It was the day Bronn officially chose to ditch the regular septon robes and wear something different.
He chose to wear a rather plain but golden-ish robe over his tunic. It came down to his knees and had the seven-pointed star embroidered on one chest. He still wore the seven-colored belt, however, the official thing that marked his status.
After that, he marched into the Red Keep.
"Lord Septon!"
"Oh, Lord Septon!"
As he walked through the streets of King's Landing, the smallfolk bowed, some knelt. He did nothing but smile at their faces and wave. His path was clear; nobody dared to stop him as the Gold Cloaks themselves guarded him.
The Red Keep's gates were pulled open for him. Soon, the Kingsguards opened the gate into the Throne Room, ushering him in like he were the King.
But before entering, Bronn erased the smug smile off his face and brought forth that gentle, healing man of the Seven, the secret breeder of the Queen, the savior of Princess Elia, father of the possible future king.
Hah! He hid a chuckle as he saw the smiling, wide-eyed nobles inside the throne room, the King sitting on the Iron Throne. Smiling and welcoming me as I ruin their beloved realm.
"Welcome, Lord Septon. It is an honor to finally meet you."
Bronn recognized the old fool standing beside the throne, Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, back from his most likely fruitless visit to Dorne.
"The pleasure is mine, my Lord." Bronn greeted the man and then locked his gaze on the bald Master of Whispers not far away. "Yet it was no joy that brought me here. Seven bear witness, a knife came for me yesterday, inside the very House of Seven Blessings."
Loud gasps echoed. King Robert furiously rose from his throne. "Who was it?"
"Seven hear, my call not in vain,
The Stranger marks the sinner's name.
The Warrior's wrath shall find his head,
The Father's scales shall strike him dead."
Bronn sang in a very stoic and rough voice, something akin to a chant more resembling a curse. His eyes swept over the members of the Small Council. He had shifted his plans slightly; instead of shouting Varys' name, it was better to keep it mysterious, more mythical, and hence, more divine.
"The Mother turns her face away,
The Crone lights not his path this day.
I may bleed, but know his doom is near,
The Seven judge, and all shall hear."
While he finished singing, the little spiders had already jumped from his sleeves. He was almost tempted to kill Pycelle as well, but he refrained. Pycelle was a known element in the great game; killing him could bring about a more dangerous Maester. In comparison, killing Varys was akin to blinding the King.
With that, Bronn bowed his head towards the King. "I don't preach fear, only truth. The Seven see all, the stain and the shine alike. Death's no terror to me, but turning children to assassins… Seven save us, that's a foul heresy. I trust His Grace will weigh it well, for the Gods burn in fury when innocence is broken."
Oh? Fucking exciting.
He enjoyed seeing the all-powerful King shift in his throne uncomfortably.
But he didn't waste any more time and started walking away, his light golden robes fluttering with his moving feet.
"Fear no ill tricks when one of your trusted aides fails to wake come morning. The Stranger will have taken his claim."
And just like that, he left the throne room, leaving behind nothing but silence and fear.
####
House of Seven Blessings,
Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!
"Deeper, your grace. The Seven favor fullness, else no nectar flows. Aye… that's it… the snug prayer of your throat warms me to the bone."
How did he get there? He asked himself as he looked down under his grand table. So scandalous, so taboo, crime of the highest order, the beautiful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms on her knees, choking on his cock as she served him, her golden curly locks beautifully fluttering, her diadem glittering.
"Um… No hands, Your Grace."
That was even more delightful how she obeyed him. Her, the most narcissistic, self-obsessed, and arrogant woman he knew, was now so submissive to him. Her womb already lay full with growing life, his seed that sowed.
Her hands were flat on his thighs while her royal lips stretched around his cock. She truly sucked well, far better than he expected from a woman of her status.
Spurt! Spurt!
Bronn shifted in his chair, quill scratching parchment in the pretense of holy work. But his mind wasn't on the paper.
