Whispered Secrets, Alliance Formed. Chauvelin c 31

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]1025 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: And it begins. Hope you enjoy. I had to slightly mod-ish one of his friends to make this work. Hope it's okay since none of them have been taken yet! Hope you like this. SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]"Then that's something we need to know about." Henri said, his voice in as low a whisper as he could manage, still sounding gentle but firm. "Can you go back without getting found out? ... Good.. Now.. I need to know what they've done with these raised taxes. The people can't and won't support much more of that. I'll have to find a way to get them to stop. God knows we have enough excesses now.. It wasn't this way when we first came to power, but I think they've forgotten that the people can't hold up to it the way it was. Or perhaps it's just a matter of time without an older king on the throne to keep the vengeful ones in check." Henri was pensive after he said this for a few moments, beginning to pace back and forth across his reception room before pausing again in front of the boy who stood with him. This boy had been one of his best friends over the past two years. That much the Chouannerie knew about. They knew he had requested the opportunity to make friends with the sons of certain nobles from France and England that he chose. What Henri was quite certain they were unwaware of was that he had chosen those boys which would be loyal to him over them. And they were. They were not merely playmates - though they did plenty of old fashioned boy playing too - but that they were a source of vital informations and actions for Henri to the people of France without the Chouannerie as a middle step. That was drastically needed because, as Henri had been learning, the Chouannerie were less than honest with him about their actions when they disagreed with his points of view. Now, Henri admitted he often found himself more liberal than the Chouannerie. As a child his mother had seen to him having a well rounded education. This meant she'd had him study things like economics and even More's Utopia - something which had vastly affected his perception of the world. He'd also visited alms houses and orphanages in Naples where the people desperately needed the contributions and food which his family brought for them. He had seen first hand how these people relied on the generosity of those more fortunate than them to get by. They wouldn't have made it without them honestly. He remembered with horror how permanently imprinted on his brain were the images of little starving children in rags with ratty hair and dirty faces looked with their hollow, sunken cheeks, gaunt figures and swollen stomachs. Those images had been enough to cause the young boy who'd seen them nightmares for weeks after. However, it had not stopped him from going back to those places to continue to give aid and support to those poor children and adults who desperately needed it. In the back of Henri's mind, he was well aware that some people in France looked like that. That that was the reason some people wanted yet another revolution. Their misery was great. The situation was nothing more than a nasty cycle. The aristocracy became corrupt, stratified, corpulant, and excessive - unaware of how these excesses hurt the lower classes who couldn't handle the stringent taxes placed upon them to pay for the aristocracy.. well it was no wonder they got mad and killed people. They relied on the king, if they were going to have one, to make decisions on their behalf. He remembered his priest explaining to him as a boy that if he'd become king in the natural course of things (i.e. if there hadn't been a revolution) he should always remember that the first king the people elected in the Old Testament had been called Saul. "The people elected him to be their voice to God and to provide for them here on earth before the coming of the Messiah. Always remember that, Henri. If you are ever to be called to serve your country in such a way that you are the provider, the safekeeper here for their earthly lives.

[/i]" He still remembered that conversation now and it and his education had formed part and parcel of how he attempted to run things - if only the Chouannerie understood. They didn't. And it made things unnecesarily difficult. Yes of course he, like anyone else, like fine clothes, wine, and parties.. but you could have too much of a good thing if it was causing your people to suffer! It seemed common sense to a thirteen year old. Why couldn't these supposedly learned men see it?

"... my apologies.. you can go. I didn't even know you were still there. Maybe once you get the rest of the information.. we can play cards or something.." He knew his last remark sounded strange in contrast to the formality they'd been discussing before, but these boys really were his only link to the outside world save when he snuck out - but that wasn't easy and often took more work and stress to execute than it was even worth. They were his comrades, his only friends and their work was as much play really sometimes. His one opportunity to act his own age.

