2nd Month of 298 A.C. King's Landing
King Jonothor I Targaryen
The day he had waited most of his life for was finally here. His coronation day, oh he'd be crowned King as a babe, he knew that, but now, now he was going to be crowned King properly, and get the chance to exercise his own right to power. The crown he had chosen as a boy was to be placed on his head, the crown of King Maekar, the man he had looked up to as his hero, he hoped that he would be worthy of the crown. His whole life he had been raised to be King, and now that that was finally going to happen he felt a flurry of emotions run through him, happiness, nervousness, and most of all a sense of determination, a sense to do his grandfather proud. This was it, this was the moment he had waited his whole life for, and he was determined to make the most of it. He felt the flurry of excitement, the promise of what was to come, and he knew, deep down that it was going to be an event to remember.
Jonothor looked around him as he mounted his horse, the Seven Kingsguard were accompanying him, their cloaks white, their armour pristine and shining in the sunlight. His friends were also mounting their horses, Robb, his brother in all but name, Harwyn, the friend he had never thought to make, Arthur, the boy who was like a little brother to him, and then there was his uncle Viserys, who had returned from his travels, bringing with him many a tale. They were all dressed in their finest clothes, and looked a pretty sight, he had to admit. Then there were his grandparents, Lord and Lady Stark, who both looked absolutely magnificent in the grey and white of their house. Then there were the ladies, Daenerys was the leading Princess, looked a beautiful sight, but not more beautiful than Margaery, his betrothed who looked as if the sun itself would be jealous of her. He felt something stir inside of him as he looked at her, and winked when she looked at him, smiling at the blush that crept across her cheeks.
Once atop his horse, Jonothor took a quick look around, and then once he was happy that everyone was ready, he dug his spurs into his horse and began the journey to the Great Sept of Baelor. The gates of the Red Keep opened and they rode down Aegon's High Hill, all the while Jonothor kept his eyes peeled to the place in front of him, his grandfather had warned him about the potential dangers of the Poor Fellows and the death of the High Septon-that the faith had chosen someone so quickly was either a good thing, or a bad thing- and so he kept his attention fixed before him, determined not to be caught unawares. The Kingsguard, were also there, keeping an eye out for things, Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, kept his attention fixed on the surroundings as did Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, the rest of the guard were behind him keeping an eye on anything that might have been missed beforehand.
They come off the hill and arrive onto the streets of King's Landing, there are a lot of people on the roads, looking at him and his party. He loves King's Landing, it has always been his home, it always will, he knows that it smells slightly, but the smell just reminds him of home. Onward they ride, the people watching, some in stunned awe, others talking and cheering as they move through the streets. So far there does not seem to be any sign of danger appearing, he keeps his eyes focused ahead of him, aware of the conversations being had around him, but not really wanting to take part in any of them, determined to soak in everything that happens around him. He has waited for so long for this moment, ever since he was old enough to understand the title he had been given, he wanted this to happen, and so onward they ride.
More and more people are coming out to see him, Jonothor knows that they are there for him, that he is the main attraction of this procession, and that fills him with a sense of pride, and causes him to puff his chest out a bit more, to show them all that yes, he is the King, he is their King. Onward, they ride, through the streets, which look cleaner than they might otherwise do, something he is sure his grandfather insisted had to happen. Onward they go, through the streets, passing through hordes of people, more and more of them standing and staring and cheering, that they cheer for him makes him feel somewhat at ease, there had been a coil of tension within him as they had moved closer and closer to the day of his coronation, something he had not really been able to explain. Now that the day has come, he finds himself feeling more relaxed, he knows what will happen and how to make it happen.
As they come to Visenya's Hill and the location of the Great Sept of Baelor, Jonothor feels something akin to awe come over him, at the sight of the sept before him. A large towering structure of white and silver, it glows in the sun, a reminder of the Targaryen promise to protect the faith, and a demonstration of just how powerful the family has been and will always be. He stops his horse at the entrance to the sept and dismounts, the Kingsguard and the rest of his guests doing the same. He walks forward, the Kingsguard shadowing him, and he stops before the man wearing plain white robes, the new High Septon. "Your Holiness." He says.
The man bows his head. "Your Grace. Come, let us begin." With that the man walks into the Sept, and Jonothor follows, his heart thumping in his chest.
