Nicholas's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 34
When he returned from Scotland, Nicholas decided to bite the bullet and go to Richard and ask for a favor. Richard’s study had become familiar territory over the weeks of the treehouse project. Afternoon light streamed through tall windows, illuminating the organized chaos of architectural books, drafting tools, and scale models that defined his workspace. He was at his desk when Nicholas arrived, poring over what appeared to be renovation plans for another section of the estate.
“Nicholas,” he set aside his plans and greeted him with a smile. “Good timing. I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”
Nicholas took the offered seat across from him, noticing that the Earl seemed particularly energized today—the focused enthusiasm he’d come to recognize when a new design concept had captured his imagination.
“I have a proposition,” Nicholas began, only to have Richard speak simultaneously.
“I have an idea I’d like to discuss...”
They both stopped, and Richard laughed.
“You first,” he said, making a gentlemanly gesture of deference.
“I want to do something to help give those kids a normal childhood,” Nicholas said. “The royals, I mean. Everything seems so structured for them. When security interrupted our imagination game in the treehouse at the celebration, they didn’t even argue. It was just one more thing, one more duty.”
Richards gestured for him to go on.
“I was thinking we could build something for them,” Nicholas continued. “A Swiss Family Robinson-type treehouse. Assuming we can get permission and can find a suitable location, of course.”
For a moment, Richard simply stared at him, then shook his head with a bemused expression. “Remarkable,” he said finally. “That’s precisely what I was going to propose to you.”
Now it was Nicholas’s turn to be surprised.
“William—Prince William—rang me yesterday,” Richard explained, leaning forward slightly. “The children haven’t stopped talking about your treehouse since the celebration. Particularly your story about the shipwrecked family, the tree house and the monkeys.”
Nicholas smiled, recalling the story he’d created for the royal children when they’d commandeered the treehouse during the celebration. It had been a simple adaptation of the classic story, with the treehouse transported to a deserted island and populated by helpful monkeys that the children trained to harvest coconuts.
“He’s asked if we might consider creating something similar for them on their country property,” he continued. “Not a replica of Louise’s treehouse, of course, but something in the same spirit—a place where the children could play without the constant awareness of being royal, being observed, being protected.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Nicholas confirmed. “Something designed for imagination and exploration. A structure that suggests an adventure.”
Richard’s eyes lit up with the familiar spark of creative engagement. “Yes, precisely.”
He rose and moved to his drafting table, clearing space with practiced efficiency. “I’ve been considering approaches since William called. As I recall, the country property has several promising oak specimens. It offers a different set of opportunities—more trees grouped together, the possibility of connected structures rather than a single treehouse.”
Nicholas joined him at the table, immediately understanding the direction of his thinking. “A compound rather than a single structure. Multiple levels, connecting bridges, different functional spaces.”
“Exactly,” Richard agreed, already sketching rapid conceptual lines. “Perhaps a central platform with satellite structures—a lookout tower, a ship’s helm for imaginary voyages, a laboratory for the naturalist, a captain’s quarters...”
“We could connect each of them by rope bridges or wooden walkways,” Nicholas added, seeing the design taking shape in his mind. “Different levels to create a sense of exploration and discovery. Hidden elements that can be found over time rather than all at once.”
Richard was nodding with increasing enthusiasm. “Yes, and we could incorporate natural elements—a speaking tube made from bamboo for communication between stations, a rainwater collection system that creates a small waterfall feature, perhaps even a primitive pulley system for raising and lowering supplies.”
For the next hour, they sketched and discussed possibilities, the ideas flowing with the ease of collaborative creation they’d established during Louise’s treehouse. But this project had a different energy—more playful, focused on childhood adventures rather than philosophical significance.
“The security considerations will be substantial,” Richard noted eventually, his tone suggesting this was an unfortunate reality rather than a primary concern. “The protection officers will insist on safety measures, clear sight lines and controlled access points.”
“We can work with those requirements without ruining the effect,” Nicholas replied. “Security features can be incorporated into the design—lookout posts that serve both imaginative play and actual observation, access points that feel like secret passages but provide clear entry and exit for protection staff.”
The Earl studied him for a moment. “You understand what we’re really trying to create here, don’t you?”
“I’m thinking of a sanctuary,” Nicholas said. “A place where duty temporarily goes away and childhood can live.”
What he didn’t say was how much the children’s plight had touched him. Those few moments telling stories and watching their eyes light up with genuine joy and playfulness had breached the walls he kept between him and the rest of the world. Duty was stealing their childhood. It made him want to give them a taste of adventure.
The Earl nodded, satisfaction evident in his expression. “Exactly so. These children carry burdens of expectation and tradition that few can comprehend. George, particularly. He already has an awareness of what awaits him. To provide even occasional refuge from that weight seems a worthy endeavor.”
He continued, “Doing this right will mean a significant time commitment. Months most likely, given the scope we’re envisioning. Can you commit to that?”
“I can,” Nicholas acknowledged. “It feels important to me.”
Richard studied him again. “I agree. And I’d like to remain involved as well, if that suits your working method. Our collaboration has proven rather satisfying.”
They spent another hour refining the initial concept, establishing a framework that would guide more detailed design development. The Earl would arrange a site visit to the royal country property for preliminary assessment of suitable trees and landscape integration. Nicholas would develop structural concepts based on Swiss German joinery he had mastered.
As their planning session concluded, Richard poured two glasses of scotch—his usual gesture when he felt particular satisfaction with their workday.
