GOT: Rasputin of Westeros 18 - The Northern Woe & An Electrifying Moment

[A/N: I'm moving Daenerys' age up a bit, or else things will never move. She will be 16 in this chapter.]

Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jfPAVI91ev2ASsHxd77S_VVUutrCWqFNSU3sYuwjQv8/edit?usp=sharing

____________

Westeros, Angel's Peak,

Angel's Peak was always in a constant flow of expansion. So what if Lord Septon was away? The growth mustn't stop. The influence must not end, only grow. And it helped that fools like Lord Mace Tyrell found personal satisfaction in slaving for Lord Septon. 

Although Bronn's castle was already completed, alongside the walls and the town inside, a whole city could be built around his private estate. A city fully entrenched in Seven's worship, with Bronn as the central figure. 

Angel's Peak was already something of a pilgrimage site. Nobles and smallfolk came for healing and to receive blessings. The status of Starry Sept in Oldtown and the Great Sept in King's Landing couldn't even compare. 

But more than anything else, Angel's Peak was a place of wealth accumulation by Bronn. He didn't just preach in Essos; he also expanded his trade, received offerings, and at times, gifts. 

All sorts of coinages fill the vaults of Angel's Peak. And in turn, that gold was used to expand the town and gain influence across Westeros. Already, groups of septons had reached the North to spread the word of the Seven there and also help the smallfolk. Be it patching a roof or building a road, they did it. 

The septons were ordered to never be violent, even when facing violence. The goal was to win the smallfolk. Eventually, the nobles wouldn't have a choice but to accept the change. 

And for that same reason, a few lords arrived at Winterfell to discuss it with the Warden of the North. 

####

Winterfell, 

"My lord, this has gone far enough. We need to drive the Seven’s preachers from our lands before the chance is lost."

Eddard Stark looked at the faces of everyone around the large table as he sat in the seat of honor. He felt conflicted. He'd met and seen Bronn the Blessed, and he knew how dangerous that man was. Yet, was there anything he could do? If he banished the septons, the first to warn him would be Manderlys, and then the entire South. Houses like Hightower and Tyrell may even wage a war. Moreover, Robert himself wouldn't be pleased. 

“M’lord,” said Lord Karstark. “The smallfolk now sing the treacherous songs of those septons. We let them walk our lands, but this has gone too far. We cannot keep our eyes shut. They seek to turn the North to their faith. We are not blind.”

Of course, they weren't blind. The septons weren't even being secretive about their intentions. They openly preached, as if mocking the noble houses, daring them to do something. It was a provocation to eventually incite the South against the North. 

Eddard Stark sighed, remembering the words his noble wife had spoken recently to him. It seemed the preaching and rumors of Lord Septon had influenced Catelyn. She'd warned him not to rise against the faith or else the North would face more trouble.

He'd never seen Catelyn stand so firmly against him. Yet, he knew she was right. If he did anything to those septons, the North may fail to secure grains from the South. Even Riverlands, no matter how closely tied to the North, wouldn't help. 

The grip of Bronn the Blessed over the Faith, and the Faith's grip on the South was… overwhelming.

“We can’t risk giving offense to the houses of the south,” he said quietly. “Our bellies rely on their grain. Even the crown bends to Lord Septon’s word, since he saved Prince Steffon’s life. Yet we can’t let these septons turn the hearts of the people against us. 

“My lords, the smallfolk sing those songs because we left them to hunger and want. If we mean to silence the songs, we must take the septons’ place. We must hear the grievances of the smallfolk and set them right. Their trust in us is fading. We must kindle it anew, and make it burn brighter. This is no war of sermons. This is a war of sway and favor.”

Eddard chose to do what he'd learned by watching Lord Septon. That man was a master of manipulation. An opportunist who used others' weaknesses to his own advantage. 

"And how do we do that, eh?" Lord Umber said, shaking his head. “Those septons throw coin about like it’ll never run dry. How are we meant to match that? We can patch roofs with our own hands, but we can't fill their bellies or give away silver the way the septons do.”

That was yet another challenge. And to this, Eddard truly had no fix. He had no idea how wealthy the Lord Septon was, but it was clearly enough to carry his work in Essos while targeting the North at the same time. 

“My lords, I have heard your words, and I share your grievances. I’ll ride to King’s Landing myself and speak with King Robert. This matter rests with him above all others. Until that time, you must work to turn the hearts of the smallfolk. They don't abandon the Old Gods by desire, but by necessity. When a man must choose between an empty belly and prayers to the Gods, hunger will always prevail.”

The nobles nodded to that. 

What other choice did they even have? House Stark wasn't rich either, not enough to compete with the faith. 