Before long, Henri was again to himself and had decided to go down to explore the volumous library and pick out a book to read. He thought if he read all the time for the rest of his life, he'd probably never exhaust the collection of all sorts of books. It was with purpose he opened his door and headed towards that place. However, his body suddenly stilled when he realized his door had not been all the way shut. In fact, it had been merely cracked - an indescretion he knew had not been his mistake. The door had been closed when he'd invited his friend inside, and they had not left the room just inside of it. This meant someone from the hall had opened the door. He cast a glance about uneasily. The better question was who, when, and what had they heard... [/div][/style][/td][/tr][/table]

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[/center]

[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chauvelin drifted through the royal apartments like a ghost, which was fitting in a way. François was more than dead and gone, he'd never really existed. The laughing young man with the curly hair, the good man who'd been loved and trusted, had been a lie all along. Now, after almost forty years, even the illusion was lost to living memory; the eyes that had seen him were now closed, the minds that had dreamed of him were now cold, the hearts that had beaten faster at the sight of him were now stilled. It was all so final, the specter so ephemeral, you wouldn't think it could hurt so much. Cold and dusty as a mausoleum, the place was well-suited to a wraith. With the exception of the King's suite, they were shut up and lifeless, sconces empty, shutters closed, furniture shrouded. He recognized the patterns in the carpet that silenced his steps, but the dimness stole their vivid colors, turning them into monochrome blacks and grays. He hadn't set foot here since that night, when he'd watched the royal family walk away into the fireplace, believing that he was remaining behind to hide their escape. Just as they'd been about to disappear, little Louis had looked back and waved. Still standing in the light, François smiled and waved back, then the Queen's hand pulled the Dauphin on into the darkness, and he'd sealed the stone up behind them. The King had trusted him with the secret of the tunnel and that was one faith he'd kept, even as he betrayed them profoundly in every other way. Louis was the only one he'd ever seen alive again, and that had been in the Temple cell where the boy was dying. He'd been 'Paul' for almost four years by then, had known it was a mistake that would only lead to pain, but he'd gone anyway. And he'd been right about the pain, wrong only in underestimating its power. He'd found the healthy child who'd waved goodbye an emaciated skeleton, the brightness in his eyes that of fever. But what hurt the most was that Louis still looked at him and saw François, and whose only emotion was simple joy that his friend had survived. The boy had only lasted two more days after that, and part of Chauvelin's soul had died with him. Now there was a new King, not that much older. And, once again, Paul knew it was a mistake to go anywhere near him. And, once again, he was doing just that. Ironically, the royal apartments in the Tuileries were only slightly more difficult to get into than the Temple tower had been – the tunnel had held up well for its age. Once he'd cleared and shored up a couple of slippages, and oiled a couple of gears, he was in. With a suit of palace livery to render himself virtually invisible, his plan was just to do some simple reconnoitering to prepare for the coming storm. He was expecting then to have to get in and out in a hurry, possibly with a squirming 13-year-old over one shoulder, and the last thing he needed was to trip over a footstool or find some key doorway had been sealed up. The first thing that went wrong with the plan was the King himself. Usually at this time of day the kid was out playing somewhere, but today he was there, in his suite, and Chauvelin almost walked right in on his talk with a noble boy of about the same age. Fortunately, the old spymaster was far too experienced at stealth to walk around flinging doors wide, and even more fortunately they were facing away from him, deep in conversation. Keeping his breathing steady with an effort, he withdrew promptly and silently, but something in their manner plucked at his curiosity and kept him from pulling the door completely shut. If there was one thing Paul Chauvelin recognized, it was clandestine. Hovering in the hall, grateful this part of the palais was private, the old spy eavesdropped. The two boys were speaking too quietly for him to make out everything being said, but the gist he got made his eyes widen in rare surprise. He'd more than half figured it was about something like a glimpse of a serving girl's breast, so to hear the younger boy providing a remarkably credible report to Henri on a tax levies boondoggle was startling in the extreme. Chauvelin had never been a man slow on the uptake and remembering that Henri had a small coterie of friends just like the one with him now, the old spymaster suddenly found himself holding back a laugh. The boy King had set up his own intelligence network, right under the noses of his Chouannerie masters! He was going to have to revise his assessment of the child. Then he heard Henri dismissing the other boy and he sobered in an instant, moving swiftly and silently down the hall. No matter their relative ages and experience, if the King caught him listening at the door, his head would be in a noose. Feeling excruciatingly exposed in the corridor, he ducked into a room a few paces down and eased its door shut behind him. It was then that the second thing went wrong with his plan. There was perhaps a minute of silence, then an odd sound that it took him a few seconds to recognize as a dog snuffling at the base of the door. Merde, Chauvelin swore mentally. There was no way he was going to be able to hide from the animal. He was going to have to concoct a story, and concoct it fast. His mind racing, Paul watched the door handle begin to turn. TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: Hope moving the dog was okay. If not, let me know and I'll edit. TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]808 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: Sooo Scary. Pft. SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;] Henri stayed at the door for a moment, his whole body tense and shivering. Something was not right about this situation. He'd been overheard. In fact, he hadn't just been overhead, but he'd been purposefully eavesdropped upon. The notion made him feel incensed that his privacy, even here in his own apartments, had been compromised. He was there trying to run the bloody country, and he had practically less rights