Chapter 161: The Hand’s Successor

No matter how effective Might was, one should never overindulge! Even with Wright's own physique, as strong as an ox, two bottles left his legs weak the next day—let alone a man in his seventies.

However, judging from Lyn Corbray's tone, everyone acknowledged the potency of Might. They all knew overuse was dangerous, but no one considered it a poison.

Wright forced an awkward smile. "I see. No wonder they're keeping it quiet. Has the Hand's wife, Lysa Tully, mentioned when the funeral will take place?"

Lyn Corbray: "Yesterday was Lord Renly's wedding, and today was supposed to be the opening of the tourney. But with the Hand's death, everyone assumes it will be postponed. We're all waiting for His Grace to wake up and decide."

Wright dispelled the Silence spell, and the two of them stepped out of the corridor.

"The Hand served diligently for over a decade. He died in service to the realm, and he deserves proper honors. I should go change—once the king wakes up, he'll surely summon a council. And it's hardly appropriate for me to show up missing a shoe."

Lyn Corbray glanced down at Wright's bare foot, now filthy and caked in mud. "I bid you farewell, Lord Wright."

They parted ways, and Wright, avoiding attention, slipped into a secret passage. He had lost one shoe and disliked wearing someone else's, so he decided to use the Red Keep's tunnels to exit directly by the Blackwater Rush and return to the magic academy.

The passage was dark and narrow, with staircases leading into sharp turns, turns leading into more stairs—a constant descent and ascent, weaving through the castle's walls and floors.

Suddenly, he noticed a flickering candlelight at the entrance of a staircase—someone else had entered the passage, heading straight for Maegor's Holdfast, where the king's chambers were.

A faint red glow shimmered around Wright as he activated Life Detection Magic. The intruder was alone, running swiftly, and seemed quite familiar with the tunnels.

Wright stopped and waited to see who it was, unafraid of resistance. Even if he let them use both hands and feet, he could still kill them with ease.

The footsteps grew louder—each step was heavy. Whoever it was, they were a big man.

As they rounded a corner, they came face to face.

"Robert?!"

Robert was dressed in all black, holding a candle. He hadn't noticed Wright and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden shout.

Wright cast a Light spell, illuminating the passage. Robert finally got a good look at him.

"Wright?! Gods, you scared the life out of me! What are you doing in the tunnels?"

Wright lifted his foot. "Got drunk last night, woke up missing a shoe. Figured I'd use the tunnels to slip out of the Red Keep straight to the Blackwater so I can get back to the academy."

Robert glanced at Wright's bare foot and righteously declared, "You're a Lord now—you should take better care of your image."

Wright raised an eyebrow. "And what about you? Why are you sneaking in from outside the castle?"

Robert's mouth twitched as if suppressing a laugh, then awkwardly forced a cough. "Ah—erm, had some… business to attend to outside."

Wright noticed the faint red lipstick mark on Robert's face that he hadn't quite wiped off. No explanation was needed.

Queen Doris Rowan had just given birth to a daughter and was still recovering—so, of course, Robert was up to his old ways again.

Wright: "Alright, I'll be off then. You should hurry back too."

As they passed each other, Wright suddenly turned back. "Oh, almost forgot—Jon Arryn died last night."

"What?!"

Robert roared in shock. His foster father had been drinking just fine last night! But he quickly calmed down.

"Eddard Stark and I spoke about it. He had been wasting away these past months—we all feared he didn't have much time left. I just didn't think it would happen so soon… sigh!"

It seemed that everyone had already prepared themselves mentally. Wright decided to offer a bit of comfort. "You should take care of yourself too."

"Thanks. But—was Jon Arryn really sick?" Robert asked, his voice heavy with emotion.

Wright: "No. He wasn't sick. He drank three bottles of Might, overexerted himself, and died a happy man."

"What?!"

Robert felt a sudden clench between his legs. How many bottles had he drunk yesterday?

---

By the time Wright had changed into fresh clothes and returned to the Red Keep, the Small Council meeting had officially begun.

Everyone was already aware—Jon Arryn had died the previous night. Some knew the exact cause, while others did not.

After discussion, the council decided that, given Jon's status as both Hand of the King and a high lord, his funeral would be held at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing. After the ceremony, his remains would be transported to the Eyrie, where he would be laid to rest in the Arryn family crypt.

With the funeral arrangements settled, Varys, the Spider and Master of Whisperers, spoke up:

"The Hand of the King is dead. That means we must choose a new one—someone capable, someone exceptional."

Robert's first thought was Eddard Stark. His old friend was already in King's Landing.

But the light from the candles glinted off Varys' smooth, bald head as he continued, "I nominate Wright Baratheon as the new Hand of the King!"

At the long, rectangular council table, Robert sat at the head, with four officials on each side. Wright, seated second to his right, suddenly found every pair of eyes in the room fixed on him.

"Agreed! You won't find a more competent choice in all Seven Kingdoms." The first to speak was the Master of Laws, Renly Baratheon."I second it!" said Mace Tyrell, the Master of Coin. Wright was only twenty-one—if he became Hand, he could serve for decades. Highgarden had long conducted business with Storm's End, and with Wright in power, their wealth could multiply tenfold."Agreed!" Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships, declared. Thanks to Wright, he had earned the title of Gambling King—and even dragons acknowledged it!"I support the nomination," said Grand Maester Pycelle. Wright's ties with the Citadel were excellent. He had been granted the honorary title of Archmaester, and under his patronage, the Citadel had flourished. He had even requested a large number of scholars to be stationed in the Stepstones."I approve!" said Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Wright was an extraordinary warrior, a MAGE, and a dragonrider. With him as Hand, the king's safety—and that of King's Landing—would be assured. As for his reputation? In Essos, he was infamous. But in Westeros, he was a dragonlord, a hero.

The Small Council had eight members, plus the king, making for nine votes in total. With the Hand's seat vacant, eight votes remained.

Varys had already cast one vote in favor. Five more members had voiced their support—six votes in total. Wright's appointment as Hand was nearly certain.

Now, only Robert's final approval remained. All that was left was for Wright to accept.

Robert, listening to the overwhelming support, realized Wright was indeed the best choice. The entire room now wore expectant smiles, waiting for Wright to say a few modest words before accepting the badge of office.

Wright: "How do I have time to be Hand of the King?"

Silence.

Wright slowly elaborated, "Tyrosh is in ruins, and the islands of the Stepstones are little more than barren rocks. I barely have time to manage my own lands—how could I possibly take on the responsibilities of Hand? Do you know what the other lords have been calling me? The Lord of Ruins!"

Soft chuckles spread around the room.

Then came outright laughter.

With the war's end, noble lords from across Westeros had gathered in King's Landing, and the titles Lord of Ruins and Prince of the Stepstones had spread widely. The latter wasn't exactly flattering, but Wright had embraced the former.

Robert idly twirled the Hand of the King's badge in his fingers and grinned at Wright. "Then what about after you're done?"