####

Pentos, Illyrio's Manse,

Bronn knew that magisters held immense wealth, but this was… exciting. He didn't feel jealous, however. He had more than many magisters combined, and he had military strength that most magisters could only dream of. But still, the beauty of Illyrio's manse was a breath of fresh air. 

Escorted by thirty Angelic Knights, all dressed in regal white armor, he walked through the manse, entering the pillared galleries. He saw the Unsullied as well, guarding the manse. They looked interesting. Half-men raised to die for their masters, a concept he very much liked. But they were slaves, and as a Septon of the Seven, he couldn't indulge in it. 

"This way, Your Holiness."

Most of all, Bronn enjoyed the sight of the woman leading them through the halls. She was gorgeous and bubbly, her smile as bright as the moon. Her eyes were blue, skin soft white, hair golden-blonde, slender yet shaped like an hourglass. 

"Doreah," he spoke her name, gaining her attention. "Seven blessed, you said you hail from Lys. Speak to me of it."

The woman smiled brightly. "Lys. There’s so much I wish to say, Your Holiness. We are nearly to the Magister. Might I speak of Lys later, in your chamber?"

Bronn smirked, catching the hidden meaning. He said nothing after that and let her lead him. Behind him, Unella and Bellegere followed. Malora was left at the mansion to brew some potions. 

Before long, they climbed a few steps and entered through large twin doors, arriving at a sizable welcome hall. It was a place meant to overwhelm the visitors. Luxurious, filled with ornaments, showpieces that could be considered treasures lay all around. On the wall, on the tables. The carpet itself seemed as if embroidered with gold. 

And in the middle of it, just a few steps away, stood three figures. 

"Welcome, welcome, my holy friends from Westeros," the immensely tall, fat pig of a man voiced, dripping sweet like honey. Laughing, smiling, arms spread wide, his huge belly and heavy breasts sagged and throbbed. His yellow beard, oiled like gold, tossed. "I’m Illyrio Mopatis, Your Holiness, and it is an honor to have you here."

Bronn couldn't give a fuck about that. No, he wasn't even looking at the waste of space. Seven hells, no, he was looking at the figures behind him, mainly the girl on the left. What a sight, and Bronn felt his heart thump and cock speak to him. 

Seven holy sweet cunts! That must be… Daenerys Targaryen. 

Bronn had seen plenty of beauties, but nothing like this. Daenerys looked young, perhaps in her late teens. Her violet eyes were striking, her skin pale as snow, her face oval, her lips delicious pink, her hair long, pale silver-gold. Her slender frame was so feminine, her breasts small. In that sleeveless, white, almost see-through gown that clung to her waist, oh, he ached to have her. 

Aye, I'll have her. 

Having bedded nobles and a queen, even bred, he still wished to bed a Targaryen. They were known for their beauty, and in truth, he wanted to feel what was so special about the bloodline that ruled Westeros for so long. But to his disappointment, all Targaryens were dead. There were no Targaryen cunts to explore. 

Yet there he stood, face to face with perhaps the greatest Targaryen treasure in the known world. Daenerys Targaryen, sweet, gorgeous, and from the looks of it, untouched. The way she seemed so fearful and alert, her eyes constantly eyeing the Targaryen boy beside her, he already knew all he needed to know. 

Nothing to worry about anymore, my Targaryen princess. Your blessed savior has arrived. Umm… I'll savor you slowly, touch by touch. 

Was there anything even greater than bedding a Targaryen? Of course, there was. It was bedding a virgin Targaryen and corrupting her into becoming his permanent bedwarmer. Or perhaps more, only time would tell. But one thing was clear. 

I want her at all costs. Oh, maiden whore, just look at her. 

The more he looked at her, the more he desired her. Slender, pure, yet so full of life and fire in her eyes. 

And it appeared Illyrio noticed his gaze as well. The man quickly turned to introduce the two figures. 

"Lord Septon, allow me to present my other guests. I’m certain you know their names. Prince Viserys Targaryen and Princess Daenerys Targaryen."

Bronn chose to show a cold expression, however. “Pray tell me the meaning of this, magister. Should His Grace hear of it, Pentos can kiss its trade with Westeros goodbye till the Stranger comes calling."

Acting flustered, Illyrio shook his head, his words urgent and mixed with an accent. “Lord Septon, I assure you, that was not my purpose. I met them only recently. They sought me out, begging my assistance so they might meet with you. I’m no more than a mediator, and as such, they are under my roof—"

"Enough of this! I’m the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I am the King, not that usurper. Do not name him King in my presence. I am the true King. You serve me, Septon…”

While Viserys rambled, Bronn didn't even look at the whelp. No, he just stared at Daenerys, the only trophy he desired. And clearly, she had noticed his intense gaze. She seemed shy of him, so he played a trick. 

