I thought that making Patrick the bad guy was an un-needed twist in the tale, there was already a perfectly good bad guy in the objectionable and surly Simeon, so this is my slightly AU way of fixing it

/x/

Chartrand jumped, turning his head sharply at the sound of hammering and yelling around the corner from the Papal office the Camerlengo had just returned to; he was probably still pacing Chartrand thought sourly, he couldn't believe how stubborn both Commandant Richter, and Cardinal Strauss were being on the subject of evacuation, he knew it was distressing the young priest greatly, their seeming disregard for the thousands of souls down in the square. Reaching the source of the racket, Chartrand found himself facing a heavy wooden door covering an entrance to one of the myriad secret passages that honeycombed the Apostolic Palace, it took him a moment to figure out the keys, to open the door, and then Langdon and Vetra were tumbling slightly breathlessly into the corridor.

"The Camerlengo is in danger," Langdon panted to him.

They started to hurry back around the corner to the office when the air was cut by an agonized scream, followed by another as they broke into a flat out run. The other guard was already trying the doors when they arrived, and he looked up in alarm.

"Locked," he said succinctly.

"Break them down," Chartrand ordered, pulling out his radio and calling in reinforcements.

"What's going on?" Richter's voice demanded in annoyance a moment later.

"Camerlengo McKenna is being attacked, we're trying to force the doors now," he replied hurriedly, before adding his weight to the other guards against the doors.

More running footsteps sounded as the doors began to give, and a fast glance over his shoulder showed Richter and two more guards, indicating that they had already been somewhere in this section of the palace. The doors finally crashed back against the walls inside the office, allowing them to burst in, guns drawn.

Father Simeon stood beside the open window on the far side of the room, a bloody dagger in his hand, and they could hear screams starting in the square below.

"You murdering bastard," Richter breathed.

It was Langdon who noticed the still gently swaying rope fixed to the window frame, and seeing the direction of his gaze, Simeon sneered and made to draw his dagger across the rope.

"Stop him," he yelled.

Two shots rang out as both Richter and Chartrand fired, and Simeon was flung into the wall at the double impact, dead before he hit the floor.

"The rope, he's hung him but the rope is still moving, there may be time," he explained urgently, keeping his eyes off the dead priest.

They hurried to the open window and Richter and Chartrand looked down, shoulder to shoulder. The Camerlengo hung below the window, the rope secured around his ankles, hanging him upside down, but his arms had been fixed somehow in a disturbingly familiar pose, a sick mimicry of the crucifixion.

"Pull him up, now," Richter barked, and the other three guards joined a moment later by Langdon, started hauling steadily on the rope, trying to pull the suspended figure up smoothly as possible, wanting to avoid bouncing his skull off the walls if they could.

Quickly they had raised him high enough that Richter and Chartrand could lean out and ease him inside, Richter nodded shortly as Vittoria moved in to support the Camerlengo's head as the two of them lifted him in, easing him gently to the floor.

"He's alive," Vittoria reported, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the priest's blood stained throat.

There was an awful lot of blood, Chartrand noticed, reaching out to pull the disarrayed cassock open as Richter cut the ties securing the Camerlengo's arms to the steel bar that Simeon had fixed them to, to keep him in position.

"Oh God," he breathed, feeling faint, a brand, two crossed keys was burned viciously above the Camerlengo's heart, and a deep looking stab wound bled freely in his side.

"Get a doctor up here," he yelled at one of the other guards, using his hand to apply pressure to the knife wound.

The shock of the fresh pain jerked the injured priest awake, and he looked up at them hazily.

"Father, did he say anything, give any hint where the device was?" Richter asked, reaching out with one had to tilt the Camerlengo's head in his direction with a gentleness that surprised them all, given how adversarial the two had been all day.

A slow blink, and a fractional head shake were his reply.

"Robert, what about the brand, could it have another meaning?" Vittoria asked desperately.

"It's possible," Langdon said, kneeling beside the Camerlengo to look at the brand.

"But, this is upside down," he commented

Chartrand almost flinched as the Camerlengo reached out with surprising strength, given the state he was in, and pulled Langdon close by the front of his shirt so he leaned down.

"St. Peter," the Camerlengo whispered to him.

"The first Pope, he was crucified upside down," Langdon said in realization.

"On Vatican hill…"

"A few hundred feet below us."

