This Hellish Alchemy--a Forever Knight story
By April French

Characters: LaCroix, Fleur, Nick

Author's Note:

I decided to write this after seeing "Be My Valentine"
and realizing that I really didn't give a damn about
the Nick/Nat plot. This story is the LaCroix/Fleur
pairing in BMV taken and expanded. Much of the
dialogue is taken directly from the episode; however,
I have enlarged the time elapsed from two days to a
week, and I have added a number of scenes that were
not in the episode, like the G-rated bedrooms scenes
and the dinner scenes, as well as a couple scenes
showcasing the 'strange behavior' Fleur comments on.
For sh*ts and giggles, I also added in a surprise
visitor: Lord Delabarre from "Queen of Harps," the
prat who sent Nick to the Crusades. I love
confrontation...

Nobody belongs to me. I repeat--nobody.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! Well, except Father Denis and
Anthony, but they don't count for much. Everybody else
belongs to the Forever Knight PTBs, even though they
don't deserve to play with them. Many thanks to Amy K.
Rainbow's Fleur FAQ for providing much of the
background information for this story. Praise,
comments, criticisms and kudos are well-loved and will
be treasured forever. Nasty flames will be whammyed
and sent to bed with no memory of having been written.
Once completed, this story will be archived at my
site, with all the others. Permission to archive is
given to FKFIC, FKFIC2 and the FTP site. All others
must first bribe me with white roses and hand-written
books of the heavens.

~~~

"He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever
wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath,
his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.
So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the
tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he
kissed her."

-- F. Scott Fitzgerald

~~~

This Hellish Alchemy (1/?)

Castle Brabant, 1229

"Nicolas! Get out of the sun!" Janette's cry was
greeted with LaCroix's snarl of pain, and he slammed
the huge door behind them.

"Madness!" he seethed. "Utter madness! This is what I
get for humoring you. It will not happen again."

"My mother and sister have not seen me since I left
for the Crusades. I'm not disappearing without seeing
them one last time."

"That is all very well and good, Nicolas," returned
Janette heatedly, tentatively touching her master's
injury. "But you presume a great deal to think that we
would die when we would not."

"They are my flesh and blood."

"<Not> anymore!" LaCroix confronted his youngest
fledgling with a piercing glare. "Just get on with
it."

"Nicolas?" A slender blond young woman, wrapped in a
blue robe, had appeared at the top of the stairs. "Is
it possible? My God, Nicolas!" She ran down the
stairs, straight into Nicholas's arms. "Oh, my dearest
brother, thank God you're home. Can it be you after
all these years?"

"And you, a woman now?" Overcome with emotion,
Nicholas kissed her, and hugged her tightly. "My
little flower. My little Fleur."

"You must tell me everything. The Crusades, the
adventures--!"

"I do not mean to be rude. But we are sick from travel
without rest, and we have been injured in a skirmish
down the road."

For the first time, Fleur took notice of the two
figures standing in the shadows near the pillar. "This
gentleman's suffering is very great," she said, her
musical voice full of concern and compassion. "What
terrible misfortune has befallen you all?" She had
some familiarity with the healing technique of the
laying on of hands, so she reached up to touch the
gentleman's wound.

LaCroix turned his head swiftly. "No," he growled.

"Nicolas!" Nicholas turned. "A miracle!" Face
brightening again, Nicholas strode swiftly to meet his
mother. "After all this time, I was certain you'd been
killed in battle."

"Mother," Nicholas murmured, embracing her, fighting
back tears.

"Oh, but you're so pale--"

"We have not slept in three days." He straightened,
leading her away from the ominous square of sunlight
thrown against the stone wall. "These are my traveling
companions. Janette DuCharme and Lucien LaCroix."

Janette and LaCroix stared at the beaming woman, and
said nothing.

"You must eat," she decided, and turned to go and
roust the servants.

Nicholas stopped her. "We, we could not go another
moment without rest."

"But Nicolas--"

"Please, Mother," Nicholas begged, kissing her hands.
"Please. I will tell all tonight."

Maria de Brabant searched her son's face uncertainly.
"Very well," she allowed at last, rubbing Nicholas's
hand. "Tonight. I must be content with knowing you are
safely home at last."

Overcome, Nicholas hugged her again. "My dearest
mother," he said fondly. Then he kissed Fleur once
more.

The older woman smiled and beckoned to her son's
companions. "Come."

Straightening her spine regally, Janette followed
Nicholas and his mother. LaCroix made to follow her,
but only got a few steps before his legs gave way.

"M'sieu!" Fleur exclaimed, catching him.
Involuntarily, LaCroix touched her hand and was
startled by the shockwave that went through him.

"Forgive me," he mumbled. "I--" He lifted his head to
her face and looked into her eyes... <What I am
staring at? Surely this is no mere mortal woman.> "I
need to rest."

"Of course," Fleur replied, concerned. "Come."

***

LaCroix could feel his body trembling with pain and
lack of food and sleep as the girl, Fleur, led him to
one of Castle Brabant's guest rooms. Doubtless, this
should have been the task of some servant or other,
but as long as she thought he was gravely wounded,
Fleur was apparently not going to let him out of her
sight.

"Such a burn will not heal easily," she told him,
unlocking a door with a key from the great bunch at
her belt. "And there is always the risk of it turning
putrid. I fear you will be scarred, sir."

Her darkly-clad guest smiled wanly. "I trust my vanity
will survive the damage," he assured her.

