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The Mass of the Angels by titania522

Rated T

Militiae species amor est

(Love is a kind of warfare)

-from Ars Amatoria, Ovid

13th Century AD

"Who goes there!" she shouted in her fiercest voice.

"Sister, we are soldiers just returned from Jerusalem. We seek refuge," answered Commander Odair.

"We have heard the rumors of Crusaders who sought refuge in other monasteries and pillaged them instead. How can I be sure your men will not behave in the same base manner?" the Prioress answered through the slide-hatch.

Despite the darkness outside and the diminutive size of the small hole, Mother Superior Sae saw the Commander go down on bended knee. "I swear, on behalf of myself and my men, on the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that we will bring no harm to you or your order. We offer our swords in fealty and the protection of our bodies in honor of our oath." He kissed his sword. "Please, Mother, we have wounded men!"

Sister Madge looked for direction from Mother Superior Sae, the Prioress of the older woman gently pulled Madge away from the men clamoring on the other side. "Sister Madge, gather the younger nuns and see them to the safety of the cellars. Wake Sister Lavigna and bring her to me. May God keep us all," the older woman crossed herself. "Who would be so wicked as to defile us on the night of the birth of our Lord?"

Sister Madge understood the gravity of the Mother Superior's request. By their holy vows, they could not decline assistance to those who asked, even soldiers who had returned with the blood of men on their hands. Especially, those men who had fought in Jerusalem in the name of the Savior. However there were tales of pillage and rape from other convents. They did well to be cautious, especially with the novitiates, many of whom had been left in the nunnery by wealthy parents who would retrieve their daughters when they were of marrying age. It was as much an investment as a moral obligation that Mother Superior Sae protected.

Madge herself was only an initiate and had not taken her vows yet. She was not one of the fortunate girls who had a wealthy family waiting to marry her off. She had been sent here upon the death of her parents, with what little wealth remained to her, by the hand of her uncle Coriolanus Snow, who had seized her family's estate, one of the largest in Panem, and dispensed with the young doweress by banishing her to a nunnery. She would become a nun, tasked with protecting those privileged ones who would soon have their freedom by marriage. She would tend the men alongside Mother Superior Sae, for her lot would be to reside here for the rest of her days. She would not be hidden away among the other jewels of the monastery.

Madge soon returned with Sister Lavinia, after having herded the younger novitiates to the hidden cellar that Mother Superior had fashioned for their protection. She led the older nun, still bleary-eyed from sleep, through the vestibule, following the sounds of talking men into the hospital. The hearth had been lit and was being stoked to warm the room, frozen with the chill of winter. Mother Superior had prevailed upon the able-bodied men to bring more hay from the hay loft to further pad and warm the pallets used to tend to the sick and destitute.

There were ten men in total, four of whom were wounded. Madge scurried to the Prioress's side where she had already begun tending the wounds of one soldier, a man with hair the color of fire. He bit down on a strip leather as the older nun washed and dressed one of several festering wounds, removing the stitches that were virtually sealed into the swollen and crusted skin.

"These men were treated on the battlefield and removed directly by ship. They have received poor attention at best," Commander Odair commented to Mother Superior.

"It is a wonder they survived the voyage at all," said the older nun, struggling with cutting the string used to repair the young soldier's wounds. "Sister Madge, tend the young man near the hearth. His wound is infected also." She raised a finger to tuck a loose blond curl that had escaped the hood of Madge's habit, tsk-tsking under her breath before returning to her labors. Not having taken her vows yet, Madge still possess the luminous blond hair that had been so well complimented on when she still lived in her village, hair that would be shorn the moment her vow to wed God and the Church was sealed. Madge pushed the feeling of discontent away. There was no sense in mourning what could not be changed.

Madge adjusted her habit and made her way to the young man lying quietly near the fire. It was so cold on this Christmastide that the heat of the hearth dissipated quickly. Even so, his visible shaking was likely the result of a high fever.

She crossed herself before kneeling next to the soldier. He was not much older than her - maybe two or three years, though it was hard to tell from the dirt and grime that covered his face. She fetched a washcloth and water that was already heating on the stones of the hearth, carefully wiping the dirt from his face and neck. He was tall one, it was obvious from the length of his limbs, and well muscled. His hands spoke of one who had spent many a day in the fields.

"Sir, I am here to care for your wounds. Tell me, where are you hurt?" she asked in a voice barely higher than a whisper.

He opened his eyes and she was arrested by their virtually colorless nature. They were grey and wide-set in rugged features including a strong nose and full lips. His look was handsome yet fierce at the same time and Madge couldn't help but feel intimidated by him.

She was interrupted in her study of him when he shifted his chainmail, lifting it to reveal a deep flesh wound to the left of his belly button. She covered her mouth to keep from choking on the stench of illness. The young knight, an astute observer from the way his crystal eyes moved about her face, grimaced at her reaction.

"It only looks terrible," he quipped.

"More than just looks, Sir," she blurted out, clapping her hand over her mouth.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. "You have a rare gift for comfort."

"My apologies," Madge answered, the sting of embarrassment spreading across her cheeks. She selected herbs that might draw out the disease and mixed them in a bowl until she had a paste. With a small prayer, she carefully cleaned the wound, removing as much of the disease as she could from the gash in his side. However, to really clean it, she would need to get the shiny, swollen skin to lose its tautness.

"It was a sword," he said at length between grunts of pain.

"It had occurred to me, sir," she said as she continued to apply the paste, hoping it would be strong enough to draw out the pus and reduce the swelling. "Have you eaten?"

The knight, whose eyes had fluttered shut, opened, foggy with exhaustion and pain. He simply shook his head.

