Chapter 152 – You Will Always Have a Place Beside Me
Podrick's calm tone was like a drop of water falling onto a still lake, sending out gentle ripples.
Yet those ripples, when they spread through the hearts of the Northern and Riverlands lords gathered in the tent, stirred up towering waves. Though the tent remained silent, dozens of people exchanged complicated glances, their unspoken thoughts passing between them.
That, naturally, did not escape Podrick's notice.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked, his expression puzzled.
Compared to his confusion, Robb Stark looked far less composed, his face practically a mixture of every possible emotion.
"No… Ser Payne, you've done very well. It's just… well… actually, it's nothing."
The young wolf moved his lips several times, clearly wanting to ask something, but in the end, he held back. After exchanging a few looks with those around him, he turned back to Podrick.
"Ser, I've already instructed the cooks to prepare a feast for you. Would you like to rest for now? If you don't mind, you may stay in my tent."
Questioning a guest the moment they arrived was hardly proper etiquette, so Robb smoothly shifted the topic.
Podrick, of course, had no objections. He could tell that Robb and the others had things they hadn't said, and that they needed time to process the sudden return of his two sisters. That kind of matter naturally required space—Robb would surely have much to discuss with his bannermen, and with his sisters as well.
Besides, ever since leaving King's Landing, Podrick had been constantly on the move, enduring rough travel and several battles along the way. Now that he had a chance to rest properly, perhaps even take a hot bath, there was no reason to refuse.
After receiving his agreement, Robb personally escorted Podrick to his tent. Only after carefully telling him that everything inside could be used freely did he politely take his leave.
Robb's tent was large—so large that it was no different from a room in a castle. There were even spaces arranged for servants and attendants to rest.
Gendry stood stiffly inside what was essentially a king's chamber, his eyes darting everywhere, unable to take everything in. Though the Northern style lacked the southern nobles' extravagance, everything here still felt grand and imposing to him.
More importantly, he could hardly believe that one day he would be standing in such a place—let alone having a place in it.
Jalabhar Xho, on the other hand, the exiled prince from the Summer Isles, was far more composed. Most of the furnishings only earned a brief glance from him before he lost interest.
Instead, when he noticed Podrick sitting down and beginning to remove his shoes, he immediately fetched a pair of short boots from a nearby rack, knelt on one knee, and presented them.
As he helped him change footwear, he hesitated for a moment before saying, "My lord, I feel that this Young Wolf is acting a bit strangely…"
"That's only natural."
Podrick took off his boots but didn't immediately put on the new ones. Instead, he waved his hand lightly. "Let me wash my feet first."
Barefoot, he stepped onto the soft carpet and leaned back into his chair.
"After all, as our new King in the North said, I used to serve the Lannisters."
"Back in King's Landing, Tyrion even declared in court that he wouldn't easily release his sisters—only after ensuring his brother Jaime's safety would there be any room for negotiation."
"And now, here I am, the Imp's squire, delivering his sisters straight to him."
Podrick tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"If you were in his position… what would you think?"
"The fact that he's remained this calm already shows quite a bit of restraint."
Podrick's chair was covered with a layer of soft, fluffy wolf fur. Sinking into it was so comfortable that he unconsciously closed his eyes as he spoke to Jalabhar.
Hearing their conversation, Gendry stood to the side, completely baffled. He hadn't thought that far at all. His only impression of Podrick Payne was that he was the newly appointed Commander of the City Watch under the dwarf Hand. In truth, he had barely even seen him before—he had spent his days hammering away in Tobho Mott's forge, with no preconceived opinion of this so-called commander.
To him, Podrick Payne was simply… very young.
All he knew was that this young knight had come to help them—and Arya. Beyond that, he knew nothing, and frankly didn't care.
But unlike the politically clueless Gendry, Jalabhar fell silent in thought, stroking the rough stubble that had begun to grow along his jaw.
"My lord… I feel that they're somewhat wary of you. They seem afraid… and are quietly on guard."
Faced with such a sharp observation, Podrick remained as relaxed as ever, reclining with his eyes closed. A faint smile even tugged at his lips.
"If I'm not mistaken, it's probably because of the people Tyrion placed here beforehand. But there's no need to worry—we won't be staying long anyway…"
Jalabhar didn't understand any of that, and could only listen in confusion. Seeing that Podrick had no intention of continuing the conversation, he wisely picked up the shoes and stepped aside.
Not long after, one of Robb's guards arrived with soldiers and servants, bringing everything needed for a bath. Among them was a middle-aged man with a thick beard, carrying scissors and a razor as he approached.
"Ser Payne, I'll help trim your hair and beard."
"Thank you."
"No need for courtesy."
---
While Podrick soaked in a hot bath, enjoying the rare comfort as the man carefully trimmed his overgrown hair and shaved the faint stubble from his chin—
Robb Stark had already made his way once more to his sisters' tent.
Dacey Mormont stepped forward at the right moment to check on Sansa and the others, ensuring they had finished washing up.
As the heir of Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island and the niece of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, Dacey served as one of Robb Stark's personal guards. Ever since marching south with the Northern army to fight the Lannisters, she had fought bravely in the Whispering Wood, earning her position through merit.
