Chapter 15: Good Morning

"We had a lot of catching up to do."​

The scent of freshly baked bread greets you before the light peeking under the door beyond, or the words of your fellow clergyman.

The disheveled and worried priest is roughly trying to shake you out of a deep slumber. "Father. Father Anscham. Get up!"

"M-Mercy, Father Wilhelm..."

"No, and don't you give me any slack about Dream, either! Try again."

"...good morning, Father Wilhelm." Sleep hangs heavy on you. Almost as much as the ache from your near constant physical exertion in the last few weeks, the incessant amount of food you've taken in, or the burden of any old memories.

You don't care.

There's sunlight peeking out from the room beyond. The rain has stopped. It's impossible to hear any further noise outside, thanks to the thick wooden structure and stone it's nestled in, but you suspect your father is already hard at work.

Your eyes adjust enough to the relative darkness to see the slender priest standing beside you. The bed you're sitting on is so small, Father Wilhelm likely didn't want to bother trying to sit.

"Better! Good morning! Came in rather late, did you?" His ridiculous nightcap is briefly lit by the embers flaring at the end of his rolled tobacco. He's grinning as usual, and looks disproportionately rested for how much sleep he's had.

"Yes. We had a lot of catching up to do. Thank you for waking me."

"Don't mention it. Can't have you abusing His gifts, now, can we?" Though your frown is immediate, a wink is directed at you, and you're patted on the shoulder reassuringly. "Helen is a treasure. Seems to be making us all breakfast while your father is at the field. I don't know how long you'd like to stay here for, but they've extended their hospitality for as long as you'd like to take it!"

A measure of hesitation precedes Father Wilhelm's next few words. You aren't entirely sure how to interpret them. "I won't protest, no matter how much time you wish to take away from the Church of Mercy. I swore to grant you as much rest as I'm able! Still, it may be unwise to linger. There's no telling what Father Friedrich may advise, and I think you'll be better suited to his guidance from here."

"Father Wilhelm—"

"Don't you worry! I'm not going anywhere. I simply meant to take advantage of these few fleeting moments left! You know, with any measure of privacy. Your mother is probably listening to us now. Not that I mind—"

With how deeply you cringe, the priest laughs heartily, and sits on the bed beside you. "She's charming. Your father is exceptionally kind, as well. I won't blame you if you would like to stay awhile longer, but I advise that we move on to Beorward as soon as you're comfortable in doing so. I know you'll be alright!"

"I understand completely. Do you suppose we could leave at sunset? To travel under the cover of night? I cannot imagine entering Beorward will be easy, if we— if we wish to remain unseen—"

"Don't you worry about a thing! I'll see to business. You enjoy the day." Father Wilhelm stands abruptly, heading towards the door.

"Where are you— Mercy. I did ask for you to not say a thing, didn't I...?"

A sly wink is directed at you, but little else in the way of a proper response. Your guide slips out the door without another word.

He's completely gone by the time you get out of bed.

How am I ever going to repay him?

It takes only a few moments to tidy up the small room. Father Wilhelm's mess and your respective beds give you far less trouble than your uncooperative hair. By the time you're done and properly exit the guest room, all thoughts of your companion have slipped from your mind.

Music

Golden rays of light, Mercy's blessing, and the smell of freshly baked bread fills the humble room before you. Ray bounds over, delighted to greet you after all the attention you gave him last night. His nerves have certainly calmed. You quickly command him to stay down, and pour over the sight of fresh flowers with a grin.

Varying shades of white are cast about in so many different containers that you can't even take them all in. Their gardener— your mother— is busying herself in a nearby chair, sewing dark swathes of fabric together.

"Good morning, mama."

The fine lines in the corners of her eyes lift up. She smiles so warmly at you that you have to cross the room, just to sweep her into a hug.

"Richard! What's all this? Are you trying to make up for sleeping in so late?"

Your hug is returned with a little light laughter.

"No— I hoped—" You're pulled gently across the room to the spread laid out on the table. The farmer's wife ensures that you're kept a respectful distance away from the breakfast she's clearly spent all morning on. Ray trails behind you while you elaborate as best as you can. "I thought you might appreciate us spending some extra time together."

Your frown is replaced with confusion as your mother pulls back entirely. "Just a minute, dear. Here." She holds out the bundle of black fabric in her outstretched hands. It's meant to be a distraction, but the similarity to the symbol of your church is sincere enough to tug at your heartstrings. "I made a little something for you. Go on. Take it."

