Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques.. (Nicephore)

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]625 WORDS FOR Nicephore Notes here: Edited - monastery now still in the outskirts of the city! MISSION [/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;]"Whoaa, Atys." Henri whispered softly to the grey gelding, giving him a gentle tug on the rein as well to draw him up. He smiled softly to the horse before swinging his leg over the horse's back and dropping to the ground as neatly as possible. "Stay put." He murmured, rubbing the horse's neck again as he let his reins dangle on the ground, letting the horse know he should remain in that spot. Henri kept his cloak wrapped tight about him as he crept forward a few feet away from the horse and crouched down at level with the bushes, tall grass, and trees and peered through the wrought iron fence curiously into what appeared to be a decent sized garden and at the end of which he could see a stone building. He was not far into the outskirts of Paris proper - for he had not yet reached the gates of the city but knew they must be close, for the gardens were larger here and the roads less good footing. He had kept a lazy pace with Atys coming this far. He reached into his saddle bag and retrieved an oatmeal and apple horse treat for Atys and fed it to him. A small stream - little more than a gulch - but enough to produce a faint gurgle of water echoed nearby coming nearby the dirt path. "You can go over there." Henri told the horse gently, rubbing his forehead and gesturing at the water, figuring Atys would understand - being that the gulch was less than two feet from where he stood currently. Just to be sure, however, he led the horse over for a long drink and then brought him back to his current place before returning his vigil at the fence, hunkered down behind its bottom portion, which was made up of a three foot (approximately) cement bottom from which the wrought iron rose up a few more feet. It was over Henri's head. A slightly rusted brown gate was slightly open a few feet down the fence. He wondered what he might find inside were he brave enough to venture further. Henri had to admit that he enjoyed these kinds of trips being able to ride where he liked in the city. He suspected that Captain D'Anthès might not totally approve had he known how far away from the Tuilieries Henri intended to ride alone as he still only had a few months of lessons under his belt but.. still.. He knew he was fine and he knew that he trusted Atys to get him there and back safely. His favorite was to pick some random location on a city map and ride there - today he'd picked a small cluster of trees just into the outskirts of the hustle and bustle of the main part of the city. However, this led him to the wrought iron fence now before him and he was curious what was behind it. He wanted to explore. He was relieved that he'd placed his map, a few cuts of meat, cheese, and bread, and water into his saddle bags. At least if he was going to be here for a long time, he'd have something to eat. He grinned to himself as he ventured toward the gate and into the garden. He left his cloak hanging on the gate. It was warm enough, and he didn't think he would need to disguise himself. He probably could do without the masquerade of a young gentry boy and probably just go as himself - Henri D'Artois. Up ahead, however, he found something he was not expecting... a man in the garden. He stopped, holding back not sure he wanted to be seen yet - but likely he had been - for the man was probably observant enough to notice a strange boy in fancy clothes practically sneaking up on him. Oops. Henri gulped. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

It was a wonderful late spring day, giving the first promises of a warm and beautiful summer, with bees and bumblebees buzzing in the air and flying from blossom to blossom like the faithful workers they were. Nicephore liked to be out in the monastery’s garden on days like this, feeling himself becoming one with God’s maginificient creation. It was here, in the open nature, where his idol the Saint Francis must have first thought up his Canticle of the Sun and creatures. Such a wonderfully fit and connected world it was, every whiff of the passing soft wind breathed love and peace! And yet… it was more and more the last verse of the canticle coming to Nicephore’s mind as he sat in the grass, eyes closed and meditating upon the creation and God’s neverening love.

“Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death,
from whose embrace no living person can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin!
Happy those she finds doing your most holy will.
The second death can do no harm to them.”

Our sister Death… it was not easy to embrace such a thing as death as a loving sibling, and he admired Francis for his ability to do it. It was said he had added this last verse when already on his deathbed, not only accepting the inevitable, but actually embracing it. There was a great strength in these words, since it took so much mental strength to welcome your last hour with open arms and not be afraid, even if you knew yourself to be in God’s hands, where you could never fall down. Was his father in God’s hands now too? Oh surely he was! The old general might have done some mistakes in his life,but his strife for good had won out over his dark side in the last years of his existance. The cholera had gotten him in the end, but he had obtained it in his most noble service of caring for the poor… or had it been Nicephore himself bringing the illness with him?

