Title: And Shared Out My People by Lot
Author: Tiamat's Child
Fandom: The Histories of King Kelson
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of rape. Not graphic, but so's you know, if you don't immediately recall the incident...
Summary: Archbishop Thomas Cardiel at Saint Brigid's abbey, after her desecration.
Notes: Written in 75 minutes for the laundry list challenge at Contrelamontre, including something cold (literally or metaphorically), something purple, a tree, bare feet, and a physical wound. Takes place during The King's Justice, so spoilers up to there.

And Shared Out My People by Lot

Thomas Cardiel could not sleep. He had attempted to rest, but his mind was full and his heart heavy, neither of which was helpful when it came to sleeping. Or eating, which was why he'd skipped supper, something which he now somewhat regretted. It was always harder to sleep on an empty stomach than a full one, even for someone as used to that circumstance as Thomas was.

It had been a long day, of the sort that seemed to drag on forever, threatening never to end but to continue its unpleasant events until the end of time. A fanciful notion, but Thomas had a tendency to think in such ways. He was too sensible to pay much heed to things his imagination came up with, but sometimes the temptation to give them credence was hard to resist.

He sighed to himself, wiggling his toes into the long grass outside his tent as if it was one of the rich carpets covering the stone floor back in Rhemuth. It was a comforting sensation, a reminder that life had its good points even at its ugliest. Unfortunately, it couldn't do much to relieve the cold, pressing presence in the back of his mind.

He knew what it was, of course, and there was nothing occult about it. He was simply trying to avoid thinking about what he had seen that day, and some part of him with more sense than the rest thought that was a very bad idea. It probably was, too, and he would have to deal with the memories at some point. It was probably best he bring them out now, when he didn't have to help anyone else come to terms with the day's events.

He'd helped Lael set a young monk's broken arm, talking lowly with the boy about his family and hometown while Lael prepared the things he'd needed. The boy had been so clearly afraid, and just as clearly determined to be brave. Thomas had told him about his niece, and her work as a tutor to various young ladies.

"I've tried to ask her if she wants anything else in her life," Thomas had said, "Marriage, or the Church, but she pretends I said nothing about it at all, and writes letters full of stories about the girls she's teaching. I suppose that must mean she's happy."

The monk had nodded. "It probably does," he'd answered, his lips thin and pale in his equally pale face.

"Do you have sisters?" Thomas had asked, and received a treatise about the wonders of the boy's female relatives in return, at least until Lael had given the boy a potion to put him to sleep.

Thomas held him still while Lael moved the bone back in place and splinted it.

"Thank you for your help, Archbishop," one of the nuns had said, "It's good of you to do this."

Thomas had smiled and said, "My dear lady, I could do nothing else. What use is a bishop who doesn't look after those who look to him?"

The nun hadn't said anything in reply, but she had smiled and ducked her head. Not, though, before Thomas had seen the start of tears in her eyes. He'd wanted to give her comfort somehow, a hug or a touch, but he knew that would be too much for her now, and she was too proud to accept it, anyway. So he'd merely smiled again, and moved on.

He'd helped one of the men from the town board up one of the windows in the chapel which had been shattered. "It'll have to be repaired," the fellow had said, "But this should keep the wind and rain out for now."

"I'll see what I can do about it," Thomas had said, "Thank you so much for your help."

"Why, you're welcome, Archbishop, but Saint Brigid's has done me and mine more good turns than I can count. I'm just paying back some small measure of the favor. You deserve more thanks than me, to my way of thinking."

Thomas had blushed. "Meara doesn't have a bishop. That means this land is my responsibility. I'm doing no more than my duty."

The man had given him one of the most measuring looks Thomas had ever received from anyone. "Mighty large duty."

"It can be," Thomas had said, and said no more.

He'd heard an informal confession from one of the nuns, a tired, worn looking woman whose eyes had been lit by a deep fury, under a tree in the courtyard. The late evening light had filtered down through its branches in shapes that reminded Thomas all too forcefully of Calvary. "I cannot forgive them, my lord bishop," she'd said, "I cannot. I know that it is my duty, but I cannot forgive them. I do not think I ever will."

Thomas had not known what to say. "I do not think God will be too disappointed, Sister. After all, even our Lord was angry at times."

She shook her head. "I hate them. I will lose heaven because of it."

Thomas sighed. "We clergy tend to think that we must be as divine as Christ himself was. But we must remember, we are not. We are as mortal as our flock, and in that our anger is sometimes stronger than we are. A great injustice has been done you, Sister. I do not begrudge you the anger you bear at that. Please, let yourself heal. Do not blame yourself for your outrage. The prophets were outraged too, and I do not think any among us would argue that they were cast out for it."

