Fantasy A Love Before Time (Saryylyss & sailorsdelight)

[Saryylyss]

A Love Before Time

Humanity is the only race of creatures on this globe that delight in killing their own kind....

To history, he is known by many names. Stories written of him, songs sung, his name whispered in fear, love, devotion, and rage. There are those who revered him, still others who cowered in fear, and others yet who struggled against him and all he represented. His brutality knew little to no equal, but his passion and love were just as boundless. He left an indelible mark during his existence, undoubtedly one of the most widely recognized figures across the globe. A powerful force whose actions resounded through the ages, motivated by the strongest of emotions.

If the sky opened up for me,
And the mountain disappeared,
If the seas ran dry, turned to dust
And the sun refused to rise....

In the winter of 1431, Vlad was born in Sighișoara, Transylvania, born to be the future voivode of Wallachia. Shortly after his birth, Vlad's father was vested into the Order of the Dragon whose sworn duty it was to uphold Christendom against those considered heretical, mainly the Ottoman Turks and the Hussites. His father was given the epithet of Dracul, giving Vlad the name of Draculea. Vlad and his younger brother,Radu, spent their early formative years in Sighișoara, before their father brought them to Târgoviște, the capital of Wallachia. As the young man grew he learned combat skills, geography, mathematics, science, languages (Old Church Slavonic, German, Latin), and the classical arts and philosophy.

I would still find my way,
By the light I see in your eyes
The world I know fades away
But you stay

When Vlad reached the age of six, his father ascended the throne of Wallachia, but the reign was short-lived. Run from his throne by rivals who had formed leagues with Hungary, Vlad's father was unable to resist, and as his shaken faith wavered, he sought his revenge by turning to a source of power that had held strong for 200 years prior. Turning to the Ottoman Empire for assistance in taking back the throne he saw as rightfully his, Vlad's father paid a tribute to the Sultan in return for his assistance. He set the wheels in motion, making a deal with the devil, and setting up a chain reaction for future dark deals to be made.

As the earth reclaims it due
And the cycle starts anew
We'll stay, always
In the love that we have
Shared before time

When he was 13 years old, Vlad and his brother Radu were given over as political hostages to the Sultan in return for his support in winning back the throne for Vlad's father. His education was furthered, learning the Quran, horsemanship, warfare, logic, literature, and various and sundry other subjects. During their years of their captivity, Vlad became increasingly jealous and embittered of his brother Radu, whom had come to befriend the Ottoman prince, his behavior earning him favor with the ruling family. Radu converted to Islam, but Vlad held steadfastly to his resolution, and as he was seen as ill-behaved and defiant, he was frequently punished. It was those abuses that would help mold and shape him into the man he would become.

When the forest turns to jade
And the stories that we've made
Dissolve away
One shining light will still remain
When we shed our earthly skin
And when our real life begins
There'll be no shame
Just the love that we have made before time

Upon finally being released from his captivity, Vlad returned home to settle into the place that would be his home and his throne to rule. He was welcomed back, and for a time, things settled into a life and routine he could be content with, but there was an edginess to him, something that was missing from his life. Something that could only be soothed by finding his other half.

 

[sailorsdelight]

Constantine Lupei didn't talk about his childhood. Truly, he didn't talk about many things - he kept his cards close to his chest - but the way he clammed up when asked about where he comes from was almost too obvious. His master had never cared much; Constantine has been a fastidious apprentice, and now that he was a Journeyman blacksmith his talents truly shone through, and that was all the master really needed to know about him.

His friends did wonder, though. Well, hardly friends - the men he drank with sometimes, other apprentices and journeymen. They knew him to be a good blacksmith, a terrible salesman, and to have a curious knowledge of plants and their uses. Beyond that, Constantine was a mystery, much to his own chagrin. He never set out to be. He just wanted to live his life in relative comfort, away from the hurts of childhood, and not have to think about those first thirteen years of his life ever again.

Some nights memories came to him unbidden. Memories of nights spent alone, hungry, in the rain, while his parents hosted gambling nights in their dilapidated rooms. Of watching the local blacksmith, both out of interest for the craft and other, forbidden interests. Coming home too late and earning a whipping. The days after those, he worked extra hard at the smithy, and the master new to leave him alone.

He couldn't stay in his village, he knew. There were no prospects there, and he hardly wanted to follow his folks into tricking travellers out of their money. So he had set out on a journey to the capital - a journey that near killed him, but for his precious knowledge of edible plants. He had shown up at the blacksmith's door in Târgoviște as an emaciated and taciturn, but determined thirteen year old. The blacksmith, already an older man and unmarried, sighed and told Constantine he could stay for the night if he cleaned the forge.
He woke up the next day to practically a new forge, with the fire roaring, and the skinny child inspecting his tools. How quickly the blacksmith trusted a strange child had since become a well loved joke in the guild.

