GOT: Rasputin of Westeros 12 - Fame, Ritual & A Distant Gaze

Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/14vNc3N8qDlk92LblsITcK4xkPydB8HsRZOA07er0qKM/edit?usp=sharing

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I… have… a bloody army! 

Who was Ser Bonifer Hasty? A nobody. But he wasn't a nobody a few years ago. Well, many years ago. Bronn didn't know a lot, but he did know that once upon a time, in the era of the King, even before Aerys, Bonifer once wore the princess's favor in a tourney in which he defeated all challengers to name Rhaella his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The rumors said that he and Princess Rhaella were in love at that time. But of course, it was a fruitless romance as you just can't win against incest loving Targaryens. Once Rhaella was betrothed to Aerys, Ser Bonifer Hasty vanished. 

Of course, the man found solace in the Seven and founded the Holy Hundred, a group of men-at-arms pious in their faith. 

Them seeking him made complete sense. His name had spread far and wide already. Bronn the Blessed and Seven's Angels were words most smallfolk following the Faith of the Seven had at least heard once. 

"Rise, Ser Hasty." Bronn walked forward and ushered the man up by his shoulders. "Your oath rings as clear as your work. The Seven smile on such sound service."

Ser Hasty wasn't young anymore. He was withered, but still tall and thin. There was fervor in his eyes that could only be found in men who truly believed in themselves and their actions. 

"You wish to serve the Seven through me?" He asked. 

"You shine before us, as the Father’s own light. We follow in faith, with keen blades and prayers upon our lips to the Seven above. Guide us, Lord Septon."

When did it become so widely used? Bronn pondered over his 'Lord Septon' title. Everyone called him that now, although it wasn't an official title of the Faith. 

"I’m no saint, only a man the Seven took pity on. The Mother and the Maiden have had my hide since I could crawl, teaching me what keeps me breathing," Bronn said with a half-smile, his eyes sweeping the men. "If you’d follow me, I’ll not bar you. More hands to mend the realm, the quicker the work."

"May the Seven's light guide us!" Ser Hasty prayed.

Bronn did the same, and just to get them excited, blessed the knight with his raised palm, light emitting from it. It was the easiest way to gain their fanaticism. 

As expected, all one hundred of them knelt towards him and prayed. 

I'll have to find some damn use for them. 

####

Oldtown,

Helen felt like her life had completely changed, and it had. She felt like the most blessed woman in the entire realm. And all of it was because Lord Septon had blessed her through her womb. She had the most beautiful son, growing strong. 

She had given herself to the Faith already. Or to be more precise, the Sect of Seven's Angel. It was an unofficial group of followers of Bronn the Blessed. She was the proud leader of the group. 

A nobody smallfolk once upon a time, then wed to a half-witted son of a rich merchant family because of her beauty. Lord Septon had gifted her the babe she desired since her husband was incapable. 

Now, in a matter of a year and a few months, so much more has changed. She, not her husband, had inherited the family's business. It was indirectly because of Lord Septon. Having become the official, sole distributor of Firewhiskey in Oldtown, and at large, the entire Reach.

It was Lady Elia Martell who had chosen her for the task, and accepting that offer was perhaps the best thing she had done in her life. The revenue that God's nectar generated dwarfed anything else their family had made through normal trade. 

On her lonesome, she had elevated her family's wealth significantly, and for that she had received certain freedoms and duties. She loved that her actions were effectively helping Lord Septon. And truth be told, she hoped for another child. 

But before that, she wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be Lord Septon's most passionate follower. 

####

Essos, Volantis,

Inside the Temple of the Lord of Light, somewhere in one of the flame-kissed corridors, in one of the many grand chambers, sat the High Priest, the Benerro, the righteous slave. Before him sat his right-hand man, Moqorro. 

"What do you make of this?" Asked Moqarro, a man more a beast than a human, by the looks of him. 

His skin was darker than coal. A monster of a man over six feet, wide as two, belly like a boulder. Pure white hair covered his face and head like a lion's mane. His voice boomed like a bass drum. His entire face was covered in flame tattoos, with yellow and orange colors. Even his attire screamed threats, scarlet robes, sleeves, collar, and hems embroidered with orange flames. Right by his chair rested his iron staff as tall as he, its tip a dragon's head.

"A deceiver! A juggler of shadows! Only the Lord of Light grants true flame to this world," Benerror proclaimed, his lipless mouth curling into what might have been a smile. He was tall and gaunt, skin pale as milk, red flame-tattoos burning over his cheeks and shaven head. "His false fires cannot fool the faithful. He stains the Lord’s glory with his tricks."

