Youth’s Requiem - Armaud and Tristan
It had been a long time since he had bent the knee and entered a confessional. Tristan was not the most pious of men, but the life of a soldier seemed to have that kind of polarising affect on a human being - it either chipped away at faith or hardened it. He chose an early morning at the small chapel connected to the Red Guard garrison, willing to while away a few moments before he spent the afternoon with Herbert. As he entered the cramped interior of the confessional, he noticed that his own hands were shaking.
“Forgive me, Father,” he offered quietly, “for I have sinned. It has been…” He shook his head briefly, unable to recall the last time. Perhaps not since he and Alexandre had stolen away in once and used one to their own ends. He was hardly the model of piety, but the death of his father and the oncoming hint of war with Spain made him again thoughtful of if there was a world beyond. Not that it mattered, he was quite sure that all the good intentions in the world couldn’t amend for his mistakes and his choices in the eyes of whatever God there was.
“A long time, since my confession,” Tristan finished softly. “I come here, because I am afraid. I don’t expect forgiveness or resolution. I want only to know if someone is out there by which acts good and evil can be rewarded or punished. I don’t want to die, but I know the risk of what I am likely about to do. Perhaps I was only curious.”
He shifted, his voice soft. “I am a sinner in the eyes of the Church. That likely won’t come as a surprise. I have lain with those I was not wed to. have even committed the grievous error of attraction and pursuit of my own sex. I have skirted my responsibilities out of fear and immaturity. I have been lustful and prideful.”
“I don’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t ask for protection. I just ask for a way to know…whether or not I am truly alone.”
