If I owned Hellsing, it would have had a lot more of those crazy dreams.


Seras awoke slowly, finding herself on the cold stone floor. Sitting up, a large black cloak fell from around her body, pooling in large masses of coarse fabric around her small frame and spilling along the floor all around her like an ebony sea. A coffin's satin pillow lay on the floor she'd vacated; pale virgin white shining like a beacon in the darkness of the cloak and the grayed stone beneath. She wiped her cheek and her palm came back sticky with crimson residue. She looked in confusion at the mess before it all came back to her and she glanced up at the ceiling with a whimper. Silence reigned.

Pulling the cloak back around her shoulders and curling up beneath the heavy fabric, she looked around Alucard's room. The basement chambers were bleak and chilly as always, but the cool air wasn't what made a shiver run down the vampiress's spine.

There was none of the fighting from earlier sounding above her head. She didn't want to think about what that meant. She only wanted to crawl to her room, curl up in her coffin and wait for the sun to set; pretending it's all a dream and when she woke up that night there'd be the normal Hellsing manor waiting for her.

She knew that if she peeked above the basement floor, she'd see a bloodbath of English carnage wrought by her former master. It was even more terrifying for her because he was her former master.

Although she'd stayed by his side after taking her precious freedom, now there was no Hellsing Organization to protect her. Integra had been dead for over fifty years now, and her decaying corpse couldn't guard Seras like the woman used to when she was alive. Seras was sure that Alucard wouldn't harm her; after all, she was just another one of his countless subjects now.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? She was one of numberless vampires under his service. She could get lost in the crowd. He didn't have to think twice about her anymore; she was another face in the multitude that swore loyalty to him.

Even so, he'd never been particularly unkind to her. And besides that little offer in Badrick when she was a new vampire, he had never mentioned that he would think of her as anything less than family. After all, they shared blood. And someone had come down here and covered her up as she slept. Either he'd done it himself, or he'd thought of her and sent someone down to look after her during the battle.

Then again, maybe a passerby had snuck in and taken pity on her, curled up on the ground. And he had never breathed a word about this coup d'état against the English government. She didn't know to feel relief or sadness that he apparently had thought against confiding in her. She hated to think such a thing was the result of one of his "spur of the moment" mood shifts.

She was still sitting in place, wondering what to do next, when he walked in. She hardly recognized him; in fact, the fright of it had her scrambling back across the floor, the cloak coming around her front in a shield of sorts.

The last time she'd seen him, it was for a fraction of a second before a blood-red wave engulfed the manor. She'd screamed in terror, remembering the last time the streets had drowned in the blood of his fallen enemies and feeling that it would be the end of her. But to her surprise she'd been pulled out of the way, down through the floorboards and into his bedchambers.

The blood had pooled at the door to the sub-basement room, but she'd been safe there, inside. She'd had a moment's clarity when the cat-boy's face had grinned out at her from the darkness and then she'd been alone, shivering in the room with not even a sliver of moonlight to keep her company. She'd cried for the soldiers, because she could hear their screams of torment from the floors above. She'd finally fallen asleep, exhausted by the exertion of her own sorrow.


He stopped just inside the door, staring straight at her. She looked back at him, afraid for her life. She wasn't used to him being dressed in anything other than his red coat and hat, with the snappy suit beneath. But he was so altered now; it was like looking at a completely different man.

He wore the silver armor she'd seen in the battle for London, when he'd taken his mantle again. She found herself focusing on the minor details she'd missed before, only because there hadn't been enough time to admire them. The greaves, each part fitting perfectly in the other to allow for both ease of movement and protection, the belted leather around his waist, holding up his weapons; it was all gleaming as though it were brand new. She could see her reflection in the untarnished breastplate, even from across the room.

Something was missing, and she realized that that something was currently draped across her body. It answered one of her questions, at least. He must have come to see about her himself at some point in the night. Had he descended to his chambers to make sure she'd been saved in time; that the toxic pool of damnation and souls hadn't caught her up in its tide?

Even his face was different. Before, she'd hidden behind the relative safety of his master and teased him about sprouting facial hair in a matter of minutes. But now she looked at him more closely, wondering if the way she saw him now was truly the way he looked back when he was a human.

