After the Battle of Blackwater, the black-gray rain washed away the smell of smoke and sea from the streets of King’s Landing, but inside the walls of the Red Keep, something else was unfolding, whispers.

Whispers of an unexpected hero, Podrick Payne.

They said he, with shy hands and a sorrowful gaze, possessed something that made women lose themselves. Women who returned from the night with him carried a different look in their eyes. Nobles laughed at feasts but whispered quietly about him behind closed doors.

A young, unassuming boy, Tyrion’s former squire. But now... the subject of suppressed laughter and secret winks among the noblewomen in the stone halls.

And finally, those whispers reached Lady Guest, The youngest daughter of Tywin, a late-born child of his second wife. A shadow of the house’s grandeur, yet a secret mystery who preferred to walk the sidelines of court rather than its heart of power. Not out of weakness, but because she enjoyed watching the players more than the game itself.

That night, Guest sat in her quiet chamber. She wore a golden silk gown that shimmered like a tamed flame in the candlelight. She slowly stirred her cup of tea, her fingers tracing the silver rim, and with a soft voice said to her servant “Everyone’s talking about Podrick. I want to know what it is about him that makes women blush when they think of him.”

The servant lowered their head but said nothing. Birdie sighed, her gaze fixed on the gentle flame of the brazier. “Send him to my room. Tonight. And tell him he need not wear his armor.”

She had once seen him in the stables. Coins had slipped from his hand, and when he bent down to pick them up, Guest noticed his hands trembling with shyness. She thought to herself, At that moment, she thought to herself, what a coward!

When Podrick Payne entered, he looked more like a nervous student before an exam than a man whose name was on everyone’s lips in the nobility. His shoulders slumped, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the marble floor.

Guestrose from her bed and stood by the window, a half-drawn curtain behind her, moonlight spilling over her snow-colored hair. “You’re Podrick Payne?” Her voice was like a bird’s wing brushing through silence, soft, yet dangerous. He bowed his head. “Yes, my lady.”

“Do you know why I sent for you?” Podrick swallowed hard. His gaze flickered briefly to her hands, her neck, then returned to the floor. “No... my lady. They just said... you wanted me to come.”

Guest took a step forward. Her footsteps vanished into the silence of the eastern rug. She approached, not because she summoned him, but because she wanted to know. “They say women who’ve been with you find something they must have lost from the very beginning. I want to know… what is that?”

Podrick raised his head, not with boldness, not with pride, but with a sincerity rarely found in King’s Landing. “I… did nothing, my lady. I was just… kind.” He stammered