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Embracing Sin

Chapter 8 – They Changed History

Târgoviște, Wallachia – January 14th, 1477, 5:44 p.m.

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There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter.

Ernest Hemingway

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Vlad Dracula climbed the dusty spiral steps all the way to the top of the Chindiei Tower and went to the west window overlooking the capital and directly below, The Royal Princely Court. On the other side of the recently fortified, Romanesque palace with its walled-in yard and defence ditches were homes and businesses of the townsfolk that lived in Târgoviște. On the north and south side of the tower, even behind the castle, were mostly barren fields oft-times used for training by the military in the nearby barracks.

Here, in this tower, he escaped to find a moment of solace, to find a place to take a deep breath and hear his own thoughts.

For the prince's heart and mind was in a state of bitter turmoil.

He ground his teeth and looked up towards the cloudy dusky sky, beckoning the heavens. "I have done everything in your honour, everything and more… what are your plans for me? What else in this punitive lifetime must I do?"

Silence. God would not answer.

He never did.

The Wallachian prince heaved a great sigh, wrapping his thick inky blue cloak more securely around him. The winter air spilling in from the window felt as if it were blowing directly into his tightly tied up tunic. Beneath his royal garb, his skin prickled in a vain attempt to trap his body heat. He had a feeling that no amount of clothing could ward off the ice growing like a shroud around his soul.

"My lord! Are you up here?"

Vlad closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Damn. One did not even have the pleasure of lamenting about his freezing balls much less anything else around here, he thought to himself.

His murmur came with skilled patience. "I'm here, Grigore."

A man, two years younger than Vlad's age of forty-five, plodded up the spiral stairs, his steps loud under his heavy leather boots. The voivode turned to address the man who was half a head shorter than he was with curly, shoulder length brown hair streaked with grey, appear at the top step. The other man, dressed entirely in brown shades, pants and multiple layers, tunic, shirt and a warm button-up coat, stood with his purse strung across his chest.

Grigore Ciobanu had a friendly face and kind eyes that were as green as the summer grass. Vlad noticed his bushy dark beard was trim, his face fresh. He appeared rested. The man looked so different than he did on the battlefield all covered in blood and grime the other day.

Now, that kind face expressed concern.

This man was one of his greatest lieutenants, one of the few that refused to turn his back on him and go off to fight for other warlords… unlike so many others over the few decades. Even when half his army deserted him for his now deceased brother Radu, Grigore would not budge. Vlad did not hold resentment towards his brother, whom he believed the sultan brainwashed. Family was still family after all and war would always be war.

He would avenge his family name, no matter what.

When Vlad left Hungary's prisons… Grigore returned to his side and they retook control. It seemed no matter what wicked atrocities Vlad performed, this man remained devoted. For he understands Vlad's plight during these dark times.

With a scoff, Vlad turned back towards the small window, gazing across the land. The day was becoming night on the horizon, a mix of watery blues and a hint of pink on the sheets of clouds spread over the sky.

"Should I be gravely concerned that you have sought for me?" He questioned his friend, his second-in-command.

"No concern, my lord. It is only I that wished to speak to you… in private," the other man answered. "I saw you head for the tunnels—I knew you were coming up here. I decided to follow. My apologies for intruding..."

"Hrmph," Vlad sounded, "What's done is done. Whether you are here or not, I fear I will never find the answers I seek."

"What answers do you seek, my lord? You have barely spoken to me since the battle."

One side of his black moustache arched above his lip with a smirk and Vlad spun around to face his long-time friend. He had only one question.

"Why I am still alive?"

Grigore noticeably gasped. "W-what makes you say such a thing, my lord?"

Vlad had not spoken about it until now. "I have a quandary I must share with someone. I had a dream. A nightmare would be more fitting. It felt vatic in nature… just hours before the ambush occurred."

The Wallachian warrior waited for his master to continue. "And… what did you see that left you so unsettled?"

"It is not what I saw but rather what I felt," Vlad told him. "I felt my life was rushing out of me, draining. I could not take in breath as if my mouth would not open, as if my chest was separate from my head. There was fire burning up my arm—I screamed. It was an arrow, it had pierced right through my muscle. I fell from my horse and I lay looking up at a blood red sky, blood red. And then, I was alone on the battlefield. It was moonless and void… and I felt as if everything I had done was for nothing. Nothing!"

