It was wintertime, around November and it was slightly cold as well. However the cold and lack of bright, hot, sunlight was a welcome relief to the thin and scrawny child, wandering around in what seemed to be nowhere dressed in nothing but dusty looking rags. As he scuttled around his stomach let out a pitiful sound. He was hungry and the sound only reminded him further of the fact. He paid no mind to the cuts and light gashes on his arms and legs. They would heal soon enough anyways, he didn't know why but he simply accepted that by now. Perhaps he had simply grown to used to it, or perhaps it was something that came naturally. He didn't know, nor did he care to find out. As he continued searching he heard a voice, a man's voice. He stopped all motion and warily looked towards the predilection from whence the sound came. Sure enough, he saw a lone figure, dressed in white heading across the arid plain in his direction. His body tensed, partly in fear and partly in anticipation. Would he throw rocks too? Was it even worth it to run? But if he had food he could steal it from him, and a grain of hope at that prospect became embedded in the fear that he felt. All these thoughts and more raced though the boy's mind, and in the end he decided to stay. For some reason he felt that it was right, and even if the man did hurt him he knew he wouldn't cry, after all he had stopped crying long ago. Soon, all too soon, the man reached him, but he still kept at a distance. The two eyed each other and the strange and awkward silence was broken when the fear in the man's eyes seemed to change into something else. It was something the pale boy couldn't exactly name, but it was also something that made his heart feel warm, almost wanted. He wasn't sure just what it was though, but he was curious to see what he would do.

Instead of the usual response the man smiled softly and offered the child his hand. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment but then took it, again something inside of him told him it was right, and the two began to walk as if they had known one another for years. "Tell me boy, what's your name? Do you have a family?" Another smile graced the man's weary features. This man must not be so bad, the boy thought and saw no reason to deny him an answer. "I don't have a name, and I don't think I have one of those either." His voice was scratchy, not exactly the most beautiful thing, and his words were stated simply, as if they were just everyday facts of whatever life he was used to. Both of these took the man aback slightly, so he paused before speaking once more. "...I see, perhaps something could be arranged. Perhaps you could come live with us, we could give you food and a home and train you to follow us and fear God." And perhaps fight for us too, a thought that echoed unbidden in the man's mind. He didn't know why or where it came from, but come it did. Again the thought felt right, though it also sounded ridiculous, this was merely a child..or was it? He wasn't entirely sure, not only was he pale from head to toe, but his eyes were oddly colored and he had a kind of strange aura around him. Perhaps this boy was not human at all, but an omen, maybe even a messenger from the Lord Himself. He decided to discuss this with the other members of the order as soon as he returned. However he was then taken out of his reverie when said boy spoke up cheerily. "That sounds good to me! But who's God?"

The man stared at the child, the child stared back, a eager and excited smile on his face. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead, clearly he had a lot of work to do. "...We'll instruct you on him when we reach our destination, and you'll come to know and love him as we do." There was silence. "Love him? He won't throw rocks will he? I won't love him if he throws rocks." At this the man paused and glanced at the child, he glanced at his pale complexion and the red gashes on his arms. Then he slowly shook his head. "No, I don't think he will." The child squeezed his hand and the man squeezed back. "Then maybe I'll love him. Say, what's your name? I bet you have once since you asked what mine was!" He said, looking up at the man. "My name? I am called Heinrich. Heinrich Walpot." Then he looked at the boy by his side, who was now silent and looking pensive. "We'll find a suitable name for you soon. For some reason..." He paused and did not continue his words right away, he felt very odd, very odd indeed. As if this was surely meant to happen, as if it was God's will. "For some reason I feel as if our encounter was blessed and destined by God to happen, so don't worry." He did not add his other thoughts, that perhaps this was a good omen for the order he now was head of, that perhaps this child was a sign or maybe an angel sent from God. That perhaps this child, with hair as pure as an angel's wing and eyes that sometimes seemed as red as blood was a sign that soon his order would take arms and fight in the Holy land as he desired it to. Meanwhile the boy by his side smiled again. It was a small but slightly self satisfied smile, clearly this God was important. If he was so important then perhaps maybe, just maybe, he wasn't a monster, instead maybe he was important too.

Historical notes: The Teutonic Order was confirmed in the year 1190 by Frederick of Swabia in November 19th and was stationed in the city of Acre and was transformed into a military order in 1198. The Grandmaster at the time is the guy in this fic, Heinrich Walpot, who will die in 1200, ten years after this takes place. Also funnily enough the man who gave Henrich and the Order their monastery rules in 1199 was called Gilbert. His name was Gilbert Horal, the Grandmaster of the Knights Templar.

You might see more on Pru's childhood from me.