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Chapter Text

Full Synopsis - 

An evil wizard's soul invaded his young body, and yet he came out victorious. Bronn—Just Bronn was his name.

Orphaned at a young age, a different path lay before him. His tongue as sharp as his sword, now with a magical blessing in tow and a holy sermon on his lips. He'll walk the realm and make it his own. He needs no crown, no armies, just his gifts.

A mystical ability to heal disease, wounds, injuries, even those that can't be seen through the naked eye. Ailments of the mind, ailments of the skin, ailments of the heart, and... ailments of the wombs.

A man sought by every sick. A man sought by every woman with a fertile womb. Height, gender, skin, hair, eyes, brain—He could alter it all, a seed tailored just for them.

I'd fuck her.

With a mindset like that, there was no woman hidden from his blessing gaze. No woman he wouldn't bring beneath himself… to bless.

__________________________

TL;DR - Bronn gains a magical power to create customized sperm, letting him impregnate women with babies tailored to their desires—hair color, strength, wit, and more. He also inherits deep knowledge of medicine and poisons from an evil wizard's soul that once invaded him. Using all that, he'll become the Rasputin of Westeros, influencing the courts of the Lords and the King.

[Story Tags: Bronn being Bronn, Bronn having fun, Bronn being a godman, Bronn scheming around, Bronn being a scammer, Bronn making a cult.]

[Smut Tags: A shit ton of breeding, breastfeeding, milfs, rough sex, eyes roll, big dick, blowjobs, threesomes, foursomes, manysomes, anal, face fucking, deepthroating, and much more.]

"Time's up, Karkaroff!"

"One last chance, I can serve—"

"You'll serve best when dead, Karkaroff—Avada Kedavra!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Three green flashes shot at Karkaroff as he stood against the wall in that isolated shack. His hair unkempt, his beard the same, his face wrinkled, his body malnourished. Being on the run for a year didn't help.

Death came with a snap. He fell down, and in those fleeting moments, he saw the Death Eaters cast the Dark Mark in the sky. That was the last thing he saw in death, the hideous mark in the sky, yet it wasn't the last thing he saw.

Like a snap of a finger, the night turned into day, and instead of looking at the sky, he found himself falling from the sky. It was cloudy at first, throwing him into a state of panic. He tried to use spells, or any magic he could muster, but he couldn't. He looked at his own hand, and it appeared translucent.

"A-Haaaaaa!"

He screamed, realizing how fast he was falling. Then the clouds disappeared, and he saw the land in the distance. A massive, sprawling city sat at the shore of a sea with a river to its south. It was spread wide with a wall running its boundary, and a massive, red castle sitting at the eastern edge.

"Aaaaaaaa~"

As he neared the ground, he smelled the filthy scent. The city, or whatever it was, looked rather primitive to his eyes. It didn't resemble any magical or Muggle dwelling to him.

But right then, he realized something. Despite falling down so fast, he felt no air against his skin. There was no resistance, no trouble breathing.

Woosh!

And then he fell on a bird, only for the bird to pass through his body like he was a ghost.

"I-I'm a ghost?!"

However, before he could make any sense out of it, he heard the noises below. Not inside the walled city, he found himself falling somewhere in its southern reaches, where the scent of fish was intense. Seconds left before fall, he looked around and noticed a massive banner on the distant city wall. A black banner with red markings of a three-headed dragon.

It made no sense to him. So, he looked down, into the dark alley he was falling into, filthy, wet, like a sewer. And there was a young boy sprawled in the filth, surrounded by more boys who kicked him.

Karkaroff, without realizing, having no control, fell into that unconscious boy.

####

All his life, Bronn had heard that he was blessed to have what he had. He never understood what that meant. All he knew since the day he could walk was hunger, poverty, and filth.

All his life, Bronn was told that he was lucky to be born outside those city walls. That he was lucky to be living in the fish market area by the Blackwater Rush.

He never understood why. He saw horses, coaches, and knights pass through the city gates. He only ever saw wealth enter that city, never leave. Where was his blessing? What was there to feel lucky about? Having to beg and work from the day he learned how to talk.

Having to look out for the guards, smugglers, and the child gangs of the area. There wasn't much he could do to work either. But he had to do it, now more than ever, after his wastrel father drowned in the river after a night of drinking. All he had left was his mother, ill with a disease that couldn't be healed.

His naivety, at the age of seven, made him hope for the best. His innocence at the age of seven drove him to do whatever he could to save his mother. Fond memories of her from his younger days were still fresh. He wanted to see her get up from the bed again.

So he joined the local gang of kids, managed by much older kids who were likely young adults. He became a peddler, using his scrawny body to sneak into King's Landing and sell things that couldn't be sold in daytime.

What he smuggled were goods that were controlled by the Faith or the maesters. Or capitalized by the nobility. Milk of the Poppy was one, used by addicts, brothel owners, and some corrupt healers. There was also poison from time to time, but he asked no questions. Sometimes, he also smuggled weapons out of the city's fine blacksmiths, usually stolen goods. The list was long, but the money he received was always low.

Mere two half-pennies for each trip he made. Just to make it a silver Stag, he'd need a hundred and twelve of those half-pennies. He'd need to work for almost sixty days nonstop to earn that.

But the innocence of childhood, to care for his suffering mother, led him to join a second gang inside the city, in Flea Bottom. Soon, he ended up not just smuggling things in, but also helping the thieves of the city to sell their goods outside. He often got caught and beaten by some guards, but he was gifted with a smooth tongue and a quick hand.

He was always let go. Bruised, sure, but with some extra money made. The goal was to gather two silver Stags, the fee to take his mother to a real maester, not just some neighborhood healer.

Hope and innocence kept him going. Days passed, and his pockets started to fill up. The finish line towards his goal started to appear closer. Just a little more and he'd have enough.

"Hold him!"

Bronn got caught. Not by the guards but by the first gang he was a part of. His secret was out. It wasn't against their rules to do extra work in the city. But it was against their rules to keep all the money made. He was supposed to hand over two-fourths of the money each time. He never did that.

They dragged him into a filthy alley in the fish market area. It reeked of shit there; the filth on the muddy ground was vile.

Splash!

Bronn was thrown down, merely seven years old. They were all older than him, some by two years and others by four. They each put one foot on his arms or legs, pinning him there. The last two began kicking him all over.

"Ow! I was going to! I was gonna give it! I swear, don't hit me—I'll give you the coin!"

"It ain't about the coin!"

Bam!

"It's about the lesson!"

Bam!

It hurt, and Bronn couldn't even hide his face. Pinned like that, they hit him in the face, on his chest, on his sides. It hurt so bad, yet he didn't cry; it was a luxury he'd long forgotten. He groaned, he begged them for mercy.

Eventually, he couldn't even beg, too much in pain.

Some time later, he didn't even groan, barely awake, staring at the sky with anger while kicks still landed on his face. He cursed them all, and the rich bastards living in the city. He wanted that life too. He wanted the coin as well. But there was simply no way to rise. All roads were blocked for a nobody. No way to learn to read and write. No way to learn how to wield a blade.

Bam!

Prints of boots marred his young face. No tears rolled down, only blood.

Hm?

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was that strange, ghost-like, ugly man falling from the sky.

####

"Hm…"

Bronn groaned in pain.

He opened his eyes with much struggle and found only darkness around. The sky had turned dark while he was still lying in the filth.

"What a weird dream."

Other than pain, he mostly remembered some flashing images in his head. That ugly old man appeared a lot in the dream. The bastard tried to kill him, using weird flashing magic. He fought back, conjured a dagger out of nowhere, his instincts already in fight or flight mode, and he chose fight.

Somehow, he stabbed the old man to death. But then, there were strange memories, tiny flickers of so many faces, voices, especially that ugly-looking bald man with a demonic face—words that were new—Episkey, Brachio Emendum, so many others.

And then there were more vivid memories. Things that made no sense to him. Poisons? Remedies? Also, healing? He couldn't understand why, but he felt like he could heal people—diseases, wounds, and injuries. And there was something more he couldn't pinpoint.

If I can heal… I should try it on Mum.

Innocent hope in his heart, he quickly got up despite all the bruises and ran towards his tiny home. In the filthiest part of the fish market, a tiny room underneath a shop. The place reeked, and in rain and snow, it would flood.

On his little, wobbly feet, he rushed with excitement and pushed the door open. But it was pitch black inside, a confusing thing as he always left a lantern, flint, and steel beside her bed.

"Mum? I'm back."

In the darkness, he tried to walk towards the bed based on his memory. There wasn't much space there anyway. It was just a single room with a cooking station and bedding.

Smack!

"Hm?"

Suddenly, right as he crossed the middle of the room, he felt something touch his face. He recoiled as it felt so cold, and used his hands to feel the thing. He didn't remember there being anything in the middle of the room, let alone hanging from the ceiling.

"Feet?" Bronn frowned as he used his hands to feel the hanging thing. He quickly noticed the toes, and then felt up, realizing it was his mother. "Mum, what are you doing?"

Receiving no response, he quickly crawled towards the bed and patted around until he found the lantern. Using the flint and steel, he made some sparks until the lantern lit up. As usual, the lantern lit slowly, glowing more and more with each passing moment, covering the small room in light.

"Mum, I think I ca—"

He turned around to look at his mother.

Thud!

He fell back down, mistakenly toppling the lantern, returning the room to darkness. He no longer tried to light it up again, his breath harsh from what he had just seen. The noose around her neck, her pale face, her eyes still wide open, popping out almost.

"M-Mum?"

He called for her, expecting a miracle.

Although tears were a luxury, he earned that luxury that night in the darkness, where nobody would see him. The last person he shared his blood with, gone. The woman who birthed him, gone.

When that lantern lost its flicker as he fell, another thing was lost for good.

The childish innocence of a seven-year-old boy.

The world was not kind to his sort. To be born a smallfolk was a sin from birth. Bronn, at seven, learned that lesson firsthand. Nobody cared for him. Nobody had time for him. He was invisible to those around him, as was his mother.

Clink!

He rekindled that lantern. But he didn't move.

He just sat there, eyes red, tears dried, brows creased in anger towards all that existed outside that room. He stared at his mother, etching this memory into his mind. Her helpless face in her last moments now frozen in his mind as it was frozen in death.

Bronn didn't think much. He just sat in silence, hour upon hour. Yet, he somehow knew exactly where he needed to go next.

What he should do next.

How he'll take his due from those who had too much.

The road, albeit blurry, started to form in his young head.

When morning came, Bronn got up and tried to get her body down. But being so young and scrawny, it was impossible for him. He went out and asked for help, but nobody came to his aid. Only when he gave a penny did someone come over.

He didn't know what to do; he just had an idea. He gave another penny and rented a small cart from the nearby shop. Then, he dragged his mother's body on it and took her away. He didn't know if there were people who did what he was doing.

He just did what he knew. Grinding his teeth, using whatever strength his bruised body had, he pulled the cart through the muddy streets. His face was half swollen from yesterday's beating, one eye bruised even, blood dried around his nose and lips.

Eventually, he reached the nearby Sept and told the old Septon there about his mother. Finally, it was then that someone helped him. His mother's body was taken inside. He was asked to go back and bring a new, clean set of clothes for her. He did that and watched the rest.

His mother was dressed in somewhat cleaner clothes. Stones were placed on her open eyes, and then a prayer to the Stranger was made. Finally, he followed the Septon with some men to the communal graveyard with a grave already dug.

Dirty, bloody, bruised, he stood there and watched the last living blood relative of his buried. And in the end, the grave was left unmarked as well, him or his mother being too poor and nobodies to bother with it. And it also required money.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" asked the old Septon.

"No."

"What will you do then?"

In response, Bronn dug into his pockets and took out a handful of pennies and half pennies. He extended them to the Septon, his eyes piercing and focused. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

"Teach me—readin' and writin'. I wanna be like you—a Septon, all wise and knowing."

####

Bronn wasn't the only one there aiming to become a Septon. He had to start like everyone else. Wiping the floor of the Sept, dusting the walls, bringing the water, or digging graves for the dead.

But when becoming a Septon is just a stepping stone for you, you become far more focused than others.

By the age of twelve, Bronn finished reading and writing training and swiftly moved on to the core training of a Septon. Religious books, historical books, and old tomes, he started studying them. He also became an assistant to the old Septon to learn all the rituals and tasks.

Yet, that didn't mean he stopped honing his body. The one thing he'd noticed about Septons was that most were fat and weak. He didn't want that, and regularly used digging graves as an excuse to tire himself out.

As time went by, and he became somewhat proficient in a Septon's duties, he began working around on the Septon's behalf. He was regularly called to pray for the dead and the sick in the fish market area.

In time, his name grew, and so did his reach. He gained friends among the guards, the market shops, and the port workers. He began learning other trades wherever he could; lockpicking was one of them, and the second was wielding a sword. He had to do it in secret with a Westerosi sellsword who'd just returned from Essos. He had an injured knee, and Bronn used that to barter for the sword lessons.

It was confusing how Bronn remembered that dream from years ago so vividly. He still possessed that knowledge about making poisons and medicines. He even tried to make them and succeeded rather easily. Moreover, he found out that he was truly blessed with the magic of healing. But he masked it under the guise of prayers.

That time he fell from a tree and broke his ankle. He was almost discarded by the Sept as a useless cripple. But that night, after he fell, he trusted his instincts and placed his hand on his broken ankle.

He did nothing other than believe in his instincts, which told him to trust the process. He didn't know how it worked, but some words flashed into his mind.

"Episkey…" He murmured them under his breath, and just like that, his ankle started healing. It took him two days to fully heal it.

He didn't scream either, as one of the medicines he made helped suppress pain. It wasn't milk of the poppy, and yet a thousand times better. Revolutionary even.

That time, he really understood how magical his gifts were. He chose not to blindly blabber about those gifts like a fool. He chose to hold on to them and use them to pave his path forward.

By the time he turned seventeen, he was ready to take the vows to become a Septon. His fame had reached a point where the entire fish market and the nearby towns outside King's Landing knew him. He'd crafted his image well, concocting medicine for the common cold and some utterly basic diseases.

He showed his talents when it mattered the most. He gained the approval of the old Septon, having finished all his religious studies. He sold the common medicines he made and gave half of the profits to the Sept, helping with maintaining its building. On the other hand, he sometimes used to treat the utterly helpless, usually orphaned children.

But he never publicly revealed his magical healing ability. It wasn't yet the time for it. The only man he used it on was the sellsword who taught him how to wield a sword. And Bronn was proud to say that he was half-decent with it now.

There is no honor in a battle. All that matters is who survives in the end.

Those words, Bronn believed in just as told by his teacher. He learned to fight fast, move like a cat, and use any means necessary to win. Use his surroundings to win. And as he grew to his full height of six feet one, a body athletically lean yet hard, he was confident of winning against half the knights of the realm if it were one against one.

Yet, there was one last thing that he hadn't tested yet.

That last part of those instincts boiling within him.

And he knew it was time to test it out.

####

283 AC.

Clank!

"You two-faced bastard!"

Clink!

"You're no Septon!"

Clank!

Bronn dodged backward away from the knife. The six men had surrounded him in that dark, musky, filthy, rotting alley, right where they once had him.

"Still can't hold a blade properly, Malk? Can only beat a kid?" Bronn grinned and taunted him, pivoting left as the man lunged. A knife scraped along the leather at Bronn's ribs. Close, but not enough.

Bronn's blade came up with a hiss and sliced a neat line across the man's wrist.

"Aaaargh!" Malk screamed, clutching his hand.

Clack!

Another came from the right—tall one with a broken nose and a stick. Bronn ducked low and swept a leg. The tall man toppled face-first into a pile of rotten filth. The difference in experience was starkly visible. While Bronn moved efficiently, the six men looked like drunkards.

"Hah!" Bronn laughed. "You lads had your sport, sure as the Crone's got wrinkles, eh? Beat me senseless that time—how pious of you. But the Stranger walks with me now, and when I send you to Him, no soul'll ask where you went. This rebellion's a bloody blessing."

They were the same six boys who'd beat him that day. The memory of which he held on to. His mother's hanging body, her cold face, he remembered every detail.

"Haaaa! Die, you—"

Bronn turned just in time to catch a clumsy downward stab from a third. The man's arms trembled as Bronn locked blades with him. He stepped in, real close, eyes cold, and drove the hilt of his sword into the man's mouth.

Crack!

Teeth flew. The man crumpled to his knees, gagging on blood.

"W-We… We had nothing to do with your mum!" Malk cried from the ground.

Bronn spun fast again. The fourth man, smaller, tried to dart behind him, clutching a kitchen knife. Bronn slashed backward without looking—Shunk!—and the man yelped, staggering away with a slice from hip to thigh.

"Aye, I know. Still blame you, though. Could've saved her, maybe cured her too, Seven strike me. But no, you lot got in the bloody way—Now I'll open your bellies and let the Stranger sort what's left." Bronn coldly growled back at them.

Woosh!

A stick whistled toward his head right then. Bronn raised his sword, caught it, and shoved forward with his boot. The man staggered. Bronn darted in, sword low, and jammed it right up beneath his ribs.

"Gaaaah!" The man groaned, his life fading from his eyes.

Thud!

"Four down," Bronn spat. His voice was calm.

The alley was narrow, wet, and lined with fish guts and filth. The last two of the six men hesitated now—Malk nursing his bleeding hand, and the one with the broken nose, Hobb, stumbling upright and wide-eyed.

"We should've killed you!" Hobbs growled.

"Aye, you should've," Bronn replied and stepped forward slowly.

Malk tried to run away, cut from one wrist. But it was a mistake.

Bronn lunged, caught the back of Malk's tunic, yanked him hard, and drove his knee into his spine. Malk dropped, screaming.

"Aaaaaaaagh! N-No… No…"

Swoosh!

Bronn drove his sword through Melk's nape and sliced right through, without severing the head. When he pulled out, Melk was left sitting on his knees, now dead, with a puddle of blood around him.

He then turned to Hobb.

The tall man backed away, whimpering. "I didn't want to! It was Tuck's idea, not mine—!"

Bronn rolled his shoulders, walking forward with a casual swing of his sword.

"Tuck's dead. You're next."

"Wait—wait—!"

Bronn feinted a left. Hobb flinched.

Slick!

The blade punched clean through Hobb's belly, leaving him kneeling, groaning as he bled.

Bronn pulled the blade back and stepped aside, letting the man fall into the muck.

As silence returned, he wiped his blade on Malk's shirt as the man was still seated, kneeling.

"By the Mother's saggy tits, I'm done with this cursed place!"

He spat, turned, and left the alley into the night. He hated King's Landing and the place he lived in. He had no desire to stay there after taking his septon vows. His talents and blessings were meant for something else. Something greater.

Sure, he did plan to return to King's Landing one day. But when that would happen, he'd be riding in a lavish stagecoach and taken straight to the Red Keep. Right at the center of all power in Westeros. Right where he'll have the most sway and use of his talents.

Fucking blue-blooded cunts!

Clang—Clang—Clang!

"Hm?"

He raised his head and looked in the direction of the city walls. The bell was ringing from inside it. That late in the night, it made no sense.

"Unless…"

Knowing that a rebellion was going on, the ringing of the bells that late could signal one thing only. The city had been breached by Robert Baratheon's forces.

To Bronn, it didn't matter at all. Who won the rebellion, who won the throne, who lost it… It was all meaningless because, in the end, nothing ever changes for the small man. The peasants remain peasants. He, a mere septon, would remain a septon. So, he loathed all the nobles equally.

As the main city was the target, Bronn saw no activity outside at the fish market. He strolled all the way back to the sizable Sept. It was bigger now than when he started, and most of the upgrades were thanks to him.

Having turned eighteen just two months ago, he was all set to become an official septon soon. But he reckoned it might get delayed slightly now since the city was being sacked.

Hah! Sacking the city you're meant to rule—Gods, what madness! That's nobility for you—mad as piss!

It had become his habit now to curse and invoke the gods in the same breath. Sure, he received a lot of punishment from the Septon for it, but his work compensated for his tongue.

He walked into the Sept.

"Old man, where's the—by the gods, what madness is this?!"

Instead of finding the usual serene, calm, marble-clad hall inside the Sept, he instead found chaos. There were men and women sprawling on the floor everywhere, groaning in pain, all of them cut or bruised in places. Some looked like nobles, and others like knights in their armor. The Septon and his assisting septas were running around aiding the healers.

"Bronn! Quick, aid the wounded! The Lannisters have taken the city!"

At the Septon's orders, Bronn moved instinctively.

Lannisters? Ha! Weren't they licking the Mad King's boots not a moon's turn ago?

With a scoff, Bronn did his duty that was expected of him. Dressed in simple brown robes, he grabbed a bucket of water, some cloth, and started cleaning the wounded men and women. Some had their entire limbs severed. Some he recognized from the city as he often visited the Great Sept of Baelor for his studies.

The hell are the Lannisters after, eh? Burning homes? Killing smallfolk?

But then again, he reminded himself that the nobles simply didn't think that far. In their eyes, folks like him and those there in the Sept didn't exist. Smallfolks were bodies to be trampled on. To be abused. To be made use of.

Wait, I can use this too.

He paused and looked around at that massive hall. There were countless people, the Septon, the Septas, some nobles, and even a few knights. There were so many eyes, a perfect stage for him to show how blessed he was.

Bronn gulped, a little excited and a little scared. He quickly thought of a beautiful prayer in his head, recited it under his breath once, and then walked over to the man who looked best dressed there, lying on the floor with a long sword slash going across his chest and abdomen. It was deep.

"Gaaaaaah—It burns!" The nobleman gritted his teeth, groaning in agony.

Bronn took a deep breath and placed both his hands on the man's chest, over the deep wounds. They hadn't stopped bleeding, and he was sure that he couldn't fully make the wound vanish. But even a little bit of healing could help.

"Stay still," Bronn ordered and pressed his palms harder on the wounds.

"Argh! What the… are you doing?!"

Bronn ignored the nobleman and closed his eyes while kneeling there. Then he started speaking the prayer, loud enough that the nearby injured and Septas would hear him.

"O Mother above, with mercy deep,
Guard this soul in pain and sleep."

"You lunatic! Bring me—" The nobleman tried to push Bronn away. But midway, he stopped cursing. "W-Warm… It's warm!"

"Bend your gaze on flesh torn wide,
Let your love in blood abide."

Bronn focused on the wound while speaking those lines, at the same time thinking of those unknown spell-like words from his old memory—Vulnera Sanentur.

"It's working! The… Oh! The blessed boy! It's working!" The nobleman shouted in excitement, no longer feeling that burn. "I can feel it—Keep going, boy!"

"From your breast, give breath anew,
Make the broken strong and true."

Bronn frowned then, feeling like he was at his limit. Healing that wound more was getting harder and harder. The bleeding had already stopped, and any chance of an infection was gone. Only a simple flesh wound was left now.

But more than him, the nobleman was excited, feeling the warm, healing magic coursing through him. His hazy eyes grew wide now, his mind back to sanity, delirious even. "Gods—I'm blessed! Thank you, the Mother above! Thank you!"

"Through my hand, your grace be sown,
Not for glory—your son heals alone."

At last, Bronn stopped, opened his eyes, and removed his hands from the chest. He eyed it and found the wound had healed three-fourths, leaving behind just the red, bloody scar.

Then, he looked around. Other than some men groaning, there was total silence, all eyes focused on him like he were the embodiment of the Seven. Reverent eyes, excited smiles. The Septas had already broken down in prayers beside him, and the old Septon, his teacher, eyed him with pride.

There was no explanation of what he did.

It was a miracle. That's it.

"H-Heal my babe! Please!"

And so, it begins.

With a solemn smile, Bronn got up and walked over to the woman. He looked at the little boy in her arms, perhaps two years old, unconscious. The poor boy had likely been trampled on by a horse, noticeable by the marks.

With a nod, Bronn placed his hands on the child's forehead where the injury was most visible. Then, he began to sing yet another prayer.

"O Mother above, whose arms enfold,
Shield this child from pain and cold.
Lay your peace on skin so small,
Let no shadow on him fall."

He was just freestyling it, but gods, he loved doing it while feeling the healing happen. He was shocked by it himself. It was so magical, and yet had no explanation. He was no blessed child. He was no boy of good deeds. He was as sinful as they come. So, it made no sense that it was an actual blessing.

Something told him it had something to do with that ugly old man from the sky, that strange dream, and the unknown memories. But at eighteen years old, he couldn't care less.

"Waaaah!"

"Oh, Mother above!"

"Seven!"

The men and women who could walk crowded around Bronn to look at the miracle happen in real time. And that was exactly what they saw. The little boy slowly opened his eyes. At first, the boy looked witless, cross-eyed, as if the head injury had knocked his brain out.

But then, as Bronn kept praying, the eyes slowly aligned themselves. That unintelligent gaze started to gain life again.

"From your breast, let life be poured,
By your mercy, soul restored.
Through my hand, your blessing flow,
Tiny heart made whole and grow."

At last, Bronn opened his eyes and removed his hand from the child's head.

"M-Mum… M—Waaaa!"

Intelligent, healed, and crying out loud. The young boy was cured, leaving behind mere scars.

Bronn, although he naturally had a wolfish smile, no one saw it that way in that hall. To all, it was the smile of a blessed man. A man who made miracles.

Let's not overdo this.

Although he didn't feel tired. He didn't want to make the miracle so big that even the King would take notice. He had nothing against the maesters either, but healing was their line of work. And it was best not to annoy them.

"Septa Mendy!" Bronn eyed the nearby woman. "Go to my chamber and bring the bag under the table. It has the pain medicine I've made."

His pain medicine was already known throughout the fish market and the nearby towns. Now it was time to hand over the recipe as well. It was barely one percent of the poison and medicine knowledge he had. But that night, even his basic medicine would appear miraculous.

The bells of the Great Sept of Baelor kept ringing that night.

Hours went by, and Bronn healed many, gave his potions to others, and directed the Septas on making more pain medicine.

"You're well to go, Ser." Bronn finished healing the knight.

"You're a godly man, Bronn."

The knight, with a sigil of a red sun pierced by a golden spear on the chest, rose up as soon as he was healed. He put on his armor again, grabbed his sword, and ran out. And he wasn't alone. There were a few more men with the same sigil there, and whenever he healed them, they thanked him and ran away, back towards the city.

While interested, Bronn had better things to do that night. He went on to heal two dozen men and women who were the most wounded. Then, healed the rest conventionally as per his training in the Great Sept of Baelor.

Time went by, and the bells eventually stopped ringing. The number of wounded was reduced, and yet there was no rest for Bronn. Come morning, the true state of King's Landing became known. It was carnage on the streets. Any man or woman found outside was killed by the Lannisters. Many houses were set on fire.

Countless women were violated, some right before their husbands or children. Even young girls weren't spared.

Finally, when the Baratheon and Stark armies arrived, the sacking stopped. Yet, there was no peace. Bronn, aided by two septas, had to go around King's Landing, praying for the dead, or those too wounded to live, as they were put to rest by Stark and Baratheon swords.

Countless families were uprooted. Fathers dead, mothers dead, sons dead, daughters dead. Some men were roaming around, shouting the names of their mothers, daughters, sisters, and wives. Death and misery were everywhere.

And Bronn… he saw the face of his mother in each dead woman. What was their fault other than being smallfolks? What was their fault other than being in the way of a game of nobles? What was their fault that they deserved such a fate? Worse than death to many.

With teeth clenched tight, Bronn loaded the dead into carts throughout the day and buried them in the communal plots. The rebellion was over, and the Mad King was murdered by his own Kingsguard. The new King, Robert Baratheon, had arrived, roaring, laughing, and galloping in his victory parade through the streets as he rode to the Red Keep.

Not a single glance or prayer was given to the innocent killed for no reason.

Bronn loathed them. He loathed himself for being an ant in a world ruled by giants. An insignificant, nameless creature worth less than a noble's dog.

He just did his job. His journey was yet to begin.

His stepping stone, becoming a septon, was within arm's reach.

"Bronn, there are dead gathered near the Sept. Go to them. Let the Seven hear their names."

At the Septon's orders, he moved. It had been nearly two days since he last slept. Yet, he felt no sleep near his eyes.

####

When the second night came, the burials finally ended. Robert Baratheon was officially announced as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms. The Targaryen banners were removed, and Baratheon banners were hung.

Bronn walked out of the city and headed to his humble single room lodging, the same one that held his most cherished yet cursed memories. He looked at the new banners and sighed.

Seven damn blessings—three hundred years of sister-fucking dragon-kings, snuffed out in a year, all gone like piss in the rain. Hah, shouldn't have killed the dragons.

As a learned man, he had read the Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling by Grand Maester Munkun. That only made him despise the nobility more. Having read how absurdly idiotic the dragon-wielding Targaryens were, what could one expect from those without dragons? And now a Baratheon on the throne?

The realm was fucked before. Now it's fucked but by a different cock.

Tired, a little sleepy, he walked up to his basement dwelling's door, holding the key in his hand.

"Hm?"

But the door was already unlocked and left slightly open.

Frowning, Bronn took out a hidden dagger from his robe and pushed the door open. It was dark inside, so he was careful, holding the dagger in front.

"Who is it? If it's coin you're after, try the Stranger—he's richer than me."

"Mmh…"

A woman?

It was impossible to see, but he heard it alright.

"Bronn?"

Definitely a woman… in pain?

The breathy voice was noticeable.

"Bronn the Blessed?"

The Blessed? What?

"H-Help… me…"

Noticing how weak she sounded, Bronn sighed and lowered his dagger. Worried he'd be seen with a woman, he locked the door first and then walked over to the nearby table. It was dark, but he needed no light to walk around the place etched in his memory.

He grabbed the flint and steel and lit up the lantern right away. Holding it, he turned around and raised his arm towards the source of the voice, his humble bed.

"Hm?"

While he didn't have any image in mind, seeing this woman did make him feel confused. After all, those features weren't so common there. In that flickering light, he first noticed the heavy jewelry on her body, a big necklace around her neck, a head ornament, and even large gold earrings. She was dusky, beautiful actually, slender in every aspect, her big eyes dark, albeit looking weak. Her clothing was a beautiful, red and gold gown, wide around her shoulders, no sleeves, soaked in blood around her chest and legs.

A noble woman at every glance. There was no doubt about it. And seeing her complexion, Dornish, she was likely a handmaiden to the Princess. And her being there meant one thing: she was on the run. Understandably so, since Robert had won.

Her face was bruised, like someone had slapped the life out of her with a massive hand. One side of her face was slightly swollen, while her nose and lips were bleeding, as well as the ear on that side.

Bronn sighed, wondering what to do.

Best pass her off. Got my own mess to clean before I start preaching to others.

"I'll be back in a moment."

"Wait!" Her voice cracked, barely more than a breath. Eyes rimmed with tears, her face pale, even with her complexion. "Ser Ryne said you're a godly man—Please, help me. I have no one else. I beg you."

Helplessness.

That was an emotion Bronn was far too intimate with. He'd only known that emotion for the first ten years of his life. And seeing others going through the same was somewhat of a weak spot for him. Still, he was no fool to meddle in noble business. Nothing good ever came from it.

"Look, my Lady—if that's what you are—I'm just a humble septon-in-training, ain't I? Got a bit o' the Mother's blessing, maybe a wink from the Maiden, but I'm no bloody god. Sounds like your troubles need more than a half-baked septon with a sharp tongue and rusty blade. Whatever storm you're dragging behind you? It's far above my rank." Bronn plainly laid it out, the truth. "And Seven help me, I don't even know your name."

The woman gulped a choking breath, panic rising in her eyes, her body becoming restless on the bed where she sat. "P-Please…"

Her voice broke as tears slid freely down her cheeks—Big visible tears.

"They… My children… They're gone…"

Honestly, Bronn had never seen a noblewoman cry. Heck, he hadn't seen a smallfolk cry that hard. And after having seen the bloody madness left by the Lannisters, he could imagine one or two things that must have happened to her. Especially if children were involved.

But other than solace and a prayer, he had nothing to give.

Softly, he tried to calm her down. He knew he was no knight in shining armor type, nor was he considered particularly handsome; all he had to show was a decent face, a smile, and some miracles.

"Look around, my Lady. This is where I live, a single room, no window, barely any light even during the day." He pointed at the ceiling, sounding nonchalant despite how fucked up it was. "My mother hung herself from that beam when I was seven. That's how lowborn I am."

"Just, help me… Help me get to Dorne. I-I'm… I'm Nymeria… I'm from House Martell. They'll reward you, they will. Gold, a title, whatever you want. Just—just get me to my family."

The usual dungheap. Bronn's eyes became cold for a moment. They think they can buy us with some gold. Own us like fucking cows and pigs for slaughter.

Her offer didn't even tempt Bronn. The plan, the road he had planned for himself, was his absolute dream. And it wasn't born from a desire for status or gold. No, it was born of pure hatred towards people like the woman before him. In her eyes, he was a nobody, a tool she could use and then discard.