"I will have a servant bring your belongings."

"Have him leave them by the door," LaCroix said, too
quickly. Fleur turned, her blue robe swirling around
her feet, her blue eyes brimming with curiosity.
LaCroix modulated his voice. "I... do not wish my
sleep to be disturbed."

"Of course not." She approached him and again raised
her hand to his face. This time he allowed the
contact, wincing. "But this must be tended to before
you sleep."

"There is no need--"

"Sir, I must insist," Fleur pressed, softly but
firmly. In no fit state to argue, LaCroix capitulated.
He lay down on the curtained bed and waited tensely
for the girl to return with water and cloths and
whatever ointments she thought necessary. The water in
the bowl was perfumed, his nose told him when she came
back, with... rosemary, he thought, or some such sweet
herb. LaCroix steeled himself--but he still cringed
when the damp cloth touched his temple. A hiss escaped
through his clenched teeth. "Perhaps if you were to
speak of other matters," Fleur ventured, dabbing
gently at the wound, "it would occupy your mind
elsewhere and this would no pain you so greatly."

It was good advice, LaCroix admitted grudgingly, and
cast about for a topic. Finally he gave up in disgust.
"I can't seem to find a decent subject," he admitted.

"Then I will speak. I must thank you, Monsieur."

"I? For what, pray?"

"For bringing my brother home safely. Have you and
Mademoiselle DuCharme known Nicolas long?"

"A little over a year. I have... business interests in
many parts of Europe, and Nicholas has been good
enough to travel with me." It was a bald- faced lie
but a smooth and plausible one, of the kind that
vampires had told since first their kind shied away
from the sun.

"Nicolas is your bodyguard, then?"

"My traveling companion," LaCroix corrected. "My Lady,
I have no need of a bodyguard." Fleur cocked a golden
eyebrow at her patient in what struck him as a most
charming fashion... <Charming? *Charming?* Where on
earth did that word come from?> She looked pointedly
at his wound but said nothing, only continued to clean
it. The burn from the sun was still open and LaCroix
could feel it oozing. Damn Nicholas for hurrying them
on at such a pace! If LaCroix had been able to feed
decently, he would not now be in this humbled
position. He could feel a curious, tingling sensation
beginning in his toes and traveling slowly up his
body, and by the time it reached his stomach he knew
what it was.

It was shame.

No, wait. Not shame; shame was too strong a word for
what LaCroix was feeling. No, this was...

Embarrassment. Acute embarrassment. And the girl
sitting beside his bed was the cause of it. <I hate
being reminded of my own frailties...>

"As do we all." Fleur's eyes were merry. "You said
that aloud, you know."

LaCroix muttered something under his breath. With a
sure hand that told of long hours of experience for
one so young, Fleur deftly smeared a cooling ointment
over her patient's wound, and though it would have
little real effect on the healing process, LaCroix's
facial muscles smoothed themselves in relief.

Gathering her things, Fleur paused, frowning as though
she was trying to unravel a puzzle. Then she brushed
her palm over LaCroix's pale forehead. "Sleep now,"
she said. "I will se that you are not disturbed."

"Thank you," LaCroix whispered. But Fleur was gone,
and did not hear him.





This Hellish Alchemy (2/?)

He was not handsome, Fleur decided as she dressed in
her own chamber. It was far earlier than she normally
rose, but she knew she would get no more sleep. No,
Monsieur LaCroix was not handsome in the way that
Nicholas was handsome. But insofar as physical
attractions went, Fleur thought her brother's friend
had many of his own, from a woman's perspective. He
was tall and broad-shouldered; he appeared to be a man
of temperate habits, and he carried himself in the
manner of one accustomed to command.

And were she to truly look at him from her own point
of view, he held more appeal in her eyes. He was
clearly an educated man, well-spoken and traveled and,
according to his own words, at least moderately
wealthy. Which would certainly please her family.

Fleur shook her head ruefully, running a comb through
her hair. There was something decidedly intriguing
about Lucien LaCroix, but if she showed so much as a
smattering of interest, Mother and brother Henri would
have she and the traveler married off by next sunrise!

With an effort, she pushed the pale, imposing man out
of her thoughts and began on her tasks of the day.

***

Upon waking, the first thing LaCroix did was to raise
a hand to his temple. The ointment was still there,
smooth and sticky and smelling of mallow, but beneath
the grease, the skin had woven itself together nicely.
A quick glance at the high window confirmed his
internal clock's diagnosis of nightfall. Rising,
LaCroix quickly retrieved his belongings from outside
the door and stored them under the bed. He spotted a
passing servant and called for fresh water. When he
had scrubbed the medicinal glop from his head, he went
in search of his nurse.

He found her in the castle garden, where she was
deeply engrossed, LaCroix was somewhat surprised to
find, in a book. He began to reappraise his estimation
of Nicholas's little sister--although to be fair, he
wasn't yet altogether certain what his first appraisal
of the girl was. She struck him as intelligent and
independent, much like Janette. But there was a youth
and an innocence, or rather, a provincial kind of
wisdom, that Janette did not possess, and that he
found unsettlingly appealing. With a little
uncertainty, LaCroix approached the bowed figure of
the young woman. Fluidly, he sat down behind her on
the stone bench, gazing on her thoughtfully. "A good
book is hard to put down," he said at last.

Fleur looked up at her unexpected visitor. "Of the
heavens," she returned, slightly embarrassed to be
sharing this secret interest with a world-wise
stranger. "They are my new passion."

