NaNoWriMo - Where We Fall, part 14 of 14
Returning to the aerie seemed to remind him of how, at once, the world seemed slower while time passed faster. Age was told in the faces of humans below him and the passing winters; not that there was much difference between winter and summer in Uschtenheim, save that the lake became treacherous for humans to walk upon and it snowed a little less. That, and the sun glared off the ice and snow drifts, rendering them a little painful to look upon.
He wished that the humans would not walk on the lake in summer, even if they did seem to consider it worthy of including in their patrols; had caught himself using his mild affinity with water to try and encourage the ice to thicken beneath their feet. But as little as it might seem he had to do, he could not spend all his time watching for the humans and drowning did occur; same as once or twice the cold became too much for their more delicate skins, plate armour not forgiving even with layers beneath to keep them warm.
At least their bodies did not have to go to waste, he supposed, though he severely doubted that their comrades saw the issue that way when he used distance teleportation spells to shift their corpses from beneath the ice into his courtyard to thaw for later use. One more accidental death, one less hunt.
Time ought to have been measured in his books as well, but for all his intentions of reading through all he had acquired, once he had finished the first fifty or so he kept drifting back to a handful of favourites. Occasionally he gathered the will to try something new, but there was something comforting about old favourites that even new favourites could not surpass.
Of what he had read to date there were three in particular that had been read until their covers wore thin as the pages had been, while the pages thinned to the point he had to slide a sheet of white paper beneath each page he read to prevent him seeing through to the text of the page after. Fanciful tales crafted by humans, their minds seeming to reach where fragile bodies could not take them, monsters he could not picture in any dimension save that the Hylden had summoned creatures from...
Janos settled in the library, angling himself as best as he could for comfort without preventing the fireplace's light reaching the pages of the book he had chosen, read on as the human protagonist battled his way across the waters outside Nosgoth to distant lands, facing leviathans of impossible size, and smiled at the dreams of a race that could still content itself with ordinary reality when made to do so.
Janos thought he heard a voice in his sleep, stirred slowly, wondering how he'd allowed himself to fall asleep in the library, and sat up sharply on seeing a face that ought not to be so familiar after decades spent separated. "Vorador?"
"I -" Vorador's expression bore more pain than Janos thought he could bear to see and God, Vorador had been so angry when he left, what agony could have driven him back?
Standing and straightening, Janos reached one hand out to Vorador's shoulder, taking his fledgling in his arms on seeing that the touch wasn't rejected, and curled his wings around the both of them to shelter them against the world. He rarely used his wings like this, always, always preferred to be cool than warm to the point of sweating, but at least Vorador's skin was chilled from the snow outside. Not as chilled as it might have been, though; reddish watery footprints across the floor seemed confirmation enough on top of the slight warmth that Vorador had killed recently. "When you're ready," he soothed, prepared for but not expecting dry sobs as Vorador's claws dug into his sides.
There were no more words that night, Janos curling up on the floor with his fledgling and slipping one arm around his waist to fall asleep. Morning might bring arguments, might bring confessions, but whatever drama it had in store could wait; for now all that mattered was easing the immediate pain Vorador was enduring, doing his duty as sire and friend regardless of what tensions had developed between them in the past. Whatever else lay unsettled and disquiet he still loved his fledgling, and that would not end. If the battles between them continued on and on there was a chance he could stop liking his fledgling, but he could not picture that happening for a long time to come, if ever. He understood too many of Vorador's frustrations to feel anger at his fledgling rather than at their arguing.
It was a little surprising to wake and find Vorador still under his arm, despite being awake, facing the fire. It seemed a little warmer in the room than when he had woken originally, but that was not so surprising; Vorador preferred the warmth and had enough affinity with fire that stoking it into being outright cosy from a distance was not so difficult a task.
Janos eased up, his right side aching a little from being crushed against the hard floor in his sleep, but not too uncomfortably so. "Good morning. Or afternoon, I suppose."
"Nocturnal habits," Vorador replied, voice noticeably steadier than it had been the previous night if still a little subdued. "Hard to shake."