He took out a gold coin from his pocket and placed it on his flat palm, making it visible to everyone there. Then, using basic transfiguration, he turned it into a blooming white rose. A moment later, that rose levitated all the way to Daenerys and hovered in front of her face. 

Viserys had been screaming like a bitch all that time, only stopping at the show of magic. 

"Take it, Princess. A flower for a flower, consider it the Maiden's blessing," he said, warmth laced in his words. His smile was holy and noble. While he knew his looks were ordinary, it always stopped mattering once he'd show his magic. 

Daenerys was startled, in awe of the magic. She stared at the hovering rose for a long time. Then, with a gentle hand, she took it, as if scared she'd hurt the flower. 

Mmm… A sweet one indeed. 

Nodding, Bronn briskly walked past Illyrio, towards Viserys. That whole time, he gave Daenerys a warm smile, and this time she smiled back at him, as if an emotional connection between them had already formed. 

Finally, he stopped in front of Viserys. 

"You!"

Before Viserys could speak, Bronn placed a hand on Viserys' shoulder and cast Immobilus, freezing the prince where he stood. His hand stopped the prince from falling back like a puppet. 

Then, with cold eyes, he spoke. 

"Mind your tongue, Targaryen. Rivers of blood have flowed for the sake of your house. The Seven have watched every drop, and they grieve for the widows and the fatherless left in your family's wake. A king, say you? I will not name Robert ‘King’ if it pleases you, but neither are you one. If only by blood, the Iron Throne belongs to Elia Martell's son, and no other. Open your eyes, lad. The Seven extend grace through this humble septon. Grasp it not, learn not meekness, and the Stranger will come calling sooner than you like.”

Eyes wide, frozen, unable to even whimper, Viserys just stared at Bronn's cold, yet smiling face. 

At last, Bronn removed his hand, lifting the magic. 

Thud!

Viserys fell backwards on his ass, eyes wide in horror. "Y-Y-You… What did you do? What… I couldn't move!" 

Bronn didn't reply and stepped over to Daenerys. Oh, Seven, what a sight she was. He looked at her, reaching only his chest. 

Warrior's fat cock! Even her scent has me on edge. 

"Princess." He raised a hand, seeking hers. He loved the blush on her face as she gave her delicate hand to him. He felt it on his rough palm, warm, soft, even more pale than him. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. Then, he raised it and kissed it as a knight would. "Have you heard of me, my Princess?"

Daenerys' naturally watery violet eyes sparkled, curiosity oozing. She nodded, blushing even harder, feeling his thumb rubbing her hand. "I… I have, Lord Septon. I've heard the tales."

"Aye, the tales." Shameless, his other hand went up and caressed her cheeks, his large palm covering most of one side of her face, tucking a few silvery locks behind her ear. Her skin was like velvet. 

"Perhaps I'll show you the testament of the tales as well, if the Seven wills."

Zip!

Huh? What? 

Right as he was caressing her face, he felt something strange. It felt like a reaction. Like an electrifying sensation oozing out of her skin and entering him. It felt like magic, similar to… no, it wasn't similar. But close, nearly the same as what he used. 

What was that? 

He tried to feel it again, seeking the source of that sensation. He'd never felt it with anyone before.

"Take your dirty hands off her!" 

But Viserys had risen again by then and jumped in front of his sister, shoving Bronn's hands away. 

Bronn almost killed the annoying boy right then and there. But he controlled it, as he noticed some semblance of adoration in Daenerys' eyes towards her brother. But there was also fear, so clearly they didn't have an ordinary relationship. 

He wanted Daenerys completely, so killing Viserys wasn't the best thing to do there. She'd never forget what he did to her brother. 

Moreover, his interest in her went beyond just carnal now. 

What in the Seven fucking cunts was that? Did she feel it too? 

"Ah, Lord Septon. Please join us for the feast.” Illyrio chimed in, easing the tension in the air. "I have brought master cooks who can prepare the dishes of every corner of Essos, and wines beyond my own counting. Let us set aside heavier talk until our bellies are full. I have matters of my own to raise with you, matters touching on the friendship between Pentos and Westeros."

Bronn just nodded, lost in thought. He wanted to speak with Daenerys alone, in private. Of course, she wasn't of the right age yet, nor was he interested in doing 'that' yet. 

He just wanted to confirm his doubts. 

####

Nothing happened during the feast. Too lost in his thoughts, Bronn ate and just spoke with Illyrio about other Free Cities. It appeared Illyrio wanted to help him fully convert all of Pentos to the faith of the Seven. In doing so, the man hoped to gain the Faith's support. 

Support for what? The man wanted to become the Prince of Pentos, a true prince with lifelong rule, not a figurehead. Moreover, in private, he confessed that there was a scheme to put Targaryens back on the throne. A scheme that came to an end the moment Elia Martell gave birth. And it truly ended when Bronn killed Lord Varys with his curse. 

