GOT: Rasputin of Westeros 11 - The Snake In The Garden

Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nHAdvmmObnQKzZxtonPos6b_sOt_i0R1az4Uh-40DXc/edit?usp=sharing

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It was hell for Cersei. The Red Keep had never felt so suffocating. Not only was Jaime suffering from the Seven's curse, but she was also supposed to stay away from men. Even her own husband. 

Thankfully, she was already pregnant with the gift of a beautiful daughter that the Lord Septon left in her womb. She used that as an excuse to keep Robert away. But that didn't mean her own desire was under control. 

More often than she liked to believe, she found her hands between her thighs. She slept each night moaning, touching herself. 

But she stayed true to the promise she had made to Lord Septon. She had no desire to anger the Seven's Angel anymore. Nor receive any more curses from the Seven. 

"Mmmm~"

#####

King Robert Baratheon was a happy man. He had a son, strong and growing well. His woman was already with another babe. Yet he failed to realize his own regression to his old self. With the reassurance of Cersei giving him another babe, he automatically assumed it would be a boy, securing his line even in the worst-case scenario. 

He never realized when those single goblets of wine became two, and then a dozen. He never realized when groping the maids turned into shoving his cock in their cunts. He had promised himself to leave his son a healthy, strong realm behind. 

Yet there he was, in his large private chamber, drinking, two mouths latched on his cock. He was addicted to this feeling. He hated working. He was ready to raise his hammer again, but the realm wanted an envoy, which he wasn't. 

"Seven Hells! Stop using them teeth!"

In fact, it had gotten worse than before. He no longer attended the Small Council and left the entire matter of Elia and her son to Jon. He had tried to be the planner, wise King, and he hated it. 

"Aaaah… That's it! Take it deeper! Suck on your King's cock!"

To anyone watching, the sight was sad and disappointing. All the victory speeches, all the loud proclamations during the rebellion. 

They all meant nothing. Just another King, just another era of the realm rotting.

####

It was Bronn's second time approaching the magnificent castle of Highgarden. Three rings of white stone walls, each increasing in height as the castle sat atop a hill, were as imposing as they were beautiful. The castle itself was absolutely massive in size. 

And more than that, the absolute greenery around it, the river Mander, and the sunny weather made it all even better. 

Now this is a castle, by the Seven. 

Heck, the castle looked more like a fortress city, but Bronn knew that it was still a castle. It was the residence of House Tyrell, and anyone not without Tyrell in name inside was a servant. The castle alone had its own economy based on various fruits and flowers that grew inside.

Maybe I should raise me a castle. Seven knows, foolish Lords will pay for it, and my faithful can stack the stones. Bronn pondered. Of course, it would be called Sept of the Seven's Angel, not a castle. 

Thankfully, this time there were no sudden stoppages. With six Angelic Knights guarding his wheelhouse, the journey was smooth for the most part. And before long, the knights of House Tyrell came out to greet him and escort him. 

Surprisingly, there was no Mace Tyrell this time. But there were a few men with Tyrell in their names. 

"May the Seven's light guide us!" Bronn stepped out of the wheelhouse to greet his escort. 

Instantly, the escort of ten knights knelt to him and repeated Bronn's greeting. They were clearly told to do this to stroke his ego. Not that he minded it. 

"Lord Septon, I'm Ser Leo Tyrell, son of Ser Victor Tyrell, a distant cousin to Lord Mace."

"I'm Ser Olymer Tyrell, Lord Septon, son of Ser Quentin Tyrell, cousin of Lord Mace. My father perished during the Battle of Ashford."

Then a third man voiced. "I'm Ser Theodore Tyrell, son of Ser Luthor Tyrell, first cousin of Lord Mace."

Bronn already expected that. House Tyrell was big and quite spread out. It had a lot of knights in the main and junior branches. House Tyrell also regularly sent their boys to become maesters at the Citadel. 

All that made them a prime target for Bronn. They were religious, and more than that, they wanted to appear zealously holy and pious. Heck, the entire Reach was prime lands for him to recruit knights and septas, as Reach Houses were the ones most involved and supportive of the Faith Militant during its height. Heck, the head of his current, small Angelic Knights was Erren Florent, a Reach House, one of the main houses sworn to the Tyrells. The man joined his services because he healed his father after the fool lethally fell from a horse.

"War…" Bronn sighed, entering his wise, holy persona with ease. He walked closer to the three kneeling knights of House Tyrell and showed his flat hand to their heads. Next instant, light flashed from his palm. Warm, bright, and undoubtedly holy to them. 

“The Seven take husbands from wives, fathers from children, sons from mothers. A costly trade, war. Rise, good knights.”

As expected, the three Tyrell knights and the seven others they had brought were frozen on the ground, gawking at the bright light on Bronn's palm. Their eyes were wide, some were on the verge of crying like they had just been kissed by the Mother herself. 

The Angelic Knights weren't moved; however, used to Bronn's miracles. But they still hummed prayers under their helmets while on horseback, one hand on their chest and the other on the hilt of their swords.

Finally, when Bronn stopped the light show, the Tyrell knights woke up from their stupor and stood up. 

"We'll lead you into the castle, Lord Septon."

And they did just that. Forming two columns of five each, they rode in front of his wheelhouse. The Angelic Knights stayed behind and on the sides. 

Inside the wheelhouse, Bronn ceased all the unholy activities, had Malora and Unella make each other proper, their attire and hair as well. Then they used some perfume to remove that strong scent of sex. 

By the time their carriage moved through the first wall, they were ready to meet the members of House Tyrell. Between the outer wall and the middle wall was an enormous labyrinth, but he was guided through a planned pathway. 

Seven cunts! They went all out welcoming me!

As soon as his wheelhouse rolled through the final wall of the castle, he was greeted by the scent of flowers. The wide road was stunning, with beds of flowers on each side. The buildings, however, were manned by women, children, and men, all throwing flower petals to welcome him. 

There were flags all across the street, alternating between Tyrell flags and the flag of his cult, all fluttering in the wind. Knights stood on the sides of the roads in salute, fully armored with ceremonial lances. 

