| Faith of the Fallen |
| Summary: | Henric seeks some solitude and finds himself sharing words with a Priest. |
| Date: | 1865-11-19 |
| Related: | Anything in regards to Henric's downward spiral and the beginning of the turn around (take two, or three… haha) |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
NPC'ed Priest of Sherfield, thank you Julieta! |
The Tarris 3rd Heavy Cavalry Regiment had been on patrol for a few days now with the Burnished Spurs since leaving Firen. They hadn’t yet managed to coordinate their rendezvous with the Sun Spears or Lord Chandus, due to in part the nature of the route taken home and the far eastward position that Thomas had taken. Regardless, they were not in a particular rush to sit at Griffon Point after weeks on end sitting in Firen, nor had they received orders to discontinue patrols.
Still, despite the desire to be road bound, the regiment was quite comfortable filling up a local Inn until it was bursting from its seams with guests, once the commanded group stopped in a little farming town south west of Griffon point. It was one of those places that had few experts in any field outside of farming. They were fortunate enough to have a small chantry.
Henry found himself amiable to the town. It wasn’t yet large enough to keep up with the worldly news or for that matter, anything to do with nobility. Here, he was just a knight commander, which, in general people assumed would be some raised up hedge knight at worst - a lesser noble’s son at best. It suited him. None other than his own men would know his story. He could have some measure of solitude in this town, a place he learned was called Sherfield.
He wasn’t with the men, having excused himself from their company with some impetus to write a letter. A white lie necessary to extend some measure of seclusion that he desperately needed. Away from them, away from his family, away from the ideals of society. Wrapped in a black cloak with the black tabard bearing the crimson charge of a rearing horse upon his chest, the young man broke free and found a place of peace.
It was a small grove of trees just south of the chantry that he found somewhere to sit, to reflect. The place looked to be used for such purposes of finding tranquility, for there had been a bench seated at the mouth of a small creek that ran through the grove of trees. Yet he looked anything but tranquil.
For a paragon of faith, here was the epitome of a child that’s been lost, especially since the scarf he usually wore around his neck was in his hands. The halo that slipped down to choke him was clearly visible, even as he sat back with his head tilted down, his feet kicked forward and apart, one arm slung over the back of the seat. He had a distant and inwardly troubled look upon his expression, refusing as of yet to not wear his heart upon his sleeve, making his emotions completely visible.
—
Sherfield had a chantry which was quite obvious to those visiting. The convent was further back and hidden from those unaware of its existence by a natural barrier of trees and bushes, however, there would be times during the day when a number of acolytes along with other members of the convent would walk over to the chantry, following a plain path that would coincidentally lead just past said small grove. Such was the case today as well, when a small group of people from the convent approached, most of them probably taking note of the lone figure sitting on the bench, but not in any way appearing tempted to stop or even address him. There might have been a light shrug here a faint raising of brows there, before each of them vanished from view, entering the chantry through the doors. But there was one figure that stayed behind, and had obviously paused in his step.
His gaze lingered attentively on the young man as the man of the faith hesitated to follow the others, but the very moment when the door fell shut behind his brothers-in-faith, his mind was already made up. He walked over to the grove at a slow and measured pace, hands folded before him as he approached until he stood before Henric, leaving enough distance between them to not appear obtrusive. If the knight should raise his gaze, he would see a man in his early fifties, if the wrinkles on his kind face were an indication. The attire of a black cassock marked him to be a priest. Grey eyes would take their time to study the knight, the facial expression, the posture, noting the marks about the neck with a light lifting of the brows albeit nothing more, before they shifted to meet Henric’s gaze.
“May the One be with you,” the priest greets in a friendly yet a slightly raspy tone. “Forgive me if I disturb you. I might be mistaken, but I sense you may be in need of someone to talk to…” And after all, the knight had perhaps not picked that particular bench in view of the chantry by pure coincidence.
—
The noise of the convent members was plain for a knight to comprehend, though from a glance, he neither responded to it nor stirred from his own inner workings. The truth, he didn’t move but stole a peek toward the group, catching a few of their shrugs and mild conversation that had been poised in his direction. He was quick to draw his gaze back toward his feet, trying not to make obvious notice of their presence. The way he tilted his head then, only added to his posture of being a young man who was downtrodden and brooding over his fate.
