Disclaimer: Don't own Hellsing, just this stories plot line!
Rating: M - This ain't kiddie stuff people! It ain't K, K, OR T. THIS IS MATURE! The local forecast predict's heavy fluff and gore, sexual scenes between Alucard and Seras(possibly Dark Walter and Integra), swearing like the Mother Fucker and all that jazz♪! I think I've made my point...please read the warning before you hop into the skillet and turn into bacon!
Alexandra: IT'S ALIVE! MY FIRST HELLSING FIC! MUWAHHHA! ( Rub's hands together, grinning like Jim Carry on weed) I'm a GENIUS! (Falls dead)
Alright now that that's out of my system, onward!(marches off with 3rd Reich, Hans up in-front of Alexandra) Nice view(staring at his tight military ass). People, if ya'll don't like the AxS paring, get out right now. I really like writing and flame's don't discourage me, they just take up reviewing space. --
What I Once Was
by Alexandra Noel
Chapter 1
A Gift Of Utmost Importance
Rain clattered down on the roof of the Hellsing headquarters', reverberating throughout the mansion. Worker's in bright neon orange scampered about the dome of the sizable mansion, patching up singed shingles and tiles. A single drop of rain, clinging to the Grey-stone wall, began to slip and fall. It came to rest on a stain-glass mural of the Birth of Christ, the only window in the Master's private study. The weak reflection of Indigo colored light glanced off of platinum blonde follicles while ice-over-stone hued eye's keenly reflected the brightness of a computer screen.
Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing sat at her large desk taping away on her computer. 'Exactly 2 more hour's until sunset and you can barley see ten feet out the window. You can't even see the damn treetop's in this mess of a storm.' Her thought's reverted back to her work as she pried her eyes off of the computer's clock.
It had been almost a year after the war with Millennium. The English government had rallied and began to rebuild after the defeat and triumph. Big Ben now stood proud and the London Bridge was not literally falling down anymore. There was still much work to be done and many sections's of London still needed serious attention, but like Caesar said, 'Brick by brick, my citizens, Brick by brick.'
She closed out the finished document and switched the PC off. She carefully lifted her arm's above her head and stretched out one fiber of muscle at a time until she herd a satisfying pop and a release of pressure in her neck. She let out a long, relived sigh. Her white gloved hand went straight for the top left drawer of the desk and opened it to revel it's contents, cigars. She picked one out from the neat row, sliced one end off with a pen knife from her breast pocket while reaching for her lighter sitting on the burnished polished redwood of her desk. Her thumb slid across the Hellsing coat of arm's emblazoned on the silver surface and flicked the catch, opening the contraption and automatically igniting a small blue-red flame. She lit the cigar and inhaled the sweet vaporous smoke of Cinnamon, Tobacco, and Plum.
"Hmm." she said to herself, musing over an obscure subject. She had recently been researching a particular subject lately since the rebuilding began a subject that intrigued and baffled her. Her father, Arthur, had done extensive, secluded research on the woman before succumbing to Consumption. He had looked away his notes in a safe behind his portrait in her office. 'Its funny what you find while cleaning up an office...' And by sheer luck, found the world's most extensive research on one particular woman: Elisabeta Serasa Tepes.
She picked up the yellowed and aged pieces of paper that her father had scribbled on in a tidy scrawl. The only piece's of paper that held the extensive and painstakingly accurate fact's of Elisabeta and her life.
The first section held the name origin's and overall summery of her early life.
Elisabeta Serasa Tepes
Gender: Feminine
Usage: Slovene
Slovene form of Elizabeth
Born In 1433, Elisabeta was the daughter of a high ranking Turkish nobleman in the Sultan's favor. She was raised in the capital city of the Turkish empire, Constantinople, living in the palace of the powerful Sultan, Mehmed II. From a young age, Elisabeta was remarkably beautiful and talented. Naturally, she was singled out to be a future head wife and harem girl for the Sultan. Thus Elisabeta was to be pampered and prepped for the life of the future Sultana of the Turk's. This all changed when reportedly she meet Vlad Dracula III, or Vlad Tepes in later year's, a prince from the neighboring country of România.