than a prisoner what with not even being able to write to his own family. He was supposed to be the damned King of France.. and he couldn't even have a private conversation in his own sitting room in his own palace. What kind of king was he then? A puppet his mind answered him simply. He knew that. He'd known it for some time. It was harder to realize each time he was faced with it - particularly the older he got and the more towards being grown up. This, however, this was really disconcerting and worth being angry over. Had the Chouannerie, he wondered, stooped that low that they'd started planting bugs in his apartments to report on his actions? Henri didn't think they were aware of what he'd been up to with his group of friends, so he was probably being paranoid.. but he couldn't help it. And even if that was exactly what they'd been up to.. he had to put a stop to it and do damage control. Quickly. But what was he going to do? He was just one thirteen year old boy against who knew what. Henri looked around the room nervously. He wondered if the eavesdropper was in the room with him perhaps hiding somewhere in a likely spot and had forgotten to close the door the rest of the way. Slowly, he traced the periphery of the room with his eyes, scanning it carefully. There was no one. Not a thing had been disturbed or moved. There could be no one in the room. The other doors were closed. He didn't think anyone had come in through one of them. He sighed. That meant the person had been in the hallway. The rooms were deserted.. no one else lived there.. it couldn't be a person who was meant to be there, and none of the staff would eavesdrop on him or open his closed door - especially without knocking. "Chasse.. come here." He whispered softly, his voice only tiny - both from fear and not wanting to alert anyone who might still be in the hall. Henri's black and white French hunting spaniel who had been sleeping on his pallet by the fireplace raised his head. Chasse was still a puppy, though size didn't show it, as he was growing up by now. He had asked for the puppy as a present and had been training him to hunt himself. He was proud of his accomplishments with Chasse - that was what he'd chosen to call the puppy - the French word for Hunt. An apt title for him. He was a formidible enemy to anyone who would do Henri harm and Henri knew it. Chasse was the one creature in his life who was loyal to him and him alone - other than perhaps Henri's group of friends. He knew they were loyal.. but he'd dismissed his friend. He and the dog were alone - they'd have to make do. Besides.. he didn't want a big to do anyway. It would alert whomever was listening that he was on to them. Chasse raised his head and walked quietly acrosss the room to stand at his master's side. The hair on his hackles was raised. He could smell the scent of a strange person nearby. He could sense Henri's fright as well. "Find, Chasse." He commanded quietly. As soon as he'd asked it, the dog, seeming to understand him, walked towards the partially open door, nudging it open enough to pass through as he wandered down the hall sniffing the trail imperceptible to human noses. Henri followed close behind, his legs occasionally bumping into the dog, he stayed so close by he continually bumped into Chasse, but he didn't seem to mind. Chasse finall paused in front of a door at the end of the hall and began to paw and snuffle at the crack beneath it. Henri nervously reached for the door handle and began to turn it, whipping it back suddenly to be confronted with a man he'd never before seen. "Who are you, and what are you doing eavesdropping on the conversations of the King of France!?" He demanded, pulling himself to his full height to try to look imposing, hands on his hips. However, he knew the best he could hope to look was like an indignant boy; that would have to do for now. [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In different circumstances, it would have been comical. Though it didn't happen often, Chauvelin had been confronted by angry children before, some even younger than the one facing him now. Old as he might be, he was still a very strong man, and one perfectly capable of killing with his bare hands if need be. He was more than a match for a slight youth like Henri d'Artois. The problem was, again, the dog. From close at the boy King's side, it was giving him a look that made it plain it would defend its master. And while he was more than a match for the animal as well, it would slow him down long enough for the king to flee, no doubt summoning the Guard at the top of his lungs as he did so. Unfortunate as the situation was now, that would take it well past bad and into fiasco territory. No, better to lie his way out than try to fight his way clear. "Sp-spy, Sire?" Chauvelin stammered. Slipping into the persona of a flustered and frightened servant, he put up open, empty hands and retreated half a pace. "No no, sire, never! I was just sent to bring one of the paintings, the one with the fruit." He motioned vaguely in the direction of a small painting off to one side. Like practically everything else in the room, it was covered with a cloth to keep off the dust, but he remembered what had hung there quite well. After all this time, it was the only one he could call to mind, but it was a Caravaggio and his Neoclassical bent had always liked Caravaggio's crisp realism. It was also unremarkable-looking and totally non-political, so it was highly unlikely to have been stolen or destroyed. "Please, sire. I was told not to disturb you, and I heard someone with you, so I just went on ... " floundering meekly to a stop, he stared abjectly at the floor. He debated adding a slight tremble, but settled for wringing his hands instead. TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: Hope moving the dog was okay. If not, let me know and I'll edit. TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]665 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: Set, game, and match. Hehehe... SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]For a second, Henri was almost taken in by the man in front of him. