Work Text:
(art by Ibrithir and linked above)
The night was cool and clear, the familiar black clouds leaving strips across the moon and the jagged rocks. It was the sort of night that called the young man outside the castle to explore the mountain, not least of all because Father had been gracious tonight - Mum was visiting the tower, and the young man knew to steer clear when the two had time alone.
Father, divining the young man's thoughts as usual, requested the pleasure of his company for a walk in the woods.
The blue flames danced between the trees, calling out their familiar song. The young man walked tucked under Father's arm, a guiding hand resting on his head. In recent months the boy had shot upwards, and suddenly he could hardly fit in the familiar space without stooping. But stoop he did.
“You've been asking Mother about meeting others,” Father said.
“I have, Father.”
There was no question where or how the Count found out about his private conversations with his Mum. There were no secrets in Castle Dracula.
“Why do you wish this? You want to leave us, is that it?”
Father was stiff, meaning he was unhappy with the young man, so he rushed to placate him.
“No, Sir, not at all! I just thought, well, I wondered if I would be a Father or Papa or Mum one day.”
Father seized him by the wrist, grip crushing.
“Know this, pet. You will always have your place here in my home. Under me, you will never be lost.”
It was a comfort, to be possessed.
“Yes, Father.”
They continued to walk. Father beckoned one of the bats closer and inspected it, twisting it around his arm. The young man scratched the bat’s head, before Father dismissed it.
“I ate Papa twice this week,” the young man said, “but I still have this Hunger.”
Father's eyes flashed. Joy? Anger?
“Insatiable boy,” he remarked. “Will you feed again?”
The young man shrugged. “It's not what I'm hungering for, I don't think.”
“Quite right.” Those shining red eyes met his. “Do you love me, pet?”
The boy seized both cold hands. “Of course! Father, don't ever doubt me!”
Father gave a thoughtful noise, and brought them to sit by the broken battlements that overlooked the Castle. If they transformed now, they could fly directly into Papa's tower below. Not that the young man wanted to do that. He knew what Mum and Papa got up to when they were together.
“Love is loyalty. Love is devotion,” Father pronounced, taking on the tone of one of their lessons. “Do you understand this?”
“I do.”
“How can one be sure of devotion?”
“By making betrayal impossible,” the young man answered dutifully.
“And how can one prevent betrayal?”
“Possess that which is desired above all else.” The young man scrunched up his eyebrows. “But Father, what does it mean ?”
“It means that power and strength are required for love, pet.” Father's gleaming red eyes traced the gangly length of the youth, and he squirmed out of fear that he would be found wanting.
The young man hung his head, floppy dark hair hanging over his eyes. “I don't think I could be someone's Father,” he said gloomily.
“Of course not,” Father said. “You are under my rule, and so will become something different. I know you have that hunger, pet, but one day we will go out into the world together and you will possess that which you now lack.”
“But how can anyone want me?” the young man said. “Look at me!”
With the inky clouds hiding the light of the moon, Father would have appeared as nothing more than two red pinpricks to anyone else.
“I am looking at you, pet. I see one that is made in my image.”
Papa always said there was something of Mum in him, something he called sweetness . It was evident when he sketched a picture of what the young man with no reflection looked like, but while the pencil lines were rendered so that its subject looked charming, lately the boy turning man only felt uncomfortable in his skin.
“You will have your devotees, pet,” Father promised. “To arrange suitors and make a lasting match is the role and privilege of a Father.”
The words should have been a comfort, but it wasn't until it was named that the young man knew it wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want devotees at all, he didn't want to be Father, and as much as he adored Mum, that wasn't the role he wanted either. He wanted to have someone to whom he could be utterly devoted. He wanted to hold someone's hands the same way that Papa treasured every touch from Mum. He wanted to Love.
One of the wolves that lived in the mountain forest approached, its great shaggy head twisted to expose its neck in the presence of the superior predators. Father compelled it to bare its teeth for inspection, turning its head this way and that. Whatever he saw there was unsatisfactory, because when the wolf was dismissed, the pack descended on their own and with a yelp it was no more.
The young man refrained from flinching, barely. He didn't like when animals died, not at all. They were innocent and beautiful and strong. This was a weakness of his, and Father knew it. He had learnt that the daytime people raised livestock for food, but it didn't sit right with him. A sheep couldn't ask to be eaten.
