The Great Hall of the Red Keep

"As you wish"

Said Daemon.

"But the city be damned, this cesspool could burn to cinders for all I care"

They shouldn't even be here in the first place, but the Dornish ambition was always as boundless as their apetite for live and vengeance. Sand himself had hated the city since the death of Oberyn few years prior.

"Come with me, I'll take you to her"

"Hail His Grace Stannis, King of all Seven Kingdoms and chosen of the Lord of Light!" Justin added his cheer to the din, his own sword raised high in acclamation. The blood spattered across his surcoat, little of it his own, was starting to dry, and from his lowered hand hung his shield - dented and scored by enemy blows as it was, distorting the triskelion of his house almost beyond recognition.

When they reached the gates they already were laid open to Baratheon and men poured inside the keep. However, they made way for Lord Snow and his men, galloping through the gatehouse following an eerie bird. Jon unmounted in the courtyard, the bird teasing him perched from a gargoyle, again tilting its dark feathered head.

"Snow, Snow, Snow!"

The crow flapped its wings and quickly disappeared from behind Maegor's Holdfast, its shape lost in the setting sun. Jon kept staring at some point before himself, pensive.

"My Lord"

Said Ser Ryswell. The Northmen had learned to respect their liege and now all of them treated Snow like Ned's true son and not just a bastard of Winterfell.

"The king has arrived"

Jon looked back at Rodrik's eldest as he wasn't there but in a moment a light returned to his eyes, realizing where he was. Somehow he smelled something, a thick scent of blue roses, but it was faint and lasted a heartbeat. His mind tried to focus on the fleeting moment. Blood and roses. But it was soon goon and left an uncertain taste on his mouth.

"Aye, aye. Let's go. Stannis is no man to be left waiting"

He removed the wolven-shaped bascinet, placing it under his arm and he and a score of Northern lords and wildlings crossed the threshold into the Great Hall, where the throne towered like an old malignant beast, twisted and shaped by an ill-will. Snow approached the dreaded throne, the armor dented by axe and spear and sword, the plain black surcoat slashed and ruined and the armor, plain good steel, stained by blood and worse. He, however, was unharmed.

"Hail! King Stannis!"

Cried out Snow, bowing his upper body to the man sitting on the chair of Aegon the Conqueror. The Northmen did the same, without much ado.

---

Davos had made his way into the keep from the Mud Gate, once it fell, making sure the men didn't get unrule and lashed out on the populace and smallfolk, which were more Seaworth's kin than any of the noblemen now standing before him and Stannis in the Great Hall. Maybe some of the sour, scared faces he had glanced from the open windows as he droved by could have been his uncles, his nieces, his cousins for all he knew, a man born in a gutter, with no knowledge of whom he was son of. Yet, there he stood, in good leather and wool, with a silvery hand on his chest, standing next to a man whose lineage traced back to the age of the Gods. It was a weird thing, that he felt, and in a heartbeat he had the urge to reach for the fingertips that had been lost in the Blackwater so long ago. Finally he would be able to see his lads, Stannis and Steffon both, and his sweet Marya.

With the usurper unseated and his throne recovered, the King’s mind was already directed towards the matter at hand - the realm was broken, and needed to heal if they were to survive the coming storm. For while this war was over, a trueborn Targaryen still stirred in the east, and the demons of snow and ice were surely preparing to enter the world of men in the frozen north. As the Lord of Light had promised, he was seated on his throne and could now fulfil his rightful destiny.

”My Lords.”

The King began, not moving from the throne.

”We have been at war for many long years, and now we must set the realm to rights, to recover the damage done by years of misrule. Those who did their duty and fought for me may sheath their blades soon, but while the war is done there is much left to do if the realm is to survive.”

Stannis gripped at the armrests of the Iron Throne. Even in an hour of triumph, the King’s voice was mechanical and monotonous.

”But let it not be said that I do not recognise loyalty and those who do their duty. I thus name Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Lester Morrigen, Ser Justin Massey and Lord Arryn to my Small Council, to aid me and my Hand in governing the realm.”

Davos would surely aid the king in organising the full list of honours later, but for now the King was meteing out his judgement.

”There is much to be done. Storm’s End still lies in the hands of a pirate and Cersei’s bastard son. I charge Lord Morrigen and Lord Arryn with bringing the Stormlands and Dorne back into the King’s Peace and to bring me this pirate‘s head for his treason.”

Stannis shifted his gaze over to the Rivermen and Northmen.

“Once the Reach has surrendered, the rest of you will put down your arms and return home. Winter is here, and the people will starve if we are not diligent.”

At some point, the doors to the Great Hall open as the High Sparrow comes forth, escorted by two members of the Warrior's Sons. The two knights carried the banners of the Faith Militant, their own, and the Poor Fellows. The zealot, who had once ruled the streets under the unstable reign of Cersei and her brood, was now much more quiet. Stannis Baratheon was victorious and there was little to do with tens of thousands of his men in the city. These weren't the flowery soldiers of Mace Tyrell, but battle hardened veterans. Some of whom had survived the Battle on the Blackwater and endured the trials of the North. The knights present laid their banners down upon the ground as they knelt before the King. The High Septon bowing his head.

Hail, the victorious King.

The old sparrow stated before his eyes noticed the Red Woman with him. The presence of this foreign god made the hairs, on his back, stand up.

”High Septon.”

Greeted Stannis, firm and rigid as old iron. Melisandre stood imperiously at his side, gazing at the Sparrow with burning ruby eyes. The King was still in his bloodied armour, his red sword resting by the steps of the throne.

”I require the fealty of the Faith, as well as the Faith Militant to lay down their arms and disband. Tommen Waters was a bastard usurper born of incest, and as such all his decrees are null and void, including that which allowed for the reformation of the Faith Militant.”

The King stated, simply. Though many of his followers had converted to the Lord of Light, many more still followed the Seven. Stannis saw the value in keeping those subjects who worshipped the Seven appeased even as he himself held to the worship of a different God.