When Olrox awoke, he was too weak to open his eyes. His entire body felt like a leaden weight, frozen and lifeless. The only movement he could discern at all was the steady pumping of blood through chilled veins. Too tired for much else, he concentrated on that, how the relentless rhythm brought life back to what was a cold shell, warming him gradually as if by friction alone.
Without warning, his lungs filled with oxygen, and a tingling sensation, starting from his chest and working its way outward, stirred up his first conscious thought. 'What?' He hadn't realized that he hadn't been breathing; it took him a few seconds to remember what breathing was. It seemed he had been drifting through nothing for a lifetime. Another, deeper breath was drawn, and the tingling from moments before suddenly exploded into pain.
A vague memory occurred to him, that when he had slept on his arm the wrong way, or sat cross-legged too long, the restored circulation could be rather painful. His bleary mind came to the profound conclusion that he must have slept on his whole self the wrong way, for a very long time. He became aware of muscles, as they all seemed to panic at once at this foreign concept of blood and nourishment. His mind was confused and overwhelmed by the amount of energy it was receiving. What would have been a scream came out as nothing more than a piteous squeak. His now somewhat regular breaths were short, hitching gasps; Olrox clenched his teeth against the fire lacing through his veins, wishing he could stop all this damn movement and be still again.
To add to his confusion, now there was a kind of weight resting on his chest, and another something or other clamped around his arm. Startled, Olrox moved his arm, trying to pull it out of whatever was holding it. No sooner had the muscles contracted, than an absolute tidal wave of pain slammed into him; now he did scream, his back arched involuntarily, and his body went into convulsions. However, he was quickly pinned, and though his muscles were still twitching, they were beginning to calm down. His breath, too, was deeper and smoother.
With this reprieve, Olrox's mind turned outward. Whoever was pinning him (he surmised that the weight was in fact a person) was letting its hair fall into Olrox's face, and, for the first time in what seemed like eternity, he felt a bit annoyed. Absently moving his left hand to brush it away, another, weaker jolt shot through him. He cried out once before settling into soft, frustrated sobs.
"I know. I know it hurts. It doesn't last forever; be still, child." The voice was unexpected, but it spoke softly and was comforting. Reassured by the knowledge that someone else was there with him, Olrox tried to follow the person's advice, willing himself to relax. He was thoroughly surprised when it worked, and his body obediently went slack. The hands that had held his arms now began rubbing him down; in his mind's eye Olrox saw the stables at home when the grooms and stable boys had done the same to Alex and Mihai's horses after they came back from riding. Beginning at his shoulders, the hands worked their way down his arms to his hands, which were lifted and massaged gently to increase the blood flow. Olrox hadn't been aware of it, but his hands felt like ice; they didn't seem to be warming as quickly as the rest of him. His arms and shoulders, however, felt worlds better, and energy moved through them more freely.
"Isn't that better? Now, you've proved you can hear me; could you look at me, Olrox?" At this gentle coaxing, Olrox remembered that he had eyes. Wary of even his facial muscles, he slowly opened them, gazed up at a vaguely red-tinted blur hovering over him. Blinking once, he waited for his eyes to focus. After a few seconds, the red mistiness of his vision faded, and the blur sharpened into a face he thought he'd never see again.
Before he could think to yell, Vlad clamped a hand over Olrox's mouth and leaned in millimeters from his face, staring him directly in the eyes. Olrox was too terrified to make a sound, but the amber eyes didn't have the same effect on him as they had earlier. What control they did exert was only slight. They seemed somehow...different, though. Olrox couldn't place it, everything he saw was changed in some way. He caught the subtle refractions of light glinting off Vlad's poreless skin, the eyes were myriad hues of gold, orange, silver, brown, and were multi-faceted, fathomless. Every ivory strand of hair stood out in perfect clarity. Olrox was seeing for the first time, and everything he had ever laid eyes on up to then had been a garbled, pale reflection of this new and wonderful reality! Noticing movement in Vlad's face, Olrox realized that he had been talking to him for some time; now it was the ears' turn to revel in a newborn sense.
"...awakening was very difficult. Perhaps I should have let you drink more, but that is behind us." Olrox was paying more attention to the voice than the words. If it was striking the last time he had heard it, it was mesmerizing now. He could make distinctions between baritone and bass tones, beautiful layers and levels, meshing together into one harmony. He nearly wept. The voice continued, with all its nuances and music. "...Ah, but you are dazed. You're not comprehending a word I'm speaking to you, are you?" And Vlad lifted his hand.
Here, Olrox felt it was time to offer some sort of answer, so he uttered the first thing that came to his lips. "Am I dead?" His voice was so wholly his own, and yet sounded so different, that he was shocked into a second pensive silence. He replayed his question in his head, recalling the layers of tenor, which were possessed of a hauntingly unnatural quality, a sort of clear reverberation that was a little bit frightening. This time, Vlad allowed time for Olrox to assimilate some of the flood of stimuli before replying.
