Spreading Christianity in Game of Thrones

(Bonus!)

(I've done research to figure out more about Ghost Hill, but I couldn't figure it out at all. House Toland apparently rules, but little is really known about them. I've decided to use my magic powers as the author to change it to make more sense (at least to me), therefore Ghost Hill was abandoned after Aegon Targaryen burnt it to a crisp in retaliation for the death of Rhaenys)

Ghost Hill loomed on the horizon, its broken silhouette casting long shadows in the desert's golden light. Once a bustling jewel of Dornish commerce, it now stood as a haunting reminder of ruin and wrath. Three centuries ago, it had been reduced to ash and rubble, torched to a crisp by the dragon Balerion under the command of Aegon Targaryen after the death of Rhaenys Targaryen. The fires that had consumed it left scars deep in its stone foundations, the once-proud towers now blackened stubs jutting against the sky. The sands had long since crept in, burying roads and marketplaces that no longer bustled with life.

What remained of its grandeur were hints of its former self—crumbling spires, faint traces of mosaics weathered by time, and the ruins of a sea gate that had once welcomed vessels from across the Narrow Sea. Ghost Hill was now a hollow shell.

As Gideon and his companions approached, the desert wind whistled through broken battlements, carrying whispers of long-forgotten lives. Seated near the city's yawning gateway was a solitary figure, his clothing rough and practical, the broad brim of his hat shadowing a face weathered by years under the sun.

The man glanced up at the approaching group, his eyes narrowing, then widening in shock as his gaze locked on Gideon. "Gods, he wasn't exaggerating," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Rising from his seat, he straightened his tunic and stepped forward, his voice carrying a rough yet respectful tone. "Are you Ser Gideon?"

Gideon dismounted with practiced ease, dusting off his cloak before offering a polite nod. "I am."

The man stood straighter and offered his hand for a handshake, which Gideon accepted. "I'm Perros, captain of the ship that's to take you to King's Landing. Prince Doran sent word you'd be coming. He mentioned… well, enough to prepare me. You've quite a reputation already."

"I hope I don't disappoint," Gideon said, his tone warm but humble.

Perros grinned. "I doubt you will. My ship is just a league away. We can leave whenever you and your men are ready."

—

The journey to the ship was brisk, with Perros leading the way as the desert gave way to the rocky coast. Anchored near a worn pier was a modest vessel, its sails furled and its hull polished smooth by years of ocean voyages. Despite its age, the ship was well-maintained, its decks scrubbed clean and ropes neatly coiled.

Once on board, the crew worked seamlessly, hauling the anchor, loosening sails, and making preparations for departure. Gideon joined Perros near the helm as the ship began to drift away from the shore, the horizon turning crimson with the last rays of sunlight.

"What's the story between you and Prince Doran?" Gideon asked as he assisted with the ropes.

Perros chuckled, tying off a knot. "I owe Prince Doran my life, simple as that. Twenty years ago, I captained a trading vessel through the Stepstones. Bad luck put us in the path of pirates. We were outnumbered—no chance of survival. Thank the Gods Prince Doran was sailing the same waters while traveling to Myr. He could've passed us by and saved himself the risk, but instead, he helped. His crew drove off the pirates, and he pulled us from certain death."

"Quite the debt to repay," Gideon remarked.

"That it is," Perros said with a rueful smile, nodding at Gideon. "But I'm still breathing because of him, so when he calls, I answer."

With a practiced hand, Perros adjusted the ropes as the sails unfurled, catching the wind and sending the ship gliding smoothly over the waves. The salty breeze carried with it the sounds of creaking wood and the occasional seabird. Watching Gideon secure the last line with practiced ease, Perros tilted his head in mild surprise.

"You've sailed before," Perros observed.

Gideon chuckled softly. "A few times," he admitted, his tone light but nonchalant.

Perros smirked. "So what about you, then? Doran gave me a brief explanation, but honestly, it left me with more questions than answers. Questions that, I must say, have only multiplied since meeting you."

Gideon smiled faintly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "I am here at the behest of my Heavenly Father."

Perros blinked, his expression teetering between confusion and incredulity. "Your… Heavenly Father?" he echoed. "What do you mean?"

Gideon turned to him, his gaze steady and calm. "The Lord my God has sent me here."

"This God… is your father?"

"He is everyone's Father," Gideon said without hesitation. "He created me, and He created you."

Perros blinked, his skepticism plain as he scratched the back of his head. "Which God is that?"

"The one true God," Gideon said, the quiet conviction in his voice as solid as the deck beneath their feet. He let the moment breathe before adding, "You're welcome to join my companions and me tonight as we pray and read His scripture."

