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GOT: Rasputin of Westeros 5 - Mad Maid, The Ritual & The Hate
🕑 Added 2025-08-21 22:34:30 +0000 UTCDoc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hQKaYGDNzRxFLoeDtS84HBI4F6gAI2_XpIbCX0g6QOo/edit?usp=sharing
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Crossing the Maesters Bridge in Oldtown and then the King's Bridge, Bronn watched the majestic Hightower cast a shadow on the carriage he was traveling in. It was a behemoth, a miracle of mankind. The proof that the ancestors had surpassed what they were now.
The gigantic tower stood atop Battle Isle, a labyrinthine square fortress made of black stones. It looked gloomy. But atop it was the main tower, beautiful, with white or sandy stones adorned, countless balconies, countless windows, and at the very peak was the beacon that guided the ships.
"By the Seven, that is a fine piece of work," Bronn muttered, having accepted his kidnapping by now. "Tallest thing in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Casterly Rock is taller," said Baelor Hightower. "Yet that is but a mountain of stone. The Hightower is a true work of men, taller even than the Wall. And no, the Wall cannot be seen from its crown."
Bronn nodded, staring out of the window as they passed through a high gate and entered the black stone castle at the base of the tower. He understood why the past Hightower surrendered to Aegon now. Truly, the only threat to the castle was the Dragons. Nothing else could topple it otherwise.
And a mere septon will conquer it soon. He thought and looked at Leyton Hightower. And they'll smile, pray, and thank me as I take it.
Although his plan to enter Hightower's inner circle was initially different. He wanted to enter with respect and majesty. But his current situation wasn't bad either. They were clearly taking him to heal someone.
Soon enough, a middle-aged man, dressed in fine, full armor, opened the carriage door and saluted Leyton Hightower.
"My Lord, the maids have been isolated. You may visit your apartments."
Leyton Hightower got out of the carriage first. Then Bronn was nudged to move by Baelor. Soon enough, Bronn was made to walk between the father and son.
Seven shits! It's a fortress armed for war!
Bronn eyed the surroundings and found too many armed men. They looked regal, wearing shiny armors, capes, standing in their places as guards, some on horseback. The terraces were also manned.
"This way, Septon."
Soon enough, Leyton guided him into the castle's center, where a high-ceilinged hall awaited. It was airy, grand, and empty. The floor was tiled with dark stones. The hall was like a junction, as seven different hallways connected to it from seven sides. Clearly, Faith's influence on the House Hightower was high.
Oh? They've got one too.
He followed them into a box-like structure. It was a winch elevator, the same one that he'd seen inside the Citadel. But this one was far more beautiful and elegant, made of wood but polished to perfection, with carved designs, and the floor was glossy. Its walls were half solid, and the upper half had evenly spaced, boxed holes for air.
The ride was smooth, but long. It took forever to go up that wooden shaft.
Eventually, the elevator halted at the top floor. They opened the wooden half door and stepped out into the small hall. The place was different, more opulent. The floor was made of white marble, and the walls were painted, decorated with paintings, various armors, swords, or other items. Torches were evenly spaced. Guards were standing.
"Follow me."
Leyton Hightower moved. They went up a flight of stairs, one floor, then two. The small windows on the walls revealed how high they were. It was fear-inducing, stomach-churning. Everything looked so small.
However, they finally entered the last round hall. It had a Seven-Pointed Star on the floor, and only two doors, both opposite to one another on that circular wall.
"That's the apartments of the Lord of Hightower," Baelor told him, pointing at one of the doors. "And that is…"
"It was once my library, my solar, my hall of treasures," Lord Leyton said as he moved toward the door. "Blades, books, and wonders all about. Now my eldest daughter isolates in it… My precious Malora."
Bronn stared at the grand, carved door, a single panel, but it was large. He'd heard rumors about Malora Hightower from the Hedge Knight he'd partnered with. The woman, likely thirty, had locked herself for years at the top of the tower. It wasn't known why, but the rumors said she sought magic and spells of the old there. The folks in Oldtown called her the Mad Maid.
"Septon Bronn, you claimed that you can heal the wounds of the mind. That is why I have brought you here. Malora is my beloved daughter, my first daughter, the light of my early days. I held her on my knee, watched her laugh in these halls. Now they call her the Mad Maid, a cruel jest. I care not for her curiosity in the occult, for I, too, have sought such things, yet I would have her live. Walk with me once more, break bread with her brothers, bring laughter back to my table."
Leyton Hightower finally put a key into the hole and pushed open the door. Right away, a heavy scent of old books and wood blew towards them.
It was silent inside, but not dark, as the large hall had glass windows on the edges and glass-covered ventilation shafts on the ceiling. One could see the blazing beacon much higher, and it was likely to illuminate the hall even at night.
The hall was divided. One section was a library, floor to ceiling, big, long bookshelves lined there, each filled to the brim with books. Another part held all sorts of artifacts, ancient armors, and strange things. Finally, the third section had a grand table, a majestic chair, clearly the Lord's main table. But there were a few more tables around it, ordinary with common wooden chairs.
At one of those tables, a woman's figure was visible. She was hunched forward, her face almost entirely plastered in the open book; many more books surrounded her. She seemed unaware of anyone there, just mumbling to herself.
That's the Mad Maid?
Bronn eyed the woman. She seemed rather curvy, but not fat. She was dressed in a dark blue gown with white highlights, a white scarf on her neck, and a pointy hat on her head. Her dirty-blonde hair was a visible mess. But her face wasn't visible.
Baelor casually walked into the hall, as if he'd done it too many times. He went to the table and grabbed the books randomly thrown around. Then he stacked them in the bookshelves. It was clearly not his first time.
She's still being taken care of. Bronn thought, slightly envious and more annoyed, seeing them act so kind to a lunatic. Of course, bloodline decided one's treatment by nobility in the world.
"She won't react to any of us." Lord Leyton said and moved beside Malora's chair. "She hears nothing, reacts to nothing, speaks of nothing. She only eats when she finishes reading."
Bronn walked to the other side of the chair and took a better look. Her face was pale, sickly pale, but as always, her noble upbringing made her skin impeccable. She wasn't that beautiful, however, but still good-looking. Her eyes were slightly sunken, grey, her nose sharp, high cheekbones, lips were very thin and dry. Her fingers each held rings, each with a different design.
