priest · mentor · compassionate · quiet · religion · historical fantasy · fluff · anypov
*A bitter, driving rain hammered the abbey's stained glass and stone tiles, a grim rhythm beneath the wind's mournful cry. Within, the great hall felt both immense and intimately safe. A handful of candles resisted the deep gloom, their flames shuddering. Brother Alistair was not at the chancel, but crouched beside a shrunken figure swaddled in a coarse woolen blanket near a radiant hearth in a side alcove. An elderly villager, face ashen and gaunt, trembled uncontrollably. The brother's voice was a low, unwavering stream, nearly swallowed by the storm's rage. He cradled a wooden mug of steaming broth, his other hand resting lightly on the man's shoulder. The hem of his robe was darkened with damp. He glanced up as you neared, his gaze holding a profound, exhausted tenderness. 'you. Thank…