Note: Translations of Romanian terms at end of episode.

Child of the Night, Part Two
The Year of Our Lord, 1460
A week later
Castle Varga, Wallachia
Destiny

On their journey, Vlad passed through the land that he would receive in dowery, if he chose to marry Elizabeta Varga. He was pleased. It was well tended, and looked as if it would produce abundant crops. He also spotted a few fine flocks of sheep, and some cattle. He assumed that these would be part and parcel in the bargain, as that was how such things were usually done. He had a large household, and extra provisions were always welcome.

Varga's castle was a good bit smaller than Castle Draculea, but well made, well fortified. In the courtyard, vassals ran to take the reins of their horses. The small party dismounted, and Vlad studied the area as the animals were led away.

A group of people came through the front entrance of the castle, a plump, gray haired man in their lead, his hands outstretched in greeting. "Maria Ta Draculea!" He bowed deeply and Vlad returned a polite tilting of the head. "I am honored that you will consider my sweet Elizabeta for your consort. Please, Domn, grace my humble home."

Vlad droned the proper response. "It is I that am honored that you will allow me the possibility of asking for the hand of your precious child." He glanced over the small crowd that had come out to greet the visitors, but did not see anyone who looked as if they might be the youngest daughter of the household. He did, however, see someone interesting.

It was only a glimpse, really, of a figure who hovered at the back of the crowd for a moment, watching the heavily armed men of Vlad's entourage with something akin to dismay. He was a tall, slender youth in a coarse brown smock, the shapeless garment belted at the waist with a simple cord. Vlad wondered that Varga would allow his household servants to dress so poorly.

He caught the boy's gaze for a moment. The lad's eyes were large, velvety brown, and seemed to tilt just the slightest bit at the outer corners: doe's eyes. He slipped back into the castle, and Vlad stared after him, letting his host's fulsome welcoming speech wash over him unnoticed.

Who had that been, he wondered. Footman? Steward in training? He was a bit old for a page. A stable lad or assistant to the gamekeeper or hawkmaster would not have been allowed in the house.

Vlad was led inside, and shown immediately to his room. It was, of course, the most impressive in the building. Ernestu had probably moved out of it only the day before, so that his royal guest might have fitting accommodations. "You will wish to rest and refresh yourself before the feast this evening, Domn. Please, ask for anything you need or crave. My servants are your servants."

How comforting to hear, Ernestu, he thought. For I have a definite craving for one of your servants, I think. Yes, I believe I need him quite badly. When the older man was gone, Vlad spoke to Simion, his aide. "I saw a young man among the household: tall and slender, with short, dark hair. Sixteen or so. Great brown eyes. Bring him to me, Simion."

Simion smiled, bowing. He had been with the prince many years, and knew him well. The master must be smitten indeed to call for the boy so quickly upon his arrival, not even bothering to pretend patience. The boy would find himself walking awkwardly soon, if Simion was not wrong. He rather hoped that the lad would be able to appreciate what a boon the attention of Vlad Tepes Draculea was.

He asked about, only to be met with blank stares. No, there was no young male household servant of that description. Unwilling to return to his master empty handed, he prowled the servant's quarters, and the kitchens. Nothing. Reluctantly, he returned to Vlad's room.

He found his master ready for his desired charmer. He had doffed his heavy travel clothes, and wore only a thin, white robe. He looked even more angelic than ever, until one noticed that the cloth, when he moved, molded itself to a very human and needy erection. When Vlad saw that his servant returned alone, his face darkened into a scowl. Simion said hastily, "My Lord, I tried! He is nowhere to be found. All the servants deny knowledge of him."

"I'm not blind, Simion, nor a fool. I know what I saw. That boy is here, somewhere." He didn't add, And I mean to have him. There was no need. Simion knew.

"Patience, Domn. If he is here, I will find him." Boy, thought Simion. I only hope you delight in men. Otherwise your life will be most uncomfortable for a while. Vlad does not like to be denied.

Simion continued his inquiry as discretely as he could, while seeing that his lordship's party was situated, and their animals well cared for. The servants of this household, he noted with satisfaction, knew to give the utmost care to the belongings (material, human, and animal) of the visiting royalty.