Slowly, a few more gates were crossed, and finally, his wheelhouse stopped at the main keep of House Tyrell within the massive castle complex. From the window of his carriage, he could already see the lineup, Mace Tyrell standing giddily in expensive robes.

Hmm… As beautiful as the rumors said. 

Bronn's eyes fell on the woman standing beside Mace, however. Alerie Tyrell, once a Hightower. She looked like an older, refined, mature version of Lynesse, but with silver hair instead of blonde. She was tall and looked rather dignified with her stoic expressions; her high cheekbones, sharp lashes, and intelligent eyes told him she was no fool. 

However, there stood another creature even before Mace Tyrell. She was older than all of them; her hair was greying, but still held onto her youth as plenty of strands were light brown. She was a small woman; at best, she would reach his chest. He had to agree, she was still a beauty, if not in the last years of that said beauty. In her late fifties, wrinkles had started to appear on her forehead, around the corners of her eyes, which revealed how much she probably smiled. Same for some wrinkles at the corners of her lips. 

Still fuckable… for a year or two, at least. 

Yes, Bronn the Blessed just thought of fucking Olenna Tyrell. But he was careful about it. He was wary of this woman. She stood out despite her tiny physical stature. There was a wise glint in her gaze, like she saw through him. She clearly didn't believe in him or in his abilities currently. And she was already known in the realm for being cunning, outspoken about her opinions, and for having a rather sharp tongue.

Once he stepped out of the wheelhouse, he gave a hand to his stunning septas, Unella and Malora, helping them out. 

Finally, he turned back towards the Tyrell family and solemnly strolled to greet Olenna Tyrell. The woman was eying him the entire time, keeping a fake smile. When he reached her, she just raised a hand. 

Bronn smiled, bowed, and kissed the back of her hand, his lips brushing it longer than a holy man should. "By the Seven, the older the wine, the sweeter the grace. An honor to meet you, Lady Olenna Tyrell."

"Hah!" Olenna gave a dry chuckle. "So your tongue’s as clever with flattery as it is with your holy sermons, is it?"

"All’s a blessing, my Lady. The Seven’s blessing," Bronn replied and turned to Mace Tyrell. The fat man wasn't tall, already balding, and absolutely unworthy of someone like Alerie. The Seven must have been jesting when they matched her with him, Bronn thought, as Mace bent deep and clutched Bronn’s hands as if the gods themselves sat between them.

But Bronn knew better. Mace was once handsome and powerful-looking. Those days were long past, however. 

"Lord Septon!" Mace Tyrell cried, almost, shaking Bronn's hands. "The Seven smile upon Highgarden this day! Your presence alone could make the roses bloom anew!"

Bronn forced a smile. “Aye, the Seven favor this place well enough. Highgarden shines with fine weather, fat fields, and a castle fit for song. Its Lord proud and strong too, or so the smallfolk whisper. Even Oldtown’s a sight to behold, clean and wholesome beside the stink of King’s Landing. The Reach is kissed by every grace the Gods can spare.”

As expected, Mace Tyrell broke into a wide grin, like Bronn's words were directly for him to bask in. But that was an illusion that Bronn didn't mind maintaining. 

"Yes, yes, the Reach is blessed. Let me introduce you to my family, Lord Septon." Mace Tyrell pointed to his wife. "This is the lady of the house, the mother of my children, Alerie Tyrell." 

A sight to behold, truly. 

Bronn shifted to stand before Alerie. He kissed the back of her hand, a blink longer, feeling the softness of her skin. Then he looked at her face, ravishing, clearly younger than her lord husband. In that luxurious silk gown, not much could be seen, other than the pale flesh of her chest, thanks to that wide neck. He noticed her teats; they were large. Rather, her entire body was shapely, carved, and curved by four childbirths. 

In truth, Bronn had plans for Highgarden; he just didn't know which woman he'd take under himself, literally and figuratively. Now, after seeing Alerie, he knew the answer. However, she was too hard to read. Her expressions barely changed from that fake, simple smile. Her deep blue eyes did reveal some curiosity, however. 

"Lord Leyton mentioned you often, my Lady," Bronn said, his gaze sliding to the left where a dark-haired young boy stood, shy and curious, his left leg braced in fine metal frames, a small cane in his hand. "The Seven do love their trials, but it seems they’ve lent an ear to yours at last."

Right then, for a short moment, Alerie's expressions changed from stoic to hopeful. And that was all Bronn needed to know what would move this woman into his arms and shadow.

"Indeed, Lord Septon!" Mace said brightly. "My good son Willas, poor boy, suffered at the hands of those dreadful Dornishmen. But that’s all behind us now."

Bronn nodded and knelt on one knee to be at face level with Willas. He shook the boy's hand. "Does it hurt?"

Willas nervously looked at his mother first and then nodded meekly. "S-Sometimes."

"Is it hurting now?"

"It is… Lord Septon."

Nodding, Bronn looked behind at Malora. Right away, his proud potionmaster Septa took out a tiny vial from her small emergency pouch and handed it over. 

Bronn uncorked the vial and gave it to the boy. "Drink this, son."

"Drink it!" Mace almost shouted. 

Willas flinched and did as ordered. He took the vial and downed it all in one gulp. Clearly, Willas wasn't new to medicine, so he had scrunched his face, expecting something bitter. But that never happened. 

"Does it hurt now?" Bronn asked. 

Young Willas frowned and moved his braced leg, making the metal frames clutter. Then he moved it a lot, making noise. 

"I-It doesn't! It doesn’t hurt at all! Feels so good! Mother! Look, I can walk so fast!" 

Willas quickly started walking back and forth, showing how good he felt. And it seemed that was a big thing because Alerie's eyes moistened, and her hand covered her mouth. Mace was gawking, and Olenna Tyrell just stared dumbly. 

Eventually, Willas walked back to Bronn and, surprising even the seasoned Septon, jumped to hug him. 