Vlad drew back and sat in a chair placed beside the bed Olrox was lying on. 'I never noticed the room...' Olrox was further calmed, knowing that he was in a physical space, something he had given no attention to moments ago. His gaze meandered about the room, drinking in fabrics, woodwork, stone, glass, everything within sight, as though he had never seen them before. And he never had, not like he was now. His ears caught soft, amused laughter from Vlad, and he listened as his eyes reassumed their trek across a particularly fascinating lamp flame.
"Well, in what sense of the word do you mean 'dead?' You breathe, you move, you think. Your soul is in you, so you must be alive, is that not so?" His laughter took an ironic tone for just a moment. "You've found a light, I see. I remember. Yes, I remember very well my first night. It is heart wrenching, no? Eden could not be lovelier than a kitchen garden everything becomes so alive. Has your agony subsided? Good then, you must get up, and know what else has changed for the better." And with that, Vlad helped Olrox stand. Olrox was still sore, and his movements were torpid, but he could move well enough. Vlad watched for a moment to see that Olrox was keeping his balance before crossing the room to a small table. Olrox, meanwhile, made a mental check of himself now that he was standing and fairly lucid. His clothes were a mess. Everything was wrinkled, and there were several tears in the material. Some of it had been threadbare already, but now he was wearing rags. 'If my clothes are this bad, I must look a fright...'
Then another thought occurred to him. 'What on earth am I doing in this place, anyway? And with him, of all people...' Deciding this query needed resolving, he started toward his unusual companion. After two steps he froze, shocked at his own movement. His walk didn't feel right; it was too...fluid. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them again, he tried once more to walk properly, wondering at his noiseless steps. It was like his own body had become completely alien to him; he stopped and simply stood in the middle of the floor. He stared at the hairline cracks in the stone for a few seconds, before Vlad's voice brought his attention back to the present.
"It's rather late, now. I had wanted to speak with you for a while; however, circumstances didn't allow, and at any rate, you seem exhausted by your ordeal." At this, he turned, lamplight playing on the buttons of his coat, his eyes, his hair, and also a silver chalice he held elegantly in his right hand. "Ah, so you've taken a few steps already. It takes getting used to, doesn't it? In a week you'll forget you ever moved another way."
"Ordeal? I'm afraid I don't understand," Olrox asked confusedly as Vlad padded over to him, his boots soundless against the stone floor. With catlike grace, he put the chalice in Olrox's hands, smiling encouragingly as he did so.
"You should not be burdened with such things now. Here, drink this. It and rest should help to revive you."
Olrox peered at the contents of the chalice. He held it by the cup, which was warm. 'Odd, he was holding it by the stem...' It looked a bit like brandy. His parents and nurses had given him and his siblings warmed brandy when they were sick; this seemed a logical enough explanation. But what had heated it? There was no fire in the hearth, and the ashes looked old... Watching thin tendrils of steam curl up from the liquid, he puzzled over it for only a moment. It smelled rather nice-very nice, actually- and he was feeling a bit drained... He raised the chalice to his lips, then, noticing he was being watched, raised his eyes to Vlad's. Vlad gave him a little urging nod. "Go on. Make sure you drink all of it." Olrox took a small, experimental sip, and then gulped the rest, letting the last drop slide onto his tongue before handing the chalice back to Vlad. It certainly hadn't been brandy, of that much Olrox was certain. He could feel it driving the coldness out of him, right out to his fingertips and feet. A relieved sigh escaped him; his eyelids drooped a little.
Vlad set the chalice on its tray on the table and looked toward the one small window in the room, though it was tightly shuttered. "And now, child, for the rest I spoke of. You are tired, are you not?" Now that it had been mentioned, Olrox was extremely sleepy, and he nodded as he stifled a yawn. "Yes."
The taller man chuckled softly and laid a hand on Olrox's shoulder. "Good. Sleep well, then, child. Tomorrow will be a busy day, I think." He embraced Olrox briefly, kissed his forehead, then left the room so quickly Olrox had trouble following his exit with his eyes. Finding himself alone, he walked wearily back to the bed, falling fast asleep almost before he had fallen onto it.
He awoke gradually, seeming to rise up into the level of his conscious mind. He had slept in his clothes again. They were clearly ruined. The lamps burned low, but a fire had been started in the fireplace, so Olrox went to it, holding out his hands and letting them soak in the lovely heat. He couldn't discern why he was so cold constantly. Pulling a chair close to the hearth, he sat, letting his feet warm as he collected his thoughts. What had been muddy and confused yesterday (at least, he thought a day had passed) was becoming clear now. His pulse quickened as he recalled recent events.
'Where am I? This isn't my father's house; in fact, I left the Trandafir house last night. I remember, because that's when...' His eyes widened. "Sweet Mother of God." He desperately hoped he was dreaming. 'I remember because that's when he...But why am I here? I was sure I was dying, unless this is Hell...' He shivered. He couldn't think about such things. A bit a white caught his eye from the mantelpiece, and upon standing, he saw that it was a sealed note. Breaking the seal with his finger, he sat down again to read it by the firelight. It was simple, only a few lines written in a flowing script.
'Young Trandafir,
There is a bathing room past the door on the south wall. Also, I have taken the liberty of having a change of clothes brought for you.' Olrox glanced around. Indeed, there was what looked like a new set of clothing laid out neatly on the bed. 'When you have finished, exit the door on the west wall. You will come into a hallway, where one of my servants will meet you and show you to my chambers. I am eager to speak with you concerning your new duties as part of my household. You do remember our agreement? I'm sure you also have questions and concerns for me, which I will be only too happy to answer for you. Again, I welcome you to my home.
