The Chapel

The Chapel on the castles ground was small and fell into disarray, being in a part of the castle that mostly servants and guards visited. They had taken care of the place with what time and money they had, but still, it was in a sorry state: plants had overgrown parts of it, the garden was in dire need of work. The doors were hanging slightly in the doorway, screetching over the stone as you pushed them open.

The Chapel had been here when you had been young, and probably when your father and forefathers had been here and build the castle. It belonged to the old part of the castle, the place that eventually was integrated in the new castle build more or less next to it as the old one grew too small. History never had been your strong suit.

Inside, nothing reminds you of the religious service that you remember. No holy texts, nothing. You vaguely remember that the old priest who had been living here died when you were young. Eventually, others took up your religious indoctrination and eventually dropped it. It had been decided that there were more pressing skills to train a young king.

Like keeping it in his pants.

Like trusting nobody.

Like using his smarts.

Your legs are weak, and you fall to your knees in front of the altar. For the first time in your adult life, you pray to the Gods, wherever they may be, to hold their hands over those you loved and cared for. Over Vessa and Sarah, in particular. And, you asked for forgiveness for your own soul. The words flow freely from you, as your mind remembers them well.
Outside, it starts to pour, but you barely notice it.