Mogarro nodded firmly. “The word of his flame has already reached Volantis. Soon, even Asshai will feel its warmth. His gift for healing is beyond compare. It will call to the Godswives. His sorcery is... unlike any other. He brews, he shapes, he commands many arts. The alchemists, the necromancers, the pyromancers, the bloodmages, and the shadowbinders, they will come to him.”

"The Lord of Light sees through such lies. He cloaks himself in our faith while whispering the names of false gods."

"And if he comes here?"

"Then the Lord of Light shall test him," said the High Priest coldly. “Right here in Volantis, he will stand judgment, he and every false god he serves.”

####

Volantis, Unknown Place,

Shadowbinders were said to be able to bind shadows to do their will. Considered to be the most sinister of all sorcerers, most people feared them. But it couldn't be further from the truth. Most shadowbinders were more akin to adventurers. Chasing magic, wanting to learn more and more. To sharpen their skill at all costs, even if the means needed bloodshed. 

Moreover, many shadowbinders dreamt of one thing above all. To be able to go upriver towards the Shadow Lands, and not just upriver, but to enter the doors at Stagai, and explore the ancient City of the Night, ruined now and home to twisted creatures. Even shadowbinders feared going there, but many still wanted to. 

Quaithe was one such shadowbinders. She was from Asshai and her journeys had led her to Volantis. Yet she sat in the chair, receiving a folded parchment with the information she desired. Under the long, hooded robe, behind her dark red lacquer wooden mask, her shiny eyes read content.

"A word from his tongue can unmake a man," she mumbled after reading the contents. "And his brews stir those who should sleep. It is shadowbinding’s kin, though it walks another path. Perhaps his brews can indeed serve a purpose in the exploration of the City of the Night."

The man before her just nodded. "Valar Dohaeris."

She didn't bother talking more, being more of a silent observer. Her eyes remained on the sheet of paper with the details about this strange man they called the Seven's Angel. 

Strange new magic. Amusing. 

####

Highgarden, the Reach,

Another night had fallen, but this night was meant to be special. Bronn the Blessed remained in his bedchamber, grand and luxurious for the healer of the Tyrell heir. But it wasn't privacy he sought, only preparations for the ritual. 

Dressed in his usual septon attire, he lit the censer with incense, filling the candle-lit bedchamber with warm, soothing scents. He walked around, finishing the preparations. In the middle of his bedchamber stood the gorgeous Lady of House Tyrell, Alerie, in her full regal gown, silken, embroidered, overly luxurious. It shone red with golden streaks all over it, making patterns. Her thick white hair was tied in a lone braid, the braid itself dotted with jewels. The wide neckline teased her lush breasts. 

He walked around her, swinging the censer, making prayers. He was already hard, ready to prick her where he wanted to slide in. She still had the usual calm and expressionless face, but he knew it'd change soon. 

Umm, look at that ass. He eyed her rear when walking around. And those tits. 

He'd only been able to eat her cunt and fuck her face last time. Now, finally, he was going to see her in full nude beauty, and he wanted to remove each patch of cloth on her with his own hands. All the while making her moan prayers to the Seven. 

"May the Seven guide this ritual,
For this holy union is mutual.
Alerie of House Tyrell gives her ripe body,
Take her through me, I as the Seven embody."

All sheer bullshit yet so exciting. 

With that little prayer, he reminded her of what they were about to do. He was going to not only slide between her legs, but he was going to spill. That night, the next, and many more until her belly showed the proof of swelling. 

Finally, he walked past her to the large three-person settee in his bedchamber, made of green cushions and a large wooden frame. He had planned on taking her on it. The bed was too common and boring. 

He put the censer on it at one end and started to remove his clothes. When he saw Alerie moving to do the same, he quickly stopped her. 

"Not yet, my Lady. Let not your hands be troubled. This night belongs to the Seven's will. Let my hands guide you through this."

No word, no hesitation. The gorgeous, proud, stoic noble lady stopped moving and just watched him throw off his robes first, and then remove the trousers. In moments, he was naked entirely, his cock hard, threateningly bulging, veins throbbing. The room was bright in candlelight, and she saw everything in great detail. 

Bronn strode back to her with confident steps, his naked skin prickling her as he pressed flush against her. Her sizable breasts mashed against his bare chest. Being taller, he looked down at her with a hidden smirk. His cock throbbed viciously at the thought of sullying Alerie Tyrell, Lady of the Reach's mightiest house, daughter of the cunning Hightowers, now reduced to his personal cocksleeve. And soon, if he played his prayers right, a devoted worshipper at the altar of his fat, veined shaft.

"Alerie Hightower, kiss the Gods."

