The look of interest on his face remained as Dominique talked of his work at Versailles, still imagine the spectacular breads and beautiful cakes. One of the other monks he knew was a baker, but what breads they made often went to the poor. That was the way it should’ve been, after all. Still, his mouth watered at the thought, even after their meager dinner.
His eyes didn’t sink again until the final biting comment. Though at first he did think about lying, he decided against it. He was lying enough just by living the way they were now, and he had been raised to believe any lie was a sin. Though their circumstance was a special case, it seemed wrong to lie to the one person he was supposed to be able to trust. He didn’t say that he didn’t want to be there, but he still nodded. “It was all I ever knew,” he tried to explain. It was a simplified version of the truth, yes, but he had been an orphan raised by the church and had been very willing to stay there. It felt like that was where he belonged when outside the walls of the monastery people always looked at him like a bizarre foreigner even if France had always been his home. There was more to it though. A quiet sigh escaped his lips.
“When a monk gives his vows, he gives himself to his monastery. It’s a promise to stay there until death.” He quietly fiddled with his hands for a moment, looking over his own fingers before neatly folding them back on his lap. He would’ve dared to say he had too much time now and didn’t quite know what to do with himself. However, there were little means or abilities to actually do anything. Too much suspicion floating around for him even feel comfortable reciting prayers in their own home.
To an extent, Dominique’s uncertainty was shared. It was hard to figure out who to trust, he knew that especially as he remembered some of the things that Benjamin had told him. The church had complied with the demands of the revolutionaries and he still saw clergymen flee, slaughtered, or forced to give up their religion. His own monastery was still standing, but it was certainly not a monastery any more. “There’s really no use to miss it, though. It’s gone, and even if it weren’t it’s doubtful that I would be allowed to return.” There was a slight hitch as he took a deep breath, a silent lament of broken vows. Vows to not leave his home, vows to never marry, vows to own nothing, vows to not pride himself in wearing something as extravagant as the vest he had worn on their wedding day. The list went on. He was still struggling to bury his doubts and worries, still struggling with the uncertain limbo his soul might have been in.
“This is my home now.” He looked up, probably a bit more troubled than he meant to come off. “Our home.” Dominique had looked at him for usefulness, Caspar was looking at him for some reassurance that it was okay. But he seriously doubted he would really kind any comfort. He decided to think again of music to internally push his woes aside again. “The piano is certainly lighter than the organ when you think about it that way, I agree. Though what’s lightest for the spirit I think… is singing.”