LaCroix took the book from her hands, closing it and
securing its clasp. "And a very old one of mine."

It was then that Fleur noticed his face. "They say a
benevolent power flows through one who heals quickly,"
she commented, again reaching up to touch his brow. He
did not turn her hand away.

"A generous compliment. That I don't deserve. More
accurately, my... pain evaporated with the warmth of
your touch."

Fleur gifted him with a small smile. "You flatter me,"
she said, accepting his kind words, but she refused to
be put off. "But yet something... troubles you."
Temporarily at a loss, LaCroix reached over and picked
a white rose from a nearby bush. He handed it to her.

"For you."

She smiled again. "Ah..." LaCroix's eyes widened at
the sight of the welling redness, the first he had
seen in nearly two days.

>From the doorway of the garden, Nicholas watched his
sister and his master with mounting trepidation.
LaCroix hesitated briefly, but only briefly, before
bringing Fleur's pricked finger to his mouth,
delicately sucking the few drops of blood.

"Let them be, Nicolas," Janette cautioned. She
chuckled in disbelief, amused and amazed. "The
attraction seems mutual." She waited for her
companion's incensed reaction.

"It cannot be," insisted Nicholas fervently. "Fleur is
one who has always brought light. The world needs her
mortal love." He raised his voice. "Excuse us," he
called, making his voice sound at least slightly
apologetic. LaCroix's head snapped up, his expression
almost that of a guilty child. "We've been asked to
invite you to dinner."

Collecting himself, LaCroix offered Fleur his hand as
she rose, which she took gladly, and then she followed
a slightly smug-looking Janette into the castle.
Nicholas glared at his master before going inside as
well.

LaCroix lagged behind, shaken.





This Hellish Alchemy (3/?)

To Nicholas's consternation and shock, they were not
the only guests at dinner tonight. Brabant was playing
host to a surprising visitor: Lord Anthony de Rouen, a
slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed man who hoped to pay
court to Fleur. <I must remember that she is a woman
now,> Nicholas reminded himself. Then he learned of
more, and to his way of thinking, far less welcome
company: the Lord Delabarre and his entourage were
visiting from Wales. At the entranceway to the dining
hall, Nicholas turned away swiftly and ducked into a
shadow. That was where LaCroix found him, growling
with each breath, eyes glowing softly.

"I cannot go in there," he hissed.

"We cannot neglect our hosts," LaCroix pointed out
sarcastically. "After all, what would your mother
think?"

"That is the man who sent me to the Crusades. Ten
years of pure Hell. For a crime I was not guilty of."

"Don't be so innocent. We're all guilty of something.
Or perhaps you're afraid he'll tell your mother just
<why> you were obliged to spend a decade in
Jerusalem?"

"I did not kill Gwynyth. And I cannot--!"

LaCroix hovered dangerously a few inches from
Nicholas's face. "Your hunger is palpable. You are not
thinking clearly. If you don't go and fraternize, they
will know something is wrong with you, something they
have no business knowing about. Would you expose us
for what we truly are?" He grasped his fledgling's
chin firmly. "Let <that> stand as a lesson: Know your
limits. You're young yet. You can only go so long
without feeding." LaCroix moved his hand to Nicholas's
mouth.

"But you--" began Nicholas, astonished.

"Have far more stamina than you. Take what you need."

Near starving, Nicholas bit down on his master's
proffered hand and drank greedily. It was only with
reluctance that he let go. Nicholas wiped his mouth,
they straightened their tunics, and together they went
into the hall.

François Delabarre, Lord of Carreg's beard had gone
grey in the decade since Nicholas had seen him, but
his eyes were still small and cold, and his hauteur
and overweening pride had not diminished in the
slightest. He stood arrogantly in front of the seat he
had been given at the head of the table, at Duc Henri
de Brabant's right hand. "Nicholas," he boomed. "God
has been gracious in returning you safely from the
holy wars."

Nicholas made the tight, sideways nod of his head that
LaCroix had come to recognize as signaling intense
displeasure. "I think that God's grace was elsewhere
when I was in Jerusalem, My Lord. Such bloodshed could
please only the most... pagan of gods." Delabarre
frowned. To forestall any further confrontation, Henri
got up to greet his half-brother.

"Welcome home, Nicolas," he said in his bluff,
boisterous way. Nicholas smiled, and when he smiled it
lit up his whole face with a deceptively boyish
innocence. It was, LaCroix noted, an entirely
different smile from that of Henri de Brabant, who was
perhaps three or four years older than Nicholas, and
whose brown eyes merely crinkled at the corners, while
his mouth only turned up slightly. <Clearly, Nicholas
and Fleur get their looks from their mother. This
Henri must be a spitting image of the old duke.>
Nicholas embraced his older brother.

"I have longed for the day when I could return... if
only briefly."

His voice was pleasant enough, yet Maria's face was
full of concern for her son as he sat down beside her.
Nicholas was partnered with his mother for the feast,
to share her cup and platter, so he had been seated
between his sister and his mother. Ignoring the
servants trying to usher him to the other side of the
table, LaCroix smoothly claimed the vacant place on
Fleur's left, and Janette sat beside her master. "I
would have preferred to sit next to Nicholas," she
whispered, barely moving her lips in a low murmur, too
low for their hosts to overhear. "It will be
interesting."

"Indeed. He has not yet had to contend with breaking
bread with mortals. This will be most interesting."
And LaCroix smirked at the fuming Lord Anthony.

