Blood of the Father

[Father Van-Derveld]

Cathar – many years hence...

The catacombs of Imram'Lien ran like twisted veins beneath the surface of Cathar. While the sun scorched the sands above, the chambers beneath the wastelands were cold. There, scarce little light or warmth was to be found. In a broad circular chamber that no other had laid eyes upon in centuries, Vega Van-Derveld knelt in the cold and the darkness. His tunic was rough-spun and his trousers made from tattered cloth, bleached and sweat-stained alike, but he did not shiver in the chill. He dipped his head to the ground and pressed his forehead against the cool stone slabs underfoot.

“Blessed bloodline, preserve us,” he murmured against the stone, holding the position of reverence for a long moment before he lifted his head and let his eye fall upon the idol. The statue that dominated the chamber.

Carved of polished white onyx, the vornskr sat in stoic silence. It's gazed down upon him, indomitable, majestic. An imagine of fierce divinity, fashioned by his own hand. Behind the statue, almost unseen in the gloom, shadows deepened in the relief of a frieze depicting other beasts, each proud Lupine head bowed in supplication to the white onyx. Numbered in their dozens, they offered their submission - but only he could look upon her. Only he could set foot in this most sacred of chambers. Only he was worthy. Only he.

Vega breathed in deeply, his nostrils all at once full of a familiar scent. A small smile tugged at the scar that bisected the corner of his mouth.

“My lady.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

There was only silence that met those two words; silence that held so much and yet so little. Silence and the knowledge that here, one was whole and joined.

"Dearest."

She was like a spectre, moving from the shadows with a grace bourne of nobility. With head held high, she moved easily over the stone surface, moved to stand beside his prone figure. She kept her hands folded into the cloth of the wide cream-colored sleeves of her cloak. She looked upon him with patience and kindness; with tenderness and love. It had always been just the two of them. Just the two flames of life that they had kindled and stoked. They had been so attentive, and so mindful. They had given to each other all, and their lives had become so much more than what they were by themselves.

One eye looked down upon him, gentle and caring as he knelt. The other was a blank canvas, yet full of life all its' own, and Lady Van-Derveld smiled at her husband. Her mate. Her Only.

"One so noble as my husband should never bow his knee and touch his head to stone."

Her words were of honey, warm and sweet, and her eye was soft in its' gaze.

[Father Van-Derveld]

Her voice was soft and yet it filled the darkened chamber, filled Vega with hope.

“I am not too proud to kneel before one so deserving.”

His prayers for the evening done, Father Van-Derveld got to his feet and turned to his mate. She was a light in the darkness and a mirror to him, the scars they wore proudly reflected in each others faces. Two halves of a whole, he could never be at peace without her.

“Will you stay with me for a while?”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

For him, she would deny nothing. There had not been a moment in her life that she had found any cause to deprive him of anything he asked. And looking at him now as he rose to stand, Lady Van-Derveld felt that old flutter in her chest as he squared his shoulders back, coming to his full height. Through the scars and lines of age that drew so many patterns across his face, she saw him as he had been when they were still so young, when neither had reached the first century of their long years.

A smile was sent up to meet his eye, and she half-turned, moving to one of the intricately carved marble benches that lined the walls on either side of the chamber they were in.

She slowly lowered her frame to sit, folding her hands in her lap.

"All of the Guardians on the whole of Leh'ben could not keep me from you, Love."

[Father Van-Derveld]

He joined her on the bench and lifted one hand, as if he meant to take her hand in his – but hesitated, instead curling his fingers around the edge of the bench, squeezing the cool marble. His eye searched her face for any sign that she was not well. For any hint, however small, that she was.. unhappy. It had been her wish that had brought them to the holy city of Imram'Lien. To the ruins of the great civilisation that they would rebuild together. The cradle of Lupine life. Surely, here of all places, she was content?

He studied her for a moment longer, the chamber as still and silent as a tomb.

Her expression was it always was: serene. As warm and peaceful as a cloudless sunrise.

“It's not the Guardians that trouble me.” He shook his head, though only faintly.

“Our daughter...” He said, lips pursing into a hard line moments after the words were spoken.

[Lady Van-Derveld]

"Bryna..."

The name was whispered so lovingly, and Lady Van-Derveld closed her eyes as she thought of the child that she and Vega shared. So beautiful, the perfect culmination of two so fast in loving union. Her heart swelled, and warmth seemed to spread throughout her body. Her will, and that of her mate's, had brought such a small life into the galaxy. Both had been so joyous at the news of her pregnancy, and both had been so elated at the thought of one to call their own. So many days and nights spent in each other's company, filled with the infinite wellspring of love and happiness as they waited patiently - though not with a little bit of excitement. And the baby had been beautiful, sharing so many aspects and features of both mother and father.