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to see when he threw open the door into the room. His breathing had been coming fast and shallow, his heart rate racing along at the speed of someone running a foot race. His imagination was running wild in the seconds which happened before he threw open the door and while Chasse was standing there snuffling around the doorway. His imagination figured upon a deranged gunman or a knife wielding fiend bent upon destroying him or taking him captive and holding him for ransom. He supposed these thoughts were extremely typical for a boy of his age with an active imagination. Unfortunately for his sense of adventure but fortunately for his safety, he didn't find either of these things when he threw wide the door. Instead, he saw just a man standing there. He held no weapon and did not seem to be armed - though it was always hard to tell about things like weapons in boots or shoved into pockets or the like. However, to the best of Henri's knowledge and what he could see.. the man was not armed and, apparently, didn't mean him harm. At least direct harm. The fact that he'd been eavesdropping on Henri might indirectly mean him plenty of harm depending on what the man had heard and where his loyalties lay. Henri was nervous about the fact that a complete stranger might well now understand much too much about his play group and their true allegiance. He could not have all the work he'd done in recruiting and befriending these boys and teaching them to rely on him rather than the Chouannerie dragged into question. Not to mention, the ramifications could be severe. Henri did not particularly want to go to open warfare with the Chouannerie. The consequences of that, too, could be severe. He doubted very much if they'd like it if they knew their little puppet king was quickly becoming.. not so much. Suddenly, the man in front of him began to stammer and stutter in apparent nervousness. Henri listened carefully, not uncrossing his arms or removing the scowl from his young face as the man told of being sent to fetch a Caravaggio painting - one of fruit. The man floundered meekly to a stop and looked at the floor. For a second, Henri almost believed him. However, he noticed quickly two things. The first being that, though the man was wringing his hands, his breathing was steady and slow. Not the way someone who was that upset -should- be breathing. The second being that that particular painting had been moved during a particularly deep cleaning of the royal apartments. Months ago. Henri knew it because the painting had always made him hungry every time he looked at it and, instead, it had - to his young boy's fantasy and delight, been replaced with a very fine copy of Botticelli's the Birth of Venus which he, upon occasion, liked very much to sneak in and look at - for obvious reasons! So, therefore, Henri knew quite well what was under the cloth the man was pointing at - and it most definitely was NOT fruit. The man, he realized, was lying to him. Coolly and calmly.. the other was an act. Henri fixed the man with an ice cold stare before he walked across the room, leaving Chasse in front of the door to impede him running should he take it into his head to do that. He reached up to the painting and quickly pulled off the sheet to reveal the nude Venus in her seashell. Henri's voice was low but surprisingly dangerous sounding for his age. "You, monsieur, are lying to the King of France -after- eavesdropping on his conversation. I do not think I need to remind you that your espionage could be construed as an act of treason." [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chauvelin stared at the painting for a long moment, profanity in three different languages running through his mind. But then, despite the gravity of the situation, he found himself fighting, and losing, the battle against a smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. It had been a long time since he'd been caught so completely wrong-footed, and that had been by the Pimpernel himself. Coming from a puppet king not yet even old enough to shave had an element of ironic farce that appealed to his inner fatalist. He supposed he could try bluffing it out, claiming to have been confused, or misdirected, or something of that sort. It was a gamble, but he'd rolled the dice going big before and always won, and he might well do so this time. But he suddenly realized, looking at the silhouette of the young man before him, haloed in the light from the hall, that he didn't really want to. The kid had come after him and confronted him alone save for a half-grown dog. The boy hadn't called for the guard or any other grown-ups, he'd chosen to handle it himself. Just as he was trying to handle being a King himself, which showed more steel than most grown men. Like a soap bubble, the rabbity servant disappeared, and Paul Chauvelin was suddenly standing in his place. The palace livery remained, but his posture, manner, expression, and even voice changed. "Your Majesty," he said with a perfect bow, "espionage can hardly be treason – it's my job." Then he took a very big chance. "Though you seem to be doing rather well at it, yourself." TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: none at present TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]667 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN No notes at present. SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri had a moment of amused pleasure watching the horror flash through the man's eyes as he realized he'd been beaten at his own game. Henri could imagine the profanity probably racing through the man's mind - just as it would have done in Henri's had the tables been turned. He felt, for a moment, like an accomplished detective who's just put together some great clue which has led to the solving of a mystery. He felt like a clever adult. He knew he'd drawn first blood, but he needed to stay focused, or he could quickly find himself in a dangerous position. He knew nothing about this man, his loyalties, any power he might hold. Certainly, he wore a livery uniform, but that meant little. Such things weren't difficult to obtain - even Henri knew where he could go to get one. The tables could turn very easily. A frightened and angry spy could cause him much more trouble than he could cause them unless he were to sign the man's execution order, an action he wasn't sure he could stomach doing. Henri had never ordered anyone's death and hoped he'd never have to. Live and let live, right? Henri was slightly surprised when he saw the corners of the man's mouth seem to twitch with the slightest hint of a smile - the last reaction he'd been expecting. He wouldn't have found it all that odd for the man to be angry, try to attack him, run, threaten him.. but not to smile. Who smiled when they were caught in a situation such as this, he wondered. Someone with stronger grit than me. He thought to himself. He didn't feel like smiling; his whole body was tense as a tightly coiled spring about to pop backward. Henri kept his defensive posture, arms crossed in front of his chest. He wondered vaguely what he had gotten himself into. This was not good.. not good at all. He would be damned if he'd call for the Chouannerie or his guards to sort it out for him though. This was his mess, and it was time to start acting like an adult if he expected to be treated like one. Then, suddenly, before his very eyes the man changed. He stopped his ridiculous wringing of hands and reedy voice in exchange for a ramrod-straight posture, a calm expression, and an even