Yours truly,
V.T.D.'
"I'm not dead," he whispered, hands shaking as he set down the note. He did remember their conversation. Maybe...the rest was something he had dreamt. Perhaps he had come down with a fever; fevers caused hallucinations. That must have been it. 'How could I have been so ridiculous? I hope I haven't embarrassed myself in front of him.' With this thought in mind, he went about following the note's instructions.
Olrox had always been rather fond of hot baths, and this proved to be an especially nice one. The bathing room itself was small, with a large, rectangular bath sunken into the floor. The floor and bath were one, the entire affair covered in tiny ceramic tiles that formed patterns and borders along the floor that were obviously Greco-Roman inspired. The walls were plastered, and angels and mythic creatures swam along in their own two-dimensional world, oblivious of any observation. Undulating reflections of the water seemed to breathe life into them as they floated in that peaceful scene. Above the skillfully painted frescoes, the ceiling was painted a pale blue with wispy white clouds, mimicking a summer sky. The water was delightfully warm, and seemed to be moving, always clean. Olrox supposed that there was a system of pipes moving the water along. 'Maybe it won't be so bad here...'
After he felt sufficiently clean, he climbed out and toweled himself dry. Against one wall of the room was a basket of combs, oils, and powders, and a polished bronze plate to serve as a mirror. The light was very dim, but he could have sworn as he pulled a comb through his hair that he looked different. Of course, he wasn't used to looking into bronze, so he assumed it could distort things a bit. Rubbing some faint-smelling powder over him to get the last traces of moisture off, Olrox stepped back into the bedroom to dress.
Pulling his hair back, he tied the silk ribbon around it, and then looked down at himself. He had been right, the clothes were brand new and fit perfectly. He couldn't help feeling a bit overdressed, thanks to the slightly-less-than-noble manner to which he was accustomed. He could never remember his family being able to afford things like this, except to wear on special occasions, or when there was a visitor to impress. The black shoes were polished; his stockings and lace were pristinely white. The colors were a tad unusual by his standards. Trousers, vest, and coat were all a deep shade of violet, with lilac trim and leaves embroidered in gold thread. The shirt was a light tinted violet, shyly peeking out under the white lace. Whoever his new master was exactly, he must have had some money to throw around. Quickly checking to make sure he was all in order, he strode out the west door, trying to ignore the alien grace in his movements.
The narrow corridor he emerged in was, to say the least, rather plain. To say the most, it was dark, oppressive, and wasn't an area Olrox wanted to spend too much time in. He was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic when he caught sight of a figure leaning against the wall about ten feet away. It was a woman, as far as Olrox could tell, for she wore a long, loose-fitting gown that pooled on the floor, with the sleeves a full fifteen inches too long for her arms. On top of this, she was covered with a shawl, not a bit of her face or hair could be seen. She looked like a pile of clothes, really.
Olrox approached her tentatively and bowed. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Olrox broke the silence. "Are you here to take me to Vlad?" His etiquette was rather poor, but he really wasn't that worried about formalities-she couldn't have been, either, with the way she was acting: leaning against a wall without even putting out her hand.
"I am, milord. Follow me, please." Without looking back, the Englishwoman strode off down the hall, Olrox in tow, her shoes making a delicate tip-tap on the stone. They went through several doors, up and down flights of stairs, and turned so many corners that Olrox had no idea what direction they were taking. His guide never stopped, never even slowed down; she kept up her quick pace, back straight as an arrow, never saying a word or glancing back to see if her charge was still with her. Olrox felt a bit snubbed. He was also getting the uneasiness of one who feels he is being watched.
The Englishwoman suddenly stopped by an unassuming door and spun to face him. "The master's right through here, milord. Just walk in." As she was saying 'walk in' she herself had started to walk off down a different hallway, at the same pace she had had during their journey to the door. "Oh, um, thank you!" Olrox hurriedly called after her, with only the monotonous 'tip-tap' of her shoes as reply. Taking a deep breath and straightening himself once more, he gathered his composure and rapped the door with his knuckles. He was all at once nervous and self-conscious; interviews had never been comfortable things to get through...
"The door's open," came the dispassionate summons.
Olrox gently pushed the door open far enough to get inside, latching it softly behind him. He stood there a few moments, hands clasped behind his back so he wouldn't fidget, waiting politely to be noticed. Vlad was seated comfortably in one of two wingback armchairs near a small fireplace, reading a small, leather-bound book, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, the unquestioned sovereign of the dusky little parlor. Glancing over the top of his book, he noticed Olrox standing in awkward silence near the door. "Ah! I was wondering when you'd come," he set down his book and lightly sprang from his seat. "You'll forgive my rudeness, of course; you see, I'm used to servants coming in at all hours of the day and night. Sit! Sit, we have much to discuss, I'm sure." Olrox nearly jumped at the abrupt command, and lost no time in complying, sitting in the chair opposite Vlad's. The man obviously didn't intend to waste any time. Vlad leaned back a bit in his own chair with a vague smile hovering on his lips. Olrox, on the other hand, wasn't even touching the back of the chair, sitting stiffly with his hands folded on his lap. After about three seconds of this, Olrox timidly began speaking. "I think I must have fallen ill the other evening," his gaze dropped to the floor under Vlad's stare. "I'm very sorry if I've inconvenienced or upset you in any way...I-"
Vlad waved a hand dismissively and gave Olrox a mischievous smile. "Not at all." He leaned over, and, putting a hand under Olrox's chin, tilted his face up to make eye contact. "And it is considered customary to look at the person you are addressing, copil."