"My lord, surely all of this was brought on by fatigue. Stress—"

"—it was not!" Vlad demanded. "This vision felt so real. For next I could see myself lying on the battlefield as if my spirit rose above me! And his eyes, mine eyes, they looked up at me…"

Vlad hesitated a moment, unsure if he should continue.

The king looked right at his lieutenant and spoke low. "The eyes looking back at me were as red as embers—my eyes! A monster looked back at me. Truly, it was my end, Grigore. I know it. That ambush was to be my end! It was an end promising an eternity of regret!"

All that Grigore could do was stare at his master with even deeper concern than before. He had no idea what to say.

As if madness took over, Vlad began to laugh, loud and booming. It came from deep within his chest.

When Vlad calmed, he explained further to an anxious looking Grigore. "But God has not given up on me, you see. He heard my plea! He saw my vision, and gave me a sign that not all has gone astray. That arrow, did you know, came at me—just like it did in the dream. I saw it! But—it did not strike me as it had. Instead, a red figure appeared and struck it aside. Tell me that is not a sign of God's will?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." What else could it be? It was pointless to argue with someone as stubborn as Vlad, Grigore thought. He stared at the prince, whose blue eyes now shone brightly with something he had not seen within the voivode's eyes in many, many years… hope.

"Why haven't your men found those two warriors?" Vlad began to frown.

"I cannot say, my lord. We have sent out a few of our best men to search. We even paid mind to visit the lonely cottages along the way… not a single structure has been overlooked. Perhaps…" he faltered briefly, not wishing to upset his lord any more than he already was. "Perhaps they vanished, my lord."

Grigore had sworn an oath to protect his king and warn him of any possible threats, even if those threats seemed preposterous. "Perhaps they were nothing more than a sign of God's goodwill, and we have been given a second chance."

"You speak of magic now?" Vlad replied, aghast. "Ridiculous, there was no magic involved. In the beginning, I thought that maybe it was—just like everyone else—that they could be beasts created of my darkest desires. The way that they fought, it was incredible! But they did not appear as beasts so surely, they are just people, people not from this land. They could not have simply vanished. If you recall, the two of them attempted to steal my sword. For what purpose, I do not know. What were their intentions? Where did they come from? Swear that they will be brought to me directly when you find them."

"Yes, my lord. It should not be much longer." Grigore was confident. Hunting for people was his specialty. If they were real than he would find them.

"Excellent. Their intervention created this illusion of magic that spooked those turban-wearing maggots into running away. I want to know how they did it. If it proves they plotted to dishonour me in any way, then punishment will be swift for them. They will know how it feels to dangle from spikes," Vlad said and scowled dangerously in thought. "If I have achieved nothing in this life at least I have proven to be a man of my word, would you not agree, good friend?"

Grigore had no doubt about that. He grinned and nodded in agreement.

Whatever Vlad promised to do, he did it. Or, at least, he made every viable attempt to. Wallachia's ruler handed out severe penalties to anyone who crossed him or acted with treason against the kingdom, and that included snobby backstabbing nobles like the boyars who sold out his father Vlad II.

The causatum: Wallachia had the lowest crime rate around. People feared Vlad, the Son of the Dragon, but they also felt protected.

The lieutenant decided to lighten the mood. "Come, supper awaits us in the great hall. We won't be killing any of those warmongering 'maggots' on empty stomachs, now will we?"

At this, Vlad chuckled and came closer, clapping a big hand to Grigore's sturdy shoulder. "Perchance it is you that is the sorcerer, Grigore… you read minds. I'm famished."

Grigore scoffed. "Unfortunately, you have only me to enjoy your supper with given that your wife is still in Hungary. However, I will try my best to be a worthy companion."

"I surely hope not." Vlad's black goatee and moustache twitched with mirth. "I do believe a dress on you would be most unflattering."

"Excuse me..." The lieutenant replied, taken aback by Vlad's absurd taunt. "I do not even want to know what other chicaneries are playing out in your head. Who said anything about women's clothes?"

For a moment, Vlad found himself envisioning the beautiful blonde woman he saw on his battlefield, the one who tried to steal his sword with her bare hand and did not even cry out when it pierced her skin. She was not wearing clothing like that of a common woman.

Vlad found himself lost in his own thoughts. "I… I do not know. Let's go…."

Grigore stepped aside to let Vlad head down the spiral stairs first, then, he followed along shortly after. Baffled by his master's sudden shift in tone, Grigore tagged along without another word.


Wallachia – 1477, 5:44 p.m.

