Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / The Chosen of God Part 4

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Constitution, any copyright holders that I might not have thought of or even a certain author who shall remain nameless but who has a set of initials which are, coincidentally enough, just one letter off from spelling "B.S."

Part Four
by: The Brat Queen

Winner: Best Lestat '98-'99!

Characters: Lestat, Armand
Spoilers: Up to TotBT
Description: In response to Jester of God, Lestat tells his life story.

Rated R for upsetting adult content

Warning: CoG contains triggering elements. If you know what "triggering" means you may wish to not read this. If you don't then just be warned that it and Jester of God are very similar.

Good evening, fratello.

We now start part four of my letters to you and I think it shall be one you will greatly appreciate.

The rest of the world, as always, may not or, if they prefer, may go to Hell. Certain duplicities of the mind are always to be expected. It is an eternal truth that those who say they most want to listen are the ones who least want to hear.

With certain notable execptions, of course. You and certain green-eyed companions always ranking high on this list.

Although, and I think no one shall dispute this, you do tend to rank a little higher in certain matters. At least in terms of understanding.

To make an honest truth of it I find this difficult to write. Not emotionally. Emotionally I am fine. Always have been. I, somehow, somewhere, always understood what was going on even if I didn't care to think about it. It is just others one must always be wary of. How to speak without going too far?

And, truth be told, some of it I just don't remember very well.

But allow me to do the best I can.

When last we left I had painted for you a domestic scene. My father and I playing chess, with the old man happy to teach me how to do so. We thus set a trend for my life in terms of how my free time was spent.

I did, though, have other pursuits. Getting out of the house was always a pleasure for me. Hunting and riding in the woods whenever possible was always one of my goals. For company I had my dogs.

This was not, though, always my company and many already know this. Finding myself more intimate companionship became a goal as soon as I could understand and desire such a thing. This was years before Nicolas, of course. Years and years.

Nighttime companionship, for lack of a better term, was something that a child like myself did not lack for. Handsome now, pretty then, I was always able to attract the eye.

Where to now? An interesting question to ponder. I find myself torn in two directions. Shall I speak of my role as the village's young rouge? Tell you of all the conquests I had and paint for you with a bit of humor as we talk about fathers coming up to the gate of the castle and demanding to make sure I had not gotten their daughters pregnant?

I am always such a scoundrel. Always was.

There is that path. There is also another. One of a more serious tone. Move away from the sexual conquests and forward, instead, to what for lack of a better word one might call relationships.

Let's do that one, then. It's not one people often hear of.

And you can probably guess now why I write for you now a bit more than I write for those with green eyes. Said eyes may consider that a warning. Not to look away, just to be en garde for those things which are upsetting and thus decide if it is worthwhile reading further.

My first relationship was homosexual in nature, if one must be horribly clinical about it. Meaning that I lost my virginity to a man. Or I did so depending upon your point of view. For today's conversation we shall say simply that it was so and debate technicalities later.

There was an age difference in this relationship. Quite a significant one as a matter of fact. But still and all the relationship lasted for years. Such a thing was greatly facilitated by the openness of the relationship which allowed me to seek out the company of others as young men like myself were so wont to do. My relationship here was a mere backdrop to everything else that I did. As much a part of my daily life as eating, drinking or even playing chess.

I did this a bit more than chess, though.

I will confess that at the start of things I was very intimidated. Young and lacking in all sexual experience there was nothing I could do for I was, simply, a sexual fool. The easiest picture to paint is that I endevored to lay still in the hopes that this might make matters easier for everyone involved.

Education came later. It was later that I understood what everything was, how the pieces moved, how strategy could be planned.

Once I understood I became quite adept in this relationship. One can become a master of manipulation once you understand the sacrifices to be made and do not care overmuch for them.

Passions burned bright between the two of us. Fierce love, of course, but also fierce hatred. We were locked together, he and I, which is something that always makes for hideous resentment.

I learned that sex could be rough, painful.

I learned that beatings were acceptable.

I learned to escape in the arms of others.

I learned to manipulate his weakness of me.

The entirety of the relationship was dark and mysterious. We met in secret - me being rather young and he being a married man - but often. Rare was the night when we were not together and he often surprised me by somehow finding a way to sneak into my bedroom in the castle without anyone noticing.

Although it is perhaps a bit more accurate, looking back upon it now, to say that most likely the household did notice but choose to look the other way. He was, after all, royal and such behavior was expected of royalty back then.

If Gabrielle knew about it she never said. It has been suggested to me that she perhaps enjoyed the peace and quiet it brought to everyone involved although I could not say for certain and I have never brought myself to ask her.

Relationships of shadows are always tempestuous and this was no exception. I do not speak for the goodness of it, only the reality. He knew violence and obsession and sought to mold me into what he felt was a proper image, particularly for him. I knew how to be devious and to trick him into treating me in the way that I wanted. It was a relationship of give and take and we both grabbed for more than our fair share.

Some people say that the whole thing was my fault.

Others say that it was not.

I do not seek fault. I do not think there was any. It was, as I said, simply what it was. No more, no less.

Did I know happiness? Of course. There was pleasure in it, when I learned to find it, and there was the thrill of knowing that this secret existed between us, that no matter what occurred during the day and in the sight of others we two had this thing. And he understood me as few else did. As few still do, except for perhaps you, Armand.

The horror of it would hit me sometimes and then I would become spiteful. I tried to run away or run to others. Often I returned far worse for the wear than if I had remained but at least then the pain was mine.

He never punished those efforts of mine. I thought he would at first but he never did. And, later, when I came to him battered and bruised, it was he who cleaned and comforted me.

I think that he loved me, although others feel this was not the case.

And the hidden bit of this, the true hidden secret is that to this day, even still, there is the part of myself that would return to him if he were alive.

But you know this too, fratello. Which is one of the things I know about you that few others do as well.

L.

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