Chapter 176: I Will Hold Everyone Present Responsible
Odin.
Unlike his usual modest attire, today he was dressed for the occasion.
Everything about him was black.
A black velvet long coat, tailored to perfection, its lines clean and sharp, devoid of unnecessary ornamentation.
The slightly raised shoulders lent his otherwise ordinary frame an unmistakable air of authority.
His right hand rested upon the hilt of his sword.
The tip of the scabbard lightly tapped against the railing.
Tap.
The sound was slow and measured, matching his footsteps.
And wherever Odin walked, people instinctively stepped aside.
Like seawater parting before the bow of a ship.
Like flames retreating before ice.
When a predator approached, even the bravest hounds lowered their tails and backed away.
His face was expressionless.
He simply strode through the chaos, advancing toward the center of the disturbance as though he were the embodiment of order itself.
The noise of the crowd faded like a receding tide.
Layer by layer, the shouting disappeared.
The arena, capable of holding twenty-five hundred people, fell so silent that one could hear the wind sweeping through the open roof above.
Every eye followed the man clad in black, using his sword like a walking cane as he calmly entered the center of the crowd.
Who would have imagined that only a few months ago, he had been a prisoner tied to a tree, a peasant dragged from the mud, nearly hanged by the Brave Companions?
And now, in King's Landing—the absolute heart of power in the Seven Kingdoms—every noble, knight, merchant, and commoner had become an audience member.
While he alone stood at the center of the stage.
The only true protagonist.
"It's Ser Odin!"
After a brief silence, a voice suddenly erupted from the crowd.
The speaker was a middle-aged man dressed in rough homespun clothing, his weathered face bearing all the hardships of a common laborer.
"Ser! Do you remember me?"
He tried pushing through the crowd, but there were too many people. Even so, he managed to force half his body forward and shout at the top of his lungs.
"Last month, my son's leg was crushed by a wagon! The Gold Cloaks claimed he fell on his own and refused to help!"
"I carried him all across King's Landing, but no maester would treat him. They said five copper pennies wouldn't even pay for the ointment!"
"It was you! You set his leg in one of those shelters in Flea Bottom! You didn't charge me a single coin!"
"And afterward, the Black Hand even helped me get compensation from the wagon owner!"
His voice began to choke with emotion.
"He recovered, Ser!"
"He's recovered! He can run and jump now! Just yesterday he carried a whole barrel of salted fish from the docks to Street of Flies!"
Odin didn't stop walking.
But he did glance at the man.
"Tommy. Fractured left tibia. Minor displacement."
"I put his leg in a splint and told you not to let him bear weight for six weeks."
He paused.
His voice remained calm.
"You had him carrying cargo by the fourth week."
The man's face instantly turned crimson.
"Ser... I... I'm sorry."
"Save that apology for your son."
Odin shot him a glance but didn't press the matter further.
"If he's carrying barrels already, then I suppose he recovered well."
The man's eyes reddened immediately.
"Thank you, Ser Odin!"
"I owe you a debt! If you ever need anything, just say the word and I'll repay it!"
The crowd erupted.
"Ser Odin!"
"Ser Odin!"
At that moment, another man waved frantically.
"Ser Odin! Do you remember me? I'm Tom, the baker from East Flea Bottom!"
"You helped us rebuild our oven! The old one leaked smoke so badly my wife's eyes were nearly ruined!"
"You sent workers to lay new bricks and rebuild the chimney! Now our bread comes out soft and fluffy!"
Another voice joined in.
"Ser Odin! I'm the tanner from Grey Alley! You helped us fix the drainage ditch!"
"Ser! My child nearly died from a fever! Your clinic saved him!"
"Ser! You gave me work! I'm one of the Hall of Order's outer Ring's community wardens now!"
Before long, voices were rising from every direction.
Like waves crashing against a shore.
One after another.
Growing louder and louder.
There was gratitude in those voices.
Admiration.
And a kind of devotion bordering on fanaticism.
This wasn't manufactured support.
This was affection earned through countless gold dragons spent helping people and countless acts of genuine kindness.
