Day 22: The Burden of the Meek

**** / Humiliation

The stranger lay in her cot when I entered the infirmary. Snugly bedded. Eyes shut. She didn’t move so much as a muscle.
I slid the door closed, “Good evening.”
No answer. I inched towards the side of her bed, then nudged her on her shoulder.
“Good evening!” I repeated, louder. Still no answer.
She was pale. Whether she was paler than last I checked in on her, however, I couldn’t tell. I peeled a corner of the sheet from her naked torso. The many welts over her firm curvy frame were white enough to contrast even against her already light hue. I pressed my ear against her naked chest, shifting her bountiful bosom away to give room.

“What exactly are you doing?”
I leapt away in surprise. Her eyes were open.
“What kind of priest are you?” She shouted, frantically covering herself up.
“...I thought you were dead!” I cried.
“And that’s makes you less creepy?”
I began fidgeting, “I… I was checking if you were alive!”
“Why would you do that? You said you thought I was dead!”

I wanted to rush out of the room so badly, never to set foot near her again. But I managed to regain my composure long enough to see that faint smile she just couldn’t contain, no matter how hard she tried.
I sighed, stepping towards her.
She burst out laughing, “I gotcha right there!”

I slumped back on the stool next to her cot.
“Deceiving a Priest Brother with such a dirty trick? There are those who have been sent to the gallows for less around these parts. You do know that?” I asked, resting my wax pad on my lap.
“Ohhhh, that makes perfect sense. You go ahead to squish your face against my boobs, and I’m the one who gets punished!” She remarked between laughs, “ But come on! You can tell me! Weren’t you just waiting for a chance to experience the touch of a woman? There wasn’t a hint of **** or hesitation when you acted!”
“That’s not it,” I declared with a pout, “It’s just, I’m used to dealing with dead bodies. It’s rather a specialty of mine. In fact, I’d rather prefer people that way.”
By the time I spoke the last syllable, I realized how I sounded. I opened my mouth to sputter out a clarification, but unable to grasp onto a good starting point.

“Heh. It’s fine. No worries.” She spoke, leaning against the back of the cot, “I’m the same way, being a mercenary and all. It’s so much easier dealing with people when they're your enemy. You always know where you got them. You’re trying to kill him. He’s trying to kill you. No whutz, no futz.”
“If it would help any, I could try to kill you now.”
“A match to the **** with a bag of bones like you? Pfft, no thanks!” She laughed uproariously, “Where’s the challenge in that?”
I laughed back, “Yeah? You really want to talk a tough game with someone with your records in hand?" I waved the wax pad, "Just a single cut, and you're sent you spiraling towards an untimely ****.”
I pointed at the angry red rash on her neck and collar bone, which was all that remained of the sweltering wound that had soured the room with its rancid stench.
She clasped her hand around it, “That’s nothing. Got that bandit eleven times over for that.”

I sighed, “Yeah, yeah... Now, if only you had brains to match those brawns. Then maybe you'd have given it another thought before lumbering around the damp forest alone during rainfall. I mean, you were burning up when they found your **** body. Could hardly breathe. No one thought you’d live through the night.”
“Well, I did.” She shrugged, “And I’m feeling better than ever now.”
She patted her flexing bicep for emphasis.
“That’s right.” I told her with a smirk, “And guess three times who you’ve got to thank for that? That’s right. Yours truly. Accept no substitute.”
“Heh. Sure. Everyone wanna be the hero of their own story. Make themselves out as some kinda big shot.”
“I was a big shot.” I insisted, pointing at myself with my awl, “My hieromancy was renowned throughout all of Urlak. I was even nominated as bishop of Wallua for that.”
“A bishop at your age?” She whistled, “And still you joined up with the Meruvean Knights. How come?”
I scratched the back of my neck, “That’s… A long story.”
“You didn’t join by choice, did you?”
“...Let’s not talk about it.”
“Was it a family thing? Or did you commit a crime?” She continued with unwavering persistence.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” I snapped.
“Sorry…” She muttered, looking down at her knees.
For the first time it looked like the air was sucked right out of her.
“Geez…" I shot her a scowl, "Asking such personal questions… I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Bianca.” She answered, “Bianca Corven. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. So, your turn now.”
I wrote it down on my pad, “Hm. I’m Rasmus Heindler. ”
“Can I call you Rasmus?”
“I’d rather you call me Father Heindler.”
“Can I call you Daddy?”
“...Rasmus is fine.”