Just the thought of their daughter made a phantom smile pull at the corners of her mouth.

And yet, as she cracked her single remaining eye to pass a sideways look to Vega, the set of his lips gave her pause and for the briefest of moments the Lady froze. Her hands gripped one another as her attentions now came into focus upon the man who sat beside her; the man that held her heart and her everything.

"Tell me," she whispered.

[Father Van-Derveld]

She spoke the girls name like a prayer. A soft sigh that gave divinity to a name that was not worthy of it. Bryna. His only child and his greatest disappointment. There was a barely perceptible tick in the muscle beneath Vega's blind eye.

“I mean to send her away.”

He pulled in a long, deep breath that shivered as it passed his lips. Though he felt shame pulling his eyes downward, he refused to look away for his mate. His eyes fixed to hers.

“To find you.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

"Vega... "

It was a strange expression that descended upon her features then; an expression of concern and worry laced with so much compassion. And yet, tangled in the weave was the faintest bit of hope. How she wished to reach up, to caress his face and pull her to him, to clutch him to her in comfort and warmth.

"Oh Vega; my Vega," she could only offer her words.

What could she say to him beyond what the tone of her voice did? What could she give to him that was more than what she could do right now?

Her gaze softened, and in an act of desperate love given new life, the Lupine lifted a hand. It rose to his cheek, slender fingers steady as she cupped her palm to run along the contours of his strong jaw; over the scars that crisscrossed his own features. And yet, her skin never touched his. Never smoothed over the lines of concern that marred his face as she had once been able to do.

The adoration in her eye was all that could touch him this day.

It was such a farcical thing, to be so close yet so far away...

[Father Van-Derveld]

His lips parted to speak, but the words would not come. I am lost without you. As he inhaled, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't remember how it felt any more, to feel her fingertips brushing against his cheek.

He wanted so much to feel her touch. It had been so long, to long. Twenty years had passed since she had been taken from him, since half of him had been torn away Twenty years of darkness and solitude. By day he carried the weight of his grief with head held high, but in these moments – these private moments – it was almost too much to bear. His scars were like a physical manifestation of the cracks in his soul.

He found solace in the Force, but it was not enough.

“It is possible. The blind maid swears it. She will find you and bring you back to me.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

"The Maid..."

He ethereal grasp seemed to tense, yet all the same it pulled away in languid hope. Hope for something more. Hope that she could touch her Only again.

"What The Maid deems possible is always attainable."

Words spoken not to dissuade.

"But Love, do not place all of your hopes upon this."

There was worry over his mind; worry that he had pushed himself beyond the point of breaking his own sanity. She pulled her ethereal hand away.

"If it is what the Force wills, then so be it. But if not... "

She stopped then, her figure a portrait of serene thought and noble bearing as she looked away from him, to the far wall. Her mind suddenly taken to the endgame of his intentions, the Lady allowed herself the indulgence of passion and desire.

"A body," she whispered, the thought of once more holding him in her arms overriding her cautioned words of before.

[Father Van-Derveld]

“A body,” he agreed, in a quiet voice.

What the maid had foreseen was unheard of. That she could reach into the netherworlds and commune with the spirits was no secret, but that with the right materials – the right vessel – she could bring back the dead? It would have been heresy, had the two of them not been creatures of divine purpose. Father Van-Derveld and his Lady, the Mother of Wolves. So it was written, so it would be. Not even death could hold them apart.

“A body to hold,” he went on. “To love. To give life to House Van-Derveld once again.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

House Van-Derveld.

Once merely a Greater House, she had pulled it to the Apex. She had shed and discarded the mantel of Losstarot for the desire and want of what would have been considered beneath her station. Even when they had first laid eyes upon each other she had instantly knew that the greatest House was not what it'd been in the past, but what it was to be in the future. She knew, and she pulled him to her in such love and acceptance. She had given to him her all, and he to her. She had taken his House and made it her own just as he had taken hers and made it his. What they had become was a House so far above the stature of those of the past. So far above the conventions and dictations that had once - ages past - would've been demanded of them.

They had created something wholly new, and while she was more than accepting to take on his name, both knew that the true meaning ran so much deeper. As well, it transcended the expectations of their ancestors.

They had gone beyond the curse of House Van-Derveld to mold and create something so pure and wonderful...

Her eyes closed, her thoughts lost in the rapture of all that the two had risen above, and her lips parted to allow a sigh to pass. An expelled breath that carried with it all of their essense, as man and woman. As mates. As two Lupines.

"How... ?"

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

“Father?”

Bryna hesitated at the entrance to the chamber, unable to will her feet to carry her any further within. She forced herself to look to where her father sat, and thought she could see something – so faint, like smoke – at his side. Her pulse quickened. She knew who he came here to commune with, why he sequestered himself away in the darkness for hours on end, emerging with dark lines beneath his eyes and the red raw marks of fresh lashes on his back. He was punishing himself, and her. No door barred her entrance to the room, but Bryna knew that this was one place her father forbade her from entering. He had made that clear. She would not have transgressed against her his decree if she did not have urgent news.

