Truth it was.
Volantis was scared of the faith of R'hllor, mainly the High Priest Benerro. The Triarchs saw it fitting that another man with famed magical might stop the High Priest. Of course, the Triarchs weren't charitable. They had no plans to accommodate Bronn after using him. They just wanted to use him.
Now, Moqorro the Black Flame was coming to see him, perhaps to kill him. Bronn was prepared, however. He understood faith better than most. To spread faith, becoming a spectacle was the most important part. Just preaching wouldn't take you too far. The people must believe in the miracle you preach.
It was easy for Bronn. Besides, he never planned to convert all of Braavos or Essos. It was an impossible task due to the simple fact of how often people traveled in Essos. Trade being the major means of earning, not everyone stayed in the same place their whole life.
Hence, it was hard to convert everyone because with a changing landscape, one's beliefs also change. For now, his goal was to at least become a major religion in Essos, dwarfing most others. By the simple fact of being widespread, he'd be above all other faiths that usually remain confined to a city or two.
He planned a grand welcome for this Moqorro. A great spectacle.
####
It was the greatest gathering yet in Braavos. The city itself had a population of over half a million, and many more lived in the surroundings. That day, many had journeyed to Braavos to see Bronn the Blessed.
From the wealthiest merchants to the visiting rulers of cities, and even the Sealord of Braavos, all made an appearance. And on the stage stood Bronn in his regal white and golden robes, behind him stood Ser Hasty and Ser Florent, then there was a line of Septas, Malora and Unella, but also the renowned beauties, Bellegere Otherys, and the Poetess in septa gowns. There were also a few new septons of the Seven that Bronn had called from Westeros. These were the people he trusted enough to follow his orders.
Aye, let's give you fools a spectacle.
"The Seven's light falls upon us!" He shouted, but he didn't appear to be shouting. Both his arms shot towards the sky, glowing in blinding light. Right at the same time, some loud fireworks shot up from behind the stage. "The people of Braavos have opened their hearts, their minds, their homes, and welcomed the light of the Seven. Such worship, oh, the Seven thunderously clap to it."
He let the excited crowds slowly calm down. It really was a grand arena, and the people sitting on the stepped benches were all standing.
"Yet," he said, voice soft as prayer. "Yet I spy doubt among you. Some cling to fire as a fear. Fire is no foe. By the Seven, the light itself embraces it. But fire in wicked hands does not guide the road. It scorches it bare. Good folk of Braavos, a challenger comes from Volantis. Moqorro the Black Flame, Red Priest, sworn to a High Priest. He boasts of true fire. By the Gods, I will show the lie his demon shelters."
As he finished speaking, a tall, barefoot man walked up the stage from the side. Skin black as pitch, a monster of a man with tall height, shoulders wide, belly like a boulder. White tangled hair and beard like a lion's mane. Not a single being in that arena looked at him and thought 'holy' or 'religious'.
The flame tattoos on the face, yellow and orange in color, didn't help. Bronn didn't even need to do anything, as in comparison, he looked sleek, with combed hair, shaven clean, dressed in regal, immaculate clothes, and gorgeous septas behind him. He represented a noble order, a faith of civilized folks. What Moqorro represented was more violent, untamed.
Thump!
Moqorro bumped his staff on the stage, its dragon head crackling green flames.
"You speak of the Lord of Light as if you know anything at all. A foreigner setting foot in these lands for the first time, I am not wounded by your ignorance, only disappointed," Moqorro said in the Westerosi common tongue, his thin accent sharp, his voice deep and booming like a bass drum. It still wasn't as loud as Bronn with his magic. "I have seen the future in the flames of nightfire, Septon. You don't exist in it."
Bronn smiled, looking at the crowds. "And I haven't seen the future, yet I know how the tomorrow sun rises, and you don't live to see it."
Moqorro sneered and stepped forward. "You place great faith in your gods. Very well, then face my fire."
"I will, and I will do no more than lift my hand to bar it. By the Seven who watch me, I'm warded from your demonic tricks," Septon Bronn said, waving his dear Septas and Angelic Knights aside. "Let Braavos stand witness to this holy duel. The Faith of the Seven against the light-born demon, R'hllor."
Wildfire? Bronn pondered what Moqorro's trick was going to be. He still didn't have any fire spells, so countering fire with fire was out of options.
