Chapter Text
The church doors slammed open, and the supposed coven leader entered.
Mikael was slightly shorter than Armand, with dark blue eyes, longer black hair.
A younger man was dragged behind them as he was strapped down to the altar table, Mikael leaning against one of the pews as if bored. A few other vampires, seemingly part of the coven as well, lingered in the shadows
“Marcus, would you be a dear and explain why our coven is allowed- permitted to conduct business in Paris?” Mikael asked, and the man in question, blond, green-eyed, stepped forward, his voice steady as he addressed the coven head.
"The city of Paris has a rich history, and has long been… tolerant of our kind."
Mikael sighed.
“We are permitted to stay here,” He tapped a finger against the pew
“Because Armand has been benevolent enough to allow it. Louis felt it, from his viewpoint in the coffin, benevolent, said with such reverence, such worship
Marcus had stiffened visibly at the coven head's words, a muscle in his jaw tensing as he replied.
"I am aware of Armand's... benevolence.” Marcus replied, seemingly bitter about that specific ordeal.
Mikael clapped his hands, seemingly pleased by the answer. Louis found the shift jarring.
“Then tell meeee,” The sound of Mikael spinning sharply on his heel as he approached the altar, his tone shifting to something icy. “Why does this one proclaim lies about us?”
The implication behind the coven head's words was clear. It was a threat, disguised by a veneer of civility. The atmosphere in the church had gone still. Mikael approached the bound man on the altar.
Marcus, meanwhile, had paled visibly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He glanced from Mikael to the bound man, an uneasy look in his eyes.
"Lies? What lies?”
“That we take children, that we break the old laws!” Mikael hissed, eyes wild, Marcus remained silent, clearly having decided against speaking up for the traitor.
Mikael seemed to think for a moment, then hopped up onto the altar, balancing on the edge as he peered down at the bound vampire.
“Tell me, why do you spread such falsehoods?” He asked the bound one directly, his tone so sweet. “Do you find children interesting?” That part was asked with barely contained disgust.
The bound vampire tensed under the coven head's cool scrutiny.
It took a moment for him to find his voice, his words hoarse and quiet, but his tone defiant.
"They are... easy targets. They are weak and defenseless. It is... simply efficient. Nothing more."
The cathedral felt chilly all of a sudden, and even Marcus seemed to regret his plea to spare the man.
The restrained was allowed to move, more so to sit up, but physically unable to get off the altar, the coven leader went around him, sitting across him on the altar, cross-legged.
He almost looked childish in that demeanor, Louis noticed, sitting expectantly, waiting for an elaboration.
"...They don’t fight back," he admitted, voice low. "They don’t understand what we are. They believe the stories, the fairy tales... so when I tell them I'm an angel..."
He hesitated.
"...They follow me willingly into the dark."
“What do you do after you lead them into the dark, mister?” The coven head's tone was so childish, jarringly so, blue eyes wide and innocent as he continued to stare, the flames in the cathedral had started to turn a purple hue
The man froze, his breath catching as the air thickened and the flames shifted to an unnatural purple, ancient magic, old blood. He swallowed hard, eyes darting to Mikael now perched so still on the alter.
"...I... feed," he whispered. "Then I..."
A shudder ran through him.
"I keep them. In a basement in the canals. They don’t age. They don’t die." His voice dropped lower, trembling now not from fear, but pride. "They sing for me at night."
Mikael leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his palm like a curious child listening to a bedtime story.
‘What do they sing?”
The bound vampire's gaze was fixed on Mikael now, terror in his eyes as the flames from the candles flickered purple.
"Hymns... old nursery rhymes... sometimes they beg for their freedom. Or their mother. They call me 'Angel, '" he murmured.
The man didn't move, mouth frozen mid-pronouncing 'Angell' Mikael had frozen him, he'd turned to address Marcus
“Put him in the metal coffin, the one that stings, after the girls castrate him.” A few female coven members seemed to squeal with glee at torturing the sick bastard.
“Chop his fingers off, keep him alive, just let him drown in the canals for a few weeks.”
Marcus had flinched, an unmistakable shudder of disgust at the coven head's instructions, but the coven members cheered. A few eagerly dragged the restrained vampire to his feet, dragging him deeper into the cathedral, presumably to the metal coffin in question.
Mikael remained seated on the altar, his gaze fixed on the now-empty space. He looked every bit as unbothered as a child playing with dolls.
He had curled up on the altar, drawing his leg to his chest as he stared into nothing. His gaze swept the room and settled on the coffin where Louis was watching. Louis realized this wasn't a morbid dream—he had actually been there, having snuck in out of curiosity when Armand had mentioned another coven in Paris; he had hidden in the coffin to watch.
