[LOG]Coronation

(20:14) [#] Trumpets heralded the arrival of the procession through the town. The villagers parted to make way for the new Royal family, the generals, contingents from the county houses, and more than a few millitary men. Banners were flown as the train made it's way through the main road and looped around, back toward the castle. Loud cheers and hoots rose from all around, grumbles echoed beneath the din, and a select few villagers had to be carted off by gaurds as they attempted to throw foodstuffs or even live poultry at the procession.

(20:14) [#] The party made their way, safely, to the castle and were lead into the throneroom where the crowd had gathered. Bright banners were draped on the walls in Valenti blue. Flowers and other lavish decorations lined the room. Trumpets sounded. First to enter were the Royal Guard who briskly took their stations along the aisles. Then the Generals and County Contingents were led in. Each county and General called out by name and title as they entered and seated themselves. "ALL RISE." The herald announced to silence the crowd followed by a trumpet's blare, "For Lady Garnett Valenti and Lady Saeryll Valenti."

(20:18) Garnett proceeded into the throne room at a stately pace, the tiny Princess' hand clasped in her own. Though her heart was in her throat, that pale chin lifted high, her freckled face was composed for the day's affairs. Pins and sweet oils held her stubborn red curls in place, the ornate coif glittering with carefully placed sapphires and onyx. The colours carried through in her gown, the high collar of her Valenti blue gown brushing her cheeks. It opened downward to a modest expanse of chest while long tailored sleeves ended in fitted gloves. Black and silver embroidery highlighted the blue silk, black lace undergown peeking from beneath. The room seemed a dream as she swept through it to her place on the left, every person in it awaiting her son. Despite the ghosts of the castles, or perhaps because of them, as she faced the broad doors at the back, a proud irrepressible smile rose to her lips, jade eyes locked for first Tyltin and Maeryn's entrance, and then Drysllthen's.

(20:24) Mereavus had opted for green, for once, at least for the coronation. Herself and her husband had entered on Sarmagh's announcement, and she kept one arm looped through his apparently out of affection - the reality was that her spinal issues needed his help with all of the rising and sitting going on. Her smile was as unwipable as Garnett's, though deeply, deeply smug. They awaited Garnett's son. They also awaited her daughter. Green and emeralds in place of the usual rubies and burgundy, brief, sidelong glance passed to Samuel as the both of them rose in anticipation of the first stream of the Royal Family. Of their extended family. Twenty years ago she'd never have dreamed of this, but it was to be the crowning moment of her life; the crowning moment of one of her children.

(20:26) Cordelia Ysdale had, of course, dressed quite carefully for the illustrious event, that emerald and platinum number gleaming brightly on her finger. No gloves today, but a gown of palest blue chiffon detailed in silver thread with darker gems picking out the pattern. A translucent shrug wrapped 'round her shoulders, blond hair twisted into an effusion of curls that tumbled along the back of her head, precisely one falling on each side of her face to soften the effect. At the herald's call, she rose smoothly to her feet, expression just shy of smug at her position next to General Alexston, her dark eyes gleaming, fingertips coiled possessively about his bicep.

(20:26) Saeryll found her silvery eyes to be locked on anything that oved, really. The imposing sight of the guards, which generally made her want to run the opposite direction, filled her with excitement. Or as much as guards could to the toddler. What she was most excited of was the new gown. The fitting seemed endless but was well worth it. White with deep blue. Valenti blue. True, she didn't really understand any of it, but it made her feel like and adult to be treated like part of something much bigger than everyday activities. But she did understand what her father was becoming. She recognized many faces but few names and the number of people intimidated her and she tried to lean into her grandmother more.

(20:27) [#] When the women had found their seats, another blare of the trumpet rang out. "Lord Tyltin Valenti and Lady Maeryn Wenfrith."