The sister had nodded and turned away.

The Princess Janniver had been the worst of it, though. The poor girl could not cease her weeping, and sat crumbled in a corner while Thomas argued with the Abbess.

"Please, I promise Father Lael will not overstep the bounds of propriety. He only wishes to make certain any hurts she has do not go untended."

The Abbess had snorted disbelievingly, but relented. While Father Lael looked the Princess over, talking quietly with the young novice who seemed to have charge of her, Thomas had tried to comfort her.

"Please, my dear child, you must believe me. It will be all right. None of this was your fault. There was nothing you should have done to help yourself that you did not do. There is no shame upon you, only upon any who would be so cruel as to hurt you this way. It is their guilt and not yours, you must believe me. No matter what any fool tells you in days to come it was not your fault and you must not think that it is. My dear daughter, you are innocent, you must believe me. And we will make sure that no matter what happens you are safe and have a future, I promise you."

So sunk was the girl in her misery that Thomas was not certain she heard him, let alone believed him. When his words had run out he looked up and found the novice watching him. "Thank you, my lord," she said, "I'll tell the Princess what you said, if she didn't hear you."

"Thank you," Thomas said, "Do you think it will help her?"

"I do," the girl said and smiled at him, "You're a good man, my lord bishop. Your flock is lucky to have you."

Thomas flushed and stammered and left as hurriedly as he could, going to find the abbess and ask her how her people were doing.

Really, it wasn't as bad as it might have been, but something about it hurt Thomas in ways the previous atrocities had not. The articulate anger of the nuns and monks was almost unbearable in a completely different way than the quiet, wordless anger of the common folk was. Thomas could not explain the difference, even to himself, but he knew that part of it was that the inhabitants of the abbey were his responsibility, and he had not been able to protect them at all.

Thomas wished Denis were here to talk with him, to help him make sense of it, and help him understand what he could do to truly help. Denis always helped him understand himself and his own thinking. It was a part of why Thomas had enjoyed talking to him so much, in the beginning. Now it was different, and Thomas simply enjoyed Denis, the way he thought and the way he spoke, and the way he cared so much more than you would ever expect if you didn't know him well.

He sighed, and gave up on the idea that fresh air was going to help him. If it hadn't by now any more wouldn't. His mind was simply too full and too cluttered to let him sleep.

He went in and sat on his bed, pulling his lap desk out from beneath it. There was enough candlelight in the tent to let him read and write, thank God, so he took out the letter to Denis he'd started earlier.

The damage done by the Mearan troops becomes worse the further we push into Meara. I fear the Mearans are becoming desperate enough to be stupid. Nothing is worse for an army than for it to anger its own people, but Sicard and Caitrin seem perfectly willing to do just that. I had not expected that of Sicard, as all the accounts I've heard of him paint him as a decent, sensible man, not a fool and not wasteful.

He'd left off there. He dated his addition and kept writing.

Sadly, it seems Brice of Trurill is working for the Mearan rebels in the field, and he is a cruel man, by everything I have heard and seen. We found an abbey today that had been desecrated and looted. They raped the nuns, Denis.

I spent my evening doing my best to help clean up and trying to assist Father Lael in his labors. I suspect that I was more of a nuisance than a help, but I could not simply stand by. Though, in all honesty, I might have been more useful if I had!

The nuns had a vistor. Princess Janniver, who was there on a pre-nuptial retreat. The poor girl has not stopped crying since we arrived. I fear permanent damage may have been done her by the experience - not in her body, for the novice looking after her (a lovely young lady, and apparently both a cousin of Richenda's and Deryni) says that her injuries are minor and will heal quickly - but in both her social and political prospects and her emotional state. I fear her intended husband will not understand that she has been hurt and needs his sympathy and love, not his scorn and disgust. Most likely, alas, she will get the latter. I wish I could give the fellow a good talking to for her, but I am out here, and such a project is currently beyond me.

I wish you were here, Denis. You always help me understand what I must do, and what I am thinking. I miss you. I would give anything to be able to have some of that peace you always give me.

I will add a list of what the abbey needs for repairs in the morning. I would appreciate it if you could make arrangements to send them out here.

Love,

Thomas

Thomas sighed and stretched, running a finger down the band of episcopal purple laid into the wood of the lap desk. He would do what he had to. He was the only bishop Meara had, now that Istelyn was dead.

Even if he didn't know how, he'd do what was right for these people. Hadn't he sworn it before the Lord, all those years ago?