7/23/09: Edited for original upload errors caused by text editor.
Touched By An Angel was about angels helping people.
Forever Knight was about a vampire family--one of whom sought redemption.
I wrote the crossover, but don't own either property.
Part 9: Memories of Auld Lang Syne
---------------------Flashback: 1228 Paris, France---------------------
Andrew was enjoying himself immensely. For the first time ever he had been allowed to go down to the mortal realm---accompanied by another and more experienced angel of course; but that was all right since he really liked the dark skinned caseworker. They had become friends right away and Sam had sort of taken the younger angel under his wing---so to speak.
"So, Sam, tell me again just what it is you guys do down here?" Andrew asked as he gazed around the city with an air of excited curiosity. It was nowhere near as beautiful as his Father's home, but it was definitely different---exotically so. And he wanted to soak up as much of this experience as he could before he had to go back to his place as one of the Heavenly Choir. Right now, this was a 'vacation' of sorts.
Sam chuckled indulgently at his friend's behavior as they walked the Parisian streets. For all the comparative filth and dirt around them, Andrew looked like a young human boy drooling over a master baker's fresh patch of fruit pies. The young one was hooked, he could tell. It was in his eyes. In fact, he'd be surprised if the singer didn't start begging for more such outings. Make a fine caseworker, too---ever since he'd seen the more afflicted of the humans here, the good-hearted angel had been filled with empathy for their sufferings.
"We help our assignments onto the path of God, Andrew."
"It must be very fulfilling work. You have a great job, Sam."
His friend looked a trifle rueful as he answered: "Usually."
"Usually?" Andrew gazed back at his friend with a questioning air.
"We don't always succeed." Sam explained. "You see, Andrew, the Father gave humans free will, and we must respect that at all costs."
"Free will?" the choir angel parroted again and frowned. "But I don't understand, Sam. Why would anyone not want to follow God?"
Sam sighed. "Well, for one thing....we aren't the only ones down Earthside trying to guide them. There are...other... influences down here."
"Oh," Andrew murmured quietly, feeling as if a dark cloud had obscured the sunlight.
Sam was making a reference to the demons. Demons were former angels that left Heaven for a reason the young angel could not comprehend. Andrew had heard that they were down here--had been for some time, but it was hard to fathom that his once fellow angels could have fallen as far as rumor said they had. But then, like him, none of his friends in the Choir had ever actually been down on Earth before. They had only hearsay from the others.
"Look, Andrew---there he is!"
Sam's exclamation jerked Andrew's wandering mind back to the present.
"Who?"
"Sir Athos de LeBarre... my assignment."
Andrew followed his friend's pointing finger to see an older man with dark red hair and wearing a soldier's garments walking out of a local inn. His soiled and somewhat tattered tunic had a cross embroidered on it. A knight from the Crusade wars: he remembered Sam telling him that earlier. The fellow limped across to a group of three other soldiers in like garb, stopping before them. Sam watched them converse together, as a step apart, the fourth, a blonde-haired knight, held their horses together.
"C'mon," Sam gestured as he headed toward them, "just remember that I'm Samuel D'tienne a local healer and you are my visiting friend, Andrew Marsielle"
The red-haired knight grinned toothily in greeting as they walked up.
"Doctor D'tienne! You were right---this inn has enough room for all of us. And it is much more reasonably priced for God's poor, returning soldiers." He smiled at Andrew. "And who is this bright-eyed fellow with you?"
Sam placed a brotherly arm around Andrew's shoulders as he introduced him to the crusaders before stepping a few yards away to talk privately with his assignment.
Sir knights, this is Andrew Marsielle. Andrew, these fine gentlemen are Sirs Athos LeBarre, Gerard DuHugo, Nicholas de Brabant, and Victor Chantel. All have just returned from fighting in the Holy Land."
"A wet-behind-the-ears whelp, from the looks of him, Doctor" Victor, a heavily scarred knight guffawed.
"Oh, to be so innocent again," Gerard quipped, then winked slyly at his mates, "or perhaps not! It takes years of practice to gain a suitable gut for drinking."
"And you've had plenty of experience in that, haven't you, Gerard?" the scarred man pointedly swatted the other's considerable girth.
Loud laughter from all but the knight with the horses, who merely brushed his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes as a breeze played with its golden strands. The scarred knight poked him in the ribs, earning him a scowl of displeasure from the silent man.
"And what do you think of him, Nicholas?"