Perros studied Gideon for a long moment before he let out a laugh and shook his head. "I appreciate the invite, Ser Gideon, but I've never been much of a Godly man myself. I think I'll have to pass on that one."

Gideon's lips curved into a kind smile, unperturbed. "No worries. Just know the invitation remains open to you and your crew anytime."

Perros nodded, his laughter softening into something more contemplative. "I thank you for that, Ser Gideon."

Gideon let the conversation settle into a companionable silence, his eyes drifting toward the horizon where the sun glinted off the rippling waves. The steady creak of the ship and the rhythmic crash of the sea provided a calming backdrop as his thoughts turned to the unknown road ahead. After a few reflective moments, he broke the quiet.

"How long do you expect the journey to take?" he asked, turning to Perros.

The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Provided the weather remains on our side, we should reach King's Landing within a fortnight. But if we encounter storms or unfavorable winds, it could stretch to three weeks—perhaps more if the sea decides to have its way with us."

Gideon nodded. "Very well. We are in your hands, then."

Perros smirked, his tone light as he replied, "It would be harder to find hands better."

Gideon offered a faint smile but said nothing further, his gaze returning to the boundless waters ahead.

—

On the open deck of the vessel, Gideon stood amidst his twelve companions. The men formed a semi-circle around him, heads bowed in reverence, their rough-hewn hands clasped together. Gideon's deep, resonant voice carried over the salt-laden breeze as he recited a passage from scripture.

"Honor your father and mother," Gideon intoned, his eyes scanning the group, "so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." He paused, allowing the words to settle into their hearts. "Exodus 20:12. It is not just a commandment but a blessing attached to obedience. Family is the cornerstone of life, a gift from God. Though the world may scatter us and death may steal them from us, we are united in the love of our Heavenly Father. You all must have families, or aspirations to make one of your own someday, meditate on these words.

One of his companions, Darius, spoke up. "What if your family has wronged you?"

"It is not always easy to honor those who may have hurt us, but our duty before God is to rise above bitterness. To honor them does not mean to condone sin but to choose forgiveness. As Christ forgave us, so must we forgive. Through that forgiveness, we honor God."

Darnell, standing to the side, spoke up next. "And what about those of us who have no family left?"

Gideon smiled gently, extending his arms as if to encompass the group. "When your earthly family is no more, your spiritual family steps in. Look around you, my brothers. The bond we share is not one of blood but of spirit. You are never alone, for the Lord binds us together as His children."

The men nodded their heads solemnly. Gideon led them into prayer, their voices rising and falling together like the tide. Nearby, Perros leaned against the ship's railing, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced with a contemplative expression. Though he kept his distance, his posture betrayed that he was listening.

When the prayer concluded, the men dispersed to prepare for the night, leaving Gideon to tidy the makeshift lectern he had fashioned from an overturned crate. As he worked, he glanced up and noticed Perros still lingering. Their eyes met, and Gideon offered a small nod.

After a moment's hesitation, Perros pushed off the railing and approached, his heavy boots echoing against the deck. "Gideon," he began, extending his hand in greeting, "That was... thoughtful. Your men seem deeply moved."

Gideon took his hand and shook it firmly. "Thank you, Captain. I only seek to share the truth as it has been revealed to me."

Perros nodded, leaning slightly on the railing beside Gideon. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Do you have a family, Gideon?"

Gideon's expression softened, and his gaze drifted to the horizon. "I did, once. Now, my family is my brothers and sisters in Christ."

Perros tilted his head, intrigued. "What happened to your family?"

Gideon sighed, the weight of old memories momentarily darkening his features. "My mother died giving birth. My father, a knight, fell in battle when I was just one and ten. My older brother met the same fate not long after. And my younger sister, the light of our home, was taken by a fever while I was away at war."

A shadow passed over Perros's face, and he murmured, "You have my condolences."

"They are unneeded but appreciated," Gideon said, his voice steady but tinged with sadness. "They are with the Lord now, happier than they ever were in this life. I believe they watch over me, waiting for the day I join them in heaven."

Perros shifted, clearly wrestling with his next words. After a beat, he asked, "Do you believe all people who die go to this... heaven of yours?"

Gideon studied him carefully. "You've lost someone too, haven't you, Perros?"

The captain exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "My wife and daughter. Both gone."

Gideon's face softened with genuine sympathy. "How did it happen?"

Perros hesitated, staring at the deck beneath his feet. "My wife died in childbirth, and... our daughter was stillborn. I lost them both that night."

"I'm sorry, Perros." Gideon placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Truly, I am."

Perros waved a hand dismissively, though his voice wavered. "It was a long time ago." After a pause, he asked, "So, since they never heard of your God, they don't go to this heaven, do they?"

"They never had the chance to hear the good word of Christ, but God is just and merciful. He does not judge those by a standard they never knew."