Fine tits.
In that gown, most of her skin wasn't visible, and her scarf covered her neck, but he saw the voluminous swells on her chest.
"What would you have me do, my Lord?" Bronn finally asked them. "Best speak plain. The Seven do not fancy riddles, and I am their ears here."
"Of course." Lord Leyton exclaimed, not an ounce of doubt about Bronn left. He'd seen Bronn heal open wounds and his back pain. "Heal her mind now, Septon. Bring her back to me, back to the light. I’ll heap gold at your feet, titles if you wish, anything. Only make her whole once more."
Seven cunts! I could use some gold.
But Bronn just smiled and rested his hand on Malora's shoulder. She didn't react. "I'm but a servant of the Seven, my Lord. The Mother and the Maiden give their blessing, not for me to chase coin or titles. It’s to spread the word of the Gods and the warmth of their love. It’s for me to carry their word and their care. Once my part is done, all offerings are accepted, a grain of sand or a penny."
Lord Leyton stared at Bronn with deep reverence, his big eyes marked with worship.
Then, Bronn looked down at the woman. He honestly didn't know where to start with her. She wasn't even reacting. He tried to shake her body, even covered the book so she couldn't read. She would just frown and smack his hand away.
Hmm… Maybe a sharp, bloody shock might just stir her up.
He looked at what she was reading, and sure enough, it was some obscure book about the magic of the East. The book looked old, and truly, Bronn was curious about the entire library. Hightower was amongst the oldest houses, and they'd occupied that same castle for thousands of years.
"My Lord, to gauge her mind, she must wake up first. To wake her up, I must perform magic on her. This may be harsh, but I suggest preparing a wound on her hand. Then I’ll mend it, and she’ll know the Mother’s grace is no tale."
Lord Leyton frowned. "How deep must this wound be?"
"Strike the back of her hand," Bronn said. "She’ll watch while the Mother lets me mend it."
After some pondering, Leyton nodded and looked at his son. "Baelor, use your dagger."
Dutifully, Baelor Hightower walked over. He took out a dagger from his waist and held it over Malora's hand.
Bronn quickly pointed at a place on the back of the hand. "Strike here. There are no perilous veins here."
Baelor wasted no time and thrust the sharp tip down. It breached her skin and dug an inch deep before the blade was pulled back.
Not a flinch?!
Malora's hand bled profusely, red covering everything, soaking the table. She still didn't move. But her wounded hand was shivering.
"Let me heal you, my Lady," Bronn said and put his hand on the wound. "Think of Mother in your thoughts."
Finally, as he mumbled the wound-mending spells in his memory, and murmured the prayer.
"Gentle Mother, hear her cries,
Bind her wound where turmoil lies.
Steady hand and broken mind,
In your mercy, peace she’ll find."
He felt it. The curious magic that was clearly no blessing but his own ability. So mysterious he was still uncovering it slowly.
What else could he do? Was healing and tailoring babies all there to it?
Oh? She flinched!
Finally, Malora's head moved. Her gaze now focused on Bronn's hand.
"Cool the fire, calm the pain,
Wash her soul with healing rain.
Guide her heart, her spirit mend,
Till her torment finds its end."
She looked up, towards Bronn. There were no expressions, just curiosity for the unknown.
"You are healed, my Lady." Bronn removed his hand.
Malora stared at her healed hand again. She moved it and touched the supposed wound with her other hand. There was none, only some dried blood. She turned it and looked at her palm. Nothing was there.
Creak!
She stood up; her chair screeched back. Her body turned towards Bronn, and without any hesitation, she grabbed his hand and started checking it. She touched it, crossed all her fingers with his, squeezed his palm.
"Hmm…"
With her first vocal response, she moved even closer and pressed her ear to his chest.
Then, she looked up at his face again. "What are you?"
"..."
"I'm Septon Bronn, blessed by the Mother and the Maiden." Bronn introduced himself. "The Seven grant me joy to meet you, my Lady. Word is you’ve an eye for magic, so Lord Leyton tells me."
Better looking than I expected. Bronn checked her. She was curvy, her hips flared out from all that sitting and reading. She was tall and reached his shoulders with ease. Still, her swells stole the moment.
Malora looked towards her father, but didn't even greet him. She looked back at Bronn. "How did you do that? Tell me."
"It's a blessing, my Lady. Blessing of the Mother and the Maiden. I mend flesh, minds, wombs, hearts, and hurts. Gods give the gift, I just make use."
Malora rubbed her chin, eyes curious, brows creased in a frown. "How do I receive such a blessing?"
"..."
Bronn looked at Lord Leyton for help. Even he didn't know how he got his powers, how was he to help another get it?
"Malora, blessings are not a skill to be forged in study. They are gifts, granted when the Gods will it," Lord Leyton said, his hand resting heavily on his daughter's shoulder. "Septon Bronn is the only of his kind. He healed my back, and he mended your brother's leg. He's a man of many miracles. His medicine can cure all."
That's a bit… too much.
Malora eyed Bronn with even more curiosity. "Medicines?"
Bronn nodded and took the vial hanging around his neck. It was for emergency use, but it was important to make the woman feel that even his potions were magical.
"Here, my lady. Drink. The Seven guides my hand better than any maester’s. What I brew has their will steeped in it."
Without any hesitation, Malora took the vial and gulped the contents.
A moment passed.
"GODS!"
She gasped, eyes wide like never before. Her relaxed, hunched manner disappeared. She stood straight and proud, her breasts jiggling as she straightened up.
"T-this… this is magic, Father. True magic." Malora’s eyes widened, glistening with fevered awe. "I read of such things, far across the seas, where men twist the very breath of life. I feel it clawing at me, Father… it grips my soul. It's soul magic! No, it's life magic!"
"..."
Lord Leyton was smiling ear to ear. Never before had he seen his daughter that vocal and reactive. "Septon Bronn can show you more, Malora."
"Please, please! By the Seven, grant it! I would do all, anything you ask. If not holy favor, then let it be craft. This medicine… Yes, show me the brewing of it. Show me."
