Ecstasy all but spilled across Eson Arryn's face. He sprang to his feet. "Gods above, the Vale is saved! Someone! Fetch the castle's maester at once! Bring every septon you can find in town! Prepare the holy oils, prepare a crown!"
A hurried and absurd coronation took place in the small sept of House Arryn's castle.
The sept was hastily decorated and filled with lit candles.
The castle's gray-haired old maester, trembling with fear, was pushed forward to preside over the ceremony.
Several septons, dragged there at short notice and unsure what was happening, chanted prayers to the Seven at the side.
A crudely fashioned "crown," hastily cast from gold bars melted down from the castle treasury and set with a few small gems, was brought forward.
Mya knelt before the statues of the Seven, wearing an excessively lavish, ill-fitting dark blue velvet gown hastily provided by Eson's wife.
When the maester tremblingly placed the heavy, bitterly cold iron crown on her head, her neck could barely bear its enormous weight.
She gazed at the indistinct faces of the Seven on the altar, her heart filled with bewilderment and overwhelming panic, but there was no turning back now.
Father...
Silently, she called out to the man who had given her life and utterly changed her fate.
"Mya Baratheon, eldest daughter of Robert I! By the Warrior's valor, the Father's justice, and the Mother's mercy... you are hereby crowned Queen of the First Men, the Andals, and the Rhoynar, the sole rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms! May the Seven protect you!"
The maester's aged voice echoed through the sept.
"Long live the queen!"
Eson Arryn was the first to raise his arm and cheer, his voice hoarse with excitement.
The few trusted followers and sellsword captains he had brought with