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“Your Majesty,” he answered with a bow, setting aside his own issues for at least the moment. Joffrey was still his king, and deserved the respect due.
“Selmy, I want you to —, ” h is king was cut off by an arrow to the throat as armed men swept into the ramshackle tent.
“Ser Barristan?” one asked.
“Yes.” They would want him dead, no doubt, and so he would die with dignity.
“The King wants to see you.”
“You killed the King,” he snapped back.
“Our King. King Arya,” one of the men clarified. He wore the Stark direwolf, black on white.