Thoros: A Man of God

[Adullahan]

I woke up in a room so small it could barely fit a bed, the stale taste of old wine and vomit still bitter on my tongue, my head pounding like a smith's hammer on steel. For a moment, I could make no sense of my surroundings, a cabin cramped and low-ceilinged, rocking with the gut-churning rhythm of a ship at sea. Then the memories hit me in a wave, nearly as nauseating as the stench: the life of Thoros of Myr, drunkard and priest to the Red God R'hllor. A life of indulgence and blasphemy. A life of degenerate apostasy that had not ended in death. Which meant HE had spoken true.

I'd had a dream last night, a dream where I met God.

Or rather, where I met a God. Eru Iluvatar, Father of All and Bearer of the Flame Imperishable, to be exact.

And HE wanted me to be HIS agent in Planetos, my new life to replace a faithless apostate and stop the Great Other Melkor from winning their eternal war against life itself. To spread the Good Word of Eru Iluvatar across the land, and establish a syncretic religion under which all other deities are Maiar, mere angels and demons of the One True God. No biggie, right? Even in the dream I could not keep my irreverence fully at bay, but HE'd shown no sign of being offended. If anything, the warmth of HIS presence had intensified, as if HE knew my nature better than I did.

Such a monumental task, and yet HE said I was meant for it. He gave me boons to assist in this arduous endeavor, including a holy book that could make endless copies of itself with a simple thought. I also had access to the Holy Light of the Flame Imperishable, to wield as both weapon and miracle. The blood of Numenor flowed in my veins now, making me stronger, hardier, and long-lived. I should have been overwhelmed, yet I awoke with a sense of calm purpose, as if Eru HIMSELF had brought peace to my troubled soul.

Most of these gifts would help me survive what came today, for today we were landing on Pyke.

I looked around the tiny cabin. My old robes, red and tattered, were nowhere to be found. In their place, soft white and silver robes hung, the emblem of a prismatic flame blazing on the back. There was no mistaking the change, no hiding it. So, this was my path now.

I took a breath, letting the salt air and certainty fill my lungs, and put on my armor. My hands moved with the practiced ease of Thoros, who had done this a thousand times in a thousand battles. The motions were automatic, yet I couldn't ignore the twinge of doubt that pulsed beneath them, the question of whether I was worthy of such divine trust. A true and faithful servant of Eru Iluvatar would not hesitate. Yet, hesitating or not, I was the one HE had chosen. I banished the doubt with the force of my will and finally donned the new robes. They were far softer than the coarse habit of a Red Priest, and fit me perfectly.

King Robert was the first to notice, or at least the first to comment.

"Oi! Red Priest! Why aren't you red?" he bellowed good naturedly.

I gave a perfunctory bow, and answered, "I had a Divine Revelation of the True Creator last night, and when I woke up my robes were changed. I suppose HE doesn't want his first priest looking shabby." I did a spin. "How do I look, your Grace?"

Robert laughed. "Like a prancing fool, Thoros. Drank so much you met God last night, huh?"

I nodded. "HIS name is Eru Iluvatar, the Father of All and the Flame Imperishable. The Seven are HIS children, like all the deities of our world. HE has blessed me to work miracles and wonders in HIS name this day, your Grace. I hope I do not disappoint."

Robert snorted, a sound like a roused boar. "Miracles, eh? Let's see these miracles then, priest… or whatever you are now. We've got a Greyjoy rebellion brewing faster than a Dornishman's temper. Prove your… divine intervention is worth a damn, and maybe I'll stop calling you a prancing fool." He clapped me on the shoulder, the force nearly knocking me off balance. "Get to it, then. Show me what this Eru Iluvatar's got."

The salty tang of the sea air filled my lungs as I stepped onto the foredeck, the churning waves mirroring the turmoil in my soul. This wasn't just some drunken fantasy; this was war, a holy war, and the fate of Planetos hung precariously in the balance. My new robes, a beacon of hope against the grim grey of the Iron Islands, felt strangely heavy with the weight of that responsibility. But Eru Iluvatar had given me strength, and I would use it. For HIM, for life, for a future worth living. The Greyjoys would learn what it meant to face the Flame Imperishable.

Before us lay a beach where Greyjoy levies gathered in loose formation, armed with spears and hatchets and little else. I raised a hand and summoned a spear of Holy Light into my hand, the golden-flamed construct crackling with energy as I pumped it until it nearly exploded in my hand. The knights and sailors around me looked on in awe. Then I threw.

It sliced through the air like a cruise missile before slamming through two men, skewering them. Then it exploded with a dull roar, a conflagration of Holy Light consuming a half-dozen men.

I prepared another spear. And another. Soon the beach was cratered, with dead bodies strewn like dolls after a day of play, and the surviving levies fleeing up the rocky hillside, leaving us free to land unmolested. I turned back to King Robert, who stared, grinning wildly, as I panted for breath.

"That's not some parlor trick like you usually do with your sword. That's real magic. Deadly, too. You say your God has gifted you this?"

I nodded and took out my sword, running a shaky hand over it and coating it in Light flames. "And I can do even better than the 'usual' parlor trick, your Grace. Plus, I will be able to use the Light of Eru Iluvatar to heal as well, once the battle is finished."

Robert's laugh boomed across the deck, startling a nearby squire. "Seven hells! Had I known you could do that, I'd have put you at the front of every battle since the Trident!" He grabbed a nearby wineskin, took a long pull, and offered it to me.

I hesitated. The old Thoros would have drained it without thought, but I didn't particularly like alcohol, my substance abuse trending towards the herbal variety. Still, a little liquid courage before battle wouldn't hurt. I took a swig and grimaced at the harsh taste.

Robert laughed and clapped my back. "The King's wine not to your liking, eh? The usual swill you drink could skin a cat."

"Perhaps my tastes have changed since my… revelation."

He shook his head, amused. "Very well, more for me." He drained the skin in three massive gulps.

The landing boats scraped against the shingle beach. Men poured forth, armor gleaming dully in the dismal morning sun, as reformed levies lead by proper Greyjoy soldiers poured down the rocky hillside. Robert lead the van on foot, as men screamed his name.

I offered a prayer to the Father of All, seeking HIS blessing to help our men survive, before swinging my Light-infused blade with Thoros's undeniable skill.

The Greyjoy men fell before me like wheat to a scythe, my flaming sword cleaving through mail and flesh with terrifying ease. Each swing left trails of prismatic light that hung in the air momentarily before dissipating, bathing the battlefield in divine radiance. The islanders' faces contorted with fear as they beheld what must have seemed an otherworldly apparition—a white-robed figure wreathed in holy flame, dealing death with each measured stroke.

"For Eru Iluvatar!" I cried, though the words felt strange on my tongue. Not wrong, but new—like breaking in fresh boots before a long march. "For the Father of All!"

Beside me, Robert fought with the ferocity that had won him his crown. His warhammer rose and fell in devastating arcs, crushing armor and bone with equal indifference. There was a savage joy in his expression, the look of a true warrior near the height of his power, as once more he did what he was born to do; crush skulls and take names.

A burly islander with a face like weathered leather charged me, axe raised high. I sidestepped his wild swing and brought my sword down in a diagonal arc that cleaved through his shoulder and into his chest. The wound cauterized instantly, the flesh blackening around the edges as I pulled my sword free with ease and he fell down to the ground dead.

Around us the levies broke once more, only isolated pockets of Greyjoy resistance that were quickly surrounded and destroyed, leaving us to secure the beach for the horses and the rest of Robert's army.

Given I had no real duties, acting more as a guest of Robert's than a soldier, I found an old, petrified stump to sit on, and pulled out Eru Iluvatar's holy book.

It was a simple, small volume, illuminated with silver ink and title simply 'The Book'. Its pristine pages seemed to glow with an inner light and as I read, the words seemed to burn themselves into my mind with perfect clarity. The creation of all things by Eru Iluvatar, the rebellion of Melkor, the shaping of the world... histories both familiar yet utterly foreign to my adopted memories.

It spoke also of how to live a good and virtuous life, with lessons and parables familiar yet strange to my past as a Christian.

Curiously, the book emphasized the unity of all creation, explaining how many of the deities worshipped across Planetos were in fact Maiar—divine servants of Eru who had taken different forms and aspects according to the needs and understanding of various peoples. The Seven, the Old Gods, even R'hllor—all were manifestations or distortions of the Maiar's influence on the world.

I was so engrossed in my reading that I barely noticed the shadow falling across the pages until Robert's booming voice startled me back to awareness.

"Reading while the rest of us secure a beachhead?" he asked, though there was no real reproach in his tone. Blood spattered his armor, none of it his own. "What manner of holy text has you so captivated, priest?"

I closed the book carefully, feeling its warmth against my fingers. "The truth about the gods, about the Creation of the World, and the existence of evil."

Robert snorted, though there was curiosity beneath his bluster. "Truth, is it? And which gods are the true ones, then? The Seven? The Drowned God these island savages worship?" He gestured toward the corpse-strewn beach with his bloodied warhammer.

"All of them and none of them, Your Grace," I replied, rising to my feet. "The Seven, the Old Gods, R'hllor, the Drowned God—they're all reflections of greater beings called the Maiar, divine servants of Eru Iluvatar. Like how the moon reflects the sun's light but isn't itself the source."

