A Knight's Confession (Baldwin and Galilei)

[Thomas Galilei]

Thomas prays--it's preparatory: desperate yet trusting, urgent yet patient; ignorance has a way of inspiring supplication. God, I'm not sure what to expect, and . . . Sir Baldwin had seemed distraught about requesting confession. Had he committed some sin of special gravity? Thomas can't imagine what difficult circumstances the Knight's service endangered him to, what gray decisions. I will certainly fail him if left to my own devises, my own limited wisdom and counsel. He'd been a soldier himself once, years ago, and remembers the weight of responsibility, the speed at which crucial decisions had to be made, and that with partial information. If you would have me, LORD, I submit myself as a vessel, to speak your words, to convey your love and truth. Let not this man of virtue--courage and duty--receive me, a poor substitute, but rather experience the fullness of your character through me. Amen.

Thomas rises from his knees with a tranquil mind, having left his worries on the floor with his prayer. He clears his mind of speculation to better listen. Had he been certain, faith would not have had space to believe it would have all it needs in time. He finds a broom, and busies himself with sweeping until the Knight arrives.

@%1; Peter Baldwin

[Thomas Galilei]

No prayer could have prepared him for the terror that entered through those church doors in the guise of Peter Baldwin. The face is familiar, somewhere beneath the stain of shadow, the cling of unutterable menace, but the horror . . . Thomas had known it's form, but not its fullness--as though he'd seen the sword, sheathed before, now bared: deadly and frightful. No ordinary love could keep his feet planted, in the presence of the greater Beast. He begins to flee, against his will, turning his back to the Knight.

Thomas passes Frenzy Check

59667 2014-09-24 21:14:33 Thomas Galilei rolls 5 to Frenzy Check: 2 (Resolve) + 3 (Composure) = 5 DP (10 Again) 9, 7, 6, 8, 10, 9 4 successes

No! It's his human that sings out this time, from beneath the Beast. He would not abuse the trust, the faith of one so trustworthy, so faithful . . . who'd bared himself, humble and vulnerable. Thomas halts his retreat, braces himself by gripping a splintered pew, and then turns to face the Beast in it's full menace, deaf now to his own Beast's cries and whimpers, its snarls and snapping. Faith is what picks up one foot and puts it forward, and then again, and then again. It is God whom I serve. Whom should I fear? He paints apology on his face, finds the man inside the monster. "Welcome,"--his voice cracks on the first word--"to the loving arms of the Father." He swallows. "Receive the peace and acceptance you deserve from your Creator, and a fellow struggler." Thomas places a shaking hand on the Sir Baldwin's noble shoulder, meets his gaze, makes an unspoken promise: I'm not running anywhere.

[Thomas Galilei]

Thomas withdraws his hand, taking no offense and making no apology. Some Kindred liked to be comforted when coming forward with their darker selves--Baldwin, Thomas gathers, is not one of those.

He follows the Knight's eyes to the confessional, listens to his question. It appears that Baldwin is neither one to want to break the ice, get comfortable before diving into discussion about his darkness. Thomas notes these things, choosing to respond in kind--direct simplicity--rather than with his trademark ease. "Always." He starts for his half, giving Sir Baldwin a moment to ready himself if he needs it.

It helps when the menace is removed from his sight, allowing Thomas a moment to collect himself. Sir Baldwin seems unlike the man Thomas had met at Reverence, unlike the one he'd seen about at Court. Perhaps now, he is more himself? Thomas shuts his eyes, mutters a silent prayer. My God, steady my hand. Calm my heart. Help me to listen and speak according to your will. Amen.

[Thomas Galilei]

Thomas sits silent as the Knight takes his time. He watches him, obscured by the mesh barrier between them. Half of his job is to be a sounding board, let people hear their own selves by speaking to him. If Sir Baldwin preferred silence, Thomas would offer it back. Sometimes sound keeps Kindred from clear thought.

When at last, his voice comes through the barrier, Thomas tries very hard not to move, not to spook the man who had traveled seventeen years to his confessional. He thinks to wait, but sees the man's conflicted, and so he offers him a word of encouragement. "Let it go, my son." Some Kindred clung so hard to their pain, afraid that if they lost it, that they'd lose themselves. Or they'd become so intertwined with their burden, bent low, they didn't think they could walk upright ever again. Baldwin was neither of those things: not a coward, not a cripple.

He doesn't press, doesn't lean forward in his seat--he just waits, happy to have reminded Sir Baldwin that his journey toward cleansing and cathartic purge is not unaccompanied. He waits, as God has for seventeen long years, for the return of his prodigal son.

[Thomas Galilei]

Thomas listens, grieves in quiet, lets the Knight pour out his pain so they can sort through it together. He waits until he's absolutely sure Sir Baldwin is done before he even thinks of speaking. And then he lets the Knight consider in silence what he himself had said.

It is only then that Thomas speaks. "Your grief does you credit, my son. Often a man's private struggles reveal his inner character. You do not struggle to justify your wrong, neither do you need me to tell you the wrong in what you've done. A man might struggle for years over these things alone. You are fighting for your humanity, that divine spark within you--proper action for the proper cause."

Thomas pauses a moment, giving God a chance to inspire his words. "Be assured that we can do no wrong, that God cannot amend, even turn to benefit. To think we are beyond grace is a sin of pride, one that I myself am often guilty of. God shapes us for a purpose, as much by our failures as by our successes. You know now the danger, better than any who have never crossed a line. You know that with each kill, you also kill some of yourself. Now you must be different for your knowledge, or be doomed to suffer it again and again.

For your sins I prescribe you this penance: for the life that you took, of a man not deserving death, you will save the life of a man not deserving death. For the hatred you bore in your heart, you will commit an act of love for a stranger. And for seventeen years of separation from the God who loves you most, you will build a pew for this church, so that Kindred may sit upon it, seventeen years, and know the love of God."

Thomas crosses the air between them. "By the power vested in me, I absolve you of all your sins. Perform your duties for your fellows and your Prince as unto God, and know that you're forgiven." Thomas add a note of personal preference at the end. "And when you've built your pew, I hope that you will visit, and fill it on occasion."