Thread: Drowning in Sin (heartlesskitten x Kuro)

The air of the chapel was thick with incense, candle smoke, and unwashed bodies. It was a familiar smell to him now, one that he had come to welcome as a respite from his labors, both the physical and mental. Cerdic, third son of Osric, closed his eyes as he murmured the rosary in his deep, rumbling tones, his calloused fingers rolling the smooth wooden beads as he progressed. His black hair was flecked with a bit of premature silver and it curled in the damp, cool air. A legacy of his mother, a Welsh Briton who could trace her proud line back to the ancient tribes as well as Roman blood. His grey-blue eyes and large stature were those of his Saxon father, Lord Osric of Hwicce, a man nearly as powerful as the King of Mercia or Wessex. As he murmured the repeated prayers, his mind drifted in memories. Of the feel of a sword in his hand, a good horse between his legs and the weight of his armor on his back. War he was trained for and yet here he sat amongst boys and old men, the few young hale men were off in the countryside seeking alms and souls. He felt a hand on his broad shoulder and he looked up at the familiar sour face of the abbot. An ancient man he seemed but Cerdic knew he was only fifty. Cold and self deprevation aged a man fast and he could feel the bony fingers prod at him. Crossing himself, he stood up, taller than the Abbot by nearly a foot. It was not only his blood but the fact he had grown up in a noble household with access to much better food than the old man had. He was a bastard son of some cobbler he had heard, and rather than repair soles he now saved souls. His lips twitched at the joke whispered among the monks behind Abbot Carlton's back. I've heard you have not been to confession, again, the Abbot said, crooking a finger at him, You're now a man of God, Cerdic. God before everything. Cerdic merely bowed his head slightly and the old man fussed, Get down, kneel in penance. The real reason being that the Abbot hated looking up at the tall noble man, staring at the handsome, chiseled features whose direct gaze was an affront to the humble vows a monk took. He huffed a breath as Cerdic took his time moving to his knees on the stone floor, his rough wool robes sweeping around him. Youve not shaved your tonsure, Brother Cerdic, the Abbot reached up and yanked his short hair, Why do you continue to defy our rules and God? Your gold and high blood means nothing here, the Abbot hissed, spraying a fine mist of spittle at Cerdic who stared at the mans scrawny chest unflinching. You are no better than your brothers here and you are less than me. He poked Cerdic again, You will come to confession and you will confess all of your sins. Vows of silence do not include holding back from God! Cerdics flint colored eyes flashed at him, Perhaps some of us should practice it more than others. Enough of your insolence, the Devil still stirs in your blood, it is no wonder you shamed your family, the old mans lip trembled in rage. You are now confined to your quarters and naught but bread and water. No fire. The big man stood up, pulling up his cowl as he glared but said nothing, obeying the command. His quarters were already away from the other brothers, to prevent, as the Abbot said, the corruption of the other monks. It was a stone hut, drafty and cold with a wooden bench to sleep on and moth eaten woolen blankets. He stared at it and tried not to remember his room at his fathers holdfast with the straw filled mattress and heavy furs that covered the bed. Cerdic entered and sat on the bench, rubbing his reddened hands together and blowing on them to warm them. It was late spring but one would not know it up in this rock strewn island that the monastery perched upon. The ocean was grey and churning, the fog finally burning off as the sun started to rise. He could hear the other Benedictine monks out in the fields, cutting into the rocky soil to weed the cabbages, onions, and leeks that they grew. Cerdic reached up and fingered the silver cross around his neck, the one piece of jewelry he was allowed to keep, the rest of his wealth had gone into the coffers of the monastery as a donation once he took his vows. The monk stared out of the door, leaving it open to air out the dampness of his stone hut. The water calmed him the way he had once felt an inner peace looking at the rolling hills of his homeland to the south. See more