Chapter 107 — The Knighthood Ceremony!
The midday sun was blinding.
Kevan Lannister, Master of Laws, was eating lunch.
The meal was extremely simple—roasted chicken breast, boiled beans, black bread, and a cup of water.
He ate quickly and with focus, as if performing a duty.
"Lord Baelish."
After swallowing his food, Kevan finally looked up, his brow slightly furrowed.
"What brings you here?"
"My apologies for disturbing your meal, Ser Kevan."
Petyr Baelish showed no hesitation at all. He sat down at the table as naturally as if it were his own home.
"I simply heard a piece of news that I felt the Master of Laws should know immediately."
"It concerns the king's attack this morning…"
Hearing this, Kevan immediately set down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"Ser Addam has already reported it."
"A mob attack. The Chief Royal Intelligence Envoy, Odin, arrived in time."
"His Grace and the Queen Regent are unharmed. Lady Margaery was frightened but otherwise fine."
"Ser Meryn Trant was killed in the line of duty."
"Other than that, there were virtually no casualties."
Kevan's voice was deep and steady, his expression serious yet confident.
For decades he had served as Tywin's deputy.
Under his administration Casterly Rock had always run flawlessly.
"That is a very complete report," Baelish said with a smile.
"But don't you think…"
"…it's too complete?"
As he spoke, he pulled out a scroll and spread it across the table.
Kevan leaned forward to examine it.
It was a crude hand-drawn map of King's Landing, marked with various symbols.
"I sent someone to inspect the scene," Baelish said openly, pointing at the map.
"The attack happened here—midway along Salted Meat Street."
He tapped a red mark.
"This is where the carriage stopped."
"And here… is where Odin appeared."
Kevan stared carefully.
The two points formed a straight line.
"From the House of Order to the middle of Salted Meat Street," Baelish continued,
"even riding at full speed would take at least ten minutes."
"But according to Ser Addam's report, only four minutes passed between the attack and Odin's arrival."
Baelish raised his eyes, his smile faint but deliberate.
"Doesn't that strike you as strange?"
"How could Odin know about the attack in advance—and arrive so quickly?"
Kevan's frown deepened.
"A coincidence," he said after a moment.
"Perhaps they were already nearby."
"Perhaps," Baelish replied with a wider smile.
He pulled out a second document.
"This is the entry and exit log for the House of Order today."
"At four in the morning, twenty-three men left."
"At half past five, thirty-one more departed."
"Not a single one returned before noon."
"And the alleys they took…"
"…lead directly to Salted Meat Street."
Kevan stared at the papers, thinking hard.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table.
Finally he looked up.
"What are you trying to say, Baelish?"
"I'm not trying to say anything," Baelish replied softly, leaning forward.
"But His Grace has faced two riots in less than a year."
"Isn't that… an unusual coincidence?"
"Perhaps Ser Addam should conduct a proper investigation."
Kevan remained silent for a long time.
"Do you have proof?"
"I only raise questions," Baelish said lightly.
As he spoke, he calmly rolled up the documents and returned them to his sleeve.
"As a loyal vassal, I believe the honor of the Iron Throne should never be clouded by doubt."
"Surely it would be best to investigate."
He rose and bowed slightly.
"I'll take my leave, Ser Kevan."
He turned and walked away.
One step.
Two.
Three.
"Wait."
Kevan's voice stopped him.
Baelish turned back with a polite smile.
"My lord?"
Kevan stood as well, his expression stern.
"The Iron Throne will never be deceived by anyone."
"You honor the realm by serving as Master of Laws," Baelish replied with a slight bow.
But just as he turned to leave again, Kevan added:
"Tywin told you to leave King's Landing, didn't he?"
Baelish froze.
He turned slowly.
Kevan's face was cold and unyielding.
"Then… leave."
---
The Next Day
Morning sunlight streamed through the great stained-glass windows of the Great Sept of Baelor, scattering brilliant colors across the floor.
Nearly every noble in King's Landing had gathered.
They lined the central hall on both sides.
Queen Regent Cersei Lannister stood at the front near the altar.
She wore a deep red gown embroidered with gold thread.
Her high collar framed her neck elegantly, and a faint smile rested on her lips—one that carried a hint of disdain.
Beside her stood King Joffrey.
The heavy crown kept slipping down his head, forcing him to adjust it every few minutes.
He stamped impatiently, his leather boots clicking against the marble floor.