It's a simple, long-sleeved, and low-necked shirt. The style is far too rustic for someone of your station, and it looks as if it's too large in the arms and chest. The buttons (painstakingly knotted out of yellow fabric) are tacky and probably could be a lot smaller.

It's exactly what you were hoping for. "It's perfect. Thank you so much, mama."

"I'm sure you'll grow into it, dear. You've been working hard, haven't you?"

You oblige her gesture to wait on the opposite side of the room. She seemed to have been expecting Father Wilhelm to join you, as she's clearing a good portion of the meal entirely off the table. The silent respect for your discussion last night means the world to you.

"How did— you could tell...?"

"You've been wincing every time you've had to do so much as lean down, beanstalk. I've spent enough years looking after your father to know when a man has been hard at work."

The pride in her voice is more than enough to encourage you to elaborate further. "I have. I— I intend to do more—"

"You don't need to push yourself so hard."

"I do. Truly."

A very slight frown is directed at you.

"I know you and papa have always been at odds, about the Church of Flesh—" Your mother is far too polite to openly speak of her disdain for Father Friedrich, but she holds her criticism while you continue. "I know what you must be thinking, but I— I need the help. Please don't—" Everything on her face says that she agrees wholeheartedly. It's unbearable. "Don't give me that look. I am so tired of being treated like— like some sort of demon—"

A tuft of flour puffs into the air. Helen abruptly takes off her apron, and tosses it onto the counter. "Is that what people are calling you?"

"Not so plainly, mama. I see the way that everyone looks at me. I— I need to do better. To be better."

Melancholy laces her smile while she leads you to the table. Without so much as a sigh, you sit down across from your mother.

She murmurs a prayer to Agriculture on your behalf, while you dig into the expertly prepared spread of breads, cereals, and a generous portion of smoked fish. Either your parents are faring even better than you expected, or she's doing her best to get as much food into you as she can while you're still at home. You do desperately wish you could slow down at some point, to show a little more respect, and to do service to your table manners instilled by the Church of Mercy.

Your mother doesn't mind at all. "It's so good to hear that you want to look after your body. You don't need to do anything, dear. You know we're wishing you all the best."

Everything is stunning. Your appreciation is evident without you saying a word, but that melancholy smile persists.

"Do look after your Spirit, too..."

The rest of the morning passes quietly. You spend a little while longer going over your mother's gardening and sewing, and manage to finally help her with the dishes (despite your discomfort). Though you have to reassure her several times that Ray is more than well-behaved enough to keep to himself, she seems delighted by all of the extra attention, and the additional company. There's no protest when you ask where your father should be working in the field.

The land has been tended, the crops have been harvested in full, and your hood stays back up. It's risky enough to venture out in broad daylight within the walls of Wearmoor, and you are doing everything in your power to avoid bringing extra attention to your parents. No one seems to pay you any mind— or simply doesn't notice your passing— as you make your way through the farm.

There's a bustle along the roads in the distance. Hearths roar, smoke rises, and life can be seen in every surrounding home. They're making the most of Storm's retreat, and it's colder than it should be in the wake of His visit.

You walk quickly— eager to burn off as much as you're able while the sun is still high. The search lasts for only a few minutes. Robert is right beside the farmhouse.

The moment your father's frame comes into view, he crosses over towards you. The edges of his mustache spread with the broadest grin you've ever seen (on his face). He shoves the handle of a well-worn axe into your hands.

It feels much lighter than it did when you were a boy.

Neither of you have to say a word as you cut a path out of town. It's only on the outskirts where he informs you that he's seen to the field, smoked everything he's caught to get himself and your mother through the next month, and simply needs as much firewood as you can help him carry.

It comes as a small surprise to you that he even bothers with a wagon, but you both quietly make your way out to the nearest wood, and sorely need the assistance while you while away the afternoon together. He insists on you splitting everything he takes down, despite your insistence that you can handle the more intense work load.

His pride is so evident that the smile doesn't seem to leave his face for a moment. You push yourself as hard as you're able. By the time the sun is beginning to set— no matter how excellent your form may be— you're enormously relieved to have been given the lighter share of the work load.

A firm pat goes to your shoulder. The slender, overworked muscle is slick with sweat, and searing with heat. There's so much fire in your arms, you could mistake the sensation for Flesh Himself.

