Chapter Text
Consciousness returns to him slowly. At first, it’s just a general sense that he existed before the other senses came creeping back as well. He was laying somewhere soft and warm, and there was a heavy weight pressed against his side. The usual sounds of the forest were gone, meaning he was indoors somewhere. His eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred tonze as he pried them open, blinking groggily at the world around him.
After a moment, he realized he was in his bedroom, tucked under the sheets. His brain felt like it was moving slowly, struggling to puzzle it all out. He had been in the forest…with Sanson…they had…
Guydelot reached his hand up to his neck and felt a heavy bandage wrapped over the two puncture wounds. The blood had long since stopped and from what he could tell, he had been changed out of his bloody clothing into clean, soft pajamas.
“You’re awake,” a voice to his right said as someone sat up. Guydelot blinked slowly, staring at the person who had been lying in bed beside him.
“Sanson?” he asked, his voice slurred. It was indeed Sanson. He was wearing his hair down for once and had also changed into something clean, his usual black half cape swapped for one of Guydelot’s simple cotton tunics. It was far too long on him, the sleeves covering his hands and the collar slipping off one shoulder.
“It’s me,” Sanson said softly, offering him a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “How are you feeling? You’ve been out for the better part of a day. I brought you back home after…well, so you can rest.”
“A day?” he mumbled, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Blimey, Lewin’s going to let the recruits use my head for target practice.”
“I sent them a note,” Sanson said quickly. “Letting them know that you had fallen ill. They shouldn’t be cross with you.”
“Heh, they’ll still find a way to be cross with me,” Guydelot said, dropping his hand back down. “You wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you?”
Sanson disappeared and reappeared with a glass of water in a flash, too quick for Guydelot to comprehend he had even left the room. He climbed back into bed and helped Guydelot sit up enough to drink the entire glass.
“You’re too good to me,” Guydelot said, smacking his lips as Sanson laid him back down.
“Good to you…” Sanson said morosely as he set the cup on the table. “Hardly. It’s my fault you’re ill in the first place. What was I thinking–”
Guydelot turned to look at him, his brain moving a bit faster now that he had some water. Sanson was staring down at his hands, the guilt rolling off of him. Guydelot reached out to steal one of his hands, lacing their fingers together so Sanson couldn’t pull away.
“Hey,” Guydelot said. “You stop that. I asked you to do it, and you merely obliged me. You’ve made me one happy bard.”
Sanson quirked an eyebrow at him, a smile barely visible at the corner of his lips. “Happy?” he asked. “Being nearly sucked dry of your aether by an evil monster makes you happy?”
“No,” Guydelot replied, tugging Sanson down on top of him. “Being bitten by a beautiful vampire while having sex with that beautiful vampire makes me happy.”
“You are truly mad,” Sanson said, shaking his head at him. Guydelot cupped his cheek and leaned up so he could plant a chaste, soft kiss against his lips.
“I’m being serious,” Guydelot said as they drew away from each other. “Don’t blame yourself for doing what I asked. I was more than willing.”
“I was scared I killed you,” Sanson confessed in a whisper. He placed a trembling hand against Guydelot’s chest and said, “I spent all night listening to your heart. I was terrified it was going to stop.”
“But it didn’t,” Guydelot countered, pulling Sanson down so he could lie next to him again. “So no more fretting about it.”
Sanson fell silent for a long while, so long Guydelot would have thought he had fallen asleep if not for the way he was tracing random patterns across Guydelot’s chest. Guydelot let him think in peace, using the quiet moment to close his eyes and run his fingers through Sanson’s loose hair.
“Do you remember that song,” Sanson said suddenly, just as Guydelot was beginning to drift back to sleep. “The one about the vampire who drained the songstress whose voice he loved?”
“Aye, I remember it,” Guydelot said, cracking his eyes open to peer down at Sanson. “Not the most cheery tune in my arsenal.”
“It’s not just a song,” Sanson said in a quiet voice. “It’s based on something that happened.”
That got Guydelot’s attention, jolting him awake. He stared down at the top of Sanson’s head while Sanson refused to look at him, still drawing random patterns in Guydelot’s chest.
“It didn’t happen exactly like in the song,” Sanson continued. “These things always change over the years. That’s just how songs are.”
“Sanson,” Guydelot said carefully. “Who is the song about?”
“Well, the “selfish” vampire as you called him is Orpheus,” Sanson stopped drawing on his chest and instead fisted the front of Guydelot’s shirt, taking a trembling breath before saying, “And the person that killed was me.”
Guydelot took a sharp intake of breath. He felt like all the air had been punched from his lungs. Belatedly, he realized that Sanson was trembling and wrapped him more tightly in his arms. “I knew that craven bastard was a craven bastard,” Guydelot muttered against Sanson’s hair.
Sanson let out a laugh, sounding just a touch hysterical. “It was a few hundred years ago,” Sanson said softly. “Not too long after Gridania’s founding. I used to sing while patrolling the woods. I loved singing.”