(20:28) William Alexston was in attendance with the woman who had so recently become his fiancee, dressed in leather and steel that had been specially engraved with the Valenti signet beneath the breastplate. He offered Cordelia his arm when it came time to rise, eyes briefly running over her, and then moving off to his parents. Bizarre, that's what this was. And mildly uncomfortable. Although nowhere near as uncomfortable as the hose he was going to have to don for the masquerade. Yes, naturally, William's thoughts were rather more on the discomfort of gauze up his crack than the auspiciousness of such a grand day of such significance to his family and brother-that-was-not.

(20:33) Olyx Sgouros had been standing at full atention at the necessary distance. It had been a long while since had donned his battle armour, but at the lack of any suitable, properly formal garments, it was the most impressive attire he could pull of at the moment. He did not feel particularly uncomfortable- he had grown used to wearing all this weight for so long, it was not what bothered him. No, what bothered him was that it was damn hot in here, and cloth upon metal upon leather upon metal upon cloth hardly made his life easier. He was sweating, but he tried his best to manage it and remain at attention. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, while his left one held the heavy helmet under his armpit, the mail completely hiding his gauntleted hand as the plume swayed softly.

(20:34) Tyltin V had endured the parade as even-handedly as possible, offering a few scant smiles to the gathered throng. When properly ensconced within the castle he made sure Maeryn was never out of reach; a few shared comments helped keep him grounded, which in turn kept him from drawing his sword and cutting strangers to ribbons. Sadly his normal battle attire would be quite inappropriate for such an auspicious occasion, so when the crier called his name and he stepped into the throne room, he showed Nharati's new rulers his best Valenti blues. Glancing to his partner, he nodded in silent encouragement, fingers locked in a strong grip to keep the both of them from bolting. Quickly enough he marched over the rich blue rug and took his placeat the right-hand side of the still-to-arrive King.

(20:38) Maeryn wore the colors of Ygriss. A deep emerald dress clung to her thin frame, topped with her usual black peticoat. A bright strand of emeralds caught the light and sparkled at her throat. Her bright blonde locks were slicked, so they would behave, with sweet oils and swept up into a tumbling fountain of curls, several small deep emeralds dotted through her hair. The parade through the town had been frightening, but the small shared whispers between her and Tyltin had eased her enough to keep her from running, or screaming. A nervous blush lit her cheeks as she stepped into the room, hanging onto Tyltin's elbow and hand in a death-grip, with long white-gloved fingers. Tremors ran through her, but miraculously, she kept herself together and gave Tyltin a nod of equal encouragement of her own. Not a single stumble as she made her way down the carpet. A bright smile was pasted on her face, pale jades locked on her mother for a visual anchor as she made her way to her seat, which thankfully she had already clothed beforehand, and sat herself beside Tyltin.

(20:38) [#] When the pair found their seats, the trumpets sounded with much more flourish than before. Four, spread across the room, played in perfect sync, proud banners hanging from each sleek instrument. "Lord Drysllthen Valenti and Lady Roselyn Valenti."

(20:42) Drysllthen's broad shoulders filled the black fur mantle draped over them, beneath it a dark blue surcoat that put his usual garb to shame. Not only had it been embroidered with the Valenti crest in bold fashion across the chest, tiny replications of it edged the entire garment. Sapphire and onyx inlaid the crests, and the black silk shirt beneath it billowed over his arms, the cuffs tucked into high polished black and silver gauntlets. While his belt was a similiarly ostentatious display, the sword at his hip remained the knicked, unornamented weapon he'd had since youth. Not even for this day would he be rid of it, especially not this day. Knee breeches and tall, gleaming black boots completed the ensemble. Proud and determined, he marched into the throneroom with Roselyn on his arm, the Queen arrayed in no less finery than he was, her mahogany curls swept up and back to allow the placement of her circlet. Above the sweeping neckline of her blue silk that left her slim shoulders bare, an exquisite collar of sapphire and onyx framed in diamonds circled her throat. The gemstones glittered through the gown, detailed crests matching her husband's surcoat. Together, the regal pair progressed through the vaunted company to take their place at the head, sharp blue eyes lingering first on his mother. But then there was Saeryll, and the Alexston contingent, and Sgouros, and so many others, most of whom he recognized at least by sight. Many from the north and west, from Tyltin's territory, but they were all here today. Without hesitation, Drysllthen took the center position with Roselyn to his left with Garnett and Saeryll, Tyltin and Maeryn to his right, his expression solemn.

