A/N: Based on chapter 13 of Quick Bites, I present a full story with a gender-swapped Vlad. With thanks to redrachxo for the summary, and to both her and Hope Coppice for encouragement to post
A Marriage of Circumstance
Chapter 1
"That's the situation, Vlatka," the Count strode into the throne room relaxed and at ease. This attitude was a stark contrast to his youngest daughter's panicked looking face. He turned round, sitting himself grandly on his throne, and looking directly at Vladimira with a stern expression. "Either you find yourself a husband," he paused in his speech, and threw a dirty look at Eoin before adding, "a suitable husband, or they'll find one for you." There was another brief pause as he picked up his paper, and began to flick through it. "I believe Ramanga has offered one of his sons. Fine vampires."
"Dad," Mira stressed, "I don't want to get married!" She gave an irritated sounding noise. "Not yet at least, and certainly not for any ... political reason." She shook her head. "I mean, no offence, but our family hardly has the best track record with relationships anyway," she folded her arms over her chest, "so forgive me at not jumping at the idea of being forced into a marriage with someone I hardly know."
"As you would say, my dearest daughter," the Count said, not looking up from whatever article was demanding his attention, "talk to the cape, because the fangs aren't listening."
"I haven't said that in years," Mira muttered.
"What am I going to do, Bertrand?" Mira threw herself into the chair just inside the door of Bertrand's coffin room. "Dad says I don't have a choice in the matter, that I have to get married and that if I don't choose my own husband, he'll pick one for me." She gave a shudder at this. "Raculad was making suggestions last time he visited," she explained, off Bertrand's questioning look at the shudder, "and Dad's wanted to have stronger links to that family for centuries.
Bertrand set aside the journal he was writing in, and turned to face the Chosen One. She currently looked like a young vampire child who had been told that there was no Father Slaymas. A horrible thing. "Well," he sighed, "the way I see it, you've only really the one choice." Mira looked up at him hopefully. Bertrand gave a shrug. "Find a suitable husband." Mira groaned loudly, and tossed her head backwards, hitting it off the moment with a small 'ow'. Bertrand didn't comment, but picked up another book, leafing through it. "Blood status is important, though of course, being who you are, it's better to get someone of lower status than yourself," he suggested.
"Right," Mira pushed herself back into a more proper seating position. She tucked hair beind her ear, and sighed. "I get it, find somone who has managed to last longer than a couple of decades if they're a half fang, or someone from a family who've lasted a couple of generations at least." She rolled her eyes, and lent forward. "Any other tips in that book of yours, like what the Council would consider 'suitable'?" She paused, and worried her bottom lip. "Though I've got my suspicions."
"Loyalty is highly sought," Bertrand said. "Someone who was unquestioningly loyal to you would be a good move, it would prevent any High Council members being able to use them against you," Mira nodded, to show she understood the logic behind his words. "But at the same time, you'd need them to be loyal to the Council, so they have no cause for complaint." Mira nodded again. "That would go for their Clan as well," Bertrand added, looking down at the book. "Family can often sway loyalties, so you'll want someone who has a family either sworn to you, or no family to sway them."
"So," Mira shrugged. "Again, we're looking for a half fang." Bertrand gave a half shrug, accompanied by a nod. Mira gave an irritated sigh. "Well, that's great, because I know so many of them," the sarcasm in her voice would have been noticeable even by Renfield. "Well, there's ... and ... ," she smirked. "Such a whole host of names." Bertrand waited patiently for her rant to end, and she gave another sigh. "Go on then, what else would my husband need to be?"
"Preferably someone capable of defending you, through wisdom, knowledge, or strength." He looked up from the book to see Mira glowering at him, and realised very quickly the mistake his words had implied. "I'm not suggesting for a second that you are not more than capable of taking care of yourself," he assured her, "but you have," he paused, and rushed the next words, "too good of a heart. If your husband was weak, you'd defend him, and it would be better for you to be in a position where defending others will not put yourself at risk."
Mira's stance relaxed slightly, as she slouched back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling of the coffin room. "Well, this isn't going to be a hard thing to do at all," she let out, rolling her eyes once again. "Honestly, it's not like I'm expecting much, just an unquestionably loyal, able to defend himself, ridiculously intelligent possible half fang." She gave an incredulous laugh. "I only know one person who even comes near that description and he's..."
She sat up at the thought hit her, and glanced over at Bertrand. The look on his face told her clearly he had come to the same conclusion she had. There was only one person they knew of who fit the description, and he had just realised it himself.
"Oh... bat bog breath." Mira pushed herself up out of the chair quickly. "Bertrand, no," she said, "I can't ask you to do that!" She began pacing what little floor space there was available in the room. "Besides which, it's entirely too risky and just," she looked over at him, that sinking feeling of this possibly being the only working plan available to her growing in the pit of her stomach. "I just, I can't ask you to. No." She paused. "Even if it is the only ... no."