"Nymeria? The Princess of the Rhoynar? Gods above, at least have the grace to lie better." Bronn sneered at her. "Don't insult me, my Lady. I'm no noble, but I'm bloody well learned enough to see through your nonsense."

The Dornish woman shrank her neck in fright.

Seeing that, Bronn sighed. He didn't know what she had seen or faced. There was no point in taking out his anger on her.

"By the Father's beard, I'll see you mended first. You've got till morning to tell me a tale worth hearing, or I'll start making up my own." Bronn set the lantern down, looming closer. "Stay put and don't move your face."

"What—Take your hands—"

"Seven hells, woman! Ser Rhyne didn't tell you why they call me godly? I can heal folks with the Mother's blessing. Now hold still—or I'll toss you out and let the Stranger finish the job."

She didn't move an inch after that.

Bronn placed his spread palm on the wounded side of her face. A little shamelessly, he let his thumb press on her bloodied lips, thin and warm. He was just playing, holding back from letting his hatred towards nobles take over.

Then, he did the usual thing. He closed his eyes and started praying for her.

"O gentle Mother, soft of grace,
Lay your mercy on this face.
From shattered cheek and bloodied skin,
Let the healing light flow out, not in."

Bronn prayed and felt the effect of his magic work. He stopped feeling that throbbing sensation on the side of her face. He was sure she felt it too. But then he remembered something and decided to cheekily add himself to the prayer.

"By teat and touch, by cradle's might,
Spare her beauty, grant her light.
Bronn the Blessed calls your name—
Let life return and leave no shame!"

Done with it, Bronn slowly opened his eyes and then removed his hand from her face. He was mesmerized by her beauty, truly a sight to behold, as the swelling had vanished; it seemed like there were no scars to begin with.

She touched her face like a madwoman, her eyes wide in disbelief. She rubbed her cheek, touched her lips, and then caressed her ear. She couldn't hear from it until a moment ago. Now, it was as good as ever.

A loud gulp echoed in the small basement room. She eyed the man with a different view. While his speech was unrefined, he truly was a godly man, blessed. She'd heard of magic, but this was her first time seeing it, feeling it, a blessed gift to have.

"H-How… did you?"

"Just one o' the few blessings from the Mother and Maiden, if you can believe it. I'm just passin' it on before they change their minds," Bronn replied and turned towards his workstation, where he made medicines and poisons.

The Dornish woman felt overwhelmed, still feeling her face. But then, tears welled up in her eyes again. "C-Can you…"

"No, I can't bring back the dead."

She started to weep harder. "They… they butchered my children. My R–daughter… they stabbed her again and again—my little girl. My son… my sweet boy… they smashed his head—gods, he was only a babe… My babies… They killed my children…"

Without looking, Bronn's single brow rose. He knew she was oversharing it now if her aim was to keep her identity hidden. She was broken beyond words; any woman would be if that happened to their child.

A little in sympathy and a little wary, he took a finger-sized glass vial and walked back to the woman. "Who did it?"

"He… that tall man—that beast, monster!"

Seeing her emotions becoming unstable, he raised the glass vial to her. "Here, drink. Gods willing, it'll mend the wounds in you and lull you off to dreamless sleep."

She eyed the vial with suspicion and looked up at his face.

"Woman, if I meant to kill you, I'd have thrown you out for the Stranger and saved myself the sermon. Now hush and sleep. I've been burying more corpses than prayers since yesterday—rebellion my ass. If there's justice, it's the smallfolk who ought to be sticking knives in you lot."

Whatever came over the woman, she grabbed the vial and drank its contents in one gulp. Then, she watched the blessed man for a while, and before she knew it, she fell sideways on the bed.

"Ugh… my bed."

Noticing her bloodstains ruining his bedding, he groaned in a silent protest. But not acting like a complete fiend, he let her be instead of trying to change her clothes.

He returned to making the poisons and the medicine from his memories.

####

The next morning,

"Up you go, Princess," Bronn muttered, perched on the chair like a crow on a grave. "That's what you're called down there, aren't you?"

"Aaaah… No!"

"Shhh~" Bronn quickly smashed his palm on her mouth. "I knew you'd squeal like a stuck pig. You're with Bronn the Blessed now, woman! Wake up, the night's over!"

"D-Dorne… I must get to Sunspear!"

Bronn shrugged and got up. He stepped aside and gestured towards the door. "Go ahead, I'm not stopping you."

As expected, she hesitated and looked at his face with a silent plea for help.

"Figured. I've been summoned to the Great Sept of Baelor. Won't be back quick. I'll lock the door from the outside. If someone comes knocking, don't go playing the fool. Say nothing. If they grab you, I don't know you, never did. As for Dorne? That's after I'm properly a septon." Bronn sternly advised her. "But if you're still chasing madness, now's the time to run for it."

She didn't move.

"Good, I'll be off. But if you want me sticking my neck out, best you tell me who you are. Even the Seven can't save a fool who backs a ghost."

Finally, Bronn put on his crystal around his neck, grabbed his book, and left the small room. He locked it from the outside, checked it a few times before leaving.

Right away, a dozen faces greeted him. Another dozen sought his blessing as the word of his miracle spread.

####

By the Father's wrinkled bollocks—it's bloody well happening.

Bronn was left with a beautiful surprise. He was being promoted to a full septon, and not just any septon, but one of those well-to-do septons who got to wear white robes and woven seven-colored belts, signifying his distinguished service. He was the first in history to earn that right from the start.

And the one to oversee his vows was none other than the High Septon. The old man who looked kind, but Bronn knew he was a renowned kiddie diddler back in the day.

Down on both his knees, Bronn was dressed in fresh, new white robes, the seven colored belt was tied on his waist, and a new crystal locket was placed around his neck. Then, he was handed his official censor and incense that he'd use for the service. Then he was given a seven-sided crystal to depict rainbows.

Not just the High Septon, but the members of the Most Devout Order, who elected the High Septon, were also there.

"Kneel, Brother Bronn the Blessed, before the faces of the Seven. You, who have touched flesh and spirit with miracles not seen since the days of Baelor the Blessed, are called now not only by men, but by the Gods themselves."

It was the High Septon himself, singing praise for Bronn. It was a magical moment not just for Bronn but also the Septon who taught him.

"The Father saw your judgment, the Mother wept at your kindness, and the Crone whispered wisdom into your ear. The Stranger turned aside from those you saved. These are no small signs."

Bronn stood kneeling like a solemn servant. His stepping stone, at last, he had reached it. And if the High Septon was praising his name, it was only a matter of time before his name spread.

"Today, I anoint you Septon of the Faith, to bear the light of the Seven into the world's darkest corners. May your hands stay steady, your heart stay humble, and your voice ever speak truth. From this day forth, you are not merely a man of healing, but a servant of the divine. Let the bells ring."

Not the real bells, but the smaller ones in the Sept proper rang. That was it, he was officially a registered septon now.

Bronn rose up to his feet and smiled proudly.

The High Septon smiled back and stepped closer to him, patting his shoulder. "You are favored by the Seven, young Septon Bronn. Now tell me—where does your heart lead you? Shall you serve within these hallowed halls, or beyond, in some lord's court? I will not lie—there are noble houses who have made quiet inquiries after you."

Must be the ones I saved that night.

But Bronn had his goal set.

"With all due reverence, Your Holiness, I ain't meant for this Great Sept or lords' courts, not yet. I want to join my brothers as a traveling septon and spread the blessing of the Mother to the realm."

"Quick of wit, my child." The High Septon laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "The Seven smile upon your purpose. Go now—with my blessing. Spread the Mother's mercy where it is most needed. Tell me, though—where shall your steps first fall?"

Without hesitation, he answered. "The Reach, Your Holiness. I want to read some holy tomes in the Citadel's possession."

High Septon sneered, but not at Bronn. "Blasphemers, the lot of them—hoarding what is sacred as if it were theirs to guard. Shelved high, hidden deep. Go now, Septon Bronn. I shall write, and with that letter, even the most stubborn will yield to the light of the Faith."

With that, the ceremony was over as the High Septon left.

Bronn was led outside by the old Septon, who taught him everything. There, at the Sept near the fish market, he was gifted a small feast. Of course, the Sept couldn't afford it, so the smallfolks from the town pitched in. A lot of them were grateful for his service.

"Don't forget where you came from."

"Don't forget us."

Many faces were crying. He didn't know most of them. But clearly, he meant a lot to them.

Bronn accepted that he wasn't a kind man. But being a septon now, he needed to keep a smile on his face.

From that morning till early afternoon, he stayed at the small feast, ate little, and spoke with the people. Finally, once the crowd thinned, he packed some food and headed back to his small dwelling.

By now, he'd realized who the Dornish woman might be. The guards were talking about the deceased kids the entire day.

Still, he wanted to hear it from her mouth if she wanted his help.

Click!

He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door.

"Septon?"

"Hm?" He acted quickly and stopped the door from actually opening. He turned around with urgency and looked at the busty woman who held a small babe in her arms. "Ah, Lady Melissa."

The woman was beautiful with a full, curvy body, decently tall, light brown hair, and a fair face with a small hint of freckles. The little babe in her arms was big for a newborn and had golden blonde hair.

"I've heard whispers that you ride soon," Lady Melissa said softly, a flush rising to her cheeks. "Here—take this coin. My lord husband lacks the grace to offer thanks, but I shall never forget what you did for us, your blessing, this… You gave me a beautiful son. May the Gods keep you safe, wherever your road may lead."

Bronn genuinely nodded and took the small pouch of money. "And you too, Lady Melissa."

Smiling, the woman turned around and left.

With a sigh, Bronn turned back and entered his room as well. As expected, the Dornish woman was at the door, listening to him. He ignored her and locked the door first.

"Who was she?" the woman asked.

Bronn chuckled while replying. "Dockmaster's wife. Eight years of prayers and not a squawk from her belly. Then they come to me—because I mix herbs better than most mix ale. Gave the man something... let's say it stung his pride. But Seven bless it, they've a lad now, loud as a warhorn and likely twice the man his father ever was."

"You gave them a babe?" she asked curiously, though her expression barely changed. Flat as a plank. "How?"

"How babies are made."

She frowned deeply and moved, walking to stand in front of him. He was a septon and a blessed man. It made no sense that he was already breaking his vows. "You?... Made love to her? But the child had golden hair. Yours is dark as night."

"You saw that?" Bronn reacted fondly, rubbing his chin as if remembering that moment. He'd tested his Maiden's blessing on Melissa and had succeeded. What a month it was, testing out new things with her. Endless night-long sessions of intense mating, bending her, moving her, pumping her, positioning her in different ways, tailoring the seed she needed.

"As I said, I'm gifted by both. Mother grants the healing, Maiden grants the babes. Boy or girl, blonde, brown, red, black, even blue if you want, or silver like those Targaryens. All possible. Also beauty, brains, brawn—it's all on how tight she holds her faith... and how loud, if you take my meaning."

"Nonsense!" She sneered at that absurd response. Sure, he had magical healing. But what he suggested was too much.

Bronn shrugged, moving about in the room, taking out boxes to pack his luggage. He wanted to leave right away. As for the woman, he didn't care if she wanted to keep secrets.

Good, leave me alone.

Seeing her go and sit down on the bed, he busied himself. It wasn't easy packing all those potions. He had to be careful with them. And then there was his hidden chest with a whole five gold Dragons. It was his life's savings, and he was going to use it to gain access to the top courts.

Hah—Highgarden, here I come. One cripple at a time, I'll be in every court in the bloody realm.

"Bronn."

Annoyed, he looked back towards the bed. The dusky woman sat there with a conflicted expression, as if pondering deeply. Her brows creased tightly.

Finally ready to tell the truth?

"What about… What must be done for…" She stuttered, her fingers visibly clenching on the bedding's edge. "For a silver-haired boy?"

"Ha?" Bronn's brow crinkled like bad parchment. "Why in the Seven's name do you care? You don't even believe in the bloody thing."

But just as he turned back to packing his bag, she got up from the bed and stood in front of him. Since he was crouching down, he looked up at her tall frame, at her face that suddenly looked more confident than ever.

"Bronn…" Her voice no longer trembled. No, there was silent rage in it now. "Do you wish for our son to wear the crown?"

"..."

"What?!" Bronn had never been so dumbfounded in his life until now. "Our? Crown? What nonse—"

"I'm Princess Elia Nymeros Martell—Give me a silver-haired son, and I'll give you a King."

"..."

Check out my profile for a link to Elia Martell NSFW art, more chapters , and Discord.

Chapter Text

I knew it!

Bronn acted dumbstruck for a moment, staring at Elia Martell, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, the would-be Queen if Rhaegar wasn't the numbskull he was. And truth be told, he wasn't unaffected by her charm. That slender frame, that regal presence, her lovely, sharp face, her big eyes, and that desperation.

But he didn't consider it as taking advantage. If he were lying, it would have been. But his words were true. He could give her a tailored babe, just as she desired. The hair, the face, the eyes, all of those could be tailored.

"Seven bloody hells, Princess?" He exclaimed and moved hastily to ensure the doors were all locked and nobody could hear them. "They're looking for you out there."

Elia Martell nodded firmly, letting go of all hesitation and shame. Her eyes were filled with anger and assertive desire. She had a plan, and she wanted to do it.

"If what you say is true, Bronn, then I'll give you a son. He'll become the King in the future."

Bronn gulped, staring at the stunning Princess. He'd fucked the portmaster's wife. He'd fucked a few other smallfolk women as well. But a nobility of this level, he couldn't help but be excited. Of course, she was using him. But he saw it, if he played his cards right, he'd have a special connection with Dorne, and perhaps, the future King.

"By the Stranger's balls…" He bowed just enough to call it pious. "You nobles always want something rare dressed up as something holy. But I'll hear it. Usually, it's 'give me a son' or 'make the babe pretty', which only takes a single day to bless them. Some get picky—hair color, skin, or body, and that increases the time of the ritual. What is it that you desire, Your Grace?"

"A son with silver hair and violet eyes," Elia demanded firmly. "That much is not negotiable. If the gods are kind, let him be strong, not frail as I've been. Let him be clever, and hale in limb and spirit. That is all I wish."

Elia herself was in disbelief that she was believing in Bronn's words. It was absurd and insane that a man could simply hand over tailored seed to women. Yet, everything she'd heard and seen made her want to believe in him. He was no knight in shining armor, a face slightly above average, a mouth that was as crass as blessed.

"Hmm…" Bronn hummed and rubbed his chin, which had started to grow a stubble beard. "That's a tall order, Your Grace. Might take seven days of holy rites... and by rites, I mean…"

"I understand it." She stopped him from saying it.

"I shall have to make some preparations." Bronn still continued to give her details. "Day one, we give thanks to the Maiden, mainly her gift of your blessed… warm parts. I'll pray with my mouth, proper and slow. On day two, you show my blessed part some reverence. Day three, we do what the Gods made those bits for. Fourth day's special, back door opens in the Maiden's honor. Fifth, we give praise together with our mouths. And on the sixth and seventh? We do the whole blessed sermon again, just harder. May the Crone grant us strength."

Elia's eyes widened, her dusky skin a little flushed. Clearly, she wasn't expecting something so thorough and detailed.

"T-That… Is that truly the ritual?"

No, it's not.

"It is, Your Grace," Bronn replied sincerely. "Amidst the ritual, I shall be speaking prayers as well."

The truth was, Bronn only needed a single night. No, even that was a lot. He only needed one intercourse to give her what she wanted. But there was no joy in it, nor any mystery of a blessing. By making it elaborate, detailed, the illusion of grandeur was easier to create. Besides, when again would he get the chance to bed a Princess like a half-penny whore?

But of course, he was also going to be respectful about it.

"It is…" Bronn walked to the door and peeked out a glance at the sky. Then he closed it again, locked it for good. "Still shy of midnight, Your Grace. If we start now, we might shave a day. The longer we linger here, the more the Stranger squints your way."

Elia gulped, her eyes full of conflict. Yet, she nodded her head. She had lost everything already; what was her body in comparison? For her revenge and her hatred, she was ready to do anything.

"What must I do?"

"Remove your robes to the last piece, Your Grace. They still have some blood on them. I'll bring you a Septa's garb tomorrow. You'll wear it in our escape." Bronn said, and busied himself as well. He grabbed the censer he'd received from the High Septon, added some incense to it, and lit it up. "Lie down on your back on the bed. I'll start the ritual after a short prayer."

Elia felt slightly comforted by the fact that Bronn wasn't ogling her. He wasn't trying to force her down on the bed like a madman in heat. It truly felt like a ritual. She quickly got rid of her robes, letting them fall around her feet. She removed her smallclothes next and stood completely bare.

A few veins popped on her forehead and neck. Feeling the air on her skin, the moment felt far too real now. She unknowingly covered her breasts and loins and weakly moved to the bed. Even as she lay down, she kept her feminine parts covered.

She licked her pale red-brown lips, her mouth going dry. With her head propped on the pillow, her slender frame flat and straight on the single-person bed, she stared at Bronn's back as he prepared some items. The incense had already filled the candlelit room with soothing scents.

"O' Maiden, your servant is to perform the ritual of life. Bestow your grace upon me and the gentle soul that shall receive it." Bronn mumbled like he was giving a sermon, and finally turned around, holding the censer in one hand and a glass bottle with light red liquid in the other.

Fuck! She's… beautiful.

In an instant, he was hard. How could he not? When not just her beauty, but her status also tickled his arousal.

Elia was a sight to behold, an exotic beauty in flesh, all for him to devour the week ahead.

Oh? She's… nursing? Makes sense, the lad was too young.

As far as he'd heard about Elia before, the Septas in the city said that she was rather flat-chested. Now, as he saw her naked, that couldn't be far from the truth. While not swollen like a cow, she had beautiful, round tits he could greedily fondle and milk.

Those legs! Umm… It'll be an interesting week.

Like a Dornish rose stripped of thorns, exotic and divine. Her skin was a rich, sun-touched gold, unblemished, glowing in the candlelight. Her dark, waist-length hair was thick and wavy, sprawled around her noble face. Her eyes were wide, black, unsure, and yet, she didn't break. She lay still, vulnerable, watching him, arms still clutched across her chest and thighs tight together.

Slender, her collarbones jutted like wings beneath her skin. Her belly was tight, untouched. Her arms were thin, not weak, just… fragile. Her hips barely flared from her waist, the elegant curve of a woman who had birthed children, but had never been devoured.

Instead of forcing her to move her hands, Bronn walked to the side of the bed and started dangling the censer over the length of her body, keeping his expression serious as if he was unaffected by her nudity. Only his cock could tell the truth.

"O' Maiden fair with golden grace,
Guide my seed in time and place.
Let silver strands and violet flame
Mark the child that bears her name."

Flick! Flick!

He flicked the glass bottle he was holding, and let a few drops of the light-red liquid in it drizzle on her dusky body. It was just some scented oil he'd made.

But it seemed to do the job as Elia started to relax, taking the ritual seriously. On her own, she removed her arm from her breasts and let them stand bare.

Oh! I'll have fun savoring them.

For Bronn, it was not just about control, but also pleasure. Having noble women dance around his fingers was satisfying. And making them do his bidding in bed was even more joyous. He despised their blue-blooded kind, and this degradation was… payback.

He eyed her chest with hunger, watching those perfect peaks rise and fall with every breath. Her breasts weren't large, but round, high, and perfect for his hands. A noblewoman's tits, smooth and dusky, pale brown nipples standing firm against the cool air, tight with nerves.

The slight softness of motherhood was still there. He noticed the delicate, shallow veins around her curves. He'd heard whispers that she nursed her children herself. The thought stirred his cock to full attention.

"A boy she wants, so let him grow,
Strong of limb and mind to show.
Bless my touch, so soft, divine,
With your light, through flesh, align."

Flick! Flick!

Bronn drizzled more drops of the oil, covering her tits, then her belly. Finally, she removed her hand that covered her most sacred treasure, the cunt that no ordinary man could ever see. Now present to him to savor and devour.

Fuck! I'm hard. What a woman.

Her pussy was neat, tight, just the right kind for her slender frame. Her mons bore a thin patch of trimmed hair, the kind done with careful, practiced hands. Not wild, but not barren either. Her petals were soft, pinkish-brown, drawn tight like a bud that hadn't bloomed.

He could tell immediately. She wasn't sexually active. She hadn't been touched in a long while. The lips were tight, the cleft faint. She wasn't a virgin, but neither had she been filled, ravaged, or worshiped properly.

Flick! Flick!

He poured more oil on her pussy precisely, then further down on her thighs, knees, and feet.

"Make him strong in flesh and thought,
With all the gifts her heart has sought.
In your light, our bodies twine.
Bless her womb with seed of mine."

Finally, he put the censer aside and then got down on his knees by the bed. Without asking, he moved both hands as if it were a common thing. He placed one hand on her breast and the other on her cunt.

Elia gasped, her breath sharp. She flinched in bed, but she stayed put. Her gulps were audible.

This is so amusing. Bronn was enjoying his time. He didn't fondle her, though, and just kept his hands there. Feeling the warmth of her handful tits, and the warmth of her pussy yet to be touched.

"Your Grace." Bronn pulled his hands back and rose. He started unfastening his septon robes. "Seven help us, your body's too weak to carry another babe."

Elia frowned. She'd heard that before plenty of times. "Then…"

"I'll need to heal you first." Bronn declared, and it was true. He had to strengthen her body or else she'd die in childbirth. "With my hands and some holy medicine, you'll be well by the time you need to deliver the babe."

Elia said nothing, just gulped. Her eyes were entirely focused on the thing dangling between Bronn's legs. In her life, she had only seen one cock, and what Bronn had was perhaps twice that size, if not more. Veiny, bulging, thick, and threatening to even look at. And the rest of his body as well… he didn't resemble a septon at all. He was carved like a young warrior with his skin lightly tanned.

And yet, she found herself welcoming it all. The way he told her about her delicate body state, her trust in Bronn grew. Not many were aware of her health, after all. Only the Grand Maester knew. She was warned that birthing another child could end her.

"I understand, Bronn."

"Please turn around, Your Grace. I'll rub medicine on your body and heal the delicate parts."

"Elia," Elia muttered as she turned. "I'm no Princess now, Bronn. Simply call me Elia."

"Then I'll call you Princess," Bronn replied, maintaining professionalism. "You'll soon be in Dorne, after all."

Elia gave a legitimate, grateful, yet pained smile and lay fully prone on the bed, her face sideways on the pillow.

"I'll begin." Bronn declared and climbed onto the bed, making it creak. He straddled her over her thighs, keeping his drooping, hot shaft flat on the valley between her tight hips. He almost moaned when he felt her warm skin. How soft she was all over. His cock throbbed on her asscrack with anticipation.

Elia was no different. She clenched the bedsheets and closed her eyes. Letting a man, not her husband, touch her was hard to accept.

"I will rub the medicine on you and check for any weak parts, Princess," he explained. He fucking loved calling her Princess. It felt so taboo and exciting because of that. "Relax your limbs, yeah? Gods above, we're short on time."

He dripped some oil onto his hands, rubbed them together, and then set to work.

At first, he acted professional, his thumbs working slowly, circular motions into the knots of her shoulders, massaging the tension out of her frame. Her skin was divine to the touch, golden, warm, and so smooth he felt like he was rubbing oil on silk. His fingers traveled down her back, slick with oil, stopping here and there.

Occasionally, his thumbs slid sideways, grazing the outer curve of her breast. Just enough to make her take deeper breaths, but not enough to be scandalous.

"Mmm…" The sound escaped her before she could catch it. She bit into the pillow to muffle the next one.

Bronn smirked behind her. His cock twitched, resting just above the curve of her ass.

He let his hands drift lower, rubbing the small of her back, gripping her narrow waist, then finally reaching the slope of her backside. He gave both asscheeks a firm squeeze. They were small, but round, plump enough to jiggle under his grip, fleshy enough for his hips to bounce off of comfortably. Her ass was perfection, tanned peach, tight, smooth, and gleaming with oil.

His thumbs parted them slowly.

Fuck…

As he spread her cheeks, the wrinkled star of her backhole peeked up at him, delicate and brown, twitching slightly with each of her shallow breaths. He lingered on the sight, his cock pressed stiff and throbbing along her crack.

Elia hadn't moved once. Not a single protest. As if she wanted to be laid bare.

Bronn shifted lower, still straddling her, now positioning himself between her calves. He bent down and pulled her soft thighs apart gently, just enough to give himself a view of her hidden treasure.

Her cunt was flushed now. Dark pink and slick, no longer dry. The oil had done its work… or perhaps it was just him. Her folds were slightly glistening, the petals soft, no longer clenched tight.

She was ready, or nearly enough.

"Turn around, Princess." He moved off of her for a moment.

As soon as Elia was once again flat on her back, he straddled her belly this time. So thin, he easily nestled his knees beside her, and his cock daringly slapped down between her round, milk-filled breasts.

He throbbed, it ached. But he maintained the illusion of holiness. He rubbed the oil on her shoulders while directly staring into her dark eyes. He rubbed her neck, so thin it felt like a twig. He grabbed her arms and oiled them as well.

"Mh…"

Finally, when he grabbed her beautiful breasts, she let out a subtle moan.

Small, but rounded. He molded them gently, spreading his fingers wide, shaping them like warm clay. Her nipples were already hard, pale brown tips flushed with blood and need. And there, just as he suspected, his squeezing coaxed out a slow bead of nurturing nectar.

Bronn groaned under his breath. He rubbed his palms over her perfect swells in circles, spreading her milk across her skin like an offering. He pinched both nipples between his thumbs and fingers, rolling them softly at first, then firmer, teasing more of that sweet, mothering essence out of her.

She gasped and arched subtly, her lips parting in shock or shame… or perhaps pleasure. She didn't stop him.

Satisfied for now, Bronn finally slid lower.

His hands massaged her belly, soft and tight, the oil glistening in the candlelight as he worked his thumbs in lazy spirals. Her belly quivered under his touch. Her breath caught in her throat.

And then… he moved between her legs.

Carefully, he spread her thighs wider, lifting each one just slightly, so he could tuck his own legs beneath hers in a wide V. Her legs settled, now spread around his waist, her cunt fully opened to him, unhidden, glorious in the glow of holy sin.

Seven! Beautiful all around. Even the cunt is lovely.

Her slit was tight, perfect. The lower lips petite and glistening, flushed from the heat rushing down to her core. Her juices shimmering across her petals, a glossy, slick sheen just waiting for him. Not overflowing… not yet. But she was certainly aroused.

Bronn felt like complimenting her, but held back. It would have been inappropriate.

He reached forward and touched her pussy with one slow pass of his thumb and pressed gently along the moist seam. Her hips gave a quick jolt, a flutter of reaction. Then he found her clit, small and swollen, and circled it in slow, steady strokes.

Elia shuddered. Her thighs tensed. She couldn't suppress the shiver running through her limbs. And still, she stayed still.

So he slid in a finger.

Her cunt clenched in reaction the moment he entered. Tight, warm, wet walls greeted him, hugging his fingers as if starved for contact. It made his cock jerk wildly, the sight of his thick digit sinking slowly into royal pussy driving him mad.

Gods, I'm fingering a Princess.

A second finger joined, and Bronn started to pump them slowly, twisting them side to side, curling toward her splayed upper wall. Scraping her soaked walls with his rough digits.

Elia's hips twitched, her belly trembled. She started to move. The subtle thrusts of her pelvis, no longer restrained. Her body was subconsciously seeking it now, that heat, that pleasure. When was the last time anyone touched her like this?

Her breathing quickened. Her back arched. And yet she kept her lips clenched tight, denying herself the moans that clawed at her throat.

"And with this… the blessing shall flow."

Without warning, he pulled his fingers out of her cunt. He slid his hands to her hips and lifted her.

Her body was light in his hands. Slender and delicate. The kind of noble-bred form that rarely did labor, but held within it the heat of the Dornish sun. Her skin was golden and soft, her scent laced with citrus and spice, and the warmth between her legs pulsed with royal blood and aching desire.

He brought her lower half up, lifting her hips and resting her weight across his biceps. Her thighs hung over his shoulders, her back arched off the bed. And her pussy, her sacred, royal pussy… was now right in front of his mouth.

He circled his arms forward and fondled her breasts from below, his fingers squeezing her leaking bosom with greedy hunger.

Then his mouth found her cunt, and he guzzled her down.

His lips clamped down, spreading her folds with his tongue width, lapping at her petals like a man searching for salvation. He dragged the flat of his tongue up her slit, then circled her clit over and over again. Each motion agonizingly slow.

His nose brushed her mons, his jaw flexing with each lick. His tongue dove deep, slurping her sweet slick, tracing the edges of her tightness.

He was gasping into her as he ate, his cock twitching wildly against his belly. His thumbs pressed on her nipples again, rubbing them in tight circles, coaxing out more milk as her body arched even higher into his mouth.

It was a crime against the gods. A sin against the crown. And he loved every second of it.

"Ughhh…" Elia couldn't take it. Her resolve shattered.

She gasped, eyes wide with disbelief. Her mouth opened, but only ragged breaths came out. Short, panting moans that grew louder with each stroke of his tongue. She hummed helplessly. Her legs twitched and jerked. Her hips tried to buck, but his grip held her still.

Gods, it was too much. She had wanted a child. She'd braced herself for duty. But this… this was nothing like duty. It was divine. Overwhelming, sinful, and wicked. Devilish lust wrapped up in a holy white cloak.

She tried to silence herself, biting her lip, but her body said otherwise. Her moans slipped out, breathy and sticky. Her eyes turned glassy, her mouth trembling, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

And Bronn, Septon Bronn, kept licking her like a man tasting wine for the first time in his life.

Her thighs began to shake uncontrollably. Her pussy clenched hard.

"Mmmmh… F-Forgive me… Bronn, but…" Elia whispered, trembling. Her tone swayed between shame and pleasure.

"Hmmm…" he hummed, mouth pressed tight to her cunt. The vibration of his deep groan rolled through her, and then he dove in harder.

His tongue flattened against her slit, scooping her up in long, sucking pulls. He was practically inhaling her entire pussy like she was a feast, tongue drilling into her love canal like a desperate man.

"Ohhhhhh!"

Elia arched off the bed, her back curling in the air like a bow drawn to the limit. The climax ripped through her, raw and violent. Her thighs snapped shut around his head, trembling uncontrollably. Her pussy clenched and pulsed in rhythm with her release, drenching his lips, chin, and stubble with waves of sweet, royal nectar.

But Bronn didn't stop. His mouth latched on tighter, tongue thrashing as she rode her orgasm like a storm. Her cries, muffled by the biting, kept rising and falling, and still he licked, drank, and gulped. His face was a dripping mess by the time her spasms finally subsided. It was new to her. So new.

When he pulled away, his cheeks were soaked, his chin glistening, his lips swollen from overuse. He looked down and admired her. She had a face that screamed sweet, innocent, and kind. And doing all that to such a face was unholy, and yet insanely arousing.

Elia was a mess. Her toned belly rose and fell with rapid breaths. Her arms lay limp at her sides. Her hair clung to her sweaty temples, her thighs twitching with aftershocks.

What a beautiful sight. Bronn admired his work for a while. But he felt unsatisfied. He was hard, ready to spill, and he really didn't want to jerk off.

Fuck it! Not like she'll back down now.

"Since it's likely past midnight now, might as well start the second day rites, Princess," Bronn declared and got off the bed. "I… I suppose you're tired. Lie down on your back and rest your head off the bed's edge, Princess."

Eyes half open, Elia moved as he commanded, lost in sensations and fatigue. She lay down in the middle of the bed, over its breadth, her head dangling off the edge. Her shimmering dark hair spilled long and touched the floor.

Seven, look away because I'm about to… fuck her face.

Bronn stepped forward, his cock twitching and dripping with need. The heat from her climax clung to the air around them, mixed with the scent of sex and incense. His shaft flexed proudly as he approached her upside-down face. He tapped the leaking head of his cock on her soft lips.

The weight of it made her flinch, but she opened up without a word, welcoming his sacred offering.

Bronn, never missing a beat, started to mutter another prayer, low and full of sin-drenched mockery.

Elia didn't fully understand the words, but she believed in him anyway.

"I'll start slow, Princess."

He gripped her jaw with one hand and guided his cock between her parted lips. Her mouth was tight, so tight. Even wetter than before, her spit already pooling as he slid the swollen purple head inside. He swallowed a groan as her lips stretched around him.

Fucking hell… the woman's tight everywhere. Her body… her cunt… her throat.

He gave her time, allowed her to adjust, then started rocking back and forth. Short thrusts, just enough to coat his throbbing hardness in her saliva. His other hand dropped to her breasts, palms tasting her milk-filled tits again. He palmed the softness while his hips itched to drive in deeper.

"Nnngpfff~!" Elia gagged.