As the only woman among the guards, her presence was especially fitting in moments like this.
Before long, she emerged from the tent.
"Your Grace, Princess Sansa is ready to see you. Princess Arya and the child with her are still bathing."
Robb nodded.
"Then I'll see Sansa first. Bring her to the lakeshore—I have much to ask her."
---
With that, Robb turned and walked toward the shallow shore. Servants quickly arranged a few stools and low tables, then withdrew to a distance, ensuring that no one would disturb the private conversation between the King in the North and his sister.
Soon after, Sansa Stark arrived, led by a maid. She had changed into a simple green dress.
Seeing her brother waiting for her, smiling warmly, Sansa's face lit up with genuine joy. But just as she was about to run to him, she suddenly remembered—
the man before her was no longer just her loving brother.
He was now the Lord of Winterfell, the King in the North.
In the presence of others, she could not act like a child anymore.
Her step faltered. The joy on her face stiffened slightly, and she withdrew the foot she had just taken forward.
"Sansa Stark greets His Grace, Robb Stark. I am at your service."
Her time in King's Landing had taught her many things.
Robb, who had been ready to embrace her, froze as well. His smile faltered, replaced by something far more complicated.
A bitter expression crossed his face as he let out a soft sigh. He stepped forward, taking her hand.
"Sansa, you never need to be like this with me. We are family, not king and subject."
"But you are still a king. Showing you respect is only proper… brother."
Sansa smiled gently, her gaze calm.
Yet that smile felt like a knife twisting in Robb's heart.
He knew—she must have suffered far too much to become like this. The innocent girl who had left Winterfell had been replaced by someone cautious, restrained… almost afraid.
He pulled her into his arms, gently stroking the back of her head, his voice thick with emotion.
"You don't need to be like this, Sansa. I've heard everything… about what happened to you. About Father… and the letters you sent us. We know—that wasn't truly your will."
Tears slid silently from her eyes—then broke into uncontrollable sobbing.
Robb held her, letting her cry freely against his shoulder.
"They… they killed Lady, made Father do it himself… Cersei had the Hound kill Mycah… and I… I blamed Arya for it… I need to apologize to her… I hated her…"
"Joffrey killed Father… I thought if I did what they wanted, they would spare him… the Queen promised me…"
"So many people… they all died… Joffrey put their heads on spikes and forced me to look… Septa Mordane… Jory… so many…"
"And Jeyne Poole… and…"
Her sobbing went on for a long time. Robb simply held her, letting her cry, her tears soaking into his shoulder.
He could hear it—beneath the grief, she carried guilt, believing everything was her fault.
But Robb knew—
it wasn't.
With every word she spoke, the anger in his eyes grew stronger. His fists clenched behind her, turning white.
Grey Wind lay at his feet, baring its teeth silently, as if sharing its master's fury.
At last, her sobs faded into quiet, broken breaths. Robb gently stroked her hair again.
"None of this is your fault, Sansa. I know that."
"And what the Lannisters have done to you—to all of us—I swear, I will repay them a hundredfold… a thousandfold."
"They will learn… the North remembers."
Sansa sniffled, pulling away slightly, embarrassed as she looked at the tear-stained shoulder.
"I'm sorry…"
Robb only smiled.
"It's alright. You're home now. What matters is that we're still alive—we shouldn't let sorrow hold us back."
He paused, then asked gently:
"But Sansa… how did you make it back?"
---
The question caught her off guard.
For a moment, she froze.
Then her thoughts drifted back—to that night.
The note beneath her pillow.
The knight beneath the moonlight.
Her eyes softened, filled with quiet longing.
"Yes… I prayed to the gods for a true knight to save me."
"And the gods answered."
"They sent me a real knight… wrapped in moonlight… who came to me."
---
That evening, the feast was held by the shores of the Gods Eye.
The lake reflected the stars above, mingling with the glow of countless campfires, casting shimmering ripples of light. Those who drank too much could hardly tell where the sky ended and the earth began.
Music and laughter filled the camp, the atmosphere rising again and again into celebration.
At the center of the feast, Robb Stark suddenly stood, lifting a silver-rimmed horn filled with ale. Grasping Podrick's hand, his voice rang out with unrestrained enthusiasm:
"Ser Podrick Payne—you are a true knight!"
"Allow me, on behalf of the North and House Stark, to toast you once more!"
"To your justice and your courage!"
Without waiting for Podrick to stop him, Robb drained the cup in one gulp.
By the time he set it down, his drunken steps faltered. Podrick quickly reached out to steady him—only to be met with a strong, alcohol-laden belch.
Despite drinking just as much, Podrick remained perfectly clear-headed.
Looking at Robb, he couldn't help but smile wryly.
"You're drunk, Robb."
He didn't call him "Your Grace," yet no one present dared object.
Robb, instead, laughed freely.
"No… compared to what you've done for me, this is nothing, Ser Payne…"
With half his mind lost to drink, he slung an arm over Podrick's shoulders.
"Because you didn't just bring back my family…"
"You brought us the final victory in this war."
He looked at him, eyes unfocused but sincere.
"I promise you…"
"You will always have a place by my side—no… in House Stark itself."
"By our hearth… before our fire… there will always be a place for you."