McKay (scribbulus_ink) wrote in blessedmoon, @ 2006-08-04 20:00:00 |
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Original poster: scribbulus_ink
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
A hand pressed gently against Remus' shoulder, startling him into almost dropping the teacup he had been staring into. He glanced up to find Abbot Young looking down at him, his blue eyes full of concern.
"You have a heaviness on your soul, my son," he said, making it a statement, not a question. "I've noticed it for a week now. Would you like to talk about it?"
Somehow Remus wasn't surprised that the Abbot had noticed his mood, even though he thought he had been acting closer to normal in the last few days. Again Remus was struck by the Abbot's similarities to Albus, and he sighed, knowing that it was it was probably past time for him to seek counsel from someone far more wise than himself.
"Yes, please," he replied, placing his cup on the table next to his chair and rising to his feet. Around them, the brethren were engaged in quiet conversation, which despite its low tone was in some cases still quite lively in content. Remus hadn't initiated any discussions since the retreat, however, finding himself falling into his circular thoughts every time he was quiet.
"Walk with me, then - it's a beautiful day." The Abbot moved toward the doors which lead to the garden, and Remus followed, placing his hands up the sleeves of his robe to keep from fidgeting. Even though he knew he needed to have this conversation, that didn't lessen his nervousness about it.
The Abbot strolled along in silence for a time, and then he turned his head to look at Remus. "You've not been the same since the retreat, have you, Remus? You are suffering, your peace shattered. I regret seeing you so; however, I think in the long run, it was necessary."
"Necessary?" Remus asked, stopping suddenly and looking at his superior in confusion. "I mean... I'm sorry, Father, but I don't understand. Necessary that I lose what I held so precious?"
"Yes, unfortunately," Abbot Young replied. "Remus, God sends us tests, not because they are easy, but because they are difficult. Before... well, before this, you seemed almost too complacent in your path, so devoted that it didn't seem quite natural. We are all here because we have answered God's call, and yet we are men, with men's flaws and men's needs. You always seemed almost otherworldly, and I wasn't certain if it was because you were indeed so devout, or because you thought you should be so. I sensed great sorrow in you, but you buried it away, turning it into a zeal for our brotherhood which I have rarely seen."
"Is that a bad thing?" Remus asked. "I'm not the only one here who has suffered. I thought that turning my grief into a purpose to serve God was a good thing!"
"It can be," the Abbot acknowledged. He began to walk again, and Remus moved to stay with him.
"Did you doubt my sincerity, then?" Remus couldn't help the question. "You accepted me as a novitiate. Would you have done that without believing I would take my vows?"
"No, of course not." There was no censure in the Abbot's voice, but Remus still flinched, suddenly aware that he had questioned the Abbot's honesty. "I couldn't, not when after three years, you were still here, and you remained the same throughout that time. I assumed your lycanthropy was part of what I sensed about you, and that perhaps your deep peace was a result of coming to terms every part of yourself, the good and the bad, at last. And perhaps it was... but it's gone now, isn't it? And I believe this man from your past is the reason why."
Remus hesitated, and then he sighed and nodded. "Yes," he said softly, looking down to watch the toes of his sandals as they peeked from beneath the hem of his robe. "You're right, on all counts I suspect."
The only sound for several moments was the crunch of their steps on the gravel, before the Abbot spoke again. "What happened, then? I have my suspicions, but I would prefer to hear it from you."
"I... I have been tempted," Remus replied, feeling his cheeks flush. "Severus... well, we have a rather long history, most of it not pleasant. I nearly killed him once, when I was a wolf and a friend sent Severus to seek me out. I thought he would never forgive me for that, but he has. He said... He said that he had done his own soul searching since the end of the war, and he came here to... take me away from the abbey."
"I see," the Abbot said, and Remus turned to look at him sharply. There was no condemnation on the Abbot's face, however, only grave thoughtfulness. "I rather thought it was something like that. I sensed something about him. Call it an old man's instincts for sniffing out a rascal, but I had the feeling he was hiding something of his true purpose when he asked to join the retreat, then insisted upon you."
"You did?" Remus gasped. "Then why, when I..."
The Abbot held up a hand. "As I said before, Remus, you seemed to have become almost too secure here, to the point where I wondered if anything at all was capable of touching your heart. No, I'm not saying that I thought you didn't feel things, or that I doubted you had suffered a pain greater than I could possibly know. But I thought that perhaps you were burying your more human feelings, sublimating them into devotion. Love of God, after all, is good, and it is safe. God will not desert us or break our hearts. God cannot die and abandon us to grief and loneliness."
Drawing in a deep breath, the Abbot touched Remus on the arm, a gentle touch almost like a benediction. "If you had not reacted to this man in some way - other than protesting that you didn't want to see him at all - I might have thought that you weren't quite human any more. The fact that you are disturbed is a good thing, even if you probably don't see it that way. It means that you are still capable of feeling for your fellow man. And I do believe that he has feelings for you."
"But... the Church believes it is a sin," Remus said softly. He had dealt with his own feelings on the issue of homosexuality, but he didn't wish the Abbot to believe he hadn't considered that aspect as well. "Shouldn't you have sent him away, if you could tell what he wanted from me?"
The Abbot smiled, and then he shook his head with a weary sigh. "At one time, Remus, those who did magic were thought to be sinners. Those with lycanthropy were as well, and they were condemned to death with no more thought of their souls than if they had been animals. It was not right, but things change over time, thoughts and attitudes, even in the Church. God is perfect, but we, his children, are not. We can fathom his love and his message as much as we are able, but sometimes we get it wrong, and in the course of that discovery, we change. It is true that the Holy Father speaks from the seat of infallibility, and yet I know he believes in God's unconditional love as well. I do not judge Severus, nor do I judge you. Love is God's great gift to his children, and so long as the hearts involved are sincere in their emotion, I cannot bring myself to believe that God would condemn you for embracing the very gift he has given."
That made Remus feel better, at least for a moment, but unfortunately, it didn't solve his real problem. "But I don't know what I feel for him. I don't know what to do," he protested, all the misery of the last week pressing down on him at once. He did miss Severus, but he also missed the tranquility of the last three years. "Part of me wants to go to him, to take the things he is offering me - a life I never thought I would have. But part of me wants the path I have chosen, the devotion to God and the community of the brotherhood, to serve and give back the same joy I have received. I have prayed and prayed, but I can't find an answer!"
Nodding, the Abbot smiled serenely. "That's because God doesn't have the answer here, Remus. It lies within you. It's not about your faith in God, or your faith in this man. It's about your faith in yourself - and only you can find that."
Remus' mouth worked as he tried to get out the question which was tormenting him. "What if I make the wrong decision?" He forced the words out finally, his voice hoarse with fear. "Do you think God would be happy with me staying here without giving it all of my heart and soul? Severus has already said he won't settle for less than that."
"You are not the first man who has faced temptation, nor even the first potential monk to do so," Abbot Young replied gently. "We all face our own tests, according to what course our lives must take. There are many paths in the faith, Remus. I know that you will make the right decision; I have faith in you, but more importantly, God does too."
Smiling, the Abbot blessed Remus with the Sign of the Cross, and then he turned and started back down the path as Remus stood, stunned and unmoving. Watching him go, Remus found himself wishing with all his heart that he could have one percent of Abbot Young's certainty in himself.