"It's in St. Peter's tomb," the Camerlengo breathed, his eyes closing briefly as he gathered the dregs of his strength before struggling to get up.

"Lie still, you're going to make the bleeding worse," Chartrand chided him.

"No time, get me upright," he said though gritted teeth, stubborn determination in his tone.

Chartrand and Richter pulled him up, holding on grimly as pain and blood loss almost made him pass out again, leaving him hanging limply between them for a moment. He finally pulled away from them, stumbling over to the desk and yanking a surprisingly well stocked medical kit out of the drawer. He slapped a pressure bandage over his knife wound, not objecting when Vittoria batted his hands out of the way and secured it for him, wrapping it tightly to try to control the bleeding.

"What's that?" Richter demanded when the next thing he pulled out of the kit was an injector of some kind.

"Adrenaline, not a good idea, but I need to stay on my feet right now," the Camerlengo said tightly, shoving back his sleeve and delivering the shot with an ease that spoke of practice. He swayed for a moment, his hand tightening around the injector, then he dropped it aside.

"Let's go," he ground out, turning for the door.

They managed a fair pace, considering the priest's injuries, but he was pale and sweating, and very breathless as they reached the tomb and he paused to punch the code in, leaving blood smeared on the keypad. They started to search the tomb, desperately aware of the approaching midnight hour. He slid down into a pit, biting down a whimper of pain, pulling aside a dust sheet, and stilled for an instant.

"Here, it's here," he called, staring in fascination at the tiny, yet so destructive mass roiling in suspension inside the canister, he reached out without realizing it, only stopping when Vetra spoke, close by his ear.

"Don't touch it," she warned, taking off her coat and laying it on the lip of the pit before allowing the security men to assist her down.

Patrick moved out of the way so that she could get to the device, barely noticing as the two Swiss Guardsmen helped him hoist himself out. He kept his attention on the scientist as she prepared to change the battery, to bring this threat to an end.

"It's cold down here, isn't it?" she asked, apropos of nothing as she stopped working on the battery.

"So?" Langdon asked for all of them.

"The cold degrades the battery faster; we may not have five minutes left. We should leave it here and try to get as far away as possible," she said pragmatically.

Patrick thought of the thousands of people over their heads in the square, the Cardinals still locked in Conclave, and a single choice stood before him that was no choice at all.

"No," he said, snatching up the device and starting to run.

"Damn it," Richter cursed, as he and the others took off after the priest, surprised that he could move so fast in his condition, they could still hear the patter of his footsteps, but couldn't see him in the maze of passageways.

"He'll be heading for the square, the helicopter is there," he panted, leading them the most direct route he knew back though the passages, but painfully aware that McKenna knew the passages far better than he did, the former Pope had allowed his adopted son a lot of latitude for exploration when he was younger.

They reached the top of the steps just as the police and the Camerlengo broke through the far side of the crowd with the deadly burden he carried.

"God," Langdon breathed as McKenna displaced the pilot in the helicopter, lifting off as soon as he was in.

He looked at them as the helicopter rose, and Chartrand could see a calmness overtaking the determination.

"He's sacrificing himself," he said quietly, aware of the guilt Richter was feeling, if he had sided with the Camerlengo on the evacuation issue, then likely Cardinal Strauss would have given in to them.

/x/

Patrick could see the sadness in the faces of Richter and the others, see the knowledge in their eyes that he was going to be dead in just a few short minutes, and he could also see the guilt in the Commandant's eyes, but he didn't blame the man, didn't blame Strauss either for that matter. He trusted that this was as it must be, the will of God. He easily sublimated his pain now; he had flown injured more than once when he was in the service. Keeping one eye on the altimeter, and the other on the little bars of red light on the canister, watching them count down toward the end, he could feel lassitude creeping over him now as the adrenaline wore off, and he wondered idly which one was going to get him first, the anti-matter explosion, or the blood loss.

The altimeter indicated that they had reached their ceiling, and he reached out slowly to flick on the 'auto-pilot' to hold his altitude, it wouldn't hold it for long, but it would be long enough. Whispering a soft prayer, he kissed his crucifix, keeping it in his hand as he leaned his head back against the seat, tilted so that he could watch the canister as unconsciousness gently began to pull on him once more, he sighed and gave in to it as the battery light finally winked out, and the roiling mass of anti-matter spread to breach its containment.