calmer voice. Henri couldn't help but admire the transformation. The man was obviously a consummate actor. The boy king filed this information away for use later - lest he be taken in again when the man was trying to fool him with something else if that should come to be. Henri was still puzzling over what his mysterious spy had said about espionage being his job (Who did he work for? There were numerous possibilities - friendly or otherwise) when the man's next statement caused him some alarm. He kept his breathing steady as best he could though fear stabbed at his heart and, if he wasn't mistaken, for a second his eyes probably looked afraid. That passed quickly, however. Henri crossed the room in a matter of seconds and shut the door to the hall with a resounding snap! of finality. Chasse stayed at his master's heels the few steps to the door, the hair on his hackles still raised and silently baring his teeth. He knew better than to growl, but he was letting it clearly be known he would defend his master at all costs if called to do so. "That's a rather serious accusation of your king, Monsieur." Henri surprised himself with a firm tone. He didn't rise to the bait of defending himself, not wanting to confirm or deny anything until he knew more. "I trust that we can sort this out between the two of us like gentlemen, then, and not involve other parties who might take actions neither of us would find... desirable, if you take my meaning." [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The boy was afraid. He was putting up a good front, keeping his voice and breathing even, but Chauvelin could see it in the crossed arms and the tension across his slightly hunched shoulders. He could also see it in the dog, which had sensed and was mirroring his master's worry, both of them regarding him as a threat. And, to outward appearances, Paul was. While not a tall man, he had half-again Henri's height, and his stocky build gave him probably close to twice the youth's mass, most of it muscle and bone the boy was only just beginning to develop. He was also both a stranger and an invader. In truth, he had no desire or intention of harming either of them – unless, of course, it became necessary to survive – but they had no way of knowing that. Chauvelin felt the pressure of both pairs of eyes remaining fixed on him as the King crossed the handful of paces to the door. For his part, he kept still, hands folded loosely in front of him, only his own eyes and head moving as he followed their progress. Then the light from the hallway fell full on the boy's face, giving Chauvelin his first clear look at the King, and he became totally motionless. For an instant, he froze, not breathing, even his heart seeming to stop. Louis-Charles, he thought wildly. Then, with an act of sheer will, he wrenched himself back to reality and the moment passed. The door clicked shut and time resumed its steady pace as he drew in a slow lungful of air and let it out again. It was Henri V, not a lost little prince, returned from a long cold grave to accuse his betrayer. Not that the youth wasn't still dangerous, Chauvelin reminded himself as Henri spoke again, voice still remarkably steady under the circumstances. The old spymaster listened intently to what was said – and even more intently to what was not – carefully formulating his reply. "Accusation, sire?" Chauvelin said, raising an eyebrow in clearly-affected surprise. "My deepest apologies, it was meant as a compliment, I assure you." Then the smile that had been struggling like the sun behind clouds broke through, though he remained where he was, making no attempt to move toward the King. "I do take your take your meaning," he said, inclining his head slightly. "And I see no need to involve anyone else. I trust that neither of us means the other any harm?" TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: None at present. TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]909 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: None currently. SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri only began to slightly relax once he had shut the door and the man in front of him did not make any sudden moves toward him. However, it was only a beginning, and his body remained tense, though at least his heart had slowed its racing back to a reasonable manner so that he did not fear having a heart attack or a stroke. Now they were alone and Henri felt certain they would not be overheard. The halls outside his apartments were almost always desserted at this time of morning. They were always, of course, a-flurry during the time he got up. One odd thing to get used to about court in France was the flurry of activity which surrounded the king rising for the day. As a ten year old, he'd been shocked that they thought he needed not just one, but several people, each assigned to their specific role of things they could or could not touch, to help him dress on a daily basis no matter how simple the uniform was. Later, he'd finally figured out that it wasn't anything about his capabilities, but was merely (stupid) tradition. There were better things he could do with his time than to fight them into believing he could dress himself, so the morning flurry continued. However, by this time of morning.. the halls were deserted. People had taken up their posts and respective duties at other parts of the palace. Normally even he, himself, wouldn't be in attendance. Of a morning, he always had lessons with his tutor. However, he'd been excused this week because the man had suffered an unfortunate incident involving a fall on an overripe piece of fruit in the garden. Henri couldn't help wanting to laugh when he imagined the rotund little man falling over an apple or some such thing. Besides, he, as any typical boy of his age, was very grateful for the brief respite in school. So, as it were, he had this part of the palace to himself, which served very well for his activities. Not to mention, he'd gotten to spend a great deal of time playing with his friends - actually playing - not just work. For a second, the man with him looked... afraid? Though that somehow was not quite the right word to explain what emotion had crossed his face. It was more than fear and something like.. regret.. perhaps, though Henri wasn't entirely sure on the last. He was no psycho-analyst and, even had he been, he didn't care to analyze right now. He was more interested out in making sure he understood what this man was doing and whether or not he was a threat. Henri wasn't foolish or naive enough to believe that just because the man claimed he wouldn't harm him.. didn't mean he wouldn't. He could be attempting to lure him into a false sense of security. However, for the time being. He would not bother about that. He would just be cautious and watchful. He, himself, couldn't resist a small smile when the