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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 69: Give Us This Day Our Daily Flowers
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 02:05:29 +0000 UTCA soft light rained down upon the congregation through the stained glass above, casting them all in a hallowed glow amidst the sanctum, this
A soft light rained down upon the congregation through the stained glass above, casting them all in a hallowed glow amidst the sanctum, this
A soft light rained down upon the congregation through the stained glass above, casting them all in a hallowed glow amidst the sanctum, this dim, serene church where even the very air felt holy; and the people lifted themselves up, united, as one heart in shared reverence, loving a divinity they embraced within their bosoms.
Candles flickered in dance. The faithful breathed in synchronized rhythms.
Lucius thought it a mesmerizing sight, how the power of faith could coordinate such people of differing temperaments and personalities together. Here, there was no individuality. No lingering worries over the events of yesterday or possibilities of tomorrow. The Franks left everything behind; and so they now prostrated themselves as a blank, clean vessel, one that joined the many others in attendance until they were all bound as a collective mass.
When the peoples’ lips were silenced, and their heads lowered in respect, Sir Maugris stepped toward the altar. He knelt and kissed the base, then rose to make the sign of the trinity on his forehead before clasping his hands together and bowing.
“In the name of the Mother, and of the Blade, and of the holy Star,” he said.
The people spoke, “Amen.”
“Grace to you and peace from God our Lord, the avatar of all that is good and righteous, and upon whom our tenets of Chivalry were firstly born.”
“And with your spirit.”
“Sit now, and welcome the embrace of the Lord, as Their presence fills our hearts with compassion: to love our neighbor and this world, our God’s beloved creation, as it is right and just.”
“It is truly right and just, amen.”
Maugris raised a candle before them. With a wave of his hand, the top was suddenly lit aflame, and a golden smoke wafted from the melting wax. It rose up, billowed over the benches, and spread a pleasant fragrance that resembled a mix of lavender and chamomile. It did wonders to ease the tension in the body; and as the smoke began to dissipate, Maugris opened his arms in welcome toward the congregation.
“Good morning,” he said.
The people spoke, “Good morning, father.”
Maugris smiled. “It is my great honor to visit Burgundy’s chapel. I am Sir Maugris, one of the Twelve Peers of Charlemagne, and a senior priest of the faith. Fret not over my presence; it is the duty of those gone on voyage to bless and hold service for the cities along their path, and so I shall preside over today’s mass—much to Sister Maria’s mild annoyance.”
The people uttered a quiet laugh, and Maugris waited for a moment before continuing. “Sister Maria was actually my teacher thirty-some years ago. Do not be fooled by her gentle exterior: many a student was victim to her scoldings back in the day, least of all me who faced the full fury of hastily-thrown slippers. I still shiver in remembrance.”
Sister Maria huffed and quickly snatched Maugris’s ear, to which he replied with a pitiful look toward the others. “It is a comfort to see that some things never change.”
“Including you, my cheeky pupil,” she said, letting go and smacking her hands as if she just touched an, albeit loveable, bug.
The people laughed again, and Maugris cleared his throat, before taking out a lavish book and setting it on a stand.
“Regardless of her temper, I hold much fondness for Sister Maria, and to the church as well. I pledge to deliver you all a most rousing service; but it has been, admittedly, some time since I took lead, thus I ask you all to be forgiving.”
Maugris opened the book. A new, serious air enveloped him, and his voice swelled with an authoritative pull as he turned the page and then addressed the congregation.
“Brethren, we have gathered here, in honor of the Lord, to celebrate the blessed gifts They have granted upon us: the earth that which we walk and thusly till for sustenance, the food of the body, and the sky that which shines and stokes our wisdom, the food of the heart, as well as darkens so that we may see those who’ve passed on—glimmering in the heavens up high as a starry sea. We celebrate and remember all this, the tenets of Chivalry and our duty to better our fellow man. Lord, we praise you.”
The people spoke, “God, we praise you.”
“We do indeed praise you. We bless you, we adore you, and we glorify you. We give thanks for your great righteousness, Lord God, heavenly Ruler, O’ Mother the Eagle from whom all life was born. Let us commemorate you now through the word of song, in the hopes that our love may reach you in that far-off realm. And let our hymns further our bonds: that we may grow closer to your eternal grace.”
“Amen.”
Maugris closed his eyes and muttered a quiet blessing under his breath. “Please stand, and open your scriptures to page seven.”
The people arose one by one, and they grabbed a slightly less flashy book nestled in the benches’ nooks before opening it to the aforementioned page.