"Oui, oh mighty but sour-pussed one," Gerard laughed. "Give us your warrior's estimation." He winked at Andrew. "Nicholas here killed more of the devil's heathen in battle than any one of his company." Ignoring the continued grim look of their golden companion, he cajoled: "What chance has young Andrew, here, of making the king good knight material?"
Andrew felt his heart stir as dark cobalt eyes fixed on him. His face held no expression, yet the eyes held a world of hurt.
"None, if he is lucky," a resonant baritone of a voice softly decreed. Then without another word, he gave over his comrades' reins to the keeping of the scarred man and walked his horse towards the edge of town.
"Oh, don't mind Nicholas, Andrew", the Sir Chantel laughed. "He'll be in a better humor after he's had some ale to loosen up that smile of his."
Gerard did not look so sure. "I don't know, Victor. Our Nicholas has a lot on his mind of late. And you shouldn't have brought up the battle. Every one of his friends were killed in that."
"And we haven't seen our share of death?" Victor grunted. "It's homesickness---and probably a bit of just plain sick, yet. He's blessed to have survived at all. Those infidel prison holes I hear are worse than the fires of the Devil's kitchen."
"Don't make such jokes, Vic." his friend admonished. "If Athos hears you speak so, he'll have us both doing penance before the nearest church door!"
"Then we had better get our drinks in now, eh?" the other grinned. And saying goodbye to the angel in their midst, they left to leave their horses at the stable before entering the inn.
Andrew paid them no heed. He was much more interested in where the other knight had gone off to. Seeing that Sam was engrossed in discussing theology with Sir LeBarre and not wishing to disturb his friend's work, the vacationing Choir Angel decided to follow the lone knight.
-------------------o----------------------
"Deeeaaah...Braahh..boaa..n.."
Andrew shivered as the ghostly sound was carried to him by the wind. From his hidden vantage point as an angel invisible to mortal eyes, he could watch as his quarry stood quietly waiting beside his horse, the wind lightly tossing both hair and cloak as he looked this way and that as if expecting someone.
The ghostly sound came closer, and as it did a dark-haired woman in a flowing dress appeared.
The knight bowed in greeting as the lady glided over to him and lightly caressed his cheek.
"Sir Nicola de Brabant?" she smiled at him. "So...you decided to come back after all. Last night, you acted somewhat...offended by what I had to say."
"Last night, I did not know that Sir LeBarre, the most devout Christian, was dying."
The hand was gently but firmly removed from his face as he regarded her.
"My Lady DuCharme, I only wished someone to talk to this evening."
The dark woman sighed demurely as she half turned away, the moonlight giving her pale complexion a silvery glow. Andrew saw her cast a quick glance up to a rooftop. He looked up as well, and saw another pale figure with close-cropped hair smiling down on the couple. He gave a slight nod of... approval? And then...
Andrew blinked at where the strange man had perched. He was gone---just disappeared! How could a mortal man move so fast that even an angel had missed it?
"Talk? Why not talk about your crisis of faith with your companions then? Surely you have much more in common with them?"
Nicholas sighed heavily as she directed him to sit with her upon a low stone wall. "No. Victor and Gerard...they treat our faith as...I don't know...a joke. And Athos...well, Athos will not hear anything less than pure compliance with the Church and its teachings. Like as not, he would demand that I crawl to the nearest holy shrine on hands and knees if I told him my true thoughts." He looked shamefacedly down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs.
A slender, pale hand stilled the dueling of the two digits.
"And you, Nicola? You, a knight of God, hold neither such views? Did the battles for King and God not strengthen your religious fervor? It was a just cause, was it not?"
"No!"
The depth of feeling from the outburst nearly made Andrew jump.
De Brabant took a deep breath of the early night air; this time speaking a bit more calmly, but with a tremor in the tone.
"No. Oh, Janette, if you had seen it. So much killing---and not all, I assure you, done against the infidels. But I will not burden your tender ears with such tales of horror. Suffice it to say, that it was not what I'd expected." Blue eyes filled with tears. "How could God have wanted this? We fought so hard for Him. Died horribly for His cause---and He let..."
Laying his head upon his knees, Nicholas began to quietly sob. Janette leaned against him, rubbing his back in a consoling manner.
"You're friends all dead or dying, non?"---The golden head moved in acknowledgement---"And yet they had as strong a faith in your God as you. Nicola, perhaps your God is not worthy of your devotion. Think of it. Would you not rather live in pleasure now than wait for some possible Heaven with an untrustworthy God?"
"Janette," came a muffled protestation "You are speaking heresy again--"
"I am speaking only what has already passed through your own thoughts am I not, Sir knight?"
