GOT: Rasputin of Westeros 21 - No More Tyrell, A Dwarf’s Journey, Bronn’s Bad Day & A Stark Prepares To Howl

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"Once worn by Hugor of the Hill. Lord Septon, I humbly beseech you to take your rightful crown."

"..."

Bronn dumbly stared at the crown for a long time, solemn and never revealing a hint of surprise. It wasn't the crown itself that surprised him, but it was the fact that the Golden Company was offering it to him. 

And as a man who had been plotting the downfall of Westerosi nobility for so long, he understood that there was no such thing as a free gift. This crown could be a weight upon his head that would dig a hole under his feet. 

“The Seven be praised, I never guessed the Golden Company still held the Faith in such regard,” Bronn said.

"Not all of us, Your Holiness, no. Only the core of the company still carries the blood of the original founders, men from the great houses of Westeros. Our faith did falter; it weakened, I cannot deny that. But now, with the Faith rising again in Essos, and with your own noble coming, an angel of the Seven in the flesh, we truly long to return to the light."

"You said promised land. What do you mean by it? Do you seek nobility, titles, lands?" Bronn asked. "Seven know I’m not King, Ser Strickland."

"We seek a great purpose, Your Holiness. Golden Company roams these lands serving the coin. But there are greater causes than coin we can serve. And to serve you in Westeros is the greatest cause, for we’ll be fighting where we were intended to. We’ll march where we were meant to."

Bronn silently thought about it. He had no reason to refuse a well-established mercenary company like this; they had war elephants in the Seven's cursed name. However, what he feared was losing control. 

"So you would join my Angelic Knights, then? Take up a place in my holy host?"

"Your Holiness, I can think of no greater duty than this."

A welcome idea indeed, but one that required much care and planning. There could be spies and more in the Golden Company. Spies of other cities, powerful and rich. So instead of letting them join him, it was best to maintain a wall between them for now. 

"I will, in the Seven’s name, send Ser Bonifer Hasty to the Golden Company. You will keep him as your chief advisor, second only to yourself. He will guide you in matters of faith, holy custom, and the discipline I require of my holy host. You are to remain the Golden Company for the present, and you will speak to none of my hand upon you. High lords have weak nerves. You will swell the Company in all ways open to you. I shall furnish the gold. Do this, and by the Seven I’ll see you home, marching through King’s Landing with flowers cast at your feet."

At last, Bronn took the crown from the man's hand and looked at it intently. He understood the weight behind it. This crown was meant for the King of Andals, the race of men that occupied most of Westeros. It was meant for the one who led the Faith. 

With it, he could take over the Faith of the Seven and abolish the High Septon easily. Yet, doing that prematurely wasn't the right way to go about it. It must happen naturally, and this crown must reach his head on its own. 

"Your Holiness, most holy and anointed Lord Septon, I, Harry Strickland…"

Bronn looked up again as the man knelt before him.

"...and the Golden Company, unworthy though we be, do here pledge our sword, our heart, and all the days that remain to us wholly to your sacred service. As the Seven bear witness, we shall obey your righteous commands without question, shield your holy person with our life, and strive in all things to be the humblest instrument of your divine will. No greater honour could ever be granted us. This I swear before the light of the Father and the mercy of the Mother."

It was a pledge, one that Bronn readily accepted by raising his right hand and basking him in his light magic spell. It was such a simple thing for him to do, yet the way the man gawked at it never bored him. 

"Rise, Ser Strickland, brother of the Angelic Knights." Bronn set him upright. "By the Seven, may Their light guide you."

Seeing him all smiles, he then briefed the man about some long-term plans that didn't conflict with what he was doing right now. He didn't want any interference in Volantis, as using military force wasn't his choice in the first place. 

The city was armed enough to keep the Dothraki away, so there was no glory to be had in a war. 

"Let us not meet again, Ser Strickland. If the Seven will it that you must hear me, you shall. Soon, an opening will come for the Golden Company to set foot in Westeros. Be ready."

Harry Strickland nearly clapped his hands together. "Fantastic! I shall do that, Your Holiness."

Bronn nodded and let him go. He had other matters to deal with, mainly antagonising the Red Priests of the city. 

####

Highgarden, the Reach,

For years now, Olenna Tyrell had remained unmoved. For years, she listened intently to those around her to learn of the happenings. She was quite awake and aware; only her physical state kept her from doing anything. 

In that time, her love for her family had only increased as she saw them care for her. She was always a thought in their minds. The way Alerie helped her dress, the way Willas took her to the gardens and told her stories, wrote poems for her, and often talked about the realm. She loved seeing Margaery grow so delicately beautiful, yet fierce. 

"Mother, the sun is quite gentle today, with the breeze smooth." 

She heard her son, the shame of her life, speak from the side. She couldn't see him, and she thanked the Gods she couldn't, as it made her blood boil. The man had doomed her house alone, reduced them to being a mere servant of a septon.