In riddles, Illyrio told him that he didn't give a damn about the Targaryen siblings at his residence. 

Bronn accepted that offer readily. Taking the two Targaryens with him made the most sense. Of course, Bronn would report it to Robert. 

But Viserys had to die, no matter what. As for Daenerys, he could always make her a septa, and that would be enough for Robert to calm down. The King already owed too many favors to Bronn to begin with. From saving his son to ending the Greyjoy rebellion. 

Yet, Bronn couldn't give a damn about any of those. So, hoping to meet Daenerys again later that night, he decided to remain in Illyrio's manse for that night. He was guided to a luxurious bedchamber, smelling of expensive scents.

Inside, he sat by his table, his entire bedchamber still lit with candles. Unella and Bellegere had gone to sleep in another bedchamber. 

Alone, he pondered over what to do with Viserys and Illyrio. He didn't want to give too much power to the greedy magister. But at the same time, converting entire Pentos to the Faith would be a considerable achievement. 

Pentos could become the main entry point of the Faith of the Seven into Westeros. It was also the closest to King's Landing.

Handing Viserys to Robert will sadden Daenerys. 

So, it had to be natural. An accident or perhaps a sickness. Both of them were easy for him to orchestrate. Besides, even Elia had no use for Viserys. However, Elia may want to wed her son… their son to Daenerys. 

In your dreams. 

He had no intention of giving Daenerys to anyone. 

Knock! Knock!

Right then, a few knocks came. He was certain it was close to midnight, so he wasn't expecting anyone. He reckoned it must be Daenerys as he'd asked Illyrio to present her after Viserys was asleep. 

"Enter."

He was wrong… and hard. 

The door opened, and Doreah walked in, smiling as always. She held a large tray in her hand, with multiple jars of wine sitting on it, as well as a few cups. But the thing to notice was her attire, or the lack of it. She'd arrived completely bare. 

Once again, he was pleasantly amused. Not just her face and future, her whole body was made for seduction. Her tits were more than a handful, barely a sag there, perfect round orbs tipped with cherry pink nipples, areola on the larger side. Her belly was toned, her nether hair trimmed into a single small line, a decoration. 

The woman was slender, but not so thin. Her hips flared out well, legs long and creamy, soft even to look at, and a lovely gap revealed her folds, just a glimpse. 

"Forgive me, Your Holiness. Viserys has not yet gone to sleep. He is scolding Daenerys... for the words she shared with you."

Bronn frowned, instantly moving his plans to kill the boy closer than he'd planned. 

He watched the naked woman come closer, set the tray on the table, and pour him a cup of wine. Then, she walked around to his side and leaned over, letting her tits dangle like hanging ripe fruit, her long golden hair sprinkling all around her face and shoulders. 

He gave her an appreciative nod and took the cup. The woman was a whore from the pillow houses of Lys. He didn't mind the nudity or even the things they were about to do, if it came to that. 

"You asked me about Lys, Lord Septon," Doreah purred, slipping back to the front of the table where the space opened up, letting Bronn drink in every curve of her body. "Lys the Lovely, they call her. And the bed slaves of Lys... we know how to fuck with true hunger."

As Doreah said that, she sultrily walked around, showing her body like a gift. With the sway of her hips, she would often turn around to show her ass, round and shapely. Randomly, she'd grab something and let it fall to the floor. While picking, she'd lean, her backside bare, cheeks spread to show her sex. 

Bronn relaxed back in the chair. "Uttering such words to a holy man?"

Doreah smiled with a sultry lick of lips. "Mmm, I've heard whispers, my Holy Lord... that the Maiden herself blessed you?"

"I am."

Doreah let out a soft, wicked giggle as she circled the table once more, pressing her hips firmly against the edge right beside his chair. One hand cupped and kneaded her full breast, the other slid down between her slick, creamy thighs to tease her wet cunt.

"Then... will you not bless this filthy whore and cleanse her aching cunt as well?"

Really knows what to say. 

Bronn shifted, pushed his chair back, and rose to his feet, his hand reaching for her breasts. 

He gripped her breast whole, wrapping his palm around the soft globe, kneading it with slow squeezes. The warm flesh yielded under his fingers, the nipple stiffening into a tight peak that begged for more.

Its soft warmth hardened his cock. But he didn't have time to waste playing games. Not on a whore when he had more pressing matters. Still, it would be unwise to refuse such an eager offering from Illyrio’s house. 

He let his other hand slide down the smooth plane of her belly, feeling the gentle curve of silken skin, the faint quiver that teased his fingers. Then he brushed aside her own digits and replaced them with his own, parting her slick folds. 

