LIGHTNOVELWORLD Chapter 5: Chapter 5
(A/N: For ease, I will have Westeros adopt the Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… schedule which we use. I tried googling it but did not find any names for specific days of the week, but since they have fortnights, I assumed the concept of weeks was there as well. Also, there are some 'controversial' topics mentioned in this chapter. As I said in the synopsis, I do not want to cause any conflict between me and you guys or among you guys. Debate is fine, and I enjoy answering any questions to the best of my abilities, but please keep that in mind.
Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!)
Word of Gideon's miraculous abilities had spread far and wide since the day in the training yard. At first, many dismissed the tales as exaggerations or fabrications, but Gideon had silenced all doubt through his actions. Each day, he opened the gates of Sunspear and offered free healing to anyone in need. Men, women, and children who had suffered for years found relief in a single touch, leaving his presence weeping tears of gratitude.
The people loved him, flocking to him as though he were a savior sent by the gods themselves, or rather, the God which he preached about. Yet not all were in awe. Some viewed him with suspicion or outright hostility, particularly devout followers of the Faith of the Seven. They whispered of demons and forbidden magic, accusing Gideon of leading people astray with his "blasphemous miracles."
But none dared move against him—not with Prince Doran's public endorsement of his mission. Their whispers faded to nothing in Gideon's presence, though their angry glares lingered as he preached his faith.
—
As the bells of Sunspear tolled to announce the morning hour, a large crowd gathered. Rows of wooden pews—conjured by Gideon's hands using the gifts of his Lord—had been arranged before an altar adorned with candles and engraved white cloth. The crowd sat expectantly, their eyes fixed on the man standing at the center.
Gideon raised his hands in greeting, his voice clear and resonant, carrying across the crowd with an unmistakable warmth and authority.
"Before we begin, I wish to extend my gratitude to Prince Doran and the noble House Martell for granting us this space. Their hospitality serves as a reminder of the importance of kindness, a virtue we hold dear to our hearts, one cherished by the Lord."
To the surprise of many, his voice seemed to reach each ear, as though it were right beside them. Doran, standing among the gathered, nodded with a smile, acknowledging the words with a quiet appreciation. Gideon's return smile was warm, matching the gesture of gratitude.
"And I thank each and every one of you for being here. Today marks the beginning of something sacred. You are the first to hear the Word of the Lord in this land, and the first to receive the Holy Eucharist. That is no small honor. Your faith, your presence, will forever be remembered."
Gideon paused, letting the stillness settle over the courtyard before offering a warm, reassuring smile. "As this is our first Mass together, allow me to guide you. Rituals, prayers, and words carry significance, but please do not concern yourselves with perfection. What matters is the devotion in your hearts and the reverence you bring before the Lord. Over time, these traditions will become as natural as breathing."
The congregation, an odd mixture of nobles, merchants, and commonfolk, listened, many of them were themselves healed or had loved ones who were similarly healed. They had attended the 'healers' gathering more out of curiosity than in faith. Gideon raised his hands gently.
"Let us pray," he began. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, we pray to you, Lord. Bless these people before me, their families, and those who have passed into your eternal grace. Let your light shine upon us, guiding us on the path of righteousness. Let us reflect your love in all we do and seek comfort in your divine wisdom."
As Gideon concluded the prayer, he looked out at the sea of faces. There was a palpable shift in the air as uncertainty began to dissolve into a quiet sense of peace.
The Mass progressed with moments of prayer and silence as Gideon gently explained the significance of each step, drawing comparisons to the lives and struggles of those in Sunspear.
"Today," he began, sweeping his gaze across the gathered assembly, "I wish to share with you words of wisdom and comfort from the Holy Scriptures. Words that have brought me solace in times of despair and courage when I was weak."
Carefully, he turned the pages, reverently settling on a passage. He read:
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." — Matthew 11:28-29.
Setting the book aside for a moment, Gideon met the eyes of the crowd. "In our struggles, it is easy to lose hope, to wonder if there is something beyond the pain and burdens of life. Yet, this promise assures us: that we are not alone. In my time among you, I have seen the trials of your lives—wounds of both flesh and spirit. But the Lord's strength is unending, and His peace is offered freely to all who seek it."
In the front row, Oberyn Martell stood beside his brother, arms crossed as he watched the Mass unfold.
