Father
Author: H.J. Bender
Pairing: --
Rating: T
Summary: Velkan finds himself in Dracula's realm, and makes his way through the treacherous fortress to find the vampire lord. However, he did not anticipate dealing with three jealous brides...
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.
Without you, I cannot be.
With you, I am also alone...
The forest stands so black and empty,
And the birds sing no more.
-Rammstein, Ohne Dich
VIII. The Castle of the Dark Saint
When he opened his eyes, Velkan Valerious was standing on the precipice of a snow-beaten cliff, the door through which he had come standing behind him like a silent gravestone. On either side of him loomed a bottomless drop onto sharp pillars of rock. It was incredibly cold, and Velkan, dressed in nought but his casuals, shivered as the wind whipped about him. He would not survive in these conditions for long, and turned quickly to go back. However, when he attempted to pass through the mirror, he struck solid with its surface—there was no returning this way.
Panic momentarily seized the prince, and he knocked the glass with his fist, gently at first, then harder. It would not yield. He turned slowly and gazed through the falling snow, hoping to find another mirror through which he could exit this inhospitable place. It was then that he saw it, the behemoth of rock towering above him, an enormous silhouette so high that its top was lost within the foggy swirls of snow. Velkan at first imagined that the shadow was a mountain, but as he drew closer he saw that it was a castle—nay, a kingdom—carved from a scarred monolith of stone that rose up from an endless pit. It sat upon the crown of the depths like an island, surrounded on all sides by a wall of black mountains. Velkan was now standing upon the path that led to the palace door, marooned in a sea of air from which he had no chance of escaping.
Three towers stretched their jagged limbs towards the colourless heavens, their points as sharp as razors and as dark as onyx. Centuries of snow had gathered in the fissures and crags, adding to its already ancient appearance. Windows, the thousands of black eyes that seemed to stare at Velkan with poisonous regard, riddled all sides of the towers like knife wounds. An impossibly high bridge ran between the two foremost structures, fortified by chains that would have burdened a giant. Truly it was a masterpiece of architecture, but the castle's presence was as foreboding as if it had been moulded after the Devil's own mansion.
Velkan lost his breath as the image before his eyes ignited a wildfire of memories, and hundreds of dreams from his childhood came suddenly rushing back to him in the span of one moment; he knew then that this obsidian fortress was the home of the Dark Saint himself.
The wind suddenly charged at his back as if trying to sweep him into the bosom of this stone monster, and Velkan had no choice but to move with the gale or risk losing his footing on the icy terrain. As he stumbled through the snow, the two iron doors that barred the threshold from passage gave a haunting groan before slowly beginning to open. Like the jaws of a hell-beast spreading wide to receive its meal, the entranceway parted to reveal a belly of darkness: a huge hall the likes of which mortal men could never have conceived sprawled deep into the castle's throat, supported by arching columns that seemed to imitate a ribcage in their likeness.
If Velkan had never known terror before this moment, all twenty two years' worth of it seized hold of his heart in this very moment. He tried to scream but his breath was gone; he tried to turn away but the wind was too strong, urging him past a dead tree whose only fruits were the bones and tattered remains of unfortunate men who had passed this way. And then Velkan perceived a force, like that of an invisible tongue that had wrapped itself around his body, pulling him into the maw that beckoned before him. Against his will he staggered into its mouth, struggling and fighting every step of the way, but his efforts were not enough to keep him from being swallowed. However, once his feet had touched the cold stone of the foyer, the power that had so gripped him suddenly dissipated, and Velkan fell to the floor as he was released.
A hollow boom sounded behind him, echoing down the corridor, and the prince turned to discover that the doors had shut themselves, blocking his escape. He stood to his feet, thankful to be out of the elements, although the chill of the fortress was hardly any better than whence he had come. The silence that pressed upon his ears was nearly unbearable, and had he not already possessed the ability to see in the dark, he would have been blinded as well.
"You have called me here, and I answered," Velkan bravely proclaimed into the void as he began to walk forward. "For years you have beckoned me to this place, and now I have come to you at last. Will the master of the house not greet me?"