"I will bring soup and spirits to ease your hunger," she said, preparing to gather her habit and hurry off to the kitchen when he tapped her sleeve.

"Sister, forgive me but what is your name?" he asked with parched lips.

"Madge. Sister Madge. And yours?" she responded and could not help that her voice shook.

"Gale. Of Hawthorne."

Madge froze. Hawthorne was one of the fiefdoms of her family's lands, lands now held by Lord Snow in the Kingdom of Panem. She remembered only a local metal smith of the same name in her village and came to the conclusion that Gale of Hawthorne was one of her late father's people.

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Madge made haste to where the other sisters scurried about, preparing a meal for the men who had arrived at their doorstep. She nearly dropped her flask of ale, slowing only to take a deep breath. Initially she shook with fear at the arrival of the bloodied and battle-worn men on Christ's Mass. But now that she realized he was also one of her countrymen, she thought she'd arrived at understanding why she was now so affected by the appearance of the knight called Gale.

She made the sign of the cross, a compulsion she'd taken up from the nuns around her. It was soothing, though she was often at pains to truly understand her purpose or place in the world. She did not see God in every corner and was inclined to believe that those who called on him the most were the ones least inclined to be moved by him in their actions. Her life had been riddled by these kinds of doubts and she promptly signed herself again at the near blasphemous turn of her thoughts.

Returning to her patient, she settled onto a small pallet next to him. Careful not to burn him, she spooned the soup, which had been made with clumps of softening bread floating among winter greens and softened, dried beef. He immediately lost something of his grey pallor, though his fever still ran far too high for Madge's comfort. She loosened his wool shirt, cooling the burning skin with a cold towel, and gave him tea made with herbs to cool the heat coming off of his flesh.

As she cared for him, he studied her in silence, discomfiting her with his attentions. When she thought she could no longer bear his scrutiny any longer, he gave her relief by speaking to her again, "You seem familiar. How do you find yourself here in such a distant convent?" Gale asked suddenly.

"It was not my choice," she said with uncharacteristic candor, for why she should reveal herself to anyone, much less a wandering soldier? And yet the compulsion was more powerful than her modesty, especially given his antecedents. "My parents died and I had no other relatives and no wealth," she did not share her misfortune at the hands of her uncle.

"And you?" she asked, applying cool cloths to his forehead again, surveying his still inflamed wound.

"I fight for the Cross, under the decree of our Lord and Savior in protection of his land and his people," he said.

She nodded slowly. He was a true believer. Many soldiers went to fight in the far east for adventure, gold and wealth. She saw the common quality of his armor and the lack of jewelry of any kind. It was clear he was not of noble stock and if he did not fight for wealth, he must be one who fought for faith.

"You are brave, Sir Gale. May God bless your sacrifice," she said, bowing to him as she pulled the empty cups away and worked to check the wound in his side, pleased that the paste had drawn down some of the swelling . He flinched at the pain, which provoked a powerful pity in her.

"I must open the wound and remove the pus. I am sorry, but it will hurt. Here," she handed him a strap of leather similar to the one the Red man had used when Mother Sae tended his wounds. Gale took it and bit down on it, nodding to indicate he was ready. The salve she had used had drained out the wound and lowered the swelling a bit but she would have to open and clean it herself for it to drain completely. That would be painful for him and it would try the limits of her stomach.

She gave Gale a generous serving of heavy spirits to ease his discomfort before she began her work. She cut the poorly-stitched wound, pulling the sides apart, and cleaned the pus and gore. The knight was a stoic, biting down on his leather but refusing to cry out, though his face was red and his neck bulged with the effort to repress his agony. Madge worked as quickly as she could, washing and cleaning the wound thoroughly, then applying another salve for inflammation and stitched it, this time hoping she would not have to redress the wound any further.

When she was done, Gale was sweating, from the pain and his valiant attempts at endurance so that she might work. He was still feverish and it worried her so. Madge should have gone to check on other patients, perhaps relieve the older nuns of their duties but she reasoned that the tops of his pink cheeks and the fine sheen of sweat that blossomed over his skin demanded that she stay close by, at least until his fever broke.

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The bell struck nine in the belfry, startling Madge from where she'd dozed off against a column. She looked around and heard the hushed voices of the Commander speaking to Mother Superior Sae, discussing accommodations for the non-wounded soldiers. But she could not really attend the conversation between them because the low sound of mumbling drew her attention away. She realized Gale was talking in his sleep and touched his forehead, which was on fire now.

Madge leapt to her feet and strode purposefully towards Mother Superior, waiting with barely repressed impatience for the older woman to acknowledge her.

"Yes, Sister Madge."

"My...Sir Hawthorne. His fever is very high. I would like to give him an ice bath."

"Indeed...It may be his best chance Very well, I will help you gather the snow. Commander, if you will excuse us..."

"If I may," Commander Odair interjected. "I will assist you. I am deeply grateful for your care of my men."

Madge nodded as the Prioress thanked the Commander. She wasted no time in fetching two large, wooden bowls from the kitchen and leading the tall Knight to the courtyard. She glanced at him. He was tall - though she was sure Gale was taller - and handsome, with eyes as green as the sea. These men were tired and battle-worn but well cared for by their Commander. He took a torch from the corridor to light the way and knelt onto the ground to help Madge gather snow.

"I thank you, Sister Madge, for your care of Sir Hawthorne. He is a brave warrior and a man of high principles. It would be a pity to lose him to a sword wound."

"Indeed, sir, it is my duty. All thanks must go to our Lord," she said properly, though inside, she was beaming with pride.