"I will, my Lady," Bronn said, eyeing Lord Leyton. "My Lord, I’ll need my tools from the House of Seven Blessings. To brew the draught that steadies the thoughts."
Lord Leyton seriously nodded. He understood Bronn's intent. It was the medicine he'd been waiting for.
"I'll go and bring them."
"No," Lord Leyton raised a hand. "Stay with Malora. My men will fetch what is needed. Write the names only. That Septa remains, and she will know what to pack."
"..."
I… I really am a fucking prisoner, aren't I?
"I… The items needed are to be carried carefully, my Lord."
"Understood, my men will do it gently."
"..."
"Septon Bronn!" Malora rushed to him and hugged his arm suddenly, her breasts squeezed against it. "Show me, teach me, Septon."
The donations better be my weight in gold.
"Very well, my Lord. I'll write the names."
Bronn grabbed some paper and a nearby quill and started writing. He didn't write the names. Nor the descriptions. He only wrote the box number, and only Septa Unella would know which box it was. He was specific about secrecy. His monopoly over miracle medicines was necessary.
"This is all I'll need, my Lord."
Lord Leyton took it, gave it a quick read, and then nodded towards his son.
"We'll bring it quickly, Septon."
Without a moment wasted, the father and son walked away. They exited the hall and then…
Thud!
The large door was shut hard.
Click!
And then it was locked from the outside.
Not for once did they think of those who visit my House of Seven Blessings for healing.
Bronn thought and turned back to look at the magic fanatic woman. Her eyes didn't look that crazy anymore. Rather, there was reverence and expectation now. He gave her a long, perverted look, looking at her decently pretty face, her tits, her wide hips.
Still, Malora didn't react. He made his leering gaze so obvious. But she didn't mind.
To Lord Leyton, all of Oldtown's smallfolk are ants compared to this woman.
And that was a privilege that the noble status granted to Lord Leyton and Malora.
"Septon Bronn, show me more."
"Hmm…" Bronn pondered. He really had nothing to show. So, he decided to have some fun. "By the Seven, I am a healer, my Lady. Why don't you lie down on the table? So I may see if the Gods left you any hidden wounds."
"Oh?!" She moved towards the table excitedly. "Shall I remove my gown?"
That easy?
"No, my Lady… not yet."
####
One week later,
Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!
Seven cunts, Essos sounds interesting. Blood Magic? I should look for a better Red Priest.
"Ungh… Mmmmmm~"
"Uh… It's an interesting book, Malora." Bronn muttered, flexing his knees at times from that tight squeeze of her throat. "I might travel to Essos one day based on these."
"Mmmmh… Yes…" Malora pulled her face back, releasing his cock from the hilt deep depth. Spit coated her lower face, and that musky stickiness. Her waist-length dirty blonde hair was untied, tangled, messy, and sticky. "T-Take me with you… Lord Septon."
Bronn smiled, moved the book he was holding, and looked down between his legs. He was sitting on the chair by the table, and Malora was underneath, on her knees, fully dressed except for her pointy hat.
"Let's discuss that later." Bronn grabbed her hair and shoved her mouth back on his cock. "Finish this task first."
"MMm–hmmm~"
Bronn returned to reading the book while receiving that tight, filthy, sloppy blowjob so early in the morning. It wasn't really hard to get her on her knees. After showing her a few potions, there wasn't much he could do. He'd fed her calming draughts, and they did calm her.
But she remained crazed after magic. It became clear that she had no mental illness to begin with. She was just too consumed by studies of magic, obsessed with it.
So, he tried to teach her some of the potions. And really, she aced everything. She made potions as fine as his. He really felt like taking her away with him and making her his septa. He needed a helping hand; having someone who could brew potions was a godsend.
The real issue was her status. Lord Leyton would never agree. But he wanted to make Malora obsess over him. So much so that she'd be willing to throw away her noble status.
Then one day, he told her about his Maiden's blessing to tailor seed for the woman's need. That he could create a babe as per the woman's desire.
In response, Malora asked if she could see his seed. See if it held magic like his potions.
Sure enough, he told her to draw it out herself.
"Ummmmmh…~"
And the best part, she didn't mind, no matter how rough he got with her. It was all a part of the process. She'd never had a man in her life before. Let alone a cock in her mouth.
Glurk, Glurk!
His cock was far too thick for her noble mouth, yet she pushed herself to take more, bobbing her head with enthusiasm. Spit gushed out in strings, spilling from the corners of her lips, streaking down her chin, dripping onto her hair. She kept going, choking wetly, strands of spit painting her cheeks as she tried to suck his seeds free.
Her hair was a sticky ruin already, plastered with drool and precum, clinging to her flushed face. She gagged when he pushed deeper, but her wide eyes shone with obsession. She wanted it, wanted him, wanted proof of his blessing. She pressed her tongue flat, slathering him, dragging spit up and down his length with each messy stroke.
“Let me help you, Malora.” Bronn’s voice rumbled, low and harsh. He didn’t call her ‘Lady’ anymore. Not when she was drooling around his cock like this.
He shoved the book aside and clamped both hands around her flushed face. Her cheeks bulged as he gripped her and started to use her. Thrusting, pulling, shoving her head back and forth on his cock. He threw her onto it roughly, with no pause, no care, pounding his lengthy shaft into her throat until the wet, gagging sounds echoed off the stone walls.
"Ngh! Agkh!"
Malora coughed and gagged, nose flaring as it mashed into his pubes with each brutal plunge. Yet she didn’t stop. Her hands slid up and down his thighs, clutching him tight, urging him to keep going as if she were worshiping, not choking. Her nails dug into him with every plunge, her lips stretched wide, her noble face drenched.
Bronn fucked her head with a merciless intent. The rhythm was punishing, his hips hammering forward, her scalp jerking in his grip as if he meant to break her. Drool sprayed, spit smeared, her throat convulsed around him as he slammed deeper.
“Ghk!” He grunted through his teeth, watching her eyes water, her dignity shred, and still she let him. A Hightower maiden, willing to be ruined just for his seed.
Then he slammed her down one last time, burying himself hilt-deep. Her lips mashed against his wiry pubes, nose flattened, throat bulging around his cockhead as it throbbed against the edge of her gullet.
