Thank you to Smoke for spotting that had taken out my story section markers. If you hadn't mentioned breaking it up, I would never have known that they'd been eaten. Hope it's clearer now!

Author's notes: Warning! Contains very, very mild slash as it was written as an entry for Neofox's SRSlash competition. I'm hopeless at writing slash anyway, so I tend to focus on angst. Go the angst. There's nothing in here I wouldn't show to a 12 year old. So there.

Other than that, I blame this fic on the Rasmus.

Oops, yes. Spoilers for all games.

- -

The snow swirled downwards, a soft dance of flakes that flitted across the field of his vision and kissed at his eyelashes as they landed. Around him the lake at the base of the cliffs spread out like a field of white ivory, its surface frozen solid in the grip of midwinter. He could feel the chill of the ice even through the thick leather of his boots, creeping up from the surface of the frozen lake and stealing into his bones like a cancer.

His gaze wandered upwards tracing across the surface of the ice-slick cliffs to the point far above that lay in shadow. A dark opening in the rock, carved centuries ago by a cursed and foul magic to look out in terrible arrogance at the creatures that trembled below. Raziel's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened with a creak of leather gloves. The Sarafan guards hovering close to him felt the tightening in his posture and drifted further away, reluctant to become the focus of his ire.

A grim smile traced over his lips, it was well they maintained their distance from him for his thoughts would have shaken the resolve of these faithful hardened warriors of his. Besides which, he yearned for the isolation of the ice, if only for a brief while.

He stared upwards into the darkness and tried to pick out movement in the gloom. Perhaps there, far to the back of the balcony, skulking in the obscurity afforded by the shadowy base of a pillar, the creature lurked. It was a rare occasion indeed that saw the demon show his form to the moonlight and the jeering Sarafan below. Raziel had not liked the taunting and his word had put a stop to it, at least on the occasions when he was present. He felt it lowered the higher purpose of their calling, rudely tarnished the shine of their righteous cause by reducing them to futile name-calling. The mute corpses hanging impaled, the strips of their rotting flesh swaying in the breeze were testimony enough to the divine endorsement that was affording their campaign victory.

He was glad it was snowing; the cold froze the flesh of the beasts and held its stench at bay. In summer, this place would become unbearable.

The guards at his back wandered further away, their gaits stiff and their demeanours fierce, painfully aware of the presence of a commanding officer. He was glad they were gone, but he did not allow his shoulders to relax.

Four years. Four years of watching and waiting, railing against the inability to reach out and disarm the threat that hovered above them. Four years of ineffectual campaigning, hatred and malice. For what good was it snapping seedlings if the ancient yew still stood able to produce more?

He sighed, his breath clouding in the chill morning air. It had been a strange four years since his appointment to Sarafan General. His primary goal from the very start of the campaign, as given to him by Moebius himself, was the complete eradication of the vampiric curse. Starting with that demon lurking up there.

The first time Raziel had laid eyes upon Janos Audron, he had steeled himself for the worst. After all, the murals of the fiend displayed throughout the stronghold portrayed a vicious monster out of some twisted and nightmare fairytale. And so when he had undertaken his first watch at the foot of the demon's retreat he had been half expecting the creature to stand drooling and spewing diabolical flames from his eyes and mouth. He had been somewhat surprised and a little disappointed to neither see nor hear anything of the vampire even after months of frustrated waiting. However, he had not given up hope and the wait became for him a type of game. He knew, deep inside him, that the vampire lord was watching him. He could feel his fiendish gaze on the flesh of his face, travelling across his features and down over his armour to the sword at his hip. In return, he gazed steadfastly upwards into the dark, matching an unseen stare with a bold defiant stare of righteousness and not a little curiosity.

It was three months before the vampire deigned to show himself to the waiting human. There had been a sudden stirring in the darkness of the balcony which at first he had taken for a trick of the light, and then a tall elegant figure had moved to the edge and leant against the balustrade. Raziel's first thought had been, well, that's not so bad.

He was too far away to make out any intricate details, but he could see even from that distance the fiendish hue to the creature's skin and the sweeping arch of its wings draping down behind its back.

But no fire, certainly no brimstone and a remarkable absence of drooling. Almost disappointing really.

They had played their game of hide and seek on and off over the next three years, always with the Sarafan General stood silent and unmoving at the water's edge and the vampire lord graceful and ethereal and utterly untouchable up in the darkness.

Until one night, one midwinter night not so unlike this one now.

He had stood alone in the drifting snow, standing on one of the islands of rock in the lake of frozen ice, looking out across the landscape. In the tents some distance away, the men and women of the Sarafan argued and made merry, the light from their fires cheerful in the darkness. He had sent them to their carousing with good grace, bidding them to make merry on this midwinter, he would keep the watch, he would join them shortly. Yes, they must go and celebrate their continued existence and drive a wall of good cheer out into the night.