man said it was meant to be a compliment. That, he wasn't exactly sure what it meant? Did it mean that this man, too, was not loyal to the Chouannerie? Had he found some kind of accomplice by accident? However, a compliment was a compliment. At least it was a sign that this man might not be as much against him as he'd been forced to believe from the off. Whatever it meant, this man did not have a problem with Henri's quiet espionage of the Chouannerie. Why? Most people - even those loyal to the aristocracy - would not want a child undermining the already frail governmnt. Though, He snapped back in his own head If they'd listen to me a little more, it wouldn't be so volatile. "Well then... Merci" He said finally, slightly awkwardly. A blush warmed his cheeks ever so slightly, traveling along the bridge of his nose for a second. He -was- proud of everything that he'd done if he thought about it. He felt comfortable to say at least that much because the man had admitted that espionage was also -his- job. The two of them could not, then, be too bad of enemies of one another could they? He was also grateful to see that the man understood the need of secrecy. Point taken about the harm, though, he looked over at Chasse. "Leave it" He whispered softly. The dog, as if seeming to realize that the boy had relaxed a pace, did leave off the baring of his teeth and his show of planned aggression, however, he still looked exceptionally uncomfortable with the new man as he walked around him, sniffing him for a couple of moments before he went back to Henri and sat by his feet, a bit calmer though his eyes still never left the other man. Slowly, Henri stepped a pace forward and extended his hand towards the other man to offer to shake with him. "You can dispense with the sires. Just Henri is fine, si'l vous plait." He smiled very slightly. "And I do trust you understand the importance if this remaining between the two of us given you said your occupation was espionage. I'm very curious to learn what you mean by this." He raised his eyebrows slightly. "You have my attention.. continue.." [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chauvelin continued to keep still as the dog sniffed at his legs, even when a nose was stuck into the back of his knee and then moved around to poke at his crotch. He'd had a dog when he was younger and he knew the drill. He liked dogs and got along fine with them. On the other hand, he was bad with children. In fact, it was fair to say he was horrible with them. For the most part, they simply annoyed him. The crying of babies set his teeth on edge and they made smelly messes besides. Toddlers wandered around leaving sticky hand and footprints and breaking things. Then as they started to get older, they asked incessant questions up until the point they became teenagers and decided they knew everything, whereupon they charged about trying to remake the world into whatever halfassed image was stuck in their heads. It might have been different had he raised children of his own, but when the disaster the First Republic had become was thrashing around in its bloody death throes, the best thing he could do for his wife and infant daughter was to get them well clear. To get them well clear and keep them well clear of France, and of himself, as that was the same thing. He'd sent them to the other side of the world, to the newly-minted nation of America. Through friends of his foster father, Le Comte de Rochambeau, he'd tried to support them and remain in contact, but they'd vanished into that vast continent. There'd been other women since, but he'd never married, and none of them had ever given him children. In that moment, Paul decided to try to regard the boy King as simply a very short adult. Force-grown by circumstances, the young man was certainly more mature than many twice his age, and he had guts, as he demonstrated by stepping up to shake his 'visitor's' hand. With a grave smile, the old spymaster returned the gesture. "Thank you … Henri," he said, the name coming strangely to his tongue. Closer to, the resemblance to Louis was not as pronounced, but he'd almost rather continue with 'sire,' since there was less chance of slipping into the wrong name. "My name is Paul Chauvelin, though most simply call me Chauvelin. I am an agent in the service of France." In the theory of the royal l'etat, c'est moi*, it was an oblique way of saying he worked for the King. TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: the state, it is I TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]368 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: Sorry, this is a bit short! SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri was quite pleased when his visitor stood still for Chasse's careful inspection. Clearly the man knew something about dogs, or else he was amazingly tolerant for no particular reason, considering Chasse really was giving him the once over. It was a clear 'I do not trust you, but my master says to leave you alone so I am. Watch yourself. My bite -is- worse than my bark.' Henri watched the dog sniff him around before finally coming back and sitting at Henri's ankles, still watching carefully and protectively, however. It was clear that the man was not in his good graces yet. The man's handshake was firm, and Henri liked that. He returned it just as firmly and introduced himself as Paul Chauvelin, though said that normally he used just the surname. That was interesting. He thought, somewhere, in the back of his mind that the name sounded familiar, but he'd have to think about where he might have heard it later. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand - find out exactly what Chauvelin knew and where exactly his loyalties lay. He still wasn't sure he was ready to trust the man. He was far from there, but this could, he hoped, turn into the -beginnings- of trust if the man wanted in some way to help him. Having a grown up involved in his circle of friends would be amazing. This person could do and accomplish things for them that was currently beyond their reach because they were just teenage boys. But if an adult were involved.... But he had to be reasonable. He had to -think-. Drat adult responsibilities! "I am an agent in the service of France." Interesting indeed. Well, at least it meant that he had France's well-being in mind, or he took it to mean that. "So. If you work for France.. then I'm not the only person you're in service to... So I have to ask you why it is you're not running to the Chouannerie with anything you might have heard me say. If you work for me - you technically work for -them- too." He narrowed his eyes and fixed Chauvelin with a look. [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The boy had a surprisingly firm grip, though his hand was soft and smooth, which wasn't unexpected.  