"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."
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