The coven head's fractured mind found something else to latch onto: Louis's hiding place. He moved to stand, a small flame dancing in his palm, similar to the the one Louis had once seen Armand summon, when someone gently pulled him back, or rather held him, a palm over his eyes with a small crack so he could still see. Armand.
"He made them sing," Mikael whispered, fingers loosely grasping Armand's sleeve as if to hold onto something, any thoughts about the damn coffin a few paces in front of him forgotten..
"He made them sing."
“What was the verdict?” Armand asked calmly, his other hand gently cradling Mikael's face, as if trying to get him to focus.
“Drowning, castration first.” Came the small reply.
“Not burning?” The question came calmly.
“Drowning would be more efficient, no?” Mikael asked tentatively, his gaze shifting up to meet Armand's gaze, which had turned slightly more contemplative.
“Mikael, dearest,” his brain felt fuzzy, like it always did when Armand spoke his name so sweetly.
“What laws do we follow?”
He recited them on autopilot, for they had been drilled into him not only by Armand but also by his maker in Moscow; he would be foolish to forget them
First, each coven shall appoint a header so there is order.
Second one shall never document the history of vampires
Third one shall never reveal their nature to a human and let that human live.
Fourth, one shall not turn the maimed, elderly or children.
Fifth, no vampire shall destroy their maker, and only the coven head has the power to pass death to those who have lost their way or gone mad. Or broken any of the Old laws.
Mikael was silent for a short time, till Armand spoke again.
“And what did he do?” Came the careful prompting, another light hand on Mikael’s shoulder.
“He…he turned …he broke one, several of the laws.” Came Mikael's' small, almost broken reply, fingers slightly tightening against Armand's sleeve as a few tears fell unbidden.
Mikael had ordered the man to be brought back to the altar, coffin be dammed, his fingers now shrewdly chopped off as was the other demanded part, he was screaming, laughing hysterically, Mikael didn't care, his expression blank as if he'd just retreated into some faraway place, where this gruesome display could not reach him, eyes glazed over, Armand's presence a steady beacon.
Mikael had stood on the smaller second floor, elbows resting against the banister as he stared at the rest of the small congregation of vampires gathering, the twins laughing in glee as they'd strapped the man's own. He was mumbling something Mikael could not quite decipher.
“You broke one but several of the Old laws, Turning a child, for that crime you are sentenced to death by fire.” the coven heads voice was eerily calm yet with icy conviction.
The man had started to pray, to what, Mikael didn't know
The man had started to scream now, more vocally, cursing, in French, English, some other language Mikael could not understand.
“They sing to me.”
They called me angel.”
The words seemed to ring in Mikael's ears, loud, thrumming; it would not stop.
He felt the normal surge of power, fire, hot burning, all consuming.
Mikael heard the screaming as the altar was engulfed in flames, heard the cheers of his fellow coven members at the burn, yet it sounded distant to him, his eyes covered by Armand as if to shield him from the execution he himself had declared. It was so loud.
Make it stop
He did not register his own crying as he had just crumbled into the touch, safety, not Moscow, Paris, where he had order, where he could lead, not be subject to his maker's wishes.
The man had burned, the candles in the cathedral had lit up, all of them. As if to be silent witnesses to the enforcement of the old laws.
“Rest.” Mikael vaguely registered Armand's words in his ear, for all he could feel was the heat if the fire and the screaming, and the cheering. Will the screaming ever stop?
The coven had taken the charred remains to do God knows what with it, not that Mikael was in any state to protest, unconscious in Armand's arms, drained and out cold.
Armand had made it roughly halfway to the cathedral exit with Mikael in his arms, when Marcus reappeared.
"He cannot leave," he said firmly, voice low but unyielding.
"This is our sanctuary. He is our head! He needs to stay. The others will panic if he's gone, if they think you've taken him again like before." Marcus' words were more firm, a small scowl on his face.
Armand, as if he had done this thousands of times before, and maybe he had, he simply smiled, Mikael thought, the faint whispers of conversation tugging at his asleep state, slowly coaxing him awake, yet he wished to rest, for rest was peace.
“You are here, as your coven leader puts it, due to my permission, in my domain, you'd do well to let him rest.” Marcus wanted to scream yet he'd held his tongue.
“He will be taken care of and returned like always.” And then the soft click of Armand's boots left the cathedral, Mikael sound asleep safely in his arms. Armand wouldn't have it any other way.