Mozgus fanfiction ?
I haven’t seen anyone writing about Mozgus, so here am I
My first language isn’t English, so if you see anything strange in the text, you can tell me.
(I won’t give the context, I just wanted to write something I felt was wholesome)
(It’s pretty short)
The quill danced on vellum as the inquisitor wrote his daily reports. Black ink spread on paper in elegant letters, none bearing any irregularity. Focusing on a complimentary close, he traced the words without thinking, used to the rhythm set by epistolary courtesies. The graceful movement came to a sudden halt when a tiny hand slapped against the wooden surface of the desk, aiming at his work.
A series of babbles escaped the child’s minuscule frame. Comfortably seated on his lap, it tilted its head backwards, looking up so that its eyes, holding the purity of a Saint, could settle on his stern face. The noise it produced then sounded joyful, like the chirp of a bird, seemingly pleased to have finally gotten his attention.
The holy man let out a heavy sigh. It was the third time he had to stop his letter because of the little hellion he was supposed to take care of. Thankfully, the report wasn’t damaged.
"Must you test my patience so ? What is it, this time ?"
The question hung in the air, his voice surprisingly soft despite the annoyance. He couldn’t think of anything the child might’ve possibly wanted. It couldn’t have been hungry, it had been fed only about an hour ago. It hadn’t soiled itself, that much was clear. And as for a nap, it didn’t seem tired either. How… strange.
Was it sick, then ? His gaze, made piercing by his line of work, trailed over the small creature. It wouldn’t have been so cheerful, had it been unwell.
Mozgus felt out of his depth. Playing nanny had never been part of the job, and he realized he wasn’t made for it in the slightest.
Should he call for a sister ? The thought lingered for a moment, gradually intensifying in his mind.
Yet, for an eerie reason, he truly had no wish to do so. It couldn’t be so complicated, could it ? This fragile thing wanted something from him, but what ?
Mozgus tried to think of himself at that age. What would his mother do when he was little ? The priest was in his forties. It went without saying his memories of the time weren’t exactly fresh.
Mothers, as symbols, generally meant a warm presence, somebody kind and tender who could provide reassurance. Suddenly, it hit him, as if it had been obvious this whole time. A mother would sing.
Well, this wasn’t really helpful. He didn’t know any lullabies, only liturgical chants.
Doubt getting the better of him, he hid behind the only thing he knew, and handed the toddler the Falcon idol which sat on the desk since he last left it there. The Falcon of Light opening its wings to bring salvation, a poignant scene carved in wood to be immortalized. And chewed on, apparently.
Containing the zealous fury coursing through his veins, the inquisitor abruptly took back the sticky icon. To think a child would drool on such holiness..! God gave him patience, but said virtue was holding by a thread.
"Give the Lord some respect, would you ?"
Taking the child in his arms to better watch over it, he couldn’t help but be taken aback by the way it leaned into his robes, sinking in the fabric with sheer and utter trust.
His hand shifted to awkwardly pat its back, a gesture kept careful to avoid any accidental infliction of pain. The irony of the situation was pretty much lost on him, too attentive to the frail lamb in his grasp to hear life’s snarky remarks.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
He felt like this would be right, and so, with a voice he wanted gentle, he began humming a tune. If the small one had to learn the hymns one day, then it would begin like this, with a hushed melody, in the comfort of his embrace.
Latin rolled off his tongue in quiet syllables, a delicate heart beating against his own.
That’s it, hope you enjoyed !
(Yeah, for me Mozgus is in his forties)
