Chapter 100 — That'll Cost Extra!
This was precisely why Cersei had summoned Odin in such haste.
With the death of the King in the North, Robb Stark, and news arriving from the North that Theon Greyjoy had murdered the two young Stark boys, the legal heir to Winterfell had now become Sansa Stark.
Just a few days ago—thanks to the encouragement of a certain lord who preferred not to reveal his name, Petyr Baelish—Hand of the King Tywin Lannister had made a decisive move.
He ordered that Sansa Stark be forcibly wed to his son, Tyrion Lannister.
It was an exquisitely calculated arrangement.
If Tyrion and Sansa produced a child, that child—bearing both Stark and Lannister blood—would become the legitimate heir to Winterfell.
At that point, the North would no longer need to be conquered by force.
Even the title of Warden of the North, which Tywin had promised to Roose Bolton, could be reclaimed with perfect legitimacy.
Of course, poor Sansa.
Not long ago she had been overjoyed at the prospect of marrying the renowned and handsome Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell.
Now she was about to become the wife of a misshapen dwarf.
But in the realm of political bargaining, her wishes meant nothing.
In truth—
It wasn't only Sansa whose wishes were irrelevant.
Even Cersei, the Queen Regent herself, could not defy the arrangements of her father, Tywin Lannister.
The Hand had not consulted her at all.
Instead, he had already reached an agreement with the true power behind House Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell.
The result:
Cersei would marry Ser Loras Tyrell.
In Odin's previous world, the remarriage of a queen mother would have seemed almost absurd.
But in Westeros, in the game of thrones, family survival and political advantage always outweighed personal dignity.
On top of that, Petyr Baelish was preparing to travel to the Vale to marry Lysa Tully.
The young Lord Robert Arryn of the Eyrie was a sickly child.
Once Baelish became his stepfather, removing the fragile widow and her son would hardly be difficult for a man like him.
In effect, this meant the Vale would also fall under the expanding influence of the Lannisters.
After this series of maneuvers, Tywin had essentially brought the North, the Reach, the Stormlands, the Vale, and even the Riverlands under his web of influence.
The finest political mind in the Seven Kingdoms, Odin thought to himself.
The old lion had barely moved additional armies.
Instead, through a chain of marriages and promises, he had woven a vast net across Westeros in the power vacuum following Robb Stark's fall.
Potential enemies had been turned into relatives.
Unstable territories were quietly absorbed through bloodline inheritance.
With minimal cost, Tywin sought to cement unprecedented Lannister control over the Iron Throne.
But…
Was this web truly without flaws?
Then again—
If Loras Tyrell married Cersei, while her eldest son Joffrey married Loras's sister Margaery, the resulting family tree would be… spectacularly tangled.
At that point—
Cersei would be Margaery's mother-in-law… and her sister-in-law at the same time.
Gods, what a mess, Odin thought with mild amusement.
Just then, Cersei's impatient voice snapped him back to reality.
"Well?"
Her emerald eyes flashed with irritation.
"Have you finished thinking, Odin?"
Ever since entering the room, the man had simply stood there silently.
For someone with as little patience as Cersei, that was extremely aggravating.
"I'm waiting for your answer."
The hot-tempered Queen Regent suddenly stood up.
Barefoot, she strode straight toward Odin, the hem of her crimson-and-gold gown sweeping across the floor.
"You don't have time to think slowly," she said urgently, making no attempt to hide her impatience.
"In a few days, the Small Council will formally announce the betrothal."
"By then the whole of King's Landing will know the Queen Regent is to marry into Highgarden."
Cersei clenched her teeth, forcing every word through them.
"So tell me—what can you do?"
"Jaime says you're someone who solves problems."
"Prove it."
Odin, however, remained perfectly calm.
Anyone could see that Cersei was desperate.
"Your Grace."
He bowed slightly. Though the honorific was used, there was little true reverence in his tone—more a polite reminder.
"In fact, this matter is quite easy to resolve."
"Quite easy?"
Cersei's eyebrow arched sharply, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Do you even understand what you're saying?"
