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When the second night came, the burials finally ended. Robert Baratheon was officially announced as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms. The Targaryen banners were removed, and Baratheon banners were hung.
Bronn walked out of the city and headed to his humble single room lodging, the same one that held his most cherished yet cursed memories. He looked at the new banners and sighed.
Seven damn blessings, three hundred years of sister-fucking dragon-kings, snuffed out in a year, all gone like piss in the rain. Hah, shouldn't have killed the dragons.
As a learned man, he had read the Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling by Grand Maester Munkun. That only made him despise the nobility more. Having read how absurdly idiotic the dragon-wielding Targaryens were, what could one expect from those without dragons? And now a Baratheon on the throne?
The realm was fucked before. Now it's fucked but by a different cock.
Tired, a little sleepy, he walked up to his basement dwelling's door, holding the key in his hand.
"Hm?"
But the door was already unlocked and left slightly open.
Frowning, Bronn took out a hidden dagger from his robe and pushed the door open. It was dark inside, so he was careful, holding the dagger in front.
"Who is it? If it's coin you're after, try the Stranger, he's richer than me."
"Mmh…"
A woman?
It was impossible to see, but he heard it alright.
"Bronn?"
Definitely a woman… in pain?
The breathy voice was noticeable.
"Bronn the Blessed?"
The Blessed? What?
"H-Help… me…"
Noticing how weak she sounded, Bronn sighed and lowered his dagger. Worried he'd be seen with a woman, he locked the door first and then walked over to the nearby table. It was dark, but he needed no light to walk around the place etched in his memory.
He grabbed the flint and steel and lit up the lantern right away. Holding it, he turned around and raised his arm towards the source of the voice, his humble bed.
"Hm?"
While he didn't have any image in mind, seeing this woman did make him feel confused. After all, those features weren't so common there. In that flickering light, he first noticed the heavy jewelry on her body, a big necklace around her neck, a head ornament, and even large gold earrings. She was dusky, beautiful actually, slender in every aspect, her big eyes dark, albeit looking weak. Her clothing was a beautiful, red and gold gown, wide around her shoulders, no sleeves, soaked in blood around her chest and legs.
A noble woman at every glance. There was no doubt about it. And seeing her complexion, Dornish, she was likely a handmaiden to the Princess. And her being there meant one thing: she was on the run. Understandably so, since Robert had won.
Her face was bruised, like someone had slapped the life out of her with a massive hand. One side of her face was slightly swollen, while her nose and lips were bleeding, as well as the ear on that side.
Bronn sighed, wondering what to do.
Best pass her off. Got my own mess to clean before I start preaching to others.
"I'll be back in a moment."
"Wait!" Her voice cracked, barely more than a breath. Eyes rimmed with tears, her face pale, even with her complexion. "Ser Ryne said you're a godly man. Please, help me. I have no one else. I beg you."
Helplessness.
That was an emotion Bronn was far too intimate with. He'd only known that emotion for the first ten years of his life. And seeing others going through the same was somewhat of a weak spot for him. Still, he was no fool to meddle in noble business. Nothing good ever came from it.
"Look, my Lady, if that's what you are, I'm just a humble septon-in-training, ain't I? Got a bit o' the Mother's blessing, maybe a wink from the Maiden, but I'm no bloody god. Sounds like your troubles need more than a half-baked septon with a sharp tongue and rusty blade. Whatever storm you're dragging behind you? It's far above my rank." Bronn plainly laid it out, the truth. "And Seven help me, I don't even know your name."
The woman gulped a choking breath, panic rising in her eyes, her body becoming restless on the bed where she sat. "P-Please…"
Her voice broke as tears slid freely down her cheeks—Big visible tears.
"They… My children… They're gone…"
Honestly, Bronn had never seen a noblewoman cry. Heck, he hadn't seen a smallfolk cry that hard. And after having seen the bloody madness left by the Lannisters, he could imagine one or two things that must have happened to her. Especially if children were involved.
But other than solace and a prayer, he had nothing to give.
Softly, he tried to calm her down. He knew he was no knight in shining armor type, nor was he considered particularly handsome; all he had to show was a decent face, a smile, and some miracles.
"Look around, my Lady. This is where I live, a single room, no window, barely any light even during the day." He pointed at the ceiling, sounding nonchalant despite how fucked up it was. "My mother hung herself from that beam when I was seven. That's how lowborn I am."
