Chapter 162 — Legends
Compared to the lush greenery of the Riverlands, the Westerlands offered a landscape of a very different character.
Everywhere the eye could see, jagged hills rose from the earth, cloaked in patches of green like a mottled mantle. Streams and narrow rivers wound their way between them, murmuring softly as they flowed.
Though it lay in the western reaches of Westeros, the land was far from the barren wilderness Podrick had once imagined.
Riding along the road, he could clearly feel it—the soil here was fertile, the climate mild. This was a land well-suited for crops, for settlements, for life itself. It was no wonder the Westerlands had given rise to such a rich tapestry of culture and history.
Because of his original identity, Podrick paid this region a little more attention than most. Even back in King's Landing, some of the books he read had touched on its past.
But that modest knowledge paled in comparison to someone like Qyburn, who had studied at the Citadel.
"So before House Lannister took control, what was this place like?"
Podrick asked casually, turning in his saddle to look at Qyburn, who was walking alongside the carriage, guiding the horses.
Ever since being spared and allowed to follow Podrick, Qyburn had been in an unusually elevated mood these past few days, almost as if he had finally found a purpose in life.
Podrick understood his thoughts well enough, but he didn't mind. If anything, if Qyburn could one day uncover something from studying him—and apply it elsewhere—Podrick would only be pleased.
After all, even he knew nothing about his own transmigration, nor the so-called [Life Online System] that accompanied it. Any alternative way to uncover its secrets was welcome.
Hearing Podrick ask about history, Qyburn was slightly surprised, though not entirely.
His expertise leaned more toward medicine, necromancy, and the arcane. As for cultural history, he was far less versed. Still, if it was just a general overview, he could manage.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, a faint smile lingering on his lips. At a glance, he looked like a kindly old scholar—someone young girls might admire.
If one didn't know better, it would be impossible to imagine that this gentle-looking man was far more interested in corpses than the living.
"I don't know everything about the Westerlands' history," he began, "but if my lord is content to hear it as a story, I can share a few things."
"What would you like to know?"
Since pledging himself to Podrick, Qyburn had naturally adopted the tone of a retainer, playing the role of a personal maester with ease.
Traveling was tedious. Having someone to talk to helped pass the time, and even the most beautiful scenery lost its charm after several days on horseback.
"If you know something, just tell it. We'll listen," Podrick said.
Beside Qyburn, Gendry—still learning how to handle the reins—leaned forward with interest. Not far off, Jalabhar Xho also cast a curious glance their way.
Qyburn cleared his throat.
"Then I'll start from the Dawn Age. Much of Westeros' history begins there, especially for the Seven Kingdoms."
"It is said that in the Dawn Age, the forests of this land belonged to the Children of the Forest. They inhabited the entire continent, and the beings who lived here then were not men."
"The giants roamed the hills, and even today, their bones are sometimes unearthed."
"Then came the First Men, who burned the forests and cut them down with bronze axes, clearing fields and carving roads through the mountains where the giants dwelled."
"Legend says the wars of that time were brutal. Many heroes fell to the elder races, yet men pressed on, wave after wave, until—from 'salt shore to stone hills'—the Westerlands were filled with farms and villages."
"At first, these settlements were protected by simple wooden palisades and watchtowers. Only later did the great stone castles rise."
"And so, the giants gradually vanished, and the Children of the Forest retreated into deep woods, hidden valleys… or fled further north."
As Qyburn spoke, it felt as though an epic tapestry slowly unfolded before the three of them.
Gendry's eyes were wide.
As a blacksmith's apprentice, he had never had the chance to hear such stories from a learned man of the Citadel. His life since childhood had been nothing but fire, iron, and labor—there had been little room for tales or wonder.
At heart, he was still just a boy, not much older than Robb Stark.
As for Jalabhar Xho, it was even rarer. As a foreigner from the Summer Isles, few in the Seven Kingdoms would bother to speak to him of history or legend.
Among the Summer Islanders, only women like those in pleasure houses—favored for their exotic beauty—were truly welcomed. Men, more often than not, were treated as curiosities… or as guards and servants.
"So… do the Children of the Forest and the giants still exist?" Gendry asked eagerly. "If what you say is true, why have I never seen or heard of them?"
Jalabhar glanced over as well, equally curious.
Qyburn paused, then smiled and shook his head.
"That was thousands—perhaps ten thousand—years ago. They have likely long since vanished into the river of history. There are no reliable records of their continued existence."
"We generally believe they are extinct."
Gendry's face fell slightly at that answer, disappointment clear in his expression.
In that moment, he looked very much his age.
But beside him, Podrick shook his head.
"No. They still exist. They haven't gone extinct. Even today, traces of them remain on this land."
His certainty immediately drew everyone's attention.
Including Qyburn, all three turned to look at him, curiosity written plainly on their faces.
Podrick only smiled and pointed north.
"Head that way. Keep going, all the way to the far north. Cross the Wall—the great barrier at the edge of the world—and you may find them there."
"Though… you'll need a bit of luck."
"Why?" Jalabhar asked this time.
"If it's giants, they're easier to find," Podrick replied. "Beyond the Wall, among the Free Folk—the ones you call wildlings—there are still giants living among the tribes descended from the First Men."