"Still, I am grateful. He is of a particularly stout moral construction, hard-earned by a difficult life and loyal to his comrades. He is one of my best soldiers and most valiant companions."

Madge nodded, having received little attention of anyone of her rank since her days in her father's house. She missed the communion very much, though she was of a shy disposition herself. It also gave her a peculiar pleasure to hear of the young man described in such a positive manner, as if confirming some inner conclusion she had already reached. She felt pride by proxy for the wounded man who lay inside.

When they returned with the ice, she noticed that Gale seemed to have gotten worse during the short interval she'd gone away. His skin was flushed and his lips were chapped. When she touched his forehead, it scalded her hand. She glanced up at her companion.

"Commander, I will require your assistance in undressing him," she said by way of request.

"Yes, Sister," he said, untying and removing what remained of Gale's armor. She observed the rough quality of his shirt that spoke of his poverty. He was a knight, there was no doubt of that, but he did not come from a wealthy family. His interiors spoke of modest means and frequent mending, even by his own hand. Madge cleared her throat as Commander Odair removed his thin shirt to reveal a broad, powerful chest. The skin was smooth except where there was the occasional pucker of battle scars. A smattering of brown curls decorated his chest and created a trail down his powerful stomach. She tried to be discreet but her eyes had a will of their own as she followed the path of dark hair until they were interrupted by the tops of his soft cotton britches, as thin as a lady's shift. She found herself out of breath suddenly and shook her head of all thoughts except for the challenge of Gale's fever.

When she stuffed the first handful of snow around his body, he gasped, opening his eyes. They were lost in feverish delirium but the cold had brought him briefly to consciousness. His eyes seemed to search, stopping only when they fell on Madge. She tilted her head, giving him her most serene expression in answer to his confusion.

"Your fever is very high, Sir. I must pack your body with snow to cool you. I am sorry, it will be uncomfortable."

Gale frowned as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "I am afraid you are an expert in discomfort, Sister."

Madge leaned back on her haunches, feeling indignant at the jibe. "Your life is my greatest concern, Sir. Your comfort is secondary only to this purpose. Pain is not to be escaped at all costs, for it would do little for our characters to seek only physical comfort."

Gale's head lolled on his pillow. "Indeed. I would gladly take pain at your hands above pleasure at the hands of any other."

His eyes fluttered shut and he drifted away again. Madge was left speechless, pressing more snow until the floor became puddled with the water melting from the heat of Gale's body. He had been shockingly bold and unreserved, which had offended her sensibilities as a nun. She was not to be courted in such a manner, not even by a Templar Knight.

However, beneath her indignation was another feeling, one akin to the pleasure he described. It was a thrill that electrified her heavy limbs and tired hands. Her fingers were numb with cold and her knees hurt from the excessive pressure of kneeling against the hard stone floor but adrenaline now coursed through her body. She was exhausted physically but she would not be able to sleep, thinking of Gale's words.

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Father Abernathy was sent for by Mother Superior Sae from the nearby monastery. He made his rounds as the night wore on, visiting with the men and, in two cases, delivering the last rights to a pair of knights who appeared to have one foot already in Paradise. It saddened the hearts of the nuns, for these men, in particular under the direction of Commander Odair, had demonstrated their honor and trust, and were quite esteemed in their eyes as warriors and men of God. The loss of even one would be a cause of great mourning for the Sisters who had cared for them.

As Gale shivered, Madge covered him with a blanket before drying the ground beneath him. Father Abernathy stopped before his cot, signing over him and examining his condition as best he could.

"How is he?" he asked Madge.

"He is not as feverish as before but he still burns," she answered with the proper obeisance. Gale, whom she knew to be conscious, lay immobile except for the occasional shiver from his fever and she wondered at his subterfuge. Still, his fever worried her as she could not bathe him in snow again, for it could possibly complicate his injury with the addition of a catarre.

Father Abernathy nodded, blessing the young man three times before moving onto the next soldier.

Madge, meanwhile, with the help of some of his stronger companions, including Commander. Odair, transferred Gale to a dry cot, resting the damp one near the hearth to dry. The jostling roused him and he searched the air frantically until his eyes come to rest on her again.

"You have not...flown away, Angel of Light," he slurred softly.

"I am no angel, sir. I am Sister Madge, of the order of our Lady of St. Catherine. How do you feel?" she asked.

Gale shook his head, as if his personal comfort hardly mattered. "I must...make a confession, Sister," he said.

Madge was puzzled. The priest had returned to the chapelle to make special preparations for the Angel's Mass this evening. It would be nothing to call Father Abernathy back and to hear Gale's confession but, though he was in a bad way, she did not expect him to require his last rights. "Sir, perhaps you are too hasty. You are only feverish but your wound is clean and you do not appear to be afflicted with black humors in your blood…"

"Sister, not a priest. I do not...feel myself at death's door yet," he licked his lips and Madge brought a cup of water to him.

"You knew Father Abernathy was here, didn't you? You could have requested a confession from him then," she scolded gently.

He did not answer, sipping the cool liquid before laying back and looking at her with drowsy eyes. "My confession...is only for you. I must make...amends to you."

She shook her head, her habit rustling from the movement. "You have in no way offended me. I must insist you rest and not tire yourself with unnecessary talk."

"No," he said, firmly but gently. "I have...misrepresented myself. If I die, you must know...that I am not a knight of...high birth, I am not a noble"

"It hardly matters, to me or to anyone else. You will not die, so do not speak such things. Please rest," she pleaded, having already guessed that he was not wealthy.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I left...my home when I presented myself...in the service of the estate of...Coriolanus Snow at the end...of my family's indenture…"

Madge straightened in her chair, forgetting his weakened condition. "Snow? Did you say you were a servant of Lord Snow? " she repeated dumbly. She listened more carefully to him as he spoke.

