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Louis De Pointe Du Lac found himself staring out the window, thinking about the way that he felt much like the old folktale of Rapunzel.
He was locked in a tower all alone. Or, well, he wasn’t exactly locked. He could, technically, leave whenever he wanted to leave. And he did, from time to time. But he did not want to leave, not really. Even as trapped as he felt, he did not want to leave. Because it was easier in the tower. Because it was safer in the tower. Because he didn’t have to confront his feelings in the tower. Because he didn’t have to worry about anything changing in the tower. Because the consistent pain of the tower was better than the unknown pain of the outside world. The tower was a prison of his own making, really, but it was a prison nonetheless.
Louis was locked in a tower all alone. Or, well, he wasn’t exactly in a tower, either. It was a skyscraper. The penthouse of a skyscraper. Right in the centre of Dubai, the hub of everything. It wasn’t as though Louis was trapped in a stone tower full of dust and dirt and grime. He had staff. He had windows that protected him from the sun. He had rare and expensive art pieces. He had everything he could ever want. He had nothing he truly needed. It wasn’t as though he was poor. He had paid for this tower. He had designed this tower. He had furnished this tower. This tower that wasn’t really a tower at all. He had chosen this. He had chosen this tower, this prison, because it was what he deserved.
He was locked in a tower all alone. Or, well, not exactly alone. Armand was there with him. Not that Armand was much better than being alone, these days. He had the staff, as well. But the staff were nothing more than blips in his day. He was certain that Armand had told them to leave him alone, unless called for. But Armand barely spoke to him, either. They said that they were in love. They said that they were devoted to one another. They said that they were meant to be. They said that they were committed to one another. They said that they were the love of each other’s lives. And yet, Louis felt alone, even if he technically was not, in this massive tower which was not technically a tower.
Either way, Louis felt as though he was locked in a tower all alone. He might as well have been.
He felt like Rapunzel. He felt trapped. He felt alone. Even if he wasn’t, from a literal point of view. He was not Rapunzel, he was Louis de Pointe Du Lac. He did not have long hair, he was not cursed, he was not named after a damned kind of lettuce. He was not trapped, he was free. He was not held here by anyone’s will but his own. He was not alone, he was surrounded by staff and meals and Armand. He was not exiled, or shunned, or ignored by anyone but himself. Louis knew that, he did. And yet, he could not shake the feeling. The feeling that he was just a princess, locked in a tower. The feeling that he was just a princess, trapped by some other means than his own. The feeling that he was just a princess, hidden away and alone and not allowed to speak to anyone at all.
Even if Louis was trapped, it was his own doing.
He was trapped in the mediocre life that he had chosen for himself. Because that was the truth of it. He was not placed here, as a child, like Rapunzel had been. He was not stolen away, and forced into the tower, like Rapunzel had been. He was not trapped by a lack of stairs, guarded by dragons or thorns or magic, like Rapunzel had been. Louis had walked himself into the tower. Louis had accepted the prison with open arms. Louis had watched as the stairs disappeared, and he had smiled to himself. He was not the victim that his heart said he was, he knew this. He had made as many mistakes as any other person. He had made as many decisions as any other person. He had made as many choices as any other person. And he had made this prison, with his own hands, his own heart. This was a prison that he had made, and yet he did not feel any less trapped.
After all, Louis had chosen this. He had chosen the tower. He had chosen the loneliness. He had chosen the prison.
In Paris, he had chosen this. In Romania, he had chosen this. In New Orleans, he had chosen this. This was a culmination of Louis’ choices. His choices had led to Dubai. His choices had led to Claudia’s death. His choices had led to Lestat being gone. It was all his choice. He had caused this, as much as anyone else had. More than anyone else had, really. The truth was, it was Louis’ choices that had caused this to happen. It was his choices that had placed him in this tower. It was his choices that had trapped him here. It was his choices that had left him alone. Louis could not deny this. He felt trapped, yes, but he was the one who had done the trapping.
Louis was trapped. Louis was trapped like Rapunzel, up in his tower. Louis was trapped until his prince came and freed him.
His prince arrived. He wasn’t actually a prince, of course. No one would ever call Daniel Molloy a prince. They would call him plenty of things, of course. They had called him plenty of things. Louis had ripped every name anyone had ever called Daniel, without even trying. They called him loud. They called him rude. They called him brash. They called him terrible. They called him spiteful. They called him cruel. They called him selfish. They called him every negative adjective in the dictionary, Louis was certain. But no one had ever, in the history of Daniel’s life, called him princely. Until Louis, at least. And yet, looking at Daniel now, he knew that that was what Daniel was. His darling prince. His knight in shining armour. His Daniel.