"How much longer?" he muttered to his mother.
But his eyes were fixed on the entrance.
There his squire held a delicate box containing a set of Valyrian steel arrowheads he had just purchased.
He was eager to test them.
That morning he had already discovered they could pierce three layers of oak boards.
He was now wondering which unlucky servant would serve as the next test target.
"Patience, Your Grace," said Margaery Tyrell gently beside him.
"The Seven enjoy watching people wait."
"Today is a fortunate day. The brave will receive their reward."
She spoke softly to soothe the king.
But anyone observing closely would notice her gaze repeatedly drifting toward the side entrance.
Seven guards stood there.
Their hands never left their sword hilts.
After yesterday's riot, Margaery had learned a valuable lesson:
bodyguards were essential.
Joffrey merely flicked his cloak irritably.
---
Nearby stood Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
He had shaved carefully that morning.
His golden hair—now streaked faintly with gray—had been freshly washed.
He even wore a brand-new suit of white armor.
A genuine smile rested on his face.
Though he stood at the king's side, his eyes kept drifting toward the doors.
Waiting for a familiar figure.
He looked even more excited than the day he himself had been knighted by the Sword of the Morning.
Today's that bastard's big day.
Jaime chuckled quietly.
Though the world despised him now…
at least someone else would receive the honor he truly deserved.
---
Behind him stood Tyrion Lannister.
The dwarf wore a deep purple velvet coat in an attempt to appear formal.
But the overly long hem made him look like a child wearing an adult's clothing.
His smile held no warmth.
Ever since marrying Sansa Stark, Shae had refused to let him touch her.
Both women treated him coldly.
Tyrion felt utterly exhausted.
All because of Father's arrangement…
"Witnessing the rise of a brave man is always delightful, isn't it?"
A voice sounded beside him.
Tyrion turned.
Petyr Baelish had appeared.
He was dressed extravagantly today.
A dark green brocade coat embroidered with silver vines.
A mockingbird brooch gleamed on his chest.
He looked even more flamboyant than when he had been granted Harrenhal.
Odin's being knighted… and you're the one dressed like the bride.
"I only find it tedious," Tyrion snorted.
"These ceremonies are like old cheese—pretty on the outside, moldy underneath."
"Oh, don't say that, dear Lord Tyrion!"
Baelish laughed theatrically.
"A farmer about to be knighted by the Master of Laws—with so many nobles gathered to witness it!"
"That is a rare moment indeed."
"We should all be delighted for him."
"After all, such things hardly ever happen in the history of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Even Ser Duncan the Tall began as a squire."
He spoke enthusiastically, as though genuinely thrilled for Odin.
"Rare events happen all the time."
Another voice joined them.
"Rare yesterday. Rare today. Rare tomorrow…"
"…who knows?"
Both men turned.
A shiny bald head appeared in their view.
Varys, the Master of Whisperers.
Dressed in a simple gray robe, hands folded inside wide sleeves.
His face still carried that familiar expression of gentle compassion.
He stepped quietly beside Baelish, forming a small triangle among the three of them.
"Lord Varys," Baelish said, his pupils shrinking slightly before he nodded politely.
"You seem well today."
"Do I?" Varys rubbed his smooth chin.
"Perhaps because I slept well last night."
"My little birds told me some people did not sleep so comfortably."
"They were busy packing their luggage for a long journey."
Baelish's smile froze.
But he quickly recovered.
"Sometimes travel is necessary," he said calmly.
"Staying in one place too long makes a man dull."
"True," Varys agreed softly.
"But when one leaves too quickly…"
"…things are often left behind."
"When I lived in Pentos, my master told me something."
"When a man is most pleased with himself…"
"…he should be careful not to celebrate too soon."
"Otherwise, when disappointment arrives, he may find it impossible to accept the outcome."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Baelish replied.
"You will," Varys said with a small smile.
Then he stepped aside and fell silent.
A faint sense of unease stirred in Baelish's chest.
But before he could dwell on it, a commotion arose at the entrance of the sept.
The crowd parted automatically.
A tall figure stepped inside.
Odin.
He wore a simple suit of dark gray plate armor.
Unadorned.
Unpretentious.
Yet under the sunlight, the steel gleamed with a cold brilliance.
Only the emblem on the chest drew every eye—
a black hand on a white field.
Odin walked slowly.
Each step was steady and powerful, the iron of his boots striking the marble floor with a crisp echo.