With that, he leaned down, one arm snaking around her waist to grope her plush ass, his rough fingers sinking deep into her flesh despite the layers of her gown, kneading it like dough. His other hand claimed her equally soft bosom, squeezing the heavy mounds through the silk until he felt her nipples harden under his palm. Then, his lips locked with hers in a bruising claim, his tongue already prying her.

He shamelessly kept his eyes open, staring right into her green depths, drinking in the flicker of shame in them. The thrill of it shot straight to his cock, making it twitch against her.

Lady of Highgarden, proud and untouchable, now flushed and trapped in his gaze. She closed her eyes and surrendered, her lashes fluttering shut, the last bit of her noble resistance melting away.

She tasted sweet and wine-like. It made Bronn's mouth water as his tongue plundered her depths, ravishing every corner of her warm, soft mouth. Everything about her was perfect, too perfect for the likes of that oaf Mace Tyrell. It annoyed him, fueling his roughness as he kissed her greedier, harder, like he was stealing back what the fool had squandered.

He sucked the air right out of her lungs, his kiss so consuming it devoured her like she was the rarest delicacy in the Seven Kingdoms. His teeth nipped at her plump lower lip until he tasted the faint tang of her submission.

Finally, he broke the kiss for breath, his hands already moving to loosen the knots behind her back that cinched her gown tight, his fingers impatient as he tugged them free. Once it slackened, he pushed the luxurious fabric off her shoulders, watching as it pooled in a silken heap at her ankles, leaving her utterly exposed.

Seven fucking mothers and their tits! Fuck! 

He was shocked, aroused, and fucking starving. His eyes were feasting on her like a man possessed. She had the body of a mother, the most beautiful, fuckable mother imaginable, curvy in ways that made his balls ache. Her breasts flared out big and round, showing just the faintest sag that only made them look cushiony and inviting, and there, at the red, bitable nipples, a bead of white nectar glistened.

Below her lush breasts was her belly, not like some untouched virgin's, but soft with the arousing flesh of a woman who had borne children, squishy but shapely, drawing his gaze downward to her barely concealed loins. Her thighs were thick and soft, the same ones he'd buried his face between before. Now, seeing the faintest stretch marks on her skin, it only heightened her as a trophy, a prize that screamed ripe, breedable maturity.

He felt pure joy when Alerie’s hands trembled, moving to shield her dripping nipples from his stare. It was her last flicker of modesty that made Bronn's grin widen.

Bronn quickly grabbed her wrists, pushing her arms apart, urging her to bare those magnificent tits to his hungry eyes. He nodded, smiling with false piety. "The Seven are delighted. Mother above the most, for she is about to bless the body of a mother prepared."

Shamelessly, he leaned down and suckled her swells, his mouth latching onto one swollen nipple with a wet smack. 

He felt her hands waver for a moment, as if looking for something to hold on to, to ground herself, to hide. But standing there, right in the middle of the chamber, she was helpless. And he fucking loved it.

He sucked hard, drawing out that sweet milk in greedy pulls. His tongue swirling around the hardened peak as if to mock her nobility, proving his dominance. All the while, his free hand kneaded the other breast, pinching and twisting until more nectar leaked and trickled down her skin.

"Oh!"  A sound escaped her lips, her voice breaking the silence like a crack in marble.

Such a lovely fucking moan… Again, sing for me. Earn your bloody blessing. Heh…

Bronn reveled in the power of it. A bastard with some tricks, turning the Lady of Highgarden into his personal, dripping plaything. He switched to the other nipple, biting down just enough to make her gasp, lapping at the warm nectar that flooded his tongue as he ground his hardness against her body. His hands kept her in place, ensuring she felt every degrading pull of his mouth on her flesh.

Bronn's hands claimed her breasts with rough greed. He squeezed and massaged both heavy mounds, his fingers digging into the cloud-like flesh until more milk spurted free, making a slick, messy chaos of it all. His mouth switched between flushed buttons in slurping pulls that drew out rivulets of her nectar. Half his face soon glistened and smeared with white, while both her swells glistened, especially the deep valley between them where the milk pooled and dripped, turning her noble skin into a filthy canvas of maternal sin.

After he'd drunk his fill, Bronn stood straight again, his hands shifting to her shoulders as he pushed down with firm insistence, guiding her to her knees.

"The Seven desire your maternal nectar to coat the holy phallus," Bronn intoned with a smirk hidden behind pious words.

Confused yet willing, Alerie sank to her knees, her body now nude save for her lower smallcloth, her knees landing on the crumpled heap of her discarded gown. She rose up slightly on them, positioning herself higher so her lush, milk-slick mounds perfectly aligned with his throbbing cock.