The king's eyes narrowed. "Clever words for a man who yesterday worshipped a fire god and today claims to serve another."

"I understand your skepticism, Your Grace," I said, inclining my head. "And I do not seek to convert you, merely convey the truth as I now know it."

Robert grunted, lowering his massive frame beside me on the stump, which creaked dangerously under their combined weight. "Your flames cut through those ironborn like a hot knife through butter. Never seen anything like it."

"The power is not mine, but HIS," I said, placing a hand over the prismatic flame emblem on my chest. "I am merely a conduit through which the Flame Imperishable acts. But yes, it's quite useful, isn't it?"

Robert laughed, a sound that echoed across the beach. "If your god grants power like that, I'd be a fool to dismiss him outright." He took a long drink from a fresh wineskin that had materialized in his hand. "The septons will shit themselves when they hear of this."

"They may," I acknowledged, "but perhaps they need not be enemies. The Book speaks of how the Seven are Maiar who've guided humanity in Westeros for generations. Their teachings still hold wisdom, even if incomplete."

Robert wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, considering this. "Politics of the gods, is it? Well, I've enough trouble with the politics of men." He gestured toward Pyke's imposing silhouette against the horizon. "Speaking of which, we move inland within the hour. Those ironborn bastards will regroup at the fortress."

I nodded, sliding the Book back into my pocket.

"I'll tend to any injured, your Grace."

---

When I saw the Seastone Chair, I knew to my bones that it was wrong, corrupt, demonic. The oily blackstone seemed to warp and move from the corner of the eye, like some kind of twisted mirage. I could feel the malevolence radiating from it, a cold that had nothing to do with the damp chill of the Iron Islands. This was an artifact of the Great Other, or something akin to it—a throne of darkness and corruption.

Balon Greyjoy had been dragged before Robert in chains, his rebellion crushed and his sons dead save one hostage. The conquered lord knelt on the stone floor, his weathered face a mask of hatred and defiance even in defeat. But my eyes kept returning to the throne behind him.

"Your Grace," I murmured, stepping closer to Robert. "That chair... it's an abomination."

Robert glanced at me, his victory celebration momentarily interrupted. "What's that, priest?"

"The Seastone Chair. It's... tainted. Made from something that should not be. I… may be able to cleanse it, if it pleases you, your Grace."

Robert's eyes narrowed, his massive hands gripping the arms of his temporary seat as he studied the ancient throne. "Cleanse it? What manner of talk is this?"

I approached the Seastone Chair cautiously, feeling the chill intensify with each step. The black stone seemed to absorb the torchlight rather than reflect it, creating an unnatural void in the great hall.

"This chair," I said, my voice carrying in the hushed chamber, "was not crafted by human hands. It bears the taint of the Great Other—the enemy of all life."

Balon Greyjoy spat on the floor. "Fool priest! That throne has seated Greyjoy kings since before your ancestors crawled from their mud huts. It was a gift from the Drowned God himself!"

"A lie," I replied calmly, "or perhaps a truth twisted by time. But I am certain it spreads its malignance, whispering to those who sit upon it. Perhaps it even encouraged Lord Balon to rebel, and has certainly caused the numerous… issues with the Iron Islands since time immemorial. How else to explain their unceasing belief in the old way, of reaving and pillaging, when the rest of the Seven Kingdoms had long since moved on to more civilized forms of governance and taxation?"

Murmurs rippled through the assembled lords and knights. Some made warding gestures, while others gripped their weapons tighter. Superstition ran deep, even among these hardened warriors.

Robert leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "And what would you do with it, Thoros of... whatever you call yourself now?"

I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword, drawing strength from the connection to the Flame Imperishable. "I would cleanse it with holy fire, Your Grace. Burn away the corruption and leave only stone behind—or nothing at all, if that's what must be."

Balon lurched forward, only to be yanked back by his guards. "You will not! That chair is the heritage of the Iron Islands! The symbol of our sovereignty!"

"A sovereignty you forfeited when you rebelled," Robert growled, then turned back to me, his gaze scrutinizing.

After a moment's consideration, Robert's face split into a fierce grin. "Do it. If this cursed chair has been whispering rebellion into Greyjoy ears, I'll see it destroyed." He gestured expansively. "Show us this divine power of yours, priest."

I approached the Seastone Chair with measured steps, aware of all eyes upon me. The oily black stone seemed to pulse with malevolent awareness, as if sensing its impending doom. I closed my eyes briefly, drawing deep into the wellspring of power that Eru Iluvatar had granted me, and my growing faith in HIM.

"In the name of Eru Iluvatar, Father of All and Bearer of the Flame Imperishable," I intoned, my voice resonating through the hall with unexpected authority, "I cleanse this corruption from the realm of men."

I extended both hands toward the throne, and light—pure, prismatic, and altogether holy—erupted from me in a torrent as I felt HIM reach down through me. The power flowed like a raging river, so much that I feared it might consume me entirely. The hall filled with blinding radiance, forcing most to shield their eyes or look away.

The Seastone Chair resisted at first, the darkness within it writhing like a wounded serpent. A keening wail filled the air—not sound exactly, but a pressure against the mind that made men clutch their heads in pain. Black smoke oozed from the throne, twisting into grotesque shapes before dissipating against the onslaught of divine light.

"By the Seven," someone gasped.

I felt my strength waning as the cleansing continued, my mortal frame struggling to channel such power. Just when I thought I might collapse, the resistance suddenly broke. The chair shuddered, cracked, and then shattered into countless fragments that turned to ash before they hit the ground.

I collapsed to my knees as the Light suddenly left me, leaving me breathless and sweaty.

Silence reigned in the hall, broken only by the hiss of settling ash. Where the ancient throne had stood, nothing remained but a scorched outline on the stone floor. The assembled warriors and nobles stared, some with awe, others with naked fear. Even Robert Baratheon seemed momentarily speechless, his usual bluster silenced by the display of divine power.

Balon Greyjoy's face had drained of all color. "What have you done?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "What have you done?"

I struggled to my feet, my limbs leaden with exhaustion. The channeling of such power had taken more from me than I'd anticipated. "I have freed your line from an ancient corruption, Lord Greyjoy," I managed, steadying myself against a nearby column. "Though you may not thank me for it now."

Robert found his voice at last, a loud bark of laughter. "By the gods—or should I say, by your god?—that was something to behold!" He strode forward, boots crunching on the remaining ash. "Is this what you meant by cleansing, priest? Destruction complete and utter?"

I nodded, still catching my breath. "The corruption was too deep, Your Grace. There was nothing to salvage."

"Good," Robert declared, turning to face the assembled lords and the defeated Greyjoy. "Let this be a lesson to all who would defy the crown. Even your precious relics cannot stand against the king's justice—or apparently, against his priest."

Balon Greyjoy remained kneeling, staring at the scorched floor where his ancestral throne had stood moments before. His shoulders had slumped, the final symbol of his house's ancient power now literally reduced to ashes. When he finally looked at me, it was with complete and utter hatred.

Balon Greyjoy trembled with barely contained rage, his chains rattling as his fists clenched. "This sacrilege will not be forgotten. The Drowned God will have his vengeance."

"Your Drowned God," I said, finding strength returning to my voice, "is but a servant of the true Creator. Perhaps one fallen into darkness, perhaps merely misunderstood by generations of ironborn. But not the ultimate power you believe him to be."

Balon's expression twisted with contempt. "Pretty words from a man who burned our sacred throne. You mainlanders have always feared our ways, feared the iron price. Now you bring your false gods to justify your conquest."

I felt a surge of righteous indignation rise within me. Not anger—something purer, more purposeful. "I bring no conquest, Lord Greyjoy, only truth. The truth that has always been, though hidden behind veils of misunderstanding and corruption."

Robert shifted impatiently on his makeshift throne. "Enough theological debate. Greyjoy's rebellion is crushed, his fleet destroyed, and now even his precious chair is gone." He leaned forward, fixing Balon with a hard stare. "Will you bend the knee properly this time, or shall I send your head to join your throne in oblivion?"

The hall fell silent as all eyes turned to the defeated lord. Balon glared at Robert, then at me, his eyes burning with hatred that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone. For a moment, I thought he might choose death over submission.

Then, with visible effort, he lowered his gaze. "I will bend the knee," he growled, the words clearly poison on his tongue.

"Speak it properly," Robert commanded, his voice thunderous in the stone hall.

Balon's jaw worked as if chewing glass. "I, Balon of House Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, do hereby renew my fealty to Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Robert nodded, satisfied. "Your remaining son will be taken as ward by Lord Stark, raised in Winterfell, properly. If you ever seek rebellion again, it is his head you will condemn. You may return to what's left of your pitiful kingdom."

 

[Adullahan]

It was a young squire whose swordhand I saved that first asked about my God. Barely more than fourteen, with a mop of sandy hair and eyes too old for his years, he approached me after I'd healed his mangled hand—crushed by a falling stone during the siege. The bones had been shattered beyond what any maester could mend, yet under the Flame Imperishable's touch, they knit together like clay reshaped by a master potter.

"My lord," he said hesitantly, flexing his restored fingers in wonder, "is it true what they say? That you serve a god above all gods?"

I smiled gently. "I serve Eru Iluvatar, the Father of All. And I am no lord, merely HIS servant."