She believed a decade had passed since that unfortunate visit by that septon. She'd seen both the son and daughter, the seeds that man had put inside her daughter-like Alerie. The boy had his mother's hair, beautiful beyond words could describe, blessed with high intelligence, a manner of speech that most could only dream of. The boy was as if carved for greatness. Same for the daughter, a flower more beautiful than even Margaery, she begrudgingly felt. 

If only I hadn’t moved prematurely. 

A billion regrets lingered under the thin shape of her old frame. She just stared into the distance across the table, the flowing flower gardens of the Highgarden. She heard her family speak beside her as they all ate and drank, and the children played. 

"Willas! The Lord Septon sent his blessings just now." Mace's voice boomed across the air. "I asked his counsel on your marriage, for you're nineteen and past due. He named Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell of Dorne. I thought at first the Crown might take offense, but we've pledged Margaery to Prince Steffon Baratheon already. So this puts our house in the finest place for any change that might come."

A rather wise choice, I must agree. We'll have the current crown and the possible challenger both close. 

"If it's Lord Septon, I'll accept it, Father." Willas agreed right away. 

Don't, my boy. Don't follow your father's blindness. 

“Wonderful! I’ll send a raven off to Prince Doran right away. I reckon Prince Oberyn will come along with Princess Arianne. The two of you can get to know one another when they arrive.” Mace beamed. “We’ll do the betrothal proper, and then the wedding won’t be far behind. Soon as that’s finished, the pair of you will go see the Lord Septon and get his blessing.”

No! You must not!

Olenna tried to scream. Tried to refuse such an idea, for she knew what would happen. The same fate as Alerie would befall Arianne. The future bloodline of House Tyrell will forever be tainted. 

"See him? I…" Willas Tyrell murmured. 

Refuse him, boy! Refuse that fat oaf! 

"Son, Lord Septon is the greatest blessing our House Tyrell ever got. We and the Hightowers, we’re the closest to him, but those Hightowers are clever ones. They’re trying to get back all their old greatness. Two of their daughters are serving him as his septas right now, and we haven’t got a single girl from our house doing it. We have to stay right by his side always, the most loyal ones he’s got."

“I understand that, Father. Lord Septon is nothing less than an angel who brought me back to health. My hesitation has nothing to do with him. I only wish to visit the North once I’m wed. I know it sounds… childish, but I have long wanted to see the Wall with my own eyes.”

"Hah! Who doesn't want that? But you can see about all that after you've been to Volantis. It's a city even grander than the Wall. The Long Bridge is the longest in the whole world. One of the true wonders built by the hands of men!"

Willas just nodded and smiled. "Then I'll go there, Father."

Oh, Willas, you poor child. We are doomed… this house, the bloodline. 

In silence, a tear slid down Olenna's face. Unable to do anything but listen. 

"Ah, the sun must irritate mother's eyes." Mace chirped quickly. "Alerie, please take her inside."

"Of course."

Fools! All of you!

####

Volantis, 

Tyrion Lannister had turned nineteen. Where Willas Tyrell was prepared to marry, he wasn’t as blessed. His stature remained minute, so did his status in his father's eyes. A waste, a curse to name Lannister. 

Like feathers of a chicken to be cooked, discarded, he was sent away to become a septon under Lord Septon, a man he'd never met before but heard plenty about. 

Truth be told, he was somewhat interested; it was magic, after all. 

So when he arrived at Volantis, the first thing he did was look around for the Lord Septon. He was fully prepared to wait and struggle to even see the man, but it was all proven wrong when he stumbled upon the loud crowd in front of the massive Temple of the Lord of Light. 

Hundreds of men and women had gathered there. Many palanquins were being kept in the air atop the shoulders of slaves. He struggled to get ahead, but thanks to the few guards his father had sent with him, he soon reached the front and looked at the wide, empty area. 

On one side, he saw a beautiful woman with long, deep red hair, and even her eyes were red. Her skin was pale, as if never touched; her figure was graceful, slender, with full breasts, and seemed taller than most men there. The woman was speaking, her voice melodic. 

And then there was the man on the other side, whom he guessed to be the Lord Septon. The man looked so ordinary, a calm face, stubble beard, neck-length hair, dressed in a pristine white robe with golden highlights, a cloak on his back that held the mark of the Seven's Angel. 

Truth be told, Tyrion felt more moved by the woman in the red gown. She seemed to truly hold magic in her very being. Her body itself seemed magical. 

"You possess no right to this land, and your gods are lies. The light belongs to the one R'hllor. Return to where you came if you wish to keep living."

Tyrion watched with keen interest as the woman made threats. Yet the Lord Septon was unfazed, standing lazily, poking his ear. 

"That's why you sent that Moqorro to Braavos to kill me? The guy I slaughtered like a sick pig? Your little flames do not cow me, woman. In the Seven's names, they alone are higher, their light alone is true, and I keep their vows. Should this land hunger for the Father's guidance and the Mother's warmth, it shall be given. And if you, Red Priestess, would have the Warrior's blow and Stranger's kiss, you shall have it."