He shoved halfway in, his balls smacking against her forehead with a heavy plap! Her nose mashed into his sack, and he felt sheer pleasure, drunk on the sheer filth of the moment.

Here he was, fucking Elia Martell's face. The once-proud royal Princess. The woman of a dragon. And now she was nothing but a sacred hole for his blessing.

"Uuuughk!" She gagged again, throat spasming around his girth, but Bronn grabbed her head and held it in place.

He thrust again, harder, longer. Until finally, he was balls deep.

His cock fully disappeared down her throat, and he could see the thick outline bulging through her slender neck. It moved each time he pulled back and drove forward again, like watching a beast crawl under her skin.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The room was filled with obscene wet slaps, his cock pounding her face, her drool and his precum coating her dark golden skin in streaks of filth. Her eyes fluttered open, watery and glazed, lashes stuck together from spit. Her face was painted with shame and worship all at once.

His balls smacked into her face with every thrust. The rhythm picked up. The spit spread. Her cheeks puffed out, her mouth drooling around his shaft.

Bronn leaned in, pressing his hips forward with brutal control, pinching both of her tits between his calloused fingers.

Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!

The sounds from her throat were utterly depraved. Wet, choked gulps echoed in the room like a sinful choir singing songs of carnal pleasure.

"Aaaargh… Accept… the… essence!"

He rammed balls deep and spilled into her throat. His balls smacked heavily on her brow and finally exploded.

His seed surged out in thick, molten waves, hot and heavy, blasting down her esophagus. But he didn't linger long. Just a second, any more and she might choke to death. He quickly pulled back a few inches, careful to let her breathe while he still emptied into her scorching mouth.

His shaft pulsed with every spurt. His balls dragged across her face slowly, smearing themselves across her cheeks and chin in one long, gooey stroke.

"Princess, don't let it drip," he warned her.

Elia, face upside-down and dazed, obeyed. Her throat started to contract, suckling at his sensitive cockhead.

Gulp-Gulp!

She swallowed it, all of it. The sacred filth. The gift of the gods. It coated her tongue, slicked down her throat, and sat warm in her belly. And yet, she kept going. Bronn's cockhead remained in her mouth the entire time, throbbing gently on her tongue.

She didn't even blink. Her eyes were watery, her lashes sticky, but her mouth kept working and swallowing every last drop.

Bronn grunted again, stroking the base of his shaft lazily, coaxing out the final remnants of his divine offering. Another glob oozed free from the tip.

Elia, by instinct now, swallowed that too. By then, she wasn't even thinking. Her mind was a haze. Her body moved on command, her soul blank and moldable. She was just doing what she was told.

Plop!

Bronn's cock finally slipped out of her mouth with a lewd pop, coated in spit. He let it drag slowly across her face, wiping himself on her skin like a brush on canvas. Strings of white clung from her nose to her cheek, lips to chin.

And fuck, on her dusky Dornish skin, that sticky mess looked divine. A holy mark.

His seed looked potent.

A satisfied smirk subtly curled across his face.

"We will…" He stepped away from her, returning to the septon persona. "We'll carry on at first light, Princess. You get the bed. I'll make do with the floor."

Elia Martell said nothing and just moved into a better position. God knew what was on her mind. Second thoughts? Questions? Doubts? Sadness? The woman curled up in bed and fell asleep from fatigue.

####

Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!

Who'd have thought Bronn would have a Princess on her knees, getting face fucked balls deep in her throat. He was sitting on a chair of all things, and she was down there, kneeling, dressed in a septa's garb.

Bronn honestly liked bedding septas. Many of them were virgins. But they were also hard to bed. He'd been lucky with only one until now. Well, now he had the Princess dressed like a septa.

"Ghhhhk… Ummm…!"

Bronn wasn't even touching her. He wasn't holding her head. Elia was sucking him off on her own. On the second day of the ritual, he emptied his balls in her mouth three times and painted her face once.

He stayed in his humble abode in the name of preparing for his journey. Well, he was, just not in the way others expected.

And like that, the second day passed. It was finally the third day, when he was supposed to fuck her for good and sow his seed.

But he didn't take her that night. No, he chose to do her during the day when the streets outside would be far noisier, reducing the chance of her moans escaping. Besides, he needed some time to gather some of his blessing essence.

####

"I will soon be on my way, old man," Bronn said and left the town's Sept. It was the middle of the day, and he was done with his duties.

Click!

He turned the keys and entered his small home. Right away, he was greeted with the beautiful sight of Elia Martell in a septa's garbs. White robes, but without the hood, so that way he got to see her beautiful, dark hair.

"I've purchased the ingredients," he told her, and went over to his workbench. "I'll cook up some strong medicine for you, Princess. By the Seven, it'll harden your core like the Wall in winter."

"What about our journey to Dorne?" Elia asked him, having gotten a little used to his presence, and ignoring the musky scent in the room.

"I'm working on it. Preparing a stagecoach isn't cheap. But it's not impossible. I've used my connections. We'll get a reply in two days." Bronn revealed and suddenly started to remove his clothes. "We should continue with the ritual now, Princess. Today's the most important one."

Elia's jaw tightened, but her hands moved to remove her septa's gown. She knew what they were going to do. And after this, there was no going back. A physical exchange sacred for lovers, for a husband and wife, she was going to do it with this man.

And she had every intention to. For revenge.

Elia went to bed and lay down on her back willingly. In moments, Bronn crawled between her dusky, long legs and spread them wide. He had the censer in his hand, and he hovered it above her fertile entrance.

"...Take my seed, let strength arise,
A bold young lad with his rightful eyes."

And then, Bronn placed the censer aside and looked down at her entrance. It wasn't dry, so he didn't bother using the oil. He pushed her legs up and wide, and shifted closer on knees until his cockhead was flat against her warm opening.

He looked up at Elia's face, charming, anxious, her brows creased.

"Keep the Maiden in your thoughts."

With that, he pushed his cock inside.

Slowly, his thick cock parted her lower lips, feeding the swollen mushroom-head into her velvet sheath. The warmth welcomed him, tight and hesitant. He could feel every heartbeat inside her. Her walls clenched around his girth like she'd never been truly fucked before. Not properly, not like this.

"Mmm…" Elia let out a moan, low and trembling, the air stuck in her throat.

Bronn pushed deeper, hands gripping the sides of her dusky thighs. Her legs trembled. Her pussy sucked him in, inch by inch, squeezing his cock in a wet, desperate seal.

"Ummmm!" Elia shook her head suddenly, her hand twitching against his chest.

It wasn't a command to stop, just her body reacting. Trying to comprehend being stretched so wide, and so deep. But she didn't resist. She powered through it, biting her lip, determined to take it all. To make this moment count.

He paused, letting her adjust. Her breathing was shallow, quick, and her fingers clenching the sheets. Then, he pulled out halfway and slammed back in with more strength.

"Aaaaah!" she cried out, her back arching, body shaking under him. Her cunt gripped his shaft, quivering around his girth, still trying to understand the length buried inside her.

He gritted his teeth, savoring the feeling of being cock-deep inside the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Her cunt was warm, tight, exquisite, like a silk glove soaked in heat.

"I'll start moving. Hold the Maiden's name in your thoughts," he warned.

Bronn leaned over her, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs, keeping them spread wide and high. Her ass lifted slightly, angling her perfectly for his deep plunges. He leaned his face even further down and devoured her breast, sucking greedily, tongue lapping at the nipple that leaked her faint sweetness.

Sweat was already forming on both their bodies. Glistening over her collarbone, trickling between her breasts, dampening the bed beneath them. She smelled of incense and lustful heat. Her moans grew louder with each suckle on her mounds of fragrant flesh.

Then, he started to move, truly move. Thrusting his hips with force, each jolt plunging her deeper into the mattress.

Her back bent, her legs wrapped high around his waist, her arms circled his neck.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

He fucked her down into the sheets, long and deep strokes that used the entire length of his phallus to fill her. Each time he pulled back, it was to drive in harder. Each slap of his hips struck her soaked, puffy cunt into oblivion.

"MMmm… Oh, oh!" Elia whimpered under him, her legs trembling around Bronn's waist, her hands clawing down his back. The sensation, the girth, the heat; it was all overwhelming.

"Shhh… Let me help with the moans." Bronn said.

His lips came crashing down on hers.

Elia's eyes widened in shock. That… was intimate. Too intimate. Far more so than his cock driving deep into her core. Her breath stifled, her hips halted, and for a single moment, time slowed.

Bronn didn't ease off. His mouth moved against hers like they were lovers. Like he meant it.

Her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, clinging to him as if her soul was falling apart. Her lips softened, parted, and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She gasped, whimpered into the kiss. Then she moaned, a trembling vibration as her entire body snapped.

"Mmmph—!" She climaxed.

It hit her hard. Her cunt clenched around his engorged flesh, milking him, sucking him with all her womanly might. Her toes curled, her hips trembled, and her back arched high into his body as the orgasm tore through her. Her soaked walls pulsed around his cock, demanding, pleading, desperate.

Bronn didn't break the kiss. He devoured her cry of bliss, muffling it in his mouth, nipping her lips as she shook beneath him. His hands grabbed her thighs, his arms caging her, pinning her to the mattress as he fucked through her peak.

"Mmmm!" Elia gasped into his mouth. She felt it, his cock pressed hard and deep, grinding against the soft gate of her womb. She could feel the throb, the heartbeat pulsing in his length. He was there.

Then, he gave it to her.

"Nnnngh!"

Bronn exhaled through his nose, his brows clenched tight, focusing everything, his mind, his magic, his soul, on this very moment. On the son she wished for.

He kissed her harder, and as his balls tightened, his cock throbbed, and the first burst of seed surged forward. He bred her.

Hot, thick cream jetted from his cock, filling the deepest place in her womb, spraying warmth through her trembling core. He poured into her, wave after wave, his cock pumping her full of his body's creation.

Elia whimpered, still shaking. She felt it all. His heavy body pressed down on her. His weight, his skin, his heat. His cock deep in her core, spilling the essence of gods into her. She could feel it rise, warm, seeping into her womb, filling her. Each pulse of his cock made her feel more alive. More woman, more hopeful.

Her eyes burned, tears pooled. Not from pain. Not from shame.

But from something else. Longing. Desperation. Need.

"Mmm…"

Elia herself was kissing him back. She didn't know when she started it, but she knew she welcomed it.

Bronn slowly finished filling her up and giving her the seed she desired. In the days ahead, he'd be doing her just for pleasure. And he had every intention of doing it.

However, while he gave her the babe she wanted, he also left out something important.

Something that was needed to continue the bloodline.

Something that the future King, or Prince, would be desperate to do.

And in those moments, Elia would remember him. Seek him.

All in time.

####

Against the wall, on the chair, her jumping on his lap, or in any way imaginable. Bronn fucked Elia six times, just during that day. He didn't let her wear her gown for once. He emptied his balls inside her each time. She was sore, swollen, and red between her legs already.

But Bronn had a plan behind it. He fucked her all the way until midnight. Then, he suggested they continue with the next day's rituals—the backdoor.

Elia, fucked out of her mind by then, even tired, still did as Bronn said. He made her get down on all fours on the bed. He didn't even bother with saying a prayer this time, just stared and started to probe her.

"Oooooh~" Elia screamed into the pillow.

Bronn smirked and spat again and again, keeping it lubricated. He also used a potion that made his cock very slimy, easy to slide. It was a recipe from his memories.

"Relax and breathe." He advised her and, with pride, spread her ass open. He slowly slipped his cockhead inside her tight ass, and fuck, it was tight!

Her hole clenched. Her back arched.

He pressed the flushed tip of his cock in.

"Unghh!" She moaned, biting her lip.

Tight, too tight. Gods. Bronn almost lost it right then. Her walls strangled his cock, inch by inch.

Elia's back wouldn't stay still either. She kept squirming, moaning, her spine curling, hips rocking forward. Every movement stroked his sensitive length.

He pushed her spine down with one hand, pinning her to the mattress. Her ass lifted higher. The angle was perfect, almost too perfect. Then, he started moving.

Slowly, so fucking slow. It was almost torture, drowning in pleasure with no chance to breathe. Her ass gripped him tight enough to bruise bone, forcing him to only use half his cock. He wasn't insane. Any more and she might split in two.

"Uuuuhhhh~!" Elia gritted her teeth into the pillow. Her toes curled. Her legs trembled uncontrollably.

And then she came. Just from the insane stimulation he gave her ass.

Her entire body shuddered, her thighs shook violently, and her breath caught in her chest.

Bronn's balls ached. The pressure was maddening. "Ugh… Take… the essence!"

With a final push, he buried himself deep and spilled everything. Every fucking drop. His cock twitched as he emptied his load inside her ass, his baby batter overflowing the stretched ring, running out in hot, messy streaks.

Her hole gaped open as he pulled out, leaking his thick white cum down the curve of her ass and onto the bed. It was such a magical sight, it was criminally taboo, having the princess like that, ass leaking his mischief.

Too tired, he then collapsed beside her. The first time he'd ever done that.

"Too much, was it?" Bronn said, hinting at softness with his voice. "The Maiden's not shy. She calls for the body, head to heel, and Seven help you if you're half-hearted."

Elia shifted and cuddled beside him, putting an arm over his naked chest.

Oh? Interesting.

Such a response was unexpected by Bronn. He welcomed it and slid an arm under her head, and held the woman close like she was his lover.

Slow and steady.

Carving an irreplaceable place in Elia's heart wasn't easy. But Bronn was committed to it. A noblewoman of her caliber, driven by revenge, was bound to achieve greatness. And that greatness would be his stepping stone.

One house at a time… Hah! They don't even see me as a threat. Too proud of their fucking castles.

That night, Bronn slept in that bed with Elia. She hugged him the entire time. It became hot, sweaty, and fuck, it was arousing.

In the morning, Bronn took her ass one more time, followed by a fingering session to make her release her heat. It wasn't a part of the ritual, she knew it, and yet she didn't stop him. One move at a time, he pushed the boundaries.

On the fifth day, they did a sixty-nine, eating each other out at the same time. In the end, even though it wasn't a part of the ritual, he ended up fucking her cunt in the good old mating press style, folding her slender legs into her chest so beautifully while showering kisses on her lips.

The line between the ritual and just mindless depraved fucking started to blur.

Before long, kissing became common. Sucking her tits became common. Sleeping in the same bed became common.

On the sixth day, as per the ritual, they did it all. Eating her pussy, her sucking him, then fucking her cunt, and finally her ass. It took a lot of stamina, and they did it in a prolonged style, over the whole day.

It was hot and insane.

Elia Martell, lost in emotions, started to open up to Bronn. She told him about her life in the Red Keep. About the old King. About her husband, who treated her right initially, grew distant eventually.

On the seventh day, Bronn decided to make it more passionate.

"Mmm…"

They kissed each other, wrapped like tangled snakes, naked in bed. Eyes closed, he fingered her pussy at the same time, and she stroked his cock. Soon, he was pumping into her, yet the kiss never stopped. Then he was fucking her ass, and she was taking him while sitting on top, leaning down to kiss him.

On that last day, their lips were stuck together like glue.

It was dreamy.

It was passionate.

And as that day came to an end, and he spilled inside her warm, snug cunt one last time after cleaning, he dropped a final kiss on her lips.

In response, he heard the words he wanted to hear.

"You should become a Septon in Sunspear. I… Our son… Don't you want to see him?"

This always happens. Bronn had seen it with the portmaster's wife as well. Initially, he fucked her like a whore, and it was strictly physical. But by the end, the portmaster's wife grew too attached to him, romantically, emotionally, and physically.

It was bound to happen after all that Bronn did. And now, it was Elia. Her distant persona had melted away to reveal the warm, gentle soul she was. She was clever and sweet.

Bronn smiled and pecked her lips, holding her close against his chest. "That? Aye, I'll do it gladly. But Princess, the Seven didn't give me the Mother's healing and the Maiden's spark just so I could sit and relax. If I waste their gifts, I'm no better than those fat, lying bastards calling themselves holy in King's Landing."

"Hmm…"

Elia caressed his chest with a hand, shocked by herself. A week ago, this man was a stranger to her; now she felt like she shared her soul with him. He'd made her feel things she had never felt in her life. And it wasn't just physical, but mental.

"When our son," Elia muttered, holding back the coldness. "When our son takes the throne, I'll have him make you the High Septon."

I'll become that regardless, Elia.

"I can't wait," he replied and hugged her tighter. "Let's sleep now. We leave for Dorne early."

"Let's do that."

####

King's Landing, Red Keep.

"Gods, what's this nonsense I hear about some faith healer waving hands and curing boils?" Robert questioned as he sat in the Small Council room, looking imposing and mighty, a gleam in his eyes, overflowing with pride of the recent victory.

"Ah, Your Grace, mere mummers' tales," wheezed Pycelle, stroking his beard. "The smallfolk do so cling to stories, especially in troubled times. A young Septon, they say, spirited some to safety during the sacking, but the rest? Idle fancy, nothing more."

Robert drained his goblet and let out a satisfied grunt. "This young Septon… where is he hiding? High Septon mentioned him, said he won that seven-coloured belt right at the start. Hmph. Let's see if he's worth half the fuss."

"That, Your Grace, is unnecessary…" Pycelle murmured.

"He has departed King's Landing, Your Grace," Lord Varys chimed in. "Left a few days ago."

"Ah, yes. He's chosen to become a traveling septon and bring the word of the Seven to all corners of the realm." Pycelle added quickly.

Robert frowned and eyed Pycelle with suspicion. "For a man of learning, you're oddly keen on a backwater mere septon, Pycelle."

"Haha, that, oh…"

Bam!

"Your Grace!" A Kingsguard barged in right then. "Lord Stark… Lord Stark has returned!"

Creak!

Robert pushed away the chair and stood up. He forgot everything and rushed out. "My Lyanna!"

####

Shipbreaker Bay,

Instead of going by road, Bronn chose to use a ship. It was safer that way if the goal was to reach Sunspear. He made Elia wear the full hood of a septa as well, then put on some makeup on her face to make her appear lighter.

Then, early in the morning, they reached the port and left. It was a Dornish trading ship. His friendly relations with the guards and the port workers came in handy as he didn't get checked, nor did Elia. He used the excuse of having too much luggage to go by ship instead of by road.

But the biggest expense on that trip was renting the room on that ship. It was tiny, cramped, and he couldn't even spread his arms wide. It had some space to stand, a single chair at the end, and then a bunk bed on the side. It wasn't the biggest room, but the best he could afford.

Elia promised him that her family would reimburse him. But honestly, he was already reimbursing himself on the journey by spilling in the beautiful Dornish princess pretty much every few hours. There was nothing much to do on the ship anyway.

And Elia didn't seem to mind either. She had shared almost the entire story of her life by now. That made him understand why she was like this with him. While Elia did love her husband, and their marriage was happy, it slowly lost all its charm, and Rhaegar grew distant. So distant that they didn't even share a bed anymore, nor a room.

Then, she heard about the abduction of Lyanna, and she knew it was true. She didn't know if it was an abduction or not. She knew for sure that Rhaegar had chosen another woman over her.

"Ummm…"

It was the ninth day on the ship.

"Mmmm…"

Bronn sat on the lone chair in the tiny room, his trousers crumpled around his ankles. On his lap sat Elia, her septa gown hiked up around her waist, baring her lovely lower half. His hands clawed her ass while she rode him gently, holding his cock inside her warm cave while they panted into each other's mouths with endless kisses.

What a journey.

He never imagined his first trip as a septon would be like this. And he really wasn't complaining. But he sure loved teasing this woman. Just feeling her tight cunt snugly choke his cock was enough to make his knees weak.

"You are… with my babe… You know that?"

"Um-hum…" Elia moaned, voice low. "That doesn't mean we must stop."

Pa!

He softly slapped both hands on her tight ass. He pulled her harder into him, plunging his shaft balls deep and held her there while spilling for the nth time that day. He didn't mind doing this with her at all.

"Hmmmm…" Elia, as if addicted to feeling his warm thickness inside, just stayed there, letting his spill coat her walls and throb inside her. She wrapped her arms around his head and pressed her face against his neck, dotting kisses.

Bronn liked that attention. A noble woman of the highest caliber reduced to a nobody septon's cocksleeve. He kneaded her shapely, firm ass while he waited for his cock to turn limp and slide out of her.

"You are… truly a blessed man," Elia mumbled near his ear. "I can feel it… my body. It's better than ever. I don't feel tired anymore."

Bronn moved his head slightly and made her sit straight so he could look at her gorgeous face. There was nothing more exotic in Westeros than a Dornish princess. Or perhaps a Targaryen princess, but that dream was now crushed.

"You needed that strength to go through childbirth."

"And you gave it to me. I will never forget this, Bronn. Dorne's doors will forever be open to you. I'll swear on our child's name."

Our? She really likes saying that, doesn't she?

Smiling, he pushed her off his lap.

"Best get up to the deck before they start sniffing about. Remember the blessings and prayers I told you. And if someone gets grabby, tell me. I'm proficient in all types of swords."

Elia chuckled, an impossible reaction to earn from her, considering her traumatizing experience in King's Landing. But perhaps by sharing it with Bronn, she was already starting to overcome it.

After cleaning up, the two went up for some fresh air. Since it was a trading ship, there weren't that many people on board. It was mostly the ship crew and a rare few travelers.

"Aaaaaaaaah!

Thud!

Suddenly, a sailor fell from above, from one of the two masts. It was a hard fall that made Elia flinch and grab Bronn's arm. The men surrounded the fallen sailor, who was groaning in pain.

"Move!"

The ship captain came over in a rush and checked.

Bronn joined at that point. The leg was broken, twisted in an unnatural way from the knee. The rest of the body seemed fine.

Time for a show.

The easiest way to enter a noble's court was to gain fame. And healers were amongst the most sought-after experts in Westeros. And Bronn had a double advantage of being a septon.

"Septa Emma." Bronn raised his voice. "I can help this man. Will you bring my medicine bag from the cabin?"

Elia warmly nodded and rushed away. When she returned, she had a small animal skin bag in her arms. She handed it to Bronn quickly.

"Move aside." Bronn tried to walk through the men.

"Who are you, boy? A healer?" the captain questioned.

Elia chimed in right then. "He is Bronn the Blessed. You sailed all the way from King's Landing, and no one whispered his name?"

She's clever. Bronn liked the way Elia helped him.

Bronn the Blessed was a legend that had already spread amongst the smallfolks of King's Landing. Sadly, nobles were hard to lure in with mere legends, as they were naturally more suspicious of everything hard to understand.

"You're Bronn the Blessed?" The captain exclaimed. "I thought he was seven feet tall, made of pure muscle and might, and a godly halo traveled behind his head wherever he went."

"..."

The… Rumors have gone too far, I guess.

"Aye, I'm Septon Bronn, 'the Blessed' is a name that the people gave me. Let me tend to the poor sod. A man without a leg's as good as buried." Bronn acted all noble and holy and sat down beside the groaning man. "I need four strong arms. Hold him. Tight. Wriggle, and he's done. Wedge something in his teeth. Seven save his tongue. This is gonna sting."

The fellow sailors moved fast and did as Bronn ordered.

Moments later, Bronn took out a small crystal vial from his bag. It looked expensive and precious. And sure enough, when he removed its head, the scent was noticeable. It was distinct, yet strange.

Bronn didn't bother too much and made the sailors remove the injured sailor's trousers. Then, Bronn rubbed that unknown liquid on the broken leg. Under his breath, he started to mutter a spell he'd learned from the memories. It was barely understandable to him, but he felt he could do it alright.

"Bra… Em…" his speech was inaudible.

"WHAT!"

"SEVEN!"

Reactions were immediate. The magic was too otherworldly. Too visible. The broken leg started to move on its own, slowly turning back to its original shape instead of that hideous twist. The sailor roared, crying in pain as the leg slowly healed.

"O Mother mild with mercy deep,
Who guards us all when we must weep,
With hands so soft, yet strong as stone,
Bind bone to bone, make flesh your own."

Thud!

A few sailors around Bronn fell to their knees and broke out in loud prayers, eyes filled with tears as if Bronn were the Mother incarnate himself. Instead of praying to the Seven, they prayed to the miracle itself.

"Let pain dissolve in quiet grace,
And light return to this lost face.
Wrap his pain in mercy's thread,
And soothe the cries the hurt have bled."

Finally, the sailor stopped crying in pain. The broken leg rested normally, as it should.

"Release him," Bronn ordered.

The sailor sat up and looked at his leg. Instinctively, he turned it left and right, and lifted it like he was doing it for the first time. He then raised it and rotated it.

"I… I feel no pain!" The sailor shouted, and jumped to hug Bronn. "Thank you, thank you, Septon! You are blessed! The most blessed, aye, you are! Gods, you saved me!"

Bronn patted him back and stood up. It was an intoxicating feeling to be worshiped like that. Seeing the sailors around him pray or cry at the miracle.

I wonder how the Martells will react. And the Tyrells?

"Seven's grace! You should've told me who you are." The captain hugged Bronn as well.

And just like that, Bronn and Elia received a room upgrade. From a tiny cabin, they reached a real room, still small, but now it had two single-person beds with space in the middle. Though they only ever used one single bed, making it creak along with their moans and squelches.

Over the next five days, Bronn and Elia were treated like royalty on that ship. They received the best food and the best treatment.

Eating, walking on the deck, and rutting the Princess. That was his daily schedule. He loved doing the last one, and he did it until he couldn't anymore.

"Umm…"

The last night on that ship, he fucked her for hours upon hours. On the table, folded underneath him, lifted in the air, or on all fours. He did her in every way imaginable. Then, they lay down in the bed, naked, and kissed each other for hours while making small talk.

She once again asked him to stay in Sunspear.

He once again told her he needed to keep moving.

But promises were made. That she would never forget what he did for her.

He promised that he wouldn't forget her. It was hard to forget her anyway; fucking and breeding royalty was a lifetime achievement. Not to mention, she was rather delicious in bed.

Martells down, I guess. Tyrells are next, and then… Lannisters will be hard.

Bronn had his own plans in the end. Not just the crown, he wanted them all to stand beneath his feet.

Snogging, cuddling, and eventually, the two fell asleep in each other's arms.

####

Sunspear,

"This cannot stand, Doran! It must not. They… She was our sister, Doran! Our sister! T-They killed her… so brutally." Oberyn Martell grieved, eyes red with anger and pain. "We must stand against this injustice. Now the Lannisters walk free. Pardoned by that Baratheon. Is that justice? Is that what we are meant to accept?!"

"Peace, Oberyn. My heart burns no less than yours, but we are not free to act on fury alone. The crown holds many swords. If Dorne draws steel now, we do so against all the rest."

"So we should just accept it and sit silent?!"

Knock! Knock!

A guard peeked inside Prince Doran's solar. "My Prince… there's something you'll want to see. We found a woman inside the castle walls. No one knows how she got in. Says she's Princess Elia Martell."

"..."

"What?!"

The two brothers shouted together.

"Where?!"

They shouted together again.

####

By the Father's sack, that's sorted. My work here is done.

Bronn felt relieved that he got Elia into the castle without being seen or found out outside the castle. He didn't want to be labeled as the Septon who helped Elia escape. Robert would come after his head personally.

Now, he was waiting to receive a small reward for the expenses he incurred. He really needed it to continue on his journey to the Reach. His savings were down significantly while caring for a princess.

For now, he just stood alone in a massive hallway. Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn had arrived and recognized their sister instantly. They had dragged her away to a private chamber, leaving him standing alone.

Seven bloody hells, how long are they gonna take? Fuck, I don't have the coin to spend the night here.

Clank!

"You!"

He was woken up from his thoughts by two metallic clanks and a rough voice. He gazed and found two tall men in armor, one on each side.

"Thank the Stranger, took you long enough. Can I leave now?"

"No." One of the guards said. "Prince's orders. You stay in the dungeon till he says otherwise."

"What? Why?" Bronn's hand instinctively went for his sword.

But the two guards aimed their spears at his face.

"Don't make this hard on yourself, Septon."

Bronn's jaw tightened. The anger he had suppressed. The loathing he contained towards the nobles. It was returning. Whatever change Elia had brought in him faded away. He had saved Elia, and she had likely told her brothers the whole story. Yet, they chose to hold him in the dungeon.

After all he did. Still, he was a nobody, a lowlife maggot to their regal, jaded halls. Meant to be stepped on. Meant to be insulted. Meant to be reminded of his place, his feebleness.

"Fine." He surrendered and let them move him.

Ah… the lowlife tried to reach for the sun and got burned… I get it.

A lesson was learned in Dorne.

Check out my profile for a link to Elia Martell NSFW art, more chapters , and Discord.

Chapter Text

It wasn't even a good dungeon.

But at least it wasn't deep underground.

No, the dungeon was more like a tower. He was pushed with spears on his back, up the spiraling staircase, a very tiring height even for Bronn's trained body. Eventually, he was brought to the very tip of the high tower. By that point, the tower had become so narrow that there was space for just one single room. And that was Bronn's prison.

"Stay put and behave."

He was shoved into the small room. The thick, metal door was slammed shut right behind him. The door didn't even have a hole in it to look in or out.

"By the Father's beard, at least I'm alive," Bronn muttered and measured the room.

It was round, large enough that he could spread his arms wide twice over while standing in the middle. It was warm and empty; a privy was against the wall nearby for piss and shit. The presence of that privy made it clear that it was certainly no ordinary prison cell. Then there was a haystack on the floor near the laughable window, the size of his face, bars protecting it.

He peeked out of the window and took a deep breath. "Seven bless it, fine view. Warm wind off the Summer Sea, too."

He stared in silence, observing how large the world was. Remembering how blessed and lucky he was to have all those magical abilities. And yet, there he was, stuck in a cell because some numbskull lord decided to. He couldn't help but feel loathing towards the so-called ruling class. Sure, he once wanted to be one of them, but by now, he had no delusions that it was an open group, and he was never going to be invited. Prestige and bloodline were all they cared for. He had none.

"Young septon, reckon I'm worth about as much to them as a fart in the Sept," he muttered and sat down on the haystack, not damp thankfully. "Elia Martell… time'll tell if the Gods gave her wits or just a pretty face."

In time, Bronn lay down on the haystack and fell asleep. He was tired after the long journey and no decent welcome.

Creak!

"Wake up! Septon, get your ass up!"

"Hm?" Bronn's eyes shot open, and he jumped to his feet. The two guards had returned and grabbed him from both sides. "What do you want?"

"Gently now. Our tender Septon is not made for such treatment. Leave us alone."

Bronn was wide awake by then, and stared at the light brown skinned man. Tall, slender, fit, with sharp eyes and dark hair. In his one hand was a long spear.

"Made up your mind yet, Prince Oberyn?" Bronn addressed the man. He'd seen him when Elia was taken away from him. "If you're killing me, I'll take trial by combat. The Seven haven't failed me yet."

"Oh?" Prince Oberyn smirked and started waving his spear without getting closer to Bronn. "That's new. A holy man with a taste for swords?"

"Not the sort you're into… if my ears haven't played me false."

Oberyn smiled even broader, and suddenly moved his spear, smacking it between Bronn's legs on his balls. "Don't tempt me."

"..."

"You may leave," Oberyn said, drawing his spear back with a lazy flourish. "You have my thanks for saving my sister. The realm believes her to be dead, and in part, they are correct… though my niece and nephew were the ones who truly died. I remember every crime against me. I remember every kindness, too."

Bronn nodded. There wasn't much else he could say to him.

"But you cannot leave yet." Oberyn twirled his spear toward the window. "The sun still clings to the sky. Elia tells me Oldtown is your destination. You'll be taken to a ship, unseen by any. My brother and I prefer to keep Elia hidden for now. Surely, you can guess why."

"I gain nothing by saying I lent her a hand, Prince Oberyn," Bronn said. "Seven help me, it was a mercy for a grieving woman. The rest of your highborn feuds are for the Gods to sort, not me."

Oberyn nodded and stepped back towards the door. "You're welcome in Sunspear any time, Septon. We value our friends greatly."

"By locking them up?" Bronn quipped.

"Merely precautions, Septon. You will have wine worthy of the Seven and food to make you sin before sunset. Rest for a few hours."

With that, Oberyn turned around and left through the iron door. Sure enough, the sound of locks turning came from outside.

Seven help me, that changes sweet nothing. Still a prisoner. Bronn sighed and returned to sit on the hay. Well, at least they're not sending me to the Stranger just yet."

Knock! Knock!

"Hm?" He jumped to his feet again. Only a few moments had passed since Oberyn had left. "Yes?"

Creak!

"You two may leave," a feminine voice echoed, and then the door opened. "I'll be praying with Septon for a while."

Sure enough, Elia Martell entered, now dressed in complete Dornish attire, a long, full-sleeved golden gown with a deep neckline, gold jewelry covering her neck and wrists, a jeweled belt on her waist, ornaments on her head, earrings as well.

