Chapter 15: Longing
"How the time passed away, slipped into nightfall as if it had never been!"
—"The Wanderer", Author Unknown
"Domnica," Țepeș uttered dryly.
The young woman huddled on the ground before the hearth stirred, mumbling softly before curling into herself further.
He contemplated the slumbering figure and his growing irritation.
Insolent, lazy… and a liar.
"Do not think that because the outcome of your act of deceit was fortuitous that you have been absolved," he whispered ominously.
He glanced around the laboratory, taking in all the machinery and equipment housed in the large room.
"I have no patience for anything… or anyone… that does not meet my expectations."
Her breathing was deep, measured. She did not stir at his reproach or the long shadow he cast over her.
He noted for the first time the youthful face speckled with a smattering of freckles, still rounded with the soft contours of childhood. He found his rage gradually abating the longer he contemplated her.
She is just a simple, country girl.
"Count yourself fortunate you have somehow earned my lady's favor and loyalty. I will not risk her displeasure by disciplining you." He hesitated no more than a few moments before turning away. "This time," he amended, as an afterthought.
"Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt," he muttered resignedly, stepping away as dawn loomed on the horizon.
"It is nothing more than will made incarnate," Țepeș explained in the dim room, the storm outside rattling the window panes, thick ribbons of rain streaking the glass. Lisa listened intently, sheets of paper scattered over the table in her room. "Some manage to achieve it through brute force, others through shrewd intellect, a few through the harnessing of theurgical forces…An even select fewer achieve all three."
"A few such as...you?" she asked softly.
He nodded.
"And though few…There are others?" she wondered.
"There always have been," he declared quietly.
He had reached her room earlier, not a moment past dusk, finding that she, as much as he, had been wresting with anticipation of their meeting, as both engaged in studied formality in an effort to counter the turmoil that being in each other's presence unleashed within them.
"I hope you don't mind, but I wrote some questions down."
His eyes were drawn from her face to a modest pile of parchment sheets placed on the table.
"Ah. I see you have revised the Corpus Juris Civilis," he teased, taking a seat.
She lowered her eyes even as she grinned.
"Had I undertaken such a task, I would still be at it, agonizing over whether you violate the laws of heresy or paganism," she countered.
You dispel my loneliness, now even more so, as you see me truly, he thought, settling comfortably in the chair.
"I am at your disposal," he offered.
The room grew silent and he waited while she perused her notes, pondering, her fingers tracing the edges of the parchment.
"Is there a God?" she finally asked.
He laughed loudly— an interjection of surprise.
"It is a valid question! If you exist, then…It is not a leap to surmise… I only ask because I seek to understand," she rapidly added, flustered by his reaction.
"No—I was not mocking you," he reassured her, his arm reaching across the table, his cold hand slipping over hers, his long tapered fingers pressing gently into her skin.
His touch ignited a bloom of warmth through her.
"I should have known you would strike decisively." He grinned, releasing her hand and recomposing himself.
"Well?" she demanded.
"That would depend on what your definition of 'God' is. If there is a supreme being who has shaped the universe, I cannot affirm… nor deny it. Such an entity remains elusive, beyond my perception," he admitted. "I cannot say; I do not know."
And many of my travels and studies were in pursuit of henosis. When I did not find Him in His cathedrals and temples, when He did not answer to prayer, supplication, or offering, I sought to stir Him from whatever demiurgical slumber He had slipped into through the desecration of His tenets—spiritual and material—and found nothing but the remnants of elemental and spiritual forces and potencies, once great enough to shatter nothingness and piece it into being, unmastered and amoral, too great, yet drifting, seeking to be harnessed and woven into the fabric of creation … he thought darkly.
A couple hours into their conversation, he found himself explaining to her, goaded by her questions and interest, about the roots of magic, the origins of such power through its many incarnations, a history unraveled through etymology, etched in the margins of scrolls by scholiasts, about the ancient practitioners of goēteía, the Medes, the Chaldeans, even the shrouded, contested origins of the legendary Dáktuloi.
