L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[Siemen_van_Leeuwen]

The echo of footsteps across marble reaches him before he turns his head.

Siemen’s breath stills for a fraction of a second, held without quite meaning to hold it. When he finally allows himself to look, his posture straightens on instinct, hands settling together before him with careful precision. His gaze follows the sweep of red vestments in passing, and though he lowers his eyes in respect, his awareness lingers—keen, almost painfully so—on the presence moving toward the altar.

The familiar weight of his key pendant presses warm against his chest, steadying him as the Latin prayer rises through the basilica. He inhales slowly, exhaling just as carefully, grounding himself in the sound rather than the figure who spoke it. Still, there is an unmistakable quickening of his pulse, something he refuses to acknowledge even to himself.

When Cardinal Della Scala enters and begins to speak, Siemen inclines his head, shoulders settling into a reverent stillness. The words wash over him, solemn and formal, and he feels their gravity in a way that makes his throat tighten. His fingers curl briefly against the folds of his sleeve before relaxing again.

At the call — 'Our help is in the name of the Lord' — Siemen bows his head more deeply, hands folding together. His lips move silently, following the Latin response that echoes in the space around him, though he does not speak it aloud.

When he lifts his gaze again, it lingers only a moment longer than propriety allows in Kalixtus’s direction before he reins it in, settling his attention fully on Cardinal Della Scala. His expression is composed, his posture disciplined — yet beneath it all, there is a faint tremor in his stillness, the quiet knowledge that this moment is irrevocable.

Clad in white, heart unsteady but resolved, Siemen waits where he stands, prepared to be called forward.
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Voormalig Schildknaap van Didicus Crescenzi. Imperial Count of Moers. Burggraaf van Waterland.