"But their numbers are few. They're on the brink of extinction."
"As for the Children of the Forest… that's more complicated. Their kind still exists as well, though they face the same fate. Perhaps slightly better—but not by much."
"From what I know, there is one among them—unnamed—who serves the last greenseer. She is also the only one left in Westeros who can still speak the Common Tongue."
The moment those words left his mouth, all three of them froze.
Even Qyburn's eyes widened.
Podrick spoke with such certainty, as if he had seen it with his own eyes.
If it were anyone else, they might have dismissed it as nonsense. But this strange, powerful young man before them…
It didn't sound like a lie.
Unbothered by their reactions, Podrick continued, lost in his memories.
"The one I know was born in the age of dragons. She wandered the world of men for two hundred years—watching, listening, learning."
"It's even possible she spent time at the Citadel, though she never spoke of where she had been or what she had done."
"She could have continued her journey… but in the end, her legs grew weary, and so did her heart."
"So she turned back… and went home."
Gendry stared at him, stunned.
"…Then if she's still alive… wouldn't that make her at least two hundred years old?"
That last remark didn't come from Gendry or Jalabhar. One of them couldn't even count properly, and the other hadn't fully processed what had just been said.
Only Qyburn instinctively did the calculation in his head—
and in the next moment, his eyes lit up.
Podrick simply nodded, his expression calm. "She's still alive. Living quite well, in fact. And as for her age… it's greater than you imagine."
"Then why has no one ever heard of her?" Qyburn asked, his breathing quickening. If he hadn't been holding the reins, he might have leapt straight off the carriage and rushed over.
Podrick only smiled and shook his head. "Just because something hasn't been heard of doesn't mean it never existed. Perhaps it was never recorded… or perhaps it was just another story no one cared about, eventually forgotten in some corner of the world."
Qyburn opened his mouth, then slowly sat back down, disappointment flickering across his face.
But Gendry, on the other hand, grew even more excited.
"My lord, then what do giants and the Children of the Forest actually look like? Are they like us?"
Both Qyburn and Jalabhar Xho turned their attention back to Podrick.
Podrick smiled faintly and continued.
"The Children of the Forest are much smaller than humans—about the size of a six- or seven-year-old child."
"They usually have dark, dappled brown skin, large ears, and wide eyes that are most often golden. But those gifted with greensight sometimes have green or even red eyes."
"If such a one merges with a weirwood, they become a greenseer, gaining what is called the green sight."
"They only have three fingers, tipped not with nails, but with claws."
"For example, the one I mentioned earlier—she had large ears and dark brown skin, mottled like that of a doe."
"Her eyes were… unusual. A mix of gold and green, narrow like a cat's."
"Her hair was always a tangled mess of brown, red, and gold—like autumn leaves knotted together—with vines, twigs, and withered flowers woven through it. As for clothing, she wore little more than a cloak made of leaves."
"They speak the True Tongue—the language of their kind. In it, they call themselves 'those who sing the song of earth.'"
"And no human can speak it… though ravens can."
Compared to Qyburn's earlier, almost textbook-like recounting of history, Podrick's description felt vivid—alive.
As he spoke, it was as if a group of living, breathing Children of the Forest stood right before them. Especially the one he described—the most striking of them all—her golden-green eyes seeming to gaze directly at them.
Gendry, Qyburn, and Jalabhar all stared at him, mouths slightly open, eyes unfocused.
At the same time, the same question rose in all three of their minds:
How does he know all this?
Where did he learn it?
Was he lying?
Inventing stories?
Or… had he truly seen it with his own eyes?
The three exchanged glances.
Qyburn's usual gentle smile had vanished.
Gendry's impulsiveness faded into caution.
And Jalabhar's expression twisted with barely contained unease.
Yet in the end, none of them dared to ask.
Podrick, just coming out of his memories, finally noticed the silence and looked at them in confusion.
He hadn't realized what he had just revealed, still speaking as casually as before.
"What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing, my lord," Gendry stammered, swallowing hard.
For some reason, he suddenly recalled what Qyburn had said the night before—about everything Podrick had done back in King's Landing.
The boy's face unconsciously filled with a mixture of fear and respect. His lips trembled slightly as he forced himself to continue the conversation.
"S-So… the Children of the Forest… they're all like children?"
Podrick didn't notice his unease. He simply shrugged, his tone carrying a faint, meaningful weight.
"To them… humans are the children."
By now, Qyburn had regained his composure. Suppressing the shock in his heart, he looked at Podrick with a much deeper, more serious gaze.
"My lord, I've heard that the Children of the Forest possess supernatural powers—that they wield magic, command beasts of the forest, even take the form of animals. Some say they can even speak with the dead."
A maester's curiosity always leaned toward the unknown.
Podrick thought for a moment before replying.
"Perhaps. But most legends are distorted—dressed up by those who tell them. Reality is often far more unexpected."
"As for your question… I don't know the answer."
He paused slightly, then added:
"But one thing I do know—within the blood of the First Men, there still remains a kind of magic."
"It's called the gift of the wolf."
"For example… members of House Stark often possess it."
"They just… don't know how to control it."