The thought gnawed away at his heart, but he knew he should see the possibility alone as an act of God’s divine will. God had called his father to His side, and who was Nicephore to start blaming Him like Ijob? And yet, while he found himself praying for Jean Maximilien Lamarque’s immortal soul, he could not help the few tears that started to fill his eyes and trailed down his cheeks. He wept for the man he had known, the man he had renounced as his only father by accepting God as his Divine Father like Saint Francis had, and he wept for the man he could never satisfy when younger. Nicephore had walked his own path and he knew that it was the right path for him… even if his father’s dreams had been shattered when his son had come home from the battlefield in disgrace. Wise men said that when your parents died, your past died with them… and therefore when sitting on his father’s deathbed, holding his hand and speaking the words of the last rites, Nicephore had said goodbye not only to the man lying there… but also finally to the young man he had been once.

He was drawn from his rather solemn contemplation however when he suddenly heard a voice nearby, and when he looked up, he saw himself faced with a boy… a boy that looked vaguely familiar… until it hit him and he hastily scrambled to his feet. Wiping his eyes clandestinely, he inclined his head and looked at the boy with his usual earnest smile. “Frère Le Roi! What are you doing here so all on your own ? Where are your guards?”

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]944 WORDS FOR Nicèphore Notes here: he's cute when he's embarrassed, lol. MISSION [/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's heart thudded hard in his chest once he was certain he'd been caught by the man in the garden. Getting caught (and possibly interrogated) for tresspassing had -not- been on Henri's list of possible consequences. Nor had it been part of his plan to have to explain himself or to get seen or caught at all. He had to admit that when he'd left, all he'd been thinking about was having a good time riding Atys and exploring. He'd just been trying to be a regular thirteen year old boy. However, once again, he was reminded that he was not a regular thirteen year old boy.. and he had to think about things other than having fun and frolicking about.. But thinking about the serious ramifications of his actions weren't going to help him out a whole lot now that he'd been caught! He could just hope that the offendee wouldn't get too irritated with him for being on his property. Henri had been taught a healthy respect for other people and their rights. So, though he knew that technically, to all rights, he'd done nothing wrong legally.. that didn't mean it was morally okay to sneak onto someone else's property and go exploring and then expect not to get into any trouble for it. Sigh. He hoped he wasn't about to get a lecture.. too. It was true, he'd asked for Captain D'Anthès permission to go riding outside the main environs of the city away from the Tuilieries and the man had given his permission, but Henri had a sneaking suspiscion that the good captain had never intended for him to take out a map and actually go quite a fair distance away from the palace! He also hoped that he wasn't going to get the man into trouble. The problem that Henri had started to realize was that everyone with the exception of perhaps Chauvelin and Captain D'Anthès believed that he should be handled with kid gloves, told nothing of reality, coddled and spoiled, and protected at all costs from absolutely everything that could harm him. If it was up to some of the Chouannerie, he had the feeling he would have had to endure being wrapped in a big egg shaped ball of cotton so that he wouldn't even be able to skin his knees much less wander off. However, the two men thought differently, and with their help and aid, Henri was starting to secretly get quite the taste for independence back that he'd had before coming to France and being practically under lock and key - to become more.. like a normal child. It was refreshing to him for a change. But clearly, here was an example of how you could take freedoms too far! He hated to think what the Chouannerie would say if they knew about this little 'mis'adventure. They would not like it. It might even get Captain D'Anthès dismissed. Which made him gulp even more. Though he'd only been taking lessons for a few months, he'd become increasingly fond of the young instructor who'd been teaching him - one of the first (adult) people to be able to treat him normally in a very long time. He focused his attention away from his inner panic and back onto the situation at hand as best he could. He needed to salvage this. Somehow. It was then, despite his panic, that he began to realize slowly that the man in front of him was dressed in the order of a Franciscan monk. He looked him up and down for a moment, recognizing the brown habit and even the white rope which was tied with three knots - for vows Henri remembered. Poverty, chastity, and obedience. At least, now that Henri was trying to calm himself down he could tell that the man looked kind. He had a blonde beard and hair and kind blue eyes and didn't look like he was about to grab Henri and do him any harm either. He seemed friendly enough and merely curious (though polite) in questioning Henri. Suddenly, he didn't feel so afraid of him anymore - or of the situation but more, like he'd broken a rule or been disrespectful without meaning too. Whoops. Well.. he'd just.. have to find a way to make up for it. The man had obviously recognized him (some disguise his black riding cloak was!) He attempted to give a respectful little bow, but after a moment he was looking up at the tall man again with his usual irresistible smile. "Hello, Brother." he paused, thinking it best to be honest with his answers. "I was riding my horse. Atys. Well.. he's not really mine. He was lent to me by my riding instructor for practice you see. But.. I've grown very fond of him." He realized he was rambling off on a tangent. "Anyway, I wanted to explore. So I followed my map to the trees. And I stopped to let Atys have some water. And that was when I saw the fence.. and the garden.. and.." He could tell that his face was red with embarrassment and his eyes wandered to the ground. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come in without an invitation." he whispered meekly, still not able to bring his eyes up to meet the man's. "You're probably doing very important things in there. Maybe I should go now..." He managed, not wanting to be of any greater bother to the man than he'd already been and feeling foolish and young indeed. Once again his excitable nature and tending to leap before he looked at gotten him into trouble. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

