Disclaimer: As always, the characters, premise and locations are all property of Stephen Somers, but the vision is mine.
A/N: I didn't want to deal with this topic in "Laeva Dei", but with a bit of prodding I finally got up the courage and inspiration to write this bit. Prequel to "Laeva Dei". WARNING – this is extremely angsty, and there are some heavily religious themes toward the end.
LACHRYMAE
He didn't stop weeping for hours, though his sobs quickly quieted. Loathe as he was to lay down his sorrowful burden, there were things that had to be done. He could do no more for the dead – he had to tend the living. The thought came from God knew where, out of the shadows in his mind where his memory had been, and for a brief time he hated it. It warred with his grief, and for many moments he was frozen, cradling the woman he had killed. She had claimed his heart, her vibrant presence sparking his shielded, battered soul, and he loved her.
But duty won out over grief, and for a moment he took shelter in its implacable nature, wrapping it around himself to protect his spirit from grief. It was a cold balm, an impersonal shield which blocked healing, but he could not care.
Van Helsing set her down, carefully, and it hurt his heart. He gently wiped the blood from her lip before closing her eyes. All the while, tears tracked silently down his cheeks.
He found he could do no more then – will and desire deserted him, leaving him only with tears. He closed his eyes, and found that it helped, if only for a moment. Enough so that he could turn and face the flames whose heat crackled warningly at his back. Enough so that he could face his friend.
Carl stared past him, his gaze blanking on Gabriel's presence, horrified eyes fixed on Anna. He did not yet have enough belief for tears. That would come in time. Gabriel took a step forward, and the friar flinched away, turning his head and refusing to look at the hunter. It was a much-deserved blow, and Gabriel sucked in a silent breath, pain twisting his heart, till he was sure that the break was beyond mending.
The friar couldn't have heard him, for he made no sound, but Carl seemed to collect himself then, squaring his shoulder and turning back toward the hunter. "We need to find a way out of here," he said bravely. But his voice was low and roughened with grief, and he would not meet Gabriel's eyes.
The castle was burning around them, but there was little for the fires to consume, in this palace of stone and ice. The glacial prison was beating the flames, for even now the heat was leeching out to nowhere. The stench of burnt meat, from the charred corpses of dwergi, floated through the smoky air.
They found that they were the only living beings in what had once been Dracula's inner sanctum. He had said it, in the time before victory and defeat blurred into one - Everything bitten by him or created by him will also die. And on Dracula's death, they had. The brides and dwergi were nothing but the memory of living abominations, the demonic children of that creature reduced to an averted threat.
Gabriel left Carl with Anna, then, and departed the tower to search the rest of the icy fortress. He was plunged into darkness as the light from the fires died away. Locked in sorrowful silence, he prowled the halls of the castle, searching for anything that might aid them. It was when he heard the first noises, shuffling footsteps, that he realized that he was unarmed. Casting about for any weapon, Van Helsing spied a broken beam of wood, an unwieldy club, in a pile of cast-off debris from the workroom. With only a whisper of sound, he dislodged the item and crouched in the shadows, lying in wait for whatever manner of creature that was hobbling ever closer.
It rounded the corner, and Gabriel was only just able to check his swing. The shadow was too tall to be dwergi . . . his makeshift mace halted a mere half-inch from the face of the Frankenstein monster. Gasping, the hunter dropped the weapon and stepped back, realizing at the moment that the unusual sense which warned him of evil had been disturbingly quiescent since the death of Dracula. With that knowledge came a feeling of certainty that he, Carl, and the Frankenstein were the only living beings in the castle.
The Frankenstein monster, battered and staggering from the fight with the bride, looked no better off than he. Gabriel did not notice how his friend's concerned eyes looked him over, noting the exhaustion and ashen tinge to his features. The hunter could only feel relief that his body had not betrayed him, and he had not harmed his friend.
"Come on," the hunter said gruffly. He led the other back to the tower, but could not bear to stay and witness his friend's reaction to Anna's death. He turned once more to duty and motion, hiding his grief.
In the remainder of his wanderings of the castle, the only thing the hunter could find was his own leather coat. After thorough scouring, searching for any other abominations within the thick stone walls, Van Helsing discovered nothing but the bodies of dwergi, and the decomposing entrails of Dracula's offspring. Aside from the main entrance, he could detect no other way out of the prison. He returned with the coat to where Carl and the Frankenstein waited, sitting with Anna.