The subtle scuffle of feet rustling over dead leaves alerted him to the approach of one of the members. Perhaps he had not been deemed worthy to sit so close to their temple of holiness and was going to be asked to leave. The Cassomir, who earned the ire of two Kingdoms for his choices, took an uneven breath, pale green eyes coming up to meet the grey eyes of the priest who stood before him.
“I don’t know that the One is with me Father, but thank you,” the young man’s voice was wrought with sorrow, easy to sense for a Priest who had worked his entire life bringing hope to those who had fallen out of it. His arm pulls back from where it was sitting on the edge of the bench, folding into his lap with his injured arm, which hadn’t the flexibility it once had. His eyes look through the grove toward where the Priest’s fellow brethren had gone, before they reverted back to the clergyman, as if deliberating on beckoning the priest to the seat beside him or sending him away. A man who is able to empathize with human nature could easily tell he wants the former address but is reluctant to admit to it.
—
A priest would certainly be used to pick up on such signs, so this man of the faith showed his understanding of the young man’s troubled state of mind with a plain incline of the head - at least his assumption had not met with a negation of any kind. A faint smile curls the priest’s lips as he takes a seat where Henric has made room for him.
“The One is with all of us, even those that may not be aware,” the man of the faith intones with confidence that would certainly be expected, before he adds with a slight hint of concern of his voice: “And those who doubt.” His gaze lingering maybe a bit pointedly on those marks about the knight’s neck, silent witnesses to his drastic loss in faith, in certainly more than one regard. “I can see you have been through quite a bit,” he remarks. “Still. You are here. You are…alive. And you are sitting in this idyllic place, in close vicinity of a Temple of the One. Which tells me that you are looking for help - which I would gladly provide. Sir.”
Even if his apparel is black - similar to that of the priest - the martial component in Henric’s attire is evident, and the martial rank as well. Although that may be a wild guess of the priest as he attempts to start a conversation.
—
Henric looks down toward his lap where his hands clasp together, folded there and rested upon his thighs, his shoulders slumped forward and his head tilted down. He knows the man has decided to join him and does nothing to keep him from doing so. In fact, he is hard pressed not to let the welling of tears overpower him and to restrain all sense of regret from running down his cheeks.
Henric’s gaze turns aside toward the Priest’s voice, having absently forgotten that he had the material of his scarf in hand. Yet, he is quite aware of the pointed look his neck earns, feeling some deep inner humiliation at it, for his hands go then to move the scarf about his neck, wanting to hide it. But the accusation in the Priest’s voice is heard already and it is much too late to hide it from his grey eyes.
The priest is not wrong in his assumptions to title, fingers finishing up in wrapping his scarf around his neck as Emilia showed him how to do. Such a thing brings a long standing sigh from the young man, “I have failed to listen to Him…” Him, being the One.
—
A faint smile appears on the Priest's features, and he averts his gaze briefly when Henric covers his neck with the scarf even though that curling of lips may show a bit of tempered amusement at the attempt of hiding what has already been spotted.. Still, his brows furrow thoughtfully as he contemplates the case of the man who has lost his faith. The admission is met with a nod. “…Which you regret…?“, he continues the sentence the knight has left dangling in the air.
Grey eyes are narrowing as they are raised once again to study the Cassomir's face attentively. “You have lost the path, Sir, like a child lost in the dark, and darkness has almost consumed you? You know what is needed to fight darkness, don't you?“ The question is tossed at the knight, in a friendly tone, while the priest tries to gauge the effect his words may have on the knight in black.
“It may help to explore the reasons that made you seek out that darkness, in the first place. As well as look into means to find your way back – if you so wish – to the righteous path.“
—
Henric’s fingers flash over the scarf that now hides the halo marks of a noose he tried to end himself with, while his sentence is finished in an approach that only a Priest could get away with. He nods at first, as his fingers come away from his neck, before he speaks, his voice lowered and meek, as if seeking atonement for it, “A man who didn’t regret it wouldn’t have been seeking to end his life.”
The weight of his regret was a heavy burden, even still, while he chose life and to face it, it was hard to bear. There was guilt in him and it had caused him to fall so low that he lost all faith and all reason, to the point of seeking his own death. So now he listens, as the faithful tries to resort his faith in himself and in the One.
