Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. It's the intensity of the hall that fills him with dread. He's on his knees before Mendel. His shadow looming before him, cascading him body in the dark. He's doesn't look up. He's not allowed. Not under this circumstance as the chime of the bells ring around him bringing forth the melodic anthem from within the hall. The sword in his hands his heavy, but he doesn't dare let it for the the priest had warned him the consequences. "God will judge you boy." He shivers at the undertone of a threat that was within Mendel's gravely tone. It's rough like gravel on any other given day, but is smooth like the honey the servants bring in on Sundays. His voice fills the chamber, the ominous chanting by the of the choir is in his ears. Filling him with a strange mixture of sadness and excitement. He cracks open a deep brown eye, and look at the throne. It's polished seat gleaming under the sunlight and the jewels that were placed by his father years ago are still bright. My father, the thought isn't new. But it isn't welcome either. King James, who gave up his life for the people of the North. his eyes fill with tears at the thought of his father. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes aware of the people around him now. He's alone. His mother dead, his father killed, and his brother on the verge of death he can tell that the people are hesitant of putting a man-or a boy they said- so small in stature and personality at the head of the kingdom. His heart aches in his chest. He ignores it as the priest comes to an end. "When I am done giving the blessing, you shall stand and receive the water. Enough instructions for the ceremony now. They seem easy enough don't they?" No, he pleads within himself, the're not. He stands up slowly, the sword now dangling by his side. It's scabbard rough in his hands and the weight of it brings him back to reality. Reality, His chuckles to himself. "Do you?" He snaps his head towards Mendel. Panic rising within his chest as he counts the last minute. He's already screwing up and he thinks he's about the break. "Do I...what?" Mendel's eyes are filled with annoyance and sharp agitation. He flinches. Of course he hates me, he thinks. It was Mendel who voted against letting him rule. He felt a sharp thread of resentment. He can't help, but feel angry with him. Who else was supposed to take care of the throne now that his father was dead. Certainty not some withered priest! "Do you accept the terms of this life of which you are about to be given?" he can hear the word, child, even though Mendel doesn't say it. "With this crown," he gestures to the golden crown within his wrinkled hands. He gags at his veins at little. "you will lead the people of the North will the virtue and respect of god and his angels. Do you accept?" He takes a sharp intake of breathe and slowly puts the sword into it's casing alongside his belt. He kneels down on one knee before Mendel and does the sign of Christ on his chest. Leon gazes up the Mendel. Already feeling the swelling of anxiety from around the people and the anger of his coronation from Mendel. "I accept."