Chapter 123: I Am Not a Messiah
As soon as Stannis Baratheon gave the order, two guards moved at once, closing in from either side and seizing Odin's shoulders. The knight who had escorted him drew his sword, its tip steady against Odin's chest, ready to strike at the slightest resistance.
Yet Odin did not struggle.
He didn't even look afraid.
He simply stood there, gazing at Stannis, then shook his head with quiet disappointment.
"I see…"
"Before coming to Dragonstone, I heard many things about you, my lord."
"They say Stannis Baratheon is the most just man in the Seven Kingdoms. A ruler who upholds the law above all."
"But now… it seems your actions are far from 'just.'"
"On the contrary—you act according to your personal likes and dislikes."
The hall went still.
Stannis's expression darkened further, his eyes locking onto Odin.
What unsettled him most was not the accusation—
But the look in Odin's eyes.
There was no fear.
There was… pity.
Held in place by the guards, Odin remained calm.
Because in his eyes, Stannis was, at his core, a tragic man shaped—and distorted—by his own circumstances.
A second son.
Not Robert Baratheon, who had Storm's End and natural charisma.
Not Renly Baratheon, who could win hearts with ease.
Stannis had neither charm nor affection. Even as a child, he was overlooked—his parents' attention always drifting past him toward his brothers.
So he built something else.
Order. Law. Duty.
If he could not be the most loved, he would be the most correct.
Over time, that wasn't just a role anymore.
It became who he was.
Justice was no longer his belief—it was his foundation.
And Odin understood something crucial:
Begging would only make Stannis despise him.
Defiance would force Stannis to kill him to maintain authority.
But questioning his justice—
That struck at the very core of his identity.
And it worked.
"Acting on personal likes and dislikes"—
The words hit exactly where it hurt most.
"Release him."
Stannis's voice dropped, colder than before.
The guards hesitated, glancing at one another—and at Melisandre—before finally loosening their grip.
Odin rolled his shoulders slightly, regaining his freedom. His expression hadn't changed at all, as if he had never been a breath away from death.
To Stannis, that calm looked less like courage…
And more like mockery.
"You claim I am unjust."
Stannis stepped forward, closing the distance, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"And you—a servant of usurpers—dare speak of justice in my hall?"
Odin didn't answer immediately. He simply raised an eyebrow.
That alone was enough.
Stannis's hand moved to his sword—
But at that moment, chains rattled.
Two guards dragged in a man in shackles.
Alester Florent.
Disheveled, pale, trembling.
Stannis didn't even turn to look at him.
Instead, he pointed.
"This man was once my Hand. My wife's kin."
"He advised me to surrender my rightful claim. To bend the knee to thieves and incestuous usurpers."
"That is treason."
"He deserves death."
He took another step forward.
"Now, I will give you a chance."
"You say I am unjust. Then prove it."
"If you fail—both of you will burn."
"Let the flames decide who deserves purification."
Florent's legs nearly gave out in terror.
Odin glanced at him briefly, then let his smile fade.
"Very well, my lord."
He took a slow breath.
"It seems you are not entirely beyond reason."
A dangerous statement.
But this time, Stannis did not react.
He waited.
"First."
Odin raised a hand.
"By the ancient customs of the Seven Kingdoms, an envoy is granted protection."
"I came unarmed. I showed respect."
"And yet, you ordered my death."
"You serve a false king."
Stannis cut in coldly. "The punishment for treason is death."
"False king?"
Odin tilted his head slightly.
"Then by your logic, my lord… is not every king your enemy a false king?"
"Joffrey Baratheon is false. Robb Stark was false. Balon Greyjoy is false."
"Then tell me—when Robert's Rebellion began…"
"In the eyes of Aerys II Targaryen… was not Robert himself a rebel serving a 'false king'?"
"That is different—"
"How?"
Odin stepped forward slightly, his presence sharpening.
"If serving the 'wrong lord' is a crime worthy of death…"
"Then what of the entire realm?"