"Yes. I sought to...escape my village. Snow requested men...to send into battle as part of his...obligation to the King. I was...squired to Commander Odair, who...knighted me after two years of fealty."

"Why do you confess this to me?" Madge asked, dumbfounded by the connection between them.

"Because, Sister...I told you I had gone to Jerusalem to fight Saladin...out of love of our Lord and Savior. It was a lie and I feel I cannot...I cannot lie to you."

Madge shook her head, smiling sadly at the young man, sure the fever was rising and taking his reason away. "That is hardly something I would concern myself with. If it weighs on your heart, you may confess to Father Abernathy on the morrow…"

Gale chuckled, the sound warm and sonorous in the still room. Sister Lavinia cast a glance towards Madge as she held her own vigil for a young man who was badly wounded and had lost much blood on the journey to the nunnery. Madge shrugged, as if to imply that Gale spoke without sense, which to some degree, she believed.

"I do not...need a confession, at least...not now. I will...see to that later," he said firmly, drawing her eyes back to his face as he peered up at her. "There was a...girl in my village, a girl I had...spent my...childhood with."

She sat up straighter when he said this, unable now to turn her attention to anything else. A girl? And why did it surprise her that a handsome man like him would have a paramour?

"I loved her...very much. I intended on...marrying her when my...apprenticeship with my father ended, together with our...servitude. We would be...free as a family and I would be free...to take a wife and work with my father as a blacksmith," he shook his head, a sad smile on his face.

"What happened?" she blurted out, blushing from her sudden, unhindered curiosity.

He licked his lips again and Madge, remembering herself, fetched him his water. After he had swallowed several sips, he continued. "It was...not to be. She fell in love...with the son of the baker and married him instead."

So that was it. Love thwarted. Madge listened to enough stories of courtly romances from the troubadours who traveled, singing tales of love and valor throughout the kingdoms, and should have anticipated the resolution of his story. How many times had a tale like this one been sung by the minstrels of her town? Madge clutched her habit closer to her, as if it would shield her from the world's caprices and, most importantly, her own. He loved another and it had driven him far from home.

"The boy had...gone into battle but lost both his...eldest brother and his leg in a...campaign in Spain, so he returned within the year...The girl's mother is the village healer...and took her daughters with her...to treat his leg wound. That is how they...deepened their connection," Gale continued, lost in reminiscing. "He will...inherit the father's...bakery so she will never do without. This is what...I said to comfort myself," he wiped his face, his eyes lost in a memory she no longer wanted to be privy to, "The only real...reason for her...change in affections is that he...knew how to love her well... better than I did."

Madge sat quietly, uncomfortable with his evident unhappiness and her own sense of disillusion, though she could not say at what. She only knew that his story, a story that was so common, gave her a particularly intimate kind of unhappiness.

"So when their...betrothal was...announced, I went directly...to Lord Snow and placed myself at his service. I was immediately...squired to Commander Odair and we set out the very fortnight to liberate Jerusalem...I have not been home since."

Madge nodded slowly, overwhelmed by his story. To her, unrequited love was one of the saddest conditions, for there was no cure for the endless longing for a person who could never be won. The experience of love was one of the many things she was forced to renounce. She would never experience it as a nun.

Not wishing to think further on the rest of her life, she took a cold towel and pressed it against his head. He was quite warm again and she was at pains to search for a solution. She had tried everything. She also felt heavy at Gale's tale and could do nothing more than tend him as she thought about his words..

As she wiped the errant drops of water that raced down the sides of his face and ended on the bedding beneath him, he watched her carefully, searching perhaps for a sign or maybe, pondering something deep in his memory. There was no way for her to be sure but he spoke as if he was not carried by fever. He had given her his confidence and, in consequence, she confided her tale in him.

"I, too, must make a confession," she said carefully. "I am from the same town as you. Lord Snow - he is my uncle. My father was the Lord of his estate before his death."

"Lord Undersee?" he said, his eyes suddenly focused, peering into her face with an intensity that almost made her wither. She simply nodded before it.

"Yes! Your father...died six months...before my departure from Panem," his face lit up in recognition though he panted with exhaustion. "Lady Madge! How could I have not...seen it before," he said, enthusiasm animating him despite his weakness. "But you were very young. Your family's tale...is also a tragic one...I am so very sorry," he turned his head away to stare at the flames, the burst of enthusiasm suddenly draining away, leaving him limp.

Madge thought he might have fallen back to sleep but was surprised by his voice. "It would seem...none of us are here because of the strength of our faith."

She chuckled, shaking her head. Admitting to another that her presence here was instrumental, even if not by her choice, was a relief so great, she felt heady from it. "No, Sir, you are not the only one moved by circumstances other than faith to join the army of God."

Gale closed his eyes in exhaustion but a small smile lingered on his face. He was well on his way to sleep, his words slurred. "Would it be...blasphemy to say...that I find more relief...in confessing to you than to the...priest of my village?"

Pulling the rough-hewn blanket to cover him to his shoulders, Madge brushed a loose lock of dark hair from his moist forehead. Fire. He was pure fire and she feared her prayers for him would not be pure enough to be heard among so many on the eve of the Lord's birth. "Perhaps. But you are in good company, my friend. Now rest so you may finally return to the comfort of your family." A comfort, she added, that she herself would never experience again.