She rose in one fluid motion. "Tomorrow, de Brabant, I will be leaving with my father. If you wish to see me again, I will come to the inn in a few hours time and we shall share in a night of pleasure." She whispered into his ear, "Think on it, Nicola. Spend your remaining days in mourning of that which cannot be regained until you die slowly like your Athos... Or give up your silly and fruitless adherence to God's commandments and spend the nights with...me." She laid a light kiss on his uncovered ear, making him look up at her in astonishment.
"Tonight, Nicola."
With a slight smile, she glided away, as quickly and silently as she had appeared.
Knight de Brabant stayed only a few minutes more after the mysterious woman had left before he got up and mounted his horse. With a troubled look back to where he had sat with 'Lady DuCharme', the rider prepared to return from whence he had come.
An angelic-garbed Andrew secretly followed him back to the inn where Sir de Brabant inquired of the innkeeper the whereabouts of his traveling comrade-in arms, Sir Athos LeBarre.
"I'm sorry, monsieur chevalier, but your friend is in his room with his doctor. I was told not to let anyone enter, as Sir LeBarre is...well...very close to God just now, if you take my meaning."
Apparently he did. Squeezing his eyes shut, the blond knight took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, monsieur," the innkeeper commiserated. "Apparently his illness came on suddenly?"
Looking very weary, de Brabant shook his head, absently rubbing his upper right thigh as he replied, "No... He has been ill since his wounds that were gained fighting the heathen."
"Ah... Then perhaps you would care to join your friends as you wait?" The businessman pointed to one of his tables, where Gerard and Victor seemed to be involved in some kind of drinking contest.
Nicholas pursed his lips at the sight of the pair getting themselves drunk--- as if everything was all right with the world.
"No," he said-- and then admitted quietly, "I have no friends."
"But.. Sir LeBarre?"
"Is a distant relative only."
"It is a cold world to not have friends to share your sorrow, monsieur," the innkeeper noted, pouring out ale into a few tankards and smaller cups.
"It is a cold world," the knight grimly agreed, eyeing the drinks.
Seeing his hungry gaze, the innkeeper handed him a cup of ale. "Have you no family to be with then?"
Nicholas got a far-away look of longing in his blue eyes as he breathed, "A sister and my mother."
"That is all?"
Scowling into his drink, De Brabant snarled at his own warped reflection upon the liquid's dark surface that was cast by the wall scones behind him. "An uncle," he conceded with a bitter tone. "But I think he would only be disappointed to learn that I survived." Downing the drink in one gulp, Nicholas turned to the owner, his eyes bleak as he handed the man a fistful of coins from his purse.
"For a table alone and as much of your liquor as it will take me to get very drunk, or until a certain lady arrives. Whichever comes first, I do not really care."
The innkeeper pocketed the money, but did not look particularly happy to do so. "Very well, chevalier, you may have the table at the far end for the rest of the evening. But I think that you would be better served by visiting the prayer shrine just down the street. If you require anything else, just ask for me: my name is Adam."
Nicholas hesitated, then thanked the man and took another cup of ale from the bar before going to sit at his table. He steadfastly ignored Gerard and Victor's rowdy invitations to join them as he proceeded to down the liquid.
Andrew was in turmoil.
This young man needed help---good, angelic counsel---he was sure of it. And the sooner the better, too from the look of things; but as a Choir Angel of the Heavenly Host, the young angel wasn't sure how to give that kind of assistance.
"I'll go to Sam and tell him of this," he decided. "Sam will know what to do."
Making his way back to where he felt his friend was, Andrew appeared just outside of one of inn's guest rooms, where Sam was kneeling next to a gasping Sir LeBarre as he held the elder knight's hands in his own, Sam's body softly glowing with God's reflected Light. Both were praying in fervent murmurs. Just a few steps away stood another of their kind whom Andrew did not recognize.
"Sam!"
His friend didn't even turn to face him. "Not now, Andrew."
"But, Sam, its--"
Andrew found himself being quickly taken outside by the other angel.
"Listen...Andrew, isn't it?"
"Um...yes?"
"I'm sorry, but this is not a good time."
"But..." Andrew bit his lip. If Sam was acting as LeBarre's' doctor, and Athos was as ill as the innkeeper had said, then this must be the Angel of Death come to escort LeBarre to God's presence. Andrew didn't know much of things beyond the Choir, but he knew the importance of keeping a soul safe until it could reach sanctuary with the Father. Neither one of these fellow angels would be able to help de Brabant.
Maybe he could do something then?