"How many lords, knights, and soldiers—on all sides—have once stood on the 'wrong' side of war?"
"When you take the throne, will you execute them all?"
"Will you build your kingdom on corpses?"
His voice remained calm—but heavier with every word.
"If so… you will not rule a kingdom."
"You will rule a graveyard."
"And that, my lord…"
"Is not justice."
"It is madness."
The word hung in the air.
Madness.
A direct comparison to the Mad King.
Stannis's jaw tightened.
For a long moment—he said nothing.
Then finally:
"You speak with some reason."
"But those who err… may be forgiven."
"Like Davos Seaworth."
"I took his fingers—but I granted him lands and title."
He pointed again.
"Kneel."
"Swear loyalty."
"And I may spare you."
Odin… smiled faintly.
"Spare me?"
"You speak of my 'crimes,' my lord."
"Then allow me to tell you what those crimes are."
His voice lowered.
"My first crime… was counting apples."
"In the Riverlands, I wanted to know how much food my labor would earn."
"For that, I was hanged and flogged half to death."
"My crime was curiosity."
He continued, steady, emotionless.
"My second crime… was failing to save a dying man."
"I treated him. He died anyway."
"So they tried to kill me."
"My crime was not performing miracles."
"And then… King's Landing."
"I won money in an arena."
"A Goldcloak threw me in prison."
"My crime was winning."
He raised his eyes.
Dark. Steady.
"I crawled through violence, betrayal, and chaos just to survive."
"I earned a name. A title. A place where I wouldn't be killed on a whim."
"And now—because of a single word from you—"
"I must abandon everything… or be called a traitor?"
His voice sharpened slightly.
"I am twenty years old."
"I only want to live."
"What crime is that?"
Silence.
No shouting.
Yet the weight of his words pressed down harder than any scream.
Stannis stood still.
His expression unchanged—
But something, deep within his gaze… shifted.
At last, he spoke.
"Your suffering… is harsh."
"But it does not justify serving Tywin Lannister."
"What is your purpose here?"
"Speak."
Odin exhaled slowly.
"The purpose is simple."
"Tywin sent me to offer terms."
"Surrender."
"You will retain Dragonstone."
"Storm's End will pass to Tommen Baratheon."
"Of course."
Stannis sneered.
"Burn them both—"
"But."
Odin cut in sharply.
"I am not here to make you surrender."
"I am here… to offer you a choice."
"A choice?"
Stannis narrowed his eyes.
"Yes."
"You can remain here… waiting for your food to run out, your army to collapse, and your name to fade into history."
"Or…"
"Do business with me."
Stannis's gaze hardened.
"Why would I deal with a servant of false kings?"
"Not to betray your cause," Odin replied calmly.
"To save it."
"To save your soldiers from starvation."
"And perhaps… to save your path back to the Iron Throne."
Stannis scoffed.
"I have my own supply lines. Ships from Braavos are on the way."
Odin shook his head.
"The Narrow Sea is unpredictable."
"Storms. Pirates. Distance."
"Can you stake your army's survival on uncertainty?"
"And there is more…"
He paused.
"A Targaryen queen is rising across the sea."
"With dragons."
"She considers every ruler in Westeros—yourself included—a usurper."
"Do you think she will allow supplies to flow freely to you?"
For the first time—
Stannis hesitated.
Odin pressed on.
"In contrast… the route from King's Landing to Dragonstone is stable."
"Three days."
"Reliable."
"And legal."
Stannis fell silent, fingers tapping against the stone table.
He was weighing it.
Finally:
"How can I trust you?"
Odin stood straighter.
"You may send men to verify my reputation."
"I do not betray my word."
Then, he added:
"In my homeland, it is rude to visit a great lord empty-handed."
"So before we decide anything…"
"Allow me to present a gift."
"A gift that proves my sincerity."
"And my ability… to solve your problem."
Stannis frowned.