“A beacon in the dark, a light…” it was easy enough to answer, since he had known he should’ve been that light in the darkness for Emilia. He shakes his head, “I know there is light in my life, friends and family… Father,” he finally glances over toward the man, “I failed them and I tried to deal with that failure and I couldn’t.” Another twitch of a fingertip to gloss down the neck scarf, “I don’t have a path.” He is alive, happy to be, surely after nearly dying he is glad to draw breath, but that still gives him little in the way of direction. “How does one step forward after what I’ve done…”
—
“To lose one‘s beliefs,“ the priest replies thoughtfully, his hands still folded in his lap, “is a grave occurrence, Sir, yet it would not suffice to push a person far enough. But I understand, that without the comfort of the One it is hard to deal with the dark depths of despair.” That faint smile still curls his lips, as if he were enjoying the religious discourse in a way, or maybe it is meant as encouragement for the troubled man sitting beside him. A bit of empathy flashes in his grey eyes, when he admits: “None of us is a stranger to moments of despair. I truly cannot imagine how I would endure such without the knowledge that One is there for me and will help me through those times.”
“Aye, a light,” he agrees then, the voice raised a bit, showing the optimism of those who believe, before he falls silent again when Henric speaks of his family. “Our closest relations are important in giving us a purpose, they should be the ones that offer comfort when we are in need of it.”, the priest muses, arching a brow, when the black knight mentions failing his kin. “Even if we hurt them, they will still be of our blood. What exactly have you done to deal with it? Have you seeked to speak with them? Have you shown them your regret? Your willingness to act differently in the future?”
So far the priest can only throw vague suggestions at the knight, given the vague information offered, but that does not seem to trouble him at all. “You say you don’t know the path, but in fact, it is pretty simple. Think about what you have done – the things that trouble you so deeply. Do not be afraid to confront these dark thoughts as they are necessary. Then… find that light within yourself – it is there somewhere. You mentioned your family. But that will not suffice, you need to regain confidence in yourself. A willingness to change, to leave misery behind and a conviction that it is possible! To draw such strength from within yourself may be a hard task. I see you have already failed once. So…” The priest smiles, a warmth now washing over his slightly wrinkled features as he once again meets Henric’s gaze. “You should allow the One to help you, Sir. Because. He believes in each one of us, even if at times when we have lost faith in ourselves.” He will pause now, his eyes gleaming with faith in the One, as he gives Henric a moment to digest his words.
—
The young man, who looks to be in his early twenties at the most, considering his clean shaven face and the trim of his hair, bears the weight of a man much older in his eyes, a window to his troubled soul. His eyes close in retrospective to the holy man’s words, his legs kicking out as boots scuff along the ground, arms pulling against his chest as he folds them across it. He remains reserved while the Priest speaks of despair and how difficult it would be without the aid of the One. At last, he does draw his eyes up as he inhales a breath large enough to make his shoulders rise, released a second afterward with his eyes turning upon the cleric.
While the priest himself is in black, as Henric looks upon him, it is as if there is an energy of life behind the other man, brightened for living underneath the One’s holy light. It could be the other’s optimism, but still, it kept the pale green eyes upon the grey pair. “Why would they comfort me when I’ve tarnished them by my choices? My elder siblings trust me not, my younger thinks I’m delicate…” he muses over that, “She does her best and I love her for it… But something is missing inside me Father, I… I don’t know what it is.” There’s another crestfallen sigh from him as he glances upward, toward the leafless branches of the garden, eyes catching on the wings of a magpie – that alone makes his eyes gleam.
“I’ve tried talking Father, but, the rift I’ve made… I cannot begin to comprehend how to fix it,” his eyes shifting back and forth as brows lower, troubled by this thought. “They are all I have, my family and friends… and yet, I continue to flounder. I do wrong by them. I never make the right choices. So, I thought they’d all be better off without me…” his fingers tug at the scarf, “If I wasn’t around, I thought… I thought they would be happy.”
“I don’t know what penance I… I can show them that will ever be enough…” His fingers brush over the tabard he’s wearing, “These aren’t even my House colours. I am not even trusted enough to fight for my own House…” He gives a thoughtful turn of his eyes toward the Priest, “I’ve ruined everything.” His fingers then creep out toward a necklace, the grey stone necklace that Emilia gave him, “I sometimes wish I could fly to another place, become someone else, forget everything…” and the emotion in his cracking voice makes it difficult for a person to ignore such a terrible sadness.