She held a large tray in her hands and walked into the room. Her big black eyes showed a hint of guilt. But overall, she looked far healthier than the first time she and Bronn had met. Bronn's potions had healed her frail, delicate health. While she was still slender, her arms, her face, and her body overall appeared healthy and vigorous.

"Forgive me, Septon Bronn. I swore to my brothers again and again that you acted only from the kindness of your heart. But they refused to believe me. They expected hidden motives." Elia said, and she truly believed that Bronn put a babe in her out of kindness.

"It's all in the past, Princess," Bronn replied, keeping the forgiving, magnanimous persona. And he already knew why she was there. After all, he'd spent a lot of time with her, enough to completely reform her mind into believing the miracle being that he was. "I suppose the food is for me? I am famished."

"Of course!" Elia quickly brought over the tray.

Bronn sat down on the hay, giving some space for Elia to sit right beside him. He placed the plate in front of him and began wolfing down food. His shoulders brushed against her, and she didn't move. She had no reason to after their physical rituals. He'd fucked her so much over the past few weeks that even if he were to push her down on that haystack and take her, she would only thank him for blessing her more.

He glanced at her and already felt his cock hardening. In all that gold jewelry, her bright golden gown, she looked rather appetizing. And seeing her caress her belly, he felt like filling her up one last time before leaving.

Sure, it was sinful, unbecoming of a septon, but it wasn't like he became a septon to serve the Seven. His goal from the very beginning was to gain influence over noble houses and corrupt them slowly. Make himself the highest voice in their halls. And often, the best way to gain that influence was through cunts and wombs.

"Do not be worried, Princess." He said, smiling towards her. "The child's well enough. I've drowned you in blessings since we left shore. Even the Mother must be sick of hearing your name and moans by now."

Elia's face flushed a little. On the ship, with nothing to do, they'd spent most of their time nude in their cabin, snuggling, kissing, fucking non-stop. They'd repeated that seven-day ritual countless times. And as she truly felt her body changing, her complexion improving, her fragile health healing, she became a believer—a blind believer.

"T-Thank you…"

Bronn hid the chuckle. It always made him chuckle, being thanked by a highborn like Elia. For fucking her like an animal and putting a babe in her. It was a sin against the ruling class. But there he was, nodding at her compliment.

"A woman wished to be a mother. I only shared what the Mother and the Maiden saw fit to give me," he replied and finished eating his food, rinsing his mouth with a mouthful of wine. "Keep taking the draughts I mixed for you. By the Seven, the babe will be sound, and you will live to shout at him later."

Elia smiled brightly, her eyes narrowed, glassy wet. She then bowed her head in submission, as she'd done plenty before. "Please don't forget me, Septon Bronn."

He confidently raised his right hand and caressed her smooth, dusky face. "As I vowed on the ship, I shall not, Princess."

"C-Can…" She murmured then, looking down. "Can you bless me… one last time, Septon?"

Hah! I knew it!

That was why she'd come to him. He saw Elia as the first member of his personality cult. The woman was his in everything, mind, body, cunt, womb. She truly believed that him fucking her and creaming inside her cunt made her blessed. That was what weeks of constant rutting, praying, and preaching did to her. He gave Elia hope, and she latched onto it.

"Bless you how? I told you to be direct, Princess. There are too many ways to bless someone." Bronn asked back, toying with her. He wanted to hear it. That filthy thing, that filthy request from her noble lips.

Elia smiled, like it was all normal, and looked at his face. "Septon, please bless my womb with your seed."

Ah… As satisfying to hear as the first time. Too bad she refuses to get more vulgar.

"Very well, I'll bless you one last time before leaving."

"You have my gratitude, Septon. Truly." Elia chirped and began pushing the shoulder of her gown.

"Don't," Bronn said, calm as a prayer. "The door's bare as the Stranger's mercy, Princess. Anyone could walk in. Leave the garb. Strip only the smallclothes."

Besides, Bronn wanted to do her in that noble, expensive gown. Sully it with his cock, a prize for him in itself. A small, personal way of payback for the treatment her brothers gave him.

But Elia didn't move at all.

He looked at her.

She awkwardly replied. "I… am not wearing anything underneath, Septon."

Hah! Why did I even ask?

He smiled and got up, then extended his hand to Elia. "Stand against the wall, Princess."

Elia warmly took his hand and stood up. A head shorter than him, she moved her slender body to the wall beside the door, on the side that would remain hidden if the door were to suddenly open.

Bronn followed her, and once she had her back against the wall, he leaned forward, pushed her shoulders backwards. With his feet, he kicked her legs apart, spread them under the gown. Then, with one hand behind her waist, he pulled her hips forward, making her almost fall back, saved by the wall.

"Princess…" He caressed her beautiful face, the kind that made you feel sorry, the charming sort that reflected emotions, kindness, and there he was, sullying it. "I'll visit after the babe's born."

"Mmm…" She melted against his touch, her dreamy eyes staring at his face. She pursed her lips and almost moaned. "P-Please… do…"

Bronn smiled and leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, an act usually reserved for lovers, but between them, it was a part of the ritual. He stared into her deep, dark eyes and felt pride swell in his chest. The silver-haired babe in her womb may become a grand player in the larger game. But by the time he grows up, he may have half the realm in his grasp. Then, he would decide who sits on the throne, without even uttering a single word or raising a blade.

"Relax the lips."

She obeyed instantly.

Bronn kissed her, and Elia shuddered like she'd been struck by divine lightning. Her mouth opened like it had been waiting for that blessing. Her lips clung to his, reverent, needy, and worshipful.

"Ummmh… Oh… Septon…" she gasped into his mouth, like moaning a prayer. Then she kissed back harder, tongue sliding into his mouth with helpless devotion.

She tasted the food he'd just eaten and moaned like it was the nectar of the gods. She drowned in it, every drop of his spit making her feel warm, full, baptized in something holy. "Mmmmm…"

Bronn listened to her melt. She was a toy now. The woman was too far gone, utterly persuaded. Her cunt, her womb, her very thoughts were his to move. And gods, she tasted rich. Wine, no doubt. Something expensive and sweet still lingered on her tongue. Her noble palate made her mouth taste like luxury.

He let her do the work for once. Just stood there and felt the fervor of it. Her tongue moved like a seeker, rolling over his, trying to find something sacred. Every time she brushed it, she moaned harder, ground her hips forward unconsciously. Both her hands were in his hair now, caressing his scalp, tracing his jawline, stroking his cheeks like she was desperate to commit every texture to memory. She was addicted.

When he finally pulled back, a thick line of spit connected their mouths, trembling like silk before it broke. Bronn just looked at her. Looked at her flushed face, glistening lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and he drank it in like it was the finest prize he'd ever claimed. The power in his hands… it made his cock throb.

"Stay like this," he muttered.

Then he slowly got down to his knees.

His rough hands ran up both sides of her legs, slowly pushing her gown up. First, he dragged his palms over her ankles, then over her shins, his fingers calloused from nothing holy. Her breath quickened with each inch he traveled.

"Hold the gown up, Princess."

"Hm…" Elia hummed, barely able to form words. She gathered the hem with both hands, lifting the loose golden fabric past her waist and bunching it under her arms.

The movement revealed everything. Her naked slender legs, her loins, the flushed lips of her soaked cunt. She kept her eyes lowered and stared at him with breathless reverence, watching as her septon laid hands on her like she was his altar.

He kissed her knees first, soft, almost mockingly gentle. Then her thighs. Her soft dusky skin pebbled with goosebumps as he blessed his way up.

Fuck! Bronn nearly said it aloud.

She was hairless now, unlike before. Smooth as polished silk. And her cunt was drenched. That delicate light brown slit glistened, the folds swollen and slick, tight and needy for him. Bronn had made her wet just by existing.

He breathed her in. That sweet, messy scent of her devotion hit him like a drug. Then he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue up the length of her pussy, intentionally slow and deep.

Oh! The taste… freshly bathed in… something expensive.

Bronn grunted low in his throat. Her cunt was soaked in something that wasn't just her juices. He could taste the expensive oils from her bath, mixed with whatever sweet-scented spice was popular among Dornish royalty. Something floral… something rich. She'd cleaned herself just for him, no doubt, soaked her royal cunt like it was a chalice to be offered. It tasted like Dorne.

He started gently. Long, teasing licks up her slit, feeling her twitch and jolt under his tongue. She gripped the back of his head like it was instinct. No pushing, just holding. Steady. Like anchoring herself to him as her mind started to unravel.

"Ooooooh… Oh… Septon…"

Bronn didn't respond. He didn't need to. There was no point in muttering the fake blessings anymore. His mouth was the sacrament. His tongue was the ritual.

He dove in harder. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking hard. His tongue pressed deep inside her, wet, thick, and unrelenting. He fucked her with his mouth, tongue plunging into that tight slit, curling inside her like a finger.

She gasped and moaned, thighs trembling on either side of his face. Her hips bucked forward helplessly, grinding against his mouth. But Bronn just held her in place. Both hands gripping her hips, wide palms cupping her asscheeks, kneading the soft flesh roughly like he was molding her body inch by inch.

Her taste coated his mouth, her nectar smeared over his chin, wet and messy, but absolutely divine.

Gods, I'll miss this cunt and this… gorgeous woman.

Elia Martell, a royal. Dusky, deep brown eyes with lashes like a painting, lips made to whisper poetry or suck cock, depending on who asked. Slender, high-born, draped in silks even now, even in hiding. And here she was, legs spread for a bastard with dirt under his nails. No other noble would let him this close, let alone worship him like she did. He couldn't see himself doing any other woman of this high status anytime soon. But at this moment, she was his.

"Ummmh…" She moaned again, louder this time, hands fisting the fabric of her gown bunched at her waist.

Her hips jerked forward again. She was close, right on the edge of shattering. Her back arched. Her cunt fluttered around his tongue like it was begging for release.

And Bronn stopped. Just like that.

He pulled away, licking his lips, wiping his wet chin on the back of his hand with a grin.

"Lie down on the hay, Princess," he said, rough and amused.

Elia blinked, frowning, panting, and clearly unsatisfied. But she obeyed. Gods, she obeyed.

She rushed to the pile of hay at the center of the room, lying down flat like a virgin offering. Her arms stretched above her head, and her legs fell open like she was waiting for heaven to descend between them. To her, maybe that was Bronn now. A blessed being, a holy one.

A god disguised as a man.

Bronn stood over her and tugged down his breeches. His cock sprang free, rock hard, thick, flushed dark with need, veins pulsing along the shaft.

But instead of kneeling between her legs, he shifted around her and knelt near her head. He let his cock hover over her mouth.

"Coat it, Princess," he commanded.

Elia's lips parted instantly. Her eyes fluttered as if the sight alone brought her peace. She reached up, slender fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. Then she guided it into her mouth, tongue swirling at the tip. She licked all around his cockhead, then slid her mouth down, lapping and coating every inch of him in warm, wet devotion.

She did it like she was feeding, as if she needed it inside her to live. She slathered him in spit, her tongue dancing up and down his length, coating him fully from tip to base, sucking gently and moaning through her nose like she was tasting divinity.

Bronn just knelt and watched.

He smiled. At this point, he figured, even if he pissed on her, she'd smile and thank him. Not that he would. That was too vile, even for him. But gods… the thought said enough. She belonged to him.

"Let us hurry now, Princess."

At last, he moved down between her legs. Her creamy thighs spread eagerly, her pussy glistening. Her lower lips wet from her arousal, from his spit, from the mess they were making of her noble body.

He stared.

Fuck, she looked perfect. That dusky tight pussy, so ready, so eager, lips flushed and puffy and practically drooling. And when he looked up at her face, her eyes were wide, glowing with feverish excitement. Her mouth was still wet, lips parted, breath shallow.

She looked like she was offering herself to a god.

I own you now… Martells.

Whether they liked it or not. Whether they believed it or not. That didn't matter. The truth was already pulsing hard in his hand, aimed at the pussy of their most precious sister.

"I'll enter and—"

"Yes!" Elia cried, too fast, too eager. She didn't care what came next. Her whole body begged for it.

He guided the swollen tip of his cock to her drenched slit and rubbed along her tight entrance, letting her feel every inch. He wasn't long, but fuck, he was thick. The gods had blessed him with girth, and her sweet royal pussy would feel every damn bit of it.

With a groan, he pushed in.

"Unnngh!" Elia's back arched violently. Her fingers clawed at the hay, raking through it, eyes wide and wet.

Bronn grinned as he watched her take him, inch after stretching inch. The hay poked at her bare back, dust clinging to her skin. Fucking her like that, sprawled on hay like a half-penny whore, made it all the better. She wasn't a whore, she was a princess. And yet here she was, used like one.

"Let… us… rush…"

"Oh!" she squealed as he rammed in mercilessly. His cock drove in to the thick, pulsing hilt, bottoming out in her heat. Her body gave a tremble, her mouth fell open, and Bronn stayed buried, savoring the tight, rippling clutch of her insides.

He didn't move. Just stared down at her like she was his feast, his reward.

"I'll move."

"Don't… stop… please…" Elia moaned, already desperate.

It wasn't a ritual anymore. It hadn't been for a while. This wasn't some holy blessing; it was raw, carnal fucking.

Still, Bronn grunted, "Patience, Princess. Blessing takes time."

He grabbed her legs, put them up onto his shoulders, and found that perfect angle. Her hips raised, her ass tilted just enough. Then he started pumping into her with deeper slams, pressing down into her, making the hay rustle under every thrust.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Her slender frame bounced with every plunge, soft flesh rippling under the force of it. Elia covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes watering, not from pain, but from how good it felt.

Bronn leaned over her, drilling down into her royal cunt, driving harder, again and again. He fucked her like she wasn't just a princess, but a stand-in for every smug Dornish noble he'd wanted to throttle. Her brothers, their arrogance, the whole sour taste of Dorne that had clung to him since, he took it out now. With every thrust. Ruthless, deep, almost punishing.

"Mmmmmmgh—!"

Her stomach tensed, her legs trembled on his shoulders, and she came. Her cunt spasmed around him, fluttering wildly, juices gushing in wet, hot spurts. It wasn't quiet or graceful; it was messy, filthy. Her slick sprayed, her body jerked, and her legs clenched helplessly as her climax ripped through her.

Bronn groaned at the tight, desperate clench around his cock. She was milking him, gripping like her cunt wanted to drain him. He was close, so close. Her pussy was perfect, still gripping him like it was the first time.

He dropped her legs to the sides and laid his full weight onto her, chests pressed, his hips grinding deep, balls brushing her ass.

He kissed her like lovers. Like he was sealing the deal.

"Mmmmh…" he hummed into her mouth, then broke the kiss. He stared into her dazed eyes, her flushed, glowing face. "Accept… the… Maiden's blessing… Oh, Princess of the Martells… let your womb… warmly embrace this holy… spillage."

"I do…" she moaned breathlessly, hips rolling against him, arms wrapping around his neck. "I do, I do… accept…"

Her legs wrapped around him too, holding him in as he started to thrust again, short and deep, all the way to the hilt.

He rammed in one last time, hard enough to make her gasp. He stayed there, deep, grinding his cock in with a grunt like he was planting a curse inside her.

"Aaaaagh—" Bronn groaned deep as he erupted inside her. A thick, molten flood surged from him, spurting in heavy, wet pulses straight into her womb. Each gush pumped deep, coating her insides with heat. His seed poured out like hot cream, clinging to her walls, slathering that royal cunt in filth she'd carry for days.

He fucking loved it. The mess. The feeling. The power. Pumping his load into a woman born leagues above him. A noble, a Martell, a fucking royal princess.

He held himself there, grinding, making sure every drop stayed inside. He kept thrusting small, grinding strokes, pumping out the last of his batter as her cunt twitched and welcomed it.

Elia's eyes went wide and dreamy. She felt his cockhead flare inside her, brushing her cervix, heat blooming deep. Her womb felt full. Gifted.

She whimpered softly, eyes rolling back slightly. "Ummmmh…"

Even after he finished spilling into her, Bronn didn't pull out. He stayed buried, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her arms hugging him close. He kissed her again, but this time, rougher. His tongue pushed past her lips, dominating her mouth as she whimpered and melted under him. His tongue rolled over hers, greedily.

It felt like forever when they finally stopped. Bronn got off of her and watched the immense mess leak out of her beautiful cunt, gaping, ruining her gown from inside, and the hay, inviting him for more. He was tempted, but seeing the sky was almost dark outside, he didn't.

He quickly cleaned and wiped his cock and lifted his breeches, tying them. Finally, he fixed his septon robe, a hip-length robe that was worn over a tunic, white in color with his earned seven colored belt.

Elia was sore, battered between her legs.

"Princess." He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. She still stumbled a little. He was sure she felt that filthy nectar slide down her legs. "You should leave now."

Her eyes turned sad. "Septon… I…"

"Quiet now…" He found it amusing how she wanted him to act like her lover. He caressed her face and moved the sweaty locks of hair behind her ear. "Seven witnessed it, you're amongst the first women who believed in me, Bronn the Blessed. That's worth more than gold, and I'll not let it slip my mind."

Then Bronn kissed her forehead. He could have taken the lips, but he wanted to keep the holy dynamics going.

Elia smiled and hugged him tightly, and stayed like that for a good, long moment. Then, she grabbed the empty food tray and walked over to the door.

"Please visit Sunspear often, Septon."

"I will." He said and opened the door for her. To his surprise, there were no guards outside.

No wonder she was loud.

But again, he wondered what her brothers would have done if they had caught him fucking Elia. Considering how lax Dorne was about sex, he reckoned it wouldn't be much.

But she's a noblewoman, royalty.

Finally, he closed the door again and started chanting random prayers to at least seem like a septon. Besides, there was nothing else to do to waste time.

####

"All aboard!"

It was late at night, and the port of Sunspear was not as bustling as it was during the day. He stood on the deck, looking at the distant castle, so majestic. Finally, he was free from the confines of that room.

Seven hells!

He couldn't believe how heavy he was feeling. The moment when Oberyn Martell came to him again was repeated in his head. The man asked him why the room smelled so strange. Then handed him a pouch of clanking coins.

"That's three hundred gold dragons. From House Martell, with gratitude."

Bronn was slightly speechless at that time. How much was three hundred gold dragons? It could get him a dozen barrels of fine Dornish wine. Him, at eighteen, his entire life's savings was just five gold dragons.

Thinking back again, he cursed himself for acting so shocked and dumbstruck, making a joke out of himself. He should have acted more stoically, as if money didn't sway him. But still… three hundred gold dragons was an amount he'd never seen in his life. And now, that amount hung under his septon robes, divided into multiple pouches.

They have so much money, and yet they kill for more. Bronn thought right when the ship started moving, and Sunspear became distant.

He remembered the sacking of King's Landing, the horror that House Lannister had unleashed. Lannisters were the wealthiest, yet they killed, raped, and pillaged. The cries, the pleas, were still fresh in his ears. The bodies he helped bury, mutilated, bruised, men, women, young girls, children.

If they're willing to do anything for power and wealth, what stops me from doing the same?

Morality was a lie wielded by the powerful to keep the smallfolk in line.

Bronn had learned that lesson the hard way.

Oldtown… ancient, mighty… sickly.

He looked towards the front of the ship, the direction they were headed.

I'll heal you all.

####

"Jump! Jump off the ship!"

Fuck!

Bronn cursed, already off to a bad start. Just when he thought things were going smoothly, a storm battered the ship, and now it was rapidly sinking. The sea was raging around them in the early morning hours. It was dark, raining, and life-threatening.

But there was one saving grace.

Everyone was more than happy to help a septon. The fear of the Gods, even in death, superseded everything.

"Septon Bronn! Here!"

Clinging to his gold coins and his sword, Bronn jumped into the rough sea and struggled, but eventually got onto a rowing boat. It was small and barely stable, but it kept them out of the water.

Fuck! My rotten luck!

Bronn cursed, his hate for the seas forming. His luggage was still inside the ship, now submerged. It held all his potions, his supplies that he'd spent a lifetime collecting. While all the knowledge was in his head, there were still a lot of fully concocted potions in there.

"Hold! Don't fall!"

There were six of them, and one lantern barely alight. There was nothing they could do but wait for the morning sun to come and the storm to pass. They just hoped and prayed to the gods that their small boat wouldn't capsize.

They urged Bronn to say a few prayers, and while he knew they were useless, he still did it. Even he was scared that day. The sea did not care if he had magic in him. The sea didn't care what blessings he had. If he fell, he'd die, it was guaranteed.

"O Mother, hear our whispered plea,
Upon this wild and storm-tossed sea.
Our shattered ship, our hope so thin,
We cling to life through waves that spin.
With Father's strength and Crone's wise hand,
Deliver us to safe, dry land…"

Bronn shouted as loudly as he could so the men could hear him. But he had to stop when the boat started filling up with rainwater, and they had to frantically use their cupped hands to throw the water out.

An hour went by.

Then another.

The clouds started to look bright, but the storm was still raging. The morning had come, but the clouds refused to brighten their struggle.

Battered, tired, sore across their bodies, the six men held on for as long as they could. By the time midday rolled, the sea finally started to turn gentle, and the sky was clear. In mere moments, the storm turned into skin-burning direct sun heat.

But they were happy.

They could see the shore.

They did what any desperate man would. They all rowed towards the shore using their hands. Thirsty, tired, they burned the last ounce of strength in them to row. And finally, as they neared the beach, they jumped and just swam, then ran onto land. Some kissed the ground, some just sprawled down, and Bronn just took a seat and stared at the sea.

That's it. Fuck the sea. Never getting on a damn boat again.

He slowly caught his breath, feeling weak, sleepy, and panting. But he wasn't foolish enough to leave everything to fate.

Pop!

He took out the heavy locket from the chain around his neck. It was a metal vial. He removed its cork and drank the liquid inside it.

Ah… Feels great.

It was a potion to rejuvenate one's body. He'd used it plenty of times before, to the point of abusing it. He reckoned there had to be some side effects, but he hadn't felt any yet.

No longer feeling tired or sleepy, he got up, fixed the sword around his waist, and started moving on foot. The other five men looked at him, but asked no questions, nor made any requests.

They were too tired and slowly passed out, one after the other.

####

Sunspear, Dorne,

"What?! This is no jest, yes? You're not lying, are you?" Doran Martell asked, rising from his seat.

Elia Martell nodded, sitting in the chair, relaxed in her own home. "I am with child. Rhaegar's. I was unsure in the beginning, but now I know."

Doran looked at his brother, and then back at Elia. "W-What do you wish to do with it?"

Elia frowned; she had reasons to. She needed her brothers to support her if she was to take her revenge."You must protect me first. When Robert learns of it, he will not stand idle. And if I bear a son… Promise me, you two…"

Doran leaned back, already expecting what was to come.

Oberyn was already smirking, arms folded.

"Swear to me you will do all you can to see him take what is his by right."

Doran sighed, brows furrowed. He blankly stared at his sister's face. Yes, he felt his house had been wronged in this entire ordeal. The Mad King forced Dorne to take his side by holding Elia hostage. Then Lannisters murdered his niece and nephew. Then the throne was stolen. In the end, House Martell lost much and received nothing.

"What's to fuss over?" Oberyn said with a sly grin. "If it's a boy, the lad's got his claim, plain and simple. No word from Dragonstone, no whispers if the Queen or her little dragons still breathe. But one thing's sure, Elia's boy stands first in line, no matter what."

"You don't understand. We're isolated right now. All Targaryen supporters have knelt to Robert already, even the Tyrells."

"For now," Elia said quietly. "They have bent the knee, Doran, but not forever. For the first time, a man without Targaryen in his name sits on the Iron Throne. The seas ahead will not be calm. When the tides turn, we will find our moment. Until that time, we—"

"Raise the boy," Oberyn said, already planning on training the next King.

Sighing continuously, Doran thought for a long, long time. But in the end, he chose to agree. He didn't even know if it would be a boy or a girl. Or if the boy would live, considering how frail Elia was known to be.

"We'll wait and plan."

Knock! Knock!

Right then, the door opened, and one of the core guards walked inside stiffly.

"Princes, Princess, a raven came from Oldtown. The ship with that Septon never made it. It… said the storm took her."

"What?!" Elia jumped to her feet, her eyes sunken and horrified. "What did you say?"

"T-The ship never reached Oldtown, my Princess."

"No… But he's… blessed… No, no!"

Unseen by all, for a quick moment, Doran and Oberyn shared a quick glance. They saw it, and their sister's reaction was very strange. That much concern for a 'mere' savior. A young septon of no background.

"No… he can't die…"

####

Somewhere in the Reach, south-east of Oldtown.

Fuck this! Fucking fuck this! Seven cunts, all of them!

Bronn knew where he was. He was near the Three Towers, but he wasn't near the castle. He knew the general direction towards Oldtown, so he started walking. But to his annoyance, all he saw were endless hills, plains, no roads, and no civilization. It was surely green everywhere, but scarcely populated that far south in the Reach.

It wasn't just about energy anymore. He was actually hungry.

Clank!

"Hm?"

Right then, he heard a distant sound of metal clanking. He quickly ran towards that sound and climbed the grassy hill.

Clank!

"Hah!"

"Die, you heathen!"

What's this now?

Bronn found a lone man surrounded by five others, getting attacked from all sides. And somehow, the lone man was giving a good fight. He was tall, fat, in flapping red robes, head shaved and smooth in the face.

My luck's sure down the shitter these days.

He finally found civilization, but it was a bunch of lunatics. What were they even fighting for in the middle of nowhere? He had no clue. But what he did see were six fine horses, saddles filled with supplies.

"You! Bronn the Blessed, are you not?!"

He knows me?

Bronn eyed the lone man surrounded by others. Somehow, he recognized him. But Bronn didn't know him.

"Septon! Help us!" The five men also looked at him, and one of them shouted for help.

What in the Seven cunts is going on here?

"How do you know me?" Bronn asked the lone man.

"From King's Landing, from the sacking," the man growled, blocking blows from five men. "I saw you running through the streets. Saw you healing the wounded with your own hands. Take it from one blessed man to another—lend me a hand here."

"You're blessed?" Bronn narrowed his eyes.

"Aye, I am."

"He's lying!" One of the attackers shouted. "He's a fucking heathen! Fucker was preaching to us, hah, trying to convert us!"

"Because you're no-good bandits," the lone man yelled back.

"But we ain't heathens!"

Lunatics, all of them.

It was getting late; he only had a few hours of sunlight. So, he ignored them and made his way towards the horses since one or two of them would end up dying anyway.

"Bronn! Do me this favor… I'll owe you one. I have friends… a lot of them. The new King's one."

Bronn didn't stop until he had the reins of one horse in his hand. Then he looked back and asked. "Who even are you?"

"I am Thoros of Myr—Haaaah!"

Clank!

Bronn turned his head and remembered something. "By the Seven, it's you! The shit-mouthed bastard with that burning sword nonsense. Hell's fire take you, heretic."

"He's a heathen, Septon!" The five men shouted.

But Bronn ignored them and focused on the famous man. "What brought you here?"

"Off to a tourney," Thoros replied, and jumped back. "Come, Bronn. These five are but bandits. I caught them trying to raid a farmhouse. They were just young kids, parents gone to work."

Bronn eyed the five men. But he was no righteous knight on a mission. He wasn't even a septon on a holy mission. His work was self-serving. Though it was indeed true that Thoros was a well-connected man. Famous in tourneys.

"Why should I help you? Your god's a fire devil."

"At least mine works," Thoros shouted, and received a deep cut on his shoulder. "Ah… Fucker got me!"

"Mine works too." Bronn lazily responded. "You said you saw me healing."

"What do you want?" Thoros asked. "For a hand?"

Doesn't hurt to give it a try.

"Know Hightowers?" he asked.

"Not directly."

"Can you get me close? Face to face?"

"I can try," Thoros replied. "Know a handful of Red Priests roaming that way. A few maesters and knights as well. They'll help you in the city, not the castle, if that's where you're heading—fuck!"

Clank!

Hmmm…

Bronn thought for a while, rubbing his stubble-coated chin. He'd lost all his supplies and potions, so he'd need to make new ones. He wanted to meet the Hightowers right away, but that plan was dirt now since he didn't even look the part of a fake septon, let alone Bronn the Blessed.

"I'll take it."

Scrrrrr~

At last, Bronn unsheathed his short-sword and walked forward.

"Thank you, Septon! Let's cut this heathe—"

Slash! Spurt!

The blabbering bandit got his neck sliced, spraying blood. Bronn struck, and he struck dirty. That was simply his style. Living was all that mattered. Honor could go fuck itself.

"May the Seven have mercy on your souls, for I have none—Hah!"

Check out my profile for a link to Elia Martell NSFW art, more chapters , and Discord.

Chapter Text

Clang!

Bronn jumped into the battle and took on two of the four bandits himself.

"Get behind me, red fucker!" Bronn roared and had his back against Thoros.

"Y-You're helping the heathen?!" the bandits cried.

Bronn grunted annoyedly and slashed at the ground, throwing some dirt on their faces. He quickly surged forward and stabbed straight into the right one's chest.

Clank!

The bandit tried to deflect.

"Hah!" Bronn chuckled, twisted his arm midway, and instead of the chest, he stabbed at the cock.

"Aaaaaargh!"

The bandit fell in pain. They weren't wearing any armor anyway, so nothing was protecting any of them. Bronn was as open as they were to wounds, so he took no chances.

As soon as the bandit was on his knees, Bronn stabbed again, right through the neck, and killed him.

"Now you." He focused on the second one. "Scared already?"

"F-Fuck you! You're no septon!"

Bronn danced along for a while. His footwork was impeccable, having learned it from the sellsword from Essos. His attacks were all riddled with faints and strange counters that most avoided using. Too many men fought with the thought of honor, even some bandits, but Bronn wasn't like any of them.

"Haaaa!"

The bandit launched at him.

Bronn sidestepped and used a foot to trip the bandit.

Thud!

"May the Seven have mercy on your soul." Bronn moved quickly and stabbed into the bandit's back, and struck the heart.

Bronn wiped his blade on the dead body's robe and looked at Thoros. With ridicule, he taunted the man. "Seven save me, those lads couldn't outfight a drunken weasel. Why're you struggling with them, red fucker? Red demon ain't helping?"

"Ugh… I'm drunk—Aaaah!"

"..."

Bronn sighed at Thoros' confession.

In the end, Bronn raised his blade and walked over to the three men. With ease and no care about the so-called chivalry, he stabbed a bandit in the back and killed him. Thoros took care of the last one, albeit while stumbling around himself.

"Peace, at last," Thoros grunted and stumbled to his horse, not even bothering to sheath his sword. He fetched a wineskin, uncorked it, and downed a few big gulps. "Gaaaah—Nothing beats fine wine after a fine battle."

"I stopped four of the bastards; you did nothing," Bronn said from the side and grabbed himself a nice horse from the selection. He also rummaged through the saddles of the others and took whatever food, water, and wine he could find.

"My camp's close. Come on," Thoros said, mounting his horse. "Had myself a fine game before these bastards showed up."

Bronn sighed and looked at the sky. It was clear, and soon it would be dark. He could go to Oldtown alone, but he needed Thoros' contacts to get a headstart in that massive city. Although King's Landing was the most populous, Oldtown was still the largest and the richest city in Westeros.

He had no connections there.

"Lead the way."

Bronn mounted the horse and followed the Red Priest.

In an hour, by the time the sun fully dipped, they arrived at a small forested area where Thoros had set up camp. A bunch of stones, a small fire that was now doused, and a small tent for one person.

"Ah! The game's still there!" Thoros roared heartily and quickly got to starting a fire and setting the meat to cook.

Bronn made his resting place in the meantime, using the materials left by bandits on their horse. He didn't have a tent for his head, but he did have bedding.

Feels more like a sellsword than a damn septon. He grumbled under his breath, having to live like a nomad. In ordinary circumstances, he'd have taken a carriage; he had the money, and his status made it easy to haggle as well.

"Ugh… Fucker got me." Thoros groaned once he finally sat down and removed his tunic. His shoulder wasn't bleeding anymore, but there was a deep gash.

"Stay still." Bronn suddenly moved and placed his hand on Thoros' wound.

"Mother, it's just a scrape, you see,
But it stings like the Stranger's glee.
Lay your hand and cool the burn,
So I can lift my sword in turn."

"Ooooh!" Thoros gasped, his eyes wide in shock. "I-It feels like… a maiden's first kiss!"

"..."

In mere moments, the wound healed from the inside out, leaving behind a simple scar.

Thoros swung his arm around, feeling, trying to find any pain, but there wasn't any. He then stared at Bronn. "By the Lord's light… It's real. I took you for some mummer's farce. How did you do it?"

"Blessings can't be explained," Bronn replied and moved on to grab some meat off the cooked game. "Now you, pretending to be blessed, setting swords alight with wildfire?"

