Chapter 15: Eternal Night

He had once been a great lord of the night.

Ageless, a mighty force among their order, powerful enough to cast an entire domain into darkness and carve himself a kingdom therein. In those days, he was a vampire to be feared, a scholar and an alchemist, a master hunter, a warrior of old. All this and more. He owed allegiance to no one, for there had been no vampire king or queen, merely a loose conglomeration of duchies, earldoms, baronies, all feuding and intriguing with one another for dominance of Europe, Asia, and Africa. So it had been since the most ancient of nights, but the downfall of the old order had been swift and, as always, an immortal's boredom had been the catalyst. For had he not been bored and in search of a new amusement, then Walter certainly would have killed and eaten that insignificant human lord who called himself Mathias Cronqvist. Oh, yes, Walter remembered their sovereign's rise. It stuck in his memory like poison in wine how he had been intrigued by Cronqvist's aims: vengeance against a former friend for some meager slight. Walter no longer recalled the quarrel, if there had ever been a quarrel at all, but he knew what came next.

Taking the girl was a simple matter. The Trantoul family had a small castle estate alongside a riverbank in the region of Anjou. Wary of the running water, like many of his kind, he made his way over the walls, into Lady Sara's bedchamber, and spirited her away without ever being seen by either guard, servant, or family member. Bewitched into a stupor, she did not scream then anymore than she did when she awoke a captive in his fortress. For that, he commended her. It was a brave woman, or man, who looked upon a helpless situation and did not succumb to useless hysterics, and the Lady Sara faced her captivity with the calm and dignity worthy of a princess. He himself made a congenial host, allowing her the freedom to wander about his castle and its grounds without restriction. Never did she make an attempt to escape, though he suspected this was more out of sensibility than the typical feminine weakness one heard about in romance tales. Sara was not so foolish she thought she could brave a forest of endless night and countless monsters, alone and unarmed and with no prior fighting experience. Better to stay put and await rescue when it came.

"Do you sing, Lady Sara?" he asked her one evening as they sat almost companionably before the hearth in the main hall.

She flinched at the sound of his voice, the hands that gripped her book trembling some. "A-a little, my lord. Only a little. And not well. I would not trouble you."

"You are too modest, madame," he told her. "Why should your human voice be troublesome here? Come now, sing for me."

Slowly, she marked her page and closed the small tome, setting it aside. "What song shall I sing for you?"

"Any song you wish, of course," he said. "Though I would consider a hymn ill-mannered."

Lady Sara gave it some thought, then rose to her feet, took a few premature breaths before her shyness retreated and let her warble nervously through a forgettable melody about lost love and devotion and other sentimental rot. Still, Walter leaned back his head and closed his eyes as the maiden sang. Doubtless, Leon Belmont thought he had ill-used poor Sara, her virtue taken by force as a means to pass the time as they waited for her hero to arrive. This was certainly a practical fear but entirely unfounded. Wicked as he could be, Walter had no taste for the violent and barbaric use some of his kinsmen had for women. In his mind, it was more rewarding to patiently charm and delight a lady with sweet words and secure her unreserved consent, thereby cuckolding her husband or lover or whomever he'd taken her from. Such overtures to the Lady Sara, however, went unheeded and her human state was as pure as he'd left it.

So when the last of the lyrics faded into silence and he brought his pale hands together in slow, protracted claps, he declared, "An angel," She blushed at his praise but was not drawn further by it. Rather, she returned her gaze to the window. Waiting. In truth, he almost regretted making a vampire out of that steadfast woman, but he was a cruel lord, and he enjoyed the torments he inflicted upon his victims. When Leon finally came for his lady, Walter relinquished her without a fight and waited for the young man to discover she was no longer among the living. Waited for a man driven mad with hatred and grief to come take vengeance against him.