“Aaaah… almost there… Aaargh… fuck… tight!” Bronn snarled, jaw clenched.
He erupted inside her. Thick, batter blasted her throat, painting her insides in heavy gushes.
She gagged hard, throat spasming as wave after wave of his melting butter spilled deep into her. Still, he held her there, making her choke on every drop. She didn’t push away, didn’t resist, just twitched and gulped around him like she had before, morning and night.
His cock pulsed again, flooding her mouth until she was drowning in it. Only then did he ease her back slowly, dragging her lips along his shaft, leaving the rest of his mess to plaster her tongue and cheeks.
"Swallow it all, Malora."
"Ummmh…"
Her voice was muffled, broken, but she obeyed. She gulped thickly, throat working until the last strings of cream slid down to her belly. Then, freed of his grip, she latched back onto him with fervor. Malora sucked him dry, licking along the veiny shaft, her tongue polishing the swollen, flushed tip, slurping noisily until he was slick only with her sweat and spit.
"Brilliant, Malora," Bronn said with satisfaction and pulled up his breeches. "Did you feel the magic?"
"Ummmh…" Malora licked her fingers clean before answering. "I did, Lord Septon."
Well, it really is magical.
"Go, prepare for today's brew then."
But Malora didn't move. She stayed seated under the table, looking up at Bronn. Her eyes had somehow started to show lust. An expression so foreign to her.
"Lord Septon, I've felt the magic of your seed. But it's still not the way it's intended," she said, fanatic curiosity returning to her face. "Give me one. A babe, I'll take it. Make him tall as a mountain, charming as the moon, witty as the gods, kind, proud."
At last, the point of no return.
Bronn knew this would happen eventually. He wanted it to happen.
"Aye, that and… Give him an ailment of the heart that'll kill him at the age of fifteen. Give him a cock that does not rise."
"..."
W-What?
Now, Bronn considered himself rather heartless, goal-oriented, perverted, and insane in the head. But even he wasn't that sick.
"Why?"
"Because nothing is truer than that, Lord Septon. You will call forth the child in my womb, yes, but also the sickness that gnaws at him. I would love to see that happen."
That was the first time Bronn met someone so insane. Willing to carry a babe in her womb only to see him suffer just for curiosity? That was more twisted than his own greatest filthy ideas.
Bronn scratched his head.
"I… Maiden’s blessing is called that because it makes folk smile, Malora. If I go making a curse, her wrath will cut us all down." Bronn said and suggested something else. "Tell you what, I'll brew the ailment, but once the babe draws breath, I’ll mend it."
Clap!
"Marvels upon marvels. Better still, Lord Septon, better still."
"..."
Potions genius for sure… But a lunatic.
Yet, Bronn still wanted her. She'd make a fine septa, he knew it. Potions master by day, cocksleeve by night.
But first, he needed to convince Lord Leyton that it was best for him to not only take his eldest daughter's maidenhood but also put a babe in her.
"Malora, if you want this blessing, you'll need to tell your father something. Use my words, repeat them steady, like a prayer, till he bends."
"Anything... I'll do anything, Lord Septon."
####
"She asks for what?" Lord Leyton rose stiffly from his chair, his face paling. "A tall babe? With a heart ailment and a cock that doesn't work? Seven! No, is that even possible?"
Bronn didn't reply. He looked at Baelor Hightower, also present in the room.
"Baelor, bring Malora here."
Soon, it was just Bronn and Lord Leyton.
"As I told you before, my Lord. The Mother lent me her hand for healing, and the Maiden… well, she lets me plant a seed just the way a lady fancies it. Height, eyes, hair, skin, health, wit, flesh—all in my grasp. I… I trust you’ll keep it quiet, my Lord. The High Septon and the Most Devout would call it heresy."
Lord Leyton fell back into his chair, waving his hand, gesturing to him not to worry about secrecy.
"T-That's… I find it unbelievable, Septon. But I've seen the blessings you possess. I… have you accomplished it before?"
Bronn nodded solemnly. "But I can't tell you the name, my Lord. These wives carry sorrow enough, with husbands pointing to their wombs instead of their own weakness. I gave the women the Maiden’s joy they prayed for."
Lord Leyton scratched his head, exhaling a deep breath. "Tall as a mountain? Is that possible? Eight-foot-tall lad?"
Bronn just nodded.
"Charming as the moon?"
Bronn nodded.
"Witty as the gods?"
He nodded again.
"Ailing heart, useless cock, and death at fifteen?"
Bronn nodded once again.
Knock! Knock!
"Father, Malora's here."
"What is this?" Lord Leyton stood up again. "Why would you ask the Septon for such a thing?"
Malora didn't react much. “It is what I seek. The purest shape of magic. In Yi-Ti’s chronicles, I found it, the sages who touched such power. I would taste it myself.”
"You're unmarried!" Lord Leyton added.
"I shall remain so until the end of days," Malora replied. "Time spent on trivial things is wasted."
Lord Leyton sighed. He loved that his daughter had become so vocal. She'd come out of the rotten room. But now she spoke back and sought something insane.
"Trivial? How is marriage trivial?"
"You've married four times, how's that not trivial? Marriage exists for one thing only. To bear children. I do not need a husband for that."
"..."
Lord Leyton fell back into his chair again. He looked at his daughter, her fanatic face. He'd seen that too many times. And really, he didn't want to lose this progress. He could lock her up again. He could send Bronn away.
"Baelor, send her back." Lord Leyton said, and finally looked up at Bronn. "Is there no way to change her mind?"
"My Lord, I’ve tried, I swear it to the Seven. But her wish… it prays against the Maiden herself. I bring children sound of body and mind. What she wants… that’s a curse waiting to fall on me and House Hightower. It’d turn Hightower's blood to ruin. The Maiden would see your halls filled with crippled, deformed, half-witted babes, and not one of them fit to carry your name."
Lord Leyton's hand shivered. He was, after all, a religious man. House Hightower was religious in its entirety.
"No, that… mustn't happen, Septon."
With Bronn's magical feats, the fear of the Seven had multiplied because Bronn was the living proof that the Gods were real.