Olrox knew he must be blushing right out to the tips of his ears. "Da domnule," he stammered.
Releasing Olrox's face, Vlad leaned back again, reassuming his easy, comfortable air. "There's a good man. Relax; I won't bite." He chuckled good-naturedly and Olrox couldn't stop himself laughing nervously right along with him. It was likely as not the only thing that would keep him from sobbing instead. He discreetly rearranged himself as the other man had implied, endeavoring to 'relax' and coming up with a pretty amusing mimicry of that state of being.
"Now that we are both in the room, perhaps it would be efficacious to speak about something." Vlad watched amusedly as the younger man looked at his folded hands for a moment and quirked one eyebrow as if to say 'About what?' "You slept well, I hope?"
"Quite well."
"You look better for the rest. Do the clothes fit properly?"
"Perfectly. Thank you, sir. Though I'm a bit amazed at that..."
"Oh, yes, the tailor took the liberty of taking your measurements while you slept."
"Oh."
"A bit crude, I'll admit, but you really couldn't be expected to wear your old things a minute longer than necessary."
Olrox sat quietly for a moment, then, "Pardon me, but if it's all the same to you, I'd be very grateful if you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be doing here. I have entered into your service, haven't I?"
Vlad smiled. "Yes, you have. Good. Now we can get to business. I for one am not a brilliant conversationalist." Olrox had an idea that Vlad had said that to cover for his own bumbling string of clipped answers that had served as conversation on his part, but didn't call attention to it. Vlad continued as they stood and walked towards the door. "But first, I think a visit to a specific part of the castle is in order. As we walk, I'd like for you to tell me anything about you that feels out of place." Olrox thought, 'So, I was ill...' However, Olrox was beginning to second-guess that hypothesis, for what illness makes you feel better and healthier than you would normally?
"I'm not sure I can describe it. Everything is different, and yet...nothing's really changed, it's just..." Olrox looked up at Vlad, fumbling for words.
Vlad winked ambiguously. "There are no words. I think you'll find that words fall short of many things." He continued walking, but Olrox stopped, annoyed, in the middle of the hall. His interrupted question from the day before came back to the front of his mind. The tone of his own voice surprised him. "Sir, with all due respect, I think I have been very patient thus far with my situation. I have gotten little more from you than meaningless statements and vague comments that I find extremely unnerving considering the fact that I am not familiar with you. If you jest, I assure you, it's in very poor taste." This seemed to surprise Vlad as well; he stopped in his tracks and turned to meet Olrox's stern glare. "Before I go any farther, I would like to know at least where we're going and your name. The only thing you've told me about yourself is that your first name is, supposedly, Vlad, while you seem to know a good deal more about me than most people. I would hate to think, sir, that you are taking advantage over my current state." It was a lovely speech, delivered in Olrox's best self-righteous-argument-with-Elie tone, and by the end, it appeared that Vlad didn't know whether to be shocked, angry, or start that damn smug laughing of his again.
As it turned out, he did none of these. Vlad's face was completely devoid of expression, and he just stared at Olrox for a moment, as thought sizing him up. Olrox knew a try at intimidation when he saw one, living in a fairly quarrelsome family as he had, and he remained still as stone. He was not going to budge until he was treated with some dignity. Vlad began to close the distance between them, taking slow, purposeful strides, eyes locked with Olrox's. "Your...current...state." He spoke the words with a sort of contemptuous disbelief, rendered all the more poignant by his uncanny voice. Olrox once again found himself unable to look away. 'Shit...'
"Your current state," Vlad continued, gaining volume before dropping to little more than a whisper as he stopped before Olrox. "And do you know what state that is?" Olrox was suddenly reminded of their conversation in his father's garden, this same tension. His voice was strangled in his throat. "I don't know." All the fight had been leeched out of him, it seemed. He found his gaze drifting off to the side to escape Vlad's stare, when the party in question took Olrox's face in his hands and forced him to look Vlad in the eyes. Olrox shivered. He knew his jawbone could be crushed on a whim, though it didn't make sense; at least, he didn't want it to make sense. "I haven't been sick at all, have I?"
Vlad merely blinked, leaning in closer. Olrox whimpered as Vlad's grip tightened somewhat. He squeezed his eyes shut, making the voice that finally spoke seem even more ethereal. If he hadn't felt cool breath on his face, he'd have sworn it was only in his own head.
"We are going," Vlad exerted careful control over his voice, "where I am taking you." Olrox felt a tear snake down his cheek. "I," Vlad raised his voice slightly, "am Vlad Tepes Dracula. And you," he parted Olrox's lips with his thumb, feeling the knife-sharp edge of one of the fang canines, "are going to cease deluding yourself."