Janos nodded, standing up and flexing his wings to help him rebalance until the urge to fall sideways passed, folded his arms to repress the urge to hold a hand out to Vorador given his fledgling did not generally appreciate unrequested assistance. "Should I leave you to your own devices from here on out?"
"Don't make me ask for your help," Vorador replied, sounding a little strained. "I already feel weak for needing you."
"You stopped needing me some time ago," Janos soothed. "You're strong on your own."
"I never stopped," Vorador countered. "You're the one person in this damned world who is still doing everything for the right reasons, whether I agree with them or not."
"You give me too much credit."
"You give yourself too little." Vorador folded his arms, looking a little more like himself; stubbornness suited him, helped fill out the folds of his velvet and leather as much as his muscles. Strangely, Janos found himself quite saddened at Vorador's tattoos being covered up by the long sleeves, even if that made the attire far more practical for the weather than the sleeveless robes he'd seen Vorador wear around the mansion. "I suppose I should tell you why I came here."
"If you're ready."
"Patient as ever," Vorador mused, before laughing. "Honestly, I think I'm the only person to have succeeded in making you angry."
"I think you would be surprised if you knew the truth," Janos replied, but fell quiet for Vorador.
"My fledglings - the fledglings, they went out to hunt when the bridges in the swamp collapsed. The water burnt them fast as being blasted in a furnace, I could not save them." He whistled, low, glared at the fire as if it were somehow responsible. "I was careless trusting the bridges to carry them over the water."
"They took the risk as much as you," Janos soothed. "There is very little you could have done."
"Very little is still something."
Janos rested one hand on Vorador's shoulder, tried to rub a little of the tension out even if it was largely a futile gesture. "What makes you care so much for these fledglings?"
"What makes you care for the Reaver?" Vorador said, bitter but not snapping this time. "No one else will. Humans have taken to hunting our kind down and slaughtering them ever since that rebellion - even though we were once like them. It's pathetic, like cattle gathering to trample the wolves that hunt them."
"And if a fledgling betrayed your trust?"
"I'm a practical man. If killing one helps the others to thrive, then so be it. The majority of them are well behaved anyway, keeping the larder supplied and taking care of each other as best as they can."
"I can't say I want to know what happens in the larder," Janos replied, smiling despite himself at the idea; but then, Vorador always did have a somewhat morbid streak.
Or ruthlessly practical streak, depending on one's point of view.
Janos disliked long walks in general, but at least journeying to the swamp could be cut short by teleporting to its outer edges. Janos did not dare teleport into the swamp itself; he was too unfamiliar with the territory, stood too great a chance of rematerialising with himself or Vorador inside a tree.
Perhaps naively, Janos had expected Vorador to seem more settled in the swamp, but that did not seem to be entirely the case; Vorador hesitated at the line of captured swamp lights that were aimed at warning humans away and beckoning vampires forth towards his home. "I wonder what they will think of me, those who've taken sanctuary in my absence."
"I would not fear," Janos replied despite it not having been a question, smiled at his fledgling for a moment. "Your age lends you permission for idiosyncrasies. What is it they have taken to calling you?"
"The Vampire Prince," Vorador replied, near smirking at the ridiculousness of the title.
"Would that make me the Vampire King or Princess?" Janos asked, bringing Vorador's smirk into full existence and unable to hide his own relief when it stayed there. Anyone from a human background tended to have a slightly fatalistic streak, probably as part of their fear of death, but he didn't want his fledgling to descend into unbroken fatalism. What was the point of immortality if you could not enjoy it?
The thoughts that the question led towards made Janos shiver before quickly changing from that path of unpleasant answers, switching to a more practical line.
"Whereabouts did they fall?"
Vorador seemed to take a moment to find his bearings, turning around, and Janos realised the obvious; that Vorador was not standing with them when they fell, had likely been told or had viewed the incident from a distance. He couldn't quite be certain whether that would have made the incident even more painful; tried to stop himself from instinctively wondering how he would cope with hearing of Vorador's death from someone else. "Around there," Vorador pointed out with a gesture, Janos thankful for the directions; with the bridges all collapsed the area had a very uniform look to it overall, given that aside from Vorador's mansion the majority of the area's landmarks were overgrown with lichen and vines.
