Chapter 63: The Hand in the Dark
At the same time, within the Gold Cloaks' headquarters, inside the commander's office—
Swyft Rosby had already been standing there for nearly an hour.
His legs were aching badly.
Irritated, he shifted his weight again and swept his gaze over the office—a space so familiar it might as well have been his own.
The City Watch banner hung on the wall. In the corner stood Ser Addam Marbrand's armor rack. Everything was exactly as usual.
Everything except its owner.
He had been left waiting for far too long.
Earlier, Ralf had summoned a few top-tier girls from Silk Street, and Swyft had been enjoying himself thoroughly in Flea Bottom when Humphrey Waters abruptly dragged him back, claiming it was the commander's order.
And then—nothing.
No explanation. No summons. No one spoke to him.
Several colleagues had passed in and out during that time. Each time Swyft tried to stop them and ask what was going on, he received only evasive looks and hurried footsteps.
Worse still, he could swear that whenever someone passed the doorway, they whispered to one another—some even wearing knowing, meaningful smiles.
Swyft's instincts screamed danger.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
And if so… it could only be related to the people he'd arrested earlier that day.
But he had confirmed it repeatedly with Ralf—those men had no background whatsoever.
Damn it.
So what in the Seven Hells had gone wrong?!
Just as his mind twisted itself into knots, hurried footsteps sounded behind him.
The next moment, Ser Addam Marbrand strode in, crossed the room, and dropped into his chair.
"C-Commander!"
Swyft jolted upright at once, forcing his aching spine as straight as it would go.
Addam didn't even glance at him.
To Addam, Swyft might as well have been air.
His expression was dark—dangerously so.
Addam picked up a stack of documents and began flipping through them, the rustling of paper loud in the oppressive silence.
The atmosphere grew heavier with each second—far more suffocating than the long wait before.
Only when Swyft felt his calves on the verge of cramping did Addam finally look up.
"I hear you arrested some people today," Addam said flatly.
"Among them… someone named Odin."
There it was.
Swyft's heart lurched.
But he forced himself to stay calm.
"Yes, Commander."
"That man behaved suspiciously and had close ties to the wanted criminal Rorge. I believed him to be an escaped fugitive."
"A fugitive?"
Addam's eyes widened. "Then where is your evidence?"
Swyft swallowed hard and answered stubbornly,
"We hadn't yet conducted a full interrogation. Once we do, the evidence will naturally surface."
Silence.
Then—
"Idiot. Dogshit. You maggot-brain filled with filth."
Addam exploded.
He pointed at Swyft and unleashed a torrent of fury:
"Who do you think he is, that you plan to interrogate him?!"
"In your mind, does wearing that gold cloak mean you can arrest anyone you like? Question anyone you like?"
"No matter who they are, you drag them in first—then tell me, 'We'll find evidence after the interrogation'?!"
Swyft was hammered by the barrage, his vision swimming. Cold sweat soaked through his clothes.
"C-Commander… who exactly is that man—"
"Shut up!"
Addam snapped.
He snatched a document from the desk and slammed it into Swyft's chest.
Swyft looked down.
It was a transfer order.
"Effective tomorrow," Addam said coldly,
"you're assigned to Mud Gate night patrol."
"Without my explicit permission, you are not to set foot in headquarters again."
Mud Gate.
Night patrol.
The words drained the blood from Swyft's face.
That was one of the worst posts in the Gold Cloaks—dangerous, exhausting, and completely devoid of profit.
This wasn't punishment.
This was career execution.
"I object!"
Blood rushed to Swyft's head.
Addam was clearly using this as an excuse—trying to kick him out of Flea Bottom so he could monopolize that lucrative territory himself!
"I am the nephew of Lord Gyles Rosby—his closest living blood relative!"
"When he dies, I, Swyft Rosby, will be the next Lord of Rosby!"
He puffed out his chest, trying to crush Addam with pedigree:
"At the Battle of the Blackwater, my family defended the city! I personally bled on the city walls—these scars are still on my body!"
"Ser Addam Marbrand, you cannot discard a veteran of the siege and a future lord like refuse!"
"If you persist in abusing your authority and trampling law and fact, I will go directly to the Red Keep and appeal to the Master of Laws, Lord Kevan Lannister!"
Addam stared at him.
And felt nothing but fury.
This idiot—
Even now, he still dared threaten an appeal to a Lannister.
Did he truly not understand…
That the person he had offended—
was precisely a Lannister problem?
If not for the explicit instruction Tywin Lannister had given when Addam first assumed command—
"Maintain the current order of the City Watch. Stabilize the emotions of King's Landing's nobility."
—he wouldn't have spared a second thought for this brainless fool's fate.
"You—"
BANG!
Just as Addam was about to unleash another torrent of abuse, the office door was slammed open.
A Kingsguard knight stormed in, boots striking the stone floor like thunder. His white cloak billowed behind him, lifted high by the force of his stride.
"Jaime?"
Addam froze for a moment when he saw his friend return so abruptly. One look at the murderous intent on Jaime's face sent a chill through his spine.
"Weren't you accompanying Odin to see the Hand?" Addam asked.
Jaime didn't answer. His voice was cold as steel.
"How was it handled?"
Addam instinctively glanced at Swyft Rosby.
He was about to smooth things over. After all, he had already confirmed that Odin held no title whatsoever—no lands, no name, no rank. A commoner through and through.
