My God would. He must... That's — that's what His word says. Whether the blood of one or a thousand are on your hands, if you feel guilt, if you repent... then you are saved. If He does not claim you, then He cannot claim me.
[He quiets, fidgeting for a moment.]
... I've done something terrible, too. Sometimes, I'm afraid that — that what was spoken of me is true. That there is something evil in me. But if I pray for forgiveness, with grief and guilt in my heart... the Lord shall cleanse me of my sins.
I remember the texts. I read most of the old world religious works when I was young. I liked the New Testament better. And the Psalms, of course. Anything that sounded of poetry was my favorite.
[A pause, a thoughtful “hmm”.]
I cannot imagine anything so terrible being done by the same hands I held at the festival. What is your sin, Diarmuid? Is it worse than that done by the one who said such terrible lies about you?
[He quiets, and for a moment it seems he's unsure if he should speak. Or perhaps it is simply hard to speak, no matter how much he wants to unburden himself of what has rended at him day after day.]
... I caused the death of a fellow monk who had pilgrimaged with us. We were to bring our most guarded, holy relic to the Pope, and — I had turned against Brother Geraldus' wishes in the end. So many of us had died by then, and I... I had wished to rid Ireland of the relic that had doomed my brothers and would cause bloodshed further still.
[He ducks his chin, feeling ashamed, voice low and trembling slightly over time.]
... There was a struggle between us, when I tried to cast the relic overboard. I could not breathe — I had only wanted to force him off of me. But he'd fallen into the waters, and the relic, it... it's weight carried him down...
[Once upon another world, in the great spiced halls of her temple, Alia had heard confession from her penitents, had heard them weep and wail at her feet as she passed down judgement or benediction from on high, lordly and imposing. She had given hope or despair with little more than a word, a glance, a curl of her mouth, and she had been worshipped as goddess.
Diarmuid speaks, though, and his voice trembles, his grief in this act – one so clearly to protect himself, protect others that none on Arrakis would ever judge it elsewise – tender, aching, all-encompassing. He has suffered more over the death of this one man than Alia has over countless millions. She thinks, perhaps, to comfort him with this, with a revelation of all the blood upon her hands.
But then she thinks better of it. Her voice is soft, gentle.] You wished only peace and safety for your home, your brethren. This Brother Geraldus wished to use your holy relic to inflict bloodshed and violence. Tell me: which of these wishes would your Lord have blessed? Which one of you did he spare?
Who is it who prays for me now? Diarmuid or Geraldus?
Geraldus would not have done any such thing, for someone he would have seemed sacrilegious. She did not believe in what they did, and so she and her followers would have been heretics to be burned as an example.
So he knows, that there's some truth in her words. Despite how often he self-doubts. Geraldus had used the Mute as a weapon to be wielded. He wanted to do anything that would keep the blood off of him and on another — all for the sake of stomping down those deemed unworthy of God's love. But were they all not worthy? How can a man find their Lord if he is killed by those meant to lead them? A bloody war, and for what? A sea of corpses who were never intended to be salvaged into believers.
Where is the salvation for them? The Mute had deserved it and more.
He can only pray every night, that God saw the goodness and repentance and care than Diarmuid saw reflected back at him, from the quiet man's devastated stare.]
Sometimes... I wonder if I was the one spared.
Such a thought seems unfair of me to think, when so many had fallen for the sake of our pilgrimage. But regardless of my intentions, I... I cannot help but be haunted. By what happened to him... to them. It smothers the air out of my lungs sometimes, and... I...
[He trails off, embarrassed to be so frank about his struggles.]
[His voice goes quiet, soft, unsure, and Alia – she nearly envies that. To be so affected by death and pain that it stays with you, that it haunts you whenever you close your eyes. She has never been tender-hearted in that way, much as she tries, only affected by death when it strikes too close to home for her to withstand. She thinks of the blood on her hands, thinks of it staining the sweet, solemn face of this boy, and banishes the thought immediately.]
I don’t think it’s unfair. Though perhaps that is selfish of me – I would rather have you whole and here, than fallen for the sake of a quest you did not choose. [Matter-of-fact, straightforward – Alia is a selfish creature to her core, and she guards her favorites zealously. The winding halls of this house would be emptier, colder were it not for Diarmuid and his prayers.