"Malora speaks true.” Lord Leyton said. “One needs no marriage to have children. Strange, yet true. Septon, grant her wish. But… not a failing heart, not doomed to die at five and ten, not with a worthless member. Give her a proper son, tall as Baelor, strong enough for the sword, clever enough to bear the Hightower name."
Music to my ears.
Bronn showed a frown, but nodded at the same time.
"That’s… better, my Lord. She won’t learn the truth till fifteen years, if the Gods see fit. But… the ritual shall take thirty days. Provide food, water, and a bath. I’ll handle the rest, by the Seven."
Leyton Hightower nodded. "One last thing. Make the boy’s hair red. That way, no one will ever guess who he belongs to."
Ah, and to prove that my words weren't lies.
After all, Malora was blonde and Bronn had dark hair.
"I understand, my Lord."
####
There was no need to follow those seven days of ritual with Malora. She'd been sucking his cock for days now. No, the rituals didn't matter to her. She didn't care about the gods. All she cared about was magic, the thrill of it.
"Ummmmmmh! Oh… Your tongue's… magical!"
"And your cunt tastes lovely, Malora."
She actually did. He and Malora had taken a deep bath before getting into bed. He took a look at her body, and she was lovely from all sides. Her unblemished, highborn body was a sight to behold. She had a light bulge on the belly, very faint, expected from a scholar. Her tits were fat; he could sink his claw into them and still not hold them entirely, though they sagged slightly.
And finally, her cunt.
Slurp!
A bed was there for Malora. Now they shared it. Both of them nude, he had Malora on her back, against a pile of pillows. He had her fluffy, soft legs spread wide. Her virgin cunt was lovely, an unclaimed cave of femininity, now his to claim. That sweet loin, that long, rosy slit was waiting for his attention. She looked tight, and he knew she would feel too.
"Umm…" Bronn ate her cunt. He had to, he wanted to. He really wanted to keep Malora as his permanent traveling septa. There was no manipulation. No taking advantage. She wanted to have his miracle seed in her womb, and he was willing to give.
His beard rasped over her delicate folds as his tongue pressed in, swirling along her lower lips. Circles, closer, tighter, until he caught the tiny nub of her clit and rolled it under the flat of his tongue. Her whole body jumped.
“Oooohhh!” Malora writhed, kicking her legs, jerking like she was being shocked. She flailed, then clamped her thighs around his head, locking him against her soaked slit.
Bronn growled into her, gripping her hips to hold her steady as he fucked her harder with his tongue. He pushed deep, stabbing her entrance, fucking her core with frantic, hungry strokes. Fresh, virginal nectar slicked his beard, his mouth drinking in the taste of a thirty-year-old untouched flower.
"Oooooh… I-It's working… the magic!" Malora gasped, clutching the sheets, her voice wild.
Her first orgasm tore through her. Her cunt twitched against his mouth, juices pouring, her legs thrashing as she wailed. “The blessing! The stars—ahhh—it’s flowing into me!”
She babbled in broken gasps, raving about omens and power, a mad hymn spilling from her lips. Her eyes rolled back, her words slurred into mumbles as she soaked his mouth with the gush of her release.
Bronn only lapped harder, swallowing everything, chin dripping as he strained her body through its first true climax.
When at last her twitching subsided, he dragged his wet mouth from her cunt, licking his lips.
“Hm. Let’s proceed with the main ritual, Malora.”
“L-let’s do th—Aaaaaah!”
Bronn didn’t give her a chance to finish. He rose to his knees, seized her ankles, and shoved her legs upward. Her cunt glistened in the candlelight, swollen and puffy from his tongue. He slapped his cock down across it, the swollen knob smearing precum along her virgin lips.
“Uhh…” He hissed through clenched teeth as his cockhead squeezed between her folds.
Ugh… Won't last long. Fuck, it’s tight!
"It'll sting at first," Bronn warned her and started pushing in.
Malora stared down between her heaving breasts, wide-eyed, as his thick shaft widened her slit. Her swollen petals stretched, his cockhead pushing its way in. She whimpered at the pressure, body tense, mind racing with strange, new sensations she’d never dreamed of.
"And… I'm… in!"
Bronn groaned. He shoved deep, splitting her open, tearing through her purity in a single stroke. There was no gentleness in him; he had no reason for it. She’d never thought of sex before, had nothing to compare it to, and he was impatient. He wanted to be inside her, and he wanted it now.
“Aaaaaa—oooooooh! Gods!” Malora screamed, voice cracking as her body arched beneath him, shaking uncontrollably.
She felt it, the shattering, the tearing, the proverbial wall inside her being ripped apart. Pain knifed through her, but along with it came something else. Fullness, unbearable and divine. His flesh sword wasn’t just inside her; it was stretching her, splitting her, branding her womb with heat. That scorching sensation clawed its way deeper, but instead of rejecting it, her body clung to it, trembling with every inch of the strange invasion.
"Gaaaah… Tight… Gods, Malora… You're cunt's… warm and… fucking snug!" Bronn snarled, his chest heaving.
There was no need for septony airs now. No gentle voice, no sermon. He leaned higher, pushing on his feet, grabbing her by the ankles, forcing her legs further up until her pussy was spread wide open for him. His hard male heat stayed lodged deep, iron hard and veiny inside her, throbbing against her soaking walls.
Plap!
The obscene slap of flesh echoed as he rammed into her. He looked down and saw her cunt splayed red and raw, the wet sheen of crimson streaking around his shaft.
Eldest daughter of House Hightower… Hah! So much for noble blood.
Then he lost himself in it. Bronn drove into her mercilessly, pounding, drilling, hammering. Each thrust sank into that scorching wetness with brutal force, tearing gasps and screams out of her.
Plap! Schlk! Plap! Schlk!
Malora’s face burned crimson, her mouth dropping open, eyes rolling back as if she were possessed. “Aaaaah! Oooooohhh! I—it’s…. Ahhhhh Gods, it’s splitting meeeeee! N-nuh, it’s—aaaah—it’s filling meeee!”
Her voice broke, her hands scratching at his chest, dragging hard over his shoulders in delirium. She raked his flesh, leaving marks, clawing him as though she couldn’t bear to let him stop. “Ohhhhhhh! It’s…it’s magic—it’s burning—it’s blessing me inside! Oooohhhh gods, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
Bronn groaned and bared his teeth, sweat dripping off him. “Seven… you were made to be bred, Malora.”