An effective speaker. I see why smallfolk follow him. 

"O' lands of the East, let me be your guidance,
Banish the evil demon, break your silence.
Embrace the Seven's light for the future bright,
Arise, the sun has arrived to banish the night."

Tyrion's jaw fell when Lord Septon worded the prayer, and a bright light emitted from his right hand. It was so bright that he had to squint his eyes at first. It shrouded the Lord Septon entirely in a shadow, making him seem to be standing in bright light. There was no flicker of a candle, no torch burned this bright. This truly was magic. 

"May the Seven's light guide us!" 

Suddenly, someone from the crowd shouted. 

"May the Seven's light guide us!" 

"May the Seven's light guide us!" 

Slowly, the chants spread over. Hundreds of men and women shouted the same words in unison. It was the most unsettling yet exciting thing Tyrion had felt in his nineteen years of living. The way Lord Septon moved the crowd was masterful craftsmanship. He doubted the first man to shout was also the Lord Septon's man. 

What next?

"Is that it? Trembling lights? It is only fire that purifies," the woman said, voice cold.

"Very well, in the Seven’s sight we’ll have it. You may lose your magic upon me before all gathered. If your R’hllor has strength, I will fall. Then I come at you, and if the Warrior and the rest favor me, you will fall. Should you win, I will forsake Essos and shall never walk beyond Westeros. Should I win, I’ll own you, your life, your mind, all of you. Do you accept?"

Tyrion sighed, not having a drink while enjoying such entertainment was a sin. He stared at the woman, waiting for her response. 

He noticed a very faint look of alarm on her face. Was she not certain of her victory? In contrast, Lord Septon seemed confident of his victory already. 

"Ha. Afraid? Does your vaunted R'hllor hide his wonders unless men burn in sacrifices? Must you mumble for days in rituals? By the Seven, is that the trick?"

Taunting her? Effective strategy. The people's gaze is a weight she can't ignore. 

Tyrion watched the woman look around at the people gathered. Clearly, the woman saw through Lord Septon's trick. This was a public challenge, and if she backed away, it would tarnish the name of her faith. It would become a stepping stone for Lord Septon to preach the Seven. 

"R'hllor is not a mummer to make tricks to entertain the masses."

"Ha. I hear only weakness and thin faith. By the Seven and the Father above, if your R'hllor is mighty, he would show himself before these good folk. Of course, there is nothing to prove if it was a farce to begin with."

Tyrion agreed with that. He'd already seen the Lord Septon show magic while the woman had shown nothing. 

A very long moment of silence fell between them all. It was truly long. The people grew restless and noisy. The chants of the Seven only grew louder and merrier. Then at last, something seemed to break in the woman's resolve as she stepped forward.

"So be it. I accept your challenge and every condition you’ve set. I shall begin, and I will scour your foul presence from this world in the purifying fire of the Lord of Light. The night is dark and full of terrors… and you are that terror made flesh."

Oh! She's serious now! 

Tyrion perked up, excited. 

For the first time, he saw a hint of magic on the woman. The red gold choker with a ruby on her neck started to glow. Then the woman started to move as if dancing, waving her arms gracefully, her feet tracing the ground with her toes only. 

Her red gown fluttered in the wind as she spun time and time again; her hair seemed to glow as well, as if pure fire. She kept murmuring something, the clanking of her golden bangles a music. Yet each time she moved, her eyes remained frozen on Lord Septon 

Seven! She does have magic!

Tyrion instinctively flinched back when the woman's body actually caught fire, yet it didn't burn her. It seemed under her control, only burning away her red gown. Her full breasts were bloody glorious, her belly toned, waist narrow, hips wide, and Gods, soft, fluffy legs. She was completely bare in moments. 

Shhhh!

Her toes tapped in circles around her, creating a ring of fire all around. The fire grew higher, bigger, brighter. Her hair, as well, seemed to produce embers. 

"R'hllor will… banish you and… your… faithless gods!"

Wooosh!

That instant, a blazing gust of concentrated fire thrusted out of her hand, aimed at Lord Septon. It was a large ball of fire with a tail behind it. It traveled fast, so large it eclipsed Lord Septon's body.

Tyrion Lannister wondered if his teacher-to-be would die before he even got to be the student. The crowd around him also gawked in silence. Watched as the ball of fire soon reached the man. 

Shhhhh!

The sizzling sounds that came when the fire covered Lord Septon made him shudder. Was it the sound of Lord Septon's skin burning? He couldn't see anything as the fire covered the man. 

The fire raged for a few moments. It didn't travel anywhere, just remained on the Lord Septon. 

At least I can return home af—

"Is that all, priestess of the fire demon?"

"..."

Tyrion gulped. 

Lord Septon's voice echoed from within the flames. And as the flames started to fade away, he finally got to see it. A strange, invisible round shield had formed around Lord Septon's body that kept the fire away. He saw sweat, however, so heat was certainly felt. But the fact remained, Lord Septon was untouched. 