"Do you mind if I retrieve them from the water?"
"I don't see humans taking that task on any time soon," Vorador replied gruffly, and Janos knew better than to comment on his fledgling's particular way of saying 'go ahead'.
The bodies were disfigured to the point where Janos could not help but feel a little nauseous, blistered away to scraps of flesh and bone. He daren't imagine how long they had remained alive as they burnt in the water, and picked up each corpse carefully, dragging them out onto comparatively dry land to drain. They would have to be burnt properly at some point to lay their spirits to rest, but for now it was enough just having them out of the stagnant water and shreds of collapsed, burnt bridge.
Janos had only heard Vorador say the bridge collapsed; he had not realised until now that they had collapsed from outside interference. Once upon a time the wooden bridges had stood to prevent people from accidentally finding themselves straying into the depths of the swamp, or into some swamp-creature's mouth. It had turned out additionally convenient for made vampires too, allowing them to simply follow a path made for them across the waters rather than forced to pick their way carefully across mud and shallow water in high boots. Sabotage made sense from a human point of view given the water offered little worse than leeches and sickness to a mortal, but clever as it was, it still seemed needlessly cruel.
Perhaps he was being nostalgic, but he was sure he could recall no such excess of cruelty in the humans of the village outside the Citadel. He had only ever known Vorador well, but never heard him complain about violent or aggressive neighbours; perhaps that day of mass suicides amongst his race had somehow infected the humans. Blood spilling had been virtually contained between his kind and the Hylden for so long, but ever since, it seemed an affliction across the land.
Satisfied he had removed anything that could be identified in whole or in part as vampiric from the water, Janos shook the dirty liquid from his hands and clothes as best as he could before picking his way across the few reasonably solid land masses he could find towards his fledgling's mansion, found himself flanked by two fledglings who were only too eager to take his bags from him and lead him to the guest's room.
Torn between admiring and being a little appalled by the mirrored ceiling, Janos could not help but be amused by his fledgling's tastes in decoration. He severely doubted that the vampires who originally made this mansion their residence had set up any of the red velvet drapes and gauze curtains; doubted more than that if the Lemm family, who had spent much of their family history in the Termogent area, were responsible for some of the obscene paintings and statues.
Still, for all of the mansion's oddities, there was something a little comforting about it; the constant movement of fledglings to and fro lending life to the occasionally crumbling edifices. And as much as Vorador had claimed he needed Janos with him back at the aerie, when Janos was finally led into the great dining hall - he did his best to ignore the dead man tied to the ceiling - Vorador seemed more at home sat in the armchair than he had near anywhere else. Something about the slightly worn but still lush upholstery seemed fitting, and Janos had to laugh a little when his fledgling handed over a chalice filled with blood. Granted, he had a similar system going with the blood bowls at his aerie, but there was something a little amusing at the mimicry of etiquette given the nature of their thirst.
Janos had not wanted to broach the topic first, but given Vorador had fallen quiet after drinking his share it seemed he had little choice. "Would you prefer a pyre for your fledglings to be built on the mansion's grounds or closer to where they fell?"
Vorador looked up at the ceiling, seeming to see past the corpse as he slipped into thought before finally replying, "In the courtyard, I think. One or two of the others expressed their desire to mourn; they should be able to do so in safety."
Janos had expected to be charged with gathering kindling, but Vorador was insistent on sending a few fledglings out to retrieve what branches they could; the quality of wood mattered little given his affinity with elemental fire. Instead, Janos was charged with taking rags from the pantry's discarded waste and wrapping the bodies so that the full extent of their scarring and blistering could not be seen.
He had to be thankful for the relatively clear space over the mansion, allowing him to simply fly into the main courtyard from outside with each bundle; it also meant that the scattered human hunters of the forest never had long enough to take decent aim at him as he made his return. Despite his wings they seemed to be taken aback by the thought of having to aim at a flying creature; probably hoped he would be an easier target like the fledglings could be, with only one avenue of movement available to them. Vorador didn't seem to have instructed the fledglings in teleportation; that, or they simply weren't capable of learning. Some would be second or third generation mades, their portions of the curse weaker...
