Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

There was no note with the body, which was strange. Usually there was a note or a letter or something Faith thought to herself as she washed her hands. The care with which she moved was very typical of the young woman in question, and never moreso than when she was working on a corpse. The blessed and holy nature of this work was of utmost importance to Faith and so she attended to the careful movements needed to ensure that her hands were scrubbed clean with as much attention to detail as a surgeon before an operation. Had the carriage brought him here? Did she need to go and find out? She wasn't sure and she smiled to herself as she considered that she was doing it again. Chasing carriages in her head. No need to do so, not at all, just focus on doing what she was doing, the rest would come later. Once she was sure that her hands were clean, Faith walked through into the room where the corpse was waiting.

It was a clean and clinical place, that room. With tables for four corpses at any one time and enough space around them that a group of undertakers could be working on each table without jostling each other, it was a large space. The floors and walls were scrubbed clean by the slave Jamal kept and therefore the place had the constant smell of disinfectant and, of course, it was cool in here. It had to be, to slow down the decay process in the corpses which spent their last breaks and trials in this room being prepared by the slave.

There she was, the slave who would assist her. Small and waif like, dressed in black clothes which did not fit her at all. It was, of course, herself that Faith saw, the quiet slave who knelt in position, waiting for orders. Faith walked into the room and looked around. There was just the one corpse, that was good. She preferred being able to give her full attention to each one, and when there was more than one of them in the room, she felt that her attention was pulled in those different directions.

"Will you assist me, please?" she asked and the slave nodded, standing. She didn't speak, Faith knew, she wouldn't speak at all. Maybe she couldn't, Faith wasn't sure. On this trial Faith had her long black hair piled up and pinned back in a high loose ponytail that was held in place with a hair comb. She was wearing her black work dress, one of two that Master had bought her for while she worked. She moved over to the table, smiling at the slave kindly "Please, prepare the equipment for washing first?" she asked and she watched for a moment as the slave moved to do that.

Satisfied that her assistant was doing what she wanted, Faith moved to the table itself and she put her hand on the chest of the corpse, still covered by a sheet. "It's alright. I'm here to help you" she whispered. "It might seem strange but, I will make your time here as easy and...ohhhhh" the last noise a gentle moan as she moved the sheet from the corpse's face and she saw who it was. "Oh... oh I am so sorry" she whispered to him. Leaning forward, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering in that kiss for a moment as she closed her eyes. The thoughts and emotions that whirled around in the young woman at that moment defied description of definition.

"I had so many hopes" she whispered to him. "So many hopes. I wanted to tell you, one trial" gently, she stroked back his hair and looked down at him. Faith never cried, never. But tears sparkled in her mist-grey eyes in that moment. "But even if I could, I didn't know the words to explain to you the depth of how I feel. But now... I just ... I can do this. I can do this for you. I wanted to look after you in life, but ... I can do this for you" she blinked twice, forcing away the tears which threatened and looked up as the slave brought her the tray with the components for washing him.

"Thank you" she said, quietly to the slave. And then, to the corpse she spoke quietly "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you pass in comfort and with dignity." all she wanted to do was to lay down next to him, to curl herself against him and feel what she felt. But she answered to a higher authority, she had a duty and the privilege of working in Famula's name on him, of all people.

"I'll look after you, and tell you everything that's happening, alright. There's no need to be afraid. I'll be praying, washing you, preparing you for the final journey." and she picked up the comb, starting there and began to comb his hair, making sure that her movements were gentle and would not have hurt him were he alive and able to feel.

His hair was tangled and she started to work on it. She made sure to put her hand on his hair, holding it away from his scalp so that it wouldn't hurt him. "It's alright, see? I'm not going to hurt you" she whispered to him. But as she combed his hair, as she started the most basic of preparations, she started to see his life unfold before her. Like a story, like a spider's web weaving out in front of her in a tapestry of scars. "Oh.. Oh, Malcolm" she whispered, her hand moving with slow deliberation over first one, then another, scar. As she slipped the sheet from him she considered, and then spoke the simple truth that she was thinking "I have thought about the moment where I moved a sheet and saw your body a hundred times" she whispered to him and she smiled. "And you were always alive and vibrant. I am so sorry, but it is what it is. We will make it work, yes?" It was important to her that they did, because... well the because was simple "It will be the only time that I am ever alone with you like this" The explanation fell from her in a voice which shook with emotion, but she showed no other outward sign.

As yet, she hadn't seen the scars below waist level yet. She couldn't quite bring herself to lower the sheet any further.

