Gideon knelt beside his bed, the soft light of dawn filtering through the arched window of his guest chamber. The rosary beads slipped through his fingers, one by one, as he murmured prayers in a cadence.
A gentle knock at the door interrupted his meditative state. Gideon paused, glancing toward the door.
"Come in," he called.
The door creaked open to reveal a young maid. "Ser Gideon, Prince Doran requests your presence in his solar."
He nodded, his hands still clasped around the rosary. "Please inform the prince that I will join him shortly after my prayers."
The maid hesitated, then curtsied. "Of course, ser." She closed the door softly behind her.
Gideon returned to his devotions, the beads clicking gently in his hands as he continued to pray.
—
Prince Doran was seated in his solar with an open tome before him. This tome was the Holy Bible, which was gifted to him by Gideon last night.
There was a knock on his door, breaking the stillness, and Doran's gaze lifted.
"Come in," he said. The door was opened, revealing Gideon, who entered into the room.
"Good morning, Ser Gideon," Doran greeted, gesturing for him to sit. "I trust you rested well?"
"Well enough, thank you," Gideon replied, taking a seat. "You asked for me?"
Doran nodded, gesturing to the open book before him. "Last night, I and Arriane took your advice and started reading this scripture. There is one verse that stood out to me, I was hoping for your guidance on the matter."
"Ask, and I will do my best to answer," Gideon replied.
Doran opened to a specific page and leaned forward slightly. "The Sermon on the Mount–this teaching of turning the other cheek. Taken in its literal sense I disagree, if someone were to attack me or mine I would not hesitate to defend myself. As a knight yourself I am sure you have seen combat, is there a hidden meaning to this scripture which I do not understand?"
"Unlike what many may think, this scripture does not suggest that the followers of Jesus should be doormats, and allow others to walk over them. In simplest terms, Jesus taught us that when someone attacks our right to respect or dignity, we are not to defend our rights with revenge. We are not to retaliate. Paul says as much in Romans 12:18-19, when he encouraged those who followed Christ to live in peace with others and not to avenge themselves. As God says, "It is mine to avenge."
Doran grows rather uncomfortable and a little bit angry too. "So you are against vengeance then?"
Gideon paused, studying Doran with a gentle intensity. "I can sense a story there."
Doran leaned back slightly, before sighing. "Is it truly so obvious?"
Gideon nodded solemnly, a smile on his face. "It is written all over your expression, Prince. Pain leaves marks visible to those who have seen it before."
Doran chuckled again, though the sound carried little humor. "It is no great secret, I suppose. Our history is riddled with betrayals and bloodshed."
He hesitated before continuing, his tone sharpening. "I do not know how familiar you are with our recent history, but before the Baratheons seized the throne, the Targaryens ruled Westeros for nearly three centuries. My sister, Elia, was married to their Crown Prince, Rhaegar, and bore him two beautiful children. Her love for them was boundless, her devotion to her duty admirable."
Doran clenched his jaw, the bitterness in his voice deepening. "But the Targaryens were undone by madness. Rhaegar... seemed different at first, calmer, and more measured. We thought him a salvation of sorts, a reprieve from his father's insanity. How naive we were. His actions ignited a civil war."
Gideon nodded slightly, encouraging him to continue, though the sorrow on his face showed he already sensed where the tale might lead.
"Rhaegar was married to my sister," Doran pressed on, "but he cast her aside as if she were a common whore. He kidnapped the daughter of the Lord of The North. As vassals of House Targaryen, Dorne was bound by honor to fight for them, but even more so." His voice grew harder. "They had Elia and her children in King's Landing under threat of death, so we bled for a king and a cause we no longer believed in."
Gideon said nothing, listening with unwavering focus.
"Then came Tywin Lannister," Doran growled, his hatred palpable as he said the name. "The snake stayed neutral for most of the war, waiting to side with the victor. And when it became clear the Baratheons would prevail, he marched his forces to King's Landing in false friendship, sacked it, and killed thousands of innocents. His prize for betrayal? The blessing of the new king, Robert Baratheon, who sat on the throne amidst the ashes of those Tywin butchered."
Doran paused, breathing heavily, his voice tightening with grief and rage. "My sister was among them. Elia, who deserved none of it. They violated her, Gideon." His fists clenched as he spoke. "And her children… her daughter stabbed so many times that her small body was left unrecognizable. Her infant son—just a babe, not yet a name day old—had his skull crushed in the hands of Tywin's dogs. These monsters butchered them for the crime of being born Targaryen. And what did Robert do? He laughed over their corpses. Called them 'dragonspawn.'"
The bitterness in his tone was venomous. "And Tywin Lannister, rather than being punished for his treachery, was rewarded—his daughter crowned queen. Where was the justice in that?"
"You have suffered much, Prince Doran."
Doran exhaled, his jaw tight. "Not as much as Elia did," he murmured, his voice soft yet unyielding. "Gods, she didn't deserve it. She was so gentle, so pure of heart. Everything in her life was stolen, broken, desecrated."
