So. The first part of my Moulder-Hayden arc. I kinda like how it turned out :D I'm still a bit insecure about talking about Moulder´s religiousness, because I do have no idea how it feels like. So it's a bit... free form. Otoh, everyone experiences things differently? At least I hope that I do not offend and religious person with my writing of the Latonian (?) faith.
Also, the "prayer" I used in this story is (once again) an In Extremo song, Zauberspruch. Unfortunately I didn't find out when the prayer was written, but the meaning is... fitting. I believe it's written in Estonian. Also, yes, I did change the text a bit; it would be kinda unfitting if they call for Maria instead of Latona... please excuse my taking the liberty to change it. It was necessary.
It was late in the morning and the chapel was empty. And yet, Moulder entered through the small door at the west end and tiptoed along the wall as if the long marble rows were filled with believers like it had only a few hours ago. He passed the grand and heavy double-door, quickly checked if it was open – it was – and then continued to a little recess hidden behind some drapery in the corner. He grabbed the broom – caught the mop before it crashed on the ground – and began to clean the floor, which had grown quite smooth after all those years of use and could be very slippery when it was not cleaned correctly.
In contrast to the other brothers, Moulder liked cleaning the Royal Chapel. He had only arrived very recently in the Capital and often felt lost in the unfamiliar town and castle, but the church was something he knew, something that didn't change and that always meant home. Moulder had been hesitant at first to come here; he had only been a novice at the cloister in his home town – he hadn't been there for more than about two years – and the offer to come here, the Royal Church, situated inside the Frelian Castle and the seat of the bishop, had been more than surprising (and overwhelming and extremely flattering). It was a mystery to him why the abbot had chosen him; he was nothing special and there had been other very pious novices who would've been an even better choice. And yet, he was the only one who had been chosen; he thanked the Diving every day for this grand gift.
He swept between the marble rows, humming a prayer song to himself.
Moulder had left his family behind and he missed them terribly. But the chance to serve the Divine here, a church Latona herself had visited and blessed, was such an honour that he felt it was an insult to refuse. Thankfully his parents supported his decision to go and promised to write every month; it made his loneliness more tolerable. Besides, after his ten years of service he could go and serve wherever he wanted and could return home then.
The thought of his home lifted his spirits so much that he quietly began to sing a song of prayer, an ode to the Divine and her blessings. With so much motivation, it took him only one song to clean about a third of the rows (the church was so much bigger than the cloister at home; he would've been able to clean the prayer room of the cloister in one song). His next song was prayer for protection, which he sang with his father in mind, who had to fight daily against a sickness that prevented him from working more than one hour straight.
His voice resounded in the church and almost made it louder than he was comfortable with. But he was alone, so he still felt good. The bishop and the brother responsible for the upkeep of the church had complimented Moulder on his voice and encouraged him to become one of the main singers of the choir. Moulder was still a bit shy about using the full range of his voice since he found that his voice was not clean enough yet; it became far too shaky in the higher pitches for his liking. He feared that the Divine might be displeased with his singing so he practised whenever he happened to be alone.
He finished the prayer of protection at about the sixth row. He stopped for a second to decide which song should come next. He let his gaze roam through the church and when it fell on the statues placed around the altar at the head of the church, he felt a jab of homesickness. There was a beautiful statue of a kneeling Latona, her head lowered in reverence of the love of the Everlasting – Moulder´s cloister had a very similar statue.
He cleared his throat and pushed the homesickness back. It made him tear up every time. A bit hesitatingly, he started to chant a children´s prayer that his mother had always sung with him. He mumbled it at first but soon his emotions took charge and he sang louder than he ever dared to. When he finished the song, all the pressure on his chest had left, had clung to his words and now ascended into the sky.
Moulder sighed and closed his eyes, relishing the peacefulness in his heart for a moment. However, the realization that he had stopped sweeping half-way through the song brought him back abruptly. Embarrassed, he hastened to finish the rest of the church.
When he finally reached the first row and made to sweep the little space between the altar and said row, singing quietly to himself again, he let his gaze wander over his already accomplished work to motivate himself; he was quite satisfied with himself. Now was only the first row left, the one reserved for the royal family, which was the only row covered with cushions of blue velvet; Moulder made a mental note to not forget to clean them later as well. When he turned to finish his sweeping, his gaze fell on the right row – he yelped surprised at what he saw.