Setting down the last of the bodies, Janos headed to Vorador's side and watched his fledgling order those under his command to lay torches at the base of the pile; raised his right hand to call on the flames to take root in the pyre rather than sputter pathetically against the damp wood. It did not take long; after a few moments of initial encouragement the wood had heated enough to feed the fire with or without assistance, and the scent of burning filled the air. Some of those who had been in the water were young fledglings, their flesh burning near as wetly as a human's, while others were older, turning to ash swiftly. Vorador showed no signs of needing comfort but some of the fledglings looked distraught, and he knew better than to trust only physical appearances when it came to Vorador.
As the flames roared loudly enough he could pass off his prayers as something he had thought covered by the noise, Janos clasped his hands and said what few lines of the last rites he remembered; they had never been written down by the priests and in time would be lost altogether, but there were parts he recalled from standing at his men's sides as they were urged into the next world by warrior-priests.
"May lights guide your soul until the next life comes, and may God be merciful in freeing you from oblivion. May those you leave behind have their spirits eased, and may your next turn of the Wheel be as blessed as this."
If Vorador was looking, Janos took care not to notice, and only headed inside when his fledgling seemed to tire of waiting out the flames.
Janos normally had a fairly decent sense of direction, but the twists and turns of the house could be a little disorienting nonetheless and following Vorador meant losing all track of where his guest room was in comparison. It seemed likely he would need to ask a fledgling when he was done saying goodnight to his fledgling, but they had all been surprisingly polite so it did not seem too much of an issue.
Finally, before Janos could start feeling as if he were a lost puppy following their master around mindlessly, Vorador stopped outside the last room in the corridor, lightly gripped the handle.
"Thank you for helping," Vorador said after a brief moment's quiet.
"I was only doing my duty."
"As my sire?"
Janos tilted his head, wondering what the curious mood Vorador seemed to be in stemmed from; he had seemed pensive since viewing the fire, but that much was to be expected. His question, nonetheless, had an undercurrent Janos could not quite pin down. "As your friend."
Vorador paused before opening his bedroom door and looking at Janos for a long moment before finally saying, "If you force me to ask -"
"Of course," Janos said, realising the obvious truth he had somehow missed - that Vorador still desired him as more than a sire - and entering the room. He'd wondered why Vorador had not brought him into his bedroom earlier, why he had gone to the trouble of setting up a guest's room. It had not even occurred to him that the reason lay in his fledgling thinking that the argument that made them separate had ended any possibility of them being together this way ever again.
He could not shake the feeling that he ought to shake Vorador for being so foolish, but his fledgling seemed intent on giving him an excuse to do it verbally; "How do you still want me?" Vorador asked as he took off his coat, seeming a little thinner than Janos remembered him as if concern for his lost fledglings had slimmed him in the same way Janos always found additional silver streaks in his hair after periods of stress. "Every damned year you look better and I look worse."
Janos shook his head, slipping out of his robes and wondering what to make of the swamp's damp heat as it clung to his skin harder with the shedding of clothes than it ever had while he wore them. "I'll always find you handsome."
"And if my skin turns sunken?" Vorador questioned, the hunger in his eyes starting to overpower the self-hating words, his voice thickening a little as he watched Janos climb onto the bed. "And I look more like a corpse than ever?"
"I'll always know what you can do to me," Janos replied, taking the jar of oil from Vorador's bedside cabinet and holding it out for his fledgling, a little surprised when Vorador did not take it immediately.
"The last change sharpened them," Vorador explained, holding up his hand to demonstrate the decidedly lethal in appearance tips of his claws. Each change made him a little more vampiric, but a little more alien at the same time, and it was always both curious and frightening to see each difference on Vorador after his waking from long periods of unconsciousness. "I'd rather not rend anything asunder by accident."