Nicephore had not truly seen the king up close for more than just a short moment or the other, and so he had not been prepared for the smile the boy suddenly showed to him. When doing official things, Henri probably tried to appear adult, serious and regal, but now in this very moment, the only thing that distinguished him from the common boy on the street was his neatly cropped hair and his expensive clothes. And wasn’t that all there was to it? a bit of lace and façade? Well, Nicephore still believed in God’s consecration of the kings, but was it really God’s will to have this mere boy shoulder the fate of a whole nation, while the greedy needs of nobles pushed him to and fro? Who was he to second-guess God’s will though, he was only one man, and should work on more humbleness. If God wanted Henri to be king, he would make him a good king and the how need not be Nicephore’s concern. The young king’s smile was answered by a bright one of Nicephore himself, bringing out his more boyish features, and the light in his eyes.

“Oh don’t you worry about coming in here, Brother King!” he exclaimed and bent down a little so his massive frame wasn’t so imposing on the boy. He knew how that could be after all, even though he did not like being so tall and so strong, it only made people think he could be used for fighting, which he despised. “This is a house of God, and everyone is welcome. I am sure there is some higher plan in making us meet, though we humans usually can see it only when we look back on the way we’ve come. I am Brother Nicephore, and this is the convent house of the Minor Brothers of Paris.”

He was a little glad so see that the boy had not seen him crying, or at least was making no comment on it. It would perhaps not be a good idea to bring the reason of this sorrow up in a conversation, though Nicephore was a little curious to know what the little king himself had thought of his father. The Chouannerie, those powerful nobles who had installed the boy king to reign, they surely had not thought well of General Lamarque. Nicephore did not care much about politics, but in the few discussions he had had with his father, this issue had sometimes surfaced. Would the king feel bad about losing a man that had more cared for the people than for gaining power himself? And what kind of king would that make him? Did he know what unrest had taken over Paris in the last few days? He couldn’t be too afraid of it, otherwise he would not be riding out alone. Or… was he simply a boy and not thinking? Nicephore could not imagine anyone wanting to harm a little boy, it was unspeakable, but sadly sometimes humans did unspeakable thigns, even he knew that.

“Come, you may sit a little with me and listen to the birds in the trees, if you wish”, he invited the boy with a welcoming smile. “I like to sit in this garden and witness the wonders of God’s creation, just like the founder of my Order, the Saint Francis of Assisi.”

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]355 WORDS FOR Nicèphore Notes here: N/A MISSION [/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 felt a strong sense of relief wash over him like the wave of an ocean when he realized that Brother Nicèphore, as he introduced himself, seemed to have no trouble with his presence in what was definitely his place. He soon learned, in fact, that it wasn't just Nicèphore's but that it seemed to be some kind of a monastery - for monks of the Catholic church obviously, likely, Henri guessed for some order of a saint. He himself was a devout Catholic and attended mass every Sunday. He hated, however, to admit that his confession had been lacking recently because he did not feel he could confess if he couldn't make a full and true confession - and while he knew that priests were required to keep what was told them in complete secrecy, he wasn't sure he could trust the kind of secrets he had to one - even with the vow priests were human. He would hate for someone to be in question under torture on his account and hate just as much for that to allow his secrets to be leaked to the exact wrong people.. And if he couldn't give a full confession that would unburden his soul, it was better not to give one at all. That all said, being devout himself, he was pleased to meet this innocent seeming, if large, brother. Henri knew that the man would do him good at least in spirit to have some companionship and maybe even some advice if he proved someone that Henri could trust. He moved over to sit beside the man. "Saint Francis founded your order?" He inquired, smiling a bit - for he'd always been partial to Saint Francis himself. "How did you decide to join his order.. will you tell me some about yourself?" He inquired. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

