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fellowshippers2005-12-23 09:33 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-12-23 09:33 pm
Brethren, Chapter One
Title: Brethren
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: DM/VM, perhaps more later
Rating: PG this part, up to NC-17 later
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saura_, who really helped make sure this part was not one big fat long rambling mess ☺
Feedback: Encouraged! Thanks for all the positive comments on the prologue… this part is for all the history nerds ☺
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, because if they did, you people would never see them again…
Summary: We meet our hero, number two. Chapter one teaches us some more about the Moravians, and about one of the Bethlehem community’s most attractive family members, Mister Viggo Mortensen. Wherein Dom is adorable and English, and Viggo says very little of his presumably interesting past.
It was a sunny, fairly warm afternoon when Viggo left the town of Bethlehem to meet the newcomers, fresh off the boat from German lands.
They had been delayed one week by squalls, but a scout announced that today would be the day of their arrival, and as supervisor of the Single Brethren Choir, it was his job to greet the newcomers and welcome them to life in Bethlehem. Many had married before immigrating, but some of the younger immigrants had travelled alone to join the Single Brethren and Sisters in Bethlehem.
Viggo smiled at the wide-eyed curiosity of the young people who were pulled to the shore in canoes, looking very run-down from the trip but looking about them in rapt fascination at the woods that lined the bank. The ship had come into harbour in Raritan Bay, the closest point at which it could dock. From there it was a couple hour’s ride west to Bethlehem, a trip that would be made by several carriages brought from the town for the travellers and their luggage. Viggo himself had come on horseback to lead the caravan, and when he reached the shore he tied his steed loosely to a tree and approached the incoming canoes on foot.
Although all property in Bethlehem was communal, no one ever begrudged Viggo the use of Schwarzefee, a beautiful chocolate-coloured stallion that tended to be a bit wild around the other brethren, but calmed instantly under the soothing low tones of Viggo’s Danish murmurs.
Viggo, who was born in the New York colony, had lived with Moravians since 1733, and it had been decided by the elders that rather than married life, he was best suited to be a spiritual leader to the young single men in the Single Brethren Choir. He enjoyed his role in the community, and had also been successful in many converting missions to the Delaware in the Ohio country. His calm, patient manner appealed to the suspicious natives, and his thorough understanding of church practice made him an ideal candidate for explaining his religion to native populations.
Although he had at times questioned his faith in youth, he had emerged a strong believer and thoroughly agreed with the Moravian interpretation of the Bible. And as he stood waiting for these young people to disembark with their trunks and other belongings, he smiled knowingly, thinking about the years to come.
He hoped that through his instruction he would find some young single men and women who would join him on converting missions, and he was optimistic about the prospects. It took a certain type of person to be an evangelizer—someone well versed in Moravian traditions, steadfast in his belief in Christ, and also understanding of native traditions.
Viggo had lived among the natives, and knew more about them than most Christians. He understood their spiritual and cultural practices, and had even participated in their rituals on occasion. Though Christ was always in his heart, Viggo saw no harm in incorporating native medicinal and spiritual practices into his own life as a servant of Christ. Herbal remedies had helped him with several almost ill fated pregnancies among white women in the community, and due to his reputation as a healer, the Moravian community choose to overlook his slightly unorthodox methods.
He knew from experience that patience would help him to find the most open-minded and faithful single brethren among the newcomers to the choir, and it would be these who would accompany him. These were the young men on to whom he could pass his knowledge, and hopefully one or two would develop such a strong interest that they could carry on his missions on their own, after he was gone.
These were the hope for the preservation of the community, and so Viggo watched with smiling and wistful eyes as the newcomers climbed ashore.
~~~~~~
Half of an hour after the German immigrants and their new American brethren and sisters arrived on the shore, all the trunks were packed up into the waiting carriages and ready to go. However, when everyone had boarded the carriages there seemed to be one small problem.
“Well then, mate. I’m Dominic Monaghan. Looks like I’ll be going along with you.” Viggo gave the slight blonde man a quizzical look, but took the proffered hand and shook.
