Disclaimer: I don't own any of the VHD characters, places, etc.
Chapter 3: Children
"I knew we shouldn't have picked you up! Your kind only brings troubles!" Drayden shouted, every muscle wound so tight it could have burst. D gazed at him evenly. "You shouldn't have been in the wastelands to begin with! And now you've jeopardized my sister! If she dies I'll…I'll…" he fumbled for words, his face livid. His eyes darted back and forth on the ground.
"One more word and I'll break your jaw," came Victor's voice suddenly. The blonde stood in the doorway to the doctor's office, which had been vacated at Drayden's request. Drayden whirled around on his younger brother, gritting his teeth audibly. "What did you come back? A heathen? This man didn't come with the intention of hurting Minerva or causing trouble to us! You attack him like he's a tried criminal!"
"All his kind are! They can't help what they were born, but they were born monsters! They don't belong here! All they do is cause trouble!" Drayden shouted back. D felt every word scrape raw against his skin, gouging open his nerves. But he was more taken by Victor's suddenly furious rage, they way his eyes narrowed on his brother and the offensive stance he took, restraining himself from striking Drayden with visible effort.
"You will eat your words, Drayden! I hope you choke on them!" Victor snarled gutturally. "What divine inspiration gave you power to judge over any life! People are born as what they are, they do not choose it!"
"His kind is an abomination! If it weren't for him, Minerva would be standing here now!"
"Don't you dare talk like that! You owe every man, woman, and child human decency, Drayden, or have you forgotten that you're not a beast?"
"I should never have let a woman dictate anything, should have kept her roped and gagged in the cart," Drayden fumed.
"Minerva is head of this family, and you will accept it, Drayden." Victor's words hit Drayden like physical blows as the older man looked on his younger brother in shock. D felt uncomfortable still in attendance.
"That's ridiculous! A woman as head of the household? Minerva is to be cared for and looked after! It's your inability to control her that allowed her weaknesses to turn to vice, to climb into bed with some man," Drayden hissed, his temper returned anew. Victor laughed bitterly.
"Her weakness? Minerva is the backbone and heartbeat of this family. We survived on her sweat and blood after you were gone, Drayden. She took up the reins when mother and father died, raised two girls, and we both worked to keep a roof over our heads. She has seen us through good and bad and I will not stand by and listen to you demean her!"
"Stop shouting!" Carla screeched suddenly, making both men jump. She stood in the doorway, her hands fisted with an intense look on her blotchy, tear streaked face. "Stop shouting! All you do is shout! Why? How come Minnie is sick? Why are you so angry?" She broke down into the tears of despairing innocence, her small face crumbling. Rosy, huddled behind her, was sobbing too. Drayden looked flustered before he cast his eyes down onto the floorboards, while Victor crossed the room and embraced them.
"I'm sorry you two had to see this," he murmured to them. D turned ready to leave now. There was more strife here then he had initially thought, and he wanted in no way to stress it. "D, please accept my apologies for everything. You weren't supposed to get dragged into the middle of all this either." D paused, looking back at Victor. The young man lifted his face from his sobbing sisters, and there was kindness and sincerity in his eyes. Minerva was lucky to have such a brother to depend upon.
"It was no trouble," D assured him and went out the door. He passed into the afternoon light and wondered to himself how hard it must be to work out the strife and tensions of family life. He had never had such difficulties, had never been bound to anyone by blood, but instead had rebelled and recoiled from his lineage. He wondered if it was worth the heartache of the disputes and the pains caused by the sometimes selfish and irrational motivations of mankind.
"Is that it? Are we just leaving?" his left hand demanded, irked at the brief and unexpected brush with Minerva and her family. "What about Minerva? We don't even know if she'll pull through," he bartered. "It'll eat you alive if you leave without knowing. It would be another sin you know, to leave her in this bind that you caused." The biting words crawled into D's already jangled nerves. He clenched his hand, but was already angling back towards Minerva's room.
He could hear Drayden and Victor still arguing, although in more subdued tones. Carla and Rosy were seated on the steps outside, scrubbing their faces clean as he approached. Their eyes lit on him and they sprung up.
