Lord Mace quickly gestured at his men, sending them rushing back to their horses. All of them were horsed, a total of five hundred men, barely a dent on the mighty numbers House Tyrell could pull. But it was still grand when his duty was simply to escort Lord Septon.
Besides, Bronn himself was bringing two hundred Angelic Knights with him. Three of the First Six, fifty of the Holy Hundred, and the rest from those who joined later. While not all of them were knights, they were all still given standard armor with a white tint.
In moments, a line of stagecoaches appeared. But in the middle of the line was the largest, most grand wheelhouse, ornate with beautiful paintings of the faith, flags of his cult's sigil fluttered high above it.
Wasting no time, he boarded the wheelhouse. Inside, he found Malora already waiting for him. Behind him, Unella also joined. They were still his two core Septas that he trusted blindly.
But they weren't the only two Septas joining him. Not that he had many Septons under his service anyway.
Having made himself renowned for his Maiden and Mother's blessings, he made it make sense that he only ever took female Septas under his service. The male Septas were rare, but there, however, males were not allowed inside his castle. They could only serve the people in the city, or visit the Sept part of his castle.
He was taking a total of one hundred septas with him. They were going to tend the wounded for him, and also sing prayers while constantly invoking his name, Seven's Angel.
"Isn't this dangerous, Lord Septon?" Malora asked as soon as the wheelhouse's door was shut.
Bronn smirked and sat down right beside her, quickly pulling her onto his lap. Gods, she was so fucking soft, her ass a cushion that turned him hard instantly. His one hand groped her round melons, the other her ass behind.
"Ummmh."
Then he kissed her lips, deep and wet.
"You doubt me, my beautiful potionmaster?"
Malora giggled and wriggled her ass on his cock. She knew what she was doing. "Forgive me, Lord Septon. Please punish me."
"Aye, I'll that… the whole way."
Then he looked up at Unella seated across him. She was smiling the whole time.
"Come here, Unella." He gestured, spreading one arm wide. "Let the Gods taste your lips."
Right away, Unella moved and sat beside him.
Bronn's arm crossed her shoulder and pulled her into a dirty, three-way kiss. It was so fucking sinful that it was exciting.
After this rebellion, I suppose they wouldn't mind even if I did this out in the open.
He chuckled to himself. It was an exciting thought. But he wasn't foolish enough to really do it. Not all of Westeros followed the Seven. The North still followed the old gods.
However, his current plan was entirely to entice them.
Heard they still believe in magic. I'll show them magic, alright.
Returning to the moment, he watched as his gorgeous, loyal Septas slid to their knees between his legs, their curious hands fetching his cock.
He let them and just reclined back, enjoying the journey.
####
Highgarden,
Olenna Tyrell hoped she was dead. She hoped for death to kiss her every living moment, for she was no longer living, just breathing.
On that bed, for the past many years. She felt like she was slowly rotting. The food she was fed was all soupy gruel. How was that even living?
She had so many regrets. She had underestimated Lord Septon, and she was paying for it. It did feel like a divine punishment. But her true hell was being aware of everything around her. Often, Mace came to her and told her what he was doing. The way her foolish son had fallen in the grips of Lord Septon, she heard it all.
How her son funded the grand castle-city. She heard every foolish decision.
"Oh! Grandmother's eyes are wet again!"
No, she was crying. She could see everything, hear everything, smell everything. Countless Maesters had come to heal her, but none succeeded.
"Don't take the blindfold off her eyes."
She heard Willas and Alerie in the room. They were regular visitors, always telling her stories. But it was also a curse. Lord Septon had convinced them that she couldn't see, hear, or smell.
She had the misfortune of hearing and smelling Lord Septon bed Alerie on multiple occasions right in her bedchamber. Right on that bed beside her. She'd heard her daughter-like woman moan, scream, and declare her love. She'd heard the very moment Lord Septon put a babe in her.
Gods, the man had dared to even turn her face so she could see how he pressed Alerie beneath him, legs spread and pushed up in the most unholy sight. How he suckled her breasts like a babe reborn and bruised her.
All she could do was cry. Yet the Lord Septon had declared them to be natural tears due to the dryness of her eyes, hence the suggestion to put a blindfold on her.
She still heard everything.
She could smell everything.
