or panic of someone killing for the first time.
But Podrick clearly remembered—
Gendry had only recently been taken from King's Landing by Yoren. Before that, he'd just been a clueless blacksmith's apprentice.
"You've killed before? When?"
Podrick continued preparing the ducks, skewering them over the fire as he asked.
---
Gendry swallowed instinctively as he watched the roasting meat.
But Podrick's question dragged him back into that night—
"That was when I was with Arry—…no, with Arya Stark."
"We were still traveling with Yoren's Night's Watch recruits. One evening, not long after crossing the Blackwater Rush, we stopped at an abandoned farm."
"Then we were attacked—by men led by Amory Lorch."
"They claimed they were acting under King Joffrey Baratheon's orders. Told us to open the gates and submit to a search."
"Yoren refused. Even when he told them we were recruits for the Night's Watch, they wouldn't listen."
"They said we were followers of Beric Dondarrion—traitors."
"And then… just like today, they attacked without warning."
"They killed so many of us. We fought back, but it didn't matter. There was fire everywhere…"
"Yoren only managed to get a few of us out—me, Arya… a handful of others."
"But after running all night, we were caught the next morning by Gregor Clegane's men."
"And after that… we met you."
Even now, recalling that night, Gendry's expression still held lingering fear.
Podrick didn't offer comfort.
He simply gave him a moment to breathe before continuing:
"So that's where you learned to fight."
"A-Arya taught me a lot."
"So you killed together."
"…Yes. She used a short sword she called 'Needle'—straight to the throat or chest."
"And I used a dagger I picked up from a corpse on the road."
Podrick pressed his lips together, imagining the scene—
that fierce little wolf girl and this blacksmith's apprentice, struggling to survive in the chaos.
"You were brave today… very brave."
"…Just like your father."
Gendry didn't react at first.
Still lost in memories of that night—of Arya, of Yoren—his mind lagged behind.
A few seconds later, he suddenly froze.
Slowly, he looked up at Podrick—this boy who was younger than him, yet carried a presence far beyond his years.
"My lord… what did you just say?"
His voice was tight.
"I said your father."
"You have his courage."
"The same blue eyes. The same thick black hair."
Podrick spoke lightly, as if it were nothing.
But Gendry's mouth slowly fell open.
His breathing grew uneven.
Because from the moment he was born—
he had never known who his father was.
And neither had anyone else.
After all, his mother had only been a tavern waitress.
By all logic, his father was most likely just some drunk who had passed through the inn where she worked.
So once Gendry grew old enough to understand things, he stopped dwelling on the question.
Besides, his mother had died when he was still very young—
she never even had the chance to tell him who his father was.
In fact, the only thing he could remember about her…
was that she seemed to have had golden hair.
When he was a little older, a nobleman who refused to give his name paid double the apprenticeship fee to Tobho Mott.
From that moment on, Gendry became a blacksmith's apprentice.
His life, ever since, had been bound to blazing furnaces and showers of sparks.
Tobho Mott's forge was large, and most of the people who came and went were grown men.
After all, the shop stood atop the Street of Steel on Visenya's Hill in King's Landing, and Tobho Mott himself was a master weaponsmith.
He claimed to have studied forging in Qohor, to know the spells and methods for crafting Valyrian steel, and to be the only smith in the city capable of infusing color into metal itself rather than merely painting it on the surface.
Because of that, Gendry had once allowed himself to imagine—
Perhaps his father was one of the customers who visited the forge.
Perhaps even the very nobleman who had paid that double apprenticeship fee for him.
But like everyone else…
even his master, Tobho Mott, never spoke to him about it.
Over time, Gendry believed he had already let go of the question.
And yet—
At some unknown place, at some unexpected moment,
after being inexplicably chosen as a squire by a young knight…
That very knight had brought up his father.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Gendry felt both nervous… and angry.
He didn't even know what he was supposed to feel.