"Can we come with?" Carla asked, and D found it amusing that the child could tell he was headed for Minerva. He nodded, and both Rosy and Carla leapt up, falling in behind him. He reflected on how odd a sight it must have been to the nurses in the courtyard as he strode past, his calm and controlled movements coupled with the distinctly Dhampire facial features, contrasted by the two little girls walking beside him without fear.
D stopped at Minerva's window and looked in on her. She was sleeping soundly, her hair spilling like a carpet of autumn leaves over her pillow as the damp sheets were tucked around her. The tip of the branded "A" was visible on her shoulder. Carla and Rosy were jumping to catch a glimpse, and he looked down on them.
"Can you lift me up there?" Carla held open her arms expectantly. D hesitated, and then bent and slid his fingers beneath her armpits. With no effort, he perched her on the window sill and bent to do the same for Rosy, keeping his shoulder close to Carla's back protectively. Rosy sat down on the sill and proceeded to startle him by slumping backwards against his chest. He was at first fearful that she was unwell, but laying a hand on her small, soft arm told him she was healthy as a hound.
"She'll get better, right?" Rosy tilted her head back to look up at him. D stared back down at her, and then proceeded to set her back up to support herself. He leaned forward through the window and outstretched his left hand, almost shy as he placed it against her sleeping cheek.
"Fascinating…" his left hand mumbled so softly that only D could hear it. "She and her baby will be fine."
"She's fine," he answered, straining to keep the disquiet out of his voice. He wondered if Drayden knew, and assumed that Victor was already well aware. Straining his ears, he found suddenly that he could make out the murmuring of a second pulse, much softer, but healthy. An overwhelming wave of guilt wracked him as his hand recoiled. The best thing for this family was for him to move on. He'd already caused trouble, and almost irreparable damage. The child could have died, or been severely injured. Minerva would have a hard enough slate marked forever as an adulteress. The last thing she needed was to be considered a sympathizer for a Dhampire, especially as times were changing.
"Stay with your sister," he said to the small girls, lifting them from the sill and into the room.
"You go now?" Rosy asked, her large eyes fixed on him. He wondered when he had become such a favorite of the girl.
"Minnie will want to say goodbye," Carla's small brow furrowed. D looked between the pair of them and their sleeping sister. He recalled the motherly kindness that had given him an extra blanket in the middle of a cold night on the wasteland, and the tenderness that had tucked each family member back in. She would make a fine mother no matter what they chose to call her.
"Tell her goodbye," he said.
"That's all?" his hand demanded as D crossed out of hearing range. "And you seemed so taken with her."
- Many Years Ago -
It was unbearable. Simply unbearable. She sat by herself, back to one of the endless bookshelves, and enjoyed the solitude. When had she stopped eating with the others? When had she begun locking her door? When had this knot of unease and frustration wound her insides into an elaborate sailor's knot?
Her hands raked back through her bangs, catching at the base of her braid. Frustrated, she pulled them out and tapped them irritably on her knees. Even being alone wasn't enough, her chest drawn tense as she remembered what upset her so. Her fingers twitched, impatient for some task her mind didn't know to provide.
She wanted to talk aloud, wanted to speak as she had openly with her mother, but there was no place for that here. The other people, the humans, they hated her. The women would turn their heads away and whisper, hissing poison that turned the hearts and minds of others cold towards her. The men, they would jeer and spit cruelties, would break her in any covert way they could. There were bruises on her shins and dappling her arms. And the nobility were even worse. Oh, they tolerated her. They invited her, begged her to bare her throat to them, to overwhelm them with sweet smiles and trusting the way she did for him. They were overly kind and the instant her back turned to them, they murmured slander and mockery. It hurt all the more because they pretended.
But the worst…oh, the worst were the others like her. They lay in their beds, bellies swollen, pale and sallow. Their rattling breaths passed between dry lips and seemed to shake their emaciated forms. No longer could they move, no more could they rise from their beds, nor speak, nor smile, only endure the torturous pain as their bodies decayed and withered. Only their eyes could speak, could convey hatred for her.
Her fingers shook as she smoothed them over her rounded belly, feeling the child growing inside of her. It was strong and restless, always moving about and kicking at her lungs and stomach. Playful, it wanted to wrestle with her, as if to draw her away from the hatred of the others. It had no name, but even just laying her fingers across the now sleeping – yes, it was sleeping for it had not moved recently – child brought an overwhelming peace to her.