"Coat them between your lush mounds, my Lady. Squeeze them with your hands," Bronn ordered, stepping forward to lay his veined, iron-hard shaft into the deep, wet valley of her breasts. 

She complied without a word, her expression still a nervous hesitation. Her delicate hands pressed her heavy tits together around his cock, enveloping him in a soft, slippery embrace that sent a shiver through his core.

Bronn loved it. His knees shuddered from pure bliss as her warm, soft mounds squeezed around his throbbing length. It was a gorgeous sight. Alerie's fingers dimpled her own flesh, her tits bulging around him in obscene perfection, every vein on his shaft pulsing against the creamy slickness that made the slide so sinfully smooth.

"Ummh! Now move,” Bronn grunted.

Alerie’s mind was swirling with questions. Why were the Gods demanding this from her? She could imagine kneeling to take him in her mouth, or even spreading her legs for a proper bedding, but why this, with her milk spilling and coating everything in such a messy, dirty way?

She didn’t doubt the Seven's Angel, however. That entire day, she had lingered in her beloved son's bedchamber, watching with tearful awe as he woke up, as Septon Bronn commanded Willas to move his leg and demonstrate the miraculous change, beaming with joy as her son declared the renewed strength he felt.

Slosh! Slosh!

She squeezed her magnificent breasts together with growing resolve, the dirty sound echoing in wet, rhythmic slicks as her milk-lubricated mounds slid up and down his shaft. Her eyes lifted to meet his as the Lord Septon thrust his hips forward, driving his cock through the tight, slippery channel of her breasts. Then, she glanced down, mesmerized and flushed, watching his swollen cockhead peek out between her heaving mounds over and over. The swollen tip beading with pre-cum that mingled with her nectar in a filthy, glistening trail.

And right there, on her knees, she made up her mind. If the Seven wanted to be pleasured this way, she would please them without reservation. It was their divine right after healing her son. Now, it was time to show them a mother's unwavering devotion, her body an offering to the gods.

"Uggggh… Seven! Holiness!" 

She heard Lord Septon's groan deepen when she leaned forward and started to suckle the tip of his cock. Her tongue swirling over the soaked head to taste herself, the salty tang of her own milk mingling with his musky essence. More nectar spilled from her nipples, drenching everything in a sticky, wet mess that was so utterly dirty to her. The obscene sloshes and slurps filled the chamber like a symphony.

Squelch! Squelch!

Bronn savored the worship laced with her maternal milk, the warm, slippery friction edging him closer to release with every thrust. But then he suddenly stopped, pulling free because there was no point in spilling now when her womb was waiting.

He stepped back from her godly valley, his cock glistening and throbbing, and strode over to the nearby table to grab a crystal vial filled with red liquid. Then, he moved to the large settee, lying down flat on the cushions, his head near the censer where the incense curled lazily into the air.

"My Lady, please wipe yourself clean and approach me. The ritual requires the warmth of this oil to satisfy the Maiden's demands," he said, fully reclined with his hardness jutting upward like an unholy scepter. "Use no hands. Let the gods witness your offering upon me."

He watched with smug satisfaction as Alerie grabbed her own gown, using the luxurious silk to wipe the milk and slick from her breasts and skin. After that, she rose and moved toward him. Realizing her smallcloth would obstruct the ritual, she hooked her fingers into them and slid them down her thick, smooth thighs.

Oh! I knew she'd be lovely! 

Seeing her flush red, bald pussy exposed and vulnerable between those squishy thighs, made him throb harder as she straddled him. Her warm, slick folds rubbed along his thickness in a teasing glide. 

"Like this, Lord Septon?" Alerie asked as she settled her weight atop him, her pussy lips parting slightly to hug his shaft.

Fuck… Asking like a fragile virgin… makes me want to break you.

Alerie tipped the vial of red oil, letting it spill over her full, heavy breasts. She leaned down, pressing her slick, oiled tits flat against Bronn’s chest, her weight sinking into him, warm and heavy, a decadent crush that made his cock twitch with delight. 

She slid her body against his, her breasts smearing the hot, fragrant oil across his skin, the friction felt scorching. Her hardened nipples dragged over his chest, leaving trails of oil and milk that mingled in a sticky, intoxicating mess. 

“Gh...” Bronn groaned, his hands itching to grab her, but he let her work, savoring the way her weight pinned him.

"Mmm… The Maiden rejoices," he rasped with mock piety.

