Requiem

“Friends — brothers — good Sims all, pray, turn your minds and hearts to today’s task. I come here to bury Lord Lot of Orkney, not to praise him.”

Tuck paused, gauging the effect on his audience. In Glasonland, the sermons of funerals of important personages usually began with a fulsome list of the deceased’s virtues (real or imagined), continued to discuss their many good deeds (again, real or imagined), and ended with assurances that surely such a virtuous and noble person must be at that moment supping with the Lord Wright in Paradise. That was how you assured that the heirs didn’t conveniently “forget” about any legacies or benefices that might have been willed to your Order. That was how you maintained your Order’s status as a sensible one, a worldly (in a good way) one, a fashionable one. That was how you kept the nobility happy.

If Father Hugh had been here, he would have stuck to the script. It was the only script Father Hugh knew. But though there might never be another monk in Albion who would ever meet or surpass Father Hugh’s talent consoling the mourning and caring for his sheep, Father Hugh was not the sort of man who would grab an opportunity like this when it presented itself. And this was an opportunity. There was no other Order of monks in Albion to supplant the Order of St. Pascal. There was no reason to be safe and sensible and fashionable. Tuck could say whatever he liked.

He intended to do just that.

“Who was Lot of Orkney?” Tuck asked. He glanced around the silent church. Only long practice kept the smirk, the rush of having every eye in the place focused on him and only on him, from showing on his face. “Many of you — all of you — knew him in some capacity or other. As a colleague, a kinsman, a soldier, perhaps a political or economic rival. But how many of you truly knew the man he was?”

Tuck gestured to his left. “His family, perhaps … certainly, they are the most likely to have known what Lord Lot of Orkney was like. Note I say most likely — for in truth, does it not often happen that we hide our true selves not from strangers, but from our nearest and dearest?”

He waited, watched the reaction. The du Lac husband and wife, he noticed, were staring at each other. He was too far away to read the more subtle expressions, but Lady Guinevere’s shrug was obvious enough. Sir Bors, sitting in the same pew, refused to meet his eye. Lord Pellinore and Lady Eilwen looked at each other, and Tuck could just make out Lord Pellinore patting his wife’s hand.

Sir Mordred, however, was within range for Tuck to see his expression. And that expression could be best termed as murderous.

Tuck lifted his chin and addressed the congregation again. “But even if Lord Lot was the most open of Sims in the world — even if he had no pretenses, was always himself in every crowd and in every company — even if he was always open and honest with everyone — no one in this room could possibly know him in the most complete way.” He thought he saw Lady Morgause smirking. “The way the Lord Wright knew him, and knows him now, and is using that knowledge to judge him.”

He was pretty sure that killed Lady Morgause’s smirk in its tracks.

“Of course, to say that the Lord Wright is judging him now is to be guilty of a bit of a misrepresentation. The Judgment takes place in eternity, outside of time. In a way, Lord Lot was always already judged, even when he was being formed in his mother’s womb, even when he was committing his most heinous sins and even when he was doing his most virtuous and noble deeds. For it is the Lord Wright who knows — truly knows, in ways no mere Sim could ever hope to know — the Lord Lot whose passing we mourn and celebrate today.”

That did it for Lord Lot’s daughter. Lady Garnet finally let a sob burst out.

Tuck hesitated — keep talking or let her calm down first? He would let her calm. And indeed, her betrothed (or close enough), Sir Lamorak, was already putting his arm around her and turning her head so that she could cry quietly against him, while Lady Dindrane scooted closer and started to rub Lady Garnet’s back. How odd, that it should be her in-laws who are comforting her, and not her own family. Tuck thought too soon, though; the King was turning around and offering a handkerchief to Sir Lamorak, who was in turn offering it to Lady Garnet.

Or perhaps he did not come to that conclusion too soon. Lady Morgause sat perfectly still, her head cocked a little to one side, as if listening to a strange sound. Then she straightened her skirt, turned her chin up, and faced forward as if Lady Garnet’s sobs were of no more account than the buzzing of a fly high in the vaulted ceiling.