The boy—Harlan was his name—looked around nervously before continuing. "My mother kept the Seven, taught me their prayers before she died. My father follows the Warrior mostly. Are they... wrong?"

"Not wrong," I said carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The Seven are reflections of the Maiar—divine beings who serve Eru Iluvatar. Your prayers reached higher than you knew."

Relief washed over the boy's face. "Then my mother's faith wasn't false?"

"Faith sincere is never false, even when incomplete." I reached into my robes and produced a small copy of The Book, one of several that had mysteriously appeared in my quarters that morning. "This contains the fuller truth, if you wish to learn it."

Harlan took the volume with reverence, his newly-healed fingers tracing the embossed prismatic flame on its cover. "I can't read well, my lord—I mean, good priest."

"The words will make themselves known to you," I assured him. "This book speaks to the heart as much as the mind."

Word slowly spread. Other men who had fought by my side, or who I saved from grievous injury, came for wisdom and comfort, and left with a copy of the Book. By the time we left Pyke, I'd given out dozens of copies, and even King Robert asked for one, once he learned I had copies. I thanked God there were no septons aboard King Robert's vessel, for I'm sure they would have engaged much of my time.

Instead, once we reached Seagard, we travelled by horseback through the Riverlands, and back to King's Landing, taking about two weeks.

I healed at every castle and keep and town we stopped at, and it was then that I began running into trouble with the local septons.

At first, they seemed merely curious about the white-robed priest who wielded light and healed with a touch. But curiosity quickly soured to suspicion when they realized I was spreading a new interpretation of their faith. The confrontation at Darry was particularly memorable.

"Blasphemy!" Septon Merryweather's face had flushed a dangerous purple as he waved one of my books before the assembled household. "This... this heresy claims the Seven are but servants to some foreign deity!"

I stood calmly before him, hands folded within my sleeves. "Not servants, Septon. Maiar—divine beings of immense power and wisdom who carry out the will of Eru Iluvatar. The Father of the Seven is but a reflection of HIM, as are all the gods men worship."

"You twist words to disguise your heresy," the septon spat, his fists clenching around the book. "The Faith of the Seven has guided the souls of Westeros for thousands of years. We need no 'fuller truth' from some drunken priest who claims divine revelation."

The assembled crowd shifted uncomfortably, caught between respect for their familiar septon and fascination with my demonstrated powers. I had healed three villagers that morning—a child's fever, an old man's cataracts, and a woodcutter's infected wound—all with the prismatic light that now marked my miracles.

"I was indeed a drunkard," I acknowledged, holding the septon's gaze. "A flawed vessel that Eru Iluvatar nonetheless chose to fill with HIS light. I do not ask you to abandon the Seven, merely to understand their place in the greater order of creation."

Lord Darry himself, a weathered man with a thin face and carefully neutral expression, finally spoke. "Enough, Septon Merryweather. This man travels under King Robert's protection." His eyes flickered to me, wary but not hostile. "Though I would hear more about these... Maiar, and how they relate to the Seven we've always worshipped."

I inclined my head respectfully. "Thank you, my lord. The simplest explanation is this: the Seven represent virtuous aspects of divinity that humans can comprehend. The Father's justice, the Mother's mercy, the Warrior's courage—these are qualities of the Maiar who guide and protect mankind. But just as your castellan serves you, who in turn serves King Robert, the Maiar serve Eru Iluvatar, the Creator of all."

Septon Merryweather sputtered, but Lord Darry raised a hand to silence him. "And what of the Drowned God, priest? Or the Old Gods of the North? Do they too serve this... Eru Iluvatar?" Lord Darry asked, his curiosity evident despite his caution.

"All gods of men are Maiar, corrupt or not," I replied. "The Drowned God may well be a fallen Maiar, corrupted by darkness—much like the throne I cleansed at Pyke. The Old Gods are more complex; they seem to be Maiar who've bound themselves to the natural world of Westeros, particularly to the weirwood trees."

Septon Merryweather's face contorted with outrage. "You speak of matters beyond your understanding! The Stranger take you for this—"

"Peace, Septon," Lord Darry commanded. "The king himself witnessed this man's power at Pyke. We would wish to learn more of a god whose priest commands such miracles."

I could see Lord Darry's interest was genuine, not merely political caution. "I would be honored to explain further, my lord. Perhaps this evening, after the day's duties are complete? I could provide a copy of The Book for your household as well."

Lord Darry nodded. "Very well. We shall hear you out." He turned to the septon. "You too shall attend, Merryweather. Knowledge never harmed a true servant of the gods."

The septon's lips pressed into a bloodless line, but he bowed stiffly. "As you wish, my lord. Though I maintain this is dangerous heresy."

As the crowd dispersed, Robert approached me, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the afternoon sun. He'd observed the exchange from a distance, amusement playing across his features.

"Making enemies of the Faith already, Thoros?" he asked with a chuckle.

I sighed. "Twas inevitable, your Grace, though I wish they wouldn't bother my healing so much. The septons grow nervous when they see what I can do," I replied, watching the retreating back of Septon Merryweather. "They fear their authority diminished."

Robert snorted. "Septons, priests, whatever you call yourself now—all of you struggle for the souls of men while I struggle with the bodies." He clasped my shoulder with a heavy hand. "But you heal those bodies, and that makes you useful to me. Let the Faith squabble with you if they must. So long as you don't incite rebellion, I care little for theological disputes."

"I seek only to spread the truth, Your Grace. Not to overthrow order."

Robert's eyes narrowed slightly. "See that it remains so. I've had my fill of rebellions."

That night at Lord Darry's table, I explained the nature of Eru Iluvatar and the Maiar, of Creation and the Great Other Melkor, the first and greatest evil, who sought only to undo all of Eru's work. I explained how the world had been shaped and reshaped through great cataclysms, how the Maiar had guided different peoples according to their understanding.

Lord Darry listened with rapt attention, his dinner growing cold before him. Even some of his household knights leaned forward, caught up in tales of a cosmic order beyond their imagining. Only Septon Merryweather remained stiffly upright, his face growing darker with each passing moment.

"And you claim," the septon finally interrupted, "that all this... mythology... supersedes the teachings of the Seven-Pointed Star?"

"Not supersedes," I corrected gently. "Encompasses. The Seven-Pointed Star offers much wisdom and teaching, and the Seven are worthy of worship and praise. But they are part of a greater design, a greater truth. The Book provides context that makes their teachings even more meaningful."

Lord Darry turned the copy I'd given him over in his hands, studying the prismatic flame embossed on its cover. "And you say these books... reproduce themselves?"

"They appear as needed," I confirmed. "I wake each morning to find new copies when old ones have been distributed."

"Convenient magic for spreading a new faith," Septon Merryweather muttered.

I smiled patiently. "Not magic, Septon. Divine providence. Eru Iluvatar wishes HIS truth to be known."

"And what of the High Septon?" Lord Darry asked, his tone carefully neutral. "Have you presented these teachings to him?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "My journey has only just begun. King Robert's campaign against the Ironborn was when I was presented with Divine Revelation, and I have yet had chance to speak with His Holiness. But rest assured, I will be speaking with him. I have no desire to tear down or replace the Faith of the Seven, merely offer a greater awareness and understanding of our place in Creation."

I could see the skepticism in Septon Merryweather's eyes, the thinly veiled hostility behind his pious demeanor. "The High Septon will not look kindly on such... revisions to our sacred teachings," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The Faith has stood for thousands of years without need of your 'greater understanding.'"

"And yet," Lord Darry interjected, "I've seen no septon heal with a touch as this man does." He turned to me with newfound respect. "A half-dozen of my smallfolk walk whole again because of his powers. That cannot be dismissed lightly."

The septon's face flushed. "Tricks and illusions, perhaps. Or worse—dark magic masquerading as divine power."

I felt a flicker of irritation but suppressed it. "That is your prerogative to believe, good septon. Magic is a dangerous ability. But my power comes from the Father of All, not through blood sacrifice or innate talent. That I swear."

As we rode away from Darry the next morning, Robert pulled his mount alongside mine. The king's eyes were bloodshot from the previous night's indulgences, but his gaze remained sharp.

"That septon looked ready to burn you at the stake," he observed with a rumbling chuckle. "You've stirred the hornets' nest, Thoros."

"I fear it's only the beginning, Your Grace," I replied, watching the road ahead. "The High Septon shan't like my words any more than these septons do."

Robert clapped my shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't let them burn you. You're far too valuable, priest."

---

The High Septon made me wait a week before our meeting, so I took the time to travel the streets, healing the poor and sick, and handing out the Book to those who could read and wished it.

Word spread quickly of the white-robed priest who commanded holy fire yet healed with a gentle touch. Each morning, a growing crowd gathered outside the modest inn where I lodged, desperate people clutching at my robes as I passed. The lame, the blind, the fevered—all seeking miracles.

I healed as many as I could, channeling the Light of Eru Iluvatar until exhaustion forced me to rest. For every person I helped, I offered a brief prayer and explanation of the Father of All, careful not to directly challenge the Faith of the Seven, but rather expanding upon it. Many left clutching copies of The Book that seemed to materialize whenever needed.

The Gold Cloaks initially tried to disperse these gatherings, concerned about public disorder, but they soon withdrew when they saw I was keeping the peace better than they could. Some even brought their own ailments or those of family members who needed healing, and I healed them just the same. Septons lurked on the edges of crowds, always watching, and on the seventh morning, a delegation of septons and septas approached me as I healed.