His echoes died in the great chasm, unanswered, and so the prince set forth to find his tormentor and his saint. Though he had never walked the halls of the palace, he had dreamt of its insides a thousand times over, and he found his way about as easily as if he had lived there all his life. In some shadowy corner of his mind, Velkan thought, perhaps he had.
The darkness seemed like a living creature, watching silently as the young man made his way through its veins and into its black heart. It whispered in his mind in a myriad of soft voices all speaking at once in a foggy tangle of unintelligible words; some of the voices welcomed him while others rejected him, and more than once Velkan found himself torn between continuing forth or fleeing into the deep to find his death. But the last remaining bit of pride that he held in himself was power enough to keep him set upon his course.
He was ever tense and alert, always anticipating something horrific to come leaping out at him from behind the next granite column. The longer that his expectations were met in vain, the greater he began to fear what lay at the end of his search, perhaps something more terrifying than what even the son of Dracula could bear. The prince encouraged himself to find anger in his heart, for its burning heat drove back the impending coldness of trepidation that was attempting to make a home out of his soul.
After what seemed like an eternity of walking through the dark, the corridor at last came to an end, and two broad staircases curved upwards on each side of a grand balcony. A massive window from high above shed its meek light upon the steps, and Velkan began to ascend them with caution. As he made his way up the stairwell, he fought to recall the details of the castle whose paths led him through a journey of dreams and memories. Was this the correct way? Has he missed his intended route? No. No, this was way, he was sure of it, for soon it would soon lead to a winding passage…
Velkan reached the balcony and found that his instincts had been correct; there was another hall, much darker in comparison to the broad corridor he had just travelled. Here it was unnaturally black, so bereft of light that even the air seemed thickened by the heavy atmosphere. The prince could scarcely see at all, so he closed his eyes and used his mind instead, stepping blindly down the passage that curved and wound about like a writhing serpent. Never once did he strike the wall by mistake.
For hours uncounted it seemed, Velkan wandered throughout the bowels of the castle fortress, guided by only his vague recollections. No mortal man could have withstood the ominous gravity of the palace's atmosphere, nor could he have found his way even by aid of a torch or a map; this place was a hellish labyrinth of shadows, intended to keep monsters in and people out, and drive to the point of madness any fool who dared to walk its halls. But Velkan was no mortal man—he conceded this the moment he had set foot inside these walls.
The shadows were soon cleaved, however; candlelight glowed from a room just ahead, and Velkan approached with unnatural stealth and silence, his footfalls muted by the evil darkness that had so lovingly wrapped itself about him. He stepped into a wide room with a towering ceiling and beheld a stone coffin sitting in its centre, a semicircle of candelabras arranged around it. It was very cold inside, though the unnatural temperature chilled the soul more than the flesh. Melted wax from the giant candles had formed hardened cascades that hung off the trays and dripped puddles of fresh wax onto the floor. Velkan felt his heart begin to pound, and he drew closer to the marble casket, surprised to find that it bore no lid, but was instead filled to the brim with solid ice; and there, lying peacefully within the frozen arms of death, lay the Dark Saint.
Velkan lost his breath momentarily as he saw what was a monster to many, appearing now as nought more than a sleeping man—he reached out to brush away the frost from the crystalline surface so that he could see his Saint more clearly, and laid his warm palm upon the ice over Dracula's face.
"Do you dream of me," he murmured softly as he gazed into the coffin, "as I dream of you? How often have you woken with my voice still echoing in your mind, I wonder? Am I with you throughout the night, or am I forgotten the moment you wake?"
Unable to control his frustration, Velkan struck the ice with his fist and only succeeded in hurting his hand. Tears stung his eyes as he cried, "You will not continue to ruin my life, you bastard! Have I not endured enough of your torture? Did I not heed your call and travel to this wretched place to find you? I have done all of these things, yet here you are, sealed safely in a frozen slumber and enjoying rest that I have never known. You are my nightmare, Count, and I cannot shut my eyes without seeing your face!"
At this, the prince threw both fists onto the ice. "Wake, damn you! Wake and free me from my nightmares! I'll not wait for you any longer!"