/x/

Down in the square, Vittoria closed her eyes, aware that tears were running down her face, but doing nothing to stem them as the explosions tore through the night sky, a normal ball of fire, and an instant later a roiling maelstrom of blue energy as matter and anti-matter met in a miniature 'big bang'. It was beautiful, if deadly, and in that moment she hated herself and Silvano for creating it more than she had at any moment since the canister had been stolen. Yes, all the people in the square had been saved, and the illuminati had been responsible for the whole horrific plan, but this one death, this death was on their shoulders, if they hadn't created the anti-matter, then the illuminati would have had to use something else, something that probably could have been defused, and Camerlengo McKenna wouldn't have died like this.

"Get down," Robert yelled, pulling her down onto the steps as the shockwaves hit, battering everyone in the square.

She could hear people screaming, and praying, as things crashed down around them thrown by the violence of the shockwaves, she pressed her head into her arms, and found herself praying for the first time in years, praying that no-one else would die today, that it would end soon.

Finally things quieted, and they picked themselves up, looking around, a number of people in the square appeared to be injured, but not seriously, and from what they could see at first glance, nobody appeared to be dead. Richter immediately began to radio for more of his men to come to the square, even as he headed for the nearest police officer to co-ordinate their efforts to make sure people were all right. She and Robert stood aside, not sure what they could do to help, and not wanting to be in the way, until a member of the Swiss Guard came and led them back inside, taking them to the security office.

/x/

Chartrand went inside at a sharp nod from his commander, climbing up the stairs toward the Sistine Chapel, dashing tears impatiently from his face. He had admired the Camerlengo greatly, the priest not much older than himself, serving in a position that was ordinarily given to men much older, and always before to a Cardinal. The quiet strength with which he had carried that authority had given Chartrand a great deal of faith, and he found it impossible to believe that he was gone, his life ended in a ball of fire. Even in sacrificing himself, he had shown a reserved dignity that Chartrand hoped he would manage to emulate should his life ever come to the same crossroads.

Stepping into the Chapel, he looked around for Cardinal Strauss, finally seeing him over near the door to the side room of the Chapel, the 'room of tears', he headed over, carefully skirting his uniformed colleagues, who were treating some of the Cardinals for minor injuries and shock.

"Cardinal Strauss," he called respectfully.

The older man turned to face him, looking pale and shaken.

"Cardinal, I'm sorry, but…the Camerlengo is dead," he said quietly.

"Oh?"

"We found the device, it was too late to stop it, he took the bomb in the helicopter, he would have died instantly if…"

"If?"

"If his injuries didn't kill him first, I have more bad news, the illuminati had already tried to murder him, just before we found the explosive, I…he was attacked by Father Simeon."

Strauss' eyes closed in pain at the news that it had been his own aide who had been behind the whole thing, presumably, as well as trying to kill the Camerlengo; it was he who had murdered the previous pontiff.

Chartrand frowned as he started to hear the word 'miracle' ripple through the room, and looked at Strauss in confusion.

Strauss sighed tiredly and stepped aside so that he could see into the side room. Two of the Swiss Guard, and one white coated doctor were working frantically over a figure lying on the floor, and even under the oxygen mask strapped over his face; Chartrand could recognize him as the Camerlengo.

"I don't understand," Chartrand said.

"Perhaps, if he lives, he can enlighten us," Strauss said wryly, knowing already that the word miracle wasn't going to go away, not now that the other Cardinals had heard that the Camerlengo had apparently just appeared in the Chapel from an exploding helicopter.

The doctor stopped beside Strauss as the Guardsmen took the Camerlengo out, firmly strapped to a stretcher, Chartrand stared after the unconscious figure, still shocked.

"Cardinal, he needs surgery, immediately, the stab wound is deep, and hasn't been helped at all by moving around, not to mention it's difficult to stabilize him due to the severe burn he has suffered. The surgical team at Ospedale Santo Spirito is already scrubbing in ready for him, we cannot treat him here," the doctor said bluntly.

"He will require a guard," Strauss said, glancing at Chartrand.

"I will see to it," Chartrand promised, already pulling out his radio as he hurried behind the doctor and his patient.

"Commandant, its Chartrand. Camerlengo McKenna is alive, but too badly injured to treat here, they're transferring him to Santo Spirito for surgery, I need another guard for his security."

"He's…how?"

