An Army Successfully Sacks a City , But Before the New King Assumes the Throne , he is Killed by an Unexpected Adversary

`` Thrilling victory, your grace.'' 
 
 `` You have done the Gods proud, your majesty.'' 
 
 As if the praise of the commoners meant anything to him. He was the king now. The old ruler had been slain already, guilty of high treason, in the courtyard in front of the palace in front of his wailing subjects. No, a king should not be given praise. If a king wants something, he should take it. He had wanted the throne, and he had taken it through fire and through blood. It was no clean victory, that much could certainly be said. His ships sat in the harbour and his men in front of the gates, and they simply waited until the city ran out of food. 
 
 The good king had learned long ago that a monarch, no matter the sway he has over his subjects in time of peace, could never preside over a hungry people. The citizens stormed the gates for him, throngs of them slain by the guards sworn to protect them. And then the good king and his endless army of loyal men simply strolled through the abandoned gates, cutting down any soldiers with allegiances to the king still intact. His men raped and took who and what they pleased. They had fought valiantly for many months. 
 
 The good king would never forget the look on the face of the fallen ruler as he begged mercy for his children, as he kneeled on the floor of his own throne room, not until the day he died. Some men just have no honor, he thought, as he dragged him out on the the balcony and in one clean swing, relieved his shoulders of the weight of his head. 
 
 Him and his high counsel walked through the grand halls of the massive fortress by the sea, listening to men and women grovel and kiss his ass in hope that he would n't forget them when it was their turn for his god to judge them. Some men have no honour. 
 
 He pushed open the doors to the throne room that he had lain waste to. The Kings children lay across the floor, all dead, the queen lay at the steps to the throne. She would be displayed on a spike in front of the city soon. This kingdom was built by fire, and seized once by fire, but it now fell to hunger. The good king took a deep breath before walking forth to his rightful throne. He gazed upon this treasure he had held so dear. 
 
 `` The bards will sing of this moment, men.'' 
 
 He heard movement behind him. He heard his men shouting, but he was n't listening. His entire life had lead to this moment. He truly would never forget the look on the fallen ruler ’ s face. The knife slid cleanly in to his back. The good king turned to see the last face he ever would. 
 
 “ Oh God. I ’ ve been killed by a queen. ” 
 
 “ Not a king, Stannis Baratheon, a Khaleesi. ” 