Maugris glanced over to the side, where an orchestra laid in wait with string instruments, and choir singers, and even a grand organ with numerous pipes and channels leading up from an intimidating set of piano keys. The orchestra nodded in ready; and so Maugris turned back to the congregation and took out a conductor’s wand.
“We will begin with Sacris Gaudeo.”
Soon, the organ rang out with a loud, haunting melody, and the Franks lifted their heads up to the sky and began to sing in joyous melody. They sang with smiles stretched wide, with eyes sparkling and full of light. It was… a strange display to the good Lucius. For though their voices were bright and energetic, the music itself was somber. It clashed with the churchgoers almost as if they were engaged in battle—each side fighting for dominance. The music sought to drench them in darkness and wither their spirits, but the people? The people resisted. They confidently sang their words of hope until not a speck of the organ could be heard any longer.
“At this our joyous feast, let holy joys abound,
And from the inmost breast, let songs of praise resound.
Let ancient rites depart, and all be new around,
In every act, and voice, and heart.”
“Remember we that eve, when the first supper spread,
Lord, as we all believe, the Mother, with flowers golden and bled,
The holy Emperor, Her firstborn child, eyes tearful he devoured,
And thus the Law obeyed, of all unto their sire announced.”
“The sacred flesh consumed, the tender feast complete,
The Mother onto the boy, Her body gave to eat,
The whole to all, no less, the whole to each did mete,
With Her own hands, as we confess.”
“She gave him, weak and frail, Her flesh, his food to be,
On him, downcast and sad, Her blood bestowed he:
And thus to him She spake, receive this bloom from Me,
and all of Me do this partake.”
With their final word, the hymn came to an end. Maugris cupped his hands and placed them over his heart, saying, “Let us pray.” And so did the congregation rest in a brief, yet welcomed, moment of silence.
While they did so, Maugris flipped the pages of his book again before landing on a fitting passage. He smiled, turned towards the people, and spoke to them. “Now is the time for the first reading. Let us kneel.”
The people obeyed and leaned down, flipping a cushioned kneeler to rest their joints, and then dropped fully: leaning on the bench in front of them whilst clasping their hands.
Maugris moved next to the altar, and then he kneeled as well. “Gregorius 25:12-23. And so it was that the eighteenth Emperor, Gregorius the Wise, traveled to the land of Saracens; and he partook in their food, and their water, and played amongst the local children. He worked in their smithies and perspired the same sweat as them. And he stayed there for many days. When the heat furrowed his brow and parched his lips, he stayed even still.
“His disciple, Levin the priest, pleaded to his Holiness, saying, ‘My lord, why do you choose to stay in this place, where thrives the dens of thievery and scum? It is dangerous here. Let us return to the bosom of Francia, where our people love you, and cherish you, and shall give you any gifts that you desire.’
“But Gregorius the Wise shook his head. He smiled to his young disciple and then patted his shoulder, saying, ‘This world is ever so big, bigger than our humble brooks and fields of wheat. The Lord, our God, gave onto us the tenets of Chivalry: to defend the weak and poor, to be generous to our friends and family, and to prosper this land so kindly given to us. Francia is but one nation of a larger whole. How can I be a benevolent ruler, if I am to only look inward and see that which is never changing? Our neighbors are children of the Lord as well. Let us learn from them, as they learn from us. For we are all equal under the eyes of God.’”
Maugris closed the book. He let the passage linger, to allow its message fully ingrain into the congregation’s hearts. When he felt satisfied, Maugris nodded, and then he ended the reading. “The word of the Lord.”
The people spoke, “Thanks be to God.”
“May the Lord be in your hearts and on your lips, that you may proclaim Their gospel worthily and well, in the name of the Mother, and of the Blade, and of the Holy Star.”
“In the name of the Lord”
“Let us conclude this mass with the Rite of Consumption, to enact the same supper that the first Emperor partook in so long ago: to give respects to the Mother, the maternal Eagle, the holy act in which she divested her flesh to nurture her son, and in turn nurtured that which would become Francia.”
“Amen.”
Lucius expected the congregation to stand up and line themselves in rows to receive a piece of bread and drink wine like one would do in catholic churches, but surprisingly they remained seated. It was Sir Maugris who actually arose. The man turned toward the statue of the three-headed God, and he raised his right arm, shaping it until it looked like he was holding a chalice.
Maugris muttered a quiet prayer; he bowed before the statue, the representation of the Lord. And suddenly, before Lucius’s very eyes, it moved.
The statue moved.
The head of the Mother, the maternal Eagle, gazed upon the congregation with an emotionless expression (which the gentleman supposed was only natural considering She was carved out of stone), and Her mouth opened, releasing a steady stream of white mist to float above them.
