Chapter 13: The Devil You Know Best

Seras nearly tripped over Godbrand.

Who could blame her? Why in the world would she ever expect to find any one of her master's esteemed Generals sprawled across the floor like a rug? In the middle of the hallway at the bottom of a staircase no less? What the hell, was he drunk? Seras raised a disdainful eyebrow as an inevitable sense of déjà vu washed over her and she found herself crossing her arms and regarding the Viking chieftain at her feet. "Did you fall?"

"Something like that," Godbrand grumbled as he pushed himself upright and rubbed the back of his head, grimacing in pain. "That damn Carmilla has a temper."

Seras bobbed her head in understanding. "Well, you aren't exactly known for your stellar personality."

"Don't you start. She took a cheap shot while my back was turned."

Seras was puzzled. Till now, all the evidence had suggested Carmilla had the draugr completely in her thrall. Could she really afford to be treating her allies so? Shrugging, she bent and extended her hand to Godbrand, who eyed her in surprise and suspicion. "Fine. But at least get off the floor. You're creating a hazard." He narrowed his eyes at the proffered appendage as though she had shit smeared on her fingers. "Come on. I won't wait all night."

After a few lengthy seconds, his larger hand grasped hers and he let her pull him to his feet, wherein he withdrew and muttered a begrudging word that might have been a thanks.

"So then," Seras said as she fell into step with her bitterest rival, much to the latter's confusion if his bewildered glare was any indication. "Why did the Blood Countess send you flying down the stairs?"

"What's it to you?"

"I'm seeking a comedy." She shrugged. "I envision a great muddling of words in which you attempted to proposition the icy princess and she shoved her prim, dainty foot up your ass."

"And risk damage to her prim, dainty shoe? She'd probably get that little fucker Hector to do it for her."

The idea of Hector kicking Godbrand or anyone, ass or otherwise, seemed absurd to Seras, but she shrugged and murmured, "Or Striga. I imagine Striga wouldn't mind it."

At the mention of the Russian vampiress, Godbrand scowled irritably and continued, "Carmilla wanted to get my attention. Had some words to say about her vampire master or some shit. The one who turned her centuries ago."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Not at all." He shook his head. "He was a mean, old bastard, though. Mad as a rabid dog. I got into one or two territorial disputes with him over the years before he retreated into Central Europe."

"Was he Norse?"

"Nah, I think he was Greek or something. Like 'Before Christ, everyone still worshipped Zeus' Greek. One of his fledglings—I think her name was Morana. Is it Morana? She's still alive, right?—she was human in the latter days of the Persian Empire, so he predates her."

Persia. So that's where her unplaceable accent was from. Closing her eyes, Seras tried to imagine how it would be to watch her home civilization collapse, its people filtered away into new nations, new territories, new identities and cultures. Traditions abandoned, holidays renamed and taken over by new gods, old stories with new players, songs forgotten. Would Wallachia still be here in a hundred years or would she finally be swallowed up by either Hungary or the Ottomans? She sighed and rounded on Godbrand suddenly, "I need a drink. Join me. I could use the company."

Godbrand looked down at her through narrowed eyes. "Even if it's me?"

"Especially if it's you. Our conversations, though rare, have never been tedious, have they?" Her pale lips curled into her sweetest grin and she lowered her eyelids in a way Pip liked to call sultry. The draugr remained unimpressed and continued to glare, but Seras remained resolute. "Come now, Godbrand, drink with the devil you know best."

His expression did not change, but he cast an almost imperceptible glance downward, then quickly averted his eyes with a scowl. Moments later, a draft of cold air reminded Seras that she'd asked van Winkle to dress her in the gown that was so dark a red it was nearly black. It had the lowest cut of her entire wardrobe and she had intended it for Pip's enjoyment. However, she supposed dryly, if it served a purpose here, she would not complain. Happy accidents.

In tandem, her entreaty and this mildly provocative display seemed to appeal to the Viking, for he rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering some indistinct and probably untranslatable words before he finally grumbled, "Oh, all right."

Seras widened her grin.

"I know what you're doing," Godbrand said irritably. "You're not playing fair."

"This surprises you?" She crossed her arms, intentionally bunching her breasts together.

"Stop," he growled as he stalked away. "Let's go then. Clearly, you have something to say, so let's get it over with."