And so he stood alone.

The falling snow must have muffled the beating of the creature's wings for it was the pressure of its eyes upon his neck that alerted him to its presence before any dim sound that its arrival had made could do so. His shoulders stiffened and it must have been perceptible to the one watching, or perhaps it was simply within a vampire's power to discern such things, for next he heard;

"Does the chill distress you, child?"

The tone was soft and solicitous, tinged with a curious accent that at once enchanted and dismayed him with its alien lilt. It was vaguely reminiscent of the accent of the mountain folk, with their harsh names and mangling of the good and common tongue. And it was close, perhaps only a few metres away from his right side. He refused to give any indication of surprise, instead sliding his eyes to the right with as much calm dispassion as he could muster. He was damned if he was going to appear flustered in front of this thing.

In the clarity afforded by the refraction of the moon through the clouds, he could see the tall form of the demon standing proud in the swirling snow. Flakes drifted down in elegant spirals, twisting about the creature's form and accentuating its stillness. From the shape of its shoulders he guessed that it held its arms casually behind its back, its hands loosely joined in a mocking imitation of a human at ease with its surroundings. A sneer pulled at the Sarafan's mouth, twisting his lips upwards. In scorn he turned his head to fully face the abomination and replied,

"Should you think not of your own comfort, demon? Or are you too far removed from humanity's plight to-"

The words stuck in his throat; he could not continue. The face of the demon was open and expectant, the head tilted slightly to one side, waiting. There was no anger in the face and no malice. He looked across into eyes as wide and deeply golden as the sands of the southern coast and lost all ability to speak.

The snowflakes drifted down between them, dancing with one another as they passed, oblivious to the plight of the stricken mortal. He choked and broke gazes with the creature, looking away and to the side, shaken to his core by what he saw in the other's face. He searched for words, a rescue for his floundering manner and could find none.

"-to...to care?"

He turned back to the frozen vista and stared out into the darkness. After a time he felt rather than heard the other approach, and caught out of the corner of his eye the flicker of his shadow as he drew near. The two stood in silence for the space of a heartbeat, and then the vampire's voice broke the stillness, cultured and lilting.

"I care."

The sounds of merrymaking drifted out across the ice from the tents of his brethren. The glow from the campfires was warm and inviting in the biting cold of the night, a bastion against the cruel grip of winter. He should alert the others to the threat of the creature, make its presence known to them so that they may strike its scourge from the land.

"Am I so terrible to you that you refuse to even meet my gaze?"

He hesitated, his pride stung. Staring straight ahead into the snowfields, the sneer returned to curl his lip.

"Your words have no power over me, demon. I bear no witness to the works of your sly-"

"Am I so foul?"

The breath of the wind whirled snowflakes into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He blinked fiercely to clear his gaze, his grip tightening on the pommel of his sword. His men were not far away, it would take but a single cry from him to rouse them. They could be here in an instant and slay the creature where it stood. This creature with whom he had played the game of watched and watcher for the past three years.

He turned suddenly and addressed the tall figure.

"Why now? What devilry brings you down from your tower, fiend?"

The other turned to him also, revealing to the wary Sarafan the fullness of his strange form.

"To see you of course. I have been led to believe that three years is a long span for any human to devote himself to something so...abstract as the pursuit of another's visage."

Dark eyebrows arched over the deep-set eyes of the creature, an expression of innocent curiosity. Raziel stayed his hand where it toyed with the act of drawing his blade, hesitantly considering the merits of conversation with this creature. To learn more of the mind behind the enemy may allow invaluable insight into its methods and its weaknesses. He composed himself, bracing his body for any sudden movement on the other's behalf, ready to draw his blade and strike in an instant if the need arose, and regarded the vampire thoughtfully.

He had never seen blue skin before, a cerulean hue of summer skies and still, cool pools of water under the open firmament. The creature's musculature was well-defined and powerful, the unnatural hue of its skin making it seem as though he had been carved out of some blue stone by an artist's hands. Short cropped black hair was streaked with grey affording him an air of gentility and learning that did not befit such a monster. Raziel narrowed his eyes and regarded the demon's raiment with interest. White wool of a thinness that made him think it may not be wool after all, trimmed with gold thread and hemmed neatly on all edges. Raziel was not sure what he had been expecting, but finely made clothing was not part of it. The garb flowed loosely around the thighs of the creature and yet was fitted sufficiently to allow free movement of the wings that adorned its back like great folded clouds of black.

