Father
Author: H.J. Bender
Pairing: --
Rating: T
Summary: Dracula watches over the young Prince Velkan, but can he protect him from sickness?
Disclaimer: Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.
A/N: I have taken a few liberties with ages and dates, though minimally. Enjoy.

I am the corner of all rooms
I am the shadows of all trees…
I am the nightmare of all fathers.
-Rammstein, Mann gegen Mann

II. Provider & Protector

The Count kept a watchful eye on the Valerious family from the frozen domain of his castle fortress, many times visiting the village for no other reason than to observe the happenings at his enemy's estate. Often he would take the form of a shadow or a creature of the night, as vampires were wont, listening with his keen, immortal ears to the goings on inside the manor. No sinister preoccupation marked his nightly vigils, neither did a desire to harm—Dracula was a silent, undetected audience who wished only to watch, and never did the focus of his interest defect from his ultimate prize: Prince Velkan Alexandru.

It had not been Dracula's intent to inform his brides of his plans so early on, but women were nothing if clever and observant –even in death– and they were quick to take notice of his frequent absences.

"Leaving us again, my lord?" Verona, the eldest of his wives, inquired in her deep, mournful murmur as she discovered her husband in the midst of one of his nightly departures.

"Has Vaseria become so interesting that it takes precedence over us?" Marishka added, lingering in the shadows with her eyes aglow.

"We have woken alone for the past month," said Aleera, walking along one of the great stone buttresses of the castle ceiling. "Do we no longer please our master?"

Dracula smiled with shallow charm. "My loves," he said, "forgive me. I have been a poor husband to you."

"Never, my lord," Verona insisted.

"We but worry for you," purred Marishka.

At this, Dracula laughed. "Your worry is for nought, my dearest ones, for I am well and you please me well enough."

"Then what has so caught the attention of our master?" Aleera asked excitedly, sailing down from the ceiling and landing lightly on her feet.

"Valerious," said Dracula with a darkening tone as he strode down the main corridor with his brides following in his wake. "He has brought forth a son. An heir."

"Another enemy," Verona muttered with disdain, glancing at Marishka who mirrored her contempt. "How the humans breed so profusely is revolting."

"Would you like us to take care of the little maggot for you?" Aleera offered, then sprang back in surprise as the Count spun on his heel, his face twisted monstrously with rage.

"No!" he roared, and his brides scattered into the shadows where they cowered with fear. "You are not to touch him, nor any of the Valeriouses. That 'little maggot' is going to find life for the thousands of dead, useless children you have borne for me, and for that you must honour him. He is to be our saviour and our son, heralding in the reign of Dragulia upon this earth! Already have I put the blood-mark upon his soul; when the time comes he will be ours, and you will love and obey him as if he were your own flesh and blood!"

"O master," his brides wept, clinging to each other piteously, "does your own flesh and blood mean so little to you now? Are your own children so despised that you would seek a child from the womb of your enemy? Have we failed you as wives?"

Dracula's fierce countenance softened at their woe, and he went to them with his arms held wide to receive them. "My darlings, do not cry. Our children mean much to me, but so long as they remain lifeless I am not truly a father. A day will come when they shall take to the sky to build our kingdom in this wretched mortal world, and I will do what I must to see that dream realised."

He petted his women as they melted against him submissively.

"We understand, master," they cooed. "Forgive us. The prince will be as if we bore him ourselves, and we will love him like one of our own."

The Count pulled away. "Then I must go to him now. He is our future, and he must be protected."

"Then go protect him, my lord," Verona bade. "We will be patient."

And with no further words, Dracula swept his cloak behind his shoulder and disappeared down the corridor. There came the sound of a great pair of wings unfolding, and a few moments later the Count's grotesque silhouette appeared in the large stone window on the face of the castle. And then he vanished without a sound into the night sky.

† † †

Time passes quickly for mortals, and soon the young prince was entering his second year of life. The scourge of vampires afflicting Vaseria had been oddly lessened ever since his birth, and the villagers took it to be a good omen. The queen Isabel was also heavy with her second child, thus instilling greater hope in the townspeople, who looked upon the arrival of the new child to be yet another blessing on them all.

Princess Annabel Ivona was born during the summer of 1866, and though sons were the choice sex where lineages were concerned, Boris Valerious was as proud of his daughter as he was of his son. A celebration like that of her brother's was announced in Anna's honour, and once again the revelry was grand and festive.

Upon discovery of yet another of his enemy's progeny, Dracula soundly cursed the gypsy king and took flight to attend the ball being held that evening at Valerious Manor. The infant daughter held no interest to the Count, other than being but one more obstacle he would one day be forced to contend with—he had come to see Velkan.