With a slight sigh of contentment, Nicephore eased himself into the grass again, never minding any stains he could be getting on his frock. The dark brown, rough cloth wasn’t the exact cleanest right now anyway, and it wasn’t the newest either. The vow of poverty he had never had any problems with, accepting that a simple life brought you nearer to God than any riches in the world. It was obvious that the king had not known what he had stumbled upon, and Nicephore had to bite back a smile at the thought how his abbot would find that truly saddening. It was said that the young king was devout, but ever since the First French Revolution, there had been a strong disregard of faith that slowly also began seeping into the populace of the city itself. People resorted to their false gods of reason and science, thinking they could live without God’s helping hand. But it was not Nicephore’s place to damnate them, he only could try to reason with them gently, and trust God Himself to find his children in his own way. Likewise, he would not be offended by the king not knowing where the monasteries in his capital were located, the poor boy had enough on his mind.

The interest he showed was enough of a reason for Nicephore to feel sympathetic to the boy, and he was most agreeing to answer the questions, even though they might touch a sore spot here and there. It didn’t happen often that people asked him about his vocation, and it was not important to him that anyone did – he had given up his own persona after all to serve God’s children. What he wanted was no longer of any significance, he was nothing but an instrument in God’s hand. “Oh yes, that he did”, Nicephore agreed with another enthusiastic smile. “It was in the year 1205 when Francis, a rich merchant’s son on his way to serve in a war heard God’s voice in a dream that he should not serve the servant, but the one true master, and not fight. He cared for the poor and the lepers, and soon found followers, with whom he wanted to rebuild God’s Church. Until this day, the Minor Brothers as we call ourselves, don’t hide behind cloister walls, but we seek out the poorest, those who need us most and help them where we can.”

It seemed very important for King Henri to hear something personal about Nicephore, and slowly the monk began to wonder if this was maybe because he wanted to tell him something personal in return, but first wanted to find out if he could. The thought in itself was moving, and it somehow made Nicephore forget any hesitation he might have had when it came to talking about his personal life. “Far be it from me to compare myself to the Saint Francis”, he began with a wistful smile, “but it cannot be denied that both our lifestories share some similarities. Like him, I was always at odds with my father. I was his only son, and he wanted me to be like him, a true servant of France and the monarchy, a fighter and maybe later a politician. But I always felt that this way was not for me, I detested violence. In the last days of Napoleon came around, his devastating defeat at Waterloo, I was sent to the front against my will, and I saw things I never wish to see again in all my life. I fled from the battlefield, and I gave myself to God, offering him my life to do with as he wished. Ever since then, I am Brother Nicephore, and I have not regretted this decision for one moment. You could say, I’ve finally found my place… even though it took my father long to accept this.”

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]513 WORDS FOR Nicèphore Notes here: N/A MISSION [/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 watched contemplatively as the Nicèphore lowered his tall frame into the grass. Henri himself would be tall. He was already in that awkward stage where he was all legs and arms and his height didn't seem to match up to his other proportions, and he could fully appreciate his new friend's impressive height in that way that teen boys look up to older men. He wondered about him, in the curious nature of most boys of that age, trying to figure out what story he might have to tell or what might be in his past. Henri enjoyed getting to know people, finding out about them, what they'd done and experienced. And it didn't matter if that person was a monk, a riding master, or even, at times, servants who were shocked that he spoke to them. As a boy, he hadn't quite understood why the maids were so shocked and awkward when he followed them around asking questions about them or the same with the gardener - now, as he became older and a little wiser, he understood why all of them had been in a state of unease and shock by his questions, but it didn't stop him from enjoying learning about everyone in his life nonetheless. Henri laid back in the grass, not really caring (as most young boys don't) that he would likely become grass stained, as he listened to Nicèphore, who had a nice, calming voice that was, in some ways, almost hypnotic the young King thought. It was certainly pleasant, and he enjoyed learning what the man had to offer. He'd, of course, received religious education as a boy, but there was always time to learn something different, and he had, for a time, been quite interested in learning about the lives of the different saints. "What kind of service do you do?" Henri inquired curiously, having never heard of monks that didn't hide behind monastery walls and being quite curious about this point. He rested his head in his palm, his blue eyes focused on the man beside him. He listened carefully as the man described being always at crosshairs with his father who apparently had been a soldier and a politician and their lack of understanding of each others' callings. Henri wondered if such squabbles obviously caused by lack of understanding were common. his stepfather was the closest he had, and they'd been separated for three long years, since Henri had been only ten.. too early for those sorts of concerns. Henri wanted to ask with fascinated interest what bad things Nicèphore had seen that he hoped never to see again, as well, but something held him back - perhaps his burgeoning compassion. Perhaps the man wouldn't want to talk about the things like likely gave him nightmares. "So if your father is a soldier and a politician.. do I know him?" Henri inquired, trying to sort out in his mind who might be a likely candidate. "And.. how did you know that God wanted you to serve him this way?" He inquired curiously. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0

