Prayer
Night descended upon the camp. Earlier that day, a massive battle had closed in victory for the Renais troop. Many soldiers left the battlefield wounded, but they were now much closer to vanquishing the Demon King.
All could feel the pain of apprehension that night. Many suspected the end was near. The younger warriors feared that Lyon would appear at any moment and destroy them all. The night was long, almost torturous. Many could not get to sleep, tossing and turning beneath their sheets. Others did sleep, but cruel nightmares tortured their every thought. Even the animals could sense dread in the air; the horses were restless in their stables.
Father Moulder kneeled quietly beside his bed, at peace with the flurry of uncertainties enveloping the camp. Anxiety was not a problem for him, not when he was on his knees.
His lips moved slowly, but words were seldom vocalized. He fell into deep concentration and admiration when he spoke to the Everlasting.
The roots of his faith had grown deeply over the years; he felt inseparable from it after becoming a priest. He could look on his past and be amazed by how many incredible events had occurred because of the faith he had in this Everlasting. Some had scorned him for it, but he would not be shaken by their words. Prayer endowed him with strength and reassurance.
He would bathe this chilling night in prayer. He did not pray for himself, but for his comrades.
He thought of Colm, the lad he challenged to do the right thing. That boy certainly knew how to push his buttons, but he believed Colm would come around eventually. Then there was Syrene, the compassionate pegasus knight. She shared the same burdens that he held; he prayed that she would continue to be a loving counselor to the women of the camp. And of course, there was Gilliam. He could hear Gilliam shifting his weight every few minutes. The cot did happen to be a bit small for the large knight. He prayed that the poor knight would get some sleep.
Syrene wearily rose from her bed. She had already stared at the top of her tent for an hour. Her eyelids felt so heavy, yet they simply would not close. Vanessa, her younger sister, had struggled to sleep as well. However, her light breaths revealed that she was asleep, or almost asleep.
She tugged her leather boots on and quietly left the tent.
She shivered; the air was surprisingly chilly. She wished she had a coat or her blanket to cover her bare arms.
The moonlight shed some light upon the camp, but not enough to see clearly. She could make out Forde and Franz in the darkness, though she could not quite tell which was which. They were designated as the night watch, which explained why they ambled about cautiously.
Weaving through the maze of several tents, Syrene noticed one pavilion that was illuminated. Curious, she approached it. "I suppose it's simply someone who cannot get to sleep…perhaps we could talk together to wear away this long hour."
She peeled back the flap and peeked to make sure she was not intruding. There she saw humble Father Moulder on his knees, uttering his silent prayers. Her first thought was to leave him be. After all, disturbing a priest's prayer would not be a good thing. However, just as she turned to go, she felt compelled to kneel beside him and pray. With burdens on every heart, what harm could be done in such a simple act?
Syrene gracefully entered, trying to be as quiet as she could. She gently lowered herself to her knees beside Father Moulder. He heard her enter. He could feel his heart leap for joy to know someone was praying with him!
They sat together in silence for a long while. Both felt some kind of connection, spiritual perhaps, that aided them with prayer. This constant meditation or consultation with the Everlasting certainly was calming to both of them.
"Amen," Father Moulder finally finished aloud.
Syrene glanced at him, hands still folded.
"Syrene," he began. "I thank you for praying with me."
His moustache curved; his was smiling underneath it.
"Father Moulder, you pray every night, do you not?"
He nodded. "As often as I can."
She smiled. "You are an inspiration," she remarked before looking away. "It is so hard for me to think to pray before going to sleep. Sometimes it is so easy just to drift off and never even thank the Everlasting for safety and preservation."
"Do not be discouraged, Syrene," he said. "It is hard when you first begin. Even after I became a priest, I still had my doubts. I still went without praying from time to time."
She nodded. "However," he smiled, "Once you realize the joy and peace you receive from prayer, it becomes hard to stop. The Everlasting can bless you with the endurance to pray, every night."
"Thank you, Father Moulder."
"I must thank you, as well, Syrene."
Her presence that night was an answer to his prayer
A few days ago, I was just thinking how lame Moulder was. I was surprised there were no fics about him though, despite my low opinion of him. I mean, he's just an old dude with a moustache. Woo hoo.
Then I read his A support with Colm, and I realized that he was actually pretty cool. I mean come on. How many cleric/priest characters are there that actually attempt to spiritually help their brothers? (I guess Renault does...and...Natasha kinda? I can't remember...) Anyways, I thought that was awesome, and all of a sudden, I got this idea for a fic. (Lol, right before I was going to pray too.) And I don't even like Syrene that much either, and now I actually do. This is just wierd.
Huzzah for my first FE8 fanfic. :D