Spreading Christianity in Game of Thrones

The courtyard bustled as people gathered to see Gideon off. The once-wary guards and townsfolk now respected the foreigner who had brought healing, wisdom, and faith to Dorne. Among them stood Arriane, concern shadowing her typically confident demeanor as she watched Gideon prepare his horse.

"Are you truly leaving?" she asked, her voice edged with worry.

"I do not have a choice. Your King has summoned me," Gideon replied, tightening the straps on his saddle without looking up.

"I do not believe he would truly antagonize Dorne over this," she said. "It must be more out of concern for your acts of healing, or perhaps the miracles attributed to you. It's a dull knife, Gideon. You need not place yourself in harm's way for this."

Gideon paused, his hands resting on the saddle. He turned to her with a calm yet resolute expression. "Do you know how many martyrs there have been in the history of Christianity?"

Arriane's eyes narrowed. "Are you fitting to join their ranks?"

"Millions," Gideon replied simply. "And if that is God's plan for me, I will accept it. But if it is not, He will protect me. My mission was never to spread His word only in Sunspear but to the entire world. This is merely the next step in the journey He has set for me."

A silence fell between them. Arriane looked at Gideon, sadness flickering in her dark eyes. Finally, she gestured to a handmaiden who approached with a folded cloth.

With a sad smile, she spoke. "In the short time I've known you, I've come to understand you are steadfast in what you choose to do. Despite my efforts to convince you otherwise, I expected them to be futile." She stepped closer, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder before beginning to tie the cloth around his arm. "In our land, women give men they care about this cloth as a symbol of protection and endorsement. It is known as a—"

"A favor," Gideon interjected with a faint smile. "I know."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You had this in your land too?"

"I did," he said, his gaze steady. "But it was typically reserved for husbands and wives."

Silence hung again. Arriane studied him, her brow furrowed. Then, she smiled—softly, but with more vulnerability than before. "Does that thought disgust you?"

Gideon said nothing at first, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. Then he answered, his voice calm yet sincere. "No."

Arriane froze, her eyes searching his face as shock registered in her expression. Slowly, a radiant smile spread across her lips. Gideon gently raised his hand to her cheek before he hesitated, instead putting his hand on her shoulder. 

"We will discuss this further when I return," he said warmly.

She placed her hand over his, gripping it tightly. "You will return, won't you?"

"If God wills it," he replied.

"Then I will pray day and night to God for your safety."

"Thank you, Arriane."

From behind them, Prince Doran stepped forward, accompanied by Oberyn, Ellaria, and the Sand Snakes. 

"Gideon," Doran began, his voice measured but sincere. "Are you certain you do not need a larger escort?"

"Prince Doran," Gideon replied, his tone respectful but firm, "if I were to approach King Robert's court with a small army at my back, it would only escalate tensions. A dozen men is more than enough. I will not have others endangered for my sake."

Among the twelve who had volunteered to accompany him were Mors and Darnell Sand—now brothers in Christ, deeply moved by the miracles they had witnessed. All twelve men accompanying Gideon have recently begun to align more with Christianity than their ancestors' faith.

"I see you have grown quite close to my daughter," Doran said, though his words did not have much malice.

"She is a lovely woman," Gideon said simply, nodding toward Arriane, who smiled brightly towards him.

His gaze shifted to the group behind Doran. He met Oberyn's eyes and inclined his head. "Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn, to Gideon's mild surprise, offered a smile in return with a nod of his own. "Ser Gideon. I do not believe you've met my paramour, Ellaria Sand."

Ellaria stepped forward, her expression guarded, though the malice she once harbored had lessened. "Pleased to meet you, Ser Gideon," she said, her tone polite but distant.

"Lovely to meet you as well, Lady Ellaria," Gideon replied evenly. His gaze turned to the young women at their side. "And these must be the Sand Snakes I've heard so much about."

Oberyn's face softened with affection as he gestured toward his daughters. "Yes. My lovely daughters, whom I love more than anything. The eldest is Obara, then Nymeria, Tyene, and Sarella."

Gideon nodded. "Pleased to meet you, my ladies."

The Sand Snakes exchanged wary glances with one another, their silence as sharp as the weapons they carried. On one hand, they begrudgingly respected the man for his martial prowess, which had proven superior even to their father's legendary skills. Yet, anger simmered beneath their composure—he had humiliated Prince Oberyn in public and had the audacity to insult their family's beliefs. Finally, they opted to simply nod, their expressions neutral and inscrutable.

Gideon was not dismayed. Instead, he smiled knowingly. Turning back to Oberyn and Doran, he asked, "I trust the supplies given are sufficient for the journey?"