Guydelot's chest felt tight as images of Sanson's bright face filling the Twelveswood with song appeared in his mind. He squeezed Sanson against his chest a little tighter as Sanson took a shaky breath.
“I didn’t know he was following me that night,” Sanson continued. “I was near Amdapor in the South Shroud one evening, singing to myself. Then he appeared from the shadows and I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. It was like my body was frozen.”
It was just like what had happened to Guydelot when he had encountered Orpheus. His body was no longer his to command, frozen in place by whatever dark magic the vampire wielded.
“He told me his name. He told me he had listened to me sing for a long time and that he…he wanted my aether to be his,” Sanson whispered. His eyes were squeezed shut, forehead pressed against Guydelot’s chest as he trembled from the memory of it. .
“I’ll kill him,” Guydelot swore, anger flooding his veins. “I’ll kill the bastard.”
Sanson shook his head against Guydelot’s chest, his hair tickling Guydelot’s nose. “I don’t remember much after that,” Sanson said, his voice quivering slightly. “Just that there was pain when he bit me. So much pain.”
Sanson rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, resting his hands on his stomach. Guydelot sat up a bit and stared down at him, reaching out to gently brush his fingers through his hair. Sanson's eyes were wide but vacant, his mind in another time. Another place.
“I think he panicked,” Sanson said in a soft voice. “When he realized that if I died, he wouldn’t ever hear me sing again. Orpheus drained me of nearly all my aether. I was dying, quickly. He took me to Amdapor and made a deal with a voidsent named Diabolos to save my life. When I awoke, I had become this monster.”
“Don’t,” Guydelot said. “Don’t blame yourself or call yourself a monster. You’re not, Sanson. The only evil man in this tale is Orpheus.”
Sanson rolled his head slowly so he could look into Guydelot’s eyes. “I was so furious when I woke up and realized what had happened,” Sanson said. “I started yelling at him. He was so shocked by it.”
The image of Sanson screaming at Orpheus the way he often scolded Guydelot was so absurd, it made him snort. “Sorry,” Guydelot said, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping across his face. “You mean to tell me that upon awakening and learning you had been turned into a vampiric creature of the night, your first instinct was to yell at him?”
“Well,” Sanson said, his cheeks turning pink. “I was very mad!”
Guydelot laughed again, unable to stop himself. Sanson slowly smiled back at him, the vacant look in his eyes being replaced with fondness.
“I’m sorry, I swear on Nophica’s heaving bosom I’m not laughing at the situation,” Guydelot said, pulling himself together. “I think you’re amazing. And fearless, scolding a killer voidsent freak like that.”
“I didn’t really care what happened to me,” Sanson said, rolling onto his side and peeking up at him. “I would have been more than happy if he had just killed me at that point.”
Guydelot hummed thoughtfully, sliding down so he was laying on his side as well, facing Sanson. He gazed right into Sanson’s eyes as he took the other man’s hand, lacing their fingers together again. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t,” Guydelot said softly, squeezing Sanson’s hand. “I'm so sorry this happened to you. It wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t your fault.”
He brought Sanson’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it softly. When he looked back up, Sanson was smiling at him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. Guydelot squeezed his hand again and said, “What happened once you were done giving the bastard an earful?”
Sanson chuckled softly. “I told him I would never sing again. Not so long as he lived. And then I left.”
Guydelot whistled and said, “I’m sure he took that well.”
“Oh, naturally,” Sanson snorted. “He said I owed him my life, and I said I didn’t owe him anything when he’s the one that took it in the first place.”
“Good for you,” Guydelot replied proudly. Sanson flushed at the compliment.
“I’ve been hiding from him ever since,” Sanson continued. “ can go into a sort of…stasis, I suppose. A long slumber. Orpheus can sleep for many decades at a time but I usually just go a few years. I find a dark corner of Gelmorra to sleep in and wake when my aether begins to get low. Then I sneak around the Shroud and carefully take aether from people until I have enough to sustain me for another few years of slumber.”
“By the Twelve,” Guydelot said. His heart ached at the thought of it. What a lonely existence. “That ain’t living, Sanson.”
Sanson shrugged. “What other choice did I have?” he asked. “I’m still waiting for the day the elementals strike me down for tainting the Twelveswood with my existence.”
“I don’t think they’d do that,” Guydelot replied, though he wasn’t wholly convinced. The Elementals were a temperamental lot. “If anyone deserves to be struck down, it’s this Orpheus bastard.”
Guydelot rolled onto his back and stared at his ceiling, mind mulling over everything that Sanson had told him. There was no doubt that Orpheus was the one stalking the Twelveswood and leaving innocent Gridanians on death’s door, their aether nearly all but depleted. All in pursuit of Sanson, who had refused to become his puppet. The man would need to be stopped, but how…
“You’re thinking so loudly,” Sanson said, sitting up enough that he could hover above Guydelot. Guydelot smiled up at him, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ear.
