NOTES AND UNSOLICITED ADVICE: This topic has haunted me for quite a
while, but I finally found the inspiration I needed in Dorothy
Elggren's wonderfully haunting story, "Requiem for a Knight," found
at www.loftworks.com/wftk/fiction.html.  After reading it, I found
myself preoccupied with what LaCroix's reaction would be, and here's
the result.  You may want to read it first to get a better sense of
what's going on in LaCroix's head, but I think this does stand alone.

WARNINGS, CAUTIONS AND EXHORTATIONS:  This is a LaCroix-centered
piece (I'm not Luscious Lucius Lover for nothin'! ;-).  This is also
NOT a happy piece.  No warm fuzzies to be found here.  And I
*suppose* I should warn my lovely readers: this is my very first post
to the list.  That means any and all feedback is not only desired but
craved.  However, *please* be nice!  I haven't received my armor yet!
It's on back-order at Snixco<tm>.  Send all comments, Nunkies-shaped
virtual chocolate, and any blue-eyed vamps needing comfort to
mrodri14@uic.edu.

THANK-YOUS AND PROSTRATIONS: I must sincerely thank all those who
gave their advice and encouragement for this big baby step:
Christina, Molly and Dorothy, you were all great help!!!  I
appreciate the time you took to read my story.  This would never have
gotten here without your prodding and kind words.

I would also like to thank FK fandom in general.  I discovered FK
only a year ago and I've come to really enjoy being a part of this
fandom, especially my fellow Addicts <waves!>.  FK's got me hook,
line and sinker, but it's also given me something.  Reading so much
fanfic has awoken in me a desire to write.  Let's hope the
combination of my favorite obsession and my newfound passion is not
too traumatic for anyone!

DISCLAIMERS AND REGRETS: We *all* know LaCroix and Nick don't belong
to me -- if they *did* ...well, I won't frighten anyone!!  I'm sure I
wouldn't have had the massive killing spree TPTB, namely Sony and
James Parriot, felt was needed.  In my world, they're all alive and
well -- ok, so some are not so well.  Ok, so sometimes, *I'm* not so
well.  You don't have to rub it in! <Huff!>  At least wait until I've
posted more ...then you can make your decision.  And yes, I'm quite
sure there'll be more.  There doesn't seem to be a choice.  I've
woken up a very demanding beast!  

All right, I think that's enough ranting for a first post.  On with
the show, shall we?


LaCroix's Requiem: inspired by D. Elggren's Requiem for a Knight
by Monica T. Rodriguez
February 1999