Alerie’s oil-slick breasts slid lower, her body gliding down his frame. She poured more of the red oil over herself, letting it drip carelessly onto her skin, never once using her hands, just letting the liquid cascade over her curves. Her tits grazed his abdomen, then lower, enveloping his throbbing cock in their soft, warm valley. She moved with purpose, rubbing his cock between her breasts, then sliding lower to drag her oiled curves along each of his legs. The wet, slithering sounds of her body against his filled the air.

Slck! Squelch! 

"That is enough, my Lady. Come now, lie beside me, your back against my chest." Bronn demanded as he turned sideways. His back pressed against its cushioned backrest. 

The censer burned close by, its smoke curling around them, weaving a dreamy rush. 

Alerie’s eyes, glassy with lust, flickered to his, and he saw the surrender in them, the way her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. The air was thick with the scent of oil and smoke.

"I understand, Lord Septon." Alerie lowered herself sideways onto the settee without hesitation. 

Bronn slid one arm under her armpit, his forearm cupping the soft underside of her breast as he propped her up, ensuring her elbow supported her weight so she could see everything below. His fingers grazed her skin slowly, teasing her senses. He wanted her to watch, to see every moment. 

Her body trembled slightly, her loose braid spilling over her shoulder, strands clinging to her sweat-damp skin. The settee creaked under their combined weight. 

His arm snaked further, sliding from her armpit down her side, under the heavy curve of her breast, and lower still, until his fingers reached the heat between her thighs. 

Alerie’s breath caught, a soft whimper escaping her lips as his touch grazed her soaked petals.

"Open, my Lady." His demand was clear and simple. 

Without hesitation, Alerie parted her legs, hooking one over his folded knee for support, her body opening to him. She stared down, mesmerized as his thick cock pressed flat against her slick folds, not yet entering, just teasing her with its length. His other hand rose, cupping her breast, kneading the soft flesh with rough fingers, while his lips found her slender nape, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that turned into sharp, hungry bites on her back.

Her braid had come half undone, her hair a wild, sweaty mess, framing her flushed face as her dreamy eyes fluttered with pleasure. This was duty yet, she couldn't remember the last time she felt so excited for something this… physical. 

"Guide the Seven's tool, O' Noble Dame,
Make this ritual whole, chanting lips their name.
Slow, feel the essence flow, this is your reward,
O' Noble Dame, this warmth, you are not ignored." 

The words sank into Alerie’s mind, stirring something deep. Once, she’d been proud to wed Mace Tyrell, handsome and tall, but now he was a husk of his former self, a withered fool who couldn’t touch her soul like this. She let herself smile, her heart racing with an excitement she hadn’t known in years.

"Ummmmh!~"

Alerie cooed, a soft, desperate sound, as her trembling hand reached down to grasp his girthy shaft, guiding it to her soaked pussy. She craved it now, her body aching for the stretch, the invasion. 

His fingers teased her clit to want, circling with maddening precision, while his other hand molded her breast, squeezing until she craved for more. The censer’s scent enveloped her, heightening every sensation, her skin prickling with goosebumps as she watched his cock sink into her, inch by agonizing inch.

Her lower lips stretched to take him, the sensation so arousingly satisfying it made her head spin. It was as if he’d found an itch she’d carried for years, a hunger never sated. His cock claimed depths she had almost forgotten. She’d only ever known one man in her bed, but this was a new, sinful awakening. 

His fingers danced on her clit, his teeth grazed her neck, and the censer’s scent drowned her in need, pulling her deeper into the haze of lust as she surrendered completely. She realized Malora was right. Her sister’s words about submitting to the Lord Septon now blazed with clarity. This wasn’t submission, it was liberation. 

Plap!

Alerie’s senses drowned in the overwhelming fullness. Her eyes rolled back, fluttering as his fingers pinched her nipple, the sharp pain blooming into pleasure. She was so close, teetering on the edge. 

And then it broke. 

A heavy, endless squirt gushed from her, soaking his thighs and the settee below in a shameful, glorious flood. The wet splatter echoed in the air, her body convulsing as she surrendered to the climax, her cunt clenching around him greedily. She felt undone, her noble restraint shattered by the raw release.

“Aaaaaaaah! Oh, oh Gods! I am… blessed!” Alerie wailed out in ecstasy.

Seven Cunts! Warm fucking cunt! 

Bronn was shocked at how easily she came. He’d fucked plenty of women, highborn and low, and heard their complaints. Husbands who rutted, spilled, and rolled off, never caring for their pleasure. Alerie’s husband, that oaf Mace, was clearly no different. He grinned, his cock throbbing inside her, knowing each shuddering squirt was another step toward owning her completely. It only made his job easier. 