Janos smiled in amusement as he opened the jar and tipped some of the oil onto his hands, letting it slide down his claws before reaching behind himself to do the necessary duty. Vorador's expression suggested the request that Janos do the honours had not been entirely altruistic, but given his fledgling had no complaints when Janos nipped at the claw Vorador slipped into his mouth, the freedom to make unspoken requests was a two way process.
It had been a while but certain actions were as familiar as breathing and flight, the instinctive motions buried deeper in the mind than mere muscle memory, and even if straddling Vorador's lap was a somewhat unfamiliar position the additional intimacy of it was perfect for the time. He'd have to be careful of his wings lest he accidentally cause them to overbalance but finding a rhythm was easy, Vorador's habits well remembered though his fledgling's technique with the hand he'd taken back from Janos' mouth to stroke his erection had certainly taken on one or two different and appreciated quirks.
"I can't last," Vorador warned, but that was alright; this wasn't meant as only comfort but they had been apart for too long and there had been too many deaths around both of them. The world had hurt; without each other they were alone, Janos as the last of his kind - certainly, as far as he knew - and Vorador as the oldest of his.
"I don't care," Janos replied, leaning back against Vorador's splayed thighs and stretching his arms down between them to lean against the bed for a little more balance, closing his eyes to help him focus on the physical pleasure of this so as not to be left on the edge of orgasm too long after Vorador was through.
Regardless of politeness, Vorador always had a sense of common courtesy and even though orgasm had to have exhausted him he still used his clever hand alongside Janos' to help him come at last. There had been better times; hopefully there would be more in the future to look forward to. That much did not matter.
What mattered was knowing this had not changed between them, had not become awkward or full of questions that could never be answered and answers that could never be asked for. These moments afterwards, slicked and sated and calm, were still theirs and all that mattered in the world was them and this brief taste of peace.
"How are you keeping yourself busy?" Vorador mumbled between taking deep breaths, sniffing Janos' hair and skin. They would never cease to be strange to one another; when human, the scent of Vorador's blood and sound of his heartbeat was distracting, while as a vampire, Vorador's skin adjusted to the temperatures around him, warm in the swamp and cool in the aerie.
"Working on the library," Janos replied sleepily, a little more interested in rest than in conversation but willing to answer anyway. "Reading what I have not finished -"
"I'll never understand how you read that way, stopping and starting. I could never keep track of two plots at once."
"That's a researcher's trick. What are you doing?"
"When they aren't throwing themselves into water the fledglings are more than a handful," Vorador replied before smirking. "You should know; you only had one to take care of and I managed to turn your life upside down."
Janos laughed, settling himself more comfortably against the mattress, pushing the blankets on his side down to his hips so he could let his wings settle without feeling crushed beneath the weight of sheets. The swamp water was filthy so he'd have to clean himself through other means when he woke, but at least when he returned to the aerie he could afford a quick visit to the springs if need be. The Reaver would have to be looked at first, of course, though the wards against human attacks ought to have ensured its safety while he was absent.
Waiting for sleep to take him away, Janos took one last look at his fledgling before closing his eyes.
Gold irises suited Vorador. He'd miss the hazel for a while, but gold was not so out of place.
Janos was a little surprised to wake alone but was thankful for the bowl of clean water and flannel cloth left on the bedside, wondered for a moment where the water had come from before noticing a message left at the side in Vorador's handwriting;
Normally I keep the well boarded up, but I'm willing to make a quick exception.
Part of him wanted to scold his fledgling for taking such a risk, but it was a gift and gifts were not for turning down.
After cleaning and dressing in his robes, Janos was a little perplexed to find himself accosted by two of Vorador's fledglings on leaving the room who were quite determined to have him sit down long enough to have his hair neatened and wings groomed. Most of him wondered exactly where their master had wandered off to and why he had chosen to have Janos tidied up; at least, he hoped the fledglings were acting on orders and not out of some strange unknown desire. The girl attending to his wings seemed both a little frightened by them and intrigued, her hands far more careful than Vorador's ever were as lightly clawed fingertips worked; she could not have been a vampire for more than a matter of months, if that.
