Chapter Text
After the death of Jon Arryn, King Robert came to a small council meeting for the first time in what must have been months, he had nearly forgotten how uncomfortable the chairs were.He looked at the members of the council, and with a sigh, began to speak.
"Right, with Jon gone, Gods rest his soul, we'll need to appoint a new hand so i don't have to waste my time making my arse sore from these fucking chairs. How they made them worse than the damned Iron Throne I will never know."
Varys, with a small smile replied:"Rumors say they were made that way to limit the length of the meetings your grace."
"As worthy a cause as I've ever heard of."
The Master of Coin leaned back in his chair with that smug little smile that always made Robert's fist itch. "Indeed Your Grace, we all have, more...enjoyable things to do. But to the matter at hand, as it were, I'm sure we all have a few recommendations for such an important task."
The slimy little cooper-counting prick, Gods, if the man wasn't so good with his numbers, he'd have sent him to the Wall years ago. Hells, he would have gone with him just for the privilege of seeing his weaselly little face as he chipped away at frozen horseshit in the stables of Castle Black. Seeing Ned again on the trip would have been a nice bonus too. And speaking of Ned.
"Keep your recommendations to yourselves, I've made my choice already. There is only one man I would trust as my hand now that Jon passed away."
The members of the small council leaned in at first, curious to hear the King's decision, until they realized the obvious and, as one, froze solid. Barristan Selmy, more familiar with danger than the others, calmed himself as he did before a battle.
"What is your decision Your Grace?" He asked in a clear and steady voice.
"Eddard Stark shall be Hand of the King!"