Odin continued walking without breaking stride.
There was no emotional grandstanding.
No passionate speeches.
Nothing resembling the false enthusiasm of politicians proclaiming I stand with you.
Instead, he simply responded to the crowd.
He remembered every person who had benefited from his help.
He remembered their names.
And he called each of them by name.
A brief greeting here.
A few words there.
Then he moved on.
In the noble box seats, the nobility watched in silence.
Lord Reveray Rykker held a wine cup suspended halfway to his mouth.
He had forgotten to drink.
Beside him stood his son, Lake, eyes wide as a country boy seeing the sea for the first time.
He had always known Odin was capable.
But he had never truly understood the scale of the man's influence among the common people.
No.
Not just commoners.
Even many nobles were waving and calling out their thanks.
"Flea Bottom has forty thousand residents."
Lord Reveray murmured quietly.
"They say at least a quarter of them have directly or indirectly received his help over the past few months."
"And the rest are their relatives, neighbors, and friends."
Taking a deep breath, he placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"We made the right choice, Lake."
His voice carried a trace of admiration.
"From this day forward, King's Landing will have two kings."
"One sits upon the Iron Throne."
"The other... rules Flea Bottom."
Lake froze.
He could only stare at the commoners reaching toward Odin, many of them shouting his name through tears.
Their faces were filled with such fervor that they resembled pilgrims witnessing a holy miracle.
Wherever Odin walked, the crowd parted before him.
And then closed behind him once more.
Like waves dividing before a warship.
Like subjects welcoming their king as he toured his realm.
Odin continued forward.
The cries still echoed around him.
"Ser!"
"Ser!"
Another voice rang out.
This time, however, it belonged to Balman Byrch.
At some point, he had managed to pull himself off the ground.
Now he was forcing his way through the crowd on his knees until he stood directly in Odin's path, sweat streaming down his face.
"Ser!"
As though he had already guessed why Odin had come, Balman's lips trembled uncontrollably.
"I... I can explain..."
"About what happened just now..."
However, when faced with Balman's attempt at an explanation, Odin didn't say a single word.
He simply walked past him.
As they brushed shoulders, Odin's shoulder struck Balman's lightly, forcing the knight to stumble half a step aside.
Balman remained frozen in place, mouth hanging open, his words still trapped in his throat.
But the only man whose attention he desperately sought was already gone.
Odin continued down the central passage of the noble stands.
On either side sat the nobles of the Crownlands, knights, and wealthy merchants of King's Landing.
Wherever he passed, people rose to their feet.
It was almost instinctive.
As if something deep inside them understood that when this man walked by, they ought to stand.
Otherwise, they might be crushed beneath his shadow.
Odin paid them no mind.
Not Falyse.
Not Bronn.
Not Cersei.
Not even Tywin.
Instead, he walked straight to the very front of the royal box.
Then, before King Tommen Baratheon the First, he dropped to one knee.
The unexpected gesture silenced the crowd.
Everyone had assumed he would go to Tywin first.
Or soothe the Queen Mother.
Or perhaps settle the utterly meaningless quarrel between the women.
But he did none of those things.
Instead, Odin came first before the king.
The eight-year-old king who, in most places, was treated little better than a decorative ornament.
And he paid his respects.
Tommen sat stiffly in his high-backed chair.
Looking at the knight kneeling before him, unease flashed through his green eyes.
After all, he still remembered how this same man had thrown Gregor Clegane to the ground during the Small Council meeting and nearly beaten the giant to death.
Before the boy could speak, Odin placed his right hand over his chest.
"Your Grace."
"Please forgive me for not personally greeting you upon your arrival."
"Today is the opening of the Ring of Order, and I have been overwhelmed with preparations."
He raised his head and met Tommen's eyes.
"My apologies."
Tommen opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
Grand Maester Pycelle had taught him the proper etiquette for receiving subjects.
But he had never actually used any of it.
Because no one had ever truly treated him with respect.
"You... you may rise," Tommen stammered.
Yet Odin did not stand immediately.