"Devilry holds no ground before a true blessing of the Seven. The Father sees and keeps me. As for you, a simple brush of my finger will have you kneeling in prayer soon enough."

The Lord Septon walked valiantly towards the naked Red Priestess, who, despite being unfathomably beautiful, didn't attract as much attention as Lord Septon. 

As the Lord Septon moved, his hands splashed the traces of fire on the ground, dousing them. His one hand also glowed, raised high and palm towards the woman. But instead of a wrathful attack, it only produced light. 

“Light serves to guide, not to scorch. By the Seven, this realm needs no blood offerings, nor droning sermons, nor lashes, but love and care. The Mother must cradle it and mend the broken."

"..."

H-How did he?

Right before all, Lord Septon stopped midway and touched a broken clay pot nearby that had fallen because of the fireball. Before all, the broken pieces of the pot flew and joined themselves together as if never broken. 

And then, the pot started to fly in the air, levitating towards the naked woman. 

"The Gods are noble, kind, loving. If they created you, me, all, and we are their children. Ask yourself, as a mother or father, would you do what you see around you? Would you starve your child? Burn them? Hurt them? Beat them? Flay them? If you say no, then ponder, do you serve a true god, or some shadow demon?"

Crash!

Right as the clay pot levitated in front of the woman's face, it fell abruptly on the ground and shattered. 

Lord Septon stood right before the woman by then, his palm raised high, a single finger tapped on the woman's forehead in the center. 

Tyrion didn't know what was happening. He saw the woman's eyes widen in shock, but for what reason? But then the woman's body started levitating in the air as well, arms and legs dangling lifelessly. 

"I believe this should be enough. Your fire has no effect on me, while my magic can freeze your body and move you like a puppet. If your R'hllor is so mighty, then break free."

Silence spread. Everyone waiting for the woman to do something. But she remained frozen in the air, levitating horizontally to the ground, her ass and back visible to all. 

When it was clear she could do nothing, her body levitated back to the ground, slowly turning upright. Eventually, she was back on her two feet. 

"Ugh!"

Thud!

Tyrion had no idea what happened. The woman finally moved again, only to fall to her knees like a defeated soldier. She was panting nonstop, her eyes staring at the Lord Septon. 

"Melisandre, do you accept defeat?" 

Tyrion somewhat felt jealous of the Lord Septon as the man leaned down and raised the woman's face by the chin. She was fucking beautiful. 

"I… I… I lost."

Lord Septon removed his white and golden cloak and placed it on the woman's shoulder, and then lifted her in a princess carry. The crowd turned restless. 

"May the Seven's light guide us!" 

"May the Seven's light guide us!" 

"All hail Seven's Angel!"

The chants were endless. Even as the Lord Septon vanished from his gaze, the crowd didn't stop. 

And after seeing all that, Tyrion had also made up his mind. 

Can't believe I'm considering this… being a septon doesn't sound so bad. 

####

Within his mansion in the Black Walls of Volantis, Bronn stood before the naked Red Priestess, alone with her. The woman was still shaken, her face not as confident, but Gods, she had one fuckable mouth, suckable tits, and breedable cunt. The woman was as tall as him, and had a magical beauty to her. 

"Suck it!"

Aye, he was only a man, after all. Since he held her now, it was best to have a taste as well. The only reason he'd brought her to that room alone was to test the new goods. And since she was already bare, it saved him the trouble. 

Having discarded his robes and trousers, he stood completely naked, cock hard, slapping on her lips as she sat on her thighs, knees spread wide. 

"From this day forth, you are mine to serve. Mind, body, soul, and the spark of magic too, if the Father grants it. I shall teach you my own humble arts, should you prove worthy in the eyes of the Seven," Bronn declared, though he had no intention of teaching her anything. 

He truly believed this was all a farce. She was trying to enter his inner circle and spy on him for the Red Temple. He knew religious fanatics; he'd seen them, and they weren't so easy to change. Let alone with a single little magical trick. 

Yet, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy this opportunity. He'd seen the lustful gaze of all men in the crowd. Getting to have Melisandre was just a silent statement to them. 

“By the Seven, open those sweet lips, and pleasure your new god.” Bronn stepped close, calm as prayer, and pressed the head of his cock to her mouth where she sat, knees wide, breasts high and firm. 

“Suck it. Lick every filthy inch. Take it down your throat till your lungs beg for air. This is the blessing I’ll shove in your mouth whenever the mood strikes me. Train that mouth to receive it well, because I won’t always linger long enough to bless your filthy face with it.”

"Will you truly teach me your sorcery?"

Ah, the whore has wishes?

"Why else would I claim you?"

That was it. Melisandre said no more words, and Bronn liked that. He stood there in pleasure as he felt her lips part, allowing him to slowly thrust in. It was heaven, hot and ethereal, warmer than all other mouths he had before. 

