I.

He didn't know what had overtaken him.

He moved forwards, sluggishly, yet his consciousness floated with a peculiar lightness, dislocated from the rest of his body, like his limbs did not belong to him at all. He breathed out, puffs of misty cloud.

Somewhere along the way he must've fallen to the ground. No, it was not the impact of the ground that was the telltale sign, nor was it the sharp contact of snow against his bare hands, for they were already chilled enough. He didn't know how long he stayed there, staring absent-mindedly, until his vision blurred and from the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red, red like a drop of blood in the snow.

From somewhere he could make out the sounds of a distant choir. The figure moved closer, until all he could see was those blood red robes, a just-ripe apple, and the golden hair framing that face like a halo.

II.

Shortly after he became a squire, he followed the knight he was training under to a small town further north. Times have changed, the knight told him. Changes in politics, reforms in military, aristocrats and nobilities… he talked about a union, about their neighbouring country, about faith, and Toris stood and nodded along, listening attentively, yet still only able to understand half of it. After the knight had left, he sighed, and turned back to feeding the horse.

"I don't know how long we'll be here," he murmured. "I think he said we have to travel a lot. You're the only familiar thing now… if I close my eyes and try hard enough, it's like I never even left." The knight's horse bumped him with its muzzle.

The knight was more pious than most. At least, compared to the others in his hometown. Upon their arrival, one of the first things he mentioned was the town's difference in practices as compared to where they were from. He mentioned that they would be staying here for a while, though not too long, and that with this opportunity Toris should get himself familiar with the customs of this side. He glanced at the wide-eyed boy in front of him, and added, "go buy some new clothes for yourself after you've attended mass tomorrow. Good to have a taste of what things here are like."

Toris, surprised, gladly replied yes.

He peered out the window from their residence, drinking in that sight of neatly stacked rows of houses, weathered red tilings and white walls, all surrounded by the dark green thickets.

III.

He grew up in that small rural village, along the river on the outskirts of the forest. They did the same organized structure of houses built on rows, in a circle, with the church standing right in the middle; nor the lines of markets and of vendors; nor any form of heavily built fortifications. Nor did they have the same amount of vibrant color, the adorned pieces hanging off the wrists and necks of the ones off better than others.

In youth, he had always been quiet and reserved, dutifully doing all that he was told to do. He never caused much trouble, or much hindrance at all, and instead took joy in studies and embraced the literature his friends often pushed away. He was born the same year as the long-rumoured 'union' had finally been set into place; he had only vaguely remembered his parents and others talking about the reforms, and as he grew older, the new structure had already solidified enough that everything was accepted as is. Early on in his childhood he recalled the arrival of a small group of strange men wearing long white robes on horseback.

A day later those men in white robes gathered them all on the outskirts of the town, beside a river, and in the ceremony, spoke a language he could not understand. One by one they approached the priest.

I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

It would be a few years after when he became the page of the knight. It was a rare opportunity, at least for people like him; he waved goodbye to his family as he mounted the horse and followed the knight out. At some point or another he would've finally failed to suppress his curiosity and ask the knight why he picked Toris, out of all people. The knight would have responded that the green-eyed child already had more etiquette and mettle than some of the nobility. Toris then hesitated, and decided that his answer brought him even more confusion – he didn't even know what the word meant.

When he was 8, he held the first weapon that was meant for his use, and meant for combat. He gripped the hilt of his wooden sword like he would with the neck of a bottle, and when he was told to loosen his hold he found himself treating it as if it were made of glass instead. He did not have the same talent in hand-to-hand combat at all, not compared to the others, he was not particularly graceful nor forceful, but he seemed to be rather unbothered, motivationally, by the harsh words and sometimes punishments enacted by the weapons master and older squires.

Sometimes when the knight came back late, he would still find the young boy practicing beside the barn. He came to realize, later, that the boy was so often criticized for his performance it was usual for him to be sent to the barns to polish off the armour and feed the horses. He never objected, no; he was far too quiet and polite, so unlike the confident and glamorous attitudes of children of the nobility.

During his time there he didn't forge any significant bonds with any of them, nor did they try to initiate anything more than classmates and acquaintances with him. It was very simple: they were nobility, he was from some small and insignificant town; they mingle with each other half because of their status, half because of their shared open personalities, and Toris did not have either. Initially he was uncomfortable with this turn of events, though it was something he quickly grew used to, as he was never one who could not bear the weight of solitude, nor was he one who desperately craved the contact of others; even when he was not required to do so, he frequently spent his pastimes in the barn, in the presence of the horses.

