Chapter 16: Can We Stop?

"I don't want to ask for too much—"​

Looking to the lingering priests around the periphery of the room, you still have a strong instinct to turn and run.

Father Friedrich has been staying his hand because he doesn't want to make a scene. I'm sure of it. He knows that there's something wrong with me. It was easy enough to ignore when I had no one but demons, elves and halflings to answer to. Easy enough to dismiss. To be tolerated.

Even Idonea was disgusted by me, wasn't she? When she saw what's been done to me?

The urge to run is replaced with an overwhelming need to be better. To live up to a mentor's teachings.

I made it home. I am not beset by demons. I am not wandering in the darkness. There is no need to look for death. Not here. Not ever again. I need to get my head set straight. None of this is right.

There's a fire in your jaw, in the bruise that's been blossoming for the better portion of an hour. There's something exquisite flowering through your knuckles, up your arm, and into your shoulder. Your lungs are burning, and your muscles are on fire.

You're burning with devotion, and more abuse than a man should be able to take. It's agonizing. A blessing.

Mercy, it feels right.

You endured an assault that should have killed you five times over. You healed yourself from the brink of death, and saved the lives of two women thanks to the invocation. The wounds left in you from a rain of broken glass, blades, and agony have never fully healed. You can't help but wonder what could heal them now.

There has to be a way to stop this.

You're still breathing hard, and your pulse isn't calming down. The thought of further scrutiny is driving you mad.

You've been standing silently for so long, the priests on the outskirts of the room seem to have gotten the message. As they're clearing out— grumbling at the abrupt end to the fight— you lower your voice, desperate for a little more privacy. "Th-thank you, Father Friedrich. I appreciate the gesture. Truly. I do have a great deal of work to do. I— I have to wonder— what exactly did you mean, when you spoke of me being supervised? I have a great deal of business in the city to attend to."

An apologetic smile bristles through Father Friedrich's beard. "I hate to say it, but I'm not comfortable with you going off alone. Fuck. Richard. Please don't give me that face—" You probably look like someone's killed Ray, for how miserable you feel. "It's nothing like that. The King's men have been looking for you. The Church of Mercy has been asking for news of your whereabouts for months. There is going to be a lot of talk about your return. A lot of people are very interested in finding you. Do you understand me?"

I'm going to be dragged back to the Church of Mercy if Brother Morris and Brother Stace can help it. My absence needs to be answered for. Will be answered for. The King will want to know of My Relic. My entire expedition into the ruins is a mystery, to everyone but Father Wilhelm and now Father Friedrich. There's a war on our borders. I may have exacerbated it.

Through your ragged breath, worry, and no small measure of restraint, you only murmur, "yes. It will be like— as if I never left home."

The distance between the two of you closes. You flinch hard at the hand put to your shoulder.

"It's alright. I don't think I need to know what you've been through, Richard, but you can try to relax. Cyril's a good lad. If he can't get you to loosen up—"

You want to groan. The thought of the stupid blonde ponytail teasing you again seems insufferable. You're so tense from trying to not make a sound that it's all you can do to keep listening.

"...I don't know what else will."

Deep breath. Restraint. Show myself compassion.

"Father Friedrich. Please. There must be some other way. I need to see to the farmland. I have research to conduct. Father Wilhelm and I likely need to address a few matters as well—"

"Atticus."

"What?"

"His name. It's strange to hear you addressing him so formally. You're not giving a sermon. We're all a family, aren't we?"

"I— I suppose so."

"Richard."

"Yes, Father Friedrich—"

"It's Galterius."

"Pardon?"

"Did I stutter?"

"N-no, sir."

"Galterius."

"You are— this is improper."

"You can't tell me it doesn't help."

Old habits are hard to break. "Nothing seems to be helping, Father Friedrich."

"You can't tell me you don't feel a little better? After fighting it out."

"I—"

"Richard."

"Yes?"

"Don't lie to me."

"I am not lying to you." You take a deep, clear breath. "You know I never would."

"Good."

"I do feel better, after getting a little stress out. Not having to fight for my life for once— without any threats..." You're nearly drawn back into another reverie, but you're snapped out of it abruptly.

"Feels great, doesn't it?"

There's still a fire burning in your limbs, and your heart is only just beginning to calm down. "Of course it does. I think it helped. It— it is helping. Thank you, again."

"Look. I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now..." Father Galterius Friedrich helps push your shoulder along, leading you back towards the door out of the arena. "...but I think the company will do you some good. Some healthy, human company. Listen to Cyril. He's got a good head on his shoulders. Let me know if he steps out of line. Don't be afraid to put your foot down if he does, too." At the door back out to the halls of the church, the hand comes off of your shoulder with a significantly louder voice, and a smile. "You're still the Father of the Church of Mercy."

Your flash back a smile that could not be any more genuine. "Thank you, Fathe—"

There's a pause, while you debate correcting yourself.

"Forget it. Call me whatever makes you comfortable."

"Father Friedrich." You almost want to breathe a sigh of relief at having one less thing to worry about. "I will— rather, would you prefer to find me, for anything further? This evening...?"

"I'll send for you. If you aren't back for whatever reason, meet me in the training hall again tomorrow morning. Don't forget to eat. Atticus gave you my letters?"

"All three of them."

"He's got his head up in the damn clouds, wasting my time like that. Not enough cigars in the world to make up for so much horse shit. Should have taken you straight here. Just look at you. It's a disgrace."

He's smiling, but your frown is back in full force. "I've been following your routine to the letter, Father Friedrich."

"It was meant for a soldier! A man of the Gods! I know you're more than fit for the name, but there's hardly anything to you. You're going to need a lot more work."

"I have no idea what to say, Father. I have been doing everything I can, for weeks."

"And how much longer have you been neglecting yourself for?"

"There was a famine, Father Friedrich."

"It ended. Three years ago. We'll fix you right up, Richard. Don't you worry about a thing. Don't bother with only the mess hall, either, alright? You need all the help you can get. I'll come up with something a lot easier to stomach. You aren't going to suffer under this roof." The hand to your shoulder squeezes slightly. "You like books, don't you? Do you read me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go enjoy the rest of your morning. Tell Atticus to get himself a new hat for me, if you see him. His old one is disgusting. Alright?"

This is an extremely bizarre request. "I can't make any promises I don't intend to keep, Father."

"Fair." The subject is changed instantly, while you're walked back down the hall. "Is the servant's room too shoddy for you? Now that everyone knows you're here, we should make the most of it."

"A room with a window would be—" You try to quell your intense desire to be somewhere more spacious, out of the dark, and away from stone. "Appreciated."

"Done. Anything else?"

"You know I love to read, Father. I would enjoy penning one myself, but a copy of the training regimen you intend to share with me— for reference—"

"We'll go over it, and the tenets of Flesh, just as soon as we meet again. Promise. Anything else? Anything at all. I'm not going to call you a glutton again. We need to make sure you're looked after."