It had been hours now, and her flesh had cooled. Carl was holding her hand, gently, tears falling from his eyes as words fell from his mouth, words of friendship, loss and sorrow. The Frankenstein was standing over the two, a grotesque guardian adding his own quiet words to the friar's litany. Gabriel cleared his throat, loathe to overhear more.
Carl started, and glanced upward. His surprise on seeing the hunter made Gabriel aware, for the first time, of his own state. He was streaked with sweat and the blood of healed injuries, ash from the dead creatures and dying castle smearing his skin. He was decently covered, but only just, by the tattered remnants of his clothes. On seeing him, the Frankenstein did not avert his gaze, keeping his silence.
But that was of no concern.
"The only way out is the way we came in," he reported wearily, forcing the strain and sorrow to the farthest corner of his heart.
Carl nodded quietly. "I was thinking," he said, just as softly. "It is possible, with Dracula's death, that the bindings on this place have fallen away."
Gabriel nodded. They would try the doorway, then. The Frankenstein moved to carry Anna, gently cradling her body. Gabriel was too tired to feel surprise at the action. The journey outside was long and arduous, and silent as the grave. They could not find it in themselves to speak to one another, and so Carl carried the torch, lighting the way, while the Frankenstein followed with Anna. Gabriel brought up the rear.
The snow was burning cold underfoot, and the tears on his face froze to ice as the hunter ushered his friends from the confines of the dark, decrepit castle. Carl scurried ahead, moving toward the icy mirror that gated the way back to the world of the living. The Frankenstein moved slowly, hindered by his injuries and care for his sorrowful burden. Van Helsing followed, and within moments they were standing before the cold, flat surface.
Carl stuck a hand out, and his hand fetched up against the ice with a hollow banging sound. He swore tonelessly, shaking his stinging fingers, and the Frankenstein ground to a halt. Gabriel frowned at the doorway.
They were beyond exhaustion, after hours of battling and mourning. The Frankenstein's confusion was evident – but he had earlier admitted to having no idea, and no memory, of his journey to the castle. Insofar as they knew, the door was the only way to leave this dreaded place.
"In the name of God," the hunter almost pleaded, stretching out his hand to the ice. The ring on his finger flashed, catching the light of the torch. "Open this door."
His fingers sank into the surface, and he could feel the peculiar, vaguely familiar, sucking sensation of the gate and the warmth of the living world beyond. The door had been closed, but it was somehow open now. "Go," he urged Carl, not knowing how long the door would remain ajar. The friar gave him an anxious glance before plunging through the door. "It won't harm you," Gabriel told the Frankenstein, who was staring in shock. "Go."
The other checked his uncertainty, and a determined look crossed his face. He stepped forward, shielding his burden with his body as he pushed a way through. When he was certain the others were completely beyond, the hunter followed the hand that he had kept stretched into the portal, holding the door open.
The absence of cold sent him to his knees on the other side, blinded by the warm light of the Valerious castle. Carl and the Frankenstein had continued on with their burden, but the friar whirled at the sound. Gabriel pushed himself hastily back to his feet, before the other could make a decision either way. He was not surprised when Carl immediately turned back to the Frankenstein, and Anna. He would give his friends space to grieve.
So when they brought Anna to her rooms, to lay her on her bed and properly shroud her, he went in a different direction. Finding the place he had so briefly slept the previous night, he opened his bag and found an extra set of clothing. After quickly washing in a chilled basin, the hunter discarded the rags he had been wearing for proper clothing. The warmth was finally settling into his flesh, and he began to shiver.
He opened his eyes with no memory of having closed them, to find that he had slumped backward on the bed, claimed by unconsciousness without warning. Looking blearily around, he found that the faintest rays of early morning dawn were lighting the room. Someone had been there while he was asleep – Carl's bag was gone, and his own had been moved. The hunter shivered, briefly thankful for the horrifying nightmares that had pushed him from rest.
Sometime during the night his tears had run dry, leaving him feeling fragile and hollow inside. Though he stood and washed his face, he could not wipe the feeling away. Instead, he took to prowling the halls in search of the two men he prayed were still his friends.
He found Carl and the Frankenstein in the tower, surrounded by light and books. The two were quietly speaking, but they fell silent as he walked in. Unaffected by the sudden pause, Van Helsing continued on, stopping before them. The silence stretched on, until Carl began, awkwardly, to speak.
"I had thought to give Anna's body to the villagers, to bury with her family," he said.
Gabriel felt his heart stutter with grief, but he hid the pain, shaking his head. "No." His voice was just as soft as the friar's.