Their leader, a tall septon with a hawkish face and hard eyes, stepped forward. "Thoros of Myr," he announced loudly enough for the crowd to hear, "His High Holiness requests your presence at the Great Sept of Baelor immediately."

I nodded respectfully, finishing the healing of a child's twisted foot before rising. "I shall attend him gladly. I've sought this audience for some time."

The crowd murmured anxiously, some reaching out to touch my robes as if drawing final blessings before my departure. I smiled reassuringly at them.

"I shall return tomorrow, good people. Eru Iluvatar's light shines for all."

The hawk-faced septon's expression soured. "You should not make promises you may be unable to keep."

I met his gaze evenly. "I make no promise lightly, septon. Do not force my hand."

"The High Septon may have different plans," he replied, turning abruptly to lead the procession.

I followed the delegation through the winding streets of King's Landing, aware of the eyes that tracked our progress—smallfolk whispering behind their hands, merchants pausing in their haggling, nobles watching curiously from litters and horseback. My white robes with their prismatic flame emblem stood in stark contrast to the crystal crowns and rainbow-hued garments of the Faith's representatives.

The Great Sept of Baelor loomed before us, its seven crystal towers catching the morning light and fracturing it into a thousand colors. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated the irony—that the sept's own architecture created a prismatic display not unlike the Flame Imperishable's light. But today, I sensed only the weight of the coming confrontation.

We ascended the marble steps, passing between towering statues of the Seven that seemed to watch our procession with stone eyes. The sept's interior was cool and dim after the brightness outside, the air heavy with incense and the whispered prayers of the faithful. Colored light streamed through the great windows, bathing the marble floors in ethereal patterns.

The High Septon awaited us in the central chamber, seated upon an ornate chair beneath the towering statue of the Father. He was an elderly man with thin white hair and a face lined with age, yet his eyes remained sharp and calculating. His crystal crown caught the light, sending rainbow reflections dancing across his immaculate white robes.

"So," he said as I approached and bowed respectfully, "you are the miracle-worker who spreads new doctrine through our streets."

"I am Thoros, chosen of Eru Iluvatar," I replied, straightening. "I come not to challenge the Faith, but to expand understanding of the divine order that encompasses all."

The High Septon's lips thinned. "Yet you heal in the name of this... foreign deity. You distribute texts that claim our Seven are mere servants to your god. How is this not a challenge to the Faith that has guided Westeros for thousands of years?"

I met his gaze steadily. "The Seven are Maiar—divine beings of immense power and wisdom. They are worthy of reverence and worship, but they serve the Creator of All, just as you serve the Faith and the Faith serves the people."

A murmur ran through the assembled septons and septas. The High Septon raised a hand, silencing them.

"Bold claims from a man who, until recently, was a drunken priest of the Red God, known mostly for winning tourneys with parlor tricks."

"I do not deny my past," I said, keeping my voice measured. "In truth, it speaks to the transformative power of divine revelation. The man who stood before Pyke was indeed a drunkard and a false priest. But the man who stands before you now has been touched by the Flame Imperishable, chosen to reveal a greater truth."

The High Septon's eyes narrowed. "And what proof do you offer of this... revelation? Beyond these alleged miracles that so impress the smallfolk?"

"What proof would satisfy you, Your Holiness?" I asked. "Would you have me heal in your presence? Would you have me call forth the Light that burned away the corruption of the Seastone Chair? Or perhaps..." I reached into my robes and produced The Book, "you might wish to read the truth for yourself?"

The High Septon hesitated, eyeing the volume as if it were a venomous snake. "The Faith needs no new revelations. The Seven-Pointed Star contains all wisdom necessary for the faithful."

"Then you fear knowledge?" I challenged gently. "Surely the true Faith has nothing to fear from greater understanding. The Seven-Pointed Star itself teaches that wisdom is to be sought and cherished."

The High Septon's face flushed slightly. "We do not fear knowledge, but falsehood masquerading as truth. How convenient that your... revelation confirms you as its chosen prophet, granting you powers and authority."

"I did not seek this role," I said, spreading my hands. "I was content in my ignorance, drowning in wine and false doctrine. Eru Iluvatar chose me despite my unworthiness, not because of any special virtue."

A younger septon stepped forward, his face earnest beneath his crystal crown. "Your Holiness, if I may," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the sept. "I've witnessed this man's powers firsthand. Three days past, he restored sight to old Willem on Piebald Street who had been blind for a decade. A boy, Pate, whose leg was crushed under a cart two moons ago—he walks without even a limp now."

"Parlor tricks and illusions can deceive the simple-minded," the High Septon dismissed, though uncertainty flickered across his features.

"Would you deny the evidence before your eyes?" I asked, stepping forward. "Let me demonstrate. Bring forth someone suffering, someone beyond conventional healing."

The High Septon hesitated, stroking his wispy beard. After a long moment, he nodded to a nearby septa. "Bring Septon Leobald."

Whispers ran through the assembled clerics. I gathered from their murmurs that the septon in question was well-known.

Minutes later, two septas entered supporting a withered figure between them. Septon Leobald was a man of perhaps sixty, though his condition made him appear far older. His limbs trembled uncontrollably, his breath came in labored wheezes, and his eyes were clouded with cataracts. The septas helped him to a chair, where he sat hunched and quivering.

"Septon Leobald was once a great scholar of the Faith," the High Septon explained, his tone softening slightly. "The shaking sickness has afflicted him these past five years. Our best healers and maesters have tried all remedies to no avail."

I approached the ailing septon, kneeling before him to meet his clouded gaze. "Good Septon, with your permission, I would channel the healing light of Eru Iluvatar to cleanse you of your infirmities and illnesses."

The old man's head bobbed in what I took to be assent, his trembling too severe for a proper nod. "I—I have heard of your works," he stammered, each word a struggle. "If the Father wills it, let it be so."

I placed my hands gently on his shoulders, closing my eyes to center myself. The sept fell silent, every breath held in anticipation. I reached deep within, calling upon the divine connection that had transformed me at Pyke. The familiar warmth began in my chest, spreading outward through my limbs until my hands grew hot with power.

"In the name of Eru Iluvatar, Father of All and Bearer of the Flame Imperishable," I intoned, my voice resonating through the sept's vaulted chambers, "I call upon the Light to cleanse and restore this faithful servant."

The prismatic light bloomed in my hands, before sinking into Septon Leobald in gentle waves. The effect was almost immediate. A soft, collective gasp swept through the gathered clergy as the trembling in Septon Leobald's limbs gradually stilled. The cloudy film over his eyes receded like morning mist before the sun, revealing clear, bright irises beneath. Color returned to his pallid cheeks, and his hunched posture straightened as though invisible weights were being lifted from his shoulders.

When the light finally faded, Septon Leobald sat transformed. He raised his hands before his face, examining them with wonder as they remained perfectly steady. Then he stood—smoothly, without assistance—and looked around the sept with clear eyes that brimmed with tears.

"I can see," he whispered, his voice strong and steady where moments before it had quavered. "By the Seven, I can see clearly again." He flexed his fingers, rotated his wrists, took several deep breaths.

The sept erupted in murmurs of astonishment. Several septas made the seven-pointed star over their chests, while others reached out tentatively to touch Septon Leobald, as if they couldn't believe their eyes.

The High Septon's face had gone pale, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles whitened. "This is..." he began, then faltered, clearly struggling to reconcile what he had just witnessed with his suspicion of my claims.

Septon Leobald approached me, then did something unexpected—he knelt. "Whatever power flows through you," he said, his voice clear and strong, "it comes from true divinity. I felt the love of the Seven in your Light. I have studied the Seven-Pointed Star for forty years, and nowhere does it say the gods cannot reveal themselves in new ways."

I helped him to his feet. "Please, good Septon. I am but a vessel, unworthy of such gestures."

The High Septon stood abruptly. "Enough! This demonstration proves nothing except that you wield some manner of power. The source of that power remains questionable."

I faced the High Septon squarely, undaunted by his skepticism. "What proof would satisfy you, Your Holiness? The Seven-Pointed Star speaks of miracles performed by the gods. I have just performed one before your eyes."

"Miracles sanctioned by the Seven," the High Septon countered, though his voice lacked conviction. "Not by some foreign deity unknown to our sacred texts."

Septon Leobald, still marveling at his restored health, stepped forward. "Your Holiness, with respect, I felt no evil in this healing. Only light and... wholeness." He flexed his hands in wonder. "For five years I've prayed to the Seven for relief. Today it came, though perhaps not in the form we expected."

The High Septon's face betrayed his internal conflict. Before he could respond, I spoke again.

"What proof would satisfy you then, Your Holiness? I have demonstrated healing beyond what any maester could accomplish. I have shown the Light that burns away corruption. I offer a book containing wisdom that builds upon—not tears down—the teachings your septons have spread for generations."

The High Septon's eyes darted between me, the transformed Septon Leobald, and the murmuring clergy. I could see the calculations behind those aged eyes—the political considerations, the theological implications, the potential threat to his authority.

"The Faith has weathered many storms," he said finally, his voice regaining its authoritative edge. "Many have claimed divine revelation through the centuries. Some sought power, others genuinely believed their delusions."