"I can set my sword aflame, aye, but not for games or jests. Only when the need is true does the Lord of Light grant me his fire."

"That reeks of holy bullshit. Maybe your fiery fiend's just a weak cunt."

"As if your Seven ever lifts a finger. You're the first of your lot, but my Lord has lit the world with wonders. There are Red Priestesses centuries old who work magic, weave blood-magic, and read the flames like books."

Bronn scoffed at that. "A liar piles lies higher than a sept's steeple. Centuries old? Seven save us, next you'll say dragons fly and wraiths drink in the taverns. Magic's real enough, but it's never so bloody simple."

"Hah, so you do think it's real after all."

"Aye, I just showed it."

"Keep that heart open to all possibilities, Bronn. One day, the Lord's light will fill it too."

"Your fire demon can fuck off. I serve the Seven, as the robes say," Bronn defended himself, though he didn't really believe in those gods. "Now quit muttering your nonsense and tell me how you'll pay. I need folk in Oldtown who can fetch me things for medicine. Folks who can open doors to the right ears."

"Hmmm…" Thoros started drinking again. "Those sorts of folk… aye, I've crossed paths with a few. What was the man's name…?"

Beyond that point, it was just Thoros rambling, too drunk to keep a straight thought.

Bronn listened to it all as the man did spill a few interesting things. It seemed Thoros was indeed close to the new King.

Maybe… being chummy with Red Priests might pay off.

####

Red Keep, King's Landing,

"The whore lives!" Robert shouted and slammed his fist on the table. "She's pregnant!"

The small council stole gazes, looking away. It was a shock to them as much as it was to Robert. They thought Elia was dead as they'd found a woman's burnt bones under the Red Keep. The jewelry matched Elia's. But they were fooled, it seemed.

Bam!

"The whore! Lives!"

"Calm down, Robert." Jon Arryn spoke, being the voice of reason. "We don't know if she'll give birth to a boy or a girl."

"I don't care! Every white-haired whelp is a curse. I want their heads, every last one. Rhaella's spawn escaped before, but not this time. Call the banners!"

"They won't come," Jon stated clearly. "The realm still bleeds from the Rebellion. Sons lie in graves, and so do lords. To march on Dorne now is to walk where many conquerors have perished, Your Grace."

Creak!

"I won't accept this!" Robert stood to his mighty height. "I'll call Stormlands and Crownlands then! The whore must die!"

"Your Grace, she is no whore. She is sister to Prince Doran Martell," Jon sternly said. "She was wronged as deeply as any soul in this realm. Rhaegar broke her life, her marriage. The Mad King caged her and forced her kin to fight for the very man who betrayed them. If you strike at her now, after the Lannister butchery of her children, you will stand beside Gregor Clegane in the eyes of the world. The realm will spit on your name."

Robert frowned, his breath uneven, his face red, eyes bloodshot. "The babe in her belly is a threat to the throne!"

"If I may, Your Grace," Varys interjected softly, folding his hands. "Sire a son. Should Princess Elia birth a girl, the match between them would bind your line to the throne for all time."

"And what if she bears a silver-haired cunt? She's made one before."

To that, the room fell silent. It was undeniable that if Elia were to birth a son, his right to the throne would supersede even Robert's. If that happened, Robert's claim would only last for as long as the realm believed that his rebellion was justified.

"Sire sons and daughters, as many as you are able," Jon Arryn said gravely from his chair. "Queen Cersei is young and ripe. Fill her cradle, and wed your kin into every great house. The Lannisters are yours by marriage. One day, the Starks, the Tullys, or the Tyrells will have daughters. Guard yourself and isolate Dorne, Your Grace."

Robert's face twisted into a scoff. After all, only he knew he'd already botched his marriage. He'd denied it as drunken rambling, but he knew taking Lyanna's name while having Cersei under him was a folly. The woman hadn't spoken to him in weeks.

"Seven hells, I'd sooner march on the bastards."

"You are King now, Your Grace. Endless wars bring only suffering to the smallfolk. So early in your reign, you must first steady your rule. A king calling his banners needs cause both grave and just, and we have none. They will laugh at you as a king fearful of a babe yet unborn." Jon advised; that was his job as the Hand of the King. His duty was to prevent another Mad King.

At last, Robert sat down again. But his mind was in turmoil. How was he supposed to continuously impregnate a woman who hated him already?

####

Oldtown, The Reach,

What a beautiful city.

Those were Bronn's first words when he rode into the ancient, massive walled city.

White stone towers kissed the sky, the Hightower blazing like a beacon in the far distance at the end of Honeywine. The streets were all cobbled. The city didn't smell of shit, but rather fruity, flowery, like a perfumed dowager. Labyrinths of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets. Foliage, including melons, moonbloom, nightshade, peaches, and pomegranates, dotted the city.

Seven blessings, Bronn felt like he could lose years there.

Now, it has been three months since he arrived in Oldtown. After his first visit to the Starry Sept, he never returned there again. The old cunts there dismissed him, mocked him, treating his fame as a miraculous healer with disdain, like it was all fake.

He let them ramble and, after giving his prayers to the Seven, roamed the city. He had three hundred gold dragons, not a single coin lost, and that was enough to let himself loose a little. But he didn't spend on wine or lodging.

No, he looked for the names that Thoros of Myr had given him. The fucker refused to come with him, but the names were real. The oldest city of Westeros had a part of it reserved for foreign temples of the Summer Islanders and the red priests of the Lord of Light.

A red priest, a hedge knight, a maester—they were the three men. The red priest knew how to get Bronn supplies for his potions, even the dangerous ones. The hedge knight was sort of a loudmouth who knew everyone, and was best at spreading word, and the maester was best at gathering information for a price.

At first, the three ignored him. But once he revealed his healing blessing and let them taste a sip of the rejuvenation potion, they almost moaned. The red priest and the maester were old and really needed it. The hedge knight wanted it so he could fuck whores harder. Just like that, a perfect synergy was formed.

After that, he opened his small House of Seven Blessings, a sort of sick bay to heal the injured, ailed, wounded—all diseases. At the same time, it was a place for prayer, as Bronn held a sermon every three days.

Since his rejuvenation potion was highly valued by the maesters, he received a beautiful building in Learn Street, near the Citadel, at a discounted price. He set up his operations there and started spreading his name.

Though it wasn't all easy.

At first, the old fucks of the Starry Sept, the main Sept of Oldtown, once the residence of the High Septon and center of the faith, ordered him to stop. The Most Devout living there demanded that Bronn end his private practice and open his House of Seven Blessings in the Starry Sept itself.

But he refused. The maesters stood with him, although they despised magic themselves; Bronn's potions and healing were undeniable. He was an exception they readily accepted. Besides, they loved abusing the rejuvenation potion so they could study more. And in Oldtown, the Citadel had a greater voice than the Starry Sept.

That way, Bronn continued his work, continued to spread his name, and by now, at least a quarter of the city knew his name—Bronn the Blessed.

"Septa Unella, send the next poor soul in."

"Understood, Lord Septon."

Ummm… Seven, what a woman!

Bronn stared at Septa Unella walking out of his work chamber, her ripe hips swaying in that septa gown, tight around her hips. She was a tall woman, just an inch or two shorter than him. She was thirty, more than a decade older than him, and what a ripe woman she was. He'd made her discard her hood, and now she flaunted her blonde hair that she always tied up in a bun. Her face was beautiful, strong eyes full of worship, and that was where the issue lay.

He really wanted to bed Unella. The idea of having a few devout septa around him, whom he could bed at any time, sounded perfect. They'd sleep with him and work for him for free. It resembled a cult, and that was exactly what he wanted.

Slowly… I'll break her too.

He'd already started inviting her into the bedchamber while blessing women over the last month. Using excuses like needing oil, potions, or something else. He was glad he picked her as his aide from the Motherhouse.

Knock! Knock!

Right then, the door opened, and Septa Unella led the sick in. Though instead of the sick, Bronn's eyes were on the two swells on Unella's chest. They were lovely.

One day… For sure.

"L-Lord Septon…"

Love it when they call me that.

"Sit yourself down, my friend." Bronn rose from behind his table, pointing at a chair tucked in the corner, boxed in by curtains on three sides. "Seven bless us, what troubles you?"

The scrawny man, at best forty, nervously raised his tunic from the front and revealed a large lump-like growth. It had grown underneath his belly button.

"Did you strain yourself with too much weight?" Bronn asked, an observation he'd made after seeing many men and women with similar issues, some recurring.

"I have, Lord Septon. I patched my roof recently."

"Hmm… I can heal you. But the Mother says no more heavy lifting. Now, to that table." Bronn pointed to the other side of the room where a bed was blessed, once again curtained from three sides, with an option to cover the front as well.

After that, Bronn made him drink a vial first. It wasn't some potion, just sugar water. It made the patient believe that Bronn was blessed not only in holy healing but also by medicine. Then, he placed his hand over the sick's stomach and performed his usual act.

"O gentle hands that mend the torn,
Grant strength anew where flesh is worn,
Ease the strain and still the pain,
Let wholeness in Your grace remain."

Septa Unella never left the room. She never did. Her bright blue eyes were glued to the bulge on the sick's belly. She'd seen that same ritual happen countless times, and each time she became more devout to the Seven. It truly was a blessing.

Though she hadn't realised it. Slowly, that devotion was shifting. From the Seven to the man who made the miracles. Living in that House of Seven Healings, she'd come across many high-ranking faith members who tried to press Bronn into serving them. She compared them with Bronn, and Bronn was the brightest star of the faith in her eyes.

"Rise, my friend. You are healed." Bronn removed his hand and stepped away from the table.

The man sat up and looked down at his belly. The growth was gone, and he physically felt better. He gulped and moistened his lips. "S-Seven… are mighty! Gods be praised!"

Bronn returned to his chair behind the table by then. "Mother and Maiden bless my hands, they say I heal. So up you get, friend, before the Seven strike us both for dawdling."

"Ah… Lord Septon, what's the charge for mending, if I might ask?" the man asked anxiously.

Bronn smiled fondly and pointed at a large box right beside his table. Its top was covered, with only a fist-sized hole in it. "I serve the light of the Seven, friend. I seek no rewards through my service. Whatever your heart wills, you can donate to this box. I'll spend it on herbs and potions so I can keep patching and blessing folk up."

Bullshit! It was all bullshit.

It was a calculated move by him to ensure he received the maximum amount of rewards while keeping his image intact. After his miraculous healing, his patients were always in their best mood. In that mood, they did everything they could to please him. In most cases, they donated as much as they could, even more than what they could afford.

Clank!

And just like that, the man poured a few silver coins into the box. Then, he thanked Bronn and walked out.

Making me rich, all of them.

"Send the next one, Septa Unella."

"It's Lady Helen, Lord Septon. It's her last day." Septa Unella said, unbothered by what it all implied.

"Oh…" Bronn nodded and got up. "Send her to the upper chambers then."

The upper chamber was a bedchamber. Bronn used it to… bless women who wished to bear a child but couldn't for some reason.

####

Plap! Plap! Plap!

"Ah, ah, ah… Oooooooh! Oh, Lord Septon… I feel… so warm… so… sore… you're… splitting meeeee-eeeungh!"

Seven! I love being a septon!

Rather than the bed, Bronn stood near it, the woman in question, Lady Helen, was in his arms, lifted, getting her tight, warm cunt filled with his holy cock. She was a delicate flower of a woman, merely five feet in height, light as a feather, slender, and merely nineteen of age. She was lovely, beautiful in fact.

Her small, oval face screamed innocence, her big green eyes filled with arousal and that stinging fear. Her long, hip-length light brown hair dangled behind her.

Plap! Plap!

He threw her up and down with ease, her legs locked in place on either side of his elbows as his arms went under them to hold her ass. Her delicate arms held his neck as he showered her sweet, pink, pouty lips with kisses, all the while parting her lower, pink lips with his fat cock.

He'd just taken her maidenhead, evident by that smooth tinge of crimson that coated his cock, the filthy mess around his base and balls. Her round, palm-sized breasts, tipped with rosy nipples, glowed red after his previous intense suckles. She was marked to be bred.

Hah! This… is lovely!

Bronn felt on the edge, but he kept it under control. Helen had come three times already, but he wanted to continue. He loved staring at her pale face, clawing her soft ass with greed.

What other occupation would let him do all this? The woman had already paid him ten gold dragons over the last three days. The first day he ate her cunt, the second day she ate his cock, the third day they both feasted on each other at the same time, and now—he took her maidenhead, and was about to breed her with his seed. She would pay him more, he was sure.

Paying to get fucked and bred—Hah!

Helen was a nobody until a year ago, working as a common kitchen maid in a tavern. But then, she was seen by a wealthy, old woman. From then on, her fate changed. The wealthy woman had a son, but he was slow-witted, barely able to walk without assistance, spoke strangely, and looked hideous as well. But he was the only son of that merchant family.

Helen was chosen because she was a virgin and had a truly beautiful face. Of course, Helen was given the chance to decline the offer. But she accepted. She knew she was beautiful; that was why she guarded her maidenhood. But she also knew that at just five feet, no knight or lord would marry her, as most sought tall, strong sons. Her best chance at escaping poverty was to marry the half-witted man.

She was eighteen back then. She tried to get her husband to impregnate her for a whole year. She let go of all dignity and tried everything, but it appeared her husband's cock simply didn't work.

That was when she approached Bronn to seek healing for her husband.

But instead of her husband's healing, she received something even better. A chance to bear a child who'd display all the features of her husband, but would be nothing like him in disability.

And hence, there she was now, getting thrown on a cock by a septon. It stung at first, but now it was all pleasure, her eyes threatening to roll as she felt her tight, fresh cunt stretched so wide for the first time.

"Mmmmmmh~"

Bronn leaned in, catching the fair slope of her neck between his teeth. His stubble scraped her flushed skin as he kissed and bit down, tasting the salt of her sweat.

She shivered under his tongue, fingers clawing at his shoulders as if that could anchor her against the pounding force of his hips. She mewled and squirmed, sounding like the begs of a kitten.

He rammed into her harder, each thrust driving deep enough to jolt her lithe frame, thrashing her perfect breasts. Her breath ragged, breaking into a trembling moan. Her nails raked his forearms, her cunt clutching at him with desperate, milking squeezes.

"Ahhh… Ahh—!" she gasped, moans breaking into a high-pitched sound as her body gave way to another climax. Her juices gushed out in a hot rush, splattering over the base of his cock and pouring down to drench his balls.

He could feel the mess coating him, hot and slippery, each thrust making it slop and smear against his thighs.

Bronn didn't slow down, churning up into her quaking release, groaning at the obscene wetness clinging to him. His balls swung heavy under them, plastered with her nectar, every impact making them slap against her soaked, trembling ass.

Hmm… Let's push her.

Mischief arose. Bronn looked towards the door and voiced. "Septa Unella, please bring the red oil!"

Let's see… Hah, I love doing this.

The door opened very soon, and Septa Unella walked in. From her first step, her eyes were stuck on Helen's hips, or rather, the unrestricted display of that fat cock entering the petite woman. Unella could see the cunt stretch and struggle to contain Septon Bronn.

Hmm… I wonder if she feels anything between her legs. Bronn sadly saw no change on Unella's face. Let's push it then.

"Thank you… Ah, my hands are occupied. Septa, will you be kind enough to take some oil in your palm and rub it on… on my twin vessels of the blessing seed?"

"..."

Blessing seed? Seven cunts! That's the best I could come up with?

But again, being balls deep in a recently unvirgined cunt, it was hard to think straight.

"Oh, forgive me. It would be improper." He gave her a way out as well, to keep his image. "For a septa to aid in such an act must be damning. I suppose this… blessing I'm giving… isn't excluded."

Plap! Plap! Plap!

"Ooooooh… Unnngh!" Helen threw her head back as Bronn fucked her harder, thrusting upwards into her with each of her falls, battering her cunt all the way it could go deep.

Bronn kept staring at Septa Unella, however. And Unella's eyes were only on the petite woman being thrown up and down. Since Helen was so short and Bronn was tall, the view was so clean. Heck, Unella could see Helen's tight, wrinkly anal hole.

"This is a part of a blessing, Lord Septon. I shall do my duty." Septa Unella said and moved closer. Then, without a word from him, she sank to her knees. Her hand reached from behind Helen.

Bronn almost laughed from sheer delight. He hadn't told her to kneel. There was no need for it. And yet… Now she was right there, her eyes level with his cock as it disappeared into Helen with each thrust.

"I shall apply the oil," Unella muttered, her tone as flat as calm waters.

Bronn stilled his hips, but only for himself. He kept Helen moving, using his hands to lift and drop her onto his punishing cock so that his lower body stayed perfectly still. The base of his cock and his balls were a mess. Glistening, cream-coated, faintly crimson from the tender stretch of her virgin cunt. Every squelching plunge made a wet slap, the sound loud and lewd in the quiet chamber.

"Keep the name of Maiden in your thoughts," Bronn ordered, letting it hang in the air without saying to whom.

Oooooh! Heaven!

There it was. He felt Unella clutch his family jewels tightly. Warmth spread over his balls, Unella's hand. Slick with oil, her palm cupped the heavy sack, her fingers pressing in just enough to feel the weight.

Bronn grunted, biting back a moan. He hated the fact that he couldn't see it, hindered by the majestic sight of Helen's bouncing bosom. But gods, it felt good.

Unella's strong hand rolling and squeezing his balls while Helen's juicy petals gripped his shaft like it was her saving grace. The oil made every touch smooth yet firm; Unella's strokes were meticulous, slow, and willful. The pressure was warm and utterly perfect.

Shlick! Shlick—Plap!

The wet sounds grew louder, each bounce of Helen's ass sending another gush of nectar down to bathe the base of his cock. Drops rolled over Unella's sticky fingers.

Helen gritted her teeth, her delicate brows scrunched up, and her body tensed. She was teetering on the edge. Then, her entire being shook.

"AHHHHhh—!"

A wild, shameless squirt burst from her, drenching everything in its path. Hot streams splashed over Unella's oiled hands, some stray drops striking the pale front of her septa's gown. The mess clung to Bronn's balls, dripping in strings down his thighs.

Bronn grunted, jaw locked tight. Seven hells, her tight, young, breedable cunt was squeezing him like it meant to cut his cock clean off. Every quiver, every clench wrung at him mercilessly. And at the same time, Unella's grip on his balls had grown firmer. She rolled them, kneaded them, massaged them with steady strength that made everything overwhelming.

He felt it all and loved every cursed moment of it.

On her knees, Unella's left hand rested steadily on his thigh while her right fondled his balls continuously, kneading them like something precious, like something meant to be worshiped.

"Mmmh…"

Oh? Was that… Unella?! Bronn's brow arched.

The thought had barely formed before he heard it again. A faint, whimpering exhale. It didn't come from above; Helen's flushed face was buried against his shoulder.

Bronn adjusted his grip and used Helen's light body like she weighed nothing. Lifting her, dropping her, bouncing her on his cock like a well-used rag. His arms never slowed; if anything, they grew harsher, the claps of his pelvis meeting her soft ass echoing with every drop. Wet, sloppy squelches marked every plunge, each thrust sinking him to the hilt and dragging cream over the base of his shaft.

His grunts grew louder, ragged with the pressure building in his loins. The sound of flesh on flesh was relentless, highlighted by the lewd suction of her overfilled pussy.

Schlop–plap! Schlop–plap!

Unella's hand changed, too. The calm fondling shifted to something firmer, rougher, as though she'd felt the twitch in his balls and decided to wring it out of him. Her palm cupped them entirely, her digits spreading to hold them tight.

"Aaaargh… May… the Maiden… grant you… the son… you seek… gaaaah!"

The roar tore out of him as he fell over the edge. Unella's sudden, unyielding grip squeezed both heavy orbs together, and he felt every searing drop of seed travel up, thick and hot, into the narrow clutch of Helen's needy cunt.

Buried to the hilt, he pumped hard, pouring frothing spurts deep into her, filling her belly with his blessing while her dim-witted husband sat unsuspecting just beyond the door. He didn't know; he just got blessed with a son.

Bronn kept thrusting, the creamy flood churning inside Helen as he thrust again and again. He sealed his mouth over her sweet, innocent lips, kissing her as if claiming the last untouched piece of her soul. She was taken, bred, and left glowing with bliss.

Unella's hand stayed on him underneath, massaging his balls even as the sticky mess ran down the wrinkled skin of his throbbing sack. Her touch was no longer clinical, rubbing him with the very filth the two had made.

Bronn clenched his teeth, pulling his cock out at last.

Plap!

His cock landed heavy in Unella's busy hand, still glistening and dripping. For just a moment, just long enough to make his chest tighten, she gripped the whole length in her fist, wrapping her fingers around him in a slow squeeze. Whatever came over her, she pushed his foreskin back and got a clear glimpse of his cockhead.

Then she released him abruptly, her face as unreadable as ever.

"Seven bless you, Septa. You were a great help. The Maiden'll smile on work like that. And you, Lady Helen—" He looked at the closely held woman's face. "Can you walk?"

"I-ugh…" Helen smiled, her expression that of a blissful woman freshly fucked. Her hair was a mess. "I can… try."

With a chuckle, Bronn walked to the side and placed Helen on the bed. Gods, she looked lovely, like a pretty doll.

Then he turned around and saw Septa Unella walking towards the door. There was something different, however. The way she swayed her hips, she took tiny steps, as if there was something squeezed between her legs.

"Septa Unella, see Lady Helen's cleaned and proper. The Maiden's blessing's a thing only women smile at, while most men see it as the Gods playing a cruel jest."

Hah! Caught you!

As Septa Unella turned, he noticed a very faint damp spot on her loins. He didn't know; perhaps she touched herself whilst kneeling. And even now, her gaze barely moved from his cock, slick with white froth.

But Bronn didn't act desperate and grabbed a towel to clean himself. He truly tried to sell it as just work. He once again put on his robes, combed his hair, and left the room to go downstairs.

It was nearing evening, so there weren't many ill left to see. There was no rush, so he relaxed in his chair and sipped some water and a small vial of rejuvenation potion. He usually worked late into the night, making potions or experimenting with new ones, as he didn't have the ingredients that his memory told him.

"Lord Septon."

Finally, Septa Unella and Lady Helen came downstairs.

Seven—They look beautiful.

One tall, and one short. Two beauties he'd toyed with together. As sick as it was, he had no regrets. He was finally living the life that only the rich and powerful could. But his was more meaningful.

"Seven bless you, Lady Helen, go home and keep your husband warm tonight." He advised her and put three vials of real potions on the table. He always gave them to the women he bred so they'd be healthy when giving birth. After all, his name would be tarnished if they died.

But his name hadn't yet spread among women. For it to happen, a baby had to be born first, and it took nine months. Once it'd be proven that he did have the Maiden's blessing to tailor his seed for them, Bronn was sure women would line up for him with their legs spread.

The real issue was keeping it a secret from the men. While most men hid their impotence, he wasn't sure if they'd be happy getting their wives fucked by a septon.

Helen smiled, beaming with a blush. She could still feel that warm, thick, silky spill inside her. "I will, Lord Septon. Thank you for everything."

Being thanked for taking her maidenhead, hah!

Clank! Clank!

Gold dragons! Wonderful!

He heard her donation in the box. By mere sound, he could tell what coin it was.

"Septa Unella, send the next ill in."

And just like that, the rest of the sick were healed that evening. Bronn didn't heal everyone on the same day, however. He sometimes gave potions, fake or real, to make it seem like a multi-day healing endeavor. He didn't want to appear too magical.

Later, after he ate supper with Septa Unella, he retired to the potions lab. Unella went to her private bedchamber. It was their daily ritual. It was almost fixed. And perhaps, that was why Unella felt so bold that night.

"Ummmh… Mmmmm~"

Bronn stood outside Septa Unella's door and heard the muffled sounds. The wet squelches, the moans. He could already imagine the interior, the scent. He got hard.

But he didn't dare enter.

Not yet.

Septa Unella was extremely pious. Taking things too fast with her could destroy his reputation. It was extremely risky.

Soon… Slow, but soon I'll have you too.

At that point, he really wanted a group of devout septas for himself. Willing to fulfill all his needs and orders.

After hearing Septa Unella climax rather loudly, he smirked and returned to his potions lab and started concocting. A very specific potion for a very specific person.

Lord Hightower's daughter… that's my best bet.

####

Ugh, I overdid it with Helen.

Feeling a little sore, Bronn dressed up for the day and sat down in his regular chair. Septa Unella came down soon after, her expression solemn as if nothing had happened yesterday.

It was still very early in the morning, so there was nobody outside yet. He really had no plans on doing anything but building a reputation slowly. It was Oldtown, after all. Eventually, his name would get passed around outside the city. And soon enough, he'd get a summon from Highgarden.

Unella opened the door to the House of Seven Healings and looked outside. It was her job to count the number of sickly and manage them.

Knock! Knock!

"Lord Septon." Septa Unella opened the door. "There is only one."

Scratching his stubble, he waved at Unella to let the sufferer in. He was rather relaxed, leaning forward over the table, one hand supporting his chin.

Seven! That's a beautiful man!

He did choose his words wisely, and the man indeed looked beautiful even in those simple clothes. It was a tall, dark-haired man, perhaps thirty, a face as if carved, brows thick and fierce, eyes sharp, nose symmetrical to the lips.

But clearly, he wasn't sick. No, it was the hunched older man, the father with the matching looks. The old man was also quite tall, his hair almost grey, but a few brown strands were left. The face still held much vigor and light.

"Seven bless, friends. Please let the afflicted take that chair. The attendant can sit by my table." Bronn respectfully spoke and got up. He even helped the old man sit down. "How may this faith's servant be of service to you today?"

Who are they?

Within a few moments, he knew by instinct that they weren't really ailing, nor seeking healing. They looked far too interested in gazing around at the interior of his sickbay. On another look, he saw the old man's hands, his entire palm calloused in a way that wielding a sword for a lifetime would.

Disguised? Why?

"My back hurts, young Septon."

That confidence in the voice. Either rich or a highborn.

"I take it you're over fifty, by the look of it?" Bronn asked, and received a nod. "The Seven knows it brings its aches and pains, especially if you've had a hard life. But fret not, I have some remedies that ease the worst of it."

Quickly, Bronn walked over to a nearby cupboard, opened it, and brought a single glass vial. He gave it to the old man. "Here, drink this. You'll feel that ache slip away."

For a quick moment, the old man glanced at the young man.

Knight and his squire? Father and son?

The old man took the vial and downed it in one go, as if expecting nothing to happen. In his defence, the vial's contents did look transparent, like common water.

"Oh?!"

But soon enough, the old man rose to his feet, his lazy eyes now beaming bright and big. He started stretching his arms and twisting his upper body, as if testing his back.

"It works!" The old man said and stared at Bronn. "What else can you do?"

Aye, they're no smallfolk. But who are they?

"I can mend most wounds—deep cuts, lumps, broken bones, cracked backs, rotten guts, even the troubles of the mind. But regrowing a limb? Not yet, no. The Seven'll have to decide if that blessing's meant for me someday."

"Son," the old man said, staring at his son.

Right away, the man Bronn called beautiful recently dropped his breeches and laid his right thigh bare. It was thick, muscled, clearly not of a smallfolk. The man was likely a knight, Bronn had no doubt.

But on the right thigh, there was also a cloth strip tied, a bandage.

Quickly, the beautiful man unwrapped the bandage and revealed a deep flesh wound, clearly from a blade.

"Can you heal this?" the old man asked.

Who the fuck are these two lunatics?

Bronn leaned over and took a closer look at the wound. "By the grace of the Seven, I figure they'll let me heal it."

"Do it."

Not a request, it sounded like a command. That annoyed Bronn the most, being treated like an insect. But he was careful. In his time, he'd learned that often the nobles had the most fragile ego.

"Take a seat, my friend." Bronn made the man sit on a chair. Then, he used an ointment and poured it on the wound first. It stung; the man flinched visibly. Then he placed his palm on the wound and chanted that same old prayer.

"Grace of Mother, soothe this pain,
Bind the flesh and heal again.
In your arms, let strength arise,
Mend the wound where honor lies."

Just like the older one, the younger one also felt it. His eyes went wide and then… he saw it. When Bronn removed the hand, only a faint scar was left there. The deep, nasty, painful wound was gone.

"Seven—Mother! It works!" The young man jumped up and started kicking, no care that his lower half was mostly nude. "I feel no pain, Father! Look, the wound's gone."

The father and son assessed the vanished wound. Then they both stared at each other's faces. Then, both of them turned their heads towards Bronn.

I… have a bad feeling about this.

"Baelor," the old man said, a firm command. "Bring him along."

"..."

"To where?!" Bronn questioned, ready to jump back and grab his sword.

The old man stopped hunching entirely and stood tall, proud, like he owned the world. "The Hightower."

"What? Wh–"

Bronn frowned and glanced at the young man again. Baelor… That was the name of the heir to House Hightower.

Then…

Has my streak of bad luck finally ended?

He looked back at the old man and plainly asked. "Are you… Lord Leyton Hightower?"

Fweeep!

Baelor Hightower suddenly made a loud whistle.

Clank!

Six tall men dressed in Hightower colors and armed to the teeth walked in. Baelor Hightower gestured to them, and two of the soldiers grabbed Bronn's arms on each side.

What the… No… luck's still shit.

"Am… I being jailed?"

"It depends," said Lord Leyton Hightower and walked out.

"..."

What does that even mean?

The Hightower soldiers pushed Bronn, albeit gently. He was made to walk out of the building, and right there, a grand, regal wheelhouse was waiting, its large door open, Lord Hightower already inside.

"Get in," the soldiers pushed him.

No… this ain't an arrest. It's an abduction.

Bam!

The soldiers searched him, took his emergency dagger, and shoved him into the wheelhouse. Ser Baelon Hightower also joined them and slammed the door shut.

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Chapter Text

Crossing the Maesters Bridge in Oldtown and then the King's Bridge, Bronn watched the majestic Hightower cast a shadow on the carriage he was traveling in. It was a behemoth, a miracle of mankind. The proof that the ancestors had surpassed what they were now.

The gigantic tower stood atop Battle Isle, a labyrinthine square fortress made of black stones. It looked gloomy. But atop it was the main tower, beautiful, with white or sandy stones adorned, countless balconies, countless windows, and at the very peak was the beacon that guided the ships.

"By the Seven, that is a fine piece of work," Bronn muttered, having accepted his kidnapping by now. "Tallest thing in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Casterly Rock is taller," said Baelor Hightower. "Yet that is but a mountain of stone. The Hightower is a true work of men, taller even than the Wall. And no, the Wall cannot be seen from its crown."

Bronn nodded, staring out of the window as they passed through a high gate and entered the black stone castle at the base of the tower. He understood why the past Hightower surrendered to Aegon now. Truly, the only threat to the castle was the Dragons. Nothing else could topple it otherwise.

And a mere septon will conquer it soon. He thought and looked at Leyton Hightower. And they'll smile, pray, and thank me as I take it.

Although his plan to enter Hightower's inner circle was initially different. He wanted to enter with respect and majesty. But his current situation wasn't bad either. They were clearly taking him to heal someone.

Soon enough, a middle-aged man, dressed in fine, full armor, opened the carriage door and saluted Leyton Hightower.

"My Lord, the maids have been isolated. You may visit your apartments."

Leyton Hightower got out of the carriage first. Then Bronn was nudged to move by Baelor. Soon enough, Bronn was made to walk between the father and son.

Seven shits! It's a fortress armed for war!

Bronn eyed the surroundings and found too many armed men. They looked regal, wearing shiny armors, capes, standing in their places as guards, some on horseback. The terraces were also manned.

"This way, Septon."

Soon enough, Leyton guided him into the castle's center, where a high-ceilinged hall awaited. It was airy, grand, and empty. The floor was tiled with dark stones. The hall was like a junction, as seven different hallways connected to it from seven sides. Clearly, Faith's influence on the House Hightower was high.

Oh? They've got one too.

He followed them into a box-like structure. It was a winch elevator, the same one that he'd seen inside the Citadel. But this one was far more beautiful and elegant, made of wood but polished to perfection, with carved designs, and the floor was glossy. Its walls were half solid, and the upper half had evenly spaced, boxed holes for air.

The ride was smooth, but long. It took forever to go up that wooden shaft.

Eventually, the elevator halted at the top floor. They opened the wooden half door and stepped out into the small hall. The place was different, more opulent. The floor was made of white marble, and the walls were painted, decorated with paintings, various armors, swords, or other items. Torches were evenly spaced. Guards were standing.

"Follow me."

Leyton Hightower moved. They went up a flight of stairs, one floor, then two. The small windows on the walls revealed how high they were. It was fear-inducing, stomach-churning. Everything looked so small.

However, they finally entered the last round hall. It had a Seven-Pointed Star on the floor, and only two doors, both opposite to one another on that circular wall.