(20:44) Aksel Marillion was donned in a billowy black silk shirt with a high collar, two rows of silver circles that a leather cord laces through dotted down the center of his chest, and the design of two silver lines waltzing around each other in large circles that drew out the pattern down the puffy sleeve. His prosthetic of shining silver platemail with paldron, etched with masculine patterns gold and black, was strapped on with leather cords that ran under the shirt and out of view. A dark purple sash was tied to his waist with the ends hanging to the knee of one side of black trousers, a pair of fine leather riding boots finishing off his look. This was a bittersweet event for him and plenty on his mind. His expression as grim as ever, he still presented himself with dignity and honor; first and foremost was his show of allegiance to his new king. An allegiance he was putting his last bit of faith in.

(20:50) Garnett scarcely blinked as she held tight to Saeryll's hand, not wanting the child to escape in the midst of the ceremony, but beyond that, her eyes were glued to the entrances. A subtle warmth rose in her eyes at the sight of Tyltin and Maeryn, Garnett well aware how the day tried them both. When had Maeryn grown so? She looked more a woman that Garnett had ever imagined, and she gave a small approving nod as the lass took her place. All too soon and yet after what seemed hours, the call for Drysllthen came, and she could not help but stare, that freckled face holding much of his father, her eyes threatening with tears as they caught on the sword. A rare smile broke over her face, shoulders lifting slightly...mind whirling with disbelief.

(20:51) Stephen Juntric had joined with the others, and for once he ignored the crowd, those that he could not see on his right side. Dressed in his finest he was stable, his oldself and not what was rumored. He was cleanly shaven, hair pulled back tightly, his eyes followed the procession taking in something he thought he would never see. His heart could soar at least just a bit to see Nharati finally united.

(20:55) Nalani K losted in the crowd she was in awe of what she was witnessing. Her emerald eye's sparkled to see such majesty. She wore a yellow gown of silk and white lace, hair done up in swrils and curls. This would be an experince she would never forget, even if no one took notice of her she was there and part of a great event.

(20:55) Mereavus' eyes were focused on one thing, and one thing only; her daughter's face. Her gaze had stopped briefly at her hips. There, ascending to the throne of Nharati, was her daughter, and grandchild. A son, with luck. A son who might well be King after his father. Her hand tightened briefly around Samuel's bicep. No tears. No spring of emotion evident, though it was there. Nothing but smug written over her features, and why not. <u></u>The well-placed, destructive truths, the eradications, the temperence her son had so recently criticised. Would she feel better? Yes. Would her daughter be here? No. Without knowing it, it had all been for this, and as she'd said to Drysllthen, it made it all worth it. She didn't know that this would be one of the last images of her eldest daughter she'd ever see, nor that this would be the last time the public ever saw her or her husband. She'd not care if she did know. This was the end of her story.

(20:57) [#] The herald rose his voice once again. "Former Princess, Lady Quess Esdale will now pass the crowns, in Late Raegnold Esdale's stead."

(20:59) Quess, nervous but composed, moved between the large gathering. Representing the old guard in azure blue and silver, her house colors but also among her favorites; the former princess of Nharati was garnished in the extravagance of the swelled skirt of the ballroom gown. Extensive floral patterens of two tones of lighter blues danced throughout the lower half of the skirt, twists of large bows hung on each hip that would introduce the shape of her youthful frame and the return of the pattern over her abdomen. The top edge of her dress cuffed into a framing ring that dipped modestly, hanging just off her shoulders, was likewise enhanced by the whisps of nearly butterfly-like non-existent flowers. Her neck was further enhanced by her mother's array of silver and blue topaz and diamonds, a simple design but no less impressive. This matched the topaz encrusted circlet that helped bind her braided hair, leaving only two sets of curls to dangle beside her temples and to her neck. Lastly, tight matching gloves met to her elbows, the signant and royal rings of her former station adorning the slender fingers. She looked anything but uncomfortable, with an air of regality that would suggest that she was more than happy to be a part of the whole affair. Four stewards dressed in handsome blues and silvers of their own stood evenly on either flank, each holding tassled pillows occupied by crowns of the highest ranks.