"Indeed, let Braavos behold the wrath of the Lord of Light," Moqorro snarled, thumping his staff as he advanced on Bronn. "Let the fire judge your flesh. For the flames never lie."
Bronn prepared himself for the incoming attack. He let the imposing man come four arm's length close to him, face-to-face.
Thump!
Thump!
Moqorro slammed his staff a few times on the stage. The tall, dark man said nothing, but he was mumbling something under his breath. It didn't sound like the common tongue, however.
Thump!
The slams of the staff grew louder, like the beatings of a heart.
Trick? Magic?
Bronn had never seen real magic other than his own. He was interested and a bit alarmed by others possessing something similar. But he maintained his calm, his own body honed by sword-training, night-long ruttings, and magic practice.
"Face the flames of R'hllor! Face you—"
Seven shits! Thank you for warning me with that roar.
Bronn quickly raised his right hand in front of his face, palm facing the Red Priest. He used what he'd learned from the memory, a magical spell called shield charm. He'd learned a lot over the past few years.
Wooosh!
Green flames spewed from the Red Priest's staff like a dragon's breath. The torrent of fire struck Bronn fast, but as soon as they reached his body, with his raised hand being the focal point, all the flames dispersed in various directions.
It looked like an invisible wall stopped those flames from reaching Bronn. Of course, Bronn had to focus a lot; he didn't bother to mock. But he did start walking towards Moqorro, one dignified step at a time.
The four arms' distance turned into two, and then one, and then even less. The flames did nothing to Bronn, and before long, Bronn's palm landed on the Red Priest's chest.
"Ugh!"
The green flames stopped. Moqorro grunted, not even able to move.
"My turn," Bronn whispered with a smirk. "This one's called full body-bind."
"Gah…" Moqorro's muscles twitched, veins popped all over his forehead, but he couldn't move an inch. And the very next moment, his body lost all control, his eyes widened at the sensation of weightlessness.
Bronn used levitation and raised Moqorro's body in the air, ten feet above the stage, then twenty feet. Levitation was something he'd learned years ago, and it came quite easily to him as long as he had touched the object upon chanting. At first, he could only move small rocks, but now, he could move entire boxes, entire bulls, and carts. Moqorro was nothing in comparison.
Of course, the crowds rose in their seats, gasping at the display of pure magic. Anyone who used to dismiss his magic as tricks couldn't anymore. After all, Moqorro wasn't a no-name Red Priest. He was famous as the High Priest's right-hand man.
And there was no reason for Moqorro to shame the Lord of Light by participating in Bronn's games. Hence, this had to be real. Bronn's magic had to be a real blessing of the Seven.
"Trick! Using wildfire to wound me. Seven saw through your tricks, demon worshipper!" Bronn declared, giving the people the spectacle they so loved. "As I said, the sun rises tomorrow, but you won't get to see it."
Slowly, Moqorro's body started to hover down. Feet after feet, slightly slanted, eventually, Moqorro's throat fell perfectly in Bronn's grasp. Bronn's other free hand grabbed the white hair, and the one on the throat performed the final spell.
Diffindo!
Splash!
Moqorro's horrified face froze in the moment, his eyes remained open as his head separated from the body. The head remained dangling in Bronn's hand by the hair while the rest fell with a thud and sprays of blood.
There was blood everywhere. Even Bronn's white robes had turned crimson. However, just one tap of his other hand and the basic spell called Scourgify made his clothes as clean as new.
He faced the people then, waving the severed head of Moqorro.
"I seek no conquest. I do not ride with bare steel, bidding you bend to the Seven or die. I preach, I tend, I gather the broken to the Faith's warmth. Yet the Warrior stands among the Seven, and the Stranger waits. Take the Seven's mercy not for frailty, or else the consequences…"
Thud!
He threw Moqorro's head away like it was filth.
"...are grave."
Enough spectacle? Entertained now?
He stared at the gawking crowd. Then slowly, he returned to his default state, smiling, right hand raised, waving. He didn't cast more magic, however. He reckoned he'd done that enough. Too much of it would kill the novelty of it.
"May the Seven's light guide us!"
He bowed his head to the people and walked off stage, vanishing through the curtains. Only after he was gone did the arena erupt into loud murmurs. Loud chants of Seven's Angels echoed.
It was a clear victory of the Seven over R'hllor. Tens of thousands of Braavosi had witnessed it.
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