"And how did the Faith determine which was which?" I asked gently.

A tense silence filled the sept. The High Septon's fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Through careful examination of their teachings against established doctrine," he answered finally. "Through observing whether their actions aligned with the virtues espoused by the Seven. Through prayer and contemplation."

"Then I welcome such examination," I replied, spreading my hands. "Test my words against your scriptures. Observe whether the healing I perform and the wisdom I share leads people toward or away from virtue. Pray for guidance from the Seven—or rather, from the Maiar who embody those aspects of divinity."

A murmur ran through the assembled clergy, some nodding thoughtfully, others frowning in disapproval. The High Septon raised a hand for silence.

"You speak well for a former drunkard," he said, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "But smooth words alone prove nothing. The Faith cannot simply accept your claims without thorough investigation."

"I ask for nothing less," I replied, placing The Book on a small table between us. "Begin with this. Read it without prejudice. Compare its teachings with your own sacred texts. You'll find more harmony than discord."

The High Septon eyed the volume suspiciously but made no move to take it. "And in the meantime? Will you continue spreading your... alternative interpretations throughout the city?"

"I will continue to heal those in need," I said firmly. "The Light of Eru Iluvatar was not given to me to be hidden. As for teaching, I will answer truthfully when asked, but I've no desire to undermine the Faith's authority or create division."

The High Septon's lips thinned. "Pretty words, but your very presence creates division. Already the smallfolk whisper of 'the White Priest' who heals when septons cannot. They flock to you instead of to our septs."

"They need not choose between us," I countered. "Does a child choose between mother and father? Both nurture in different ways. The smallfolk seek healing because they suffer, Your Holiness. Their devotion to the Seven need not diminish because they receive aid."

The High Septon studied me carefully, weighing my words against his suspicions. Finally, he sighed, a sound heavy with the weight of his office.

"Very well. You may continue your... ministrations, for now. But know this—the Most Devout will examine your book and your teachings. Should we find them dangerous to the souls of the faithful, we will not hesitate to declare them heresy."

I bowed respectfully. "I understand, Your Holiness. I thank you for your time and consideration on this sacred matter."

As I left the Great Sept of Baelor, Septon Leobald hurried after me, his newly restored vigor evident in his sprightly step.

"Please, a moment," he called, catching up to me on the marble steps. The morning sun caught his clear eyes, no longer clouded with cataracts. "I must speak with you."

I paused, turning to face him. "Of course, good Septon. What troubles you?"

Leobald glanced back at the sept's towering doors before lowering his voice. "Not here. There is a small garden near the Street of Seeds where we might speak privately."

Curious, I followed him through the winding streets of King's Landing. Smallfolk recognized me as we passed, some reaching out to touch my white robes or calling blessings. I acknowledged them with gentle nods but kept pace with the surprisingly spry old man. Soon enough, we found ourselves in a quiet garden, where Septon Leobald sat on a simple stone bench and I sat beside him.

The elderly septon looked at his hands in wonder, turning them over as if still unable to believe their steadiness. "I felt it," he said softly. "When your light flowed through me, I felt... something beyond description. Not just the healing, but a presence. Vast and loving and..." He struggled for words. "Ancient. More ancient than the Seven, yet somehow containing them."

I nodded, understanding precisely what he meant. "That was Eru Iluvatar, the Father of All. The One who created everything, including the beings you know as the Seven."

"In all my years of study," Leobald said, his voice trembling slightly, "I've read countless theological texts. Ancient scrolls from Valyria, fragments from the Dawn Age, obscure commentaries on the Seven-Pointed Star. Never have I encountered anything that spoke of this... Eru Iluvatar."

"There have been many great cataclysms since the Father of All created the world. Much has been lost," I acknowledged. "The knowledge of Eru Iluvatar was preserved in other realms, other times, and has now been restored through divine revelation."

Leobald nodded thoughtfully, his scholar's mind visibly working behind his bright eyes. "The High Septon fears you. Or rather, he fears what your teachings might mean for the Faith's authority. For centuries, the septons have been the sole interpreters of divine will in Westeros."

"And they need not lose that role," I replied, watching a butterfly alight on a nearby flower. "The Seven remain worthy of reverence. The septons and septas who truly serve with pure hearts are doing Eru's work, whether they know His true name or not."

"Yet your healing..." Leobald gestured to himself. "I prayed daily for five years. The best healers in the Seven Kingdoms could do nothing. You simply laid your hands on me, and now I walk and see."

"Your faith was not misplaced, Septon Leobald," I said gently. "But perhaps it was the Father of All who answered through me, when the time was right. The Seven-Pointed Star itself tells us that the gods work in ways beyond mortal understanding."

Leobald nodded slowly, his scholar's mind working through the implications. "I've spent my life in service to the Faith. Now, in what should be my twilight years, I find myself facing questions I never thought to ask." He looked at me directly, his restored eyes sharp with intelligence. "May I... may I have one of your books? I would study it alongside the Seven-Pointed Star."

I smiled and reached into my robes, producing a copy of The Book that seemed to materialize at the moment of need. "Eru Iluvatar welcomes seekers of truth, regardless of their path."

 

[Adullahan]

When the raven came that Shireen Baratheon had contracted greyscale, Robert immediately offered me up. I set off immediately for Dragonstone. Lord Stannis had always been a stern, unforgiving man, but even he was desperate now. The disease that ravaged his only child, his daughter and heir, was beyond the skill of maesters to cure. Greyscale was a death sentence at worst, a disfiguring curse at best.

The journey by ship was swift, the captain pushing his vessel through the choppy Blackwater Bay with unusual haste once he learned my purpose. "My sister's boy had the grey death," he told me grimly on our second day at sea. "Nothing but a stone statue now, poor lad."

I spent the voyage in prayer and meditation, preparing myself for what was to come. Greyscale was no ordinary affliction—it was a corruption of flesh that transformed living tissue to dead stone, spreading inexorably until it claimed the victim entirely. If ever there was a malicious curse masquerading as a disease, it was greyscale. I was assured, though, that with the Light of God, I would heal and save the poor child.

Dragonstone loomed before us, a fortress of black stone rising from the sea like some great beast frozen in time. Its towers and battlements, shaped into dragons and other fantastical creatures, seemed to watch our approach with ancient, knowing eyes. As we docked, I was met by Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord Stannis's trusted advisor, his weathered face grave with concern.

"The White Priest," he said, giving a short bow. "Lord Stannis awaits you in the Stone Drum. The little princess..." His voice faltered slightly. "Her condition worsens by the hour."

I nodded, following him up the winding path to the castle. Smallfolk and servants stopped to stare as we passed, their whispers trailing behind us like shadows. News of my powers had spread far beyond King's Landing, it seemed.

The Stone Drum was aptly named, massive and round with winding staircases we climbed with haste.

Ser Davos led me through torch-lit corridors until we reached a heavy oak door guarded by two knights. They stepped aside at Davos's nod, and we entered a spacious chamber where Lord Stannis Baratheon stood rigid beside a small bed.

Stannis turned as we entered, his face a mask of controlled anguish. Tall and gaunt, with thinning hair and a permanent frown etched into his features, he looked like a man who had aged years in days. His jaw clenched as he saw me, skepticism warring with desperate hope in his cold blue eyes.

"Lord Stannis," I said, bowing respectfully. "I've come as swiftly as possible."

"So you're the miracle worker my brother speaks of," he replied, his voice as brittle and cold as winter ice. "The drunk priest who now claims divine power."

"Yes, my Lord. Power I will wield to heal your daughter of all maladies. No disease or curse is too great that the Father of All cannot break it."

Stannis's jaw tightened further, teeth grinding audibly. "My brother sent you, not your god. Spare me your sermons and heal my daughter, if you can. Maesters, septons—all have failed her."

He stepped aside, revealing the small figure on the bed. Shireen Baratheon was barely visible beneath the blankets, her breathing shallow and labored. When I approached, I saw the telltale gray patches creeping up her neck and across one side of her face, the skin hardened and cracked like stone. She was an infant, barely seven months old, so small.

"How long has she been afflicted?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle as I studied the progression of the disease.

"Three weeks," Lady Selyse answered from the corner where she stood, her posture rigid with grief and fear. Unlike her husband, desperation had overcome her natural suspicion of foreign faiths. "It began as a small patch behind her ear. The maesters said... they said there was nothing to be done but make her comfortable."

Stannis's jaw clenched so tightly I could hear his teeth grinding.

I nodded, and gave a small prayer before reaching into the well of Holy Light. The greyscale fought me like no illness or wound had fought before, taking minutes of focused concentration as I 'peeled' the curse off of Shireen, leaving fresh, unmarked skin behind. She woke up as I finished, staring up at me with blue eyes and latching onto a finger. When the greyscale completely came off, a quick application of Light burned it to ash, and I stood back up, gently removing the infant princess's finger.

"It is done, my Lord. I have removed the corrupted flesh and healed her."

Stannis stared at his daughter in disbelief, his perpetual frown momentarily suspended as he watched the infant gurgle happily, pink-skinned and whole. Lady Selyse rushed forward with a strangled cry, gathering the child into her arms, her normally severe features transformed by tears of joy.

"Impossible," Stannis murmured, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch his daughter's unblemished cheek. "The maesters said..."

