Chapter 108 — Ser Odin
Tywin's presence was overwhelming.
The moment he stepped into the sept with a drawn sword, the air itself seemed to freeze.
The nobles instinctively lowered their heads.
Women clutched their skirts so tightly their knuckles turned white.
The High Septon unconsciously stepped back, his bulky body bumping awkwardly against the edge of the altar.
Cersei was the first to recover.
The restrained, faintly contemptuous smile that had been resting on her lips froze when she saw the unsheathed sword in her father's hand.
Her fingers tightened around the hem of her deep crimson gown as her mind began racing.
Why?
Why did Father enter the sept with a sword?
Does he know something…? Is he planning to—
Her gaze snapped toward Odin, kneeling before the altar.
The farmer still knelt on one knee, his back perfectly straight.
Is Father really going to execute him here, in public?
The thought made Cersei's heart skip.
Yet slowly, a smile returned to her lips.
Perfect.
Odin might be clever, but he was difficult to control.
If she intervened at the moment Father raised his blade and "saved" him…
the man would surely be grateful to her forever.
But before she could indulge in the idea any longer, the king stepped forward.
"Lord Tywin!"
Joffrey announced loudly, trying to sound like a majestic ruler.
"You enter the sept with a sword—does this mean there is some special arrangement?"
Tywin did not answer.
He walked slowly, steadily.
The sword in his hand hung slightly downward, its blade reflecting a cold gleam.
The tip scraped faintly across the marble floor as he walked.
The sound was soft—
yet it felt like claws scraping directly across everyone's hearts.
The king flushed with anger.
He felt his authority had been challenged.
He opened his mouth to speak again—
But Cersei grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her, preventing her son from saying anything foolish.
"Your Grace the Queen Regent," Margaery whispered quietly beside her, her voice low enough that only Cersei could hear.
"Doesn't the Hand of the King's behavior offend both the Seven and the Iron Throne?"
"After all, this is a knighting ceremony. Within the sept, one should—"
"The Seven?"
Cersei cut her off softly, a provocative smile curling her lips.
"No."
"The Seven reside within power."
"And power, at this moment… is in my father's hands."
---
Joffrey still struggled to step forward and reprimand Tywin.
But Cersei held him firmly in place.
Tyrion stood among the nobles, looking up at his father's figure thoughtfully.
He tugged at Jaime's cloak and whispered:
"When was the last time you saw Father holding a sword?"
Jaime frowned.
"At least twenty years."
His eyes were fixed on the blade in Tywin's hand.
"Why would he…"
Jaime knew his father had once been an excellent swordsman.
Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew that Tywin Lannister had distinguished himself during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, long before Jaime had been born.
But ever since becoming Hand to the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, Tywin had rarely touched a blade.
Power was no longer seized through steel—
but through parchment, gold, and marriage alliances.
For decades he had not carried a sword in any formal setting.
Hearing this, Tyrion narrowed his eyes.
"Yesterday I heard Odin orchestrated the king's rescue to secure his knighthood."
"Littlefinger even went to Uncle Kevan with accusations."
"Could igt be true?"
"Impossible!"
Jaime replied almost instinctively.
"Odin is an honest—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Memories flashed through his mind.
Their escape from the Brave Companions.
Odin manipulating Urswyck.
Sowing discord among the sellswords.
Negotiating with Roose Bolton at Harrenhal.
Saving Arya from Karstark soldiers by the Gods Eye.
Every plan had been precise.
Every calculation ruthless.
He had never been merely an "honest healer."
Jaime felt his stomach drop.
But a moment later he shook his head firmly.
"Even if he did plan it…"
"Then he still deserves to be a knight!"
"If nobles can rely on intrigue to rise in rank, why can't a commoner?"
His voice grew heated, frustration spilling out.
"It's my fault!"
"If I didn't carry the name Kingslayer, I could have knighted him myself as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
"He could have shared the honor with me."
"There would have been no need for this whole spectacle…"
Tyrion stared at him in disbelief.
What did Odin do to him?
The man saved his life once… and now Jaime trusts him completely?
Even Bronn, who had saved Tyrion many times, had never earned such blind loyalty.
Still, Tyrion lowered his voice and warned him:
"Knowing Father, he won't tolerate this."
"This ceremony may not proceed at all."
"In fact… he might publicly put Odin on trial."
Jaime froze.
He looked toward the altar.
Odin still knelt calmly, back straight.
Kevan stood beside him, expression cold, gripping the ceremonial sword.
Tywin had already reached the center of the sept.
His steps were deliberate.
Purposeful.
As though everything had been planned in advance.
This can't happen.
Almost instinctively, Jaime stepped forward.
"Jaime!"
Tyrion shouted, trying to grab him.
But he caught only a corner of the white cloak.
Silk slipped through his fingers.