Instead, he looked at the boy king and said slowly,
"The Ring of Order is the work of my life."
"It is also the future of forty thousand people in Flea Bottom."
"As king, Your Grace chose to witness its birth with your own eyes."
"That is an honor for both Flea Bottom and the Black Hand."
Tommen fell silent.
It was true.
He didn't particularly enjoy being king.
But that didn't mean he didn't want recognition.
For some reason, a strange feeling began to rise within him.
After swallowing nervously, he muttered,
"Actually... Grandfather wanted to come."
"And Mother insisted too."
"I wasn't the one who wanted to come…"
Odin smiled gently.
The warmth in his dark eyes was calm and sincere.
"Your Grace."
"The fact that you know whether you wanted to come or not is already a valuable ability."
"Many adults spend their entire lives without ever knowing what they truly want."
"You're only eight years old, and you already know."
"That is a good thing."
Tommen froze.
Because nobody had ever told him he was good.
The maesters said his studies were "acceptable."
His mother told him not to cause trouble.
His grandfather only told him to obey and learn how to become a proper king.
No one had ever looked at him and said:
You are doing well.
Tommen stared at Odin.
His gaze drifted beyond him toward the adults standing behind.
They were all watching.
Watching their king.
Suddenly, for the first time in his life, Tommen no longer felt like a piece of furniture.
He felt like someone important.
Someone needed.
Someone respected.
After a long moment of silence, Tommen straightened his back.
He jumped down from his chair and personally grasped Odin by both arms, helping him to his feet.
Then he turned toward the crowd.
Toward the nobles.
Toward his people.
He raised Odin's arm high above his head and shouted:
"This man—Odin—is a true knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"Ser Odin!"
With the king leading them, the crowd erupted once more.
This time louder than ever before.
Commoners.
Nobles.
Everyone shouted Odin's name.
Lord Reveray Rykker began applauding first.
Then Lake joined him.
Then came the lesser lords.
The knights.
The merchants.
Soon everyone was on their feet, applauding the harmony between king and subject.
The applause spread from the royal box to the knightly section.
From the knightly section to the citizen stands.
From there to the standing galleries.
Until all twenty-five hundred spectators inside the Ring of Order were applauding at once.
The sound rolled like thunder.
Like crashing waves.
Like the war drums of all Seven Kingdoms beating together.
"Ser Odin!"
"Ser Odin!"
The cheers were deafening.
Far louder than when the king, the Hand, and the Queen Mother had entered together.
Tywin Lannister sat motionless in his chair.
His green eyes were fixed upon Odin's back.
The man being cheered by twenty-five hundred voices.
And suddenly, Tywin remembered something from thirty years ago.
Back then he had been Hand to King Aerys II.
That year he hosted a grand tournament at Lannisport and invited Aerys and the royal family to visit the Westerlands.
The harbor had been packed with people.
The crowds had shouted:
"King Aerys!"
But even more of them had shouted:
"Tywin Lannister!"
Aerys's face had darkened instantly.
Even now, decades later, Tywin could still remember that expression.
And every time he recalled it, he felt immense satisfaction.
Yet he had never expected that thirty years later...
The same scene would unfold again.
The same cheers.
The same adoration.
Only this time...
Aerys Targaryen's role belonged to him.
And the man receiving the cheers was—
Odin.
Tywin gently set down his wine cup.
The motion was light.
Yet the sound it made against the table was twice as loud as before.
The nobles around him didn't notice.
They were too busy applauding and waving enthusiastically at Odin.
Only Ser Tybolt Hetherspoon noticed.
Standing behind Tywin, the captain of the guard saw the Hand's fingers trembling slightly as he released the cup.
"My lord," he whispered.
"Shall I stop them?"
Tywin glanced at him.
"You intend to cut off the hands of every person in King's Landing capable of clapping?"
Tybolt fell silent.
Then straightened his posture as if nothing had happened.
After a long while, the applause finally began to die down.
Not because the crowd wanted to stop.
But because Odin raised a hand.
The entire arena fell silent.
Then he lowered it and turned around.