"Just, help me… Help me get to Dorne. I-I'm… I'm Nymeria… I'm from House Martell. They'll reward you, they will. Gold, a title, whatever you want. Just, just get me to my family."
The usual dungheap. Bronn's eyes became cold for a moment. They think they can buy us with some gold. Own us like fucking cows and pigs for slaughter.
Her offer didn't even tempt Bronn. The plan, the road he had planned for himself, was his absolute dream. And it wasn't born from a desire for status or gold. No, it was born of pure hatred towards people like the woman before him. In her eyes, he was a nobody, a tool she could use and then discard.
"Nymeria? The Princess of the Rhoynar? Gods above, at least have the grace to lie better." Bronn sneered at her. "Don't insult me, my Lady. I'm no noble, but I'm bloody well learned enough to see through your nonsense."
The Dornish woman shrank her neck in fright.
Seeing that, Bronn sighed. He didn't know what she had seen or faced. There was no point in taking out his anger on her.
"By the Father's beard, I'll see you mended first. You've got till morning to tell me a tale worth hearing, or I'll start making up my own." Bronn set the lantern down, looming closer. "Stay put and don't move your face."
"What! Take your hands..."
"Seven hells, woman! Ser Rhyne didn't tell you why they call me godly? I can heal folks with the Mother's blessing. Now hold still, or I'll toss you out and let the Stranger finish the job."
She didn't move an inch after that.
Bronn placed his spread palm on the wounded side of her face. A little shamelessly, he let his thumb press on her bloodied lips, thin and warm. He was just playing, holding back from letting his hatred towards nobles take over.
Then, he did the usual thing. He closed his eyes and started praying for her.
"O gentle Mother, soft of grace,
Lay your mercy on this face.
From shattered cheek and bloodied skin,
Let the healing light flow out, not in."
Bronn prayed and felt the effect of his magic work. He stopped feeling that throbbing sensation on the side of her face. He was sure she felt it too. But then he remembered something and decided to cheekily add himself to the prayer.
"By teat and touch, by cradle's might,
Spare her beauty, grant her light.
Bronn the Blessed calls your name,
Let life return and leave no shame!"
Done with it, Bronn slowly opened his eyes and then removed his hand from her face. He was mesmerized by her beauty, truly a sight to behold, as the swelling had vanished; it seemed like there were no scars to begin with.
She touched her face like a madwoman, her eyes wide in disbelief. She rubbed her cheek, touched her lips, and then caressed her ear. She couldn't hear from it until a moment ago. Now, it was as good as ever.
A loud gulp echoed in the small basement room. She eyed the man with a different view. While his speech was unrefined, he truly was a godly man, blessed. She'd heard of magic, but this was her first time seeing it, feeling it, a blessed gift to have.
"H-How… did you?"
"Just one o' the few blessings from the Mother and Maiden, if you can believe it. I'm just passin' it on before they change their minds," Bronn replied and turned towards his workstation, where he made medicines and poisons.
The Dornish woman felt overwhelmed, still feeling her face. But then, tears welled up in her eyes again. "C-Can you…"
"No, I can't bring back the dead."
She started to weep harder. "They… they butchered my children. My R–daughter… they stabbed her again and again, my little girl. My son… my sweet boy… they smashed his head, gods, he was only a babe… My babies… They killed my children…"
Without looking, Bronn's single brow rose. He knew she was oversharing it now if her aim was to keep her identity hidden. She was broken beyond words; any woman would be if that happened to their child.
A little in sympathy and a little wary, he took a finger-sized glass vial and walked back to the woman. "Who did it?"
"He… that tall man, that beast, monster!"
Seeing her emotions becoming unstable, he raised the glass vial to her. "Here, drink. Gods willing, it'll mend the wounds in you and lull you off to dreamless sleep."
She eyed the vial with suspicion and looked up at his face.
"Woman, if I meant to kill you, I'd have thrown you out for the Stranger and saved myself the sermon. Now hush and sleep. I've been burying more corpses than prayers since yesterday, rebellion my ass. If there's justice, it's the smallfolk who ought to be sticking knives in you lot."
Whatever came over the woman, she grabbed the vial and drank its contents in one gulp. Then, she watched the blessed man for a while, and before she knew it, she fell sideways on the bed.
"Ugh… my bed."
Noticing her bloodstains ruining his bedding, he groaned in a silent protest. But not acting like a complete fiend, he let her be instead of trying to change her clothes.
He returned to making the poisons and the medicine from his memories.