"Cheer up, Godbrand," Seras said as she followed after him. "I didn't kick you down the stairs."

They made their way into the castle's buttery, a large, spacious chamber Seras could only remember visiting a handful of times throughout her life. Not through any fault of her own as the buttery was 'below stairs' and therefore, according to Walter, no place for a vampire lady of standing. Actually, she was surprised she remembered how to get down here at all. How embarrassing it would have been to open that heavy, wooden door to find a broom closet instead. Godbrand would've thought 'getting a drink' meant something else entirely. With a heavy sigh, the draugr strode to the edge of the landing and stepped off it. Moments later, Seras heard a solid thud and guessed he had landed on a tabletop out of sight below. In contrast, she took the stairs.

"Beer or wine?" she called.

"Is that a serious question?"

She grinned ruefully and fetched two tankards and a flagon from a cabinet, filled all three from one of the many oaken casks lining the wall, and joined her old enemy at the table. "Cheers?"

"Cheers." They tapped the pewter tankards together and drank, Seras swallowing once, Godbrand taking several large gulps until he drained his share and poured himself another from the flagon. "So what was it you wanted to talk about? This isn't the part where you try to kill me, is it?"

So suspicious. Seras smiled demurely. "Nothing in particular. As I said, I wanted company."

Godbrand growled at her. "If that's all you wanted, go find your goddamned human lover. Seriously, he does it for you?"

Shrugging, she answered, "He keeps me warm at night."

The draugr had nothing to say to this, it seemed, and took another drink in silence. In a flash of memory, Seras recalled when they first met in Jutland, the sea wind and salt spray whipping at their two parties as they completed the alliance between Dracula's forces and the draugr Viking clan of the north. 1361. Over a hundred years and he'd barely changed. Temperamental, practical, occasional drunkard, occasional strategic warlord. She smirked.

"What's funny?"

"Ah, don't mind me." She waved her hand in dismissal and took a drink herself, savoring the cold bitterness.

"Draculina," Godbrand said. "Do you think the war is going well?"

Her red eyes flicked toward the Viking. "You know, I seem to be hearing that a lot lately. Hector told me you asked him that the other night."

"…little shit."

"Oh, don't be angry. It is a valid question," Seras chided. Setting aside her tankard, she leaned toward and knit her pale fingers together, focusing on a wood knot in the table's rough surface. "Admittedly…the war council is fractured. The Generals are all intriguing against one another for power and influence and Dracula's trust in the forge masters has chafed everyone's pride."

"Aye," Godbrand muttered. "There's no plan. It's just one massacre after the next, a blind, chaotic lashing out against the humans. No order, barely any strategy, and Dracula's lack of…ah…"

"Attention?" Seras supplied.

He looked at her. "Come clean, Seras. This isn't about suppressing and enslaving the human race, is it. It's your master's grand suicide and he's taking all of us with him."

Rather than answer, she drained the beer in her tankard and poured herself another. She had been wondering how long it would take before it became obvious, considering Dracula's disinterest in concealing his true intentions. Sighing, Seras shook her head. "Before you accuse me of going along with his madness, know that I have been trying to…persuade him not to do this."

"How long has he been beating you?"

The question took Seras so off guard that she nearly dropped the tankard. Mute with shock, she stared across the table at Godbrand as her mind raced. How did he know? What had given it away? She'd been so careful to conceal it. Had Hector told someone? Had someone seen her? Had Walter or Pip…? It didn't matter. Regaining some measure of her composure, she answered, "I don't know what you're—"

"Yes you do," Godbrand slammed a hand on the table. "Don't lie to me."

Seras bared her fangs, her nails scoring long marks in the table, but she relented and asked, "How did you know?"

"These past few night I've noticed when someone is standing too close to you and they raise their hand, you flinch." Was that really true? "It's hardly noticeable, but it's there. And when that shit-for-brains Varney remarked how your stupendous tits in all the paintings weren't an exaggeration, I watched you slap his fucking jaw off. Then when he made to strike you, you sank your fangs into his hand and bit off his fingers. The point is, since when do you of all vampires tolerate being battered about like an ill-used wife?"

"Since when do you care? You've never had a problem beating the ever-living shit out of me."

"Just confused is all," Godbrand sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "You've never been one to accept your fate lying down, so why start now? Tenacity is one of the only enjoyable things about you."

She raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought it was my stupendous tits."