“I know that’s impossible, that we cannot run from who we are. I just don’t know how to move ahead… I thought I had the strength of will of my father and his fathers before me….” He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at the Priest, “I’ve confronted my thoughts. All I see are my failings … as a brother, a friend, and a knight.” He looks down at the mention of failing to deal with the demons before, the darkness that nearly claimed him. His hands rest then on his pants, the one clinging to the pendant, fingers digging into the fabric, teeth gritted as he asks, finally, “How can the One help me, when I have forsaken him?”
—
"Hmm," the priest ponders when confronted with the question about why Henric's family would comfort him, and lines appear on the older man's forehead as he takes in the new bits and pieces of information that the young knight adds to the picture. And while his hands are still folded he remains upright, his grey eyes studying Henric with the attentive kindness of those of the faith.
"If you have earned their distrust and disdain for the choices you've made, young Sir, then words will probably not help you and them to reconcile. But… deeds could.", he finally opines, his head tilted a little to the side with a pensive smile. "Especially so if it means you have done so by leaving the righteous path of the One. There are several roads to repentance, this one is particularly longer. Prove them wrong, ponder the past for these choices you've made that estranged you from your kin. That is what I meant when telling you to face the darkness of your past. You need to know the darkness to find the way out of it."
He smiles, as one finger moves to scratch his own chin, his grey eyes glinting. "You say you never make the right choices. Strive to do so from now on. And don't…" the priest frowns at the self-pitying remark about the knight's family being better off without him, "…say a thing like that." He gestures towards the scarf that covers the marks on Henric's neck. "You are sitting here beside me now, are you not?", he adds with an enigmatic smile. "The ways of the One are wondrous sometimes. You did not die. Your paths and mine crossed on this marvelous day. I believe there is a purpose behind it all. The One is still with you - he has already helped you, even if you may not be aware of it. To give you the chance to grow and prove there is more to you than your failings of the past."
—
“Deeds…” Henric cannot help but let his upper lip twitch and wrinkle at the thought of deeds, “What kind of deeds? I ride with this House as a commander, to try and bring honour back to my House and name through victories on the battlefield. I bring justice against those who stand against the kingdom… What other deeds can I do? I have given charity when I can…”
“Know the darkness… I do know it… It has driven me to the brink,” he shrugs and looks a bit agitated now. Especially when he’s told to make the right choices. That’s when he snaps over at the Priest, “I make choices in the moment, in the moment I do not think they are incorrect, but I suffer the choice all the same, much too late to know it was a wrong path to take.” He wrinkles his nose, “One choice I made cost my brother respect, reputation… and his betrothed. Another choice I made, cost me friendship and trust. In fact, I have very few that I can actually call friends…”
His eyes flash over at the Priest again, holding ire in the green gaze, “It is true. I am…” eyes close here, “I am not the brother they expected me to be. I am a disappointment. I am weak. I am a coward. Is that what you want me to say?” He looks away with a haughtiness to his tone, his cheeks flushed red, his neck blotched, his arms held tightly against his chest. He’s very defensive and thinks with his heart, that much is apparent.
Yet the anger dispels as quickly as it came, even if he doesn’t look at the Priest while he admits, “Something happened… when I was near… to death…” he shakes his head, “A voice…asking me if I wanted to live. I decided I wanted to…and I did.” He sighs, “But I have no idea what I need to do… The last priest I spoke to, I sent him away with seventy five crowns… after he told me I needed to avoid the sinful vices … I did well for a while, but I will not lie, I couldn’t stick to it. Life without pleasure is no life at all.”
He turns toward the Priest, with a plead, “What do I need to do?”
—
A bit of air leaves the priest’s nose as he listens,and his hand continues to scratch his chin. His mouth curves faintly when Henric speaks about deeds. “That sounds like an effort going in the right direction. The goal of committing heroic deeds and proving your worth on the battlefield may be a good way to honor your family’s name as well as your own.”
