A little story, since I have some time and a tad of inspiration. I apologize in advance, because storytelling is not one of my strong points...
By all appearances, they could have been father and son. The old man sat silently at his desk writing, while the younger one paced, troubled, a few feet behind. Only the monk’s habit on the one, and the modest circlet on the other, gave a different indication.
“I don’t understand. Where did I go wrong? The Nortugese attacked our Solist brethren, and I insisted they stop. I was just standing up for them, and for Sol; why would he visit this terrible defeat upon us?” the younger one said plaintively.
The abbot continued writing, his countenance still impassive. King or no, he thought, this was still to be expected of a mere 15 year-old. Crinan had always been rather more pious than his father, and the state’s dealings with the Nortugese had always grated on him, even as a young child. He tended, as did many others, to see things as black vs. white, good vs. evil, righteousness vs. iniquity; this was fine (good?) for a warrior, or a monk, but certainly not for a King. That was a great part of the reason King Mael Coluim had entrusted his son to him; though an abbot, he had a reputation for being more concerned with the temporal and the physical than most of his fellows. Who better for the young prince to learn from about the exigencies of ruling a state? Even after they young Crinan’s accession to the Kingship, the abbot still saw him frequently; they young king’s lessons were not nearly finished.
“Did I do the right thing?”
Though the abbot had tuned out much of the king’s speech, this phrase caught his attention. In truth, even he was not really sure of the answer. Though more pragmatic than most (and certainly most men of the cloth), even he regarded the Nortugese with a vague unease. After a moment of thought, he turned to face the young man, seeing him waiting expectantly for an answer. His visage softened and became almost fatherly, as he said, “Maybe you did the right thing for Sol. But did you do the right thing for His children?”
The king winced at the statement, thinking of all those ships and men now at the bottom of the sea. “No....no, I suppose not.” he stammered.
The abbot turned around, and he resumed his writing. The young king had learned a valuable lesson, the first of many; he hoped to Sol that the others would be less costly.
By all appearances, they could have been father and son. The old man sat silently at his desk writing, while the younger one paced, troubled, a few feet behind. Only the monk’s habit on the one, and the modest circlet on the other, gave a different indication.
“I don’t understand. Where did I go wrong? The Nortugese attacked our Solist brethren, and I insisted they stop. I was just standing up for them, and for Sol; why would he visit this terrible defeat upon us?” the younger one said plaintively.
The abbot continued writing, his countenance still impassive. King or no, he thought, this was still to be expected of a mere 15 year-old. Crinan had always been rather more pious than his father, and the state’s dealings with the Nortugese had always grated on him, even as a young child. He tended, as did many others, to see things as black vs. white, good vs. evil, righteousness vs. iniquity; this was fine (good?) for a warrior, or a monk, but certainly not for a King. That was a great part of the reason King Mael Coluim had entrusted his son to him; though an abbot, he had a reputation for being more concerned with the temporal and the physical than most of his fellows. Who better for the young prince to learn from about the exigencies of ruling a state? Even after they young Crinan’s accession to the Kingship, the abbot still saw him frequently; they young king’s lessons were not nearly finished.
“Did I do the right thing?”
Though the abbot had tuned out much of the king’s speech, this phrase caught his attention. In truth, even he was not really sure of the answer. Though more pragmatic than most (and certainly most men of the cloth), even he regarded the Nortugese with a vague unease. After a moment of thought, he turned to face the young man, seeing him waiting expectantly for an answer. His visage softened and became almost fatherly, as he said, “Maybe you did the right thing for Sol. But did you do the right thing for His children?”
The king winced at the statement, thinking of all those ships and men now at the bottom of the sea. “No....no, I suppose not.” he stammered.
The abbot turned around, and he resumed his writing. The young king had learned a valuable lesson, the first of many; he hoped to Sol that the others would be less costly.
.