His prince arrived. He hadn’t just arrived out of chance, or anything. Louis had invited him. He had invited him, and Armand had acquiesced. Or, that wasn’t right. Louis had asked Armand if it seemed like a good idea, and Louis had agreed. Or- or something like that. They had both agreed on it. They had both said that it was a good idea for Louis to talk to someone. And Daniel understood. He knew that vampires existed. He had met Louis before. He had heard part of Louis’ story before. So, he was invited to the tower. No. He had been invited to the penthouse. And he had accepted. And now Daniel was here, interviewing Louis. And all Louis could think was that his prince had come to rescue him from the tower.
His prince arrived. He hadn’t even meant for Daniel to save him, like he had. Him inviting Daniel Molloy had not been some sort of cry for help, or anything. He had truly just wanted to tell his story. He had. Perhaps subconsciously, he had wanted Daniel to do this. Perhaps subconsciously, he had wanted Daniel to come in and ruin everything like he always did. Perhaps subconsciously, he had wanted Daniel to free him from this tower. But it wasn’t as though Louis saw Daniel as an exit to freedom. He simply saw Daniel as someone to share his story, before it was too late. Someone who saw him for what he was. But the more that Louis looked at Daniel, across the dining table, the more Louis saw a prince.
Daniel Molloy may not have talked like a prince, nor acted like a prince, nor looked like a prince.
He certainly wasn’t what people thought of, when they thought of a prince. Even when Louis had first met him, Daniel was not a prince. He was a druggie. He was a slut. He was a kid. He was a stray dog. He was a street rat. And then Daniel grew up. He was an ex addict, instead of an active one. He was a cynic. He was a cranky old man. He was a spoiled dog, rather than a starving one. He was a man who didn’t know when the hell to shut up, even now. He was old and greying and nothing like the animated hunk in tights and a tunic that the world had popularised as what a prince was. He was diseased and shaking and dying. Louis doubted that Daniel could even hold a sword, let alone use one. Louis doubted that Daniel could climb onto a horse, let alone ride one. Louis doubted that Daniel could face a dragon, let alone slay one. He was nothing like any sort of prince that Louis had ever heard of.
But Daniel was Louis’ prince nonetheless.
He did not need to slay a dragon, in order to save Louis. Daniel only needed to get Louis out of the tower. No, Daniel did not need to face a dragon, let alone slay one. He did not need to ride a horse, in order to save Louis. Daniel only needed to untrap Louis from the prison of his own devising. No, Daniel did not need to climb onto a horse, let alone ride one. He did not need to wield a sword, in order to save Louis. Daniel only needed to rescue Louis from his loneliness. No, Daniel did not need to lift a sword, let alone wield one. What Daniel wielded was far more powerful, in this instance. What Daniel wielded was far more useful, in this instance. What Daniel wielded was far more princely, in this instance.
Daniel Molloy was going to save Louis from this tower, and that was enough to make him Louis’ prince.
He was sure that even in any iteration of Rapunzel’s story, none of the prince’s had ever wielded their mind as a weapon. He was sure that even in any iteration of Rapunzel’s story, none of the prince’s had ever wielded journalistic integrity as a weapon. He was sure that even in any iteration of Rapunzel’s story, none of the prince’s had ever wielded the truth as a weapon. And certainly, none of them had ever wielded an over seventy year old script as a weapon. But it was that script that freed Louis. But it was that script that opened up the doors of the prison in Louis’ mind. But it was that script that had let Louis leave his tower, after all these years. Louis was out. Louis was gone. Louis was free.
Louis was free, because of Daniel.
He was free. Free from his tower. Free from the skyscraper. Free from Dubai. It was like the walls of the tower had come crumbling down, even when the penthouse hadn’t changed except for an Armand sized dent in the wall. It was like the locks on the cell doors had broken off, when really there had been no locks and Louis was strong enough to simply break them if there had been. It was like the spells holding him in had disappeared, despite no such spells ever being cast on Louis. It was like his prince had slain the dragon, even when Daniel hadn’t slain much at all, and he wasn’t even really Louis’ either. It was like the fairytale that had been holding him tight had released him, when he was the one who had wrapped himself up in this story to begin with. It was like, well, it was like a breath of fresh air. It was like his chains fell away. It was like he could see the sun again. It was like all the darkness of life had fallen away and now- And now he was free.
He was free. Free from his witch. Free from his darkness. Free from Armand. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Armand was at the centre of all of this, more than Louis had known. Armand was at the heart of all of this, more than Louis had ever thought would be possible. Armand was the cause of all of this, in his own way. And Louis couldn’t even be sure if that was true. Maybe Armand had done even more. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know because Armand had used the mind gift on him. He had admitted to the one time, but how could Louis know if he had done it any more? He couldn’t. Which meant that he couldn’t trust Armand. Or himself. He couldn’t trust his own memories, because of Armand. And Claudia was gone, because of Armand. And Louis had been trapped in that tower, because of Armand. But now he was no longer trapped. Now he was free.