His gaze grows pensive next and mirth leaves his features when the talk continues. The priest’s brows lift ever so slightly, grey eyes flickering as they study the man before him when a brother is mentioned, and choices that had felt right at the time but turned out pretty bad afterwards. “We are humans, and by no means perfect.” He remarks. “Prone to committing mistakes. They may not be undone, but to acknowledge them and regret them… that is the first step required that may or may not lead to reconcilement. In the end we grow with our mistakes. As you will, young Sir, of that I am sure.”
The next outbreak is met with an odd little smile as the priest inclines his head. “Yes, it is what I want you to acknowledge.”, he affirms the accusation of the hot-headed youth. “Face the darkness. Face what you do not want to be, really.” He falls silent, his hands once again folding before him as his hands lets go of his chin, and his gaze flits downward at Henric’s observations of the moment when he was close to death.
“It is odd,” the man in black cassock muses then, as his gaze is raised once again to meet that of the Cassomir. “And true indeed. A life without pleasure is not what the One would impose on any of us. It’s the nature of pleasure, really, that makes the difference . The joy of being alive, the feeling to be of importance, to matter to others close to oneself are desirable pleasures. Even the pleasures of the flesh,” a faint shrug there as the man shakes his head, “I certainly do not condemn them, if they are enjoyed within the principles of our beliefs. Pleasures of the flesh alone, however, can never be a substitute for love, nor the basis for a happy life.”
A moment of silence passes between them after Henric’s final inquiry. “You already know the answer to that question, Sir,” the priest admits then. “Consider each decision, each choice as you like to call it, with the alacrity of a strategist. Do not continue to hurt others with your impulsive actions. Learn to think of others, of consequences your actions may have before you commit them.” He smiles. “Be there for your kin when it calls for you, a reliable member of the family. The day may never come, but… if it does, do not let the opportunity pass to prove them that there is more to you than the man you were. The man,” and here his grey eyes brush again that scarf with their gaze, “who almost ended his life, and was given another chance. It is not an easy road, and I doubt you will make it without help. Do not hesitate to make use of our Church, seek comfort in praying to the One and he will give you strength. Seek inspiration in the virtues that are taught in our religion. And finally, learn to believe again, and you will see that all your worries will be much easier to bear.”
—
“I have always proved well in the battlefield and none of it mattered. None of what I had accomplished there had mattered against the crime of admitting my heart to a woman who was betrothed to my brother. A woman I fell for, long before she was betrothed to him.” He shakes his head, “Though I feel nothing for her now, for she denied me and my words…and she has since been released of her commitment to my brother and I lost respect of my countrymen, as I am held at fault for it.” A beat as he draws in a breath of air, shoulders rising and falling, as if that wounded him deep, “The other crime, I left my post to aid my sister, for I fear her wounded…I believed I would have enough time to find her and return to my post… But, I let fear of losing her cause me to abandon my duties.”
He winces, “I do not regret the last, but I have paid a cost for both of my choices… None of my deeds in the past mattered at all. I wasn’t allowed to stand before my brothers in arms and before my….before the Queen to defend myself. I admitted my guilt to my brother and a cousin of the Queen…and that was all it took.” He makes a grim face, “Even though I –saved- the Queen by getting word to her about enemies in her midst, she paid me back by reducing me to…this…” his hand goes up to his scarf before his fingers draw over his tabard, closing his eyes. “Deeds of honour… are pointless. Loyalty is false. It’s just words. They mean nothing. They are nothing…” There is moisture gathering in his eyes, “I fight for a man who’s the epitome of false loyalties, proving vows mean nothing against the movement of politics. ” His resentment heard in his tone.
He folds his arms across his chest once again, fingers flicking up to wipe at his eyes, glancing aside from the Priest, as he’s told he can start down the road to reconcilement if he acknowledges and regrets what he’s done. “Am I to believe then that love is a mistake? For love drove me to these ends Father,” he furrows his brows at the Priest, shaking his head, “I don’t know, more perhaps drove me. Lack of love. Obsession to have it. Perhaps.”
“I’ve an emptiness inside me father. I don’t know how to fill it or fix it. I don’t want to feel this way…” which explains him sitting there in hopes for finding some answers. He nods at the pursuit of happiness and pleasure, “I tried very hard, too hard, to replace what I thought I needed, of love. I… have… had many bedmates Father. One, recently, that I tried to ask her to give up everything to be with me and… got angry at her when she wouldn’t. The other, I tried giving him what he was envious of, and he wouldn’t take it. He was angry with me. I tried to end myself, for it seemed as if I was denied everything.”