[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

The young king certainly showed a heart-warming curiosity, and Frère Nicephore was only too willing to do him the favour and quench this curiosity by answering his questions to his best knowledge. It was a rare sight for him to have a noble boy – and the king himself at that – so interested in the world outside his wonderful palace. He hoped the king would keep this special curiosity for the world, for understanding only was possible with wanting to know something first. One who did show no interest would never truly broaden his horizon and therefore get a feel for the people he reigned over. It might have been reckless of the boy to venture out on his own in these troubled times, but he could not help to see in this some higher plan. God had wanted them to meet, it was truly a gift from above, so he would make use of it to the best of the boy’s wishes. After all, what was the saying: If you go through life meeting people, never dare to not let them leave happier than they came.

Apparently the boy’s teachings about the different types of monks and their monasteries had been lacking, if he did not even know that Saint Francis had his own order and that its main purpose was to serve the poor. What a pity! It might be a sad effect of this horrible revolution that had taken place a good fourty years earlier, when all those who called themselves philosophers had denounced God. Due to many of their teachings, but also due to a great portion of greed, many monasteries in Paris and the whole of France had been disowned and scattered, and subsequently their presence in the mind of the people had diminished. All this in the name of what they called Enlightenment, while their violence and their false teachings crowded out God’s divine light. It would forever be a mystery to Nicephore how such a concept, a god-less concept, could ever work out. But oh well, when it came to the last, all those people surely would realize that they were nothing without God, and then they would be forgiven, for God’s mercy was everlasting, and so should be that of his servants.

“The Franciscans go out and serve the poor, so this is what I do!” he explained to the boy king earnestly. “I venture into the dark and shady places of Paris where the people need God’s help most, since their human brethren don’t show them much mercy. I treat the sick who can’t afford a doctor’s care, I give out alms that pious people direct to us, and I hear their confessions. Often they don’t thank me for it”, he finished with a lenient smile. “but I do not do it for receiving gratitude. God helps even if he is never thanked for it. Do you thank the tool or the master wielding it that builds your shelter?” It was a rhetorical question of course, a metaphor he hoped the boy would understand. For Nicephore saw himself as nothing but a tool in God’s great plan and he was content with it.