One time the knight visited him at the barn. They sat together, on one haystack. How do you feel, so far? The knight asked. He asked him about his training, and if there are any struggles or if he felt that he was treated unfairly it would not be improper for him to speak up. He then praised him for his good work in studies and etiquette.

"Thank you for looking out for me, sir," the boy would reply. "Though I suppose I am fine with the arrangement. I am aware that opportunities like this aren't really meant for me… so I am just grateful that I can be here."

"Now, Toris, what propels you to be here?"

The boy thought for a moment, clutching the hem of his tunic. "I'm not sure, sir…" In truth, none of them, the young children, did. It could be to bring honour to their family, or that it is a rite of passage. "What would yours be, sir?"

The knight smiled warmly at him. He said that he served the Grand Duke and the Crown, as would the pages once they grew up. He said he served the almighty Lord, with honour and devotion, for His causes and His word. You will have a reason, he had told him. You will learn it, as time passes, and do not fret if you cannot find it, by the time, it will be clear yet.

IV.

Next morning, the knight had already departed. It is just some administrative business, he waved off. Too dry and political for you, yet. Have a day off, explore the town at your will. Day dawned sooner here than where they came from; the white sunlight seeped over the horizon like waves hitting the riverbanks. As he walked he noticed the white birds flying and perching on this roof to the other, young children running across the streets, hair and ribbons flowing; the morning routines of the townspeople, the making of breakfast, the doing of laundry, the watering of flowers, and dressings for the commencement of mass.

The church was in the centre of the town. He dressed up in his best, or as proper as he could. The people of the town gathered in front of the brick church, draped in vibrant fabrics. Toris stood in the front lawn, somewhat awkwardly; everyone else seemed to be at ease, chatting idly amongst one another. The priest stood by the door, and huddled beside him was another man who would most likely also be a clergyman, and a golden-haired boy who seemed about his age.

The mass here was much more grand and proper, he noted, than the ones conducted near the knight's own residence. The church bell rang, and the choir began their hymn, their sublime voices echoing throughout the building; the priest walked in, accompanied by two boys holding candles, one with the same golden hair. Toris couldn't see his face. He seemed to walk with almost a regal stance, his movements made with grace and precision yet all at ease. The priest began his proceedings, and after the knight's teachings, he was finally able to understand what he was saying.

The Lord be with you.And with your spirit.

Toris showed up to every day's mass. The knight, although surprised, never questioned him. "It's good to have faith," he said to him. Toris nodded in response. In truth, he didn't know why he continued his attendance. He was not particularly devout, at least he didn't think so, as compared to the other townspeople, nor was he in dire need of confession. Yet without fail, each day he would go, until a few months later, the knight departed to the next destination.

V.

Toris woke up in the small infirmary, near the back of the church. His clothes were placed on a chair next to the bed, and he himself has been changed to new white robes. He laid still for a moment, blinking.

"Fancy seeing a knight here. There haven't been any new infantry units stationed near, I presume?" Lifting his head, he saw the approaching golden-haired figure. He had taken off his red overcoat, and his green eyes looked at Toris with slight amusement, like lily pads in clear water.

Toris didn't even know how he got to the town either, and right in front of the church, nonetheless. He opened his mouth to clarify, then found himself speechless as the blond continued staring at him, taking a seat beside his bed. "I'm… not sure."

The blond smiled. "That's alright. I guess I was just curious on how you managed to stumble in. Although our town is rather prosperous, it is quite secluded from the rest, with our thickly coated forests." He paused. "I am Feliks Łukasiewicz, priest."

So he had gone up the ranks… and quite fast, too. Though he hasn't returned in years. "I am Toris Laurinaitis, knight in the service of the Grand Duke and the Crown."

"So formal," the priest commented. "I haven't conversed with much of your kind. Should I call you Sir Laurinaitis, then?"

For the lack of a better response, Toris blurted out, "should I call you Father Łukasiewicz, then?"

The priest laughed, amusedly, and Toris felt his face heat up just slightly. "No, no, I would rather you not call me that. It is more traditional than my own preference. If we meet in a non-ceremonial setting, feel free to address me as Feliks. I do not feel prepared to be a 'father', yet." He smiled at Toris, and he decided that Feliks was the strangest priest he's ever encountered. Then, almost as if speaking to himself, "though, if I were to choose, people calling me 'Lord Łukasiewicz' would be nice…"

He didn't expect for the solemn-faced candle carrier to be such an extroverted person. Though, he had to admit, being around him was interesting, hearing him speak in such an unprecedented manner. He wondered if Feliks would've recognized him, or at least found his face familiar, as the one brown-haired child always sitting in the second last row on the left, who attended all the masses held for every day he stayed in that town. He quickly decided against it. Even he thought he had changed over the years, growing out of that skinny and timid body.