“It is… stupid. I know it… It sounds stupid. But I always believed in love. My parents, the way they would look at each other… I believed it existed, but perhaps you are right, it is a mistake. It is my darkness to want it when it is impossible.” He lowers his chin, closing his eyes, “Because I don’t love myself…”
Henric keeps his eyes closed as he listens to the man’s admission, of telling him he already had the answer within, and the obvious sentiments about thinking before leaping. Slowly he slides from the bench and actually comes to take a knee before the father, his hands held in prayer. It is a position of penance, submission to the cleric, who is the symbol of the One.
“Bless me father… for I have sinned,” he tries these words and his mouth feels like its loaded with tar and poison, “It has been several months since my last confession. My sins are that of attempting my own life in cowardice, of debauchery and wantonness for taking many partners to my bed, and for gluttony… of booze and… milk of the poppy… sins to fill my emptiness.” He looks up at the Priest, “Help me pray Father, the words fail me…”
—
The priest leans back on the bench, lifting his eyebrows when Henric gets even more specific, to a point that only those unaware of recent rumors may stay oblivious to his identity. There is no twitch of realization to be discerned in the older man’s mien, no indication he is aware. Maybe Sherfield is too far in the country, this convent with the chantry too far removed from the center of Galenthian politics to have been reached by scandalous gossip as this. He will listen to the two wrongs that led to the young knight’s downfall, his brows furrowing when the Queen is mentioned and the validity of honorable deeds is put into question.
“Forgive me if I disagree there, young Sir,” the priest interjects. Like the Cassomir who has failed so far to introduce himself, obviously preferring to keep his anonymity, the man of the faith has yet to give his name. “Deeds of Valor and Honor are recognized by the One. They have even managed to put you into a position as well, if I understand you correctly, that you have lost, as a consequence to what you have just told me.” There is a raspy sound coming from the man as he clears his throat, leaning forward again, as he looks at Henric with a kind smile. “They do, matter. But there is something else I sense in your speech, and I must advise you to let the past be. What has happened, has happened. You cannot expect forgiveness if you yourself can’t offer it in return. The consequences are here, they cannot be denied. Do not take them personal!” This a subtle hint that maybe the queen had her political reasons as well, even if the priest may not be aware of the political implications of Henric’s actions. “As it will help you little in finding your way back to the light.”
He falls silent again, a sparkle entering his grey eyes when the knight finally gets into the center of analyzing his current dilemma, even though that smile fades when he hears Henric speaking about lack of love and how he sought to replace it. “There is love, young Sir,” the priest contradicts softly. “This is not about you being denied love. To take one must be able to give. And I think it is vital you understand that the pleasures of the flesh will not help you there. Indeed,” he continues with a faint smile, when he hears what the knight has to say about him not even loving himself, “this is a quality you need to rediscover. To accept what you are and what you want to be. To find that love for yourself within your soul. The light.”
There is a change in the priest’s bearing when the Cassomir moves to kneel before him, the slightly casual air of someone who enjoys philosophical discourses leaves the man at once, to be replaced with the integrity of a man of the church. His posture straightens as he rises to his feet to stand before the Cassomir and he lowers his head, acknowledging the confession given. “Oh, Divine Father, hear the words of a man who has lost his way, who has sinned,” he intones, when Henric begs him for help. “Who has engaged in debauchery and abuse of alcohol and drugs – who has lost his faith.” His hands are extended, palms pointing upwards, as the priest raises his gaze to the heavens above. “Receive his confession, and through me he will receive his penance from you.” The hands are lowered, and one moves to be placed on Henric’s head. “I bless you, son, in the name of the Divine Father.“
The hand is drawn back when the man of the church continues: “Know this, however. You have sinned, and your sins will be forgiven only if you get back on the righteous path of the One. Abstain from these sins from now on as you have already learned they will only blind you and lead you away from the true belief. Each morning you will start off with a moment of deep prayer and meditation, to contemplate your sins of the past, as well as your hopes and wishes for in the future. Pray for those close to you as well. Go to attend a Mass once a week, when it is possible. When you are out in the field, turn to a lay clergy or priest if you should happen to have one around. Go to confession every two weeks if you can, but never let more than a month pass between two confessions.”