Tuck cleared his throat. “Aye, I said mourn and celebrate — for in truth, we must do both. We must, of course, mourn Lord Lot’s passing. I say I came here not to praise him, and I stand by my word. But all the same, there is scarcely a Sim on this earth so wretched that his passing is not mourned — I think we can look to his family, here now, to see how he is mourned. His friends, too, must mourn him. But we do not mourn Lord Lot for his own sake, or so we hope and pray. We mourn him for our sake.

“We mourn him because his company is taken away from us. We mourn him for all of his good qualities. And we mourn him because we also mourn for ourselves, because we know that the Grim Reaper always waits for us, his scythe sharper than even the King’s very sword, to cut us down in the moment of our sin if he can catch us there. I know this, because I, too, have felt this fear.” Tuck bowed his head and sighed.

He looked up. “But brothers and sisters, one of the reasons why we mourn Lord Lot is also why we must celebrate his passing. We can celebrate because Lord Lot was not cut down in the midst of his sin. He died at the end of a long illness.” A euphemism if there ever was one — and one, it seemed by Sir Mordred’s renewed glare, that was not sitting well with the family — but it couldn’t be helped. “Lord Lot had plenty of time to think on his life, his past deeds, and repent his sins. He had plenty of time to make his peace with the Lord Wright. Would we all could be so lucky!”

That woke them up. The Crown Prince sat up straight; the du Lacs stared at him in slack-jawed astonishment; Lady Dindrane was glaring daggers at him. Even Sir Bors was not nodding and grunting, as he usually did during Tuck’s sermons, but staring at him with his head tilted to one side. Good. He had them where he wanted them.

“And I say lucky, because I administered Lord Lot’s last rites,” Tuck continued, “and I could see in his eyes, though he could not speak, that Lord Lot was as at peace with his Lord, and as ready to meet his Maker, as any Sim to yet walk this earth. In times like these, we must all remember that it is not the journey that matters, but the destination. This journey is as small a time in the life of the soul as a short trip to the market is in the life of the body. While, yes, what happens along the journey is important — it determines the destination — the important thing is to reach our destination, Paradise, safe and sound. If Lord Lot is today in Heaven, and I believe he is, then this is as fit a day for celebration as any in Albion’s history.”

The King was watching at him with a raised eyebrow, as if to ask, Oh, really? And who made you the judge of that?

“For is it not a measure of true friendship to be glad for our friends and what they achieve, even when it inconveniences ourselves? The most casual acquaintance can be glad for the good fortune of another if it brings him no trouble or inconvenience. But it takes a true friend to find it in himself to be happy for a friend’s good fortune when that selfsame fortune is breaking his heart.”

Lady Morgause sighed as if to prove the truth of his words. Sir Mordred stared ahead without so much as a blink.

“You might be asking yourselves, though, ‘Why is Brother Tuck saying all of this? It is, of course, a good thing if Lord Lot is in Heaven, but why spend the whole sermon scolding us for our natural grief? And why is it that you barely mention Lord Lot, whose funeral this is?’ Brothers and sisters, I understand your confusion. I labored long and  hard over this sermon. When I decided to write it the way I did, I did so for two main reasons.”

Tuck paused and took a deep breath. “The first and most important reason is that funerals, at the end of the day, are not for the dead. Brothers and sisters, Lord Lot is not here. If he is watching these proceedings from Paradise, it is only logical to assume that his bliss is such that anything that happens here will be of only cursory interest to him. If he has made a — hopefully brief — stop in Purgatory along the way, then the mere fact that we are here at all and praying for his soul will be to his benefit.” After all he had spoken about his conviction that Lord Lot was not destined for hell, Tuck would not spoil the effect by bringing up that alternative now. “So if funerals are not for the dead, then who are they for? The living.