“What about your luggage?” Viggo asked as Dominic strode off towards his tied horse with purpose.
“I haven’t any.”
“None?”
“Nothing of consequence. I have the clothes on my back,” he reasoned. “I have my Bible.” Dominic patted the pocket of a slightly worn jacket and Viggo smiled.
“A true man of the Lord, then.”
“Of course,” he replied with a shrug. “Isn’t everyone here?”
“You’d be surprised,” Viggo answered, smiling again. Viggo set to untying the beast as Dom stroked its nose affectionately. “If everyone was a perfect Christian, Dominic, we wouldn’t need education.” Dominic cocked his head, considering, and nodded finally. Viggo gestured to the horse, and the younger man mounted first, allowing Viggo to swing his leg gracefully over the saddle behind Dominic. “So Monaghan? That’s not a very German name.”
“No, it’s not,” Dominic confirmed as they pulled into step behind the carriages, bringing up the rear guard for the return trip. This part of Pennsylvania was relatively safe country, but the Moravians were not well-liked by some of the other Germans, nor by the British or Scots-Irish, and safety was key to survival. “I’m English.”
“I thought you might be, since you didn’t introduce yourself in German. But then, I speak English, and I’m certainly not English.”
“What are you, then?”
“My parents were Danish. I was born here, well, in New York.”
“What did you do there?”
“I was a town doctor…I still do some healing here, in Bethlehem, though the needs of the community are different from those of New York.”
“What was it like in the city, then?”
“Well a lot of the same thing. Travellers came through, especially, of course many fresh of the boats from Europe, or moving North or South along the coast. There were a lot of diseases from the ships, mostly incurable, but I could at least help lessen their pains. Some minor injuries, that sort of thing, but fewer major injuries than in the country.”
“Did you like your work?”
“I did. There was one case, though, that I remember most vividly. I was thirty, and a group came into the city from the far North. One of their company had caught smallpox, and I gave him a medicinal remedy to ease the pain, but I expected very little. I had seen cases like this before, and he would be sure to die within a few weeks. I told his companions this, but they headed my warnings little. They simply sat by their friend’s side as I administered what care I could, and calmly prayed for his recovery. As I worked, I learned of the men’s story. They had come from a religious community in Greenland, which was experiencing little success. They headed south in an attempt to find more populations of native peoples to convert, and when I met them they had already gone very far. The ship took them just to Boston, and then they were on their own, too poor to afford carriage hire, forced to travel on foot. In all honesty, after such a hard journey, someone as sick as this man was should have been dead. But the weeks went by, and his condition did not worsen, but in fact improved. Their was a light in his eyes, and though I did what I could, it was clear that the result was no triumph of mine. This was the work of the Lord, Dominic, and I have never forgotten it.”
“He recovered?”
“Fully. Six weeks later he was as good as new. I spent those weeks talking with the travellers, learning not only their story but also their beliefs. I had been going to the Dutch Reformed Church, but I admit I never felt fully possessed by the spirit of Christ.”
“But why? If you went to church then, how can it be different than now?”
“I didn’t trust in my faith then, Dominic. I felt spited by the Lord, somehow. I know now that I was wrong, but I never felt cut out to be a Christian, I suppose. I did some things in my youth, some things I regret. But that’s no matter. For seven years, we studied and prayed together. They were German Moravians, and they taught me German and more importantly, their beliefs. I can’t describe what happened exactly, but after three years of careful study, I had this experience—I felt the love of Christ in my heart, and it was if I was renewed, forgiven for all my past transgressions. I was baptized then in the Hudson River, and I committed my life to Christ. When some Moravians from the Georgia settlement came to Bethlehem seven years ago, we heard news of it and made the trip to meet them. I helped build the town, and when the community was established, I was elected by the lot to supervise the youngest Single Brethren Choir.”
“And you’ve been doing it ever since?”
“Indeed.”
“Well I guess that makes you my supervisor, then.”
“I suppose it does.” Dominic smiled, and they rode on in companionable silence for the rest of the trip, the gentle pounding of the horse’s hooves a soothing soundtrack to the beginning of a journey.