Then, however, Henri asked a very clever and slightly delicate question for Nicephore, though he never would dream of circumventing it. So the king would know who his father was, it was of no real matter. The General was dead now, and any hold and claim he could have had over his son had been rendered nonexistant. “I do believe you might have met him some times, though I do not know how well you were acquainted”, Nicephore said, his voice tinted with a trace of sadness. “My father was General Jean Lamarque, who passed away on the eve of your grand masquerade, Sire. I was with him in his last hour, for which I am glad.” He heaved a sigh and shook his head mildly, changing the topic to answer Henri’s other question. “I think God has created me in this way to be a good servant to him. I detested violence ever since I can remember, and when I was forced to use it, I realized that the life that was wanted for me by the world, is not the life my Lord in Heaven wants me to live. It was an answer that had slumbered in me for quite some time… I only needed the courage to see it.” Not that any of his former companions would say courage had anything to do with it… rather the opposite.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]754 WORDS FOR Nicephore Notes here: Young Henri is about to become educated. MISSION [/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 scooted closer to Frere Nicèphore as he waited to hear what he would have to say about his work and his god-given calling. Henri felt like he knew what his calling was, or was learning what it was and becoming more sure of it every day. He knew his purpose was to be King. Henri believed in divine right in so much as that he believed that men were the tools of God to be used to improve the world to his satisfaction, and that God used each person in a specific way - with no person being better than another because they might have a more 'important' job. Henri also remembered that the Bible said 'And then he sat down and called the twelve, and saith unto the, if any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all and servant of all.' in the book of Mark. He was not any more important than anyone else just because God had entrusted to him this gift and job. He needed to keep that first and foremost in his mind as he aged, so as not to let the power corrupt his mind. He wondered if Nicèphore felt the same calling.. the same drawing toward his own life as a monk and serving the needy of France. From the fervent sound of his tone, he suspected that he did. "What you do sounds a little bit scary. So you must be very brave indeed." He thought about the scary streets in the bad parts of France. He thought about people with knives and swords and who wanted to do him harm. Honestly, not just him but all the aristocrats. He'd never seen it, but he'd certainly heard hideous tales from his friends. "The master, of course." he responded simply, though he knew the question was probably meant to be rhetorical within a second of having answered it and felt his face burn just a little bit with embarrassement. However, the next portion of the monk's response washed away Henri's embarrassment and replaced it with curiosity. Of course he had met General Lamarque - a few times. He was not exceptionally close to him personally, but he knew the man was intelligent and a gifted military strategist. He also had heard things from his friends about what Lamarque was doing for the poor people of France. There was so much that went on in his country that the Chouannerie didn't see fit to tell him. And it irritated him every time more new information turned up. How on earth did they expect him to run a country if they continually kept from him everything outside the walls of his own palace! Of course they didn't.. expect him to run a country. They expected themselves to run a country while he played out a grand facade. It took all his energy to keep from gritting his teeth about it. At least he had some friends he could trust to bring him news about what was going on in the city. Small boys in nondescript clothes were able to sneak almost anywhere without being paid much mind to. For this he was glad. It was then that Henri understood the rest of what Nicèphore had said. Lamarque had died on May Day when everyone - including him - had been feasting and having a grand time. Henri's stomach felt a little queasy and as if it was about to fall out of the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorry for your loss. Even if you did not always understand each other. I didn't know he was ill, or I would have sent my own physician to attend to him.. but I only found out later.. and even then.. not when." He looked a little visibly sickened as he stared hard at the horizon line. And suddenly, what seemed like a possibly crazy idea was dawning inside of him and brimming over the top. If Christ considered himself a servant then Henri too was a servant as well. He had been called to serve his people. "... Take me with you..." It was part request, part command - but not in a bad way, just a determined way. "To do your work.. This week.. for a day." He paused. "It'll have to be a great secret though. I don't think some people would like it.. so.. we'll have to trust each other to be quiet about it... Will you take me?" He looked hopeful. [/style]

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[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

Nicephore smiled to himself when the king told him he was brave. Oh, he didn’t perceive himself to be brave at all, but there was a certain amount of courage God granted his instruments so they could be of good service in distributing his will and word. The prophets had needed courage in their persecution, and one day, Nicephore knew that, God might call to him to be brave too, whatever the consequences for his own life. And he would do his very best to answer his call and serve his Lord with all readiness and devotion he could muster – and possibly with the abovesaid courage. “I am never alone, if I do his good works, God is always with me and protects me from harm, if it is his will that I shall not be harmed.”

He nodded earnestly when King Henri answered the question that had not needed any answer, seeing as he didn’t want the boy to be embarrassed, therefore he elaborated more on the subject, and suddenly felt a little like the Great St. Augustine with his pupils, discussing things in question and answer debates like the old Greeks. “Oui, the master. And as I am the tool and God is the master, I expect no thanks for what I do. It is all the design of some higher plan, which I probably won’t even see in my lifetime. But I get my rewards. The relieved smile of a woman who I absolve of her sins, the grumpy acknowledgement of an old man who’s scabby leg I treat – it is truly all I ever shall need.”

The boy’s serious chagrin made Nicephore wish he had not said anything at all. There was no use in the young king now worrying even more than he already was. He had made him sadder now, not happier like he ought to! What kind of Christian was he, really?! “Don’t burden your heart with a guilt that is not your own, brother king!” he monished the boy softly and put a comforting hand on his shoulders. “It was God’s will that my father had seen his last day. Neither you nor your physician could have done anything to change it. But if you wish to care more for your subjects in the future in a way that makes you alert of their fate, then that is a laudable resolution as well.”