“You need not concern yourself with the hunger to be worshiped, pet,” Father said. “When the time comes, I will handle all the particulars. You won't take from among the people of this land. England is in store for you, they have such good stock, after all.”
The young man scratched at his growing beard. “How did you know it would be Papa and Mother? Tell me the story,” he asked.
“You already know it, child.”
“I love to hear you say it.” The young man slipped to the ground, folding himself at Father's feet like he used to do during history lessons.
The action must have pleased Father, because he chuckled and leaned back.
“At the time I had brides, but no children, and I was not satisfied,” Father began. “I thought perhaps I needed a husband to be complete…”
“And then Papa came to you,” the boy said. He knew the story well, could see in his mind’s eye - Papa standing at the gate of the Castle, his bags at his feet, lit in the lamplight. In the boy's imaginings, the moment that Father opened the door and Papa stepped across the threshold, it was love. The romantic ideal: Father, gracious and kind, choosing the foreigner over all his subjects, and Papa's heart fluttering, melting into the strong touch of their hands and ready to take his place at Father's side.
“He did,” Father agreed. “He always knew what it was I wanted, and was always happy to fulfill my needs. But there was still something missing between us.”
“And so you left together,” the young man continued. “You went out into the world to find Mum.”
“We were separated on our journey. Jonathan went by rail, you see, and I went by ship. I thought for a time that he was lost.”
Like every great romance book in the library, there had to be tragedy before the resolution. Love had to overcome the circumstances.
“But Papa always finds a way to come back to you,” the young man said.
That part of the story always made the boy's heart leap in his chest. The beautiful devotion that brought them together even across different lands.
Father's red mouth stretched into a smile, and he inclined his head. “Jonathan had found two women, two that could have been a good match for us. He wooed one, I wooed the other.”
This part of the story was new to the young man. “How could you choose? How do you know if someone is the right person?”
“Because they offer you everything,” Father answered. “The woman I had wooed offered her blood, but that was all. She was a broken thing, her desires tragically fractured between too many. That is no way to live.”
“But Mum wasn't like that.”
A strange expression passed over Father's face. “Your mother is all loyalty,” he said.
The young man had spent a lifetime trying to divine Father's moods, anticipate and soothe his fury before it boiled over, to make him proud and maintain the proper order of things. The words Father said should have been agreeable, for what is more admirable than loyalty? But there was an undercurrent of disdain in his voice that quickly disappeared.
“She was added to our number,” Father said, “and with her came you.”
“And then you were satisfied?”
Father turned his face down towards the boy and gave him a scornful look that made him shrivel.
“I am never satisfied,” Father intoned.
The boy bowed his head, chastised. “Yes, Father.”
Father stood, and the young man followed after him. They moved together like silk in the darkness, crawling down the mountain face with no effort. It was a joyous thing to luxuriate in their strengths, the young man laughed as they raced, and even Father looked pleased. When they reached the ground, the young man grinned as he smoothed down his shaggy hair, and Father straightened his clothes.
The two of them walked again towards the castle they called home, intending to be sheltered in those high walls before the sun rose. The young man shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, frowning as he thought.
“That other woman, what happened to her?” he asked.
“Betrayal,” Father said, opening the heavy doors at the entry gate, “of the highest order. Those that claimed to love her killed her.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at the young man as they descended the winding stair and along the dark passage to the old chapel.
“Don't talk to Mother about this, she's still quite sore about it.”
Of course she would be upset at the reminder that her position in the family could so easily have been occupied by someone else. The young man agreed readily.
“Yes, Sir.”
Their coffins stood ready to receive them, the young man's with a pile of books beside his.
“Make sure your mother doesn't see the sun,” Father said, preparing himself to rest. “You will be in the library at moonrise tomorrow for our lessons.”
“Yes, Father.”
Father eyed the books laid out.
“Don't be like that other woman, pet,” he said. “Divided loyalty is no love at all. Stray from your love for me just a little and you will be lost.”
A terrifying thought. The young man pressed a bloodless kiss to Father's hand, of devotion and thanks, before the lid was placed over him.
The young man tried to contain his joy at Father’s words, the promise that one day he and Father would travel to England and find a mate for him. He tried to imagine what adventures and pleasures lay in wait for him there. As he climbed into his coffin and picked up the novel he had been reading, he hoped against hope that Papa and Mum would be permitted to travel with them, to help choose a partner for him.
How wonderful it would be to have his whole family in England together.