“Grace to you, our Lord,” Maugris said. The statue looked at him; and then it returned to its neutral pose, becoming lifeless once more.
The wizardly priest turned back to the people, none of whom had so much as even blinked after that odd exchange, and beckoned to the mist. Slowly, it drifted toward him, coiling around his hand until it formed a large swirling orb. Maugris took the orb, raised it, and then crushed it within his palm, similarly to how he had done so during the beast attacks. Instead of light pouring forth, however, something else appeared.
Flowers: a great, hefty bouquet of flowers. They resembled the Adler Flowers Lucius had eaten during the otherworlders’ first banquet in Francia, only these buds were cut into much smaller bite-sized pieces.
Maugris took the bouquet and then gradually made his way down the church’s aisles, offering each person a piece and making a sign of the trinity to bless them. Eventually, it was Lucius’s turn, and Maugris offered him a flower piece with a wide grin on his face.
“Thank you kindly,” Lucius said, putting on a glove and then accepting the piece before carefully taking a bite. It wasn’t quite as good in its raw form as the banquet version, but it was a pleasant experience nonetheless: tender, a bit savory, with a slight tangy aftertaste a bit like grapefruit.”
With that, all that was left to do was give the closing statements and sing one last song. Lucius didn’t listen to the performance as intently as he did before; no, he was much more occupied over pondering what he had just witnessed. The statue… Lucius didn’t see any of those magical crystals on it, nor did Maugris use his sceptre to turn the mist into flowers. So was that truly through their Lord’s power?
Despite all signs saying so, Lucius thought otherwise. He did not feel any divinity when the statue moved; rather, it was similar to how the priests cast their spells, or how the paladins augmented their strength. There was something, but it was not of some higher being’s aid.
The truth of this matter laid in plain sight. Yes, the one responsible was… the people themselves.
The gentleman was no stranger to religion. He had visited many chapels, many houses of belief ranging from the elaborate mosques of Islam, the Buddhist and Taoist temples in Asia, to one time even breaking into the pope’s personal chambers in the Vatican, but there was something special about the Franks.
Some called it the soul: the medium where a person’s being was at their most concentrated. It had no physical form, no appearance to show. But within these marble walls was a phenomenon that couldn’t be fully explained. The ‘soul’, the shape and cradle of life… it resonated in each and every person. It connected them in an array that could only be felt rather than seen; and it was then that Lucius experienced that same sensation as back at the capital.
Through their joint praise, the Franks created their own sacred realm. It was small, faint. But within the confines of the church, perhaps it was so that the impossible could be made possible. That the blessings and venerations they thought granted by their Lord was actually done through their own subconscious yearnings.
To bring forth a miracle.
It was not God, not in a typical sense. Rather… the belief in God that made it possible. The power of faith itself.
Oftentimes mankind claimed to feel a close, personal relationship with the divine. Some declared themselves prophets and claimed to hear the Almighty’s word - that the Lord whispered into their own ears and guided them in a kindred relationship - but the glint in their eyes was always of either delusion or deception. They mistook God for the voices of their hearts. The descriptions of their divine audience was too detailed, too comprehensible for a being far beyond their mortal realm.
Even these astral beings called Stars were not true gods, in a sense. For they harbored desires, wants, motivations. They could change, and they could be led astray. They sought to do what was right, and to deny what they believed was wrong.
They were like any other living being—the only difference being that they had the power to pretend.
>[Jester of Nihility cackles to themself and says that you’re spot on. Stars are miserable creatures. If only they could be as unfeeling as a true God, there would be no conflict in the Cosmos]<
>[Sinister Interdimensional Bureaucrat does not necessarily disagree, but the Stars also hold powers incomparable to what mortal minds can comprehend. They are gods in that they wield both creation and destruction without limit. If you choose to join the Bureaucrat's faction, then they can teach you as their successor]<
An enticing proposal, but the gentleman would have to decline. Besides, he didn’t mean ‘God’ in regards to an almighty being. It didn’t even need to be a conscious one.
In Lucius’s eyes, God was the mechanism of the universe, the laws and vessel that which allowed existence to propagate. It was an existence that could never be understood, nor truly defined. It simply was.
“Our mass has ended. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
While Lucius was busy musing to himself, Sir Maugris had concluded the church service; and it didn’t take long before a great wave of people began pushing themselves out of the door.
Maugris discussed some priestly matters with the, well, priests, before eventually walking over to Lucius with an anxious look.
“How was the service, Sir Lucius?” he asked, rubbing his fingers. “I hope I didn’t bore you with all our proceedings. Some parts I attempted to embellish a bit, but the church has its dull moments.”
