Bronn wasn't a commander or a warrior. His idea of spreading the Faith to Essos wasn't even about faith but about gaining an extra footing outside Westeros because he was growing too powerful. If he kept at it, a few noble houses might decide to deal with him.
Besides, he reckoned gaining followers in Essos would be far easier since they believed in the occult far more than the people of Westeros.
And launching the Faith expansion right at the end of the rebellion was the best time. After all, the soldiers were already gathered in one place with all their armor. All the ships were there as well. All he needed to do was give the word, and the march would begin.
Following five months of preparation and Bronn blessing dozens more women in his castle, he set out with his two most gorgeous septas.
His first destination was Braavos, the wealthiest and most powerful of the Free Cities. It was also a melting pot where people from across the world came and resided, traded, and preached. Braavos had a temple for every faith.
But he wasn't dumb enough to march his army there. His plan wasn't even to wage wars. The first step of spreading the faith was preaching. He knew he wouldn't face any problem in Braavos.
The second step was using the preaching to build a considerable base of worshipers. As many as he could. Then move to a new city and repeat. The plan was to go through all of the Free Cities and then move further, where actual conflict was expected.
He expected to face considerable pushback in Volantis, the likely home to the faith of the Lord of Light. Heck, he expected assassination attempts, open challenges in the Free Cities, as many so-called warlocks, sorcerers, and shadowbinders would be there. He didn't know much about their magic, but he knew his was real and that was enough.
The real use of his military might would come once he'd move further East, towards Slaver's Bay and the Dothraki Sea. But that was for the future; his success in the Free Cities would decide his future actions.
So, with just a thousand men and his septas, he boarded his new flagship, Arbor Queen, the magnificent ship with all the luxuries he could hope for. And the greatest one was having a large personal quarter with a luxurious bedroom, study, and sitting.
While he journeyed to Braavos with a thousand men, using over a dozen ships, thousands more men trained near Angel's Peak, preparing for when they'd be called into the holy battle. They were all being fitted with white capes bearing Bronn's sigil.
But for now, he enjoyed the journey. His personal quarters on the ship reeked of sex, as he never wasted a single spill of his 'blessing' nectar. He always either unloaded in Unella's or Malora's cunt, ass, or in their throats. And gods, the two women were so willing for him.
Just to kill boredom, he'd have them, and they'd moan at the top of their lungs for him. Be it day or night, awake or asleep, they served him like he was the god himself.
Thankfully, they had plenty of Moon Tea stored. He didn't want to mark their wombs on that journey.
####
Braavos, Purple Harbor,
Purple Harbor was only for Braavosi ships. It was the richest and cleanest harbor of the city, lining the best alehouses, inns, brothels, and playhouses. But Bronn's ship was allowed to dock. How could he not, after he healed the Sealord's rotten right foot and 'blessed' his wife with a son. The old man had come to Westeros seeking him more than a year ago.
Now, it was time to return to favor.
"Ah, Braavos, the bastard daughter of Valyria." Bronn looked at the city from his ship while the gangway was being placed. "Only city in all Essos with a proper Sept. The Mother weeps for the neglect, and this septon intends to dry her tears."
He couldn't get all the thousand men to disembark, as there was no lodging for them in the city. Bronn only took fifty with him, all of them Angelic Knights, and headed out. Instead of visiting the Sealord, he chose to visit the Sept-beyond-the-Sea.
The only followers of the Seven in Braavos were the sailors and traders from Westeros. Because of that, he didn't get any warm welcome or rows of smallfolk kneeling. At best, the crowds parted simply because of the men guarding him.
The sept wasn't too far away, located on an island somewhere south of the House of Black and White. It was more of a sightseeing trip for Bronn; however, it was his first time outside Westeros. The flavor of the people around him excited him. Some with dark skin, some with smaller eyes, some with interesting hair.
Soon enough, he arrived at the sept. It was small, too small. It was a joke that a faith as big and followed as the Faith of the Seven couldn't fund a grand Sept in Braavos. It was pathetic that the faith never tried to expand outside.
Worse, the sept only had a single old septa, as the septon was disgraced and sent away. The woman alone cleaned the sept and offered prayers every day.
