I can't let her go. I must have her!
When Bronn held Daenerys's hands, the sensations he felt were unmistakable. His body jolted, and he knew she could feel it too. That vibration, passing through his hands into hers, and then returning. He only wanted to confirm his doubts, but this was even better.
At first, his desire for her was purely sexual, a trophy to have. But now, everything has changed.
Magic, I can feel it. Her blood carries it, but…
It was also different, not like the magic he had. This one was more subtle, more biological. She was born with it, clearly. But it was sitting dormant, never reaching the point of erupting. Yet, he knew he could teach her some of the things he knew.
She'd never be as powerful as he was, but she, too, would be able to perform the 'miracles' that he was known for.
She's mine from now on.
He made up his mind right away.
"Princess, look me in the eyes."
He ordered her, noticing how uncomfortable she grew, trying to snatch her soft, delicate hands from his grip. Oh, she was gorgeous and innocent, a fine specimen of a woman. Already, he knew he'd cherish this one.
But now it was different. He was still young and never worried much about the future. But he knew he'd eventually grow old and die. What would happen to everything after that? His cult, his city, his hard work. Would it all fade away?
About time I bred one for myself, and myself only.
Until now, he'd fucked women and bred them to give them a 'gift'. He made children as they desired and then forgot about them. But maybe, maybe if he had children with Daenerys, he could pass on his magical legacy? It didn't need to be as powerful as his. As long as they could perform even Lumos, it would be enough.
Mine, and mine alone. I will see to Viserys soon. By the Seven, I'll cherish you, Daenerys Targaryen, body, heart, mind, soul, womb, all.
He stared into her marble-like violet eyes.
"You are gifted. If you choose to become my apprentice…"
He used magic again, a basic lighting charm. He could feel his magic flow into her, and the way she tried to free her hands, she clearly felt it.
"I will teach you magic, Daenerys Targaryen."
Immediately, all her resistance faded away. Bronn felt her body ease up, and her eyes grew more hopeful than fearful, a bit of confusion mixed in as well.
"L-Lord Septon?"
"You carry the blood of the dragon, of old Valyria. Many share it, but House Targaryen alone kept it close and clean. By the Seven, that may be why I feel the magic in you. I have searched long for one such as you, blessed to bear my learning beside me."
His words seemed to register in her mind as she gulped, finally.
"I can learn your magic? I can? Me?"
"Only the Seven know what time will make of it. I see the spark in you, clear enough. How far it burns rests on your labor and my guiding hand. You need not sit hidden any longer, bent to your brother's fancies. Nor suffer alone, weeping at the lot given you. Walk with me now, and shape your own path."
He saw her hesitation.
So, Bronn released her hands and showed her magic from close-up. His one hand glowed in bright light. With the other, he grabbed the quill from his table and made it levitate.
"They call me the Seven's Angel. But Angels often appear in pairs, a man and a woman. Tell me, Daenerys Targaryen, will you walk this magical path with me?"
"My broth—"
"Viserys has no magic in his blood," Bronn declared, having felt no spark when he slapped him. "The Gods see his rage blind him. But you, my Princess, are not. I see wisdom in you, patience."
He stopped casting light and extended that hand towards her.
"Take my hand if you accept being my apprentice. Walk beside me and sing the Seven's prayers to these rotten, barbarian lands.
He waited patiently. He needed her to make the decision on her own free will; only then would she accept all his teachings, no matter how progressively absurd they may become. He needed her to believe his every word.
"I… I want to learn magic, Lord Septon."
Nodding, he rested a hand on her shoulder.
"So you will, my apprentice."
####
Red Keep, King's Landing,
"What do you want me to do, Ned? The Seven work the miracles in this realm. I toss the septons out of your lands, and the smallfolk and lords alike will riot, haul my royal arse off this throne, and carve me up. Big as our armies are, we can't fight the whole bloody lot."
Eddard Stark frowned deeply, seated across his old friend, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, who had grown fat ever since the Greyjoy rebellion. It was as if the taste of that victory still hadn't left Robert's mouth, living like each day was a celebration.
"Robert, there must be a way. If we do nothing, the Northern lords will rise against me. They may well put the septons' preaching in their lands to the sword. They fear the Old Gods will fade entirely, a name and faith we've kept alive for thousands of years," Eddard said, feeling like a parrot repeating the same thing again and again. "They use coin to sway the masses."
"Bah! Aye, the Lord Septon's got more than enough. Hightowers and Tyrells were lining his coffers already; now the Lannisters toss him a yearly tithe as well. I hear you, Ned. What is it you want me to do? I can throw coin at you too. But I'll tell you plain, it'll never be enough. The North's always been misery wrapped in snow. Lords snug in their keeps with warm quilts while the smallfolk freeze and suffer, same as ever. I say if the Seven give them light in their hearts and heat in their hovels, where's the bloody harm?"
"Robert!" Eddard raised his voice without realising; he rarely ever did that. "You Grace, you sound as if you want the septons to succeed."
"I don't. I don't give a shit, Ned. The Small Council agrees, though. If the whole North took the Seven to heart, it'd bind the realm tighter."
Eddard sighed, a bit defeated. South doesn't fare well for Starks, he'd heard. It seemed to have been correct. Robert didn't care, but the entire Small Council seemed to have made up its mind. No southern lord would raise their voice for him. If anything, they would rejoice and sip wine to celebrate the victory of the Faith over the North.
He gulped and chose to take a gamble. The Robert he knew was no fool.
"Robert, this is a trap. That Lord Septon is playing a dangerous game. He means to sway the whole realm to his side, gather all the power of the Faith into his own hands, and now the great houses are flocking to—"
"I'm not blind, Ned. I see that as well."
Eddard noticed a sharp glint in the King's gaze. He also noticed the tired look and how Robert quickly hid his state by pouring himself a cup of wine.
"Gods gave me good eyes, good ears, and a head on my shoulders, Ned. The Lord Septon is an ambitious bastard, sharp as a dagger. Young still, yet wiser than half the men at court. One by one, the realm slipped through my fingers, and I never even saw it happen. I was blinded by his miracles, by his mercy in saving my boy. They're real, Ned, his blessings. But so is his purpose. He cut me off from honest counsel when he had Lord Varys killed."
He knew all along?
"Since when did you know?" Eddard asked.
"My eyes opened during the Greyjoy rebellion. I watched him move my whole damn army and make them kneel like children. I saw Lord Tyrell snapping and strutting at his side. I saw every lord in the realm bend the knee. And then he killed the entire nobility of the Iron Islands… that magic is… real. It was a warning to me... I know it."
What happened to you, Robert?
Eddard noticed it, a shocking sight. Robert's hand that once wielded the mighty hammer was shivering under the mere weight of a wine cup.
"I'm afraid, Ned. I've got a brood, sons and daughters, an heir. The moment I stand against him, I know his curse will come down on me and my bloodlin—"
"I'm with you, Robert. We can stop him. We stopped the Mad King."
Woosh!
Clank!
Eddard dodged as Robert threw away the cup.
"Gods damn it, Ned! Can you not see what's in front of you? The bastard's conquered almost half of Essos already. Stop him how? He commands tens of thousands, men who'd gladly spill their blood for him. Even the cursed Citadel stands with him, and they hate magic above all else. That bloated fool in the Great Sept is High Septon only by title. The realm isn't ruled by me, Ned. I'm a fucking lump of flesh strapped to the throne like a pig meant for the knife."
"..."
Eddard felt speechless. He didn't know Robert was facing such challenges.
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