His eyes looked straight ahead—
straight toward the statue of the Father of the Seven.
With [Presence Lv.3] fully unleashed, his aura spread like an invisible tide sweeping through the entire sept.
The nobles' whispered conversations abruptly died out.
All eyes focused on him.
His back was perfectly straight.
There was none of the usual humility a commoner displayed when standing before the nobility.
Instead, he walked with the calm composure of a king.
Jaime watched the scene with a widening smile.
Yes.
Exactly like that.
As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime technically had the authority to knight Odin himself.
But he had refused.
The title of "Kingslayer" still clung to him.
Jaime did not care about it—but he would not allow that stain to taint Odin's honor.
Now, however…
Uncle Kevan was the man Jaime respected most.
A man of honor and impeccable character.
If Kevan performed the ceremony, it would be perfect.
---
Under everyone's gaze, Odin stopped before the altar and stood proudly.
The High Septon, a plump man wrapped in ornate robes embroidered with the symbols of the Seven, straightened his posture and tried to maintain an air of sacred dignity.
"Odin!"
He proclaimed loudly.
"You showed great courage when the king was attacked, defending the dignity of the Iron Throne!"
"The Seven have witnessed your bravery and loyalty!"
"Now, before the Seven and these assembled lords, you shall swear your oath and receive the supreme honor of knighthood!"
Taking a deep breath, the High Septon turned toward Kevan Lannister.
The Master of Laws wore a formal deep-blue robe today, the roaring lion of House Lannister emblazoned upon his chest.
His expression was solemn.
In both hands he held a longsword set with rubies.
According to the ritual, he should step forward now—
touch Odin's shoulders with the blade—
and recite the knighting oath.
But before the expectant eyes of the High Septon and the entire hall…
Kevan did not move.
He stood perfectly still.
Sword in both hands.
Eyes fixed straight ahead.
Like a statue.
"My lord…" the High Septon urged.
Kevan did not react.
The silence inside the sept became suffocating.
Only the High Septon's heavy breathing could be heard.
"My lord… please proceed with the ceremony."
Still no movement.
Sweat began to form on the High Septon's forehead.
What is happening?!
"My lord, please begin the knighting ceremony!"
The third reminder carried obvious urgency.
After all, his son's illness still depended on Odin's help.
At last, Kevan slowly swept his gaze across the hall.
Then he spoke.
"I… will not knight Odin."
The entire sept erupted.
"What?"
"What did he say?"
"He won't knight him? Why?"
The High Septon trembled.
"My lord… you… this…"
Just then, the valiant king stepped forward.
"Uncle Kevan, what are you doing? Hurry up and finish the ceremony!"
Joffrey pointed at him angrily.
"Odin saved the king! He deserves a reward!"
"Exactly!"
"Why announce a knighting and then refuse?"
"Even the Master of Laws can't behave like this!"
The crowd broke into heated whispers.
Kevan met the king's gaze directly.
His voice was icy.
"The procedure may change, Your Grace."
"Given Odin's actions…"
"…I cannot knight him."
The uproar intensified.
Jaime's face changed instantly.
He stepped forward, clearly about to defend Odin—
But a tug stopped him.
Tyrion had grabbed his cloak hem and shook his head slightly.
Then Tyrion lifted his gaze toward Petyr Baelish.
Baelish was smiling.
A dazzling smile.
He even tilted his head slightly and whispered to Varys beside him:
"It seems… brave men do not always receive their rewards."
But the Master of Whisperers did not even glance at him.
He remained silent.
---
At the altar, the High Septon had completely panicked.
He looked at Kevan.
Then at Odin, still kneeling.
He was utterly lost.
"This… this is not according to procedure, my lord!"
"The king has already approved it! The Faith has also agreed!"
Baelish's smile grew wider and wider.
Success.
The seed of suspicion had sprouted.
Soon this farmer would be stripped of his glory and returned to his original place.
And then all his businesses…
At that moment—
Heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance of the sept.
Each step struck the floor like a war drum.
The entire hall turned.
Everyone held their breath.
At the massive doorway of the Great Sept of Baelor, a figure stood against the light.
Morning sunlight poured in behind him, outlining his silhouette in gold.
He was tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Powerfully built.
In his hand was a drawn sword.
Slowly, he stepped forward.
His green eyes swept across the hall—
like a lion inspecting its domain.
Tywin Lannister.