In comparison with Mira's flailing, Bertrand was remaining visibly calm. "I suspect," he began, before shaking his head, clearly changing his mind on the words. "I am, of course, at your service should you need anything of me," he settled on, bowing his head respectfully. Mira chewed on her bottom ip, glancing nervously over at Bertrand, her face hinting just slightly at the whirling, conflicting thoughts going through her mind at that moment.
"I don't want to force you into anything," she said finally, her voice sounding strong. Then there was a crack: "but it might be the only way."
Bertrand nodded. "I fear it might be." He gave a shrug. "Unless, that is, you can think of another plan." Mira sat again, looking as thoughtful as possible. Eventually, she shrugged, shaking her head in an admittance of defeat that Bertrand had rarely seen from her.
"The only idea I've got right now," she admitted, "is trying to pass Eoin off as a half fang." She paused, and gave another shrug. "But too many people already know about the truth for that to have any chance of working at all." Her face fell, ad she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly vulnerable at the realization she didn't have much option for escape when it came to this particular arrangement her Father and the Council had decided upon. Maybe that's why they chose it.
"Are you serious?" Bertrand asked. "About this course of action?" Mira nodded. Bertrand gave his own nod. "Then we may as well do this properly." He got down on one knee. "Vladimira Dracula, will you marry me?" Mira took a deep, unnecessary breath.
"I will."
Announcing the engagement to the Count could have gone far better. "We've always ... had feelings for each other," she said to the Count, looking up at Bertrand to confirm her explanation. "But he was always insisting that it wasn't proper, that he was my tutor and, well, it wouldn't be right," that bit sounded plausible enough, and she saw the Count's own nod telling her that he had bought that bit of the explanation. "But when he heard that I was to find a groom..."
"I couldn't stand back and watch her be married someone else without having said anything," Bertrand contributed. The Count narrowed his eyes in his direction, and Bertrand bowed his head respectfully. "Please," Bertrand asked, "allow me to marry Vladimira." The Cound continued to look, a slow evil smirk appearing on his face. All things considered, Mira should have expected the Count to decide that Bertrand had to face all that ordeals. The box of Transylvanian Sunlight was bad enough – Mira felt her skin blistering from it – but ordeal by feather somehow seemed ten times more ridiculous in this situation than it had when he used it on Robin when Ingrid had him pretending to be her boyfriend.
Unsurprisingly, Bertrand passed all the ordeals. "Well, then," the Count said, swishing his cape around him in order to look far more impressive in the moment. "I suppose you can ... steal my Vlatka away from my care," he growled at the last. Of course, it was all show, because he clapped his hands and gave a joyful laugh. "I must tell Ramanga," he clapped Bertrand on the shoulder. "A son in law who won't try to stake me in my sleep!"
"Of course," Bertrand gave another respectful nod, managing to smile back at the man when he beamed in his direction. It wasn't so bad, he supposed. He could grit his fangs and bear it. He had faced far worse in his 400 years of life, being forced to marry would probably be one of the less awful. He hoped. "The Council must be informed," he stepped back to let the Count by. The Count clapped his shoulder once more, and moved off, laughing cheerfully.
"That was easier than I thought," Mira said after a moment. She glanced up at Bertrand. "Looks like Dad's got a new favourite," she commented with forced lightness. Bertrand gave a laugh, equally as forced, and Mira let out a breath that she didn't realise she had been holding. "Now," she said, "I just need to work out how to tell," the door behind them slammed, and Mira whirled round, finding herself looking into a furious and familiar looking face. "Eoin," she finished.
"What's this I hear about you two getting married?" Eoin spat out the words, looking between Bertrand and Mira with sheer fury on his face. Bertrand looked at Eoin, then glanced down at Mira.
"I'll let you explain the plan," he said, leaving the room very quickly. Mira grabbed his sleeve before he could zoom off however, giving a very stern look which informed him that no, he was not getting out of helping with explaining the situation that easily. "I take it the Count told you?" Bertrand asked, glancing at Eoin with little regard for the boy. He couldn't care less about him, he'd be quite happy to forever ignore him.
"Couldn't help but gloat loudly," Eoin said. He looked past Bertrand at Mira. "Ingrid heard him, you know." Mira stood a little straighter, not letting an effect of this statement being heard of her. "I heard her say how much planning she's got to do, and she zoomed off," Eoin continued. Mira did wince then. Great, Ingrid planning things. She'd be at the best lingerie shop within a 20 mile radius by the end of the week, if her sister got her way. Which she would.
"She always does like her plans," she managed. "Eoin, it was either find my own groom or get one found for me," she reached out her hand to take his. But Eoin snatched it away from her.
"So it had to be him?"
"I was the best out of bad choices," Bertrand replied evenly. There was a pause, as the two glared at each other. "Better the vampire she knows," Bertrand's ability to keep his voice even in stress was one Mira had always admired, and now was no exception, "than a power hungry psycho she doesn't."
"Even if the vampire she knows is one?" Eoin shot back. Bertrand growled.
"I am loyal to the Chosen One." Eoin snorted.
"For how long this time?"