	LaCroix stood there in his hotel room in Quebec, staring at the
phone in his hand.  The reality of what had just occurred stunned him
into immobility.  It was completely unacceptable, yet it was
happening. 
	He decided he might as well put the phone down, as all he was doing
was listening to a dial tone.  It made a soft click as it reconnected
with the cradle on the desk.  That done, he was again at a loss as to
his next move.  He would never be able to fly to Toronto before dawn,
even at his top speed.  And even if that were possible, what would he
do then?  This time, there would be no stopping him.  His son meant
to see this through.
	LaCroix left the soft light of the desk lamp and walked to the open
window to look out at the night, which bore hints of dawn within its
midnight blue.  The night was clear, the stars brilliant, except
towards the east where the approaching sun began to dim them.  It
would be a brilliant sunrise. 
	The sunrise.  This sunrise that was like any other would change his
world.  It would take from him what he held most precious.  His
creation, his son, the one with whom he shared his blood and his
...soul.  His favorite.  Cold fingers slipped around his already cold
heart.  He was going to lose Nicholas.  And he was powerless to stop
it.
	<Nicholas.  I have failed you.  I tried to bring you back to me,
back to your family and to the darkness to which you belonged.  But I
always did it my way.  And my was never your way.>  LaCroix couldn't
know how much of his thoughts or even his feelings were being picked
up by his son, but he needed to say these things, for himself as
much, if not more than for Nicholas.  <...I never wanted to cause you
pain.  But even in my mortal life, inflicting pain was always just a
means to an end.  I am still that cold and ruthless Roman general.  I
am still my father's son.  I have never become more than that.  You
needed more than that.  I am sorry, Nicholas.  For everything.>
	He turned away from the window, casting his gaze around the dim
room.  He made no other move.  He could neither accept nor believe
that he could not stop this.  Yet there was nothing, absolutely
nothing he could do.  Suddenly, fear and rage combined to ignite him.
In a few long strides, he grabbed the phone and flung it across the
room, shattering it against the wall.  LaCroix simply stared at the
pieces scattered across the carpet.  Now what?  He closed his eyes in
despair, his sudden rage gone as quickly as it had come.  He dropped
heavily onto the chair in front of the desk, staring at nothing. 
Nothing.  He could do nothing.  
	<Perhaps I deceive myself and twist my memories to my liking.  I
thought you were happy once, Nicholas.  I thought you would be happy
again.  You only needed to find the path back.  Back to the darkness.
Back to me.  But you found yourself drawn to the light.> 
	He shook his head, uncomfortable with where his thoughts were
heading, and walked to the window again, leaning his arms on the
sill.  <Did you ever turn from the light, Nicholas?  Perhaps you
never did, entirely.>  LaCroix's thoughts were painfully honest, but
what were the use of lies now?  <Even in the lowest depths of
darkness, there was always a part of you that retained the light,
that managed not to smolder at its touch, but thrive on it.  It must
have been part of you, that light.  I could not dispel it from you. 
The beast could not dispel it from you.  Centuries of self-loathing
could not.  Yes, perhaps that is what it was.  *You* were light,
Nicholas.  And we, so many of us, were merely moths who followed you
blindly.>
	The last words his son said to him echoed in his head.  "Thank you
for your friendship... and your love... father.  Thank you for
everything."  The words chilled LaCroix with horror, driving home the
reality of what Nicholas was preparing to do.  Words he had secretly
longed to hear from his son -- so secretly he would never had
admitted it to himself -- now brought bitterness with the little
comfort they had initially given him.  He would have never heard them
if Nicholas had not given up.  He was saying good-bye.
	LaCroix had responded to his favorite child with words equally as
rare for the elder vampire to say.  Never before had he been so sure
he was losing Nicholas, that he would never again have the chance to
say, "I love you."  As reluctant as he always was to say those words
to any of his children, they rushed from his lips in desperation and
regret.  The desperation would wane as the event came to pass.  His
regret, a feeling he abhorred and adamantly denied himself, would now
accompany him for many a century.  Perhaps forever.
	<Nicholas, your passion for life is part of what drew me to you,
and brought you to this darkness.  Perhaps it is what also brought
you to this end.  I wish you peace my son, wherever you may find
yourself... There will never be another, not the likes of you,
Nicholas de Brabant.  Not even in my lifetime.>
	Forever.  Eternity was to be theirs to revel in, to experience, to
live, together.  "We are each other."  Now LaCroix faced an eternity
without his beloved Nicholas, his 'other.'  He would be
...incomplete.  He looked out at the stars losing their brightness to
the coming dawn.  <All this time, it was you, Nicholas.  You were
...all the light I ever needed.>  Darkness took on a new meaning. 
Eternity suddenly seemed impossibly long.

	As the sun crested the horizon, LaCroix remained at the window,
determined to see this sunrise, for as long as possible.  He would
see what his son saw as he lost him.  He felt the heat on his face,
but also on the rest of his body, despite being protected behind the
wall.  He closed his eyes, knowing he was feeling Nicholas's pain. 
Suddenly he felt a hot flash at the center of his being, as if a
spark had been lit -- and then blown out.  And then, there was only a
dark emptiness.  This would now be his eternal companion.

FIN