"No idea, some of the Cardinals are calling it a miracle, and I don't think I could disagree with them."

"I will have Chambord and Dewitt join you at the ambulance," Richter said curtly.

The two 'plain clothed' Swiss Guard were waiting when he reached the ambulance just behind the stretcher bearing the unconscious priest. Dewitt sat up front with the driver, while Chambord joined him in the back, watching the doctor and the other paramedic to make sure neither of them tried anything. Not a thought that would ever have occurred to them before the events of the last few days, and Simeon's betrayal.

/x/

Chartrand was ready to fall asleep where he stood, by the time Richter appeared at the hospital, accompanied by three fresh guards from the next shift, and surprisingly, Cardinal Strauss.

"Well?" Richter demanded.

"There were a worrying few minutes when we first got him here, but they pulled him back. The surgeon said he came through surgery well, and they're optimistic that his chances of survival are good, the knife caused a lot of internal bleeding, but it didn't hit anything vital. They are concerned about the burn, it will require careful monitoring to assess if a skin graft will be needed or not, but either way, he's going to be scarred."

"As long as he is alive, I am certain he can live with that. Where is he?" Strauss asked, speaking for the first time.

Chartrand indicated the room where the Camerlengo lay hooked up to monitors, IVs and an oxygen line, watching the older man step up to the bedside and murmur a soft prayer, touching the unconscious priest's forehead gently before taking one limp hand in his own and wrapping the slack fingers around a crucifix, securing the chain around his wrist to keep it from getting lost.

"Is conclave over?" Chartrand asked Richter in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard.

"No, but this conclave has been so badly disrupted already, they have announced a two day deferral to allow the injured to recover a little, and for things to settle. The Cardinals are in seclusion still, but Cardinal Strauss got dispensation from the College of Cardinals to come and offer a prayer for the Camerlengo, and return his crucifix to him."

"Is there any indication of how he managed to get back to the ground yet?"

"He didn't just get back to the ground; he appeared inside the Sistine Chapel, they found him inside the room of tears when they went to check for damage immediately after the explosion, no hint of how he got there."

"So, it really was a miracle?"

"That's for them to decide," Richter shrugged.

Strauss stepped back out of the room, and Richter looked at Chartrand.

"Give the relief shift their orders, then go and get some sleep, we're probably going to be busy tomorrow," he ordered, before escorting the Cardinal back down the corridor.

/x/

Patrick frowned fractionally as awareness slowly started to filter back, there was pain, just on the edge of his senses, and he felt odd, adrift, generally things he didn't think you were supposed to feel when you were dead. He could hear a voice he didn't think he knew talking quietly somewhere off to the side, and closer to him, a really annoying regular bleeping sound. Turning his head slowly in the direction of the sound, feeling like it had been weighted with lead, he forced open equally weighted eyelids, wanting to figure out what was making that sound and make it quit.

The voice broke off at his movement, and before he could make his eyes focus on what was making that irritating noise, a dark, person shaped something moved into his field of vision.

"Camerlengo?" the blur spoke hesitantly, softly, then shifted slightly and spoke again, slightly louder.

"Go and get someone, I think he's waking up."

He had no idea how long it was before the dark blur was replaced by a light blur, one that shone a bright light into his eyes, making him flinch away.

"Sorry about that Father, just needed to see how your pupil reaction is. Do you know where you are?"

A fractional headshake was all he could manage to that, even the thought of trying to form words was too much effort.

"Ok, you're in hospital, you had emergency surgery last night, you're on some pretty heavy pain medication at the moment, so don't worry if your head is a little fuzzy, or you find it difficult to move. Ok?"

He felt the weights pulling his eyes shut once more before he could contemplate nodding, so he mentally shrugged and allowed the darkness to drag him back down.

The doctor gave a reassuring look to the young Swiss Guard, who appeared alarmed at the lapse back into unconsciousness.

"He's all right, he really is on some strong drugs, we'll start easing back now and see if we can get him switched onto something a little less disorientating, but he'll probably drift in and out like that for the next few hours. Once he's coherent, and can answer questions regarding his pain levels, I'll agree to transfer him back to your own medical facilities."

"Thank you, doctor," the young man nodded, he knew that the Commandant was anxious to get the Camerlengo back inside the security of the Vatican, although privately he was rather dubious how much security that would really offer, given that the murder attempt had happened inside the Apostolic Palace, with members of security just on the other side of the door.