He reveled in her warmth, her tightness, the way her cunt gripped him like a fist despite the years and childbirths. He dotted her back with hickies, careful to avoid her neck, her secret shame safe from Mace’s dull eyes. His lips pressed kisses to the salty sweat on her shoulders, savoring the taste, the slick heat of her skin under his mouth, her body yielding to his every touch. 

“Ohh Ohh”

Her moans were a siren’s song, each one fueling his hunger as he fucked her deeper, his hips grinding against her with possessive glee.

Squelch! Squelch!

Bronn fucked her in that sideways embrace, his cock plunging into her with a steady, brutal rhythm, each thrust drawing a moan that vibrated through her trembling body. 

Alerie’s strength waned, her elbow giving out as she collapsed fully onto the cushion. Her head rested flat, her breath ragged. Her submission was complete, her body limp and pliant, and Bronn’s lips curled into a wicked smile at the sight.

Seizing the moment, Bronn’s hand left her breast, sliding up to cup her face, turning her toward him. He kissed her soft, swollen lips. Gods, she was gorgeous, her face glowing with a post-climax sheen, her eyes dreamy and half-lidded. His tongue invaded her mouth, rough and greedy, tasting the sweetness of her surrender. He kissed her harder, his cock still buried deep, claiming her from both ends. 

Finally, he stopped the kiss and gave her room to breathe. 

"Thank the Gods, my Lady… Mmmh… I’m about to kiss your womb with their holy spill."

“Oh! Yes! Oh Mother! Oh Maiden above… Mmmm… Soothe my womb with your kiss! Oh!” Alerie cried, her words a fervent prayer to the Seven she now worshipped through her lust.

That was music to Bronn’s ears, each word stoking his fire as he rammed harder, the settee shaking violently under their bodies. He stared into her dreamy eyes, her flushed face a portrait of lust, and for once, his intent was genuine, twisted gift.

"They are delighted! Mh! They are so, so delighted!" He declared, so close to spilling. "Aye, I shall… by their will, gift you a son, my beautiful Alerie. A son of silver hair like you, high as Duncan the Tall, charming as Rhaegar, skillful as Arthur Dayne, wise as Barth the Septon—Oh! Receive this gift!"

"Yes! Oh, thank the gods! Mmmmh!" Alerie gasped, her cunt tightening around his relentless cock. Her second climax crashed through her just as he spoke. Her slick walls spasmed, milking his cock.

Plap! Squelch! Plap!

The squelching sounds grew louder, her juices mingling with the oil and sweat, coating his shaft as he drilled in deeper, chasing his own release. Her body arched against him, her moans a desperate prayer, and Bronn felt the power of her need fueling his own.

He felt the edge approaching, his cock throbbing, and with one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep. His baby batter flooded her willing womb in thick, pulsing spurts, each one a violent claim, the wet heat sloshing inside her as her pussy clenched greedily.

“Father’s ss-strength… Warrior’s f-fire… Thank the Moh–tther! Thank the Maiden!” Alerie cried out as she writhed, a gratitude to the Seven for the sinful gift filling her.

"Ummmh…" Bronn hummed and pulled out of her, and felt his cum leak from her as some dripped to his thigh. Then he allowed Alerie to turn and face him. 

"I am grateful…" Alerie mumbled, nearly a moan as she flattened herself on his chest, kissed his lips occasionally, smiling at last. "For all the gifts."

"Nothing but what you deserved, my Lady. By the will of the Seven," he replied, caressing her stunning face, warm and sweat slick. "We'll make the offering till the Gods take notice in the life they plant within you, by the swell of your womb."

In short, he just declared he was going to breed her for months. 

"Mmmh… I understand, Lord Septon," she replied, "I offer this body to their will."

In short, he could fuck her whenever, wherever, however he wanted. And he really decided to take that offer.

"Lie flat and rest, my Lady. I shall resume the offering."

He shifted, rising to his knees, and Alerie obeyed at once, stretching out on her belly with a sigh. 

Bronn swung a leg over her, straddling the plush backs of her thighs, his cock already iron-hard and glistening with their mingled mess. Gods, that ass, full and fluffy, wide and pale enough to bruise beneath his grip. He dug his fingers in and spread those lush cheeks apart and saw the delicate pink pucker winking above the ruined, creamy slit. His virile balm still oozed from her, coating swollen folds in a glistening shroud. His mouth watered at the filth.

With no pretty words, he lined up and drove home in one slick thrust. 

Her cunt welcomed him with a wet, greedy squelch, walls fluttering around his length. For the coming months, this would be his nightly prayer, his home.

Could have her with Malora. Two sisters together. Ugh… Seven shits! I'm ready to explode just thinking. 