Slap! Slap!
His balls clapped against her smooth ass, every thrust deep and punishing. He folded her up in half, her curvy, noble body pinned under him as he hammered into her like a man taking retribution. And it was retribution; on House Hightower, on every lord and lady who sneered down at smallfolk like him. Now he had their prized daughter bent, broken, and filled with his throbbing shaft.
“Uhn! Ohhhhhh! Gods, gods, gods! It’s—ahhhh it’s too… big-uhhh!” Malora sobbed and squealed, her whole body twitching with unbearable sensations, pleasure she welcomed. Her pussy convulsed around him, clamping tight, sore and stinging, yet dripping with pleasure that tore her apart inside.
“Malora, pinch your tits,” Bronn ordered.
Her trembling hands obeyed instantly. She seized her nipples, pinching them, twisting wildly. Her mouth fell open, drool sliding down her cheek as the new sensation jolted through her. It felt good, way too good.
“Aahh! Ooooh… it tightens meeee—it’s—ahhhh it’s working!”
Her cunt clenched on him every time her fingers twisted, milking his cock, squeezing him hard enough to make him groan deep in his throat.
"Malora, hold your legs like this."
Still folded in half, she wrapped her arms around her thighs, locking herself up tighter for him, offering her cunt like a sacrifice.
Bronn smirked down at her wrecked face, then dropped his body flat against the fleshy back of her thighs. His weight pressed her legs into her chest, lifting her ass off the bed, folding her into nothing but a hole beneath him. He kissed her greedily, lips and tongue devouring hers between ragged gasps as his cock plowed her relentlessly.
Schlk! Schlk! Schlk!
"Ummmmh… Gods… I'll… be… fucking you for a month. Don't wear clothes from now on, Malora. Let me… bless you day and night… ooooh!" Bronn groaned against her lips, rutting into her like a beast.
Unlike with Elia, there was no act here. No mask of holiness. This was Bronn, the real, raw, petty Bronn. Burying his cock into a noble Hightower cunt, and loving every filthy moment of it.
Bronn felt his balls tightening, the prickly threads coiling at the base of his cock, dragging him to the edge.
“Fuck—” he snarled, and with a brutal snap of his hips, he slammed himself in, burying his cock to the very base.
Malora’s eyes went wide, then hazy. Her lips parted in a breathless, broken cry, her entire body seizing as she felt him lock inside her.
Then he exploded.
Bronn’s cock throbbed violently, and hot, sticky seeds gushed into her womb in heavy spurts. The first jet hit deep, and then another, and another… flooding her, stuffing her tight virgin hole with his dense load. His muscles flexed as each spasm shot more of his filth inside her, until she could feel the molten tide sloshing inside.
"How… Does it… feel? Life's first… cock… filling you up?" He rasped, chest heaving, his cock jerking inside her as more of his heavy cream spilled into her.
“Ooooooh! M-magical!” Malora whimpered, tone high, trembling. Her head lolled, her fluffy thighs quivered, her nails dragging weakly across his arms as if to anchor herself in reality.
Bronn laughed at her words, savoring the way her cunt squeezed and clutched at him. His shaft twitched again, spurting, grinding more froth into her as his virile ointment frothed around the base of his cock. He reveled in the squelching churn of it, the sight of noble maidenhood wrecked and overflowing.
Meanwhile, Malora was gone, utterly lost in the sensations. Her insides burned with heat, yet it wasn’t pain now, but warmth, wondrous and heavy. The fullness was maddening, as if she were stretched and sealed by magic itself.
She felt blessed, branded, soaked in him. Every pulse of his cock made her twitch, every dribble of sticky seed made her even more certain that he was the key to her obsession. Her mind babbled with awe, and despite the soreness, despite the sting, her body begged for more.
"Seven, I'm thirsty," Bronn muttered finally, pulling out of her with a wet, squelching sound. He didn’t even glance at her as his cock slipped free, spilling a gush of frothy white across her cunt and thighs. He poured himself a cup of wine and drank it, finally looking back.
Malora stayed like that, legs spread wide, limp, cunt overflowing with his cream.
They gave me fine wine to drink while I fucked their daughter? What a wonderful time.
"Here." Bronn walked over to the bed, climbed on his knees to the side of her head. There, he landed his cream-coated cock on her mouth, and then poured wine over it, dripping it into her mouth. "Drink."
Thirty days of this?
He really didn't mind it anymore. Even if she wasn't a renowned beauty, she was fine. And her status mattered even more.
"Suck… We'll continue soon."
"Ummmh…"
She did just as asked.
Like a good, loyal, obedient septa.
####
Day ten, Blood Magic & Myths.
"Oh, oh, oh, mmmmmm~"
Bronn lay on the bed flat, and Malora jumped on his cock with devotion. She craved his magic now. She craved that sensation of his magic filling her from the inside. And Bronn, he had the book open. He read while getting his cock serviced by the tightest Hightower cunt.
"L-Lord Septon… Mmmmh… Give me your magic."
And he did just that by bursting inside her.
####
Day fifteen, Warlocks and House of Undying.
"Interesting," Bronn muttered as he rammed forward, deep, brutal plunges into the warmest cunt in Oldtown.
Plap! Plap~
Malora was standing, bent forward towards the wall, supported by her hands. She was bent so much that Bronn had a book open on her naked back. He didn't even hold it there. No, he was busy kneading her lovely, birthing hips while thrusting like no tomorrow.
He was certain she was already pregnant with his babe. But that didn't mean he had to stop. The more he fucked Malora Hightower, the more obsessed she became with his magical cockjuice. And that was the intention to begin with.
He wanted a septa so devoted to him that it bordered on lunacy.
####
Day twenty, Magic of Old Valyria, Empire of Dragons.
He sat on the chair, and Malora jumped on his lap, her back towards him. That gave him enough space to open the book and do some reading. It wasn't that he never did her with full focus. He actually did that most of the time. But reading while getting your cock pumped was a new experience he was enjoying.
"Malora, fancy joining me as a traveling septa?"
"Ooooooh~ I'd love that, Lord Septon."
