A Spanish Tragedy

by Fleurette

Fandom: Forever Knight

Pairing: Vachon/OFC Vachon/Tracy

Disclaimers: I wanted to write a story about Vachon's life before he became a vampire. In it, I hoped to capture the feeling of the intensity that *is* Vachon. So, I asked myself, "What pain could he be hiding behind those ragged curls?" The answer shaped itself itno this story. For choosing Vachon's birthdate, the Pizzaro stuff, etc, I used "The American People's Encyclopedia." It was an aniquated edition (1960-something) but I figure the dates won't be far off.

Thanks to my beta reader, Rae, who did a fine job of making sure I got things within the realm of canon.

Oh! I almost forgot-- Vachon, Tracy and FK are not mine, and I do not stand to profit from this in anyway.

A Spanish Tragedy
by Fleurette

Candlelight flickered in the depths of the abandoned church. Had there been any passers-by on the street that night, they might have noticed the slight glow through dusty stained glass. But there was no one save the two occupants of the candle-lit room, and they were too engrossed in their own doings to notice the world around them. As one of them settled into a comfortable position upon the floor, the other began to speak, pacing the floor in a slow, tireless manner. Every so often he would pause, sipping dark liquid from a glass.

"I was born in Madrid, in the year 1505. My given name was Javier Carlos Diego Valdez. My mother was Anna Teresa, she worked as a serving girl in her father's tavern. He--my grandfather--used to make fun of my name. 'Such a big name for so small a boy,' he would say. He would say other things--things I never understood. I don't think grandfather liked me very much. I was another mouth to feed. I used to think he would he would be happier if I had died. Do you know what that's like?"

Silence.

"I didn't think so. I figure you had a pretty good family life--Mommy, Daddy and their little girl. People value their children more these days, I think. My father? Oh... I *knew* him, to be sure. Everyone knew my father. He was the son of a merchant. His father became rich with the spice trade. My father inherited his money at a young age; he was younger than you are now. My mother used to talk about him. She would tell stories about how they used to sneak off to meet each other in the fountain in the town square. Her eyes would glaze over and I think she thought day-dreaming would bring him back to her. Until I was ten, I thought my father was a powerful prince who would come to save us from our wretchedness. I don't think he knew I existed."

Pause, accompanied by the in-take of a sharp breath.

"What happened when I was ten? Nothing of particular consequence. It was my birthday. Mother had made me a new shirt. It was special. She'd saved her coins for an entire year to buy the most expensive cloth she could afford. It was blue. Blue used to be my favorite. Mother said I could wear it for that day and then only on Church days after that. I wore it when I to the market. But, you know what? I'll never forget that birthday--not ever. That was the day I discovered that my
brothers hated me."

Pause.

"No. My mother did not have more sons. They were... my father's heirs. I was younger than the oldest one by only two months. I know what you're think, but times were different then. It didn't matter where a wealthy spent his nights. These were his 'real' sons. I didn't exist to him. I think they knew, though--my *brothers.* They used to go to the market place with their governess each day. They were spoiled from the wealth. I think their mother, Luisa Maria, could not stand to be near them much. I know I could not."

Pause.

"Will you let me tell you why? I was getting to those details! If you want me to tell you, then you must let me do it in my own way."

Pause.

"Okay. I accept your apology. I m sorry, too. I didn t mean to snap at you. Where was I? Oh, yeah... my brothers. When they began coming to the market, rumors began to fly. People said I looked Diego-- the elder. I tried to ignore the rumors, but they would not let me. They knew, I am sure, that their father was my father. We *did* look alike, Diego and I. It was then that I knew they hated me. They would chase me and beat me. I was small in those days. When they grew old enough to carry swords, they would chase me with those, as well. I can still feel, sometimes, the terror of running and running and knowing that deadly steel is close behind me. Why did I run? I had no sword. What good would a handful of rocks and pebbles do against a sword? One time,
I tripped on a loose cobblestone in the street. Juan, the younger, stuck me with his sword. It..."

A hand strays to a spot on the leg where the wound was sustained, as if remembering the feel of the now rusted sword point. A smaller hand covers it.

"It hurt, but not pain like you think. It wasn't my leg that hurt me;my heart hurt with the pain of having two brothers I could not be equals with and a father who would never love me."

Pause.

"I'm not going to cry, so take away that tissue. I'm too far removed from it now for tears."

Pause.

"When we were "of age," they finally managed to get rid of me. Diego did it. I was in the square, sitting with a girl I thought I loved. I had been working in the stable of my grandfather's tavern. I saved gold, when I got it, and put it aside. I waited for a day that I could ask her father for permission to marry her. Her name was Isabella. Everyone just called her Bella. Diego saw us and decided that he wanted to take her from me. For weeks we fought over her, wrestling in the streets like dogs. One day, he comes to me alone and throws his coin pouch in my face. It was
velvet--soft-- and full of money. My father's crest was embroidered upon it. Diego told me that my father wanted to meet me and accept me as his son. He said to come to the servants door of the great house and show the guard the pouch. 'They have orders to let you in,' he said."

Pause.

"It was the day I had always dreamed about--my father wanting me. When I went to the great house, however, I was arrested. Diego told father that I was a thief who had stolen his pouch in the market. In those days, stealing gold from a wealthy man's son had two punishments--death
or the army, which was essentially for most people anyway. You know which one I chose. As I left, Diego told me to never return to Madrid, unless I returned dead. That was the last I saw of him before I went to the New World with Pizzaro."

Pause.

"Did I ever go back? Of course, I did, eventually. As a vampire, I spent three years in the New World before sailing back to Europe. I went straight to Spain. Grandfather had died. Mother, too. They both caught something that was going around, as you would say. Whatever it was, it killed them. The tavern was gone. It burnt down. That wasn't the worst of it, though. After learning that my mother was dead, I was determined to tell my father the truth."

Pause.

"I don't know why. I was a vampire. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did to me at the time. I went the great house. It had gotten greater while I was gone. It was there I saw my Bella for the first time since I was arrested. She was pregnant... and married to Diego. Seeing her swollen with his offspring cut through me in a way Juan's sword never could. I truly hated my brothers now, with all of my being."

Pause.

"I started watching them, making my presence felt like ghostly specter in the night. One night, Diego and Juan had gone to a play at the theater. It was a bawdy, pathetic excuse for drama, but I went anyway. They met two prostitutes there and throughout the play, Diego carried on with one of them. Like father like son, I guess. It made me ever more angry with him, though. I couldn't let him hurt Isabella the same Father hurt my mother."

Pause.

"What do mean, what did I do? What do you think I did? I followed them out of the theater and confronted them in a dark corner street. We were all alone--just us three brothers. They recognized me, and Diego drew his sword. Except this time, I was stronger than he was...
stronger than both of them. I killed them both, and took pleasure in crushing their bones when I had drained them. It made me feel good to break their bodies as they had broken my spirit years before."

Pause.

"I left Madrid after that, and I have never felt the need to return there. Sometimes... sometimes, I still wonder if things could not have been different... if my father could have loved me and if my brothers could have been real brothers, instead of enemies."

Pause.

"Here. Take a look at this. I don't carry many reminders of my past lives--only this locket. That's Isabella. She gave this to me when I left for the army. She said she would always love me. I've carried it near my heart for all the long, lonely years without her."

Pause.

"Why are you crying? You promised not to cry if I told you. Come here, Tracy. I want to hold you."

Silence.

END