Two thick fingers slid inside her, sinking deep into warm, wet heat. As expected, she wasn’t tight. A whore, after all. The Seven alone knew how many cocks, fingers, and stranger things had already stretched and filled that hungry cunt.

"You seek my blessing?" He asked, taking his fingers out of her and shoving them in her mouth. 

Doreah suckled them greedily. Her tongue swirled, lapping up every trace of her own tangy nectar. Her eyes fluttered half-closed in shameless enjoyment.

"Seven save me, do you know how many highborn ladies have crawled on their knees for my cock and gone away weeping? From Dorne to the Wall, proud cunts all of them, begging like bitches in heat. Yet the gods do smile on a lucky few now and then. Turn around."

"Mmmm!" 

Doreah almost purred in excitement and spun around. 

Bronn didn't know what she was ordered to do. Maybe it was to pleasure him for the night. But she was clearly enjoying this moment. As expected from a trained Lyseni whore. 

He stepped right behind her and stared at the smooth, rounded swell of her ass while lifting his septon’s robes. He had no intention of removing them entirely; the cloth bunched up near his neck from the front, held in place by the stubborn press of his chin as his hands worked open the laces of his breeches.

His cock sprang free with a heavy plop, already thick and straining, the head flushed dark. But when his gaze dropped to her offered body, his intentions changed, finding a new target for his flesh spear. 

"Oh, then I’m the luckiest whore in all of Essos... a filthy slut ready to take your holy blessing deep inside me. Take me, Your Holiness. Fill me with your sacred cock and make me pure... mmm."

Fuck… What a sight! 

Doreah had leaned forward over his table, bent sharply at the waist, her full breasts spilled flat against the polished wood. Her legs remained straight, feet planted wide apart on the floor. But she went further, reaching back with both arms. Her fingers dug into the fluffy flesh of her own asscheeks and spread them apart shamelessly, offering everything.

Her rosy cunt glistened with her arousal, lips puffy and parted, slick strands of nectar clinging to the inner folds. Yet Bronn’s eyes fixed instead on the smaller, tighter prize just above. 

Her wrinkled, pale-pink anal hole, clenching and loosening with each breath. Even a whore’s cunt could be worn loose by use, but that little ring… He knew it would still grip like a chokehold.

"Very well." 

Bronn stepped in closer, planting the swollen tip of his cock against her dripping pussy first, letting her feel the blunt pressure. Then…

Plap

In one merciless, punishing thrust, he rammed all the way in, burying himself to the hilt in her slick heat.

"Gaaaaah! Aaaaah… Goddess!' Doreah’s cry rang out, sharp and ear-shattering. Her body jolted forward against the table. 

He wasn’t the longest she’d ever taken, but surely one of the thickest. His girth stretched her wide, forcing her walls to yield in a sudden, burning rush. Her nails dug deeper into her own flesh, keeping them spread as her back arched, shuddering. 

"A whore, aye, the Maiden won't purify with just that." Bronn drew out slowly, eyes fixed on her pussy as it gaped and wept thick juices down his shaft, leaving him slick and creamy. With a wet pop, he left her empty, then set his swollen cockhead against her tighter hole. "The Maiden demands more. And the Seven know I am a dutiful man."

He swore he could hear her gulp. 

"Mmm… oh yes, yes, please, Your Holiness. I beg you. Cleanse this wicked body, take me, claim my ass whole, I came prepared. All I’ll do is moan, moan louder for you, louder until my voice breaks. Mmm… I’m yours to fuck and use as you please."

Bronn’s blood ran hot at her filthy pleas, the Lyseni lilt turning every word into honeyed sin. He pressed the blunt, slick head of his cock against her puckered ring, probing gently at first, feeling the tight muscle flutter and resist. 

He knew his length was decent enough, but the gods had truly blessed him with girth; thick and unforgiving. It had ruined proud maidens and left the queen limping; tonight it would stretch a seasoned whore until she sang.

"Ugh… tight little ass, eh?" Bronn pushed harder, the crown barely breaching her. "Wine will do."

He reached for the jar on the table and tipped it, letting a thick stream of dark red cascade over his shaft and down the cleft of her ass, slicking the path to claim her properly.

"Aaaaah… Oh… Mmm… Yes, yes!" Doreah cried out, her entire body shuddering violently, knees buckling as the cool wine met the burning stretch of his intrusion. 

She wasn’t new to this pleasure, not by half, yet the sudden flood of sensation overwhelmed her. His thick cockhead forcing her open, the wine tingled and burned deliciously along her sensitive rim. The sting made her gasp, but the ache twisted instantly into fierce arousal, flooding her cunt with fresh nectar. 