And there a warm smile is offered to the man who has lost his faith. “Fill the void within you with Faith in the One, and you will see that it will cure your soul.” He pauses. “Oh… and don’t forget about the other things I told you.”, is added with a slightly amused smirk. “The things about love and your kin. Duties. Loyalty.”
—
Names are unimportant as should be titles under the watchful eye of the One. Henric looks up when the Priest clears his throat, abruptly crestfallen at the implication to let the past go. It was a hard thing to ask of the young man, to let the torments and the anger of the past go. The consequences to his person, indeed, they had already happened and could not be reversed, less the Queen and his brother be made to look all the more weak in the eyes of other kingdoms. He was lowly son of a Baron, he had no right to expect friendship and brotherhood would save him from consequences a Queen and Viscount had to give out to a Lord who acted foolishly in the political concaves of the world.
He took a deep breath, as if inhaling the truth, gathering his hatreds and the demons that lingered yet, exhaling with, “She did what she had to do. My brother needs to do what he must. The world expects more of them, for the titles they bear. I …forgive them but I do find it hard to forgive myself…”
As for matters of love, that being of others and self-love, the young knight listens to the words he had heard once before, from another priest month’s back. It was of no surprise to hear them again. “To love another one has to love thy self; that was the golden rule. My mother, god rest her soul, preached it often, sensing that I, her youngest son, was discomforted amongst the family. She knew I was self-conscious and different than my elder brothers, that I …” had an inferiority complex, he says instead, “that I could never compare to them. Father, he always looked at me in a peculiar manner. Then it got worse, when they all died, except for three of my siblings and I.” It’s really only been four years since then, hard enough to be as young as he was when it happened and to struggle with how to become something and someone he wasn’t. “I’ve always felt I had to make up for my older brothers who died… who were strong men of House Cassomir.” He lets it slip where he’s from and he doesn’t even realize he’s done as much. “I’ve always felt to be in their shadow and hated that I could never fill what they left behind…” The young man was just riddled with complexities; all that drove him to end his life, for the despair had been too great. Now the Priest could start to understand why.
But then he’s knelt before the Priest, drawn to listen to the holy words uttered by the cleric. He keeps his head bowed and his hands poised in a knuckled expression of faith. Faith. Did he believe this would do anything for him? The words I choose to live and last chance came across his thoughts again, while the Priest rested a hand upon his head.
The outline of his penance, of morning prayers and bi-weekly confessions was something the other hadn’t weighted upon him to do, not specifically. “Yes Father, I shall…” spoken in a whisper, feeling the tightness in his chest for the commitment but the release of something else, something yet to be defined. “I will try not to forget your words… Father,” his hands come to give a gesture of the holy symbol before he rises from his feet.
—
"May the One watch over you, young Sir," the priest says with a smile when Henric rises. "I am sure you will benefit from regular contemplations." While he had not commented on the knight's admissions in regards to forgiveness and the tragic circumstances of his own family, the hint may not have completely lost on the man of the faith, as a slight mischievous glint in those grey eyes betrays. "Forgive them - and yourself, Sir, and you will find that forgiveness you seek," he adds, maybe pointedly still refusing to address Henric with name and title.
His hands fold again before him, after he has responded to the gesture of the holy symbol in the way that would be expected from a priest, with a similar gesture of his own.
"May the Divine Father guide you." This the last good wish offered to the Cassomir, before the man in the black cassock inclines his head in a goodbye. "But if you will excuse me, young Sir. I believe there are some acolytes waiting for me inside that chantry." He smiles.
—
“Thank you Father,” whispered one last time. Henric then bowed his head and took a step aside, allowing the priest to return to his acolytes. Henry watched him go with a glint of reflection in his eyes, as his hand drew out the pendant that Emilia gave him. Fingers squeezed upon it, while the other hand unbound the scarf from around his neck. The scarf fluttered to the bench he had sat upon, while his arm lifted to fit the cord of the pendant around his neck, letting it drop in place.
He adjusted the black cloak around him, looked back to the way he came and moved on.
The scarf left behind.