(21:05) Olyx Sgouros had been watching the whole procession intently. Even though he didn't give a rat's ass for the whole proceedings in and unto themselves, what they meant was more important than what they appeared. They finally had a King to rule them- they finally had authority. The civil war might still be raging, but it was no longer at the extent he had known throughout all his years of campaigning. The realization that it was the beginning of the end made his stomach lurch- he had not really been used to living in peace. But he was plagued, right now, by more pressing, if mundane, matters- his perspiration had built up to an extremely uncomfortable degree, so his gaze darted around, and when he made sure no eyes were upon him, his right hand brushed against his sweaty brow, the soft leather on the inside of the gauntlets absorbing a fair amount and relieving him temporarily of his source of irritation.

(21:06) Saeryll wouldn't dare run off from her grandmother. Maybe Greer, but never Garnett. Others kept filing in: her aunt Maeryn and Tyltin, other people of importance, and finally her father and Mama Roselyn. She repressed the urge to call out to him and run up and sit with him, since it was quite obvious how formal this affair was and she really did not want to get reprimanded on such a day. Roselyn looked so pretty; blue was a good colour for her. Everyone looked pretty and she had no desire ot wipe off the large smile from her face. Sitting with her grandmother, she watched the Quess enter, looking magnificant in her gown. But then she locked onto the crowns and stared, transfixed at the accessories which represented the power of the family.

(21:07) Drysllthen stood impassive as the herald's voice rang out, his eyes gliding over the room until they came to a stop on the former Princess approaching him. As he took a single step forward, Roselyn's fingers slipped from his arm, Drysllthen offering them a small squeeze before he went smootly down on one knee before Quess, scarcely a flutter of even recognition on his freckled face. Formality reigned to day, it seemed, his red head lifted to unobtrusively observe the crowd as Quess approached with the obviously Valenti crowns. His focus seemed rather seriously on her as he waited before Quess, one gauntleted hand upon his knee, the other at his side.

(21:11) Quess was in her element. She had no words to blunder with, merely the simple symbolic actions to contend with, the showpiece to represent her father for one last time. Though... she was still discovering the need to force herself to continue breathing, the reality of it all not lost on her. Regardless of her composure, the certain unique smile in her eyes would tell enough if only to him, even as the countenance remained no more than rosey-cheeked pleasance. She lighted the king's crown into her fingers as if something not meant to be soiled by her touch, ever so vigilantly careful in her hold as timed steps brought her before the knelt Drysllthen. She angled to softly place the crown straightly on his head, mouthing the wordless "M'liege" as she stepped back from him to bow in proper obeisance.

(21:19) Drysllthen simply breathed as those light fingers placed the crown upon his head and with it the responsibility he had taken on. Little showed in his stoic expression as he offered a slight bow of his head, careful not to unseat the crown Quess had just place there, silver and sapphire glittering atop his red hair. In a firm, ringing voice, he spoke, his gaze landing on face after face as he made his oath. "I swear on my honour and my life to uphold the laws and keep the peace of Nharati." Earnestness laced his tone, the King's voice carrying through the room. "Against all threats, I will guard and protect the people of Nharati until the day comes that smoke carries me onward." So vowed, he rose to his feet, hands clasped behind his back while he waited for Tyltin to take his place.

(21:26) Tyltin V leaned in to whisper something most assuredly un-courtly to Maeryn when he took up his station beside the raised throne, but such words were schooled when the herald called and Drysllthen made his appearance. Nodding silently, he gave an appraising look to his nephew and the new Queen, his fingers tightening and loosening rythmically as the pair approached and then the King bowed. That oath chilled him to the core, just as intended when crafted centuries before; he could tell its power, even if he disbelieved in things unseen. When his own time came he stepped before the vaguely-familiar girl, his jade eyes boring into her face for a half-second too long before he finally dropped to one knee.

