Red Keep, King's Landing,
King Robert Baratheon, First of his name and all that bullshit, as he himself titled it, paced back and forth in front of the small cradle. Inside it lay the fragile body of his firstborn son, the little life he'd produced and had come to love in such a short time.
Mere days it had been, and he was willing to die for this little blob of flesh. Yet, all he could do was watch as his son's life slowly faded, growing weaker with each moment, like a burning candle on its last stretch.
He hadn't slept in days, making the already imposing warrior king look like a beast on the verge of exploding in rage. His unkempt beard, his hair, and his dark eyes added to the fearsome air.
Not far from him, the Queen, his wife, Cersei, sat on the wide windowsill, knees up, her eyes dozing towards the city in the distance. She barely ate and refused to speak. She'd already shed tears a mother could. Now, she awaited the inevitable death of her son.
"Your Grace, to summon some wandering shaman who beguiles the gullible smallfolk would be of no worth. I have written to the Citadel, requesting their most skilled healers."
Robert grumbled in a low exhale and stared at the Grand Maester. "What in the Seven hells have you done with your days? You call yourself Grand Maester, but you're nothing but a pile of shit in robes. Get the fuck out of my sight, before I split your skull with my hammer."
"Uh… Your Grac—"
"Out!" Robert roared.
Knock! Knock!
Right then, a few knocks came on the door, and it opened.
"Your Grace!" Ser Barristan entered the chamber, his breath ragged from haste. "The Lord Septon has arrived."
As Ser Barristan stepped aside, an ordinary-looking man walked in, a soft smile on his face, his hair combed neatly back, his attire a septon's usual. There was nothing remarkable about the man at first sight. While he stood tall, nothing else generated confidence.
But Robert couldn't care less about that. He'd seen men with worse looks do the most honorable deeds. Besides, he'd exhausted all other options. This Lord Septon was the last one, and there were numerous rumors about the man, from magical healing to curing Lord Hightower's mad daughter.
"Gods be damned, don't just stand there, Septon! Heal my boy. Take my coin, my wine, the whole cursed kingdom if you want it, only save him!" Robert pleaded, an act most would consider beneath a King. But he was a father at that moment.
To Robert's surprise, the septon moved and patted his shoulder once, a gentle caress. He felt enraged that the man still dared to smile and act so calm and slow. But then…
"O King, take heart, the Gods are near,
Their holy light shall banish fear.
The Mother's hand has guided me,
To guard your son by Heaven's decree."
Robert frowned, seeing that soothing hymn as nonsense. But then the septon moved past him, continuing to speak.
"The Maiden fair has led me here,
Her voice a balm, her path made clear.
Your child shall rest in sacred care,
The Gods have heard a father's prayer."
For an unexplained reason, Robert felt speechless. In his heart, he genuinely hoped that the Septon's act wasn't just a farce. In that moment, in silence, he truly hoped for a miracle; That the rumors were true. That this unremarkable man was blessed.
He was never religious.
He never prayed. Heck, he cursed in the name of the gods.
But watching that man approach the cradle, Robert found his hands rise and clasp together in a silent prayer, no, pleading of a father.
####
Seven hells! She's… Bronn couldn't give a damn about the tall King. No, his eyes surveyed the woman on the windowsill, her long curly golden locks a mess, her curves a sight to behold, and her face.
He could swear she was perhaps the most strikingly beautiful woman he'd seen in his life. The type of beauty that made men dance around her finger, cocks hard and brains empty.
No wonder she's the Queen.
But still, Bronn forced himself to focus on the King. He reckoned the Queen was more of a silent mourner while the King was loud.
First impressions matter. Bronn thought and chose to form a prayer on the spot and sing it, while assuring the King and approaching the babe.
"Uh-hah… The babe'll do fine with my concoctions, you… Septon. Y—"
Bronn heard the old man who unceremoniously approached his side, sneering the whole time, his chains tinkling.
