The chamber of the Small Council was thick with heat and silence.
Not the heat of summer—
But the kind that came before a storm.
At the head of the table sat Robert Baratheon.
Broad.
Restless.
A king who looked more at home on a battlefield than upon a chair of carved wood.
Around him, the realm's quiet powers gathered.
Varys, soft-voiced and watchful.
Grand Maester Pycelle, stooped but listening.
Petyr Baelish, smiling as though everything amused him.
Renly Baratheon, relaxed but attentive.
And beside the king—
Cersei Lannister, golden and burning with quiet fury.
Jon Arryn's chair stood empty.
And that absence—
Spoke louder than any voice.
Baelish broke the silence first.
Of course he did.
"Your Grace," he said lightly, fingers dancing along the table's edge, "the realm cannot function without a Hand."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"The Small Council feels… incomplete."
Robert slammed his hand against the table.
"I know that!"
The roar filled the chamber.
"I don't need reminding every breath!"
Silence returned.
Tense.
Measured.
Cersei leaned forward.
"Then appoint one."
Her voice was smooth.
Controlled.
"My father."
A pause.
"Tywin Lannister served as Hand before. He ruled the realm effectively."
Her eyes held Robert's.
"He is experienced."
Pycelle nodded immediately.
"Indeed, Your Grace. Lord Tywin is most capable."
Robert snorted.
"Capable?"
He leaned back heavily in his chair.
"Every chair in this room is already half a Lannister."
His gaze hardened.
"You want me to give him the rest?"
Cersei's eyes flashed.
"This is not about pride."
Robert barked a laugh.
"It's always about pride with your family."
Renly shifted slightly, watching the exchange with quiet interest.
Varys said nothing, but his eyes moved carefully between them.
Cersei's voice sharpened.
"You need strength."
Robert leaned forward.
"I need balance."
The words landed harder than his earlier anger.
"I won't have this council turned into your father's court."
Cersei's hands tightened.
Her jaw set.
"Then who?" she demanded.
Robert did not hesitate.
"Eddard Stark."
The name struck the room like a blade drawn in silence.
Even Baelish's smile faltered—for a moment.
"Lord Stark?" Renly said, surprised.
Cersei stared.
"The North?" she said, disbelief sharp in her voice.
"That cold, miserable place full of… savages?"
Robert's expression darkened.
"They're better men than most here."
The insult lingered.
Unanswered.
"I trust Ned Stark," Robert continued.
A pause.
"He's honest."
A faint, bitter edge entered his voice.
"Which is more than I can say for half the realm."
Baelish's smile returned.
Softer.
Sharper.
"Honesty," he murmured, "is a rare coin."
Varys inclined his head slightly.
"But sometimes, Your Grace… it is the most valuable."
Cersei rose slightly from her seat.
"You cannot be serious."
Robert stood.
The chair scraped loudly behind him.
"I am."
He looked at her directly.
"I will go north myself."
A pause.
"I will bring him here."
Cersei's voice dropped.
Cold.
"I will not go to the North."
Robert shrugged.
"Then stay."
The dismissal stung more than anger.
"He will be my Hand," Robert said.
Not loudly.
But final.
No debate.
No compromise.
Decision.
The room fell silent again.
But this time—
It was different.
Because something had shifted.
Baelish leaned back slightly, his mind already moving ahead.
Varys watched, quiet as ever, measuring consequences.
Renly smiled faintly, intrigued by what would follow.
And Cersei—
Sat back slowly.
Her eyes burned.
Because this—
Was not just a choice.
It was a threat.
To her.
To her family.
To everything she intended to control.
Far away, in the North—
Eddard Stark did not yet know what was coming.
[Sorry small chapter but I am very busy but today daily one chapter]