(21:28) Maeryn clung desperately to Tyltin's hand as they sat there. But for all the world, Maeryn looked completely composed. At Tyltin's whispers, all that shone on her face was a deep blush, and ivories bit at her lip to keep from giggling. A gentle smile rested on her face, that refused to sputter or die out. When Quess was called forth with the crowns, it only brightened. How beautiful her friend looked! Mae had the rediculous little daydream of the pair of them, dressed in their finery, running like the children they were not anylonger, through that timeless hidden garden. When the crown was presented to her brother's head, she forced herself not to cheer loudly. Moisture gathered in her eyes, but no tears fell. Pride swelled in her heart, and Mae, with everything in her, believed her brother's strong words. He would take care of them all. Then Tyltin was gone, and Mae stared, wide-eyed as he knelt, fingers locked onto the arm of his abandoned chair.

(21:31) Quess's charming smile never faultered, but something was different now, something shuddered in her eye at this intimidating male. Whatever anger she was holding against him for the things she knew of him was swallowed in fear. She hoped her moment's pause to recall breathing yet again had gone unnoticed. Perhaps the sight of dear Maeryn looking so blissful behind him assisted Quess to recover as quickly as she had. Nevertheless, his crown was treated in no less respect than Drysllthen's, approaching the knelt Prince to delicately lay the dark blue stoned crown onto his head. She then again retreated backwards, careful of the gown's length, to genuinely honor him with the bow of allegiance.

(21:41) Tyltin V felt the pain of kneeling in all his joints; he'd done it twice before, and now again he had to supplicate to all the gathered nobles. He hardly felt the ring of metal and stone pressing onto his close-cropped hair, and once the girl stepped away he scanned the room in silence for several long heartbeats. "I swear on my honour and my life," he began, his voice much softer than his nephew's, "to uphold the laws and keep the peace of Nharati, in obedience to King Drysllthen Valenti. Against all threats I will guard and protect you, until the day comes that smoke carries me onward." A tad improvised, but he doubted anyone would object too strongly. With that he rose and ruffled his brow, stalking back to Maeryn and his throne.

(21:47) Olyx Sgouros had been hearing the oaths the two men had spoken out so loudly, and even though the words themselves, properly rehearsed and carefully spoken out, had left him somewhat uncaring - words had a tendency to not mean what the speaker intended- it was the sheer intention, the way the men spoke those seemingly valueless words, that reached down to the very core of his being and caused a mild shiver to run down his spine. These were words with meaning indeed, and he knew that whatever their differences, now that those two men had bonded, there were great days coming for Nharati. Shame indeed that he did not feel a Nharatian at heart.

(21:49) Drysllthen caught the rosiness of his sister's cheeks from the corner of his eye, just keeping himself from glancing at the pair of them. Instead, his gaze followed Tyltin to his knees, listening to each word of the vow he spoke, the slight change noticed but uncommented. He merely nodded as the smaller man rose, his hands parting behind his back so he could offer one to Roselyn. With a smile, she took his, the other offered to Saeryll to guide her before Quess. With the new King's support, Roselyn too went to her knees in the voluminous gown before Quess with a murmur for Saeryll to do likewise, quiet pleasure glinting in her eyes with a pleased smile that just kept from being smug. There were no words for the women to speak, but Drysllthen watched with pride still, eyes on both his wife and his daughter.

(21:54) Maeryn's heart had stood still after the crown was placed atop Tyltin's head. The silence seemed to drag on for more than the few heartbeats it had lasted. Silently she urged him to speak, half-afraid that he would simply walk away from it all. Only when his soft voice rang through the silence did she breathe, and her smile beamed toward him when he stalked back to her, all her rage from her encounter with Aerinne lost in those pride-filled moments. Instantly her hand sought his, so her gloved thumb could run over his knuckles gently. Her eyes stayed locked on his face for a long while, before propriety demanded them to be pulled away to watch her pretty little niece and... Roselyn recieve their crowns.