A man was lying there, flat on his back and his eyes closed. Moulder immediately turned red with embarrassment; not only had he started to clean while someone was here, no, that man had also heard him practising his far from good voice. Then another thought popped into his head; this man was lying, or even sleeping, in the blessed church of Latona! Moulder was not entirely sure if it was already blasphemous, but it was extremely rude, to say the least.
Then the man opened his eyes and sat up. Moulder could barely keep from squeaking in embarrassment; that was not just some man but the Royal Prince of Frelia himself. Moulder had seen Prince Hayden only a few times at readings in the church and now he was here alone with him and would probably have to talk to him. Moulder swallowed hard; he had never spoken with a lord before.
Prince Hayden swung his legs over the edge of the bank, leaning back against the backrest and looked at Moulder, his expression friendly if blank. For some reason that made Moulder even more nervous. "Ah– G- Good day, Your Highness," Moulder stammered and clutched at his broom. Hayden inclined his head lightly.
"Good day, brother," he answered. A tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "I wasn't sleeping." Moulder blinked clueless.
"Oh! Oh, I wasn't– I mean–" He fumbled for words but they seemed to hide from him. His face heated up even more.
"Be at ease, brother." Moulder nodded hastily and tried to comply. "I know that I shouldn't be here at this time of the day." Hayden turned his gaze towards the statue situated directly behind the altar; it was a statue of the founder of Frelia, Hineas the Great with his wife Faye standing beside him. Hineas´s right hand was extended in a sign of welcome, the other held a sword, with its blade turned towards the viewer as a warning. Faye held a shield decorated with several depictions of pegasi and a ship in the middle before her; in her other hand she held up a necklace with the crest of Frelia. "I'll leave if I'm in the way."
"You may enter the church whenever you want, Your Highness."
"Thank you."
Moulder waited for a moment if the prince would say more, but when nothing came, he started to slowly sweep the floor again. He moved a bit away from the prince and continued at the right side of the altar, gingerly working around the delicate statue of Saint Jarisleif, who had ended the Civil War from 567 before it really started. Moulder didn't dare to make any sounds; this whole situation was very strange and he didn't want to attract any attention. Any noise or mistake could disturb the prince and from the day of his arrival Moulder had been taught to never disturb a noble or a member of the royal family. As a brother of the Church of Latona everything he did, he did in the name of the church and he would never want to tarnish her holy name with his stupid mistakes.
When he had finished the right half of the altar space and had scrubbed a stain from the foot of Saint Liam the Sailor with the hem of his robe – Moulder was too shy to walk back to the recess to get a rag – he slowly walked back to the rows of seats. To his dismay, the prince was still sitting there; Hayden had lowered his gaze and stared at the delicate carvings in the white stone of the altar. Moulder swallowed his nervousness and reluctantly moved closer. He had to clean; the bishop would never accept "I was too nervous to come close to the crown prince" as an acceptable excuse for neglecting his duties.
Moulder was almost painfully self-conscious as he slowly entered Hayden´s range of vision. Now the prince could really see him and note every one of his mistakes. Moulder had heard much about the prince´s ability to see and hear everything and to use it to his advantage and only now he started to fear it Insecurely, Moulder looked up at the prince every few seconds to check if he was watched or not. To his great relief he never met the prince´s gaze. Those many moments weren't wasted time, though; Moulder noticed several things he found curious.
He noticed that the prince wore too casual clothes for the church; while it was the newest fashion trend for men to wear loose tunics with long and slightly puffy sleeves and tight trousers – and the prince as a married man wore trousers that reached the middle of his lower legs, in contrast to unmarried men whose trouser bottoms ended at the knee – the style of the clothes was too plain for a day outfit. Clothes like that one only wore when one didn't leave the house or on the training fields. Moulder found that strange since he had heard that the prince was very proper and always appropriately dressed. And judging from the few times Moulder had seen him in church, he could only confirm this.
He noticed that Hayden´s right foot was tapping slightly. It was not a grand motion, but it stuck out oddly to Moulder. Just as the fact that Hayden repeatedly flexed his fingers. He could barely keep his hands still.
And finally, Moulder noticed the slowly deepening lines of worry on his brows. The longer the prince stared into nothingness, the deeper his frown grew. Moulder was slightly taken aback by this because he had never seen the prince – or anyone for that matter – that dark and gloomy. The thought that something bad had happened stressed Moulder out more than he thought it would. But the whirl of fear, doubt and pain in the prince´s grey eyes touched something deep in him and he wanted to help. Moulder wanted to ease the prince´s burden. He was a servant of the Divine; it was his duty to listen to her followers and help them. But it wouldn't be right to just go up to Prince Hayden and ask him to share his problems. Moulder was a nobody and far too young to give advise; how could a fourteen year old help a grown adult with problems so big? How ridiculous he would look like!