Constantine was an excellent apprentice, he knew well: he thrived in the structure of the apprenticeship, and spent many a night calming his mind by tidying and cleaning the forge. His master's area of expertise was household objects - locks, keys, nails, pots and pans, and so forth - which suited Constantine well (though he often looked longingly at the swords and armour some of their guild could produce). His master was kind, much kinder than what Constantine was used to, and only ever punished him when he was egregiously lax in his duties. He even allowed Constantine a small patch in the back garden to grow various plants. Eight years it took, and Constantine could finally claim his journeyman status. Four years it had been now, and he had been tested by the guild in almost every area.

"You've the skills," his master told him many a time, "to become a master at any time. I could tell the guild tonight and you would have it tomorrow. But you can't run a shop for shit, m'boy."

Constantine would always shrug, and drink his ale. He had no need of a shop; only a forge, a small plant patch, and a roof over his head. He would never marry, anyway. No woman would want a man incapable of performing his marital duty to her. No wife, no heirs - No, he shall live in his master's forge and watch him take on a new apprentice, and hopefully be allowed to stay as a blacksmith once his master dies.

 

[Saryylyss]

Vlad had left the safety of his keep some months ago. His advisors had protested, as he knew they would, but the prince knew they were more than capable of ruling his country while he walked its length and breadth. He had come up with a myriad of excuses for it: how could he serve his people if he didn't know them? How could he protect them if he didn't see the land for himself to know the defenses to set? Other frivolous things. But he knew the truth, as did the servants who inhabited his wing of the keep. It had been the night terrors that drove him out. The dark guests who came to him in the black of sleep and made him relive old memories and pain.

Many were the nights he knelt in the chapel where he had fled, chased from his bed by the scars of both body and mind, weeping, crying out to the silent statues of the Holy Virgin, the Crucifix, the Saints whose faces adorned the windows and ceiling, praying and begging and wailing for peace and absolution that he might be free from the torment.

It had only been after his exhaustion had finally won out and his weary mind embraced sleep as he sat in his garden that the truth had been discovered. Under the shade trees, with stars peeking through the leaves, he had rested as the sun set, and before he had realized it, he was being gently awakened by a gardener and his other servants who had found him fast asleep. He had not moved nor stirred, his sleep blessedly dreamless. It was an epiphany, as though the answer had been staring at him and he had seen past it until now.

The plans had taken less than a week to draw up. He would walk, disguised, through his kingdom. A pilgrimage for reasons known only to him and one that he would take alone. Of course, his advisors cautioned against this, but Vlad had told them in response that if he could not govern himself, then how could he be expected to govern his lands?

And so it was that he had found himself out in the wilds, dressed as a beggar, his clothes tattered and stained from the three months...four...half a year? He no longer remembered. As he went, he asked alms, traveling from village to town, searching. He didn't know what he sought, only praying it would give him peace when he found it.

In this manner, he lived another life. He felt hunger keenly, a sharp pain deep in his gut at first, until it eventually settled into an occasional gnawing ache that previously only his soul had known. Somehow, he mused to himself, it made the soulful ache less pronounced. The thirst had driven him near mad at times. On a rare occasion, it had driven him to an animal-like state where he had thrust his face into the frigid waters of a sweet mountain stream, taking in great gulps to slake his thirst after he felt his strength would not carry him much further. His skin blistered and burned in the sun, contrasted only by the chill of the night air that seemed to settle in his bones if he was caught outside without shelter.

The months had been harsh on his appearance. None had not considered him a handsome man before this, and even even less so now. His face held a mature elegance to it, with a near-manic ferocity hiding in the lines of his eyes and mouth. Now, his bewhiskered appearance held the look of someone the matrons and grandmothers whispered stories to the young ones about, a monster who would steal into their rooms and gobble them up of they didn't say their prayers. So far, none had recognized him, and he counted it a blessing.

The weather and hard days of travel had taken their toll, however. He was weak, having not eaten in quite some time, and knew he would need to beg bread soon. As he crested a hill, he sighed contently, seeing the bustling capitol city sprawling below. He wasn't certain if he was entirely ready to go back to the castle just yet, but as he had promised his advisors that he would return within half a year and certainly it was getting close to that time. Another hour of walking and he would reach the city, and he would decide then what his next step would be. The trip had been arduous, and beneath his ruined hat, he was sweating from the exertion, though it felt as though the shivering chill of the mountains had never left his bones.

Most in town avoided him, wary of the filthy beggar who all but dragged himself to a well near the center of town just outside the blacksmith forge. Just a few minutes rest, he had told himself. A few minutes, and he would feel better. His eyes closed and his mind slipped into unconsciousness before he had a chance to register the ground rushing up to meet him.