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The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, wasn't at King's Landing. He'd been dispatched to Dorne to appease the Martells and ensure they wouldn't rebel.
Especially now, since Elia had given birth to a silver-haired prince, the greatest threat to the realm. Even more so, as the babe was born before Robert's own son.
So, for that duration, the acting Hand of the King was Stannis Baratheon. He didn't get along with his brother, Robert, but he never dishonored his duty.
That evening, with Robert busy drowning himself in wine, celebrating his son's health, the Small Council was held. Everyone other than the King and Jon Arryn was present. Some faces were beaming, some were sulking, some were neutral.
"How could His Grace permit such a thing? A nameless mummer, laying hands upon the young Prince. It is unseemly, most unseemly." Grand Maester Pycelle complained, jolting back and forth on the chair in anger. "A stain upon my calling, upon the very order of maesters. I must write to the Citadel."
"I have seen the babe, Steffon, named so at King's whim, in memory of your late father, Lord Stannis," Lord Varys commented. "A raven will not serve you well, Grand Maester. My little birds have whispered enough of this Lord Septon's triumphs. In Oldtown, he stands only beneath the Seven themselves. It is said with surety that he holds gifts of healing, and even the maesters of the Citadel have made use of his draughts and remedies."
Grand Maester scoffed, fuming in his seat.
"Enough. The Septon stays safe so long as he dwells in this city. He saved the Prince. If harm comes to him, you answer to the King and Queen." Stannis firmly advised them and proceeded with the next matter. "Now, to the next matter. Lord Arryn has sent word. The Martells stir with ambition."
"They do," Lord Varys added. "They seem to be looking for allies as we speak."
"We would do well to place greater guard over His Grace and the Prince," Ser Barristan joined in. He rarely spoke in the Small Council.
"I agree," Stannis said, rising. "Lord Varys, see your birds attend to Dorne. Any plot must be known to us before it takes root."
"I will, my Lord."
With that, the Small Council ended, and most of them dispersed. Most, because Lord Varys and the Grand Maester remained.
"You cannot give credence to such madness, can you, Lord Varys? A mere mummer amidst the King's court?"
Varys let out a weary sigh. "In times like these, I don't know what to believe in, Grand Maester. I used to trust my eyes, but now it seems even they play games."
The old Grand Maester kept shaking his head, fuming.
####
Next morning,
Bronn dressed up in regular septon robes and went towards the Red Keep. Right away, the gates were opened for him, and he was escorted into the main Keep. Crossing further gates, he was guided into Maegor's Holdfast, where the little prince was.
This time, he'd arrived with the usual rejuvenation potion and an extra vial of a mystery oil. It was very early, the sun had just brightened the sky.
"Where is the Prince?" Bronn asked the Gold Cloak.
"The young Prince rests with the Queen, Lord Septon."
With surprising ease and silence, he was guided up through the stairs and taken to the Queen's bedchamber. The Kingsguard standing outside turned stiff at Bronn's sight.
"Has her grace woken up?" Bronn asked the man.
"She has, Lord Septon. The maids entered many moments ago."
"Then announce my arrival."
Quickly, the Kingsguard knocked on the door and loudly declared Bronn's arrival. The voice carried genuine respect, it seemed.
Bronn already knew what had happened. The city was beaming with rumors about him. Each rumor was more outrageous than the last, but they were all positive. Some claimed he was some god's incarnation. Some claimed he was immortal. Some claimed his hand's mere touch could cure seven generations.
In moments, the door was opened. The few maids who had entered to ready the Queen left with their heads held low.
Well-trained by the Queen, no doubt.
"Please, Lord Septon."
With the Kingsguard keeping the door open, Bronn walked inside the fresh, flower-smelling bedchamber. His eyes moved towards the bed right away, and there she was, the ripe beauty, the Queen in the peak years of her beauty. He truly found it hard to understand why Robert wasn't happy with the marriage. Even if the woman had a nasty personality, she still had a pretty face and most certainly a fine cunt.
Nobles and their nonsense, I suppose.
Thud!
Oh?
To his surprise, he found the door closed behind him. No guard followed him in.
