The Sire Chronicles-Chapter One-Darla
I do not own the characters in this story. They belong solely to Joss Whedon, the incredible genius who created them.
Note: Because Darla's real name was never established (the master named her Darla some hundred years after he turned her) I had to make up a human name for Darla. She will be known as Rebekah Miller. If anyone knows her true name, (I don't think it was ever established) please let me know and I will gladly change it.
1597
"Mum," the young girl cried. "I'm scared."
"Hush, darling," the older lady replied, soothing back the golden curls that were cascading around the young girl's face. "It'll be alright, my child."
The young girl gripped her mother tightly around the waste, and whimpered as the large boat rocked back and forth. Huge swells hit the mast, causing the small room to shake violently. The wind howled against the windows, causing a loud clacking noise to engulf the otherwise silent cabin.
"How much longer until we get there?" the young girl whispered.
"We shall be there soon enough, Rebekah. Don't you worry."
~*~
"Captain Marks."
Quickly turning around, John Marks looked at the young deck hand approaching him. "Do you have news?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. It happened again. We found another person drained of all fluids. Just like the last one," he answered.
"Did you discard the remains?" the captain asked, his face stern.
"No sir, we did not want to alarm anyone. We will do so at sundown."
"Okay, that is all. You may return to your post, lieutenant." John watched as the young man saluted quickly and walked away.
"What the devil is going on," John muttered to himself. For the last week at sea, a mysterious ailment was silently killing his passengers. They all seemed to have the same symptoms: two small puncture holes in their neck, and a loss of bodily fluids. It almost seemed as if they had been drained, but the captain could think of no disease that presented such an etiology.
As if that was his only concern, John Marks also had to worry about the worsening weather. He had made this journey across the Atlantic Ocean many times, but never had he approached such a torrential storm. His boat carried over a hundred passengers, all bound for the new world, to start a new life. The burden and responsibility to get them there safely was eating away at him, what with the sudden onslaught of disease, and the approaching storm.
He sighed deeply as he looked out into the vast ocean. If he could manage to get his boat through tonight, he felt like he would be able to complete his voyage safely. His instincts told him that the weather would clear after he passed through the heart of the storm.
~*~
"Daddy," Rebekah cried. "Daddy you're back." The little girl tore out of her mother's embrace and into the comfort of her father's arms. She buried her small face into his shirt and sobbed quietly.
"I'm here, my princess," he cooed in her ear, rocking her back and forth in his arms. "There is no need to be scared, my sweet." He cupped her small face in his hands, "You're daddy's brave little lass, are you not?"
"I try to be, daddy," she said. "The loud thunder hurts my ears, and the boat keeps rocking and rocking like it's going to tip over." She held tightly onto his hands, her small fingers entwining his. "I can't swim, daddy. The boat is going to roll over, and I can't swim." Tears emerged from her pleading blue eyes, wetting her face.
"Shhhhh, my sweet girl. The boat will not tip," he said, wiping her face with his fingers. "I will not let it, I promise you." He picked her up in his arms and laid her gently down on the cot. "Now you go to sleep, and it will all be better in the morning."
Rebekah closed her small eyes, and tried to block out the howling wind. She whimpered when she saw her father wrap his coat tightly around his shoulders and venture back out into the storm. She wished that they had never made this trip. Her daddy had told her they were going to a new world, where he would have his own land to work. She didn't want to go to the new world, she liked living in London. Her play friends were there, and her Grandmother Elizabeth. Her eight-year-old mind could not comprehend her family's situation.
~*~
Charles Miller had spent his entire life working in the small village of Northumberland. His wife, Margaret Wenham, had also grown up in the same town. He fell in love with her instantly, and they were married. Two months after their vows, Margaret became one with child. Rebekah Elizabeth Miller was born nine months later, and she became the pride and joy of her parents.
Seven years later, a wave of plague struck the small town. The village was decimated, with over half of its population dead. A thick smell of decay hung in the air, as the bodies of the sick rotted along the cobblestone streets. Charles was lucky, because the plague missed his home. Nevertheless, his blacksmith business was bankrupt, there was hardly anyone left to make weapons for. When the bill collectors seized everything he owned, he knew that his family was in trouble. His daughter was getting older, and his wife was pregnant. He needed to find a way to take care of his family. So when a offer to start again in the new world was presented to Charles' by the king's men, he accepted greedily, anxious for the chance to rebuild his business and support his family.
Now, aboard the storm torn vessel, Charles questioned his decision to leave Northumberland.