This…

Bronn was used to it. Women and children often embraced him after receiving magical cures from him. But this… he felt a tinge of guilt. There he was plotting some devious things for the boy's house and mother. 

Yet, at the end of the day, they were all nobles. Pitying them was akin to carving 'fool' on his own forehead. But still, he made up his mind to at least treat Alerie right as long as she submitted to him the way he wanted. As for the boy, he'd heal him and keep him loyal to Seven's Angel. If he turned rogue one day, a little spider or a fly would do the job of the Seven's Curse. 

"I cannot vow you’ll ride or run again till I’ve seen the wound proper," Bronn said, laying a hand on Willas’ shoulder. "But by the Seven, you won't suffer in pain again."

"Thank you! Thank you so much, my Lord!" Willas squealed with excitement.

Following that, Bronn met with Garlan Tyrell, another brown-haired boy, handsome and tall for his age. For some reason, the boy hugged him as well. At that point, Bronn wondered if Mace had instructed them to do that. 

And that doubt became certainty when he met two-year-old Loras Tyrell. The boy was far too young to remember instructions and only hugged when Garlan patted Loras's back. Following that was one-year-old Margaery, but she was too young, and a maid held her up in her arms. He just greeted her with a pat on the head.

After that, he met some other Tyrells, cousins of Mace, distant lines of House Tyrell. There were too many, but Bronn made sure to remember most of them, especially the women, hoping to find more loyal septas. He already marked one Victaria Tyrell, of age and quite stunning, tall with dark hair. 

Eventually, after greeting them all, Mace led him into the main keep. 

The decorations could only be described as absurd. The wealth showcased there was like nothing else. Even the Red Keep paled in comparison. The main keep had so many ornate armors in showcases, expensive carpets everywhere, shields on the walls, decorations everywhere, gold or silver, nothing less. 

Even more surprising was how each corner of the castle had flowers, singers, pipers, or harpers, making soothing music. 

The more Bronn experienced the Tyrell life, the firmer his belief became. He had to bring House Tyrell under his influence. A level even greater than the Hightowers. He wanted the Tyrells to be his zealots. To a degree that any word against him would be heresy to them.

At last, he was ushered into a massive hall. An unusually long table sat in the middle of it, covered in golden and silver cutlery, the floor carpeted, the chairs plush with silk-covered seat cushions. Servants were busy decorating the food on the table, and of course, there were flowers here and there. 

The entire long table could seat at least thirty people. 

In mere moments, he was guided by Mace Tyrell to a seat. The table was long, but it wasn't that broad, which ensured that people sitting face to face could still talk to each other. And since that was the case, Bronn was given the head chair at one of the longer sides. The chair stood out, slightly bigger and more decorated than the rest. Unella sat on his right and Malora on his left. 

Mace Tyrell took the head chair on the other side, Olenna on his left, and Alerie and the kids on the right. The rest of the chairs were occupied by other members of the House Tyrell considered worthy of eating there. 

What followed was a lunch of luxury that Bronn had never seen in his life. He wondered if this was common or a special occasion. There were just so much of so many types. Any kind of meat he could think of was there. 

And as he ate, they all talked. 

"I've heard about the House of Seven Blessings. A fine place, truly fine. I paid a visit to Oldtown while you were off in King’s Landing. And by the Mother’s mercy, everyone from the maesters to the bakers missed you dearly!"

"Aye, I’m aware, my Lord. But there’s only me and my two septas. Even if I brew enough draughts, there aren’t nearly enough hands to give them out safely. Moreover, I'll have to guard the one handing cures, as my personal experience tells me that not all take delight in the Seven's blessings."

"Such a pity," Olenna murmured. "Now, Lord Septon, indulge me. What wonders has the Mother blessed you with? They say you saved the prince and filled the bellies of the hungry. You must forgive my curiosity; it does tend to wander."

Bronn maintained a solemn smile, aware that she didn't believe in him fully. "His Grace should thank the Seven, for he sent Ser Barristan soon enough. Had I come a day later, the babe would be dust and prayers. Yet Prince Steffon lives, strong as any lad. And I feed the hungry, not the smallfolk. The Gods care little for titles, and so do I. Nobles or beggars, I mend what I can."

Just from their faces, Bronn could tell they didn't give two shits about the smallfolk. To them, the smallfolk were less than horses and sheep. They were blind, unable to see the value that the smallfolk created. Like most powerful, ancient noble houses, the Tyrells prided themselves on being above the rest. 

"Yes, yes, quite right! The Seven watch over us all, highborn and low alike," Mace Tyrell blurted, unknown if he believed his own words. "But I'm curious. Did His Grace reward you for your holy blessing?"

“Your question holds its own answer, my Lord. The Seven laid the task upon me, plain as dawn. Their blessing was the duty, and I took it. His Grace tried to weigh it with gold and promises, but I’ve no purse for such gifts. I take only what the faithful give with clean hearts, and only if it fills the bellies of those who’ve none.”

Mace Tyrell nodded profusely, his double chin wobbling. 

Creak!

That was when Bronn wiped his mouth and stood up, done with the meal. However, he still had one last task. One last show of grace that would solidify his presence in their minds. And having so many Tyrells around, it was the best moment. 

As usual, he raised his right palm up and then closed his eyes. Then his lips made a prayer, loud, masculine voice filled with reverence and confidence. 

"I thank the Seven for this meal,
I'll pray their blessings come soon to heal.
May this gathering bring the needed zeal,
That is our duty, to Seven our appeal."

Absolute silence followed that short prayer. Bronn opened his eyes, maintaining that blessed, bright magical light on his right palm. It was real, it was warm, and it was bright. Of course, everyone on that table had heard the rumors, but it was also easy to dismiss them as a trick while sitting so far away. 

But now, right before their eyes, with eyes all around, it was impossible to dismiss. Nor could it be a trick, for there was no cable, no lantern that bright without a flicker. 

This should do the fucking trick. 