"... Take me with you..."
… he had not meant it THAT way, of course! Nicephore’s breath caught in his throat at the sheer audacity of this thought. He, taking the young king to the slums! Anything on earth could befall him there, and then where would they be?! The thought of having the safety and life of a king in his hands made him shiver. Surely, God could not want THAT?! “But… brother king!” he protested, astonished and frantic. This is too much… Lord, take away this cup from me. But then he saw the ardent resolve in the young boys eyes, and he suddenly thought that this had to be a sign. It was completely mad of course, but such were the courses of life sometimes. Maybe this madness could turn into a miracle? A king who would see the suffering of his people and be touched by it? Henri was still young. What affected and touched him now would shape him into the king he would be later. “This is your wish, is it not?” he asked, his face very earnest. “I shall have to warn you, if your identity be disclosed, we will face much trouble, and I can’t guarantee for your safety. And… much of what you see there is not pleasant to the eye of a boy who hasn’t seen much misery in his time.”

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]829 WORDS FOR Nicèphore Notes here: N/A MISSION [/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 scooted slightly closer to Nicèphore now, feeling more comfortable with him and less worried about anything they might choose to discuss. He was pleased that his day's quest had led him to this monastery on the outskirts of the city, and pleased that he had met Frere Nicephore, who seemed to have much time for him. This was a nice change. Though Henri was King, he had noticed that people at court often seemingly had little time for him. They were always rushing off to take care of 'adult' matters - especially what should have been his own government advisors! It put a bitter taste in his mouth to know that this simple man of God who knew him not from the 'man in the moon' was more willing to sit and converse with him about things that mattered than his own government advisors. There was something wrong with that picture, the young boy thought to himself. However, now was not the time to sort that out - if any sorting could actually be done, which he was beginning to doubt at present time. Listening to his explanation of bravery, he felt that it was an answer he could accept. All things were God's will, so if one could just trust in Him, then He would see the result happen which He desired. It made it easier, he supposed, to be brave in the face of danger when you thought about the size of yourself compared to God's infinite wisdom and grace. He also thought it was remarkably pious of the man (though not in a bad way) that he expected no thanks for any service he performed. His own desire for recognition and acknowledgement apparently was cast aside in favor of greater good for those human beings that he served. This loyalty to his work and calling were admirable to the boy. And then there was the business of the father he had not realized belonged to the man in front of him. Henri wondered vaguely if it had been God's desire somehow that the two should meet - Lamarque's son and himself. Perhaps? But for what purpose? For that which he had already named - going into the slums? Or something else. Upon this point yet he was still unsure, and time would probably be the only answer to the confusion. However, he could at least be resolved about the manner in which he was going to deal with it all. He would go with Nicèphore to do his duties. He would see how this work impacted him, maybe he would find a way to help the people who were suffering most. Maybe he would come up with what needed to be done to fix this situation. He could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders almost as Atlas shouldered his burden. It was a very heavy burden. And it was not so much that the young King minded it - but more minded that he was not free to do much about it. But at least no one could stop him from this (provided they didn't know). He could take himself to the slums and do something for those who were there. He could sense the man's shock at his request and was neither surprised nor waylaid by it. It was the way anyone would have reacted. But he was determined. "I have made up my mind." He said simply. His voice bore an almost regal tone. A tone which would have made him respectable were he five or ten years older. And though now it might sound a little silly - especially with his voice squeaking and breaking as boys' are wont to do at that age, it still managed to forecast a preview of what was to come in the young man if it was given a chance to develop. Firm, yet respectful of others. "I know that it puts me at risk, and it is a risk I'm willing to accept. I suspect it would be wise if you could procure something for me to dress in that won't be ... conspicuous.. perhaps a habit or something of the like would be best?" He was only just now fit into such an attire without looking ridiculous and childish - the new height he had gained in the last year made this possible. He looked almost tall enough to be a man, if a very skinny man whose arms and legs were still too long for his body. "I know what I'll find there won't be pleasant.. I've seen some bad things, but I know this will be worse. And that's all right with me. I'm willing. Something must change. Soon." It was as close as he'd come to admitting displeasure with the government thus so far, and, catching Nicèphore's eyes, he hoped the man would take the hint. It was a small test to see how much he could divulge. [/style]

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