Leon Belmont came to avenge his beloved, having slain Sara with his own hands to save her from her fate. Walter met his and his comrades' challenge without reserve. It had, after all, been in the name of entertainment, a way to stave off the boredom that eventually afflicted all immortals. It was a fine battle and Leon a worthy opponent, even if all he brought with him was a simple whip and gauntlet that absorbed magical energy. They fought throughout the night, damaging each other some, damaging his castle greatly. Leon's wrath was frightful to behold. With the loss of Sara, wrath and anguish was all the young man had left. He had abandoned a crusade to rescue her and in doing so was forced to relinquish his title and lands to a younger brother. In hunting him, he'd learned of Walter's other misdeeds: kidnapped women, children, siblings, parents. The alchemist who'd accompanied him in his quest, Rinaldo Gandolfi, had lost his entire family to Walter's games. So had the Celt, Trefor. What was left to this man other than his outrage? That was Walter's undoing. He fell, and Leon Belmont drove a stake through his heart. "You will NEVER take another innocent life!"

They were both deceived. True, Walter Bernhard, Lord of the Forest of Eternal Night, died there within the bowels of his own castle, but that was not the end of him. As his life force was syphoned away, he sensed the arrival of the ancient spirit he had only met once before, a thousand lifetimes ago. From the shadows, it came for him, his skull grinninng forever as he glided forward. It didn't matter if one escaped him by means of alchemy or the vampire's bite or what other tricks were available to mankind. He always claimed his due in the end, and for the first time in centuries, Walter was afraid.

All the souls of the dead belonged to Death.

However, it appeared Death was not interested in devouring what remained of his life. The last of his power was drained from his being…and then it was given away…to Mathias Cronqvist. So it was he and Leon and his companions learned the truth of the matter. Walter was not the only force of darkness Cronqvist had enlisted in this undertaking. In his rage at the loss of his wife, Elizabetha, Cronqvist had cursed God and renounced humanity. More than that, he'd done so in a way that gave him ultimate power over the rivals he would find amongst his new kin. Rather than join the night world, his ambitions drove him to rule it. Never would he be held underfoot again. Not by God, not by the Devil, not by anyone or anything, and Death had helped him achieve it. In return, the man who would become Dracula would bring forth destruction upon the world, a catastrophic loss of human life for generations to come. Enough to tempt an evil, greedy spirit like Death.

Fearless, not to mention utterly suicidal by that point, Leon Belmont meant to fight them both, only for Rinaldo and Trefor to pull him back and the three comrades made their escape, retreating to fight another day. The sun rose for the first time in centuries on the Forest of Eternal Night. Walter never saw any of them again, and he was reduced to a servant, forced to watch his domain crumble. He took a new name then. Damned he'd be if the noble name Bernhard was sullied by servitude, and thus he had remained for four centuries.

…

Of course a coup against his old enemy suited him.

Walter Dornez walked with his hand to his chin and his gaze pensive. The question was how to ensure his lady's success where he had failed four centuries prior. True, Dracula then had the aid of a primordial spirit, but after so many years, his power had only grown. Additionally, with Death still by his side like the leech he was, everything was even more complicated. It would take a serious amount of cunning, strength, and magic. Luck, too. Fortune was already in their favor in that Varney was currently in Targoviste with Ratko, Sladek, and Ivan. Fitting that Dracula would position him at the epicenter of all this madness, he thought bitterly.

He paused to grasp the heavy, crimson drapes in his hands and slide them open, squinting as the dawn light filtered into the castle corridor. I wonder if there is anything that could be of use in Dracula's treasury. He doubted Lady Seras possessed anything of consequence at Poenari. Then again, there was the Belmont Hold, and he recalled her words the other night about a last descendant. A survivor of the massacre years ago. Walter grit his teeth in an annoyed scowl. Damned Belmonts. And here I thought I was finally rid of Leon's kin. For years, he had indulged Seras' penchant for keeping them alive, endured her friendship with the accursed Mercy-Giver, but after it all he—

A startled gasp interrupted his thoughts and the old vampire snapped his head to one side, his brow furrowed at the figure watching him from the shadows at the end of the hall.

It was the Countess of Styria.

"Good morning, madame," he said with his customary cold smile. "I hope you are faring well during your stay."