Each word, each laugh, each smack of flesh, each moan.
And all she could do was pray for death. An end to her misery.
####
The Greyjoy Rebellion had entered its final phase. With Lord Stannis Baratheon's victory over Victarion Greyjoy's Iron Fleet in the Strait of Fair Isle, all that was left was for King Robert to launch a ground siege.
Yet, it was delayed.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, failed to understand why. Robert had declared a short ceasefire because a supposed holy man of the Faith was visiting. Of course, Eddard had heard the name of Bronn the Blessed, the so-called Seven's Angel. But like many Northerners, he believed it to be trickery.
A really elaborate trickery.
He tried to get Robert to quickly plan land attacks on the Iron Islands. But he was alone in his persuasion. Robert and every southern lord, even Lord Tywin for some reason, agreed to Robert's decision.
Meanwhile, his bannermen grew furious each passing day. They didn't believe in this holy Septon. But there was nothing he could do.
Finally, on the second day of the ceasefire, a howling crier rode through the entire army's camp at the shores of the Crag, seat of House Westerling. Eddard watched firsthand how the entire camp was abruptly ushered into activity.
He saw men, battle-hardened, break into prayers and chants. He saw men he never thought to be religious clasp hands and bow heads, eyes closed to pray under their breath.
Curious, Eddard followed the crowds towards the edge of the camp. Soon, he was standing right beside Robert, looking at the hill in the distance that blocked the clear view of the dirt road.
"He's here! I can bloody feel it in the air." Robert murmured.
Eddard sighed. He felt nothing, now certain that this Bronn the Blessed had brainwashed his old friend. But he kept the doubts to himself. There were too many hardcore believers around him.
"Look!"
Someone shouted, and Eddard looked at the top of the hill. He noticed large fluttering white flags with a large golden palm on it, followed by seven-pointed stars in the middle of the palm. There were so many of those flags, all high, the poles themselves were shimmering gold.
And then the men holding those flags came into view. All of them were on horses, donned in full plated armor, shining metallic white. As more and more men came into view, the sound of footsteps from the distance reached the camp.
Eddard looked left and right. Nobles, knights, and lowborn, all were frozen, staring. Nobody made a sound. Hands were clasped together by almost everyone who followed the Faith of the Seven.
Such… faith.
Eddard heavily breathed and focused back on the incoming entourage. It was a small army, but an endless line of carriages. From them, the largest wheelhouse headed directly towards them, guarded by white-armored knights and Tyrell colors not far behind.
Soon enough, the tall wheelhouse came to a halt before them. He scoffed, wondering what sort of man would travel in such a lavish wheelhouse that usually noblewomen used.
Eventually, two knights in white armor placed a wooden stairway at the foot of the wheelhouse's door and finally opened it. At first, it was just a silhouette, but soon Eddard saw the famed man in flesh… nothing remarkable.
Eddard had reckoned the man must be ethereal in looks to have swayed so many. But at first glance, Bronn the Blessed seemed like any random bloke in the Winter Town. But the way he carried himself, Eddard saw it.
There was grace, pride, confidence, and certainty. Hair combed back, face frozen in a warm smile. Bronn the Blessed wasn't in a Septon's attire, but a rather expensive silken robe of white with golden embroidery on it. He noticed the golden chain around his neck, the blade on his hips.
And then…
What? What trickery is this?
Eddard felt as if the earth moved beneath his feet. Bronn the Blessed descended from the wheelhouse, and once the man's feet were on the ground, he raised the right hand and… blinding warm light emerged from the palm. It was so bright, like a sun in the palm of a hand.
Thud!
Thud!
"Oh! Seven be praised!"
"Seven's Angel!"
"Blessed me!"
Thud!
Robert?
Eddard saw, no he felt the way King Robert Baratheon fell to both knees. Not like a knight, but like a man praying to a god. Both knees, hands collapsed together. And once King Robert had knelt, the entire camp followed. Stannis Baratheon, Paxter Redwyne, Ser Barristan Selmy and, he noticed hesitation in Tywin Lannister but the man knelt as well.
All but himself and the Northerners stayed standing. He felt pressure, eyes stabbing his back, eyes of Seven's followers. He almost felt like kneeling as well. How could he not when he literally heard some grown men around him sob?
"Rise."
How?
___________________
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