Perros's voice grew hesitant. "So… you believe they are in your heaven then?"

Gideon met his gaze squarely, his voice resolute yet tender. "Children are innocent, this I know for sure. Your daughter is most definitely with the Lord. About your wife…I do not know. That decision belongs to God, not to me. But I trust in His fairness and love. I believe in a God who does not abandon the innocent."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the waves. Finally, Gideon asked softly, "What were their names?"

Perros's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Annalise," he said quietly. "And little Elara."

Gideon smiled warmly. "Beautiful names. Would you like to pray for them, Perros? You needn't believe—only speak from your heart."

Perros hesitated before he nodded, his shoulders heavy with a weight he had carried far too long.

Gideon bowed his head, his voice soft yet imbued with quiet strength as he began. "Heavenly Father, we come before You in humble reverence, lifting up the souls of Annalise and little Elara. You are a God of infinite mercy and boundless love, and we place our trust in Your wisdom. We ask that You embrace them in Your eternal peace, where pain and sorrow can never reach. Comfort Perros, Lord. Grant him strength and wrap him in Your healing grace. Let him find solace in knowing they are in Your light, and guide him forward, carrying their memory with love and hope. Amen."

As Gideon spoke, there was an unusual stillness in the air, and Perros stood frozen as two golden butterflies emerged from seemingly nowhere. One was larger, its vibrant wings glinting in the sun, while the other, smaller, had a more delicate flutter. The unexpected sight awed Perros. Gideon simply smiled, his expression touched with reverence.

The butterflies danced in the air before slowly drifting toward Perros, their golden forms glowing softly in the fading sunlight. Perros extended a trembling hand, almost afraid to disturb them. As the smaller butterfly brushed past his fingers, he whispered hoarsely, "Elara…" Tears spilled freely from his eyes as he stared at the larger one. "Annalise."

The butterflies lingered for a moment, their movements slow and deliberate, almost as if acknowledging him, before they began their ascent into the sky. Perros's hand remained outstretched as they flew upward, their figures shrinking into the golden hues of the horizon until they disappeared entirely.

Gideon's voice was quiet, but his words carried weight. "The Lord is listening, Perros. I will continue to pray for your wife and daughter—and for you."

Perros stood motionless for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the empty sky. Then, as if compelled by a memory, he finally lowered his arm, his face streaked with tears. He blinked several times, drawing a shaking breath before speaking, his voice raw with emotion. "She… she was so beautiful."

Gideon's expression softened. "Tell me about them," he encouraged gently.

Perros drew a hand down his face, attempting to steady himself. "Annalise…" he began haltingly, his voice weighted with memory. "She had this way about her—strong, fierce, but…warm. She could see the good in people, even when I couldn't see it myself. Even me." He gave a shaky chuckle, the sound both bitter and fond. "I thought I'd known what love was before her, but the truth was, I'd been blind my whole life. She opened my eyes—made me want to be better."

Perros paused, his lips tugging into a faint smile as if he could see Annalise in his mind's eye. "Her favorite animal was a butterfly, you know," he added softly. "Seems fitting, doesn't it?"

Gideon tilted his head, his thoughtful gaze never wavering. "It does seem fitting. Butterflies are symbols of transformation, of new life."

Perros's smile faltered briefly before returning. "I remember once, early in our marriage, we were sitting by a meadow outside of town. Butterflies were everywhere, and she told me they made her feel free—like there was nothing that couldn't be overcome. 'The Gods little messengers,' she'd called them."

"And Elara?" Gideon asked with quiet reverence.

Perros paused, his jaw tightening before he continued. "I only held her for moments, but… those moments felt eternal. She was so small, so fragile. I saw her face—just for an instant. She had her mother's eyes. She looked so peaceful, even then."

Gideon placed a steady hand on Perros's shoulder. "That love you feel for them, Perros—that's eternal. It is a reflection of God's love. Hold onto it, for it is that love that unites you still and will guide you to them one day."

Perros's lip quivered as he nodded, his gaze fixed on the place where the butterflies had disappeared. After a moment, he sighed deeply and looked at Gideon. "Thank you. For the prayer. For… everything. I never realized how heavy the weight on my shoulders was until now."

Gideon clasped Perros's shoulder, his grip steady. "One day at a time, my friend. You're not alone, even when it feels that way."

"Annalise would've liked you," Perros said suddenly, his voice softer. "She would've asked a hundred questions about your God and probably argued half the answers, but…she would've liked you."

A small laugh escaped Gideon. "She sounds like someone I would've been honored to meet."

Together, they stood on the deck under the light of the moon, the soft rhythm of the ocean filling the space between them. Neither needed to speak further—the unspoken understanding between them said everything that words could not.