"What would you do, then?" Carl worked to keep the accusation from his tone, but they could all feel it in the words.
"The bodies of her father and brother are not here," Gabriel began with difficulty. "She gave her life for their souls. We should bring her to the sea." It was what she wanted. The words rang, unspoken, between them.
"Then how are we to get there?" Carl asked darkly, rubbing tired eyes. "You're the most wanted man in Europe. Do you think that we can expect to carry the body of their princess past the people of Transylvania in daylight? Or do you intend to sneak by them? Either way, they will think -" That you murdered her. Carl bit the words off, before they could become something he would regret, but they hung in the air regardless.
Gabriel's face froze, and he could not speak.
The Frankenstein watched them, before unexpectedly adding his voice to the argument. "If she wanted to go to the sea, that is where we will take her," he rumbled softly. "The villagers will not stop us." Again, the hunter was surprised by the strange friendship that had sprung up between the monster and the princess.
Carl seemed to deflate with the Frankenstein's words, and he nodded his assent. "We should leave as soon as possible, then," he murmured. They understood his meaning well, and each moved to make their preparations.
It took surprisingly little time.
The friar's horse was hitched to a bier, upon which Anna's body was gently placed. While the hunter had been lost to unconsciousness, it seemed that Carl had attended to his friend; she had been bathed, and clothed in a dark dress that accentuated her ethereal beauty. Unlike the garish colors Dracula had dressed her in, this garment had been Anna's, and her mother's before her. It was a deep blue and black velvet, long and stately, far from the rough-and-tumble, ever-ready woman they had known. Prepared for her final journey, the princess had become a queen.
The second horse had been loaded with their few meager belongings and weapons. Leading the two beasts, Carl and Gabriel led the way. The Frankenstein kept well out of sight between the two animals as they made their way into the town.
There were few people in the streets, and as they saw those journeying from the castle, they fled into the safety of their homes, hiding behind barred doors. To their surprise, the group was able to make their way through the town unmolested. They had nearly crossed beyond the far shadow of the homes, when a woman approached them. She was familiar to Carl, at the very least, from the friar's sudden expression. But she paid them little mind once their burden came into view.
"What – what happn'd?" she asked thickly, her eyes riveted to the serene countenance of the princess.
Carl's face went strangely blank at that, but in a moment he answered her. "The Princess Anna was killed by a creature of darkness," he told her. Gabriel closed his eyes. "But she saved her family. Your people are freed – tell them, after we are gone, that Dracula is dead, and his brides."
Hope and sorrow blazed in her eyes, and she nodded, stepping out of their way. Her gaze followed them as they left the village and entered the wilderness, until the three strange men disappeared from her sight, never to return.
That night they stopped long after the moon had risen, in concession to the horses' weariness rather than their own. In the woods of the Carpathian Mountains, Carl unhitched the bier while the Frankenstein stood guardedly nearby, and Gabriel tended to the horses. The watches were set in silence, and Carl curled in his blankets on the ground next to the bier. The Frankenstein stood watch, but the hunter could not sleep.
Instead, he listened to the halting, wondrous words of the being at his side, who gazed intently into the night. The Frankenstein related, quietly marveling, the story of the fight between Anna and the bride. The hunter smiled to hear the tale. The monster and the princess, mismatched as they appeared, had formed a friendship during their journey to this moment, where one mourned the other's death. It had crystallized into a single flash of expression almost beyond articulation. Anna's words of thanks the Frankenstein held dear; for the first time in his life, the creature had found acceptance and gratitude in the world of men, and he treasured the gift. His joy was equaled only by his shame at allowing the bride to escape him, and his grief now over the death of the woman who had seen, for a moment, into his soul.
Anna had touched each one of them deeply.
The Frankenstein turned the watch over to Van Helsing, and the hunter remained wary throughout the night, dogged by his thoughts and memories. He didn't bother waking Carl for the friar's watch – the hunter would get no sleep this night.
The rays of dawn marked the first full day of Anna's death, and Gabriel let himself feel grief, in the solitude of early morning, for the first time since leaving Dracula's icy fortress.
It was almost enough to overwhelm him, and he buried his face in his hands, choking back a sob.
They had each seen deeper into the other's soul than any who had come before. Defenses which had kept others out had been proven worthless, and in one another Anna and Gabriel had discovered a kindred spirit. Though their time together had been brief, they had each learned the other and the hunter did not hesitate to say that love, not lust, had been the force that sprang up between them.
