"Baudelaire, that old flower of evil, was right; 'The Devil's cleverest wile is to make men believe that he does not exist'."
Extracted from the 1948 LIFE Magazine: 'The Devil' by Whittaker Chambers
Blæcþorn Estāt (Blackthorn Estate)
Cynerīce Norþhymbra (Kingdom of Northumbria)
Gēond 600 Gēardagas (Circa: 600 A.D.)
It is within the verdant, flourishing grounds of Blackthorn Estate that this tale, tinged with twists and fanaticism, unfold. The grounds of this grand estate, of which was well-concealed from prying eyes, were guarded by not only the use of magical, ancient wards, but also by the most exotic of magical creatures that money could buy. For it is amidst Blackthorn's expansive grounds did a grand and bountiful garden grow, one that was full of the most beautifully haunting and clandestinely nurtured magical black roses.
Theses shadowy blooms did sway gently in the afternoon breeze, their petals spread and stretched into full-blossom in the hopes that they may be able to soak up some of the last rays of life-giving sunlight before the solar orb was replaced by its lunar counterpart within the ever-darkening sky. The roses, some of which were rumoured to be as dark as the abyss, were tended to daily by their devoted caretaker, of whom did treat every bloom as if they were his very own kin.
Through his dedication and hard work, the roses growing within Blackthorn Estate did thrive like no other, bestowing upon their steward, along with the very grounds of which they did reside on, a garden that was sure to be the envy of those privileged enough to learn of its existence. And it was for this reason, and this reason alone, that the current owner and dweller of Blackthorn Estate took great pains to employ such fundamental security measures, ensuring that no-one would ever get the chance to see even a fleeting glimpse of his most highly-cultivated and prized black roses.
But not all could be stopped from entering the manor's grounds, no matter how deep one's pockets went, and a soft knock upon his door on the eve of a rather severe snowstorm had Fȳrcyning Slyðerin almost sighing with agitated resignation as his usually peaceful evening was interrupted.
"Enter!" the pale-haired wizard did bark, barely managing to supress the snarl that had threatened to invade his already low tones. He distracted himself - along with his irritation - by moving the flawless blue-black raven's quill away from the parchment he'd been writing upon, returning the barb back to its inkpot that was sitting open and waiting on his desk even as his umbral gaze lifted to the opening door of his office.
Yet, and when said door revealed to the Lord of the manor as to exactly who had dared to impede on his afternoon, a slow smile begun to pull at his lips; annoyance and irritation of an evening interrupted easily being won over by an emotion that could have almost been mistaken for pleasure.
"Ah... Custos," he greeted with a drawl as he sunk back into his chair, voice tinged with the barest hint of surprised intrigue as he watched his caretaker step into the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your intrusion on this wretched evening? Something utterly delightful, I do hope?" he added as he gestured for the other man to approach his desk.
Pale lips curled downwards at the title that Fȳrcyning had used, but still Dǣgan closed the door behind him and approached the desk without retort. "My Lord, I do apologise for the intrusion," he begun the moment he was standing before the bureau, only continuing when Fȳrcyning waved his apology off and motioned for him to get to his point. "But I do believe that I've uncovered a rather interesting titbit of information in regards to your nephew, Wulfgar."
A single, platinum brow rose upon Fȳrcyning's forehead, the wizard's expression curious as he leaned forwards in his seat; elbows coming to rest atop the mahogany wood of his desk.
His interest had clearly been piqued.
"Pray and enlighten me, Dǣgan," he replied smoothly, "What secret has my dear Wulfgar tried so hard to conceal from me this time?" curious to know what his only nephew - and most recent charge - had managed to do.
"A courting, my Lord."
A pregnant pause filled the room as Fȳrcyning absorbed this revelation. Surprise was the first emotion to mar his features, the idea that his brother's only son had actually been seen with someone, let alone that someone being worthy enough of Wulfgar to actually consider marrying, catching the wizard momentarily off-guard. And he blinked at his employee, dark eyes disappearing behind their lids ever so slowly at the same time pale, snow-white brows did furrow upon his forehead.
"I find it hard to believe that Wulfgar's actions will manage to remain a secret for long," Fȳrcyning finally released, shaking his head with a dismissive air. "Lufþegn's name will not allow him the privile-"
"To a Prinsessa Freydis Hakansdottir," Dǣgan continued, cutting in with a voice that was dripping with utter contempt. And his words succeeded in causing silence to descend upon the small office once more. However, this time the atmosphere grew heavy with tension, Fȳrcyning Slyðerin not growing surprised by the revelation thrown at him, but infuriated; his magic beginning to pulse with a dark, malevolent energy as his pride stung with the knowledge that his nephew had been associating with such a, a-
"That... that-"
The Lord of Blackthorn Estate struggled to find the words, his voice trembling with an ever-growing fury.
"Mudblood?" his caretaker offered, an eyebrow raising upon Dǣgan's forehead.
"-Mortal!" Fȳrcyning finally exploded, his voice reverberating through the room and causing the walls to tremble and crack with the outburst of his rage.