She listened, fascinated, mesmerized, held in thrall by his words, his careful revelations, a reality that gradually took root and unfurled in her mind. Her countenance did appear to grow wan to him as time passed, however, and he leaned forward to confirm his suspicion. He examined her with concern.
"We stop here tonight."
Her expression appeared almost pained at his words.
"But the night is only halfway through and I still have—"
"So many questions," he completed, sympathetically. "I know."
"Everything you have told me…It is a facet of the world that has always appeared antithetical to everything I've believed."
He rose slowly.
"Not antithetical— the dichotomy you perceive is based on misinformation propagated by those who only possess partial knowledge and no abilities whatsoever to discern and control such forces and entities. The truth is much richer and the differences complementary."
"I wonder how it affects and changes what I thought I knew of healing, of the body…of life." She remained seated, a finely woven blanket she'd plucked from her bed wrapped around her snugly.
"It merely affords you a different dimension of understanding. It does not supplant your knowledge or challenge your abilities. You are not a conjurer, a practitioner of the Hermetic arts—your talents lie elsewhere. Besides, both the known and the unseen worlds adhere to rigid laws and principles. The study of one over the other triumphs only in regards to one's interests, talents, and abilities," he concluded.
She nodded slowly.
"I will call Domnica to assist you." He moved toward the doorway.
"No!" She couldn't imagine disturbing Domnica so late into the night. "Let her sleep. I can manage on my own."
He peered at her over his shoulder, hoping his expression conveyed his disapproval.
"I will not tolerate unnecessary risks. Should you falter or need aid, Domnica—"
"—Will be half asleep if dragged out of her bed at this hour and likely to fall to the ground with me…Or perhaps on top of me." She grinned imagining the humorous—and very possible—scenario as Țepeș glowered. "Let her rest. If you are so concerned about me, then stay a moment longer. Be assured and see for yourself that I can handle the arduous task of putting myself to bed," she joked.
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"As you wish."
"We can continue our conversation while I prepare to retire for the night," she suggested, turning away and slowly pouring water into a porcelain basin.
He narrowed his eyes at her, an arch grin on his lips.
"In that case, I wouldn't put it past you to prolong your routine until dawn."
She laughed lightly and cupped her hands in the water, bending over the basin, splashing water over her face, rubbing a bit over her neck. His eyes followed, mesmerized.
"As you can verify, evidence confirms that I am quite capable of performing basic tasks by myself," she announced, shooting him a furtive glance before reaching for a small pot of salt with minced sage and a thin strip of linen. "You really should let Domnica go, Vlad."
"She and I have an agreement. I will discuss this no further," he replied briskly, pretending to take a sudden interest in a sheet of parchment she had furiously scribbled notes on earlier. He raised his eyes after a few moments and watched her run her fingers through her hair. The gesture triggered a visceral hatred within him as flashes of finding her unconscious on the ground, helpless, the acrid, smokey stench of her burning braid hanging cloyingly in the desecrated crypt, flooded his memory…
One death was not enough for those men, he thought coldly, running the tip of his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth.
Lisa turned around and unwrapped herself from the blanket, folding and draping it over the back of her chair.
"What will you do for the rest of the night?" she wondered.
Her long chemise was sheer, offering him a generous view of her graceful figure: the curve of her waist, swell of her hips, the silhouette of her breasts, taut nipples pressing against the fabric. The moment was rendered even more seductive by the fact she was unaware of offering him such a sight. His lips parted and he drew a sharp breath. He tore his gaze away to stave off the overwhelming desire to take her in his arms, kiss those lips, feel her soft skin against his…
"I will wait," he replied, hearing the bed creak and the sheets rustle as she settled beneath the covers. "Until we can meet again."
A/N: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2**Skip to Notes below if you prefer**
Season 2.
Wow.