Jaime had already stepped out of the noble ranks and blocked Tywin's path.
Gasps rippled through the sept.
Joffrey's eyes lit up.
This is going to be good.
Tywin stopped.
He looked up at the son standing before him.
His green eyes were calm.
No anger.
No surprise.
No emotion at all.
Like a man staring at a rock in the road.
"Step aside, Ser Jaime," Tywin said quietly.
The calmness of his voice was terrifying.
Jaime did not move.
His back was straight.
"Why have you entered the sept with a sword?" he demanded.
"This is the house of the Seven. A knighting ceremony."
"Not a battlefield."
Tywin studied him.
As if examining a stranger.
"Even as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, you do not have the right to question the Hand of the King."
"Move."
"Odin has done nothing wrong!"
Jaime raised his voice.
"Even if he had committed a crime, he should be judged through proper procedure!"
"Not like this!"
"Walking in with a sword like you're about to execute a criminal—Father!"
"I remind you this is the Great Sept of Baelor, not the dungeons of Casterly Rock!"
His left hand gripped the hilt of his sword.
The motion was instinctive.
Natural.
As if the proud golden-haired knight from twenty years ago had returned.
Tywin's eyes immediately fell upon Jaime's hand.
Then slowly rose to meet his gaze.
Word by word, he asked:
"You wished to join the Kingsguard."
"I allowed it."
"You refused to inherit Casterly Rock."
"I accepted that as well."
"So tell me, Ser Jaime Lannister…"
"What have I done… that makes you show me such disrespect?"
The words struck like a slap.
Jaime's face went pale.
Yet he still refused to move.
The sept fell into absolute silence.
Everyone held their breath.
Watching the most famous father and son in the Seven Kingdoms confront each other.
Cersei's lips curled upward.
Ever since Tywin tried to marry her to Loras Tyrell, she had resented her father deeply.
Yes.
That's right.
Keep going, Jaime.
Challenge him.
Let everyone see how the heir of House Lannister defies Tywin's authority.
Beside her, Joffrey's eyes shone.
He was barely suppressing laughter.
Yes!
Argue!
Fight!
Let everyone witness what happens when someone challenges the king's authority!
Margaery clutched her skirt tightly.
Watching Jaime—this one-handed knight standing proudly before Tywin—she couldn't help thinking of her brother Loras.
If the Knight of Flowers were here…
he would probably be just as brave.
"How ironic," Baelish murmured softly.
"The father holds the sword."
"The son no longer has the hand to wield one."
"Power and helplessness. Control and rebellion."
"It's more dramatic than any play."
Varys merely shook his head.
"I suggest we simply watch, Lord Baelish."
"And refrain from… drawing conclusions too early."
Baelish cast him a dark glance.
He had the uneasy feeling the Spider knew something.
---
"Don't be reckless, Jaime!"
At last Tyrion squeezed through the crowd.
Being short, he could only tug at Jaime's cloak like a child restraining an angry adult.
"This is Father!"
"And this is the Great Sept!"
"Will you really draw your sword against him in front of the Seven and every noble in the realm?!"
"You'll disgrace House Lannister!"
He was desperate.
What spell had Odin cast on Jaime to make him defy Tywin publicly?
Jaime looked down at his brother.
But did not move.
He looked back at Tywin.
Complex emotions churned in his green eyes.
Anger.
Resentment.
Bitterness.
And something buried deep—
something he refused to acknowledge.
Longing.
Longing for what?
His father's approval?
For the man who once placed a hand on his shoulder and said:
"You will become a great knight."
Then a voice spoke.
"Ser Jaime."
It was Odin.
He still knelt before the altar.
Without turning his head, his voice carried clearly through the hall.
"No matter what decision the Hand of the King makes, my conscience is clear."
Jaime turned sharply.
He saw Odin's back—
the plain dark armor—
the unbending posture.
No excuses.
No pleas.
No attempt to defend himself.
He simply knelt there.
Like a man calmly accepting his fate.
"Odin…" Jaime's voice caught.
He's doing this for me.
So I won't fight Father.
Odin finally turned slightly.
His profile looked resolute in the light.
Those black eyes were steady and unwavering.
"Please step aside, ser."
"This is my path."
"I must walk it myself."
"You have already done enough for me."
Jaime stared into those eyes.
He remembered the muddy road in the Riverlands where Odin treated his severed hand.
The training yard at Harrenhal where Odin kept rising after every fall while sparring with Brienne.
The calm precision with which he saved Arya near the Gods Eye.
This man had saved his life.
More than once.
He had given Jaime the courage to pick up a sword again.
He had given him purpose.
And yet…
I can't do anything for him.
Jaime clenched his teeth.
His gaze shifted back and forth between his father and Odin.
Finally, he took a deep breath.
Reluctantly—very reluctantly—he stepped aside.
