It was a late-night feast in Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy. While they'd nearly certainly lost the rebellion, it didn't mean they had to act sullen and bow their heads. No, they were still very proud of themselves.
They were ready to face the land invasion by the King. Even though loss was certain, their goal was to inflict as much damage as possible on the other side. Enough damage that they'd leave the Iron Islands alone for the next few years. Enough time to recover the losses.
"Bah! He broke into song, can you believe it? That is their great envoy," Euron laughed with a howl, his one hand holding a cup of ale and the other groping the ass of the woman on his lap. "The man was weeping before us."
In comparison, Victarion was calm and ate in silence. Right beside Victarion sat the Lord of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy. The thin man eyed his younger brothers with caution.
"We know little of the man himself," Balon warned, "but all know the legends that cling to him. Be wary. No one can say what tricks he conceals. His curses are feared for good reason. One claimed the life of the King's spymaster and several Archmaesters of Oldtown."
"Poison, most like, or the Faceless men out of Essos," Euron sneered with mockery. "I hear the Septon keeps a fortune and even claims a castle. We should plan a raid on his precious Sept. Wine, bring me more!"
Thud!
Euron slammed his cup on the table and got busy fondling the woman. With his hand freed, he quickly pulled the woman's robe down her chest and claimed her supple breasts, pinching and kneading them. The woman moaned on his lap, giggling.
Many eyed Euron with jealousy, since the woman was indeed beautiful. And Euron himself was gifted with good looks.
"Ummmh."
Right there in the open, Euron clawed the woman's long brown hair, twisted it until she yelped, and pulled her face to his own. He kissed her with hunger and madness, no finesse, just lust and pleasure.
They near ate each other's mouths as loud wet slurps and moans echoed. Most tried to ignore them, but many just watched.
"Euron?"
Suddenly, the woman frowned and whispered Euron's name. She moved her lips away from Euron, but couldn't move too much as his hand still held her hair. She stared at the man's face, all expressions frozen, the mouth frozen in kissing motion, and even his tongue was still out.
"Euron?"
The second time she called him, she was louder, capturing the attention of those nearby. She tried to move, but he had gripped her so firmly. She struggled, and no matter what, Euron didn't move an inch.
"What happened to you?" She moved a bit more violently and…
Thud!
The chair fell backwards with Euron, her on his lap. She screamed in pain as some of her hair got ripped, but she was free once again. She didn't run and tried to check on Euron. By then, the men around had also rushed over.
"What happened?" Balon crouched beside his brother. "You drank too much, Euron?"
There was no response. That was when Balon felt a cold chill run down his body. He touched his brother's neck to feel for a pulse and… there wasn't any.
Thud!
His head turned back towards where he was seated, and there, Victarion had also fallen, face flat on his own plate.
"No! The curse!" Balon ran to his other brother and checked for a pulse. Once again, there wasn't any. "D-Dead?"
Balon was in disbelief. He tried to shake Victarion again and again, shouting for healers to be brought. He did the same for Euron. But both his brothers seemed frozen in time. As if they were alive one moment and dead the second.
Thud!
And then another body dropped. It was the priest of the Drowned Gods who'd gone with Euron and Victarion.
Silence spread across the hall after that. They had all heard of what transpired during the negotiations. Euron wasn't really silent about it. They had all heard of Seven's Angel. And they all knew the so-called septon had placed a curse.
"This…" Balon sat beside Euron's body, eyes sunken in horror.
As an Iron Islander, he believed in many occult things. He believed in the Drowned Gods. But never in his life had he faced direct occult magic before. He knew such things happened in Essos, but even there they weren't so common.
How could a mere curse kill someone from so far away? He'd already lost two of his sons, and now two of his brothers were gone.
Thud!
Thud!
All of a sudden, a few more men started to fall, dying on the spot. They seemed random, even the maids fell. But in that hall, most were nobles and their sons.
"End this!" Balon shouted, seeing men he knew die around him without making a single sound. It was like an invisible dagger that struck the heart without leaving a wound or a trail.
Thud!
Thud!
But more fell.
"No!" Balon saw another of his brothers fall and die. This one shocked him more because it was Aeron Greyjoy, the youngest of them. And he was a priest of the Drowned God, even famed for having prophetic abilities.
He saw the lords and heirs just fall and die all around him. Blacktyde, Botley, Drumm, nobody was spared.
"I… I surrender! Enough of this! I—"
But before Balon could utter another word, he, too, fell.
It came so suddenly, that feeling like someone had pulled his soul out of him. As he fell, he felt the life leave his body. It was terrifying yet so fast.
Thud!
The bloodless massacre.
The Seven's Curse.
Wrath of the Seven's Angel.
Only a handful survived in that noble hall. And they had already come up with names for what had just transpired. In just a few moments, Balon Greyjoy and all his brothers died.
In mere moments, the entire Iron Islands was conquered.
And the conqueror wasn't even there.
####
The Crag, Westerlands,
If one were to ask Bronn what he liked the most, he'd say waking up squeezed between two gorgeous, soft septas was amongst the top contenders. Malora and Unella were an inseparable part of his life.