To punish a noble too harshly for mistakenly arresting a commoner felt excessive, even to Addam.
"I've conducted a preliminary review," Addam began carefully.
"Captain Rosby did make errors, but the man named Rorge was indeed a wanted fugitive. Taking everything into account, I've decided to dem—"
"You are Swyft Rosby?"
Jaime cut him off mid-sentence.
His gaze snapped to Swyft, sharp and predatory.
Swyft shuddered.
In that instant, he understood.
This man—the Kingslayer—was Odin's backing.
Seven hells, how the fuck did a nobody end up tied to Jaime Lannister?
This world had truly gone mad.
Swyft barely had time to open his mouth—
CRACK!
Jaime's boot smashed into his lower abdomen.
A brutal, perfectly executed front kick.
Swyft screamed and flew backward, slamming into the floor. Cold sweat poured down his face as he struggled to look up.
"This is the City Watch!" he shouted hoarsely.
"Even a Kingsguard has no right to assault me! This violates the laws of the realm!"
Jaime ignored him completely.
He stepped forward, looming over Swyft like a lion over a wounded hyena.
"You said Odin was an escaped criminal."
"Where's the proof?"
His voice was calm—terrifyingly calm.
Swyft felt naked humiliation burn through him.
"Why should I— I defended the walls during the Blackwater—"
CRASH!
Another kick. This time to the face.
"Where. Is. The. Proof?"
The pain, the humiliation, the sheer arrogance—
Something snapped in Swyft's mind.
"The Gold Cloaks don't need proof to arrest people!"
The moment the words left his mouth—
Addam shut his eyes.
You fucking idiot.
Jaime laughed softly.
SHNK!
Valyrian steel slid free in a blur.
The blade punched through Swyft's throat.
His eyes bulged wide as both hands clawed desperately at his neck. Blood bubbled between his fingers. No matter how he struggled, the wound would not close.
The light drained from his eyes.
Swyft Rosby collapsed, dead.
"You were too impulsive, Jaime," Addam said quietly at last.
There was regret in his tone—but more relief.
He had wanted Swyft gone for a long time. Politics had stayed his hand. Jaime had simply done it for him.
"Now old Lord Gyles Rosby will whine at the Small Council for weeks," Addam added dryly.
"The Hand won't be pleased."
"Hmph."
Jaime sheathed his sword with a sharp, final motion.
"Send death compensation."
"You file the report. I'll have Uncle Kevan approve it."
With that, he turned and walked out, white cloak sweeping behind him like a blade of light.
Addam remained where he stood, staring first at the corpse on the floor, then at the empty doorway.
"Odin…" he murmured.
"What kind of man are you… to make Jaime Lannister go this far?"
---
Red Keep – The Hand's Tower
After Odin took his seat, Tywin wasted no time on pleasantries.
"My son is proud," Tywin said evenly.
"No—stubborn is more accurate. Like his sword. Difficult. Unyielding."
"For such words to come from him is… rare."
"You flatter me, my lord," Odin replied, inclining his head.
"I don't consider myself wiser than others. I simply observe, think, and notice details that are often overlooked."
"For someone of my birth, seizing every opportunity is necessary. That isn't wisdom—only survival instinct."
"Survival instinct?"
The phrase caught Tywin's interest.
"And yet," Tywin continued, eyes sharp,
"you don't seem to resent your origins. Many men blame blood and birth for their failures."
Odin smiled lightly.
"There are many things in life we cannot change, my lord. When I was younger, I raged at the unfairness—why a farmer's son must farm, a blacksmith's son must hammer steel, while nobles are born noble."
"But eventually I understood. Farmer, knight, king—everyone must accept reality."
"The difference is this: some accept it and sink… while others search for paths within the rules—and dare to test their limits."
Tywin leaned back slightly, genuine interest now visible.
"You are different from most who come seeking Lannister favor," he said.
"No flattery. No desperation. No crude loyalty."
"But no man risks so much for nothing. You escorted Jaime through war and chaos back to King's Landing. Surely not just for gold."
Odin straightened.
"Desire must be repaid with value, my lord."
"Value?"
Tywin gestured for him to continue.
"King's Landing operates under your laws. Governed by officials. Guarded by the Gold Cloaks. That is order—the world in sunlight."
"But every great city casts a shadow."
"The brighter the light, the darker the alleys beneath it."
"Chaos. Violence. Lawlessness."
"Like the recent riots."
Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly, but he allowed Odin to continue.
"Yes, the Gold Cloaks suppressed the riots," Odin said calmly.
"But suppression is not eradication."
"Force can stabilize the streets—but not cleanse the rot beneath them. Press too hard, and balance shatters."
"Like a balloon," he said, spreading his fingers.
"Push too hard, and—boom."
Tywin understood this all too well.
"So?" he prompted.
"So," Odin said evenly, meeting his gaze,
"order in the sunlight must be upheld by men like you."
"But order in the shadows requires… a different hand."
"You seek power?" Tywin scoffed.
"No."
Odin shook his head.
"You command armies, gold, nobles. You rule the light."
"But there are matters—people—tasks that cannot bear the Lannister name."
"You need stability, not a city of corpses."
Firelight danced in Odin's dark eyes as he smiled faintly.
"So you need someone to enforce your will where light cannot reach."
"A hand…"
"…in the dark."