Chapter Text
Anyone in Enbarr could tell you that the Cathedral of Seiros was an architectural marvel and a cultural and historical landmark of Enbarr. Stained glass windows depicting the Four Saints and Saint Seiros herself lined the walls, beautiful chandeliers and candelabras washing the glorious hall in a warm, welcoming light in contrast with the cold, dense stone that the building itself was constructed of. Vaulted ceilings lent themselves well to the room’s acoustics, the very air wishing to carry the sounds of devotion straight to the parishioners’ ears. Lit braziers placed throughout the cathedral burned incense, a smell akin to Seiros Tea wafting throughout. In the very back, a towering stained glass window depicted Saint Seiros with her arms outstretched and face in a serene and peaceful smile, as if to welcome all who entered into her loving embrace. Along the sides were pews for the choir, singing along as Bishop Herras, who presided over the cathedral, directed them all in glorious hymns to the Goddess. The cathedral itself was generally open to the public at all times for those wishing to leave prayers or attend lectures given by the clergy, but at this day and hour, the grand oaken doors had been shut tight to the outside, the cathedral becoming a bastion of prayer for the nobility. From a young age, the nobles of Adrestia had been taught that by demonstrating their own devotion to the Goddess and learning her laws, they could guide their people well and inspire them to live spiritually and morally fulfilling lives.
At six years old, Linhardt von Hevring hated everything about it.
The church pews were hard and uncomfortable, his father had informed him that if he were to fall asleep again he could expect no dinner this evening, the incense irritated his nose, and the only good thing about being forced to sit here quietly for three hours was that he wasn’t sitting close enough to any of the other noble children to be constantly and obnoxiously distracted. The von Hevring family was in the third row from the front on the left, a testament to their comfortable status as devout patrons of the church and humble servants of the Empire, with only the Prime Minister’s family and the Emperor’s family in front of them. From where he was sitting, Linhardt could see the shiny orange locks of Ferdinand von Aegir, the prime minister’s (legitimate) heir, as he pressed his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut with all of the fervor that a 7 year old could muster. Linhardt risked a quiet chuckle; with his face like that, he looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. The heavy hand that swiftly landed on his shoulder, however, was proof that he hadn’t been quiet enough as he looked up to meet his father’s disapproving glower. Nothing more needed to be said; the silent command of behave yourself was communicated loud and clear, and Linhardt slumped in his seat, completely tuning out everything the bishop was saying. As they tended to do when left to their own devices, his thoughts started to wander; while perhaps not quite free in body, at least his thoughts were less fettered, flitting about as they liked within the confines of his mind. Images of saints and histories and the story about Saint Cethleann’s love of fish began to surface, and within moments, he was gone, sinking beneath a sea of tranquility.
After some indeterminable amount of time had passed, Linhardt slowly returned to awareness thanks to his mother gently shaking his shoulder. “Come along, Linhardt,” she said quietly, taking his hand and leading him out into the aisle. It seemed the mass was already over, and as the nobility began to slowly file out, many of them taking the opportunity to make small talk, his father had stopped to talk to the bishop. Linhardt and his mother stood a respectful distance away, waiting for them to finish, when Count Hevring turned to the two of them.
“Linhardt. Come here.”
Linhardt swallowed the lump in his throat and walked over to the two. He stood next to his father, trying not to slouch, as Count Hevring’s large hand once again occupied his shoulder. “Father. Bishop Herras.”
Bishop Herras was tall, taller than even his father, and as Linhardt looked up to meet his gaze, he was sure that his neck was going to go stiff from looking up. He was dressed in typical church robes but wore a somewhat elaborate headpiece that signified his status as a bishop not of any church, but of this cathedral in particular. In Linhardt’s opinion, it made his forehead look like the size of a dinner plate. The bishop smiled down at him, in that overly saccharine way adults did when they really didn’t know how to (or want to) talk to children. Linhardt was well familiar with this expression, a mainstay on the faces of his father’s staff. “Ah, young Linhardt. Your father tells me that you are to begin your formal studies on Faith soon.”
Linhardt nodded; if he was polite and didn’t say much, this should be over with quickly. “Yes, Bishop.”
“And are you aware of whether you bear your family's crest?”
“Not yet, Bishop. I will undergo the test next year.”
“Wonderful. Remember, it is from the Goddess that both crests and Faith magic itself were bestowed, and Faith is a magic born of belief. Naturally, this means that to have strong Faith, one must believe in the Goddess. Do you believe in the Goddess, Linhardt?”
“I don’t know.”
All of the chatter echoing throughout the cathedral screeched to a halt, the three little words reverberating throughout the air as effective as any Silence. Linhardt’s father was giving him a look he’d never seen before, eyes wide and mouth agape. Oh. He had said the wrong thing again, hadn’t he.
Bishop Herras was the first to recover, clearing his throat and putting on that too-sweet smile again. This time, however, there was an edge to it, as if he were keeping anger at bay by the force of that smile alone, and the rest of the nobles were still quiet, although murmurs began to break out among the crowd. “Is that so. And why don’t you know?”
Linhardt shrugged, having decided that if things had progressed this far, he may as well state what he was really thinking. “Nobody alive has ever seen her, and even if she does live on the Blue Sea Star, why can’t she come here and walk among us if she’s so powerful? Why can’t she show modern people proof that she’s here? Why don’t we know what she really looks like? What can she do from all the way up there? And if she is real… and she is kind… why do bad things happen to good people? It’s not that I don’t want to believe, but--”
“That’s quite enough!” The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Linhardt’s gaze snapped away from the bishop and back to his father. His jaw was clenched, and from the look in his eye, he wasn’t just angry, he was embarrassed-- a far worse emotion to deal with when on the receiving end of his wrath. The tittering around them grew louder as he not-so-gently nudged Linhardt in the direction of Countess Hevring. “Go to your mother. We will discuss this at home.”