Chauvelin's own hands weren't the rough, callused ones of a laborer, but neither were they those of the clerk he often pretended to be.  Certainly he wrote a great deal, and the marks of that were there on his fingers and palm, but there were also those of a swordsman.  Though he was no duelist and it had been quite some time since he'd had to wield a blade in actual combat, he still kept in practice. Henri stepped back and Paul thought ruefully that it was getting harder and harder to see the boy as a commodity.  The original plan – or so he told himself -- had been to slip in and grab the boy under cover of the eventual, inevitable revolutionary riots. Then the prize everyone would be looking for could be stashed away and eventually sold to the highest bidder.  Now, though, the old spymaster could feel the sophistry crumbling beneath his feet, sending him sliding down into a sentimental old fool. Well, Chauvelin told himself, it wouldn't be the first carefully-laid scheme to go drastically awry. Doubtless it wouldn't be the last, either -- provided, of course, that he survived this one. "Si -- Henri," Paul said, correcting himself. "I serve France. I've seen her ruled by three -- or four, depending how you count -- kings, two assemblies, and an emperor. The faces change, but she remains." He was, again, oblique. He acted on his own best judgement, operating autonomously regardless of what his ostensible masters might think. Still, it was risky even intimating that to this latest of those kings -- that was if the boy grasped the implication, which Paul was pretty sure he would. He was almost unnervingly shrewd for his age. "As to the other, I could ask the same of you, and perhaps with more reason." Chauvelin turned up one hand in a sort of shrug. "Mine is not the head they chose to crown." TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: none at present TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]892 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: He's going to be making him think about Louis-Charles again if he isn't careful *grin*. SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri smiled slightly as Chauvelin extended his hand to shake with him as well. He couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Here. He'd just made, or started to make, an alliance all on his own. He hadn't needed the Chouannerie to pave the way for him, an ambassador to smooth things over, or an adult to make sense of the situation for him. He was quite capable of doing it all on his own, choosing the right words, and so on. It gave him a little faith in himself - something he drastically needed given the country he loved was going to hell in a handbasket right outside his window as he attempted to sort out how to fix the situation - and the Chouannerie. He'd been king for a year now. At first, being crowned had led to sensations of grandeur which had gone to his head a little bit. Just a little but still. He'd felt important, special, better, perhaps, than those around him because -he- a then-ten-year old boy had been chosen. If only he'd known then as much as he knew now. It would have made him sick. It had only taken a few months for the delusions of grandeur to wear off. He remembered quite clearly the moment that it had happened. It had been at Christmas the previous year. He'd been sitting in front of the Christmas tree which had been placed in his suite, surrounded by scads of toys and gifts he'd been given. He had suggested to one member of the Chouannerie, who had brought him the gifts, that he might share some of them with children in orphanages who, otherwise, would have no Christmas. "I don't need so many toys. Just a few would do." He'd said. But the man had laughed at him and said that there were many things which a boy of his age didn't understand. He'd also said some stuff about upsetting the 'balance of things' and 'the order of life' and how 'Henri was simply too young to understand all of that now, but one day he'd be glad he had the Chouannerie there to run things for him until he was old enough to be more reasonable." It had been that moment right there when he had understood it. That awful moment that sometimes, now, he wished he could go back and undo. The selfish part of him, anyway, wished every day he could forget that he knew that the Chouannerie had not chosen him for any special skill or potential. They had chosen him because he was a young enough claimant that they could control him and do what they liked in his name. They were keeping him from his family for this, and yet never cared what he had to say... The more sensible part of him understood that it was important he had understood this realization so that he could at least attempt to fight it... but it was, he feared, a losing battle. He knew he was bright, perhaps exceptionally astute, for a boy of his age.. but the price he had paid to gain the knowledge was, to some extent, not worth it. Total isolation from everyone one trusted for months tended to do that... He snapped back to the present when Chauvelin spoke. He was, Henri thought, shockingly candid with his answer. It gave the boy pause; before he spoke he considered carefully. Chauvelin had taken a risk in what he reveleaed for certain. He stated plainly his allegiance was to no one but France and, possibly, himself. Not to the Chouannerie, and not to me. Henri thought. That made Henri a little uneasy. The best thing for France, in thi moment, was not to have a king. He understood it.. at least.. not to have a king who wasn't able to override his own advisors when he didn't agree with them! He could only hope that Chauvelin would see the reason he hadn't simply abdicated when he got miserably homesick for his family or wondered if there was anything in his life he could trust - it was bigger than him.. bigger than the squabbles. It was about a country and her people. Henri knew if he could just hang on until he was a little older, he could fix things. At least, he believed he could. He hoped Chauvelin could see the potential for greatness for the country he clearly valued so highly. If he did not, he could prove a foe rather than a friend. He, at least, did not think he needed to worry about Chauvelin turning him in to the Chouannerie though. He had said he served France alone.. and he had complimented him on espionage. And of course.. he wondered why Henri was going against them when they'd chosen him. "Ah.. I would have thought, as astute as you seem, you would have already figured that out." It was not a criticism, and his voice indicated as much, mostly a slightly bemused statement. His eyes held a sad smile. "Let me answer your question with a question then. To whom does one give the power, if one really wants the power for oneself?" His blue eyes stared up at Chauvelin and fixed on his, not blinking or letting go of the older man's gaze. [/style]