“To adventure,” he said, raising his glass slightly. “And to the spaces that allow it to flourish.”
Nicholas nodded, echoing the toast.
“There’s something else,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting slightly. “William mentioned you seemed to have a particular rapport with the children. Unexpected, given your typical reserved manner with adults.”
Nicholas considered this observation. “I liked them. They are remarkably normal kids, considering what constraints they live under. They got to me right off. I’d like to do something special for them.”
Richard smiled slightly. “Whatever the reason, he was quite impressed with how you engaged with them. He said George hasn’t stopped talking about your engineering explanations.”
As Nicholas prepared to leave, gathering the preliminary sketches for further development, Richard asked a question that suggested he’d been pondering it for some time.
“What was your childhood like, Nicholas? Before the ... difficulties you experienced.”
The question was unexpected but not invasive. The Earl had become one of the few people with whom Nicholas felt comfortable discussing aspects of his past, perhaps because he approached such topics as an architect might—seeking structural understanding rather than emotional reaction.
“It was pretty normal until my mother became addicted. Then, as you can imagine, things got tough.”
That was typical of his young friend, Richard thought. So much left unsaid.
They parted with a clear plan—site visit within the week, conceptual designs to follow, presentation to Prince William thereafter. The project would be significant in scope but aligned perfectly with Nicholas’s capabilities and interests.
Six months later, the thing was done. What had begun as a concept sketched in the Earl’s study had evolved into a remarkable reality—a treehouse compound that sprawled across five ancient oaks at the edge of the royal family’s country estate. Not a single structure but an interconnected world of platforms, walkways, towers, and hidden nooks, all designed to inspire adventure while respecting the living trees that supported it.
Nicholas had asked the royals if the kids could help when they were home from school if they wanted to, and to his mild surprise, they’d agreed readily. Security protocols had to be adjusted, of course, but once those logistics were sorted, the children became regular participants in the building process during weekends and school holidays.
Prince George, in particular, showed a genuine interest in construction techniques. At first, his participation was limited to handing Nicholas tools and asking questions, but as the months progressed, he took on increasingly substantive tasks—measuring and marking lumber, helping to sand finished pieces, even learning to use a drill for pre-drilling screw holes.
“Mr. Carter, is it true that every piece fits together like a puzzle?” he asked one Saturday morning as they worked on a section of railing.
“Not exactly like a puzzle,” Nicholas explained, showing him a mortise and tenon joint he was cutting. “More like a conversation between pieces. Each has to respond to the other’s shape and purpose.”
He considered this seriously, running his finger along the joint. “So they’re talking to each other?”
“In a way,” Nicholas answered. “They’re communicating force through form. This support picks up the weight that the support passes on to it. The joint needs to be strong to take it and pass it on to the next support.”
The children were naturally curious, and Nicholas found their direct questions refreshing compared to the often circuitous inquiries of adults. When they wanted to know something, they simply asked, without social pretense or concern.
Princess Charlotte focused less on construction techniques and more on how the treehouse would interact with the surrounding nature. She’d arrive with notebooks containing detailed observations of birds, insects, and plants she’d spotted around the property, wanting to ensure their building wouldn’t disrupt their habitats.
“We should make special places for the birds to nest,” she insisted early in the project, showing Nicholas carefully drawn pictures of local species. “So they know they’re welcome too.”
This led to the placement of discreet nesting platforms and feeding stations throughout the compound. Charlotte would check these areas regularly during construction, monitoring for signs of wildlife activity.
The youngest, Prince Louis, was still at an age where sustained focus was challenging, but he participated in his own way—testing the structural integrity of platforms by jumping on them (after they’d been properly secured, of course), suggesting increasingly improbable additions (“Can we have a water slide that goes all the way to the pond?”), and providing enthusiastic approval of each completed section.
Along the way, Nicholas had an opportunity to give them some lessons on Stoicism when they shared difficulties in their lives. There was always a story from Seneca or Marcus Aurelius to handle things, or oneself. He didn’t frame these as formal lessons. Instead, they emerged naturally from their conversations during work sessions.
When George expressed frustration after making a measuring mistake that required them to redo a section of flooring, Nicholas told him about Epictetus’ distinction between what we can control and what we cannot.
“We can’t change that the board is cut too short now,” Nicholas explained as they selected a replacement piece. “That’s outside our control. But we can control how we respond to the mistake—by learning from it and improving our process. The mantra is to remember the lesson and forget the mistake.”
He nodded seriously, then asked, “Did you make mistakes when you were learning?”
“A lot,” Nicholas told him honestly. “I still do. The difference is that now I expect them as part of the process. I don’t see them as failure.”
This seemed to resonate with him. Later that day, when Charlotte became upset about a drawing she felt wasn’t good enough, Nicholas overheard George telling her, “Mr. Carter says that mistakes are just part of the process, not failures.”
Princess Charlotte had her own need for a Stoic perspective. During a spring work weekend, she arrived visibly upset about a falling-out with a school friend.
“She said she didn’t want to be my friend anymore because I can’t go to her birthday party,” Charlotte explained as they worked on the observation tower. “But it’s because we have an official thing that day. I didn’t choose not to go.”
Nicholas nodded, understanding that her royal obligations sometimes complicated normal childhood social dynamics. “That reminds me of something Marcus Aurelius wrote,” he said. “He was an emperor—like being a king—but he still had problems with friends, too.”
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