(no subject)
TITLE: Unwritten Words
RATING: G
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Tanz der Vampire
PAIRINGS: Implied Spike/Drusilla
WORDS: 1204
NOTES: Turns out the one-shot I wrote is now part of a larger story revolving around the influence of the Von Krolock boys on certain members of the Scourge of Europe. This is one of the later chapters, set in 1996, shortly after the riots in Prague (aka, the lead in to season 2 of Buffy).
Admittedly, this was written when my mind refused to comply with my body's desire to sleep, so any incoherence is spawned by insomnia.
And again, this one goes out to bwinter, my chief instigator.
________________________
Late-1996
How long he had been sitting, gazing blindly at the letter in his hand, he could not say. Perhaps it had only been minutes, but a glance at the shadows stretching across the floor indicated that it was likely to be hours.
It was a letter he had not expected, nor one he would wish to respond to, but there it was; frantic, ink-spattered scribbles from someone not quite a friend, teetering upon the brink of wild madness.
Through the protective, anti-solar glass that filled every window of this house, his second home, von Krolock watched the sun’s rays painting the sky a bloody red, faded to a duller shade by the subtlest of sepia tints in the glass.
Sighing, he placed the letter upon the broad desk that rested between him and the window.
At times like this, the simple pleasure of watching a sunset could not draw his mind from the contents of the sheet.
A blank sheet of his own, marked with his crest, lay beside the ink well, had done since he had first read the message, yet every time he reached for the pen, the words froze in his mind, the unwritten warning, the advice he knew would be ignored.
Lifting his eyes to the window once more, he watched the colour spilling across the snow-covered land, dipping into the distant valleys like a heavy, shimmering liquid, staining the pure, bleak whiteness with fire.
He did not need to turn when he felt Herbert’s approach through the open doorway at the end of his study. Despite the silence that hung about the halls, despite that lack of footsteps, he knew when his son was close.
Picking up the sheet, he turned slightly in his seat to see his son stride into the study. Clad in the most recent of fashions, as always, Herbert approached quickly, his features a study of consternation. He walked straight to his father, extending a hand.
Holding out the letter, briefly wondering what had restrained the younger vampire so long, von Krolock turned back to the window. The minute the letter had reached him, he had known Herbert would be curious.
“From William,” he said by way of explanation.
He could visualise the smile. “He prefers to be known as ‘Spike’ these days, father.”
“Indeed,” von Krolock closed his eyes. His elbows were resting on the arms of the chair, fingertips steepled together. He felt the tremor of shock hit him as Herbert’s eyes scanned the letter. “I thought you might have come earlier.”
“I was… the car begged for testing in this weather.”
Of course.
With all the new precautions against solar exposure, their lives had become a little less nocturnal, and he knew he would not restrain Herbert from the chance to play like a mortal for a time. With his newest, most favoured toy, he had no doubt been tearing through the snowy countryside, terrifying natives and livestock alike.
That would explain why he had not immediately sought out the source of the scent that was pervading the manor. Apparently, thinking ink had not been enough, their young compatriot had dashed a streak of blood across the page, just to be certain.
The letter was handed back to the elder vampire.
“Do you think it is as serious as he says?”
Arching a brow, von Krolock countered, “Do you even need me to assure you?”
Herbert grimaced, shaking his head. “It reeks of fear and distress,” he said with a nod towards the letter. “Even his hand-writing.” Tilting his hip against the edge of the desk, Herbert folded his arms over his chest. “Why not bring her here?”
“If she is as weak as he claims, I expect he would be loath to travel with her unless it was absolutely necessary.” The tattered envelope which had contained the letter was turned over. “It seems he was in Berlin when last he wrote.”
His son gazed at him curiously. “Do you know what the answer is? The cure?”
Slowly, reluctantly, von Krolock nodded. “I know where he will find what he needs to cure her,” he said quietly.
“For the letter to remain unanswered, I expect that means there’s a price for our dear William to pay, if he wishes to save her.” Herbert shifted to sit on the edge of his father’s desk. “And I expect it is a terrible one.”
“More than you know,” von Krolock replied heavily. “But if he remains ignorant, then her loss will kill him as surely as a stake to the heart, only a sight more slowly and much more painfully.”