Hers was the only child that did not drain her, that did not feed from her in the womb. It required none of her blood as nourishment for its life, but instead was pleased with the meals she was provided with. They ate together, companionably, and the child was never picky, had never rejected anything she had chosen to eat. It never made her sick as it grew, but rather worked to envelope her in a glorious aura of happiness and motherhood, and she spent endless hours speaking to it as the others isolated her more and more.
He had not been around lately, his quiet presence leaving a void as the fiery wrath of others intensified around her. She found herself missing him as well, reminiscing on the long evenings spent in discussion over a game of chess bereft of strategy on her part. He was fascinating, an entire library of information on everything from politics to poetry, science and religion. Just to listen to a story from his life, on the rare occasion he indulged such a tale, drew her in with rapt attention. She wished now, more then ever, that he was beside her and their child.
When had it happened? When had the moment come that she had come to depend on him as a companion, as a partner? She had always been cynical of their relationship, viewed herself as a tool in a darker repetition of Mary, for he was a dark God. But he had not treated her as a tool, had not been cold or calculating in his uses of her, nor voracious and disdainful. Rather, he had been a gentleman, had been gentle and sincere, and she flattered herself in supposing that she had not bored him with her charms or the daylight discussions and curiosity.
"What will it be for you?" she asked the child softly, drawing her knees up and curling as tightly as she could. If he was right, their child would live for eternity, just as nobility did, and it could walk in the sunlight, as she could. But…as the child grew, she wondered if it would be accepted. The human hatred and noble disdain for her as a human would be nothing, she feared, for a creature that belonged to neither world to begin with. She was frightened.
The door closed loudly. He didn't know she was here. She lifted her head, blinking away the tears. He didn't need to see that. He had enough things to worry about. With some effort, she managed to get up feeling the strain of extra weight in her lower back. The child was about ready to come out. It shifted, and she paused to let it settle. It brought a genuine smile to her face, and she felt the confidence to face him and lie about the troubles.
A strangled gasp startled her, followed by the shuffling of feet and candles crashing to the floor. She moved quickly through the bookshelves and came around, frightened that he should be injured. She could smell blood.
A woman's feet and dress were the first things she could make out as she came around the corner quickly. She caught herself on a nearby chair halting her momentum, causing it to screech across the floor. Her heartbeat coughed as her stomach dropped out, recoiling from the sight.
The girl there in his arms couldn't have been more then seventeen, young and lithe with an athletic build. He was curled over her, her left hand knotted in his hair as the right dragged across the carpet. Her mouth was open with eyes unseeing as he bent lodged to her throat, draining her as if he were starved. She arched her back and titled her head, causing a tear to open in the already mangled tissues of her throat, popping wetly. A hoarse cry of anguish rose from her, and she died.
The baby turned as if struck by the same terror its mother felt. The primal urge to defend kicked in as he lifted his eyes to her. They were the same eyes, cool and calm, perhaps a bit softened as he had answered the bloodlust. His face, though lightly speckled with blood, was familiar. And still, even though she recognized him, she feared him.
"This is what it is," he stated. "It is not very romantic, though I do not accuse you of such fancies." He gently settled the girl down onto the floor. There was almost no blood left to drip onto the carpet, and she looked partially dehydrated, her youthful face sunken and the skin too pale. "But I do not regret this price for immortality." He pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and cleaned his face, taking a step towards her. She backed away a step, her hands sliding protectively over her stomach. He stopped and looked at her, recognizing the signs of frightened prey.
There was silence between them as they each studied the other. She felt a growing calm in her. She had finally come face to face with what he was, seen with her own eyes what her mind already knew. Her gaze dropped to the girl and felt remorse, sorrow for a child's life ended so young. About to be a mother, she felt a terrible sorrow communing with a mother whose child had just been slaughtered like common cattle. And yet, when she had pulled this girl out of the rubble, she had known that it was very likely the girl would become prey to some noble or another. The paradox of her kindness struck her. She had allowed the trading of one death for another, decided that rather then let the girl die beneath the destruction of Bucharest that she would die at some unspecified time later, at the hands of a noble.