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[PAUL CHAUVELIN]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background: #000000] chauvelin when worlds collide and days are dark - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Chauvelin knew Henri understood what he hadn't said aloud when he saw the disquiet cloud the young man's features for a moment. It was hard on the kid, he knew. He was a child, alone and, whether he realized it consciously or not, desperately wanted someone to rely on. And he'd just effectively been put on notice that he couldn't trust the old spymaster to do as he was told. Perhaps Paul should have waited, should have cozened the boy on awhile longer. It was cold and hard to be so honest with him, but he was a cold, hard man, and Henri had enough people to tell him pretty little lies. Recovering his composure, the boy King looked up and met his gaze, the blue eyes seeming to hold equal parts sadness and wry amusement. The question the young man asked was rhetorical -- he knew that the old spymaster knew the answer full well. Still, it was good to know that Henri knew it, too. "It would be best," Chauvelin murmured, "if you didn't ask anyone else that question, yes?" It was just as rhetorical. The boy was clearly aware of the precariousness of his position. Which wasn't to say the old spymaster didn't have questions. What would the boy King do if he weren't under the collective thumb of the Chouannerie? Clearly he wanted to reign in more than name only, but the same could be said for many a tyrant. Smarts weren't enough, either -- the same could also be also be said for many a tyrant, and more than a few utter incompetents. How much did the boy actually know about statecraft? About economics? About law? About the thousand other things that bad kings, and even the merely adequate ones, never truly grasped? Over almost the past half-century, France had developed a taste for armed rebellion -- it was not a country for beginners. "Locke tells us," Paul mused thoughtfully aloud, "the great question about power is who should have it." His eyes never left Henri's, though he canted his head inquiringly. TAGGED: Henri || NOTES: none at present TEMPLATE BY OH SO COOPERNATURAL ! @ CAUTION.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]834 WORDS FOR CHAUVELIN Notes here: None currently. SECRETS [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri was relieved to realize that Chauvelin understood his meaning behind asking who one gives the power to if that person really long for power themselves. He didn't want to have to directly implicate the Chouannerie in front of Chauvelin in the middle of the palace if he didn't have to. There would be a million ways to indirectly accomplish that task with little trouble at all. They certainly had made a fine mess of things thus far - and they'd only been in power about a year - a year too long, apparently! Of course the first couple of months had been okay as they enjoyed their new and powerful roles, but soon even that wasn't enough and the wasting of money, stratification, and spoiling and lining their own pockets with the money that the city needed to recover began. He felt sick when he thought about that. Maybe he should have found a way to force them out when they were still weak. Sometimes he blamed himself for that. It was true, he was only ten at the time, but he was the rightful king. Perhaps, had he tried, he could have gotten them replaced. Better yet, eradicated. A year later, it was far too late for that kind of thing. They were strong and settled into their position and had no intent on leaving it anytime soon. His mistake in not finding some way to quench their power before it was too late. He came back to the present quickly enough when Chauvelin pointed out that he shouldn't ask anyone that question. "Obviously." He muttered with a look. Were he a little less mature, he probably would have rolled his eyes. It didn't take a genius to realize that someone smart enough to put it all together like this was probably not unintelligent enough to go and ask the Chouannerie if they'd only put him in place to be their puppet which they never intended to listen to anyway. Someone astute enough to figure it all out didn't need to ask anyway. He could tell Chauvelin was eyeing him up and down; why, he was unsure, but he stood up straight and tall just the same. He too eyed the middle aged man in front of him. A handsome devil, but also, if he wasn't entirely wrong , a very intelligent man as well. He would not be easily duped or led astray from what Henri could tell about him. Then, he started talking about Locke's theory of power and government. Henri tried to remember what Locke had to say about it. He knew he'd read the man's Treatise on Government at some point in his education. However, it had been a long time. Books like that weren't very kindly looked upon by the new French aristocracy, and he could no longer get them as he'd been able to do in Naples. "Locke says that the majority always has the power to change the type of government too. He also says that he uses the term commonwealth to emphasize that a community, regardless of its form of government, exists for the good of all the people in it. Equally. Long-term office holders can forget this easily. I guess he means the power can kind of go to your head a bit. Someone who's got a great deal of power for a long time can begin to think of themselves as separate from society - according to Locke. At that point, the person begins working for their own best interests rather than anyone else. Locke also says that if the executive impedes the meeting and acting of the legislative when needed that this constitutes an act of war against the people because they have a right to the protection and work of the legislature when needed. Locke also threw down the idea of divine right. I think he's right partially. I do believe in God and go to mass. But I don't think God made me any more special than anyone else. I believe God can choose to use people in certain ways as benefits His plan. Perhaps his purpose for someone people is to be a king or a queen. But that's as far as it should go. It doesn't make them inherently better or smarter or more special than anyone else. But he gives people free will to do as they choose. In other words.. if God -did- choose to make someone a king or a queen - they have the free will to screw it up and be a bad king or a queen. That doesn't mean it's what God wanted.. but they use that for an excuse to make it okay. And -That's- ultimately what I think.. or hope.. Locke was trying to throw down." He paused thoughtfully before continuing. " I can't say who should have power. Everyone would have differing opinions. But I believe the focus should be more on using the power to benefit the people." [/style]

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