####
Small Council,
"Lord Arryn is on his way back. He sends… troubling words. The Martells speak in riddles. They claim no hunger for the Crown yet. More like they bide, raising their boy until he can be set before the realm, weighed against your son, Your Grace." Stannis Baratheon addressed his brother, a rare occurrence in the Small Council.
Cross-armed, Robert sat still with furious expressions. He'd already raged and cursed the Martells plenty. All he could do now was plan how to deal with them. "We can spread the word that they scheme. The lad's no trueborn of Elia, only a babe dragged over from Essos. Plenty of silver-haired pups there to choose from."
"But not with violet eyes, Your Grace," Varys murmured. "If I may speak, Lady Elia carried a child. There can be no doubt. Half the Dornish court saw her belly swell."
Robert grunted, his leg shaking. "How did the damn whore escape the Red Keep and return home? Any word on that?"
Lord Varys shook his head. "It was chaos, Your Grace. The Lannisters were sacking the city. She must have escaped in the chaos."
"Gods, the bloody Lannisters, thorn in my side," Robert muttered. "Keep watch on the whore and her whelp. Nothing for it now. Mace Tyrell's got a new daughter, has he not? Tie my boy to her. The Martells will sniff around, but the Tyrells would rather a true crown prince than some dreamer."
The members at the table nodded.
"Your Grace… May I speak? I fear for the city, yes. The Septon healing the prince was a blessing, most assuredly, yet to let him draw tens of thousands to his call… ah, I tremble at the thought. The smallfolk are many, and their numbers give them power. It might end most disastrously. We should… we must bid the Septon depart from the ci—"
Pycelle chose to shut his mouth when he saw the King glaring at him silently. No words were spoken, no threats were made. But Pycelle knew better. Any more and the King would punch his face.
"If any of you give Lord Septon grief, you'll answer to my hammer. He's no court leech, just a traveling septon passing through. He'll leave the city soon." Robert rose to his feet. "Let the good man do his service to the Gods."
####
Dorne, Sunspear,
"I leave the decision to you, Elia. You will have Dorne's support."
Elia Martell sat in the reclined chair by the soothing gardens, the silver-haired babe sleeping in her arms. "Not yet, brother. These years are for patience. Let Robert squander the realm's strength. Each mistake of his becomes our gain. Vaeron need only grow steady and sharp."
"Perhaps it would have been better if your devout septon had learned where to keep his feet." Oberyn Martell chimed in, sipping something. "Instead, he leapt in and saved the prince. And now Vaeron finds himself with a rival."
Elia shook her head, smiling fondly at the mention of Bronn. "Septon Bronn serves as a true septon should. He doesn't weigh a name nor blood, only the wound and the soul. He saved Robert's son for no reward but duty. He wouldn't have hesitated with Vaeron either, if need had come."
"The whispers about him are endless," Oberyn added, snorting. "They say he can mend wounds no maester would touch. They say when he calls for the Seven's fury, men fall dead. If he is blessed, then he is dangerous. If he is cunning, he is worse. I cannot decide which truth is more dreadful."
For Elia, it was a blessing. She had received it in her womb, after all. The proof was right on her lap.
Right then, the door to their little retreat opened, and a trusted soldier walked inside, carrying a small wooden crate.
"My prince." The man saluted and placed the crate near Elia. "A trader approached the castle, claiming he brought Lord Septon Bronn's words."
"And he sends gifts?" Oberyn curiously got up and quickly opened the wooden crate. "A scheme or… wine?"
Confusion marred Oberyn's face as he noticed five crystal-clear glass bottles with wooden corks. The bottle itself had beautiful patterns, making the inner liquid shine even brighter, red and… scentfully potent. Oberyn knew it had alcohol in it right away.
"For you, I suppose." He grabbed the folded parchment in the crate and gave it to Elia.
Quickly, the princess read it in silence, her gaze eager with each line. She smiled fondly at the end and stared at the crate.
"T-This… He brewed this and it's… the five bottles are worth…" She gulped. "Three thousand gold dragons. And… he wants to sell it across Dorne and Essos with my help."
"Six hundred dragons? For a single bottle of wine?" Oberyn frowned, sneering at the joke. Even the high-end Arbor Gold bottles didn't cost that much. Only the legendary, century-old bottles fetched that price, some a few hundred, and some thousands of gold dragons even. "Is this some kind of jape?"
Without care, Oberyn grabbed a bottle, removed the cork with a pop, and drank straight from the bottle.
"..."
First, his eyes widened.
"..."
Then his nose flared.
"..."
A few big gulps echoed.
"Seven hells! Tell that septon I want it!" Oberyn roared, wagging his tongue like an animal. "This drink is sorcery, the nectar of the gods! The fire, the spice, it soothes the soul! Offer five thousand for five bottles. We'll squeeze another thousand or two when we sell it!"
"Are you well?" Doran Martell asked.
"Try it yourself." Oberyn shoved the bottle at his brother.
Far too curious now, Doran took a sip.
Woosh!
Although Doran had started to feel strange pain in his feet, he jumped up, eyes wide. "I… It made my tongue melt. So… tasteful!"
Finally, the two brothers handed it to Elia. The woman made sure not to seem insane like her brothers when she took the sip. But…
"Mmmmmmmh!"
She ended up moaning. It felt like Bronn had come over and touched her personally, spreading heat across her body.
"W-We…" She stuttered, clenching her legs tight. "We must… do what he asks."
####
King's Landing,
King Robert, true to his word, had granted Bronn the ownership of a large villa in King's Landing. The previous owner was a noble who dabbled in trade and made wealth. Since the noble was never even there, the Crown handed it to Bronn. It came with a large building for living in and a massive garden, large enough to hold a few thousand people.
Bronn wasted no time and started to preach. Of course, speaking to that many people was impossible. They wouldn't be able to hear him. Yet, he'd long gotten used to that strange magic which made his voice come out louder. He'd used it in gatherings in Oldtown.
An hour had already gone by, and another was left. He stood on a simple, high stage, preaching. On the stage's right side was a secluded, fenced, guarded area where Cersei Lannister sat alongside a few court ladies.
"...His shoulders broad as gates, his spear thick as a sapling. Each step shakes the earth, and all who see him turn pale. 'Who dares face me?' he bellows, and none step forward. Kings, warriors, men of renown—all look to their boots." Bronn blabbered, a story of sorts that he didn't know he knew. He just started preaching it without thinking, making it twist to the Seven.
"But from the hills comes a lad, scarcely more than a shepherd boy. No armor weighs him down, no sword hangs at his side. Just a sling, a stone, and the favor of the Seven. He looks upon the giant not with fear, but with a grin, for he knows the truth: pride is the heaviest armor, and the easiest to crack.
"So he bends, takes his stone, sets it true, and lets fly. One strike, swift and sure, and the mountain falls as any man falls, hard and hollow. The field shakes once more, but this time it is not with dread, but with deliverance. So mark it well, when the Seven lift the lowly, no giant, no sword, no wall of iron can stand."
He was dramatic with the story. Waving his arms, using varying pitch, even mimicking voices sometimes. He told them a story about the Seven subtly aiding the people. How the Seven's will was in everything.
It was all bullshit.
"I pray my words carry you meaning. I pray they guide you through the darkness that you face. For that, I shall end this preaching with the final prayer, sing after me as I do!"
Bronn clasped both hands against his chest, closed his eyes, and roared.
___________________
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