Suddenly the prince looked up and their gazes met. Moulder immediately turned red. Not only had the prince noticed that he was staring at him, no, Moulder just noticed that he had stopped sweeping some time during his thinking and was now standing in front of the altar with a broom in hand and looking like an idiot! Prince Hayden said nothing; he only looked slightly confused at Moulder´s blatant impoliteness.
"You can tell me your worries," Moulder blurted out before he could collect himself. As soon as he understood what he had just said, he blushed darker. The prince only looked taken aback. "I- I mean. I am a brother and- and I am here to hear the sorrows of Latona´s followers and, uhm, help them." His voice trailed off towards the end. He felt incredibly silly and stupid. The prince had no reason to trust him; he would probably yell at him and leave. Moulder only hoped that nobody would ever hear about this meeting.
To his big surprise and confusion, the prince started to laugh. It was a quiet, slightly tired laugh. Moulder dropped his gaze to his feet. "Thank you." Moulder involuntarily startled. "But I don't believe that you or anybody can help me." Hayden sighed lowly. "I was only seeking a moment of silence. The castle is too much in an uproar at the moment." Moulder wondered what kind of uproar that was since none of the brothers had heard of it – and they knew all the gossip as early as the pages and servants living in the castle. That could only mean that the royal family actively prevented the news from leaving the castle. Then it would be impossible for the prince to talk about it, Moulder concluded. But the thought of the prince suffering under this uproar made Moulder uncomfortable; if he had someone to talk with, then he wouldn't have come here.
Moulder licked his lips nervously. He couldn't let the prince leave like this, could he? What would his abbot back at home think of him if he let a desperate man leave the church without having at least tried to aid him?
"Sir..." Hayden looked at him again, this time with a blank face. Moulder clutched at his broom as if it were his courage and he had to keep it from running away. If he wanted to become as kind and caring and good a priest as his abbot, he had to be persistent now. "One of Latona´s first teachings is to care about your neighbour as much as about yourself. To treat your neighbour as you treat your family." Moulder took a calming breath. "As a man of the church it is my duty to take care of everyone entering my church. I- I know I am far too young to give you any adequate advise, Your Highness. But sometimes it is already enough if we can share our worries and sometimes the solution to our problems becomes more clearly when we voice them. And if you don't want to talk to me, then let me fetch the bishop. He will surely be willing to ease your burden."
Hayden looked him in the eye and for about a minute nobody said anything. Moulder grew alarmingly nervous again and his neck tingled and tickled with heat. He wanted to move and get rid of the warmth which arose beneath his robes, but he didn't dare to show any of his anxiety. At long last Hayden cast his eyes to the ground and nodded.
"You are right, brother. Maybe a confession will calm my mind." Before Moulder knew what happened, a relieved smile appeared on his face. Hayden raised his eyebrows and smiled himself. Moulder quickly lowered his head; he managed to embarrass himself today with every little action! Hayden inclined his head to his left side and pointedly looked at Moulder. The boy didn't understand at first; when the penny dropped, he startled violently. He hastened to the bank and sat down, gingerly placing the broom next to himself. He felt a little bit uncomfortable, because normally he was not allowed to sit here. But since he had the permission of the prince, nobody could admonish him, couldn't they?
"Very well," Hayden said with a sigh and rubbed his chin. Moulder sat straight and focussed fully on the prince. "You might have heard that the Thegan Fever has broken out in the south again." Moulder sucked in a breath of surprise and shock. He hadn't known that, but he knew the Thegan Fever. About a year ago a traveller had taken shelter in Moulder´s cloister at home. The man had suffered from a fever and the abbot had immediately given him a room where they could nurse him. Moulder assisted him then and saw the steady decline; at first the man had only the symptoms of a common cold and the abbot was confident that they could heal him. But when the man vomited blood after a few days, his skin turned slightly bluish and the chills came in strong and painful waves, they knew they couldn't save him. As soon as the patient´s skin turned bluish, he had no more than a few days until the fever killed them. When the Thegan Fever was discovered early, in the first phase, the patient could be saved. If not, one could only pray for a quick and relatively painless death.
