Father
Author: H.J. Bender
Pairing: --
Rating: T
Summary: A seven year-old Velkan gets lost in the forest and meets a nameless man in black...
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
III. The Violinist
How quickly the seasons changed for one to whom time had lost all meaning; the lush green forests of summer burst into a radiant fire of colours when the first whisper of coldness swept down from the Carpathians, then the flames of autumn would fade, leaving the trees naked for the blankets of snow to cloak. And then, when the sun shone through the bleak wintry clouds and the winds brought the breath of life back to the earth once more, the cycle would start again, never pausing, never ending, but continuing onward as it had since its Creation.
How brief was human life in the eyes of eternity—and the innocence of childhood was even briefer.
On the eve of Velkan's seventh birthday, his father Boris took him aside by the great hearth in his study and sat the prince on his knee. "You've grown another inch, little man," he said warmly, which made the boy smile. "Soon you will have to look after your mother and sister when I'm away on business, and I know that is not an easy task."
"Especially Anna," said Velkan matter-of-factly.
The king chuckled. "Yes, especially little Anna. But looking after others demands responsibility and good judgment; it is a man's work."
"I am man enough, Papa," the boy insisted, puffing out his chest boldly. "I can do it."
"And I don't doubt you, Velkan. However, Man cannot accomplish all things on his own—he first needs guidance and discipline." Boris drew from his pocket a gleaming crucifix of silver, etched in intricate detail about the edges, with a small, solitary ruby set in its centre, signifying a single drop of blood.
Velkan seemed surprised to see it, but obediently bowed his head and allowed his father to latch the chain around his neck.
"A man will look to himself for answers," said the king, "but only a true man will look to God, for His knowledge is infinite and His mercy is everlasting. Never forget that He is with you, Velkan, nor that He is your greatest strength. Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed-"
"-for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest," the prince finished, quoting the book of Joshua.
Boris smiled at his son and embraced him tightly. "Yes," he said, "I believe you are man enough." He drew back and ruffled Velkan's dark brown hair affectionately. "But you are still my little man, and right now it is your bed-time. Your mother would be most sore with me for keeping you up, so run along now."
"Thank you for the present, Papa," said Velkan, embracing his father once again before sliding from his knee. "Good-night."
The king nodded with a smile. "Sweet dreams, my boy."
† † †
Years ago, when Velkan had first become old enough to sleep in a bed of his own, his mother used to coax the energetic youngster to sleep with bible stories, fairy tales, and legends of great Romanian warriors. On certain nights when Isabel was busy tending to baby Anna, the king would offer a bed-time story in her stead. Velkan liked best his father's stories, for they were always thrilling, full of heroism and danger and the triumph of good over evil; his favourite was the story of David and Goliath, the pious shepherd boy who felled the heathen Philistine with nothing more than his sling and a stone.
Papa always acted out his stories in such a way that Velkan was often left awake with excitement long after the lamps had cooled. On these nights he would crawl from his bed and sit in the window with the night breeze sweeping into his room, and gaze out at the shadowy mountains and black forests, peaceful and unafraid. His parents warned him against leaving his shutters wide open at night, and they even went so far as to put a locking latch on the window when he had failed to obey. But Velkan was a sharp lad with a keen eye for hinges, bolts and locks, and he could easily unfasten his window and then lock it back so that no one would be the wiser.
Isabel wondered for her son, who seemed so fearless during even the most terrifying thunderstorms that struck in the summer months; never once did he creep into his parents' bed seeking shelter, nor did he whimper and cower as did other children, but gazed at the lightning without flinching and counted the moments between claps of thunder. Boris claimed that Velkan had the makings of a hero, and the king was all the prouder for fathering such a unique child.
The young prince feared no evil, but delighted in stories of monsters, villains and ghouls as much as a child would fancy unicorns and fairies. Even his dreams were untouched by nightmares, though some left him troubled when morning dawned: images of snowy wastelands shut in by a wall of black mountains, along with the musical voices of women whom he believed to be angels, soaring above his head in their glittering white vestments. And there was always him, the faceless man draped in sheets of flowing ebony, with the comforting voice and the welcoming arms held out to receive him. They were not unpleasant dreams, but they caused Velkan to act strangely withdrawn for the rest of the day.