I do not own the characters in this story. They belong solely to Joss Whedon, the incredible genius who created them.
Note: Because Darla's real name was never established (the master named her Darla some hundred years after he turned her) I had to make up a human name for Darla. She will be known as Rebekah Miller. If anyone knows her true name, (I don't think it was ever established) please let me know and I will gladly change it.
1597
"Mum," the young girl cried. "I'm scared."
"Hush, darling," the older lady replied, soothing back the golden curls that were cascading around the young girl's face. "It'll be alright, my child."
The young girl gripped her mother tightly around the waste, and whimpered as the large boat rocked back and forth. Huge swells hit the mast, causing the small room to shake violently. The wind howled against the windows, causing a loud clacking noise to engulf the otherwise silent cabin.
"How much longer until we get there?" the young girl whispered.
"We shall be there soon enough, Rebekah. Don't you worry."
~*~
"Captain Marks."
Quickly turning around, John Marks looked at the young deck hand approaching him. "Do you have news?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. It happened again. We found another person drained of all fluids. Just like the last one," he answered.
"Did you discard the remains?" the captain asked, his face stern.
"No sir, we did not want to alarm anyone. We will do so at sundown."
"Okay, that is all. You may return to your post, lieutenant." John watched as the young man saluted quickly and walked away.
"What the devil is going on," John muttered to himself. For the last week at sea, a mysterious ailment was silently killing his passengers. They all seemed to have the same symptoms: two small puncture holes in their neck, and a loss of bodily fluids. It almost seemed as if they had been drained, but the captain could think of no disease that presented such an etiology.
As if that was his only concern, John Marks also had to worry about the worsening weather. He had made this journey across the Atlantic Ocean many times, but never had he approached such a torrential storm. His boat carried over a hundred passengers, all bound for the new world, to start a new life. The burden and responsibility to get them there safely was eating away at him, what with the sudden onslaught of disease, and the approaching storm.
He sighed deeply as he looked out into the vast ocean. If he could manage to get his boat through tonight, he felt like he would be able to complete his voyage safely. His instincts told him that the weather would clear after he passed through the heart of the storm.
~*~
"Daddy," Rebekah cried. "Daddy you're back." The little girl tore out of her mother's embrace and into the comfort of her father's arms. She buried her small face into his shirt and sobbed quietly.
"I'm here, my princess," he cooed in her ear, rocking her back and forth in his arms. "There is no need to be scared, my sweet." He cupped her small face in his hands, "You're daddy's brave little lass, are you not?"
"I try to be, daddy," she said. "The loud thunder hurts my ears, and the boat keeps rocking and rocking like it's going to tip over." She held tightly onto his hands, her small fingers entwining his. "I can't swim, daddy. The boat is going to roll over, and I can't swim." Tears emerged from her pleading blue eyes, wetting her face.
"Shhhhh, my sweet girl. The boat will not tip," he said, wiping her face with his fingers. "I will not let it, I promise you." He picked her up in his arms and laid her gently down on the cot. "Now you go to sleep, and it will all be better in the morning."
Rebekah closed her small eyes, and tried to block out the howling wind. She whimpered when she saw her father wrap his coat tightly around his shoulders and venture back out into the storm. She wished that they had never made this trip. Her daddy had told her they were going to a new world, where he would have his own land to work. She didn't want to go to the new world, she liked living in London. Her play friends were there, and her Grandmother Elizabeth. Her eight-year-old mind could not comprehend her family's situation.
~*~
Charles Miller had spent his entire life working in the small village of Northumberland. His wife, Margaret Wenham, had also grown up in the same town. He fell in love with her instantly, and they were married. Two months after their vows, Margaret became one with child. Rebekah Elizabeth Miller was born nine months later, and she became the pride and joy of her parents.
Seven years later, a wave of plague struck the small town. The village was decimated, with over half of its population dead. A thick smell of decay hung in the air, as the bodies of the sick rotted along the cobblestone streets. Charles was lucky, because the plague missed his home. Nevertheless, his blacksmith business was bankrupt, there was hardly anyone left to make weapons for. When the bill collectors seized everything he owned, he knew that his family was in trouble. His daughter was getting older, and his wife was pregnant. He needed to find a way to take care of his family. So when a offer to start again in the new world was presented to Charles' by the king's men, he accepted greedily, anxious for the chance to rebuild his business and support his family.
Now, aboard the storm torn vessel, Charles questioned his decision to leave Northumberland.