"Forgive me, my lord," I said, "but there are forces in this world beyond what the Citadel understands. The greyscale was not merely a disease, but a corruption—something that Eru Iluvatar's Light is particularly effective against."

Stannis's eyes snapped to mine, the momentary softness vanishing beneath his customary stern gaze. "What payment does your god demand for a miracle like this?"

"No payment, my Lord. Highborn or low, I heal the sick because my God wishes for less suffering." I paused. "Though a nice meal and a room for the night would be accepted. I'd rather not spend the night on a boat."

Stannis nodded, still staring at his daughter with barely concealed wonder. "Of course. Ser Davos will see to your accommodations." He straightened, some of his customary rigidity returning. "My brother wrote that you claim the Seven are servants to your god. Is that what you'll tell my wife and household now?"

I considered his question carefully. Unlike Robert, who cared little for religious matters, Stannis was known for his rigid adherence to duty and truth.

"I would tell them that the Seven are Maiar—divine beings of great power who serve Eru Iluvatar, the Creator of All. They are worthy of reverence, but they are not the ultimate source of divine authority." I gestured to Shireen, now cooing in her mother's arms. "The Light that healed your daughter comes from beyond the Seven, from the Flame Imperishable that sung Creation into being, the Father of All, whom I am merely a conduit."

Stannis's gaze was calculating, his mind visibly working through the implications of my words. "So you claim all gods are subordinate to yours," he said finally, more a statement than a question. "A convenient hierarchy that places your faith above all others."

"Not my faith, my lord—the truth of creation," I replied. "I was a drunkard priest of R'hllor until Eru Iluvatar revealed Himself to me. I didn't seek this role."

Lady Selyse, still cradling Shireen, approached us. The joy of her daughter's healing had softened her typically harsh features, but now a familiar zealous light entered her eyes—one I recognized from my days as a Red Priest. The fervency of the newly converted.

"You must tell us more of this god," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "Any deity who could save a child from greyscale deserves our devotion."

I raised a hand, cautioning against hasty conversion. "My lady, your gratitude is understandable, but faith should not be adopted in haste or from obligation. The Light healed your daughter because Eru Iluvatar wills all children to thrive, not to gain worshippers."

Stannis nodded approvingly at my restraint, his perpetual frown easing slightly. "Sensible words from a priest. Most would seize the opportunity to convert a great house."

"I seek truth, not political advantage, my lord. Eru Iluvatar's light shines on all who seek it, regardless of birth or station."

"And yet," Stannis observed shrewdly, "you travel with my brother the king, healing at his command. That seems politically advantageous."

I smiled. "Its more to protect me from over-zealous septons, than anything else. Your royal brother is not exactly the religious sort, and I have no desire to convert him."

"The world needs more men who seek truth over power," Stannis said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen too many ambitious schemers at court. He studied me with renewed interest. "You may stay as long as necessary for my daughter's full recovery."

That night, I dined in the great hall of Dragonstone, seated at Lord Stannis's right hand—a position of honor that spoke volumes to the household. The meal was simple but plentiful; Stannis was not one for extravagance. Throughout the evening, servants and knights alike found reasons to pass near our table, stealing glances at the priest who had performed the impossible.

"They say you destroyed the Seastone Chair with holy fire," Ser Davos remarked as we broke bread. "I was with the fleet during the assault on Pyke but heard tales afterward."

"It was an abomination, a cursed object of great darkness and malice. It carried a taint that corrupted those who sat upon it for generations," I replied, cutting into a modest portion of roast mutton. "The ironborn's brutal ways weren't entirely of their choosing—the chair itself influenced their minds over centuries, encouraging their worst instincts."

Ser Davos's weathered face creased in thought. "You're saying an object can corrupt a bloodline?"

"Objects of power can exert influence beyond what we might expect," I explained. "Especially those crafted with malevolent purpose or tainted by dark forces. The Great Other—the enemy of all life—works through such corruption."

Stannis, who had been listening silently, leaned forward slightly. "You speak of this Great Other. What manner of god are they?"

"They are a fallen Maiar, the greatest of the Maiar who fell to pride and corruption. They seek the end of all life, the end of Creation itself, to remake in their own twisted image. Where the Father of All creates and nurtures, the Great Other seeks only to corrupt and destroy. It commands powers of cold, darkness, and decay—working through subtle corruption and direct force alike."

Stannis's brow furrowed. "You speak of this entity as though it were real, not mere theology."

"As real as the greyscale that nearly claimed your daughter," I replied solemnly. "That disease bears its touch—a corruption of living flesh into dead stone. A perversion of natural order."

Lady Selyse, who had joined us after settling Shireen with her nurse, crossed herself with the seven-pointed star. "The septons speak of the Stranger, of death and darkness. Is that your Great Other?"

"Death is a natural part of life, as all things must end, and in turn give rise to new life. The Great Other seeks to pervert that cycle, to end all things, leaving only the walking dead. The Stranger is merely death personified, a Maiar who guides souls to their proper rest. The Great Other is the enemy of that process—seeking not death but undeath, not rest but eternal torment."

Stannis's face was grave as he absorbed my words. Unlike many lords who dismissed talk of ancient evils as superstition, he seemed to weigh each statement carefully, testing it against his own rigid sense of justice and order.

"If such an enemy exists," he said finally, "then it must be fought with the same discipline and resolve as any mortal foe." He studied me with those cold blue eyes that missed nothing. "And you believe your god has chosen you to lead this fight?"

"I am but one vessel," I replied honestly. "Eru Iluvatar works through many hands. My task is to spread HIS truth and to heal where I can, to combat corruption where I find it, and yes, to seek battle against the Great Other and their agents."

Stannis nodded, his jaw set in that familiar rigid line. "A noble purpose. Though I wonder how you reconcile serving both a god and a king whose interests may not always align."

"King Robert has been generous in allowing me to pursue my divine mission," I replied carefully. "He values the practical benefits of my healing abilities more than theological debates. But should our paths diverge on matters of principle, my first loyalty must be to Eru Iluvatar."

"Honesty," Stannis said with grudging approval. "Rare in King's Landing. Rarer still among priests, in my experience."

Lady Selyse leaned forward, her eyes bright with religious fervor. "You must teach us more of this Eru Iluvatar. If the Seven are but servants to a greater power, we should direct our prayers appropriately."

I smiled gently. "The Seven still hear your prayers, and offer wisdom and teachings relevant to your path. But if you wish to learn more about HIM, may I offer you a copy of the Book? It will tell you what you wish to know," I asked, as I pulled out a newly printed copy.

Lady Selyse took the volume with reverent hands, her fingers tracing the embossed prismatic flame on its cover. "I shall study it most carefully," she vowed, clutching it to her chest as though it were a precious relic.

Stannis watched his wife with a mixture of bemusement and concern. "My lady wife has always found comfort in faith," he explained, though his tone suggested he did not share her enthusiasm. "I place my trust in what I can see and verify. Your healing of Shireen was... undeniable. The rest remains to be proven."

"A prudent approach, my lord," I acknowledged. "Eru Iluvatar respects those who seek truth through careful discernment rather than blind acceptance."

As the meal concluded, Stannis rose from his seat. "Walk with me, priest," he commanded, though his tone was less harsh than usual.

I followed him from the hall, leaving Lady Selyse engrossed in the Book. Stannis led me through winding corridors of black stone until we reached a narrow balcony overlooking the churning sea. The night was clear, stars glittering like distant flames above the dark waters. The fortress of Dragonstone rose around us, its dragon-shaped gargoyles casting long shadows in the moonlight.

"You've given my wife hope," Stannis said, his voice barely audible above the crashing waves below. "For that alone, I'm in your debt."

"I merely channeled the Light that was given to me," I replied. "Your daughter deserved healing, as do all children."

Stannis's hands gripped the stone balustrade, his knuckles white with tension. "You speak of gods and demons, light and darkness. I've never put much stock in such nonsense. Not since…" He paused, before continuing. "But your power is undeniable. For what it is worth, I will do my best to assist you in what you need."

I regarded Lord Stannis—a man of iron will and unyielding principle. Unlike his brother Robert, who embraced life's pleasures with reckless abandon, Stannis had always been defined by duty and justice. That he would offer assistance, especially in matters of faith, was significant.

"I thank you for that, Lord Stannis. The battle against the Great Other will require allies of all kinds—those who wield swords as well as those who wield prayer."

Stannis's jaw tightened, a telltale grinding of teeth audible in the night air. "What exactly does this battle entail? I've fought rebels and ironborn. Tangible enemies. But darkness itself?"

I took a moment to consider, before deciding to reveal the truth. I felt I had earned enough goodwill to not be dismissed outright.

I gestured toward the northern horizon, barely visible in the night. "The threat grows beyond the Wall, Lord Stannis. Ancient powers stir in the endless winter. The dead will walk again, and with them come the Others. The White Walkers. The ancient enemy of the First Men and the Children of the Forest. In the next decade or so, the Long Night will once more grace the world."

Stannis stared at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Unlike many lords who would have dismissed such claims with derisive laughter, he remained silent, contemplating my words with the same grave consideration he gave to reports of enemy movements or grain shortages.

"The White Walkers," he repeated finally, testing the words as if weighing their truth. "Old tales to frighten Northern children."

"Many dismiss them as such," I acknowledged. "Just as they dismiss greyscale as merely a disease rather than a corruption. Yet your daughter's healing proves some ancient evils are very real."