/x/

Cardinal Strauss stepped into the small, whitewashed medical room in the Apostolic Palace infirmary, studying the slight young man in the bed silently for a long moment before stepping closer. Patrick was either sleeping again, or sedated, because he made no movement at the sound of Strauss' footsteps, the Camerlengo was still pale, but no longer as deathly pale as he had been when he had seen him after surgery, and clean white dressings hid his wounds from view.

Strauss shook his head, wondering what the rest of the Cardinals were thinking, arguing to elevate this fragile looking child to the Papacy; they would destroy him, drive him into an early grave, but they wouldn't listen to him when he tried to tell them this, and he knew they assumed he disliked the Camerlengo, which was untrue, he thought him a little headstrong, and far too young, but he had also long since acknowledged to the former Pontiff that Patrick was good at his job, still, he had almost driven himself into the ground when he first started, before he had learned to achieve a balance, and the Papacy was considerably more demanding and high profile.

Sighing, he slipped out of the room again, he needed to get some sleep, he was exhausted, despite the two days of deferral they had had.

Strauss stepped into a large church, almost stumbling over a small redheaded child who skipped across his path, dressed in a starched black suit and white shirt, with a green tie that looked like an attempt had been made to remove it.

"Patrick Niall McKenna, come here and stop hopping around like a hoodlum," a red-haired woman called out.

"But mam, I want to look," the child said with a heavier accent than Strauss was used to hearing, familiar grey blue eyes wide and pleading.

"Fine, but behave, and come back when it starts to get crowded," the woman sighed, returning to her seat.

Strauss followed the child, realizing that he couldn't see him, that no-one could, watching as he studied the friezes in the alcoves with intense fascination. The boy stepped into an alcove to get a closer look at an image of the Archangel St Michael, and Strauss' heart froze in his chest as another figure appeared behind the boy, clad in flowing white robes, and bearing huge white wings which the dark haired form spread protectively over the child's head as hell was unleashed on the gathering congregation, noise and fire ripping the church apart, while the now limp child was lifted into the winged figure's arms.

"He is stronger than you imagine he is," the figure said, turning toward Strauss, and in that moment, as he turned, the boy became the adult, still lying bloody and unmoving in the same winged figure's arms, and the burning church had become the anti-chamber to the Sistine Chapel.

The Angel set Patrick gently on the floor, smoothing a hand lightly over his brow before vanishing in a swirl of white light just as the door was flung open.

Strauss jerked awake with a start, his eyes seeking the clock, and he groaned softly as he saw it was four in the morning. What could that dream possibly have meant, was it just his subconscious, trying to push him to stop pulling against the others and give in to their wish to name Patrick the next Pope, or was it more literal, had Patrick now been saved twice by divine intervention? Strauss knew very little about the incident that had led to the boy's adoption, just that his birth parents had been killed in a terrorist attack that had been aimed at then Archbishop Martinelli, he hadn't even met Patrick until he was fifteen, despite the fact that he had lived within the Vatican with Cardinal Martinelli since he was eleven.

Knowing that sleep wasn't going to return to him this night, he got up and dressed, walking down to the chapel located on the lower floors of St. Martha's house, he had a lot to think about.

/x/

The Cardinals were returning to Conclave early the next morning, when Strauss felt a hand on his arm. He looked at the Cardinal walking next to him, who nodded silently in the direction of a shadowy, black clad figure who was heading down toward the tombs. In the light of the candles they caught a flash of pale red hair, and that, coupled with the pained way he was walking, one arm wrapped around his middle, made it fairly clear who it was.

"Bring the Camerlengo to us in the Chapel," he whispered to one of the Swiss Guard, indicating where the young priest had gone, and wondering privately if the infirmary knew yet that he had wandered off.

The young man nodded, starting back down the huge staircase as the Cardinals continued up, and soon entering the chill of the catacombs. He found the Camerlengo on his knees in silent prayer beside the tomb of the former Pope, and remained quiet until the Camerlengo leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cold marble for a moment, before struggling to rise. He stepped forward to help him up, nodding respectfully.

"Camerlengo, the Cardinals have requested your presence in the Sistine Chapel," he said quietly.

"Very well," Patrick said with a sigh, suspecting that they were about to demand explanation for that which he could not explain; why he was alive.