Bronn groaned as he felt the heat of her mouth give way, his thick cock sinking down the slick tunnel of her throat. The Red Priestess’s walls squeezed around him like a living thing, tighter, more alive than any common whore’s had ever been. He looked down, watching her pale cheeks hollow sharply, her face distorting around his girth, her pretty lips stretched thin. But pretty wasn’t enough. Not from her.

"Maiden, have mercy. Warmest throat I've known yet. Take it deep now, my red whore. Swallow this offering the Gods Above bestows."

His fingers clawed deep into that wild red hair until he had a brutal fistful on either side of her skull. He yanked her forward at the same instant he rammed every last inch past her tonsils in one savage plunge. Her nose smashed flat against the coarse pubes; her lips sealed into a wide, glistening O around the root of his cock. His heavy balls pressed plush and warm against the soft point of her chin. 

She gagged instantly, a wet, strangled sound vibrating straight up his shaft and into his spine.

“Seven save us… holy cunts,” Bronn sighed as he held himself buried to the hilt. 

Her throat convulsed around him in frantic, helpless spasms, trying to force the intruder out even as it hugged his cock tighter. Thick, desperate swallows rippled down his length; he could feel every one like a caress. Tears carved clean tracks through the sooty black on her cheeks, leaving her looking wrecked.

"Master at sucking cock, are you? The Mother knows it isn't your first time at this altar." 

Bronn saw her face flush crimson, eyes watering. He pulled back suddenly, letting her snatch one ragged, wheezing breath, before he slammed forward again, balls-deep in a single brutal stroke.

Plap!

Thick ropes of her saliva spilled in blobs, sliding down her chin, dripping onto the proud swell of her tits, painting her pale skin with shiny trails.

Plap!

He fucked her face like it was cunt, hands locked in her hair, using her skull as leverage to yank her onto him again and again. Each thrust punched past into her throat, stretching it wide. The heat, the slick clench, the way her gullet fluttered and fought; it made his balls draw up tight, made his toes curl against the cool stone floor. 

And all the while those red eyes stared up at him, wide and glassy, tears streaming, yet still burning with something that wasn’t quite surrender. 

“Swallow it all, my red cunt of a whore. By the Mother’s sweet mercy, don’t you dare waste a single fucking drop. Guzzle that load down your gullet and thank the Seven proper for filling you so generously,” he roared, hips snapping faster.

It was a glorious, filthy mess. Her spit foamed at the corners of her stretched mouth; sticky strands of it stretched and snapped between her cheeks and his girthy shaft with every pull. Tears soaked her face, running down her jaw. He never slowed, pistoning in and out with punishing rhythm, the wet, choking sounds filling the chamber like profane prayer.

Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!

“Gaaaaah… Seven save us. That’s a thick gift. Oh, sweet Maiden’s pure vessel, there… receive it, the Gods’ own nectar. Drink every blessed drop, Melisandre.”

Bronn rammed himself to the hilt one final time and let go. 

He felt the hot, heavy spurts erupt straight down her throat, flooding her so fast she could only choke and swallow. He watched in delight as her mouth puffed open wider around him, cheeks ballooning for a frantic second before she gulped, throat working desperately. Her nose flared, eyes huge and stunned, yet she took it. Every pulsing rope, every thick jet. Her throat swallowed with wet, audible gulps that dragged out another shudder from his knees.

"Aye… all of it! Not a drop must fall!" he snarled, fingers tightening in her hair until she whimpered around his spurting cock.

And Melisandre obeyed. Her tongue rolled weakly, lapping at the sensitive head even as the last spurts painted her throat; she sucked, cleaned, worshipped with soft pulls until he felt the unholy drag of her suction milking him dry. 

His cock stayed rock-hard, throbbing angrily inside her mouth, coated in her spit and his own batter. He was prepared to go all the way with her. 

With a wet pop, Bronn yanked his cock free. He fisted her red hair with one palm, harder this time, and hauled her upward, not gently, not to her feet. 

She rose from the spread-kneed slump on her thighs until she balanced high on her knees, torso perfectly straight, back arched. Her perfect breasts thrust forward proudly, nipples stiff against pale skin, swaying slightly. 

"The Maiden bids me show no mercy to a filthy red whore. No soft bed for the likes of you. I'll have you savage and low, right here on this cold stone. Hands and knees, whore. The Seven command it."

"Ummmh… Yes…" she breathed. The sound was trembling, half moan, half surrender.

"Your Holiness! That's how you'll address me," he snapped, yanking her head back so her throat stretched.

"Y-Yes… Your Holiness."

Bronn released her hair. 

Melisandre turned, lowered herself until palms and knees met the dusty floor. Gods, the sight stole the breath from his lungs. Wide hips flared like an offering, ivory-pale and flawless, curving into the soft, heavy pear of her ass. No scars, no stretch marks, nothing but smooth, untouched perfection. Her spine dipped into a deep arch, breasts hanging full under her.