Jonothor walks behind the High Septon, feeling some slight irritation at having to do so, but knowing it is only for this moment, and soon enough they arrive at the throne in the middle of the Great Sept, the throne where every King since Baelor the First had been crowned King. He sits down on the throne, looking around him as his Kingsguard take position in front of the throne, and the rest of the procession stand in the aisles. The High Septon speaks. "We are here for a most momentous occasion. The crowning of our King, His Majesty, King Jonothor Targaryen." The man pauses and turns to look at him. "King Jonothor, are you ready to say your oaths?"
Jonothor nods, he has not been so ready for anything else in his life. "I am." He responds.
"Then say your oaths Your Grace." The High Septon says, a strange lilt to his voice.
Jonothor swallows, looks around, sees the smiles on his grandparents faces and speaks with confidence. "I, Jonothor, of the House Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Lyanna, do hereby swear before the Gods, Old and New, that I shall take on my duties with confidence, with clarity, and will always do my best to uphold the laws of the Kingdoms to which I rule. I shall always try to rule fairly and justly, and will put the interests of The Kingdoms before my own. I am the Sword that Guards the Realm of Men, I am the Shield that Defends the Realm of Men, and I am the Man who shall lead Westeros into a new age of peace and prosperity. This I swear Before the Old Gods and the New."
There is a hushed silence as the words sink in, as everyone hears the new oath he has sworn, a change to the oaths of old. Then the High Septon speaks. Looking to the gathered crowd. "We have heard the oaths of the King. Let us now welcome him into the pantheon of the Kings." The man takes Maekar's crown from a follower, and Jonothor watches him move with the crown, his heart hammering in his chest, and then the crown is placed atop his head. The High Septon's words echo around the room. "The King is crowned. Long Live the King!"
"Long Live the King!" comes the answering roar from those gathered below.
The High Septon stands back, and Jonothor stands up, feeling the weight of the crown atop his head, it is a nice weight, a nice feeling to it. He looks at the gathered lords and ladies below, nods to them, and then walks to the entrance of the Sept, the Kingsguard following him. He walks out and stands on the steps, soaking in the roar of the crowd gathered to watch him, soaking up the adulation that is all for him. He smiles, as he looks into the crowd and sees the people looking at him with love and adulation. He stands there, looking at everyone and everything, soaking it all up, knowing that this is something he will always remember. His Kingsguard stand guard over him now, and his grandfather and grandmother come to his side. He looks at them both and smiles. "You look very handsome Your Grace." His grandmother says.
"Thank you, grandmother." Jonothor replies, unable to keep the wide grin that settles on his face.
"You did very well in there, Your Grace." His grandfather says, and that fills Jonothor with pride.
"Thank you, grandfather." Jonothor responds, and they fall into a comfortable silence then, merely standing there watching the people, waving to them and occasionally speaking to one another, about various things, there will be a feast now, and Jonothor wonders if he might get to have Margaery alone to himself.
Eventually, their horses are brought to them, and Jonothor and his procession mount up and begin the journey back to the Red Keep. The people roar out their approval, their pleading for blessings, something that Jonothor finds quite interesting, and flattering if he is being honest with himself. They are just about coming to Aegon's High Hill, when a man appears standing before Jonothor's horse. "You have sealed our doom false King. The Seven have come to wreak their judgement on you!" the man screams.
"Get out of the way." Ser Gerold bellows.
"You have done nothing but corrupt us all, you shall fall." The man screams, clearly demented.
"Get out of the way, or be moved out of the way." Ser Gerold bellows in response.
Another man appears. "You shall not move us, come and kill us, false King."
Jonothor looks at Ser Gerold, and then at his grandfather who is at his side. His grandfather merely nods, and so Jonothor takes a deep breath and rides onward, his sword nearly drawn when the two men move out of the way at the last moment, their actions, causing the crowd to grow restless, there are shouts of this and that, there are other words exchanged, and before he knows it, Jonothor and his party are riding hard back to the Red Keep. As they get to the top of the hill, Jonothor turns to his grandfather and asks. "What happened there? Who were those people?"
His grandfather sighs. "Poor Fellows, no doubt wanting to cause trouble."
Jonothor looks at his grandfather, and then at everyone coming into the Red Keep, he sees Daenerys, he sees Viserys, Margaery, Robb, all those he cares about are, there but then someone rides in covered in blood and looking worse for wear, a man named Gunthor he thinks. "What is happening out there?" he asks.
"The Poor Fellows are coming here, and they've brought knights with them." the man responds.
"What?! Why?" Jonothor exclaims.
"The end of days." The man responds before he slumps to the ground.