Unaware, Maria touched her son's hand. "Are you well,
Nicolas?" she asked worriedly.

"Yes, Mother. Well."

"Something is amiss with you, I can see."

"Nothing of consequence."

Henri, Lord of Brabant, raised his goblet in toast,
and when he brushed a brown curl from his forehead,
Nicholas was shocked to see the grey beneath the
brown. "I am sorry I was not here to greet you on your
arrival. But I must agree with Lord Delabarre. Glory
to God for bringing you safely from the Holy Land."
Settling himself back in his chair, Henri shifted his
gaze to his half-brother's companions. "I was told
that you had been injured, Monsieur LaCroix."

"A torch to the head. A glancing blow."

"You appear to have mended well."

"Thanks only to this most skillful and attentive
healer sitting beside me." Fleur's cobalt eyes met his
own icy ones squarely, and with a nod and a small
smile, she accepted his compliment. Henri shot a
glance at his mother, who was watching the two with
interest. Of the guests, only Janette saw the unvoiced
exchange, but she saw with a woman's eyes, and in the
silent communiqué between mother and step-son, she saw
the word 'Betrothal.' Instantly, she saw the line the
night's conversation would take: Henri de Brabant
would begin to question LaCroix about his nationality,
his heritage, his family, his holdings, his land and
wealth... The comedy of the situation was so great, it
forced her to hide her laughter in a linen napkin. The
night had just gone from interesting to extremely
amusing.

The servants brought in the meal, and Henri called on
the castle priest, Father Denis, to bless the food.
The old man in his holy robes shuffled forward
painfully. <His rheumatism has worsened. He's gotten
older as well,> Nicholas realized, and was halfway up
from his chair to help the priest who had taught him
to read and carve and had heard his confessions since
he was eight... LaCroix shot him a dark look, and
sheepishly Nicholas sat back down.

Fleur frowned.

Denis cleared his throat. "Oh, dear Lord..."
Automatically, LaCroix, Janette and Nicholas all
closed their eyes. This display of apparent devotion
was in fact a means of protecting themselves from the
scalding words. In LaCroix's view, the closing of the
eyes contributed to the individual's ability to
withdraw into one's own mind, to shut out the sound of
prayer. He knew of some ancient Welsh vampires, and an
even older Etruscan, who had more... esoteric thoughts
on the trick. <Magic can only affect those who have
eyes to see with, who have ears to hear with.> And he
was possessed of a sudden, irrational desire to
explain this theory to Fleur.

Shaking his head in a bit of disgust, LaCroix reached
for the only thing he could ingest without getting
sick--his goblet of wine--at the same moment as Fleur.
She jumped, and he drew back quickly.

That meal was a harrowing one for Nicholas. His
mother, noting with concern that her child had barely
touched his food, again grasped his hand, as if to
reassure herself that he was truly here and alive.
<Which I am. At least, I am here.>

"My son, what <is> the matter?" she murmured. "What
troubles you?"

"Henri's interest in Monsieur LaCroix. I know what
he's thinking."

"Henri is head of this family, Nicolas, and it is his
duty to find Fleur a husband."

"She's just a child!"

"You've been gone a long time," Maria returned,
somewhat sternly. "She's twenty years old."

"I'd rather see her with Lord Anthony."

"My sister tells me that you are a great traveler,
sir," said Henri, swallowing. "What compels you to
absent yourself from your home for so great a time?
The love of adventure, perhaps?"

"I have an even greater love of knowledge, Duc Henri,"
LaCroix replied, lifting a chunk of venison to his
lips and then using slight-of-hand to transfer it to
one of the dogs foraging under the table. "As well as
a great many land holdings whose upkeep I must see to.
Mainly in Italy, but I have concerns here in France as
well, which is how I met your brother." He pretended
to savor the wine in his goblet. "I shall be returning
to Italy as soon as Nicholas is finished here. I have
not seen my vineyards in Tuscany for several years."

"Is it very beautiful in Italy?" asked Fleur, a little
wistful.

"Oh, yes, very. Very beautiful. I have a villa there,
great and sprawling and airy, as is the way of
buildings in the Mediterranean, called 'Un Mondo
Londano del Mondo.' 'A world away from the world.'
There, the night skies are studded with diamonds and
the air is scented with olives and grapes."

"I long to see such places..."

LaCroix looked over her head at her brother.
"Nicholas," he ordered, "you must be sure to send your
sister long, descriptive letters once we reach
Tuscany."

"Oh, Nicolas, but surely you're not going with him!"
exclaimed Maria. "You've only just returned home. You
can't mean to leave again so soon."

"Unfortunately, I must," Nicholas said. "I have become
quite... indispensable to Monsieur LaCroix. But," he
brightened, "we shall make a long visit before we set
out again."

He waited for LaCroix to object. He hoped and prayed
that LaCroix would object. But LaCroix made no such
protest. He was too occupied with speaking to Fleur,
who shared his cup and plate.

Janette caught Nicholas's eye and shook her head. Let
them be, she said without words. Do not interfere.

He could see LaCroix's appeal to his mother and
brother. He was well- dressed, well-spoken and
wealthy, far wealthier than Anthony de Rouen... and
Fleur was twenty years old, beautiful and accomplished
but still unmarried. Yes, Nicholas could see. He could
see very well indeed.

There was a foul taste in his mouth.





This Hellish Alchemy (4/?)