He hummed as he sank all the way in and leaned forward. 

"Pray, my lady. Thank the Seven."

"Oooooh! Maiden, take me! Oh…"

Music to my unholy ears. 

That entire night, he had no plan to let her leave. He had drunk potions needed to spill in her until the sun came up. 

He did just that.

####

As weeks passed, the rituals turned into something far more vulgar and basic. It was just sex for the sake of sex. All prayers were forgotten. They rutted whenever they wanted, or whenever he desired. She never refused, no matter the deed, her mouth, her cunt, the endless coiling of tongues, or even taking her ass once. She gave him everything with moans, smiles, and pure devotion. 

After all, Willas Tyrell was showing so much improvement that it had to be the Seven's blessing. And the one who bestowed it? Oh, Bronn was the very embodiment of the Seven in that castle. Alerie worshiped him, his cock, licked him like his skin oozed blessings. 

But there was another issue. Bronn started to get a feeling that Olenna Tyrell knew about his and Alerie's exchanges. While the older woman hadn't done anything yet, Bronn wanted to be prepared. 

That meant getting serious about magic. Other than bedding Alerie, Unella, and Malora separately, healing Willas, making potions, and healing smallfolk, he spent most of his time diving into those strange memories resting in a corner of his mind. 

Ugh… This is hell!

Diving into those memories was really not pleasing. It was rough. There was so much mind-breaking pain and torture. So often, the face of a disgustingly looking demon came, followed by pain. Masked people, some cloaked. Whoever bestowed him all that magic, he pitied them for having lived such a life of darkness and fear. 

Yet, between all those painful memories were hidden snippets of magic that he could learn. That was how he'd learned everything until now. But a key difference he had noticed was how the people in the memories used a stick to cast spells. And their spells had a greater scale than what he could do. 

Of course, he'd tried using sticks, but they never seemed to work. So, all the magic he could use required him to touch the target. Moreover, there were so many potions he'd learned but couldn't replicate, as he hadn't found the right alternatives. Whatever he had currently was made after countless nights of hard work.

Ah! There's one! 

Finally, he saw a small flicker of the memory owner's younger life. There, he found a spell that could levitate things. It was exciting, and he tried to learn it right away. It took him many nights to learn it, and as expected, without a stick, he couldn't make distant things levitate. 

However, once he had touched something and cast that levitation magic, he could float it around. The speed wasn't that great, but it was something. 

Following that was another amusing spell. It was also from the younger days of the memory owner. It could unlock doors and any lock out there. Truly useful and worthy of learning. Thankfully, this one didn't take that long to master. And as usual, he had to touch the door or the lock. 

With that, no door or chest was beyond him. 

Afterward, he found a spell that could mend broken things. The scale of the spell was massive, however. He saw the memory owner cast it on an entire ruined chamber. Everything just mended itself after that. 

Sadly, Bronn couldn't repeat that miracle. All he could do was mend things that he could touch. A small broken tool, key, or anything of tiny scale. 

It was still useful as a trick. 

Too bad, he couldn't find any fire magic to gather those fire worshippers in Essos. But there was something else as well. A magic that didn't need any spell. A magic that didn't need any stick. He saw the memory owner look into another's eyes and read all their thoughts, the whole mind.

Bronn was excited for it. He tried it on Malora and Unella, and Alerie whenever rutting her. But he never succeeded. He even tried it while kissing, in case physical touch was needed. He still couldn't do it. 

In the end, he gave up on it and just practiced what he had learned. 

And like that, four weeks passed. He knew Alerie was pregnant already, but it didn't stop him from savoring the finest the Reach had to offer. 

####

Olenna Tyrell knew it. She knew what was going on behind closed doors whenever Lord Septon and Alerie met to 'pray'. She knew it was disgusting, wrong, and yet she never uttered a word about it. 

She couldn't. She feared the man, for he had shown enough proof of his blessings, and now he even had a hundred armed men ready to die for him. She knew the numbers would grow. A new player had entered Westeros, and nobody had any idea. 

Beyond all that, she had another reason. She looked at her grandson walking without any aid. Without those hideous metal frames. She saw her grandson fold his knee and truly… truly walk. 

Lord Septon had done what he had promised. And now, she reckoned, Alerie was doing what was demanded in return. 

It was hard to reject common sense. Gods weren't real, or bothered with humans anymore, was her past belief. But now… she truly didn't know.

Besides, she found Alerie smiling more often. Whatever happened behind those doors, the girl liked it. It annoyed her, watching her own son act all toady, dancing around the Lord Septon, all the while the said man was most certainly fucking his wife.  