"So," he said, his tone hushed but laced with curiosity, "this is the miracle worker you spoke of?"
"Yes, Oberyn," Doran replied, his gaze steady. "He has healed me and many others in the name of his God."
"His God," Oberyn repeated, "or yours?"
Doran hesitated, his silence heavy. Then, in a low voice, he said, "Ours."
Oberyn frowned. "You've always been a man of caution, but you sound convinced. This is out of character for you. So I will ask you this question, brother, what of the Seven? What of tradition? Let alone allowing this man to preach, converting yourself will do nothing but alienate the rest of the realm."
Doran's expression darkened. "Oberyn… what has the Seven done for us?"
Oberyn opened his mouth but stopped.
"They did nothing," Doran continued, his voice hard. "They failed to protect Elia, our niece, and our nephew. Thousands of prayers for their safety not just by us but by the entirety of Dorne, and they did nothing. They failed us at every turn. Many times I questioned if they even existed. For years, I believed I was godless, keeping the faith only for appearance. Then Gideon arrived."
"At first, I dismissed him as a fool, a rich fool but a fool nonetheless, but the moment he laid his hands on me, my pain disappeared. My gout, deemed incurable by the most brilliant medical minds in the realm, was healed with a touch. He conjured his Holy Bible with nothing but a gesture. And when I pray with him, I feel something—a warmth and peace I have never known. Not even in the Great Sept of Baelor. I believe in his words, Oberyn."
Doran met Oberyn's gaze, his voice resolute. "Perhaps it's time to embrace something different. Watch him, Oberyn. Listen. You may see what I have seen."
Oberyn's attention returned to the altar as Gideon lifted the Bible again. This time, his words were firm and resonant:
"The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?" — Psalm 27:1.
Gideon paused. "Let this light guide you, shield you, and give you the courage to face all things. Fear has no power where faith reigns."
Gideon closed the Holy Bible with a soft thud, his serene gaze sweeping over the captivated crowd. "I have made copies of this Holy Bible for all who wish to read further," he said, his voice imbued with gentle sincerity. "All you need to do is come to The Old Palace, and I will provide you with a copy. Let the Word be a guiding light in your homes, just as it is in your hearts."
The congregation murmured amongst themselves, a mix of curiosity and reverence filling the air. Gideon allowed them a moment to process his offer before gesturing toward the altar, his expression growing solemn.
"Now," he began, his voice rising just enough to command attention once more, "we gather not only to listen but to participate. To offer ourselves in worship and to receive the Lord's blessing in return. Please, kneel at the provided piers."
He motioned toward the kneelers that had appeared only that morning in the courtyard—beautiful wooden structures intricately carved with patterns of vines and doves.
One by one, the crowd knelt—hesitant at first but emboldened by the sight of Prince Doran and Arianne Martell lowering themselves without hesitation. Oberyn, however, remained standing, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of skepticism and defiance.
Gideon noticed Oberyn's stance but made no comment. Instead, he offered him a serene smile and a nod of acknowledgment before turning back to the altar. His reaction—gracious rather than combative—seemed to catch Oberyn off guard, though he concealed his surprise behind a raised brow.
"Now, let us celebrate the Eucharist," Gideon proclaimed, stretching his hands toward the heavens. "We give thanks to the Lord, who sacrificed all for our salvation." His voice held a depth that resonated with the crowd.
As he whispered a prayer, his hands began to glow softly. Before the congregation's astonished eyes, an ornate chalice of radiant gold and a matching gilded bowl appeared from thin air. The chalice gleamed with etched images of angels, while the bowl's rim was encrusted with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. Inside the bowl were small, circular pieces of bread etched with a delicate cross, seemingly glowing as if kissed by divine light.
Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd, many bowing their heads in awe. Even the defiant Oberyn couldn't hide his fascination as Gideon lifted the bread high. The sunlight danced on the golden objects, creating an otherworldly spectacle.
Gideon's voice rang out, calm and steady. "On the night he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus Christ took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take this, all of you, and eat of it. For this is my body, which will be given up for you.'" He held the bowl aloft for a moment, the golden edges catching and refracting the sunlight.
Gently, Gideon lowered the bowl to the altar, his movements deliberate, every gesture reverent. Turning toward the chalice, he lifted it with equal care.
