Chapter 9 – A Squire's Duties… and How One Becomes a Knight
With a full set of armor acquired for free, Podrick could barely keep the grin off his face — it was harder to suppress than the recoil of an AK.
Even with the weight nearly crushing the breath from his lungs, he carried it all with joy.
Tyrion had also outfitted himself, though compared to the finely crafted armor custom-made for his… unconventional physique, this set was pitiful.
The good armor was still sitting safely in Casterly Rock — after all, Tyrion had never imagined he would one day need to wear it into actual battle.
So now he had scavenged a mismatched set from Lord Lefford's supply wagons:
chainmail, a padded hood, a dead knight's gorget, round iron kneecaps, gauntlets, and pointed steel boots.
Some pieces were decorated, others plain — none belonged together, and none fit properly.
The breastplate was obviously forged for a much larger man, and because of Tyrion's disproportionately large head, the only helmet that would fit him was a bucket-shaped monstrosity topped with a long, triangular spike.
Podrick's own armor had been cobbled together in the same fashion — on Tyrion's recommendation.
Left to choose for himself, Podrick wouldn't have even known what half the pieces were for.
By the time the sun dipped low, the groom returned leading a horse and dragging a handcart. Tyrion's gear was loaded onto the cart for the horse to carry.
But Podrick kept every piece of his equipment in his arms.
Not once did he loosen his grip, even though the weight had his tongue lolling from exhaustion.
"Seven save me, I should've stayed and savored it longer—Lord Lefford's face looked like a skinned frog!"
Tyrion reclined inside the wagon, giddy with triumph, eager to replay the look of horror on Lefford's face.
Podrick didn't respond. He simply walked alongside, unable to stop running his hands over the armor and weapons as if afraid they might vanish.
Since arriving in this world, he had never felt this safe — not even for a single minute.
Seeing the boy silent, Tyrion glanced at his squire — this peculiar, unreadable child from House Payne.
Two days of traveling together, and Tyrion realized he still didn't truly understand him.
Podrick carried the armor like a dragon hoarding gold, clutching it close… yet Tyrion could sense something beneath his calm, careful exterior — a distant, elusive fear, a tension woven into his bones.
Tyrion almost laughed at himself for noticing; wasn't he the same?
War was terrifying for grown men — how much more for a boy barely twelve?
"Pod," Tyrion said at last, attempting conversation, "I didn't expect you to be that strong. You walked off with half of Lefford's supplies without breaking a sweat."
He sounded as if only now realizing he should probably learn something about the squire fate had handed him.
After all, he hadn't truly spoken to Podrick Payne since the boy became his squire.
At Tyrion's question, Podrick turned his head toward the dwarf seated on the wagon.
"If all this were just a pile of stones of equal weight, I doubt I could carry it, my lord," he replied calmly.
"But armor and weapons are different. If I had to, I feel like I could even run barefoot with them."
A beat.
"And the same goes for gold, of course."
He certainly couldn't tell Tyrion that his strength had jumped from three to six thanks to his "golden finger."
Put simply, his strength now rivaled that of a well-trained adult man — so he offered a comparison anyone could grasp.
Tyrion, who had been genuinely trying to learn more about his squire, blinked at that.
For a moment, he found Podrick's logic… flawless.
Just what Pod now carried alone — not even counting Tyrion's own gear — was worth more than what many hedge knights or sellswords owned in their entire lives.
Most of them didn't even have a tent of their own, sleeping beneath hedges or stables if their lord didn't provide shelter.
"So, you want to be a knight, Pod?" Tyrion asked, amused.
It wasn't a clever question — and Podrick was not the type to be rude.
As they walked, he caught his breath, then smiled.
"No one refuses the chance to become a knight, my lord."
His honest answer brightened Tyrion's mood even further.
The dwarf shifted to face the setting sun, the red glow of dusk reflected in his eyes.
"True enough. I suppose there isn't a boy in this land whose dream isn't to be a knight — to win glory and ladies' favor. Even I dreamed of being one, once."
Podrick chuckled softly. "Then you'd surely be a knight who rides dragons, my lord. A dragon-knight."
Tyrion burst into louder laughter at that — remembering a childhood dream indeed, where he rode a mighty dragon as a knight of legend.
But mention of dragons stirred another memory — one that had crushed that childhood fantasy.
"I remember, just before my name day, my uncles Gerion and Tygett asked what gift I wanted."
"I told them I wanted a baby dragon."
"Gerion laughed, said it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Tygett explained that the last dragon died a century ago, and there were none left in the world. I cried myself to sleep that night."
Tyrion sighed with a crooked smile.
"So, you see — my chances of becoming a dragon-knight are about as likely as my becoming a knight at all. And somehow, the symmetry of that is… comforting."
Podrick had no idea how to respond to that.
Men didn't need soft comfort — and he certainly couldn't tell Tyrion that in a few months, dragons would return, carried back into the world by a silver-haired girl of House Targaryen.
So, before the mood grew heavy, Podrick shifted the topic to something that genuinely troubled him.
"My lord… could you tell me how to properly serve as a squire — and how one truly becomes a knight?"
"An interesting question." Tyrion seemed to realize he'd spoken too long and cleared his throat.
He thought for a moment, then answered:
"A squire must learn to care for and use weapons, armor, horses, hounds — even hawks. And he must learn the knight's code."
"In times of peace, a squire runs errands, cleans his lord's correspondence, and helps him into armor when needed."
"He greets guests, tends to their weapons, serves food and wine, carves meat and bread. And when his lord goes hunting, the squire rides with him, prepares the equipment, the horses, everything."
"In war, a squire rides behind his knight onto the battlefield, helps him with armor and weapons, and fights at his side."
"And during a tourney, a squire must prepare new lances for the joust — and perform all of the above besides."
Podrick fell silent.
He hadn't expected a squire's duties to be so many — or so demanding.
But the more he listened, the more it became clear:
This wasn't just labor.
It was training — a long apprenticeship meant to shape a noble into a knight.
A passing of the torch, through action and example.