"Best not tempt the Seven, Maester. They have a habit of biting back," Bronn said, shoving the man aside as though he were filth. "Keep him away from me. I'll not call on the Gods with a faithless fouling the air."
"Throw him out!" King Robert ordered angrily.
Happy with that, Bronn focused on the babe, a boy. He was tiny, smaller than normal newborns should be. One look and he could see why the babe was dying. Born so fragile, it was hard to process everything. The body wasn't prepared for the real world.
Not dead yet.
"I require some things," Bronn said, and looked at Ser Barristan again, as he knew him the best. "Fetch me a small cup of steel. Stoke the hearth, and bring water. In the Seven's names, be swift."
"Be quick!" Robert roared.
During that time, Bronn unwrapped the baby, removing a layer at a time until the small chest was bare. He really didn't know if his mystery magic would work. He'd healed wounds, deep gashes, and even internal injuries. He had no clue how to make a little babe stronger. The best bet was to heal every part of the tiny body.
But then his eyes shifted to the lone woman, the lovely Queen.
Might as well make an acquaintance with her.
But first, he needed to steady the little babe. Wasting no time, he placed both his hands on the body; the two spread palms were enough to shroud the entire boy. The eyes were shut, the chest was barely moving for breaths.
"Mother of mercy, cradle this child,
Born into shadows, frail yet mild.
Strengthen his breath, so shallow and thin,
Let gentle life take root within."
Bronn verbally chanted a prayer, loud enough that everyone could hear him. He kept his eyes closed and focused on the matter at hand. He had to, as even he was learning the true extent of his magic.
Poor boy, had just a few hours more of life left.
But that was about to change now. Bronn's magic healed the internal wounds, the weakened veins, and the weakened organs. It was working; he could feel it by the strengthened breath of the babe.
Finally, since the babe had stabilized, he thought of something mischievous. Since he'd come to King's Landing, it was pointless to leave without some spoils. He deserved a reward for tolerating the city's filthy stench and being dragged into royal business.
"Your Grace?" He looked at the Queen, the famed Cersei Lannister. She didn't look that old, perhaps the same age as him, ripe twenty. Yet, motherhood embraced the woman and aged her like wine, curves, and ripe flesh that could make men crawl on all fours to her bed.
Cersei Lannister, as if woken from a daze, raised her head to look at him.
Seven cunts, that face. I suppose I'll spend a few days here.
"The little one draws breath yet. Another few hours and the Stranger would've had him, but I came in time. His chest holds steadier now, his body too. The Prince was born frail, most certainly because of the improper method used by the midwives," Bronn said, explaining a plausible reason as he had noticed very faint marks on the babe's neck. "Still, a mother's voice carries far, and it is her plea that rouses the Mother and the Maiden to mercy the most."
Cersei peered at him with her striking green eyes, looking confused, but hopeful. She stood up right away and walked over to the cradle, and looked inside.
"When did the little wailer last raise its voice?" Bronn asked, "Seven bless the lungs."
"O-Once… After birth. Never again," Cersei muttered, sounding weak.
Bronn was more intrigued by the scent of the Queen. Despite her mental state and visible malnutrition, she smelled of an expensive fragrance. Maids and servants must run around her all day.
"As the mother, Your Grace, lay your gentle hands on the little one as I did," Bronn advised her, removing his own hands. "Then… Seven keep us, I'll lay mine atop yours and recite the prayer. You will feel the blessing with your hands; it'll feel warm, like the breath of the Seven."
Cersei wasted not a single blink and followed Bronn's command.
But Bronn hesitated, a mere ruse to appear holy and honest. He glanced at the King. "Your Grace, shall I? The Gods grant me no book of courtly rules. My hands would lie on the Queen's hands."
"Seven hells, just be done with it!" Robert roared, waving his hand with no care. "Thrash her, choke her, I don't care, just heal my son!"
Oh? Not a blissful marriage? Bronn noticed Cersei's eyes twitch and the corner of her lips jerk.
"Then, Seven bear me witness."
Soft… untouched by the harsh life we all live. The life of a Princess, one who swam in gold.
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