"The Lord heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."
Doran blinked, a momentary flicker of confusion crossing his face. "Sorry?"
"It is from the Psalms," Gideon explained gently. "A collection of scripture I would strongly urge you to prioritize reading. What I mean to say, Doran"—he dropped the formal title deliberately—"is that your suffering, your grief, is not unseen. The Lord understands your pain. He is acquainted with the depths of sorrow that weigh on your soul. You are not alone in this."
Doran's expression hardened again. "And what does the Lord's understanding do to change what happened to Elia? Am I simply supposed to ignore her suffering and let it go unavenged?"
"No," Gideon said firmly.
Doran's eyes narrowed, the briefest glimmer of satisfaction flashing in them. "So, I am right in seeking vengeance?"
"Yes—and no."
Doran frowned, "you speak in riddles. How can vengeance be both justified and condemned?"
"I am sure you read the verse: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. It is–"
"So why, Gideon!" Doran interrupted, his voice laced with frustration. "Your actions yesterday gave me proof that this God of yours is real, and if I am to be honest, at that moment I felt a warmth I had not known for years. But now, this same God seems to demand something I cannot fathom."
Doran stood up, his finger pointing towards Gideon as if accusing him of something. "To forgive? To let go of the rage that has fueled me for so long? That has been my companion when the weight of grief threatened to crush me? It is this very rage that has driven me, kept me standing when everything else in this world seemed determined to pull me under."
"Forgiveness feels like a betrayal," Doran said, his tone quieter but no less intense. "Am I to act as if the horrors inflicted on my sister, on her children, never happened? To let the butchers who stole everything from her, and from my family, rest without consequence?"
Doran's voice grew sharper. "Tell me, Gideon, am I to abandon justice? This God of yours—does He truly believe that vengeance is wrong when it is all I have left to honor those I lost?"
Gideon listened without interruption, his own calm a sharp contrast to Doran's agitation. When the prince finally fell silent, his breathing slightly uneven, Gideon spoke, his voice soft and kind.
"No, Prince. Forgiveness is not indifference. It is not pretending the pain did not occur, nor is it a denial of justice itself. Forgiveness is the act of releasing your soul from the chains of hatred and rage."
Doran's voice trembled with restrained fury as he spoke, the rawness of his grief laid bare. "How am I supposed to think of the men who caused my sister's final moments to be spent watching her children die—her daughter butchered, her infant son's skull crushed—while she was… violated and stabbed? And yet you ask me to let go of my hatred for them? I do not believe I will ever think of those men and be free from the rage that boils within me."
"Anger is a natural response to such evil–it is righteous in its inception. But if left to grow unchecked, anger becomes a poison, consuming the very vessel that holds it"
Doran's lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. "Poison or not, it is all that has sustained me," he admitted bitterly. "If I let go of my hatred, what am I left with? Memories of a sister I failed to protect? Of justice denied?"
"You are left with the love you bore for her," Gideon said softly. "With the memory of the joy she brought to your life and the resolve to honor her not by mirroring the cruelty done to her, but by ensuring it cannot happen again to another."
Doran's jaw tightened. "How can I do that if I do not act against those responsible?"
"I never said you should not act, Doran," Gideon began softly. "But act with a righteous heart, not a vengeful one. Seek not only to punish but to ensure that such atrocities never happen again. That is the highest form of justice—to defend others and prevent further suffering."
Doran stared at Gideon for a moment, his expression caught between defiance and contemplation. Slowly, he sighed, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. "You make it sound so simple," he said softly.
"It is not simple," Gideon admitted. "I know from experience that it may be the hardest thing you will ever do. But it is also the most necessary, for both your soul and for hers."
After a brief silence, Doran sat down, sighed, and placed his hand on the bridge of his nose. Contemplating for a second, before he once again spoke. "I must apologize. I was not planning to show you this unsightly side of me."
"There is no need for apologies, Prince," Gideon replied with a kind smile. "Grief and anger are not unsightly, they are part of what makes us human."
Doran laughed warmly. "So now you speak formally to me again?"
Gideon simply chuckled, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment.
After a moment of silence, Doran's tone softened. "Gideon, truly, thank you. For your words…" he trailed off slowly, then added, "If you are willing, I would like to join you in prayer today. The maid who fetched you this morning mentioned that you were praying while holding some beads?"
"Yes, the rosary," Gideon confirmed. "It would be my honor to pray with you, Prince Doran. Perhaps before we retire tonight?"
"Yes, that would be great. I can also get Arriane to join us; she has shown interest in this, just like I have. It would be hard not to, after witnessing your miracles yesterday."
Gideon shot Doran a sharp but measured look, one that was not unkind but carried enough weight to make his point.
Doran chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "My apologies—the miracles of the Lord."
A faint smile curved Gideon's lips, and he inclined his head in acceptance. "Speaking of your daughter, do you know her whereabouts?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I promised her I would spar with the guards today," Gideon said lightly. "I need the morning exercise anyway."