At least vampirism could be passed on by made vampires, Janos mused, trying not to seem too out of sorts as he was groomed despite it being an unexpected surprise so early in the day. Almost as soon as the fledglings were through with him he found himself being led to a staircase, nudged to head up as the door was closed behind him.
It was at once expected and a relief to find Vorador standing outside when he reached the top of the staircase, facing the swamp with distant eyes.
"Dare I ask why I had two of your fledglings preening me almost as soon as I was finished waking up?"
Vorador smirked a little but said nothing, and Janos looked out to see if there was anything in particular that might have caught his fledgling's attention. Nothing immediate came to mind but there was something fascinating in the view nonetheless; where Uschtenheim was plateaus of ice and snow, virtually uninhabited in the area around the aerie save for the few humans who hoped to claim him as a trophy, Termogent seethed with life. Reptiles and birds, the occasional human and hunting dog thinking they might strike lucky despite being outnumbered by vampires for once in this area.
The sense of being watched by more than just a human whose eyes questioned what in God's name he could be - and that was still alien to think, that after enough generations, humans would not know his species - frayed his nerves a little until he looked over and saw Vorador had turned towards him.
He could not help but wonder how long Vorador had been staring. The air was too balmy to be truly comfortable, swamp air sticky on his skin, but in brief doses it was an interesting and fairly pleasant change from Uschtenheim's crispness. Even bearing the warmth in mind, something in the air seemed thicker than usual, and he took a breath to speak but found it cut off when Vorador said, simply as if it wasn't the hardest phrase in the world to say for a man like him, "I love you."
Janos couldn't think of anything to say in return, suspected Vorador knew that already, and waited for his fledgling to act. Strange, to have Vorador's hand close over his own outside the bedroom. And still, even with that contact, words continued to elude him.
Vorador returned to looking out across the swamp, tiny life making the water it thrived on seem less threatening. Somehow the place genuinely seemed more habitable, just knowing that the swamp water no longer hid any vampire corpses that they knew of, but Janos still couldn't bear to live somewhere like this. Flying would be a nightmare in the long run, the build up on his wings greasy, and...
Vorador's free hand brushed the hair back from his face before grasping his chin lightly and tilting it up, eyes fixed firmly on his lips. Janos wondered what would be said this time but the kiss was eloquent enough, and some devilish streak in Janos shivered at the thought of going further than kissing out here in the open. It was a coarse thought, but irresistible, and either Vorador had a psychic streak or his face said what he was thinking because the hand already on his own clasped it tighter before pulling him away from the railing and leading him to the tiny room that topped the staircase up to where they had been standing, nudging him up against the wall. "I'll never be rid of you," Vorador murmured against his ear while grasping the top of his robes and pulling them down.
"Not as long as I live," Janos replied, wings snapping back and knocking a brick out of place as Vorador nipped at his neck.
Still, one brick. It wouldn't do any harm.
"You will be careful with your fledglings, won't you?" Janos asked as he redressed, propping himself up by leaning against the stairwell. Not a particularly wise plan, all things considered the building as a whole wasn't entirely structurally stable, but still; at least if he suddenly found himself toppling he could right himself with his wings.
"No human will cause a death in the swamp as long as I can help it," Vorador replied, and Janos realised that his own fledgling hadn't quite grasped what he meant.
"It isn't that what concerns me. The wards set up only offer a certain amount of protection; if a fledgling were to let humans inside -"
"I've told you before. If a fledgling betrayed my trust I'm a practical enough man to know exactly what to do with them."
Strange to hear those words spoken while Vorador ran his clean hand through Janos' hair, hard reality juxtaposed against a calm gesture, Janos mused; he'd had his say though and truth be told, Vorador would be secure enough in the mansion for now. He could visit again later, but it had been too long since he last attended to his duties and he noticed himself relaxing far too easily into the light stroking of Vorador's claws against the fine hairs behind his ear, knew he had to leave regardless of the temptation to stay a while longer. "Vorador, I should return to the Reaver -"
"Forget that -" Janos nearly winced, expecting yet another long and bitter argument about their conflicting feelings regarding the sword and its accompanying legend, but apparently Vorador had learnt to bite his tongue over the years. "Leave the sword be. Regardless of its power, it won't sprout legs and walk away, and it isn't as if the human guardians pay anywhere near as much attention to their duties as you do to yours. You can afford to rest for a minute or two."