Without warning, his lungs filled with oxygen, and a tingling sensation, starting from his chest and working its way outward, stirred up his first conscious thought. 'What?' He hadn't realized that he hadn't been breathing; it took him a few seconds to remember what breathing was. It seemed he had been drifting through nothing for a lifetime. Another, deeper breath was drawn, and the tingling from moments before suddenly exploded into pain.
A vague memory occurred to him, that when he had slept on his arm the wrong way, or sat cross-legged too long, the restored circulation could be rather painful. His bleary mind came to the profound conclusion that he must have slept on his whole self the wrong way, for a very long time. He became aware of muscles, as they all seemed to panic at once at this foreign concept of blood and nourishment. His mind was confused and overwhelmed by the amount of energy it was receiving. What would have been a scream came out as nothing more than a piteous squeak. His now somewhat regular breaths were short, hitching gasps; Olrox clenched his teeth against the fire lacing through his veins, wishing he could stop all this damn movement and be still again.
To add to his confusion, now there was a kind of weight resting on his chest, and another something or other clamped around his arm. Startled, Olrox moved his arm, trying to pull it out of whatever was holding it. No sooner had the muscles contracted, than an absolute tidal wave of pain slammed into him; now he did scream, his back arched involuntarily, and his body went into convulsions. However, he was quickly pinned, and though his muscles were still twitching, they were beginning to calm down. His breath, too, was deeper and smoother.
With this reprieve, Olrox's mind turned outward. Whoever was pinning him (he surmised that the weight was in fact a person) was letting its hair fall into Olrox's face, and, for the first time in what seemed like eternity, he felt a bit annoyed. Absently moving his left hand to brush it away, another, weaker jolt shot through him. He cried out once before settling into soft, frustrated sobs.
"I know. I know it hurts. It doesn't last forever; be still, child." The voice was unexpected, but it spoke softly and was comforting. Reassured by the knowledge that someone else was there with him, Olrox tried to follow the person's advice, willing himself to relax. He was thoroughly surprised when it worked, and his body obediently went slack. The hands that had held his arms now began rubbing him down; in his mind's eye Olrox saw the stables at home when the grooms and stable boys had done the same to Alex and Mihai's horses after they came back from riding. Beginning at his shoulders, the hands worked their way down his arms to his hands, which were lifted and massaged gently to increase the blood flow. Olrox hadn't been aware of it, but his hands felt like ice; they didn't seem to be warming as quickly as the rest of him. His arms and shoulders, however, felt worlds better, and energy moved through them more freely.
"Isn't that better? Now, you've proved you can hear me; could you look at me, Olrox?" At this gentle coaxing, Olrox remembered that he had eyes. Wary of even his facial muscles, he slowly opened them, gazed up at a vaguely red-tinted blur hovering over him. Blinking once, he waited for his eyes to focus. After a few seconds, the red mistiness of his vision faded, and the blur sharpened into a face he thought he'd never see again.
Before he could think to yell, Vlad clamped a hand over Olrox's mouth and leaned in millimeters from his face, staring him directly in the eyes. Olrox was too terrified to make a sound, but the amber eyes didn't have the same effect on him as they had earlier. What control they did exert was only slight. They seemed somehow...different, though. Olrox couldn't place it, everything he saw was changed in some way. He caught the subtle refractions of light glinting off Vlad's poreless skin, the eyes were myriad hues of gold, orange, silver, brown, and were multi-faceted, fathomless. Every ivory strand of hair stood out in perfect clarity. Olrox was seeing for the first time, and everything he had ever laid eyes on up to then had been a garbled, pale reflection of this new and wonderful reality! Noticing movement in Vlad's face, Olrox realized that he had been talking to him for some time; now it was the ears' turn to revel in a newborn sense.
"...awakening was very difficult. Perhaps I should have let you drink more, but that is behind us." Olrox was paying more attention to the voice than the words. If it was striking the last time he had heard it, it was mesmerizing now. He could make distinctions between baritone and bass tones, beautiful layers and levels, meshing together into one harmony. He nearly wept. The voice continued, with all its nuances and music. "...Ah, but you are dazed. You're not comprehending a word I'm speaking to you, are you?" And Vlad lifted his hand.
Here, Olrox felt it was time to offer some sort of answer, so he uttered the first thing that came to his lips. "Am I dead?" His voice was so wholly his own, and yet sounded so different, that he was shocked into a second pensive silence. He replayed his question in his head, recalling the layers of tenor, which were possessed of a hauntingly unnatural quality, a sort of clear reverberation that was a little bit frightening. This time, Vlad allowed time for Olrox to assimilate some of the flood of stimuli before replying.
Vlad drew back and sat in a chair placed beside the bed Olrox was lying on. 'I never noticed the room...' Olrox was further calmed, knowing that he was in a physical space, something he had given no attention to moments ago. His gaze meandered about the room, drinking in fabrics, woodwork, stone, glass, everything within sight, as though he had never seen them before. And he never had, not like he was now. His ears caught soft, amused laughter from Vlad, and he listened as his eyes reassumed their trek across a particularly fascinating lamp flame.