"In a similar way, when supper was ended, He took the chalice, gave thanks, and offered it to his disciples, saying, 'Take this, all of you, and drink from it. For this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me.'"
Gideon knelt before the altar, bowing his head in silent prayer. When he rose, he made the sign of the cross before consuming the bread and sipping the wine. "Thank you, Father," he whispered, the words barely audible but deeply heartfelt.
Turning back to the crowd, Gideon stepped aside. "Now, come, brothers and sisters. Form a line and partake in this holy meal. Let the Lord's blessing enter your hearts."
Prince Doran was the first to rise, his movements graceful yet deliberate. The crowd watched as the ruler of Sunspear approached with solemn reverence. When Doran reached the altar, he kneeled. Gideon raised the bread. "The body and blood," he intoned softly.
"Amen," Doran responded instinctively, his voice steady. As he consumed the bread and wine, an inexplicable warmth spread through his chest, bringing a rare lightness to his weary heart. He gave Gideon a nod of gratitude before stepping aside.
Arianne followed soon after. The skepticism she had initially harbored toward Gideon had melted over the week, replaced by cautious but growing faith. Kneeling gracefully, she awaited her turn as Gideon raised the bread once more.
"The body and blood," Gideon said, his words carrying both authority and gentleness.
Arianne smiled. "Amen." As she ate the bread and sipped the wine, a radiant warmth enveloped her, leaving her both reassured and awestruck.
When Oberyn approached, it was with an exaggerated smirk and a swagger in his step. He refused to kneel, and lingered for a moment before the altar, eyeing the chalice with mock curiosity. "I've never been one to refuse wine, good ser," he remarked, his tone playful but tinged with sarcasm. "I trust it's of fine quality?"
Gideon met Oberyn's bait with calm amusement. "There is no wine better," he replied simply, not caring much for Oberyn's disrespect. His serenity seemed to disarm Oberyn slightly. "Your brother has spoken much of you," Gideon added, his voice conversational but meaningful.
Oberyn arched a brow. "He has also spoken of you," he retorted with a grin.
Gideon only nodded. "Then perhaps this meeting was fated." He raised the bread. "The body and blood."
Oberyn's smirk widened, though he said nothing, accepting the bread but refusing the ceremonial "Amen." He chewed it with exaggerated casualness before taking the chalice. Raising it to his lips, he drank deeply—only to find the cup's contents unchanging. No matter how much he sipped, the chalice remained full.
Gideon gently retrieved the chalice before Oberyn could overindulge further. "Oberyn!" Doran silently chastised, before grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the alter. Oberyn offered no rebuttal, his usual sharp wit silenced by the strange warmth coursing through him—a warmth unlike anything he had ever known.
—
Gideon approached Doran, Oberyn, and Arianne after the service, nodding politely to each of them in acknowledgment.
Oberyn's grin stretched wide as he studied Gideon. "You are quite good-looking," he remarked with a brazen smile. "Perhaps to rest after all this preaching, you'd like to join me in my chambers? My lover would welcome you in our bed."
The bold statement caught Gideon off guard, but he quickly recovered, his brow furrowing slightly. Doran's head snapped toward Oberyn, his expression a mixture of irritation and disappointment.
"I must politely refuse your invitation."
"Why? Does your God forbid it?" Oberyn asked playfully.
Gideon remained silent for a bit before speaking calmly. "As is written in the book of Leviticus; If a man should lie with another man as he does with a woman, then he has committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them."
Oberyn's amused grin vanished, replaced by a sharp glare as he leaned in closer to Gideon. "So, you wish to kill me, then?" he challenged, his voice carrying a note of restrained anger.
Gideon met his gaze with unshaken calm. "No, Oberyn," he replied, his voice steady but full of conviction. "For sin shall not have dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace. The law given in Leviticus was given to the Israelites after their exodus from Egypt. The coming of Jesus Christ fulfilled the Old Covenant and replaced it with the New Covenant."
Oberyn arched a brow, and with a disdainful smirk said. "Do you ever have thoughts for yourself, holy man, or are you just a good dog reciting your master's words?"
Doran's sharp voice cut through the tension. "Oberyn, enough. This is unbecoming." But Oberyn barely spared his brother a glance, his fiery gaze locked on Gideon.