The story goes on to say that Elisabeta was wandering the palace proper when she came across the private underground dungeon where her soon-to-be husband kept prisoner's of importance. She had already herd rumors of the princes' dilemma and felt sympathy, it's suggested that Elisabeta could relate to his situation, being locked up for most of your life and not having the freedom to make your own choice's. She found her way to the dungeon's and searched the cells for the young prince. She found him and his brother, Radu Dracul, in two parallel cells. Revert to the Journal for details.
Integra put down the papers and reached for the silk wrapped parcel laid on the desk. She unraveled the decorative covering to revel a leather journal, black and handsomely crafted. On it's face an etched dragon holding a sword in it's jaw's reared back on a shield of black and red outlined in gold. On the back, in silver filigree was the name of the journal's owner, Elisabeta Serasa Tepes. Integra carefully pealed apart the cover from the first page, revealing a yellowed page full of Romanian writing, written in a delicate, lattice like script. 'Now I know why father taught me Romanian, clever old devil.' She smiled up at the duplicate portrait of her father, the double of the one in her office. She started to read the journal with more than piqued interest.
Winter Solstice, 1445 A.D, Wallachia, România
I have received this journal as an anniversary present from my loving husband whom I adore, Vlad. It seem's like an eternity has passed since I have written anything down on a piece of paper. There is always something to be done or some army to conquer, now that we are almost at peace. The last regime of the Sultan Mehmed is almost a week's travel away and Vlad is gathering our force's from all over, calling up old allies to help chase the Turk's from our homeland.
It gladdens me to say I have lost my Turkish accent and have gained a Românian one, my hair has turned into an Amber colored mass of waves from the climate, still a far cry from my dark haired county men. My eyes have still retained their dusky blue color, and I've gone from a soft court lady from Araujia to a hardened noblewoman from the warring nation of România. Not only has my appearance changed, but also my soul. My faith has converted from Islamic to Christianity since I married Vlad. But enough about that, I am still trying to find out why Vlad even gave me this journal. Perhaps it would be as if a piece of him is always with me...how sentimental. I had an urge to write in this, it seemed to pull me towards my Solar and call out to me, begging me to tell it something. So I will tell my life story. I assure you it's anything but boring. Here I begin.
I was born in Constantinople, the leading city state of Turkey, to my Father and Mother, Lord Kadai Targa Hussain and Lady Elisabeta Serasa Hussain III. I was taught at a very young age about how my life was already planned and I only need do what I was told. I was to be wedded to the Sultan at the age of twelve and give birth to a son by fourteen, as long as I did that my life was fulfilled. My Parent's were not much help, always away at some celebration or avoiding me, abandoning me to my nurse's cared. My mother, if I could call her that, was not Turkish, but a Slovenian noblewoman, thus my exotic name in this world of harsh names like Udai and Kosan or Mohamed. This all changed on the coming of my 12th birth-date, when I met Vlad.
I was touring through the main palace after a audience with the sultan. Something had distracted my keeper, maid, and long time friend, Guinevere Saint Paul from Britannia, so I started to wander off. Through the palace gossip I had heard about two young princes from Romania were being kept in Mehmed's private dungeons. I found the entrance behind a tapestry in his chambers. Luckily the Sultan and all of his guard's were out hunting some poor animal. The stand-in guard was drunk and delirious; it was no challenge to get past him. Sometimes being small helps. I could hear low moaning from all of the cells, causing shivers to run up my spine. The poor souls in that hell were beyond help, but I thought that perhaps the princes weren't too mad from eight year's of torture.
I finally came upon the last cell on the right row, and gave an experimental tug at the iron ring that served as the handle. The heavy door swung quietly open, letting musty hair filled with a stale scent filter out into the relatively fresh air. I stepped into the small cell, glancing around for any sign's of danger. I looked to the east wall were a figure was sitting against the wall.
It was there, in the dark, I first saw my future husband. His arm's were bound and stretched over his head, held by heavy manacles. His face was twisted in pain, even as he slept. I crept over quietly over to the wall where he was slouched against. I let out a silent gasp as I looked at his exposed upper body, the lighting was poor but I could still make out the horrific mark's on his body. Scar's were etched generously onto his emaciated torso, eight year's of starvation had brought a hollow look to his face and pain had etched deep and expressive line's around his face. Other than that, he had to be one of the most handsome boy I have ever laid mine eye's on.