As Fleur prepared for bed, she reviewed in her mind
the very strange event that had been dinner. Nicolas
had been most unlike himself, barely greeting Father
Denis and doing his best to snub Lord Carreg.
Mademoiselle DuCharme had managed to live up to her
name, and charm nearly all of Lord Carreg's entourage
with a few arches of her perfect eyebrows. And as she
had suspected, Mother and Henri had been thrilled
beyond the telling of it with Monsieur LaCroix and his
vineyards, to the point of ignoring Lord Anthony, who
had been staying with them for a week and boring Fleur
to tears. It made her laugh. "Henri finds men with
money and no personality, Mother finds men with
personality and no money, and then Nicolas comes home
and drops the ideal man on all our heads!"

That was the most curious thing, Fleur decided,
combing through her hair. For all Nicolas's insistence
on going with him when he left, he was strangely
hostile to a man who, for all intents and purposes,
was his employer. Briefly, she worried if perhaps her
brother was being mistreated; his behavior was eerily
like that of a dog with a cruel master--the dog might
hate the hand that fed it, but it would never strike
back. But no, Fleur decided. "Nicolas is impetuous and
stubborn. Scold him for a small thing and he mopes for
days."

"Some things do not change, no matter how old we get."

The suddenness of the husky voice dropping into the
still room made Fleur jump. "Monsieur LaCroix!" He was
standing in front of the still closed door, very pale
in his dark tunic, his hands clasped loosely in front
of him. She had not heard him come in. "It is very
late."

"I am not tired."

"You are still very pale, Monsieur. Does your head
pain you? I have herbs for sleeping..."

"No, no, thank you." And he just stood there.

One of the things about this stranger that had peaked
Fleur's interest was his flaunting of accepted social
conventions. Very mild flaunting, to be sure, as when
he had partnered himself with her at dinner, instead
of waiting to be assigned a seat. Perhaps that was one
of the things Nicolas disliked...

He spoke again. "You understand your brother very
well."

"He is my brother. No matter where he goes or how long
he is away, that will never change." Fleur shrugged.
Then she lowered her eyes, playing with her comb. "In
truth, Nicolas and I are much alike. Independent.
Pig-headed, Henri calls us. Not flattering, but true."

LaCroix chuckled. "Yes." He tilted his head, watching
her with his pale blue eyes, the pale brittle blue of
late autumn skies. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No." And he was not, although he was a strange man in
her chamber after dark, and she in her night dress...
Fleur felt strangely at ease in his presence. For a
brief moment, a mellowness flooded her, in a kind of
contentment that she had never experienced before.
Almost a... peace. The intenseness of the feeling
passed quickly, leaving only a trace of the dull,
pleasant warmth.

"You must forgive my mother and Henri," she heard
herself saying. "They have had so little luck in
finding suitors for me that they jump at each
unattached man who rides by."

"Well," said LaCroix diplomatically. "There's always
Lord Anthony." And he laughed when Fleur cringed. "Why
such difficulty?"

Fleur didn't answer right away. She put her comb down
and wrapped her blue robe thoughtfully around her
body, ivory and lapis and gold in the light of her
chamber fire and the stars through the high window.
"Can it be a sin to use the mind that God has given
me? Or the tongue? Mother does not show her cleverness
as much as she used to, when Nicolas and I were
small." Fleur's lips curled in a minute smile, and
again LaCroix saw the wistfulness that tempered her
strength and intelligence like silk wound around
steel. "When I was a little girl, Mother would
sometimes get me out of bed in the middle of the night
and take Nicolas and me up to the high meadow to dance
in the moonlight, like faeries or gypsies. Just
because she was happy, and she wanted us to be
happy..." With unconscious grace, Fleur moved closer
to LaCroix as she spoke. "And in the summer when it
rained, she would take us into the woods to gather
wild white roses so that we might enjoy their
beautiful scent, and the rain on our backs and in our
hair. But Nicolas left, and I grew up. Now... Oh, she
is still very wise, able to run the estate as well as
Henri when he is away, and when he is here she quietly
does what she wants--but I cannot be quiet."

"Nor should you be," said LaCroix, in his forceful
way. "And it is no one's right to ask you to."

"Then why shall Nicolas go with you to Tuscany while I
stay here to wed and birth and doctor the villagers
and the castle servants? I will not wilt if I get wet!
I can handle a sword and ride a horse as well as any
man." A dark eyebrow went up in interest. "Why must I
be forced to struggle in this way?"

"Nothing is worth having unless you pay for it with
blood."

"Whose blood?" Before LaCroix could decide if that
question was rhetorical, Fleur answered it for him.
"My own. My heart's blood, if not my body's." She
sighed. "Mother says I should not dream so much. She
calls it childish and foolish." Fleur smiled sadly.
"The foolishness is hers, I fear. I could no more stop
dreaming than I could make them all come true." She
turned away from her visitor. "I apologize. That was
more of an answer to your question than you asked
for."

"On the contrary." LaCroix crossed his arms over his
chest. "I, for one, do not find meek, mild women to be
the most attractive of creatures. No matter how
exquisite, the... 'pliable female' holds no charms for
me."

"It is gratifying to know that I appeal to someone."
Fleur looked up swiftly, her cheeks burning. "Forgive
me, I did not mean to speak so plainly."

LaCroix reached out and, very, very lightly, brushed
the backs of his fingers across Fleur's cheek. "I like
plain-speaking women as well."

"Monsieur..."

"Ssh. Lucien."

