Mychael Lannister observed the going-on's with mild disinterest. Next to him, Arthur Baratheon seemed to be bored out of his wits. To tell the truth, Mychael was too. The High Septon just kept droning on, and, also sitting next to him, his niece and nephew couldn't sit still and were yapping on and playing games.

He took another sip. Alcohol couldn't make them go away, but it could help. He turned to his brother Baldric, who seemed to be sleeping. His wife Alyna was talking to Lord Stark, who was on the other hand watching the going-ons keenly. To each his own.

Mychael had been to the last Targaeryen coronation when he was a boy. It had been very grand, and there had even been a Dragon present. It was a babe at the time, but nevertheless. It nearly burnt the king's beard off. That was a good ceremony, a coronation worthy of it's name. And no fucking High Septon.

Even Rickard looked bored, and he was about to be the most important person in the realm. He'd put on weight, obviously having visited the pantry several times. Mychael leaned forward. Something appeared to be happening, as the Septon had actually physically moved. This startled the children and woke up Baldric. He had taken the King's crown, and was about to place it on Rickard Arryn's head.

It was a thing of beauty. Wrought of silver, eagles and half crescent moons adorned it. The eyes of the eagles had little beads of onyx for eyes. Also given to him was his father's legacy: a Valyrian steel sword, with a black pattern welded blade, and an eagle hilt set with sapphires.

He nudged Arthur next to him. "Look, something's happening."