(21:55) Mereavus watched this part rather more intently than the rest - witness, Danele. Impossible to ignore the sheer smug on angular features. Queen. A happy day fueled by miserable events, the former Advisor's memory could easily recall the scents of burned flesh and blood, and the sounds of hissing and wailing. Yes. She remembered well, and this was her final goodbye to Queen Danele Valenti, who had no doubt been dust on the mountains many years before. Her hand lowered to press its digits between her husband's, the other still wrapped around his bicep. They were here. They had made it. Regardless of how she'd forced them here with deceptions and webs and brutalities and treason. They were here, and there was a crown involved. Victory was a sweet taste.

(22:00) Quess collected once more, the next crown carefully balanced between the lightest of touches between fingers. She stepped forward before Rosalyn, easing the impressive tiara over the the Queen's circlet with all the subtle adjustments of an artist assuring a perfect balance. Once again, she slid feet gracefully back to perform her bow of humility. Lastly, the smallest of the headpieces was lifted into gloved digits, closing the distance between her and the toddler. She wrinkled her nose with beaming smile as she tucked the tiara on the tiny girl's head, offering one more of her bows after providing appropriate space.

(22:10) Saeryll beemed up at Quess. It was a good thing she had to say no oath, she could scarcely say words more than six letters. It was much fun, this whole thing. And now she had a pretty circlet that matched perfectly with her gown. She made a connection why she had to wear blue now. The toddler couln't stop smiling and squeezed Roselyn's hand. Mama Roselyn was now Queen and Papa was King. She was a princess! How exciting it all was. The intimidations of Tyltin and the guards no longer existed in her mind.

(22:13) Drysllthen gallantly helped his wife to her feet with a warmly pleasant smile for her once the crown was placed on her dark hair. Something of triumph shared between the two in that glance, and Roselyn settled her hand on Drysllthen's arm, perhaps more regal in appearance than the King. Attention of both shifted to the wee blonde girl as Quess bent before her, the last to be crowned. Her grin nearly made him chuckle, but he refrained, merely nodding as Roselyn led the child back to Garnett's care. Thus settled, he carefully assisted Roselyn into her smaller throne on his left before he folded into the middle seat, a small nod offered to Quess and to the herald. They could continue.

(22:14) [#] Again the herald called out. "Presenting His Holiness, Primate Silas Valenti to bless our new King."

(22:15) Quess's part was over, a breath of relief sighing subtly from her as she and her group removed themselves a few more paces back. From thence, once all had returned to their seats and proclaimation sounded, she and her four stewards took to their knee in reverent prostration of all those before her, eyes directed toward the floor. All was official now. And her heart was flying as high as any. Curiously so.

(22:20) Garnett could not have torn her eyes from the scene if the castle imploded around her. The memories were there, certainly, the throne room as full of them as any, her betrothal chief among them. But that too could be remembered with a smile. It seemed at the same distance as this now, less than real. She'd played this image over in her mind too many times, and while there were subtle differences, Drysllthen had not failed, had not faultered. Perhaps it was Maeryn's blush that made it more real, Garnett actually venturing to offer the girl a smile that verged on knowing with a hint of amusement. When Saeryll returned to her, Garnett gently pulled her up into her lap, offering the child a warm embrace as she murmured how pretty she looked then pressed a gloved finger to her lips to keep her silent while Silas approached, her jade eyes wide so as not to miss a detail of this.