Bronn eyed Olenna; her eyes were agape, threatening to fall out. The spoonful she was going to eat was halfway to her mouth, still frozen there. Mace was like his mother, but more expressive, smiling, gleeful, and excited. Meanwhile, Alerie Tyrell had already clasped her hands, closed her eyes to pray. 

A look around, the entire table was either praying or gawking. Even Willas followed his mother to close his eyes and pray. The other younger children just waited, unable to fully grasp how magical a feat this was. 

Bronn coughed to wake them up. "My Lord, I would like to rest. May I be guided to my resting abode?"

"Yes? Ah! Yes, yes, of course, Lord Septon!" Mace shouted and jumped from his seat to roar at a nearby servant. 

Bronn maintained a soft smile and left. But only Unella followed him, as Malora wanted to stay and speak with Alerie. They were sisters, after all, and Alerie was born right after Malora, so they were rather close. 

Going to be an interesting night for them.

Holding back a chuckle, Bronn left the Tyrells to their thoughts. 

####

How did he do that? 

Olenna Tyrell couldn't fall asleep that night. She rolled left and right in her large bed, all alone. Her mind constantly replayed the memory of that magical light. It shook her, the display of such an unknown and unimaginable feat. It clashed with her common sense. 

At first, she was ready to dismiss the so-called Bronn the Blessed. She had seen his face, and she saw nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a man with a somewhat sly face, not that handsome, simply average, or a step above. He was tall and well-built, but nothing that would suggest divinity or holiness. 

Yet, the moment he spoke that prayer and his palm burned in light, everything changed. His appearance no longer seemed ordinary, but rather a disguise. A disguise to hide the blessings. If he were as handsome as Rhaegar, the realm's men would've hunted him down.

As he was now, it allowed his blessings to speak for him, not his looks. 

Yet, she felt frustrated. She'd seen the miracle, and she still found herself questioning it. It felt as if her sense of reality was challenged. 

And she hated it when she couldn't find answers.

If he can heal Willas… Yes, I shall wait.

####

Mace wasn't like his mother. Critical thinking was a myth to him. He was a man driven by emotions, pride of being a Tyrell, and ambitions. To him, seeing Lord Septon's blessing light was enough. He never had any doubts, and if there were any, they were now gone. 

"Seven above, I thank you for this blessing! Truly, your light shines bright upon House Tyrell today. You’ve sent your holy angel right to my doorstep. I… I'll treat Lord Septon right." Mace prayed nonstop in the Sept. "And, ah, do pardon my wife, Alerie’s gone to see her sister, that devout Septa in your angel's service..."

Mace Tyrell wasn't aware. But he was just one step away from turning into a creature even the Faith Militant of old would have feared. 

A zealous follower of Seven's Angel, a zealous one like none other. 

####

It was still daylight, and Alerie took her elder sister outside to the garden of flowers. There, the two sisters sat down on a bench, close, holding each other's hands. 

"Oh, where do I even begin, Alerie? Life has been glorious beyond words. The Lord Septon opened my eyes to truths I never dreamed of. I used to chase whispers of magic, and now I breathe it. He showed me the light…"

From the beginning, one thing was clear to Alerie; her sister was completely devoted to the Lord Septon. Every line she spoke invoked him in one way or another. 

"That's… wonderful, Malora. But I… also heard about… you having a son?"

"Of course I do! I begged Lord Septon for it, and Father said yes, so long as the Gods made him tall like the Baratheon King, wise as Uthor, and mighty as a bull. And the hair red as flame!" Malora confessed right away. "He was beautiful, truly he was."

"And you left him?"

"I never sought a child, only the touch of the Lord Septon’s divine gift. He said the Maiden herself blessed him to grant any woman her heart’s desire. A son or daughter, beauty or wit, strength or grace—everything. When I felt it take root in me, I knew it was true. And Father loved him the moment he saw him."

Alerie frowned, finding it hard to believe that her father agreed to all that, but she already knew it was all true. She didn't know the details, however, about the Lord Septon's gifts. It was hard to believe, yet after seeing his light at the table, she didn't know what to believe.

"Can he…" She decided to ask Malora the real question. "Can he heal Willas? He's my firstborn and…"

"He can, I know it," Malora said, her voice trembling with zeal. 

She caught Alerie’s hand, pressing it close.“Lord Septon told me himself, he’s only beginning to understand the depth of the Mother and Maiden’s blessing. Healing is but a sliver of it. I… I’m trembling to see what other wonders he’ll reveal. Alerie, believe me, have faith—submit to Lord Septon, and he’ll make your deepest dreams come alive. His blessings forge destinies, and his curses can end them.”

Alerie stared at her zealous sister's excited face. She could see, Malora was completely serious. Malora believed what she was saying. And truth be spoken, she felt like she believed her as well. 

"What do you mean by… submit?"

"I cannot say yet. You’ll ask him to heal Willas, and he will have to reach beyond the veil, beg the Seven to turn Their eyes. Do you know what that means? It means defying Their will, tearing at the seams of fate. Without him, Willas would remain bound to earth, but if he is healed, he will soar, a ruler healed by divine hands. You’re not asking for mercy, Alerie… you’re asking to unmake destiny itself, and that demands sacrifice, submission, and the holy rites."

The truth was, Bronn had never asked Malora to persuade Alerie to do anything. He had only told Malora to be truthful with her sister. Malora truly believed in everything she was saying. They were all her own words. 

And Alerie could see that. Her jaw tightened, and she looked down at her hand in Malora's grasp. She pondered on what Malora just said, and yes, it was true. What she hoped for was akin to changing Willas' destiny. After all, the healing wouldn't be a natural act but rather a magical blessing. And it was a fact as old as time, when the Gods give something, they also take. 

"I… understand."

To that, Alerie found her elder sister taking her in her embrace. 

"Oh, Alerie. Don't be so timid. Don’t shrink away when he calls for the toll. Willas’ fate is his to weave, and the Seven guide his hand. Can’t you feel it? He’s their Angel."

Alerie just nodded; her innate personality was like that. Not as expressive, more of a silent, calm, and stoic type. 