"A gift?"
Odin said nothing more. He turned toward the entrance of the hall, raised his hand, and clapped three times.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
A moment later, footsteps echoed through the chamber.
Several attendants dressed in a style similar to Odin's entered, escorting two bound figures.
The first was a gaunt, middle-aged man with an unremarkable—almost ugly—face, clad in a salt-stained sailor's coat. His gray eyes burned as he glared at Odin.
Most striking of all was his left hand—missing four fingers.
There was no mistaking him.
Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight—Stannis's most trusted man.
Behind him stood a towering young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen, yet broad-shouldered and powerfully built. His face was firm, but his expression carried a lingering gloom, as though he had lost something dear.
He wore rough, cheap clothing and was bound as well, offering little resistance. But the moment his eyes fell upon the red-robed woman beside Stannis, his expression twisted with raw hatred.
That young man was Gendry.
The instant Stannis saw them dragged in like prisoners, he shot to his feet, murderous fury blazing in his eyes.
"How dare you!"
"Easy, my lord."
Odin raised a hand at once, his tone calm and measured.
"On the night before I departed King's Landing, my men happened upon these two attempting to sneak ashore on a secluded beach outside the city."
"After a brief inquiry, this gentleman—missing a few fingers—claimed to be your bannerman, Ser Davos Seaworth."
"And as for the one beside him…"
Odin gestured toward Gendry, raising a brow slightly.
"I believe you recognize him."
He didn't spell it out.
He didn't need to.
The relationships between these people were far too… delicate.
Stannis, however, was no longer paying attention to Odin.
His gaze had locked onto Davos.
The sea wind howled through the stone arches, carrying salt and dampness, stirring the faded Baratheon banners along the walls. The crowned stag upon them looked worn—tired—much like the man seated at the stone table.
Stannis stared at the Onion Knight.
The man whose fingers he had cut.
The man he had raised to knighthood.
Davos lifted his head. There was no fear in his eyes—only a stubborn, quiet resolve.
And somehow, that angered Stannis more than any plea ever could.
"You betrayed me… again, Ser Davos."
Stannis's voice was cold as steel. Around them, guards instinctively tightened their grip on their swords.
Davos met his gaze without flinching.
"Victory should not be bought with the blood of innocents, Your Grace."
"We must win cleanly."
"That's what you taught me."
Stannis's jaw clenched.
He remembered Storm's End.
The siege.
The starving garrison.
The smuggler's ship filled with onions and salted fish.
He remembered refusing to sacrifice civilians for victory.
"I just released you from prison."
Stannis inhaled sharply, his voice hardening again.
"And you betray me once more."
This time, Davos said nothing.
Perhaps silence spoke louder.
"Take them away."
Stannis waved his hand dismissively.
"Lock them up. I'll deal with them later."
The guards stepped forward. They did not handle Davos roughly—on Dragonstone, few truly hated the Onion Knight. Everyone knew who had once fed them when they were starving.
Gendry, however, was shoved along toward the side door. Before leaving, he glanced back at the red-robed woman—
Melisandre didn't even look at him.
As if he had never existed.
For some reason, that stung more than anything.
He lowered his head.
The heavy stone doors shut.
Silence deepened.
Stannis exhaled slowly, forcing down the storm inside him, and turned his gaze back to Odin.
"Thank you for returning a traitor to me, Ser Odin."
His tone softened slightly—but remained rigid, unyielding.
"But that alone does not prove you can deliver the supplies you claim."
"Patience, my lord."
Odin smiled faintly.
"I said I brought three gifts to demonstrate my sincerity."
"That… was only the first."
"Now, allow me to present the second."
From within his coat, he produced a rolled parchment and handed it to a nearby guard.
It was quickly passed to Stannis.
He unrolled it.
The writing was neat, structured, precise. In dark brown ink, the figures stood out clearly:
Wheat — Riverlands origin — Premium quality.
Total:
5,000 kg.