Glimpses of a fiery abyss appeared beyond the glamour that was slowly disintegrating away before Dǣgan's eyes, and the air grew thick with the scent of brimstone and ash. The shadows that had just been dancing upon the office walls seemed to take a life of their own, slithering and jumping from place to place, while the office itself, one that was adorned with the trappings of ancient wizardry and Anglo-Saxon normalcy, shifted and transformed; dark, malevolent energy crackling through the air as a sinister, demonic realm was revealed to be hiding beneath nothing more than a glamoured illusion.
Symbols that were as sinister as they were dark marred the surface of the walls and floor, each one carved into the newly-revealed stone chamber and did pulsate with utter malice to the beat of some unseen heart. Shadows and shapes, grotesque forms of all kinds continued to murmur their whispered promises like hushed words upon the wind as Fȳrcyning rose from his obsidian throne, the Dæmon King's eyes ablaze with an infernal fire as his now-crimson gaze narrowed upon his caretaker, of whom did have to admit he was impressed by his Lord's control - the dæmon standing before the vampyre somehow managing to remain under the glamour of his 'human' visage despite the rage that could be felt rolling from his form.
"He dare defy the laws of our blood - the laws of our ancestors with a-a... Mortal engagement?!" Fȳrcyning barely managed to spit out between clenched teeth, his features contorted into a vicious snarl. The walls of the chamber trembled in response to his rage, his hands fisting at his side whilst magic, as dark as it was all-encompassing, swirled and all but caused the shadows within the chamber to flee the Dæmon King's wrath. "The very idea is an affront to Lufþegn's legacy! Does he not recall who it was that killed his father?! Does he not know that such an alliance would be nothing but disastrous to our kind?!"
Dǣgan, Elder Vampyre and rather accustomed to his Lord's ire, held his ground as he replied, his voice unwavering. "It does seem as such. Wulfgar has clearly forgotten the consequences of his birth, has clearly chosen again to defy the principle of your noble lineage, my Lord. But... perhaps the half-breed's union is not entirely without opportunity," he finished, the last part seemingly having been added as more of an afterthought.
As the words left the vampyre's mouth, however, Fȳrcyning found himself stiffening, his gaze narrowing on his subordinate. The atmosphere within the Chamber of Shadows suddenly grew heavy, power beginning to buzz through the air before-
CR-CRACK!
The Dæmon King disappeared from the room, reappearing before Dǣgan who didn't even bat an eye as he met Fȳrcyning's furious gaze unwavering; the Caretaker of Blackthorn Estate standing by his muttered statement.
"How can you say such a thing, Custos?" Fȳrcyning growled, the return usage of Dǣgan's position over his name not lost to either supernatural being. Although it was also not unexpected; Dǣgan having served the Slyðerin family for far longer than the dæmon before him had been alive, had severed Fȳrcyning's very own parents, and as such knew the dæmon probably better than he knew himself.
"My own Father abhorred those cretins, and for good reason! They have done nothing but slaughter our kind, tainted our magical heritage, and weakened our lines with their inferior beliefs and blood!" Fȳrcyning continued with a vicious snarl.
"I do not disagree, my Lord. The absence of your brother, Lord Þēodnes, is still felt keenly within the realm, despite the many years since his demise," Dǣgan stated unflinchingly before the King's wrath, hands being moved behind his back as he inclined his head in a minute, yet submissive nature. "As well as that of your son. But we also cannot allow what transpired then to happen now. To underestimate the power of knowledge and influence is to underestimate our enemies. With the half-breed's union, would the Hersir's daughter not only could become a useful wager, but also a rather powerful pawn within your game?"
Fȳrcyning scoffed, turning away from the vampyre. However a smirk had already begun to tug at Dǣgan's lips, said vampyre having just managed to catch sight of a flicker of curiosity glimmering within his Lord's gaze.
"Prinsessa Hakansdottir may have her own ambitions, we cannot deny," the vampyre continued, knowing that he had the King's full attention despite how it might seem. "And yes, she may seek to change our society from within, believing that she can improve the treatment of her kind..." that devious smirk only grew upon pale lips, a glimpse of fang flashing within the darkened room, "...but we could use that, use her to sow discord among our enemies and exploit their weaknesses."
Fȳrcyning turned back to his caretaker, a storm of thoughts brewing within the confines of his mind. "Explain," was all he demanded, the annoyance in his tone still prevalent, yet now accompanied by a gleam of reluctant interest.
"Mortals - Vikings, my Lord, I find can be formidable allies. And... perhaps such a union between the half-breed and his chosen could aid in preventing unnecessary conflicts. You cannot deny that, if your nephew has already chosen such a path, it would be wise to let him do some of the work for you."
Fȳrcyning's eyes narrowed, already well aware of the growing tensions between the Anglo-Saxon and Viking Mortals who had settled within his father's domain. The mere thought of his nephew going the same route as his brother, of Wulfgar entangling himself in such a situation was vexing at best. But as his mind attempted to grasp the idea his caretaker was clearly presenting him with, despite the thought of another union with these Mortals leaving nothing but a distasteful flavour upon his tongue, Fȳrcyning couldn't deny that if this union had the possibility of preventing a potential war, it may just be worth considering.