I could not have imagined that the series would portray Dracula as lovelorn as it did. I was expecting a furious, vengeful Dracula who succumbs to the demonic within and becomes this epic foe. When Alucard accused him of writing one long suicide note with his convoluted and disorganized plot to destroy Wallachia, I was just nodding my head—because it speaks more to Dracula's humanity, which Lisa had struggled so much to honor and rescue. Her efforts were not in vain, though. Dracula's own humanity, which he had once despised, led him to love deeply and experience true happiness. That love is a vulnerability, but ultimately, a beautiful strength. After all, the monster, in the end, does not triumph.
So, I am feeling good: this fic has not disagreed in essence with the ideals and messages of the series. And that was reassuring and I was so fired up and feeling all the feels after the last episode that I plunked myself down in front of the computer and wrote the last chapter to this fic…instead of writing the next chapter in the storytelling sequence. And that's why this is kinda late…
NOTES
Ok—gather 'round!
Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt: Literal translation: "Mortal actions never deceive the gods." Basically means, "Nice try, but I am on to you."
Corpus Iuris Civilis: "The Justinian Code or Corpus Juris Civilis (Corpus of Civil Law) was a major reform of Byzantine law created by Emperor Justinian I (r. 527-565 CE) in 528-9 CE. Aiming to clarify and update the old Roman laws, eradicate inconsistencies and speed up legal processes, the collection of imperial edicts and expert opinions covered all manner of topics from punishments for specific crimes to marriage and the inheritance of property. Not only used as a basis for Byzantine law for over 900 years, the laws therein continue to influence many western legal systems to this day." (From the Ancient History Encyclopedia website. Later editions have these huge sections on religion, heresy, and paganism (it's not ok to sell Christians off to be sacrificed at pagan rituals, are we clear? No, for realz). It can be pretty dense. Wanna take a crack at it? I posted a link on AO3 of an early version that is very Roman still. Check out Book VIII, Section 50, for some fresh lols.
Dáktuloi: "In Greek mythology, the Dactyls were the archaic mythical race of male beings associated with the Great Mother, whether as Cybele or Rhea. The Dactyls were both ancient smiths and healing magicians. In some myths, they are in Hephaestus' employ, and they taught metalworking, mathematics, and the alphabet to humans." (Wikipedia)
Dental hygiene in the Middle Ages: So everything was pretty nasty in the Middle Ages and while people didn't really bathe much or launder their (few) clothes and typically lived in close quarters with their livestock, they did not typically have mouths filled with rotting teeth. The reason was this: sugar wasn't really part of people's diets yet! Sugar was reserved for the wealthy, and even then, only in smaller, "medicinal" doses, as it was very expensive and harder to come by. Foods weren't sweetened with sugar. So tooth decay was more gradual back then. Some figures place it at 20% (of an individual's teeth decaying over a lifetime) versus 90% once we hit the beginning of the 20th century, when sugar is a more prevalent and affordable cash crop. There are medieval recipes for teeth powders and pastes and even mouthwashes. They used powdered charcoal made from rosemary stems and mixed salts with mint or sage for an abrasive paste they would rub over their teeth and gums with strips of linen.
Goēteía: "The Ancient Greek word γοητεία (goēteía) means "charm, jugglery, sorcery",[1] from γόης (góēs) "sorcerer, wizard" (plural: γόητες góētes)." Góēs, derived from it, is a word for "practitioner of magic" that is older even than mágos, meaning "magus". (Wikipedia) "Mágos" became more popular, though, as it included arts beyond magic (which is ultimately derived from mágos, as well), such as astrology, alchemy, and other branches of the esoteric and Hermetic.
Henosis: Is a Greek concept where a person achieves oneness with a demiurgical (divine force) mind, and in the process, becomes divine him/herself.
Scholiasts: They are the authors of scholia, or notes on the margins of other books. They are commentary or corrections or expansions on whatever texts they are written next to. They are considered extremely helpful when found in ancient texts.
Theurgy: "describes the practice of rituals, sometimes seen as magical in nature, performed with the intention of invoking the action or evoking the presence of one or more deities, especially with the goal of achieving henosis (uniting with the divine) and perfecting oneself."