Unbidden, his own words came back to him. To have memories of those you loved and lost is perhaps harder than to have no memories at all. They had both been souls wounded, though in different ways – now, his soul carried the same scars Anna had known, and he honored her strength. He would go on because he must, but he thought that now he could understand her single-minded determination. He hadn't understood, until this moment, how little her own life had meant to her. Her life had been given to her family, to the duty of her heritage, and had never truly been her own. She had relinquished it to save him, removing a monster from the land and giving back in its place a man tortured by his lost past. Now, he had lost even more.
He had heard, but not understood, her words before she had died. "For God," she had said, launching herself at the wolf that had control over his flesh. He wondered what she had seen, in the depths of his soul, that was hidden from him.
The memories bled into one another, leading him past that moment to the feel of Anna's fragile body beneath his, the crack reverberating in his ears that had been her neck snapping as she landed, much too roughly and at the wrong angle, on the duvet. He could recall the moment with perfect clarity, as well as the following minutes as human consciousness, and awareness of his crime, dripped back within reach.
His stomach lurched, and Gabriel only just made it behind a nearby tree before he convulsed, silently expelling the little food he had eaten the previous day. He spat, and when he wiped his mouth he found the tears had returned once more, without his noticing. He raised his sleeve again, wiping ineffectually at his face.
A moment's deep breathing recalled his composure. Turning back to the clearing, he found sharp eyes tracking him, but the Frankenstein said nothing. The other's silence was sympathetic and Gabriel managed a weak smile for his friend. The Frankenstein could understand him on a level that Carl could not, yet; for the Frankenstein had borne the guilt of being, not the perpetrator, but the cause of his father's death.
The thought was little comfort, but enough to remind Gabriel of the courage he needed to walk across the tiny clearing, and wake Carl.
He gently shook the friar, calling quietly but insistently for the other to waken. The friar blinked open bleary blue eyes, stifling a yawn as he sat up. Gabriel moved to stand, and found his sleeve caught by an insistent hand.
Puzzled, he turned to Carl, and found himself the subject of unreadable scrutiny from the friar. After a moment, Carl spoke hesitantly. "I want you to know," he began. "I know it's not your fault."
He could hear the sounds of birds, calling in the distant morn. He could hear the sound of his own breath rasping into his lungs. His heart beat, hard, reminding him that he was alive. Reminding him that she was not.
"But you blame me anyway," Gabriel told him softly, knowing it to be the truth.
Carl's face drained of blood, leaving him pale. "I'm trying not to," he whispered helplessly. An ineffectual fist crumpled the blankets at his side, knuckles white against the cloth. Strong fingers tightened on the hunter's sleeve.
Gabriel knew himself to be almost as pale as the friar, but he dredged up a small smile. "Perhaps in time." Perhaps in time, Carl would forgive him. Perhaps in time, he would forgive himself. He gently dislodged the other's grasp, and moved to tend the horses. They had a long day's journey ahead of them, but their goal was nearer than it had been yesterday.
The silence of the previous day was partially conquered that morning, as they exchanged stilted words. The Frankenstein told them his plan, to sail across the Adriatic and away –further south toward Asia Minor, but not to Italy. The seat of holiness would not welcome such as he. Other than that, he did not yet know the course of his journey. Thinking of such things was a source of normalcy for them, a weak sign of the continuance of life. So they strove to preserve it and managed to speak, on and off during the day, as they approached their goal.
The hunter was embroiled in grief, now that he had opened himself to the emotion tucked deep inside. He merely functioned throughout the hours, not feeling the passage of time as he led the way southwest toward the sea. They did not reach their destination before night fell, but certainly would on the morrow. With a knowing glance that was inscrutable to Carl, the Frankenstein insisted on taking the watch, leaving the hunter to his sleep.
Covered by a blanket, his back to the fire, Gabriel fell into twisted dreams of pain and loss. He rested, but found little peace. Pulled deeply into unconsciousness, he was at the mercy of his memories; and they were cruelly truthful.
When he woke, it was to the soft sound of weeping, and he realized that morning had come. It was many moments before he felt the tears on his face, and realized that he was the source of the sad noise in his ears. Several deep breaths helped him regain himself, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking stock.
When he climbed to his feet, he found that the sun was well up, and his companions had fallen prey to their own exhaustion. He prepared a small morning repast as they had for the past two days, rationing their supplies, before waking the others. He consumed his own portion as he groomed the horses, and with the ease of practice they removed all sign of their presence from the clearing.