####

Bronn woke up early that morning as the task ahead was arduous. He slept alone, maintaining a respectable distance from Malora and Unella as he was certain the walls had ears, and possibly eyes. It was the home of Tyrells, and it was impossible for someone like Olenna not to hear everything. 

"Malora, stock the rejuvenation potion, calming draught, and prepare the bone mending potion I brewed in King’s Landing," Bronn ordered Malora while Unella helped him into his noble robes. "Unella, you’ll join me in prayer. When I speak a verse, you’ll keep the words humming low till I give the next. The Seven like their echoes."

The two septas nodded firmly, serious in their roles. 

Finally, once Unella tied his seven-colored belt, he strolled out of the bedchamber. Not so surprised, he found Mace Tyrell waiting for him there, eager to guide him to Willas' bedchamber. Heck, there were six knights guarding them, as if scared that someone would harm him.

Eventually, after just a short walk, they arrived inside a decently large room, a bedchamber on the ground floor. It was large, filled with book cabinets, a wheeled chair, some toys, and of course, a bed where Willas rested. 

Alerie sat right beside her son, and Olenna was standing close to the edge. There were a few more House Tyrell men and women present. There were no other children.

"May the Seven's light guide us!" Bronn calmly inched towards the bed. He noticed Olenna's tired face, same for Alerie. 

Must have been one thought-provoking night.

In comparison, Mace Tyrell looked happy as a puppy. 

He spoke with nobody and approached the empty side of the bed. He sat down on the edge and patted Willas' shoulder. The boy was nervous, and it showed on his face. 

"Remove the breeches," he said, eyeing Alerie. "Seven help us if I’m right. Two years’s too long, and the bones may’ve healed as twisted as a sinner’s path."

Of course, Willas was embarrassed. But Alerie personally removed her son's breeches, leaving only smallclothes to help his modesty. 

Seven whores in a fucking sept! 

Bronn cursed at the sight. The leg was broken in two places, it appeared. Thankfully, nothing above the knee, though the knee itself was broken. Whichever maester gave the first aid, the man clearly tried his best, as the leg seemed mostly fine other than a few deformities. 

Finally, he caressed the leg, feeling where the bone deformed unnaturally. He let out a long sigh now and then, frowning the whole time. Then he pinched here and there to check if Willas could still feel things. He asked the boy to move his toes, and he did.

"Aye, only a miracle can heal this," he muttered, eyeing Mace. "Picture a vase cracked and patched with the wrong shards. To make it whole again, you'd have to break it proper first."

"Y-You will break his leg?!" Olenna Tyrell asked, her tone sharp, pitch high. 

Bronn nodded. “If the whole leg were dead, the Seven themselves couldn’t wake it. No feeling, no movement, no life. But this—this I can mend, by the grace of the Seven. He’ll walk, run, even ride again. Not soon, mind you. Two weeks in bed, then a slow month learning the steps once more. Think of that leg as a babe learning to walk while the rest of him’s already grown.”

There was silence. Mace, Alerie, and Olenna looked at each other alternatively, as if seeking approval. 

"Do it." Olenna finally spoke when nobody else did. "We sought you for your grace in healing. To waver now would be to question the will of the Seven."

Oh? I hear progress. I've entered her mind, it seems.

"Very well." Bronn looked at Willas. "Fear not, son. You'll be unconscious during the healing. The Seven don’t fancy listening to a child’s screams. When you wake, there’ll be pain, but don’t stir that leg. It’ll be bound straight, by Their mercy."

"I understand." Willas innocently nodded. 

Quickly, Bronn received a vial from Malora. It was small and its contents were even less. He made Willas drink it. It took some time, but Willas eventually fell unconscious. Bronn made sure of it. 

"Please stand away from the bed, all of you. You can watch, but you must not interfere and anger the Gods." Bronn started preparing the leg. Even he was nervous as he was supposed to break the leg precisely. "You'll hear bones cracking. It'll make your skin crawl. You must not approach!"

At Bronn's stern warning, the Tyrells nervously stood away from the bed. Mace gripped his mother's arm, leaving Alerie to just fold her arms alone, as if hugging herself nervously. 

####

Without wasting time, Bronn knelt steadily on the bed beside Willas' leg. He then placed his hands on the precise location he wanted to break. It wasn't going to be easy, but magic was going to help. 

"Father, guide these trembling hands,
To set the bone as mercy demands.
Mother, lend your tender grace,
To soothe the pain on this young face."

Crack!

"Smith, grant strength where sinew frays,
Mend his limb through all your ways.
Maiden bright, guard dreams this night,
Till dawn restores his soul to light."

Crack!

With that, the first part was done. The rest was rather easy, but he didn't want to do it so fast. He could heal the boy's broken leg right away. It would take less than an hour. However, the bit about Willas having to stay in bed and then slowly getting used to walking was true. 

"Malora."

Malora handed him an ointment. As he applied it, he prayed more with longer breaks, allowing Unella to repeat the same in hums, making the mood in the bedchamber calm and holy.

Just like that, an hour passed. Finally, Bronn placed his hand on the broken leg and focused on the exact magical spell from the messed up memories. All he had to do was channel the memory in his mind like it was his own. 

And then…

Hmm… That was fast. 

He could feel with his touch. The broken bone was mended at magical speed. Then he repeated it with the second spot and healed it. 

"The Grace has been received,
The blessing has been weaved.
The needy have learned the lesson,
The rest is the will of the holy Seven."

At last, he moved his hands away and tied the leg using straight wooden sticks. It was crude, but it was needed for at least a day to ensure Willas wouldn't ruin the healing. 

Done with the healing, he shifted off the bed and glanced at Alerie. "The Mother above does the mending, aye, but it’s the mother who must do the pleading as well. Lady Alerie, remain and pray with me. Clear the room, all of you. Let the Mother hear quiet."

Not a single voice of refusal came. Malora and Unella led all the Tyrells out of the bedchamber before closing it. Bronn then went to that door and locked it, taking no risks. 