"It's been four days, Alucard." Integra bemoaned, "I'm starving."

The king of vampires shifted to the side, looking over his shoulder towards the voice of his bride who was still inside a dreary old tomb. Her mind entertained thoughts filled with murderous objectives. "As I told you yesterday, unless you eat someone… I cannot do much for you."

With arms crossed over his chest, Alucard stood leaning against the cold stone wall of the small house-like tomb they slept in for the day just outside of a nearby town. He waited for Integra to join him outside in the graveyard.

An incomprehensible grumble came from within the tomb, which grew louder as the grumbler came out. With her power of intangibility, Integra materialized next to him wearing a rather sour expression on her face. "I swear Alucard, you snored the entire time we slept! I woke up every hour on the hour."

The vampire shrugged and closed his eyes so that he would not roll them in grief. "Perhaps the air is too dry. Why can't you sleep as the dead should?"

"Never mind that," Integra admonished. "I want my own coffin. My own my bed. Ugh, I feel so restless. I cannot even think straight! What' is happening to me?" Integra raked her fingers through her dishevelled hair, anxious as an addict.

He voiced softly. "I know," he assured. "It's horrible, it's always more difficult for young vampires to control their hunger. It has only been a year, and this is the first time you have gone without a daily fix. If you remember, I did warn you of such things. You have the option of drinking my blood to ease the ache, but you will get no real fulfillment, as you know. There is the option of animal blood, though. I must warn you, it is rather repulsive, but it will tide you over longer than my blood."

His red eyes shone patiently as he explained this to her, Alucard was accustomed to going long periods of time without blood, Integra thought. But animals? No, there was something awful about their blood scent. Besides, she could not imagine killing a helpless animal, sinking her teeth into their furry hides.

"No, I cannot do that. I won't. I will just have to tolerate it until we get back, suck it up… somehow." She replied.

Alucard chuffed softly at her use of the phrase 'suck it up' but remained quiet and looked around at their surroundings. He had no idea exactly where they were but suspected when they were. The late 15th century and all their modern conveniences… gone. Together, they found sanctuary in this graveyard and managed to rest up a little after days of wandering from place to place, wondering what to do.

The area was now under the veil of night.

"I know this is Wallachia," he said. "But why we are still here and stuck in the past, I do not know."

"And he is hunting us down like dogs," Integra added while digging out a cigar from her pocket. She took a moment to light the tobacco, inhaling gratefully and reminding herself that she would have to be careful how many of these she smoked, lest she ran out before they made it back to their own time. "There are wanted posters in every town we've been through. There are men on horseback searching for us."

"Perhaps the almighty king wants to turn us into vampire shish kabobs." Alucard mused, his velvet tenor deep and sarcastic.

The Hellsing woman blew out a long puff of smoke. "This is no time for jokes, Alucard. Seras must be worried sick. Are you able to get a signal on your phone?"

Alucard pushed himself away from the tomb and stood his full towering height. He fished into the pocket of his long red duster and pulled out his smart phone. "I highly doubt it will work to contact Seras. Besides, I turned it off three days ago since there is nowhere to charge it. I did not want the battery to die."

Integra snatched his phone from his hand impatiently and powered it up. "Of course, I know all that, Alucard. I am curious to see if it has the time and date."

In silence, they both stared at the black handheld device until it finished loading up. Finally, when it came to the lock screen, which depicted a wallpaper picture that Alucard took two weeks ago, the photo of them inside his coffin back home when they both first decided to go on vacation, they noticed something strange.

Half of the picture was blurry. The tops of their heads erased nearly to their eyebrows.

"That is not how this picture looked before," Alucard remarked darkly. "It has changed."

A wriggling feeling of dread raced across Integra's insides as she stared at the picture. With a grunt, she entered the lock code on Alucard's phone quickly and checked the time and date. She frowned. "The date and time hasn't changed at all. It is the same as the time we left, September 12 just after 11 p.m. The time and day we were in the Sunset Tower."

Alucard snatched his phone back and brought up a few more photos of them while on holiday. He found his favourite photograph first. It was the one of them dancing at that fancy hotel ballroom when they shamelessly decided to crash some partygoers' wedding.

No one had any idea they were not on the invite list, and some guy even offered to take their picture.

"Half of our bodies are gone!" Integra clamoured as she gazed at the photo. Everything from their feet up to their waists were gone, invisible, like they were floating.

"We're being erased from existence," Alucard believed. "I trust we've changed history."

