|Matters of Religion|
|Summary:||Marsden and Einar meet, religion is discussed.|
|Related Logs:||Invasion of Harlaw|
|Nayland Area, Army Camp|
|Tents and stuff|
|Tue Mar 13, 289|
It's morning on Harlaw and guess what. Yes, you're bang on, it's misty and grey and drizzling. The work of besieging the Grey Gardens continues with the various levees that make up the army taking it in turns to man the pickets both front and rear. On his way back from such a shift, and in that small period of time that’s free before lunch, Einar makes his way towards the Nayland's section of camp. His heavy northern cloak is wrapped about his shoulders to trap what warmth it can, although like everything else around it's damp. Not wet, it's not that bad, but definitely damp.
The Nayland camp, like everything else is covered in fog. But already the last sounds of the ending of mass meeting can be heard, and men are moving on. Some to go and take their place on the line, others to break their fast. As for the man clad in brown with the long dark blue stole about his shoulders, he is just turning back to the altar to break up the 'sept' as it were. chalice of wood and a small bowl are gathered up and placed within his tent, before the bald headed half septon is coming free to gather up the cloth that rested on the makeshift altar of driftwood and stone.
Needless to say Marsden doesn't notice the Northman's arrival as his focus is entirely on the task at hand.
The easily apparent signs of the ending of the service brig a wry grimace to Einar's features. It would appear that once more, despite his best efforts, he's missed it. Maybe the Gods are trying to tell him something. That, or whomever drew up the watch-roster. Still, there's little to be done about it now and there is always tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. Moving against the general flow, he continues his progress though, figuring the Gods will understand, even if he only manages a few moments. Spotting the Septon he gives the man a respectfully deep nod before turning to face what is left of the altar and dropping down onto one knee in front of it.
A nod is given over to the northman as he spots him coming, before he is moving to place the folded cloth back down into the tent, only to turn around and spy the Northerner down on his knees before the pile of carefully stacked rock and wood. There's a pause as eyebrows raise and the stole is placed down on his bedding before he is coming out. One hand moves, barely to run over the smoothness of his head.
"Can I help you, Northman?" No brother, or my son coming from the Septon. Perhaps he's curious as to the queer sight before him, but then he doesn't entirely know Einar's faith-or issues.
There are only a matter of moments between the Septon's words and Einar's reaction, but that seems to be enough for the lad to finish his silent devotions. He'd prefer longer admitedly, but then he'd also prefer a great many other things, like to be dry and warm, to be home, to never have to pull another night-time picket shift. He contents himself with what he can get though, and when he's done, he draws himself back up onto his feet. Taking one last look at what remains of the altar he then turns to Marsden and answers simply enough, "My apologies for keeping you from your duties Septon, but it seems that once again I have managed to arrive too late for the service. I am only thankful that this once it was not by so long."
Marsden blinks once at the man's answer. "Oh." startled? Perhaps before he is waving a hand, s if doing that lone gesture would be enough to ward off whatever else Einar would have to say about service or missing it. "Never you mind that, my Lord. My duties are to everyone in camp. Even you lot from the North-should you all be interested in our queer southern ways." Needless to say, Marsden has seen some time-even if short North of the riverlands. "I just-" a pause. "I didn't peg you as a follower, brother. That should be a lesson to me, about compassion and acceptance from the Mother. And now I have egg in my eye." With that he's turning back to his tent. "I could give sacrament if you're wanting-or I can do about anything, really."
"My Lady Mother is a souther by birth," Einar offers by way of explanation, although the ease with which it rolls off his tongue indicates that he's said it a lot over the years. "I doubt the Father will judge you harshly for it," he offers with a faint smile, "or if he does then you may have to wait a while behind the queue that has already formed." Moving to wrap his cloak a little closer, now the whole silent contemplation bit is done he takes a pace or two closer to ease conversation. "I would take your offer of the sacrament willingly, for I have not had the opportunity since just before we sailed from Seagard." Not that he's overly concerned that the Gods will hold it against him, given the circumstances, but if it's on offer then he certainly isn't going to refuse.