She could easily imagine it being so: the wild, tangled locks hanging down his back and in his face, the unshaved stubble that roughened his features; even the serious frown and the knitted brow, so unlike the charismatic and mocking smile that graced the face of the omnipotent vampire. The smile belonged to Alucard, but the frowning visage belonged only to the Prince she saw before her.

He stepped forward, metal boots clanking on the ground and echoing in the mostly empty space. She shrank further into her coverings and he paused. After a moment he reached up and pulled his bangs out of his eyes and she was hit with the full force of his vision. His eyes were more subdued than normal, the crimson more of a brownish-orange that glowed dully in his face.

"Do you fear me, Seras Victoria?" She gulped, still unable to get used to him using her full name. Especially in that accented tone. She wondered if he even knew he was doing it—he slid in and out of it so easily, she nearly bet that he didn't. She considered his question, thinking hard before answering.

"You rescued me from your own attack," she said softly, her voice unable to carry despite the echoing quality it had gained when she drank blood for the first time. "You had one of your familiars bring me down here where the blood couldn't drown me." She hesitated. "Do I need to fear you?" she asked honestly. She wasn't sure, but it seemed like the right thing to inquire about if he was going to reclaim his throne.

"I have no wish to harm you." Seras wasn't sure that answered her question, but she took what she could get. Standing up on shaky legs, she looked down at her grimy pajamas with a wince before walking over to him. The cloak trailed behind her on the floor and she spared it a glance. It was so long; it draped over her shoulders and hit the ground at her feet, as well as leaving yards of fabric behind her as well.

She pulled the heavy thing off and handed it to him, and he swung the cloak over his shoulders as though it were nothing but a handkerchief. It draped down on him as well, but he was tall enough it didn't really matter. It looked right on him. She noticed her bloodstained reflection in the breastplate and rubbed halfheartedly at her cheek before sighing and repressing a shudder. She didn't want to know if it was her own bloody tears, or the blood of someone else.

"Come closer." She glanced up to see him motioning to her, his arm spreading the cloak wide. She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry as she warily eyed the invitation. Finally she decided that she had nothing to lose and stepped into the crook of his arm, looking up at him. He arranged part of the cloak around her and then the heavy feeling of his metal-covered hand fell onto the small of her back.

He guided her out the door and through the hallway, past the empty laboratories and abandoned rooms in the sub-basement. They climbed the first set of stairs together and he stopped at the door to her room. She opened it and found her things untouched, unstained by blood and fighting. She looked around, stepping farther inside and nodded in satisfaction at the state of her treasures.

"Clean and dress yourself. Tonight, our empire will begin anew." She blinked in surprise, turning around before she could think twice.

"What am I supposed to wear?" she asked, before immediately realizing what a stupid question it was. If he thought so, he didn't tell her. He instead stepped inside her room and pulled open her armoire with his shadows. He stared at the menagerie of clothing she'd collected for herself over the years before pulling out a simple blue gown she wore to every gala ever thrown at the Organization.

"This," he answered, placing the dress in her arms before turning and leaving her alone, shutting the door firmly behind him. She stared after him, fingering the silk dress before gasping and holding it away from her filthy clothing.

She was in and out of the shower quickly, and was combing the last of the blood from her hair when she realized what he'd said. "Our empire," she whispered. She paused, her eyes growing wide, before shooting another furtive glance at the closed door. "Our?"

Considering the word, she slowly continued to comb her hair. When she was a young vampire, hearing something like that would have made her panic. But the years had granted her patience and knowledge, and she used both virtues as much as she could.

"He could have meant "our", as in all vampires," she said thoughtfully to her reflection in the mirror. "But he also could have meant us, as in our blood tie to each other. The family's reign will start anew."

"Or," she added, feeling her heart trembling in fear and wonder at the direction her thoughts were turning towards, "Or he meant "our", as in me and him." She felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Indulging in wishful thinking again, Seras?" she goaded herself.

Glancing at the clock she saw that was early afternoon. She hung the dress up neatly on the door to the bathroom and crawled inside her coffin, closing the lid. Even though she'd slept all morning, she was still tired. She closed her eyes and resolved to take a nap before finding out what he meant by "our".


She woke again, this time in the comforting darkness of her own coffin. She stretched, feeling better from the nap. She scratched the side of her face, feeling clean and ready for the night.