“I’m thinking about you singing. I’d like to hear it some day,” Guydelot said, his heart warming at the way Sanson’s cheeks flushed at that.
“I’m not even particularly good,” Sanson muttered, staring at the button on Guydelot’s shirt. “I never had a gift for verse. Twelve knows why he became fixated on me in the first place. I’m not nearly as good as you.”
He peeked up at Guydelot through his eyelashes, smiling softly. “Hearing your song echoing throughout the Twelveswood…it made me feel more joy than I had in a long time. I hadn’t felt that kind of joy since before I was turned.”
Guydelot gulped, his chest suddenly feeling tight. “I'm glad I could give that to you,” he said softly before pulling Sanson down for a soft kiss.
It was a gentle, chaste kiss compared to the ones they had shared in the woods earlier. He could feel Sanson grinning into it and as they pulled away, Guydelot quirked an eyebrow at him and said, “You don’t have to try and woo me by complimenting my songs though, you can just say my delectable smelling aether made you hor–”
“You are unbearable!” Sanson said, shoving at his shoulder. “We were having a moment.”
“I’ve had two vampires tell me that my aether smells delicious,” Guydelot said, pulling Sanson on top of him and wrapping his arm around his waist. “Tell me – did it taste as good as it smelled?”
Sanson leaned closer, baring his fangs playfully at him and making Guydelot’s heart race. “Even better,” he whispered against Guydelot’s lips, before capturing them in a kiss again.
It was better this time, the bed affording them more comfort and freedom, the bottle of oil Guydelot keep nearby allowing them to become even closer. Sanson didn’t bite him this time, though he did drag his nails down Guydelot’s back when he sank into him. Guydelot peppered Sanson’s face with kisses as he moved inside of him, transfixed by Sanson’s sharp fangs when the vampire threw his head back in pleasure. When he eventually came, it was with his face buried against Sanson’s neck, sucking a love bite against his cool skin as Sanson followed him soon after.
They laid together in blissful peace for some time afterwards, Sanson resting his head on Guydelot’s chest while Guydelot breathed heavily, his heart and his mind racing. His chest felt fit to burst with all the things he was feeling, a new emotion making his heart sing. Already, he was composing melodies in his mind, he could write an entire symphony and it wouldn’t begin to cover the depth of emotions he felt for the vampire lying beside him–”
“If you write a bawdy song about how you bedded a vampire,” Sanson slurred, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m going to shout at you.”
Guydelot barked out a laugh at that. “I wasn’t!” he lied.
“You’re lying,” Sanson said, sitting up and beaming down at him. “I mean it! Don’t you dare!”
“Or you’ll do what?” Guydelot asked, pulling him down to kiss his lips again. “Bite me?”
“Maybe I will,” Sanson teased, pecking Guydelot on the lips before lying back down next to him. They fell into a companionable silence again, their breathing and hearts slowing down. Sanson was lying with his eyes closed, leaving Guydelot free to study his face. The way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, the soft smile on his face, the glint of fangs as he yawned. Guydelot’s heart felt warm. He wanted this forever.
“I’m going to kill Orpheus,” Guydelot said suddenly. Sanson’s eyes shot open, the blissful look on his face vanishing in an instant.
“What?” Sanson squeaked.
“I want to hear you sing again,” Guydelot said softly. “I want you to live here with me in the Twelveswood without fear. So, that means I gotta kill the bastard.”
Sanson stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “Don’t be absurd,” Sanson said. “He’ll kill you. He won’t hesitate. It would be easy for him.”
“I ain’t scared of him,” Guydelot said. He leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on Sanson’s cheek. “It’s worth the risks if it means I can be with you.”
“Guydelot,” Sanson said softly. “Don’t…”
“I’m gonna do it,” he replied, resting his head against the pillow. “As soon as I’m all rested up, I’m marching right up to that bloody manor and putting an arrow right in between his whoreson eyes.”
He pulled Sanson closer, wrapping his arms around him so he could bury his nose in his hair. “Stop fretting so much,” Guydelot muttered, his eyelids growing heavy. “It will be okay.”
Sanson didn’t say anything, just exhaled sharply, his breath making Guydelot’s skin tingle. Guydelot closed his eyes again and let himself be pulled away on a current of sleep, his dreams full of dark blue eyes, soft brown hair, and sharp teeth.
*****
The next time he awoke, the sun was streaming golden light across his bedroom walls, indicating it was quite late in the afternoon. Guydelot’s body felt heavy, grogginess trying to pull him back down into slumber. He blinked slowly, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. He felt as if a supernatural haze had settled on his mind, keeping him from being able to fully shake the drowsiness.
His back was sore from laying flat on it for so long though. With great effort, he forced himself to roll over, groaning slightly. He reached blindly across the bed, searching for another body he could have sworn should have been there. Sanson, he thought, his mind conjuring up the image of his bedmate from the night before. Guydelot smiled at the memory, hands flailing across the sheets in search of him.