She lifted her head and squared her shoulders, willing courage into her heart where there was none. You are a daughter of House Van-Derveld. Act like you deserve to carry that name.

“The maid sends for you,” she said firmly, her words sounding loud and violent as they broke the silence.

[Lady Van-Derveld]

Like a thunderbolt the voice that reached her ears passed through her entire body. It was like the ringing of the truest bell crafted; so crisp and clear and pure. Bryna's voice...

She rose quickly to her feet, her eye falling upon the young woman that her baby girl had become, and Loklorien Van-Derveld lifted a hand to cover her mouth. She wanted to plead, to beg, to cry out to the Bloodline. To allow her child to see her; to allow Bryna to see her mother... her Dama. It had been so many years...

Slowly her hand fell away, though her gaze remained on her daughter.

Moving downward, her palm came to rest over her heart, and she let a sad smile appear.

"Bryna... "

Vega was not entirely ignored, but the sight of their child was enough to cause her so much heartache and happiness. So much longing and contentment. Her free hand moved out in a beckoning gesture, hand open and inviting. What Bryna actually saw she could not guess, but what she might feel...

"Come to me... "

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

What she saw was a shadow. A figure in the darkness. Her fathers shadow, detached from him somehow and looking right at her. Bryna stared back into the featureless face of the figure. She felt as if it was calling to her somehow. Trying to speak to her. She wanted with every fibre of her being to answer that call. It didn't matter that she couldn't hear the words. She felt them, the near-intangible desires of the shadow. At one moment there and then the next, slipping away like smoke.

Bryna opened her mouth to speak and without realising it, she took a step forward. “I...”

[Father Van-Derveld]

“Leave us.”

His voice was like a whip crack that the girl flinched away from.

Moment's later, Father Van-Derveld head bowed. His breath came as a heavy sigh as he pushed calloused fingertips back through his hair. The anger that had flared inside his chest was quick to cool, as he reminded himself why Bryna had intruded upon their privacy.

“I... am sorry. I must go to her,” he said, already pulling himself to his feet, though much it pained him to go.

“We will be together soon, my love... soon.”

[Lady Van-Derveld]

Soon...

Lady Van-Derveld watched the woman that Bryna had become, the woman that her and Vega's child had grown into. There was pride and aching all the same, as she wished for nothing more than to clutch her daughter to her chest and never let her go.

Vega's apology was enough to pull her from her reverie, and the Lady let her hand fall, turning to face him as he rose to stand. And while she dreaded those times when he left, she knew that the reasons this time were so very crucial. She bowed her head, hands moving to clasp in front of her.

"Soon," her voice was soft as she repeated his word, and her body seemed to wilt; to become intangible even to her mate.

"... my Vega," came her call one last time as the shadow of what she had once been shifted, moving forward in fluid grace to pass through his own body on its' way to oblivion.

[Bryna Van-Derveld]

As her father left the chamber in silence, Bryna fell into step beside him. Ahead was a broad paved corridor with sconces set into the walls, their torch-light difficult to adjust to after the absolute darkness of the burial chamber. The air was warmer in the corridor, but Bryna's skin still crawled with gooseflesh.

Her father said nothing, but he did not need to. He had raised her in isolation, the two of them rarely venturing beyond the boundaries of the holy city. She could read his every mood and temper with a glance.

“I'm sorry,” she started, but her father cut her off.

[Father Van-Derveld]

“Words are wind, child,” he grunted, lengthening his stride and out-pacing the girl within moments.

Ahead, a broad set of stairs curved further down into the forgotten depths of Imram'Lien. That he could hear the girl following him down didn't matter. Though she had vexed him, she had come to him with good reason. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he turned and in three long strides passed beneath another stone archway. The chamber beyond was well lit with lamps hung from the ceiling, their light illuminating the huge hole carved into the centre of the floor.

Father Van-Derveld slowed his step as he neared the mouth of the pit, looking down at the creature that cowered within.

The Blind Maid of Cathar.

“Speak,” he commanded.

[The Maid of Cathar]

Blind eyes turned upwards, chains rattling as the maid drew herself up from the ground and onto her hands and knees.

“He is here,” she gasped. Her head twitched by fractions to the left then the right, as if her attention were being pulled back and forth by some unheard sound. At each pause, she frowned and shook her head.

“The hound of the black hand. The traitor, steel cloaked in crimson. Alastor. The first of his name, the last of his name... the last of all names.”

Her fingernails curled against the stone floor as a breath shivered through her.

“My lords... I have found that which you seek.”