"They are," Doran replied, nodding. "Enough provisions for twelve men for two months, along with a fair amount of coin should unforeseen needs arise. As I told you, I've written a letter to a trusted friend in Ghost Hill named Perros. From there, you can secure passage to King's Landing; the voyage shouldn't take longer than a fortnight. That said…" He hesitated, an uncharacteristic lapse in his composed demeanor. "I can't help but worry about bandits as you approach the coast."

Doran stopped himself mid-sentence, shaking his head lightly as if to dispel his fears. He cast a glance at Gideon's gleaming armor and the undeniable air of strength that surrounded him, and he almost chuckled. "No, I suppose worrying about you is an unnecessary indulgence."

His tone softened then, a note of genuine warmth breaking through the formality. "I must say, Gideon, your presence here will be missed—not just by me and my family but by thousands in Sunspear who have come to admire your words and your deeds. I wonder what life will be like in your absence."

"You speak as if I am riding toward certain death," Gideon replied with a slight smile.

A moment of silence passed, as both men quietly acknowledged the unspoken truth: there was a chance it could be exactly that.

"Stay safe, Gideon," Doran said gravely. "May God protect you on your journey."

Gideon inclined his head in gratitude. "Before I depart, there is one last matter. I have left communion bread and wine in my chambers. It should last for several months. Though there will be no priest to conduct Mass in my absence, I hope you will distribute it among those who wish to partake. Encourage them to rest and pray on the Lord's day."

Doran nodded solemnly. "I will see to it personally."

"Ser Gideon."

The voice of Oberyn broke the quiet farewell. The Prince stepped forward, a sly smile playing on his lips as his gaze met Gideon's.

"When you return, I will expect a rematch."

Gideon's smile broadened. "I look forward to it, Prince Oberyn. Until then."

The holy knight turned to the crowd. "Goodbye, friends. May the blessings of the Lord be upon you always."

He mounted his horse with practiced ease, his small retinue following suit. The gates of the city opened, and those gathered murmured their own blessings and farewells. 

As Gideon disappeared through the gates of Sunspear, Arianne Martell felt an ache in her chest, unlike anything she'd ever known. A single tear traced its path down her cheek, betraying the whirlwind of emotions that stirred within her. Just a month ago, the man riding away had been an enigma, an outsider whose arrival in Dorne had been met with skepticism and disdain. But now, Gideon was a part of her life—a part that felt vital, yet fleeting.

She tore her gaze away only when Prince Doran's measured voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Arianne," her father called gently. "Your feelings for Gideon… you do realize the chances of anything coming of them are little to none?"

His words hung heavy in the air. Arianne said nothing, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she refused to meet his gaze.

"You are to be Princess of Dorne," Doran continued.

Arianne's eyes snapped to him, wide with shock. Her lips parted, but no words came out. For so long, she had assumed her father favored her cousin for the title. To hear him say otherwise, and so directly, stunned her into silence.

Doran pressed on. "Gideon has made it clear he has no desire to rule any land. Should you marry him, he would be Prince Consort of Dorne. And that is assuming the Lords of Dorne would ever accept an outsider, let alone a religious figure, in such a role."

Arriane furrowed her brow in response to her father's words.

"Even if they were all to embrace the Lord—which I am skeptical about—you must understand they would never tolerate Gideon as a political leader. Can you imagine the High Septon marrying a princess and becoming king? No. Because it has never been done, and it never will be."

"The only way you could conceivably marry him would be to relinquish your claim to the mantle of Princess of Dorne. You would need to pass that title to your cousin. Is that truly something you are willing to do for this man?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Arianne stood rooted in place, her father's words unraveling everything she had once believed about herself, about her desires, and about what her future could be. For years, she had fought tirelessly to secure her claim to the title of Princess of Dorne. It had been her greatest ambition, the very essence of who she was.

But now…

Now, images of Gideon filled her mind: his unyielding faith, his humility, his quiet strength, his radiant smile...

The thought unsettled her. Was she truly willing to trade everything she had ever wanted for a man she had only known for a month? A man who might never return?

Her heart said one thing, but her mind said another. 

For the first time in her life, becoming Princess of Dorne no longer felt like enough.

—

Gideon had been riding for several days, the barren beauty of the Dornish desert stretching out endlessly around him. The dry air carried with it a sense of solitude, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his horse's hooves on the packed earth. Scattered oases and occasional clusters of trees provided momentary respite from the otherwise unbroken expanse.

Fortunately, the journey had been made easier by a stretch of unusually mild weather; the sun's oppressive heat had mellowed, offering cool, gentle breezes. Gideon was less than a day's ride from Ghost Hill, where Perros, the man Doran had spoken of, awaited him. He had heard little of Perros beyond Doran's assurance that the man owed him a significant debt. Still, Gideon trusted in providence to guide him safely forward.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the sand, Gideon's voice rose softly, breaking the quiet of the afternoon. He began to sing one of his favorite chants, the melody carrying a serene, almost ethereal quality through the desert air:

"Salve Regina, Misericordiae…"

Mors, one of the men riding closest to Gideon, tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar hymn. "That's a beautiful tune, Ser Gideon," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What song is that? And what language are you singing in?"

