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…
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