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deromanuscoven · 1 day ago

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False Idol

Written with @complicitsacrilege Our second story for the Saturnalia Event. A differen kind of parade towards the God.

There was something strangely alluring about the ancient statue in the bowels of the monastery, and the first time Andrei saw it, he stopped, to stare, transfixed. The monk who directed him to pray in the deepest recesses of the monastery to repent for his sinful thoughts hadn’t accounted for what would become the center of nearly every single one of Andrei’s thoughts for months to come.

Something changed in him irrevocably at the sight of the statue.

It was so beautiful, he thought this must be a statue made by the hand of God himself, hidden away to keep it from the prying eyes of others, so that only those deserving of its impartial, yet intense presence would ever bear witness to its existence. He fell to his knees before the statue at sunset and remained there all throughout the night. On bleeding knees he gazed up at the white marble, praying silently yet unable to look away.

His knees were always bruised and scabbed from then on.

It began innocently enough. Only when he truly deserved to be sent to repent was he sent there, but each time he gazed upon the statue, his mind became more and more preoccupied by its presence. His prayers no longer seemed to be sent to God himself, but rather this false idol.

By the time Andrei realized that this must not be God at all, but a devil in disguise sent to capture the hearts of men, he knew it was too late for him. He began to act out in small ways at first. Little things that would irk the abbot enough to be sent to the depths, past the cells in which only the most enlightened of them would go to meet God, surrounded by silent mud walls from which no sound would escape.

It wasn’t until he was sent to the cell near the statue nearly every night that the abbot began to beat Andrei before sending him down to pray. Despite the pain and the humiliation, he couldn’t stop himself. He had to lay his eyes upon the ageless statue at any cost.

The sight of it made his heart race in his chest and his cheeks flush with anticipation. Though he knew he should, he couldn’t bring himself to care that he was committing one of the greatest sins in worshiping this demon sent to torment him day and night.

The night the abbot caught him masturbating in his bed, the thought of the divine being vivid in his mind, he was locked in a cell just within sight of the statue, and yet as he was brought down, the monks barely cast the statue a second glance. It was as though they were somehow immune to its dark allure. How was it possible? How could they simply not care about the existence of his beautiful demon? Was only he susceptible to its temptations?

///

It was a long time since he went to sleep. There was nothing to bond him to the life he left behind. Most of the time, he couldn’t even remember his name, he didn’t want to. He knew once upon a time he had had one, and a purpose in life.

He had been someone, once, and he had loved. Now all he wanted was to forget and be forgotten. He didn’t know how long he slept, in a slumber that was nothing a mortal could understand.

He didn’t know how old he was, only that people around him had changed accents, language and costumes many times before he had lost interest in listening.

He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t care.

To their eyes, he was a statue, beautifully carved by some nameless artist forgotten by time and swallowed by anonymity, but he was more, or he had been in the past. Perhaps now he was even less than a statue and that was why darkness surrounded him.

Vaguely he wondered if before this would have bothered him, but now it didn’t, not for a long time, until something changed and a new presence called him closer and closer to the surface. At first he tried to ignore it and began to slip deeper and deeper into his state, but then the presence became stronger, and he couldn’t ignore it.

At first it was just a glimpse of something he couldn’t name. Red hair for example. He knew someone with red hair a long time ago, he thought. That kept him company in his loneliness. Then it was a pair of dark eyes that he couldn’t forget, not even when his consciousness slipped from his fingers, right now that he had a reason to stay.

Then it was pain that dragged him dangerously close to the surface. The presence, a boy he now knew, a young man with red hair and dark eyes and the curious mind of someone who didn’t belong to the darkness, was in pain and something inside him snapped.

For the first time in centuries his hands moved, slightly, as he fought to close them into fists. The call for violence and blood was strong, and he decided not to deny his nature any longer.

The boy was confused. He was in pain, and doubts threatened the bright light he carried, and the fire that burned into his veins. He was an artist, but now his hands ached, he could feel the pain, like broken bones. Someone had touched the hands of an artist.

Rage and hunger awoke inside him. He would punish those fools who dared to touch the boy who called for him, who alone was able to reach for his mind.