“So you’re the one the recruits are giving a hard time, huh?” She asked.
“...Who told you that?”
“No one did.” She told me, “I overheard a pair of Half Sisters talking about you when they were changing my sheets.”
Figures.

“Yeah… Not sure what they expected. Haven’t touched a weapon since the day I was born. But… By the time I joined up, the Knights were in **** need of people who could read and write and count, and my background in the church must’ve looked like a goldmine. So they assigned me to the convent in Pryden before I had even finished my oaths. Not that bad a job, really. Quite cushy for a position in the Meruvean Knights. Except part of my duties every now and again is to equip and train new recruits. Or as I like to call it, the ‘stand-awkwardly-around-while-the-novices-point-and-laugh’ time. Ugh…”
I buried my face in my hands.
“I don’t really think you’re terrible.” She said.
“That’s cause you haven’t seen me.”
“Yeah…But you were nominated as a bishop, so there must be a leader hiding in there somewhere.” She pointed out, “I think that really, you’re sabotaging for yourself.”
“So you think I wanna be in this situation? How about you run that by yourself one more time?”
“Look, I know what the cloth is like in battle. Every time things get ugly and red, you’ve something to say and aren’t shy about it. You don’t want blood on your hands. And I think you don’t want the boys and girls to get blood on their hands either. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I looked down at my hands.
“This is something I’d much rather be terrible at.” I admitted.
“Ah, thought so. Rasmus… you think this is a game?” She asked, clenching her hands on the sheets, “One pretty day, sooner or later, the boys and girls will go off to fight. They’ll see a real battle, and face real enemies. On that day, someone will die. And your recruits are gonna rely on what you taught them to see that it’s not them.”
“I know that!” I barked, “But why do I have to decide who lives and who dies anyhow? I didn’t ask for that! If it was up to me, no one would die.”
She sighed, reaching out to hold my hand, “Rasmus… I know. But there are people out there who wants nothing more than to decide who lives and who dies. And it’s up to you and your recruits to make sure that doesn’t happen. And they’re willing to put their lives on the line for that cause.”
I sighed. Everything she said was true. Every word of it. And I knew it.

“Even so, believe it or not, they still won’t listen to me.” I admitted.
“Yeah, I believe it. And I don’t blame them either. Some of the greatest heroes in the history of Orderdom are part of this very order. Living legends like Liebraun, or Andreotti. Ramos, for crying out loud. Many of those kids probably joined just for the chance to one day meet them face to face. And what do they get instead? Some clueless, long-haired scraggler in cassock who looks like he’d be right at home soaking hemp outside the walls. Sure, get rid of that beard and some of the ladies would probably find you quite the looker. But you’re about as far away from the symbol of martial perfection they sought out as they come.”
I stroked my stubble, “But the reason I stopped shaving was because I thought the recruits might start to respect me if I grew out a beard.”
“Yeah, well, the beard doesn’t seem to be on board with that plan.” She said with a snicker, “How come you didn’t ask your komtur for some pointers on how to sway them over?”
“I did.” I told her, “He asked me to pick out two or three of them, to have executed. I immediately backtracked with all the conviction of my being. Told me I’d get it sorted out.”
“Ouch. He's not wrong though. If killing just three of them is gonna save the lives of a dozen some time in the future, then that’s a pretty fair trade in my books.”
“I’m not going that far. No way no how. Even if I end up the laughing stock of the recruits for the rest of my life.”
She sighed and looked up at me, “Fine. I’ll do it.”
I cocked a brow, “...Do what exactly?”
“I’ll help you come up with a way to whip those younglings into shape, without anyone having to kick the bucket.”
I blinked, then smiled, “R-really?”
“Yes. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“In the name of the Chief God,” She cried, “You gotta get rid of that beard!”