I am very sorry that it took so long to get this chapter up. Life got in the way, then school, then life rushed back in with a vengeance. The next chapter should be posted soon, as this was originally one big chapter, and that's where the real action begins, so hang in there! After that I hope to have regular updates as it's summer now and I can't use classes as an excuse. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Castlevania and the original idea for this fic was inspired by Slinky, as mentioned in the first chapter. Go read her story. Seriously.
Chapter 2
Pulling
Dracula stood over the body of his prone son, an imposing figure composed of darkness. In contrast Adrian's face was peaceful, his expression a condition of his blissful sleep. Vlad Dracula, for all of his faults, did not want his son to be miserable, but could not help the twinge of irrational jealousy at the bliss of the sleeping man. He was, no doubt, in a place away from all of the chaos and cruelty that steeped both of their lives deeply, but as to what that dream might be Vlad could not fathom.
Adrian had always been strange, the man mused, a miracle that was never meant to be. He was the product of a relationship between Vlad and a human woman, Lisa, in the 1400s. As far as Vlad had known he could not produce a child, much less with a human woman, the mingling of vampire and human genetics supposedly too apart, and perhaps his own genetics too long dead, to have produced a child. Adrian himself was neither human nor vampire, but an odd mixture of each, called a dhampire. The man would have had an easier run of things, Vlad supposed, had he chose one destiny or the other to follow, but Adrian seemed to have developed the lust for blood that Dracula himself possessed, with the conscience of his mother. It was a small wonder that the man wasn't completely insane.
The vampire had earlier been approached by a spirit of vengeance in the form of a small girl who had informed him that he needed to make a choice as payment for a town he had destroyed, a town that had invoked her help. The choice that Vlad needed to make, he'd discovered, was that he could either have his son back, alive and safe, but miserable from the (apparently) wonderful dream he'd been put into, or Vengeance could allow him to stay and live his dreams, but he would never awaken and would eventually die. It was up to Vlad to make the decision of having his son live a miserable life or letting him die happy.
Vlad's lips twisted delicately at this thought, the thought that the town would be audacious enough to call upon Vengeance, and the irony that it would not strike he, the evil creature who preyed on the living, but instead his virtuous and tragically flawed son. The son who had made it his mission to protect these people from his bloodlusting father.
~~~*~~~
Lisa leaned forward into a cupboard, plucking a small, dried plant hanging from a string. "Now I told you what this was and what it's used for. Do you remember, Adrian?" she asked, laughing lightly as the man stopped at the sound of her voice.
His voice was deep and cultured as he spoke, "lavender. You've been using it to help Maria sleep with her pregnancy, haven't you?"
Lisa nodded, tucking some of the fragrant plant in her cream coloured cotton apron, draped around her dark woollen skirts and returning the remainder to its string. "She had been having some trouble sleeping- and by smelling the lavender she will not have to swallow anything that could be potentially harmful to your child," she said, briefly smiling warmly to her son.
Lisa observed her son for a moment; Adrian was so pale that he positively shone in the harsh winter sunlight streaming in from the windows, which turned his flaxen hair golden at the edges. He was very much the antithesis of a typical Romanian man- fine boned and effeminate, porcelain pale with light features and in his white cotton shirt she thought he looked like ethereal. She shook her head of these thoughts and offered him a smile, "I am having Valeria help me prepare the lavender and after that, lunch, I think," she stated, leaving the room.
~~~*~~~
Lisa's apothecary was a small cellar room dimly lit by candle light with rough, scrubbed wooden tables along the walls, thin cupboards with various plants hanging upside down above the tables, three rickety but sturdy stools sanded raw and smooth and an old work bench in the centre of the room, on which lay small, dried yellow flowers, a white marble mortar and pestle that stood starkly against the darkness of the room and a blonde child in a plain muslin dress with patches of stains in various colours across the front of it.
As Lisa stepped into the middle of the room one chocolate brown eye opened, then the other and the girl sat up, disentangling a few strands of her waist length flaxen braid from the rough work bench as she did so. "I have the chamomile ready, mum. But I couldn't reach the bags for it and the lavender," her small mouth turned into a frown. "What took you so long?" she pouted.
The woman smiled gently and cupped the girl's cheek before opening a high cupboard and taking down a small bag made of thin fabric. "Don't pout so, Valeria," she said, her tone gentle and tolerant of the child, "you've been waiting here for perhaps ten minutes, not that long at all. And I was speaking with your brother," she explained, plucking the purple flowered plant from her apron and beginning to work swiftly, separating the petals from the base of the plant.
The child didn't reply as each got to their jobs, Lisa crushing the flowers to pieces slightly larger than powder and the girl placing them inside the bag, squishing them in so everything could fit then sewing it up tightly, winding needle and plain brown thread quickly through the lip of the bag as Lisa wiped the mortar, pestle, and work bench with a damp cloth from an apron tied around her waist and gathered the stems to toss outside for animals to pick at as Valeria completed a knot in the string to seal the bag.
The girl had been working as her mother's assistant since she was four and could pick the flower petals and place them in the bag, and was slowly being allowed to work more and more tasks, though largely her job was learning. Lisa would quiz her on the flowers names and properties as they worked, and Valeria often helped her mother in the garden in the summertime.
As the two finished cleaning Lisa stood, taking her daughter's hand, and they left to begin making dinner.
~~~*~~~
Vlad came up behind Lisa as the woman was preparing dinner, grasping her gently from behind and laying his chin on her shoulder, chuckling deeply as she gasped and turned, laughing warmly when she realised it was just him attempting to startle her. "Vlad, you shouldn't do that," she chastised her husband gently.
"And why not, my dear?" he asked, his smooth rich voice like velvety chocolate, sending pleasant vibrations down Lisa's back.
She smiled lightly, turning to fully face him, "because it startles me and I'm working on the stove," she said, though her eyes shone with playfulness, "and because I might want to get you back later on."
Thin lips spread into a catlike smile, "I would welcome any attempts you might have up your sleeve."
"I doubt it's my sleeve that you're interested in, Vlad. At least, I'd hope not," she said frankly, jumping and turning as the smell of doused wood reached their noses and the stew she'd been working on began to boil over.
"Vlad-" she sighed, fixing him with a halfhearted frown, "honestly, this is why I asked you not to distract me," she said, trying to keep a serious expression on her face, but the expression that clearly said he'd just been cheated out of something was so pitiful that she barely stifled a giggle. "Just go get ready for dinner, Vlad. And get that son of yours out of his room," she insisted.
"As you wish, my lady," he said with a broad smile and deep ironic bow, disappearing around the corner, his heavy footfalls audible as the wooden stairs creaked underfoot in response to his ascent up the steps.
~~~*~~~
A dark figure stood in a chamber dimly lit by several lights overhead. His face was the colour of bleached bones, the unnatural pale of the long dead, and his eyes burned red hot like coals in their socket. His suit, of a build old for the time, but made of rich fabric that seemed to crinkle with time itself, was so dark that it seemed cut from a starless night sky. High cheekbones and a strong, aquiline nose hinted at noble birth, as did his upright posture, and cultured voice, low and powerful when he spoke. "Is Alucard prepared?" Dracula asked the dark priest standing before him.
The man nodded, but did not speak. He knew as well as any in Dracula's regiment that a word out of place, even a tone out of place, could and likely would lead to painful death.
"Good, let's begin then," he said, mouth turning up into a small, cruel smile, "I refuse to lose my son to those," he paused, seeming to savour his next thought before spitting it out forcefully, "barbarous villagers," he continued, composed once again, "who dared attempt to take vengeance out on me."