Finally, he turned to look at Alerie Tyrell, a mature beauty with the grace of a queen. Sharp facial features, gorgeous silver hair tied in a lone braid. She stood tall, proud, and her body was a sight, with a thin waist and flared out hips, her breasts supple enough that the soft cleavage teased him to erection. 

"I'm prepared, Lord Septon."

"..."

Huh? For what?

"Prepared?" He asked. 

"To pay the toll. I am prepared to accept the Seven’s will." Alerie spoke firmly, yet her eyes looked elsewhere. "Malora has spoken to me… I place my faith in you, and in the Seven who guide you."

Malora did what? Seven whores, I've no idea. 

Keeping a confident smile, Bronn walked over to the woman who deserved far better than the fat oaf she was stuck with. He raised both his hands, requesting hers silently. He smiled brighter when Alerie laid her soft hands on his. 

"I know not what Malora whispered to you, my Lady, but yielding before the demand is known serves no wisdom," he said, massaging her soft fingers. "A breeze bows flowers. A gale tears oaks. Every push earns a pull. Every gift takes its due. The Seven’s work needs recompense. My Lady, your youngest must serve Them."

Alerie became silent for a very long time, as if she failed to understand the meaning behind his words. He was asking her to give up her youngest, Margaery Tyrell. 

"No!" She yanked her hands away from his grasp. "No! Please, no! Anything but that! No, I won't!"

Expected that much. 

Truth was, he really didn't want to take away her youngest. He was no babysitter. He had no reason to take Margaery. But asking for that was a rather easy way to bring Alerie to the outcome he truly wanted.

Bronn frowned, glanced towards the bed, and then back at Alerie. She hadn't shown emotions until now, but now she looked truly terrified. 

"So, serving the Gods cuts too deep for you?" Bronn muttered, his jaw tight. "Becoming a Septa’s a blessing, not a wound. The Seven gave you life and a son, and you’d keep their due?"

"Please, Lord Septon. I beg you, there must be a way," Alerie pleaded. 

That bad, eh? Shits, don't they send boys to become maesters often? 

"Silence, let me think." He snapped, folding his arms and shutting his eyes. His brow creased as he muttered a prayer too low to hear. At last, he looked at her again. “The Gods are wroth, though the Mother still pities you. They’ll have their Tyrell, make no mistake. If not one that exists, then by the Seven’s will, you’ll birth one by their grace.”

Alerie didn't hide her emotions anymore. With confusion in her eyes, she inquired. "Lord Septon?"

“The Seven see fit to fill your womb with their blessing. “You’ll keep the babe, raise it gentle, for it’ll be the Seven’s Gift, and a Tyrell, proud and hale," Bronn explained, noticing her expression change. “A Tyrell is mended, and a Tyrell is demanded. The choice is yours, my Lady, give them your youngest, or bear their will yourself.”

Bronn already knew that she was probably ready to spread her legs to him. Malora must have hinted at that without realizing. But to bear his seed, that must be—

"I'll do it."

"..."

It took Bronn everything to remain still. To not appear surprised. She agreed so quickly. 

“The Seven won’t be rushed,” he explained. “A week at least, and in silence, for the babe must wear the Tyrell name.”

Alerie Tyrell nodded, back to being her stoic self. "I understand."

Fucking hell, then why waste time? We got a few hours. 

He gave a quick glance at the unconscious boy, and then looked back at the gorgeous Lady of House Tyrell. "Take a seat."

Without wasting time, he gently walked to her and pushed her by her shoulders into the luxurious settee, a three-seater with silken green and golden coverings.  He made sure she was fully relaxed on it, her back plush against the backrest. 

"The Gods must feel your motherhood first."

Then he fell to his knees, eyes never leaving Alerie's deeper blue ones. He was just admiring what he was about to feast on. By putting a seed in her secretly, he'd have House Tyrell's future matriarch under his thumb by the mere fact of the massive secret they would share. 

I'll treat you right, if you submit right. 

Eyes watery, Alerie Tyrell stared at the man she had only met yesterday. Yet she didn't feel it was wrong. She felt this right, his right, and her rite. That this was her duty to her house, to her loved ones. She had to do this.

Alerie nodded slowly, her chest rising with a deep, steadying breath as she convinced herself this was the path ordained by the Seven. The shame that had burned in her at first now simmered into a quiet acceptance. A submission to the Gods' will for her son's healing demanded it, and if this Septon was their vessel, yielding to him was yielding to divine mercy.

Bronn knelt in front of her and lifted her gown, silken and dark brown with golden embroidery that caught the light like threads of sunlight, beautiful yet not overly heavy as it whispered against her skin. As he bunched the fabric upward, his gaze feasted on her creamy pale legs, spotless as if she'd been cradled on feathers her entire life, no mark or injury, no scrapes that marred most folk who'd known the world's rough edges.

Her thighs could crush a man's skull, and he'd die grinning, heh…

"Hold it, my Lady," he muttered low, a rumble that sent a forbidden shiver through her.

Shamelessly, he guided Alerie's hands to grasp her own gown, pushing the silken folds higher onto her lap until her entire legs lay nude before him, plush and soft, perfectly fitting for a mother who'd borne heirs with grace. He drank in the deep valley between them, her smallcloth a thin barrier, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the warmth it guarded.

Yet he didn't try to remove them, yet. He wanted to tease her a little, to watch the flush creep up her neck as the heat built, her body betraying her with every subtle shift.

Alerie gazed at her sleeping son, his tiny chest rising peacefully, then down at Bronn, who knelt between her legs like a septon at an altar. Something simmered in her eyes, a resolute spark as she reminded herself this was for her son and family, the cost of being blessed by the Gods. A sacrifice she would bear with grace.

"Oh, Mother, accept this offering, may this gift be a new spring," he spoke with solemn intonation, his hands already itching to claim more.

With that, Bronn grabbed her right leg, raised it gently yet firmly, and kissed her ankle with a slow, deliberate press of his lips. He left a trail of kisses, loud, sucking, and wet. Up her shins, over her knee, and onto her inner thigh, his breath hot against her skin. Then he repeated it with the other leg, each touch lingering.