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The midnight bells rang. There was a general commotion as the nuns, having been roused from their rest, scurried to the monastery to attend the Angel's Mass. Some of the older nuns appeared to relieve those who had been working with the sick but Madge demurred, even though she was one of the sopranos in the choir and was skilled at the harpsichord. She explained to Sister Leevy that she would remain by his side until his fever broke, that she wouldn't dream of burdening her sisters. Sister Leevy, appearing only too relieved to not serve at the feet of wretched, wounded men, left with barely restrained relief to attend the midnight mass.

Madge continued to wipe Gale's forehead as his fever appeared to worsen. He mumbled, caught in a trance of illness. He was both wet with perspiration and shivering from the cold. Madge had never seen a fever so high and fetched another bucket of snow, even though she risked giving him a cold or a chill that could be worse than the fever.

Gale spoke, flailing and convulsing, but only weakly, for his body was ravaged by fire and illness. At times, he opened his eyes and peered into hers, both seeing and not seeing her as his mind wandered its secret places. Madge wanted to call him back from the memories he was lost in, memories that thrashed him in his weakened state and tortured him while he fought for his body, his mind, and his very life.

She heard the faint sounds of the choir singing in the chapelle and it made her heart want to soar. It was one of the few things she truly loved about her life in the convent - she loved singing in the choir. The music tugged at her heart, making her want to rise and join her sisters. But there was also Gale, of Hawthorne, thrashing in heat, wounded from battle because he could not bear to see the girl he loved marry another and chose to leave and offer his life in battle instead. Madge had bound herself to his side and would not soon leave him, no matter the impetus.

As the voices rose to sing the lonely strains of Ave Maria, Madge watched his illness peak, held him down as the tremors wracked his body and bathed him as best she could in cold towels and ice from the outside. She knew real fear, like the fear she felt the day she was called before Snow and banished from her family's home, and thought how stupid and cruel she had been not to call Father Abernathy to relieve the young man of his soul's burdens once and for all eternity. At that moment, she knelt by the side of his cot and prayed as she had never prayed before, asking God to excuse her indifference and her doubts, not because they had gone away, but because even despite them, her patient needed more than what she could give. Wasn't being good and faithful to one another just as important as dogma? Didn't self-sacrifice and kindness matter as much as the habit and chants that mark a holy person from one who is not. She knew if this young man died, she would never forgive herself, for it would haunt her all the days of her life. She prayed over and over, for him and for the other wounded until she was exhausted. She curled back onto her mat and continued her vigil, like a hound at its master's feet.

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Finally, long after the convent had gone silent, the fever that wracked his body slowly subsided. Madge, who had unwittingly dozed off, opened her sleepy eyes to find him in a deep slumber, free of the thrashing and mindless talking that had accompanied his battles. She rose to stoke the fires of the hearth and collected an extra coverlet for her bed. She carefully washed the sweat from his face and neck, barely receiving a low moan in response before he lapsed into the restorative rest of a disease-free sleep. Madge raised her face to the giant cross that hung on the wall, now glowing from the light of the fire she'd just stoked. Crossing herself and bowing her head, she whispered her thanks and promised to fast for the next seven days in gratitude for the miracle of the young soldier's life and, with the serenity that comes with fulfilled wishes, fell into a deep sleep of her own.

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The convent woke to the light of first morning on the day of Christ's Mass, to a flurry of terror and delight. The wounded knights who had been received the evening before by the order of Lady Catherine of Panem were on their feet, their fevers dissipated. Even more dramatic was the discovery that all the wounds borne by the men had been miraculously healed, even the nicks and scars of of those who were considered able-bodied and whole. Commander Odair was called to examine the very men he had had to carry in the night before, some at the end of their lives and could not believe his eyes. He called on Sister Sae, who in turned called Father Abernathy to confirm what their eyes could not believe.

"It is an act of God. Our Lord has visited us and healed our sick. We must dedicate this day to holy reflection and prayer for the miracle that he has seen fit to deliver to us. In the evening, we will feast in holy celebration. Commander Odair, you and your men are invited to remain until the Epiphany before returning to your homes."

Commander Odair looked at the faces of his men, filled with awe for what had occurred but also acute homesickness at the thought that they might not be able to leave until twelfth night. He turned and bowed before Father Abernathy. "Father, the Sisters of this holy house have shown us nothing but kindness and Christian charity. Many of these men have not seen home for years and we are but a day's ride from most of their villages. We must thank you for your invitation but we will remain only for this evening's festivities and depart on the morrow, with your blessing."

Father Abernathy nodded in understanding. "Join us for supper and you may have my blessing on your journey home to your families."

Commander Odair bowed, while the Knights all appeared visibly relieved. Soon, their long tour would finally be at an end.

Madge, who listened quietly in the vestibule, watched Gale as he examined his wounds and those of his companions. She resisted the urge to weep openly, for joy at his wholeness - he was indeed, a very tall and striking man - and sadness at his imminent departure. For one night, she had lived entirely and completely for another and had been willing to bargain almost anything for his health and well-being. Now that it was over, she would never forget those hours of vigil and intense focus. It left her bereft, for she was sure she would never feel that way again.

As he conversed with his fellow knights', Gales clear grey eyes appeared to search the room, over the heads of the Sisters and monks who had descended from the nearby Monastery. Madge had the intuition that perhaps he searched for her. But it was pointless to let herself be found. There was the remainder of the day and the feast of Christmas Day and then she would bid him farewell and throw herself into the remainder of her days, laboring in every way to forget the knight she had so passionately attended.