"No, sir," Moulder said, dreading what would come. Hayden nodded slowly and his face darkened.
"It has reached the castle." Moulder bit his lip. That's why the castle doors had been closed and there were fewer visitors than normal. He had already wondered what the reason for that was. "And my wife..." Hayden trailed off, lifting a hand to hide his mouth behind. "She has fallen ill. Nine days ago." The prince squeezed his eyes shut.
Moulder swallowed hard. The princess had at least entered the second phase, maybe even the third. The chances of a recovery were infinitesimal. Moulder lowered his head. Hayden rubbed his hands together and then rested his chin on them.
"I fear that... she is lost." Moulder noticed that Hayden´s voice grew heavy. He avoided to look at the prince. "And I..." Hayden took a shaky breath. "I cannot deal with it. I don't want to lose her. I don't want my son to lose his mother before he is able to get to know her. In the castle I... am confronted with her sickness and the prospect that she'll die in a few days every waking minute and I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed a place where I could find peace for a moment. Where I could gather my thoughts and decide on how..." His hand slid upwards and covered his eyes. "how to deal with everything." The prince´s voice was shaking and Moulder thought he had heard tears as well. "But even here I couldn't find a way. I just... feel so..." Hayden shook his head and fell silent. He buried his head in his hands and obviously suppressed sobs.
Moulder shifted slightly, a bit unsure about what was the right thing to say. After a moment he raised his hand insecurely and put it on Hayden´s shoulder. To his great surprise (and shock), Hayden broke down and sobbed loudly. Moulder felt incredibly helpless and could only squeeze the prince´s shoulder. His own heart throbbed with pain at seeing the prince so desperate. Moulder hadn't yet lost someone close to him or was close to losing someone so he could only imagine how the prince must feel like. The sole vision of losing his mother or father to such a painful illness made his throat tighten and a disgusting feeling grew in his chest and stomach.
Hayden´s sobs slowly subsided until they were mere gasps for air.
"Sir, let us pray." Hayden grew silent and peeked over his hands. He looked confused. Moulder swallowed the lump in his throat. "Fate has decided to take Princess Aileen´s life out of our reach. Only the Divine can help her now. Let us pray to Latona and to the Divine. Let us ask them to spare her and heal her." Quite confident now, Moulder clutched the prince´s shoulder tighter. "Place your trust and hope in the Divine. Let us pray together so that the Goddess can't overhear us." Moulder smiled confidently. Hayden blinked slowly and lowered his hands. There were streaks of tears on his pale cheeks and Moulder resisted the urge to offer the prince his (very plain and ugly) handkerchief.
Then the prince finally nodded. "Very well." Moulder immediately slid down from the bank and knelt. He bowed his hand and folded his hands in front of him. He was just closing his eyes for the prayer when he noticed a movement beside him. To his great surprise the prince knelt beside him, in a position of utter submission. Moulder was startled because the bishop had told him on his very first day that the royalty had different rules than the common people. And yet Prince Hayden took the position of a common man, a weak man, of an utterly helpless man. Moulder´s heart surged with something, maybe pride or admiration or respect. Hayden raised his hands, clasping them in front of him, resting his lips on them.
Moulder started with the greeting prayer in Old Frelian; the foreign and yet familiar sounds fell from his lips effortlessly. He had spoken (or sung) those words so often in his life that they were imprinted in his mind. He heard Hayden mumbling them with him; the prince had a slight accent (he pronounced the "íen" and "wèn" strangely). After the call for the goddess and the obeisance, Moulder hesitated. Phrases and ideas and question about how to articulate the request bolted through his head. He didn't want to accidentally insult the Prince or the Princess; his knowledge of the court rules was embarrassingly sketchy.
"Dearest Divine, protector and giver of life, mistress of light," Hayden started. Moulder threw a quick glance over at him; the prince´s eyes were closed and his forehead creased. He thankfully remained silent. "I call for you and beg for your mercy on behalf of my wife. Lady Beladore, Mistress of Fate, has decided to test her and me by subjecting her to a painful and deadly illness. I fear that my beloved wife may not be able to pass this ordeal on her own. I beg you to assist her. Please spare her and guide her back. My son needs her." Hayden´s voice faltered and a half-sob managed to slip past his lips. "I need her. Please give her strength." He abruptly fell silent for about a minute; his hands were clenched tightly and he obviously pressed back new tears. As soon as he had composed himself, he repeated the last sentence over and over in a barely audible whisper. Moulder waited patiently, his eyes half-closed and lulled into a state of trance. The prince´s voice resounded in his head, floated around and the sound of it grew more pleasant by every passing second.