"Oh, fuck yourself."

With that eloquent remark, they lapsed into silence, and as they drained the flagon and Godbrand stood to refill it, Seras pondered his words. He was right. It had been a long time since she had allowed anyone to harm her without retaliation. Not since she was a young fledgling and she shuddered at the rush of memories that came flooding back. Of bruises that refused to heal. Of being half-starved. Of a hand seizing her hair and wrenching her about. Of a savage kick that snapped her neck and shattered her hip as she was propelled into a snowbank.

"Why do you allow it?" Striga had asked her one night when she found her sitting out under the stars, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. "I heard that you fought and killed the Mad Belmont himself. Seems to me you were born for greater things than to die at the hands of that boat-fucking bastard Godbrand."

Why did she allow it then? Because she was afraid. Why did she allow it now? Was it worth clinging to this dwindling hope that things could go back to the way they were? No. She drained the last of her beer and held out her tankard for her companion to refill. Dracula had made his choice.

And I mine. "Why did you become a vampire, Godbrand? I've always wanted to know that."

"Huh?"

"You were a Viking in life. I remember your people believe a place among the gods in the afterlife can only be achieved by a glorious death in battle. Living forever plays no part in all that. So what happened?"

The draugr regarded her through narrow eyes, wondering what possible advantage this information could offer her, what motive for her curiosity. Possibly assessing the view her low bodice afforded him, but it was hard to tell. Seras didn't waver, but she didn't ply him for an answer either. Given the nature of her inquiry, it wouldn't surprise her if he drained his beer, smashed the flagon on the ground, and leapt across the table to murder her, their temporary truce be damned. Flexing her fingers, she steadied herself for the possibility.

"I was sick."

Seras blinked.

"Happened during a raid on what the livestock call England now." Godbrand waved a careless hand. "Comrade caught something, and then the whole fucking company had it. Forty-something years of life on this earth, and I ended it coughing blood into my hands in a camp far away from home."

Wordlessly, she understood. She had seen greater men laid low by illness and denied a warrior's death. Memories passed through her of poor Trevor wasting away, his tortured lungs giving up every last bit of air they could afford as they filled with blood. How she had pleaded with him to let her find out what was wrong, to give him real medicine, not the ridiculous treatments the quacks and apothecaries had prescribed to correct the 'imbalance of humors' within him. Why he refused she would never know, although she suspected it had to do with the veil of sadness that had trailed his every step for as long as they could both remember. Death came for him one cold winter morning as the snow fell outside. She watched the light leave his eyes as she held him.

Trevor was never afraid to die. But had he ever really had a will to live?

Seras furrowed her brow. Trevor had a grandson named for him, didn't he? Was it Leonel's boy she'd seen in the Mirror with Adrian and the Speaker? That terrified child who wouldn't meet her eyes when she'd confronted Integra's sons on the road from Lupo Village? How along ago had that day been?

"And who is this?"

"My son. Trevor." Leonel had said through grit teeth.

"Oh, really." She remembered thinking he was on the small side for a boy of…what? Eleven or twelve years old? He'd tried his damndest to be brave, too, but she could tell the poor thing was about to wet himself. Not exactly a remarkable scion of the Belmont line, but he'd had time to grow. Or so she'd thought.

Less than half a year had passed when she heard what had happened to the family. Pip, on an errand for Lisa, had been the one to discover the smoldering remains of the old estate, and Seras had been horrified when he reported it to her. At first, she had thought it was an accident. She had known Lady Integra had been facing religious and political pressure at the time, but she had never imagined it was severe enough to warrant an attack. Perhaps the Belmont matriarch had thought so too. But then Seras had seen the family's burial plot had been desecrated. Leon the Progenitor's tomb had been smashed open, his and his wife and their childrens' coffins removed and their bones strewn about the yard. Generations of hunters who had protected and served and sacrificed for the people of Wallachia. Even though they were her enemies, they deserved better than that.

"Well," Godbrand's harsh voice jarred her back to awareness and she looked up to see him draining his second, or was it his third, tankard. "I'll be leading the other Generals in a village raid tomorrow night. You want in?"

"No. I shouldn't leave my master. Not now."

"You really are the ever faithful fledgling, aren't you, Draculina."

Seras shrugged. "I'm all he has left now." So far as he knows. "Unless you want to count the forge masters."