I must have stepped on a loose flagging and alerted him of my presence since his eye's shot open In fear and out of reflex. Year's of living in a torture chamber can do that to you, I think. He looked at me with the most marvelous large blue-green eye's, his long, shaggy, jewel black hair falling past his shoulders. He had an aristocratic face: a blade thin nose, aquiline and Romanian to a fault, thick brows and a broad forehead, a pointed chin and sharp cheekbone', all set into a darkly tanned face. His eye's seemed to bore into me as he looked with a faint disgust at my noble were, a silk sari imported from Arabia, of dusky blue that matched my eyes.
"What do you want, Turkish brat?" he asked me in a spiteful voice, cracking from a high pitched to a deep baritone.(A.N: HAHA! ALUCARD'S GOING THROUGH PUBERTY!) "I'm hearing to see you," I replied in my best Romanian, making my voice more pleasing than his tone. He snorted in contempt "Humph, so you're the child-bride of that sick bastard. It figure's he would chose someone so young to corrupt and twist." I gave a sigh and a nod, acknowledging the fact that the sultan was evil. I had always known of his disgusting fondness for young children, especially boy's.
His spite seamed to recede a little at my agree. "Tell me... what are you called?" I smiled, finally able to talk civilized with the strange, beautiful, foreign prince. I gave a slight curtsy and pronounced in a clear, hopefully strong voice "My name is Elisabeta Serasa Hussain IV. Or Serasa for short" He smiled and bent his head forward in a gesture of nobility and said in an equally confident voice "A pleasure milady, I am Vladimir Dracula III. Vlad is my shortened name, and you may have the honor to call me that." I nodded back and smiled, and for what must have been like a life time, he stretched his mouth, flashing pearl white teeth, straight and feral looking, and smiled. And thus our friendship began.
I had heard from one of my Chambermaid's, Gianni, that Vlad's parents were forced to pay tribute to the inexorable sultan in gold and young men, the gold for him and the boy's for an army. How ironic that the very son's of Romania were taken in by the enemy, trained to kill and then set upon their own homeland to kill and murder their own kin. I question the moral's of my country.
If we are to exist in this world, we must strive for peace between our own neighbors's. Father says thing's will never change between Romania and the Empire. 'The Romanian swine are not worthy to lick the boot of the lowliest slave in Turkey! They are cutthroats and killer's!' he found way's to fit that rant into at least one conversation a day. I know now that the Romanian's say the same about us.
When you are reared from birth to hate a nation, the contradiction's become that of spite and hate. Why do we hate each other so when we are all human being's? We keep to our beliefs and they kept to their God, yet we always find ourselves in a holy war every century. Who are we to question each others beliefs? I can understand that the insult of monotheism, monogamy, and contradicting moral's will always be between us, but we all refuse to stop hearkening to their call. I am at a stand still. my morals were strong and I hoped, and I prayed that Vlad would make it back home. I'll continue this in later chapters, Vlad calls.
-Elisabeta
Integra looked up from the journal as the double doors of her study swung open. Walter walked in, bearing a silver tray with a fine china plate of blue-berry muffins, the porcelain bone tea-set, and a letter with the Iscariot organization seal waxing it closed. She groaned and slumped back in her chair. 'It's too early to deal with this...' she thought in despair. The oncoming prospect of another round with those Catholic nuisances was too much to handle.
Walter let out a deep chuckle at his master's train of thought. "Look at it this way Sir Integra, Maxwell is dead and Anderson is out of commission. Hopefully there asking for peace, though I seriously doubt it." He flashed a charming smile at her, his new fang's glinting brightly in the lamplight. Integra quirked a quick smile and reverted back to her stone mask of indifference.
"Hopefully, the last thing we need is another brawl with them. Where are Alucard and Seras?" she asked, watching his lean, black shrouded hand's set down the tray and reach for the handle of the Teapot. Steam wafted up from the china cup as Walter poured out the rich brown beverage with the finesse of a perfect butler. Loose strands of Inky black hair fell into his heavily lidded eyes as he poured the tea, all of his concentration averted on the simple task of pouring the tea. Integra grew hazy eyed as she gazed at the young-looking butler.