“Brothers and sisters, as the good Book of Wright says, ‘in the midst of life, we are in death.’ As I said before, this journey of life is short; it is transitory. But all the same, given the vital importance of our destination, from time to time we must pause in our journey. We must take stock. We must as ourselves, ‘If the Grim Reaper were to come for me next month, next week, tomorrow, today, would I be ready? Am I prepared to go to my judgment, my final destination?’ There is no better time to do that than when one of our dear friends has been called to his judgment. It must serve as a reminder to all of us. We must be ready. The summons can come at any moment. We may be lucky enough to get the warning Lord Lot got — we may not. We must live our lives, each day, as if we might not live to see the night.” And before anybody — like the Crown Prince, to judge by his smirk — could get any inappropriate ideas, Tuck added, “We must live in charity and humility, always in awareness of our sin and frailty and in constant penitence.”

He waited for that to sink in, and to judge by the sighs and shifting in seats, it soon did. “There is another reason why I refused to sing the praises of Lord Lot in this sermon. There is in our celebration today someone who is far better able to do so, and to give our dearly departed friend his due. I refer, of course, to Lord Lot’s eldest son, Sir Mordred.” Tuck took a step back and gestured to the lectern. “Sir Mordred?”

Sir Mordred did not move for a moment, though he ought to have known that he would be called upon to speak — this was, after all, the tradition in Glasonland. But soon enough, before Tuck had fully withdrawn to his seat on the other side of the altar, Sir Mordred rose and began to walk to the steps.

Though he had to pass the coffin, he did not look at it once.

Sir Mordred’s boots clumped and clattered as he made his slow way up those stairs. They scuffed the fine tiles and bumped against the stone lectern. Then they stopped.

Sir Mordred looked out at the crowd. “My friends and kinsmen,” he began.

“Brother Tuck said that throughout his sermon, he would not praise my father. I think we can all agree that was, in fact, the case. In fact, he barely mentioned my father at all. I will not insult the good monk, who is doubtless doing his best to lead his whole flock. But I must admit — to my discredit, in all probability — that it flitted across my mind once or twice that it mattered not that it was my father who had died. Any one of us might have served just as well as the subject of Brother Tuck’s sermon. An impious thought, to be sure, but I suppose in some cases, one kind of piety — the respect of a son for his father — must supersede the another.”

Impious, indeed, Tuck thought, doing his best to look shocked and surprised — and not at all like he had been working on a version of this sermon for months, in case he should ever have need of it, and that all he had to do when Lord Lot passed was fill in a few blanks.

A lesser man might have looked at Brother Tuck to see if he reacted to this accusation. Sir Mordred continued to stare down the rest of the congregation. “Someone else, a stranger to our shores, might even think that Brother Tuck did not know my father and that he was instead merely using his death to advance some sort of faith-building agenda. But of course, we all know that none of this could possibly be true.”

Tuck thought it would be to his advantage then to appear deep in prayer — it would give him an excuse to meet no one’s eyes.

“The truth, I think, is that Brother Tuck simply stepped up to this lectern to do one thing, and I step up to it to do another. Brother Tuck’s duty, once he has said his prayers and recited the burial rites, is no longer concerned with my father. He doubtless knows that I have already sent orders to the Order of the Holy Picasos back in Glasonland to have services said for my father. Brother Tuck’s duty is toward the living, to constantly remind us of our own duties and to keep our faith. My duty is simpler. It is to my father.

“I thought long and hard as to how to best eulogize my father. It is not enough to say that he was good general, though he was. It is not enough to say that he was a good and fair lord, though he was. It is not enough to say that he was a shrewd counselor to King Arthur, though he was. Those were all merely his roles in society. None of them manage to capture who he truly was.”

Tuck’s prayers stopped. What is he saying?

“My father was a patient man. I think, the more I ponder it, that that was his chief virtue. I thought it mainly came out when he was performing his roles as general and as lord. My father could listen to a peasant talk for hours, if that was how long it took for him to get the information he needed. If his men did not master their maneuvers the first time, then my father would be out until nightfall drilling them. He would continue the argument in Council until he carried the day, or until the best possible decision was reached.

