deromanum:
The cold of this place ran bone-deep; from the ancient stones at his back, it leaked through even the rich, dense fabrics of the fine clothes Marius affected. It clung where the dust did not, a congenital cold. These rooms would have shivered in even the very peak of summer, when the sun drove itself hard enough against the earth to make the golden crops shiver and bow their yielding heads. The bedroom, the chateau itself, sat at a harsh remove from the son it had reared; Lestat chafed against it, a sunlit streak carving his fingertips through the thickening grey dust of the creaking, splintering slats, the mattress tossed and rotting on the floor. There was no sight in this festering, abandoned room, the floor carpeted with the autumnal pages of forgotten books, so curious to Marius as the vampire who sat before him, now. First to the ceiling, then the window, Lestat turned his eye anywhere save for Marius, needlessly refamiliarising himself with the tattered room.
For what? Marius did not move from his post, when Lestat began to speak at last. It was easier to listen than to speak, and Lestat would not make him answer for his whereabouts in the interceding years. There was no answer to give; he had done nothing, been nowhere, that he cared to give voice to. If only so that he would not fall entirely still, and make an effigy of himself, propped and gathering dust amongst the other relics, Marius crossed his arms before his chest, so that he might, now and again, readjust them, and reanimate. Lestat spoke without chance to intervene; for the fear, perhaps, of Marius’ censure. The tale unwound none too embellished, driving firmly onwards and, as the heart of the matter, the horror of the vampire child, Claudia, came finally to light, Marius could not help the dark which clustered in his features. It tugged at his brow unavoidably and puckered the marble flesh there, creased the corners of his mouth, his eyes. It rippled even to his fingers, flexing and tightening against the dark material of his sleeves. The young vampire before him blurred, smeared like paint into the ruined bedchamber which held them both.
Marius listened, almost without seeing. And at last, as he knew it would, his lover’s new name crossed Lestat’s tongue once more. It soured in the air, dragging cruelties like entrails behind it. Slowly, Marius tipped his head back, so that it rested against the cold stone, his eyes swept up towards the rafters hung with gossamer webs. No matter the evidence presented, doubt had always offered itself to Marius, faced with what his Amadeo had become. If it was true, that they did not change – had such horrors slumbered within that cherub he had known? Armand could wear Amadeo’s face and consign himself to deeds Marius had once been sure his lover could never have imagined. Yet he had heard, yet he had seen, yet just this night he had pieced Lestat together from the wreck Armand had made of him.
Long moments passed, once Lestat had finished speaking, in utter silence. It descended thick as the dust over the room, words bunching under Marius’ tongue, grating against grief, against anger. “Of all the crimes you had prepared me for, Lestat,” he said at last, speaking first to the rafters, and finally lowering his head to look back at Lestat, eyes sharp, “somehow, you surprise me. You must have been a wonder on the Parisian stages. You managed to convince me, when you left me last, that you had listened to all that I had told you. That you had understood.” ‡
Marius’s steely gaze landed on him once he’d recounted his mistakes to the elder vampire, and Lestat bristled in his seat. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Marius now. He’d fully expected this scolding to happen, but even now he was still struck frozen in his seat.
“I don’t really know what else to say, Marius,” he said simply. “None of what I said is a good excuse, I know, but that is all I can really say on that matter.”
He exhales. “It isn’t that I didn’t understand... I did then, and I certainly do now. Claudia should have never been one of us.”
What was keeping Marius from destroying him, right here, right now? This silence of his was nearly unbearable, and he knew Marius had destroyed other vampires for less than all the atrocities Lestat had just confessed to. “What are you going to do, Maestro?”
The only logical option Lestat saw was Marius destroying him. He doubted the Roman would leave him to his own devices again after hearing what “misadventures” Lestat had been on, but he also highly doubted Marius would want him anywhere near his home if he still had the Mother and Father with him. Gabrielle... he knew not where she was, or even how to contact her. Her mind was completely shut off to him because of their bond.