One by one he called for them. The men dressed in rags, with symbols in front of them that he couldn’t remember. They used those as a way to instill fear into people’s hearts. In their minds he could see images of burning pits and screaming creatures intent to torment men and women both.

Their hearts were dark as the place where they resided and he knew he needed to free the boy from this.

A memory long buried surfaced in his mind, as clear as the day he lived it.

It was a celebration, a happy moment in his past. Among jubilant people dressed with long tunics and togas, with children running around, their hands and mouth full of sweets, stood a man with blond hair, different from the crowd around him.

Suddenly he knew that man was him. Like he had been before. He was walking, side by side with an older man he didn’t remember, towards a temple. He couldn’t remember what God resided there and if he believed in him. Then the memory was gone and only silence remained.

That very same night, a new procession began.

Men in rags, with their symbols in their hands, like shields that could protect them, marched into the darkness, chanting prayers he didn’t care about, for he wasn’t their God, and he didn’t have to listen to them.

But you are a God. A voice in his mind said, and he knew the voice. It was foreign and familiar at the same time, and it was silent for as long as he could remember.

Feed and rise. Free us. Us? He wondered. Were they prisoners? Wasn’t it his own decision to sleep?

Fool. You need to rule. Your kind is waiting for you. You condemned us to this. It was then that he stopped listening for there was something more important he needed to do, and the voice wasn’t worthy of his attention.

Among the men reaching for him like the crowd reached the temple in his memory, there was the boy. Shaking and bruised. He felt rage overwhelm his consciousness and more of his body began to answer to the call of his mind.

It was like life was flowing into him, like he was being reborn, and not for the first time, and suddenly all he wanted was to see them all suffer, all but the boyhose bd was calling for him, not to feed upon and forget him, but to take care of him, and make him his and his alone.

One by one they presented in front of him their lives as their offerings, and gladly he accepted, like the merciful God you are. The voice said and once again he dismissed it.

///

In spite of his pain from the punishment he had endured, Andrei was all too aware that something was very wrong. The monks were behaving incredibly strangely as they all but dragged him down once again to the bowels of the monastery. He didn’t struggle - after all, this was what he wanted when he acted out - at least not until he saw the statue once again. It had moved. He had moved.

“How,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes, “it’s not possible.”

And then he moved again. It happened so swiftly, Andrei couldn’t even see the motion. One second one of the monks was there before the statue in supplication, and the next, one of them was in the arms of the statue, head snapped backward and mouth open as the statue’s face pressed against his throat as though to tear it open with his teeth.

Andrei’s eyes widened and he tried to backpedal, to leave, but he was held fast by the strong arms of the abbott.

One by one the monks fell to the statue, a parade of offerings to a nameless god, their bodies cast aside like trash, until it was only Andrei and the abbott who remained.

Slowly, Andrei sank to his knees, unable to stay upright as fear made the world spin around him. He had to remind himself how to breathe. Death wasn’t an uncommon guest among the monks here, however no death had ever been like this. His mind raced with fear of what would happen to him as, once more, the statue moved faster than he could see to attack the abbott, whose expression quickly changed to one of ecstasy.

Andrei could see the statue more clearly now, his throat working as he swallowed - was he drinking their blood? He had never heard of something like this. Only, as he watched, transfixed by fear and an odd sense of curiosity, he realized that he had heard of this. Only stories passed on to frighten children, but it simply wasn’t possible. Not in a church. Not on holy ground.

As the statue lifted his head from the abbott’s lifeless throat, Andrei could see traces of blood on his teeth and lips, and he gave a soft sound of fear, falling back as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

///

Memories rushed back to him. The more he fed from the men - monks, they called themselves, the more he remembered.

He had a name before. He was Marius, Rome was his home when he lived and Hibernia was the land that destroyed him.

He was turned into a God against his will, when he was too weak to fight, only to be turned into a slave, or so they thought. He never bent the knee, never accepted his fate and when they gave him weapons, he turned against his maker - never a Master, for he wouldn’t accept one, and his teachings.

As a man he had loved to travel and learn about new cultures and people. As a vampire, for that was the name of what he was, he traveled for revenge, and at the end of his long wandering he found them.

The sacred parents. Those who must be kept. The King and Queen. In the long millennia of their existence they had many names. Enkil and Akasha were those he used when he offered them his services, only to betray them like they had betrayed countless before Marius came to them.