“But there was more to his patience than that. I cannot remember how many times he would go over a trick with sword or shield or lance with me. He would keep practicing it with me until I got it right. If there was some concept or idea in my studies that I did not understand, he would help me through it until I got it. And more than that, my father was always the rock of our family. No matter what storms might be crashing over his head, he always stood in the fray, staunch and upright until the problems could be solved.”

Lady Morgause turned for the first time and looked at her daughter, one eyebrow raised. Lady Garnet looked away.

“I will admit, when I was younger, I thought my father too patient — stubborn, even! In fact, I thought he was torturing me, making me practice and practice and practice those painful tricks with the sword and dull mathematical and logical problems. Indeed, even in more recent years, once the reason for my studies was readily apparent to me, I thought my father was too patient. Would it not be better, I thought, for him to put his foot down and demand that the incessant, senseless arguments stop?”

Now Lady Morgause turned to the front again, her eyebrow raised at Mordred.

“I thought all these things. I will admit it. Then, something happened to change my mind.” Sir Mordred took a deep breath. “I became a father myself.”

Sir Mordred pursed his lips together. “I … I do not think I am capable of explaining what it was that changed my mind as to the utility of my father’s patience. Those of you who have experienced it will understand when I name what happened, those of you who have not … will not understand it until and unless you do. I refer, of course, to the moment when my firstborn son was placed in my arms.”

Why did Lady Dindrane’s head snap up, and why did her eyes glare not daggers, but broadswords?

“I knew, at that moment, that as long as I could protect this boy from the worst of the slings and arrows of the world that awaited him — as long as I could bring him up to endure the worst Fortune had to throw at him — nothing else could possibly matter. This was my purpose, my only reason for being. If I could not do that, I was worse than useless. And in that same moment, I saw all the pointed barbs and poisoned arrows Fortune could throw at my boy. I was never more afraid. You need patience to get you past a feeling like that. Patience with the world, patience with your son for not understanding all that you seek to tell him, and most importantly, patience with yourself.”

There was a stirring in the pews. Those fathers who had their sons with them — which was to say, every male congregant over the age of twenty-five, barring Sir Lancelot — were squirming in their seats, catching their sons’ eyes, and smiling or winking or nodding according to their temperament. Sir Lancelot was left to smile only to himself.

“And then, of course, there is the matter of what a man feels when his newborn daughter is first given to him. Suddenly, all those problems that you tried so hard to ignore beforehand — famine, war, brutality — suddenly those all matter, because you understand what those problems can do to women. And someday your daughter will be a woman. There is only thing that stands between your beautiful baby girl and those ills, and that is you. You realize once again just how inadequate you are. It takes, again, patience to get yourself past that. You need to forgive your own flaws enough to understand that though you may be inadequate, you are all you — and your children — have, so you have to try.

“My father taught me that patience. I don’t think he ever meant to. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that this was the most important thing he had to teach me, because he never said much of a word about it. He just went about his business in his normal way, and led by example. It is, I think, the most effective teaching method known to man. I hope I might someday gain the strength to teach this patience, this fortitude, to my own sons and to my younger brother Agravaine.”

Why did that make Lady Dindrane shake and seemingly only calm herself with deep-drawn breaths?

Without another word, though, Sir Mordred walked past the lectern. Now his boots did not clump and hesitate — the echo of their hard soles rang through the cathedral as he made his way down the steps.

He stopped before the coffin, his back to the congregation. “So farewell, Father. Farewell, and thank you. Thank you for your protection, your hard work, and your guidance. But thank you most of all for your patience. There are not many men who could do what you did. There are not many men who could ride out the storms you rode out with such nonchalance. If there is any one thing we remember you for, let it be that.”

Sir Mordred took a deep breath. His voice was soft when he spoke again — could anyone other than Tuck even hear him? “And if there could only be but one thing, Father, that I were allowed to miss you for, it would be that.”

One thing, though, was certain. Even if everyone else in the building could hear Sir Mordred’s words … there was only one Sim who could see his face, and that was Tuck.