His fingers were so cold, but she was not afraid.
"Lucien."

His pale, pale blue eyes softened ever so slightly.
"Good night, Fleur."

"Good night."

***

Nicholas was waiting for him in the main hall. "I know
what's on your mind."

"Of course you do."

"And I want it to stop. If you're punishing me for
bringing you here, you've made your point. You cannot
be <in love>. You have not one shred of humanity left
in you."

"I would have agreed with you before we arrived. How
do you think this makes <me> feel?! I can't control
it, I can't accept it, and yet it is."

"'Let go your mortal bonds.' Have you <forgotten> your
own lessons?!"

"Of course I haven't forgotten! But... Fleur is
everything that I am not. She is pure. Life-giving. My
immortality has nothing to do with my feelings!"
LaCroix paused, then plowed ahead. "Love." And he
stalked off in a dark, dangerous mood.




This Hellish Alchemy (5/?)

It was perhaps two or three nights hence that Fleur
first heard the music. It had been a wearying day. She
leaned upon an upper parapet that looked out and down
towards the courtyard, and rubbed the back of her neck
tiredly. The stars were marvelous and bright tonight,
and briefly she thought of fetching her book and
taking her seat in the gardens, but she was just too
tired. Her bed was looking more and more inviting.

A soft breeze blew across Fleur's forehead. She closed
her eyes and leaned into it gratefully, at the same
moment as a low, mournful tune began to play. She
straightened in surprise.

It was a beautiful melody, rich and deep and
infinitely sad. Fleur followed it to its source, and
found Lucien LaCroix hidden away in the armory,
stretched out on the floor with his back against an
uncluttered wall, a rebec cradled under his chin.
"Good evening."

"There are hidden depths to you, Monsieur--" LaCroix
lifted an eyebrow. "Lucien." He smiled, and accepted
her compliment with a slight incline of his head. "You
play very well. But why so melancholy on such a lovely
night?"

"I fear my mood has colored my music," said LaCroix,
getting to his feet. "I was quite depressed tonight...
until you opened that door." Fleur offered him her
hand and he took it, and they stood there in the
armory amidst the swords and axes, gazing searchingly
into each other's faces for some minutes. "I was
hoping you would find me here," he said at last. "You
mentioned something a few nights previous that I would
be most interested in testing." His face suddenly
became open and animated. "Your swordsmanship skills."

Fleur's delighted grin carried a tinge of something
most unladylike, but whatever it was, LaCroix liked
it.

***

"Will you take wine with us, Nicolas?"

Nicholas shook his head. "No, thank you, Henri, I'm...
not thirty."

The Duke clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, come and
join us anyway." He chuckled. "You can help me listen
to Anthony gripe. I swear, Nicolas, I bless the night
you came back to us--and brought that rich employer of
yours with you. We shall have our little flower wedded
and bedded by the end of the month!"

Nicholas forced a smile onto his face.

Lord Delabarre's took his wine goblet. "Tell us,
Nicholas, of your travels." Nicholas tapped his hand
nervously on the big wooden table. "You seem most
reluctant to speak at all! If I'd not heard your
voice, I would have sworn that the Saracens had taken
your tongue while you were in Jerusalem."

"It was not the Saracens that silenced me, but the
things I saw, My Lord. And the things I did to keep
breath in my body. The eating of dead horses and much
wading knee-deep through blood and broken bodies." The
false smile was becoming painful as well as
hypocritical. "Besides, Lord Anthony here speaks even
less than I, and you do not pester him."

Anthony de Rouen shrugged good-naturedly. "I speak
when I have something to say," he replied, tossing
back his wine. <Anthony is a great lover of good
wine,> Nicholas reflected, amused.

"And have you nothing to say on the subject of the
fair Fleur?" Delabarre prodded.

"Since I no longer see the lady, no, Lord Carreg, I
have nothing to say, barring that I think her most
lovely and accomplished. Beyond that--" Anthony
shrugged again. "I know nothing of her. I would wed
her anyway... but Monsieur LaCroix seems to have cut
me out."

A fierce clanging filled the room where the men were
taking wine. Henri darted out the door, only to return
moments later, overflowing with his vague good humor.
"A most appropriate choice of words, Lord Anthony." He
jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Go and see. See
precisely why Monsieur LaCroix is 'cutting you out.'"

Confused, Nicholas, Anthony and Delabarre went into
the corridor, where several large windows looked out
onto one of the enclosed courtyards. And there was the
source of the metal-on-metal sound: the Lady Fleur and
Lucien LaCroix, engaged in a ferocious mock battle
with short swords.

Henri laughed; Delabarre shook his head. Anthony
ground his teeth. And Nicholas turned swiftly away,
pain and disbelief etched on his face.





This Hellish Alchemy (6/?)

When they returned to the armory from their spar,
Fleur was seething and LaCroix was following her,
soundly amused. She hung up her sword in disgust and
refused to look at him. "I did not mean to embarrass
you, Lady Fleur," he tried to placate her. It was well
she was not looking at him; the merriment in his eyes
would have enraged her. "You fight uncommonly well for
a--"

"For a woman," Fleur retorted.

"I was going to say, for one so young. Particularly
when you have not been specially trained for it."

"Oh... thank you, sir," said Fleur, mollified and a
little embarrassed. Then she chuckled. "It has been a
very long time since someone has referred to me as
young."

Now <that> amused LaCroix to no end. "How old are
you?"

"Twenty." She paused. "How old are you?"

