Chapter 77: Ten Thousand Gold Dragons
The hall fell into a brief, heavy silence.
Tyrion seemed nailed in place by the question that pierced straight through his soul. His lips trembled, but no sound came out.
For the first time, he realized that the sharp tongue and negotiation skills he had always taken pride in had become utterly powerless in front of this man.
Odin, however, had no intention of letting him recover. He took another step forward, pressing the attack with words alone.
"You keep saying that, in your father's eyes, you are no different from a bastard, Tyrion Lannister. Yes—that pain is real. The resentment is real. In that, I sympathize with you."
"But—" his tone shifted, clean and merciless, "you have never truly experienced what it means to have nothing."
"You were born in Casterly Rock, wrapped in gold from the moment you opened your eyes. Every sip of wine you drank, every piece of silk you wore, every breath you took was steeped in power."
"You may refuse to admit it, but the respect and fear people show you have always come from the name Lannister."
"Deep down, you still believe yourself superior—to me, and to every soul in Flea Bottom."
"That belief is what allows you to trample on my sincerity, to treat me like a beggar who can be dismissed with a handful of copper coins."
"I didn't!" Tyrion shot back, raising his head in protest. "I just— I just—"
"You simply refuse to admit it," Odin cut him off calmly, spreading his hands as if stating the obvious.
"See how natural it is?"
"My father was a farmer, so I must remain a farmer. If I seek order, I'm arrogant. If I demand fair trade, it's insolence."
"And even the words known across the Seven Kingdoms—A Lannister always pays his debts—you were unwilling to honor."
"You're too narrow-minded, Lord Tyrion. In that respect, you're not even equal to your father."
"At least Tywin Lannister spent his life practicing what 'fair exchange' truly means."
The words lashed Tyrion like a whip, striking precisely where he least wanted to be exposed.
Yes—he was born a dwarf. He always had been.
And because of that, he craved pride more desperately than anyone else. He was more sensitive, more fragile than he ever allowed himself to appear.
His self-mockery, his constant drunkenness, his endless visits to brothels—none of it was indifference. It was camouflage for a deeply rooted inferiority.
That was why, when Shae had once whispered "my lion" to him, he had been utterly defenseless.
"I'm not here to listen to your lectures, Odin," Tyrion snapped, shame turning into anger. "Tell me—where is the owner of this necklace?"
He clenched the pearl necklace in his fist as if it were the last piece of driftwood keeping him afloat.
Seeing his twisted expression, Odin's lips curved into something almost like pity. He slowly returned to his chair, looking down at Tyrion once more.
"You see? You still instinctively question my character."
"You still assume that someone like me must be base and despicable."
He lifted his chin slightly, his voice gaining weight and authority.
"We are all hypocrites, rolling in the same mire of power."
"But unlike you—and unlike most of King's Landing—I do not use the humiliation of women as bargaining chips."
As the words fell, footsteps echoed from below.
A moment later, Bronn appeared at the top of the stairs, leather armor damp with morning dew, breathing lightly.
He glanced at Odin first, then bent down toward Tyrion and spoke in a low voice.
"Stockworth Castle. She's been sent back."
"I watched her go in myself. Safe and sound. No missing limbs."
Tyrion exhaled sharply.
The tension drained from his body so suddenly that he nearly staggered, taking a step back to steady himself.
He loosened his grip on the necklace. The pearl was slick with cold sweat.
This conversation had cost him more mental strength than any audience with Tywin ever had.
Once his breathing steadied, reason finally clawed its way back into place.
He raised his head and, for the first time, truly looked at Odin.
With a gesture, he sent Bronn aside. When he spoke again, the flippancy was gone—replaced by exhaustion and guarded caution.
"What do you want, Odin?"
"…Fairness."
Odin's answer was immediate and firm.
"And the gold that already belongs to me."
Yet Tyrion felt a fresh surge of irritation at Odin's calm, unshakable composure—an emotion he didn't yet recognize as jealousy.
Still, he restrained himself and attempted negotiation.
"The Iron Bank's envoys harass me daily. The treasury is an oyster scraped clean."
"I need time."
"Time?"
Odin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, then shook his head gently.
"No. You don't."
"By tomorrow at sunset, I want to see ten thousand gold dragons placed before me."
"Ten thousand?!"
Tyrion shot to his feet. "We agreed on half that!"
"That was yesterday's price," Odin replied evenly.
"I'm generous to friends. But those who storm my home with soldiers and try to clap irons on my wrists pay a different rate."
He inhaled slowly, his voice turning cold.
"Think carefully, Lord Tyrion."
"If the Hand of the King learns that his son has turned Flea Bottom into a private brothel…"
"I can't guarantee what happens next."
"After all, you were the Hand not long ago. Now you're Master of Coin."
"Next stop… the Night's Watch?" he added lightly.
The naked threat made Tyrion's teeth grind audibly.
He had no leverage. Tywin had warned him—no whores, not even one. And yet he had hidden Shae in the Red Keep for so long.
He hadn't forgotten Tysha.
"…Fine."
Tyrion clenched his fists and swallowed the loss, then forced himself to say, "Ten thousand gold dragons. But this ends here."
"Shae will never be disturbed again. This secret dies with you."
"Of course."
Odin finally smiled—calm, sincere.
"You have my word."