Darkness held no dread for the prince, who could find his way through an unfamiliar room with his eyes closed; shadows instilled no terror in him, for they were as natural as the wind and rain. Neither did he fear what dwelt in the shadows—he was fascinated by the spiders who spun their tangled webs in the cellar, and he once even succeeded in catching a lovely black spider with red spots on her back, and brought it to his mother as a gift. Isabel had screamed and called Boris to come and kill the creature before it bit Velkan.
Little did the boy realise that the spiders with whom he enjoyed playing were of the deadly Latrodectus genus, a speciæ whose venom was ten times as potent as the most vicious viper's. How he avoided being bitten for so long was nothing short of miraculous. Velkan pleaded with his father, insisting that they were peaceful creatures when given care, but even the boy's tears did not stop Boris from destroying every spider in the cellar. Velkan was dismal for days thereafter, but, as was the way of children, he soon forgot about playing in the dark and spent his playtime outside in the sunshine with Anna.
On one such particular day, in early summer when the leaves on the trees made the forest dark and green, Velkan heard a curious sound, like that of a violin. He stopped his game of Knights with his sister and paused, listening.
"Did you hear that?" he asked of Anna, who was preoccupied with attacking a dead tree stump with stick-sword.
"No," piped the little girl. "I just hear birds. Aah! The dragon's coming for me! Back, evil serpent!"
Velkan frowned and cast a glance over at their nanny, who was sitting on a short stone wall several paces away and reading a book; she was greatly engrossed with it. Anna, in the meanwhile, was imitating a fiery battle between a dragon and a maiden knight and was far too busy swinging at the stump to notice anything else. Forgetting about their game entirely, Velkan stealthily slipped into the forest and began to follow the sound.
As he walked haltingly between the trees, he became certain that he was not simply hearing things. Someone was playing a violin in the forest, wherefore he could only imagine. The notes were lyrical and melodious, but filled with an underlying sadness that touched the prince's heart. It was no song that he recognised, nor was it like anything played by the local minstrels. This was the saddest and most beautiful song he had ever heard. He simply must know who the musician was.
With renewed determination, Velkan veered off of the beaten path that led through the forest and tramped his way through scratchy shrubs and briars that clung to his clothes as if to hold him back. Thorns scraped his skin and left bleeding scratches on his face and arms, and once he lost his footing under a loose stone and laid his knee open against a twisted tree root. But he was on his feet again without a pause, driven by his resolve to find the maker of that enchanting music.
Unnoticed by the prince, the forest had grown darker as he travelled deeper into its inhospitable heart. The tree trunks were mouldy and rotted, strangled to death by parasitic vines and choked at their feet by weeds. The earth became hard and stony, and branches entwined overhead so as to block any ray of sunlight from filtering down through the dead canopy. Low areas were wrapped in mist, and though the breeze was not calm this day, the woods were still and silent, as if its very breath had been stolen by an unseen poison.
And then suddenly, the music stopped.
The foggy haze that had inadvertently crept into Velkan's mind abruptly cleared, and he found himself standing in the company of unfriendly trees and a predatory stillness that lay enshrouded in mist between their boughs. The prince was alarmed but unafraid, and he was also completely lost. The pain of his self-inflicted wounds came to him in a rush, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be back at the manor. What time was it? How long had he been following that song? How had he ended up in this part of the forest? Had it all been a day-dream? Velkan had no recollection, and he was direly perturbed.
He began to walk, but without a sense of direction. For all he knew he could be wandering deeper into the unknown. How long would it be until somebody missed him? How long would it take to find him? What if he were stranded here for days, for weeks? How would he survive?
Tears stung Velkan's eyes, but he wiped them away before they could fall down his cheeks. He was not sad, but angry –furious– with himself for doing such a stupid thing like following music that had only been in his head. If he ever got out of this in one piece, his father was surely going to whip him terribly. Trekking this far into the forest was strictly forbidden due to the dangers that lurked within it, both man and beast, and only a fool would put himself at risk so readily.
Velkan reached up and wrapped his hand around his silver crucifix, reciting verses of comfort softly to himself: "The Lord is my shepherd. I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my-"
The toe of his boot suddenly caught itself on a knotted root, sending him crashing down a steep embankment with hazardous speed. Head over heels he tumbled, striking rocks and dead tree limbs and tearing through spiny undergrowth. Helpless to slow himself, Velkan could only cover his head with his arms and pray for survival.