"Well, in what sense of the word do you mean 'dead?' You breathe, you move, you think. Your soul is in you, so you must be alive, is that not so?" His laughter took an ironic tone for just a moment. "You've found a light, I see. I remember. Yes, I remember very well my first night. It is heart wrenching, no? Eden could not be lovelier than a kitchen garden everything becomes so alive. Has your agony subsided? Good then, you must get up, and know what else has changed for the better." And with that, Vlad helped Olrox stand. Olrox was still sore, and his movements were torpid, but he could move well enough. Vlad watched for a moment to see that Olrox was keeping his balance before crossing the room to a small table. Olrox, meanwhile, made a mental check of himself now that he was standing and fairly lucid. His clothes were a mess. Everything was wrinkled, and there were several tears in the material. Some of it had been threadbare already, but now he was wearing rags. 'If my clothes are this bad, I must look a fright...'
Then another thought occurred to him. 'What on earth am I doing in this place, anyway? And with him, of all people...' Deciding this query needed resolving, he started toward his unusual companion. After two steps he froze, shocked at his own movement. His walk didn't feel right; it was too...fluid. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them again, he tried once more to walk properly, wondering at his noiseless steps. It was like his own body had become completely alien to him; he stopped and simply stood in the middle of the floor. He stared at the hairline cracks in the stone for a few seconds, before Vlad's voice brought his attention back to the present.
"It's rather late, now. I had wanted to speak with you for a while; however, circumstances didn't allow, and at any rate, you seem exhausted by your ordeal." At this, he turned, lamplight playing on the buttons of his coat, his eyes, his hair, and also a silver chalice he held elegantly in his right hand. "Ah, so you've taken a few steps already. It takes getting used to, doesn't it? In a week you'll forget you ever moved another way."
"Ordeal? I'm afraid I don't understand," Olrox asked confusedly as Vlad padded over to him, his boots soundless against the stone floor. With catlike grace, he put the chalice in Olrox's hands, smiling encouragingly as he did so.
"You should not be burdened with such things now. Here, drink this. It and rest should help to revive you."
Olrox peered at the contents of the chalice. He held it by the cup, which was warm. 'Odd, he was holding it by the stem...' It looked a bit like brandy. His parents and nurses had given him and his siblings warmed brandy when they were sick; this seemed a logical enough explanation. But what had heated it? There was no fire in the hearth, and the ashes looked old... Watching thin tendrils of steam curl up from the liquid, he puzzled over it for only a moment. It smelled rather nice-very nice, actually- and he was feeling a bit drained... He raised the chalice to his lips, then, noticing he was being watched, raised his eyes to Vlad's. Vlad gave him a little urging nod. "Go on. Make sure you drink all of it." Olrox took a small, experimental sip, and then gulped the rest, letting the last drop slide onto his tongue before handing the chalice back to Vlad. It certainly hadn't been brandy, of that much Olrox was certain. He could feel it driving the coldness out of him, right out to his fingertips and feet. A relieved sigh escaped him; his eyelids drooped a little.
Vlad set the chalice on its tray on the table and looked toward the one small window in the room, though it was tightly shuttered. "And now, child, for the rest I spoke of. You are tired, are you not?" Now that it had been mentioned, Olrox was extremely sleepy, and he nodded as he stifled a yawn. "Yes."
The taller man chuckled softly and laid a hand on Olrox's shoulder. "Good. Sleep well, then, child. Tomorrow will be a busy day, I think." He embraced Olrox briefly, kissed his forehead, then left the room so quickly Olrox had trouble following his exit with his eyes. Finding himself alone, he walked wearily back to the bed, falling fast asleep almost before he had fallen onto it.
He awoke gradually, seeming to rise up into the level of his conscious mind. He had slept in his clothes again. They were clearly ruined. The lamps burned low, but a fire had been started in the fireplace, so Olrox went to it, holding out his hands and letting them soak in the lovely heat. He couldn't discern why he was so cold constantly. Pulling a chair close to the hearth, he sat, letting his feet warm as he collected his thoughts. What had been muddy and confused yesterday (at least, he thought a day had passed) was becoming clear now. His pulse quickened as he recalled recent events.
'Where am I? This isn't my father's house; in fact, I left the Trandafir house last night. I remember, because that's when...' His eyes widened. "Sweet Mother of God." He desperately hoped he was dreaming. 'I remember because that's when he...But why am I here? I was sure I was dying, unless this is Hell...' He shivered. He couldn't think about such things. A bit a white caught his eye from the mantelpiece, and upon standing, he saw that it was a sealed note. Breaking the seal with his finger, he sat down again to read it by the firelight. It was simple, only a few lines written in a flowing script.
'Young Trandafir,
There is a bathing room past the door on the south wall. Also, I have taken the liberty of having a change of clothes brought for you.' Olrox glanced around. Indeed, there was what looked like a new set of clothing laid out neatly on the bed. 'When you have finished, exit the door on the west wall. You will come into a hallway, where one of my servants will meet you and show you to my chambers. I am eager to speak with you concerning your new duties as part of my household. You do remember our agreement? I'm sure you also have questions and concerns for me, which I will be only too happy to answer for you. Again, I welcome you to my home.