Cersei stood there, chest still rising and falling from anger, traces of the argument lingering on her flushed face.
Falyse stood with her head lowered.
Bronn leaned casually against a pillar with folded arms, looking thoroughly entertained.
Odin studied the two women.
For a long time.
Long enough that Cersei finally snapped.
"What exactly are you trying to say, Odin?"
Her voice was still sharp and irritated.
Pointing at Falyse, she barked,
"She started it!"
The words left her mouth, and almost immediately she regretted them.
I'm the Queen Mother.
Why am I explaining myself to him?
But Odin didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he spoke softly.
"We are all respectable people here, Your Grace."
"You wear a crown."
"Lady Falyse comes from a family that has ruled the Crownlands for a thousand years."
"Ser Bronn is a decorated veteran."
"And Ser Balman…"
He paused.
"Serves in the City Watch."
Hearing himself included, Balman lowered his head with a faint blush.
Thankfully, nobody was paying attention to him.
Everyone was listening to Odin.
As though every word he spoke carried weight.
"Respectable people should not quarrel in public," Odin continued.
"Your Grace, I know you were wronged today."
"And I deeply regret that such a thing occurred within my domain."
"You are the Queen Mother of the Seven Kingdoms."
"You deserve respect from everyone."
"But respect is not won through arguments."
Cersei fell silent.
Odin nodded slightly before turning to Falyse.
"Lady Falyse."
She lifted her head.
Her eyes were red.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
But she did not avoid his gaze.
"You were wronged today as well."
"You defended your sister."
"You defended your husband."
"You defended your family's honor."
"All of that was right."
"But your method was wrong."
"True dignity is not achieved by dragging others down."
"It comes from standing taller yourself."
Falyse's eyes reddened further.
After three seconds of silence, she lowered her head.
"I understand, Ser Odin."
Satisfied that both women had fallen silent, Odin reached into his coat and withdrew a small plaque.
It was exquisitely crafted.
Gold trim.
Embedded gemstones.
The Black Hand insignia burned into its surface.
"This is the highest-tier VIP card of the Ring of Order."
"Consider it compensation from a poor host."
Falyse stared at the plaque.
The materials alone were worth a fortune.
She licked her lips nervously and accepted it with both hands.
"Thank you."
Odin smiled.
Then turned back toward Cersei.
"Your Grace."
Cersei watched him.
From his coat, Odin produced another identical VIP plaque.
"I don't want it," she said through clenched teeth.
"Of course," Odin replied with a smile. "It isn't really for you."
"This one is for Princess Myrcella."
Cersei froze.
"The princess may be far away in Dorne."
"But someone should deliver her mother's affection."
"If you permit it, I can have this sent to her."
"You know, my relationship with a certain someone is reasonably good."
"And my merchants travel to Dorne quite often."
"My people will deliver this to Princess Myrcella."
"And they will personally tell her…"
"That her mother is waiting for her return."
For a moment, Cersei said nothing.
She simply stared at the plaque.
Her eyes had begun to redden.
But she refused to cry.
She was the Queen Mother of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Save your false kindness."
She curled her lip.
Yet the hostility in her voice had noticeably softened.
And she no longer rejected the offer outright.
Odin smiled knowingly.
Then, under the gaze of the entire arena, he took a step back and straightened.
"Queen Regent."
"Lady Falyse."
"Ser Balman."
"Ser Bronn."
One by one, he spoke their names.
His tone no longer carried warmth.
It had become firm.
Like a judge delivering a verdict.
"You are all aware that today is the opening of the Ring of Order."
"I invited you here to witness history."
"Not to cause trouble."
"In the name of the Black Hand, I declare today's matter settled."
"I will not pursue it further."
"And I will hold no grudge."
"But…"
His gaze swept across everyone present.
His dark eyes remained calm.
Yet an overwhelming pressure suddenly radiated from him.
"If I ever see anyone disrupting the order I have established within the grounds of the Ring of Order again..."
He paused.
The silence was absolute.
Then he finished:
"I will hold everyone present responsible."