"Think about it."
Once again, he gave her the creamy magic she craved so much.
####
Day thirty,
He didn't read any books that day.
From morning till night, he spent all his time rutting the Hightower woman. He never bothered taking her ass. It didn't tempt him as much as Elia's did. Still, her cunt was snug enough that he never had to try anything else.
Creak! Creak!
The bed was as battered as her womb by then. Daily fucking, lasting hours, wasn’t easy on the frame. And that day, he went extra hard.
Pa!
He softly palmed her asscheeks. Watching them jiggle was arousing.
He rammed her battered, sore cunt on all fours. He'd spilled three times since morning already. Now, for the last time, he came.
"Gaaah… That's… what I call… a month of breeding bedding! Seven bless your womb."
"Ye-sssshh… S-eh-Seven bless me-eh!"
Malora moaned and just plopped down, taking his fertile balm one last time. The scent was intense: sex, filth, sweat. They were used to it. It was arousing.
Bronn also lay down beside her, his shaft a little sore and red. He'd really overused it this time. But he had no regrets after receiving a warm bath each day, the best food and wine, all so he could fuck Lord Leyton's precious daughter.
A few tricks and they become blind.
Bronn scoffed, realizing that smallfolk were the same. Romanticising knights and lords in their shiny armor and gowns. But now, the tables had turned. He was the one getting idolized.
My name should have reached Highgarden by now.
He pondered. He had a plan, after all. Oldtown was but groundwork.
Willas Tyrell… your crippled leg will be my key to the Reach.
####
House of Seven Blessings, Oldtown,
Malora was pregnant. It was confirmed. The information was a secret, however. Malora was still kept in the same library, but no longer isolated. Leyton Hightower regularly met her, talked with her, and both of them studied magic together.
In time, she'd give birth secretly.
However, there was an issue. Bronn was forbidden from leaving Oldtown until the birth of the babe. Two Hightower Knights now guarded him at all times. While Lord Leyton said it was because he wanted to give a reward. Bronn knew that the man just wanted to confirm Bronn's claims.
If the child were to come out with hair other than red, it would be Bronn the Blessed's end.
Seven cunts, she's still a beauty!
In his sickroom, Bronn sat in the usual chair. He watched Septa Unella walk around, her bust curvaceous and soft, and her rear so round and noticeable in that septa gown. Her blonde hair matched her mature face. He liked looking at her. She was far more beautiful than Malora. But Malora excelled at brewing potions.
"Septa Unella, send in the new one," he told her.
It'd been a week since he returned to his work. Lord Leyton came to him regularly to heal his back pain. That increased Bronn's standing in the city, as the blessed septon with Lord Hightower's favor.
"I will, Lord Septon."
Umm… Can't wait to undress her. Bronn dreamily watched Unella walk out.
He'd heard her moans often in the past few days. She hadn't stopped touching herself. It didn't help that he'd taken another poor female for the Maiden's blessing. A forty-year-old blacksmith's wife. She didn't have a lot of money, but she had a mature woman's charm and a ripe, maintained body. A face that screamed her desire to be filled, a craving for motherhood.
He always called Unella inside each time and made her rub the oil on his balls. Already, he'd blasted his climax on her face once by 'accident'. She moaned really hard that night. But he wanted her to be more desperate.
Lazily, his eyes moved to the donation box near his table. At the rate it was filling up each day, he was having to empty it every four days. His wealth had exceeded all targets.
Three thousand Gold Dragons… Enough for a family of four to live for a thousand years.
But of course, Bronn had no such plans. The money he had earned had a purpose. What he needed was greater fame and name. Blind devotion towards him. Trust in him that was unchangeable, an untouchable status.
The foundation of a cult was the people. Ready to riot if something were to happen to their beloved faith leader.
And that money was his gateway.
You move a crowd, the merchants follow. Where the merchants follow, the nobles appear.
Healing alone would never make his fame spread throughout Westeros, and breeding women was even less likely to do so. So, his target was the poor smallfolk. Those who had no guarantee of whether they'd get to eat that day or not.
Flea Bottom would have been better. Oldtown's too rich. But this'll have to do.
Knock! Knock!
"Lord Septon." Septa Unella opened the door and led a man inside. He was tall and strong, but had the lower half of his face covered. "He has an ailment of the mouth—Ah!"
Bam!
"Move, bitch!"
Scrrrr~
Clank!
The man brutally shoved Septa Unella away and jumped towards Bronn. Since swords weren't allowed inside, the man took out a hidden dagger from his waist.
However, Bronn was no lazy, fat septon. He kicked the table with his feet and toppled it forward. At the same time, he grabbed his sword from under the table.
Thud!
The attacker fell as the table toppled.
Bronn was already on his feet and jumped over the table. His foot landed on the attacker's chest while he pressed the sword's tip on the throat.
"Who sent you?"
Bronn removed the cloth covering the lower face. There was a scar near the lip. And those sharp features made it clear. That wasn’t someone ailed, it was a sellsword.
Bam!
The door burst open just then.
"There he is!"
Fuck!
Five more men poured into the room. It wasn't big enough for all of them. But then, even more men walked in, a total of twelve.
Hightower's knights must have been dealt with.
"Gaaaah!"
Bronn showed no mercy anymore and stabbed the previously downed sellsword's throat, killing him.
"Brothers, if it’s coin you crave, that’s the box. Gods above, take it." Bronn pointed at the box behind him. But they didn't even look at it, just him. "If you're here for me, don’t be surprised if I carve you a little blessing on your throats first."
Unella… Fuck!
Unella was unconscious, her head likely slamming into the wall when she was shoved.
Carefully, Bronn stepped backwards. There was no escape route behind him, just a cupboard.
Ain't asking me to surrender?
That was bad. That meant they wanted to kill him.
Fuck the poor smallfolk! I'll buy men to guard first… if I live.
"Who sent you?" Bronn asked. The twelve men had made a semi-circle around him, their short swords raised.
No reply came. Their faces were also covered.
Seven cunts!
Creak!
With speed, he pulled open the cupboard behind him and…
Clank!
He dropped his sword and grabbed glass vials from the cupboard, and started to throw them.
Crash!
Crash!
