[VC] Débris (5)


Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms : The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice

Rating : T

Pairing : Lestat de Lioncourt x Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat de Lioncourt x Nicolas de Lenfent,

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, angst

Characters : Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac

Warnings: character’s death

Summary :

Louis knew Nicolas de Lenfent, or rather knew him from Lestats words. He also knew Nicolas had been Lestats first and greatest regret.

Cleansed from this earth by the fire, now his ghost had come back.



And now his life slips through my hands.

His gentle soul leaves on the wind.

A broken angel finds release

From all my selfish dreams the darkness brings.

So what do I do now?

He’s gone. I’m left alone and so unsure.

Guide me now and give me tears to cry

When all I loved died right before my eyes.

Right Before My Eyes (Reprise) – Lestat the Musical



Louis didn’t breathe a word about his doubts and uncertainty with his beloved prince, though he was brimmed with questions about the old, seemingly discarded music sheet, Lestat’s unfamiliar rage and the young violinist at the bar. There had to be a thread that connected them, linking them together to an explanation, which Louis dared not ask Lestat for fear of opening an old yet barely healed wound.

Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep his tumultuous thoughts from Armand’s privy mind. Old habits die hard. Damn that little imp. He hoped Armand caught that too.

Armand didn’t dig low, barely scraping the surface. Stirring his curiosity, that was the usual tactic, yet Louis fell to the bait almost every time despite knowing beforehand. But maybe, just maybe this vampire who was as old as his age and Lestat’s combined could shed some light to this mist.

He gave Armand permission to penetrate and gathered his thoughts, reconstructing the bar, the stage, the violinist and his dark, mesmerizing music with his memory. Images took shape in his mind, slightly long curls framing the youthful face, eyes as deep and dark as his music, open yet allowing not anyone or anything to enter their sight. With the violin in his hands, he wasn’t just a young man; he was god, the only god of his private world, where nothing but his own music ruled. How confident he was standing there. How luminous. Louis almost thought he had fallen in love with him.


Armand’s mental gasp broke his reverie. The name produced on his tongue shattered whatever left of Louis’s serenity.

Nicolas de Lenfent.


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