He hit the ice again and again, scratched at it, clawed at it, and left smudges of blood on its clear surface before finally resting his cheek against its biting kiss of coldness. He wept freely and loudly, choking on his sobs as he lay draped over the casket. Never had he wished so desperately for his Saint's embrace than now, when everything around him was spiralling down into chaos.
And here it was, this wall of ice between them, the personification of their grief and their anger: the water that gives life and the coldness that takes it, an element one and the same, the barrier between the living and the dead that would for ever separate them. Even as close as they were at this moment, the loneliness was as profound as if they were on opposite sides of the world.
How beautiful it was, this inexplicable phenomenon known as love, yet still the source of so much pain and woe.
"I surrender," Velkan whispered as his tears trickled down his face and dripped onto the ice. "Let me stay with you, Father. I don't belong amongst the living…"
"And what makes you think you belong with us?"
The prince sprang up with a startled gasp, and turned to see the red-haired Aleera glaring at him as if he were a loathsome insect that needed to be crushed. She sauntered forward, hips swinging seductively but her aura radiating malice. Velkan stepped back as she approached, unable to answer her question for the tightness in his throat.
"We do not want you," she said lowly, following him as he circled around the coffin. "You and your kind are worthless creatures whose only purpose is to feed us."
"We are more alike than you know, Aleera," said Velkan, keeping a cautious distance between himself and the woman. "Dracula possesses your soul as he does mine—we are both victims of his power."
"Perhaps you are the victim, you fool," the vampiress sneered, closing the distance between herself and the prince, "for I chose to become this way, to follow my master and serve him and his needs until the end of eternity." The heat of her ire was abruptly chilled with something that could have been sorrow. "Do you know how fortunate you are to be favoured by Dracula? Do you know how greatly I strove to take my place at his side, to be selected from the hundreds of women he could have had? You have no idea!"
Velkan was stunned to see a shimmer of tears coursing down Aleera's pale cheeks, betrayers of desperation amidst her fury, and he felt almost pity for the girl who was perhaps no older than his own sister. "Aleera, my lady," he said softly and respectfully, "I do not wish to fight with you. I want only to be freed from curse that Dracula has placed upon me-"
"You would call our lord's love a curse?" came Marishka's voice from high above.
Startled, Velkan lifted his head and discovered the fair-haired bride upside-down, pacing the stone rafters above and looking unusually despondent.
"You do not know how greatly he adores you, Velkan," she said softly. "You have all but brought him back to life, and if his heart could beat again, it would beat for you alone."
"How dare you say such things! You speak treason!" Aleera snarled to her sister.
"You know it is the truth," Marishka replied.
"Then perhaps you would like to be the first to surrender your ring to the filthy human!"
As the two brides began to quarrel, Velkan decided to make the best of this opportunity by attempting to steal away, yet he had not gotten far before he quite literally stumbled upon an unexpected impasse: Verona, the eldest bride, appeared from the shadows like a ghost and intercepted his escape with predatory stealth. There was an oddly detached expression on her face, as if she were being forced to do something she would rather not, and as she approached Velkan her voice was cold and dispassionate:
"There has been a change of plans, my little prince," she murmured, gown rustling quietly as she walked. "It seems you will not be joining our family after all."
Aleera and Marishka ceased arguing for a moment to refocus their attention upon Velkan, who was stepping backwards to get himself away from the dark-haired bride's advances; Aleera joined her, yet Marishka remained upon the ceiling, too occupied with wallowing in her own forlornness to have anything to do with the prince.
"I had no intention of being a part of your court," Velkan stated bravely to the two women, though the menacing looks in their eyes were as lionesses stalking a wounded, helpless animal. "I only came here seeking release from your lord's power."
"We can give that to you easily," Aleera grinned, revealing her sharp teeth.
"Yes," crooned Verona, "perhaps you would like to go flying with us one last time, my dear? The view above the gorge is quite remarkable."
"Some would even say it is to die for!" laughed the red-haired vampiress.
Velkan knew that whatever action he took would end badly, but he also knew it was better to die on his feet rather than on his knees. A moment's deliberation later, he bolted across the room in a farfetched endeavour to reach the doorway. He went all of three paces before being thrown against the adjacent wall by Verona's hand, where he struck his head and was blinded by pain for a few moments. He slid down the stones, senses reeling, and opened his eyes in time to narrowly avoid Aleera—transformed into her monstrous shape—flying at him with her talons readied to rend his flesh.