"Doran, you take the side of this outsider?" Oberyn challenged, his voice taut with indignation. "A foreigner who comes here spouting sermons, insulting me with his laws, threatens me with death, and now seeks to lead you and the people of Sunspear astray with his so-called scripture?"
"I have not insulted you, nor have I sought to lead anyone astray," Gideon replied calmly, his hands clasped in front of him. "And I have most certainly not threatened you with death."
Oberyn scoffed, his smirk returning. "Forgive me, then. Perhaps my ears deceived me. Care to repeat your Leviticus law once more, just for clarity's sake?"
Gideon's expression did not waver. "You heard me correctly, Prince Oberyn, but let me be clear: it was not a threat. The laws I quoted were given to the Israelites—a specific people, who lived during a specific time. They no longer bind us under the covenant of Christ."
"And yet you choose to quote them at me," Oberyn retorted sharply, his anger barely restrained. "You declare these laws irrelevant and still cling to them. Why?"
Gideon met his intensity with serene conviction. "Because they are not irrelevant. Though we are no longer under the Old Covenant, those laws teach us about God's holiness and our own need for redemption. They lay the foundation for the fulfillment we have through Jesus Christ. As it is written in Hebrews, the Old Covenant was but a shadow of the good things to come. Jesus fulfilled those laws and established a new way of grace and truth."
Oberyn's laugh was biting, his hands spreading wide. "Grace and truth! You spout such noble words, holy man, but it sounds like little more than chains dressed up in silk."
"Not chains," Gideon replied, his tone unshaken. "A gift—freedom from sin's power. For all people have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. I am no better than you, Oberyn, for I am a sinner too."
The prince's sneer returned. "And yet, here you are, cloaked in righteousness and ready to shame me for what I do behind closed doors."
"I do not seek to shame you," Gideon said firmly, leaning forward slightly as his voice took on a softer, more personal tone. "'For at whatever point you judge another, you condemn yourself.' I judge no one, Oberyn. I share what I believe so that all might come to know the truth."
Oberyn's grin curled into a sharper, more predatory edge as he stepped closer to Gideon, his eyes gleaming with mischief and challenge. "So, you claim to withhold judgment?" His voice dropped into a mocking, almost gleeful tone. "And yet by your very words, I am a sinner who must change his ways or face damnation. Is that not judgment enough? Your words make no sense to me, holy dog."
"Not my judgment," Gideon responded without flinching, his voice unwavering as he met Oberyn's eyes with steady calm. "It is God's truth, not mine, and it applies to all of us—myself included. And I have a name, Oberyn. Despite our disagreements, I have afforded you no disrespect. I would expect the same in return."
Oberyn arched a brow, a grin still lingering but now tinged with something dangerous. "Feisty, are we? Fine, then, Gileon." The prince's mouth twisted in amusement as he deliberately mispronounced Gideon's name, mocking him. "Since you and I cannot find common ground, how about we settle this with combat? I've heard you know how to fight."
Gideon's eyes flickered to the others present, before returning to Oberyn. "If you wish to tomorrow, we can."
Oberyn's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Are you scared, holy man? Are you simply trying to avoid something you can't win? Don't worry, I won't hurt you."
Gideon didn't waver. "No, I'm not scared," he said evenly. "But today is the day of rest, and I will not break that rest unless it's necessary."
"How convenient that today happens to be the day of rest," Oberyn jeered. "Well, if you won't break your rules unless you have to, I suppose I'll just make sure you have to."
Arriane stepped forward, her gaze anxious, her words quiet but firm. "Uncle…" she said, "must you do this?"
Oberyn's voice was laced with challenge as he turned to glance back at Gideon, a wicked grin forming on his lips. With a fluid motion, he seized his spear. "We don't need armor for this," he continued, his tone mocking. "I've heard you can summon your sword at will. Let's settle this right here, right now."
Gideon stood tall, his expression firm as he stared into Oberyn's fiery gaze. "If you insist we do this, Oberyn, I will not back down. Perhaps your arrogance will dissipate afterward."
With a calm yet resolute gesture, Gideon summoned his sword. It appeared in his hand with an almost ethereal glow, the blade radiating with a divine light that caused Oberyn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"Whenever you are ready."