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Sapientia (Norway)
#1

There was no getting around the fact that he was in Norway. There was also no way to hide his trip to Tromsø. The official reason was an extension of his visit in the first place; that he was attempting to build good will between the Catholic church and the Church of Norway. In truth, he had zero interest in the affairs of evangelical lutherans, but it wasn’t unheard of for Popes to visit protestant churches. Only two popes in history had visited a Buddhist temple and only one ever stepped foot in a mosque. Hopefully collecting the other two keys wouldn’t come to that. Philip detested the idea that Patricus I would be remembered in history for making a mark at heretical institutions.

Tromsø was famous for one thing, other than scenic views and aurora tourism, and that was the site known as the Arctic Cathedral. Tromsdalen Church was a parish of the lutheran Church of Norway. The modern concrete and metal structure was built in a shotgun style in 1965. The building looked like a series of white triangles that made up its form, and seating about 600, it was a masterpiece of architecture, and certainly grand enough to host the Pope.

He had to make an appearance as unexpected and unexplained as when he visited Estonia, but it was only for a single day, and the news coverage was kept minimal. In the accompanying message, he spoke of unified charity, public service, and caring for orphans and the poor. It was the same sort of generic blustering that might have been fitting upon crossing any threshold beyond sacred walls of His Church, except, he found himself surprised at the passion with which he spoke of serving, particularly the orphans. He made an impromptu visit to a church-run orphanage afterward where he spent the rest of the day visiting with the children.

Meanwhile, Armande and Valeriya, who had to travel separately from him, went in search of the supposed sacred tree from the vision. Rowan volunteered herself to procure the items they would need to withstand a night under the stars, the longest list of which were Philip’s requirements. He’d never so much as imagined himself camping, and he was more than vocal about his displeasure at having to start now.

But if he was going to do this, he had a long list. First and foremost, his sleeping bag had to be white.
[Image: hiclipart.com_-e1597513863757.png]
Man is like God: he never changes. 
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#2
The plane touched down in Tromsø, its wheels skidding slightly on the frostbitten runway. November in Norway was a harsh host, with biting cold and a sun that barely crept over the horizon. As the aircraft's door opened, a gust of icy wind invaded the cabin, wrapping around Philip like a frozen blanket. He grimaced, pulling his winter cloak, crafted from luxurious red velvet and edged with pristine white ermine fur, tighter around his slender frame. The white cassock billowed around his knees as he descended the plane’s steps, nipping at his legs.

His mood was as dark as the Arctic sky above; the cold was an unwelcome reminder of how far he was from the sunlit streets of Rome. Below, a small delegation from the lutheran Church of Norway awaited him, their faces a mix of reverence and curiosity. They couldn't hide their surprise. Patricus I was for many years a figure known for his reclusive nature and aversion to political entanglements, was the last person they expected to see in Tromsø.

"Your Holiness, welcome to Tromsø," greeted the leading bishop, extending a hand that was swallowed by thick gloves. "We are honored, though somewhat surprised, to have you with us. May I ask what brings you to our humble city?"

Patricus’ response was terse as he allowed the Bishop to grasp his hand, Papal ring prominent over his own white gloves, but his voice barely audible from behind clenched teeth. Luckily, a thin veil obscured his expression from the delegates as well as the press, otherwise lined up in the distance. “A personal pilgrimage," he said, sidestepping specifics.

His answer seemed to pacify the bishop, who nodded, although a flicker of doubt remained in his eyes. The delegation led him towards a waiting car, already running to combat the encroaching frost.

As the vehicle wound through Tromsø’s streets, Patricus peered out at the stark landscape, the mountains and fjords shrouded in twilight despite being middle of the afternoon. His thoughts were desolate at the view.

Soon, the Arctic Cathedral loomed ahead, its angular structure piercing the dusky sky like a beacon. As the car stopped, the Pope braced himself for the evening's service.
[Image: hiclipart.com_-e1597513863757.png]
Man is like God: he never changes. 
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