It tickled Alerie at first, a feather-light prickle that made her almost whimper. Her lips pursed tight against the sound, but as his lips met her bare skin, they felt rough yet insistent, evoking a shameful heat that pooled low in her belly. When his tongue flicked out to lick her inner thighs. It was slick and probing, a slow, moist drag that lit sparks in her core, leaving her flesh glistening and sensitive. 

When their gazes met, she felt exposed, vulnerable, yet oddly anchored, making her submission feel like a holy surrender.

Finally, Bronn nestled his face between her thighs and started furiously licking and kissing there, both thighs trembling under his assault, all the way to her covered core, where he pressed his mouth without mercy. 

He licked the thin veil of her smallclothes, flat-tongued and insistent, dampening her smallclothes with his spit until the fabric was soaked through, the pressure teasing the hidden folds beneath.

Gods, I can smell her ripening already!

She was dry until then, but no more. She felt the warmth of his spit seeping through, mingling with her body's heat, a slick betrayal that made her shudder from head to toe. She almost moaned, the sound bubbling up like a forbidden prayer, both her hands flying to cover her mouth as her hips twitched involuntarily.

"Oh, Maiden, your flower shall bloom, bless her, take away her gloom," his words vibrated against her skin.

Finally, he gripped her smallcloth, hands sliding to her waist on either side. Tugging at the ties as his fingers grazed her smooth hips. He looked at her, as if asking a question he already knew the answer to.

Alerie nodded, her breath catching, and raised her hips a little, letting him remove the flimsy barrier with a slow, deliberate pull that exposed her completely to his gaze.

Mmmm! What fucking sin! She’s prepared for this!

To his shock, he found Alerie drooling from her lower lips, her pubes trimmed to the skin. Bare and inviting as if she'd readied herself for this offering, knowing full well what she was surrendering to him and the Gods.

And that made him so much more hungry, as if the Gods were teasing him with this noblewoman's secret eagerness, her body already weeping in anticipation.

"Let the Maiden's nectar flow.”

Finally, Bronn drowned his face in her cunt, throwing both her legs over his shoulders, loving the warmth of her squishy thighs clenching around him as he buried himself in her heat. 

He widened his tongue to pry apart her folds, the slick petals parting under the flat pressure as he delved deeper. The tip of his tongue slowly inched into her warm, moist core, swirling and probing the tight channel that quivered around him. He could feel her tremble from his slithering tongue, her body arching involuntarily as he lathered his spit around her vulva. He teased her sensitive bundle of nerves with flicking laps that made it swell and throb, the musky sweetness of her arousal coating his mouth like sinful honey.

Alerie whimpered softly at first, the sound muffled behind her hand, but as his tongue plunged deeper, she squealed uncontrollably. “Umph~” 

That’s it, just let go. Sing for me like a whore in heat.

She shifted restlessly on the settee, her thighs hugging his head tighter in a desperate embrace. Her one hand covered her lips to stifle the cries bubbling up while the other clawed at his hair. Fingers tangling and tugging before she caught herself and released, only to do it again moments later as waves of shameful pleasure crashed through her.

Bronn groaned into her pussy, the vibration rumbling through her core as he savored her juices. The sensations drove him wild with triumph. She was the Lady of House Tyrell, perhaps a notch below the Queen, but it still gave him the high he sought. Another victory, another conquest.

Gods, she tastes like wealth and petals...

Eventually, Alerie couldn’t hold on anymore. Her body was trembling nonstop, hips bucking as ecstasy ripped through her, eyes watery with utter bliss that blurred the chamber around her. Her nectar flowed right into those relentless strokes of pleasure at her gates.

Bronn didn’t stop, letting her flood fill his mouth with clear intent. He lapped her juices with no care for the mess, allowing it to sully his face in glistening streaks as he drank her down.

Finally, once her body relaxed, spent and quivering, Bronn moved away. Without missing a beat, he pushed her legs off his shoulders, stood up, and leaned forward. 

He kissed her lips, letting her taste her own slick, his mouth insistent against hers. He kissed her so hard, whole tongue thrusting in, tangling with hers in a messy, devouring claim that shared every drop of her essence. The only man she now belonged to was him.

"Suckle the Maiden's nectar, my Lady," he murmured against her lips, his voice laced with dark amusement.

At his word, Alerie hugged his face closer and suckled on his tongue, drinking up everything he gave her with eager pulls. Then, she locked lips and sucked the air out of him, her submission turning fervent as she lost herself in the unholy communion.

All that time, Bronn pushed down his breeches, freeing his throbbing cock. He grabbed one of her dainty hands, placing it firmly on his hardness. The heat of it throbbing under her palm.

Shocked, she broke the kiss and looked down, her eyes widening at the thick, threatening girth. Long and needy, veins ridged along the shaft, bigger than she was used to, a beast that promised to stretch and claim. 

As Bronn's hand rested on her head, heavy and guiding, she knew what it meant. Her will bending further under the weight of her devotion and need. She already submitted to the Seven, to him as their instrument. This time her body willingly and utterly gave in to the blessings and lust in her core.

Alerie leaned forward and instantly locked her lips on his cock, parting them wide to engulf the swollen head, her tongue swirling in a hot, welcoming caress.

She took him in with hunger, her tongue circling the crown of his cock in slow, teasing laps that traced the ridge. She savored the salty bead at the tip before sliding down his shaft as she widened her lips further, drawing the swollen head into her mouth with a wet, sucking pull that made him twitch against her palate.

"Umm… Seek the nectar, let it flow, swallow it whole," Bronn said, loving the way she was softly milking him, finesse in every flick of her tongue that sent jolts through his shaft.

Take it, take your due. Lady of House Tyrell… now mine.

Alerie sucked him slowly but full of fervor. Her slender fingers wrapped around the base in strong strokes that pumped him in rhythm with her mouth, suckling his cockhead with firm, hollowed cheeks. Her lips glided up and down the length in a hypnotic glide, building the pressure with each pass.