Both stood quietly staring at the eerie photos on Alucard's phone, all of them showing fading parts of their bodies. Even the photo where she was facing the camera and laying back against the pillows, hair spilling out around her a real smile dancing on her lips—half of her face was missing. And even the sneaky photo she took using Alucard's phone, where Integra caught him sipping on an early evening blood pack, lounging in a comfy chair on the balcony patio table, reading the local newspaper—his whole head was missing!

"Changed history?" Integra repeated, absorbing the idea. Fuck! Her face lit up with a chilling revelation. "That's why the sword did not work! If we've altered history then we must change it back, or else we'll be stuck here forever."

"No, not forever… we'll eventually cease to exist here as well." Alucard theorized. "Our future selves will be re-invented. Maybe you are never born. We could end up being completely different people."

"No Count?" Integra said. "Vlad could die a normal death."

"No Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing." Alucard muttered. "Perhaps no Hellsing Organization."

Colder fingers than their own, gripped at their undead vampire hearts.

"It's the battle," the No Life King stated. "I think I understand now. That battle we intervened with…"

"…Vlad was supposed to be defeated." Integra finished knowingly. "We've been utterly stupid."

Alucard nodded.

Integra blew out more smoke. "Oh, bollocks…"

"Indeed," Alucard agreed. "Not only was I, Vlad, defeated, I was captured that day and brought before judgement. I lost my head."

The vampire's lips twisted in disgust of that memory.

"And now… we stopped that from happening," Integra alleged with amazement. "This is not good. Not good at all."

"No, it is not." It was all coming back to him. Alucard recounted the way the original battle took place and it all began to make more sense.

"That morning of the battle we were given false intel, and later ambushed in that valley by armies belonging to the Ottomans and another Wallachian warlord who went by the name, Basarab Laiotă. He wanted the throne back more than anything and sided with the enemy in order to get it back. I was vastly outnumbered. There was no chance in hell. We all knew it. It was over. However, a warrior never lowers his sword, not even when he knows that he is about to die—there is no honour for men that cower in the face of death. My men began to deflect within minutes of that battle, and I felt it… I had lost all faith in God. I was spent—in life, in belief, in spirit. Defeated."

Alucard made two fists at his sides until his knuckles cracked.

"An arrow brought me down from my horse and the morale of my army—well… they were finally free of my tyrannical rule, you could say. I was captured and shackled and brought before the executioner… they wasted little time." Alucard paused his rendition and met Integra's eyes just then.

They shared the rest of the story in cruel silence.

The fateful path of a dead man walking,

seconds before death,

desperately licking the ground soaked with blood.

Like a monster.

It was an event they both knew so very well. Something they felt so very well in their shared blood.

"Oh, what have we done?" Integra wandered a few steps away, smoking her cigar with disquiet.

It happened. In the back of Alucard's mind, he could not help but wonder what outcome this Vlad would have since they changed the course of history? Would he die a natural death or was vampirism a fate in which he had no choice?

Like a Pandora's Box, the cookie jar stood full of temptations with no one looking.

"It would seem the sword, the catalyst for bringing us here, did not work because we have no connection to the future anymore," Alucard suggested.

"Then we have to fix it." Determination was a common tone on Integra's voice. "We have to ensure Vlad returns to battle and is captured, return history back to normal. Then we use the sword again."

It was all they had to go on.

"I suppose we must," Alucard said suddenly deprived of conviction, causing Integra to spin around angrily at him.

"Do not even think it!" She hollered. "I… I can't lose you. Not now... Not yet. You and I—"

"Just think of the possibilities, Integra…"

"I will not!" She would not hear a word of it. "Don't, Alucard. I cannot bear to think of a future without you." Integra raised her chin up high. "Now, get your head out of your ass and start talking sense. That's an order."

That brought a real grin to the old vampire's face. "As you wish, my Countess. It was a frivolous thought. Forgive me."


Târgoviște, Wallachia, Jan 15th, 1477, 3:03 p.m.

A youth scampered down the castle hall his loose clothing ruffling like pennants in the wind. The sandy-haired page came to a stop before a thick wooden door and knocked rapidly.

"Sir! Sir!" He bellowed.

After declaring himself, the boy pushed the squeaky door open and entered Vlad's office, which also lead into his private sleeping quarters. Inside, Vlad sat at an ornate wooden desk, quill in hand, currently writing a letter on a piece of parchment. When he saw the pageboy enter the room, he placed his quill back into the inkpot and turned with interest towards the young lad.

