Only two days after arriving in Old Town, Daenerys Targaryen was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in the Starry Sept, following the ancient traditions first bestowed upon Aegon and his sisters.
It was the High Septon himself who conducted the ceremony, anointing her in the oils and proclaiming the prayers that had been said for every Targaryen monarch that had come before her, placing a crown decorated with three golden dragon heads atop her silver braids. It was planned to be a small coronation, attended by only her loyal supporters ho had followd her from Essos and Dorne, but following Willas' suggestion the small folk of the city were invited into the Sept to see their new queen and to get a glimpse of the Targaryen woman they had curiously lined the streets to see in the previous days be crowned as their rightful queen. In the days since they had arrived in Old Town Daenerys had made herself familiar with the city by riding her horse through the streets with Willas while he introduced her to all necessary dignitaries, and that had won her favour with the city's residents, who all seemed more than happy to pour in through the great sept's doors, craning their necks and edging as close as they could get to the dais, anything to get better view of the last Targaryen.
When her ancestors were crowned, Willas doubted they did it dressed in blue silks, and he also doubted that they were greeted with such awestruck delight, the crowd quick to be won over to her cause. All it took for them to start cheering was the Septon announcing her name, and though it made her devoted guards grimace and clench their fists around the hilts of their swords, Daenerys beamed as she left the dais behind and made her way into the crowd to walk amongst the people. They were her people, the crown on her head made it so, and as the folk of Oldtown embraced her and lifted her up onto their shoulders it was more than obvious that they were happy to be her people. To say she had started her life constantly fleeing murderers and assassins, the adoration she was instantly served must have been jarring, yet no man in that hall wanted her harmed. Why would they, when the alternative monarch was a seven-year-old boy hiding in the shadow of his vein mother and cold grandfather, a boy who only inherited the throne due to his brother's murder?
If they liked her merely because she was a better choice of ruler than a child, that changed the moment she stepped outside the sept, and all who followed and the thosands of others who lined the streets saw her three children. The sight of Viserion and Rhaegal perched on the great domed roof of the sept had people turning pale, pointing to the skies and whispering fearful prayers, while the sight of Drogon landing in the courtyard just in front of the sept doors had people screaming and claiming the world was ending. Their screams were drowned out by the dragons screeches, though the whole city seemed to fall silent the moment Daenerys climbed onto his back, taking her seat on the newly-fitted saddle Willas had made for him before she commanded him to fly. They circled the city three times, swooping and soaring, making the people gasp, curse, and cheer, and Willas knew that the prayers and oils had been meaningless; it was that flight that made her Queen.
When the spectacle was done, Willas was more than happy to retreat back to the High Tower, leaving Daenerys with her other councillors with the excuse of the steps of the sept straining his bad knee, though the reality was quite the opposite. If his knee did hurt, he barely felt it over the relief of how well the day had gone, as well as the suffocating despair he'd been battling since the moment he had stepped foot in his maternal home. He had expected to enjoy being in Old Town, excited to be in the chambers he'd occupied since boyhood and surrounded by cousins and uncles, yet like most things in his life it was tinged with the memory of his prior visit, and the ghost of the person not visiting again with him. How odd it was, to have a place that was a second home be haunted by a woman who had visited it only once. He had spent such a vast amount of time growing up in his mother's home, yet upon his arrival his first thought was that his wife had marvelled at the city, the sept in particular.
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Only A Northern Song ~ Game of Thrones / Willas Tyrell ~
Fanfiction"I cannot sing for you. You want me to sing you the songs of the south, where the pretty ladies fall in love with the brave knights and all is well with the world. I don't know those songs. I only know Northern songs, about winter and wolves, and yo...