He stole the core and suddenly what was forced upon him became his choice. Marius, the one who never believed in the ancient Gods of Rome, became a God himself.

Now that blood restored him to life, giving back not only his consciousness but also his mind, Marius knew, looking at the scared boy in front of him, why he woke up.

The blood flowing in his veins called for him, but it was his eyes that put Marius under their spell.

The boy was a believer, but the God he prayed upon was new to Marius, one that he never met before and who he didn’t recognize. One that would have condemned such a beautiful soul to rot in the ground, in the bowel of a decaying church. Such a God was unworthy of him.

Like a new Saturn, Marius stole the boy and with him in his arms he flew away, leaving behind the desolation of a cruel winter in a land harsh and unfit the treasure he was carrying.

“Who - who are you?” The boy in his arms naked in a language Marius didn’t understand, but the sense of those words was clear to him.

Deus tuus sum, et tu Principium Novum meum es.

#de romanus coven event #saturnalia 2024 #marius/arman #vampire Chronicles #Thank you!

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deromanuscoven · 2 days ago

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Unexpected Gifts

Written with @complicitsacrilege here is a little gift for the first day of the Saturnalia event.

Once again the winter solstice came close, like every year, and like every year Marius was caught by surprise. For creatures like them the flowing of time could be meaningless, and yet, sometimes it became the only thing they could focus on.

With winter the memories also came back, of a time long gone, that only a few people at court remembered. Saturnalia, the days of Saturn, the Old Wandering, heritage of a culture that was already old when Rome rose to power.

A fond smile turned the corners of his mouth, and even if it was normal now to see him happy, it still felt strange to Marius himself to show his emotions so openly.

He, the one who had always been the mentor, the teacher and the anchor, was now learning not to keep his emotions bottled. He had promised his beloved that he wouldn’t hide things from him, and even if it was a work in progress that sometimes Marius failed, he was doing his best to keep his word.

Thinking about his beloved, Marius remembered another tradition that was related to Saturn. Small gifts would be exchanged during the festivities, usually sweets for the youngest and worshiping statues for the adults who would take them to the temple.

He remembered his father and his siblings’ happiness when the holiday approached. The whole house would be in ferment the whole time. The children would jump around, too excited to even sleep, and the adults would work tirelessly to make sure that everything would be ready.

Marius never had children, but he doted on his nephews and nieces, spoiling them with gifts that had his siblings roll his eyes.

They will be insufferable, Marius. He could still hear his older brother’s voice, but even when he was scolding him, the fondness in his voice was unmistakable. Only after he had lost them Marius realized that his brother wasn’t only fond of his own children, but also of that brother so different from them and yet accepted in the family like he had always belonged.

Without wasting time, but still aware of how leaving without an explanation would look, Marius rushed back to their rooms and caught his beloved contemplating his new wardrobe, picking item after item, to match the shades and fabrics.

He kissed Armand’s unruly curls with affection and whispered to him a few words; “I need to leave for a bit, but I will be back before the meeting, so please, try not to kill our prince before I come back.”

The devious angel turned in his arms and looked at Marius, puzzled. “Does that mean I can kill him after you come back?”

“No, you horrible minx. We both know you love him, in your very peculiar way.”

Marius stole another kiss before he moved towards the balcony.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, and please, wait for me.” He said before disappearing into the night.

***

Marius wasn’t fond of Ireland, for many reasons. The worst thing that happened to him there was to meet Mael, and he still had to recover from that. Traumatized for life by the barbarian drunk he had learned to stand, just for Lestat’s sake.

So no, he wasn’t fond of the land or the people, but he also knew when he needed them, and now he needed a druid and their magic for the gift he had in mind.

“You are a long way from home, Vampire.”

“I am, and yet I’m not, for my dark life began here.”

The old woman who appeared in front of him was dressed in white and had her long, grey hair in a braid softly laying on her right shoulder. She looked ageless and wise, and the wrinkles on her face only added to her charm.

Marius thought he would have loved to paint her, making her immortal on his canvas so that he could always remember her.

“And what are you looking for in the place that saw your rebirth?” She asked and her voice was now softer, like she saw in his soul that he wasn’t a menace to her and her people, but a man looking for guidance and help.