He was free. Free from his thoughts. Free from the self hatred. Free from himself. It was like the darkness lifted, when he learned what really had happened. It was like the darkness lifted, when he had someone to blame that wasn’t himself or dead. It was like the darkness lifted, when he had a reason for all the anger he had been harbouring for Armand, all these years. The things that hadn’t made any sense now suddenly did. The parts of himself that had felt so conflicted suddenly didn’t. The problems that he had had with his memory now had an explanation. And it made wanting to leave so much easier. And it made wanting to run so much easier. And it made wanting to be free so much easier. So, he got angry. So, threw Armand into a wall. So, he left. And now he was free.
Louis was free, no matter what that meant.
He was free, and that was enough. For the first time in longer than Louis could even imagine, he was free. There was nothing weighing him down. There was nothing locking him in a tower. There was nothing stopping him. It was just him, fueled by anger and newfound energy for the first time in a long while. It was just him, free and unfettered, for the first time in maybe ever. It was just him, embracing the loneliness and the betrayal and the heat simmering deep inside of him, for the first time in a long while. It was just Louis, but he didn’t feel alone. He was no longer surrounded by servants, and yet he felt less alone than he did then. He was no longer surrounded by Armand, and yet he felt less alone than he did then. He was no longer surrounded by anyone, and yet he felt less alone than he ever had. Because Louis was alone. Because Louis was hopeful. Because Louis was free. He was free. He was free. He was free.
He was free from the story of Rapunzel. No more towers. No more locks. No more loneliness. No more witches. No more stories. He wasn’t a trapped princess. He wasn’t a victim in his own story. He wasn’t a baby, stolen away from his family. He wasn’t cursed or kidnapped. He wasn’t a young girl who knew nothing but her tower. He was Louis. He was a black man. He was a creole man. He was a gay man. He was a vampire. He was a hundred and forty five years old. He was a father and a brother and a son. He was a killer. He was a lover. He was a broken man. He was a sad man. He was a healing man. He was a tapestry of all the choices he had made in his life. He was Louis de Pointe du Lac. And he was free. He was free. He was free. He was free.
He was free, and that was the point. It didn’t matter what he was free from. Free from anything. Free from everything. Free from nothing. He was free. Free from the tower. Free from the story. Free from the loneliness. He was free. Free from the monster that was memory. Free from the darkness that was his thoughts. Free from the liar that was Armand. He was free. That was all Louis cared about. It didn’t matter what he was free from. It didn’t matter why he was free. It didn’t matter what happened once he was free. The important part was that Louis was free. He was free. He was free. He was free.
Louis was free, whatever the cost.
He was free, even if it left Armand thrown against the wall, tossed aside like garbage Louis did not even bother to put into a trash can. It was maybe a disservice to their relationship. But at the same time, Louis didn’t care. He had killed Claudia. He was probably going to let Louis die too. And when Louis thought that he hadn’t been complicit in it, when he thought that Armand had saved Louis and had tried to save Claudia and hadn’t helped orchestrate the whole thing, Armand hadn’t corrected him. He had just let Louis believe that. He had just let Louis love his sister’s killer. And he had erased his memories. Changed his mind. Trapped him in that tower as much as Louis had. So, even if he had hurt Armand, Louis didn’t care. Because Louis was free. Louis was free and that was what mattered.
He was free, even if it left Daniel in the tower with an angry vampire. Louis had told Armand not to hurt him, of course. But he knew, deep down, he knew, that that wasn’t as much protection as it could have been. He could have waited for Daniel to leave before he did. He could have escorted his prince out of the tower, as thanks for saving him. He could have hurt Armand further, to make sure that he didn’t have any energy left in him to hurt Daniel, too. But he didn’t. Because Louis wasn’t thinking about anything but leaving, in that moment. Because Louis didn’t care about anything but himself, as he left. Because Louis was free, and that was the important thing. Louis was free and that was what mattered.
He was free, even if he left Claudia’s journals behind. And Paul’s painting. And all of his belongings. It should have bothered Louis to leave those behind. It should have bothered Louis to leave everything behind. It should have hurt Louis to leave at all. He knew that. He knew it should have hurt. He knew it should have felt worse than it did. He should have felt worse about that. He should have felt worse about leaving behind what little he had left of his siblings and his old life and Claudia. He should have felt worse about leaving with nothing but the clothes on his back. But Louis didn’t. He couldn’t find it inside of himself to care. Because Louis was free. Louis was free and that was what mattered.
Louis was free to go to New Orleans.