"That's the apartments of the Lord of Hightower," Baelor told him, pointing at one of the doors. "And that is…"

"It was once my library, my solar, my hall of treasures," Lord Leyton said as he moved toward the door. "Blades, books, and wonders all about. Now my eldest daughter isolates in it… My precious Malora."

Bronn stared at the grand, carved door, a single panel, but it was large. He'd heard rumors about Malora Hightower from the Hedge Knight he'd partnered with. The woman, likely thirty, had locked herself for years at the top of the tower. It wasn't known why, but the rumors said she sought magic and spells of the old there. The folks in Oldtown called her the Mad Maid.

"Septon Bronn, you claimed that you can heal the wounds of the mind. That is why I have brought you here. Malora is my beloved daughter, my first daughter, the light of my early days. I held her on my knee, watched her laugh in these halls. Now they call her the Mad Maid, a cruel jest. I care not for her curiosity in the occult, for I, too, have sought such things, yet I would have her live. Walk with me once more, break bread with her brothers, bring laughter back to my table."

Leyton Hightower finally put a key into the hole and pushed open the door. Right away, a heavy scent of old books and wood blew towards them.

It was silent inside, but not dark, as the large hall had glass windows on the edges and glass-covered ventilation shafts on the ceiling. One could see the blazing beacon much higher, and it was likely to illuminate the hall even at night.

The hall was divided. One section was a library, floor to ceiling, big, long bookshelves lined there, each filled to the brim with books. Another part held all sorts of artifacts, ancient armors, and strange things. Finally, the third section had a grand table, a majestic chair, clearly the Lord's main table. But there were a few more tables around it, ordinary with common wooden chairs.

At one of those tables, a woman's figure was visible. She was hunched forward, her face almost entirely plastered in the open book; many more books surrounded her. She seemed unaware of anyone there, just mumbling to herself.

That's the Mad Maid?

Bronn eyed the woman. She seemed rather curvy, but not fat. She was dressed in a dark blue gown with white highlights, a white scarf on her neck, and a pointy hat on her head. Her dirty-blonde hair was a visible mess. But her face wasn't visible.

Baelor casually walked into the hall, as if he'd done it too many times. He went to the table and grabbed the books randomly thrown around. Then he stacked them in the bookshelves. It was clearly not his first time.

She's still being taken care of. Bronn thought, slightly envious and more annoyed, seeing them act so kind to a lunatic. Of course, bloodline decided one's treatment by nobility in the world.

"She won't react to any of us." Lord Leyton said and moved beside Malora's chair. "She hears nothing, reacts to nothing, speaks of nothing. She only eats when she finishes reading."

Bronn walked to the other side of the chair and took a better look. Her face was pale, sickly pale, but as always, her noble upbringing made her skin impeccable. She wasn't that beautiful, however, but still good-looking. Her eyes were slightly sunken, grey, her nose sharp, high cheekbones, lips were very thin and dry. Her fingers each held rings, each with a different design.

Fine tits.

In that gown, most of her skin wasn't visible, and her scarf covered her neck, but he saw the voluminous swells on her chest.

"What would you have me do, my Lord?" Bronn finally asked them. "Best speak plain. The Seven do not fancy riddles, and I am their ears here."

"Of course." Lord Leyton exclaimed, not an ounce of doubt about Bronn left. He'd seen Bronn heal open wounds and his back pain. "Heal her mind now, Septon. Bring her back to me, back to the light. I'll heap gold at your feet, titles if you wish, anything. Only make her whole once more."

Seven cunts! I could use some gold.

But Bronn just smiled and rested his hand on Malora's shoulder. She didn't react. "I'm but a servant of the Seven, my Lord. The Mother and the Maiden give their blessing, not for me to chase coin or titles. It's to spread the word of the Gods and the warmth of their love. It's for me to carry their word and their care. Once my part is done, all offerings are accepted, a grain of sand or a penny."

Lord Leyton stared at Bronn with deep reverence, his big eyes marked with worship.

Then, Bronn looked down at the woman. He honestly didn't know where to start with her. She wasn't even reacting. He tried to shake her body, even covered the book so she couldn't read. She would just frown and smack his hand away.

Hmm… Maybe a sharp, bloody shock might just stir her up.

He looked at what she was reading, and sure enough, it was some obscure book about the magic of the East. The book looked old, and truly, Bronn was curious about the entire library. Hightower was amongst the oldest houses, and they'd occupied that same castle for thousands of years.

"My Lord, to gauge her mind, she must wake up first. To wake her up, I must perform magic on her. This may be harsh, but I suggest preparing a wound on her hand. Then I'll mend it, and she'll know the Mother's grace is no tale."

Lord Leyton frowned. "How deep must this wound be?"

"Strike the back of her hand," Bronn said. "She'll watch while the Mother lets me mend it."

After some pondering, Leyton nodded and looked at his son. "Baelor, use your dagger."

Dutifully, Baelor Hightower walked over. He took out a dagger from his waist and held it over Malora's hand.

Bronn quickly pointed at a place on the back of the hand. "Strike here. There are no perilous veins here."

Baelor wasted no time and thrust the sharp tip down. It breached her skin and dug an inch deep before the blade was pulled back.

Not a flinch?!

Malora's hand bled profusely, red covering everything, soaking the table. She still didn't move. But her wounded hand was shivering.

"Let me heal you, my Lady," Bronn said and put his hand on the wound. "Think of Mother in your thoughts."

Finally, as he mumbled the wound-mending spells in his memory, and murmured the prayer.

"Gentle Mother, hear her cries,
Bind her wound where turmoil lies.
Steady hand and broken mind,
In your mercy, peace she'll find."

He felt it. The curious magic that was clearly no blessing but his own ability. So mysterious he was still uncovering it slowly.

What else could he do? Was healing and tailoring babies all there to it?

Oh? She flinched!

Finally, Malora's head moved. Her gaze now focused on Bronn's hand.

"Cool the fire, calm the pain,
Wash her soul with healing rain.
Guide her heart, her spirit mend,
Till her torment finds its end."

She looked up, towards Bronn. There were no expressions, just curiosity for the unknown.

"You are healed, my Lady." Bronn removed his hand.

Malora stared at her healed hand again. She moved it and touched the supposed wound with her other hand. There was none, only some dried blood. She turned it and looked at her palm. Nothing was there.

Creak!

She stood up; her chair screeched back. Her body turned towards Bronn, and without any hesitation, she grabbed his hand and started checking it. She touched it, crossed all her fingers with his, squeezed his palm.

"Hmm…"

With her first vocal response, she moved even closer and pressed her ear to his chest.

Then, she looked up at his face again. "What are you?"

"..."

"I'm Septon Bronn, blessed by the Mother and the Maiden." Bronn introduced himself. "The Seven grant me joy to meet you, my Lady. Word is you've an eye for magic, so Lord Leyton tells me."

Better looking than I expected. Bronn checked her. She was curvy, her hips flared out from all that sitting and reading. She was tall and reached his shoulders with ease. Still, her swells stole the moment.

Malora looked towards her father, but didn't even greet him. She looked back at Bronn. "How did you do that? Tell me."

"It's a blessing, my Lady. Blessing of the Mother and the Maiden. I mend flesh, minds, wombs, hearts, and hurts. Gods give the gift, I just make use."

Malora rubbed her chin, eyes curious, brows creased in a frown. "How do I receive such a blessing?"

"..."

Bronn looked at Lord Leyton for help. Even he didn't know how he got his powers, how was he to help another get it?

"Malora, blessings are not a skill to be forged in study. They are gifts, granted when the Gods will it," Lord Leyton said, his hand resting heavily on his daughter's shoulder. "Septon Bronn is the only of his kind. He healed my back, and he mended your brother's leg. He's a man of many miracles. His medicine can cure all."

That's a bit… too much.

Malora eyed Bronn with even more curiosity. "Medicines?"

Bronn nodded and took the vial hanging around his neck. It was for emergency use, but it was important to make the woman feel that even his potions were magical.

"Here, my lady. Drink. The Seven guides my hand better than any maester's. What I brew has their will steeped in it."

Without any hesitation, Malora took the vial and gulped the contents.

A moment passed.

"GODS!"

She gasped, eyes wide like never before. Her relaxed, hunched manner disappeared. She stood straight and proud, her breasts jiggling as she straightened up.

"T-this… this is magic, Father. True magic." Malora's eyes widened, glistening with fevered awe. "I read of such things, far across the seas, where men twist the very breath of life. I feel it clawing at me, Father… it grips my soul. It's soul magic! No, it's life magic!"

"..."

Lord Leyton was smiling ear to ear. Never before had he seen his daughter that vocal and reactive. "Septon Bronn can show you more, Malora."

"Please, please! By the Seven, grant it! I would do all, anything you ask. If not holy favor, then let it be craft. This medicine… Yes, show me the brewing of it. Show me."

"I will, my Lady," Bronn said, eyeing Lord Leyton. "My Lord, I'll need my tools from the House of Seven Blessings. To brew the draught that steadies the thoughts."

Lord Leyton seriously nodded. He understood Bronn's intent. It was the medicine he'd been waiting for.

"I'll go and bring them."

"No," Lord Leyton raised a hand. "Stay with Malora. My men will fetch what is needed. Write the names only. That Septa remains, and she will know what to pack."

"..."

I… I really am a fucking prisoner, aren't I?

"I… The items needed are to be carried carefully, my Lord."

"Understood, my men will do it gently."

"..."

"Septon Bronn!" Malora rushed to him and hugged his arm suddenly, her breasts squeezed against it. "Show me, teach me, Septon."

The donations better be my weight in gold.

"Very well, my Lord. I'll write the names."

Bronn grabbed some paper and a nearby quill and started writing. He didn't write the names. Nor the descriptions. He only wrote the box number, and only Septa Unella would know which box it was. He was specific about secrecy. His monopoly over miracle medicines was necessary.

"This is all I'll need, my Lord."

Lord Leyton took it, gave it a quick read, and then nodded towards his son.

"We'll bring it quickly, Septon."

Without a moment wasted, the father and son walked away. They exited the hall and then…

Thud!

The large door was shut hard.

Click!

And then it was locked from the outside.

Not for once did they think of those who visit my House of Seven Blessings for healing.

Bronn thought and turned back to look at the magic fanatic woman. Her eyes didn't look that crazy anymore. Rather, there was reverence and expectation now. He gave her a long, perverted look, looking at her decently pretty face, her tits, her wide hips.

Still, Malora didn't react. He made his leering gaze so obvious. But she didn't mind.

To Lord Leyton, all of Oldtown's smallfolk are ants compared to this woman.

And that was a privilege that the noble status granted to Lord Leyton and Malora.

"Septon Bronn, show me more."

"Hmm…" Bronn pondered. He really had nothing to show. So, he decided to have some fun. "By the Seven, I am a healer, my Lady. Why don't you lie down on the table? So I may see if the Gods left you any hidden wounds."

"Oh?!" She moved towards the table excitedly. "Shall I remove my gown?"

That easy?

"No, my Lady… not yet."

####

One week later,

Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!

Seven cunts, Essos sounds interesting. Blood Magic? I should look for a better Red Priest.

"Ungh… Mmmmmm~"

"Uh… It's an interesting book, Malora." Bronn muttered, flexing his knees at times from that tight squeeze of her throat. "I might travel to Essos one day based on these."

"Mmmmh… Yes…" Malora pulled her face back, releasing his cock from the hilt deep depth. Spit coated her lower face, and that musky stickiness. Her waist-length dirty blonde hair was untied, tangled, messy, and sticky. "T-Take me with you… Lord Septon."

Bronn smiled, moved the book he was holding, and looked down between his legs. He was sitting on the chair by the table, and Malora was underneath, on her knees, fully dressed except for her pointy hat.

"Let's discuss that later." Bronn grabbed her hair and shoved her mouth back on his cock. "Finish this task first."

"MMm–hmmm~"

Bronn returned to reading the book while receiving that tight, filthy, sloppy blowjob so early in the morning. It wasn't really hard to get her on her knees. After showing her a few potions, there wasn't much he could do. He'd fed her calming draughts, and they did calm her.

But she remained crazed after magic. It became clear that she had no mental illness to begin with. She was just too consumed by studies of magic, obsessed with it.

So, he tried to teach her some of the potions. And really, she aced everything. She made potions as fine as his. He really felt like taking her away with him and making her his septa. He needed a helping hand; having someone who could brew potions was a godsend.

The real issue was her status. Lord Leyton would never agree. But he wanted to make Malora obsess over him. So much so that she'd be willing to throw away her noble status.

Then one day, he told her about his Maiden's blessing to tailor seed for the woman's need. That he could create a babe as per the woman's desire.

In response, Malora asked if she could see his seed. See if it held magic like his potions.

Sure enough, he told her to draw it out herself.

"Ummmmmh…~"

And the best part, she didn't mind, no matter how rough he got with her. It was all a part of the process. She'd never had a man in her life before. Let alone a cock in her mouth.

Glurk, Glurk!

His cock was far too thick for her noble mouth, yet she pushed herself to take more, bobbing her head with enthusiasm. Spit gushed out in strings, spilling from the corners of her lips, streaking down her chin, dripping onto her hair. She kept going, choking wetly, strands of spit painting her cheeks as she tried to suck his seeds free.

Her hair was a sticky ruin already, plastered with drool and precum, clinging to her flushed face. She gagged when he pushed deeper, but her wide eyes shone with obsession. She wanted it, wanted him, wanted proof of his blessing. She pressed her tongue flat, slathering him, dragging spit up and down his length with each messy stroke.

"Let me help you, Malora." Bronn's voice rumbled, low and harsh. He didn't call her 'Lady' anymore. Not when she was drooling around his cock like this.

He shoved the book aside and clamped both hands around her flushed face. Her cheeks bulged as he gripped her and started to use her. Thrusting, pulling, shoving her head back and forth on his cock. He threw her onto it roughly, with no pause, no care, pounding his lengthy shaft into her throat until the wet, gagging sounds echoed off the stone walls.

"Ngh! Agkh!"

Malora coughed and gagged, nose flaring as it mashed into his pubes with each brutal plunge. Yet she didn't stop. Her hands slid up and down his thighs, clutching him tight, urging him to keep going as if she were worshiping, not choking. Her nails dug into him with every plunge, her lips stretched wide, her noble face drenched.

Bronn fucked her head with a merciless intent. The rhythm was punishing, his hips hammering forward, her scalp jerking in his grip as if he meant to break her. Drool sprayed, spit smeared, her throat convulsed around him as he slammed deeper.

"Ghk!" He grunted through his teeth, watching her eyes water, her dignity shred, and still she let him. A Hightower maiden, willing to be ruined just for his seed.

Then he slammed her down one last time, burying himself hilt-deep. Her lips mashed against his wiry pubes, nose flattened, throat bulging around his cockhead as it throbbed against the edge of her gullet.

"Aaaah… almost there… Aaargh… fuck… tight!" Bronn snarled, jaw clenched.

He erupted inside her. Thick, batter blasted her throat, painting her insides in heavy gushes.

She gagged hard, throat spasming as wave after wave of his melting butter spilled deep into her. Still, he held her there, making her choke on every drop. She didn't push away, didn't resist, just twitched and gulped around him like she had before, morning and night.

His cock pulsed again, flooding her mouth until she was drowning in it. Only then did he ease her back slowly, dragging her lips along his shaft, leaving the rest of his mess to plaster her tongue and cheeks.

"Swallow it all, Malora."

"Ummmh…"

Her voice was muffled, broken, but she obeyed. She gulped thickly, throat working until the last strings of cream slid down to her belly. Then, freed of his grip, she latched back onto him with fervor. Malora sucked him dry, licking along the veiny shaft, her tongue polishing the swollen, flushed tip, slurping noisily until he was slick only with her sweat and spit.

"Brilliant, Malora," Bronn said with satisfaction and pulled up his breeches. "Did you feel the magic?"

"Ummmh…" Malora licked her fingers clean before answering. "I did, Lord Septon."

Well, it really is magical.

"Go, prepare for today's brew then."

But Malora didn't move. She stayed seated under the table, looking up at Bronn. Her eyes had somehow started to show lust. An expression so foreign to her.

"Lord Septon, I've felt the magic of your seed. But it's still not the way it's intended," she said, fanatic curiosity returning to her face. "Give me one. A babe, I'll take it. Make him tall as a mountain, charming as the moon, witty as the gods, kind, proud."

At last, the point of no return.

Bronn knew this would happen eventually. He wanted it to happen.

"Aye, that and… Give him an ailment of the heart that'll kill him at the age of fifteen. Give him a cock that does not rise."

"..."

W-What?

Now, Bronn considered himself rather heartless, goal-oriented, perverted, and insane in the head. But even he wasn't that sick.

"Why?"

"Because nothing is truer than that, Lord Septon. You will call forth the child in my womb, yes, but also the sickness that gnaws at him. I would love to see that happen."

That was the first time Bronn met someone so insane. Willing to carry a babe in her womb only to see him suffer just for curiosity? That was more twisted than his own greatest filthy ideas.

Bronn scratched his head.

"I… Maiden's blessing is called that because it makes folk smile, Malora. If I go making a curse, her wrath will cut us all down." Bronn said and suggested something else. "Tell you what, I'll brew the ailment, but once the babe draws breath, I'll mend it."

Clap!

"Marvels upon marvels. Better still, Lord Septon, better still."

"..."

Potions genius for sure… But a lunatic.

Yet, Bronn still wanted her. She'd make a fine septa, he knew it. Potions master by day, cocksleeve by night.

But first, he needed to convince Lord Leyton that it was best for him to not only take his eldest daughter's maidenhood but also put a babe in her.

"Malora, if you want this blessing, you'll need to tell your father something. Use my words, repeat them steady, like a prayer, till he bends."

"Anything... I'll do anything, Lord Septon."

####

"She asks for what?" Lord Leyton rose stiffly from his chair, his face paling. "A tall babe? With a heart ailment and a cock that doesn't work? Seven! No, is that even possible?"

Bronn didn't reply. He looked at Baelor Hightower, also present in the room.

"Baelor, bring Malora here."

Soon, it was just Bronn and Lord Leyton.

"As I told you before, my Lord. The Mother lent me her hand for healing, and the Maiden… well, she lets me plant a seed just the way a lady fancies it. Height, eyes, hair, skin, health, wit, flesh—all in my grasp. I… I trust you'll keep it quiet, my Lord. The High Septon and the Most Devout would call it heresy."

Lord Leyton fell back into his chair, waving his hand, gesturing to him not to worry about secrecy.

"T-That's… I find it unbelievable, Septon. But I've seen the blessings you possess. I… have you accomplished it before?"

Bronn nodded solemnly. "But I can't tell you the name, my Lord. These wives carry sorrow enough, with husbands pointing to their wombs instead of their own weakness. I gave the women the Maiden's joy they prayed for."

Lord Leyton scratched his head, exhaling a deep breath. "Tall as a mountain? Is that possible? Eight-foot-tall lad?"

Bronn just nodded.

"Charming as the moon?"

Bronn nodded.

"Witty as the gods?"

He nodded again.

"Ailing heart, useless cock, and death at fifteen?"

Bronn nodded once again.

Knock! Knock!

"Father, Malora's here."

"What is this?" Lord Leyton stood up again. "Why would you ask the Septon for such a thing?"

Malora didn't react much. "It is what I seek. The purest shape of magic. In Yi-Ti's chronicles, I found it, the sages who touched such power. I would taste it myself."

"You're unmarried!" Lord Leyton added.

"I shall remain so until the end of days," Malora replied. "Time spent on trivial things is wasted."

Lord Leyton sighed. He loved that his daughter had become so vocal. She'd come out of the rotten room. But now she spoke back and sought something insane.

"Trivial? How is marriage trivial?"

"You've married four times, how's that not trivial? Marriage exists for one thing only. To bear children. I do not need a husband for that."

"..."

Lord Leyton fell back into his chair again. He looked at his daughter, her fanatic face. He'd seen that too many times. And really, he didn't want to lose this progress. He could lock her up again. He could send Bronn away.

"Baelor, send her back." Lord Leyton said, and finally looked up at Bronn. "Is there no way to change her mind?"

"My Lord, I've tried, I swear it to the Seven. But her wish… it prays against the Maiden herself. I bring children sound of body and mind. What she wants… that's a curse waiting to fall on me and House Hightower. It'd turn Hightower's blood to ruin. The Maiden would see your halls filled with crippled, deformed, half-witted babes, and not one of them fit to carry your name."

Lord Leyton's hand shivered. He was, after all, a religious man. House Hightower was religious in its entirety.

"No, that… mustn't happen, Septon."

With Bronn's magical feats, the fear of the Seven had multiplied because Bronn was the living proof that the Gods were real.

"Malora speaks true." Lord Leyton said. "One needs no marriage to have children. Strange, yet true. Septon, grant her wish. But… not a failing heart, not doomed to die at five and ten, not with a worthless member. Give her a proper son, tall as Baelor, strong enough for the sword, clever enough to bear the Hightower name."

Music to my ears.

Bronn showed a frown, but nodded at the same time.

"That's… better, my Lord. She won't learn the truth till fifteen years, if the Gods see fit. But… the ritual shall take thirty days. Provide food, water, and a bath. I'll handle the rest, by the Seven."

Leyton Hightower nodded. "One last thing. Make the boy's hair red. That way, no one will ever guess who he belongs to."

Ah, and to prove that my words weren't lies.

After all, Malora was blonde and Bronn had dark hair.

"I understand, my Lord."

####

There was no need to follow those seven days of ritual with Malora. She'd been sucking his cock for days now. No, the rituals didn't matter to her. She didn't care about the gods. All she cared about was magic, the thrill of it.

"Ummmmmmh! Oh… Your tongue's… magical!"

"And your cunt tastes lovely, Malora."

She actually did. He and Malora had taken a deep bath before getting into bed. He took a look at her body, and she was lovely from all sides. Her unblemished, highborn body was a sight to behold. She had a light bulge on the belly, very faint, expected from a scholar. Her tits were fat; he could sink his claw into them and still not hold them entirely, though they sagged slightly.

And finally, her cunt.

Slurp!

A bed was there for Malora. Now they shared it. Both of them nude, he had Malora on her back, against a pile of pillows. He had her fluffy, soft legs spread wide. Her virgin cunt was lovely, an unclaimed cave of femininity, now his to claim. That sweet loin, that long, rosy slit was waiting for his attention. She looked tight, and he knew she would feel too.

"Umm…" Bronn ate her cunt. He had to, he wanted to. He really wanted to keep Malora as his permanent traveling septa. There was no manipulation. No taking advantage. She wanted to have his miracle seed in her womb, and he was willing to give.

His beard rasped over her delicate folds as his tongue pressed in, swirling along her lower lips. Circles, closer, tighter, until he caught the tiny nub of her clit and rolled it under the flat of his tongue. Her whole body jumped.

"Oooohhh!" Malora writhed, kicking her legs, jerking like she was being shocked. She flailed, then clamped her thighs around his head, locking him against her soaked slit.

Bronn growled into her, gripping her hips to hold her steady as he fucked her harder with his tongue. He pushed deep, stabbing her entrance, fucking her core with frantic, hungry strokes. Fresh, virginal nectar slicked his beard, his mouth drinking in the taste of a thirty-year-old untouched flower.

"Oooooh… I-It's working… the magic!" Malora gasped, clutching the sheets, her voice wild.

Her first orgasm tore through her. Her cunt twitched against his mouth, juices pouring, her legs thrashing as she wailed. "The blessing! The stars—ahhh—it's flowing into me!"

She babbled in broken gasps, raving about omens and power, a mad hymn spilling from her lips. Her eyes rolled back, her words slurred into mumbles as she soaked his mouth with the gush of her release.

Bronn only lapped harder, swallowing everything, chin dripping as he strained her body through its first true climax.

When at last her twitching subsided, he dragged his wet mouth from her cunt, licking his lips.

"Hm. Let's proceed with the main ritual, Malora."

"L-let's do th—Aaaaaah!"

Bronn didn't give her a chance to finish. He rose to his knees, seized her ankles, and shoved her legs upward. Her cunt glistened in the candlelight, swollen and puffy from his tongue. He slapped his cock down across it, the swollen knob smearing precum along her virgin lips.

"Uhh…" He hissed through clenched teeth as his cockhead squeezed between her folds.

Ugh… Won't last long. Fuck, it's tight!

"It'll sting at first," Bronn warned her and started pushing in.

Malora stared down between her heaving breasts, wide-eyed, as his thick shaft widened her slit. Her swollen petals stretched, his cockhead pushing its way in. She whimpered at the pressure, body tense, mind racing with strange, new sensations she'd never dreamed of.

"And… I'm… in!"

Bronn groaned. He shoved deep, splitting her open, tearing through her purity in a single stroke. There was no gentleness in him; he had no reason for it. She'd never thought of sex before, had nothing to compare it to, and he was impatient. He wanted to be inside her, and he wanted it now.

"Aaaaaa—oooooooh! Gods!" Malora screamed, voice cracking as her body arched beneath him, shaking uncontrollably.

She felt it, the shattering, the tearing, the proverbial wall inside her being ripped apart. Pain knifed through her, but along with it came something else. Fullness, unbearable and divine. His flesh sword wasn't just inside her; it was stretching her, splitting her, branding her womb with heat. That scorching sensation clawed its way deeper, but instead of rejecting it, her body clung to it, trembling with every inch of the strange invasion.

"Gaaaah… Tight… Gods, Malora… You're cunt's… warm and… fucking snug!" Bronn snarled, his chest heaving.

There was no need for septony airs now. No gentle voice, no sermon. He leaned higher, pushing on his feet, grabbing her by the ankles, forcing her legs further up until her pussy was spread wide open for him. His hard male heat stayed lodged deep, iron hard and veiny inside her, throbbing against her soaking walls.

Plap!

The obscene slap of flesh echoed as he rammed into her. He looked down and saw her cunt splayed red and raw, the wet sheen of crimson streaking around his shaft.

Eldest daughter of House Hightower… Hah! So much for noble blood.

Then he lost himself in it. Bronn drove into her mercilessly, pounding, drilling, hammering. Each thrust sank into that scorching wetness with brutal force, tearing gasps and screams out of her.

Plap! Schlk! Plap! Schlk!

Malora's face burned crimson, her mouth dropping open, eyes rolling back as if she were possessed. "Aaaaah! Oooooohhh! I—it's…. Ahhhhh Gods, it's splitting meeeeee! N-nuh, it's—aaaah—it's filling meeee!"

Her voice broke, her hands scratching at his chest, dragging hard over his shoulders in delirium. She raked his flesh, leaving marks, clawing him as though she couldn't bear to let him stop. "Ohhhhhhh! It's…it's magic—it's burning—it's blessing me inside! Oooohhhh gods, don't stop, don't stop!"

Bronn groaned and bared his teeth, sweat dripping off him. "Seven… you were made to be bred, Malora."

Slap! Slap!

His balls clapped against her smooth ass, every thrust deep and punishing. He folded her up in half, her curvy, noble body pinned under him as he hammered into her like a man taking retribution. And it was retribution; on House Hightower, on every lord and lady who sneered down at smallfolk like him. Now he had their prized daughter bent, broken, and filled with his throbbing shaft.

"Uhn! Ohhhhhh! Gods, gods, gods! It's—ahhhh it's too… big-uhhh!" Malora sobbed and squealed, her whole body twitching with unbearable sensations, pleasure she welcomed. Her pussy convulsed around him, clamping tight, sore and stinging, yet dripping with pleasure that tore her apart inside.

"Malora, pinch your tits," Bronn ordered.

Her trembling hands obeyed instantly. She seized her nipples, pinching them, twisting wildly. Her mouth fell open, drool sliding down her cheek as the new sensation jolted through her. It felt good, way too good.

"Aahh! Ooooh… it tightens meeee—it's—ahhhh it's working!"

Her cunt clenched on him every time her fingers twisted, milking his cock, squeezing him hard enough to make him groan deep in his throat.

"Malora, hold your legs like this."

Still folded in half, she wrapped her arms around her thighs, locking herself up tighter for him, offering her cunt like a sacrifice.

Bronn smirked down at her wrecked face, then dropped his body flat against the fleshy back of her thighs. His weight pressed her legs into her chest, lifting her ass off the bed, folding her into nothing but a hole beneath him. He kissed her greedily, lips and tongue devouring hers between ragged gasps as his cock plowed her relentlessly.

Schlk! Schlk! Schlk!

"Ummmmh… Gods… I'll… be… fucking you for a month. Don't wear clothes from now on, Malora. Let me… bless you day and night… ooooh!" Bronn groaned against her lips, rutting into her like a beast.

Unlike with Elia, there was no act here. No mask of holiness. This was Bronn, the real, raw, petty Bronn. Burying his cock into a noble Hightower cunt, and loving every filthy moment of it.

Bronn felt his balls tightening, the prickly threads coiling at the base of his cock, dragging him to the edge.

"Fuck—" he snarled, and with a brutal snap of his hips, he slammed himself in, burying his cock to the very base.

Malora's eyes went wide, then hazy. Her lips parted in a breathless, broken cry, her entire body seizing as she felt him lock inside her.

Then he exploded.

Bronn's cock throbbed violently, and hot, sticky seeds gushed into her womb in heavy spurts. The first jet hit deep, and then another, and another… flooding her, stuffing her tight virgin hole with his dense load. His muscles flexed as each spasm shot more of his filth inside her, until she could feel the molten tide sloshing inside.

"How… Does it… feel? Life's first… cock… filling you up?" He rasped, chest heaving, his cock jerking inside her as more of his heavy cream spilled into her.

"Ooooooh! M-magical!" Malora whimpered, tone high, trembling. Her head lolled, her fluffy thighs quivered, her nails dragging weakly across his arms as if to anchor herself in reality.

Bronn laughed at her words, savoring the way her cunt squeezed and clutched at him. His shaft twitched again, spurting, grinding more froth into her as his virile ointment frothed around the base of his cock. He reveled in the squelching churn of it, the sight of noble maidenhood wrecked and overflowing.

Meanwhile, Malora was gone, utterly lost in the sensations. Her insides burned with heat, yet it wasn't pain now, but warmth, wondrous and heavy. The fullness was maddening, as if she were stretched and sealed by magic itself.

She felt blessed, branded, soaked in him. Every pulse of his cock made her twitch, every dribble of sticky seed made her even more certain that he was the key to her obsession. Her mind babbled with awe, and despite the soreness, despite the sting, her body begged for more.

"Seven, I'm thirsty," Bronn muttered finally, pulling out of her with a wet, squelching sound. He didn't even glance at her as his cock slipped free, spilling a gush of frothy white across her cunt and thighs. He poured himself a cup of wine and drank it, finally looking back.

Malora stayed like that, legs spread wide, limp, cunt overflowing with his cream.

They gave me fine wine to drink while I fucked their daughter? What a wonderful time.

"Here." Bronn walked over to the bed, climbed on his knees to the side of her head. There, he landed his cream-coated cock on her mouth, and then poured wine over it, dripping it into her mouth. "Drink."

Thirty days of this?

He really didn't mind it anymore. Even if she wasn't a renowned beauty, she was fine. And her status mattered even more.

"Suck… We'll continue soon."

"Ummmh…"

She did just as asked.

Like a good, loyal, obedient septa.

####

Day ten, Blood Magic & Myths.

"Oh, oh, oh, mmmmmm~"

Bronn lay on the bed flat, and Malora jumped on his cock with devotion. She craved his magic now. She craved that sensation of his magic filling her from the inside. And Bronn, he had the book open. He read while getting his cock serviced by the tightest Hightower cunt.

"L-Lord Septon… Mmmmh… Give me your magic."

And he did just that by bursting inside her.

####

Day fifteen, Warlocks and House of Undying.

"Interesting," Bronn muttered as he rammed forward, deep, brutal plunges into the warmest cunt in Oldtown.

Plap! Plap~

Malora was standing, bent forward towards the wall, supported by her hands. She was bent so much that Bronn had a book open on her naked back. He didn't even hold it there. No, he was busy kneading her lovely, birthing hips while thrusting like no tomorrow.

He was certain she was already pregnant with his babe. But that didn't mean he had to stop. The more he fucked Malora Hightower, the more obsessed she became with his magical cockjuice. And that was the intention to begin with.

He wanted a septa so devoted to him that it bordered on lunacy.

####

Day twenty, Magic of Old Valyria, Empire of Dragons.

He sat on the chair, and Malora jumped on his lap, her back towards him. That gave him enough space to open the book and do some reading. It wasn't that he never did her with full focus. He actually did that most of the time. But reading while getting your cock pumped was a new experience he was enjoying.

"Malora, fancy joining me as a traveling septa?"

"Ooooooh~ I'd love that, Lord Septon."

"Think about it."

Once again, he gave her the creamy magic she craved so much.