So after another long silence—nearly two minutes—he finally raised his head and forced the words out:
"My lord… you know who he is, don't you?"
"I do. Many important figures in King's Landing know," Podrick replied, turning the roasting ducks over the fire.
"Even those who don't… can probably guess the moment they see you."
He spoke casually, without even looking up.
This time, Gendry's gaze didn't linger on the ducks at all.
Even though the rich scent of roasting fat filled the air, even though his stomach growled in protest—
He couldn't focus on anything else.
He opened his mouth… then closed it again.
Several times, he tried to speak, but no words came out.
Podrick glanced at him, noticing the twisted, conflicted look on his face, and a faint smile curved his lips.
"If you want to know who he is, just ask."
"What is it that you're afraid of?"
"If it were me—even if my father turned out to be a king, I wouldn't be surprised."
A king…?
Gendry hadn't even dared to think that far.
But Podrick's words gave him the push he needed.
"I just want to know who he is…
And I'm not afraid of knowing."
"…If anything, I'd only feel angry."
His face flushed red as he stubbornly insisted on his courage.
"Even if he were a king?" Podrick asked.
"Even if he were—… wait, what did you just say?"
Gendry froze halfway through his reply.
Podrick only smiled and nodded.
"Yes."
"Robert Baratheon—the king who overthrew the Targaryen Dynasty after nearly three hundred years of rule."
"He is your father."
"You share the same hair, the same blue eyes… even your face bears a resemblance to what the king looked like in his youth."
Podrick spoke calmly, then looked up—quietly observing Gendry's reaction.
And Gendry…
Was nothing like the "unafraid" man he had claimed to be.
He stood there frozen, mouth slightly open, eyes unfocused.
He had imagined his father countless times—
A sailor.
A merchant.
A mercenary.
Maybe even just a drunken gambler.
In his more fanciful moments, he had imagined a knight… or perhaps a noble.
That he himself was the bastard son of such a man—
unable to be acknowledged, yet secretly supported.
That was why someone had paid double to apprentice him to Tobho Mott.
But never—
Not once—
Had he imagined that his father could be a king.
The king of the Seven Kingdoms.
The man who had ended the rule of the dragonlords.
And as Podrick revealed the truth, things that had once puzzled him began to fall into place:
Why powerful figures occasionally came looking for him.
Why two Hands of the King had taken an interest in him—yet never approached him directly.
Why his master had driven him away… and had him taken by a Night's Watch recruiter.
Why the gold cloaks of the City Watch had chased after them—
even threatening a sworn brother just to seize a single boy.
He had known that Queen Cersei Lannister wanted him dead—
But until now, he had never understood why.
"It seems you're not as indifferent to this as you thought," Podrick said lightly, watching the storm of emotions cross Gendry's face.
"Robert spent his life bedding women, leaving behind bastards… and never looking back."
"For you to be one of them isn't strange at all."
"In fact, before meeting you, I once saved a sister you've never met. She was only a few months old…"
"Unfortunately, she was later taken by Stannis Baratheon's men."
"I hope she's still alive… assuming Stannis has even a shred of mercy."
Mentioning Robert's bastards brought back memories for Podrick—
Of the mother and child (Barra) he had once saved from a brothel.
It had been from that moment that he began to leave his mark on this world—
stepping onto the political stage of King's Landing.
And now, at another turning point in his life,
he had once again crossed paths with the bloodline of House Baratheon.
Perhaps… there really was some strange, unexplainable connection.
Gendry said nothing.
Even if he had once believed he didn't care who his father was—
today's events, combined with the truth of his birth, had shaken him to his core.
Podrick could see it clearly.
Gendry needed time.
---
"Go," Podrick said calmly.
"Help Jalabhar and the others clean up the battlefield. Then come back—we'll eat."
"After dinner, we move on."
"After all…"
"The road of life lies beneath your feet."
"It doesn't stop… just because the scenery is worth looking at."