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16 thoughts on “Requiem

  1. …I kind of want to knee Tuck in the balls. Repeatedly. Seriously, if even Bors gets that there’s something off about the sermon, there’s a problem. 👿

    But I kind of want to give Mordred a hug. His face at the end was just heartbreaking, even if I did kind of have to raise my eyebrow when he started talking about his kids with Rosette right in front of Dindrane before he mentioned hers (even if most of the people there probably didn’t catch that).

    And Garnet! Poor girl. At least she has Dindrane and Lamorak, and I hope she and Mordred can find some common ground at some point.

    • … Is it a problem because Bors tends to always agree with whatever Churchmen (emphasis on men) say, or is it a problem because Bors has the approximate intelligence of a box of rocks?

      I don’t think anybody there really guessed that. Most of the nobles know that Mordred has a mistress (it’s something of an open secret), but who she is and how many kids she’s got is not something that most people would remember right off the top of their heads. Lancelot probably has it on his rental/tax records somewhere, but it’s not like he’d remember. Also, Bors might have been gnashing his teeth thinking of the two peasants he could have gotten out of Rosette had he known, but she’s pretty much dropped off his radar by now. So most people would assume that Mordred was talking about his kids with Dindrane. Which makes it a good thing that the only people who were close enough to Dindrane (other than Brother Tuck) to see her face were Garnet and Lamorak … and they were a bit distracted.

      Garnet and Mordred might get some common ground at some point — you never know! — but I don’t know if it will happen anytime soon. If only because Garnet isn’t in the house and they’re not really forced to interact. It ought to be interesting to watch their relationship develop after this … and some other things that I’ve got planned.

  2. Tuck is a bastard for preparing this sermon aforehead and trotting it out at the first possible time. How insensitive can you be just to make your point, seriously?
    I was bristling when Tuck was debating whether or not to let Garnet calm down before he went on. After he upset her with his insensitivity!

    And of course it’s a fantastic idea to upset and alienate the nobels and the royal family just because there’s no one there to stop you! *heavy irony*
    There may not be another order of monks in Albion right now. But that does not mean that there will never be an order to supplant yours, my dear Tuck, now or in future. You might just get your ass kicked! And I’ll be cheering for the one who does the kicking (since I can’t do it myself)!

    • The Order of St. Galahad? I LIKE IT! 😉

      And yes, Ann, Tuck is a bastard in both sense of the term. Although in his defense re: Garnet, Garnet was a ticking time bomb going into this. If he would have done the typical Glasonlander sermon, Garnet would have still started bawling at some point. There was no way she was going to hold it together through the funeral, unless the funeral was 30 seconds long. Tuck was with the family when Lot passed and he knew this.

      Whether that gives him the right to say something that could arguably upset her more … well, I’ll let you all be the judge of that. 😉

      I do agree, though, Ann, that Tuck isn’t thinking far enough into the future with this. Hell, he isn’t even thinking into the present. The Brothers of St. Pascal might be the only monks in the neighborhood, but they’re not the only clergy. 😉

      But yeah, he is riding for a comeuppance, isn’t he? I just wonder who’s going to be the one to give it to him … there are so many folks to choose from! 😉

  3. *bristles* Ooh, that damn Tuck! There’s not a decent bone in his whole damn body, and certainly not a saintly one! AUGH! I want to kick him! GAH!

    But Mordred definitely made up for it with his eulogy. I’ll never be a father *laugh* but I do understand that moment when you realize that your parents really did know what was best for you and that they might actually have some idea of what the hell they were doing when you were younger. It’s a startling moment to realize that they’re human, but even with that inherent flaw, they did the best for you that they could. It’s humbling to know that they stood where you are now and that they struggled with the same thoughts and feelings; it’s even more terrifying to know that they can’t help you through that, that you have to grow to the conclusion you’ll reach on your own. In fact, I think that might be equally terrifying for both parent and child. I mean, what if you make the wrong choice? IS there a wrong choice, and if there is, how will you know what it is until after you’ve made it?

    …ok, yeah, shutting up now. Mordred’s awesome, even if his words hurt Dindraine deeply. I hope Tuck gets thrown out of the church because he’s a complete and utter ass, one with politics and power at his heart rather than piety and priestliness. (Ooh, alliteration! Score!)

