Of All Hearts: A Continuation--a Forever Knight story
Part Two of the Alchemy Series
By April French

Characters: LaCroix, Nick, Janette, others

Author's Note:

For all you impatient people who have been waiting for
the next installment of "His Conquering Power"... this
ain't it. I found that there was more that needed to
be told before I allowed LaCroix and Fleur to meet
again, so that's what this is. This story takes place
just after the Terrible Threesome has left Brabant.
Nick, Janette and LaCroix belong to Sony Tri-Star.
Shosha, Winter, Vincent and the estate in Tuscany all
belong to me. Praise, comments, criticisms and kudos
will be rewarded with rare vintages. Nasty flames will
be sent to the racks. Once completed, this story will
be archived at my site,
http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html,
with all the others. Permission to archive is given to
FKFIC, FKFIC2 and the FTP site. Anyone else wishing to
archive must first bribe me with gloriously tiled
bathing rooms.

~~~

Of All Hearts (1/3)

Tuscan countryside: 1229

Grudgingly, LaCroix stopped to allow the three horses
to drink. Granted, he did not want the animals to die
of exhaustion beneath them, but they had only a short
journey left before gaining the estate, and the only
thing LaCroix had any energy left to feel was a great
longing to be back in his vineyards. "Hurry up,
Nicholas," he hissed.

Nicholas looked up, surprised. "The sun will not be up
for hours. Why do you rush?"

With no little effort, LaCroix reigned in his anger.
"Take your time then," the ancient Roman sneered,
pulling his horse around. "I am going home, with or
without you." <Home. I have no home. Only a temporary
haven from the raging storms.> He felt a calming touch
in his mind, one that came from neither of the two
fledglings traveling with him, and he was even more
anxious than before to get to his Tuscan estate.

"LaCroix?" His daughter's voice was tinged with
concern and fatigue, for they had been traveling
almost non-stop for many nights, ever since leaving
Brabant. He looked up and met Janette's eyes. None of
this was her fault, he knew. She had tried her best
to... acclimate Nicholas to their master's desires,
without success. <I will not berate her for her
brother's prejudices.>

"I am well, ma fille. Only tired." She gave a look
that said plainly she knew he was lying, and even
Nicholas's horse snorted in disbelief, as it raised
its dripping nose from the stream. Only Nicholas
looked on passively. LaCroix felt such a weariness, as
he had not felt since his master had died. That same
cool mental touch had soothed him then, as well, and
LaCroix found himself desiring it out much as the
solid, welcoming walls of his villa.

"Come," he said to his children. "We are already on my
lands, and but a stone's throw from the house." He
looked up past the tree branches hanging over the
road. "The moon rises, and we are expected." He urged
his horse into a canter, and Nicholas and Janette
followed.

***

LaCroix dismounted easily from his saddle and handed
over the reins of his horse to a sleepy-eyed groom. He
tugged nervously on his gloves as Nicholas and Janette
climbed down from their mounts, and noted peripherally
that Nicholas looked rather stunned. "Does the
landscape meet with your approval?"

"You live here?"

His master did not answer; he was looking for
something. Janette smiled. "It is glorious, is it not,
Nicolas? Truly a world away from the world."

Nicholas took deep breaths of the fragrant night air;
grapes and olives and wheat, mixed with other, less
distinct scents that he could not identify. And above
all, the unmistakable scent of blood, permeating
everything. He rubbed his upper lip furtively to hide
his watering mouth.

LaCroix was still taking no notice of Nicholas. He
strode purposefully out of the stable and up the hill
to his white marble villa, with only an absent gesture
to signal that his fledglings should follow.

The house was modeled on the Roman villas of his
youth, with a wide entranceway and an open-air atrium,
complete with frescoed walls and a great basin below
to open skylight to catch the rainwater. Flanked by
his two fledglings, LaCroix walked into his house and,
when his eyes fell upon the two figures--one stretched
out on the edge of the rain basin, the other standing
tall--he felt all his muscles relax, and his stony
