a/n: OH MAN, NO-MAN'S LAND. First Hellsing/Fable crossover? Hell yea. Because I'm awesome like that. Or fail. The jury's still out on that one.
a/n #2: I'm going to be playing with a story within a story sort of format, so a few chapters will be like this(past and present reflections, to make things move a bit faster) while others will be in either one or the other and focusing on a specific scene(s). Something different from how I usually roll, so I thought, why not?
Full Summary: Before he was Reaver, Pirate King and Industrialist, he was a man searching for himself. What he found is the deviant we know, but how did he get there? A journey into the darkest part of the known world, where time moves sluggishly and the wilds are far more feral then Albion, he meets the creature that will show him the way. Dracula, Voivode of Wallachia, King of Vampires, teaches the young Prince of Thieves what it means to be above mortality.
a/n #3: I'm going to be hack and slashing time lines to suit my needs, though it doesn't matter too much, since Fable doesn't have a defined date(s) anyway. This will predominately be pre-Alucard, but illusions will be made to his defeat and subsequent servitude to Hellsing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing or Fable; I'm just mashing the two together for my own twisted amusement.
this: present
this: past
Chapter 1: First Impressions
Summary: Reaver remembers what it was like meeting with Alucard the first time, when the vampire was still his own master, and the man that would become Reaver had yet to come into his own.
The first time they'd met, he'd been an ageless king on a decaying throne, overseeing a kingdom drenched in the blood of countless innocents and enemies alike. A ruthless tyrant with eyes that beheld the secrets of Hell, and a soul that hungered for more. The memory of that first encounter still sent a shiver down Reaver's spine, the way those crimson eyes had looked past what was presented to the very core of his being…
The trek that led him to the kingdom he had sought for years had not been an easy one. Mountain ranges and boundless forests, untamed wildernesses that had defied his very humanity with a harshness that was both humbling and infuriating. Creatures the likes of which he had never seen, even in his darkest imaginings, had lingered in every shadow, watching him, looking down on him in the way of creatures who knew nothing of humanity, and didn't care. His guides had fallen, his horses slain one by one, but still he pressed on, determination taking up residence in his mind like a fever. And then, as if the endless hardships had all been a lie, he found himself stumbling into a village with the first rays of dawn.
The village he could still recall with startling clarity was no more, he knew, much as all the other's of it's ilk he'd watched rise and fall. It, along with it's kingdom, had fallen to the hands of time, neglect, and a superstition that wasn't as complete bollocks as most assumed it was. It's corpse still lingered, still cast the country with a shadow that was like the most stubborn of stains in fine silk. Monsters still lingered true, in greater numbers than those of the less time-warped areas, but the devil that had presided over them was long gone.
The village, though small, was large by the standards of this forgotten place in time. The people pale and mistrusting, doubly so towards strangers. He knew his appearance didn't help matters, filthy and woebegone as he was. Once fine garments torn and stained with blood, mud, and god knew what else, hair and beard unkempt and tangled. Word had spread quickly of the wild man that had appeared from the depths of the trees that bordered their home; a place that only the bravest of hunters dared to walk, and only the most foolish dared to walk at night.
It had been centuries since he'd first heard that language, so unlike his own, and yet still it lingered in the back of his mind, waiting to dredge up nostalgia at any given moment. It had taken him longer than he would have liked to learn it properly, most of his base knowledge gathered from guides muttering prayers and curses under their breath. From the ladies at the bar that doubled as an inn he learned the formalities, his 'pleases' and 'thank yous'. From the men he learned little, too suspicious of him to offer much more than hurried greetings. That had changed when he'd made his reason for being there clear.
Hurried whispers and gestures of protection followed him everywhere he turned. Most feared for both his sanity, and his life, while others cursed him as a damned thing. Unease snaked it's way through his gut, and not for the first time he would wonder if they knew, knew what he'd done, what he'd become. He feared them, these people, so behind his own culture, and still somehow so far ahead because of this. They could see through him in a way his own people could not, could see the hollowed out man he had become, the humanity he had sold for his own greed, his own fear.
The name he'd given had meant nothing, to him, to them. Even if it was only a gut feeling, a paranoia, it was true: They could see through him, just as he in turn was transparent. He had been lost then, searching for something he couldn't quite put a name to. The only goal in his mind then: find the fabled No Life King.
Despite the words of warning, and the sinister tales, he found himself on the desolate road to the castle that loomed over the valley. The setting sun sent it's shadow down from the cliffs to reach out and engulf him. The trees lining the path whispered with the passing of things he couldn't see. Had it not been for restlessness and a sudden reckless urge, he would have passed the darkness of night safely away at the inn he'd spent the last few days in. Instead, he found himself surrounded in the dead of night by a handful of men at the castle entrance.
Even then, the signs of a failing kingdom were all around him, but it did little to deter him. In actuality, he'd taken it not as a failing, but a show of strength, that a single man could rule with such a puny force of the time, he'd believed he'd made his way into the inner sanctum with his good looks and charm. Later, he would learn he was being pretentious.
The inside of the castle was no less eerie, the extravagant tapestries and decadent décor accented with dust, spider webs hanging amidst the brackets of the sconces lining the corridors. At the center of the castle the throne room, lit just enough to bath it in shadows that moved as if of their own accord. At that time, the room itself was lost on him, the only thing his eyes could see the man lounging before him, hair wild and eyes on fire.
Although the King's appearance, like his own, had changed vastly over the years, Reaver would always have that image of him locked away, stuck just as firmly now as it had been from the start. Epitome of the warrior king, from the armor plating glinting beneath the crimson cloak, to the elegant sword at his side, bemused smirk more predatory then that of a balverine.
He introduced himself as best he could, threw in as much flattery as his limited vocabulary allowed, then waited. The king watched him in silence, burning gaze never faltering from him for an instant. He was determined not to back down, despite the overpowering feeling demanding he run. He'd fought his way across countless continents, just for this audience, and he'd be damned if he went away empty handed.
And he hadn't. After what had felt like an eternity, the king had spoken, smooth tone putting his own accented one to shame. Somehow he'd passed whatever unspoken test had been given, the rules of which he still to this day did not know. He'd been given a place to sleep and food to eat, even a babysitter disguised as a means to educate him in their tongue. Two seasons passed, winter coming down on them with a fury only the mountains could harbor. It was after that first snow fall that things changed.
During his stay, he'd seen little of the King, a passing greeting here and there but little more. By night he'd been confined to the castle, by day he kept company in the courtyard, disturbed by how desolate the stone palace was in the light. The first blizzard of the season hit, blocking out the sun and forcing him inside. By sunset the sky had cleared, and he found himself no longer alone.
To say he'd been startled by the man's appearance would have been an understatement, for as loath as he was to admit it, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin. Every candle he'd lit had gone out with a whoosh, leaving only a puny fire in the hearth and the light of the moon to see by. The hairs on the back of his neck had snapped to attention, and he'd turned to find the King standing before him, eyes a glow.
A hunting expedition, he'd been informed, to earn his keep if he wished to remain through the winter. He'd agreed readily, despite the feeling that there was more to it than what was being let on. The castle had been deserted, the soldiers off who knew where, leaving only him and the Master of the house. They rode out into the wilderness in silence, the eerie quite of the forest lending the journey an air of foreboding.
What do you guys think? Anyone interested in the possibilities of Reaver and Alucard existing in the same universe? I know I am.
'Til I reappear again!
deadpan_riot