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Time means something altogether different for an immortal, and it has little to do with the cognitive or physical differences between humans and vampires. There is a pressing urgency that defines human life that is wholly incomprehensible to Aedwaerth now. But he can see the inherent beauty of their fragile condition and he laments the loss of his previous life. He knows, for all intents and purposes, that there will always be another dawn, another day to devour. He can't fathom a life that goes on forever. How long will this continue?
On this particular day, Aedwaerth is high up in the mountains that hem in his homeland. The mischief, murder and mayhem of the last decade weigh heavily on his mind, the grief and anger exerting their insidious influence on his decision making. After a few days of stone-still consideration and internal scrutiny he has made several resolutions.
I will not subsist on the innocent. No more. While his appetites were usually slaked on the ruined bodies of dying soldiers, there were other meals he'd made of families, farmers, and freemen. And I ended them. No more. The sounds... He can recall their screams, thoughts ranging from frantic to resigned, both dull thud and sharp smack of their flailing appendages as they hit at his unyielding body and every last gargled inhalation with perfect acuity.
He's dying hundreds of agonizing deaths with stunning acuity in his mind. The sadness and anger build, brick upon brick, mortared with the memories of the lives he's taken into a resolution. I will never take an innocent life. But those who have done evil will suffer by my hand. If I am to be king of death, then I will deal it to those who deserve it. He rationalizes it further by reminding himself of his human battlefield endeavors. But in his heart he knows that every murder since his change, and every subsequent murder he will commit is something entirely different. Before, taking lives had been to protect, defend and preserve the lives of his kinsmen. Now, he understands it as a compulsion, a necessary act which sustains, essentially feeds him. He has no words to describe the disgust he feels at what he has become. But his revulsion is counterbalanced by the resolve which has been borne of his conscience, a resolution brought about by the searing memory of the broken and bloody body of a young girl he loved.
He's hanging on the edge of restraint as it is, and the added pressure of his new justifications are challenging his thirst. It's at this moment that his destiny is cemented, changed, set on a new and entirely unique course. In the history of the vampire decisions about diet were purely a function of instinct; his makeshift morality is something that has never been seen before. But despite this, despite his decisions and endeavors to make himself better all Aedwaerth can see is endless drops of blood, bright red splashed against his skin's pallor. Shame and guilt are things he had little experience with in his human life, but they are consuming him now. So he hunts.
***
Aedwaerth hasn't been counting the years. Time has little if any significance to him other than marking it between hunting expeditions. The ebb and flow of the centuries is barely noticeable. A large reason for that is the lack of advancement of any kind during these middle ages. Aside from some agricultural advances which don't concern him, the most relevant technological update was semi-liquid soap in the 9th century, followed by bar soap three hundred years later. Human blood may smell appetizing but body odor, and sewage dumped on open ground makes towns and cities nearly unbearable for any length of time.
While nearly a thousand years seems interminable to a human, it's been even worse for Aedwaerth. The monotony builds, like a gradually accreting monument to his inadequacies. His goals are few and simple and over the years he's failed at every one: accidentally killing innocents, yielding to the bloodlust, allowing the Saxon invasion. It's the last one which ignites his ire tonight. Even though it's been nine hundred and some odd years, he's still incensed at the way things unfolded.
Aedwaerth had been vigilant in his attempt to prohibit Saxon entry onto his island. Most of the raiders, war-parties and interloping Saxons to arrive in Pryden met his criteria for early admission into the afterlife. On the whole they were scum, scorned and run out of their own homes for their actions and attitudes; he feels no remorse for their demise at his hands. Wyrtgeorn (known now as Vortigern) was a contemporary of Aedwaerth in his human life: a warlord of modern-day Wales. Aedwaerth knew him as a clever and opportunistic leader, consolidating and expanding his territory in quick turns. And though they were neither allies or enemies in his human life, that changed just a few years after Aedwaerth altered his hunting habits. Wyrtgeorn, an ambitious man, had been taking a beating. So he proceeded to make a deal with some Saxon mercenaries. He gave them land to own and farm in exchange for a promise to surcease all attempts at invading and plundering his territory and fight for him when he needed them. Aedwaerth's voyeuristic proclivities alerted him to the issue, and the underlying lie the Saxons sold. The mercenaries turned on him and due to Wyrtgeorn's indiscretion, they were far too numerous and established for Aedwaerth to eliminate. If Wyrtgeorn hadn't been killed in one of the initial skirmishes, he reckons he would have done it himself.
The whole unfortunate affair taught Aedwaerth a valuable lesson. In that moment, watching stealthily while the Saxons routed their unsuspecting hosts, all he can feel is hopelessness, isolation and very real separation from the human world. He is alone and apart, bereft of all companionship and inclusion, and now he knows it. He can neither be a part of fleeting human problems, nor their solution. He is other. But even as another remnant of his human sensibilities are revoked and his impotence is uncovered, his innate curiosity is piqued. What was Wyrtgeorn thinking, letting those damn Saxons in his home? Why? His questions are endless, expansive and penetrating, a piece of his humanity that cannot be taken. That is when he realizes that though he will never be a part of humanity again, he can remain a member by proxy: after all, knowledge is power. So began his study of the people and world around him.
It's the year 1403 and Aedwaerth has made his way into London-town where there's no lack of criminals for him to choose from. He has grown to like cities, despite their stench, from a distance. He finds comfort in improving the lives of the good people who live there, and in the tumult of thoughts thats lifts, expands, and writhes like a million serpents through his mind. It's difficult for him to process the unbidden voices, but he's grown adept over the years at tuning in and out, sifting through, and blocking thoughts. He's well fed, so he's just killing time (an expression he coined himself) and listening to the frantic, benign, and myriad minds of the 100,000-plus person city.
When he starts hearing the word vampire peddled cavalierly by a mob, he pays special attention, moves closer in the stillness of night to lay eyes on them. Moments later, he's looking at the group from the roof of a nearby church, the very church that has spawned this patchwork group of lower-class Londoners. He's familiar with the establishment from its roots with the Avignon Papacy, and later John Wycliffe, to its vitriolic minister. From what he can gather from the thoughts of the mob, they are on a glorified snipe-hunt to find vampires lurking in the city sewers, and led by the caustic minister's son. When Aedwaerth zeroes in on the man's thoughts, Carlisle, he discovers that he is quite different than what he was expecting.
Carlisle is a man burdened by his father's expectations, at once calm and emotive, and a genuinely compassionate person. Aedwaerth is intrigued by Carlisle, and amused to learn through his thoughts that despite being very good at vampire hunting, he finds the practice farcical at best and "actively wrong" at worst. Carlisle's struggle to please his father, yet remain true to his own beliefs is not new to Aedwaerth, but the clarity and emotional sympathy that his mind exudes is refreshing. When Carlisle addresses the group, communicating the plan for the evening, Aedwaerth is caught off guard. They've divined the location of a relatively senile and sickly vampire named Gilbert. Aedwaerth has had occasion to meet this vampire, but has passed on the opportunity due to his jumbled and chaotic thoughts; Gilbert is so crazy he can barely remember to feed himself. He's living in the ruins of a Roman aqueduct which has been built over several times, and they're going after him.
A/N: Sorry it took a while to update. I had some thematic difficulties with this chapter. The next chapter is when our lucky couple meets. And I've already written some of it, so it shouldn't be too long before I get that one out to you. Thanks for reading. Review if it suits you.