The early morning sunlight cast long shadows as it peeked in over the Abbey's outer wall and shone down on the rose garden. The air was chill now, but Aavi knew from long experience that it would heat up fast. The garden was popular among the denizens of the Abbey, one of the few places not reserved for either prayer or the necessary work of survival in the ruined city. So it was his routine to wake up early and try to steal a few tranquil moments alone there, particularly if he needed to get some serious thinking done.
He took his place on an ancient wooden bench bleached white by the sun and studied the rose bush beside it. The garden was full of all manner of plants, but roses most of all. He had adopted this one and cared for it diligently, though it must have been older than he was. A new flower had opened overnight and its brilliant white petals brought a smile to his lips. The approaching crunch of footsteps on gravel took it away again. So much for his solo meditation.
"You're up early. Again."
The implied reproach made him look up. He had to squint at Zarel from where she stood silhouetted by the rising sun. She had her armour on, the ornamental copper wings of the junior Seraph cast an impressive shadow before her.
"Just thinking." Aavi shifted over on the bench to make room and she joined him, century-old wood creaking in protest.
"You do too much of that. Might be happier if you didn't." She gave him a nudge. Zarel was only a year older than him but liked to play big sister to her friends.
"I don't think I have an off-switch." He let out a sigh that came out a bit more dramatic than he meant it. She laughed.
"So what's vexing your great and troubled mind, oh philosopher?"
Aavi frowned and ran a hand through his messy white curls. Telling her about the infected tiefling he'd met didn't seem like an option, but he hadn't thought about much else since yesterday. What had he been thinking about before that? Oh, right. Big life decisions.
"I want to take an oath." It was the first time he'd actually voiced it aloud.
"You want to take an oath?" The young Seraph blinked in surprise. "You? A paladin?"
Aavi blushed, pale cheeks colouring pink. "It's not that outlandish is it? I'm as devout as anyone."
Zarel turned to stare at him dubiously. She was pale and pretty, not unlike him, but with fiery red hair and a warrior's bearing. Her selection for the Seraph, the Triarchy's martial order, had surprised no-one.
"No... I just didn't see you bearing the shield of Agraton. You're not really the protector type..." He was shaking his head, so she trailed off then scowled. "Not Scaevola! Aavi you wouldn't know which end of a whip..."
"No, Zarel-" he cut her off and gestured vaguely, awkwardly. "Lyrti..."
"Lyrti," she deadpanned, "Goddess of Charity? Favoured weapon is the helping hand? Hasn't had a paladin in fifty years? That Lyrti?"
Aavi's face was as pink as some of the roses now, but he gritted his teeth and nodded.
"Goddess of Mercy too." He lowered his voice. "And Forgiveness. Redemption..."
"I thought those last ones were Scaevola." Zarel cast a quick glance around the garden, still deserted but for them.
"Scaevola stands for Atonement and Healing. In practice that means punishment, correction, and surgery, not forgiveness or understanding. And their ways aren't work-"
She grabbed his arm, metal gauntlet squeezing warningly. Seraph weren't the thought police, but they were a holy order after all. Aavi swallowed and nodded, changing tack.
"Ok, fine. I mean I think there's another way I can help people."
"So an oath of... Redemption?" She looked dubious still, but her grip on his forearm had loosened at least.
"Something like that. I still need to figure out exactly what I want to swear. And hope Lyrti listens."
They sat in silence for a minute, letting that thought sink in. Finally Zarel surprised him by taking his hand. It was more intimate than her usual affection.
"I think she will listen." Her voice was earnest and she looked at him until he met her gaze, still blushing from their exchange. "And I think you'll be a great paladin."
"Thanks," he mumbled, a little overcome by the display of sincerity.
"And if there's anything I can do to help, I will."
An idea struck.
"When do you next have gate duty?"
---------------------------------------------
The crumbling bell tower was where he remembered it, overlooking the dusty abandoned square with its once-regal buildings. The walk down the hill and through the deserted city streets, alone for once, had been disconcerting to say the least. Empty windows and doorways that he had passed a dozen times before all carried a new mystery, a new sense of threat. It had been easy to imagine no-one lived here when he had come as part of a big, well armed group. Now Aavi wasn't so sure.
He stopped at the well in the centre of the square - actually a rusty metal water pump rather than a full-on hole in the ground. There was a crude leather bucket beside it, he recognised it as something made in the Abbey, and a small drain. The yellow-white sandstone of the street was stained an off-putting orange wherever water had splashed. Aavi decided against drinking and turned instead to the dark doorway of the tower.
The ground floor was a high-ceilinged room containing some ancient smashed furniture and a few sheaves of paper in the final stages of transforming into dust. A long stone counter ran the length of one wall, giving the impression the room was once an office that had been open to the public. Big smears in the dust marked where the tiefling Ardour had climbed (or rolled?) over it to get to the ladder on the far side. Aavi picked his spot and climbed over carefully, wincing at the dust stain it left on his white novice robe.
There was nobody at the top of the ladder, which was both a relief and a disappointment. He wasn't sure why he was quite so keen to see the tiefling woman again. She was clearly infected, in fact she had been touching herself in a most depraved fashion when they first met, suggesting the madness of the Infernal Itch was as real as all his teachers claimed. But she had restrained herself and spoken to him, despite a clear desire to either flee or do something much worse. She had a name. That meant she was a person, not just a mad sinner, and she was worth saving.
The room at the top of the ladder was a belfry, with its big brass bell miraculously still hanging though covered in a green tarnish. Four windows looked out over the city in all directions, but Aavi could see from the patterns of dust on the sill which one she favoured. It looked out over the abandoned square and up the hill towards the Abbey. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it gave him a good feeling. He settled down to wait.
Two hours later and the tower was cooking in the noon sun. Aavi had retreated from the window ledge and sat on the floor beneath the window instead, tucking himself into the small patch of shade it offered. He was sweltering in his robe but dared not take it off - it wouldn't do for him to be caught in the same indelicate spot he'd found Ardour in.