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: DM/VM, perhaps more later
Rating: PG this part, up to NC-17 later
Beta:
saura_, who really helped make sure this part was not one big fat long rambling mess ☺ Feedback: Encouraged! Thanks for all the positive comments on the prologue… this part is for all the history nerds ☺
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, because if they did, you people would never see them again…
Summary: We meet our hero, number two. Chapter one teaches us some more about the Moravians, and about one of the Bethlehem community’s most attractive family members, Mister Viggo Mortensen. Wherein Dom is adorable and English, and Viggo says very little of his presumably interesting past.
It was a sunny, fairly warm afternoon when Viggo left the town of Bethlehem to meet the newcomers, fresh off the boat from German lands.
They had been delayed one week by squalls, but a scout announced that today would be the day of their arrival, and as supervisor of the Single Brethren Choir, it was his job to greet the newcomers and welcome them to life in Bethlehem. Many had married before immigrating, but some of the younger immigrants had travelled alone to join the Single Brethren and Sisters in Bethlehem.
Viggo smiled at the wide-eyed curiosity of the young people who were pulled to the shore in canoes, looking very run-down from the trip but looking about them in rapt fascination at the woods that lined the bank. The ship had come into harbour in Raritan Bay, the closest point at which it could dock. From there it was a couple hour’s ride west to Bethlehem, a trip that would be made by several carriages brought from the town for the travellers and their luggage. Viggo himself had come on horseback to lead the caravan, and when he reached the shore he tied his steed loosely to a tree and approached the incoming canoes on foot.
Although all property in Bethlehem was communal, no one ever begrudged Viggo the use of Schwarzefee, a beautiful chocolate-coloured stallion that tended to be a bit wild around the other brethren, but calmed instantly under the soothing low tones of Viggo’s Danish murmurs.
Viggo, who was born in the New York colony, had lived with Moravians since 1733, and it had been decided by the elders that rather than married life, he was best suited to be a spiritual leader to the young single men in the Single Brethren Choir. He enjoyed his role in the community, and had also been successful in many converting missions to the Delaware in the Ohio country. His calm, patient manner appealed to the suspicious natives, and his thorough understanding of church practice made him an ideal candidate for explaining his religion to native populations.
Although he had at times questioned his faith in youth, he had emerged a strong believer and thoroughly agreed with the Moravian interpretation of the Bible. And as he stood waiting for these young people to disembark with their trunks and other belongings, he smiled knowingly, thinking about the years to come.
He hoped that through his instruction he would find some young single men and women who would join him on converting missions, and he was optimistic about the prospects. It took a certain type of person to be an evangelizer—someone well versed in Moravian traditions, steadfast in his belief in Christ, and also understanding of native traditions.
Viggo had lived among the natives, and knew more about them than most Christians. He understood their spiritual and cultural practices, and had even participated in their rituals on occasion. Though Christ was always in his heart, Viggo saw no harm in incorporating native medicinal and spiritual practices into his own life as a servant of Christ. Herbal remedies had helped him with several almost ill fated pregnancies among white women in the community, and due to his reputation as a healer, the Moravian community choose to overlook his slightly unorthodox methods.
He knew from experience that patience would help him to find the most open-minded and faithful single brethren among the newcomers to the choir, and it would be these who would accompany him. These were the young men on to whom he could pass his knowledge, and hopefully one or two would develop such a strong interest that they could carry on his missions on their own, after he was gone.
These were the hope for the preservation of the community, and so Viggo watched with smiling and wistful eyes as the newcomers climbed ashore.
~~~~~~
Half of an hour after the German immigrants and their new American brethren and sisters arrived on the shore, all the trunks were packed up into the waiting carriages and ready to go. However, when everyone had boarded the carriages there seemed to be one small problem.
“Well then, mate. I’m Dominic Monaghan. Looks like I’ll be going along with you.” Viggo gave the slight blonde man a quizzical look, but took the proffered hand and shook.
“What about your luggage?” Viggo asked as Dominic strode off towards his tied horse with purpose.