Glancing down at the letter once more, Herbert chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Is this… price worse than death from a broken heart?” he inquired. “What will he have to give for it?”
Von Krolock said nothing for several minutes. “Everything,” he finally replied.
“Everything?”
“Everything. Dignity, spirit, humanity…” Dark eyes lifted to grey. “Life.”
Herbert paled, looking away. “But… but he will live?”
Von Krolock touched his temples idly, closing his eyes. “In a manner, I think he may,” he answered. “But I can no longer see clearly for him. All I can tell him is that by saving her, he will suffer more than he could possibly imagine.”
“And if you don’t tell him, he’ll probably die of a broken heart anyway.”
His father nodded solemnly, lowering his hands to spread pale fingers on the polished surface of the desk. “If I answer with the solution, he will choose to save her, no matter the cost to himself,” he said quietly. “But if I do not, then they will both fade away.”
“You have to write to them,” Herbert said at once. “Surely… you know he will live, even if he suffers?”
“As I said, I can no longer be certain,” von Krolock’s voice was fatigued. “I have looked to it, but something… beyond my control prevents me from knowing more. He will suffer or they will both die.”
Herbert touched his shoulder, squeezed it, drawing a faint smile of gratitude from his father. It was not something the younger vampire understood, this secret glance into the world ahead, but he could see the heaviness about von Krolock’s brow, the way his shoulders sagged with an unspoken fatigue.
“Shall I write?” he asked softly. “That way, if it all goes horribly wrong, at least he won’t blame you.”
“And you would bear the brunt of his ire?”
Herbert’s smile was almost mischievous. “I have done before,” he said, though his expression grew serious once more. “They need to know all we can tell them, father. If you let William make the choice… he would understand.”
Von Krolock nodded in acquiescence. “He must understand all that lies ahead of him,” he said pensively, reaching for the pen. “Even though I know he will not listen to any warnings.”
“He still loves her so much,” Herbert murmured, quiet admiration in his words.
“He always did,” his father agreed, dipping the nib delicately into the ink. “One way or another, his heart will be broken.” He glanced up at his son seriously. “From this moment, the choice will be his.”
RATING: G
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Tanz der Vampire
PAIRINGS: Implied Spike/Drusilla
WORDS: 1204
NOTES: Turns out the one-shot I wrote is now part of a larger story revolving around the influence of the Von Krolock boys on certain members of the Scourge of Europe. This is one of the later chapters, set in 1996, shortly after the riots in Prague (aka, the lead in to season 2 of Buffy).
Admittedly, this was written when my mind refused to comply with my body's desire to sleep, so any incoherence is spawned by insomnia.
And again, this one goes out to bwinter, my chief instigator.
________________________
Late-1996
How long he had been sitting, gazing blindly at the letter in his hand, he could not say. Perhaps it had only been minutes, but a glance at the shadows stretching across the floor indicated that it was likely to be hours.
It was a letter he had not expected, nor one he would wish to respond to, but there it was; frantic, ink-spattered scribbles from someone not quite a friend, teetering upon the brink of wild madness.
Through the protective, anti-solar glass that filled every window of this house, his second home, von Krolock watched the sun’s rays painting the sky a bloody red, faded to a duller shade by the subtlest of sepia tints in the glass.
Sighing, he placed the letter upon the broad desk that rested between him and the window.
At times like this, the simple pleasure of watching a sunset could not draw his mind from the contents of the sheet.
A blank sheet of his own, marked with his crest, lay beside the ink well, had done since he had first read the message, yet every time he reached for the pen, the words froze in his mind, the unwritten warning, the advice he knew would be ignored.
Lifting his eyes to the window once more, he watched the colour spilling across the snow-covered land, dipping into the distant valleys like a heavy, shimmering liquid, staining the pure, bleak whiteness with fire.
He did not need to turn when he felt Herbert’s approach through the open doorway at the end of his study. Despite the silence that hung about the halls, despite that lack of footsteps, he knew when his son was close.
Picking up the sheet, he turned slightly in his seat to see his son stride into the study. Clad in the most recent of fashions, as always, Herbert approached quickly, his features a study of consternation. He walked straight to his father, extending a hand.