But again, she kept her concerns to herself. The Septon would leave eventually. If nobody was truly harmed, she could overlook this matter. As long as Willas walked normally, she was happy. 

Happy enough to arrive at the large arena set outside the castle to hold the massive tourney in honor of the Lord Septon and the healing of Willas, the official heir to Highgarden. 

So many smallfolk had arrived to watch. So many knights had also chosen to attend. The center of all attention was the Septon, however. Ailed men and women flocked to him, noble or not. During various tourney events, Mace always prepared a second chair as high as his own for the Lord Septon. 

All participants knelt to Lord Septon like he were the King. 

Olenna watched it all. It made her palms sweaty for some reason. The fame and the influence this single Septon had over the entire southern half of Westeros was immense. What shocked and scared her more was how true it was. How fanatic the people were. 

If it were the King sitting there, most men and women would have knelt just for the sake of it. But towards the Lord Septon, they showed absolute submission, smiles on their lips, some with tearful eyes. And whenever he created warm light from his palms, the entire masses knelt and cried. The smallfolk far outnumbered nobles, and she saw the possibility… a very dangerous one.

Olenna Tyrell gulped, seeing all that over the many days of the tourney. Oh, how oblivious the realm was. A beast greater than any dragon, any faith militia, walked amongst them. Yet no lord, no royal was worried. 

Woosh!

And finally, it was archery. She watched it with focus since Lord Septon himself was participating in it. All the other men had shot their arrows, and it was the Lord Septon's turn. But, for some reason, the man only held the arrow in his hand, no bow. 

"What?!"

Olenna almost jumped to stand up. Every other man, woman, and child there was doing the same. They watched as the lonesome arrow flew off Lord Septon's palm and struck the target dead at the center. It flew slow enough that they all got time to digest. 

Thud!

That loud noise earned her attention. She looked and found Mace on his knees, praying, crying. She looked around and sure enough, almost everyone was doing the same. Lords, knights, or smallfolk. 

The realm… will belong to him in a few years… if this continues. 

She watched the Lord Septon wave, take his earned prize in a pouch. Right then and there, the Lord Septon handed that reward of three thousand gold dragons to utterly poor-looking smallfolk in ragged and dirty clothes. 

During that entire time, the arena cheered, prayed, and sang songs of the Seven. 

Eventually, the Lord Septon left, walking out of the Arena, back towards the castle. She didn't fail to notice Alerie leaving as well. 

And all Olenna could do was… sigh. 

Fear, worry, anger, there was so much, yet no way to make sense of it. 

####

Plap! Plap! Plap!

"Gah! On knees!"

Bronn stopped pounding Alerie from behind and pulled out urgently. She was already pregnant, so he didn't bother finishing inside her always. Sometimes, it was a joy to watch her drink it all. 

"Yes, my Lord Septon."

She had started to use 'my' with his title. It was so warm and endearing that Bronn only needed that to get hard. Her submission was utterly delectable. 

"Ummmh~" Alerie gobbled down his fat cock, choking herself like he was divine fruit. 

What a view! 

Bronn took a deep breath, standing in that lush and green Godswood of Higharden. It was large, covered in trees, flowers, and even some friendly animals. 

Having fucked Alerie against a tree, and now feeling her suckle his cock, it was ravishing. He grabbed her head and helped her by fucking her face. She took him, used to it now. 

"Ugh… close!" 

With that warning, he blasted, pumping thick cream into her throat. She coughed, yet gulped it all down. He kept fucking her face, however, gushing spray after spray, painting her lips, her tongue, her jaw white with his climax. 

He fucked her face until he started to turn flaccid, at which point he stopped and let her suck him, lick him, and clean him with her warm tongue. He just watched her moan and lick him. 

It should be enough to have Malora join. 

"Mmmmh… I shall go first, my Lord Septon." Alerie rose with wobbly feet and wiped her face with a cloth she always kept ready for such occasions. 

"Aye, you go first." Bronn nodded and pulled his trousers up, tucking in his clean cock. He watched her walk away, the sway of her round hips already enticing him for that night's 'ritual'. 

Alone, he calmed his breath, enjoyed the warm breeze, and—

"Huh?"

With a jolt, he jumped around to look. He felt goosebumps all over himself, hair standing on end. He frowned and looked left and right, seeking the origin of that strange sensation, as if someone was watching him. 

But there was nobody. Just the large tree he fucked Alerie against, with its ancient, hideous carved face. There were three more of the same trees, but they had a face even more faded. 

What was that? 

In the end, he settled on just leaving the place and never taking the risk of fucking Alerie there again. 

Time to plan out that bloody castle for myself… uh, Sept of the Seven's Angel… that's more pious.