Gideon smiled, continuing the chant for a moment longer before slowing his horse to match Mors's pace. "It's called Salve Regina. The language is Latin," he replied, his tone warm with appreciation.

"Latin," Mors repeated, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. "Is that the language Jesus Christ spoke?"

Gideon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, not at all. Our Lord spoke Aramaic—a common language of His time in Judea. Latin, however, is the language of the Roman Empire. After its conversion to Christianity, Rome became the largest Catholic state in history, and Latin was embraced as the Church's universal language for many centuries. It is the language of the Bible and many of our prayers."

Mors looked thoughtful as he took in the explanation. "It seems strange that a language spoken by those who crucified Him would later become a sacred tongue."

"It is a testament to God's ability to transform even instruments of pain and persecution," Gideon replied, his tone serene. "The Roman Empire, once an enemy of the faith, was transformed into a vessel that carried the teachings of Christ to the farthest reaches of the known world. What was meant to oppress became a beacon of salvation."

Mors nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the horizon ahead. "And the song," he asked after a moment, "what does it mean?"

"The song, is a hymn dedicated to the Virgin Mary, the Mother of Christ," Gideon explained, his voice reverent. "It is a plea for her intercession and guidance. The words call her our 'life, sweetness, and hope,' seeking her compassion in our sorrows and her protection as we journey through the trials of life. It reflects the deep love and respect we hold for her as the one chosen to bear our Savior."

Mors's curiosity deepened, and he glanced at Gideon. "Would you be willing to teach us the song?"

Before Gideon could respond, Darnell chimed in eagerly, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I would also like to learn."

Their eagerness seemed to ripple through the group, as the rest of the men voiced their agreement, nodding and murmuring their interest.

Gideon's gentle smile grew, his expression reflecting both humility and encouragement. "If you wish to learn, I would be honored to teach you. This hymn, Salve Regina, was often sung by Templar Knights while marching, calling upon Mother Mary for her prayers and protection. It is more than a song—it is a prayer to steady the soul."

As he spoke, Gideon's eyes lifted to the sky. The desert sun had begun its slow descent, painting the horizon with hues of amber and violet. Shadows lengthened across the sand, signaling that it would soon be time to stop for the day.

He nodded toward the shifting skyline. "Perhaps we can begin after setting up camp for the night."

The men wasted no time in dismounting and setting to work. Some unfurled tents while others gathered dry wood from sparse clusters of thorny brush. Mors and Darnell began unpacking the provisions, arranging them methodically as they prepared a simple meal. The crackle of a budding fire soon filled the still air, the scent of cooking bread mingling with the cool, earthy notes of the desert evening.

As the stars started to emerge from their velvety blanket above, the group sat in a loose circle around the fire, the flickering flames casting warm light on their tired faces.

Gideon's voice broke the peaceful silence, steady and deliberate. "Very well, we begin. Which of you can read?"

Five of the twelve men raised their hands, some tentatively, others with quiet confidence.

Gideon nodded thoughtfully, retrieving a parchment and a charcoal stick from his satchel. With practiced precision, he began to write the lyrics of the hymn, the strokes of his hand firm and deliberate. The men watched in silence, the crackle of the fire punctuating the quiet as Gideon's fingers moved with a steady grace.

When he was done, he carefully tore the parchment into smaller sections, each containing the hymn. Rising, he handed the pieces to the five who could read. "These are the words. Follow along as I sing, and those of you who cannot yet read, listen closely. Join in as you begin to learn the words. Together, we'll raise our voices."

The men nodded solemnly, gripping the pieces of parchment with care as though holding something sacred.

Gideon took a deep breath and began to sing, his voice clear and resonant, carrying the ancient melody into the night:

Salve Regina

Misericordiae

Vita Dulcedo et spes Nostra Salve

The five with the parchments followed the text, their lips moving uncertainly at first. Gradually, as Gideon sang each line again and encouraged their repetition, their voices grew stronger. The remaining men, sitting attentively, started murmuring along, picking up the tune and fragments of words.

By the time they reached the final lines, their voices, though imperfect, melded together. And after a few repetitions, their collective chanting rose into the star-strewn desert night like a solemn offering.

(A/N: One of my favorite hymns and it is definitely worth a listen, I highly recommend checking out the Templar Chant version for an even better experience.

In other news, my brother is getting married in two weeks! Just a heads-up: from January 27th to Febuary 2nd, I'll be in Seattle for the wedding, and as a result, there will likely be no new chapters during that time. I might manage to squeeze in a bit of writing here and there, but I wouldn't count on it. 

I will also remind you guys closer to the day. Have a wonderful day!)