"Then give me a moment to get the bread. We're out of wine, given it's a bloody siege, but there's some ale, an it'll serve for now." As Marsden tucks back into his tent, he barely looks over his shoulder. Instead his hands are a flurry of movements as he's getting what stale bread remains from the bowl, and trying to ease whatever drop of ale he can from the keg he confiscated upon coming upon the shore with the wreckage. "So, your mother was a Souther then?" asked back, before he's bowing his head in a quick prayer. Blessing done he's rising up to head out with his battered cup and the speck of bread. "How'd they meet-your father an she? Or were it a political marriage?" A half grin is given from Marsden as he pauses slightly. "I've already blessed the bread an cup, so no need to genuflect for it. "
"House Haigh, and politics," is the easy reply, "although I don't think they've ever of them had cause for regret." Or at least none that Einar has seen, and/or remembered. As Marsden approaches again he makes the sign of the seven in a well practiced manner, as any follower might, before accepting the offered items and offering up another silent prayer of his own.
"Ahh, House Haigh." Marsden says, but he doesn't allude to anything else, but a simple nod. Only then does he raises the bread once. "Bread, for on your way in life, you remember the Mother's mercy, The maid's virtues and the crone's forethought." and with that he passes over the bread. The symbolism behind such a thing, long to discuss- and indeed weighty for something so small and stale. "The cup, reminds of us the bounty of the Craftsman, the strength of the warrior- and the judgement of the Father that comes to us all." And with that he hands over the cup for Einar to drink. One both are done he takes back the cup. "The staleness and bitterness of the drink remind us, that life is fleeting and the Stranger comes for us all. Savor the bad with the good, for it's what we have." And with that he places a hand on Einar's head and mutters a quick blessing.
With that bit done, Marsden moves to return the cup to his bedding, before coming back out to watch the quiet, and praying northman. " So tell me, besides your mother being a souther like m'self. What brought you to worship the seven? Surely there is reason?"
Einar dips his head slightly as the blessing is given then repeats the sign of the seven once it's finished. He takes a couple of deep, steady breaths as the cup is tidied away once more and takes the time to contemplate on all that is holy, before turning once more to the Septon as he returns. "There is no reason in particular," he starts, "beyond the simple feeling of wholeness that they provide. I'm not sure if it is common knowledge this far south or not," he continues, "but there are some who can hear the Old Gods. In the wind, or in the birdsong and they take great comfort from that." He pauses for a moment, brow faintly creased in thought, before he decides on the way to continue. "I never felt that, and if I'm honest, I was jealous. But I was only a child and meant no malice by it. I think though, my Mother noticed. She certainly first offered to take me to the Sept at about that time. There I found," another pauses as he ponders words, "there I found the same sort of comfort that my brother and cousins found in the weirwoods."
"Such a wise answer, from a young man." Marsden quips as he remains out under the awning of his tent. A glance given Einar for the moment, before he is speaking up. "I've heard of it, spoke somewhere once, but I am not overly familiar with it." The septon admits, before he takes time to listen out to Einar's testimony. A slight smile remains on the Septon's face before he simply nods. "Indeed. I know that feeling well. They way you talk, you sound as if you were called by the seven into being a septon." Unlike Marsden who was born into it. Still he does grin and nod to the young man. "Well good." Marsden announces before he is pulling his stole free. "Gods knows everyone needs that peace and fulfillment. Right now, I need to get my maile on and head to the lines." there's a pause. "I'll see what I can do about getting our Mass meeting pushed back a little- so you can join us."
Einar doesn't generally tend to find many outside of the north that are familiar with the idea of the Old Gods talking. Possibly a few more are now they've met the Lady Cordelya, but how many of them will be convinced by that example is another matter entirely. As for the matter of his calling, that gets the Septon a curious and momentarily thoughtful look before the lad confesses, "You are not the first to have made that supposition, and, in truth, I was undertaking instruction towards that end for a while." And still would be, if it had been up to him. "Situations change though, and that path is no longer one I tread." At the mention of mail though he glances back towards the fortress they're surrounding and offers an update from his own recent time out at the front. "There's nothing moving in particular out there. There's an occasional shift in the shadows but I think they're probably as fed up of the weather as we are. Thank you though," he answers with a wry smile, "I shall pray though, that Lord Mallister does not decide to rotate the watch upon hearing of such a move."