He picked up his knife, dismissing him without ceremony.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, my breakfast is getting cold."
Tyrion turned to leave—but Odin's voice followed him.
"Oh, one more thing."
He pointed casually at Bronn with the knife.
"Your friend caused me some minor trouble. I'll allow him a chance to redeem himself."
"But I don't want to see him in Flea Bottom again."
Bronn pinched his nose theatrically.
"Perfect. This place stinks anyway. I'd rather smell fish on Silk Street than stay here another minute."
---
Stockworth Castle
In a narrow underground chamber, Varys slid aside a hidden stone panel.
Tyrion squeezed through immediately.
"Shae!"
Under the dim lamplight, he saw the black-haired woman standing nervously in the corner and hurried toward her.
He gripped her shoulders, fear still burning in his eyes.
"Look at me!"
"That Odin—did he hurt you? Tell me. Where did he touch you?"
"Hurt me? Who? Lord Odin?"
Shae froze, confusion flickering across her face before she shook her head.
"He didn't hurt me. We… we only had dinner together."
"Dinner?!"
The moment she said that, Tyrion's voice shot up.
He knew perfectly well what it meant when a man and a woman dined alone.
"He didn't… do anything to you, did he? You and him… you…"
He wanted to ask, but didn't dare say it outright, his words dissolving into an awkward mumble.
That hesitation alone was enough to make Shae's expression change instantly.
Her large eyes, trained by long experience, filled with tears in the blink of an eye.
"You think I wanted that, Tyrion?!"
She slapped his hands away and took a step back, her voice trembling with sobs.
"You think I wanted to be alone with a strange man, in a place like that?"
"It was you who left me here—forced me to live as a lowly servant!"
"What's the difference between a servant and a whore? In the eyes of people like you, we never have the right to refuse!"
She cried openly now, shoulders shaking.
"I was so stupid—truly stupid. I never should have met you in the first place. If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't have come to King's Landing. And if I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have become a toy that no one ever truly trusts…"
Her sobbing accusations tore straight into Tyrion's heart.
Panic seized him. His usual composure and judgment collapsed in an instant, leaving behind nothing but a clumsy man trapped in love.
"No, Shae—no, that's not true!"
He rushed forward, trying to pull her back into his arms.
"I was just worried about you. That Odin—he's dangerous. I was afraid he—"
But as his arms closed around her, his gaze accidentally slid to her pale neck.
There, unmistakably, hung a necklace set with a black gemstone.
His body stiffened.
A flicker of doubt rose again.
"That necklace…"
Shae's heart skipped—but her reaction was instant.
She covered it with her hand at once.
"This… this was given to me by Lady Falyse. She saw how hard I worked caring for Lady Lollys and rewarded me…"
Then she turned on him, furious, pointing a trembling finger at his chest.
"You're still doubting me!"
"I knew it—I knew it! In your heart, I'll always just be that camp whore!"
"I'll leave King's Landing right now! I'll never appear before you again!"
She wrenched herself as if to break free, truly acting as though she meant to storm away.
"No! Shae—I love you!"
Tyrion clutched her tightly, refusing to let go no matter how she struggled.
"Don't you remember? I'm yours—and you're mine!"
Holding her warm body, he murmured endearments over and over, desperately reassuring himself:
She loves me. She was just frightened.
She wouldn't betray me.
I am her lion. I can protect her. I can give her everything.
Fortunately, Shae didn't push it too far. After a token struggle, she slowly relaxed in his arms.
They clung to each other for a moment of fragile intimacy.
Then Tyrion turned his head and caught sight of a gleaming bald crown appearing at the entrance to the hidden chamber.
It was this spider—this master of whispers—who, through his intimate knowledge of secret passages throughout the Red Keep and King's Landing, had made their meetings possible.
"You should have warned me sooner, Lord Varys."
Still shaken by the day's events, Tyrion couldn't help complaining.
"That man has an appointment decree personally signed by my father—Royal Chief Special Agent!"
Varys folded his plump hands together, his face arranged into a perfectly measured look of regret.
"My dear Lord Tyrion, I did warn you."
"Just last night, I told you that with the evidence we had, it would be impossible to have the Gold Cloaks arrest Odin."
"But you were rather… emotional at the time. I fear my words did not fully register."
Tyrion froze.
Then he remembered—vaguely—that Varys had indeed said something like that.
At the time, consumed by worry for Shae, he had brushed it aside without a second thought.
With a sigh, Tyrion shook his head. He didn't pursue the matter further, merely muttered an apology, then drew Shae back into his arms to savor this hard-won closeness.
What he failed to notice was this:
When he mentioned the title Royal Chief Special Agent, the woman resting against his chest suddenly lit up with a flash of unmistakable excitement in her eyes.
Soon, Tyrion and Shae disappeared deeper into the shadows of the chamber—what followed needed no explanation.
The entrance was left empty, with only Varys remaining.
Watching them go, he lowered his gaze, glanced briefly at his own groin, then pursed his lips.
Fingers rubbing together, he murmured softly, almost like a sigh:
"Before one hand has withdrawn… King's Landing welcomes another, lurking in the dark."
"The Hall of Order…"
"Will you turn this city into even greater chaos, like him?"
"Or will you bring order to the Seven Kingdoms?"
"…Odin."