The prince rolled across the floor as the bride screamed to a halt lest she collide with the wall, and he was on his feet again and running for the room's only exit. If he had but thought to bring some sort of weapon! Perhaps if he made it into the corridor, he could lose them in the darkness. It was a blind hope, and it was quickly dashed as Verona, likewise in her hideous vampiric form, flew above his head and grabbed him by the back of his vest, lifting him into the air.
Velkan struggled to free himself before she could carry him high enough to kill him, and he hurriedly unfastened his buttons and slipped out of his vest, dropping to the floor and running as quickly as his feet could carry him. The furious screams from behind lent him swiftness, and just as he thought himself to have a chance at disappearing into the corridor, Aleera rose up from beneath him and sent him sprawling backwards to the floor with one powerful kick.
Velkan gasped to restore the air to his lungs one more, and had only the strength to prop himself up before the merciless vampiress—once again returned to her deadly human beauty—placed her foot on his chest and shoved him down against the floor. She smiled sadistically at his vain struggling. "I could break your bones like kindling," she purred. "But then you would be dead, and such a waste of good blood."
Velkan was suddenly wrenched off of the floor by two strong hands, and he felt Verona's cold body press against his back as she held his wrists in an iron grasp. "Do not struggle," she whispered softly against his collar. "It only makes the blood spatter more messily."
An icy wave of fear surged through the prince, who could only observe in half-fascinated horror as Aleera, grinning triumphantly, drew close and began to caress his face, stroking her fingers through his hair in a manner that would have rendered any man a slave to his own desire. Velkan strongly resisted these seductive touches, but this only amused her.
"You have never been with a woman, have you, my prince?" Aleera murmured in a velveteen voice, trailing her long fingernail down his throat and into his open shirt collar. "Such pity. Dying a virgin will be so unfulfilling-"
A sudden cracking pierced the air, followed by what sounded like the shattering of a thousand crystal glasses. Shards of ice exploded from the centre of the room, and when Velkan next saw Aleera's face, it was filled with terror. The hands holding his captive wrists were suddenly gone, and as he allowed himself to slip to the floor, he heard Verona's fear-saturated voice cry from behind, "My lord!"
Velkan turned his head to behold Dracula standing upon the edge of his casket, glaring at his two brides with his eyes alight with silent rage. "What noise is this that has awoken me?" he asked in a dangerously low tone, implying that he already knew what had taken place.
His two women wilted before him, a shocking contrast to the ferocious creatures they had been but moments before. "We are sorry, master," they whimpered. "We were only entertaining our guest until-"
"Do not lie to me!" the Count roared, jumping to the floor and stalking across the room to where Velkan sat dazed. Verona and Aleera retreated, clinging to one another and weeping piteously.
"What were you doing with him?" Vlad demanded. "What were you doing with our son?"
"We were playing, master," Marishka said airily as she walked down from one of the columns. "He wandered in on his own, and we were only keeping him company. It seems that he wishes to speak with you." She glared dispassionately down at Velkan, who returned her gaze with amazement. "We shall take our leave of you now. Come, sisters—we must rest."
The three brides made their way from the room and into the darkened corridor beyond; echoes of their cries could still be heard as they disappeared into the depths of the castle. Velkan heaved a great sigh when he was certain they had gone, and grimaced slightly at the aches which glowed through his limbs. And then, like a curtain of coldness, he felt Dracula's gaze settle upon him; he raised his head and beheld thus, riveted before the eyes that burned with ages-old hatred but also reluctant compassion.
"How did you find this place?" Vlad asked levelly. "Why have you come here?"
Velkan was hesitant to speak, least of all move a muscle. He fought to find his words, to either answer the question or allow himself to fly into a helpless rage. He lowered his head in silence, and when he at last spoke, his voice came much meeker than he intended: "Because I have no place left to go."
The Count appeared as if he wanted to smile at the boy's plight, but intuition held his triumph at bay. "And what troubles you so direly that you would come here seeking my counsel, Valerious?" he said haughtily. "Perhaps your father is dying? Your sister? Some other worthless mortal whom you claim to love?"
