I… have… a bloody army!
Who was Ser Bonifer Hasty? A nobody. But he wasn't a nobody a few years ago. Well, many years ago. Bronn didn't know a lot, but he did know that once upon a time, in the era of the King, even before Aerys, Bonifer once wore the princess's favor in a tourney in which he defeated all challengers to name Rhaella his Queen of Love and Beauty.
The rumors said that he and Princess Rhaella were in love at that time. But of course, it was a fruitless romance as you just can't win against incest loving Targaryens. Once Rhaella was betrothed to Viserys, Ser Bonifer Hasty vanished.
Of course, the man found solace in the Seven and founded the Holy Hundred, a group of men-at-arms pious in their faith.
Them seeking him made complete sense. His name had spread far and wide already. Bronn the Blessed and Seven's Angels were words most smallfolk following the Faith of the Seven had at least heard once.
"Rise, Ser Hasty." Bronn walked forward and ushered the man up by his shoulders. "Your oath rings as clear as your work. The Seven smile on such sound service."
Ser Hasty wasn't young anymore. He was withered, but still tall and thin. There was fervor in his eyes that could only be found in men who truly believed in themselves and their actions.
"You wish to serve the Seven through me?" He asked.
"You shine before us, as the Father's own light. We follow in faith, with keen blades and prayers upon our lips to the Seven above. Guide us, Lord Septon."
When did it become so widely used? Bronn pondered over his 'Lord Septon' title. Everyone called him that now, although it wasn't an official title of the Faith.
"I'm no saint, only a man the Seven took pity on. The Mother and the Maiden have had my hide since I could crawl, teaching me what keeps me breathing," Bronn said with a half-smile, his eyes sweeping the men. "If you'd follow me, I'll not bar you. More hands to mend the realm, the quicker the work."
"May the Seven's light guide us!" Ser Hasty prayed.
Bronn did the same, and just to get them excited, blessed the knight with his raised palm, light emitting from it. It was the easiest way to gain their fanaticism.
As expected, all one hundred of them knelt towards him and prayed.
I'll have to find some damn use for them.
####
Oldtown,
Helen felt like her life had completely changed, and it had. She felt like the most blessed woman in the entire realm. And all of it was because Lord Septon had blessed her through her womb. She had the most beautiful son, growing strong.
She had given herself to the Faith already. Or to be more precise, the Sect of Seven's Angel. It was an unofficial group of followers of Bronn the Blessed. She was the proud leader of the group.
A nobody smallfolk once upon a time, then wed to a half-witted son of a rich merchant family because of her beauty. Lord Septon had gifted her the babe she desired since her husband was incapable.
Now, in a matter of a year and a few months, so much more has changed. She, not her husband, had inherited the family's business. It was indirectly because of Lord Septon. Having become the official, sole distributor of Firewhiskey in Oldtown, and at large, the entire Reach.
It was Lady Elia Martell who had chosen her for the task, and accepting that offer was perhaps the best thing she had done in her life. The revenue that God's nectar generated dwarfed anything else their family had made through normal trade.
On her lonesome, she had elevated her family's wealth significantly, and for that she had received certain freedoms and duties. She loved that her actions were effectively helping Lord Septon. And truth be told, she hoped for another child.
But before that, she wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be Lord Septon's most passionate follower.
####
Essos, Volantis,
Inside the Temple of the Lord of Light, somewhere in one of the flame-kissed corridors, in one of the many grand chambers, sat the High Priest, the Benerro, the righteous slave. Before him sat his right-hand man, Moqorro.
"What do you make of this?" Asked Moqarro, a man more a beast than a human, by the looks of him.
His skin was darker than coal. A monster of a man over six feet, wide as two, belly like a boulder. Pure white hair covered his face and head like a lion's mane. His voice boomed like a bass drum. His entire face was covered in flame tattoos, with yellow and orange colors. Even his attire screamed threats, scarlet robes, sleeves, collar, and hems embroidered with orange flames. Right by his chair rested his iron staff as tall as he, its tip a dragon's head.
"A deceiver! A juggler of shadows! Only the Lord of Light grants true flame to this world," Benerror proclaimed, his lipless mouth curling into what might have been a smile. He was tall and gaunt, skin pale as milk, red flame-tattoos burning over his cheeks and shaven head. "His false fires cannot fool the faithful. He stains the Lord's glory with his tricks."
Mogarro nodded firmly. "The word of his flame has already reached Volantis. Soon, even Asshai will feel its warmth. His gift for healing is beyond compare. It will call to the Godswives. His sorcery is... unlike any other. He brews, he shapes, he commands many arts. The alchemists, the necromancers, the pyromancers, the bloodmages, and the shadowbinders, they will come to him."
"The Lord of Light sees through such lies. He cloaks himself in our faith while whispering the names of false gods."
"And if he comes here?"
"Then the Lord of Light shall test him," said the High Priest coldly. "Right here in Volantis, he will stand judgment, he and every false god he serves."
####
Volantis, Unknown Place,
Shadowbinders were said to be able to bind shadows to do their will. Considered to be the most sinister of all sorcerers, most people feared them. But it couldn't be further from the truth. Most shadowbinders were more akin to adventurers. Chasing magic, wanting to learn more and more. To sharpen their skill at all costs, even if the means needed bloodshed.
Moreover, many shadowbinders dreamt of one thing above all. To be able to go upriver towards the Shadow Lands, and not just upriver, but to enter the doors at Stagai, and explore the ancient City of the Night, ruined now and home to twisted creatures. Even shadowbinders feared going there, but many still wanted to.
Quaithe was one such shadowbinders. She was from Asshai and her journeys had led her to Volantis. Yet she sat in the chair, receiving a folded parchment with the information she desired. Under the long, hooded robe, behind her dark red lacquer wooden mask, her shiny eyes read content.
"A word from his tongue can unmake a man," she mumbled after reading the contents. "And his brews stir those who should sleep. It is shadowbinding's kin, though it walks another path. Perhaps his brews can indeed serve a purpose in the exploration of the City of the Night."
The man before her just nodded. "Valar Dohaeris."
She didn't bother talking more, being more of a silent observer. Her eyes remained on the sheet of paper with the details about this strange man they called the Seven's Angel.
Strange new magic. Amusing.
####
Highgarden, the Reach,
Another night had fallen, but this night was meant to be special. Bronn the Blessed remained in his bedchamber, grand and luxurious for the healer of the Tyrell heir. But it wasn't privacy he sought, only preparations for the ritual.
Dressed in his usual septon attire, he lit the censer with incense, filling the candle-lit bedchamber with warm, soothing scents. He walked around, finishing the preparations. In the middle of his bedchamber stood the gorgeous Lady of House Tyrell, Alerie, in her full regal gown, silken, embroidered, overly luxurious. It shone red with golden streaks all over it, making patterns. Her thick white hair was tied in a lone braid, the braid itself dotted with jewels. The wide neckline teased her lush breasts.
He walked around her, swinging the censer, making prayers. He was already hard, ready to prick her where he wanted to slide in. She still had the usual calm and expressionless face, but he knew it'd change soon.
Umm, look at that ass. He eyed her rear when walking around. And those tits.
He'd only been able to eat her cunt and fuck her face last time. Now, finally, he was going to see her in full nude beauty, and he wanted to remove each patch of cloth on her with his own hands. All the while making her moan prayers to the Seven.
"May the Seven guide this ritual,
For this holy union is mutual.
Alerie of House Tyrell gives her ripe body,
Take her through me, I as the Seven embody."
All sheer bullshit yet so exciting.
___________________
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