1. Chapter 1 (1/2)
sick of me yet, dear readers? i hope not, because i still have a ton of one-shots to post while i work on some of my longer projects. here's an everyone-is-probably-slightly-out-of-character type fic i hope you'll enjoy regardless.
disclaimer: if you recognise it, it ain't mine.
"you're still here?" bertrand looked up from his book as ingrid continued. "i would have thought you'd be running for the hills by now." he frowned; what had he done now? was he in trouble with the count, or vlad? the vampiress saw his confusion and smirked. "oh, typical vlad. he hasn't even told you, has he?" he closed his book and set it down, giving her his full attention."told me what?"
ingrid produced a book of her own, holding it out to him. it appeared to be a reprinting of an old vampire text, shiny and new."turn to page one hundred and seven, and the last few paragraphs might be of interest to you." she made to leave, but paused in the doorway and turned, still smirking. "oh, and... i'm sorry." he waited until she was definitely gone before opening the book and skipping to page 107.
the chosen one will not take the throne without resistance, however. enemies will beset him from all sides, but destiny itself will be his most fearsome foe. the prophecy is clear. the chosen one's fate is a forked path; he will lead our race to glory, or else he will crumble to ash at dusk on his eighteenth birthday.
bertrand frowned – he thought he had read everything there was to read about the chosen one. he glanced at the cover; the wisdom of angharad, c. 385 bc – rediscovered and translated for modern english vampires. it was an obscure text, then, probably lost for centuries, and he supposed he might have overlooked it. then what was this about vlad dying?
the only way for the chosen one to survive is for him to prove his dominion over the realm of sentiment. there is a ritual that will suffice to preserve his unlife and allow him to rise to greatness, and it requires relatively little to perform. it must take place at midday on the eighteenth anniversary of his birth.
he let out a completely unnecessary sigh of relief. vlad could be saved, and there were still three days to go before he turned eighteen. his ignorance would not have to cost his protégé so dearly.
the chosen one must cut out the heart of a vampire who loves him, not as
other, father or son, but in that all-consuming fashion known as romantic love, and drive a fresh stake therein as his victim looks on. only by sacrificing the one who loves him most can he survive to lead all vampires to victory. should he be beloved by no vampire, he is not worthy of the throne, for all great leaders draw into their orbit those who cannot help but be entirely devoted to them, and in this case he shall perish. should he fail or refuse to complete the ritual, he lacks the force of character required to lead, and shall be committed likewise to dust.
bertrand flicked the page, trying to find an alternative; vlad would never kill anyone just to save himself, much less someone who cared for him.
he must be prepared to hunt down his prey if necessary, for though the ritual will have stronger effects if the victim is willing, they will suffer great pain in their last moments. there are few who would wish to endure such a fate, however strong their loyalty, and even the prospect of glory cannot entice them to submit, for the victim's name is to be wholly struck from all records of our kind.
bertrand skimmed the rest of the page, but the text had moved on to describing an archaic coronation ceremony. there was no other way, then; vlad had to kill the vampire who loved him most. his tutor had a sneaking suspicion that ingrid knew exactly who that was."i would have thought you'd be running for the hills," she'd said. vlad couldn't know, however... could he? ingrid had suggested that he knew about the rite itself, which meant that he should have come to bertrand by now to ask for advice. the only explanation was that he knew about bertrand's affection for him, and knew what it meant. of course he wouldn't want to give him time to run.
he was doing vlad an injustice, he realised; hadn't he just been thinking of how unlikely it was for vlad to kill to save himself? perhaps he simply hadn't told bertrand because he hadn't wanted him to know. he probably wasn't planning to go through with the ritual. even now, he might be mentally preparing himself to turn to dust in just three days' time.