Speech came more easily for them on the second day. Ever mindful of their burden, nevertheless they found themselves speaking of Anna, their fondest remembrances, and the strength of her spirit. The woman had deeply affected all of them, and knowing that such was true for all, the three found themselves somehow more able to share those experiences.
They reached a high bluff looking out over the Adriatic that afternoon. Walking carefully along the cliff, the hunter found a spot that stopped him in his tracks, breathless at the beauty before him. "Here," he murmured, and glanced back to find the Frankenstein's eyes wide with wonder. Carl nodded.
The vista stretching out before them was on the southwest end of the bluff, reaching far out to the sea. Golden grasses rose nearly waist-high, forming a golden sea high above azure waters of a deep cerulean blue. The breeze from the ocean, carrying on it a hint of salt, was a tantalizing taste of the astounding beauty which surrounded them on all sides. The waves were gentle, and the sun shone brilliantly down in a celebration of existence. There was a peacefulness about the spot, as if one with a careful ear and quiet heart, listening closely, could hear the whispered songs of heaven.
The work began.
Together, they hauled wood and built a heavy pyre, stuffing the tall grass that would light quickly into the chinks between the logs. The bier was the centerpiece, the logs leant up against it and piled beneath. The entire contraption was ringed with stones, to prevent a fire breaking out on the cliff. For all the work was grim and heavy, it was completed quickly. None of the three wished to linger in the dismal labor.
Then, they helped the Frankenstein build his craft, large enough for himself alone but seaworthy for his needs. As they labored, the silence of contemplation fell over them, and the bonds of friendship between them grew all the stronger for it. The hunter and friar understood when the Frankenstein took his leave of them, before the setting of the sun. He could not be there, could not bear to see the flames finish the work that the wolf had begun. The Princess Anna was forever immortal in his mind, and he would remember her as such for the remainder of his life.
Their farewells were short, though there was no certainty that they would meet again in this life. Yet their friendship, forged in the heat of conflict for the future of the world, was stronger than all the icy hardship brought to bear by the horrors of Dracula's castle.
The sun was close to setting when Carl and Gabriel returned to the bluff. The Frankenstein's raft had been launched, and he was now naught but a speck out to sea. Red and orange rays of light set the golden grass ablaze with hues of flame, lighting the pyre and Anna's body with color. Carl opened his well-worn Bible, and began to read. The low Latin words flowed over and around them, the wind whisking them up through the sky and to the doors of heaven.
Gabriel listened intently, loosing himself in the lyricism and the promise of a life beyond death. A torch was aflame in his hand, dancing with the wind. The final duty, the last gift he would give her, would be to usher her safely from this world to the next.
The torch touched the pyre, and the wood lit instantly, going up in flames with a soft whoosh.
His grief was a hotly glowing ember within him, flaring up to burn his heart without warning. But the wellspring of sorrow inside was running dry, and he did not feel the transparent delicacy of a spirit in mourning that had plagued him for the past two days. In many ways, he would mourn her forever. But now, searching deep inside himself, the hunter knew that the time for regret was over.
Something caught his attention; a forgotten hymn on the breeze, the ghost of a caress skimming his cheek. He turned then, the wind off the sea gently tugging at him, and gazed searchingly into the sky. He followed the glittering radiance of the sun on the waves, dazzling and sighing through his senses. A beam of light gently parted the clouds, and in its illumination he saw something that was a soothing balm to his soul.
A beloved face joined those of her family, rejoicing in the bliss of salvation. It healed his heart to see her happy. She turned then, and her eyes met his across the barriers of life and beyond. A lone tear wound down her cheek, a tear both of gladness and sorrow, reunion and parting.
It did not matter. To see her safe, beyond the pains and agonies of the world she had known, did more to alleviate his grief than would have shedding the tears to fill an ocean. He did not mourn the fading of the light, but felt a small smile of relief curling his lips. She was at peace now, and one day, he might join her.
The image slowly faded from his eyes, and he felt a touch on his shoulder. He glanced to the side, seeing Carl giving him a faint nod. Though grim, the friar's face was comforting. In that touch, Gabriel saw a measure of forgiveness, of acceptance and sympathy.
Smoke blew away from them, spiraling upward, as the flames carried the spirit of Anna Valerious to the skies. The time for tears had finally passed, and now, perhaps, they could heal.
Fin
A/N2: I've long since forgotten who it was who insisted that I brushed this topic off in "Laeva Dei" (and this individual was completely correct, of course. I was really uneasy about it and so ignored it until I could find the proper words – Sorry!). However, I did promise to do something about it, so here you go.