deep breath, deep breath

Secret of Kells © Cartoon Saloon

This was originally just going to replace the second chapter/oneshot, but I accidentally deleted it. So here's a not-really new chapter instead~

Brother Sergei…Brother Assoua…Brother Leonardo…Brother Square… they all fell when the Vikings invaded the church.

The survivors stayed for a few seasons, helping rebuild the church and the huts and the scriptorium.

But they eventually left. Some apologized honestly and said that they would not return; they would to go to new monasteries to warn them, and to escape the memories of that blood-soaked night.

Some said that they would return with help and new brothers to restore Kells' glory.

Tang was unsure if that had been a flat-out lie, if they tried and couldn't get back, or if they were struck down by the ever-increasing threat of the Northmen.

It didn't matter. No-one ever came back.

Tang was the only Brother left.

Tang knocked gently on Cellach's door. "Abbot? Are you—?" alright, he nearly asked. A foolish question. "You haven't eaten in days. Come out. I have breakfast."

No answer.

He balled up his tiny fist and knocked again. What if he isn't there? Tang wondered briefly, until the silence was broken by the creaking of floorboards inside.

Tang sighed and leaned to the keyhole. "Abbot Cellach," he said quietly, "I will leave it at the top of the stairs if you wish. But you must eat. Please."

Another long silence. Tang's shoulders slumped, and he turned to go.

The door opened.

Cellach looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, the area around them even darker then usual. His beard was unkempt and shot through with more grey than Tang swore he'd seen the week before.

Tang briefly scanned the room, dismally lit even with sunlight shining through the single window. The blankets were thrown onto the floor beside the bed, on top of which he spotted the gleam of a key.

Silently, Tang offered him the tray.

Cellach's eyes were slow to focus, and when they finally did, it didn't look like he was about to take it.

"You may come in," he said quietly, sounding for all the world like he was perfectly fine. His afore-mentioned appearance and solitude, as well as an almost unnoticeable shaking of limbs, told the old monk how great of a lie it was.

"Just put it on the bedside table." the Abbot instructed. "I'll eat it later," he added softly.

"…You should eat it now."

Cellach looked at him frostily. "I can take care of myself, Brother Tang."

"You are near collapse. Please, Abbot. And you must go outside sometimes—the villagers are afraid that you are dying."

"Do they?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "What does it matter?"

Tang stared at him disbelievingly.

"Why, Tang? The villagers are doing fine on their own; the crops are growing well, the huts have been rebuilt and the rest have left for more protected places. I can do no more. I…"

His hand touched where his robes hid the burning arrow scar. A paper that Tang hadn't noticed—Brendan's paper—scraped against the cloth softly.

"I cannot give them hope…I can no longer illuminate. Brendan—" his voice hushed once again he carefully unfolded the paper. "Brendan's work is the most divine art I have ever seen," he whispered.

Tang gently set the tray on the table. "His art—" was "—is more impressive than even my own was, when I was young," he agreed softly. "But the survivors do not need only illuminators." Cellach stared at him emptily for a moment before recalling what they had speaking of before.

"Then what?" his voice broke. "They need someone strong. They need someone who can keep them focused on what is truly important. I am neither of those things," he rasped bitterly.

Tang didn't know what to say.

Eventually, Cellach started speaking again. "I thought the wall would work." His breath shuddered. "I thought that everything was going to work. Why didn't it work? It should—Why was I so arrogant—why didn't I do more? But how could I have known?"

Cellach looked to him then, eyes horrified and desperate. "How could I have known how strong—no. I knew. Aidan told me. Aidan told me directly."

Now Cellach was looking back out the glassless window, hands pressed against its sides. He was speaking to himself then, voice harsh. "I heard him. I didn't listen. They—they—he was only a boy!" he burst out. "He didn't deserve—I saved him as an infant only to have him die like that—"

He sank to his knees. "How could I have known?"

Tang gingerly placed a hand on his back. Cellach flinched but otherwise didn't respond. "Brendan…Brendan, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Tang gently tugged on his shoulder. "Come, Abbot. You must…" eat, he nearly said, but it was clear that with the way he was shaking and barely holding back sobs that there was little chance that he would even be able to keep the food down. "…you must get your rest."

Cellach numbly allowed himself to be maneuvered back to the bed, lying down at Tang's slight touches. He stared blindly at the drawings along the walls as the old monk carefully pulled the sheets over him.

Tang prayed beside the bed for hours, listening to Cellach's barely-audible whispers of anguish as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Even in sleep, Brendan's paper never left his hand.