Yours truly,
V.T.D.'
"I'm not dead," he whispered, hands shaking as he set down the note. He did remember their conversation. Maybe...the rest was something he had dreamt. Perhaps he had come down with a fever; fevers caused hallucinations. That must have been it. 'How could I have been so ridiculous? I hope I haven't embarrassed myself in front of him.' With this thought in mind, he went about following the note's instructions.
Olrox had always been rather fond of hot baths, and this proved to be an especially nice one. The bathing room itself was small, with a large, rectangular bath sunken into the floor. The floor and bath were one, the entire affair covered in tiny ceramic tiles that formed patterns and borders along the floor that were obviously Greco-Roman inspired. The walls were plastered, and angels and mythic creatures swam along in their own two-dimensional world, oblivious of any observation. Undulating reflections of the water seemed to breathe life into them as they floated in that peaceful scene. Above the skillfully painted frescoes, the ceiling was painted a pale blue with wispy white clouds, mimicking a summer sky. The water was delightfully warm, and seemed to be moving, always clean. Olrox supposed that there was a system of pipes moving the water along. 'Maybe it won't be so bad here...'
After he felt sufficiently clean, he climbed out and toweled himself dry. Against one wall of the room was a basket of combs, oils, and powders, and a polished bronze plate to serve as a mirror. The light was very dim, but he could have sworn as he pulled a comb through his hair that he looked different. Of course, he wasn't used to looking into bronze, so he assumed it could distort things a bit. Rubbing some faint-smelling powder over him to get the last traces of moisture off, Olrox stepped back into the bedroom to dress.
Pulling his hair back, he tied the silk ribbon around it, and then looked down at himself. He had been right, the clothes were brand new and fit perfectly. He couldn't help feeling a bit overdressed, thanks to the slightly-less-than-noble manner to which he was accustomed. He could never remember his family being able to afford things like this, except to wear on special occasions, or when there was a visitor to impress. The black shoes were polished; his stockings and lace were pristinely white. The colors were a tad unusual by his standards. Trousers, vest, and coat were all a deep shade of violet, with lilac trim and leaves embroidered in gold thread. The shirt was a light tinted violet, shyly peeking out under the white lace. Whoever his new master was exactly, he must have had some money to throw around. Quickly checking to make sure he was all in order, he strode out the west door, trying to ignore the alien grace in his movements.
The narrow corridor he emerged in was, to say the least, rather plain. To say the most, it was dark, oppressive, and wasn't an area Olrox wanted to spend too much time in. He was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic when he caught sight of a figure leaning against the wall about ten feet away. It was a woman, as far as Olrox could tell, for she wore a long, loose-fitting gown that pooled on the floor, with the sleeves a full fifteen inches too long for her arms. On top of this, she was covered with a shawl, not a bit of her face or hair could be seen. She looked like a pile of clothes, really.
Olrox approached her tentatively and bowed. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Olrox broke the silence. "Are you here to take me to Vlad?" His etiquette was rather poor, but he really wasn't that worried about formalities-she couldn't have been, either, with the way she was acting: leaning against a wall without even putting out her hand.
"I am, milord. Follow me, please." Without looking back, the Englishwoman strode off down the hall, Olrox in tow, her shoes making a delicate tip-tap on the stone. They went through several doors, up and down flights of stairs, and turned so many corners that Olrox had no idea what direction they were taking. His guide never stopped, never even slowed down; she kept up her quick pace, back straight as an arrow, never saying a word or glancing back to see if her charge was still with her. Olrox felt a bit snubbed. He was also getting the uneasiness of one who feels he is being watched.
The Englishwoman suddenly stopped by an unassuming door and spun to face him. "The master's right through here, milord. Just walk in." As she was saying 'walk in' she herself had started to walk off down a different hallway, at the same pace she had had during their journey to the door. "Oh, um, thank you!" Olrox hurriedly called after her, with only the monotonous 'tip-tap' of her shoes as reply. Taking a deep breath and straightening himself once more, he gathered his composure and rapped the door with his knuckles. He was all at once nervous and self-conscious; interviews had never been comfortable things to get through...
"The door's open," came the dispassionate summons.
Olrox gently pushed the door open far enough to get inside, latching it softly behind him. He stood there a few moments, hands clasped behind his back so he wouldn't fidget, waiting politely to be noticed. Vlad was seated comfortably in one of two wingback armchairs near a small fireplace, reading a small, leather-bound book, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, the unquestioned sovereign of the dusky little parlor. Glancing over the top of his book, he noticed Olrox standing in awkward silence near the door. "Ah! I was wondering when you'd come," he set down his book and lightly sprang from his seat. "You'll forgive my rudeness, of course; you see, I'm used to servants coming in at all hours of the day and night. Sit! Sit, we have much to discuss, I'm sure." Olrox nearly jumped at the abrupt command, and lost no time in complying, sitting in the chair opposite Vlad's. The man obviously didn't intend to waste any time. Vlad leaned back a bit in his own chair with a vague smile hovering on his lips. Olrox, on the other hand, wasn't even touching the back of the chair, sitting stiffly with his hands folded on his lap. After about three seconds of this, Olrox timidly began speaking. "I think I must have fallen ill the other evening," his gaze dropped to the floor under Vlad's stare. "I'm very sorry if I've inconvenienced or upset you in any way...I-"
Vlad waved a hand dismissively and gave Olrox a mischievous smile. "Not at all." He leaned over, and, putting a hand under Olrox's chin, tilted his face up to make eye contact. "And it is considered customary to look at the person you are addressing, copil."