“B-”
“At home, Linhardt!”
“...Yes, father.”
He quietly walked over to his mother, who without another word locked his hand in an iron grasp and strode out of the cathedral, Linhardt almost running to keep up. As he gave a last, fleeting glance behind him, he could see his father apologizing to the apoplectic bishop, hear the nobles gossiping about “such a strange little boy that the Hevrings have,” and smell the lingering scent of incense as it started to waft away with the wind.
Of everything he had experienced that day, it was those sensations that had felt the most real.
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They returned to the Hevring estate in silence. Linhardt sat sandwiched between his mother and father, sitting still and trying his utmost not to fall asleep. His father disapproved of such behavior (although he mostly allowed it when nobody else was around) but in this case, it would be best not to make him any more angry. He dug his fingernails into his palm, staving off another wave of sleepiness, and if his parents noticed, they did not say a word.
The carriage finally pulled up to the house, and Linhardt was guided into his father’s spacious office. Bookshelves lined the east wall, papers stuffed into the spaces between the books and the tops of each space. A large map of Hevring was mounted on the west wall, beautifully detailed and meticulously updated each year, displaying all of the details of the territory including population, farmlands, typical weather patterns, and the like. There was also a large fireplace with comfortable chairs and a table in front, although today it was unlit, sitting as cold and ashy as the rest of the office. On the same wall as the doorway were portraits of previous heads of the house, the von Hevring family proudly displaying their lineage of similar expressions of stern, controlled faces. Across from the door was naught but a wall of windows, from which one had an unparalleled view of the estate’s gardens. Linhardt was led to one of the two chairs across from the imposingly large oaken desk in the center of the office, and was bid to take a seat as his father moved to sit behind it. “You may leave,” he said to his wife, who gave a small nod and closed the door behind her, leaving the room in silence.
Linhardt stared at his knees, fidgeting in the chair until Count Hevring cleared his throat. “Look at me.” Linhardt’s gaze slowly rose to meet the Count’s stern look. “Do you know why we need to have this talk?”
“...Because I messed up.”
Count Hevring sighed. “You did. I feel that while it was not an intentional slip on your part, it is a lesson that you are now old enough to be expected to learn. I had hoped to avoid something like this, but now that it has, I must take responsibility for it. I have smoothed over relations with the bishop thanks to a rather hefty donation, and the other nobles have been adequately placated, but in order to avoid such incidents in the future, I shall take it upon myself to instruct you in this matter.”
Linhardt just nodded. Count Hevring did not like being interrupted.
“You see Linhardt, being a noble is about playing a certain role, shall we say. Maintaining a particular image. Part of that image is maintaining our devotional duties to the church and the Goddess while still navigating all of the social expectations that come with being a noble. One of those duties is that personal feelings aside, a noble must always say or appear to believe in the Goddess.”
He saw the disbelieving look on Linhardt’s face and began to elaborate. “It is not for our own sake, my son. It is for the sake of the common people who place their trust in us and the church to guard and to guide them. If believing in the Goddess and the teachings of the church is what brings them fulfillment and allows them to be productive, healthy contributors to their families, their towns, and the Empire, then that is what we must do as well. A noble who goes against the will of his people is a noble who will soon be replaced, by one method or another.”
Count Hevring stood and walked over toward the windows, looking over the gardens. Linhardt knew better than to get up and join him.
“For the nobles, it is to show that they are all equal in the eyes of the Goddess, and that they too seek guidance on how to rule wisely and well, and be their best selves. However, it is also an opportunity to socialize, to inquire as to what one’s peers are doing; both of those also contribute to image. You will come to one day understand just how deep of a hold the church has in the hearts of the people, Linhardt, commoners and nobles alike. But a noble who fails to maintain their image runs the risk of harming not only their house, but their territory, and all of those who inhabit it.”
After a moment of silence, Linhardt spoke. “So… being a noble means that sometimes, you have to lie?”
A pause, followed by a sigh.
“Yes. But if one must lie, it is a lie made in the name of the greater good.”
Linhardt looked at his knees again, a strange sadness welling up within him. “I see…” He tucked that thought away for later, not wishing to appear morose in front of the Count.
Count Hevring took a breath; it was time to hammer this lesson into Linhardt’s memory. “This is why I expect you to act like a noble. It is not for our sake alone, but everyone’s: the people of Hevring, the other noble families, and the continued prosperity and order of the Empire itself. I expect that from now on, you will not do or say anything that might tarnish our name or image. Fulfill your role well, Linhardt, and you will lead a happy, healthy, and productive life; that is the way it has been and the way it will be.”
He looked down at Linhardt to find him nodding up at him solemnly, seemingly following along. Good. He seemed to understand. Count Hevring gave Linhardt a pat on the head. “Run along to the kitchens, now, and get something to eat. Remember what we have spoken about, and do not forget: your studies in Faith begin tomorrow.”
Linhardt nodded once again, and gave a little bow. “Yes, Father. Thank you for the insight.” With that, he headed over to the door, leaving quietly and closing it behind him. Count Hevring once again took a seat at his desk, letting out a sigh. His boy was too young to be asking such questions.