She clawed harder at her own soft peach, nails biting into flesh to keep them spread wide, desperate to stay relaxed, to take more of him, to prove she could swallow every holy inch.

"Ah… tight little heaven you’ve got there… the Maiden’s blushing, I reckon, watching this," Bronn muttered low, eyes glued to the unholy sight of her pale ring stretched taut around his girth, his cock lodged halfway inside her. 

He rocked slowly, teasingly, letting her feel every ridge and vein as the wine eased his passage. He wasn’t mad enough to ram the rest in yet; better to savor the slow surrender. 

"Now let us begin the proper cleansing, as the Seven intend."

Creak! Creak!

He started to fuck her, thrusts rolling back and forth, each one deeper, harder, until the heavy table groaned and scraped across the marble floor. 

Soon, he was burying his entire length inside her ass, hips slamming forward with growing force, claiming her completely.

Plap! Plap!

The wine helped the whole way. He kept pouring more, trails of red running down her thighs, staining her silky skin like fresh blood on snow. The musky, sticky mess only made the glide filthier, the scent of wine and sex thick in the air. Clearly, she came prepared to surrender both holes, Lyseni training at its finest.

Enjoying it, Bronn reached forward and fisted her long golden hair, yanking her head back like reins. With each thrust, he pulled her body onto him harder, forcing her ass to swallow him to the root. 

With his robes still bunched awkwardly under his chin, he stared down in satisfaction at the rippling waves across her round, pale ass. Soft flesh quivering with every brutal collision, the wet squelch of wine-slicked fucking mixing with the sharp clap of skin on skin. The sight alone nearly undid him.

But he wanted those pretty pale cheeks red, marked by him. He brought his palm down hard, the crack echoing as her flesh bloomed crimson.

Smack! Smack!

“Ugh! Ugh! Uggggngh!” Doreah moaned louder with every stinging slap, the sharp heat blooming across her skin only driving her wilder. 

Her fingers had long abandoned holding herself open; one arm snaked beneath her now, frantic fingers dancing over her swollen clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles. Her empty pussy gaped and twitched, clenching greedily around nothing while her stuffed ass took every punishing inch.

Bronn kneaded the heated flesh he’d just struck, fingers sinking deep into the heavenly softness, spreading and squeezing as he fucked deeper.

"Who else have you fucked here? Illyrio? Viserys?" he asked.

"Ummmh… Both."

Bronn’s stomach twisted at the thought of Illyrio’s fat, sweating bulk rutting into this same tight heat. "The prince? Mmm… Tell me, is he… any good?"

Doreah struggled to answer, biting her plump lower lip as his thick cock dragged through her clenching ass. "N-No… Oh… He’s… small in size and… lasts a mere touch."

Plap! Plap!

The words fed his wicked pride, and Bronn hammered into her harder, hips snapping with brutal rhythm. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the chamber. He could feel the pressure building low in his balls, the familiar burn racing up his shaft. He was close, so close.

Doreah's tight ass clenched too hard as she felt her climax approaching as well. 

"What of… Daenerys? Is she pure?"

"She is! She… is the key… to Viserys' dream," she muttered between each breath-stealing thrust.

Bronn frowned, realising the fucker wanted to sell his Targaryen trophy away. 

Doreah’s ass clamped down suddenly, impossibly tight, as her own climax tore through her. Her fingers flew over her swollen clit, rubbing frantically.

"Aaaaaah! Oh, Lord Septon… I’m—!"

Her cry broke into a guttural scream as her body convulsed, ass spasming around his buried cock. A hot, forceful gush erupted from her cunt. Thick, messy squirts that sprayed out, splattering the floor under the table, soaking her thighs, fingers, and his balls in warm, shameful nectar. Wave after wave pulsed out of her, the obscene wet sounds of her release mixing with her ragged sobs of pleasure, her legs trembling so hard she nearly collapsed to the floor.

The sudden vise-like grip of her climaxing ass locked him in place, the friction too intense to thrust through. 

Bronn hissed, trapped deep inside her pulsing heat, waiting for the spasms to ease. But he refused to spill inside a whore already claimed by others. 

He waited until her muscles relaxed. Then, with a wet, reluctant pop, he slipped free of her stretched star.

"On your knees."

Doreah turned at once, sinking obediently to the floor. She gazed up with half-lidded eyes, face flushed crimson, sweat-slick strands of golden hair clinging to her cheeks; drunk on lust.

"Mouth wide, tongue out," he commanded.

She obeyed instantly, tilting her head back, lips parted in a perfect, eager O, tongue extended like an altar awaiting offering.

Bronn fisted his slick, throbbing pole and stroked furiously, the head purple and angry. 

“Gaaah!” Moments later, he erupted with a guttural growl.