reserve nearly crumbled.

"Shosha," he rumbled in his low, husky way, and he
held out his hands. The tall figure stepped smoothly
towards them, revealing herself to be a regal woman
with a riot of long dark curls. She did not smile, but
she was obviously pleased to see him, and when she
grasped his hands, the thrum that rippled through the
Family bond made Nicholas shiver.

"Lucius," she returned warmly, and pulled LaCroix into
a hug. To Nicholas's astonishment, his master allowed
it. When Shosha released LaCroix, she reached up a
long hand and touched his temple. "You have been
injured," she commented reprovingly, as though it was
his fault.

"A minor complaint," LaCroix brushed it off. "Long
since healed." Shosha's dark eyes narrowed, but she
chose not to pursue the topic. LaCroix looked past her
to the man stretched out on the rim of the rain basin.
"Is that you, Vincent? Or is there some other vampire
who spends all his nights in the throes of waste and
indolence?"

Vincent chuckled. "I highly doubt that, General." With
a single fluid motion, the vampire called Vincent
removed himself from the rain basin to grasp LaCroix's
hand. His eyes darted across LaCroix's face. Then he
grinned, but the smile seemed a bit forced. "Welcome
home, Lucius."

***

Nicholas closed the door of the guestroom he had been
shown to, and collapsed upon the bed. "<That> was the
most uncomfortable introduction I have ever been
present for since--"

"Since you introduced us to your mother?" Janette slid
her hands over his shoulders and began to massage them
placatingly. "And it was only uncomfortable to you.
LaCroix was most pleased to see them."

"The power--the energy rippling off of them! It was
incredible! Who are they?"

Janette sighed. "Vincent is an old friend of
LaCroix's, whom LaCroix has often spoken to me about.
He--"

"And why does he call LaCroix 'General'?"

"Because that was LaCroix's title when he was mortal.
I believe he and Vincent were soldiers in the Roman
emperor's army."

Nicholas digested this while Janette divested him of
his tunic. "And Shosha?"

"Now her, I have <not> heard LaCroix speak of very
frequently. But I believe she is his sister. His
blooded sister," she added quickly. "She and LaCroix
have the same master."

"Then, they are as you and I are."

Janette smiled at that. "I have no idea," she said
innocently, slipping her arms around his neck. The
thoughts of LaCroix and his ancient friends quickly
disappeared from Nicholas's mind.

***

Vincent poured the master of Londano Del Mondo de la
Mondo a goblet of his own wine. "From your best vines,
Lucius," he commented, enjoying the aroma. "And your
best peasants. Winter has been doing commendable work
here in your absence."

"I have never had any doubts in Winter's abilities or
standards of quality," said LaCroix, trying to accept
the drink without showing visible signs of hunger.
"Yours, on the other hand..."

Vincent ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown
hair, and grinned. Shosha watched her brother closely
as he drank. "It was good to finally see the daughter
that you had been jibbering about for the past two
centuries. But I had no idea that there was a son as
well."

"My, my, but you have been a prolific little vampire,
haven't you?"

"Well, I wasn't about to let her be an only child
forever." LaCroix tipped his cup up as far as it would
go, to get the very last drop of bloodwine. Vincent
filled it again. "She was getting spoiled."

"From your last letter, we expected you a week ago,"
said Shosha, her voice carefully bland.

LaCroix licked a red drop from his upper lip. "I was
delayed."

"Is that how you were injured?"

"That was a part of it, yes." LaCroix drained his
goblet and stood.

"Are you going to bed, Lucius?"

"No, Shosha. I think I shall go and speak to Winter in
the Quarters."

Silently, they watched him go. At last, Vincent spoke
up. "What do you think, lady? Is it as you feared?"

"I have only felt this pain from him once before. I
cannot be mistaken." Shosha picked up the goblet from
which her brother had been drinking, and breathed
deeply of the scent still lingering there.

"He is breaking..."





Of All Hearts (2/3)

Wishing to remove himself from Shosha's somewhat
depressing company, Vincent took himself off to the
bedroom wing of the villa. He had it vaguely in mind
to gather up his cloak and be off for a night in one