Then, like a freight train, the dealings of the day hit her again and her mind reeled with grief. She lay there a few moments, collecting her thoughts and wondering what she should do. Should she ask Alucard about what had happened, and why he'd done it? It was a question she could answer on her own, but coming from him would be more fulfilling. Or should she take the safer, alternate route and pretend that it never happened, that there was never a Hellsing Army that had existed before last night?

She was roused from her thoughts by a brisk knock on the lid of her coffin. She was instantly reminded of the days, long ago, when Walter would wake her up for one reason or another. The memories came flooding back with heartbreak, and she felt her chest constrict before pushing her emotions back behind a barrier in her mind and opening the lid to see who needed her, and why.

She sat up and came face to face with a middle-aged woman. Leaning back slightly, she eyed the stranger suspiciously while the woman eyed her with a scrutinizing air. The lady was dressed in the outfit of a maid in an old 1940s drama with the bunched skirts, stark white apron, and the lace-frilled cap sitting neatly over the bun that held her hair out of her face.

"Ye gettin' up?" she asked in a thick Northern accent. Seras nodded dumbly, still trying to figure out where a maid had come from out of all the carnage. The woman couldn't have been a vampire, for her eyes were the color of melted chocolate mixed with gold and hazel undertones. She moved with the slower speed of a human as well, but when she ripped open one of the blood bags and poured it into a bowl, a splash landed on the back of her hand and she licked it up without a second thought.

Seras made her way to the table and looked down at the bowl of blood, feeling her stomach curl in on itself in her hunger. She took the bowl and tipped the liquid into her mouth, ignoring the silverware set beside the bowl on a pressed napkin. The maid watched her, shaking her head and muttering something about "barbarian" before bypassing Seras and beginning to tidy up the disorganized room.

Seras drained the bowl, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand before raising her voice in a cry of protest as she saw what the maid was doing.

"Hey! Don't touch my stuff!" she shouted angrily, waving her hands at the woman. The maid stopped and spun around, hands on her hips and cheeks ruddy with exasperation. A few locks of her golden hair had come undone from the bun and floated around her plump cheeks.

"Now listen, I've got to be cleanin' this stuff up, Miss. I can't be lazing about in me bed all night like some people. There's a job to be done." Seras pursed her lips.

"Exactly what "job" are you talking about? Who are you, anyway? I haven't seen you around Hellsing before." The maid paused for the first time, looking at Seras as though she were the strange one.

"I'm your handmaid, ent I? The old one is good and gone now, and they sent me in as replacement, didn't they?" When Seras didn't reply right away, her thick eyebrows met over her nose and she wrinkled her face. "You look like you ent had no maid a'fore, standing there all befuddled."

"No, I haven't, actually. I'm not—well, what I mean is," Seras stuttered, "I've never had a need for one. I've always looked after myself." The maid's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and for a length she seemed completely dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open slightly. Then all at once she shook the shock from her gaze and dropped into a curtsy of sorts.

"Beggin' your pardon for me starin', but I ent never seen a Lady who ent had a maid a'fore," she began slowly, as if not trusting herself to speak. "And I surely ent heard of a Lady who'd rather be takin' care of 'erself." She set her jaw and her hands went back to her hips. "I can see why yer all jumbled up now, yellin' at me the way ye did."

"Who sent you?" Seras inquired, taking a vase of flowers from the maid's hands and sitting it back on the dusty shelf. "You said "they sent me"; who would that be?" She frowned. "Aluc—the King knows that I've been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember. I don't need a human looking after me." At her words, the maid looked as though she'd been slapped before forcing back her anger.

"I ent a human," she growled angrily, golden-brown eyes glimmering with barely subdued rage. "That's a downright insult, Miss, although I don't know what I did to deserve it." She huffed and began dusting off the edge of the shelf with her apron. "If Milady didn't want me around her precious dust, she o'rt of said something more."

"I didn't know you weren't a human!" Seras yelped as she was hit with the full force of the maid's furious aura. "I've never seen a vampire that didn't have red eyes before, is all." The maid looked at her again, her eyes calculating.

"How many vampires have you seen, then?" she asked, more forcefully than she had to. Seras tried to count, but ended up shrugging.