Clad once more in an unassuming disguise, Vladislaus Dracula slipped past the sentries unnoticed and infiltrated the festivities at the heart of the estate that had once been his home, now his hated foe's. He pushed his way through dancing and wassailing crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prince at the head of the room. While waiting, he grew impatient and irritated by the idiotic mortals around him who were so oblivious to the danger with which they were mingling. However, he dared not reveal himself and cause a row; it would be most damaging to his later plans.

Very soon he had tested the limits of his tolerance and found that he could not endure the obnoxious activities any longer; he departed with haste and, once outside in the safety of the shadows, took the form of a black owl and flew high into the night. He circled about the rooftop spires, searching and listening with his expert senses. At last he detected what he had sought for, and lit upon a tree limb just outside an open window.

Lamplight illuminated the prince's bedroom, and his mother tucked the covers around him, placing a loving kiss to his hot forehead. "Sleep well, Velkan," she murmured. "If you are feeling better in the morning you will be able to see your new baby sister."

"Little sister Anna," the boy said in a small voice, followed by a cough.

"That's right," Isabel laughed and tapped his nose affectionately. "Close your eyes now and rest easy. Good-night, my darling."

"Good-night, Mama."

The queen stood and extinguished the lantern by the bed, and then met the servant who was waiting in the doorway. Though she spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper, the Count heard her quite clearly: "Check him frequently tonight; there is a cloth in the wash basin to cool his head. If his fever has not broken by morning I shall summon the doctor."

"Yes, my lady."

Isabel stole a glance at her son. "I fear that this is more than simply a common sickness."

The door closed and the room was silent, save for a few raspy coughs that came from time to time, until at last they stopped altogether. Dracula, with his owlish guise, flew to the window and landed on the sill, listening and watching to make certain that the prince was fast asleep. A short while later the Count spread his wings and glided soundlessly into the room, then shifted once more into his usual man-shaped form. He approached Velkan's bed and gazed down at the boy, whose gentle sleepy breaths were marked by a faint wheezing.

Frowning, Vladislaus removed his glove and kneeled, placing his lifelessly cold hand to the child's forehead; he lifted it quickly, for Velkan burned with a heat uncharacteristic of normal humans. The Count was terribly alarmed. With a reluctance inspired by a mounting feeling of dread, he leaned over the child and placed his ear to his chest, listening to the rough, laboured echoes of breath reverberate through the boy's small frame.

He drew away slowly and stared. Though the Count was far from calling himself a doctor, he had the advantage of an eternal life and the added experience of seeing mortals around him fall to every embodiment of illness imaginable. He had seen these symptoms before, and they were the harbingers of diphtheria, a disease that affected and often claimed the lives of nearly all the children who contracted it. Worse yet, there was no cure.

For several long moments, Vladislaus abandoned his cautions and remained by the prince's bed, gazing at the life that was doomed to end almost as soon as it had begun. Though Dracula would have welcomed such an unfortunate tiding upon his enemy's family, he had plans for Velkan—he had succeeded in affirming the infant's soul, snatching it from God's hands with every intention of using it against Him, and the Count could not allow his victory to be spoiled by a miserable thing like mortality.

There was also something else, and it stirred within his still heart like a faint, dying ember. It was sadness.

"I will not lose you, my prince," whispered Dracula, removing his cloak with sudden haste. "You are far too precious to me."

He touched Velkan's feverish cheek and smiled, then slowly the Count began to fade, forming into a dark mist that swirled in the air and hovered over the boy's face; with a single motion, the shadow disappeared into his mouth.

Dracula, encased in living flesh, coursed through the prince's lungs and into his blood, seeking out the disease and destroying it molecule by molecule. He poured his hatred and determination into the annihilation of every malignant cell, becoming in and of himself a malicious cure with vengeful devices.

Though Dracula had taken Velkan from God, God would not take Velkan from Dracula.

Once the last trace of sickness had been eradicated, the mist coalesced from between the prince's parted lips and gathered its mass into a solid state once more. Vladislaus stood wearily, greatly weakened from such elaborate use of his powers –powers which were never intended to do what he had just done– and drew his cloak around himself.

"Sleep well, little one," he murmured, brushing the dark locks from Velkan's forehead, "and live to see another night."

As he listened to the now clear, even breathing of the child, Dracula felt an odd sensation growing somewhere inside the void where his soul had once dwelt. He only half-recognised it, like a vague, distant memory from hundreds of years past, and its shining light clashed with every fibre in his wicked corporation: it was the light of compassion.

Vladislaus was almost disgusted with himself and would have gladly atoned for his otherwise noble deed by inciting a massacre in the town square, but he was far too exhausted from his medicinal endeavours and wished for only the numbing comfort of his ice-entombed coffin. Summoning forth his winged shape once more, he flew from the window and into the trees.

The very next morning, Prince Velkan was a bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked youngster as he should be, and both Isabel and Boris thanked God for blessing their son's illness with a swift and miraculous recovery.

To Be Continued...