"Face on the floor, where you belong, whore!" He cursed, planting one broad hand between her shoulder blades and shoving downward.

Melisandre’s elbows buckled. Her cheek slammed sideways against the floor. The position forced her ass higher, pale cheeks parting just enough to reveal the cleft and tight, pale pink pucker nestled there. 

"Put your hands behind and open yourself wide. Present that foul, tight place to me as the Maiden presents maidenhead. Say it humble: 'My arse is yours to defile, Your Holiness, use it as you will."  

Bronn's breath hitched as he watched her do it. Face dirty, already streaked with floor grime and drying tears. Her soft, elegant hands reached back, fingers brutally dug into the doughy flesh of her asscheeks. She spread herself wide, shamelessly, exposing everything. The long, clean slit of her cunt was still glistening with juices, and higher, that ring of muscle, blushing pink against pale skin. 

"Mmmh… Oh… Your Holiness… I am yours to defile. Claim me, my body… all belongs to you."

What one's thirst for magic does, I suppose.

Bronn licked his lips. He had planned to take her cunt, but fuck, that ass. How could he say no? Her pussy was tight, a clean, long slit of light pink, lips puffy; but her ass, the pale color of her skin with a pink tint, perhaps the most lovely ass he'd seen in years. Daenerys might have something to rival it, however, he knew she’d be perfect. 

Yet, he couldn't hold it back. 

Dropping to his knees behind her, he fisted his still-slick rod and dragged the fat cockhead along her dripping cunt first. Coating himself in her hot nectar, letting her juices paint him glossy. Then he rose higher, pressing firmly against that tiny, flinching pucker. She flinched once but never pulled away. Her fingers only dug deeper into her own flesh, spreading herself wider.

Bronn didn’t give a single fuck about her comfort. He probed, pushed, felt the wrinkled ring resist, then soften under steady, merciless pressure as she pushed herself to surrender. His swollen tip popped inside with a sudden stretch. It felt hot, impossibly tight, as he watched her tight ring give way. He groaned like a man tasting heaven.

"Oh! Tight… what an… ass!" He groaned in pleasure.

Pa!

His palm cracked down hard on one pale asscheek. The flesh jiggled, a white ripple blooming instantly into pink. Insanely beautiful. He watched it settle, mesmerized, then leaned forward, seizing another brutal fistful of red hair. 

Bronn pushed her head down just enough to grind her cheek harder onto the filthy floor, while his other hand braced on her cushiony hip.

He shoved. 

Just relentless pressure, feeding inch after thick inch into her resisting hole. Her body fought him, clenching, fluttering, trying to push him out. A few short, savage back-and-forths and then, he finally sank to the root. His balls mashed tight against her soaked cunt, cock buried deep in the hottest, tightest ass he’d ever claimed.

"Oooooh… Ngh!" 

At last, Bronn heard Melisandre's gasping moan. 

"Hah. Moan all you like. Best get used to the sound. This is your life now, my red whore. Cunt, arse, teats, face… every hole and inch belongs to me. At my word, you drop to your knees and gape, tongue hanging like a bitch in heat. At my nod, you bend over the table, hike that gown, and spread for cock. Rejoice, sweet slut. You get to pleasure an angel of the Seven," he said, low and cruel.

He started to fuck her ass. True, brutal thrusts, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming everything back in each time. The tight ring of muscle clung to him like it was trying to strangle his cock, yet yielded just enough to let him drill deeper.

"Ungh! Ungh!"

Melisandre's grunting moans were music to his ears. 

He kept plowing, relentlessly. Slowly, her trembling legs gave way; her knees buckled, and she collapsed belly-flat to the dirty stone floor. Bronn didn’t pause, didn’t care. He simply followed her down, straddling her prone body, cock never leaving her ass as he rutted her into the filth. 

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The edge crept closer, coiling tight in his balls. But he wasn’t about to waste his blessing in her ass, not when her cunt waited, dripping and ready. 

With a grunt, he yanked himself free and flipped her roughly onto her back. 

There she lay, finally giving him the full view of her ruined face. Dirt smeared across one cheek, streaks of his cock-juice and her own thick spit on her skin. Lips swollen and bruised, eyes glassy with something between shame and hunger.

Normally, a man wouldn’t follow ass with cunt, but this was no ordinary woman. A magical whore, and nothing really mattered beyond that.  

"Now, for the Maiden's blessing right at your womb! Rejoice! Oh, my red whore!"

Bronn moved between her thighs, seizing the backs of her milky-soft legs and folding her in half. He pressed under her thighs, shoved her knees high until they framed her magnificent tits, then kept pushing, higher and higher. Until her ankles pointed toward the ceiling on either side of her fiery red hair. Her body folded, ass lifted toward him.

He mounted her fully, flattening himself atop her tall frame, using every inch of their matched height. 

His shoulders hooked under her knees, pinning her legs folded and spread; his face hovered just above the glorious swell of her breasts. And his cock probed the soaking, fever-hot entrance of her pussy.