Still:] My beloved has a shop that sells teas and tinctures. If your memories and dreams torment you, tell me. I will find a way to ease them and let you rest.
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no subject
If anything, it gives me more reason to pray for your safety.
[He says it softly, without judgement.]
... If I were a wolf, would you have hated and feared me?
no subject
I was used because I am a monster. A weapon. I have killed before. Countless times.
I would not have hated or feared you, because you are not a wolf in your true self. You’re a lamb, Diarmuid.
no subject
You know, I think it's unfair to ascribe bad things to all wolves.
Are they not creations of God, too? They have virtues of their own.
[Ah, metaphors.]
no subject
If I was made by a god, I have not met them yet. They would not claim me as theirs.
I cannot blame them. I've done terrible things, Diarmuid. There is the blood of thousands on my hands.
no subject
[He quiets, fidgeting for a moment.]
... I've done something terrible, too. Sometimes, I'm afraid that — that what was spoken of me is true. That there is something evil in me. But if I pray for forgiveness, with grief and guilt in my heart... the Lord shall cleanse me of my sins.
no subject
[A pause, a thoughtful “hmm”.]
I cannot imagine anything so terrible being done by the same hands I held at the festival. What is your sin, Diarmuid? Is it worse than that done by the one who said such terrible lies about you?
no subject
... I caused the death of a fellow monk who had pilgrimaged with us. We were to bring our most guarded, holy relic to the Pope, and — I had turned against Brother Geraldus' wishes in the end. So many of us had died by then, and I... I had wished to rid Ireland of the relic that had doomed my brothers and would cause bloodshed further still.
[He ducks his chin, feeling ashamed, voice low and trembling slightly over time.]
... There was a struggle between us, when I tried to cast the relic overboard. I could not breathe — I had only wanted to force him off of me. But he'd fallen into the waters, and the relic, it... it's weight carried him down...
no subject
Diarmuid speaks, though, and his voice trembles, his grief in this act – one so clearly to protect himself, protect others that none on Arrakis would ever judge it elsewise – tender, aching, all-encompassing. He has suffered more over the death of this one man than Alia has over countless millions. She thinks, perhaps, to comfort him with this, with a revelation of all the blood upon her hands.
But then she thinks better of it. Her voice is soft, gentle.] You wished only peace and safety for your home, your brethren. This Brother Geraldus wished to use your holy relic to inflict bloodshed and violence. Tell me: which of these wishes would your Lord have blessed? Which one of you did he spare?
Who is it who prays for me now? Diarmuid or Geraldus?
no subject
[A non-answer, and yet it's very clear.
Geraldus would not have done any such thing, for someone he would have seemed sacrilegious. She did not believe in what they did, and so she and her followers would have been heretics to be burned as an example.
So he knows, that there's some truth in her words. Despite how often he self-doubts. Geraldus had used the Mute as a weapon to be wielded. He wanted to do anything that would keep the blood off of him and on another — all for the sake of stomping down those deemed unworthy of God's love. But were they all not worthy? How can a man find their Lord if he is killed by those meant to lead them? A bloody war, and for what? A sea of corpses who were never intended to be salvaged into believers.
Where is the salvation for them? The Mute had deserved it and more.
He can only pray every night, that God saw the goodness and repentance and care than Diarmuid saw reflected back at him, from the quiet man's devastated stare.]
Sometimes... I wonder if I was the one spared.
Such a thought seems unfair of me to think, when so many had fallen for the sake of our pilgrimage. But regardless of my intentions, I... I cannot help but be haunted. By what happened to him... to them. It smothers the air out of my lungs sometimes, and... I...
[He trails off, embarrassed to be so frank about his struggles.]
no subject
I don’t think it’s unfair. Though perhaps that is selfish of me – I would rather have you whole and here, than fallen for the sake of a quest you did not choose. [Matter-of-fact, straightforward – Alia is a selfish creature to her core, and she guards her favorites zealously. The winding halls of this house would be emptier, colder were it not for Diarmuid and his prayers.
Still:] My beloved has a shop that sells teas and tinctures. If your memories and dreams torment you, tell me. I will find a way to ease them and let you rest.