The draugr snorted. "It's a sinking ship. You ought to get off it before he drags you down with him."

"Is that concern, Godbrand."

"Carmilla has a plan."

"Does she?" Seras narrowed her eyes. Come on, draugr. Tell me what I want to know. What does all this have to do with Brăila? How many others have gone over to Carmilla's side? What has she promised them? What is her grand scheme? With a derisive snort, Seras pretended to dismiss his words with a haughty toss of her head. "You really ought to disregard the word of Carmilla, you know. She killed her master when he ceased to be useful to her. She'll do the same to you, too. She's a parasite."

"Carmilla killed her master when she finally figured out she was capable of it."

"And how long did she allow him to torment her and Morana? A hundred years? More?"

Godbrand snarled. "How long would you have allowed Dracula to torment you?"

He had her there. Seras sat back and crossed her arms with a grimace. "Why are you telling me this? Not that it's news; I'm not blind. I know the shrew is plotting something."

Here, the Viking seemed to shift uncomfortably, taking a lengthy draft of beer before muttering, "Because opposing Dracula is one matter, but I said to Carmilla that we should recruit you to our side."

Seras' eyebrows lifted. This she hadn't expected. "Why?"

"For a vampire, you are young." Godbrand put a hand to his temple. "But I remember what you did to Ratko. And Levi Belmont. And Thorvald and Raghnall and Sjurd and all the draugar chieftains who did not surrender to you in the north. I know you and Dracula defeated the Mad Belmont."

He knows Carmilla can't win against both me and Dracula even if she's too stubborn to admit it. Dracula's warpath would eventually starve them all into oblivion, so of course siding with the Blood Countess's machinations was in the interest of everyone's self preservation. The only trouble would be the chaotic struggle for power once her sire had been overthrown. Seras sighed, "This isn't an invitation sanctioned by Carmilla, is it."

"No."

She'd thought as much. "What has she promised you? Have you spoken of payment for your treason?"

"Of course I have, I'm not an idiot. I've been promised complete dominance of the northern reaches, territories I possessed before you—"

"Is that all you want?" Seras made a point to stand, planting both hands on the table. "Why not join forces with me instead? You can have your territories."

"You intend to betray Dracula?" The draugr looked and sounded incredulous.

"I intend to live." Drawing herself back and crossing her arms, she continued. "Since our treasons are out in the open now, I'll make a better offer than Carmilla. You'll have your territories, and I'll extend to you the same courtesy I give Raman and Sharma. I'll keep the Belmonts out of the north."

At that, Godbrand narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I take it you know more than what Isaac disclosed the other night. You did seem awfully quick to contradict him now that you mention it. I suppose this means Alucard is on your side, too."

Seras said nothing.

"Who else do you have?"

She weighed the risk of telling him, then figured she was in deep already. "The Librarian. Some of my staff, Walter and the Werewolf. I was considering approaching the Rajah and Maharani. Maybe the outrider Generals we have stationed in Targoviste. So then," She curled her lips in her prettiest smile. "Shall we set aside a useless grudge in favor of a convenient alliance?"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Seras' eyes flashed. "Who said anything about trust? There's me, and then there's those against me. And we both know how that story usually ends, don't we, Godbrand?"

In answer, he bared his fangs in a cold, sinister laugh.

…

She found Pip cloistered in the archives, bent over a scroll, and without wasting either of their time, she told him, "Godbrand is with us."

He didn't react the way she thought he would. Instead, he answered, "Hector is with us."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I cornered him in his workshop. He and Carmilla were discussing zhe coup. And it seems zhere's an army awaiting us at Brăila."

"I was drinking with Godbrand. He attempted to persuade me to Carmilla's side."

"And you persuaded him instead?"

"I persuaded him instead." She smiled. "Between Carmilla and me, it seems I'm the devil he trusts best."

The Librarian lifted his head with a wry smile of his own. "Or he intends to betray you to zhe Blood Countess."

"As Hector may." She approached the desk and trailed her long nail against the parchment before him, a copy of the Belmont lineage now that she was looking at it properly. "In any case, I need you to find my brother. I have a message for him."

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Yeah, neither Seras nor Godbrand know who she really slapped in the face. I imagine Varney/Death's vengeance for that insult is long in the making. Also, we're kinda closing in on the reason Seras and Godbrand hate each other so much.

I own neither of these series.