“I seek your help, for a gift.” Marius answered, a trace of amusement in his voice. Oh they could read each other, even without invading each other’s mind.

“For the celebration of a holiday that means nothing to us?”

“But that meant a lot for me, before I was turned.”

“We have something in common, Vampire. We too have old traditions we still follow. They root us to his land and our history, so that we won’t be forgotten.”

She sounded like Hypatia and Sappho. Like Marie Curie and Florence Nightingale. She sounded like every woman who had things to teach, who had fought against society and was defeated, only to be remembered forever by the future generations.

“What is it that you need our help with?” She asked but when Marius took from his pocket a silver blade, like those used to harvest mistletoe she took a step back, alarmed.

“Fear not, for I won’t hurt you. I just need the blade for something else.” Then he proceeded to cut himself, right where his heart laid, protected by his flesh.

She hissed when the blood didn’t stop flowing as it would be supposed to.

“You are ancient. Why aren’t you healing?”

Instead of answering, Marius gave her a ring he kept on a golden chain around his neck. It was old looking, but when her fingers touched the gold, she knew it was an heirloom that had belonged to him when he was human.

“I need your magic to seal my blood to this ring, for my gift…”

“Is one that comes from the heart, for the one you love above everything else.” She finished for him.

***

In their rooms his beloved was pacing like a caged lion. Marius had promised he would be back before the meeting, and yet, he wasn’t there.

He will come back. He told himself, but it was hard to listen to logic when fear clouded his mind. It was easier to retreat back into old habits that helped him to keep his heart protected for so long.

The taste of ashes awoke in his mouth, and he was ready to listen to the voice that told him to leave and never look back, when he heard a thud coming from the balcony, too loud to be Marius, right?

But when he looked, there he was, unsteady on his feet, like he was hurt, and in that moment he forgot everything about running away to rush to his side.

“What happened?” He asked as he grabbed Marius and dragged him into their room. “Are you hurt?”

However, when Marius didn’t answer but smiled, confusion and rage took charge of his actions.

“Why are you smiling,” Armand demanded, his worry turning to a pout almost immediately. “The meeting is beginning and you said you would be back.”

“And here I am, you cruel monster, but would you mind terribly if we skip the meeting, just this once?”

Just as quickly as it had appeared, Armand’s pout disappeared, and he narrowed his eyes, “You know I never mind an excuse to skip council meetings, but tell me, Master, what has happened to you?”

“Nothing really. I just wish to celebrate with you. It is the first day of Saturnalia, after all, and I want to share it with you.”

The court would still be there in a few nights, but this moment Marius wanted it to be just for them.

“I’m aware of the holiday, yes - but what does that have to do with anything? You’ve never wanted to celebrate before.” Armand’s suspicion was clear, even without the mind gift between them, Marius didn’t need it to hear it in his beloved’s tone, yet there was a brightness in his eyes that hadn’t been there for some time.

“There was never time before, my love. But now, no one is after us, and we are free to show each other love. So I thought we could celebrate this year, the world that goes upside down, where the Masters become slaves and the slaves are suddenly Master. Where gifts are exchanged and the old God would look upon the world with a fondness that nowadays is lost, protecting everyone for another year.”

There was a mischievous glint in Armand’s eye, but it was gone as soon as he wrapped his arms around Marius’ waist, moving in close, “Tell me more,” Armand grinned up at Marius, worry seemingly forgotten, “You never did tell me much about the old gods that you never believed in.”

Marius smiled, indulgent. “He was a God who had lost everything. His family cast him away when he became too much, too old, too expendable. He came to Earth to bring gifts of harvest and life. He was the promise of spring after winter, and yet he wandered into cities in winter, dressed in rugs, looking for a warm place to sleep and some food to consume, in exchange of the stories he had learned in his long life.” Marius said, with a gentle voice, without even realizing he had slipped into speaking Latin.

“I never saw him as a God, but as the whole of humanity itself, too old already, and yet waiting to be renewed.”

Armand hummed, pursing his lips for a moment, “That sounds like someone I might know,” his mischievous smile was back as he went up onto tip toe for a kiss.

“Are you calling me old?” Marius blew on Armand’s lips before stealing another kiss. “Then see if I give you the present I picked for you.”