The first thick rope shot hard across her waiting tongue, filling her mouth with salty batter. The second striped her pretty face from brow to chin in a heavy white streak. More followed, rope after rope, endless. 

It splattered her closed eyelids, glazing her lashes, painting her high cheekbones and plump lips in pearly streaks. Another arced down to land heavy across her heaving tits, sliding slowly over stiff nipples. Her chin dripped with it, thick globs falling to her chest as she moaned softly, swallowing what had landed in her mouth, letting the rest mark her body.

He kept stroking, milking every last shudder from his shaft, until he squeezed the final drop free and smeared it deliberately across her forehead.

Then, still half-hard and twitching, looming over her face, he reached for the near-empty jar of wine. 

Without a word, he tipped it over his spent cock, letting the remaining wine cascade down his shaft, washing away the mess of her ass and their mingled cream. 

The wine ran down, splashing over her face like rain, streaking through the white ropes already decorating her skin, bathing her hair and tits in dark, fragrant red that carried the musk of his cock.

Honestly, Bronn's only intention was just to clean himself. The added filth of drenching her was merely a pleasant reward. 

Doreah didn’t flinch. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth wider, and gulped greedily at the cock-flavored wine pouring over her tongue. Her hands roamed her own body, smearing the mixture across her cheeks, throat, and breasts, rubbing it into her skin.

When the jar ran dry, Bronn was still standing over her. 

She understood without words. She leaned forward, taking his softening cock into her warm mouth, hands resting flat on his thighs. She suckled gently, thoroughly, tongue swirling to lap up every trace of wine, swallowing it all with soft hums.

Bronn’s hand settled on her drenched hair, fingers threading through the sticky strands as he savored the lingering warmth of her mouth.

He found Doreah beautiful, and her adventurous personality was enjoyable. He thought of keeping her. Not for himself, but for a greater purpose. She'd be a septa in name, but a whore still. He didn't find her cunt that enjoyable anyway. But many in Westeros fantasized about fucking a Septa, mainly nobles. So, having Doreah to entertain them sometimes, maybe to blackmail or gain something from them, would be interesting. 

"Tell me, Doreah, what do you think about becoming a septa for me?"

Growing hard again, he didn't want to spend more time with her and stepped back, freeing himself. He waited for her answer while tying his breeches. 

“A septa? I... I would be honored, Lord Septon. What will you have me do?”

"Well, you will be mine, in bed and body, all. Yet the Seven preach charity, do they not? So now and then you’ll spread those pretty legs for a noble guest or two. Proper Westerosi blood, mind, lords and knights with coin and manners. Worry not, I'd sooner gift you to the Father for judgment than let another Illyrio near you, no woman deserves that thing on top of her."

"Oh?" Doreah's eyes shone, as if she found that idea exciting. 

"You will earn coin. Plenty. By the Seven, you will not be cast aside. A septa is for life. When old, you will live in my castle city, with servants. I am kind to my septas.

"I… Will the magister let me go?"

Bronn chuckled and offered her a hand to get up. He didn't need to, but he did. That was the name of his game. Fuck them like a beast and then treat them like a princess. That was usually enough to win most women. 

"He can't afford not to obey me, Doreah. Now, make yourself proper and bring Daenerys to me."

With excited little jumps, Doreah rushed to the door, naked since she'd arrived naked. As she left, Bronn watched her ass and nodded to himself. 

Aye, nobles and knights, all will want a piece of that. For a heavy price, surely. 

He had no plans of using her like a whore to make money. He had enough of that. No, she'd be there to change minds, ruin men, and draw unspeakable favors. 

I should find a few more like her. A whole group of whore-septas. 

None of them would reach the status of the likes of Unella and Malora, however. They were the most cherished still. 

####

Daenerys feared her brother. Yet at the same time, he was the only family she had. The only person she could truly trust to keep her safe. It was another thing that he also hurt her often. 

Once again, she found herself at his mercy, just for accepting that rose from Lord Septon. Thinking of him, she couldn't help but feel warm. She'd never seen someone like that. Someone so confident and magical. 

At first glance, she couldn't see what was so special about Lord Septon. He had an ordinary face. But when she saw him turn that coin into a rose, it all changed. She understood why there were so many tales about him. She understood why he was called Seven's Angel. 

But now, her brother had angered that person. How could Viserys be so foolish? Lord Septon was clearly a blessed man who had risen above mortal matters. She'd heard the tale of how he alone brought down those treacherous Iron Islanders. 

And now, following Doreah out of her room, she couldn't help but feel excited. Although it was late at night, she didn't mind. Viserys was asleep; that was all that mattered. 

"Go inside, Lord Septon is waiting for you, Princess." 

She nodded to Doreah and pushed the door open, walking inside. It was brightly lit with candles, and… she smelled something strange in the air, something mixed with wine. But she paid no mind to that and looked at Lord Septon at his table. 