So, she worked on combing his hair and, as he blinked she looked down at him. It should be strange, maybe, that he was blinking and dead at the same time, but Faith was completely nonplussed by that in this moment. It was, after all, what it was and ever had that been her mantra. But she carefully lifted his head so that it was back to where it should be as she leaned over him and combed.

"Hmmm? Yes" she said, in response to his question, finishing off combing his hair with a smile "You are dead, yes. I am going to wash you now, then anoint you and then Famula will be able to find you more easily" a gentle hand stroked his cheek her face smiled down at him with kindness in her eyes. "I am so sorry, Malcolm. There were a million things I wished to tell you in life and...honestly there were a lot of things that I did not understand and dreamt about asking your help with. But we do not have that luxury, because you are dead" it appeared that subtle about such was not really Faith's forte.

"I am going to wash you and anoint you. The slave here will help me" she explained kindly, her hand caressing his cheek with a gentle touch "But before I start, is there anything you wish to ask or speak about?" she wondered. After all, she reasoned, being dead had to be at least a little confusing.

She spoke to him of her feelings for him as easily as she would at any point ever. After all, he was dead and that meant that here, in this moment was her only chance to do so. To not do so now would be to deny any possibility of ever telling him and, in truth, had she not dreamt of this moment, of speaking her truth to him since that trial in the gardens? And when he spoke of the sheet and that he should warn her? Well, Faith let out a low chuckle "Indeed. All sorts, shapes and sizes come here to us. Death is the great equalizer, after all" and it was an absolute truth to the pale girl. "I would hate to make you uncomfortable, though, especially now. They do not usually talk back" she explained. And it was the truth, she would not speak her thoughts so easily to anyone who was alive, even in a dream. Every dream that she had shared with Malcolm to this point (even though she did not know then that they were dreams, and did not remember now) she had been aware of him as a man, as a mortal with thoughts and feelings. But here? Well here it was much more simple "When we met in the gardens and I told you how to cook beef" she said, her hands moving to finish the gentle combing of his hair "I had barely left this place for an arc. Before that, I had been in the slave school in Athart. I was in your world. But here? Here you are in mine" and here, more than anywhere, she was comfortable.

"Except of course, it's not mine any more" she spoke quietly and then smiled at him "Maybe they do not care about your state of grubbiness, but I do. You will be clean" she almost told him off her voice certainly held a gentle admonishment to it, "And I have lived with it all my life. We clean the dead to help the living. There is nothing to do for those who have passed, not really. They are already gone. So I believed when I was her" she said, motioning to the waif-like slave. "That's who I was when I met you. Do you remember? But I am not her any more. Now I am a painted whore, I think" why would he remember, she reasoned? There was no need to, none at all. She was a moment in his life, one there and then forgotten. His impact on her? So much different.

And she would have said more, but she mentioned Famula and he grew upset. Faith dropped the cloth she was washing him with and she placed her hands on his face; a gentle caress that held his gaze. "Malcolm. Nothing... nothing if you do not wish it" she assured him. Famula would take him if she would with or without Faith's anointing and prayers. "I will do nothing you do not wish.. shush... shush" of course, that was a good part about the dead not talking; they didn't get so agitated. But she held on to him and reassured him as much as she could. "Judgement. You wish judgement? That is what will happen, I am sorry... " but he did not, he grew more and more agitated and Faith thought that perhaps, judging by the way that he spoke and the way that his eyes moved (or she perceived them as moving.. come to that, she wondered, how *was* he talking... best keep an eye on his mouth in a moment or two) she rather thought he was not seeing here.

So, she turned his head to the side, so that he could see the floor and she looked up at the slave. "Show him your feet" she said and the slave did, standing barefoot in his sight. Faith too moved around and stood next to her twin, her own bare feet there. Clean, both of them. "Listen to me, I promise you, I will do nothing you do not wish. Just clean you, all I will do. We do not force our prayers on those unwilling for them. Death takes us all the same way, it is alright... will you let me wash you now?" at no point did her voice raise, the pale woman stood, and both of them, slave and painted whore by her reckoning, both tilted their heads to the side in identical gestures.

The delight that shone in Faith's eyes as he told her how he remembered their meeting might well be disproportionate to such a simple thing as remembering her. But he had remembered her, that she wore no shoes. The smile which lit her face was genuine "The shoes my owner made me wear hurt my feet, so I took them off" she recalled. But he misunderstood her next words, or in fairness they were not clear at all she considered. "No. I have a new Master. I share his bed" she explained and motioned towards the raggedy slave girl. "When I was her" she spoke with a soft tone and concentrated on her job; currently washing his arm. "I had never done that, never been prepared to. He sent me to training, in the House of Roses." Her voice was calm and casual, but there was more to her words.

