Chapter 2 – Transmigrating into A Song of Ice and Fire
"Who was that man, the one who saved me just now…?"
Inside the stable, Calvin glanced around carefully. He found a handful of oats and fed them to the mare before mimicking the other children's actions, using a brush to clean the horse's coat.
While everyone was busy, he seized the moment to ask the question quietly.
With more than thirty years of experience in his previous life, Calvin knew how to handle people — especially when they were just kids.
But the three boys nearby, who had been sneaking glances at him from the start, froze for a moment when they heard his question. Then they exchanged looks before staring at him as though he'd grown a second head.
The strongest-looking one glared, his tone mocking as he sneered,
"What, did the hanging scare your brains loose, you idiot Podrick Payne?"
So… my name is Podrick Payne?
Calvin blinked.
The name sounded oddly familiar — disturbingly so.
He vaguely recalled that when the golden-haired nobleman had asked for his name earlier, the soldiers had mentioned something similar… but at the time he'd been too terrified to notice.
Before he could think further, one of the other boys — a blond with a smirk — added,
"You seriously don't even know who Lord Kevan Lannister is? He's the one who just saved you!"
Another boy chimed in with a snicker,
"If Lord Kevan knew you didn't recognize him, he'd probably have you strung up again!"
The first boy laughed.
"If it were up to me, I'd hang you right next to that fat Rolim — now that would be funny to watch!"
They went on jeering, voices overlapping.
"And that ugly innkeeper woman — what was her name again? She deserved what she got."
"She stood by while Lord Tyrion was captured by the Tullys. This is her punishment! The Lannisters don't forgive such insults — least of all Lord Tywin!"
It seemed Calvin's innocent question had uncorked a flood of chatter. The boys mocked him endlessly, mixing in scorn for the dead woman whose corpse now hung outside, picked clean by crows.
But Calvin — or rather, Podrick Payne — wasn't listening anymore.
He had frozen, eyes widening as realization struck.
Lannister.
Kevan Lannister.
Tyrion Lannister.
Tywin Lannister.
Wait a second…
Could it be…
This was A Song of Ice and Fire!?
He had actually transmigrated into the world of Game of Thrones!
No wonder everything had felt strangely familiar — yet unsettlingly different.
He'd brushed it off as déjà vu, but hearing the name Lannister shattered all doubt.
Calvin's voice trembled.
"You're saying… the man who saved me… was Kevan Lannister?!"
The words came out dry, his throat tightening. His gaze drifted unconsciously toward the banners fluttering outside the camp — golden lions roaring on crimson fields.
His question drew the boys' attention back. They exchanged glances and snickered again, their tones dripping with mockery.
"Who else? Of course it was Lord Kevan Lannister, brother to the great Lord Tywin himself!"
"Did you think some random hedge knight would save a thief like you, you stupid rat?"
"You stole from the Lannister supply train and you're still acting proud — unbelievable."
"If it were me, I'd have left you swinging with that fat Rolim!"
Their laughter grated in Calvin's ears. He didn't bother replying this time.
Instead, he quietly moved to a corner, his eyes blank, staring at the gallows outside.
The corpses swayed gently in the wind.
Crows squawked, circling and pecking.
"A Song of Ice and Fire…" he murmured under his breath.
"Game of Thrones…"
He couldn't help but laugh bitterly.
He knew this world all too well. In his past life, he'd first watched HBO's adaptation — captivated by its brutality and grandeur — then devoured the original novels afterward. He'd even called himself a fan.
And now, somehow, he'd ended up inside it.
Only now, with his pulse slowing and fear subsiding, did he have time to truly process what that meant.
So… if Kevan Lannister was here, and that innkeeper woman had just been executed…
That meant Tywin Lannister's army was already marching through the Riverlands.
Which also meant —
Eddard Stark's head was probably about to be placed on a pike in King's Landing.
And he… was Podrick Payne.
Podrick Payne — that Podrick Payne.
The shy, bumbling squire of Tyrion Lannister.
Calvin swallowed hard, a complicated expression flickering across his face.
"Great," he muttered weakly. "I just had to land in this bloody timeline…"
Having grown up as an orphan in his previous life, Calvin had long been accustomed to surviving without anyone to rely on.
No family, no safety net — everything he had ever achieved came from his own effort.
So, when faced with this sudden twist of fate — being thrown into another world — he handled it surprisingly well.
His thoughts, which had been scattered in confusion, slowly began to settle amidst the chaos.
He had crossed over. That was a fact he couldn't change.
So the only thing he could do now was… accept it.
"Well, at least I've got the one thing every transmigrator needs — a golden cheat system. Maybe that's my ticket to surviving this dangerous world. Let's see what this thing can do…"
Just as he—
—or rather, Podrick Payne—was ready to explore what his mysterious "system" could do, several figures on horseback rode through the courtyard gate, drawing his attention.
At the head of the group was a dwarf — unmistakable even from afar.
The sight of him riding a full-sized horse was so surreal that for a moment, Calvin could only think of a circus monkey perched on a trick bicycle.
"Another lord's arrived! Come on, let's go!"
"Hey, idiot Podrick! You too — don't think you can slack off! These horses are all yours to brush later!"
The tall boy sneered as he passed Calvin, giving him a hard kick on the backside before running off to join the others.
---
"All I wanted was a room, a hot meal, and a bottle of wine."
The dwarf dismounted lightly, his short legs hitting the ground with a soft thud.
Raising his head, he stared at the hanged corpses swaying in the wind — and recognized the woman immediately.
The innkeeper.
The same one who had once screamed, 'Don't kill him here!' while begging Catelyn Stark for mercy — her face red, her mouth foaming with blood.
Now, she had nothing left to say.
Calvin hesitated, then followed the other stable boys from a few steps behind, just close enough to overhear the dwarf's voice — tinged with weary sarcasm and quiet reproach.
He couldn't help but study the man closely.
This Tyrion Lannister looked somewhat like Peter Dinklage from the show — but not quite.
His features were sharper, harsher; his mismatched eyes — one dark, one green — gleamed with intelligence.
Long, unkempt hair framed his face like tangled strands of pale gold rope, dirty yet still gleaming faintly beneath the light.
While Podrick was sneaking glances, the other boys hurried to take the horses' reins.
But before they could touch them, a huge, foul-smelling wildling dressed in animal hides stepped forward, blocking their way.
"Get away, brats!" he growled, his voice booming like thunder.
The stench coming off him made Calvin instinctively wrinkle his nose.
Tyrion turned his head slightly toward the man and said dryly,
"Easy there, my friend. The boy's not going to steal your mare."
"They're only here to give her some oats, a bit of water, and a brush down afterward."
Then he glanced back at Podrick, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"I promise you — the horse will survive."
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