"Over the years? Lots. But they all had red eyes, unless they were FREAKs; then they had those yellowy, jaundiced eyes, of course." The maid straightened up slightly, her words taking a more curious edge.

"FREAKs? What be a FREAK? Ye say it like it t'wer a title of sorts." Seras poked at her neck.

"FREAKs. You know," she tugged down her collar and mimicked sticking a needle in her vein. "Chipped vampires. Ones who were changed by the Millennium group, not the normal way." The maid nodded slowly, her face set in a grim frown.

"I ent a freak of any sorts," she said at last. "But I was chipped. I didn't want to be, but I was. They didn't do right by me, though. At least the chip didn't." She was suddenly too busy shining the front of the armoire with the fabric of her dress to look Seras in the eye.

"Y-you? A FRE—a chipped vampire? But how? You look like a human." The maid swallowed, but obediently began to speak.

"They stole me away from me family, and put that thing into me blood. Not in the neck, mind ye; they put it in my stomach and then watched me. That man—the doctor with the strange glasses—he said that I was a failed experiment when nothing happened for a few days and they turned me a'loose. I didn't know nothin' about what I'd become." She glared at the shining armoire, her teeth grinding against each other and Seras knew she was feeling the sharpened point of fangs in her mouth.

"We ent vampires—we can go out in daylight and eat regular food, and that sort o' like. But we also ent human—we can survive on blood if we have too, and we're a better built type; takes more to hurt us, I mean." She turned to Seras, her face set in a neutral expression, but Seras could see the resentment swimming in the maid's eyes.

"The German vampires, the ones that took us in once they realized what we was; they gave us our name. Me, and the others like meself, are what vampires call "Halbferts."

"Halbferts?" Seras repeated, trying not to laugh at the silliness of the word. The maid nodded seriously, dispelling any giggles arising in her.

"It's short for Halbfertig, the German word for "semi-finished". That's what we are, ye see. We're the poor souls that got the halfway finished chip, the one in its testin' stage. We ent never going to be more than that. That's why we're given the serving positions, to the Lords and Ladies of the Courts. Maids, farmhands, stable boys, chimney sweeps….We're the lowest on the ladder."

She stopped, shaking her head as if to dispel the thought. "But ye ent needin' be worrying about it. I've been this way for the past hundred years or so—I think it was 1933 when I was captured and carted away. I'm used to the servitude, and now that I have someone as addle-brained as ye to look after, I can take peace in knowing I'll never be bored." Before Seras could protest, she continued.

"Me last place— with the Lady Dorland, rest 'er heart—oh, ye talk about withering away from boredom. She never moved, never made a mess, and never needed anything. All she wanted me to do was look nice and see to visitors. While that was plenty for a while, I needed something stimulating to do." She looked Seras over and smiled. "The first thing I'll be doing is gettin' you into your outfit for the night. We Halbferts don't attend the ceremonies unless it's with our employers, but ye better be getting a move on. Ye can't miss this ceremony."

"But-but you've never told me your name yet!" The maid paused, both hands full of the sapphire gown.

"Why'd ye be knowin' me name for?" she asked, before shaking her head again in a more pitying fashion. "Ye ent had a maid, I have to try and remember. Pardon me if I'm short-tempered with ye; I can't stand stupid people and I've never seen one so sheltered as ye, that ye never even had a maid nor knew what it was for."

"I want to call you by name. What am I supposed to call you, servant? Halfbert or Halbfort or whatever?"

"Halbfert," the maid said sharply. "At least get that'n right, Miss. And yes, most of the gentry don't care enough to call us much more than "servant" or "you", at best times. But if you insist—after all, who'm I to deny the King's own blood?—me name is Ailsa. Ailsa Bronsworth."

"Ailsa," Seras tried. She liked it. It fitted the woman; short, snappy, but with a rough sort of gentleness that washed over the whole thing. "It's a very pretty name. I'd much rather use that then "servant", you know."

"As you like, Miss," she replied absently, working the skirts on the gown in order to make it easier to get into. "I take it ye can undress yerself, so go ahead and get the pajamas off with."


Afterword: Well, Seras is in a predicament. What to do?

I dunno. Don't ask me. But what you can ask me is other questions!
I need Qs for a Q&A set of videos that I'm doing as my part of my web team's individual projects. Please read more about it on my profile page; please send in your questions! Thanks!