He'd learnt seduction in those years too - or rather, elaborated on what techniques he already had. Too tempting by far, and that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? Allowing himself a rest here, a slip there - but he was the last of his kind. He could not afford to make mistakes, not as they had and not as the humans continued to. "I don't need to rest. It's barely past dawn and I slept well last night."
"Liar," Vorador replied with a smirk before he stopped moving his hand, resting it against Janos' ear. "We've had our differences, for want of a better term, but I've always known how to figure you out."
"I miss Uschtenheim," Janos said quietly, and that much wasn't a lie. He had to head home to return to his duties, and the swamp's atmosphere did not soothe the mild homesickness that he felt regardless of how much he enjoyed Vorador's presence.
Vorador pressed his lips tightly together for a moment before saying. "Rest will never been enough for you, will it? You still have that impossible need to look after the Reaver."
Ah. That old argument. "I -"
"I'm not going to fight with you," Vorador interrupted, tone resigned, eyes shadowed with a strange, sad sort of patience. "I think I understand now. I don't agree, but I understand." He looked down for a moment, let out a long breath. "If your saviour did turn up and save Nosgoth, would you stay?"
"Of course," Janos replied, repeating himself when Vorador looked at him as if he were lying. "Of course I would stay. You are the only creature in existence who could bear me for an eternity."
Vorador laughed at that, nodding before folding his arms and closing his eyes. "Coming second best is close to ideal."
Janos didn't know what to say to that - the obvious thought was "You're not second best", but truth be told, Janos always prioritised his duty to the Reaver over all else. Vorador included, and though he could pretend to himself that in a round-about way it was because meeting the saviour would help Vorador as much as any vampire, that wasn't the truth of it. Faced with the blunt truth, the Reaver was a third entity in their relationship and always would be. "I do not deserve you," sufficed, and he pulled his fledgling into his arms, enjoyed the strength of his figure. So many of those he fed on were slight creatures, half-starved and freezing in the cold, and it was good to hold someone solid.
"The Reaver doesn't deserve you," Vorador muttered, but without the intense vindictiveness he normally used to reference the blade, resting his hands at the small of Janos' waist. "You should leave before I'm tempted to chain you into staying," he said after another moment, nudging Janos back and smirking. "You make being noble look far easier than it truly is."
"Practise," Janos teased in return before hopping lightly up onto the balcony, gripping the railings under his feet. "I'll visit soon."
"Make sure you leave time enough for me to miss you," Vorador replied, and then Janos was up, soaring easily above the canopy with his oiled wings as effective preparation against the humid air rising from the swamp, and heading back towards the aerie.
Landing lightly on the balcony and looking out at the latest encampment outside the aerie, Janos could not help but muse that an eternity of waiting seemed shorter with company. Granted that the creatures below him detested his very being as shown in the fury on fresh-faced new hunters and the steady hate of those who had been doing their own strange duty by keeping an eye on him for years now, but still, it was better than being wholly alone. And though he knew better than to provoke Vorador with too many visits, knew better than to test his fledgling's nobility and bring back bitter words about the Reaver and his waiting, he knew he would have that option as an alternative on his lowest days when familiar company was more a necessity than a desire.
The Reaver lay in its case, as distinct a presence as any sentient being, waiting for its master just as he did, and Janos opened the box to look at it once more.
Redeemer and destroyer. Janos could not see what hope was left for his race; but for Nosgoth, as long as the Reaver was solid and the arrival of his saviour a possibility, there was still a chance.
Taking a book from his library before returning to the balcony and sitting on its edge, flicking to his favourite passage with the sound of missiles fading into nothing against the wards created, Janos began to read and assume his vigil. It might be a long time coming, but he still had his faith and there was hope yet.
As long as he lived and, God willing, some time after that, there was hope yet.
The End