Holding out the letter, briefly wondering what had restrained the younger vampire so long, von Krolock turned back to the window. The minute the letter had reached him, he had known Herbert would be curious.
“From William,” he said by way of explanation.
He could visualise the smile. “He prefers to be known as ‘Spike’ these days, father.”
“Indeed,” von Krolock closed his eyes. His elbows were resting on the arms of the chair, fingertips steepled together. He felt the tremor of shock hit him as Herbert’s eyes scanned the letter. “I thought you might have come earlier.”
“I was… the car begged for testing in this weather.”
Of course.
With all the new precautions against solar exposure, their lives had become a little less nocturnal, and he knew he would not restrain Herbert from the chance to play like a mortal for a time. With his newest, most favoured toy, he had no doubt been tearing through the snowy countryside, terrifying natives and livestock alike.
That would explain why he had not immediately sought out the source of the scent that was pervading the manor. Apparently, thinking ink had not been enough, their young compatriot had dashed a streak of blood across the page, just to be certain.
The letter was handed back to the elder vampire.
“Do you think it is as serious as he says?”
Arching a brow, von Krolock countered, “Do you even need me to assure you?”
Herbert grimaced, shaking his head. “It reeks of fear and distress,” he said with a nod towards the letter. “Even his hand-writing.” Tilting his hip against the edge of the desk, Herbert folded his arms over his chest. “Why not bring her here?”
“If she is as weak as he claims, I expect he would be loath to travel with her unless it was absolutely necessary.” The tattered envelope which had contained the letter was turned over. “It seems he was in Berlin when last he wrote.”
His son gazed at him curiously. “Do you know what the answer is? The cure?”
Slowly, reluctantly, von Krolock nodded. “I know where he will find what he needs to cure her,” he said quietly.
“For the letter to remain unanswered, I expect that means there’s a price for our dear William to pay, if he wishes to save her.” Herbert shifted to sit on the edge of his father’s desk. “And I expect it is a terrible one.”
“More than you know,” von Krolock replied heavily. “But if he remains ignorant, then her loss will kill him as surely as a stake to the heart, only a sight more slowly and much more painfully.”
Glancing down at the letter once more, Herbert chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Is this… price worse than death from a broken heart?” he inquired. “What will he have to give for it?”
Von Krolock said nothing for several minutes. “Everything,” he finally replied.
“Everything?”
“Everything. Dignity, spirit, humanity…” Dark eyes lifted to grey. “Life.”
Herbert paled, looking away. “But… but he will live?”
Von Krolock touched his temples idly, closing his eyes. “In a manner, I think he may,” he answered. “But I can no longer see clearly for him. All I can tell him is that by saving her, he will suffer more than he could possibly imagine.”
“And if you don’t tell him, he’ll probably die of a broken heart anyway.”
His father nodded solemnly, lowering his hands to spread pale fingers on the polished surface of the desk. “If I answer with the solution, he will choose to save her, no matter the cost to himself,” he said quietly. “But if I do not, then they will both fade away.”
“You have to write to them,” Herbert said at once. “Surely… you know he will live, even if he suffers?”
“As I said, I can no longer be certain,” von Krolock’s voice was fatigued. “I have looked to it, but something… beyond my control prevents me from knowing more. He will suffer or they will both die.”
Herbert touched his shoulder, squeezed it, drawing a faint smile of gratitude from his father. It was not something the younger vampire understood, this secret glance into the world ahead, but he could see the heaviness about von Krolock’s brow, the way his shoulders sagged with an unspoken fatigue.
“Shall I write?” he asked softly. “That way, if it all goes horribly wrong, at least he won’t blame you.”
“And you would bear the brunt of his ire?”
Herbert’s smile was almost mischievous. “I have done before,” he said, though his expression grew serious once more. “They need to know all we can tell them, father. If you let William make the choice… he would understand.”
Von Krolock nodded in acquiescence. “He must understand all that lies ahead of him,” he said pensively, reaching for the pen. “Even though I know he will not listen to any warnings.”
“He still loves her so much,” Herbert murmured, quiet admiration in his words.
“He always did,” his father agreed, dipping the nib delicately into the ink. “One way or another, his heart will be broken.” He glanced up at his son seriously. “From this moment, the choice will be his.”