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Madge spent the better part of the day, evading the gentlemen who were now cured and no longer in need of her direct care. She assisted in the kitchens, preparing the evening meal. She was despondent - it had been a spectacular miracle, one that filled her with humility, for she was at pains to explain how it had occurred. She began her fast right away, sipping only water as she worked, rendering her labours in the kitchen a particular kind of torture for her. But she had made a promise and though it likely had nothing to do with what had taken place the night before, she had more cause than ever to be scrupulous in her beliefs and practice, if only in gratitude for the life of the knight.

She tried with all her might to banish the thought of her former charge from her mind. She was overjoyed by his recuperation, so much so that it filled her with a dizzying wildness that she had to repress from her words and actions. She could not give vent to her ecstasy and set about drowning that madness with endless chores, as many as she could complete.

So it was with heartstopping shock that she met the very object of her distraction in a turn behind the pantries of the kitchen, as if he were lying in wait, like a snare ready to spring closed. Her arms were filled with potatoes that she'd gathered from the cellar but upon catching sight of Sir Hawthorne leaning against the damp, stone wall, she came to a complete stop, nearly dropped the entire bushel.

"Sister," he dipped his head towards her in greeting.

"Sir Hawthorne," she said breathlessly, craning her head to catch a glimpse of his face before dropping her eyes to the ground. "It is good to see you well."

"Yes," he said, fidgeting with his riding gloves. They were made of soft, well-worn leather. "Indeed, it is is completely…" he searched for the words, "unbelievable, given the state we were in," he said, measuring each word as if he were doling sugar out to a child. Madge's heart raced with embarrassment, though at what, she could not be sure.

"I wanted to thank you but you've been gone since morning," he stepped away from the wall and faced her completely.

"I've been very busy with this evening's meal," she answered in response to what felt like an accusation on his part.

"Indeed," he said. Her nerves prickled with the impression that he did not quite believe her but she maintained her impassive expression. "I can't help but think, however, that you have lied to me."

"Lied?" Madge exclaimed, taken aback.

"Yes, Sister. You are not a person, but an Angel. And had you not tended me last night," he said, stepping forward so that he was directly in front of her. She would not cower but she did grip her bushel of potatoes closer to her chest, "Had you not been so determined to cure me of my fever, I, for one, would not be here today."

"It was a miracle! I cannot control such things. Pray, are you quite well, Sir?"

"I am in excellent health, thanks to you. Father Abernathy thinks we brought God's favor with us but he sees without understanding," he tucked his gloves into a pocket beneath his riding vest. "We traveled and brought nothing but death and destruction in our wake. The first thing, the only good thing that we found on our journey was this abbey. God led me to your hand and by your hand, I am whole/" He was within inches of her now, the only thing keeping him from reaching her altogether were the potatoes, for which she was infinitely grateful, for she had never been so close to a man before in any other capacity except for a healing one..

"Whether by my hand or by another, God's miracles are his own, to bestow as he pleases."

"They are. But I will thank you anyway, for if he did his work, he did it through you. No one will credit you but you held vigil the entire night. In my memories, I hear your voice, calling me back from heaven's light, begging me to stay. And I listened to you. I stayed. There is no other explanation but that you brought this onto us all. I owe you a debt that would take a lifetime to repay."

Sister Madge was mesmerized by his words, by the way he said them. She watched his mouth formed around each syllable, the sound his voice as it captured and spoke them. She appeared riveted by his speech but it was the movement of his mouth that captivated her. He would leave and go back to her home, their home and would she retain in her memory the physical perfection of his mouth in motion, engaged in speaking, not to anyone but to her. She pushed the sudden sadness aside and instead, bowed her head. "I will accept your thanks, but it was my duty and I was only too happy to do it."

Gale seemed to struggle with a decision, a suspense he held in the taut lines of his body that seemed to reached toward her, though he remained firmly in place. He, too, had fixed his sharp eyes on her but after several long moments, he made an internal choice and leaned away from her.

"Very well, I depart before the feast. If I ride quickly, I will be at my village by this evening and I wish nothing more than to return to my home."

"Don't!" she burst out without thinking, dropping her bushel when she raised her hand, as if to stop him. The potatoes cascaded onto the floor, rolling away from them in every direction. The shock of their fall caused her to bend quickly and catch the escaping buds but he captured her elbow and kept her immobile. He lost the guarded look and what replaced it was feral, terrifying in its intensity. Her heart slammed in her ribcage as with his other hand, he pulled the coif and veil from her head. There was a squeal of shock as her thick, blonde hair tumbled in waves from its confinement. Gale's eyes widened at the sight of her extraordinary hair, lying wild and tangled like like a cape around her shoulders.

"What...how dare you?" she gasped as he released her.

Her surveyed her, a hunger she had never seen on a person suffusing his features before he schooled them again, swallowing as if he had not tasted water in days. "You have not taken your vows yet."

"No, sir, I have not," she answered in a tremulous voice, gathering her hair and holding her hand out to him. "I am only just arrived in the fall. My veil, please," she said, her fury mounting.

He broke his trance finally, looking down at the fabric he held in his hand as if he could not fathom how it had gotten there. He handed it back to Madge, who snatched it up and adjusted herself so she would not be so indecent before him.

"Sister, I…"

"Farewell, Sir Hawthorne," Madge answered abruptly, her nerves in as much disarray as the dusty potatoes that now lay scattered about the hallway.

Gale bent to collect the few that had rolled near him, placing them quietly inside of the sack. When she had secured them in her burlap sack, she stood and, without another word, whirled around and stalked away, anywhere but in the direction where he still stood. His audacity had so mortified her, she broke into a sudden run, hurtling away from the preposterous illusion of Gale Hawthorne and towards the reality of her life within those stone walls.