Your father's devotion hasn't wavered a day since you last saw him. He hardly seems to have felt the exertion, or is far better at hiding his exhaustion than you are.

You both quickly make your way back home, dodging any further scrutiny until you collapse inside.

Father Wilhelm and your mother are engaged in a quiet discussion, and drop it the moment you make an appearance. You're immediately scolded by the priest for not making yourself more presentable. Before you can protest, Father Wilhelm is apologizing profusely on your behalf, and drags you back to the spare room.

He closes the door behind him, ignoring Ray's incessant barking. You push past him for only a moment crack the door, quiet your dog, and reassure him that everything is alright.

The second you slip back into the room, the door is shut. A package is thrust into your hands. "Father Wilhelm. It's a pleasure to see you, too. Is this—" You frown at the folded cloth, instantly recognizing how extravagant the material is. "This can't be necessary...?"

You look over the items in your hands, back to the man who's offering you the most apologetic smile he can muster. There's a number of discreet but unmistakably noble items that must have been acquired at a moment's notice. The cloak and tunic are of such length that it almost echoes your robes. Buckles, clasps and excessive intricacy adorns them. It's obviously meant to be worn by a man of infinitely higher station than anyone of your own birth. Even the leggings and laces are fairer than anything you'd ever bother with as a church leader.

Your brow furrows. While you appreciate the effort, it feels so wrong to be holding such finery that you immediately want to hand them back. Disdain is written all over your face— still reddened— from putting your body to use alongside your actual father.

Father Wilhelm is more than happy to remind you of everything that's at stake. "You have no idea how difficult it was to obtain this on such short notice. I know you asked me to not say a word, but I'm going to have to grease so many palms to get you into Beorward without causing a stir..."

This is supposed to be discreet?

The smile directed at you is extremely tired. "I'm terribly sorry, Father Anscham. I'm doing everything that I can to aid you, but there are only so many strings I can pull."

Just how much of an ordeal do I have waiting for me at the Church of Mercy...?

"We can get you cleaned up here, at least, and changed once you're out of your parents' sight. This will all be for the best."

It's going to be difficult enough to explain why you're traveling under the cover of night. You hadn't even considered how you would be getting into the Church of Flesh unseen.

"Please trust me."

By the time you reemerge from the spare room, the pallor is back in your face in full. It was a simple matter to pack your things and clean yourself up as best as you were able. You even permitted Father Wilhelm to finally trim your hair.

The surprise on your mother's and father's faces— to see you looking significantly more presentable— is at least a welcome distraction from the need to lie to them. They're content to murmur to themselves about your improved appearance, and hardly seem to notice what you're actually saying.

"Thank you both, so much. I have some business to attend to, with Father Friedrich. We have to make our leave—"

You're immediately hugged.

"Come by any time, dear."

"Don't let those bastards hole you up for another decade."

"Did you get the shirt I made for you?"

"Yes, mama. Papa. Thank you, again. For everything."

Another low murmur from your Father does have you question how they've been faring in your absence. "Helen, you didn't—"

"We can spare the cloth."

There's a strong urge to fish for one of the several bags of coin you and Father Wilhelm still have on your person. "I'll have the Church of Mercy compensate you, if you need anything—"

"Don't you dare, beanstalk. We'll be just fine."

Your father's frown is back, though there's still a good deal of pride in his eyes. "We are fine. Just fine. Take care of yourself."

With a lowered gaze, Father Wilhelm happily defers to your parents. All of the blue in his skin catches against the last of the sunset outside the open front door. He also seems eager to give you an out, noticing their reluctance to properly let you go again so soon.

"Mr. and Mrs. Anscham, it's been an absolute pleasure to meet you both. May all your nights be as blessed as your home and hospitality."

Both of your parents are delighted, return his thanks in full, and walk you out the door. You happily call Ray to your side, making sure he doesn't outright knock your family over in the process.

Parting ways from your family home on such better terms has your heart feeling unusually light. You manage to murmur a small prayer to Mercy for Her protection over their home on your way out.

Your parents linger in the door, calling out to you as you head down towards the road.

"Don't let Father Friedrich push you around, Father Anscham!"

"Take care, dear. Safe travels!"

Your grin couldn't be any broader as you wave back to them, and catch up to Father Wilhelm.