    • Had another thought- does Tuck not know who Rosette’s protector is? I assumed that he hadn’t come down on her too hard about her children because he knew the children were Mordred’s and he’d be playing with fire if he started sermonizing about her almost-whoredom.

      • Tuck might know that Rosette is Mordred’s mistress, but it’s Dindrane who knows that if Mordred is talking about becoming a father and mentioning his first-born son before his first-born daughter, he’s not doing it dramatically but chronologically– he means Melehan (or Melou? I do not remember), not Gawain. She knows it, Mordred knows it, but everybody else is going to assume he’s talking about his first-born legitimate son, and only putting him first because he was a son talking about his father from the point of view of a son and it made more sense to relate that to the responsibility he felt as a father toward his son (or figures he mentioned his son-and-heir first because that’s the more important offspring– isn’t that right, Sir Bors?).

        So while Tuck was thinking “Why is Dindrane so pissed off? Mordred’s only talking about young Lord Gawain,” Dindrane was sitting there thinking “You son of a bitch.”

    • Should I be offering Tuck up for download for people to torture as they please in their own neighborhoods? 😉 Maybe for testing for the various execution methods being thought up at Plumbbob Keep?

      So Mordred scored some points here. Interesting, though I kind of figured he might. 🙂 But Lot is someone who Mordred cared about a lot — if anybody was going to deliver a fitting eulogy for Lot, it would be Mordred. He has the requisite affection, way with words, and ability to keep it together for the duration.

      Unfortunately, Naomi, just being an ass (an alliterative ass even) is not enough to get you thrown out of the Church. Hell, even Tuck’s hypocrisy with Tambu and Tara isn’t going to get him thrown out of the Church (though it would mean the end of any power of persuasion he might have, unless he played his cards very, very well). Playing politics and power is what a lot of the Church does. Not the Order of St. Pascal for the most part (they’re too busy trying to discover all the mysteries of the universe), but that’s what the rest of the Church does.

      Hat, you pretty much hit the nail right on the head with what Mordred was doing and what Dindrane was thinking. As for who was born first, um, I think it was Melou, technically. Can’t really remember at this point. 😆 I know Melehan shows up first on the Sim bar, but I assume that’s because Melehan comes before Melou alphabetically.

      Since they’re not heirs to anything, though, it doesn’t really matter. Mordred plans to provide for them both equally, and Rosette wouldn’t dream of treating them differently. Of course, Melou, once he gets a little older, might decide to play the “big brother” card whenever Melehan pisses him off … but that’s just the way kids are. Ya know? 😉

      Thanks everybody!

  4. OMS. What a complete and utter madman. (I would use harsher language than that, but I’m babysitting at the mo 😉 ). To have a blank sermon just waiting until one of the nobles/royalty died… Disgusting. Absolubtely disgusting. Although it was interesting to have the crowd surveyed through Brother Tuck’s eyes… no wonder he was confused at Dindrane’s reaction! (Hope Mordred is ready for an argument when they get home). And yeah, what Mordred did was a bit rude, if only in her eyes, but I’m guessing he just decided not to think about/care about Dindrane’s reaction? Because other than her, the other nobles wouldn’t know/care how many illegitamete children he has.

    I truly think Mordred does mourn his father though. It was a really touching speech! And I’m glad he’s also shrewd enough to guess Tuck’s real motives. Though I doubt Mordred would do anything unless it threatened, for example, Rosette and their kids. And Garnet! Poor Garnet. I hope her mother doesn’t ruin everything for her and Lamerak. I also feel sorry for little Agravaine. I mean, even though Lot isn’t his real father… he’ll still miss out on that. And I doubt Morgause is going to be an amazing mother either, if he doesn’t have magic or, god forbid, a full on decent person with proper morals and everything (not bashing Mordred there. He is pretty cool. However, he is also quite badass, and not someone to cross. Then there’s the whole ‘evil warlock’ thing :D).