(22:21) Silas Valenti entered from the back of the hall with a contingent of black draped bishops from each major city of Nharati. Three incense balls swayed between the two columns, and each bishop held a candle. The Primate himself stood at the same height as Drysllthen, though was far narrower. His hood was up, covering his features save his mouth and the sharp, thin lines of a black goatee. He stopped unnervingly accurately in the centre of the Royal enclosure, his gloved hands parting. The candle was taken by a bishop, and one either side removed his gloves. Two tattooed fingers lifted to indicate a whole circle. "The Acolytes of God gladly greet and bless his Majesty King Drysllthen of the House of Valenti," he announced, pushing his hood back and setting white eyes on nothing in particular. "We bring the respect and subservience of the Councils of God to the Halls of Valwyn to swear to serve the House of Valenti in any way his Majesty deems fit. We bear also the blessing of his High Holiness and Eminence of the Church, and extinguish each a candle in open Prayer; we ask God to bring to his Majesty long life and happiness unto his family. We ask Him to defend ever his castle from Her corruption and Her malfeasances. We ask him to deliver justice and honour to His Children. Lord, should his Majesty ask of you courage, give him not bravery, but the chance to be courageous. Give him ever opportunity." And out went the candles between the bare fingers of the bishops, and his was returned to him to do the same. His body bent like a snapped twig in a bow. "Long live the King."

(22:27) Olyx Sgouros had grown somewhat comfortable inside his armour by now, the drone and monotony of the ceremony calming him down well enough to enjoy it. However, the moment Primate and his contingent of god-worshipping followers entered, his countenance darkened- almost. He kept his thoughts to himself, his exterior only betraying a very slight frown which could easily be attributed to the discomfort of standing perfectly still in a suit of heavy armour all this time. The master at arms decided it was not time to show any of the emotions that flooded him or the thoughts that passed his head, so he remained as perfectly upright as before, not even shooting a second glance at the Valenti primate and his decadent entourage.

(22:36) Tyltin V took refuge in Maeryn's muted gaze and rouged cheeks, and he couldn't wait for the ceremony to end...for no particular reason, he'd claim, even as he took-up the girl's gloved hand once more. When the herals called again Tyltin flinched and gazed toward the door. His eyes widened when the hooded men filed into the room, a chill entering his blood. Clean-shaven lips curled into a slight sneer, his scarred cheek tight, though he mastered his expression well before the leading man--his own brother, no less--revealed his white eyes. Every holy utterance scraped over him like hard stone on soft iron, and his grip took a harsher turn, both on the arm of his throne and on Maeryn's hand. Mention of her replaced the chill in his blood with fire, and it was all he could do to keep from committing fratricide in front of the sundry nobles.

(22:39) Drysllthen observed in silence as the shrouded religious men made their way into his throneroom, a Valenti, no less, bearing the blessing. He inclined his head in reverence as he listened to the words, the King still in his acceptance of it. Eyes tended to follow the trail of smoke as the candles extinguished, but he brought them low again. When Silas had finished, he lifted his head, offering a nod to the bishops who could actually see it as he offered a polite appreciative smile. "The Acolytes of God have my gratitude for their blessing and hopes. I pray that I serve well," he answered as humbly as possible on the day when one was being crowned King. "May God's blessing be on all Nharati." Straightening, he brought his hands to the armrests of the throne.

(22:43) Silas Valenti was aware his brother would be in attendance, recalling him only as a gurgling noise on the edge of his senses rather than a man, but had little concern for seeking him out. Family had never meant much to the eldest living Valenti - in fact, it had always meant startlingly little. He couldn't see Garnett to pass her any sort of reassuring gesture, so he straightened, nodded in the general direction of the throne, and turned to head out of the throne room with the bishops in tow. Witches to burn, Sapphists to hang, churches to rebuild and all of that religious bravado that made it look like he actually gave a flying fig about God and his books and teachings anymore.

(22:44) [#] The herald's voice rose in loud, rich tones when Silas and his men departed. "Now all in attendance, please bow before His Majesty, King Drysllthen Valenti; Her Majesty, Queen Roselyn Valenti; His Highness, Crown Prince Tyltin Valenti; and Her Highness, Princess Saeryll Valenti."

(22:46) Aksel Marillion drew his prosthetic to his heart, bracing it with his good hand, in his knight's salute to the newly crowned rulers of Nharati, hanging his head. This changed everything, and it was his hope that it would be for the better. Peace returned, an apparent benevolent king... it was a promising start. But he knew as well as any man who quickly best laid plans can go straight to hell. He'd watch, he'd wait, and he'd do what he could to see the hopes of a bright future for his brothers' families.