"The only person dying is I," said Velkan, standing slowly to his unsteady feet. "You have won, Count; I surrender myself to your whim." He then bowed before his enemy, and when he lifted his eyes, they reflected a lifetime of unfathomable shame. "Do with me as you wish. I am at your disposal."
Dracula said nothing at first, but stared at Velkan with smouldering eyes and clenched fists. "You snivelling craven," he sneered. "How dare you come crawling to me and beg my mercy? Have I taught you nothing of endurance? Have you not learned to survive because of me?"
"You have taught me enough," Velkan answered stoutly, "but I am still only mortal."
"And still so young! You are only yet becoming something that might prove to be useful to me, but you say now that you have given up? Do not insult me! I have toiled and laboured to transform you from an ignorant fool into a powerful creature! You are my greatest work of art, and yet this is how you honour me, with your cowardice and your resignation. Pathetic," the Count spat. "What happened to the fire that burned in your heart, Valerious? Where is your hatred for me?"
"My heart has been poisoned by it," Velkan said, fighting to stifle his tears. "I refuse to spend the rest of my life at war with you."
"I am afraid that cannot be helped. Such as the Valerious have sworn an oath to destroy me, so have I to destroy them, down to the last drop of blood. The battles between us are inevitable, and shall be everlasting so long as we both are alive."
"I will not allow you to harm my family," Velkan said firmly.
Dracula shrugged indifferently. "Then there is little to be done, is there not?"
The prince set his jaw determinedly. "I have a proposition for you, Count. A bargain."
"Speak it then—but understand, I do not barter with my enemies."
Velkan gulped. "In exchange for the lives of my sister and my father, I would offer you mine."
The vampire lord grinned caustically. "How gallant of you. But you forget, you are worth more to me alive than dead."
"I said I would offer you my life, not my death."
"What is it, then, that you are asking?"
Velkan winced as he forced the bitter-tasting words from his lips: "I would want to become your immortal son, for ever and ever. A vampire like yourself. Allow my family to succumb to natural deaths, and you will have me by your side for eternity. My life has little meaning to me anymore, and I would rather be at peace in Hell than at war on earth. Please, Father. I…" He choked a moment. "I would honour and serve you loyally."
Dracula's face was grim, and if one looked closely enough, they would see the anguish haunting the shadows in his eyes. "You know not of what you speak," he said warningly. "I will not grant you this desire."
What little resilience Velkan retained in his appearance crumpled in his desperation. "If you loved me you would have mercy on me-"
"You senseless brat!" the Count erupted with a deafening bellow, darting forward in the blink of an eye to strike the prince across the face with the back of his hand. "It is that very love which prevents me from destroying you!"
Velkan stumbled backwards in shock, holding a hand gingerly to his smarting cheek and looking incredibly bewildered by Dracula's words. Tears stung the his eyes, and he turned his face away so that his Saint would not see them fall.
Vlad flexed his fingers and took a deep breath, still feeling the repercussion of the blow stinging them stiff; it was the first time he had raised his hand to the boy, and yet only now in his whole godless, accursed existence did he feel like a true monster.
"Get out of my sight," he rasped, turning away from his son and swallowing with difficulty.
Velkan, consumed with despair and even greater shame, said softly, "I cannot pass through the looking-glass from this side."
The vampire lord remained still, his head hanging in an unusual exhibition of hollow serenity. "That is because you are not a vampire, nor have you destroyed me. Only undead blood can pass through the door again."
"Does this mean I am trapped here?" Velkan ventured.
"Hardly." Vlad turned, and his expression was placid as he held out his hand. "Come to me," he said softly in a voice bereft of any enchantment; Velkan approached him cautiously but willingly. The Count took him by the arm and gazed at him in silence for a length, then drew back the sleeve of his black coat and pressed his sharp thumbnail into the tender skin of his own wrist. When the dark blood began to flow, he gathered the lifeless liquid onto his fingers, and touched them to Velkan's crown—thin rivulets coursed down the sides of the prince's nose as Dracula made the sign of an inverted cross upon his brow, a hellish painting that brought forth memories of a squirming infant on a cold spring night many years ago.