Bronn never pushed her down further onto his cock. His fingers caressed her silver, silky hair, threading through the strands with a deceptive gentleness that masked the throbbing greed in his veins.

Alerie herself took his cock deep into her throat, driven by some inner compulsion, even letting her nose flatten against his pubes a few times as she bobbed with fervent devotion. Her slender neck bulged at the intrusion of his cock, the outline visible with every plunge in and out of her scorching hot mouth. Her lips stretched around his girth, saliva glistening in lewd trails down her chin. 

Between those deep strokes, she paused to lavish his heavy balls with her tongue, lapping at the wrinkled skin in hot, swirling circles, then drawing one orb into her mouth for a gentle suckle while her slender hand pumped his slick shaft, the dual assault making him throb harder as she alternated, tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive seam before returning to swallow him whole again.

Bronn could feel the pressure up to his head; it was too hot, too pleasurable. The sight of this noble Tyrell lady worshiping him was unraveling his control faster than he thought it would.

"Gah… All… drink," he groaned as release barreled through him.

His cock twitched wildly in her mouth, unleashing a hot spray of spill that flooded her with thick ropes of seed. His baby batter coated every inch of her mouth and throat in sticky warmth, each burst flowing on her tongue and sliding down her gullet as she swallowed greedily. The seal of her lips held just enough, though a few creamy dribbles escaped to smear her perfect chin.

Alerie felt blessed for some reason, as if this profane act sealed her pact with the divine. So warm and virile, it made her feel alive. The thick, creamy essence strongly scented like musk and salt, filling her senses as she gulped, sucked, and swallowed. 

She kept lapping at his cock, her tongue swirling around the softening length. Even as he turned flaccid, she dipped lower once more to cradle and tongue his balls in lazy, worshipful strokes.

Bronn didn't stop her, wanting to get hard again so he could fuck her cunt properly, his hips twitching at the persistent suction on his sack.

Gods, she’s good at this!

Her was mouth silky and tight, like gliding through warm molten honey, every stroke pulling him back to the edge.

"Uh… M-Mother…" A small voice stirred from a bit away, shattering the haze like a bucket of ice.

Clearly, the damned Gods had something else planned.

Bronn rushed to pull out of Alerie's divine lips with a wet pop, yanking up his trousers and tucking his cock away before the boy could rouse fully.

Alerie did the same, frantically pulling her smallcloth back on with trembling hands, wiping her lips clean of the glistening evidence, and rushed towards the bed. Her face flushed with a mix of lingering bliss and sudden panic.

Bronn sighed, walking over to the bed, eyeing the woman the whole time because now… now he had tasted blood and he wouldn't stop before having her completely. Her submission was a flame that only whetted his appetite.

A few damned months at Highgarden doesn’t sound too bad. 

After all, she was yet to receive the holy seed in her womb. 

####

Bronn woke up that morning with satisfaction written on his face. He had already healed the boy yesterday, eaten Alerie’s cunt, and made her feast on his holy shaft. Now, it was all about slowly savoring the rest of her. He really couldn’t help but feel excited. 

"Seven guide us. Septa Unella, have you looked in on the boy yet?" He asked the blonde septa as she tied his belt. His hands roamed over her toned waist. He really missed doing her in all the unholy ways imaginable. 

"I did, Lord Septon. He has woken and taken some food. He feels no pain and moves with care."

"Gods be good. Anything else I must know?"

"There is. Lord Mace arrived but moments ago. He says a visitor has come to Highgarden for you. He waits outside to escort you to them."

That amused Bronn. He finished combing his hair quickly and walked out of the bedchamber. As Unella had said, Lord Mace was waiting outside, chatting with some Tyrell knights. 

"Ah, what a splendid morning, Lord Septon! The Seven surely smile upon you. I swear, your very steps bring light to my halls. It seems the Seven heard your woes about manning the House of Seven Blessings." 

What in the Seven's ass is he vomiting? 

"Lead the way, my Lord." 

Bronn honestly hated listening to Mace ramble. The fat fuck was obsessed with his own lies that he believed to be the truth. A dozen times he'd recounted how he won against Robert Baratheon in the Battle of Ashford. The realm knew it was Lord Tarly's victory. 

In silence, he just followed the fat lord. Through the many corridors, he realized they weren't going towards a hall but rather an open ground. And when they did arrive at that open ground, Bronn almost reached for his sword at his waist. 

An army? 

In that open ground stood rows and columns of men in varying degrees of armor, each with a sharp look of a warrior. The ones at the front of each column were knights, clear by their full armor and coat of arms painted on their cloaks or shields. And the one at the forefront, the supposed leader, possessed a shield with a sigil Bronn didn't recognize. 

Wait, I've seen that sigil before. Wasn't it in that book in the Great Sept? 

Bronn pondered deeply, trying to remember. 

Thud!

He didn't have to do that for long. As soon as he walked into that open field, the dozens of men showed movement, kicking one foot on the ground like good soldiers before falling to their knees. 

The last one to kneel was their supposed leader. 

By the end, Mace Tyrell and the Tyrell knights had stayed behind. Only Bronn was at the front, to whom those men were kneeling. 

"Rise, my good men. What vexes you?" he asked, guessing they came seeking his blessing. Truth be told, he’d rather not turn away a whole host. His six Angelic Knights might shine bright, but light alone wins no war.

"O' Septon of the Septons!" 

Huh? 

Bronn became alert when the supposed leader of the army shouted, still kneeling, his voice heavy with reverence. 

"You are the Seven's Angel, Bronn the Blessed. You heal the ailed, you feed the hungry, you seek no gold, no status, nor see one. O' Septon of the Septons, we kneel to you, our heads low, we submit our swords and shields to the Seven's authority you wield."

Seven whores and their daughters' cunts! He's… 

Bronn recognized that sigil at last. 

"O' Septon of the Septons, in your service we shall heal the fate's plundered. I am Ser Bonifer Hasty, and these are my pious Holy Hundred!"

I… have… a bloody army!