His smile slipped into a frown when his hands grasped at nothing but bedsheets. With great effort, he forced his eyelids open, squinting at the empty space beside him. Sanson was missing and the bed had long since gone cold – he had been gone for quite some time. Guydelot pulled himself into a sitting position, ignoring the pounding in his head as his eyes scanned the room.
“Sanson?” he called out, his ears straining to hear any sound of him. Nothing came though – just silence answered him.
“Where the bloody hell did you go?” Guydelot muttered. His eyelids drooped, threatening to close until he forced them open with his fingers again. Why was he so tired? He hadn’t been this tired when he had woken the previous day, and that was after he had suffered from quite a lot of blood loss the day before. So why was he struggling to fully wake up now?
He turned in bed and planted his feet on the floor, leaning forward slightly as sleep threatened to settle in again. He shook his head as hard as he could, fighting to wake himself up, when he spotted a folded note propped up on his bedside table, his name carefully written across the front of it.
Guydelot stared at it for a long moment, at the way the letters of his name swooped elegantly across the parchment. He had never seen Sanson’s handwriting before, but there was no doubt it was his hand that had penned the note before him. With a trembling hand, Guydelot reached for the letter, unfolding it carefully and scanning his eyes across it, drinking in Sanson’s beautifully written words.
Guydelot,
Thank you for last night, and every night before it. Getting to be with you, no matter how briefly, has made me the happiest I have ever been in both my mortal and immortal life. Your song is a gift that will change the world, I’m sure of it. That’s why I can’t allow you to fight Orpheus.
You’re kind for wanting to free me of him, but I’m afraid I will never be free. And I can’t trap you with me, or worse, have you get killed because of my own selfishness. So I have chosen to return to him, to ensure you may be safe and live out the rest of your days in peace. Please forgive me. There’s nothing I would love more than to sing for you too. But I have no gift for verse, not like you do. You will have to sing loud enough for both of us.
Thank you again, for everything. Apologies about the sleeping spell. Please, don’t try to follow me.
Forever yours,
Sanson
“Bloody idiot!” Guydelot swore, standing abruptly and stumbling into the wall next to him. He leaned against it for a moment, breathing heavily as he fought against the sleeping spell that was trying to drag him back under. Beautiful, stupid Sanson, charging headlong into danger in the name of protecting Guydelot. Oh, he was going to get an earful once Guydelot shook off this sleeping spell and tracked him down.
Guydelot slid down the wall and sat on the floor, struggling to keep his head up and his eyes open. Whatever sleeping spell Sanson had placed on him was certainly potent – it was taking all the energy he could muster just to stay awake. Have to stop him, he thought, slumping even further against the wall. He couldn’t let Sanson throw his life away for him.
He struggled to open his eyes, reaching up to slap his own cheek several times. Shaking his head as hard as he could, Guydelot cracked his eyes open, staring blankly across the room. Blinking slowly, an object came into focus across from him. His harp, propped against a chair. Sanson must have retrieved it from the woods.
The Warden’s Pean, a voice in his head that sounded very much like Jehantel’s said. A song that could lift any magical ailments from the listener. Including sleep spells. Guydelot crawled on his hands and knees across the floor until he reached the chair, snatching the harp and leaning against the wall. He rested his head against the wall, his eyes drifting shut as he raised the harp to his chest and strummed the necessary chords through muscle memory alone.
The song worked instantly, lifting the veil of sleep that had been trying to pull him back under since the moment he woke up. Guydelot blinked at the beam of sunlight on his bedroom wall, feeling his strength return to him, his mind whirling into full alertness. He sprung to his feet and raced back to the bed, snatching up the letter Sanson had left and rereading it, heart pounding in his chest.
“And he calls me a fool!” Guydelot huffed, tossing the letter onto his bed. He raced around his bedroom, getting dressed in record time. As he grabbed his bow and a quiver of arrows, Guydelot paused, mind racing as he tried to recall the lyrics to the song.
The song said the vampire had driven a stake into his own heart once he realized his love would never sing again. Guydelot now knew that the tale wasn’t quite factual, but it was the only clue he had to go on. He didn’t have a stake handy, but he did have arrows – lots of arrows, with metal heads he was very eager to send flying into that bastard’s heart.
Guydelot wasted no time teleporting to the Central Shroud, taking off in a sprint the moment his feet touched solid ground again. The trees passed in a blur as he raced through the forest, his heart pounding in his ears as he tried not to think about what would become of Sanson. Would he arrive too late? What if they had left and returned to Amdapor, the elemental barrier making it impossible for him to follow?
He shook those fears from his mind as he finally approached Haukke Manor. The once grand home emerged eerily through the trees, the setting sun reflecting off its tall, stained glass windows. Guydelot slowed his steps as he drew closer, keeping his bow at the ready as he approached the gates. Peeking through the bars, he was surprised to find the courtyard empty, the usual voidsents that roamed the grounds absent. He felt that same creeping sense of dread he had felt the last time he had been here though, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The usual sounds of the forest had disappeared, leaving nothing but a nerve wracking silence in their place. Orpheus had to be here.