Carmilla did not answer him, and for once, he noted with a small degree of surprise, there was no conceit in the vampiress's eyes. Rather, he saw a strange openness in those icy orbs that he could almost classify as wonder as she kept well away from the light. "I…I must admit," she said after a time. "I did not know you were a vampire who could withstand sunlight, Master Dornez."

You did not think a mere servant would possess such power, you mean. However, he was flattered she had remembered his name and warmed his smile all the same. "There are precious few of us left in the world, my lady, and I fear I may be one of the last."

The Styrian Countess did not ask him how he'd achieved this ability. For all she knew, it was a matter as simple as genetics and luck. Some vampires retained the eye color of their human state, albeit sharper in hue and more uncanny in appearance, and some vampire eyes turned red upon their awakening. Why shouldn't it be so for vampires and sunlight? Foolishness. When Walter the human died, he'd spent three lifetimes in darkness before he learned the art of daywalking, a secret the 'precious few' of their kind jealously guarded.

Instead, the pale lady fixed her eyes on him and whispered, "Tell me what you see."

Walter arched an eyebrow.

"I have not seen the sun in centuries." Carmilla's delicate fingers clenched. "So describe it to me."

Ah…so she has a sentimental stroke in her. Walter returned his gaze to the window and studied the daylight, its brightness, its colors, humming thoughtfully to himself as he admired the younger vampiress's poorly hidden impatience. "The sun…it is like an iridescent pearl resting in a bed of clouds the color of amber glass and topaz, and the light has turned the morning frost to silver and gold. The snow glistens on the mountains, and I can see two sun dogs in the sky. A most lucky sign."

"Are there icicles?"

Walter inclined his head to look. "Yes there are, madame. They have captured a little light for themselves and now resemble a tiny world of winter."

By now, Carmilla had approached him and was almost standing at his side, just out of the sun's path. If he wanted, he could grasp her by the arm and yank her forward, and that would be the end of her, yet it seemed the Countess had not considered this. Or she was confident enough he wouldn't dare. "You're rather well-practiced in your poetic words," she said with a knowing smile.

"I am a soft-hearted, old man," Walter chuckled, dismissing his dark thoughts. "When my Lady Seras was young and kept herself cloistered in shadow, I would endeavor to cheer her with reports of the morning radiance." He smirked. "Or was it perhaps cruel of me to tease her so?"

The lady laughed through closed lips and smiled demurely. "Odd, don't you think, that she is so powerful and yet so subservient to our Lord Dracula?"

Walter caught the thoughtful tone in her voice and answered carefully, "No, not odd. Merely tragic, I suppose. My lady loves her sire as a father and wishes only for his happiness."

Carmilla turned away with a derisive sneer.

"You disagree?"

"I merely think…our lord is weary and troubled."

"Oh?"

"And with these men he surrounds himself with, this war council is fractured under his leadership."

"And you believe you can do better?" Walter asked.

Carmilla bristled. "Are you implying I can't?"

"Not at all. I simply believe that if you wished to stage a political coup against our Lord Dracula, you made a rather grievous error in angering the Lady Seras. Had you exerted more tact in your plotting, she may have been inclined to assist you. She would have made a valuable ally to your cause."

"When has Draculina ever thought to assist me? She stole Styria from Morana and me and delivered it back into the hands of our mad lord. Where was her assistance when the wolf people and the western armies and every other bastard in Europe invaded our home?"

"Begging your pardon, but your ladyship knows why," Walter said curtly. "You were, and still are I might add, harboring a fugitive. Did my lady not say, 'Deliver to me the turncoat Lenore and I'll grant you all the aid you desire.'"

Likely, the Styrian Countess had considered paying so terrible a price, for Walter doubted there was anything Carmilla wouldn't sacrifice if it meant attaining her ambitions. The blunt refusal of Seras' proposal was probably the doing of Striga or Morana. In any case, Seras remained in Wallachia and monitored the situation from afar, ready to step in and defend Dracula's holdings if the invaders proved successful. When word came from the west of a near miraculous victory for the soldiers of Styria, his lady had cocked an impressed eyebrow, shrugged, and sent the four reigning sisters a letter of congratulations that dripped with almost unwarranted disdain. The vampiress Lenore, obviously, remained in Styria. As for Seras' old friend Striga, nearly all communication regretfully stopped.