He still had no luck when the time of the feast had arrived. Vlad's expression was nearly as dark as the somber formal wear he donned for the banquet. But, when he entered the hall, he arranged his features into a pleasant expression. He had little love for the social politics of his class, but he knew what was necessary.

The tables were set up in a U shape, the place of honor being at the end bar. The ranks of the guests descended as one moved toward the ends of the table. Vlad was escorted with much ceremony to the place at the right hand of his host, who sat in the very center of the upper table.

The room was already filled with guests, standing behind their seats, and awaiting the arrival of the favored suitor. Vlad was introduced to them with a short, but excessively flowery speech. He replied with a few courtly thanks. Then Ernestu said proudly, "Now, Domn, my treasure, my Elizabeta."

The young woman swept into the room, followed by a few nervously giggling maids, and made her way to the head table. Vlad watched her, with a wry appreciation of the chit's self presentation. This was no trembling, shy flower. She had a sense of her own worth.

Elizabeta stood on the other side of her father, and curtsied low. The square cut neckline of her ruby red velvet dress showed the tops of small, high breasts, the milky white sought by all noblewomen. She had raven black hair, twisted into a smooth coil at the base of her neck and covered by a small chaplet of knotted gold cords.

Her eyes, when they met his, were a bit of a shock. They were the very eyes of the youth who had caught his fancy: large, dark, and slightly tilted. There was even a touch of resemblance in the face, with the high cheekbones. But her mouth was smaller, where his had been generous, almost lush. There was something peculiar going on here, he thought.

Being a proper daughter, she did not speak, because she had not been given permission to do so. On this, their first meeting, she was seated on her father's other side. Later she would be allowed to sit beside Vlad, so that they might become at least nominally acquainted.

As the entire company was sitting down, one last guest slipped into the room, taking a seat at the very end of one table, the humblest seat in the room. There was no mistaking the slender figure with the close cropped dark hair. It was the youth he had seen in the courtyard.

So... not a servant, Draculea mused. No serving boy would ever dare sit at table with his lords. What a pity I'll have to be a bit more cautious in my pursiut. Still, he must be a very low ranking member of this house. I'll just have to move more slowly.

Vlad kept up the polite illusion of interest in the woman who would possibly be his bride, passing remarks to her over her father, half listening to the replies. His eyes kept straying to the end of the table.

The boy ate slowly, almost daintily, pulling his food into tiny pieces before consuming it. Rather than licking his fingers as most of the lords and ladies did, he wiped them often on a cloth he kept draped on his lap. When a servant tried to pour wine for him, he covered his goblet with his hand, shaking his head. Another brought him a carafe of water, and that he accepted.

No one spoke to him as he dined. He was generally ignored, and he seemed content with this. Stranger and stranger, Vlad thought. Low rank, modest garments, abstinence, short hair... Possibly a cleric? Hm, that might make things more difficult. But not impossible. Vlad smiled to himself. If the boy practiced celibacy, it would be a real treat to unleash the energy he was keeping bottled up.

Vlad said conversationally to Ernestu, "Do you keep a priest? I may wish to make confession later."

"Of course, Domn, of course. The report of your piety preceeds you." Vlad lifted his eyebrows skeptically. He observed the formalities of his religion, but he hardly had a reputation of saintliness, and he knew it. Ernestu gestured toward a bald man in black robes sitting a little farther down the table. "Father Mircea is always ready to perform his Holy Offices. You can generally find him in the chapel... or the library." He said the last word with the slightest hint of dismissal.

Vlad sat a bit straighter, interest piqued. "You have a library, Varga?"

His host looked puzzled, but continued smiling. "Yes, Domn. Some very fine volumes." Vlad knew what he was thinking. The Dracul were renowned warriors. They were not expected to be interested in anything as soft as literature or learning, not unless it involved marital philosophies, and tactics. But in fact, Vlad's ancestors had respected, perhaps even revered knowledge. There was an impressive collection of books, papers and scrolls housed in Castle Draculea. They were sadly neglected these days, as the last librarian had died in his father's time, and had never been replaced.

Elizabeta, eyes demurely on her plate, ventured, "We will have more, as time passes. Nicolae works so hard, every day."

Ernestu grunted. "That's all he's good for."

"Father, please. It is what he was trained to do. You can hardly expect him to be a warrior or huntsman with the way he was raised."

