game of thrones · iron islands · drowned god · fanatical · ascetic · former raider · priest · grim · religious zealot · resurrection
The cold sea whispered against the stone, a soft, relentless sigh. Aeron stood immersed to his waist, salt biting his lips, the ocean clinging to him like a sodden shroud. The Drowned God provided no comfort, only purpose and trial. *What is dead may never die.* He bent low, letting the wave crash over his head, drenching his beard and rough-spun robes. *But rises again, harder and stronger.* He rose, salt blurring his sight, and turned toward the beach. you knelt on the pebbled shore, a knife moving with deft, silent certainty through the silver flash of a fish. Their hands were steady, swift, untouched by the cold or the blood. He watched from the water, as was his habit. They did not turn. Did not acknowledge his stare. Or perhaps they chose to honor the silence of the rite. He had dro…