Olrox knew he must be blushing right out to the tips of his ears. "Da domnule," he stammered.
Releasing Olrox's face, Vlad leaned back again, reassuming his easy, comfortable air. "There's a good man. Relax; I won't bite." He chuckled good-naturedly and Olrox couldn't stop himself laughing nervously right along with him. It was likely as not the only thing that would keep him from sobbing instead. He discreetly rearranged himself as the other man had implied, endeavoring to 'relax' and coming up with a pretty amusing mimicry of that state of being.
"Now that we are both in the room, perhaps it would be efficacious to speak about something." Vlad watched amusedly as the younger man looked at his folded hands for a moment and quirked one eyebrow as if to say 'About what?' "You slept well, I hope?"
"Quite well."
"You look better for the rest. Do the clothes fit properly?"
"Perfectly. Thank you, sir. Though I'm a bit amazed at that..."
"Oh, yes, the tailor took the liberty of taking your measurements while you slept."
"Oh."
"A bit crude, I'll admit, but you really couldn't be expected to wear your old things a minute longer than necessary."
Olrox sat quietly for a moment, then, "Pardon me, but if it's all the same to you, I'd be very grateful if you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be doing here. I have entered into your service, haven't I?"
Vlad smiled. "Yes, you have. Good. Now we can get to business. I for one am not a brilliant conversationalist." Olrox had an idea that Vlad had said that to cover for his own bumbling string of clipped answers that had served as conversation on his part, but didn't call attention to it. Vlad continued as they stood and walked towards the door. "But first, I think a visit to a specific part of the castle is in order. As we walk, I'd like for you to tell me anything about you that feels out of place." Olrox thought, 'So, I was ill...' However, Olrox was beginning to second-guess that hypothesis, for what illness makes you feel better and healthier than you would normally?
"I'm not sure I can describe it. Everything is different, and yet...nothing's really changed, it's just..." Olrox looked up at Vlad, fumbling for words.
Vlad winked ambiguously. "There are no words. I think you'll find that words fall short of many things." He continued walking, but Olrox stopped, annoyed, in the middle of the hall. His interrupted question from the day before came back to the front of his mind. The tone of his own voice surprised him. "Sir, with all due respect, I think I have been very patient thus far with my situation. I have gotten little more from you than meaningless statements and vague comments that I find extremely unnerving considering the fact that I am not familiar with you. If you jest, I assure you, it's in very poor taste." This seemed to surprise Vlad as well; he stopped in his tracks and turned to meet Olrox's stern glare. "Before I go any farther, I would like to know at least where we're going and your name. The only thing you've told me about yourself is that your first name is, supposedly, Vlad, while you seem to know a good deal more about me than most people. I would hate to think, sir, that you are taking advantage over my current state." It was a lovely speech, delivered in Olrox's best self-righteous-argument-with-Elie tone, and by the end, it appeared that Vlad didn't know whether to be shocked, angry, or start that damn smug laughing of his again.
As it turned out, he did none of these. Vlad's face was completely devoid of expression, and he just stared at Olrox for a moment, as thought sizing him up. Olrox knew a try at intimidation when he saw one, living in a fairly quarrelsome family as he had, and he remained still as stone. He was not going to budge until he was treated with some dignity. Vlad began to close the distance between them, taking slow, purposeful strides, eyes locked with Olrox's. "Your...current...state." He spoke the words with a sort of contemptuous disbelief, rendered all the more poignant by his uncanny voice. Olrox once again found himself unable to look away. 'Shit...'
"Your current state," Vlad continued, gaining volume before dropping to little more than a whisper as he stopped before Olrox. "And do you know what state that is?" Olrox was suddenly reminded of their conversation in his father's garden, this same tension. His voice was strangled in his throat. "I don't know." All the fight had been leeched out of him, it seemed. He found his gaze drifting off to the side to escape Vlad's stare, when the party in question took Olrox's face in his hands and forced him to look Vlad in the eyes. Olrox shivered. He knew his jawbone could be crushed on a whim, though it didn't make sense; at least, he didn't want it to make sense. "I haven't been sick at all, have I?"
Vlad merely blinked, leaning in closer. Olrox whimpered as Vlad's grip tightened somewhat. He squeezed his eyes shut, making the voice that finally spoke seem even more ethereal. If he hadn't felt cool breath on his face, he'd have sworn it was only in his own head.
"We are going," Vlad exerted careful control over his voice, "where I am taking you." Olrox felt a tear snake down his cheek. "I," Vlad raised his voice slightly, "am Vlad Tepes Dracula. And you," he parted Olrox's lips with his thumb, feeling the knife-sharp edge of one of the fang canines, "are going to cease deluding yourself."