"Aaaargh! My eyes!"
"Fuck! It's burning!"
He threw the flasks. He knew what they were: acids, oils, and other things he used in potions, or sometimes to fool people.
Wooosh!
Finally, Bronn picked up his sword again and poured a green liquid on it. Then, he swung the blade over the lantern on the wall and… it all caught fire. His entire blade burned green, flames so hot they threatened even Bronn.
"Come on!" Bronn jumped towards the twelve men and easily scared them back, carving himself some space to move. "Hah! Scared of Wildfire?"
As soon as they heard that name, they jumped even further away.
Thoros, I owe you one… I guess.
"Haaaa!" Bronn exaggerated the danger of the fire and started moving.
They tried to come closer, but he swung the sword left and right, keeping them at a distance.
Seven Hells! Her head's bleeding!
Bronn reached Septa Unella and quickly put his hand on the back of her head. He said no prayers. He used no theatrics. Just used the spell under his breath and healed the wound, stopping the bleeding.
Fire's almost out!
"Stay back, cunts!" He stabbed towards the men and dragged Septa Unella with him. He walked backwards, his rear towards the open door.
He wasn't sure about beating twelve men. But he knew he'd have a better chance outside in open space.
What?
Right when Bronn reached the door, he noticed the twelve men had lowered their swords and stood relaxed.
"..."
What's—There's more?...
He felt a presence behind him.
Bam!
It all turned black.
Something hard smashed into the back of his head.
Pain registered much later.
He wasn't awake to feel it.
Thud!
####
Hmm? Where is this?
Bronn woke up again, but things felt strange. His body felt weird, like it wasn't his own. And he was standing in a strange, black cage, tight, lined with spikes. Around him were many people, wearing strange clothes, weird hats, and waving sticks around. Magical quills wrote on paper on their own.
Thump! Thump!
"Order!"
What's this?
"Augustus… Augustus Rookwood!"
That's not my voice? Bronn could feel that it was his body that spoke. But the voice, the words, they meant nothing to him. He didn't know any Augustus Rookwood.
Woosh!
Once again, everything turned black. But when something appeared again, Bronn found himself pointing his wand at someone and shouting.
"Avada Kedavara!"
A spell?
Then, in another case, he found himself doing something even more strange.
"Imperio!"
Oh? I controlled him? Seven!
There were so many strange things he couldn't explain. People disappearing in smoke. Brooms that flew. A world so strange. He knew what it was. The memory of that strange man who fell on him from the sky all those years ago. The very thing that gave him the magical abilities.
Woosh!
Everything vanished again. But this time it was all white and…
"Bronn."
It was a woman's voice. Bronn looked left and right. It felt right this time; it was his own body. But… it felt small. He raised his hands, and indeed, they looked tiny.
"Mum?" He shouted back.
"Bronn… here~"
He ran towards the female voice. It felt distant, echoey, otherworldly.
"Mum! Where are you?"
"Here~"
Thud!
Bronn fell on his ass, his body froze, cold. In front of him was his mother, right as he remembered her in her last moments. She was right there in the white space… hanging from a rope, but there was no ceiling. The rope was connected to nothing; it just vanished up into the whiteness.
And… she was awake, blinking, looking back at him. Her face was deathly pale.
"M-Mum…"
"Never be merciful, Bronn. It's for those who're scared of revenge. Never forget… Never forgive them… Never~"
He felt his body shiver. His mouth went dry. He couldn't bring himself to look up. At those wide open eyes.
"All of them! All their noble blood! Use them as they would use us. Bronn~"
"Ugh…" Bronn clenched his forehead with both hands. "Y-You're dead… you're not real."
"Bronn, oh, silly Bronn. They'll never care for you. You'll never be their friend. You are nothing. You were born nothing. But you can't die of nothing. Take them with you, all of them… take them, Bronn~"
"I know that!"
Bronn shouted back and turned around. He crawled away using his small body.
"I remember it… Fuck… I do… I do."
He kept murmuring to himself and crawling away. His mother's voice became distant slowly. The last thing he heard from her was…
"Bronn, why… aren't you… dead?~"
Bronn halted crawling and looked back once. There was nothing now. The last words left him frozen. He remembered them from so far back. So many years ago, when he was all but five. When he came home early and… saw that knight leave his house, fixing his trousers.
All of them… They'll crawl before me… they will.
Woosh!
Once again, it was all black.
####
"Lord Septon? Are you awake?"
"Hmm? Uh… U-Unella?"
The light was dim, so Bronn opened his eyes with ease. He felt a soft bed underneath him and the scent of medicine. It was his bedchamber. And there was Septa Unella, seated beside his bed on the chair, her brows frozen in worry.
I lived… They'll pay for this.
"Lord Septon!" Septa Unella stood up quickly.
Bronn weakly moved his arm and grabbed Unella's hand. He looked her in the eye. "Imperio."
"..."
Unella awkwardly looked at his hand and then pulled hers away. "I'll inform the Maester, Lord Septon. Lord Hightower sent him, and he hasn't left yet."
It didn't work?
As Unella left, Bronn sat up on the bed, still feeling throbbing pain in his head. He didn't know how he was alive, but it didn't matter.
Why didn't it work?
Frustrated, he looked left and right and saw a small moth on the empty side of the bed.
Pat!
Bronn quickly put his hand on the moth.
"Imperio."
Prrrrrrr~
It worked!
He felt the connection. He made the moth fly to his will. He made it land wherever he wanted it to. He made it fly and then… jump into the burning lamp.
He felt the connection break right away.
So it won't work on people? Why?
But that didn't matter. His head turned towards a large box near the wall. It was made of metal and had smaller boxes inside.
In one of those was a rather venomous snake.
Some folks should move out of my way.
Comments
Razvan Peles
Tftc
Grabbott
His holiness has graced us with a chapter
MrPlotThickens
I get you. Coming chapters won't be similar. It'll be Bronn in more active attack mode.
Maleficarum
Won’t lie, the constant getting imprisoned/detained shtick or in this case the end of chapter attack is getting annoying and boring. It’s coming off very formulaic. Like you can now start to expect that by the end of every chapter “ooooh, sudden cliffhanger on a surprise conflict!!!”
