A question of honour.

*Shadows flicker across the chamber, cast by a few scant oil lamps secluded in various corners. Sitting a table in a roughweave monks robe sits a youngish man, scribbling carefully in a book of parchment by the light of a single flickering candle stub. In the distance, the sound of church bells can be heard calling the faithful to Vesper mass. He pauses a moment in his scratching to look outside at the moon just beginning to rise above the horizon, sighs heavily, and returns to his book*

Honour. Its an interesting thing, and used in interesting ways. And sometimes that which is called honour is, in fact, little more than habit. To think of oneself as honourable. I sometimes wonder if that very practice immediately disqualifies one from BEING honourable. After all, the humble man does not think himself so, and never declares himself so.

Perhaps then I am as accused.. Honourable. I know it is a thing I have aspired to, to be able to be looked on with pride as an example of what an honourable person is. But most days I feel I fall short, for reasons as simple as the few coins still owed Brother Robert, or the nipping of a bit of extra from the line during the evening feast.

But that does not change the fact that I stand accused of honour. And Honesty. Neither of these traits do I feel I possess in any grand amount, though I would admit to honesty. But more for the sake of having less to remember. In times past I was quite the skillful liar, twisting and bending the truth to avoid situations. But in that time it was mostly a case of survival, fending off bill collectors as well as I could. After all, at that time, I had no coin to pay, and yet they kept calling. Still.. Not the most honourable thing.

And then, on another question of honour. When one is accused of honour for behaving a certain way, for reasons that have nothing to do with honour. Does this still make one honourable? To drive ones cart in a reasonable fashion, that the town Shiriff does not fine ye, or to not dispatch your neighbour for fear of retribution, or even something as simple as not uttering a word of curse, for fear of Gods own retribution. None of these things are truly acts of honour. Though they may by their nature be honourable acts. But an even greater question is.. Is an act honourable if you do not know why you commit it?

For this pilgrim.. I cannot say. I act the way I act, because I am the way I am. I do not feel worthy of being called 'honourable'. Scarcely so for being called honest. Whether this is out of some misguided sense of nobility, or merely truly feeling unworthy of the title, or perhaps... Just perhaps... the responsibility. To be called honourable by another, makes you responsible to be honourable. Both for the reputation of honour, and for the sake of that persons credibility and note of sense. After all.. What kind of person would tarnish anothers name by their own actions? Or make another look the fool...

*the monk sits up... Stretching his back, and yawning quietly as he observes the now sparkling stars in the night sky, and then drains a small clay mug sitting on the desk next to him of its water, now tepid. He then looks back at the book, and picks up his quill, clipping the tip to bring back a sharp tip, and dipping it in the iron gall ink before returning to his page*

All questions this eve... and no answers... Let it be said that I hope my accuser in this case finds me guilty, not just today, but for every one to come.

And let me hope that should I ever reach my breaking point... That when it comes time to face a true question of honour... I'm up to the task.

Brother Hiberius Cline