While in that trance and while Hayden was still whispering, Moulder called for the Saint Latona; "Dear Lady Latona, hear my call. This poor man requires your assistance. Hear his cry and lend him your word. Speak for him and do not leave him alone. I, your faithfully pupil, beg this of you." Moulder woke from his trance then and noticed that Hayden had fallen silent. Were they in any other situation Moulder would've turned beet-red for calling the crown prince a poor man he had to speak for, but right now it felt right. And in a moment of vain, Moulder felt proud of how he delivered those lines, for which he would later chide himself.
They repeated the greeting prayer together, in almost perfect unison. After that a new silence filled the church. They remained sitting, bowed, and probably lost in thought. After maybe ten minutes Moulder straightened. The prince remained in his position. It took him another, rather long while to sit up.
"Thank you, brother," Hayden then said lowly. His gaze was turned downwards.
"I will talk to the bishop later," Moulder answered. He was upright, his head held high with pride and confidence. "I will ask him to hold a mass for the princess. And I will ask the other brothers to pray for her as well." Moulder turned to the prince then with a smile. Shock ran through his veins (and his cheeks coloured again) at seeing the expression on the prince´s face. Such open gratitude and emotions were not only a rare sight on the prince, but also because Moulder didn't feel that he deserved that much thankfulness. His heart sped up and he dropped his gaze.
"I thank you for your compassion," he said and clasped his shoulder. "It must've been the Divine´s will that we met today." Moulder mumbled something unintelligible in return. Hayden laughed slightly and the sound cheered Moulder a bit up. Hayden pushed himself up. Moulder quickly followed suit.
Hayden tugged at his clothes, smoothing all the creases, and then sighed relieved. "I believe it is time to return to the side of my wife." He threw a glance at Moulder, smiling. "I feel strong enough to stay with her now." Embarrassed and proud, Moulder again dropped his gaze and bowed. "Good day, brother ...?"
"Moulder, sir."
"Good day, brother Moulder." Hayden bowed in return, which startled and confused Moulder, and left through the grand double door.
Moulder stared after him and then at the door for a while. His heart was still beating quickly and his skin hot. The last hour (or was it more?) felt unreal and bizarre; he had not only met and talked with the crown prince of Frelia, no, he had even prayed with him and was his confidant now. That thought brought a broad, face-splitting grin to his face; he really did help someone! The abbot at home would be so proud of him. Almost giddy, he quickly finished cleaning the church and then immediately sped to talk to the bishop and the other brothers.
###
The bishop was surprised at Moulder´s sudden request but immediately agreed as soon as he it was confirmed by the king. The mass was held the next day and Moulder was placed in the choir again; this time he was confident and waited impatiently for it to begin. He was determined to give his best.
The choir boys were placed in a half circle around the altar at the feet of the statues, in the back of the bishop, who stood in front of the altar. Moulder was standing before the statue of Saint Helenora of the Island Ilceli, who had protected the Island from invading pirates in the year 376. She was renowned for being an excellent singer and Moulder hoped she would watch over him today. Excited, he watched the inhabitants of the castle pouring into the church.
The servants and a few selected knights came first and stood along the wall behind the rows; their mostly dark and brown clothes seemed to merge with the grey of the stone walls – they became an indistinguishable mass. Then the higher knights – captains, lieutenants and archknights – entered and filled the rows near the entrance; they wore decorated armour (only breast plates and vambraces, as far as Moulder could tell) and fine clothes and cloaks in dark, rich colours. The various nobles – high and low – filled most of the remaining space; their clothes were as colourful and varying as their rank and at every mass Moulder discovered a colour or hue he had never seen before.
There was a pause between the entrance of the nobles and the entrance of the royal family. It always took a while until everyone was seated, had exchanged greetings with their neighbours and swapped a bit of gossip. They were silenced by one lone call of a hunting horn. Everyone turned towards the grand door to receive the royal family with a bowed head.
Moulder, though he feared that someone might see him and think ill of him, didn't bow his head as deep as he should but rather peeked through his bangs and watched the royal entrance.
The first couple was a cousin of the prince – a young lady with rich green hair, freckles and a pointy nose – and her father. Her father, the king´s brother and lord of the Island Ilceli, guided her towards the left royal row. Her two children trailed behind them. Two other family members, who Moulder didn't recognize – for which he felt great shame –, joined them.