"What is it, Gelou?" Vlad questioned with an arched brow. "Have you been running? Are we under attack?"

The boy shook his head. "No, my lord, Sir Grigore sent me to fetch you straight away. You have visitors. They are waiting for you outside the palace walls."

"Outside the walls…?"

"Yes. I do not know why they are outside on the street. I have not seen who it is. Sir Grigore and Sir Ion will not let me see and ordered me to come fetch you." The young man explained, standing near the doorway, hands behind his back.

Vlad pushed his chair back and brought his tall, sturdy frame to his feet. Briefly, he adjusted his heavy dark blue, silver-buttoned coat he wore over a white undershirt with a tassel-like leather belt around his waist. His black leather, knee-high boots thudded across the floor as he made his way closer to the boy, whose hair he ruffled in a friendly manner with his big hand when he reached him.

"Your diligence has been noted, boy. Now move along," he ordered the page.

Gelou nodded obediently and left without another word.

Vlad left his office and headed in the opposite direction than that of the pageboy. He shuffled down a curved staircase into the lower hallway heading towards the small chapel. He walked right through the chapel and headed for the front exit. Two armed guards let him pass quickly when they saw who it was and once outside in the sunny courtyard, someone hollered to open the palace gate.

Grigore and another brave soul under Vlad's command, Ion Lupescu, both sturdy, able-bodied fighters and leaders of his army, stood waiting for him. Both had a hand on the hilt of their sword that hung at their hip. As always, they were ready to physically deal with any threat should there be one.

"Halt!" Grigore waved at the doorkeeper to stop the opening the gate. "It must be decided by the king."

"My Lord!" Ion hissed when Vlad was close enough to hear. "It's them."

All around the yard, guards, servants and people looked on curiously, going about their business a little slower than usual. However, they kept their distance lest they wished to anger their lord, who was known to take matters into his own hands violently.

"Them?" Vlad looked over at the half-raised gate.

"The two interlopers, my lord," Grigore said heatedly. "They're here! They showed up all by themselves at the front gate, accompanied by no one. They asked for you by name."

Astonishment filled Vlad's features at first, sapphire eyes wide and lips surrounded by coarse black hair slightly parted. Then, quickly, it transformed into a hardened scowl. For a moment all was silent accept the whinny of a few nearby horses in the stables, the hammer of a blacksmith and the wail of an infant babe.

And the thudding of his mortal heart…

So, it is true. They are real. Just people. Now… they are here! They came alone. It was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

"Let them in," he commanded, squaring his shoulders and taking in an unnoticeably deep breath.

No one made a fool out of a Dracula. He would make sure of this.

It seemed so painstaking, but the solid wrought iron gate began to lift inside the fortified wall with the pull of heavy chains. All eyes went to the two figures, most noticeably, dressed in a peculiar style of clothing, on the other side of the gate.

There was a man as remarkably tall as Vlad himself, dark-haired and adorned in a long red coat, a wide red-brimmed hat on his head with a pair of odd spectacles on his face, standing next to a woman who came to his shoulder. Her most striking feature was her hair, nearly void of colour, was platinum in shade. It spilled out of the left side of a grey hood pulled over her head, shading her face. She wore a long grey coat that went to her knees and belted closed at her waist.

"What are we going to do with them, my lord?" Ion wondered as the two began to walk towards them.

Grigore tore his eyes from the strangers, wondering what was next. "Sir?"

The prince, he had it all figured out.

As soon as the two were in reasonable reach, Vlad ordered his guards. ""Seize them! Throw them in the dungeon!"


A/N: It would seem as if my computer tried to prevent me from updating this fic today XD! I think I even shed a tear or two in frustration... I spent ALL day writing this chapter. Thankfully, it did not eat my fic, phew! It was just being a jerk.

I know real Vlad's eyes were green but Hellsing made Alucard's Vlad's eyes blue.. so here they are blue. For fun, Alucard will change his to green to hide the fact that he's a vampire.

Gelou was the name of a very early Romanian duke from 900 AD.

Now here we are! Not sure if anyone is reading this fic still, but I'm having fun with it lol! So, Integra and Alucard have finally figured out what the hell they did... messing up history. But now they get to hang out with Vlad, which is the sole purpose for writing this story, so they could all meet lol! I plan to have some fun with them so there will some humour upcoming and some dark stuff, as usual.

This chapter was getting long. It will continue in the next.

Enjoy!