"This agreement was made between my father and Olenna Tyrell."
"And you tell me it's easy?"
"If you're just another braggart, then don't waste my time."
"Please, calm yourself, Your Grace," Odin replied with a faint smile.
The angrier and more impatient Cersei became, the more leverage he could extract from her.
"To arrange a marriage can be complicated," he continued calmly.
"It requires family support, the blessing of the Faith, favorable circumstances, and two hearts willing to draw closer together."
"But ruining a marriage…"
"I can think of dozens of ways."
"You see, destruction is always easier than creation."
Hearing the certainty in Odin's tone—and seeing the absolute confidence in his bearing—Cersei suddenly felt her heart skip a beat.
For a brief moment, the sensation reminded her of long ago—
of the first time she had seen Rhaegar Targaryen at a tourney.
But she quickly forced herself back to reality.
The man standing before her was nothing more than a commoner from the Riverlands, a schemer who had risen by currying favor with her father.
Perhaps he was simply boasting, trying to ingratiate himself.
"Dozens of ways?" she said coolly.
She crossed her arms beneath her chest, the gesture making her already generous figure even more pronounced—and her posture even more arrogant.
"So which one will you use?"
"I want something concrete. Something workable."
"Not empty words."
Yet Odin did not immediately offer a solution.
Instead, he shook his head slightly.
"No, Your Grace."
"Before I tell you the method…"
"There is another matter we must discuss."
"Which is…"
"Why should I help you?"
His gaze met Cersei's directly.
The look was utterly sincere—yet somehow carried a faint pressure that made her uncomfortable.
"Why should I risk offending both the Hand of the King, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West—Lord Tywin Lannister—"
"and the Tyrell family, rulers of the Reach, who command tens of thousands of soldiers…"
"all for your sake?"
He repeated the question slowly.
Each word weighed down deliberately.
Cersei froze for a moment.
Then her breathing quickened again—this time not from anger, but from excitement.
Because Odin was bargaining.
Which meant he truly had a solution.
He was seriously considering doing it.
"What do you want, Odin?"
Calming herself, Cersei smiled—a smile she had practiced countless times, one capable of making men lose their senses.
"Gold?"
"The mines of Casterly Rock could fill the Blackwater Rush."
"A title?"
"I could have Joffrey knight you… even grant you lands."
She leaned slightly forward, her red lips parting.
"The Lannisters can give you anything you can imagine."
"Just name your price."
As she spoke, Cersei tilted her head slightly.
Candlelight flowed through her golden curls, illuminating the pale curve of her neck.
She was tempting him.
With wealth.
With status.
With power.
And with the subtle promise of herself.
It was her habitual tactic—one that had become almost instinctive.
Odin looked at the seemingly delicate Queen Regent before him without the slightest ripple in his heart.
Because he knew very well what kind of ruthless and twisted soul hid beneath that beautiful exterior.
His gaze passed over her carefully shaped brows and red lips—
but the way he looked at her resembled a merchant examining merchandise.
The look irritated Cersei.
Yet she restrained herself from exploding.
"You are a Lannister, Your Grace," Odin finally said.
"But Lord Tywin is also a Lannister."
"The price you offer…"
"I'm sure the Hand of the King could offer something even better, couldn't he?"
"Besides, everything I have today is thanks to Lord Tywin's patronage."
"He gave me the chance to stand here."
"He made me a Special Envoy of the Crown."
"Lord Tywin…"
"…is the man I respect most."
The moment those words left his mouth, the hope in Cersei's eyes died instantly.
Disappointment flooded her.
Then came pure irritation.
She should have known.
This man was simply her father's dog.
Jaime had misjudged him.
She had wasted her time—and worse, revealed her intentions.
Just as Cersei was about to lash out and throw Odin out with the most vicious insults she could muster—
the infuriating man suddenly grinned.
The smile was frank.
Almost crude.
But the meaning behind it was very clearly not a refusal.
"So…" Odin said calmly, as if everything were already under control.
"That means…"
"We'll need to add a little more to the price."