"Aaaaaaah! Oh… Lord… Your Holiness!" She screamed in pleasure as he rammed forward in one smooth, merciless thrust.

Her walls splayed apart around his girth, fluttering wildly. He felt every ripple, every spasm as her cunt fought and surrendered. He buried himself to the root and held there, grinding slow circles while his mouth descended on her tits.

He mauled them greedily. Teeth caught stiff nipples, tugging until they reddened; lips sucked hard, marking pale flesh with dark blemishes. Her soft, warm, perfect handfuls that yielded under his rough palms, just like the rest of her body.

Slurrrp!

He gobbled her up. Using her own folded knees, he shoved her breasts together until the soft mounds pressed tight, nipples together, and he latched onto both at once. He suckled hard, tongue lashing the sensitive peaks.

"Mmmmmh… Ah, ah, ah!" 

To his dark delight, Melisandre shattered around his buried cock. Her pussy spasmed hard, walls clamping down, then fluttering in rhythmic pulses. A hot gush of juice flooded out around his shaft, soaking his balls, dripping down the cleft of her ass 

Bronn chuckled against her breast, feeling her body throb under him. "The Maiden has prepared you, seems."

Then he started to thrust, using his full weight to drive down into her cunt. Each plunge pistoned his cock deep, hips slamming with punishing force. Her ankles dangled uselessly near her ears, feet kicking feebly at the air as he fucked her into the stone.

Melisandre’s spine bowed under the onslaught; every plunge ended in a sickening, wet clap of flesh on flesh.

Plap! Plap!

It was filthy music, and Bronn drank it in. She truly was a gorgeous woman. And Seven whores, plundering her made it all the more fun. 

He stared down at her wrecked face and smirked. Mouth hanging open, panting raggedly; eyes half-lidded in glassy surrender; red hair fanned out around her head like a flaming halo smeared with dirt and spit.

"May the Seven… bless this… tight… greedy cunt!" he groaned, each word timed to a brutal drill of his hips.

Plap! Plap!

He fucked harder, faster, chasing his peak. But even before he reached it, she broke again.

Melisandre’s second climax struck. Deep inside her, Bronn felt it all. Her cunt walls seized, squeezing his cock from root to tip. Each spasm rippled in hot, slippery waves, milking him with desperate greed. A filthy, living pulse that sucked at him like a mouth, dragging him deeper. Juices squirted messily with every brutal thrust of his cock, splattering his groin. 

Bronn finally felt his blood roar up from his balls. With a feral howl that echoed off the stone walls, he slammed his chest down onto hers, crushing her folded body with his full weight until she was nearly bent double. His cockhead rammed her cervix hard, lodged deep, and then he erupted.

“Fuck! Your cunt’s… drinking me… whole!”

Thick, scalding ropes of batter blasted straight into her womb in pulsing jets. Unholy, endless. Each spurt deeper. His hips jerked with every heavy pulse, grinding deeper, forcing more of his virile filth into her greedy core until it felt like he was emptying his very soul. The hot, slippery flood thoroughly painted her insides white, squirting back out around his buried shaft in messy spurts, soaking his balls, dripping in thick creamy rivulets down her asscrack to pool on the filthy floor.

Her pussy throbbed and fluttered around him, walls rippling in aftershocks that milked the final drops from his twitching cock. Slick and cream mixed in a sloppy slurry. 

Bronn stayed buried to the hilt a long moment longer, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow onto her dirt-streaked tits, savoring the ruined heat of her.

But something else caught his eye as his cock finally started growing flaccid. The ruby on the choker on her neck started to glow brighter. That had also happened when she was casting her magic. 

Maiden's cunt! What is she doing? 

Worried that the whore might be plotting an attack, he slammed his hand on her throat and gripped it. He let her legs fall; his cock slid out. He clawed up and straddled her waist, sitting down on her. 

"Not so fast, whore!" 

"Ah-!"

He cast a full-body binding spell on her, freezing her, and then mercilessly snatched that choker from her neck. 

"What magical nonsense were you plott—"

The words died in his throat as the most disgusting thing took place right before his eyes. 

No, right underneath him. As he saw horror in Melisandre's eyes, strange wrinkles started to appear on her face. Her lush red hair started to turn grey and slowly…

"Seven hells! You're a fucking old hag! I fucked a dried-up bitch." Bronn jumped to his feet and stumbled away, watching as Melisandre's entire body turned. 

Wrinkles spiderwebbed across her face in seconds, skin sagging. Her lush hair drained of color, turning dull grey, then brittle white, falling limp around her skull like dead straw. Her proud tits collapsed inward, deflating into sagging flaps of loose flesh. He stared at the choker in his hand and connected the dots. 

This thing was keeping her young and beautiful. But the truth was this old body. It only took mere moments for her to fully wither. 

Her once-wide hips narrowed, bones jutting sharply under thinning skin. Her spine hunched with an audible crack as age and decay rushed in all at once.