The next person entering the church made Moulder´s heart skip. The prince, clad in a green and golden decorated garb and an cloak in royal dark blue, looked as regal and impressive as Moulder remembered him from their first (if one-sided at that time) meeting during Moulder´s first attendance at a mass. His heart thumped loudly against his eardrums and even though his hands grew slick with nervousness, Moulder felt giddy. In a few minutes he would sing for him to the Divine; never had been placed so much trust in him.
When Moulder took a second glance at the prince, he suddenly noticed that the prince was not alone. Young Lord Innes, still almost a toddler, clutched at the prince´s hand, looking around curiously but not intimidated. He was clad in similar colours as his father, which made him almost look like a miniature version of the prince (the similarity between not only their hair colour but also their serious and thoughtful expression was amazing). Moulder swallowed; he had never seen the young lord. But why the boy made him feel so weird and managed to dispel his giddiness he didn't know.
The prince and his son took a seat on the right royal row; Prince Hayden picked Lord Innes up and placed him close next to him. The boy looked up at him, frowning very seriously, and asked his father something. Moulder watched how the prince´s mouth curled up into a gentle smile and he whispered something to Lord Innes, who then turned to the bishop and the choir. Moulder´s gaze strayed away; he didn't want to look at the young lord. But he couldn't keep from glancing at the prince for long. Just when he looked again, the prince raised his eyes and noticed him. Moulder blushed when a tiny, subtle knowing smile flashed over the prince´s face. He hoped that nobody would noticed the redness on his face, especially the prince (who was hopefully sitting too far away from him to discern it).
Moulder had completely missed the entrance of the king and only noticed that he had arrived when his gaze once again flickered back to the prince and he found that a man with pure white hair, clad in royal sky blue robes, was sitting down next to Prince Hayden. Lord Innes leaned over his father´s legs and whispered something to his grandfather. Prince Hayden hushed him and sat him back. Lord Innes pouted lightly and slumped.
As soon as the king was settled, the bishop cleared his throat and all attention turned to him. Except Moulder´s, who really tried to listen, but his nervousness commanded him to go through the song texts again even though he knew them by heart. But today nothing should go wrong so he had no choice. He couldn't embarrass himself when so much was at stake. Even though his attention lay elsewhere, he found the little bit he did hear very sympathetic and moving.
When the bishop started to talk about the qualities of the princess and why she deserved to be saved, Moulder´s gaze flickered back to the prince. Hayden was seemingly listening calmly and if Moulder hadn't heard his confession, he might have believed that he was impassive. But he knew and so he paid proper attention and saw the prince´s mouth twitch a few times. He had put his arm around Innes, who was picking and playing with the hem of his tunic, and held him close. Moulder´s chest clenched with sympathy and he quickly dropped his gaze, lest the prince felt like Moulder was invading his privacy.
"Let us pray now," the bishop said loudly, outstretching his arms, and startled Moulder. Now he almost missed it! "Let us pray for Princess Aileen and for the many other victims of the Thegan fever. Let us call the Divine and Latona for assistance."
When the music arose, Moulder took a deep breath, straightened and closed his eyes. It took two lines until the violins and harps joined the flutes, then another two lines until the choir had to join. Moulder´s heart sped up with every passing second and with every jump the flutes made. His hands actually started to shake when only a few chords were left. He counted down the seconds. 3, 2, 1...
"Koit Kerkib, Päaw Peaseb,
Tagane Waenlane. Sigenego Terwis,
Sest Jumal Kuuleb." The Old Northern Dialect fell easily from Moulder´s tongue; his voice was strong and did not shake like the rest of him. He had been too loud during the first few notes and he hoped that he didn't stand out too negatively. His gaze flew to the prince, but he seemed unfazed and just listened.
His attention immediately returned when the intermission of the flutes came to an end and it was time for his solo part (well, his and of two other boys, but he felt oddly alone). His heart drummed against his eardrums so loudly he could barely hear the music anymore.
"Latonja Latonja markeb, Taganego Wastased
Latonja Latonja markeb, Wajogo Waenslased." Their three voices were in complete harmony and together their sound seemed magical; it was strong and soft and pleasing to the ears. Moulder was almost frightened by it; for once he dared to sing as loud as them and for the first time nothing sounded off. His mouth twitched upwards; the Divine and Latona would surely be pleased by this performance. His gaze flew over to the prince again. His smile faltered when he saw his stony expression. Hayden stared ahead, over Moulder´s head, and mumbled the prayer with them. Innes had slumped against him and played with his father´s tunic; he seemed bored. Moulder quickly turned away.