As she finished one arm, she started on his shoulders and sighed slightly "I think that maybe I am two people you know" as she always did, she spoke to the corpse, perhaps as much to fill the silence as for any other reason "I grew up referring to myself in the third person. It was... It was harsh. But I knew myself. Not a person, not anything other than what I was allowed to be. But now?" she sounded almost irritated "But now I wear these clothes, and they symbolise all the things that are different. Master tells me I am a person, just a person who is a slave" she sighed "I am confused and I do not know what I am. Is it bad that I like being treated like a person?" she wondered as she finished the slow process of washing his top half.

"Vri? Your sister? Pre and Pier? I thought... aren't they the names of Immortals?" she asked with a glance at him. "Are you related?" she wondered. Nothing, in truth, would surprise her because, as far as she was concerned, he was the most remarkable of men. But related to an Immortal? That would be impressive, even for him. "A son? I can contact him for you if you'd like" her voice was kind, the thought of leaving behind a loved one must be almost too much to bear. "And as for your grandchildren, well, if I live I can visit them and tell them that I was with you here, and that your wish was to see them" she would do, without question or hesitation if he wished it. "You could tell me something for them, just from you?"

Having finished the washing of his top half, and resisting the urge to stroke his cheek since he was talking and everything, Faith sighed slightly. "I know it's silly, because you are dead" she glanced at the sheet covering him "But they don't normally talk you know and I have had the most intense feelings for you since I met you" Silver grey eyes were serious as she turned to him. "I know that I am young and foolish and experiencing things for the first time. But no woman has ever loved like I love you. Ever. And I will not wash any lower, it would not be right" although a peek wouldn't have gone amiss, the mischievous side of her mind reminded her but then she looked at him and, looking into his eyes, she simply could not. "But if you do not mind, I will dress you. I can do that without looking" and then she *did* blush a little and waved one hand in a rather fruitless gesture "There. Are you comfortable with that?" she would wait then, to see if he was. Because, to her mind, this was the last gift anyone could give another and dignity was paramount.

When she remembered this dream in the waking world, Faith would remember it as a gentle time; intensely personal and intimate as it was every time that she prepared a body but this time so much moreso than usual. Magnified by a significant amount, most certainly as far as she was concerned because of her feelings for the man she tended to. They spoke together and he told her that the golden haired boy was with Famula. Faith looked at him and gently reached to put a stray strand of hair back in place. "She is always close here" she said, looking around the room and smiling. The Immortal was most beloved to Faith yet, as much as she did not understand Malcolm's urgency in not being anointed in Her name, Faith respected it as his choice. But he must know, certainly, that everything Faith did here was in Famula's name; it was her way of being.

As Malcolm took her hand in his, Faith looked down at their hands there together for a moment and she listened to his words. Serve to love? She would discover what the difference was and who was deserving soon? As he spoke, her gaze stayed on him, even though his eyes had closed and he seemed to be passing over. His hand fell open and she resisted the urge to grab at it, to hold on as long as she could. To feel, just for one more beautiful moment the feel of him as he held on to her of his own volition. But she let his hand fall; this time was his time, she would not impose on it or force more than he had to give her. So, his hand fell and yet she felt the cold touch of it still.

His service, to so many, Faith did not doubt. And in service, one found oneself but in love? What did one find in love, she wondered as his soul slipped away and his words fell silent. With a careful and gentle touch she placed his hands over each other, crossed over his chest and as she did she gave thanks that his last seconds were thinking of love. "Rest well and find peace" she whispered "You deserve it" no doubting it, as Knight Captain he performed feats of great daring and as Professor he inspired and taught the masses. But to her? He would always be the man who had told her that she was free. Free to learn, to be a person. He had instigated a change in her which she would always be grateful for. Because he had given her something that she had never had; hope.

The light, totally unexpected, almost blinded her and Faith automatically covered her eyes with her arm. But as it died, there was Malcolm standing next to his own body and holding the hand of a young boy. Oh, he did have a golden crown, Faith thought and she looked at the two of them, watching and saying nothing. When Malcolm mouthed his thanks to her, she looked him in the eyes and smiled. Just for a moment she felt that they were equals and the young woman was astonished at what that felt like. It was ... wonderous. So, she watched as they walked out and she returned the young one's wave with a gentle opening and closing of her hand to him. Sighing deeply, as they exited, she looked down at the body and shook her head. Even in death, he had been the one to give her a gift.