Millennium had changed him, erasing his memory and reducing his age, turning him into an artificial vampire, a FREAK. She couldn't change the fact that he was a vampire, but she could help him get his memory back. After they had recaptured him and locked him up in the dungeon, she had taken to visiting him in his cell, waiting on him for a change. She talked to him even though he uttered not a word back, retold stories that he told to her, and even brought the blood that sustained his un-dead life. He began to remember, even thought his conscience and memory were taken away, Walter K. Dornez could overcome any obstacle in his path. Soon he was laughing and joking, teasing and talking again like the old days.
Integra was always fond of the old Walter; she had always thought he was handsome in a distinguished way. Now he was drop-dead gorgeous! She never appreciated the stronger sex very often; Alucard was enough man to handle with the ego, always having to run off and kill FREAKS ever so often, dealing with Iscariot, piles of paperwork heaped on her office desk. 'But here is Walter. Good-old Walter, kind Walter, brave Walter, dead AND sexy Walter... where in the seventh level of Hell did that come from?' Integra invented a new shade of red as she sipped at her tea, Walter still standing in-front of her desk.
"Sir Integra, are you all right? You look a bit...flushed." He concealed a smirk as Integra glared at him. "I am just fine Walter; it's the Tea-a bit on the hot side. I take it the water heater is functional again?" At his nod she sighed in relief. She and Seras had both disliked the cold bath's they were forced to take. 'Finally some heat around here,' Walter still showed no sign of leaving the room.
"Is there anything else, Walter?" she inquired "As a matter of fact there is, Sir," he retreated back to the doorway, picking up something on the other side. He came back with a rough brown linen wrapped package, a portrait by the looks of it. He set it down upward's on the desk, reaching for her pen knife. "Wait Walter, let me read the card before you open the birthday present, did you scan it for any exploding or dangerous threat?", "Yes Sir Integra, the worst you can get from that is a paper cut and I think you could sustain a serious scrape from the edge's-", "Alright, I get it. Let see what they sent."
She ripped the envelope open with gusto and slid the parchment out. Thin spidery writing covered the spongy paper. She grimaced at the texture of it as she picked it up, reading the letter.
Dear Integra Windgates Hellsing,
It has been awhile since we have exchanged letter's has it? I have decided to call all of our past scuffles null and void for the sake of the future. We must all strive for peace if we are to exist in this world that god created, No? Our deepest condolences (though belated) to the losses you have suffered at the hand's of Father Enrico Maxwell's madness and the Millennium Nazi. As a sign of our respect and esteem, we send you two gifts. One is no doubt sitting before you, if so please open it and read on after you've...overcame the shock.
Integra lifted a fine brow at that, 'What in God's name?' She motioned for Walter to open the package. He slid the knife against the twine, breaking it easily. The brown paper fell away to revel a portrait of a woman on a black backdrop, mid-twenties, with penetrating eye's of a blue that surpassed her own wearing a regal gown of white piped with gold hemming. Electricity seemed to spark out of the woman's eyes, transcending an unsurpassed power and shining with rare cosmetics in that age, the color of crushed star-dust and lined with kohl. Every line and angle of the portrait was excruciatingly crafted and realistic, making it seem the woman was alive and just standing behind the frame.
Her face was normal, well spaced but small. Her nose and mouth seemed to be cut from Jade, perfectly arranged in an artful expression of someone who look's serious for the portrait but is smiling the rest of her life. Two individual strand's of amber colored lock's accentuated her face, giving her eye's volume and depth, while the rest was caught in the back of her head with a sheer silver shroud covering it. A delicate circlet of hammered gold sparkling with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, onyx, emeralds and topaz wrapped around her head. Her skin had a healthy tan glow to it, making her feature's stand out all the more. Her swan neck had only one adornment, a thin platinum chain that held a platinum cross. It rested in the shadow of her impressive cleavage, sparkling like a miniature star. On the bottom of the portrait, written in silver, was a name. The Beloved Princess Elisabeta Serasa Tepes Of România, 1499.
Integra could only stare. The initial picture couldn't shock her. It was the fact that Seras Victoria was staring back at her, with a different hair color and eye's, 'What in the Hell?'. Walter was shocked too. How many times do you see Seras dressed for the Renaissance Festival...really?
"Well Sir, I have to admit I didn't see it coming. Can I dress up too?"
A.N: Chapter one is complete! I'll update the next one after 6 reviews!