No, his head swam with the slippery drag of her lips up and down his shaft, with the velvet clutch of her throat whenever she forced herself deep. Every so often, she rammed forward until her nose pressed his pubes, gagging wetly around his girth. The vibration ran up his cock like a blessing.
"Ghhh…" A groan tore from him. He clenched his teeth as though ashamed of it, masking delight with reluctance to let her think his piousness resisted this indulgence. Let her green eyes shine brighter when she believed she had the power to draw out sounds he tried to suppress.
The thought of Cersei, Queen of Westeros, kneeling in secret, ashamed and exalted at once, made his cock twitch against her tongue.
Her gaze lifted, emerald eyes burning. Through lashes wet with teardrops, she studied his face, the serene, pious mask he wore above the table. And gods help him, that made her suck harder. She wanted to break that holy look, to wring out his true voice. In her mind, he was a god incarnate after he'd made Varys fall. Now, sucking his cock, she believed she had some power over him.
She pushed herself further. Her jaw ached, lips stretched taut around his girth. She sealed them tighter, cheeks hollowing as she dragged down to the base, locking herself to the hilt and holding until she felt the pulse of his cock in her throat.
She swallowed against it, as if drinking divinity.
"Oh, Your Grace…" Bronn moaned, his toes curling. "Seven keep me, are you ready? I'm about to spill."
"Ummmhhhmmm~" she hummed around his cock, a Queen's purr muffled by gagging devotion.
That was all he needed. Bronn's hands clamped around her skull, palms spread wide. He yanked her head and fucked her mouth hard, hips pumping with wet, harsh thrusts. Each plunge drove him balls-deep, his shaft battering down her throat until her lips mashed into his pubes.
Gluk! Gluk! Gluk! Ghhhhk!
He struck gold each time, his swollen cockhead spearing the softest edge of her throat. Tears streamed from her eyes, her mascara smearing in dark streaks. And those green eyes, those glorious Lannister eyes, shone not with humiliation, but with rapture.
"Take it… Take all the nectar the Gods give you… mmmmh!" Bronn snarled, thrusting harder, moving her head like a doll on his cock.
Her throat clutched him, lips dragged tight, and every wet choke only stoked his frenzy.
Ghk! Gluk! Ghk!
He felt it then. The coiling at the base of his cock, balls tightening, seed surging to spill. He was right on the edge, ready to burst down her throat.
"Gaaaaah! Drained… me… so well… drink it!"
Cersei's eyes went wide the moment he erupted. Balls-deep in her throat, she felt the hot, thick surge of seed flooding out of him. The musky, holy spill coated her tongue, then poured down in heavy ropes, gagging her as she tried to gulp it down. The taste was sharp, salty, heavy with man's lust, nothing like the perfumed wines she favored.
"Ghk—Umhp… Ump!" She coughed, choked, then swallowed again as his cock twitched against her throat, pumping more and more into her.
Only when he slid out slowly did she catch her breath, his cockhead dragging across her tongue, leaving her mouth full of the sticky load. She gulped it down greedily, licking her lips wet with seed.
"Umm… not a drop wasted," he muttered in bliss, watching her swallow.
Cersei heeded him, her pride burning with a need to please. She bobbed her head on him again. Her tongue sliding under his shaft, lapping him clean without the aid of her hands. She gulped, swallowed, worked her mouth in wet, smacking devotion, tasting him in ways no Queen should. Her cheeks hollowed, her throat bobbed. Each suck was frantic, fervent, as though she could milk more divinity from him.
Even when his cock softened, limp and spent, she refused to stop. She kept sucking, lips sealed tight, tongue stroking his shaft, coaxing. Her hunger pressed him harder than her words ever could.
And slowly, unbelievably, his cock twitched back to life. Semi-hard, stirring again.
She paused, eyes wide, lips shiny with spit and seed, gazing up at him in question. "Would you not bless my womb, Lord Septon?"
Hah! She's asking for it now? What a greedy royal whore.
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