The instruments took over again and Moulder half-closed his eyes at the soft and yearning sound. Together the harps and violins were so pleading and almost crying, he couldn't help but be affected. He repeated his prayer from yesterday in his head, calling out for Latona and the Divine. He was sure that everybody present did the same and the sole thought gave him confidence; his voice and conviction was never stronger when the music died away and their voices arose to finish the prayer a cappella.
"Siis ma sortsin so sooned, Siis ma waalin so woolmed
Sigenego Terwis, Latonja Latonja Tagane
Latonjy waenlane."
The last note vibrated through the church, soaked into every nook and cranny and filled the hearts of all people present. Moulder felt high, his head was light. He seemed to float. He couldn't describe what this experience meant to him – he couldn't fully understand it himself. He just knew that this was right, that this was what he wanted, what he was supposed to do. To serve and to advise, to help and speak for others; this was his destiny.
Still on his high, he missed the closing words of the bishop. He rather bathed in this incredibly satisfying feeling. That he could create such a feeling (and such a beautiful sound) with his voice alone... he wanted to do it again. He wanted to repeat this experience and let other people participate in it. Right on cue Moulder glanced at the prince, who had dropped his gaze and seemed to struggle. He wasn't sure if the king just didn't notice or ignored it since he (to Moulder at least) obviously avoided to look at his son. Innes had curiously tilted back his head and pointed upwards at his father, his mouth moving. Hayden answered and raked his hand through Innes´ hair. The boy frowned and dropped his arm.
Moulder was surprised by the first words of the closing prayer and jolted inwardly. Now he just learnt what he wanted to do for the rest of his life and made a resolve and the first thing he did afterwards was stumbling over his overconfidence! Humbled, Moulder lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and joined the collective chant.
When he opened his eyes again, the bishop had bowed to Latona´s statue and made to leave through the grand door. The king raised to his feet, stood in front of Latona and bowed as well. Moulder swallowed hard, when the prince stood to do the ritual. Lord Innes was a bit unwilling and clutched his father, tugging at him. Hayden ignored his whining until after his bow. Then he picked Innes up – which made the boy happy again – and left. A wave of sadness washed over Moulder; he hadn't had the chance to catch a last view of Prince Hayden´s expression. He had hoped to see any sign of relief or at least some sort of confidence, but he had only caused him pain. Moulder tried to console himself with the thought that Prince Hayden kept his feelings locked up and he wouldn't have seen anything anyway.
It took quite a while until the last believer had done the ritual and left the church. Moulder had kept his head low all the time, fighting with himself, because he shouldn't feel disappointed. There was no reason to; he did what he said he'd do – ask the bishop for a mass and pray for the princess – and he even had an epiphany! He should feel great, walk on clouds, anything other than be disappointed. But the sadness and blankness and stoniness of Prince Hayden´s face appeared again and again in his mind and drove away all his happiness.
Sad and a bit confused, he left with the other brothers through the side entrance and decided to spend the rest of the day with contemplating and examining his feelings.
###
Two days later he still hadn't come to any conclusion. He had kept to himself these last days – the other brothers had wondered and asked if something was wrong with him, but he couldn't answer – and tried to understand what was happening to him, but everything felt so unfamiliar that he was clueless. A few times he wanted to ask someone else to help him, maybe make a confession, but he always dismissed the thought because this didn't feel like something he could share. As if it were precious.
Now he was in the church again, sweeping the floor in total silence. He didn't have the concentration to sing. His heart and head were too occupied with earthly things.
He had asked the other brothers to continue their prayers for the prince and the princess and he was pretty sure that they did. He at least certainly included them in every prayer. Despite the strange feelings that said prayer elicited in him, which caused him to examine himself (fruitlessly) again.
It was a test, Moulder concluded, a test of his belief and strength. Something was trying to focus his mind on earthly matters instead of holy.
So deep in thought, he cleaned the church without noticing much – neither the bird flying against the high window over the altar, nor the two young brothers who fled again as soon as they saw Moulder (they probably tried to hide from their kitchen duty). He just went through the motions like a machine. He was only startled out of his brooding when his gaze fell on Prince Hayden´s seat. He stopped abruptly and stared at it. For a worryingly long while. Everything ran through his head again – his shock at seeing the prince lying there, the sound of his laugh, his tears and sobs, his inscrutable expression during the mass, his knowing smile...