####

Day thirty,

He didn't read any books that day.

From morning till night, he spent all his time rutting the Hightower woman. He never bothered taking her ass. It didn't tempt him as much as Elia's did. Still, her cunt was snug enough that he never had to try anything else.

Creak! Creak!

The bed was as battered as her womb by then. Daily fucking, lasting hours, wasn't easy on the frame. And that day, he went extra hard.

Pa!

He softly palmed her asscheeks. Watching them jiggle was arousing.

He rammed her battered, sore cunt on all fours. He'd spilled three times since morning already. Now, for the last time, he came.

"Gaaah… That's… what I call… a month of breeding bedding! Seven bless your womb."

"Ye-sssshh… S-eh-Seven bless me-eh!"

Malora moaned and just plopped down, taking his fertile balm one last time. The scent was intense: sex, filth, sweat. They were used to it. It was arousing.

Bronn also lay down beside her, his shaft a little sore and red. He'd really overused it this time. But he had no regrets after receiving a warm bath each day, the best food and wine, all so he could fuck Lord Leyton's precious daughter.

A few tricks and they become blind.

Bronn scoffed, realizing that smallfolk were the same. Romanticising knights and lords in their shiny armor and gowns. But now, the tables had turned. He was the one getting idolized.

My name should have reached Highgarden by now.

He pondered. He had a plan, after all. Oldtown was but groundwork.

Willas Tyrell… your crippled leg will be my key to the Reach.

####

House of Seven Blessings, Oldtown,

Malora was pregnant. It was confirmed. The information was a secret, however. Malora was still kept in the same library, but no longer isolated. Leyton Hightower regularly met her, talked with her, and both of them studied magic together.

In time, she'd give birth secretly.

However, there was an issue. Bronn was forbidden from leaving Oldtown until the birth of the babe. Two Hightower Knights now guarded him at all times. While Lord Leyton said it was because he wanted to give a reward. Bronn knew that the man just wanted to confirm Bronn's claims.

If the child were to come out with hair other than red, it would be Bronn the Blessed's end.

Seven cunts, she's still a beauty!

In his sickroom, Bronn sat in the usual chair. He watched Septa Unella walk around, her bust curvaceous and soft, and her rear so round and noticeable in that septa gown. Her blonde hair matched her mature face. He liked looking at her. She was far more beautiful than Malora. But Malora excelled at brewing potions.

"Septa Unella, send in the new one," he told her.

It'd been a week since he returned to his work. Lord Leyton came to him regularly to heal his back pain. That increased Bronn's standing in the city, as the blessed septon with Lord Hightower's favor.

"I will, Lord Septon."

Umm… Can't wait to undress her. Bronn dreamily watched Unella walk out.

He'd heard her moans often in the past few days. She hadn't stopped touching herself. It didn't help that he'd taken another poor female for the Maiden's blessing. A forty-year-old blacksmith's wife. She didn't have a lot of money, but she had a mature woman's charm and a ripe, maintained body. A face that screamed her desire to be filled, a craving for motherhood.

He always called Unella inside each time and made her rub the oil on his balls. Already, he'd blasted his climax on her face once by 'accident'. She moaned really hard that night. But he wanted her to be more desperate.

Lazily, his eyes moved to the donation box near his table. At the rate it was filling up each day, he was having to empty it every four days. His wealth had exceeded all targets.

Three thousand Gold Dragons… Enough for a family of four to live for a thousand years.

But of course, Bronn had no such plans. The money he had earned had a purpose. What he needed was greater fame and name. Blind devotion towards him. Trust in him that was unchangeable, an untouchable status.

The foundation of a cult was the people. Ready to riot if something were to happen to their beloved faith leader.

And that money was his gateway.

You move a crowd, the merchants follow. Where the merchants follow, the nobles appear.

Healing alone would never make his fame spread throughout Westeros, and breeding women was even less likely to do so. So, his target was the poor smallfolk. Those who had no guarantee of whether they'd get to eat that day or not.

Flea Bottom would have been better. Oldtown's too rich. But this'll have to do.

Knock! Knock!

"Lord Septon." Septa Unella opened the door and led a man inside. He was tall and strong, but had the lower half of his face covered. "He has an ailment of the mouth—Ah!"

Bam!

"Move, bitch!"

Scrrrr~

Clank!

The man brutally shoved Septa Unella away and jumped towards Bronn. Since swords weren't allowed inside, the man took out a hidden dagger from his waist.

However, Bronn was no lazy, fat septon. He kicked the table with his feet and toppled it forward. At the same time, he grabbed his sword from under the table.

Thud!

The attacker fell as the table toppled.

Bronn was already on his feet and jumped over the table. His foot landed on the attacker's chest while he pressed the sword's tip on the throat.

"Who sent you?"

Bronn removed the cloth covering the lower face. There was a scar near the lip. And those sharp features made it clear. That wasn't someone ailed, it was a sellsword.

Bam!

The door burst open just then.

"There he is!"

Fuck!

Five more men poured into the room. It wasn't big enough for all of them. But then, even more men walked in, a total of twelve.

Hightower's knights must have been dealt with.

"Gaaaah!"

Bronn showed no mercy anymore and stabbed the previously downed sellsword's throat, killing him.

"Brothers, if it's coin you crave, that's the box. Gods above, take it." Bronn pointed at the box behind him. But they didn't even look at it, just him. "If you're here for me, don't be surprised if I carve you a little blessing on your throats first."

Unella… Fuck!

Unella was unconscious, her head likely slamming into the wall when she was shoved.

Carefully, Bronn stepped backwards. There was no escape route behind him, just a cupboard.

Ain't asking me to surrender?

That was bad. That meant they wanted to kill him.

Fuck the poor smallfolk! I'll buy men to guard first… if I live.

"Who sent you?" Bronn asked. The twelve men had made a semi-circle around him, their short swords raised.

No reply came. Their faces were also covered.

Seven cunts!

Creak!

With speed, he pulled open the cupboard behind him and…

Clank!

He dropped his sword and grabbed glass vials from the cupboard, and started to throw them.

Crash!

Crash!

"Aaaargh! My eyes!"

"Fuck! It's burning!"

He threw the flasks. He knew what they were: acids, oils, and other things he used in potions, or sometimes to fool people.

Wooosh!

Finally, Bronn picked up his sword again and poured a green liquid on it. Then, he swung the blade over the lantern on the wall and… it all caught fire. His entire blade burned green, flames so hot they threatened even Bronn.

"Come on!" Bronn jumped towards the twelve men and easily scared them back, carving himself some space to move. "Hah! Scared of Wildfire?"

As soon as they heard that name, they jumped even further away.

Thoros, I owe you one… I guess.

"Haaaa!" Bronn exaggerated the danger of the fire and started moving.

They tried to come closer, but he swung the sword left and right, keeping them at a distance.

Seven Hells! Her head's bleeding!

Bronn reached Septa Unella and quickly put his hand on the back of her head. He said no prayers. He used no theatrics. Just used the spell under his breath and healed the wound, stopping the bleeding.

Fire's almost out!

"Stay back, cunts!" He stabbed towards the men and dragged Septa Unella with him. He walked backwards, his rear towards the open door.

He wasn't sure about beating twelve men. But he knew he'd have a better chance outside in open space.

What?

Right when Bronn reached the door, he noticed the twelve men had lowered their swords and stood relaxed.

"..."

What's—There's more?...

He felt a presence behind him.

Bam!

It all turned black.

Something hard smashed into the back of his head.

Pain registered much later.

He wasn't awake to feel it.

Thud!

####

Hmm? Where is this?

Bronn woke up again, but things felt strange. His body felt weird, like it wasn't his own. And he was standing in a strange, black cage, tight, lined with spikes. Around him were many people, wearing strange clothes, weird hats, and waving sticks around. Magical quills wrote on paper on their own.

Thump! Thump!

"Order!"

What's this?

"Augustus… Augustus Rookwood!"

That's not my voice? Bronn could feel that it was his body that spoke. But the voice, the words, they meant nothing to him. He didn't know any Augustus Rookwood.

Woosh!

Once again, everything turned black. But when something appeared again, Bronn found himself pointing his wand at someone and shouting.

"Avada Kedavara!"

A spell?

Then, in another case, he found himself doing something even more strange.

"Imperio!"

Oh? I controlled him? Seven!

There were so many strange things he couldn't explain. People disappearing in smoke. Brooms that flew. A world so strange. He knew what it was. The memory of that strange man who fell on him from the sky all those years ago. The very thing that gave him the magical abilities.

Woosh!

Everything vanished again. But this time it was all white and…

"Bronn."

It was a woman's voice. Bronn looked left and right. It felt right this time; it was his own body. But… it felt small. He raised his hands, and indeed, they looked tiny.

"Mum?" He shouted back.

"Bronn… here~"

He ran towards the female voice. It felt distant, echoey, otherworldly.

"Mum! Where are you?"

"Here~"

Thud!

Bronn fell on his ass, his body froze, cold. In front of him was his mother, right as he remembered her in her last moments. She was right there in the white space… hanging from a rope, but there was no ceiling. The rope was connected to nothing; it just vanished up into the whiteness.

And… she was awake, blinking, looking back at him. Her face was deathly pale.

"M-Mum…"

"Never be merciful, Bronn. It's for those who're scared of revenge. Never forget… Never forgive them… Never~"

He felt his body shiver. His mouth went dry. He couldn't bring himself to look up. At those wide open eyes.

"All of them! All their noble blood! Use them as they would use us. Bronn~"

"Ugh…" Bronn clenched his forehead with both hands. "Y-You're dead… you're not real."

"Bronn, oh, silly Bronn. They'll never care for you. You'll never be their friend. You are nothing. You were born nothing. But you can't die of nothing. Take them with you, all of them… take them, Bronn~"

"I know that!"

Bronn shouted back and turned around. He crawled away using his small body.

"I remember it… Fuck… I do… I do."

He kept murmuring to himself and crawling away. His mother's voice became distant slowly. The last thing he heard from her was…

"Bronn, why… aren't you… dead?~"

Bronn halted crawling and looked back once. There was nothing now. The last words left him frozen. He remembered them from so far back. So many years ago, when he was all but five. When he came home early and… saw that knight leave his house, fixing his trousers.

All of them… They'll crawl before me… they will.

Woosh!

Once again, it was all black.

####

"Lord Septon? Are you awake?"

"Hmm? Uh… U-Unella?"

The light was dim, so Bronn opened his eyes with ease. He felt a soft bed underneath him and the scent of medicine. It was his bedchamber. And there was Septa Unella, seated beside his bed on the chair, her brows frozen in worry.

I lived… They'll pay for this.

"Lord Septon!" Septa Unella stood up quickly.

Bronn weakly moved his arm and grabbed Unella's hand. He looked her in the eye. "Imperius."

"..."

Unella awkwardly looked at his hand and then pulled hers away. "I'll inform the Maester, Lord Septon. Lord Hightower sent him, and he hasn't left yet."

It didn't work?

As Unella left, Bronn sat up on the bed, still feeling throbbing pain in his head. He didn't know how he was alive, but it didn't matter.

Why didn't it work?

Frustrated, he looked left and right and saw a small moth on the empty side of the bed.

Pat!

Bronn quickly put his hand on the moth.

"Imperius."

Prrrrrrr~

It worked!

He felt the connection. He made the moth fly to his will. He made it land wherever he wanted it to. He made it fly and then… jump into the burning lamp.

He felt the connection break right away.

So it won't work on people? Why?

But that didn't matter. His head turned towards a large box near the wall. It was made of metal and had smaller boxes inside.

In one of those was a rather venomous snake.

Some folks should move out of my way.

Check out my profile for a link to Elia Martell NSFW art, more chapters , and Discord.

Chapter Text

Some folks had to move out of the way.

It wasn't a sentiment for Bronn; it was his goal. Oldtown had too many power holders, the biggest being the Citadel, and then came the Starry Sept of Oldtown, a sept no less grand than King's Landing's Great Sept of Baelor.

Currently, the Starry Sept was being run by the Most Devout, the senior members of the Faith who had gone beyond mere septons. They controlled the faith in that city and most of the Reach. They were old, greedy fucks. And they hated Bronn for being a disruptor.

"...Faith of the Seven's strong, not 'cause the Gods swing swords for you. It's strong 'cause you believe. You whisper to the Father for justice, the Mother for a bit of safety, the Warrior for steel in your gut, the Smith for muscle, the Maiden for innocence, the Crone for brains, and the Stranger… well, best pray He doesn't look back at you. Fear no man, no blade, no rule. Fear only the eyes of the Seven. Now, pray after me..."

With that, Bronn ended the once-a-week mass. He used a cane to walk that day, even when he didn't need one. He was mostly healed already. But there was more to gain from pity than strength.

Clank!

Cank!

The coins in the donation box jingled more than usual as the people left one by one. That day, even Lord Leyton Hightower had come.

"This way, my Lord." Bronn led Lord Leyton to his healing room, which was also like his solar. "Have a seat."

Walking over to his cupboard, Bronn took out a clear crystal bottle and two small clear glasses. It was like a small wine cup, but made of glass. Then he placed them on the table and poured the red liquid into the glasses.

"Have a taste, my Lord," Bronn said, settling in with his own cup. "Seven save us, you're here about that back pain?"

"And more." Lord Leyton said, taking the crystal clear glass with curiosity. He brought it close to his lips and felt like the liquid was burning hot. He tried to smell it, and his nose felt the same, like warm, spicy fumes were coming from it. But it didn't sting. "Amusing."

Just a little, Lord Leyton sipped the drink.

Screech!

Lord Leyton rose to his feet, his eyes wide, face slightly red. He took another sip and licked his lips, and then another sip. His face became even redder, but the more he drank, the more energized he looked.

"S-Seven Blessing! What is this, Septon Bronn?!"

Bronn smiled like a saint. "It's not a medicine, my Lord. It's just a brew I made from my own concocted mixtures and spices. I call it Firewhiskey."

"..."

"Firewhiskey, the name fits! It scorches tongue and throat, yet leaves me soothed. Even the very air tastes sweeter after it. And my body… I feel rejuvenated with courage. I've never sipped something like this. Gods, even Arbor Gold is piss before this!"

Bronn kept that solemn smile. "Seven bless you for the praise, my Lord."

"Sell this to me!"

"Not even if I prayed till the Stranger came for me, Your Grace. Making this single bottle was a work of sleepless nights. The ingredients are delicate, needing me to pray, recite, and concoct mixtures. This single bottle took me two weeks to make." Bronn declined promptly. "If the Gods grant me strength for more, I'll see it sent your way."

With a disappointed expression, Lord Leyton looked at the half-empty glass and sighed. Then he gulped the rest of it and savored the taste for some time before sitting down again.

"Malora is well, her belly swells," Lord Leyton eyed Bronn sternly. "Yet I bring more than tidings. It was no more than chance that I rode to meet you when the blades came out for you. Had I tarried, you would have bled out on the cobbles. The men we captured were sellswords, bought with gold. Yet none knew who set them on you. But we confiscated their gold and… the coins were clean. Far too clean. Like each one of them was wiped with hands, just like…"

"Sept's donations." Bronn finished the words.

Lord Leyton said nothing directly after that. "I know what goes on beyond what we see. Any hall where men grasp for power is steeped in intrigue. Red Keep, Citadel, or Sept, it matters not. While we lack a name to blame, I would advise you to be attentive."

Bronn smiled and nodded.

"I will be mindful of it, my Lord."

"I have strengthened your guard in the city with four more men," Lord Leyton said, rising to his feet. "And there is this besides. My daughter Lynesse may come to you. She is restless of late, and word has reached her that your blessings and prayers may bring her comfort."

Bronn bowed his head solemnly. "I will hear her woes, and if her mind needs softening, I have a draught for that."

With that, Lord Leyton left his humble House of Seven Blessings.

"Septa Unella." He called for the lovely Septa and leered at her delicious, curvy frame when she entered. "Prepare the confession chamber. Lady Lynesse Hightower will be coming."

"I understand, Lord Septon."

Once Unella left, Bronn pulled his table drawer and opened a small box with holes in it. He tapped the bright colored spiders inside it, and like loyal pets, the spiders ran up his finger and vanished under his sleeves.

Let's go, little friends.

He stood up and walked out of the building. Dressed in his usual septon robes and seven-colored belt, he'd even washed his hair that day. He'd announced beforehand that he wouldn't receive any sick that day.

There were greater matters to deal with.

"Lord Septon."

"My eyes have been blessed."

Passing through the streets, he felt no less than a famed knight. The men, women, and even children recognized him. The scholars and the maesters walking around were his usual customers, buying rejuvenation potions.

Eventually, he crossed the Rosebridge and entered the Incense Street that led directly to the Starry Sept. The massive, dome-shaped building was just as majestic, but for Bronn, it was an eyesore. The very source of his troubles.

Time to make this city mine.

Bronn wasn't blind to who attacked him. He didn't need Lord Leyton to tell him anything. He had his own ways, and really, he'd healed not just smallfolk but a few septons from the Starry Sept as well. He didn't even need to ask them to be his eyes and ears. They volunteered.

Too bad, the old fucks that were the Most Devout refused to accept his blessings. They only gave him two options. Either become their tool, or die.

We'll see who dies first. Time to be bold.

Bronn walked up the stairs and entered through the grand gates of the sept. The nearby septas and septons greeted him as if he were their superior, despite being younger. And it didn't take long before a senior septon came over.

"This way."

Cold, disrespectful. Bronn felt it in the way that the senior septon carried himself. Bronn wasn't very liked by the senior members despite being the most loved and respected in the city.

"The Most Devouts will see you inside," said the senior septon once they reached a large door. "Speak only when—"

"I know." Bronn didn't bother to listen and pushed the door open.

Right away, he was greeted by a pretentious site. Five old men in ornate robes of silver color, wearing crystal coronals on their heads, gold locket of Seven Star on their necks, and an overall air of wealth surrounded them. They were seated behind a wide marble table on high, ornate, golden chairs, each no less than a lord's throne.

No better than nobles. Even the faith is corrupted.

"May the Seven guide us." Bronn bowed his head and greeted them. But he found no chair for himself. The chamber was like a court instead; a large open space was left empty before the wide marble table.

"Stand at the center of the star, Septon Bronn," the middle of the five Most Devout ordered him.

Bronn silently followed their order while staring at their faces. Each more wrinkly than the last, their eyes faded but still sharp, heads with no hair or too few to count. Bronn didn't even know their names. He only knew the middle one.

"This place may have startled you, but fear not, this is no trial," the middle Most Devout said. "You asked to meet with us, yet we chose to add... weight to the occasion. The five of us are well aware of the wretched, vile attempt on your life. Truly condemnable."

Two-faced bastards. Bronn sneered inside. They were the ones who hired the sellswords after all.

"Seven help me, why's there a need for more weight? The sellswords are already in Lord Hightower's clutches. I'm here only to ask your blessing to bring Lady Malora Hightower into the Order of Septas. Her skill with elixirs is sharper than a sword, and the Gods know I could use her help tending to the faithful."

"Tsk, tending to the faithful?" The leftmost Most Devout sneered. "What you call service is a mockery, Septon. The Seven see all, and yet you take coin to heal the sick. A disgrace before the Gods."

"I don't, Most Devout. I ask for no coin, by the Seven. It's up to the ailed if their hearts move to give to the faith's cause. Truth be told, most toss no more than a half-penny." Bronn explained, though he already knew it was pointless. He didn't care; his spiders had already left his sleeves. "I just serve, and let the Seven judge the rest."

"To faith's cause, you claim? And yet, where is all the gold you've gathered? Tell me, where did it go? We did not see it offered at the Starry Sept."

And the cat is out of the bag.

"That is the second reason why I came here. I wish to open free kitchens across Oldtown to feed the poor. Using the money I'll receive from—"

"Enough." The rightmost Most Devout raised his hand. "No more of this hearsay. Your folly drags the name of septons through the dirt. They see us as jesters and sorcerers because of your deeds. The attack on you could have cost the lives of those who follow you. That cannot go on."

Hah, distressed about the attack they planned?

"Indeed," the middle one nodded. "Septon Bronn, you must abandon this path. We are servants of the Seven, men of the Word and the Light. Not menders of flesh or the impossible."

"You can't do this to me. What of my blessings? What am I to do with them?" Bronn feigned distress. "With all respect, Most Devout, the Mother and the Maiden guide me. To scorn a blessing is to trample the Gods' work."

"Trickery." Another Most Devout sneered.

"You must stop, or we shall be compelled to excommunicate you."

"That's…" Bronn stumbled back. "That's impossible. I can't let my blessings go to waste. I… I'll enter the service of Lord Hightower then. I'll work from there. Even the maesters believe in my healing. No, I must not stop, or the Seven will curse me."

Right then, Bronn felt something crawl up through his sleeves. That was his cue, and he started to step backwards towards the gate.

"No! You dare call the Mother and Maiden's blessing a trick?" Bronn fanatically rambled and reached for the door. Then, he pulled it open and kept it like that while he stood there, shouting. "Curse you! All five of you vile heretics! You sinners! Corrupt filth! Die, all five of you! I invoke the Stranger—I call forth Mother and Maiden's name, let the Stranger take you! All five of you! You sit on a mountain of gold and call my blessing trickery? DIE! ALL OF YOU! I curse you!"

Once he was sure that enough septons and septas heard him shout, he turned around and left, fuming and continuing to curse under his breath, but still loud enough to be audible.

Now we wait.

He walked out of the Starry Sept and headed back to the House of Seven Blessings. He was in a great mood as he could see his relationship with the Faith changing soon. He'd tried being the good guy, always thanking and praying. But all that had failed him.

Now, he'd decided to use the best tool a man of faith like him could use—fear. When the word of his powerful curses would spread, those against him would fear him, and those who sought his aid would adore him even more.

He soon entered his home.

"Lord Septon, Lady Lynesse Hightower is here."

Oh?

"Where is she?"

"She's in the confession chamber." Septa Unella pointed at the stairs.

Nodding, Bronn wasted no time and went up the stairs to the room right adjacent to the blessing bedding chamber he used to help women. The confession chamber and the bedding chamber were also joined with a door that didn't look like a door.

Knock! Knock!

He knocked and opened the door. The confession chamber was nothing special, just a small room with two chairs set face to face, and a thin zig-zag partition wall between the two chairs. Since Lynesse had entered before him, she was made to sit on the other side of the wall, so he wouldn't see her after entering the room.

"I'm Septon Bronn, my Lady." Bronn declared his presence. "Seven grant you ease, we'll not drag this longer than need be."

"Understood… Septon Bronn."

Sounds young, and sweet, and innocent.

First, Bronn lit some incense so the room was filled with a soothing scent. Then, finally, he settled down in his chair. He couldn't see Lynesse, however, and that was rather annoying. He wanted to see if she was a beauty or just a passing name.

"Seven see it, the Mother's mercy and the Maiden's truth," Bronn muttered, eyeing the wall. "Best say what you came to say, my Lady."

"I… I…" Lynesse stammered. "I have tried to sleep, Septon, but it will not come. My thoughts keep stirring, and I feel so very troubled."

Sleep troubles? Bronn already thought of the potion to give her. He could have ended the session right then and there. But he knew there was more to it.

"I hear you. Since when has this weight been pressing on you? Any idea of what set it upon you? In those nights the Seven deny you rest, what fills your thoughts?"

An audible gulp echoed in that empty room. Lynesse shifted in her chair; the rustling of her noble gown was audible.

"My thoughts… It's just… I think of... I… I think of this… Ser. I only saw him once, yet… I cannot help but think of him."

Lovestruck?

"Liking someone is no sin, my Lady. By the Seven, I assure you, there is n—"

"But I have sinned!" Lynesse insisted. "On some nights I… I sinned. I… Oh, Mother above, I… felt myself in an unholy way."

Bronn's lazy eyes opened wide all of a sudden, like thoughts were activated. Like a lamb had just fallen on his lap, and he wasn't even hungry.

"I see," Bronn muttered, pondering what to do. He couldn't fill her up like he'd done with Malora. That case was different, and Lynesse was Lord Leyton's youngest daughter, possibly the most adored. "How old are you, my Lady?"

"I'm eight and ten, Septon."

Bronn smirked and stood up. He abruptly grabbed the movable partition wall and pushed it away completely. And at last, he got to take a look at Lynesse.

Seven cunts!

Bronn was taken aback by her beauty. High cheekbones, pouty, full lips, noble face, bright blue eyes, face full of innocence. Mixed with her chest-length golden hair and creamy skin, she had Bronn caught frozen. While not curvy, he could see the swelling peaks on her chest inside that gown.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but for the Seven to absolve you, it had to be done," Bronn said, grinning like a wolf in a chapel. "Loving someone is no sin, and you're of age, so nothing wrong there. But the Maiden frowns when you take yourself in hand. Unmarried girls are meant to be innocent, and you've sullied that."

"W-What?" Lynesse rose to her feet quickly, her height enough to reach Bronn's shoulders. Her gown was noble, many-layered, but the wide neck showed so much pale, untouched skin that it was a sin to look at.

Hightowers, as expected. Bronn saw the fear and worry in Lynesse's eyes. She truly feared the Seven. The Hightowers were really religious.

"Sit, my Lady." Bronn held her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her warm skin. He pushed her down into the chair. "The Maiden and the Mother favor me. I mend flesh, mind, and spirit. Fear not, I'll draw all the sin out of you."

He meant that quite literally.

"You will?" Lynesse looked up at him with hope.

Bronn smiled, his cock twitching under his septon robes. He caressed her silky, golden hair on the head, then touched her face, as if reassuring her. "I've done this plenty of times, my Lady. The Seven are merciful, especially the Mother and the Maiden. But a sin can't wash away unless I know it's true. Show me your sin, my Lady."

Bronn understood that, as sheltered as Lynesse was, at her age of eighteen, she knew about sexual advances. She knew about bedding and how babies were made. She knew that, that was why she was touching herself. So, he didn't try to treat her like a fool.

Lynesse gulped, her jaw tightening visibly. "S-Show?"

"Ah…" Bronn frowned and waved his hand. "I believe you have misunderstood me, my Lady. I am aware it's shameful to remove all clothes and stand bare before a man. But I suggest you don't see me as a man but a vessel of the Mother and Maiden above. Through me course their blessing. As a healer, I have seen far too many men and women bare."

That did put her at ease as she nodded softly. "A-All my clothes?"

"Aye, my Lady. Your body's a temple of the Maiden, and I'll see it rightly blessed." Bronn claimed and stepped away from her. "If it feels wrong, might I suggest shedding the robes past that old curtain wall?"

"I-Is this necessary?"

Bronn sighed and shook his head. "Lady Lynesse, are you aware that to aid you, I'm supposed to sin as well? Only a sin can cancel another sin, like a sword stops a sword. To aid you, I'm prepared to bear the burden of sin. But if it's shame that stops you, I fear your sin has entered your mind, for your thoughts only think unholy matters."

Lynesse frowned.

Bronn stepped further away.

"Very well," Bronn said, nodding as he shuffled to the door. "I'll give you a potion to send you off to the Gods' arms at night. Drink it each eve. If it doesn't work… then Seven help us, the sin's already gnawed at your soul."

Bronn was hopeful. He really wanted to bed her, a sort of ultimate payback towards nobles, and men like Leyton Hightower. Leyton had dared to abduct him with no care for his wishes. That happened simply because Leyton believed his social standing was far above Bronn's. And now, he had the chance to pluck the sweetest flower of House Hightower.

Yet, there was no joy in pushing it. What he wanted was total compliance. Absolute willingness and belief. So she would obey his words.

Nodding, Lynesse said nothing and followed Bronn out of the confession chamber. It wasn't that she was unwilling. Just her shame didn't allow it. She believed Bronn, which was why she felt so scared of his warning.

"Forgive me, Septon." She apologized, teary-eyed.

Seven help me! Lovely! He found her even more charming.

Bronn smiled and patted her shoulder softly. He was just two years older than her, after all. "No apologies needed, my Lady. Drink this before you sleep, and leave the rest to the Seven."

He was not a good man. While his powers were indeed miraculous, he wasn't a good man to heal everyone. He could have made her fall asleep. But there was nothing for him in it. If anything, the opposite was better.

The hotter she'd feel. The more restless she'd be. She'd eventually return to him.

"Thank you, Septon."

At last, Lynesse bowed at him and left the place in her regal wheelhouse.

As for Bronn, he returned to the usual work. In the basement of the building, he started preparing batches of more potions and his next hit, Firewhiskey. Unlike what he'd told Lord Leyton, it wasn't hard to make. But it couldn't be made by anyone but him, for his hands had the magic.

Firewhiskey was a thing from his memory. He was certain he'd only achieved a third of what the real thing tasted like. But it was already better than any wine that existed. He was certain that, as long as he made it famous, he'd be able to dethrone Arbor Gold and perhaps become the most valuable wine in the world.

Five Dragons per bottle? Or ten?

Nonetheless, his goal was to have Elia Martell handle his wine's distribution, as he couldn't do it personally while being a Septon. He'd be accused of some nonsense by the High Septon, or worse, they'd eye his money. He needed the backing of a house that was powerful and didn't give a damn about the Faith or the Crown.

Furthermore, Elia wouldn't refuse him. If anything, she'd get a cut from profits, and that would one day help her put his bastard on the throne.

Let's make ten bottles tonight.

####

The next morning,

It was early morning, the sun barely peeked above the horizon, painting the sky bright blue. Yet, that morning, the city wasn't calm. From the smallfolk to the nobles, to the Citadel or the Starry Sept, all had woken up to the unending bells ringing.

The chimes came from the Starry Sept. The pattern suggested deaths, five in total. Curious, the nobles sent their messengers to the Starry Sept. The smallfolk went themselves. In a few hours, the word spread across Oldtown that the five Most Devout who headed Starry Sept had died in their sleep.

However, the most shocking thing happened an hour later.

Since the five Most Devout were the highest authority, they had dozens of attendants.

Those attendants, numbering fifty in total, instead of preparing for funerals, ran out of the Starry Sept, all the way to the House of Seven Blessings, and groveled before its gate, face kissing the road, crying loud and seeking forgiveness.

"Lord Septon! Please, forgive us!"

"My Lord! Take back the curse!"

"Please, I beg you! I was swayed by those old imbeciles!"

"Mercy, Lord Septon! Mercy!"

Another hour passed, and the gate was still closed. Yet, the crowd of septons and septas groveling before the gate increased. Now, not just the attendants of the dead Most Devouts, there were others. There were even a few Most Devouts groveling, crying.

"Corruption had tainted our hearts! Thank you for guiding us, Lord Septon!"

By the time the sun fully came up, it was as if all of Oldtown had gathered there. Crowding the streets, balconies, and terraces, with the House of Seven Blessings in its center. Nobles, merchants, smallfolk, and beggars had gathered, and in no time the word spread.

Just the day before, Septon Bronn had entered the Starry Sept to meet the five Most Devouts. He came out cursing them, calling them corrupt, and cursing them with the Stranger's wrath. And that morning, those five Most Devouts were dead in their sleep.

"S-Seven… Septon Bronn is… Blessed!"

Unlike the groveling septons, septas, and Most Devouts, the people of the city cheered for Bronn and even made prayers. Thanking the Seven for purging the corrupt from the Starry Sept.

Eventually, the time came when the gate of the House of Seven Blessings usually opened. Everyone waited patiently.

####

Inside the House of Seven Blessings,

"Thank you, Septa Unella." Bronn stood still, dressed in clean yet simple robes. In front of him stood Unella in her body-hugging Septa gown. She was a sight to behold, her height as tall as his; it was a delight to look directly at her face.

Septa Unella smiled, busy fixing Bronn's robes and combing his hair. Yet, she was aware, her breath uneasy, her mouth dry. She felt Bronn's hands rest on her waist, just above her hips.

Progress, at last.

Bronn took advantage of the fact that Unella truly believed in his blessings. For her, it was a fact that the Maiden and Mother favored him. Now, she also believed that Bronn had the favor of the Stranger. With that much fanaticism, Bronn knew she wouldn't question his actions.

Seven—Soft as sin!

He felt her waist. While the gown was modest, he'd seen her enough to know her hips were lush and broad, just as her bosom. She was, in a true sense, made for breeding and motherhood, not wasting her life dry as a septa.

"Seven bless you, Septa. Don't know what I'd've done without you." Bronn praised her, his fingers gently rubbing her hourglass curves. "You keep this place tidy, proper as a prayer."

Unella smiled brightly, her lovely teeth showing, so perfect. "It is my duty, Lord Septon."

"Aye."

Then Bronn did something insane.

He leaned forward and pecked her lips like it meant nothing. No tongue, no feelings. Just a quick peck that lasted a blink.

"L-Lord Sep…"

Unella frowned, covering her mouth in shock.