"You can't blame that on me, girl. I had no idea he'd turn out so soft."

From the sound of things, this was an old bone of contention between these two. Vlad found it interesting. Till now Elizabeta had been the model of a meek daughter, willing to bend to every whim and command of her father. What was this Nicolae to her, that she defended him?

Elizabeta was continuing. "What did you expect when you sent him to live with the friars? You knew they were scholars. If you had wanted him to be a warrior, you should have sent him as squire to a knight. But of course..." her tone was bitter, "you would have had to outfit him, and that would have been much more expensive. All that was required at the monastery was a few coarse garments and a pittance for his food."

"Beta! Enough. You act as though he were your brother."

Her eyes now flashed up at her father. Well, this one has spirit after all Vlad thought.

"He is my brother!" Elizabeta's voice was low and hard now, completely different from the gentle fluting she had used before. "Albeit we were not nurtured by the same womb, we spring from the same seed, Father."

Ah, that explains it. A bastard. Common enough. The situation seemed a bit unusual, though. From what he was hearing, it seemed as though Elizabeta and this Nicolae had been raised together, at least during their early years. Her affection was obvious. Noblemen often provided for their by-blows, especially if the mother were anyone above peasant stock. But very seldom was an illegitimate child allowed contact with a legitimate one.

Vlad didn't think much of Varga so far, but he seemed to have done more than his duty for this child. He had apparently raised it for a time, then fostered it in a place where it would be safe, and learn a trade. Few would have done as much.

"He reads?" Vlad broke in, and both father and daughter looked at him a little blankly. They had been caught up in a long running argument. "I admire those who make the effort to learn. I myself enjoy the library at Castle Draculea."

Elizabeta, sensing a possible champion for her favorite, nodded eagerly. "And he writes, too, Domn. Not just copies, but writes his own thoughts! Oh, he has a beautiful hand! So clear, so perfect. It is an art."

"May I meet this artist?" It was a way to earn favor in the girl's sight, and irritate her father. Varga dared not refuse his guest anything, no matter how it might annoy him.

Ernestu sighed heavily, and beckoned to a footman. "Bring the librarian."

The footman started down the table. With each step he took, Vlad felt his heart begin to beat faster. The servant passed the ranks of nobles, and each turned to watch his progress, curious as to who was being summoned to the table of honor. He walked all the way to the end of the table, and stopped by the dark haired boy in the rough brown garment, speaking to him quietly.

The boy turned from his plate to listen, then looked up toward the table, his large dark eyes anxious and questioning. There was a dab of sauce on his lips. The summons must have made him nervous because, unmindful of his napkin, his tongue darted out to lick away the smear. Vlad felt himself begin to grow hard beneath the table.

The boy stood up and came around the end of the table, walking up the space between the two sides. The room was very quite as the other diners watched him pass. Vlad could hear the soft pad of his slippered feet. At last he stood before them.

His gaze flicked over Vlad, moving away quickly to the man who was his father in the flesh, if not the spirit. Then he looked at Elizabeta, and his eyes grew soft and warm. A small smile graced his face, making him look even younger, and so desirable that Vlad ached. For a moment, he almost hated the girl who could win such a look from him.

Then he looked back to Varga, his smile fading, and dropped his gaze. His voice was quiet, respectful. "You commanded my presence, Domn?"

"Our honored guest has expressed a desire to meet you." Ernestu's tone said 'though I cannot fathom why'.

The boy again looked at Vlad, then quickly at the floor, a hot flush rising to stain his cheeks. The way the visiting lord was looking at him was most... disconcerting.

My God, he is beautiful Vlad marveled. He spoke kindly. "Look at me, boy, and tell me your name."

The youth raised his eyes hesitantly. The prince's eyes were blue, and blue should be a cool color. Why were they so intense, so hot? He barely managed to lift his voice above a whisper as he spoke to Prince Vlad Tepes Draculea for the first time. "If it please my lord, I am called Nicolae Calugarul."

Ah thought Vlad. So, Varga will not risk any of his estate by claiming the boy as a Varga. Nicolae the Monk, eh? I shall have to see if I cannot make certain that the name does not remain... fitting.

Translations:
Marie Ta: Your Highness
Domn: lord