#today's yuletide warmup

[terribleoldwhitemen]

ficlet: james & francis, “state of grace” 

gen, rated g, 335 words. 

(written for @12daysofcarnivale!)

Once, before the walking out had taken from them any spiritual performances not carried out in the mind’s quietude, Francis had glimpsed Fitzjames praying.

In his kneeling position, height cut down by half, the man had looked so oddly small. Like a child. Francis had neither meant nor wanted to see this sight—had entered Erebus’s Great Cabin with his customary brief rap upon the lintel, and been confused to find it empty but for a voice issuing from the captain’s berth—once Sir John’s, now Fitzjames’s. Damnable curiosity had drawn him within earshot.

“Christ, hear me,” spoke Fitzjames, low and serious. “God in heaven, have mercy on us, and show us the path to our salvation; whether it be earthly or spiritual.” A breath. “Though, Christ, I confess I do hope for earthly salvation most of all—” and then the prayer had broken off on a ragged noise.

With lightest steps, Francis retreated, his fingers twisting wildly at his sides. He felt flayed and observed, without seeming reason; for it was not himself that had been overheard in such vulnerability.

Francis collected himself outside of the Great Cabin. This time, he rapped long and loud, calling, “Captain Fitzjames?”

There was the sound of a scraping door. Footsteps followed, and then Fitzjames stood before him, a neat half-turn on his heel and incline of his head as greeting. “Francis. To what do I owe the honor?”

There was no outward sign that Fitzjames had been moments before, in a quiet and uncertain voice, beseeching the Lord for deliverance. The cant of his eyebrow was as cool as usual, and no hair on his head was out of place; nor any speck of dust visible at the knee of his trousers. The state of his person gave no indication of the apparently troubled state of his soul.

Francis cleared his throat and moved into the room so that their conversation might continue in privacy—he felt that much and more he now owed him, though it was a debt he fervently wished to forget.

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