(22:49) Mereavus', her husband and her son all bowed in unison, Samuel's hand subtly ensuring her support in the process, in a rather reverent fashion. And why not, their Roselyn's name was now a Valenti name, and under a crown. There would be a line of Kings with their blood in them. It was a good day for the Alexstons as a whole, and it concluded the eldest pair's business in the Hellcity. It meant home, and greenness, and the sea, and breezes and their own good memories. Leave this empty city to better hands and those whose memories didn't howl around the vaults of their minds. Time for a new order.

(22:49) Deorwulf bows down to his half brother the king, with a proud smile on his lips, having sat and watched this all unfold in complete silence out of respect. Gone were the days he would be able to meet his half brother and talk or even have a spar in good fun, at least this was only to Deorwulf's knowledge. Either way he was proud for the newly crowned king and wished him the best, he had hopes for a bright future ahead for the kingdom.

(22:51) Garnett's smile deepened when that announcement rang out, the Queen Mother among the first to slip to their knees before those newly crowned. Her head bowed deeply, fingers twisting together as she kept herself from floating away with the weight of so many years gone from her shoulders. "Your son, Uhtred.." she breathed under her breath, stealing a glance upward to her towering son who seemed to fill the throne that Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen had held. A chill stole over her, so sharp and familiar, she nearly lifted her head, old ghostly sensations remembered..and she wondered.

(22:51) Olyx Sgouros upon hearing the heralds finally announce it was the time to bow, he was glad this procession was almost over- the appearance of the hooded man and his accomplishes had upset him. Thus, he dropped to one knee, the rattle of his armored frame filling the silent air with the sound of metal scraping against metal. He knew this was going to be discussed afterwards as well, but he did not care. He showed his respect and allegiance now formally as well, after essentially having done so six years ago when he had joined Drysllthen's then small army in Ygriss. Hey stayed there, gaze fixed at the floor, head bowed, waiting for the command to rise. He couldn't help having a genuine smile light his face, however, a smile that many would misunderstand for a smile of happiness at the event of the coronation. None would know it originated from a much, much simpler occasion.

(22:54) Stephen Juntric gave his bow along with everyone else as well a nod of his head to those in power. He amoung everyone else had high hopes the new powers to be would do right for an ailing country.

(22:55) Maeryn felt a slight illness well up when Silas arrived. Maeryn knew of the religion, but it had been almost like a history lesson in the household than a true path. It was just another thing she knew little about and it stoked those strange rebellious feelings in her. Her hand tightened around Tyltin's when his grip increased. His tension only fueling her own. The urge to run was there again as the smoke curled around the room. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her when the men pinched out the candles with their fingers. Her head still felt light, even as they finally left her sight. It took all she had not to break down, or hide herself into Tyltin's chest. But the herald, that earsling, demanded her to break away from her safety net. Slowly her fingers detangled themselves from Tyltin's and she slid from her chair, quickly placed a cloth down, and dropped to her knee's, following her Mother's lead. Her bright head bowed carefully, eyes resting on the legs of those on the thrones.

(22:59) Drysllthen remained on his throne with his crown on his head for a long moment once the herald's command had rung out, observing the inhabitants of the room, how they bowed, who hesitated, who moved too swiftly, notes filed away as the last knee bent. Slowly, he rose to his feet, looming before the room without a word. Finally, he spoke, hands lifting them to their feet. "Rise." He commanded. "It is my honour to welcome to my council Crown Prince Tyltin as Marshall, Lord Somneri of Hnestor as Chancellor, and General William Alexston as Advisor." Other positions would fill with time, some needing no announcement. His voice continued over the room, guiding his council (save for Tyltin) and the Ealdormen present in their oaths to their new liege, one particular Wenfrith noteably absent. When such oaths had been given, once more, the King issued the command to rise. "Now go, feast and celebrate!" His hand threw outward, urging them all from the formality of the day.