They didn't even hold any semblance of rituals anymore and did things for the sake of it. Bedding them was a regular part of daily life; that was it. Sleeping after emptying his balls in either of them or both, and then being hugged by them from both sides, was the highlight of his day.
Of course, it sometimes got too warm and sweaty, but that never took away the joy. And that morning too, he opened his eyes and felt Malora's fat tits smushed on his side, her leg draped on him, one hand on his chest. Meanwhile, Unella was the same; her tits weren't Malora's size, but they were fantastic. She was taller, however, and that brought her face right beside his ear.
Oh, even in her sleep, her breath sounded like a moan. Moreover, her one hand was on his cock, his morning wood at full peak. She didn't seem fully asleep as her hand was also gently stroking him.
What a morning.
He enjoyed the soft, snug clench of her fingers on his cock for some time, just staring at the ceiling. Her strokes slowly got faster, and by then, it was clear she was fully awake. He didn't say anything; she'd done this too many times to count.
Bronn felt the familiar throb deep in his shaft turn urgent, that treacherous pulse that always came too soon in the mornings. His cock jerked once in Unella's lazy grip, a helpless little greeting, and a bead of early seed pearled at the slit. He exhaled through his nose, trying to cling to the calm, but the bastard that it was, his body had already chosen surrender.
Unella's blue eyes flicked open, sleepy and knowing. Without a word, she shifted, the quilt sliding down the pale slope of her back like water.
She pushed her golden hair aside with one hand, lowered her head, and dragged the flat of her tongue up the underside of his cock in one slow lick. Then her lips parted, and she took him in. Smooth, unhurried, sinking down until the swollen head nudged the back of her throat.
She held him there, throat fluttering around his length in gentle, rolling swallows that milked him in warmth. No rush, just wet, plush heat and the softest suction, as though she were savoring his swollen flesh.
Each slow bob of her head sent velvet ripples along his shaft. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter low in his belly, thick and syrupy, threatening to spill.
"Ummmh…" Bronn groaned out. His fingers threaded slowly into her hair, gathering the heavy strands so he could watch her lips stretch around him.
Her tongue swept lazy circles over the sensitive crown each time she drew back, lapping at the slit. Then down again, lips sealed just beneath the ridge, cheeks hollowing with tender pulls while her hand curled around the base and stroked in the same slow, slick, relentless rhythm. Saliva spilled, coating his cock until every small glide felt like sliding into heated honey.
Bronn's hips helplessly jerk up, but he caught himself, fingers tightening in her hair only to steady her. If he'd wanted her choking and tear-streaked, he only had to ask, and she'd give it gladly. She'd choke herself to death, willingly.
"Mmmmh…" Unella's hum vibrated straight through his cock, a low, filthy hymn. She sucked harder, cheeks hollowing until the pleasure bordered on ache.
"Ghk!" Bronn's head pressed back against the pillow in the same instant the first thick rope surged up his shaft. His cock erupted, pulsing again and again into the clutch of her throat.
Unella never flinched; she sealed her lips tighter, took every spurt, and he watched her slender neck work as she gulped around him.
Once, twice, three times, until his batter was gone and only the wet heat of her mouth remained. It was so warm, he felt like drowning in his own cream and her spit. Only then did she pull back, slow as sin, tongue swirling one last time around the head to gather the final pearl.
When his cock slipped free, it gleamed with her spit, and the soft, wet pop echoed in the quiet room.
"Seven be blessed, what would I do without you, Unella?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her flat against himself. His hands groped her ass behind as the Septa stayed up on her elbows, aware that her lips were still sullied.
Ah, almost feel like driving into her.
Bronn gazed at her gorgeous, mature face and felt hard again. His hand on her ass took liberty, a few fingers sliding over her anal hole, then down to her slick cunt. She was ready, always willing, but he didn't want to take too long that morning.
"Two days have passed, the word should be in by now. The Rebellion is near done, if the Seven took my curse to heart," he said, explaining their work for the day. "Rest in the tent, I worked you too hard last night."
"Umm… I'm not tired, Lord Septon."
He smiled and caressed her face, tucking away her hair. "Oh, I've no doubt in your faith, sweet Septa. The Seven know your heart burns bright. But I hold you too dear to see you wear yourself thin. If your hands must serve, go to the healers' camp. See if they need anything."
Unella nodded, a blush visible on her cheeks. As a septa, she'd never experienced romance. Bronn was as close to a lover as she had ever experienced, and his gentleness always made her heart skip a few beats.
"I shall do that, Lord Septon."
"Good." He finally pushed her aside and got off the bed. He eyed Malora, the woman sleeping soundly on her chest, her curvy ass plump, still red from the smacks his'd printed while fucking her in the ass.
Despite his words, Unella helped him wear his robes. What a sight it was to have a naked beauty ready him. It was more annoying telling himself that he shouldn't push her against the table and have her.
Finally, he fastened his belt and prepared a solemn smile on his lips. Then he walked out of his sizable holy tent. Right outside, he was greeted by a dozen Angelic Knights in their metallic white armor, guarding him and the tent.
"Lord Septon!"
They all saluted him in unison.
___________________
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