When Dracula had finished, the wound in his wrist began to heal. "There," he murmured. "You carry my undead blood with you as a key. Now leave, and never return here again."
Velkan, despite the guarantee of his survival from this wicked place, could not bear to depart after accomplishing nothing, and in a final futile effort to beseech mercy from the Dark Saint, he implored gently, "Please… don't-"
"Promise me," the Count commanded sternly. "Promise me, Velkan. You will not return here."
The prince, realising his attempts to bargain his life away had proven vain, closed his eyes and nodded in reluctant resignation. "I promise."
Dracula looked askance. "Very well then. Go. Do not seek me out, for I will come to you when I need you. When we meet again, I hope you to be stronger than you are now."
"I will try," said Velkan quietly, "but never will I be as strong as you."
"Do not be so certain," Vlad said with a vague smile on his lips. "You are my child, after all."
† † †
The moment he passed through the mirror once more, Velkan began to rub the tainted blood from his face, so that he would not be seen with such sacrilegious marks disgracing his body; it was quite enough to be thought of as the Offspring of the Beast without rumours of bloody symbols painted on his flesh being circulated about the town.
When the prince turned to see if his reflection still bore crimson smudges, he was surprised to find himself standing before the same map of Transylvania that had been present before he discovered the secret passage. For a moment he began to think that perhaps he had suffered from a serious delusion and had dreamt the entire event, but the cold blood staining his right sleeve was enough evidence to discount the possibility of dreaming.
"I promise never to return, Count," said Velkan quietly as he knelt down to the corner of the atlas. "But if I cannot pass by this way again, then neither shall anyone else." And, pulling the edge of the ancient paper from the frame, tore off the last few words on the corner and stuffed it in his pocket. He stood once more, and with effort moved the massive trunk back into place to obscure his treacherous deed. No sooner had he finished the task when Anna entered the armoury, quite out of breath and looking as if she had not slept at all. When she saw her brother from across the room, she cried out his name and dashed towards him.
"Anna? What-?" Velkan inquired as he found his arms suddenly occupied by his uncharacteristically overwrought sister, who clung to his neck and tried to hide the fact that she was crying by burying her face into his shirt.
Perplexed, Velkan had no choice but to wait until she had calmed herself, though he suspected that the time had changed significantly since he had first stepped through the looking-glass. When at last Anna pulled away, she held his face in her hands and said harshly, "Where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you! Papa thought you had run away, and I… O God, we turned Vaseria upside-down in our search!" She embraced him again. "You are so cold… why is there snow on your clothes? Velkan, where…?"
He did not wish to lie, so he merely averted her questions: "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I would be so sorely missed."
"Sorely missed! How can you speak like that! You up and disappeared two days ago without telling anyone, and now I find you in our own home, cold as ice and… my God, Velkan, are you injured? Where did that blood come? Is that a bruise on your face?"
"An accident," he replied deftly, avoiding Anna's piercing stare.
"What sort of accident? Did you go hunting on your own? Velkan, you know how dangerous that is—we could have lost you! Did you not think of what Papa and I would have gone through had you been killed by a werewolf? You cannot leave us like this! Why did-"
Velkan interrupted his sister's anger by taking her hands in his own and kissing her brow; she was effectively rendered mute by this odd behaviour, and stared at him as if he were a stranger. "Velkan…?"
"I will never leave you again, Anna," he avowed. "I am sorry I caused you to worry. It will not happen again, I swear it."
"Velkan," she whispered, shaking her head and brushing his frosty auburn hair from his forehead. "What happened to you? Why are you acting so differently?"
He smiled reassuringly. "It is still me, little sister. I only needed time alone to find myself."
Anna gazed at him expectantly. "And did you?"
"Only for a moment," the prince answered softly, turning his head to stare at the dusking night which was falling outside the windows. "There is still much I have to do with my life before…"
"Before what?" she asked, but Velkan did not reply.
With still many questions fermenting betwixt the two siblings, they departed the armoury together to find their father, leaving behind the map that would never again reveal its secret to the living world, so long as its final words remained undiscovered.
To Be Continued...