Yes! Andrew smiled happily. He would do it! He would talk to this Nicholas. Tell him the truth about God and Heaven! Excitedly---unfortunately, too much so to stop and hear the advice of his Father---Andrew ran back into the main room of the inn.
There he was... still staring glumly off into space as he downed that awful smelling 'drink'.
"Hello, Nick," Andrew smiled cheerfully in greeting as he plopped himself down on a seat next to the knight.
'Nick' looked up at him as if he was a noisome insect that had alighted on his otherwise pristine food.
"Andrew," de Brabant acknowledged Andrew rather coolly. The knight looked around, but not spying the innkeeper anywhere nearby decided to swallow his annoyance as well as his ale. How bad could the young pup be? After all, the whelp hadn't spoken much before when that doctor had introduced him.
"I heard you talking about God with that lady earlier."
Oh, Merciful...!
Ale went spewing out of Nicholas mouth, as he started choking. Andrew helped him mop up the mess on the table with his handkerchief.
"You what?!" de Brabant hissed in a low voice, anxiously looking about to see if anyone else had heard the youngster's statement. To his relief no one appeared to be unduly interested in their table. He eyed the young Andrew even more coldly than before, wondering just what it was he wanted. What he would demand for his silence. Consorting alone with a prostitute who talked like a witch would get him excommunicated---if not burned as a witch himself. Thanks to his dear power-hungry Uncle De LeBarre's demanding that he plead guilty for foully murdering the Celtic priestess---as if he could ever have committed such a thing against his own love---Nicholas' name and honor were already under question back home. And this time, not even his uncle could persuade him to go back on Crusade in additional penance! If the treacherous dog even would. No, De LeBarre was probably happily reaping the riches of the Celts to himself to bother anymore with his nephew. But... he'd rather be condemned as a warlock than be forced to that sweltering hell spawned place again.
"Are you okay?" Andrew asked solicitously as he finished wiping up the spilled liquid. He was afraid that his having startled the man had predisposition the Crusader against him, though he couldn't figure out what he had said to have earned such a reaction. Maybe it had something to do with what Sam had called 'warrior reflexes'?
"That, de Brabant answered gravely, "rather depends on what you want from me."
"Only to introduce you to my Father," Andrew replied.
Nicholas, who had been about to swallow what remained in his cup, looked askance at Andrew. To his mortal eyes, the teenager before him appeared to be dressed in the clothing of a moderately successful trader. Not likely someone of great importance.
"You father? And what has your father to do with me?"
"He wants you as his servant," Andrew--who could think of no greater pleasure than to serve God-- enthusiastically answered him.
Nicholas tensed a bit at that information. Some trader wanted him as a servant? The De Brabants were of noble blood---granted of a minor house, but not one of the commoners. He was nobody's servant save to God and King. This whelp wished him to indenture himself to some unknown House as payment for his discretion over DuCharme? The thought rankled him. Any form of confinement--real or imagined--did after having spent nearly a year as one of the Moslems' prisoners. At first he'd thought he'd been blessed that he'd been able to slay his opponent during that last skirmish; however, the wicked point of the infidel's blade had found entry into his leg just as he'd dealt the final blow. The resultant wound had led to his capture and imprisonment until he'd been traded for one of their own. That year had been the worst in his life.
Still.... what was another year or two in exchange for his honor? He'd play the part of bodyguard to some paranoid trading mogul. At least he'd be able to go home afterwards and finally start taking care of his family. God, how he missed his sweet little sister, Fleur. How old would she be now... sixteen?
"How long would your father 'need' my services as his warrior?"
"Oh, He doesn't need them," Andrew explained proudly. "He's got an army of powerful warriors ready to do His bidding at a moment's notice."
Nicholas revised his hypothesis. Not a trader's offspring, then, but the lesser son of some feudal Lord. But why would such a well-protected and moneyed Lord want another indentured soldier if he had plenty already? Was someone preparing to go to war to enlarge his own lands?
"If he's so rich and powerful, why would he wish my servitude? My family has fallen on hard times, sir, and all I would have to offer is my own sword."
"Oh," Andrew smiled in his ignorance, not realizing that their thoughts were traveling on to separate paths, "He doesn't want anything but your full love and devotion to Himself."
The blood left Nicholas' face as his mind came to its own interpretation of that. Just the trip to the holy lands had given him an education on the many different levels of depravity that existed in the minds of men. This was unbelievable. Did the boy actually think he'd try to save his honor by giving himself over to a... to a... sodomite? It was ludicrous!