Guydelot scaled the front gate in record time, dropping to his feet on the other side as quietly as he could. His hunter’s instincts took over as he approached the front door from the right, his eyes sweeping from side to side for any signs of danger. He kept his footsteps light and an arrow nocked, ready to fly into anything that saw fit to attack him. Nothing appeared though, and he was able to reach the front door without incident.
As his hand rested on the door handle, he froze, fear suddenly striking him. It had been nothing to tell Sanson in the heat of the moment that he would kill Orpehus, but it was another thing all together now that he was here. He could still remember how it had felt when Orpheus had frozen him in place, the helplessness as the vampire had wrapped his hand around Guydelot’s throat. He took a deep, shuddering breath, shaking his head. Sanson needed him. He didn’t have time to be afraid.
Maybe Sanson was right, he thought as he cautiously pulled the door open. Maybe I am mad. Guydelot slipped through the front door as quietly as he could, sticking to the foyer’s shadows as he scanned the hall before him. Just like with the courtyard, there was nothing in sight. But the oppressive, evil air he had felt outside had heightened, almost suffocating in its intensity.
Guydelot slipped back into hunter mode as he set about tracking down the source of the evil energy. He moved quickly but quietly up the stairs, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he hurried down the candlelit hallways. The manor was in complete disrepair after its previous mistress had unleashed her own voidsent into its halls, leaving nothing but broken furniture in their wake. The wallpaper had been torn in places and he had to be cautious of glass strewn across the floor. He grimaced as he caught sight of what was almost certainly dried blood caked on the carpet of one room.
As he rounded a corner, he heard a voice coming from a room at the end of the hall. Guydelot’s throat went dry, his hands tightening around his bowstring as he slowed his steps. He crept down the hall, ignoring the fear that prickled at the edges of his mind in favor and instead focused on his desire to save Sanson.
“Now darling, there’s no reason to look so morose,” Orpheus’s voice drifted out the cracked door. Guydelot pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath and hoping that the vampire wouldn’t hear the pounding of his heart. “I thought you said you were happy to return to my side?”
“I am happy!” Sanson said. Guydelot’s own heart lurched at the sound of his voice, drowning out any lingering fears he might have felt. He carefully peeked around the corner, just barely able to catch a glimpse of Sanson’s face through the crack in the door. He certainly didn’t look happy, with his brows drawn together and arms crossed across his chest. Sanson was staring at the ground as he said, “I was wrong to leave your side. It is as you said – I owe you my life, and I’ve done an awful job of showing you my gratitude.”
Sanson, you are a shit liar, Guydelot thought, leaning a bit closer so he could try and spot Orpheus. The other vampire remained out of his line of sight.
“I don’t think I quite believe you,” Orpheus hummed. Guydelot could almost picture the smirk on the bastard’s face. He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to charge through the door with arrows blazing. If there was one thing he had learned from his time at the archer’s guild, it was the importance of knowing when to wait and when to attack.
“It’s true!” Sanson insisted, looking up. “I…I want to be with you. The two of us, together forever in Amdapor. Isn’t that what you wanted? I’ll even sing for you once we get there.”
Guydelot felt sick to his stomach. He took a deep, steadying breath, reminding himself to wait for an opportune moment to attack. Movement in the room caught his eye, and when he looked back, he saw that Orpheus had moved closer and now towered over Sanson. Bile rose in his throat as he watched the vampire lift one of his claw-like hands and cup Sanson’s cheek.
“There is nothing I would like more,” the monster said. From where Guydelot was standing, he could see the corner of Orpheus’s mouth twisting up in a wicked smile. The vampire leaned down, pressing his nose against the top of Sanson’s head and inhaling so loudly it made the hairs on the back of Guydelot’s arms stand on end. “You smell like that man from the forest,” he hissed.
“I–” Sanson said, taking a shaky breath. “It’s because I drank his blood. All of it. He’s dead now.”
Orpheus threw his head back and unleashed a twisted, cruel laugh. “Dead!” he jeered. “And tell me, my love. How did he taste? Was he as good as he smelled?”
“Even better,” Sanson said in a soft, trembling voice. “His aether was the best I’ve ever had.”
Orpheus stalked around Sanson, coming to a stop right behind him. Guydelot could see the way he shuddered as Orpheus wrapped an arm around his waist, running his nose across Sanson’s shoulder and up his neck. “The best aether I’ve ever tasted was yours,” the vampire said, planting a kiss against the side of Sanson’s head.
Guydelot seethed as he watched the way Sanson’s face scrunched up in disgust. He was tired of this. He lifted his bow and aimed an arrow through the door crack. He just needed one clean shot. The moment this monster moved away from Sanson, he would let his arrow fly.