Stannis turned to face the sea, moonlight casting harsh shadows across his gaunt features. "If what you say is true, the realm is unprepared. The Night's Watch is a shadow of its former strength. The North itself is vast and sparsely populated."

"That is true. Perhaps a brother to the King could convince him to invest time and money into helping his foster brother's kingdom."

Stannis gripped the balustrade tighter, his knuckles white against the dark stone. "Robert listens to few these days, and certainly not to me. Not since the rebellion." A bitter edge crept into his voice. "But I will write to Ned Stark. He at least has sense enough to consider warnings of danger, especially concerning the North."

"Lord Stark would be a valuable ally," I agreed. "The blood of the First Men runs strong in his veins, and they remember the old threats better than most."

"And what of you, priest? Will you travel to the Wall to see this threat firsthand?"

I considered his question carefully. "In time, perhaps. For now, my mission is to spread knowledge of Eru Iluvatar and to heal where I can. To prepare the realm spiritually for what's to come."

Stannis gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Oh, and you should stockpile obsidian, my Lord. The 'frozen fire' harms the Others and their undead slaves."

"Obsidian?" Stannis raised an eyebrow. "Dragonglass. Dragonstone sits upon a mountain of it."

"Indeed, Lord Stannis. The Children of the Forest used it against the Others during the Long Night. It's one of the few materials that can destroy them, alongside Valyrian Steel and magic."

Stannis nodded slowly, his tactical mind already working. "I'll have Ser Davos organize mining operations. If what you say proves true, we'll need as much as we can extract." He turned to face me fully, his gaze penetrating. "And if it proves false, dragonglass still holds value in trade."

"A prudent approach, my lord," I acknowledged with a respectful nod.

We stood in silence for a moment, the crash of waves against Dragonstone's black cliffs filling the night air. Stannis Baratheon was not a man given to easy friendship or trust, but I sensed a shift in his demeanor—a grudging respect, perhaps, or at least a willingness to consider the possibility that my warnings held truth.

"I shall pray for your daughter's continued health, my lord," I said finally, preparing to take my leave.

Stannis nodded curtly. "Prayer or not, you saved her. House Baratheon does not forget its debts."

As I turned to go, he added, "One more question, priest. This... Eru Iluvatar. What does he demand of his followers?"

I paused, considering how best to explain to this rigid, duty-bound man. "Justice tempered with mercy. Courage in the face of darkness. Stewardship of the world HE created. Love for your fellow man. Not blind obedience, but thoughtful devotion."

"Hmm," Stannis grunted, but said no more. I considered that a win.

 

[Adullahan]

The second moon of 290 AC, I decided to make a pilgrimage to the Starry Sept, to prove my willingness to cooperate with the Faith. I announced my leaving, of course, in the week leading up to my departure—and with King Robert's approval. The man just laughed and told me to give them hell. I'm sure the Most Devout were happy to see me leave—my fame had skyrocketed since I healed Princess Shireen.

So I shouldn't have been surprised by the fifty-odd people waiting outside the Gate of the Gods for me. But I was. At the head of the group was Septon Leobald, who quickly jogged over.

"I was not expecting this," I said, gesturing to the assembled travelers. Men and women of various stations—some in threadbare clothes, others in finer garments—stood with small packs and determined expressions.

"They wish to accompany you to Oldtown," Leobald explained, his restored eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Word of your pilgrimage spread quickly. These are but some of those whose lives you've touched with Eru's light."

I recognized several faces among them—a carpenter whose crushed hand I'd restored, a merchant's daughter cured of a wasting fever, an old soldier whose battle-blindness I'd healed. Each nodded respectfully as my gaze passed over them.

"This is... unexpected," I said, genuinely moved by their presence. "The journey to Oldtown is long and not without hardship."

A weathered woman stepped forward, her gray hair tied back in a simple bun. "Pardon, White Priest, but with your healing Light, any maladies or injuries should be quick work."

Laughter rippled through the gathering at her blunt practicality. I couldn't help but smile.

"I appreciate your faith in me," I replied, "but even Eru's servant must rest sometimes. This will be no royal procession with comfortable accommodations each night."

"We're prepared, priest," said a broad-shouldered man I recognized as a blacksmith whose daughter I'd saved from lung fever. "We've brought provisions and what coin we can spare for the journey. We ask only to travel in your company and learn more of the Father of All."

I looked to Septon Leobald, whose transformation from a withered, trembling scholar to a vigorous elder had caused no small stir within the Faith. "And you, good Septon? The Most Devout will not look kindly on your accompanying me."

Leobald straightened, dignity evident in his bearing.

"My conscience can no longer abide silence," Leobald replied with quiet conviction. "I've studied The Book alongside the Seven-Pointed Star these past moons. The harmony between them is undeniable to any scholar without prejudice. The Most Devout see a threat to their authority, where I see a deepening of our understanding of the divine."

I considered the assembled pilgrims, their faces bright with expectation. This was not what I had planned—a solitary journey of contemplation had suddenly transformed into something far more significant. Yet wasn't this precisely what Eru Iluvatar had called me to do when HE sent me here? To spread HIS light, to gather those who would listen?

"Very well," I said finally. "We travel together, but understand this is no casual journey. We go as pilgrims seeking truth, not as missionaries imposing it. We will respect the Faith even where we may disagree with its representatives."

Relief and joy spread through the gathering, quiet cheers and murmured prayers of thanks rising from the pilgrims. They formed a loose column behind me, families and friends clustering together as we set out on the Roseroad that would eventually lead us to Oldtown.

By midday, our numbers had grown to nearly seventy as stragglers and last-minute decisions brought more followers to our procession. We made good time despite our size, the weather favorable and the road relatively clear of bandits due to regular patrols from King's Landing.

As we made camp that first evening in a meadow just off the Roseroad, I found myself surrounded by eager faces as I kindled a small fire with a touch of the Flame Imperishable. The prismatic light danced across their features, casting rainbow shadows as darkness fell.

"Will you teach us, White Priest?" asked a young woman who clutched a Book to her chest.

I had grown… more comfortable with teaching over the past moons, though I still felt like somewhat a fraud.

I settled onto a fallen log, arranging my white robes around me. "What would you have me teach you?" I asked, watching the firelight dance across their expectant faces.

"Everything," the young woman said earnestly. "How to feel the Light. How to understand The Book. How to serve Eru Iluvatar."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered pilgrims. These were not merely curious travelers or those seeking spectacle—they had committed to a long journey because something in Eru's truth had resonated within them.

"Very well," I said, folding my hands in my lap. "The first thing to understand is that Eru Iluvatar is not distant or removed from us. HE is the ground of all being, the source from which all creation flows. The Flame Imperishable is HIS creative power, burning at the heart of everything that exists. Every living being bears a tiny fraction of the Flame Imperishable within them, and so we are all connected."

"When we acknowledge this connection," I continued, gesturing to encompass the circle, "we begin to understand our responsibility toward one another. The Seven-Pointed Star teaches similar principles through the aspects of the Mother's mercy and the Father's justice. These virtues reflect Eru's nature, though incompletely."

Septon Leobald nodded agreement. "The Book speaks of how the Maiar – what we've known as the Seven – embody different aspects of Eru's nature, just as facets of a gemstone reflect different colors of the same light."

A grizzled farmer raised his hand hesitantly. "I've followed the Seven all my life. My father before me, and his father before him. Are you saying we've been... wrong all this time?"

"Not wrong," I replied gently. "Think of a child who knows his parents only as 'Mother' and 'Father' as he grows. Later he learns they have names of their own, histories before he was born, roles beyond parenting him. Does this make his earlier understanding false? Or merely incomplete?"

The farmer considered this, wrinkles deepening around his eyes as he pondered. "So the Seven are real, just... lesser than we thought?"

"The Maiar are mighty beings of tremendous power and wisdom," I explained. "In their spheres of influence, they act with divine authority. But they themselves were created by Eru Iluvatar, just as we were. They are elder siblings to humanity, not the ultimate source of creation."

A young mother cradling an infant spoke up hesitantly. "The septons say we must follow the Seven's teachings to find peace after death. What does Eru teach about our souls?"

I smiled gently. "The Book tells us that humans are more than merely flesh. We, each of us, bear a portion of Eru Iluvatar within us. Our spirits are divine sparks that return to HIM upon death. The virtuous behaviors that the Seven encourage—justice, mercy, wisdom, strength used rightly and love—these prepare our spirits for that return. So the septons are not wrong in their essential teachings, only in their understanding of where those teachings ultimately lead."

The young mother nodded, visibly relieved. Others around the circle seemed similarly comforted, the tension of religious uncertainty easing from their postures.

As night deepened, more questions came—some theological, others practical. How should they pray? What rituals were important? Did Eru Iluvatar demand sacrifices or offerings? I answered each with care, emphasizing the inner light over outward show, compassionate action over empty ritual.

"Prayer is communion," I explained, "not transaction. Eru does not need your sacrifices or grand gestures. HE desires your attention, your love, your thoughts and fears, your willingness to grow. Speak to HIM as you would to a loving parent—with honesty and trust."

"And the Light?" asked an eager young man at the edge of the circle. "Can we learn to wield it as you do?"