“Well,” Armand started, dropping back down onto flat feet, “maybe not old - not as old as Seth, anyway. And would it help if I told you that I have something for you too?”

Marius looked at him, surprised and intrigued.

“You have something for me, for Saturnalia?”

No one had given him anything since he last saw his family, and he felt his heart grow bigger with all the tenderness he felt for his beloved.

“I might have a little something,” Armand replied slowly, swaying a little on his feet.

“Well, I guess now we’ll have to decide who will give his gift first.” Marius concluded with mirth shining in his eyes.

“You were the one to say you have a gift first,” Armand hinted, trailing a hand up Marius’ back, “Or are you simply gifting me with your presence during the holiday?”

Marius looked at him, pensive, his head on a side. “And wouldn’t that be a gift on its own? My whole attention, for days, with no one else coming between us?”

Armand huffed, “Perhaps that is my gift to you also, Master. I won’t be hunting down any rogue fledglings anytime soon, so you’ll have me all to yourself.” But after a pause, he added, “Very well. If I’m to be your Master for the holiday, then it’s only right that I give my slave his gift first.”

He pressed a kiss to Marius’ collarbone, hesitating for just a moment as a look of mild concern flashed across his expression, but then he was gone, darting away into their coffin room where he had evidently hidden his gift.

He came back seconds later with a large, rectangular object wrapped in fine cloth held carefully in his hands. Armand didn’t meet Marius’ gaze straight away, nor did he offer the gift immediately, but finally, he looked up. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that Marius hadn’t seen since Armand was a boy, and then he was wordlessly holding out the wrapped object.

Marius didn’t have words to express his emotions now. He would be Armand’s slave for as long as he wanted, was it the holidays or more. In many ways Armand had owned him, or at least his heart, since the first day they met, and Marius had never taken it back.

Slowly, as in fear of ruining the moment and shattering the precious balance between them, Marius lowered his head and took the offered gift like he would have taken the most delicate manuscript ever written by human’s hand. That was how much respect he had for the gift that came from Armand.

With attention he slowly showed what was hidden, revealing to the world a beautifully painted ikon that had Marius himself as subject. From the wooden support Marius stared at himself. God to Man, Immortal to Immortal, Saint to Sinner.

Red tears formed in his blue eyes, for the ikon spoke to his heart and he never saw anything more beautiful than the proof that Armand was taking back one of his passions, taken from him by human cruelty first, and blind fanaticism after.

“This - this is beautiful, my love.” He said as emotions choked him and his voice sounded shaking and weaker than it ever was.

Armand’s expression showed open vulnerability now, and even he had the beginnings of tears staining the whites of his eyes pink. “I painted it while you were gone. I –” he stopped, seemingly unable to continue, but then, “I had hoped it would bring you home.”

“I will always come back to you, wherever I am, my love, I will always come back to you. This is my vow, spoken under Saturn’s all knowing eyes. A promise I will keep until my last day on the Earth.” Marius said, his tears free to fall.

Both vulnerable, both hurt and trusting, it was the first time that they had been this close. Not even before they had crossed this line, and now even more, the choice Marius made felt right.

“As you humble servant, let me give you my gift, my Lord, my Beloved.”

Without hesitation, he took the ring that still felt warm in his hand, for the magic that was used would always maintain the love Marius felt for Armand, burning like the fire that celebrated the Gods all over the world.

His hand shook when he presented the ring to Armand, waiting for his reaction.

When Armand took the ring, his expression was almost unreadable, but as he ran his thumb over the ruby studded gold, his brows drew together and he examined it more closely. “It’s beautiful, Master… but is this,” he paused, bringing the ring to his nose. “Is this your blood,” he asked, turning his attention back to Marius.

“From the heart that was always yours, and that will be yours until you decide otherwise.”

At the risk of the painting, Armand stepped closer, hugging Marius tightly enough to crush any human, and he could feel one of his hands shift at his back as he slipped the ring onto one of his fingers. “Thank you, Master. Thank you for coming back to me.”

Red stains appeared on Marius’ shirt under Armand’s cheek, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had Armand back in his arms, where he belonged all along, what more was there to want?

#saturnalia event #de romanus coven #marius/arman #Fanfic #marius de romanus #Armand #Thank you!

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