He finally rolled to a stop and lay on his back, waiting for his world to stop spinning. He lowered his arms and opened his eyes slowly, and stared at the bleak canopy above him. He was afraid to move for some time, fearful that he might have broken his spine or his legs, and so lay motionless. The bank from which he had fallen loomed to his right like a mountain, and he wondered how he could have ever lived through such a violent descent.
Suddenly, there came the sound of softly approaching footsteps. Velkan closed his eyes, thoroughly convinced that he was again hearing things. But then a voice with a deep, archaic accent said to him, "Is the little prince dead, I wonder?"
Velkan could not have imagined that; he sat up with a start and beheld a man dressed smartly in black, standing a few paces away, looking down at him with concern. He had a handsomely mature face, not quite as old as Papa but neither as young as Rojer the stableboy. His long, dark hair was pinned back, giving him a well-groomed appearance—he was certainly a man of some importance, probably from one of the neighbouring towns. What a proper gentleman was doing in the middle of the Vaserian wilderness was a mystery.
"Pardon me, sir, but who might you be?" Velkan inquired, minding his manners.
"I am many things," said the man with a kind smile.
Velkan frowned slightly at the stranger's evasiveness, but then his eyes widened when he saw a violin case in the man's left hand.
"It was. Y-you were…"
"This?" asked the stranger, lifting the case. "I like to call myself a musician on occasion, though I prefer to play alone for the sake of others' ears. I am quite the novice yet."
"So it was you I heard. And I thought all this time I was losing my mind!" But Velkan's delight at finding the source of the music was brief—his wariness kept him alert. "What are you doing all the way out here?"
The man was undeterred by the question. "The forest is peaceful and quiet," he said. "I enjoy its walks."
"But… sir, you are very far from the walking trail."
"Well, we cannot all travel the same path, can we?" Another overly-generous smile graced the stranger's face before he nodded to the boy's leg. "You are injured."
"Yes, sir. It was an accident. I fell."
"That will not do, I am afraid," sighed the man, who set his violin on the ground and kneeled down to the prince, sweeping his black cloak aside. Velkan was struck with a sense of déjà vu from the motion of the cloth and the way the man's arms reached out for him—it was as if he had had a dream about this man, but he couldn't remember all of the sudden…
"You have cut it deep," murmured the stranger, examining the wound through the tear in the boy's trouser knee. "You will develop a fever if it is not cleaned. The blood… still runs."
For an instant Velkan saw a terrifying glimmer of something not right pass through the man's eyes, and then it was gone with a blink. Panic bloomed in the pit of Velkan's stomach, but another amicable smile melted away any inhibition he harboured.
Said the man, "I could heal it quite easily, if you would like."
"Will it hurt?"
"Only for a moment," came the assurance, and Velkan nodded his consent. "Then look away."
And so the prince did, biting his lip and gazing at the trees while waiting for the pain to present itself. He felt what could have been warm breath on his knee, and then something moist pressed itself into the cut. It stung only for a second, and then a pleasant sensation of numbness eased away the discomfort.
Velkan's hand gripped the dead leaves and pine needles as he awaited permission to turn back. His curiosity was burning within him, raging like a wildfire until he was hopelessly engulfed. He wanted to know what the man was doing to him, no matter how gruesome it might be. With incredible tact and composure, Velkan very slowly turned his head around.
The man in black was leaning over the boy's wound, administering what would have been painful swaths of his tongue to the cut. However, Velkan felt not a thing, save for a fathomless shock that gripped his entire frame and held it rigid with fear. The man licked the cut almost hungrily, closing his mouth over it in imitation of a vulgar kiss. The sight was quite obscene, yet Velkan was soothed by the caresses. Gradually his initial feelings of horror subsided, and he watched this unorthodox practise without revulsion.
The stranger's ornate pin suddenly caught the prince's fancy: it was carved from onyx with meticulous detail, fashioned at the broad end into the shape of a roosting bat with tiny polished gems for its eyes. Without giving a second thought, Velkan reached out and drew it from the dark hair, which slipped free and cascaded down upon the man's shoulders. The man lifted his head, the surprise on his face apparent; bright red blood stained his lips, which he slowly licked away.
"You have undone me," he murmured.
"I… forgive me," Velkan whispered half-fearfully, and looked down at the glimmering pin in his hand. "It's just so beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."