The gentleman shook his head. “Perish the thought, Sir Maugris! I had a lovely time. I especially enjoyed your performance with the flowers, but it sure gave me a fright to see that statue suddenly come to life!”
Maugris laughed and turned toward the three-headed God. “Now that I think about it, I suppose it can be rather surprising for one unfamiliar with the faith. I myself caused a loud fuss during my childhood years; but over time I have become used to it.”
“What is the statue, exactly? Does your God descend and use it as a vessel?”
“Not quite. It would be more accurate to refer the Chevalieres as… the Lord’s attendants. Each statue is carved by an artisan in the holy capital, and then we would take them to the west, toward the mountaintop’s highest peak where they would then bathe in the Stars’ light for three days and three nights. Once it is done, a spirit will enter the stone, and thus shall it come to life during times of mass.”
Lucius rubbed his chin. “The mountaintop, you say? But if it is to the west, that would mean…”
“Yes, it is as you suspect.” Maugris exhaled and bid the gentleman a sad smile. “We call it the Cradle of Life. Long ago, before we the people were even a thought in this realm’s grand stream, our Lord the Almighty came into existence at the mountain’s summit. It is the holiest of holy lands, a survivor of the great flood of crystals wept by the Mother, but now… now the Demon King calls it home. We have been unable to create more Chevalieres for ten years now, a dire predicament for us of the cloth. Without them, we cannot expand nor build more chapels. It is the Chevalieres that sanctify our grounds.”
“Truly?” Lucius said. “You have never built a chapel without one?”
Maugris hesitated for a second. “Well, perhaps the Order did during its nascent years. But that was a time before God left for the astral cosmos. Now, Their divinity is much less widespread, and so we must rely on the Lord’s servants to act as mediums.”
“Since when was that so?”
“Since…” Maugris lingered, scratching his head. “The beginning, I suppose. Its appearance is recorded in Joshua 8-3, the first of our scriptures chronologically. It is simply tradition.”
“Hm. I see.” Lucius turned around without another word and began to leave, abruptly putting an end to their conversation. He didn’t mean to be rude—goodness no. But during the good Peer’s service, the gentleman noticed something very, very interesting hidden beneath Maugris’s expression.
A truth he knew not even existed. It wasn’t as sorrowful or even that impactful compared to Ogier’s and Ruggiero’s truths. But what if Lucius were to reveal it? How would it transform if Maugris came to know that which lurked in his heart?
To do so, Lucius needed to do a bit of prodding. He needed the priest to seek the answer for himself.
“W-Wait!” Maugris said, suddenly leaping to Lucius. “Forgive me for the interruption, Sir Lucius, but… why do you appear conflicted? It is as if you are hiding something from me.”
Lucius shrugged and made an elaborate show of portraying himself as nervous: unsteady eyes, shaky hands, such quirks and more. Maugris needed to become more suspicious. “Whatever do you mean, my friend? I am not hiding a thing. Nope. Not from me. Definitely not.”
The Peer raised his brow. “I know we have only just become recent acquaintances, but if something ails your mind, I am here to listen should you need it.”
Lucius fiddled with his fingers and uttered a loud ‘Hm’, but eventually he pretended to give in and approached near Maugris’s ear. “As an otherworlder, I am privy to certain aspects your people may not necessarily know. I like to think of myself as a respectable man. I do not wish to undermine your faith or belief. But… I will say this. Your people are capable of much, much more than you realize, Sir Maugris.”
The man stepped back confused. “What do you mean?”
“It is as I say. You claim the church’s blessings and rituals conducted by the priests as miracles of God, Their gift to the faithful. However, perhaps it would be good to ask yourself which boons are truly divine… and which ones are wrought from human will.”
“Human will?” he whispered.
“Yes, from the power held in one’s soul. Souls are limitless, my friend. There is no end to what one can become. If you were to nurture that budding potential, then… oh my, I have said too much. Do forgive me, but I must take my leave. Goodbye!”
With that, Lucius quickly skedaddled with a tip-tap of his foot away before the Peer could question him. Before he left, though, he heard Maugris mutter something to himself.
“Potential… potential…”
Indeed, he had potential. The question was: what would he make of it?
Lucius chuckled to himself and ducked into the busy city streets. He was in a good mood. The church service was quite intriguing, and he had even discovered a seed of potential ripe for the picking.
Yes, he was positively beaming in satisfaction. So much so, in fact, that he wasn’t even bothered by the cloaked figure trailing him from behind.
A figure covered in a strange, shimmering camouflage, unbeknownst to the people passing them by.