“Tell me this then, darling mine,” Orpheus crooned in Sanson’s ear. The vampire smiled serenely as he said, “If you drank all of that man’s blood and killed him, why can I smell him alive and well in our hallway?”
Guydelot forgot to breathe as Orpheus looked directly at him, smiling his large, evil smile. He had just a moment to see Sanson’s horrified face staring at him before he was grabbed by the front of his shirt. He looked up into Orpheus’s sneering face, a mere ilms from his own, and then he was flying across the room, tossed to the side like a ragdoll. Sanson screaming his name mingled with the sound of shattering glass as he slammed into a portrait that was framed on the wall. He crumpled to the ground as glass rained down on him, the wind completely knocked from his lungs.
He blinked and looked up in a daze, only to see Orpheus standing above him with his face twisted in cruel delight.
“So you meant to deceive me,” the man hissed. “Trick me into lowering my guard so your human lover could end me. You underestimate me, my love.”
“Get away from him!” Sanson screamed, charging at him. Inhumanely fast, Orpheus dropped to his knees beside Guydelot, wrapping a large hand around his throat. Sanson froze, fear visible in his large eyes.
“Please,” Sanson begged instead. “I’m the one you want. Just leave him alone, and I’ll leave with you like you wanted.”
“Such delectable smelling aether,” Orpheus said, ignoring Sanson as he stared down at Guydelot’s face. He leaned forward and inhaled deeply. “I noticed it the other day, but it truly does smell delicious–”
“Piss off, you bastard,” Guydelot spat back, clawing at the hand wrapped around his throat.
“I always enjoy the ones who fight back rather than cower in fear. The adrenaline adds a little extra flavor to the blood,” Orpheus chuckled. He turned and smirked at Sanson as he said, “You were the same way when I drank your aether. Just as fiery and full of life then as he is now. Let’s see if he tastes as good as you did.”
“Oh, fuck–” Guydelot said as Orpheus dove for his neck, mouth opened wide with fangs barred. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the bite, but it never came. Instead, the weight around his neck vanished as the sound of something heavy slamming into the ground nearby reached his ears. Guydelot opened his eyes and sat up, watching in daze as Sanson struggled against Orpehus on the floor.
“You can’t have him!” Sanson snarled, trying to punch the other vampire in the face. “You stole my life, but I won’t let you steal his too!”
Orpheus growled and moved suddenly, faster than Guydelot’s eyes could follow. One moment, Sanson was straddled on top of him, struggling to land a blow. The next, he had been flung across the room, crashing into a bookshelf.
“Sanson!” Guydelot called out, scrambling to his feet as books crashed down on him. He managed two steps in Sanson’s direction before Orpheus appeared before him again, smiling cruelly at him. Guydelot swore as the vampire made to lunge at him again, just barely managing to dive to the side in time. In that time, Sanson had managed to pull himself free from the books, his face contorted in an anger Guydelot had never seen there before.
“I said, you can’t have him!’ he shouted, diving at Orpheus again. The vampire spun around and slapped Sanson across the face hard enough that if he had been mortal, it would have surely destroyed his jaw. Instead, Sanson crashed into a bedframe and shattered it, coughing as Orpheus laughed above him.
“You cannot hope to stop me,” he said. “I created you. I was the first. Your strength is nothing compared to mine.”
He’s right, Guydelot thought with a grimace. He looked across the room at Sanson, who was clutching his ribs and gasping. A dark bruise was blossoming across his cheek where he had been struck. We have to try something else.
“Oi, bastard!” he called out, rising to his feet. Orpheus turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow in his direction. “I reckon you’re right. We’re not strong enough to beat you. But before you kill me, I’d like to do something for you.”
“Oh?” Orpheus asked, gazing at Guydelot like he was an amusing plaything. “And just what could you possibly have to offer me?”
Despite everything, Guydelot managed to smiled. He stood up straight and looked right into Orpheus’s eyes as he said, “A song. Sanson said you loved songs. When was the last time you heard a proper, bard song? I reckon it's been a lifetime now.”
That gave the vampire pause. Behind him, Guydelot could see Sanson staring up at him out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t dare look away from Orpheus. Orpheus stroked his chin, studying Guydelot’s face. “You fancy yourself a bard, do you?” he asked, unable to keep the curiosity from creeping into his voice.
“Guydelot…” Sanson mumbled from where he still sat on the ground, shaking his head at him. “Don’t.”
“Only one of the best the Black Shroud has ever seen,” Guydelot replied loudly, drowning out Sanson’s voice as he tapped his own chest. Inside, his heart was racing. Keep his attention on you, he thought. Keep him focused on you and not Sanson. “Folks say they can hear my voice calling to them throughout the forest. That it’s the most beautiful voice they’ve ever heard.”
“You’re rather full of yourself, aren’t you?” Orpheus sniffed at him, before leveling him with a smile. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t be a true bard if you weren’t. Very well then, sing your final song for me, and I will judge your talent for myself.”