It made his heart spin.
The last thing he could remember was the stoniness. The emptiness of his grey eyes, which had hurt him. He didn't know it was hurt back then, because it had felt different than all the other times he had been hurt by someone, but now he knew. Moulder frowned. That was certainly not what he was supposed to feel. Compassion, sadness or sympathy were appropriate feelings. The prince was going through a very hard time. Now was not the moment for Moulder to harbour such selfish feelings.
He should apologize. To the prince and to Latona and the Divine. Moulder nodded to himself grimly and continued sweeping. He would rectify everything.
The broom slowly came to a stop again. He didn't know how to contact the prince, though. He couldn't just appear in the castle and ask for a private audience with him. Only the bishop could do that. Moulder half wished that the prince might appear in the church again, but that wasn't too probable. He had asked a few servants how the prince was faring during the last two days (a few times, actually), but no one knew anything. Even the brothers and servants with the biggest interest in gossip knew nothing. It was like the prince had completely disappeared for the last two days.
The grand double-door opened with a loud scraping on the floor – Moulder, who had aimlessly stared ahead, flinched and turned, fully expecting an angry brother who had noticed his slacking. His jaw almost fell open when he saw who entered.
With the sun in his back lighting up his grey hair, an uncharacteristic grin on his face and joy in his eyes, the prince stepped into the church. He slapped the air out of Moulder´s lungs. The boy could barely believe it and didn't dare to blink lest the prince disappeared again.
"Brother Moulder."
Moulder swallowed hard; the prince said his name with such warmth and thankfulness that it embarrassed and yet still filled him with such pride and confidence that he felt he might burst at the contrariness. The prince crossed the distance between them too quickly for Moulder to gain control over himself again. The grin had morphed into a small, yet glowing smile on the way and despite it growing smaller, it made everything worse for Moulder.
Hayden clasped Moulder´s shoulders and squeezed them. "She is getting better." Moulder blinked cluelessly for a second, needing some time to gather his wits. Then his mouth fell open and his eyes widened with incredulity.
"What?" he breathed.
"Yes, she is," Hayden repeated with a nod and the grin returned. "The healers had already given up hope and she as well. But yesterday her fever suddenly sank and the blue left her skin. We already thought that that was a sign of her end, but she said that the pain left. That she felt better." Hayden bit his lip, probably to keep himself from grinning even broader. Moulder didn't know why; he had an incredible desire to see it. "Do you understand what this means? She's getting well. She's no longer dying." Hayden squeezed his shoulders harder. Moulder tried to look away, to stop gazing in his shining grey eyes, but he couldn't. And he truly didn't want to.
"It is incredible, my lord." was the only thing Moulder could think of.
Hayden seemed to fight with himself – mostly with his grin since it seemed he wanted to say more but his grin made it impossible – and Moulder just spent the time looking at him and feeling another epiphany nearing.
"Moulder, I have to thank you," Hayden ultimately said. "Your assurance and support gave me enough strength to help my wife. It is thanks to you that my wife found strength in my belief in her and managed to conquer her illness. With the blessing of the Divine and Latona she lives. I owe you everything." Moulder dropped his gaze, his face probably as red as an Renaitian apple.
"M-my lord, you praise me too much."
"I do not." He accentuated it with a squeeze.
"Every brother would have done the same thing." His voice dropped towards the end.
"But Latona sent you, not someone else," Hayden argued gently. "And I will be forever thankful." When Moulder looked up and their gazes met, the epiphany came. Moulder should've known it; he had heard about these feelings from his peers. He just had never thought he would ever have them as well.
"If Your Highness is happy, I am as well. I serve because I want to make people happy."
"You have served me very well. You can be proud of yourself." Moulder was and lowered his head.
Hayden´s hands stayed for a few seconds on his shoulders and he felt sad when they left. "My wife waits for me. I've promised her to have lunch with her." Hayden´s voice was so beautifully soft – Moulder kept his gaze lowered; the look on his face was not for him. "Moulder... thank you."
Moulder only bowed. He heard him leaving, his footsteps growing quieter and quieter. Only after the door had fallen close, Moulder looked up again.
He sighed. And with the sigh, he finally accepted his epiphany.
He was in love.