"Ser Florent, take a few lads and scrub that sept till it shines like the Maiden's smile. Then send a rider for a proper builder. I'll not have our sept of the Seven looking like a beggar's hovel while them foreign temples strut about like gilded whores. The Faith has gold enough, and the faithful have deeper purses still. This insult stinks of heresy. When I get back, the High Septon himself will answer to the Seven for it."
Seeing Bronn angered, the Angelic Knights rushed around to get the work done. Meanwhile, Unella spoke with the sept's lone septa.
Westeros is piss poor, and yet none of the lords looked East to find money?
Bronn pondered deeply about the status of Westeros. Once upon a time, when dragons lived, it made sense why Westeros was so self-centered and seemingly isolated. The dragons gave Westeros fame unlike any other. But after the last dragon, why did Westeros remain so isolated? Why didn't trade flourish? Why didn't outward expansion happen?
In Bronn's eyes, all the misery of the smallfolk could've been avoided if there had been a better outlet. If Westeros believed in conquering foreign lands, it would have given plenty of jobs to smallfolk. Yet, the gracious fat lords and ladies couldn't look further than the nearest whore's cunt, forget about planning for the future.
Their loss, my fortune.
So many people, Bronn was excited. This was just one of the Free Cities. There was so much more to do. There were also those horse lords with massive hordes behind them. In sheer terms of population, he saw a great possibility. Even a fraction of Essos could make him the mightiest man in the world.
As some time went by, the sept started to appear cleaner. Every stone, every inch was cleaned. Finally, at the end, he knelt inside and prayed to the Seven. He chanted a small prayer, showing that magical light so the old septa would believe him blindly.
But she fell to her knees in shock and started crying.
Bronn was done, however. With the evening approaching, he headed towards the Sealord's palace.
####
King's Landing,
They called him the fat one; he knew it, and he didn't mind. He had long abandoned his real name and now only went by High Septon. Only a few years ago, he rose to that position when the previous one died of old age.
It took him so many years to rise that high, so many nobles he had to appease for this blessing. And now, when he finally had the High Septon's crown, it felt meaningless. Nobody gave a damn about him anymore.
The smallfolk and nobles all sang only one song, Bronn the Blessed, the Seven's Angel. High Septon saw it for what it was, a cult. He saw the way Bronn did everything to make his cult different from the Faith, even taking up a new sigil and building a castle while calling it a sept. And now, the entire realm was going crazy to support the mad conquest of Essos.
"Seven save us, this is heresy. He did not speak to me, nor seek the blessing of the Faith, yet he dares call himself our champion. He crows about spreading the Faith in Essos, but for whom in the Seven hells is he doing it? This cannot continue. The King is godsdamned blind to the tricks that boy is playing."
"They are not tricks," said a Most Devout.
"Then what in the Seven hells is it? Are you claiming he is Hugor of the Hill come again? That is impossible, a legend and nothing more. And this sorcery he wields, it is foul, vile work that stands against every sacred truth of the Faith."
"Smallfolk love him," said another Most Devout. "He feeds them, cures them, and employs them. He has done more for the realm alone than what the Faith did in years."
The High Septon seethed. He could see the factions that had formed in the Faith. One supported Bronn because they truly believed in his divinity. The other side was with him because they saw the order changing.
"Aye," voiced an old septon with a long white beard. "And with the new High Septon, Seven help us, nothing is getting better. Starving folk look with hard eyes on priests too damned fat to waddle a mile. That great round belly of yours didn't sprout overnight. You stuffed yourself for years to swell like that while the poor went hungry. Years when you feasted, Bronn the Blessed fed the starving. Keep a leash on your pride, High Septon, or by the Mother's mercy, it will be the very thing that sends you crashing down."
The High Priest turned red in anger and shame. But the Most Devout was old and senior. He couldn't openly shout.
"None of you see the damned problem? The man acts without a word to us, without counsel, without blessing. He twists the Faith like it is his own bloody plaything. He gathers our holy name to himself, and soon, Seven help us, none of this will matter. High Septon or Most Devout will be titles lost to the past."
Finally, the septons in the chamber nodded in agreement. All of them felt that.
"We shall send him our word," said the old Most Devout. "When he returns to Westeros, we shall discuss this with him. We can confer him a new title, recognise him as Seven's Angel, so that he is bound to the Faith, to the Great Sept, and to our order."
Finally, the fat High Septon smiled. At last, he received some support.
"I shall write to him then."