@knygnesiai ; starter
1307, Kraków
He walked a few steps behind the others, face shrouded from view by the large white hood pulled over his head, chewing on his lips and thinking about his feet which hurt from marching for so long while wearing all his heavy armour. They came to a stop before Gisilberht realized, and he bumped into the knight in front of him, who turned his head slightly to glare at him in warning. He was not tall enough to look past the knights in front of him, so he moved slightly. The sight ahead him was grey and dreary, the courtyard of the palace empty except for decaying leaves and their bare trees. Gisilberht kicked at the ground, restless, wondering when the other party would finally show- the knights hadn’t told him much about today’s plans they never did. Gisilberht assumed that they did not yet trust him entirely, they did not trust pagans even if he had long since renounced all forms of paganism and had spent the last ten years living in a monastery, studying scripture and praying to god for forgiveness for sins committed as a pagan.
Ahead, however, there was movement, and Gisilberht’s eyesight was too poor to recognize anyone immediately, but as the men drew nearer and nearer the little blonde head that bobbed as he marched became unmistakable- Gisilberht would recognize Feliks anywhere, and his nose curled in distaste. He hated Feliks even if he was a good Catholic nowadays. However, the man accompanying Feliks was someone Gisilberht had not seen in a very long time. His eyes widened in shock, he had believed Tolys to be dead! Gisilberht wanted to abandon all of the discipline the knights had beat into him, he wanted to run to the man, embrace him- he had spent a near century thinking he would never see Tolys again and the boy had so many things to say to him. But he couldn’t he remained rooted in the spot, his mouth dry and heart beating fast, looking with wide, pale eyes from behind his knights. He paid no attention to whatever conversation was being had, he paid no attention to the world around him, he merely stared at Tolys in his shock, feeling that perhaps he may puke because now all the memories he had struggled to repress of those terrible years of conquest came to mind.
Someone was speaking to him, and it took Gilsilberht a good moment to even realize, much less respond. “A-ah, yes,” he mumbled, his voice still prepubescent and high, his German still slightly awkward on his tongue. The question was whether he believed in God now, and Gisilberht knew no other answer than yes. “The almighty God above is my lord and Jesus my saviour, I am but a humble servant to Him and the church.” Well recited, beaten into him, Gisilberht could say such phrases all day with practiced ease. He looked to Feliks, to Tolys, to his Knights, and knew that his answer was right. He could hardly recall the old Gods of before, this was lost to him. “And you, Tolys?” He spoke before thinking, seeming to surprise all those around him. “Do you believe in God too?”