Guydelot smirked at Orpheus, the fear leaving his heart. If there was one battlefield he knew he could prevail in, it was in song. He glanced down at Sanson, offering him a small, reassuring smile before facing Orpheus once more. He spared a moment to mourn that his harp had been lost in the chaos from earlier before he started to sing.
His voice was strong and smooth as he began to sing the tragic tale of a vampire who had fallen in love with a songstress, only to steal the object of his affection’s life through his own cruel, selfish actions. Guydelot’s voice rose to fill the room, his tenor echoing off the vaulted ceilings as he conveyed the sensation of loss and sorrow using song. As he sang, he thought of Sanson as he had been, young and full of life and love of song. A deep sadness struck him as he imagined the fear he must have felt and the pain of awakening to find he was no longer human. Guydelot poured those feelings into his song, allowing them to empower it and grow even stronger.
Across from him, Orpheus stood with his mouth agape, looking entranced as Guydelot’s voice echoed around them. Guydelot kept his eyes trained on him as he continued to sing, reaching the heartbreaking verse about the moment the vampire in the song realized he would never hear his beloved’s voice again. Orpheus moved slowly towards him as the song detailed the vampire’s sorrow.
“Such a beautiful voice,” Orpheus muttered to himself, staring at Guydelot’s face in awe as he approached him. “Unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.”
Guydelot’s skin tingled as he felt Orpheus’s paralysis spell descend upon him, rendering his body immoble. Still, he sang on, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the renewed fear coursing through his veins as the vampire came to a stop a few fulms from him. The song reached the final verse, detailing the way the vampire, overcome with his grief, had ended his life by driving a stake through his own heart.
He saw Sanson slowly rising to his feet behind Orpheus, but he didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t want to risk reminding the vampire that Sanson was still there. Orpheus lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles across the back of Guydelot’s cheek. If magic hadn’t been holding him in place, Guydelot would have slapped his hand away and spat in his face. Instead, he stared up into the looming vampire’s red eyes, his voice growing quiet and husky as he sang the final lyrics of the song.
“Mesmerizing,” Orpheus muttered. “You did not disappoint. I will remember this song fondly in the decades to come. I hope that your aether makes my soul sing in the same way once I’ve fully consumed you.”
Guydelot couldn’t move as Orpheus wrapped a clawed hand around his shoulder, the vampire’s claws digging into his soft flesh through his shirt. His breath froze in his lungs as Orpheus loomed over him, his mouth opening to reveal fangs longer and more terrifying than the ones Sanson bore. Matron save me, he thought as Orpheus drew closer, head angled towards his neck and the vampire’s hot breath making his skin prickle in fear.
Just as Orpheus was about to sink his fangs into Guydelot’s neck, the vampire lurched back, throwing his head back as he unleashed a pained howl that echoed throughout the manor halls. Guydelot blinked in shock, vaguely noticing that the paralysis spell had been lifted. As he took a step backwards, trying to put distance between them, Orpheus spun around, his screams still reverberating throughout the room. Guydelot’s eyes grew wide as he saw one of the broken bed posts jutting out of the vampire’s back, right where his heart would be.
“You!” Orpheus shrieked at Sanson, who was standing a short distance away, glaring at the vampire. Guydelot’s heart swelled with love and pride at the sight of him, a goofy grin spreading unbidden across his face.
“You treacherous bastard!” Orpheus howled again. “I’ll kill you! I should have let you stay dead!”
As the vampire charged at him, Sanson lifted another piece of the shattered bed post, pointing the sharp, jagged end at him. Before Orpheus could react, he plunged it right into the vampire’s chest, again right where his heart should be. Orpheus unleashed a ghastly scream as Sanson shoved the stake even further into his chest, black blood splattering onto the floor.
“Go to hell, you craven bastard,” Sanson hissed, pushing the broken wood even harder. Guydelot snapped out of the daze he was in and charged forward, gripping the piece that jutted out of the vampire’s back and pushing in as well. As they pushed, Orpheus' angry howls rose even louder, his skin turning gray and cracking. The smell of burning flesh and hair made Guydelot’s stomach turn, but he didn’t stop, pushing the stake in with all the strength he could muster.
Suddenly, the vampire burst into a cloud of dark, rancid aether, his shrieks echoing throughout the halls before slowly disappearing. Sanson and Guydelot both stumbled to their knees, the broken pieces of the bed frame clattering to the ground beside them. They stared at the lingering dark aether above them, panting heavily as it swirled in the air. After what felt like an age, the lingering aether disappeared, taking with it the overwhelming feeling of dread and fear that had permeated the entire manor.
“It’s done,” Sanson said in a small voice. “He’s…he’s gone.”
“Matron’s teats,” Guydelot swore, laying down against the ground on his back as he breathed heavily. “I almost can’t believe that worked.”
Sanson chuckled beside him, hanging his head so his bangs covered his face. Guydelot watched the way his shoulders shook, the vampire’s hand coming up to cover his face. With a sudden shock, he realized that Sanson wasn’t laughing – he was crying.