XXXXX

True to his word, he left before the feast. She did not watch his departure, only sensing his sudden absence like a drop in temperature. Something had fled her existence, something almost too hot to touch, too textured to endure. It left the air about her suddenly too thin to breath, the sounds too weak to hear. She'd gained and lost something so complex in quality, she had barely given a name to it before she had the chance to manipulate and understand it. All she knew was that it was no more and everything around her became colorless and dull because of it.

XXXXX

Twelfth Night

XXXXX

Sister Madge's fast ended conveniently on the feast of the Epiphany. She had promised ten days but decided, in honor of such great things as what was now coming to be known in the surrounding villages as the Miracle of the Angel's Mass, she carried it until that holy day. She'd become thinner, somewhat weaker, but also felt purged of the madness of those twenty-four hours. She still thought of Commander Odair, the Red man who learned was named Darius, and two others who she had no occasion to meet at all. But in particular, she thought of Gale Hawthorne and guessed that the acute pang with which she recalled him must certain lessen with the passage of time.

Mother Superior Sae, who had observed in Madge a serene, methodical mind and the rare talent of being able to read and write, set her to the task of copying manuscripts in the library. Therefore, after her morning chores, midday meal and prayers, she retired to the library adjacent to the Prioress's study and began the slow work of reproducing the holy texts so prized in the monastery. Madge found comfort in the monotony of the work and in the learning she discovered, for she often paused in her work to read other books, discovering the melodic work of St. Augustine, the remarkably learned text of Hildegard of Bingen, the great thinking of the Greek philosophers preserved through transcription over time. Her father had valued reading and writing and had given his daughter an education that would allow her to do both, something that gave her great solace in the long, lonely hours of her life.

As she copied an illustration, her thoughts flew to the knights who had come only eleven days ago, with their wounds and their disruption of her life. She did not often dwell on thoughts of them, but she indulged herself as she copied, thinking of Gale in the throes of fever, thrashing in his cot. She considered his tale and what drove him to fight in the hot deserts of the East. She tried not to consider his eyes or the way his chest rose and fell under the struggle of his illness - she knew these were paths her mind should stay clear from. Still, thoughts of him filled her with both anticipation, joy and an underlying melancholy for the growing distance between her present and those days of the past.

The clattering of metal and stamping of hooves drew her attention from her work. She glanced out the window and noted two men on horseback who had arrived and whose horses were being situated by the nuns in the stables. The day was frigid and ice hung heavily about the windows, obscuring her view of the details of their dress but they were clearly knights, by their carriage and the banners that hung from their steeds..

Madge considered the strangeness of the arrival of these guests on the most holy day of the year but, in the ensuing silence, returned to her work, laboring quietly, in methodical comfort, enveloped by the utter predictability of every moment of every day, likely to be the same exact rhythm for the remainder of her life.

Her head snapped up at the thought, a quiet desperation overtaking her. She dipped the quill in the ink, careful to blot the excess and brought the tip of the feather to the paper, pausing as it hovered. This. This is what she could expect. Her habit suddenly felt like a noose and her coif a stiff, white leash wound around tightly around her head, giving her space to live, perhaps to explore but short and could be yanked back at any time by the host of people who controlled her - her uncle Snow, Mother Superior, Father Abernathy, the Pope himself - she could expect that she would never be her own individual, her own person. Choice was something she had never had because she was a woman and the daughter of a great, but deceased, man. She knew that if she had been given any choice at all, she would select for herself the path that promised the most freedom each and every time.

She signed herself, hoping that her thoughts were not too displeasing. The light waxed and waned with the clouds passing just beyond the large windows as Madge continued to work for another three-quarter hour until she heard the creak of the library door as it opened and looked up to see Mother Superior Sae enter the room.

"My child," she said gently, in a way the older woman never spoke to her. Fear gripped Madge's heart suddenly and she swallowed hard.

"Mother Sae?" she answered as a question.

She drifted to her desk, looking at Madge's handiwork. A gorgeous letter H was adorned with ivy, roses, and large leaves, a gate in the background against which rested a tethered horse, its whinnying almost audible through the pages of the book.

"Sister Madge, you have a visitor. He has requested a private audience," she said slowly.

"Me?" Madge answered, ordering her desk absentmindedly as she began to shake. Her nerves were never the sturdiest and she did not enjoy surprises in the least.

"Yes, Sister. But before I allow him to speak to you, I must…" she faltered, searching for words that would not come but after a pause, she tried again. "Your situation is a particular one. Do not think for one moment that we are not aware of this."

Madge's thoughts flew to her uncle, who now sat in the midst of lands that rightfully belonged to her. She agreed that her situation as a dispossessed dowager was peculiar and yet sadly, all too common for women of a certain rank.

Mother Sae continued. "You must understand the position of the Church. We champion the right of the individual to worship God in the manner most appropriate to their temperament and disposition. You have been an optimal novitiate, fulfilling your duties with seriousness and modesty, though it is clear your heart and mind are elsewhere."

"Mother…" Madge said, an apology ready on her lips.

"No, please, I have not come to correct you but to...liberate you."

Madge furrowed her brow in confusion. "Liberate? How so, Mother?"

Mother Sae nodded at the young lady. "You are dutiful and conscientious. You are also, by virtue of your Uncle's actions, free, more so than any other young lady who resides within these walls, waiting at their family's leisure to be married off. Your...divested fortune means you are poor but you are also free to choose your way. You do not require the permission of Lord Snow or the King to live as you see fit, child. Your impediments are now those of even the lowliest of us - poverty and perhaps a lack of connections. Do you understand?"

