Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / The Chosen of God Part 9

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 Nine
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.

My father was an older man, of course, although how much older than me I could not say for certain as I was never entirely sure of his precise age or, for that matter, mine. But the difference was significant and moreso than the fact that he was, literally, old enough to be my father. When I was a very small child I knew only the hints in his body of the fine man he'd once been and after that was age and deterioration.

He lost his eyesight sometime during my adolescence but here again the details of it blur for me. Sometimes I am tempted to say I had a hand in his blindness but without further clarity of memory I could not say for sure.

He was at least one decade older than Gabrielle, and even perhaps more. And it should go without saying that theirs was not a marriage of love.

Gabrielle had been married to him by arrangement. Specifically the arrangement of her Italian family after her father had died. They considered it utterly scandalous that he had taught her and traveled with her as he had and my mother, as you know, was and is a fiercely independent woman. Marrying a poverty-stricken man like my father was a social step down considering her father's station but her strange, masculine nature made her a less desirable marriage choice. And thus we may say that it is thanks to her father that she married mine. In a manner of speaking.

Her feelings regarding my father and my brothers you already know. My father's feelings towards her were something that I was not wholly privy to. I knew, however, that he felt more intimacy with me than with her. Although this is perhaps the standard thing to say to your partner when you are having an affair.

If Gabrielle took lovers outside of the castle I did not know of it. She was quiet, as you know, and not apt to share her secrets or her past history. What I've told you now and written down in my volumes is the whole of what I know and this gleaned only from years of half-conversations here and there. I tend not to press for more.

My father, as we all know now, did have affairs. And I was not his only partner. Outside of the castle, though, he took only women. And during my lifetime he rarely did this at all. Thinking on it now my mind volunteers the thought that he had one or two lovers leftover from before my birth that he had something of a loyalty to but that they were set aside once his relationship with me became more firmly established.

Bastard children by his deeds did not exist. Due to luck or strong potions taken after the fact but either way this was the case.

My brothers, too, had their mistresses in the village although they were not as subtle about this as my father had been and there were children about town who had a claim to their royal seed. Augustin, at least, did his best to provide for them and, in the manner of the times, acted in a way that was considered respectable and responsible. At no time was shame brought to my sister-in-law because of this.

Charlot had no such talent but subtly was never an art he had perfected by any means. A slob and a drunk he was far too likely to burst out with vulgar comments about his nighttime activities and far too often likely to do this in the presence of his wife. I often felt sorry for her, timid thing that she was and half his age besides.

My relations with my sisters-in-law and their children were distant but affectionate. Both ladies found me handsome and charming and I wager I could have easily found my way into their beds had I so chosen. Distance was kept between my brothers and I, though, which affected my relations with their wives as well. To have gotten closer to them would have required getting closer to my brothers and the latter was something I did not wish by any means. Nor did they, for that matter. So I stayed apart from them but showed what cordial affection I could.

I found my nieces and nephews very charming and, in them, saw the eventual future I would have as a father someday. Occasionally I would entertain the fancy of being their father in my own mind and I would imagine what such a thing would be like. This was never acted on, of course, save to again be cordially affectionate with them and to then later send them gifts of toys and other such things once I had Magnus's money to spend.

But still and all I thought I would have been a good father. I held no mental image in my head of when that would happen but, being a mortal man (and a rather randy one at that) I knew it would be my eventual destiny and did not shy away from it save for my natural fears that I would be like my father if push came to shove against my temper.

Thinking back on the innocent youth that I was then I can't help but share an ironic smile with myself as I think of the father I did turn out to be. But this is not the first time my romantic ideals have not met up with my reality.

Speaking again of my father himself I know that he was the second born son of his family and that his father - my grandfather - was known as being a stern man. Le Marquis before my father had been alive when I was born but only in the barest sense of the word. I think that my brothers knew him more than I but here again only barely.

The story of my grandfather is one not wholly known to me but one I am able to sketch if nothing else. Stern, as I have said, and decrepit for a long time. And not, from what I was able to tell, entirely fond of my father.

Let us understand something about royalty for a moment, particularly royal sons -

As is known by everyone, the eldest royal son is the royal heir. He is born for that reason. He is likewise loved and cherished for this reason as well. From birth he is the golden one, believed by some to be sent down from Heaven. If nothing else he is the proud extension of his father - a younger version of himself to carry on after he is gone.

The royal son who comes second in line is an afterthought. A safety device. A failsafe in case the other should die or any other such tragedy befall him.

In other words, nobody gives a damn about him until the first one's dead. And even then only if the first son dies before having any sons of his own.

This does not inspire the second born son to any noble deeds.

It is made painfully obvious from the moment the second son is born what their position is in life. They are trained in this from the moment they can understand. They come, as should be no surprise, to feel deep and bitter hatred of this.

Their hatred becomes even worse once they understand how they can fix things.

The second born sons of royalty should never wholly be trusted. Having been born knowing they are but a lifesbreath away from greatness they will spend their whole lives working against that fact. At best it will cause an aftertaste of bitterness in their mouths. At worst, and far more commonly, their personalities are shaped because of it.

My father was born second.

Le Marquis' first born son - my uncle - was said to have died mysteriously.

Imagine that.

My father's personality was forged in the fire of contempt. With only one person - one heartbeat - between him and what, but for the quirk of timing, should be his he found that it was easy to act and remove said obstacle from his path.

He, at least, can be said to have the courage to act out his wants and desires.

My father, second-born, learned how to plot and scheme and get rid of the first-born without too much natural suspicion falling upon him. Of course back then it was par for the course that murder amongst the royal classes happened all the time and most particularly for the sake of advancement but even still it was necessary not to trumpet the fact that you'd been the one behind the knife.

So the end result of all this was that my father learned something of secrecy and strategy and never let go of the fact that the world held out on him in fulfilling its promises. The stigma of being second best never truly left his perceptions and he remained convinced that he deserved more than he was getting and that anyone who denied him his desires deserved the swiftest and cruelest of punishments.

It was on such concepts our relationship was formed.

As for Charlot, the second son of my own generation of the de Lioncourt family, his was a different fate. Though he grew up with all of the de Lioncourt bitterness at his station in life he lacked my father's ability to act upon it. And thus he grew up not only filled with contempt for the world around him but for himself as well. He was smart enough, at least, to recognize his weakness for what it was even if he did not, perhaps, admit it to himself.

It was into this world that I was born and raised.

L.

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