How do I address him? 

"My Lord?"

“Hah. I’m no noble lord, my Princess. Call me Lord Septon. The realm knows it, and I do too. Come, sit. By the Seven, we have much to speak of.”

The warmth in his eyes towards her once again made her feel shy. She tried to hide her blush and took a seat at the table, hearing the doors close behind her by Doreah. At that table, she could smell those strange scents even more strongly. 

But she didn't talk about that, entirely focused on Lord Septon's face. All her life, Viserys had been the only person who told her about Westeros. About House Targaryen. Moreover, Viserys rarely allowed her to speak with others. 

It was exciting to finally have someone truly from Westeros to talk to.

"Lord Septon, did you wish to speak with me?"

"My Princess, tell me first, how have you fared? Years are a long road when walked in exile, city to city, hand out, pride swallowed. Hard years. Bitter ones. The sort that teaches a soul to bend without breaking. The Seven saw every step, I swear it by their names. I speak with their leave. You will suffer no more, nor wander hungry, nor bow to soft-bellied merchants for scraps. Your trials are done."

Daenerys froze in the seat, feeling so small, so meaningless before this man who held great importance as the head of an entire faith. She stared at his face to read his expressions; that was how she'd learn to survive after years of torment by Viserys. By always trying to read others' moods. 

Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was painful. All those years, wandering. She remembered that house in Braavos, and then how the servants stole all they could once Willem died. She remembered weeping when they were thrown out of that house. 

Each road taken when wandering the Free City was made of thorns. At times they were beaten, at times they had to steal, and at times they… she… almost got violated. The world wasn't a kind place to a young soul, and she was young with silver hair and violet eyes. In the gaze of the rich, nothing but a rare toy to have. 

All those memories flashed before her eyes, but in her ears echoed what Lord Septon had said. Before she even realised, her eyes welled up with tears, in desperate hope that Lord Septon was speaking the truth. 

That this torment was finally going to end. 

Oh, she felt ashamed. She tried to wipe away the tears, but they just wouldn't end. Too embarrassed, she stood up, wanting to go back to her room and weep there. 

"Come here."

Yet, she saw through the blurry vision, Lord Septon rose as well and walked to her, his arms wide. And before she knew it, she found herself held in his warm embrace. Her forehead was flat against his chest, feeling his arms, big, wrap around her upper back. 

She stained his robes with her tears, and she wept even more. Then, she felt his one hand caress her hair and then… There was a sudden jolt in Lord Septon's body. It was too intense to ignore. 

Confused, she looked up and only saw Lord Septon's eyes wide, staring at nothing but the empty space behind her. It confused her, but before she could speak, his hand stroked her head again, returning her face against his chest. 

She wept loudly after that, her own limber pale arms wrapped around him, her chest flat against him, her face sideways, hearing his heartbeat. She could feel it, fast and intense. And slowly, just as that heartbeat calmed down, her own tears dried away. 

"Daenerys Targaryen."

Hm? What did I do? 

She got scared. He'd only called her princess until then. She looked up, stepping away from the embrace. But he was only smiling, only warmer this time, full of affection and… more? She couldn't understand what it was. 

"Lord Septon?"

"Take a seat."

She gulped, feeling the change in the air. Lord Septon felt warm, yet also serious. She nodded and sat down again. 

"Ah! L—"

She yelped when Lord Septon knelt right before her on one knee, his face now almost on the same level as hers. She became stiff, scared, and yet curious. 

"Give me your hands."

She didn't even think of refusing him. His words were just so… true. She gave him both her hands, letting him hold them, his thumb rubbing the backs of them. And then…

"Ah? What was that? I felt…"

She tried to stand up, but Lord Septon didn't let her. That jolt of vibration on her hand came from the touch. She didn't know what it was, but it felt… strange. 

"Lord Septon…"

Truly nervous now, she wanted to return to her room. She'd been taught by Viserys to always draw lines between herself and people she met. But already she'd wept in the Lord Septon's arms and now this. While he didn't make her feel uncomfortable, she was indeed overwhelmed. 

"I should go to slee—"

"Princess, look me in the eyes."

She did. She obeyed him. It just seemed like the right thing to do. 

"The Seven have spoken to me. A new path lies ahead of you. Walk it if you will, but know this. You will be under my sure guidance. One small folly will call down the greatest misfortune upon you."

Daenerys frowned, searching for reason in Lord Septon's eyes. "W-What do you mean, L—"

"You are gifted. If you choose to become my apprentice…"

All of a sudden, she felt a burning sensation in her hands, still in Lord Septon's grasp. She tried to yank them free. 

"I will teach you magic, Daenerys Targaryen."