Carmilla waved her hand in annoyance. "Lenore's crime was a trivial one."

"Maybe so," said Walter. "But my lady has clear expectations for her court. Had Lenore heeded them, she would have remained intact. Honestly, madame, you would think she'd have considered the state of her health, and skin, before she stole a human child out of its bed and terrified the life out of it. Of course Draculina was furious. She'd have done the same if it was the Valentines or Zorin." Or myself. Even Walter had to shudder at the thought of his lady's hands gripping a handful of his skin and ripping it from his bones and the echoes of Lenore's agonized screams for mercy reverberated in his memory. Until that night, he had not thought Seras capable of that kind of brutality. True, he had heard of her doings in the north, but rumors were rumors. Or so he liked to imagine.

To think that sweet, terrified little girl Dracula brought back to his castle…

"Lenore deserved the punishment my lady saw fit to dispense." It hadn't been an easy decision for Seras. She had loved Lenore and hated to inflict such an atrocity upon her. But she was the mistress of a powerful court. She could not afford to look weak and play favorites.

"It was a fucking human!" Carmilla snapped. "Worse yet, it was a Belmont. What kind of vampire allows the existence of a creature whose sole purpose is to exterminate our kind?"

Walter had wondered much the same that night when Seras had found out what Lenore had done. By then, the young Belmont had been in her keeping for several hours. Van Winkle was the one to discover him when she'd gone into Lenore's chamber with coal for her hearth, and she brought the child before their lady immediately. Walter remembered that fear-stricken child and the astonishment, and hurt, in Seras' eyes when she learned what her companion of over three decades had done.

"What's your name, little one?" she'd asked the moment she'd collected herself. The boy remained silent, save for frightened whimpers and sniffling. Nonetheless, Seras had smiled as she knelt before him, taking care to keep her lips closed and not frighten the little one with her fangs. "Come now. It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you, sweet."

"I want to go home," he murmured, eyes fixed on his unshod, cold feet.

"And you shall." Seras promised. "I'll bring you home straightaway, but will you please tell me your name, so I can find your home?"

Walter had no need of a name. He had known by scent and sight this boy was a Belmont youngster, likely one of Lionel the Valiant's spawn, and he often wondered since what had possessed Lenore to steal a child from that family. It couldn't be simple ignorance and the young vampiress wasn't a fool. Still, he held his tongue as Seras waited patiently for their guest to answer her.

"Trevor Belmont," he finally managed between hiccuping sobs. "House Belmont."

Seras' face changed from gentle coaxing to outright horror, and she shared a glance with him. Walter had merely shrugged, knowing it would probably be best to kill the boy outright before he grew up to be a nuisance. Yet when he stepped forward to do just that, his lady halted him with a wave of her hand.

"Can we go now?"

"Yes." Seras smiled as she rose to her feet. "We'll leave right now."

She fetched a rich, red cloak lined with grey fur and swept it over her shoulders, then led them both up to Poenari's highest tower where the sun was beginning to rise over the mountains. "All right, little one." She bent and scooped the boy up in her arms. "This is the fastest way home. It will be very scary, but if you keep your eyes open, you will see something beautiful." With that, she climbed the stone stairs and stood on Poenari's battlements, overlooking the mountains and forest of snowy pine. A gust of wind swept over the two of them, billowing his lady's cloak and the Belmont boy buried his face in her shoulder. Walter heard Seras breathe in the crisp dawn air, and then, silent as an apparition, she extended her lily-white foot forward and stepped off the wall. As she slipped from view, Walter heard no screams. The mountains continued as before, silent and heedless of the events within the fortress. Then Seras appeared again, her blood and shadow wings spread to catch an updraft that took her high above the Făgăraș Mountains. He watched her go, soaring swiftly toward the sun, and in the distance, he heard the child laughing.

And so a Belmont returned home in the arms of a Dragon.

"She's just the same as the rest of those fools in the war hall, a sentimental child," Carmilla's snarl tore him from his reverie.