"…Thank you, ser."
Tywin gave a slight nod.
The gesture was polite.
Polite in the way one might acknowledge a stranger.
Ever since Jaime had openly declared he would never remove the white cloak to inherit Casterly Rock, Tywin had barely spoken to his eldest son.
That "thank you" sounded less like gratitude—
and more like "You've finally come to your senses."
Under everyone's gaze, the Hand of the King continued forward.
His boots struck the marble floor in crisp, steady rhythm.
He walked past Jaime.
Past Tyrion.
Past Cersei and Joffrey.
Just then—
Joffrey suddenly broke free from his mother's grip and pointed angrily at Tywin.
"Lord Tywin Lannister!"
"I promised that Uncle Kevan would knight Odin. A king must keep his word!"
Tywin stopped.
He turned his head slightly and looked at his grandson.
The lion-like gaze made Joffrey instinctively shrink back—
but he quickly puffed up his chest again.
As if reminding everyone he was the king.
"A king must keep his word," Tywin repeated calmly.
Then he glanced at Kevan.
"But this knighting… is inappropriate."
"You dare defy the king?" Joffrey snapped, his voice trembling with excitement.
As king, he constantly felt his authority overshadowed by the Hand.
So he opposed Tywin in everything.
If Tywin objected—Joffrey supported it.
If Tywin supported something—Joffrey opposed it.
It was childish rebellion.
But his smooth brain could only conceive of such strategies.
Tywin did not respond.
He did not even look at Joffrey again.
It was as if the words had never been spoken.
That indifference was more humiliating than open defiance.
Joffrey's face turned bright red.
He opened his mouth to shout again—
but Cersei quickly grabbed his arm and held him back.
---
Tywin continued forward.
He stopped before the altar.
Odin still knelt on one knee.
Back straight.
Head slightly lowered.
From Tywin's perspective he could only see the carefully combed hair and the plain yet finely crafted armor.
Then—
slowly—
he raised his sword.
---
Petyr Baelish's heart began to race.
Given Tywin's character—
given the Lord of Casterly Rock's ruthless methods—
the most logical outcome would be to expose the scheme publicly.
Punish this farmer who dared manipulate the court.
Do it.
Baelish nearly laughed aloud.
Strike him down.
But in the next moment—
his smile froze.
Because before everyone's eyes—
the sword moved in a smooth arc through the air.
Then—
the blade lightly touched Odin's right shoulder.
The steel struck armor with a clear metallic ring.
Tywin spoke.
His voice echoed through the entire sept.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."
The sword moved to the left shoulder.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."
The sword returned again to the right shoulder.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the weak and the innocent."
Tywin's voice rose to its highest point—
like the roar of a lion.
"I, Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West—"
"—do hereby knight you, Odin…"
"…as a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"
---
Silence.
The entire sept fell into absolute silence.
Then Tywin lowered the sword and turned toward the High Septon.
The plump priest stood frozen in place, completely stunned.
"Give him the cloak," Tywin ordered.
The High Septon hurried forward, hands trembling as he passed the cloak to Tywin.
He didn't dare place it himself.
Tywin accepted the cloak.
White silk.
Gold thread along the edges.
On the back was a simple sigil—
a black hand with five spread fingers.
Tywin personally draped the cloak over Odin's shoulders.
He fastened the clasp at the neck.
Adjusted the folds.
Every movement precise and methodical—
as if he were completing a military deployment.
Then he stepped back.
"Rise, Ser Odin."
---
Odin finally lifted his head and stood.
His black eyes were calm.
His face showed no excitement.
No gratitude.
No pride.
He turned to Tywin and bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Lord Hand."
"I will carry your honor with me as I move forward."
Tywin looked at him.
For a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
He turned to face the assembled nobles.
His gaze passed over Jaime—who looked visibly relieved—
before finally stopping on Baelish's stunned face.
Tywin spoke again.
"In King's Landing…"
"…under my rule—"
"Loyalty will be rewarded."
"Contribution will be recognized."
Then he said nothing more.
Tywin lifted the still-unsheathed sword and walked toward the exit.
The crowd parted once again.
Even more respectfully.
Even more fearfully.
He walked down the long central aisle.
Past Jaime—without stopping.
Past Tyrion—without lowering his head.
Past Cersei and Joffrey—without even glancing at them.
Then he stepped outside the sept—
and disappeared into the morning sunlight.
---
Only then did Odin slowly turn.
He faced the crowd.
Watching the departing figure of the old lion, he sighed inwardly.
Impressive.
If he were truly a native of this world—
he might genuinely feel grateful enough to devote his life to Tywin.
The morning wind swept through the open doors of the sept.
Odin's cloak fluttered behind him.
The black hand sigil waved high in the air.
And from this day forward—
the Seven Kingdoms had gained a new knight.
Ser Odin.