"Forty-eight," replied LaCroix evenly. It was only a
half-lie; he had been forty-eight years old when he
master had brought him across. He noted her surprise.
"Did you think me much younger?"

"No, sir, I--I thought you much older, I fear. Your
knowledge, your talents, your many travels... I do not
wish to offend, but..."

LaCroix shrugged. "I am no babe in the woods, to be
certain, but I'm certainly not in my dotage." He
frowned when Fleur raised a hand to hide her yawn.
"I've exhausted you. I do apologize."

"I was doctoring in the village all day. Two of the
blacksmith's sons came down with a sweating sickness,
and Bergerac the blacksmith is a widower with no wife
to care for his children. The poor man was beside
himself with worry and could not work. Personally, I
think that he would have done better to go to his work
and let me tend to mine."

"Ah, well, if you worked on his sons the same magic
you worked on me, they shall recover in no time."

Fleur smiled. "It may only be my exhaustion speaking,
but somehow, your comments are far less offensive than
those of other gentlemen of my acquaintance."

"Lord Anthony is excluded, of course."

"Please. Do not speak to me of Lord Anthony. He is a
good enough man to be sure, but God's eyes! I vow, his
head is used for wearing a helmet and nothing else!"

LaCroix's laughter rang off the swords and axes.

***

Janette found him later, sitting outside Fleur's
chamber door, softly playing his rebec. "Lullabies?"

The music stopped abruptly. "I feel like such a fool.
Following this droplet of a girl, like some...
lovesick puppy."

"An interesting choice of words, coming from you."
Heedless of her long skirts, Janette set down beside
him. "What are you going to do, LaCroix?"

"I know what I want to do."

"But shall you do it? Are you worried about what
Nicolas will say?"

"Nicholas is a fool. He thinks he wants the best for
his sister, and yet he allows his family to try and
entice her to marry that blockhead of a nobleman! As
if she could ever be satisfied with such a...
buffoon."

Janette nodded. "She does seem a highly intelligent
girl. I would enjoy getting to know her better.
However, <someone> has been dominating her time..."
LaCroix stuck his bow under her chin and tilted her
head up slightly.

"Don't be cheeky," he admonished. Then he went back to
his playing. Janette left him there.




This Hellish Alchemy (7/?)

The following night, after dinner, when Lord Anthony
looked for the woman he was trying desperately to
court, she was nowhere to be seen. "I shall find her,"
Nicholas told him, although he suspected he knew full
well where she was to be found. He was not wrong. He
hid in a darkened arbor and watched, an awful sourness
forming in the pit of his stomach.

With Fleur's hand on his arm, LaCroix walked slowly
through the gardens of Castle Brabant, looking up at
the clear night sky, lightly swathed in wispy,
floating clouds.

"How many stars are there in the heavens?" Fleur
wondered.

"No one can say for certain. Some scholars believe
that there are yet more celestial bodies in the sky
than those we can see, ones that no human eye can
detect."

"Do you believe it?"

"I believe... that there are things on this earth that
mere mortals cannot begin to fathom."

She looked at him curiously. "You say that as if you
know for certain. Do you... Lucien?" He did not
answer. "When I gaze at the stars, I yearn to know
what they are," Fleur confided in him. "And why they
exist."

LaCroix nodded. "Each is unique. Each has the power to
reveal the mysteries of the universe."

"I desire that knowledge!"

"We both seek the same revelation." LaCroix paused,
and grasped Fleur's hands. She turned her face from
the stars and gazed instead on him. "If I could spend
the rest of my days on this quest with you... there's
nothing more I'd ask of life."

"I have never felt such closeness. This bond I seem to
have with you..."

"It's as if we've been together forever."

"Yes." And Fleur kissed him. LaCroix jerked back,
astonished. Then, his resolve flooding back, he bent
down and returned her kiss. It quickly deepened, and
LaCroix's arms wrapped around Fleur, nearly lifting
her off her feet.

>From the darkened archway, Nicholas watched, tense.

"Lucien. Please. Take me. Take me with you. I cannot
live without you." She laid her head on his chest, and
LaCroix stroked her hair. "I thought I was used to the
pain of separation. There have been so many from my
family. My father... Nicolas to the Crusades once and
now again. But I have never felt such...
<overwhelming> sadness."

"My only comfort is a vision I have that you and I
will never die. We will be together through all
eternity."

"To live forever... What an impossible dream."

LaCroix closed his eyes briefly. When they opened,
they glowed a dull gold in the torch-lit garden.
"There is... a way," he rumbled in a harsh, soft
growl. "My precious flower." Easily turning Fleur's
head to one side, he bared the slender column of her
neck to the light of the stars--

He was stopped swiftly and rudely when Nicholas
wrenched him away. LaCroix snarled in rage, as his
fledgling slammed him up against the stone garden wall
as Fleur looked on in shock.

"This is what he is! Look at him!" her brother
demanded. Nicholas's head whipped around, his eyes
blazing, his teeth jutting sharp. "This is what I've
become."




This Hellish Alchemy (8/8)

"I--I understand now," Fleur said, eyes wide. "Strange
behavior... the pallor of your faces. I have heard of
this. The vampire."

Nicholas nodded reluctantly. "He will make you one of
us whether you wish it or not."

"My only wish is to be with the one I love. I am
interested in so many things that are of another
world!" Fleur insisted passionately. "Why should this
be any different?"

"Please, Fleur." He released his master and approached
her. "I do not regret what I am. But when I chose
this, the future of our family fell to you."