He narrowed his eyes at the Countess. "Maybe. Yet I maintain, madame, that you made an ill-fated choice in angering her. You can fight her, yes. You can fight Dracula. But fighting them both at the same time? Now that is quite reckless. I wouldn't have recommended it."

"Not so reckless if the Prince of Eternal Night stands with me."

Walter froze as Carmilla curled her serpentine lips in a sinister smile.

"Tell me, my lord, how long you have been subject to the whims of the Usurper Dracula?"

My lord. No one had called him that for as long as Dracula had not been referred to as 'the Usurper.' Old monikers that meant nothing in the new order. Four hundred years, Walter thought, the Wheel of Fortune had kept him at the bottom. Never to rise again and reclaim his old lands. His old powers. Forever a slave to his master. How would it be to regain what he had lost, he wondered as he regarded the Countess. She had a plan. She was gathering followers. Had followers in Styria. Striga and Morana were clever and had talent. Even Lenore, imprudent as she was, had some merit. But to throw in his lot with them?

Walter smiled.

"My dear girl," he said in the patronizing tone he knew would infuriate her. Indeed, though she tried to conceal it, he sensed her anger like a breath of ice across his cold skin. "I am a weary, old vampire, and I have no interest in the childish machinations of an irascible, little shrew."

Carmilla's face twisted in fury and she raised a hand to strike him, then suddenly gasped in pain as her hand stopped in midair, lines of blood appearing in her fair wrists and forearms. At the twist of his fingers, the rest of Walter's razor-thin wires tightened around her like a thousand snares.

"I was ancient long before you were born. Do not cross me again. I would hate to mar this lovely face." With a sneer, he caressed his hand across her cheek and her eyes flashed in helpless rage. No mist form, no cloud of bats, nor any sign of an attempt at transformation at all. Not that it would have done her much good; the wires were enchanted to block most forms of magic. Neither did she summon a familiar to defend herself, and it was also apparent to him her regeneration ability wasn't anything special else she'd have simply torn herself apart to get at him. He clamped his hand under her jaw and squeezed. "How much do you rely on others to carry out your misdeeds, Carmilla? Without your fighter, your strategist, your diplomat sisters, what exactly are you but a foolish dreamer?"

When the vampire lady did not respond, he laughed low and cruel, his grin full of malice, and his eyes alight with vile pleasure. He laughed louder still when Carmilla suddenly lashed out to bite his hand only for her fangs to snap on empty air as he yanked the appendage away. Walter smirked and turned away from her.

"Powerless bitch."

He walked away, releasing the vampiress once a healthy distance was between them in that corridor, though he did leave a web of wire in his wake should she be foolish enough to attack him from behind. A cheap shot like that was no less than he expected from a dreamer and upstart, and he'd learned long ago to be wary of dreamers and upstarts.

However, he would never find out if Carmilla meant to attack him.

At that moment, somewhere within the castle, he heard Seras' enraged scream.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: And Walter makes Carmilla's shit list.

I absolutely appreciate the brilliance of Carmilla's character in the series. Her arrogance and the way she carries herself is a perfect example of toxic feminism. Yes, we could say she is a strong female character, but at what cost? Everything she has she gained by murdering men (a fact she is proud of) and she's almost constantly putting down everyone around her. In the beginning of season 3, she does seem genuinely happy to see her sisters, but even there, she seems to keep them at arms length as if she's afraid of betrayal. So with her arrogance and toxicity, she is also rather tragic. She is the one who presented the idea to conquer Dracula's old territories, and then denies the credit to any of the others who made it happen. Lenore secured Hector's loyalty, Striga commands the armies, Morana developed the tactics. All Carmilla did was essentially say, "Here's an idea, let's do it." She even takes the coward's way out by committing suicide rather than fight to the bitter end as other characters would have done. None of the main three would have taken their own lives in a hopeless situation. She mocks Isaac and his Night Creatures for being unable to kill her, but I think she knew she was losing the battle and could not stand the humiliation of dying at the hands of a human.

I don't own either of these series.