He allowed the young guard to assist him up the massive marble staircase, knowing that he had very little chance of making it on his own, he had escaped the infirmary before they could take the opportunity to drug him again, he didn't like the way it made him sleepy and clouded his mind, he would sooner deal with the pain.

They reached the doors to the chapel, and two of the Swiss Guard stepped forward to open them for him, closing them with a solid thump when he was inside and facing Strauss.

"You sent for me, Cardinal?" he asked, hearing the other Cardinal's murmuring softly. It wasn't until he saw the compassion in the older man's eyes that he realized what they were murmuring, his name, over and over.

He shook his head in denial, eyes wide, but Strauss simply offered him a tired smile, and spoke;

"Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?"

He stared at Strauss for a long moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn't 'are you out of your collective minds', but then closing his eyes, he accepted the inevitability, he knew they wouldn't accept a refusal, here was the reason they hadn't asked how he had survived; they didn't care, they believed he had been spared for this.

"Accepto," he whispered faintly.

He felt a strong hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder as he was moved forward toward the alter to be ordained as a Bishop, and looked at Strauss, who was still radiating an air of practicality and compassion; well, at least he knew who he was going to offer the office of Camerlengo to, he thought wryly.

/x/

Robert Langdon had just arrived back at Harvard, and headed straight for his house to get some much needed rest, he was exhausted. He wondered, not for the first time, how the Camerlengo was, he hadn't seen him since the moment he had taken off in the helicopter with the bomb, but he had been shocked beyond belief to hear that he had somehow survived, even if his injuries were still life threatening.

Flipping on the TV to check the news before he went to sleep, he sat down in his armchair at a view of St Peter's square on the screen, filled with quite obviously rejoicing people. It looked like Conclave was out then, he thought, wondering who they had chosen. A man stepped through the red curtain on the balcony the camera was focused on, and the crowd fell into an expectant silence as he prepared to speak.

"Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum: Habemus Papam! Eminentissimum ac Reverendissimum Dominum, Dominum Patrick, Sanctae Romanae Ecclesiae Cardinalem McKenna, qui sibi nomen imposuit Michael."

Most of the Latin was lost on Robert, it had been spoken too fast, but the name was shockingly familiar, they had made Patrick McKenna the Pope. He stared at the screen as the pale, tired young man stepped out onto the balcony, looking almost ghostly dressed in white, raising his hands in blessing. He didn't hear the blessing, a thump behind him made him jump, and he looked back to see a dusty book had fallen from one of the shelves, really dusty, he thought, wrinkling his nose as he rose to retrieve it, wondering when he had last looked at that particular volume.

The words on the page caught his eye before he snapped it closed, and he paused to read them, realizing that he didn't think he had ever opened this book, it had belonged to his mentor.

When new stars birth sunders the sky
and the ancient enemy stirs once more
God's warrior, sleeping in mortal guise
will awaken for the battle is nigh

He shut the book and shoved it back on the shelf as someone knocked on his door, forgetting about the lines he had read when he was confronted with Chartrand, bearing a gift from the Vatican, and a letter from the newly elected Pope, and didn't give the book another thought as he hurried to take the precious Galileo folio to the Harvard Archives, where it could be preserved safely.

/x/

Patrick sat on a bench in the Vatican gardens, finding the moonlight soothing to his aching head. He was exhausted to his very bones, but wound too tightly to sleep, and this was the most peaceful place he had found. At least the Swiss Guard could give him an illusion of privacy here, standing just out of sight, although well within earshot, and only a heartbeat away should anyone unauthorized show up.

He felt something touch the top of his head, the feeling reminding him of the way his father had touched him when he was upset after the deaths of his parents, or when he was ill, the feeling warm, comforting, and the headache and the tension drained away, leaving him asleep where he sat.

Behind him, the same winged figure that had appeared as his protector in Strauss' dream eased him down so that he was lying on the bench, peacefully sleeping.

"What did you do that for? He's in the open," a melodious voice asked.

"Peace Raphael, his guards were watching more closely than he thought," he said, nodding to one of the guards who had hurriedly approached, and was now hesitantly lifting the sleeping Pope in his arms, hurriedly carrying him back inside the Apostolic Palace.

"Does he know yet, Gabriel? The name he chose…" Raphael asked quietly.

"No, but soon, all too soon," Gabriel said a little sadly as they vanished in swirls of light.

The End