"I ask you to accept what I am," he startled her out of her thoughts. She realized how tense she was, and rather then focus on his question, worked instead to unwind every muscle. When she had done that and come out of a defensive pose, she forced herself to take ten paces to reach the girl, and then stiffly bent to close her eyes. The girl had soft eyelashes…
"Can I sit?" she asked as she stood back up. They were standing an arm's length apart. He took twenty three paces across the room – she counted – to one of the farthest chairs and pulled it back. It took her thirty paces before she could settle herself in a the chair and put her fingers to her lips, her mind far away and contemplating his request. He did not disturb her, accustomed to the expression with opaque, vacant eyes.
"I shouldn't be surprised," she said at length, after he had poured himself some brandy and seated himself across from her. She followed the golden edging of his face from candlelight. He hated electricity and refused it in his own chambers. "You never lied to me about what you are or what you want."
"It is different to see principle in practice," he replied. She was not certain if he argued or understood. Her mind turned over a number of things she had been raised with; morals, ideology, right and wrong. Then again, what had morals and ideology gotten them? Nuclear fallout was mankind's chosen answer. She smiled faintly at her own cynicism, wondering if it was now he that wondered what was happening in her mind.
She had witnessed murder for self sustenance, the act of slaughtering another being so that he could persist. He was no saint, but then she supposed no man was. And yet, it was he that offered her kindness and companionship, not the humans he fed from, not the humans she was a member of. Did that make her partial to nobility? Certainly not, she decided adamantly. Her fingers ghosted over the scars of almost a year ago, the gashes drawn down her cheek by a noble. It was the representation, the brand, of noble cruelty, and the only mark any noble would ever leave on her.
So…her cooperation with him had alienated her from all but him. She wondered if it was his design, and was amused when she found herself not caring. Yes, she grieved for the girl on the ground, she grieved that she had been part of making such a fate possible, and at the same time could not bring herself to hate him for such murder because she loved all the other pieces. Loved? Well, the word would do. Whether it was possible between them would probably never be answered. She wondered if he would think back on her a hundred or a thousand years after she was dead. Then again, what did that matter if he loved her enough here and now. But that was putting the cart before the horse anyway.
"What are your plans for our child?" she asked softly. In his endless patience he had been silent, allowing her to weigh her words and grapple with the ingrained teachings of her human heart and mind. He stirred now.
"It is to live," he replied simply. "It is to be greater then man or noble. That is all." She mulled his words over.
"Will that make it happy?" She drummed her fingers lightly on the table, looking him square in his golden eyes and commanding an answer with the boldness only a mother possesses.
"We can only give it the tools it may use for happiness."
He was too old for her, she sighed inwardly. He was ancient, a dragon of philosophy, the greatest contemplator there had ever been with hundreds of years at his disposal. And yet he promised to provide for their child, to give it what it would need to thrive and be happy. Was that not love in itself? Love for the child at least, even if it was not love for her…that would do. She loved their child, and she would suffer nothing less from him if he were allowed to be a piece of its life.
"I accept," she nodded simply, and she thought she saw his shoulders ease a bit. The child seemed to relax as well, snuggling down in her womb for sleep again after such a startling interruption. He gave her a slight dip of his chin, the closest she had ever seen him come to a bow. "I'm a little tired…" she sighed, raking her bangs back again and catching her fingers in her braid.
"You can stay here," he suggested. Her eyes shifted to the body absently. "I'll take her to be cremated," he reassured her. "Go ahead and rest." He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and provided the old skeleton key to his bedroom. They sat now in something of a parlor and library, where he kept many of his books and they often played chess. She let their fingers brush as she took the key and headed for the door, inexplicably weary now.
He stopped her so suddenly she almost jumped. His long fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist, asking more then telling her to pause. She obliged and looked back, meeting with the fine material of his coat's shoulder. His other hand slid between her elbow and side, before slowly settling down over the swell of her stomach. They both stood motionless. He could feel two heartbeats steadily reverberating through his silent chest.
Her comparatively rough fingers settled over the back of his hand. She had always had a peasant's beauty about her, something rough and charming, that had instantly set him at ease.
She felt him press his face into her neck and her skin prickle. It felt like he was smiling, a wide, almost beaming grin. She smiled too, proud and delighted to have brought him joy. They were having a baby.