He'd done it. He'd finally done it.

After decades of serving that belligerent oaf, your father finally, finally held the crowd in his hands, the king's corpse lying in a stone coffin nearby.

You personally never understood why your father wanted to be king so badly- you and your mother liked him how he already was, and you just assumed his obsession with the crown was just one of his quirks. You didn't mind since he was always a great father to you.

"I've done...we've done it, my little angel..." He whispers, kneeling down to meet your eyes.