AN- Why, hello thar. O.o If you were expecting a Death Note piece...SURPRISE! This is one of my older pieces, a snapshot inspired by a movie. It's not...fanfiction of the movie, per se, more the brainchild of the movie's aftermath. Make sense? No? Damn. I tried.
I'll attribute it to the old Sean Connery flick "Name of the Rose." Damn, damn good movie. That being said, this is a serious piece, with serious religious themes, so...ye be warned.
I'd disclaim, but then...I'm not really using anything from the movie. Uh...Disclaimed, however...just to be safe. I has no monies.
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Ah, Christ, forgive me my vanities. It may be that you have willed this so, and that I am wrong to allow my questioning heart to voice its doubts. Understand entirely, I beg of you, that it is not you I question...more so Man. In some manner, I question myself and my brethren in this moment, because in all honesty, I cannot see this as your will. There is a torch in my hands, Lord. There is a flame burning here that is said to cleanse all that it touches, in your name, with your blessing. I ask, Lord, is it truly you who said it so? Be that the case, then I shall light this fire with all the passion that I hold in my worship of you. I'll light it, and shall be glad when it burns, that the smoke and ash remain as testament to my loyalty, and my trust. You have led me rightly, as my shepherd, and I was drawn to your service even as a babe at my mother's knee. I came, and you took me willingly into your arms, that I was baptized and made a brother of St. Francis...and a son in your worship of a humble order, one sworn to poverty. I have always been humbled, and found my heart lacking when I look upon your countenance, upon your grace and fealty. I have always found myself mortal, and nothing more, hoping only to follow in your footsteps, spread your preaching and your glory for a long as I bear strength to. I thought I was doing things right, My Lord. I thought that in your benevolence, you were rewarding me for my work and my passion. I look now upon the face of my benefactor and see, not a man made holy, but a man made wrong. I see the Devil himself, dressed in your name and laughing. I hear him offer the final decision, to renounce Satan and reclaim you as the soul's Lord and Savior...And I question, Father. I beg your forgiveness when I ask if the man himself has decided? I ask not in insolence, I ask not in spite. I ask in fear, My Lord. Your Inquisitor...does he seek your light and guidance, or does he seek your power and fame? This is the man that told me, not so long ago, that I was being called to do higher work. This is the man who took me from my home in the monastery, this man...it was he who claimed you needed my service.
I thought I was doing things Right, Father.
So I left, and I traded my wool for these fine robes I wear now. For this armor, this sword... A warrior of Christ, Father and Shepherd. Son of Man, Servant of God, and now, Father...I fear, the Tool of the Executioner. The songs, Father, the songs I sang happily in the Monastery, songs of cleansing, of worship. ..they seem hollow now, bastard versions that twist your holy words. The songs that brought tears of joy and peace to my eyes whilst I sang with my brethren now bring a sickness to my heart akin to a bad wine. Father...I am afraid. Sometimes, I wonder if I am more afraid than the man here before me. I don't know his name, Father, and this torch is so heavy. Your torch...the Flame of God. My Benefactor, my human Shepherd...he wears papal colors of power, and fine chains hang about his neck. High Inquisitor of the Church, the Voice and Judgement of God himself. I have long awaited this sight, Father...and I see only a man. Just a man draped in your name. He speaks to the people around him, and he says that this is Your will...this is the trial awaiting all man, that is this is right. Oh Father, the songs are so loud. I'm afraid. I question, My Lord...I question because never before this...never before this man, before this power was given to me...never did I fear you. Never before did I gaze upon the face I so love, never before did the crucifixes before me feel so bereft of your presence. Is this your will, My Lord? This fire...is it truly blessed by the God I've so long adored? My heart is heavy, Father, with the weight of my questions. If it is sinful of me to think thusly, then please cleanse my heart of doubt. I only pray you understand what it is that I question. My faith, my soul, is yours completely, and I follow your will to my death, and beyond if you'll allow it. Only know that I have done my best, that I have prayed, confessed, sung, and studied in your name so that I may see more of your good in the world. I thought that adding my meager voice to that of the masses, would somehow bring me closer to understanding your sacrifice. I seek only your guidance.
But, Oh Father, where are you now?
I know that you have not abandoned me, but even as my orders are given, I can't feel you at all. I do not know this man's name, Father, and I do not know if he has committed a crime against your name. I do not know if this is righteous, if this is truly what you want of me. If this is the service I was born to, then I will carry out my tasks with the utmost devotion. I only ask, Father, that you do not let me become this work. The flames are hot, and the pitch burns black smoke that hurts my eyes. I think of sunlight, Father...of my home back in the high hills of Rome, the monastery where I bathed in your glory, where I truly felt you close to my heart. I think of this very hard when he starts screaming, Father. I think of those songs of worship, sung with love back in the chapel. Here, now, they echo hollow, lacking the truth of devotion. They sound like a poorly imitated sparrow, or harp that has fallen out of tune. I pray this is your will, that I am not working for a murderer that wears you like a cloak. Forgive my questions, My Lord, for they make me human. This man burns for witchcraft and heresy, and I do not know if this is true. I just know that I must keep my faith. I'm afraid, My Lord, because I do not feel your presence here, and I do not know if this is right and just. Therefore, I must believe, I must cling to your image, and think of my sunlight, and my fields, and my brothers...I must believe that this is the right thing to do, that this is the true service. I must believe that this is what you want of me, My Lord.
To think otherwise is to court madness.