Like in Olden Days:
The Rise of Heathen Europe
By Errnge
Prologue- The Last Almost
Rome
A.D. 784:
The news came unexpectedly, as bad news often did. Pope Adrian actually felt a pain in his chest as he read the words, scrawled hurriedly on a thin piece of parchment. By candlelight, Adrian read the letter over and over, almost like a prayer. He had prayed many times today indeed upon hearing; but still, as he lay in his bed, stroking his grey beard, the Bishop of Rome could only just barely keep the water from collecting in his eyes.
Shakily, he finally put the parchment down next to his bed. He was about to blow out the candle, when the pain came back in full force. Like a hammer to his chest, it caused him to cry out. Verily, he curled up and began to sob.
The door soon flew open. His servant, Adrian couldn’t remember his name, rushed to his bedside.
“Blessed Father! Are you ailing?”
“No, my son,” Adrian croaked. Wiping the tears from his eyes, the Pope regained his strength, if only for the boy’s sake. “Indeed, I must say, the Lord does wonders, but I confess, sometimes even I am blind to his purpose.”
“So the whispers are true, Father?”
“What whispers?”
“Blessed Father, all of the servants have been whispering all day about… I fear to speak the words… They have been whispering all day that Carlus, King of the Franks is dead.”
Adrian, forcing a smile, placed a shaky hand on his servant’s head. “Our Lord has called him to join the Saints and Choirs of Angels. Carlus Magnus is no more subject to this earthly realm. He could have been the greatest king in the West since Constantine. He could have ruled the Christians and protected us in a way the Emperors no longer can… Perhaps, he even could have been Emperor one day… If only God had willed it. Go, now, my son. I am only unwell from heart-break. Sleep is what I need. Go, and bid you good night.”
Nodding, the boy left without another word. Adrian couldn’t help but notice the ashen look upon his face as he slipped into the shadows outside the reach of Adrian’s lone candle-flame.
A cold wind from the north blew in through Adrian’s window, blowing out the lone little flame before Adrian could do it himself. As he pulled up his blankets close to his chin and rested his head upon his pillows, he finally tried to sleep. But all night, he would toss and turn, thinking over the words written out in that letter.
…Fallen in battle… An arrow through the eye… Discord erupted in the ranks… Pagans overran the field.
The Rise of Heathen Europe
By Errnge
Prologue- The Last Almost
Rome
A.D. 784:
The news came unexpectedly, as bad news often did. Pope Adrian actually felt a pain in his chest as he read the words, scrawled hurriedly on a thin piece of parchment. By candlelight, Adrian read the letter over and over, almost like a prayer. He had prayed many times today indeed upon hearing; but still, as he lay in his bed, stroking his grey beard, the Bishop of Rome could only just barely keep the water from collecting in his eyes.
Shakily, he finally put the parchment down next to his bed. He was about to blow out the candle, when the pain came back in full force. Like a hammer to his chest, it caused him to cry out. Verily, he curled up and began to sob.
The door soon flew open. His servant, Adrian couldn’t remember his name, rushed to his bedside.
“Blessed Father! Are you ailing?”
“No, my son,” Adrian croaked. Wiping the tears from his eyes, the Pope regained his strength, if only for the boy’s sake. “Indeed, I must say, the Lord does wonders, but I confess, sometimes even I am blind to his purpose.”
“So the whispers are true, Father?”
“What whispers?”
“Blessed Father, all of the servants have been whispering all day about… I fear to speak the words… They have been whispering all day that Carlus, King of the Franks is dead.”
Adrian, forcing a smile, placed a shaky hand on his servant’s head. “Our Lord has called him to join the Saints and Choirs of Angels. Carlus Magnus is no more subject to this earthly realm. He could have been the greatest king in the West since Constantine. He could have ruled the Christians and protected us in a way the Emperors no longer can… Perhaps, he even could have been Emperor one day… If only God had willed it. Go, now, my son. I am only unwell from heart-break. Sleep is what I need. Go, and bid you good night.”
Nodding, the boy left without another word. Adrian couldn’t help but notice the ashen look upon his face as he slipped into the shadows outside the reach of Adrian’s lone candle-flame.
A cold wind from the north blew in through Adrian’s window, blowing out the lone little flame before Adrian could do it himself. As he pulled up his blankets close to his chin and rested his head upon his pillows, he finally tried to sleep. But all night, he would toss and turn, thinking over the words written out in that letter.
…Fallen in battle… An arrow through the eye… Discord erupted in the ranks… Pagans overran the field.