“I haven’t any.”
“None?”
“Nothing of consequence. I have the clothes on my back,” he reasoned. “I have my Bible.” Dominic patted the pocket of a slightly worn jacket and Viggo smiled.
“A true man of the Lord, then.”
“Of course,” he replied with a shrug. “Isn’t everyone here?”
“You’d be surprised,” Viggo answered, smiling again. Viggo set to untying the beast as Dom stroked its nose affectionately. “If everyone was a perfect Christian, Dominic, we wouldn’t need education.” Dominic cocked his head, considering, and nodded finally. Viggo gestured to the horse, and the younger man mounted first, allowing Viggo to swing his leg gracefully over the saddle behind Dominic. “So Monaghan? That’s not a very German name.”
“No, it’s not,” Dominic confirmed as they pulled into step behind the carriages, bringing up the rear guard for the return trip. This part of Pennsylvania was relatively safe country, but the Moravians were not well-liked by some of the other Germans, nor by the British or Scots-Irish, and safety was key to survival. “I’m English.”
“I thought you might be, since you didn’t introduce yourself in German. But then, I speak English, and I’m certainly not English.”
“What are you, then?”
“My parents were Danish. I was born here, well, in New York.”
“What did you do there?”
“I was a town doctor…I still do some healing here, in Bethlehem, though the needs of the community are different from those of New York.”
“What was it like in the city, then?”
“Well a lot of the same thing. Travellers came through, especially, of course many fresh of the boats from Europe, or moving North or South along the coast. There were a lot of diseases from the ships, mostly incurable, but I could at least help lessen their pains. Some minor injuries, that sort of thing, but fewer major injuries than in the country.”
“Did you like your work?”
“I did. There was one case, though, that I remember most vividly. I was thirty, and a group came into the city from the far North. One of their company had caught smallpox, and I gave him a medicinal remedy to ease the pain, but I expected very little. I had seen cases like this before, and he would be sure to die within a few weeks. I told his companions this, but they headed my warnings little. They simply sat by their friend’s side as I administered what care I could, and calmly prayed for his recovery. As I worked, I learned of the men’s story. They had come from a religious community in Greenland, which was experiencing little success. They headed south in an attempt to find more populations of native peoples to convert, and when I met them they had already gone very far. The ship took them just to Boston, and then they were on their own, too poor to afford carriage hire, forced to travel on foot. In all honesty, after such a hard journey, someone as sick as this man was should have been dead. But the weeks went by, and his condition did not worsen, but in fact improved. Their was a light in his eyes, and though I did what I could, it was clear that the result was no triumph of mine. This was the work of the Lord, Dominic, and I have never forgotten it.”
“He recovered?”
“Fully. Six weeks later he was as good as new. I spent those weeks talking with the travellers, learning not only their story but also their beliefs. I had been going to the Dutch Reformed Church, but I admit I never felt fully possessed by the spirit of Christ.”
“But why? If you went to church then, how can it be different than now?”
“I didn’t trust in my faith then, Dominic. I felt spited by the Lord, somehow. I know now that I was wrong, but I never felt cut out to be a Christian, I suppose. I did some things in my youth, some things I regret. But that’s no matter. For seven years, we studied and prayed together. They were German Moravians, and they taught me German and more importantly, their beliefs. I can’t describe what happened exactly, but after three years of careful study, I had this experience—I felt the love of Christ in my heart, and it was if I was renewed, forgiven for all my past transgressions. I was baptized then in the Hudson River, and I committed my life to Christ. When some Moravians from the Georgia settlement came to Bethlehem seven years ago, we heard news of it and made the trip to meet them. I helped build the town, and when the community was established, I was elected by the lot to supervise the youngest Single Brethren Choir.”
“And you’ve been doing it ever since?”
“Indeed.”
“Well I guess that makes you my supervisor, then.”
“I suppose it does.” Dominic smiled, and they rode on in companionable silence for the rest of the trip, the gentle pounding of the horse’s hooves a soothing soundtrack to the beginning of a journey.
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