Bronn smiled towards her like a sage. "Ah, my apologies. The Mother and the Maiden have their ways, you see. I cherish you, Septa Unella, not as a man pines for a woman, but as the Mother and the Maiden hold the faithful. My deeds may look sinful, dirty, filthy, sexual, but there's no lust, no filth, no fire—only true devotion to the Seven."

It was absolute bullshit. Yet, to a woman like Unella, whose mind was carved to believe in the miracles of the Seven, it made the most sense. She'd seen Bronn bless women's wombs, and he did that without romantic, intimate, sinful desire and passion, according to her.

"I understand, Lord Septon." Septa Unella resolutely nodded.

"Good," Bronn said, stepped closer, and pecked her lips one more time. This time, it lingered a blink longer, enough that he felt how soft and silky her lips were.

Seven cunts! I'm hard as the corpses of those five old fucks.

Finally, he turned.

Septa Unella walked ahead of him as it was her duty to open the door.

Bronn just admired the view of those shaking hips.

Clack!

"Lord Septon." Septa Unella opened the door and stepped aside. It was bright outside, so much so that everything looked white.

Reborn anew.

He took a deep breath, formed a smile on his lips, and stepped forward. He crossed the threshold of the door and was instantly overwhelmed by the crowds. He didn't understand why, but it became noisy, loud cheers and screams mixed, echoed like roars. He looked left, and the entire street was filled with people, waving at him, many on their knees. The right side was the same. Then he looked at the buildings that lined the road's both sides, all balconies and terraces were full.

Did I bloody overdo it?

"Forgive us!"

"Please!"

"I beg you!"

He finally looked at the septons, septas, and the Most Devout. All of them were crying, faces pale in fear.

Stranger scared the piss out of them.

When the crowd just refused to calm down, Bronn raised his right hand, palm flat towards the groveling men and women.

With that, like a slow wave, silence fell.

Lowering his hand, Bronn stared at the groveling figures. He let them cower a little more before speaking.

"I have no enemies." He said, loud but not shouting.

"From King's Landing to Oldtown, I've only done one thing: serve. The Mother and the Maiden steered me here to patch up the sick and sore. I wanted no coin, no fancy rewards. Every penny the good folk of Oldtown gave went straight into medicine. I dreamed too of kitchens where the poor might eat and worry less for a day. The Seven guided me, yet your five Most Devout grew greedy for my donations and my name. They threatened to cast me out of the Faith, stopping me from healing, from feeding. A sin! A sin the Stranger himself would scowl at—and it fell squarely on them."

Finally, Bronn walked over to the nearest septon, held him by the shoulders, and helped him up.

"I hold no grudges, nor do I sit in judgment. I am naught but a healer, a small man of the Seven. My anger fell on the five who strayed, not on you. Go, each of you, serve with faith and duty. I must heal the ailed."

The septon cried, clasped his hands together into a fist, and bowed his head into Bronn's hands, blabbering for forgiveness.

The Stranger really scared them all.

After that, one by one, each septon, septa, and Most Devout came to him, bowed their heads, kissed his hand, and left. There were over a hundred of them, and by the end, he felt the back of his hand red and sore.

When one of the smallfolk tried to come and kiss his hand, Bronn stepped back. He couldn't let that happen, or else the entire Oldtown would try it. They'd eat the damn skin off his hand.

"May the Seven bless you all."

With a final wave of his hand, he walked back into the building. Septa Unella closed the door right away.

That should get my name across the Reach.

Hopeful, he returned to work. He had that blacksmith's woman to bless, after all.

####

Highgarden, the Reach,

"Mother, is it true?"

At sixty, Olenna Tyrell had withered, but she still retained the vigor and wits of her young self. Queen of Thorns they called her, for her sharp tongue, and she honestly didn't mind it, as it allowed her to be rather mean to those around.

"It is, Mace. You're fat."

Mace Tyrell frowned at that response. He looked down at his rotund belly, then his wife nearby on the chair, a beautiful Hightower, elegant and graceful. The difference was stark.

"I… didn't mean that, Mother. That Septon in Oldtown, they say he can heal any sickness, any wound. Blessed by the Seven, they say. He cursed Stranger upon five Most Devouts, and they died."

Lady Olenna hummed, busy knitting for her grandson, Loras, born just three years ago.

"Mace, they say a lot, but it matters who 'they' are. True enough, five Most Devouts perished in their sleep after that Septon's curse. True, he can heal. But I have lived long and witnessed plenty. Seven's blessings and Stranger's curses belong in the hands of nans, spinning stories to youngins, not for sensible grown folk."

Mace Tyrell sighed, frowning. "I just…"

"Hope he can fix Willas' leg?" Olenna's eyes cut to her son. "The very son you crippled by pushing him into a tourney to compete with men twice his age?"

Mace felt like shrinking his head into the ground. He'd cursed his firstborn to a life of a cripple just for his own ambitions.

"Stop believing in fairy tales and focus on leading the lands you rule. You're not the brightest, but you have me. Your father had me. Learn what you can so you won't doom this house when I'm gone."

Mace really felt like vanishing.

####

Oldtown, House of Seven Blessings.

Here we are, once again.

Seven days had passed, and the potion Bronn had given Lynesse had run out. As expected, she was even less sleepy now. And she confessed, she'd touched herself every single night. There was no confession wall between them now; her face was red in shame.

"Please, Septon. I'm lost. You are favored by the Seven and even the Stranger. I need to be free of this sin," Lynesse begged him.

Bronn smiled like a saint. "A heavy promise you seek, my Lady. To rid your sin, I must sin an equal amount now. By the Gods, it's worse than before."

Lynesse frowned, her eyes on the verge of spilling. "I… I'm prepared. I'll undress immediately, Septon."

Where's the joy in that?

Bronn shook his head. "My Lady, the Gods themselves might frown, for I know not if I can aid you… But we shall try. I honor your modesty, by the Seven. I'll not ask you to bare all, yet do cast off the smallclothes that guard your sacred loins."

Lynesse didn't argue this time. To her, this was better than going completely bare. Although she trusted Septon Bronn, he was still a man. Quickly, she stood up, pulled her multi-layered gown up, one layer at a time, squeezed her hands in, and pushed her smallclothes down.

Fuck!

Bronn gulped at the mere tease of her creamy, pale legs. Long, slender, just right.

"What must I do now, Septon?" She sat down again.

"It is my turn to move, my Lady," Bronn replied and got off his chair. He eyed her charming, perfect face, a mix of beauty and adorability.

First, Bronn locked the door. Then, he walked over to Lynesse's chair and slowly got down on his knees.

"From this moment, all I do is my duty. The Seven know it may seem sinful, filthy, sultry, carnal to your eyes, or to some prying third eye, which is why this ritual must stay hidden, or it may be undone. Know this, my Lady—the Maiden and the Mother grant me strength to heal women without lust in my heart. My deeds are pure—take them as such."

Lynesse just nodded, confused.

"Oh!"

"Please, hold your gown up so I may inspect your loins. It is the most sacred organ of a woman, the one that carries Mother and Maiden's blessing." Bronn started to push her multi-layered gown up.

Seven fucking hells, the layers never end. These lordly cunts swaddle their women, hiding the only part of them worth a damn.

He bunched the gown at her lap until pale, creamy skin revealed itself inch by inch. Her legs. Long, smooth, untouched. His calloused hands slid over them, gripping her thighs with rough reverence. His thumbs traced along their inner slope, savoring the feel.

Soft as butter.

Her breath caught, her chest fluttering with nervous shame.

Then the skirt was lifted fully, and there it was. Her cunt.

Bronn stilled, drinking in the sight.

Stranger take me… prettier than I imagined.

A neat little patch of golden curls, and beneath it. Untouched, pink, tight, unstretched. A Hightower cunt, right for the taking.

"Place your legs on my shoulders, my Lady," he said softly.

Lynesse's lips parted as if to question, but Bronn was already moving her limbs himself, lifting her slender ankles, spreading her thighs wide, and settling them onto his shoulders. Her back arched, hips half off the chair, her most sacred flesh offered to his face.

"O Maiden pure, keep her heart from strife,
Guard her steps through the dance of life.
O Mother kind, let her womb be blessed,
Grant gentle dreams and peaceful rest."

Bronn said a quick prayer and leaned in, kissing her inner thighs. His lips pressed, then lingered. A wet trail of licks marked her pale skin, goosebumps chasing wherever his tongue went. Once, he bit gently, just to feel her jolt.

"My Lady, do not moan. While what we do is wholly consensual, it must not be… sensual. From this moment, chant for me. 'Oh Mother Above and Maiden virgin, let Septon Bronn draw out my sin.' Do not stop until I command it," Bronn murmured against her flesh.

"I understand." Lynesse was blushing red in shame, very much aware that a man was staring right at her slit. She felt her hips half in the air on the edge of the chair, her back arched as her thighs squeezed on each side of Bronn's face.

Ummmh… A noble scent; Bronn was thrilled. This was Lord Leyton's proud youngest daughter, about to be claimed in every way by him. And by the Seven, he was going to claim the life out of her.

He gave one long lick, slow, deliberate, flat across her slit from base to pearl.

"Ahhhhnnn—!" The moan ripped from her lips, sharp and unguarded.

Bronn drew back just enough. "Did I not warn you, my Lady?"

"I-I… forgive me, Septon…"

"Then chant."

Her voice broke as she started, "O-Oh Mother above… and Maiden virgin… let Septon Bronn draw out my sin…"

Bronn wrapped his arms around her thighs, dragging her down to his mouth, locking her tight. His tongue lapped and probed, circling her clit, plunging into her virgin folds, slurping the sweetness already slickening there.

Gods, noble cunt. I'll suck the sin right out of you, girl. Make you forget you're highborn before I'm done.

"Ahhh—O-Oh Mother A-above—" Her chant crumbled into whimpers, each holy word mangled by the pleasure in her core. Her hands clutched his hair, pulling without meaning to, trembling. "M-Maiden virgin—ahhh—f-forgive me!"

Bronn groaned into her slit, the vibration rumbling through her core. Her hips bucked, writhing against his mouth, caught between shame and ecstasy. She chanted, but the words were broken, sobbed, half-lost to gasps and moans.

"Ohhh Mother Above… ahhh—ahhh—f-forgive me… forgive me…"

Her nails dug into his scalp, tugging his hair as her body twisted and quaked, her cries mingling with the desperate chant, as Bronn feasted on her like it was his divine right.

Schluurp—hhhlllckhh…

Obscene wet sounds filled the chamber, his mouth noisy and unashamed, devouring her as if she were his only meal. His stubble rasped her tender flesh, his lips sealing, sucking greedily at her pearl until her thighs trembled.

Her breath grew high and wild, broken between sobs and chants. "O-Oh Mother above… M-Maiden V-virgin… let Septon Bronn draw—ahhh—draw out my sin!"

Seven fuck me, she's close... Bronn felt it. She was teetering on the edge, and he fucking loved it. Her smooth, silky body, her pink, tight slit, perfect combination. He was hard enough to split stone.

Her whole body seized, her pale ass dangling off the chair's edge. Her legs clamped around his head, locking him in, dragging his face hard against her cunt.

"Ahhhhh—Mother Above! Aaaaahhh!" She screamed through the chant, voice torn raw as the climax ripped through her. Her thighs trembled violently, her hips bucked in desperate jerks, her virgin cunt flooded his tongue with her first real release from a man.

She came on his mouth, and he didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, he gloried in it. It was a twisted pride, a filthy triumph, being the first to taste the noble beauty Lynesse Hightower. A nobody. A fishmarket rat. A lowborn brute with scars on his hands, feasting on the pussy of Oldtown's golden daughter, the prized jewel of the most powerful house in the city.

Her nectar dripped across his tongue, hot and sweet, smearing his stubble, wetting his chin. And he swallowed greedily, savoring every gush.

Bronn groaned, grinding his mouth into her, drinking her down. "Mmmmmmhh…"

"Ah! Forgive me!" Lynesse gasped and shuddered, her eyes wide and wet.

Suddenly, she pried her thighs apart, releasing his head, as if ashamed of her own body's betrayal.

Bronn frowned, pulling away. Her slit glistened in the candlelight, wet and twitching from the aftershocks. He stood, tugging his robe off and casting it aside, then peeled away his tunic and breeches in rough jerks.

He stood naked before her, his cock swollen thick and veined, bobbing proudly, precum glistening at the tip. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, muscles hard beneath candlelight.

"You moaned… My sin isn't enough." Bronn said.

He stepped forward, spreading his knees so her dangling legs were caught between them, her flushed face low, eye-level with his throbbing shaft. "Open your mouth, my Lady. Do what I did to you."

Her eyes widened. "S-Septon…"

Bronn didn't wait. He shoved forward, pressing his cockhead against her soft lips. They parted, and he pushed in, stretching them wide around his girth.

"F-Forgive me… my Lady. I may… say filthy… things but… they're to accumulate sin." Bronn groaned, feeling her mouth swallow his thickness. Her pouty lips clung tight, blazing hot. Her tongue fluttered weakly beneath, trapped against his shaft as he sank deeper inch by inch.

"Mmhmmmnnn…" Lynesse moaned around his cock, muffled, her eyes wide with shame. Drool already spilled at the corners of her mouth.

Bronn's jaw tightened, his hand clamping the back of her head. He drove his hips forward, pumping into her with heavy thrusts. Her willing lips stretched, cheeks bulging.

Gluk! Gluk! Slrrrupphhkk

"Look at this…" Bronn growled, his voice turning sharp. "Whore of House Hightower. Mouth so fucking tight. Suck harder, whore. Learn!"

Her eyes flew wider, shocked at his words. Eyes watered, streaking her cheeks. Her nose flared as her throat convulsed, choking on his girth. But she took him reverently.

House Hightower's jewel, gagging on me like a dockside slut. This is what nobles deserve. Cocks in their throats instead of crowns on their heads.

Bronn looked down, savoring the sight. The stretch of her mouth around his girth, the way her lips clung to every vein, her jaw trembling, her eyes watering, her once-perfect hair clinging in sweaty strands. He groaned again, ramming deeper, hips slamming her face until his cockhead pushed past her throat.

"Glkkhhh! Uugghhhkk!" Her body spasmed, throat stretched around him.

Bronn's voice rose, half-mocking prayer, half-snarl. "This is your gift, my Lady. This is what you deserve. My cock, buried in your unholy mouth. Drink it. Worship it. Be cleansed by it."

Her tongue tried desperately to obey, wriggling clumsily, licking along his thickness, sucking weakly. She tried to mimic what he had done to her, even as her throat convulsed around him, as the wet chorus echoed in the chamber.

Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!

"Aaargh… Drink it… the nectar, my lady." His tone softened for a moment, almost reverent, though his thrusts never slowed. He could feel his balls tightening.

He pulled back just enough to aim, then thrust hard, spilling warm, sticky seeds into her throat. Hot, thick cream surged from him in heavy spurts, pumping molten ropes down her convulsing throat. He held her head steady until he felt her throat milk the last drop.

Lynesse gagged, choking, eyes rolling back, but still gulped desperately, swallowing every blast. Her throat bobbed, sucking it down as commanded.

"Ah… We can… move to the… final ritual, my Lady." Bronn said and pulled out of that warm mouth.

He seized her by the hand and pulled her up, spinning her lightly on her feet. With deliberate slowness, he untied the gown from behind, loosening the knots one by one until the fabric slackened. Then, with a sharp push of his hands, he shoved the gown off her shoulders. The heavy layers cascaded down her body and pooled at her feet.

She stood naked. Fully, utterly naked. Her smooth, pale skin glowed in the candlelight, every inch of her figure delicate yet ripe. Her breasts were perfect handfuls, perky, firm, capped with pale pink areolas that looked soft enough to melt on his tongue. Her stomach was flat, her hips slender but womanly, her thighs pale silk, and her blonde curls framed the slit between her legs he'd already tasted.

Bronn prowled around her like a wolf circling prey, one callused hand sliding up from her hip to her chest. He took her tits in both hands, kneading, squeezing, thumbing the peaks until they stiffened. Warm and soft.

A statue carved for worship, and here she is letting me paw her like a whore. Nobles don't deserve this kind of beauty. But I'll take it, piece by piece, and she'll beg me for more.

"Come."

He took her wrist again, led her to the hidden door, and pushed it open. The chamber beyond was darker, more intimate. A bed waiting in the center, dressed and ready as always. He shoved her lightly forward, and she stumbled onto the mattress, falling onto her back, golden hair splaying across the pillow.

Bronn closed the secret door, locking it tight. He turned, cock jutting proudly as he walked back to her.

Lynesse panted, lying on her back, chest rising and falling, her eyes now stripped of confusion. Only lust lived there. She was no fool. She knew what was to come, her sin, her release. And the thought of it, she admitted in her own silence, was strangely appetizing.

"I-It… won't fit." Her eyes widened, panic and desire mixing in her tone.

Bronn chuckled, kneeling between her slender, milky thighs. He stroked her trembling leg, sliding her knees wider. "It always does, my Lady. Don't worry. It only stings at the start."

Oh, it'll sting. And I'll enjoy every shudder of it.

"My Lady, think of Mother and Maiden in your thoughts," Bronn said solemnly, even as he lined himself up.

He pressed his cockhead down against her virgin slit, the swollen crown rubbing along her entrance, glistening wet from her earlier peak. Her juices coated him as he rocked, smearing her lips wide, teasing her entrance.

Her noble face was so flawless, framed in candlelight. Her lips trembled, her brow furrowed, every part of her anticipating the inevitable. His gaze devoured her tits, those pink peaks aching for his bite, but first…

Thank you for the offering… Leyton Hightower… Seven will… bless you… with nothing.

"Ummmh… Ah! I-It won't… fit!" She cried, her voice shrill with dread and need.

Bronn shoved. The fat crown split her folds, and her tight virgin ring clutched around him. He growled low, teeth gritting as her body challenged, stretching, burning. Slowly, painfully, her maidenhood tore, that tender barrier breaking under brute thickness.

Her back arched violently, her nails dug at the bedding, her face flushed red as the sting tore through her. A cry ripped from her throat, high and helpless. "Ahhhh! Mother above! Maiden! It—ahhhhhh!"

Bronn groaned through clenched teeth as he slid in deeper, inch by inch, every fraction of her body straining to contain him. Blood and slick coated his shaft as her walls spasmed around him, tight as a fist.

Noble cunt, untouched till tonight. I'm the first, I'm the one to take her.

"Pray to Mother and Maiden," Bronn rasped, pulling back and then pushing forward again. His thrusts churned slowly, grinding, like he was working butter with a churn stick, getting her body to yield to him. He braced on his arms, looming over her, face inches from hers as he set the rhythm.

Her voice broke in squeals and moans, clawing at his chest, biting her lips until crimson stained them. Every push made her wail, every pull dragged a new prayer from her throat. Her smooth legs wrapped high around him, body convulsing, her noble cunt being stretched, filled, claimed.

"Doing… wonderful." Bronn rasped, savoring every moment. First Malora, and now Lynesse, two virgins of House Hightower, claimed by his cock. But this one… this one he enjoyed the most.

Once his shaft was buried halfway, he leaned down flat, chest to soft, gelatinous chest, and claimed her lips in a brutal kiss. Then he thrust in all at once, ramming himself deep and lodging his entire cock inside, hitting to the base. Her maiden's sheath gave way entirely, stretched and claimed, his final declaration of victory.

Lynesse shrieked into his mouth, nails raking his back, her eyes wide as the sting turned into raw, tearing pleasure. Her muffled moans vibrated against his tongue as he plundered her noble lips. He gave her no gentleness. His kiss was rough, conquering, her first kiss ravaging and sinful. He drank her spit, ate her tongue, devoured her underneath himself like a starving man with only sin for a goal.

He didn't stop kissing even as he fucked her. Pulling his cock almost all the way out, then slamming it back to the root, hard and sharp. Again. Again. Her roars bled into his mouth with every stroke until her body started to yield, softened around the relentless intrusion.

Finally, Bronn sat back on his knees, chest heaving, and looked down.

Mmmmm! What a sight!

Her cunt gripped him so tight it looked like her folds were clinging to his skin, being dragged out with his cock when he pulled. A perfect squeeze. A snug, noble sheath painted in crimson, his shaft streaked with the paint of her broken wall.

Lynesse Hightower… What a lay.

Bronn didn't let her rest. He started to fuck her like a common whore. His hips snapping, cock pistoning in and out, his hand wrapping around her throat gently, then sliding to seize her jaw and plant more kisses upon her noble lips.

He bent down, sucking her tits hard, biting her perky buds until she cried out, leaving marks of teeth on her flawless flesh. Each motion was raw and filthy. His tongue lashing hers, his cock plunging, his lips sucking bruises into her tits, claiming her all.

Then he pushed her legs up, pressed them flat against her chest, and leaned forward, fucking her folded in half. Her snug pussy, already impossibly tight, clamped down tighter still, milking his cock like a velvet vice.

"Gaaaaaahhh! Ohhh… Mother… Maiden!" Lynesse screamed, her body convulsing. Her pussy squirted, a slippery gush coating him, making each thrust glide with wet ease.

Plap! Plap! Slap! Squelch!

Froth of pale red and white formed around the base of his cock, every thrust mixing her virgin paint with her slick and his spit.

"Ugh… Take it… in… my Lady."

"W-what?!" she gasped, realization flashing in her glassy eyes.

"Fear not… Maiden's blessing grants me complete control over my seed. Now is not your time to be blessed with a babe." His tone was solemn, but his hips never slowed. He leaned down, his legs straight behind him, pressing his chest and face into her tits, biting them again as he rutted her deep.

Her bent body was pinned under his weight, toyed with, spent as he slammed into her again and again amidst the bed creaking and wet smacks.

Finally, he slammed in to the root and unleashed a savage spurt, bursting deep against her womb's access. Then another, and another. Thick, hot floods of his holy batter gushed out, mixing with her crimson paint and nectar until it foamed around his cock, spilling back out in a filthy froth.

"Seven bless you…" He groaned mockingly, grinding his hips down, making sure every throb of his shaft milked another rope into her clenching walls. The bed creaked beneath them as he shoved her folded body deeper into the mattress, balls slapping, sloshing the froth that bubbled out around her stretched lips.

Lynesse moaned through moans, trembling, every nerve lit with bliss. She felt blessed, ruined, holy in her sin.

Bronn, meanwhile, felt like a conqueror standing atop a fallen city. My victory. My prize. A noble maiden, broken.

His cock throbbed madly, but still he didn't stop. He released her thighs, spreading them wide again, his shaft still spearing her, and collapsed on top of her, lips meeting hers in a kiss far gentler, almost lover-like. His hips still moved, still grounding, but slower now, savoring.

"Mmh…" Lynesse hummed when he stopped kissing. She felt so sore she didn't know if she could walk. "S-Septon… I feel… sleepy."

Bronn chuckled and got off of her. "Then sleep here. None will disturb you."

As Bronn stood by the bed, he watched that absolute filth of a view.

Her body was an absolute wreck, sprawled across the sheets. Her noble pussy was battered, swollen red, her folds still wet and shining, coated white, streaked with the pale froth. Her tits bore the marks of his teeth, pink buds swollen and bitten raw. Her golden hair was a tangled, sweaty mess, plastered to her flushed cheeks. Her lips, swollen from his rough kisses, parted slightly as she breathed slowly and heavily, a blissful smile gracing her face.

Feelings blessed? Bronn held back a chuckle. Might as well keep blessing her until Leyton lets me go.

But then he thought of Lynesse becoming another Septa for him.

Hmm… Lynesse the beauty, Malora the potioneer, and Unella the overseer.

An idea so good he felt his balls tickle.

####

In the coming months, Bronn continued to reside inside Oldtown. His name and fame were absolute by then. From morning till evening, lines stood outside his House of Seven Blessings. He also blessed more women.

At last, even noble women had started to knock on his door. Albeit they remained lesser nobles.

The Starry Stept never interfered with him again. The Stranger's fear ran deep. Bronn had free rein to do whatever he wanted to. And he did just that. He moved into a bigger building, big enough that it had its own massive courtyard. And inside that courtyard, he started to hold spiritual gatherings where he healed a few people, spoke about the Seven, told them made-up stories, or stories he read in the Citadel.

He used free food kitchens to spread the word.

From a hundred to a thousand. From a thousand to ten thousand.

Bronn had to seek Lord Leyton's permission to use the tourney grounds outside the city for his spiritual gatherings. He was the sole focus of these gatherings. He presented himself as the best medium to reach the Seven. He presented himself as if his words were messages of the Seven.

Donations, fame, name, crowds, women—Bronn lacked nothing.

Even Lynesse, over the months, he bedded her casually. After some time, they'd stopped bothering with all the rituals and prayers. They fucked for the sake of fucking. He claimed her rear as well, finishing his conquest for good. But he kept bedding her because she was just too beautiful to let go. His cock, his potions, he made his presence akin to an addiction for her. Her mind, her used cunt, her body belonged to him.

But still, she wasn't interested in becoming his septa. That was his one regret.

So, respecting her wish to be wed to a noble lord and live a comfortable, luxurious life, he focused on loosening her cunt to help whichever noble she'd marry. How magnanimous.

"I… I… will miss you."

Lynesse mumbled, cockfilled, Bronn's cum leaking out of her sore cunt as she stopped riding him and fell forward on his chest, her tits squeezed.

"Likewise," Bronn replied, savoring her satin soft ass on his palms. "By the grace of the Gods, our roads will meet again. I am a traveling septon, after all."

"Mmmh…" Lynesse sloppily kissed him.

Eventually, they removed their sweaty, slick bodies from each other and got dressed. Lynesse had to return to Hightower, and Bronn was to leave Oldtown. As Malora had given birth to a healthy, strong, red-haired boy just as Bronn had promised.

Lord Hightower was in awe, fanatically religious about him and his blessings. Even declared Bronn as House Hightower's Chief Septon for life. While that title meant nothing, it showed how much House Hightower valued him.

"Is everything loaded?" He walked downstairs to the entryway of his large mansion. He now owned it for life, a gift from Lord Leyton.

"It is, Lord Septon." Septa Unella reported.

Fine as ever. Bronn nodded. He hadn't made too much progress with her, but she no longer hesitated his pecks and would join the tongue action from time to time.

With a sigh, he stared at the dozen knights that Lord Leyton had prepared for his departure. They were to escort him all the way to Highgarden, where Bronn had been invited at last. It was for his own safety, as the people of Oldtown had indeed become fanatic. He could no longer walk the city's streets without getting mobbed by worshippers seeking his blessing.

While he had voluntarily cultivated such a reputation, it also cost him freedom. And now, he hoped not to face such issues after leaving the city.

"Let's move then."

He walked over to the large wheelhouse, another gift from Lord Leyton. He opened the door and, as expected, there she was, Malora Hightower, his new traveling septa, potions enthusiast, and a willing cocksleeve. She'd given birth to a boy just three months ago, and she'd already moved on, having left the child to her father's care.

Bronn didn't care. He enjoyed his solemn duty of draining Malora's tits every other day. There was quite the thrill in doing something so filthy to a highborn woman.

"Lord Septon." Malora pushed the book towards Bronn. "What is this ingredient?"

She was occupied by the book he'd given her.

Thud!

The wheelhouse door was shut and they started moving right away, escorted. As soon as they left the gates of his mansion, loud noises were audible. And when the straight road leading to the Kingsgate came, the noise became recognizable.

Not bad.

Bronn smiled while staring outside. The people of Oldtown had come out to wave him goodbye. Some threw petals from their balconies. It was a pure spectacle, as if a hero had returned home. Only in his case, he was a septon leaving.

"They adore you, Lord Septon," Unella murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "A healer, a bringer of blessings. They whisper you cannot be killed."

Bronn didn't correct her and just enjoyed that loud goodbye. Oldtown had given him a lot. Likewise, he'd taken a lot: women, gold, connections.

Once they left through the Kingsgate, the road became clear, straight towards Highgarden. Yet, for many miles, whenever his carriage passed a village, town, or traveling group, the people stopped and bowed towards him. Understandably, as people from beyond Oldtown also came to him for healing.

"Lord Septon, which plant is this?"

Malora didn't give a damn, however. He sighed and helped her out, and then relaxed back in that comfortable stagecoach. Remembering his journey from King's Landing, he pondered about Elia.

My bastard on the throne. Laughable but… I wouldn't mind.

Elia had given birth to a silver-haired, violet-eyed boy many months ago, much to the realm's shock. Bronn imagined depression in the King's Hall and joy across those who sided with the Targaryens.

But Bronn couldn't care less. He had only one side, his own. The royals, the nobles, there was no difference. They were mere tools, just as they saw him.

Roseroad from Oldtown to Highgarden was rather smooth. Connecting two of the richest houses and places in Westeros, the difference was noticeable. The ride wasn't long either. Still, it took three days.

Bronn slept in fine inns on the way. With Malora to warm his bed, it was pure joy. At last, he felt like the septon he strived to be.

"We'll arrive at Highgarden soon, Lord Septon," the captain of the escorts informed him.

Bronn fixed his hair and belt. The Tyrells were important. While Hightower was influential, it was the Tyrells who ruled all of Reach. Having them under his palm was having the entire Reach. But according to the information he'd gathered, Olenna Tyrell was going to be a thorn.

A spider? Snake?

Moving Olenna Tyrell out of the way was the best solution. Then he'd have Mace Tyrell to control, a rather easy-to-sway fool.

"It's beautiful," Unella exclaimed beside him.

Bronn looked out of the window and indeed, the distant Highgarden was stunning, and a behemoth of a castle. And just as they reached the turning point near the bridge that led to Ocean Road, the wheelhouse started to slow down.

In time, they halted entirely.

Bronn opened the door and walked out. Malora stayed inside, but Unella followed behind him. They hadn't arrived yet, but their path was blocked by dozens of beautifully armored men on horses, flying the Tyrell flag.

At the front was a fat man, struggling to get off the horse.

"Oh, Seven bless my eyes." Mace Tyrell was a man who loved praise and also knew when to reciprocate. With clasped hands, he approached Bronn and bowed his head, eyes closed. "Lord Septon, what a gift it is to receive you. My household has long spoken of your miracles, your mercies, your wisdom. Highgarden opens its gates and its heart to you."

Fat oaf indeed.

Bronn smiled and looked towards the castle in the distance. "By the Seven's mercy, the blessing is mine, to behold a castle so fine."

"Please, follow us, Lord Septon. The castle is yours."

It was a treatment akin to a King's visit. But of course, Bronn had no delusions. Mace was kissing his ass to get his eldest son's leg healed. The fat fuck was using him, as they all hoped to.

But it'll cost you greatly, my friend. Everything, perhaps.

From there, the escort sent by Lord Leyton was to be sent back. The Tyrells took over his security. Bronn didn't like that, but he was still looking for a decent sellsword company he could hire. It was hard to trust them, knowing they were blades sold for money. One had to pay them more than him to betray him.

Though the thought of making his own guard order crossed his mind. There were plenty of religious hedge knights out there. He just had to lure them.

Clop-Clop-Clop-Clop!

Right when Mace and Bronn were about to continue, they heard the noise of multiple horses running towards them. The Tyrell men moved aside as the incoming men flew the King's flag.

There were only three men, one in golden armor and a white cape, the other two wearing Baratheon colors.

"Lord Tyrell."

The man in golden armor halted his horse and jumped with a speed that was impressive. He took off his helmet, his hair white, beard long.

"Ah, Ser Barristan." Mace Tyrell exclaimed, but he was confused. "What brings you here in such a rush?"

The old Kingsguard turned to look at Bronn.

"Are you Bronn the Blessed?"

Keeping his expression solemn, Bronn nodded. "That is me."

Ser Barristan suddenly moved and clasped his hands like offering his prayer. It looked like a genuine prayer as the old knight closed his eyes for a moment.

"Lord Septon, I come bearing urgent tidings. Queen Cersei has given this realm a son, but the boy's strength falters, and the Grand Maester holds little hope for him. The King himself commanded me to seek your aid in preserving the Prince's life." Ser Barristan hastily explained. "I have relays prepared on the road. With hard riding, we may reach the city within a week."

Seven cunts! That's… What if the babe dies before I reach the damn city?

Bronn frowned.

What if I can't save him?

Bronn thought of everything. He didn't know the situation of the babe, so he couldn't say anything. It was risky business. While the Kingsguard called it 'seeking his aid', Bronn knew that if he refused, and the babe died, King Robert would blame him.

But if I go and he still dies, Stranger will have me.

He was stuck between cliffs.

So, Bronn looked at Mace Tyrell. Perhaps the man's urgency to heal his son's leg could save him.

"Ah! Then you must hurry, Lord Septon!" Mace exclaimed.

"..."

With a sigh, Bronn looked behind at Septa Unella. "Go back to Oldtown and live in the mansion."

He didn't trust the Tyrells one bit. Even more so with Malora around.

Finally, Bronn turned to the Kingsguard.

"Lead the way, Ser Barristan."

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