"Exactly what, precisely, do these sightings between my nephew and this Mortal 'Prinsessa' entail?" the Dæmon King enquired, his voice - however curious - still dripping with a thinly veiled annoyance and dislike.
Dǣgan cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. "They've been seen conversing in public places, sharing meals, and even had attended a local event together. Some, I have heard, have even gone as far as to suggest that there might already be a... romantic involvement."
Fȳrcyning's lip curled with further distaste at the notion. He had no patience for such trivial matters as romance, especially when it came to alliances with Mortals and their overly barbaric rituals. "Romance, you say?" He shook his head in disbelief. "This is absurd. Wulfgar involving himself in such matters would only jeopardise the reputation of his - our family."
"That's precisely my concern, my Lord," Dǣgan agreed, his voice still the epitome of calmed composure. "Your nephew's reputation is already in tatters within the dæmonic community, being his status of a half-breed. But, if I may offer a suggestion... there may be a way to turn this to your advantage."
Cerise eyes hardened as they regarded the Elder Vampyre. "Advantage?" the King scoffed. "What possible advantage could I get out of such a joining?" he questioned; annoyance once more invading his tone, overtaking his earlier curiosity.
"My Lord..." Dǣgan hesitated, if for the barest of moments as uncertainty finally flickered deep within his dark eyes. "The Mortal in question, Freydis Hakansdottir, she has already been spotted with your nephew on multiple occasions, and often in the company of her fellow Norsemen. It is causing quite a stir among the other Families, and rumours are already beginning to spread."
"As they would," Fȳrcyning stated with a growing frown, clearly getting more annoyed the longer it took for the vampyre to explain. "No one has forgotten the way Lufþegn was betrayed, nor how he had lost his life."
"But not all have been against your nephew's union," the vampyre continued, "I've heard whispers that from some that if the half-breed and this mortal woman were to become closer, it could potentially do what someone of full dæmonic status could not; open the door to negotiations between your family and the Vikings; between Us and the Mortal Plane. It would be a strategic alliance, the marriage between Wulfgar and his chosen, and could potentially do what your brother could not; quell the rising tensions within the northern regions without the need for conflict. Let the half-breed continue, my Lord, and let him do all the work for you."
"Act as though you support your nephew's decision, let him believe that he has your blessing while we secretly uncover any possibly schemes that his Viking bride-to-be might try and hatch against you. I believe... allowing the engagement to proceed would be in your best interest on all accounts. And if you were to even, say, throw a ball to not only celebrate such a union, but also welcome these Mortals onto our shores, it would give us the perfect opportunity to observe our enemy closer, assess their intentions and ensure that they do not pose any threat. Throwing such an event yourself would also not only help in persuading Wulfgar into believing that you support his choice, but the other Families as well."
The Dæmon King's mind churned with dark and dangerous thoughts, each contemplating the possibilities that Dǣgan's suggestions had brought forth as his crimson gaze settled upon the vampyre. The idea of actually supporting his half-breed of a nephew's engagement left a sour taste in his mouth, the mere thought of a union with the Mortals remaining all but unpalatable to Fȳrcyning. Yet... the prospect of using the union to his advantage, to manipulate his nephew and maintain control of the realm his brother had left him with - it was very, very tempting.
Fȳrcyning Slyðerin also could not deny that the idea of utilising not only Wulfgar's courting, but a ball held for said occasion, would be the perfect subterfuge to make certain what had occurred in the past does not repeat itself. The potential to spare his kind to the horrors of his past, the nightmare that was death and war that he knew all too well...
Red eyes flickered from side-to-side, pale brows furrowing as thoughts and ideas ran rampant within Fȳrcyning's mind. Though it was only after a few heartbeats of silence did he speak, his gaze returning to Dǣgan; voice nothing more than a low, calculating murmur. "Very well, Dǣgan," he conceded. "Let it be so, throw a ball," he told his caretaker with a contorting expression. "But keep an eye on my nephew and this Mortal. Make no mistake, Custos, I will not tolerate any betrayal from either. If it becomes clear that this union is more than just that, inform me immediately. If they seek to undermine me, think me too much like my brother or too soft like my father, they will suffer the consequences."
Dǣgan could only nod in agreement, despite being internally surprised that his Lord had taken to his suggestion without more of a fight. He knew, however, that the warning that Fȳrcyning had tacked onto the end of his agreement was the stipulation that had led to the Dæmon King agreeing; one of which the Elder Vampyre would heed.
"Of course, my Lord," he replied with a respectful bow of his head. "I shall continue to monitor the situation closely," he told Fȳrcyning before turning on his heel, knowing far better than to linger after being given an order.
As he watched the Caretaker step through the double doors of the Chamber of Shadows, Fȳrcyning returned to the throne that once sat his father, a dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his mind became abuzz with newfound plans and possibilities.
"Let the charade begin," he muttered as he sunk into the obsidian throne, a malicious gleam appearing within his crimson gaze.
The game, it seemed, was afoot, and the Dæmon King of the Stygian Abyss was determined to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.