"I…" Bronn cursed so much in his mind as his mouth was speechless. His cock shrank so hard it felt like it'd dive back into his damn balls and never appear again. 

"Gods be good, even laying a hand on you feels like a damn sin. No. This stays here, locked in these four walls. I fucked… are you still alive or did I just bugger a corpse?"

Bronn gulped and yanked his clothes back on with shaking hands, getting proper. Then, he walked over to Melisandre's frozen body. She looked old, but still alive. Not for long, however. 

"I never got the chance to use this magic. So I thank you for your sacrifice, you worthless whore."

He knelt beside her head and placed a hand on her face. Then, he remembered the exact incantation and the emotions behind that particular spell. He remembered it from the memories of that foreign soul. This magic was meant to be a curse, a deadly, forbidden curse. He didn't understand why, because it killed just as many other spells. 

"Aveda… Kedavra!"

One of the limitations he had was the lack of that magical stick. He had to touch things to use magic on them. He did the same now and noticed a violent, sudden jerk of Melisandre's body. 

The very next moment, it was utterly still, lifeless. No mark on her body, no bruise. It was as if her soul died.

"I'm a sick… fuck!"

Bronn rocked back on his heels and looked at her corpse. 

Just remembering what he was doing not long ago, every thrust, every moan, disgusted him. His mind replaced the beautiful Melisandre in his mind with the old, withered husk, and that nearly made him vomit. 

"A… A cunt's… a cunt… isn’t that right?"

He bitterly told himself that. 

Quickly, he grabbed some sheets and cleaned the floor. He didn't want others to think he did all of it with that old, rotten body. Then at last, he covered her with the same sheets. 

Dressed and calmed, he opened the door of the room and walked out. It brightened his mind and body to see Daenerys standing there in a gorgeous septa gown without the scarf. It was snug on her waist and hips, tight around her small breasts. Her hair was untied, just as he liked. 

"Master! Are you well? I was worried."

"Oh, my apprentice." Bronn blurted and rushed over to her. He threw his arms around her slender waist and planted his kiss on her soft lips. It hadn't been long since he started doing this, so it wasn't normalised yet. 

Yet, her lips healed him. 

The kiss deepened into a tight liplock. Her sweet, soft lips pressed firmly against his with a warmth that chased away the image of that disgusting sight in his mind. He felt her respond eagerly in soft, scented exhales. No tongues danced, only her lips yielding just enough to draw him in. 

Meanwhile, Bronn's hands roamed lower, sliding over the curve of her hips to grip her asscheeks hard, his wide palms engulfing the plump flesh whole, kneading the firm rounds through the fabric of her gown, feeling the firm curves yield under his grip. Oh, how much he adored her. She was something special to him.

"You brighten my day, Daenerys," Bronn whispered after breaking the kiss. Then he leaned down, kissed her cheek, and spoke into her ear. "Let us begin the ritual in seven days."

The big, bright smile Daenerys showed him truly made his heart skip a few beats. Daenerys was just so lovely, and knowing she'd soon be his… oh, the horrors of the day gone finally started to fade away. 

"Ehm… Your Holiness?"

Bronn frowned at the third voice. He stepped away from Daenerys and looked to the side, finding nobody. But then he looked down. 

"A midget?"

####

Red Keep, King's Landing,

Eddard Stark had returned to the city after a fruitless visit to the Lannisters. He should have returned home, but he didn't want to leave Robert alone in the mess. He also wanted to discuss matters with Lord Arryn and bring him into the whole affair. 

However, right as he arrived, he heard from Robert that Lord Septon had sent word to the crown that he planned to build ten more places like Angel's Peak. The locations had already been decided; all the Crown needed to do was accept it. It wasn't a request for approval, but a simple 'now you know'.

That happened a day ago. 

Now, he stood in the Great Hall, watching the King's court take place. Many other lords and nobles were present, and the entire Small Council. King Robert sat on the throne, and before it stood a dusky Dornish man, reading a parchment that had come straight from Sunspear. 

"...thus House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, as the Kingdom of Dorne, secedes from the Seven Kingdoms. Prince Doran shall henceforth be addressed as King Doran, and any intrusion upon the borders of Dorne shall be deemed a provocation of war. King Robert Baratheon is counseled to heed wisdom and harbor no designs of reclamation…"

"ENOUGH!" 

Eddard shook his head, rubbing his face at Robert's roar. Oh, how blind they had all been. He saw through it now. A colossal game had been played. The crown was now crippled to do anything against Lord Septon, a man loved by all. Because if they did, the realm would ask why the crown is silent on Dorne. 

Doing nothing meant all the other kingdoms might attempt to secede. Doing something meant waging a war against Dorne. 

The North must prepare for this turmoil. I must return home.

"Guards! Bring me his head!"

Eddard said nothing. It was meaningless at that point. The realm was lost already. 

But I will protect the piece I rule.

_______________

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I was busy with a close relative's wedding.