Work Text:
It was not quite winter yet, but not quite autumn still either. The weather had turned rather cold the last few days, it was even clear to Vlad himself. He was a vampire, and he was old. He barely felt the cold, and still he did notice it. He noticed how Lisa would be shivering in the night. He noticed that his undead body could not warm her up. He noticed, too, how she would linger more in front of the fireplace in the evening.
The cold weather brought also those strange sunny days, that would not allow him to go outside. He understood in theory what made the weather that way. He understood how the pressure in the air made it at once very cold, and very dry, keeping the sky clear. But he hated that he could not go outside, could not be with Lisa, while she was preparing their garden for the winter.
The cottage they shared now was nothing like his old castle. It seemed such an obvious observation, and yet he could not help but make it again and again.
He knew why they had not returned to Wallachia. He knew why he had not retaken that castle. This was what he needed to do: To give up his power. He needed to give up his power. Vlad Dracula Tepes needed to die, needed to be nobody but Vlad. Just a simple man living in the English countryside with his wife.
He did not know what had happened to his son. He hoped the boy was living a somewhat good life, but he knew that looking for him might just break whatever peace Adrian could have built for himself. So, no. They would not return. They would not bother their son ever again. Adrian had his own life – and they would not be part of it. Especially not him, Vlad, after nearly killing the boy.
Vlad was restless though, being confined to the home for the day. While he by now had acquired some ingredients for chemical experiments, he did not have all the tools he needed. He was working with so much more simpler things in the little backroom of their cottage.
And he was so aware of Lisa outside. He could hear her grunt from time to time, as she was working in the garden.
It had been three years since the two of them had settled here – just a bit away from Whitby in England. For all the local people, with the exception of the nuns at the abbey, were concerned, they were simple people who have come from a now destroyed place to settle in peace. It was all anyone needed to know.
But Vlad knew it would not last forever.
Lisa was growing old. And he wasn’t. He would never age. He would never die, unless he chose the death for himself. And he was afraid of it. He was afraid mostly of the day that Lisa would die.
She was only in her forties now, but a human would not grow that old. She would be lucky if she ended up turning seventy. And once she died again… What would he do? He was not sure. But he was afraid. Afraid of losing himself again. He did not want that.
He looked at his hands, that had been busy pestling some minerals into a fine powder, as he could use it to create medicine. But something stopped him from continuing.
He was careful while moving through the small cottage. While he was too powerful to be instantly consumed by the sunlight, he still was doing his best to avoid it. Thankfully the curtains had been drawn.
Yet, he made his way to the kitchen, just peaking outside a little to watch her. Lisa. She was kneeling in the garden, putting dead leaves over the vegetable beds to keep the soil in a good condition over the winter. Her breath was condensing into thick clouds in front of her face, while she was sweating even in the icy cold air. She had always been such a hard worker. She was stubborn, and he loved that about her. It was that stubbornness maybe, he had fallen for.
Somehow she noticed him watching her. She turned her head, frowned. Then she looked at the bed she had been working on, and gave a sigh that condensed in the air as well.
He could guess quite well, what she was thinking. She was probably annoyed with him watching her – and risking getting burned. Or maybe she was annoyed, that he was not working. She kept saying that work would keep him busy and busy was always a good thing to be.
Still, she did not say anything, instead just continuing her work.
She was a stubborn woman indeed. So stubborn. He loved it so much.
With a sigh, he closed the curtain once more – making sure it would be quite safe for him now. He went back into the sitting room, putting another log of wood into the fireplace. He wanted to make sure the room was warm for when she was done.
Indeed, after a moment of thinking about it, he also started to boil some water. He wanted her to have warm water to wash herself with – and maybe also a hot tea. She would love that for certain.
Yet, he hated how little he could do. How little he could help her during the day. And those things like the garden work was best done in the day, as the ground would freeze up even worse in the night. So it needed the warmth to get properly finished before the snow would come and with it the winter months.
He sighed, getting one of the few books they had at the cottage and opening it – as if he had not read it ten times already. He wanted to distract himself still.
It was at least another hour, until the door to the cottage was opened. He could hear her breath. She was panting. When she came into the sitting room, her dress and hands were dirty.
“Lucky you,” she said. “Good that the sun is out, eh?”
He raised his head, looking up to her. “You know that I would love to help you.”
She grunted, before realizing that the kettle, that hung now next to the fire was filled with hot water.
She sighed, before going to fetch some cold water from the pump. “I will admit, at times I wish you were not… Well, all the things you are,” she muttered, while she was behind the home. “Some things would be easier.”
“I know, my love,” he replied.
Now she returned carrying a bucket of icy water. She got the kettle to mix it, resulting in warm water after a moment. Then she looked at him. “I guess I would have never met you, though. If you were not all the things you are.”
“You would not,” he said. “I would have died long before you were born.”
A sigh came over her lips, as she started to wash her hands and arms. She hissed, as even the warm water clearly felt hot to her icy fingers. “I know.” A shadow showed on her expression. “I know…”
“You could leave that work to me, you know?” he muttered.
“I could,” she said, continuing to wash her hands. “But if I do not do any work, I am going insane. You know me well enough, dear.”
He smiled. “I do.”
Now she looked at him. Shaking her hands dry, she got up and went over to him, sitting on his lap. For a moment her eyes darted over his face. When she spoke again her words were softer. “Despite my moaning, I do actually enjoy the work.” She smiled, and leaned forward to press a kiss onto his cheek.
He took her hands into his own. They were already getting warm again, even though they must have been icy just a few minutes ago. Within his large hands they seemed too small and fragile, reminding him just how alive, but also very mortal she was. Still, he forced a smile onto his lips. “I know, my love.” He pressed those hands. “Oh, believe me, I know it too well.”