"Yes...I believe so..." Madge said in confusion.

"Very good. Sir Hawthorne requests a private audience with you. Will you see him?"

Madge stiffened in shock. Sir Hawthorne? You mean, the knight…?"

"The very same, Sister. Will you receive him? I can stay with you, if you like…"

Madge's mind raced with the possibilities as they presented themselves to her, one more preposterous than the next. "No..no, Mother, that is not necessary. I...I will meet with him," she said, stumbling over her words.

The older nun nodded before leaving the room. Moments later, she heard the heavy tread echoing along the hallway, becoming louder and louder. She watched the door until a large shape loomed before it, in an instant, resolving into the figure of the grey-eyed knight, his dark hair straight and combed back impeccably. He was the same knight who only a few days early appeared to be at the door of death, and yet, in his riding clothes and disease-free health, had become another man altogether.

"Sister Madge," he said by way of greeting, toying with his gloves as he spoke.

"Sir Hawthorne. I trust you are well?"

"I am, thanks to you," he said, lapsing into silence again. The wordless tension stretched awkwardly between them until Madge could not stand it anymore. "Will you take a seat, sir?"

Gale shook his head, swallowing hard. "I am not known for my gift with words. I am quiet, even taciturn, given more quickly to anger than to laughter. I am even considered stern, for my age."

"Indeed, sir, you do have a sanguine humor," Madge confirmed.

Gale gave a small smile that disappeared quickly under the throes of his excessive feeling. His agony was visible around his eyes, in the way his hands trembled as he fidgeted with his gloves. Madge had a sudden, inexplicable desire to reach out and still his agitation with her own serenity.

"But I am loyal and will protect what is mine with my sword, even with my very life. I do not know how to perhaps...love a girl as those great knight's tales sung by the bards, but I can take care of you all the days of your life," he looked up then and held her gaze.

"Sir…" Madge said cautiously.

"I owe you my life, for this alone, I should place myself at your feet but, Sister, from the first moment I laid eyes on you in my fever, I knew you were reserved for me. I thought it a cruel trick, that I should be so smitten by a girl beyond my reach so I overstepped myself…

Madge remembered Gale tearing the coif from her and understood now his audacity.

"I began to hope, perhaps, that you were not forbidden to me. I returned to my village, learned of the particulars of your circumstances. I asked my father for his blessing and I am now here. I would marry you, Sister, if you would accept the strange and incredible events that have led us to this place and consent to become my wife despite them."

"Or because of them," Madge blurted out, closing her eyes. She searched her heart and understood, in that moment, the unnamed thing that he had brought and taken away when he'd left. She understood her melancholy, the bleakness of surroundings that had been robbed of vibrancy when he went away. She understood but it was too soon to give it a name and so she considered instead what he offered - tentatively, a stab in the dark perhaps. But as Mother Superior had said, she was free in a way she could never have been with her lands, her wealth. And this, this too, was part of the journey that had carried her here, just as his unrequited love and his campaigns in Jerusalem were steps on a path that crossed hers, here in this convent, in the middle of the steppes of the most forlorn part of Panem. And miracles? Perhaps even those were part of the conspiracy. Before so much evidence, she could not choose otherwise.

"Sir, I am not given to many words either. I have no wealth, no dowry to speak of. But I can read. I can write, sew and play the harpsichord…"

Gale stepped forward as her words tumbled from her mouth.

"I, too, am loyal and faithful, not given too much in the way of levity but I cannot deny when events seem to conspire to bring two souls together. I accept your offer on the strength of this…"

"And on the strength of some gentler feeling?" he whispered, a hairsbreadth away from her and this time, there were no potatoes to save her.

She gazed into his eyes, lost in the burst of color that she could finally see, color that was visible only when one was as close as she was - a sea of blues but also faint glints of gold, orange and yellow. His eyes were not pale but were a mask of opacity beneath which ran colors as bright as the rising sun. Would it always be this way? Would she spend her life in the discovery of all that was new to find in him? She hoped and prayed for it.

"Not a gentle feeling, Sir. It is strong, so strong, I have battled and lost to the memory of you since you have departed."

Gale nodded and gave her a genuine smile, something she that must be so rare, she thought she might be dazzled mindlessly by it. And soon, behind his smile, came his lips, warm and gentle against her own. The flood of heat that swelled from the point of contact spread throughout her body and her submission became complete. She would never undo the effect of that kiss on her, for as long as she lived.

When he pulled back, she swayed on her feet, his strong arms keeping her in place. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to his hooded ones, the clear color of his eyes now smokey and dark.

"It will displease my uncle. Have you no fear?"

Gale gave her a look of disbelief. "I have fought in foreign lands for two years. Survived a sword cut and had a miracle and a wife sent to me by the hand of God himself. What do I have to fear from one such as your uncle?"

Madge nodded, recovering her legs. "You are too confident. He is a man to fear."

"I will confront that when the time is right. I will have cause to meet him soon enough. But he is not my concern now. If you agree, Father Abernathy awaits to complete the ceremony. And then I will take you to my family, who are even now preparing for our return. You will spend twelfth night with us, Angel of Light and by this time tomorrow, all will know that you are my wife. I will not expend another thought on your uncle today."

Madge nodded, taking his arm as he led her from the room. Now was not the time to think of Snow but a time for joy and such happiness that she thought her heart would burst from it. She tugged the coif and habit from her head, releasing her bright, shiny curls, and set the cloth on the table near the door of the Prioress' study, saying goodbye to that short interval of her life. She hoped that it would serve the next novitiate as well as it has served her.