A flicker of amusement lit Doran's eyes. "I will have a servant fetch her. In the meantime, I will lead you to the training yard myself."
"Very gracious of you," Gideon replied with a slight incline of his head.
—
The bright Dornish sun blazed overhead as Doran and Gideon stepped into the training yard. The sound of clashing steel and shouted instructions filled the air, mingling with the distant roar of waves against the cliffs. A gentle breeze offered fleeting relief from the heat. A group of knights paused their sparring to glance curiously at the newcomers, but their attention quickly returned to their matches.
Before long, Arriane arrived, walking gracefully into the yard with a bright smile that lit her face. "Father," she greeted Doran with a respectful nod before turning to Gideon. With a playful glint in her eye, she reached out and grabbed his arm lightly.
"And good morning to you, Ser Gideon," she said mischievously. "Did you sleep well?"
Gideon returned her smile. "Princess, this is hardly proper," he replied gently, removing her hand from his arm.
Arriane pouted like a chastised child. "Oh, you're no fun," she said, sticking out her bottom lip.
Doran observed the exchange with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.
Arriane tilted her head, studying Gideon's simple tunic and trousers. "It's strange seeing you like this," she mused. "You look so different without your armor." Her eyes lit up suddenly. "Oh, right! How are you planning to spar without it?" She turned to a servant. "Fetch Ser Gideon's armor–"
"There's no need," Gideon interrupted calmly.
Arriane blinked in surprise, glancing back at him.
"I wouldn't want my opponents to think I won purely by better armament," he explained with a small smile. "A normal sword will suffice."
She frowned. "And your armor?"
"I don't need it," Gideon said lightly. "Not for a simple spar."
Mors, one of the guards from the prior day, stepped forward, his face set in a scowl. "It seems your arrogance is still present," he said sharply, his tone laced with disdain.
Gideon glanced at him, his expression unchanging. "Arrogance?" He chuckled softly. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I just didn't want you to complain about unfairness when you inevitably lose."
Mors scoffed. "Without your fancy weapon or your armor, it will be you who will most certainly lose."
Gideon gave him a warm smile, his calmness an infuriating contrast to Mors's anger. "Then it should make for an interesting match." He turned to Arriane. "Do you know where I can get a sword?"
Doran spoke before Arriane could answer, tossing a sheathed blade to Gideon. "Here."
Gideon caught it effortlessly, nodding in thanks. He unsheathed the sword, giving it a cursory inspection before looking to Mors. "Whenever you're ready."
Mors's face twisted in anger as he snarled and charged forward.
Mors attacked with brute force, his blade flashing in a vicious arc. Gideon sidestepped the strike effortlessly, parrying with a grace that made his opponent stumble slightly.
"You rely too much on raw power," Gideon said evenly, avoiding Mors's next swing with ease. "Strength is important, but without precision, it is wasted energy."
Mors snarled and came at him again, a flurry of furious strikes. Gideon matched each attack with effortless precision, his calm demeanor starkly contrasting Mors's aggression.
"You leave your left side exposed when you overreach," Gideon added, stepping inside Mors's guard and giving him a light push that sent him stumbling back.
With a roar, Mors charged again, but this time Gideon ducked low, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. Mors hit the ground hard, and before he could react, Gideon's sword was at his throat.
"Yield," Gideon said, his voice steady but firm.
Mors glared at him, his face red with anger and humiliation. "Fine. I yield."
Gideon extended a hand to help him up, but Mors swatted it away and stormed off to the other side of the yard, his pride clearly wounded.
As Gideon watched him go, a knight nearby began to laugh. "Don't take it personally. Mors is always like that," he said, stepping forward. "Give him some time—he'll warm up to you. That was an impressive showing, though."
"Thank you," Gideon said, offering a polite smile.
The knight extended a hand. "Darnell Sand."
Gideon shook his hand. "Gideon Engel, a pleasure, Ser Darnell. Would you care to spar?"
"I would be honored–"
Before Darnell could finish, a sudden scream of pain tore through the yard. Both men turned to see a young squire on the ground, clutching his chest. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Several people rushed to him, calling frantically for a maester. Gideon pushed his way through the growing crowd and knelt beside the boy, his expression calm but focused.
The onlookers at first showed anger to the man who pushed all of them aside, but then their eyes widened as Gideon placed his hands on the boy's chest. Bowing his head, Gideon muttered a prayer under his breath. His hands began to glow softly, and the crowd watched in silent awe as the wound knitted itself closed.
The boy gasped sharply, his eyes fluttering open as color returned to his cheeks. Gideon leaned back, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.
"Thank you, Father," Gideon said quietly before he noticed the large crowd around him. Whispers rippled through the crowd, some in wonder, others in fear.
"Magic…"
"How did he…"
"Demon…"
(A/N: Would you guys prefer longer chapters with less frequent updates or the opposite?)