"There is no future without Lucien--!" she cried,
trying to run past him. Nicholas caught her.

"This is not right for you, Fleur."

"Nicolas," she retorted indignantly, breaking free of
his grip. She went to LaCroix, who put his hands on
her shoulders protectively.

"Whose heart do you choose to break, Nicholas?" he
asked, his husky voice laden with emotion. "Your
mother's? Your sister's? <Mine?>"

"For you, this is just another conquest. Another death
to satisfy your craving!"

"Aren't you a little confused, Nicholas? She is
mortal. Therefore, she will die. And all her beauty
will die with her. I can preserve that. Forever." He
kissed her hair, and Fleur closed her eyes and leaned
into his touch.

"It is the beauty of her innocence you love," said
Nicholas quietly. "And that you will kill with the
first taste of her blood. If you truly love Fleur,
LaCroix, you won't destroy that." He shook his head.
"You will not..."

Incensed, Fleur turned to the man she loved, to
protest, to plead with her brother--and then she saw
LaCroix's face.

It was not that Nicholas was right. Far from it. It
was <not> Fleur's innocence that LaCroix loved, but
that she was not an innocent. And yet despite that,
she could still have such a lovely way of looking at
life. He loved her intelligence. He loved her... She
had a spirit, a wonderful vibrant spirit that still
flourished, despite the attempted crushing of it by
her family and her society. <I love her. So I will do
ask Nicholas asks.>

LaCroix took Fleur's face in his hands. Her great blue
eyes looked up at him, not understanding. "'Tis a
great irony, is it not?" he murmured hoarsely. "That
such a cold, still heart could feel such pain?" He
would do as Nicholas asked because he knew his son
hated him, and if he brought Fleur across... <I do not
want her to become infected by Nicholas's feelings for
me.>

He leaned his forehead against hers. <Can I hear the
stars weeping?> he wondered. His cold heart thudded
once, heavily, in his chest.

Nicholas tugged his sister away. "Fleur."

"No, Nicolas," she protested, tearing her eyes from
the pale man in black, "I don't want to go--" Nicholas
gripped her head in his hands and she froze.

"Don't be afraid." His face filled her eyes, and his
voice resonated in her ears. "After we are gone, your
life will be good again. Sleep. Sleep and forget."
Mutely, she nodded. Nicholas kissed her forehead
tenderly, and then he watched his young sister leave
the garden. LaCroix did not. "We will leave as soon as
possible."

"Yes."  LaCroix lifted his head. "You've probably done
me a favor," he hissed, coming up beside his
fledgling. "But you must realize, Nicholas, that I
will <demand> retribution." His voice dropped lower
and lower until it finally resembled the warning growl
of an angry lion. "One day, when you have fallen in
love, I will take from you what you have taken from
me. We're agreed?"

"If I ever truly love a mortal--"

"<Are> <we> <agreed>?"

Nicholas nodded. "We are agreed."

***

LaCroix stalked into the castle and grabbed his
belongings from the guestroom. <Leave as soon as
possible. We'll leave now, and damn his family!> And
he slammed the door so hard, he broke the great iron
hinges.

But he paused outside of Fleur's chamber. <Just go
on,> his mind urged him. <Leave her. Forget her!> He
put his hand to the latch. It was unlocked.

She had fallen haphazardly onto her bed, unable to
fight the hypnotic stupor. LaCroix slid the saddlebags
from his shoulder and knelt beside her. A hand hung
off the bed; it was the same hand whose finger his
rose had pricked. The wound had healed days ago. There
was not even a tiny scar left for her to wonder over,
nothing left to jar her memory.

"Ma Fleur..." he whispered, in agony. He leaned over
to kiss her lips, but thought better of it. He saw the
leather thong around her neck, from which hung the key
to her book, her book of the heavens. Carefully, he
untied the string and lifted the key from her sleeping
form. LaCroix tied it around his own neck. He took the
book of the heavens from her table, and in its place,
left his rebec.

When she awoke the next morning, it was the first
thing she saw. And, as LaCroix had hoped, she
remembered everything. "An impossible dream." Her
tears fell on the smooth, well-worn wood. "An
impossible dream. Lucien... Lucien..."

***

That day, when they stopped to shelter in an abandoned
barn as far from the castle as their horses would take
them, LaCroix chose to make his bed far away from his
children. Nicholas would not speak to him, and Janette
did not want to press him, so they let him be. In this
way, Nicholas did not recognize the book that his
master had surreptitiously slid from his saddlebag.

LaCroix did not sleep that day. Instead, he settled
back against the old, musty, slightly molding straw,
and unlocking the book with the key he had taken from
around Fleur's neck, he read of the heavens until
sunset.

~~~

"Love exists. Rages within. A silent scream of endless
pain. Hellish alchemy indeed. Without equal. Not
death, not hell itself... but a precious, precious
flower... long withered... and gone."

~~~

~Finis--March 4th, 2003~

"So, so, leave off this last lamenting kiss
Which sucks two souls and vapors both away,
Turn thou ghost that way, and let me turn this,
And let ourselves benight out happy day,
We ask none leave to love, nor will we owe
Any so cheap a death as saying go.

"Go, go, and if that word have not quite killed thee,
Ease me with death by bidding me go too.
Oh, if it have let my word work on me,
And a just office on a murderer do.
Except it be too late to kill me so,
Being double dead, going and bidding go."

-- John Donne

=====
~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