"I'm sorry." he bit out, doing his utmost to control his temper. The innkeeper had been kind to him and his companions and he didn't want to cause a disturbance here. Spotting the owner, he signaled for the man to come over. Maybe 'Adam' would escort this youth away before he 'lost it' and did something irreversible to the lad. "But, you see," Nicholas began to make his excuses, satisfied that Adam had seen his gesture, "what you speak, sir, is not possible. I have a mother and sister to take care--"
And then poor Andrew really put his foot in it.
"Oh, but the Father wants them too!'
The angel frowned as the Crusader's skin tone went from pale to deep red--with the notable exception of where the knight's fingers were gripping the table's edge. What was wrong with this human now?
"Get. Out." de Brabant snarled, seething with rage. "And if I ever see you again, or hear that you've gone anywhere near my family, I will personally see to it that you are fed to the crows in pieces so small, they'll have no trouble getting them down their gullets!"
Stunned at this totally inexplicable answer to what he had said, the naïve angel stammered out: "B-but He o-only want to love the--"
"Rrraaaaahhhh!"
In one swift motion, the well-used sword was lifted from its scabbard, the polished metal glinting in the dull light of the room. Moving quickly, 'Innkeeper' Adam snatched Andrew by the back of his tunic and pulled him away just before the crusader's heavy sword could slice into his head.
"Sir de Brabant---I beg you---hold!" the undercover angel entreated, thrusting the clueless Andrew behind him. "He's young and doubtless did not know what he was saying!"
Eyes glaring, the Crusader speared Andrew with a look of pure loathing. God--how he wanted to run the little serpent through! Just within his periphery vision he saw Gregory and Victor also draw their weapons, ready to aid him if the need arose---that or to aid this son of an infidel from their temperamental companion. All around the room men were watching, trying to make out what was happening to have illicit such a roar of outrage from the knight. If he told them they would encourage him to end the miserable youngster's life. But it was the pleading eyes and murmured prayers of the innkeeper that moved Nicholas to stand down.
Trembling with the effort to keep from finishing his attack on the 'offender', Nicholas reluctantly sheathed the broadsword. His actions had made his table the center point of attention, but right now he didn't care---he just wanted to be left alone.
"Get him away from here, monsieur." he managed to grit out. "Just keep him out of my sight."
"Of course--of course..." Adam soothed as he backed away from the irate man, Andrew firmly in tow.
When he had hauled the younger into a private room, they both changed into their true forms.
"What did you think you were doing?!" Adam's own anger exploded. "I'd ask what in God's Holy name---but it's obvious that He had nothing to do with what just happened out there!"
"I..." Andrew tried to say, but Adam wasn't done fuming yet.
"That man is my assignment. Who told you that you could mess with my assignment?"
"Um...he is?" the hapless choir singer swallowed.
Adam stared at him---then slapped his hand against his forehead. "Oh, no. You're some vacationing newbie, aren't you?" He laid both hands on the crestfallen newbie's shoulders and commanded. "Look. I've got no time to deal with you right now; I've got to get back out there and try to salvage the situation before de Brabant does something he's going to regret. Whatever you do, don't go back into human form! I--"
Andrew saw his fellow angel's eyes widen as he stared off unseeingly past his shoulder.
"Oh...no..." the caseworker groaned as he blinked out. Not knowing what else to do, Andrew followed. They reappeared at Nicholas' table, where the knight had just spied the mysterious woman 'Janette'.
(How much do you want me...?)
Amazing, Andrew thought. The ghostly voice sounded like it had been whispered, yet de Brabant seemed to have heard it clearly enough----he was getting up and following her out of the inn. They hurried after, keeping next to the crusader as he moved down the street to a building that Adam knew had access to the extensive catacombs that were under the city.
"Nicholas," Adam's spiritual form whispered into his assignment's ear. "You don't really want to go with her, do you? Come back to the inn."
The slightly drunken knight hesitated a bit at the doorway, for a moment undecided. In that moment, the smiling Janette appeared and insistently drew him inside. Eyes on hers, he did not resist.
Frustrated, Adam banged his fist against the outer wall. He felt a tug on his sleeve:
Andrew pointed inside to where a pale man with crew cut hair and rich dark clothes was smirking to himself as he silently followed after the human couple. "Excuse me, but who is that?"
"An eleven-hundred year old pain-in-the neck," Adam grimaced. "C'mon! We might as well see this thing through to the end, though now de Brabant's mortal life is all but forfeit unless the Father himself intervenes."
"What do you mean?" Andrew timorously asked. "Are those people...demons?"
"Not quite," was all Adam would answer.
Andrew didn't know what to make of that, but he didn't ask anything more. The enormity of what he had done was finally starting to sink in.