Work in Progress
Kelsig settled into the indicated chair shaking his head. “I did not ask for a miracle,” he objected. “I only asked for what we all want.”
The Abbot leaned back in his chair resting his arms on the desk. He closed his eyes. Something about his expression, Kelsig was not sure what, spoke of amusement. Almost as if a child had said something ironic to their elder without meaning. “After so long a miracle might be the only thing that will put everything it to rest. Now answer me truthfully, was that all you prayed for?” Arnkell finally inquired. “You were just praying for an end?”
Kelsig sat up straight in his chair frowning. “I answered your question, sir, truthfully. Do you have cause to doubt my word?”
Arnkell raised a hand from the desk flicking his fingers in denial to the accusation. “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But over the years I have had the privilege of watching many Brothers of Grenmarr pray in that sanctum. I have seen many offer their words up to Grenmarr. I have seen the hope and arrogance, overconfidence, all of it written in the devout’s every move.” The Abbot snorted his amusement. “Whenever those are the motivation, they never stay longer on their knees than I. But that was not what I saw in you.”
Arnkell sighed opening his eyes he sat forward and took out a fresh piece of paper setting it on the desk before him. Kelsig realized he was giving him time to speak, if he chose when the Abbot picked up the quill without further comment. His hands rubbed his knees as he sat forward thinking. It was true that it had not been hope or any of the other motivations which had pushed his prayer.
He listened to the quill move over the parchment. It scrapped along the page leaving deliberate lines behind. Lines which traced where the tip had scratched at the paper. Raising a hand to his mouth he pressed a finger firmly against his lips, his other hand’s beating against his knee as he shook his head. He watched the Abbot’s eyelids twitch, but the man restrained himself from looking. A kindness Kelsig was not sure he deserved. A monk of Grenmarr had to be strong. Had to be prepared to fight at any time. They were all that stood between Geirland completely overrunning Deildara. Their people needed them, needed their devotion and training to guard the passes. Grenmarr and Miohas bore sacred burdens. And by choice, so did Kelsig.