    Sorry it’s a little late, I’ve just got a second job and have become so busy it’s got to ridiculous levels. But I thought it was a good send off for poor Lot!

    Emma x

    • Don’t worry about comments being “late,” Emma! The blog’s here for whenever you feel like/have time for reading. 🙂 And good luck with your new job!

      Yeah, I didn’t think Brother Tuck was going to be coming out of this with too many fans … he’s still trying to capitalize on an opportunity here, and so far, he’s … bungling it. Badly. I think he needs Father Hugh to rein him in even more than he realizes he does.

      Although to be honest, about Dindrane … I’m not sure I see her laying into Mordred as soon as he got home. Don’t get me wrong, she’s furious. But I don’t see direct confrontation being quite her style. I see her as more filing this away under a (long) list of grievances, to be brought up either when she thinks it would be expedient, or when she just can’t take it anymore.

      If and how Mordred is mourning his father will be the subject of the next story post, so I’m keeping my mouth shut on that. 😉 I’m really glad you liked the speech, though! I think it did eulogize Lot rather well, especially coming from Mordred.

      *sigh* Poor little Agravaine … he’s one lost little puppy. Oh, well, at least he has Dindrane, even if she doesn’t know she’s biologically related to him.

      Interesting, someone not bashing Mordred! *notes down for future reference*

      Thanks, Emma!

  5. Well, I guess this is typical Tuck behaviour. I really wouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

    But I do feel sorry for Garnet and Mordred, who clearly miss their father and for little Agravaine, who will never know Lot at all…

    • Even though Lot isn’t Agravaine’s biological father … yeah, I feel for him, too. As far as anybody knows, Lot is Agravaine’s father … and those who know otherwise, aren’t telling. So Agravaine’s been pretty well deprived of a paternal presence in his life.

      And of course Mordred and Garnet are just devastated. 😦

      As for Tuck … yeah, you’re right, this is typical for him. He does turn everything to his advantage. I really need to show him not being the scum of the earth. He’s honestly not … er … as bad as he could be!

  6. Mordred said it better than I ever could. He had exactly the right way to put it at the begining of his speech.

    I am left feeling sorry for Tuck. He wants people to be godly every day in every way. He has dedicated his life to this. And he completely goes the wrong way about it. In fact he is steering people away from it. He should not be in a position of leadership. He has too much to learn. Perhaps he will never be ready for leadership. He has too many of the bad part of religion elements. He needs to gain a lot of perspective. Even though he is ruining lives and causing damage, I feel bad for him because he wants to do good….and doesn’t even realize when he fails this in the most miserable way. I have great doubts that he will realize he is very cruel.

    I think about the best thing that could possibly happen with Tuck is one of those silence things. Not the self imposed vow of silence, since he would never go for that. The kind imposed on him by the Father. I’ve seen Mother Superiors doing this to the other nuns so it stands to reason that it happens among monks too. During this time of silence he could not inflict damage through words. He may learn to listen more, and hopefully learn many lessons.

    Of course this is a story and a silent Brother Tuck might not fit well into story plans. But man, it would just be nice.

    And of course I pity more the citizens of Albion. They suffer through Tuck. Unfortunately it isn’t just boredom. It is really too bad that Galahad is joining a different brotherhood. It would be mighty fine to hear Galahad frequently telling Tuck like it is, as he did in a much previous chapter to this one. That was such a fine chapter. It was nice to see Tuck squirm for once.

    • A vow of silence for Brother Tuck … now that is an interesting idea. I might have to keep that in mind for later developments, if I decide I need Brother Tuck to learn something (or just keep quiet in the background while other stuff goes on). Thanks for the idea, Chicklet!

      However, I’m not sure whether he sees “getting people to be godly” as an end in itself … or merely a means to an end. That end would, of course, be more power for Tuck. So we shall see, if and when push comes to shove, just which way Tuck jumps on that.

      And actually, Galahad isn’t joining a different brother — he’s going to be in the Order of St. Paschal the same as Hugh & Tuck. But he does still have two more years of college to get through, so we won’t be seeing him in town for a while.

      Thanks, Chicklet!

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