of the local taverns (he had quickly become familiar
with them all), although that was not entirely what he
felt like doing, when he stumbled into something tall,
blond and groggy. Vincent chuckled.

"How now, boy?" Vincent took a good sniff of the scent
Nicholas was drenched in. "Hmm, your lady has led you
a merry chase this night, has she not?"

Nicholas nodded his tousled head, still dizzy and
feeling a little drunk. "That she has..."

Vincent clapped him on the shoulder. "Come along with
me, then. A good walk around the house and through the
vineyards should clear your mind."

As they went down the hall, Nicholas asked a question
of Vincent that had been bothering him since their
arrival. "Has there been a battle here recently?"

"A battle?" Vincent gave him a look. "No. Why do you
ask?"

"There is such a smell of <blood> here. It dances in
my nostrils."

"Ah, yes. Grand, isn't it?"

"But where on earth does it all come from, if there
has not been a massacre among the grape vines?"

"From the cellar, of course." On seeing Nicholas's
utterly blank look, Vincent stopped. "He has not told
you?"

"Told me what?"

"Ah, thou innocent little French boy. Did you honestly
believe that these whole great vineyards were for the
making of simple mortals' wine?"

***

The hot and spicy scent of fresh blood called strongly
to LaCroix, and drew him down into the villa's cellar.
He followed willingly, grateful for any excuse to
escape his sister's probing questions. And to think,
that on the trip up he had thought he would welcome
her company! <I should have known better,> he scolded
himself, as he made his way down the steps. The huge
cellar was cool and damp, and contrasted greatly with
the warmth of the blood, heavy in the air.

LaCroix stepped around the unconscious bodies
littering the wide floor, sensing that some were
mortal and some vampire, that some were stunned and
some were drunk and some were dead, and stretched out
his hand to a large man with bone-white skin and hair.
"My ancient friend," he greeted the man warmly.
"Winter, it is good to see you again."

"And you, Lucius." Winter's deep voice, deep as a
grave, rumbled through LaCroix's tense nerves. "I must
say, I have missed our conversations. For one as young
as yourself, you are... quite well-informed." He
raised a white eyebrow and was highly satisfied when
LaCroix laughed.

"Only you could call me young," he chuckled. And it
was true; the albino Winter was a long-vanished
civilization, and had at least a full millennium on
the former Roman general. He looked round the enormous
cellar, and was pleased to see that the chains and
hooks were being well-kept, clean and oiled, that the
many great vats were filled to their brims, and that
the cellar itself was bursting with many hundreds of
wooden barrels, straining within their staves. "You've
been keeping busy, I see."

Winter snorted, waving a hand at the prostrate bodies
littering the cellar floor. "Those mortal wretches
there possess some of the best vintages within five
days' flight of here."

"Indeed? Then why, pray tell, are they on the floor? I
do hope you haven't been frivolously wasting all of my
peasants; I do still need them to tend to the
vineyards and orchards."

"'Wasting them?'" Winter repeated fastidiously. In
answer, he dipped his hand into the giant vat beside
him, inviting LaCroix to test the fruits of their
combined labors. Taking a ladle, the master of the
vineyard dipped up a sample. The bloodwine,
exquisitely blended, slid smoothly down his throat,
its flavor piquant and warm. LaCroix swallowed
luxuriously, and toyed with a brief boyish impulse to
simply plunge his head into the vat and drink it all
down. But as delightful as Winter's creation was, it
was still leagues away from the sensation of her one
drop of blood on his tongue.

But LaCroix could not say this to Winter. His friend
would have nothing for him but sympathy and pity, and
those were the last things LaCroix wanted. So instead
he said, "Impressive. It should be ambrosia when it
has aged long enough."

"I'm glad you agree." Being an albino, Winter's eyes
were always red. It was something LaCroix had long
since gotten used to... until they turned on him.
Winter examined his friend and partner minutely, but
did not speak.

LaCroix licked a last few drops from his lips.
"Something, my friend?"