Such trust?
"Lord Septon!" Cersei called from her bed.
Bronn smiled and strolled towards the great bed, eyeing Cersei. She had been freshly robed, her gown looking lovely, a regal red thing, armless with an unusually wide neck that showed him a fair bit of her swells. Her curly blonde hair was left untied, but they were clearly combed.
"Your Grace." He dipped his head, eyes sliding at last to the babe upon her lap. "How fares the little Prince? Has he tasted his mother's milk?"
He purposefully asked such a direct question. He wanted to see her reaction, and really, that blush made him more confident about what he was about to do.
Cersei nodded, all smiles. "He has, Lord Septon. He… drank so much."
"Hold no words from me, Your Grace. There is naught to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a temple of the Mother and the Maiden. Your breast is a holy vessel, feeding life as the Mother above willed. The richer the milk, the hardier the babe," Bronn replied shamelessly. "Worry not of me. I have long forgone bodily pleasures. All I do now is in service of the Seven's good favor—spreading the Seven's blessing."
Cersei, seemingly reassured by Bronn's words, nodded firmly and fondly looked down at her son's face, dark hair and blue eyes, but the face was so beautiful, she knew it was hers.
"He will be a strong, handsome man once he grows. The likes of which the realm will envy, the history will remember, and the ladies sing songs of," Bronn praised, and he really felt it. The boy had an absurdly cute face. If he retained Cersei's beauty and Robert's strength, it would be something to look at.
She stiffened as Bronn climbed over and settled at her side, though she forced her breath steady. He had come to fulfill his duty. "Your words comfort me, Lord Septon. I can see my Steffon grown tall, handsome."
Obsession? Bronn noticed the subtle hint of obsessive behavior when she said 'my Steffon.'.
"May I?" He extended his arms. "I should continue with the healing."
"Please do." Cersei handed the babe to him. He was the only man other than Robert she allowed to hold her son. She felt more at ease with him holding the babe than with Robert.
Bronn took the little child while eyeing his surroundings. It was quiet, and there was strangely no sign of the King's belongings in that bedchamber. Which meant that they had separate bedchambers. Perhaps for the duration of the child's healing? He'd never heard of nobles sleeping in different rooms before, no matter the differences.
Then there was Cersei, whom he just drank in with his eyes. She was a conquest for him. A hill to climb. That deep, wide-necked red gown with golden embroidery did its job of seducing him.
But he was no fool, no mindless cock-pumping buffoon. It was a game that he knew very well how to play.
Right away, he unwrapped the baby, placed his hands on the body, and sang a slow prayer. He genuinely used healing magic, making sure that the body didn't deteriorate.
"He's holding well." He said, keeping the Queen talking. "Have you eaten, Your Grace? The mother's milk runs richest when her body is well nourished."
"I have eaten, Lord Septon. Though my appetite is low," Cersei answered truthfully. Being her first pregnancy and childbirth, she was nervous about everything. And after seeing her son almost die, she was mindful of Bronn's every word.
No longer shy?
Finally, Bronn wrapped Prince Steffon with the warm blanket and took out his vial. "I brought the diluted elixir today."
Just a few measured drops he fed the little one.
Once he had put the vial away, he took out another vial, this one was crystal, transparent, holding some red oil.
Bronn looked at the Queen with a gentle gaze. "Your Grace, now I shall spread this nourishing oil I made on your chest while reciting prayers."
Silence fell. Cersei frowned hard, but then her eyes grew confused, as if unsure if she heard him right. "Oil?"
"Aye, that draught I gave young Steffon is like a pinch from the Seven Themselves—wakes the blood right quick. But blood roused and starved turns spiteful, does more hurt than good. Best feed it proper. This oil shall make your milk full of nouris—ah."
Pa!
Bronn slapped his forehead, sighing. He lowered the vial of oil and shook his head, as if disappointed.
Then he looked up at Cersei's big, confused green eyes. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Since I have long forsaken the earthly pleasures and vices, I'm used to this, and I sometimes speak my mind where words may bring shame to a woman's honor. If my words cast a shadow on a lady's honor, may the Mother soften the fault."
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