“Hey, hey,” Guydelot said softly, sitting back up and reaching to pull Sanson into his arms. He tucked Sanson’s head under his chin and said, “It’s alright now, Sanson. He’s gone.”
“Forgive me,” Sanson said, his voice muffled against Guydelot’s chest. “I’ve just…I’ve lived in fear of him for so long. I can’t believe it’s over.”
“You ain’t got nothing to apologize for,” Guydelot said fondly. “It’s over. You don’t need to be afraid anymore. Though I am planning on giving you an earful later about running off to fight him on your own. Don’t you ever try to sacrifice yourself for me again.”
This time, Sanson’s laugh was genuine. “Understood. It won’t happen again.”
They sat together in silence for a while, Sanson’s tears flowing softly while Guydelot hummed a gentle lullaby with his cheek pressed against the top of Sanson’s head. Eventually, Sanson’s tears subsided, though he remained curled in Guydelot’s arms, fiddling with his buttons.
“It was the song,” Sanson said softly. “The verse about how the vampire killed himself with a stake. I saw the broken post on the ground, and I knew he was going to kill you, so I just…grabbed the post and shoved it into his back. I wasn’t even sure if it would work.”
“Lucky me it did!” Guydelot mused. Sanson leaned back and smiled up at him.
“I told you I wouldn’t let him hurt you,” Sanson replied. “I’m glad you’re safe. Losing you would have been the end of me as well.”
Guydelot smiled back, before unwinding his arms from around Sanson and rising to his feet. “I feel the same way about you,” he replied, reaching down to offer Sanson a hand. “Though now that the whoreson is gone, it would make me one happy bard if you would join your voice to mine from time to time.”
Sanson beamed at him as he took his hand. “Perhaps I will,” he said as Guydelot pulled him up. “Though my voice pales in comparison to yours.”
“We’ll see about that,” Guydelot replied. He wrapped an arm around Sanson’s waist, pulling him close so he could press a long, tender kiss against his lips. When they pulled away, Sanson’s cheeks had turned a dark red, though he was smiling fiercely. Guydelot chuckled as he laced their fingers together, leading the way back to the front door.
“Though between you and me, I think I’m properly sick of that depressing vampire song,” Guydelot mused as they headed down the stairs.
“Oh?” Sanson asked. “And what would you like to play instead?”
“I think I’d like to make a new song,” Guydelot replied, looking over his shoulder at Sanson. “Together.”
*****
Life in the Twelveswood quickly returned to normal without Orpheus to cast a shadow upon it. The attacks throughout the Shroud had stopped and, with no leads of what had caused them to begin with, the citizens of Gridania eventually turned their attention back to other matters. Guydelot, for his part, said nothing to anyone about his part in stopping the attacks. He’d rather the existence of vampires stay a folk legend for the time being.
Instead, he returned to infuriating his superiors by being lazy and disobedient, and amusing Jehantel by showing up late to his lessons. He spent more time than not strumming his harp, trying to perfect a new song that he had been hard at work at. One about a man who had fallen in love with a vampire and how together they had defeated the evil that had threatened to keep them apart, allowing them to live the rest of their lives together happily. Guydelot was hoping it would become a new All Saint’s Wake classic.
Everywhere he traveled throughout the Twelveswood, he was followed once again by a small, cute bat. Guydelot could recognize this bat anywhere. Even when he couldn’t see him amongst the trees, he could sense him and knew he was there. Guydelot didn’t mind, and would often chat with the bat while performing his Quiverman duties. Sometimes, he’d even sing the bat songs he was working on.
He strolled into his favorite East Shroud glade one evening just as the sun had begun to set, filling the Twelveswood with beautiful shades of orange and yellow. Sanson was already there waiting for him, scribbling away in a notebook that Guydelot had gifted him. He looked up as Guydelot walked towards him, his smile bright and warm.
“I thought you had lessons with Jehantel today?” Sanson teased.
“I did, but I told him I had to ditch out early to go meet someone important,” Guydelot smirked, bending down to plant a kiss against the top of Sanson’s head before sitting down beside him. Guydelot knew Jehantel suspected his heart had become enraptured by someone – it was the only reason the old man would have let him leave his lessons early. He hoped that he could introduce Jehantel and Sanson – at least in person rather than bat form – to each other soon.
Guydelot pulled out his harp and pressed it against his chest, plucking out a quick melody. “Let’s do the lyrics we wrote up yesterday,” he said. “I’ve been humming them all day.”
“I know,” Sanson giggled, his familiar fangs flashing. He no longer covered his mouth whenever he laughed. “I heard you while you were patrolling through the South Shroud.”
Gudyelot snorted, his heart feeling so warm and fond that it just might burst. He started to play their song, his fingers gliding along the strings as they plucked out a sweet melody. Sanson watched him with soft eyes and an even softer smile, one that Guydelot couldn’t help but return. A few chords into the song, with voices and hearts as one, they started to sing.