"I am trying to see what your sister sees. What Shosha
senses in you..."

"She senses the weariness of travel," LaCroix snapped.
"Nothing more." Winter raised both eyebrows this time.
In the face of such blatant disbelief, LaCroix
relented slightly. "Something did... happen," he
admitted, his husky voice rough with suppressed
emotion.

Winter noted this. "Only in the presence of your
oldest friend would you allow your control to founder
thus," he pointed out, a real trifle of worry creeping
into his old brain. "This 'something' must have been
very dire."

"Ah. Old friend, if only..." LaCroix found that he
could not finish his thought, so he gave up. "And only
Shosha has ever seen me lose control completely. It is
an experience I am not anxious to repeat."

"Hence your reasoning for being down here wallowing in
the seeds of debauchery instead of indulging in
Shosha's tender ministrations."

LaCroix shook his head. "That manner of relationship
passed between us long ago."

Winter smiled. "I meant only the comforts of a
welcoming shoulder, Lucius, and a soft voice. Nothing
more." LaCroix sighed and turned to go. "Lucius?"

"Yes?"

"Was it a woman?"

***

Slowly, Nicholas walked around the edge of an enormous
chamber, trailing his fingers over the cool, smooth
marble walls and the occasional roughness of a painted
fresco. Most of the pictures were of food and drink,
and men and women partaking of bountiful feasts.
"These are beautiful," he said, in awe. "But why does
LaCroix have a banquet hall in his home?"

>From his place in the doorway, Vincent shrugged
nonchalantly. "As I was not here for the construction,
I cannot tell you. Perhaps it was simply the fashion
at the time. Actually," he continued more seriously,
"I suppose it was done so that any mortals who
accidentally stumbled in would not be unduly
suspicious. After all, what kind of man has a house
with neither dining hall nor kitchen?"

Reluctantly, Nicholas conceded that this would have to
be true. "Although, somehow... even when he told me of
this place, it was hard to picture LaCroix as a man
with a fixed estate."

"It's a good thing to have a place to come back to,
though we be a nomadic people." Vincent smiled
reminiscently. "He and I were born on lands like
these. Sometimes we need to come back." He
straightened the lay of his tunic across his
shoulders. "If only to remind ourselves why we left in
the first place."

"Hmm." Nicholas mulled this over for a few minutes. He
had a supple mind, for a soldier. But a soldier was
what he still was, so he could not yet ponder heavy
thoughts for very long. "Does Shosha hale from this
country?"

"No," Vincent coughed. "Not exactly." He came up
beside Nicholas. "A word of warning to you, garçon:
steer clear of Shosha while she's here. Her business
is with her brother, and you'll do the most good by
not getting in her way."

"If she can retrieve LaCroix from this black pit he
has buried himself in, she will have my eternal
gratitude. He's bad enough when he is in an even
mood."

It was at that precise moment that Vincent began to
take a bit of a dislike to LaCroix's new son.





Of All Hearts (3/3)

As much as LaCroix understood the nature of
traveling--and enjoyed it immensely--there was one
thing that one simply could not count on when
traveling, and that was bathing.

His Tuscan estate had a very large, well appointed,
elaborate bath chamber, and he took advantage of it
whenever the chance presented itself.

He stripped off his soiled clothing, slid into the
deep pool sunk in the tiled floor, dismissed his
attendants, and leaned back against the bath's padded
side, letting the hot, scented water bleed his tension
and frustration away. He cleared his mind and lay
there for some time, he knew not how long, just
listening to the subtle vibrations around him and in
his mind...

Nicholas was with Vincent, and his old friend was
showing his new son around the vineyards. LaCroix
sensed some annoyance from Vincent, and smiled
drowsily; Nicholas often had that effect on people.
Janette was asleep... Winter was busy in the
Quarters... and Shosha...

LaCroix cracked an eyelid. Yes, there she was, damn
her silent ways. He had not even felt the water
ripple. Her dark curls floated gently on the surface
of the water and her dark eyes regarded him with regal
quiet.

"Something, sister?"

"I might ask you the same thing, brother."