Suddenly a cool, pale hand touched his own small one, closing his fingers over the pin. "Keep it," said the man. "Your courage alone has earned it."
"But," stammered Velkan, "but I couldn't. I have nothing to give you in return."
The stranger smiled oddly and licked his lips. "But you have given me something, my child, and it is more precious than any pin."
Velkan said nothing, but looked to his knee where once an ugly gash would have left a permanent scar—his flesh was completely healed, the only sign of injury being the faint traces of blood around the rip in his trousers. Questions battered his mind in a hurricane of confusion and curiosity, and at the eye of the storm, calm and serene while surrounded by billowing chaos, stood a dark figure Velkan felt as if he had known all his life. The questions did not matter any more, for their answers would make no difference.
"Play your violin for me," the prince begged softly, staring into the man's eyes. "I want to hear that song again."
It had been said that no mortal creature could stare into the eyes of Count Vladislaus Dragulia and remain unaffected by his powers. But in that moment, alone in the forest, the greatest vampire that haunted the earth was not only rendered powerless by the gypsy prince, but was enchanted by him as well. The brutal beast that dominated the Count's emotions was tamed by a pair of sapphire eyes, the same eyes that had seen straight through him the first night they had met.
"Very well," said Dracula in an unsteady voice as he reached for his violin. "I will play you your song, little prince."
And the Count sat upon a large rock and played the hauntingly sad melody while Velkan, entranced by its beauty, lay his head on the man's lap and listened with passive appreciation, growing ever more drowsy. The tune seemed to flow into his ear like water and absorb into his brain, and it spoke to him in no words of mortal tongue that this man cared for him, and that it was Velkan's destiny to stay with him for ever.
Suddenly the sound of voices calling his name brought the prince forth from his slumber, and he rose to discover that he was on the edge of his family's property, not far from where he and Anna had been playing earlier. The sky was dark; it was nearly dusk. How long had he been asleep? Was it not just noon?
Pushing the questions aside, Velkan crawled to his feet and made briskly towards the calls. His entire family, along with several servants and village huntsmen, received him with both frustration and gratefulness. While Isabel smothered him with embraces and kisses, Boris ranted heedlessly: "Where have you been all this time? Your mother has almost worried herself into an early grave over you, not to mention your poor nanny who has been crying all afternoon! Whatever explanations you have for them had better be good."
"I'm sorry, Papa," Velkan said timidly. "I can't remember."
"He can't remember?" one of the huntsmen echoed dubiously.
"But it is the truth! I swear it! Anna and I were playing in the clearing over there, and then I… think I wandered off. I thought I got lost in the forest, but maybe it was a dream. Yes, it had to have been a dream; I heard music and I fell down a hill –fell for ages, Papa– and my knee was bleeding, and-"
"Velkan," his father warned, "lying only makes the truth more difficult to tell."
"But I'm not lying, Papa! See! My knee is still-" But when the boy looked down, there was not a scratch upon him. "It can't be. I was telling the truth! You have to believe me, I wouldn't tell a lie!"
"All right, Velkan, calm down," Boris sighed, placing his hand upon his son's small shoulder. "I believe you."
"You do?"
"I believe that you have a very big imagination for a little boy, and that you most likely fell asleep and had a fantastic dream."
"But I didn't have a dream, Papa, it was real! There was a man with a violin, and, and he-"
"Hush now, Velkan. You've had an exciting day as it is. You can tell us all about your dream after supper. Come along then, there's a good lad."
The prince sadly climbed into his father's arms and was carried back to the manor, though he kept his eyes on the woods until he could see them no more.
Velkan didn't speak another word of his adventure to anyone later that evening, nor ever again. He decided that if Mama and Papa didn't want to believe him, then he ought not to try their patience by telling them about the musician in the forest, nor of the onyx pin that he discovered in his trouser pocket just before bed-time. He kept it all to himself, and so it became his most treasured secret.
After being tucked snugly into bed that night, the boy lay restless and wide awake, unable to sleep in the silence. He finally crawled out of his bed and unfastened the latch on his window, opening it wide and taking in the fresh, cool breeze of the summer night. He stared out above the forest's roof of leaves while he twirled the pin in his fingers and listened, perhaps, for the faint sound of a violin echoing through the trees.
To Be Continued...
Special: There is a link to a music clip of the violin song on my fanfiction journal site (halofiction. livejournal. com/ 3852. html) at the bottom of the page.