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "The Light of the Flame Imperishable is not a tool to be wielded lightly. It flows through me because Eru Iluvatar chose me as HIS vessel for specific purposes. Not all are called to manifest it in the same way."

Disappointment flickered across several faces, and I felt compelled to soften my response.

"However," I continued, "the inner light—the divine spark that dwells within each of you—can be nurtured and strengthened through prayer, compassion, and righteous action. In time, some may find that Eru grants them gifts according to HIS will and desire."

As our pilgrimage continued southward, word spread ahead of us like wildfire. In villages and towns along the Roseroad, crowds gathered to witness the White Priest and his followers. Some came seeking healing, others curiosity, and still others to challenge or denounce me. I welcomed them all with equal patience.

By the time we reached Bitterbridge, our numbers had swelled to easily over a hundred. Lord Caswell, though initially wary, offered us use of his fields to camp when he saw the orderly nature of our procession. That evening, as I tended to the sick brought from the surrounding countryside, a messenger arrived from Highgarden bearing the golden rose of House Tyrell.

"Lord Mace Tyrell extends his greetings," the messenger announced formally, "and requests that the White Priest visit Highgarden on his journey to Oldtown."

Our path took us there anyway, but I couldn't help but wonder what the Queen of Thorns wanted with a priest.
---

Olenna Tyrell eyed the pilgrimage that had gathered outside Highgarden's walls with undisguised skepticism. The gathering had grown to nearly two hundred strong during the journey from King's Landing, a motley assembly of minor nobles and smallfolk, merchants and craftsmen, all united by faith in Eru Iluvatar. They had established an orderly camp on the meadows beneath Highgarden's terraced walls, white banners bearing the prismatic flame fluttering in the gentle breeze, sewed by ladies and smallfolk over the long journey.

"So this is the famous White Priest," she remarked, her voice sharp as a blade despite her advanced years. "The one who's got the High Septon's smallclothes in such a twist, and dealt a bloody swathe through the Ironborn reavers."

I bowed respectfully before the Queen of Thorns, maintaining a dignified silence. We stood in Highgarden's famous rose garden, the air heavy with perfume, Lady Olenna seated comfortably in a cushioned chair while her attendants hovered distantly. There was no chair for me.

Lord Mace Tyrell stood beside his mother, a corpulent man whose ostentatious doublet strained against his girth. Unlike Lady Olenna's razor-sharp gaze, his expression was one of polite interest tinged with the uncertainty of a man who preferred tournaments and feasts to theological matters.

"Your reputation precedes you, Thoros of Myr," Lady Olenna continued, tapping her cane against the garden path. "Or do you prefer 'Chosen of Eru Iluvatar' now? So many titles these days, it's hard to keep them straight."

"I answer to either, my lady," I replied evenly. "Though I serve only one master."

"Yes, yes, your new god." She waved a dismissive hand. "The one above all gods, cleverly revealed to you alone. Very neat arrangement."

"Mother," Mace protested. "The White Priest is an honored guest."

"And he shall be treated with all courtesy," Lady Olenna finished for her son. "I'm merely curious about our guest's... unusual theology. After all, it's not every day a priest claims divine revelation that conveniently places his god above all others."

I remained composed, having expected such skepticism from the notoriously sharp-witted matriarch. "Divine truth is rarely convenient, Lady Olenna. In fact, I found it most inconvenient to have my comfortable life as a drunken fire priest upended by Eru Iluvatar's call."

Olenna's eyes narrowed slightly, evaluating me with renewed interest. "Honesty. How refreshing." She gestured to a chair a servant just delivered. "Sit, priest. My old neck aches from looking up at you."

I took the offered seat, arranging my white robes carefully. The prismatic flame emblem shone brightly in the afternoon sun.

Lady Olenna studied me as one might examine an unusual butterfly before deciding whether to pin it to a collection board. "Now, tell me truthfully—what brings you and your growing... congregation to the Reach? The Faith is strong here, priest. Stronger than in King's Landing."

"I journey to the Starry Sept in Oldtown," I replied. "To demonstrate my respect for the Faith's traditions and to speak with the Most Devout there. My pilgrims chose to accompany me of their own accord."

"How convenient that your pilgrimage takes you through the most populous and fertile region of the Seven Kingdoms," Olenna observed dryly. "One might almost suspect a campaign of conversion rather than a simple spiritual journey."

"I intended to journey alone. The others merely joined me because they saw value in it."

Lord Mace shifted uncomfortably beside his mother. "The White Priest has performed remarkable healings, Mother. Lady Fossoway's younger son—the one with the malformed arm—was made whole just yesterday. Countless smallfolk with ailments that baffled the maesters now walk without pain." He turned to me with the eager expression of a man who believed he'd found a valuable political asset. "We are honored by your presence, White Priest."

Lady Olenna tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair, her shrewd eyes never leaving my face. "Yes, these miracles of yours. Most impressive, if the tales are true. They say you burned away the Seastone Chair with holy fire and healed King Stannis's daughter of greyscale when all the maesters had given up hope."

"Eru Iluvatar's Light flows through me," I replied simply. "I am merely the vessel."

"Humility too," she remarked with a hint of sarcasm. "A rare quality in men with power." She leaned forward slightly.

"And yet," Lady Olenna continued, eyeing me with those penetrating eyes that had assessed countless courtiers and schemers, "men with power rarely remain humble for long. The question that interests me is what you intend to do with this growing influence of yours. A congregation that swells by the day, miracles that the Faith cannot match, and a theology that conveniently places you as the sole authentic representative of the 'true' god."

"I seek only to spread truth and healing, Lady Olenna," I replied, meeting her gaze steadily. "Power and influence are not my aims."

"Perhaps not consciously," she countered, her fingers drumming against her chair arm. "But they follow you nonetheless. Even the most reluctant leaders shape the world around them, priest. The question is how."

Lord Mace cleared his throat. "What my mother means to say is that House Tyrell is interested in understanding your intentions as your pilgrimage passes through our lands," he finished diplomatically, shooting his mother a placating glance.

"Indeed," I acknowledged with a slight bow of my head. "My intention is simple: to demonstrate that the teachings of Eru Iluvatar complement rather than contradict the Faith of the Seven. The Starry Sept represents the ancient heart of the Faith in Westeros, and by paying my respects there, I hope to ease tensions between my followers and the established religious authorities."

Lady Olenna's lips quirked in something approaching amusement. "A noble sentiment. Though I suspect the Most Devout may not see it that way." She tapped her cane thoughtfully against the garden path. "They tend to view alternative interpretations as threats rather than complements."

"Which is why this pilgrimage is necessary," I explained. "To show that I come in peace, and that our ways need not conflict."

Lady Olenna studied me with calculating eyes, then gave a small, decisive nod. "Very well. I suppose we shall see how the Most Devout receive your... peace offering." She gestured to a servant who approached with a tray of wine. "Refreshment, priest? Or has your conversion extended to abstinence as well?"

I accepted the offered goblet with a smile. "Eru Iluvatar encourages temperance, not abstinence. I thank you for your hospitality."

"And while you're our guest," Lord Mace interjected eagerly, "perhaps you might consider blessing our harvest? The smallfolk would be most appreciative, and it would demonstrate the... complementary nature of your faith and ours."

Lady Olenna shot her son a look that suggested he'd revealed too much of their intentions, but she didn't contradict him.

"I would be honored," I replied. It was no hardship, and with the help and faith of the pilgrims, a mass blessing wasn't out of possibility.

A day later, after a truly sinful meal of Tyrell excess washed down with hearty cider, I gathered my… congregation, I suppose, in a nearby Tyrell field where the first plantings of the year were reaching about ankle height.

I called upon the Light as I led them in prayer, prayer for the plants, that they may grow hardy and bountiful, prayer for the smallfolk, that their work may be eased and their harvest fruitful, prayer for the coming season, that it may bring gentle rains and warm sun in proper measure. As I spoke the ancient blessings drawn from The Book, prismatic light flowed from my hands into the soil, spreading outward in concentric circles like ripples in a pond, reaching nearby fields as well. The light sank into the earth, leaving a subtle luminescence that lingered momentarily before fading.

The smallfolk gasped in wonder, many falling to their knees in reverence. Even Lord Mace, standing at the field's edge with his mother and household, appeared genuinely awed by the display. Lady Olenna's expression remained carefully neutral, though I detected a flicker of surprise in her sharp eyes.

"The Light of Eru Iluvatar blesses this land," I announced, my voice carrying across the hushed gathering. "May your harvests be bountiful, your children strong, and your hearts open."

Afterwards, my followers laughed and chattered, speaking of how they each felt the Light inside them as they prayed together.

As we journeyed onward from Highgarden, our numbers swelled further. The blessing of the fields had spread through the countryside like wildfire, with farmers reporting seedlings growing twice their normal height overnight. Whether this was truly the Light's doing or simply the power of belief, I couldn't say with certainty. But the result was undeniable—by the time we reached the outskirts of Oldtown, our pilgrimage had grown to nearly four hundred souls.

The ancient city rose before us, its white stone buildings gleaming in the afternoon sun. The Hightower dominated the skyline, its impossibly tall spire reaching toward the heavens like a finger pointing to Eru Iluvatar himself. And there, nestled among the winding streets and ancient buildings, stood our destination: the Starry Sept, the original seat of the Faith before the construction of the Great Sept of Baelor.