LaCroix shrugged his pale shoulders. "I am the same as
always."

"Granted, it has been some time since I've seen you,
but you used to be a much better liar."

LaCroix batted at the water uncomfortably. "My dear, I
think--"

"Lucius," she interrupted him forcefully, "you are
breaking." Shosha's normally impassive face, shaped
like a very severe heart, was wide open and almost
anxious. "I can feel you, straining to hold yourself
together." She moved to his side. "And you are
failing."

"If I move away, will you follow me?" asked LaCroix,
doing his best to remain sarcastic.

Shosha arched a black eyebrow. "Lucius. It is a
circular pool."

"Ah. So it is. Shosha, I would really rather not
discuss this yet..."

"You must," she insisted. "Else you will go the way of
Cassius." She noted his disturbed expression. "You
remember Cassius?"

"How could I forget? Poor fool. But he killed himself
over a woman."

"He did not kill himself, Lucius. He just... died.
Ironic, is it not? We are immune to all but the pain
of a broken heart." Her brother was an intelligent
man, and it did not take him long to understand. She
saw his mask fall away, and his ice-blue eyes were old
and tired. "Winter tells me... it was a woman?"

Wordlessly, LaCroix nodded.

"What was her name?"

"Fleur..." Slowly, with great hesitation, LaCroix told
his sister the entire story. The water was cold by the
time he was done, and his head was pillowed on her
breast and she was stroking his short white hair.

"I wish I could hate her..."

"Her? And not Nicholas?"

LaCroix smiled humorlessly. "I think you are doing
enough of that for me at the present moment."

"Indeed..."

"She made me feel again. Made me feel <alive>... made
me feel like... I had a purpose... higher... than mere
survival. And this... intensity of feeling... it
hurts. I don't like pain."

"No. You prefer inflicting it to receiving it." Like
many military men, LaCroix was undone by bald truths,
so he nodded.

"Such a cold, still heart... was not made to endure
such pain..." His eyes rolled back and closed. He
dunked his head under the chill water and pulled
himself out of the bath.

LaCroix wrapped a linen towel about his waist. "I
can't hate Nicholas for what he did. I will have my
retribution for it... someday. And that is enough. And
I cannot hate Fleur, no matter how much I try. I can't
hate her for making me feel.

"I thank you, sister, for coming here. My thanks to
Vincent as well. But I think you both should go. I
am... broken, as you say, and I need time--and
privacy--to repair myself. It will be sometime until I
am whole again." His face was tired, and his eyes were
old. "Perhaps then I will be able to hate her. For not
letting me forget."

Then he left his sister. He went to his chambers and
shut the door. Vincent and Shosha left the next night,
as he had asked, and Winter left as well, without
fuss. They left Nicholas and Janette alone on the
estate with the servants. For many nights, LaCroix
remained in his room, and was silent.

When he emerged, his children were relieved to find
that he was just as brusque and cold as he had ever
been, and that his malicious streak of humor had
returned in full force. Nicholas was contented with
the familiarity of his master's manner. Only Janette
thought that LaCroix's customary wit and wisdom seemed
a bit... forced.

~~~

What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me
through,
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do;
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of
all.

What would I give for words, if only words would come;
But now in its misery, my spirit has fallen dumb:
Oh, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to
say.

What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding
tears,
To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of
years,
To wash to stain ingrain, and to make me clean again.

-- Christina Rossetti

~Finis--August 4th, 2003~

April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com

=====
~Forever Knight: The Sons of Lilith~
http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html
~The Corvina~ http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html
"And we shall exist by amusing ourselves, by dreaming of monstrous loves and
fantastic universes, by complaining and quarreling with the pretenses of the
world..."
     --"The Flash of Lightning" by Arthur Rimbaud