Suddenly it occurred to him that the white was an odd colour for a vampire to wear for surely it would show clearly the blood the fiend spilt in his foul workings. Raziel scowled at the creature and clenched his teeth to avoid speaking the thought aloud. It would not do to be provoking the creature now if he wished to gain anything of value from this encounter. But a quiet fury nonetheless coloured his voice when next he replied.

"And now that you have seen me demon, what do you intend to do?"

The vampire drew in a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips as he turned his head to look out over the lake.

"Perhaps you would care to walk with me?" he said, gesturing out across the ice. The movement drew Raziel's eyes to the creature's revealed hand. It was unlike any appendage he had seen before. The vampires that he had slain in service of the Sarafan had elongated black nails that more closely resembled claws than anything that should rightly adorn a human hand, but at least there had been five of them to each hand. This creature's fingers, if they could even be referred to as such, were thick and tipped with sharp black claws, but their perversity lay in that there were only two fingers and one thumb to each hand. Like that of a bird he thought. Suddenly in the face of this revelation he was once more on his guard.

"No. We will remain here."

He had no doubt that the creature intended to lure him off onto the ice and kill him out of reach of aid from the other Sarafan. It shrugged at his words, seemingly undisturbed by the venom in his voice.

"As you wish. I merely thought to remove us to more pleasant surroundings. Or perhaps you enjoy the company of my kind too much for that?"

Raziel stared at him in mute confusion for some time before through his instinctive anger at the creature's words, he realised that he was referring to the two impaled corpses standing silent a few feet behind them.

"Do they disturb you, vampire?" he said with a vicious half-smile.

Janos returned his gaze, apparently unperturbed by the question.

"I have grown accustomed to them. Their plight is long over. For them, I can do no more."

There was silence between them for a few minutes broken only by the clashing of ale mugs and a sudden spike in the volume of conversation from the tents behind them.

"Then what do you want?"

Eyes like liquid gold regarded him thoughtfully, their steady gaze unbroken by the snow flakes twirling before them.

"I want to talk to you."

Raziel snorted softly, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Our kind have nothing to say to each other. Our conversation is only in the last moments before death and the final judgement. What else is there for us to discuss? Our stances are too far distant, our beliefs too polar for there ever to be open discourse between our two kinds."

"Perhaps. But do you not think that through all these years of war and bloodshed, there may not be some other topic that is fit for us to discuss?"

"Then talk, demon, and I shall listen until I deem I have heard enough."

They stared at each other then for a long moment, each one unwilling perhaps to be the first to break the silence. At length, Janos settled his arms across his chest and heaved a deep sigh.

"You do not make this easy for me, do you?"

"Should I?"

A smile and then, "no, of course not. Why should you?"

The snow swirled down around them, the chill biting deeper into Raziel's flesh as the night deepened towards midnight. Overhead the clouds obscured any sight of the stars. The two stood together in silence for some time just staring out into the darkness.

"Well then. Good night, human."

Raziel started in surprise. That was it?

"Good night...vampire."

Janos unfolded his arms and with only the slightest bend of his knees, leapt into the air. The downdraft from his wings blew a rush of snowflakes into Raziel's face forcing him to shield his eyes. When he lowered his hands, the vampire was gone.

That had been a year ago. Perhaps it was to the day, Raziel was not certain. It was certainly the same time of year now as their first face to face meeting had been. The same snow, the same ice, the same godforsaken chill. His lips curled up in a snarl to remember the months that had followed their first meeting. The vampire had returned often after that. Always when Raziel was alone, always when his Sarafan warriors were out of sight and never before nightfall even though Raziel knew for a fact that the creature was old enough to withstand daylight's touch.

Their next few meetings had been much the same as their first. The vampire opening with a cordial greeting which the Sarafan returned with icy politeness. They would then stand in silence for some time until the vampire tried some new tack to draw his taciturn companion into conversation. Raziel kept his answers short and vague and never encouraged the creature to continue. He may be willing to attempt some information gathering from this creature's speech, but he was damned if he was going to provide any sort of entertainment for it whatsoever. God forbid it should come to consider him some sort of...companion.

Mostly the vampire would visit with him for about an hour, rarely longer. It would come down two, maybe three times a week, and Raziel began ensuring that his watch was placed around midnight every night to allow for any night-time visitations. After a month of visits, always mostly silent, Janos began to speak to Raziel of vague concepts. Often it was observations on the state of the land, the trees were beautiful in their winter glory with their white coats of snow, or perhaps he would speak of people that he had seen travelling on the roads. All these things Raziel listened to in silence, nodding once or twice to show that if nothing else, he was paying attention.

The days had passed, slowly winter lapsed into the first hints of spring bringing a new warmth to the land that the Sarafan on duty were immensely glad of. The new season brought with it a change in mood for Raziel also so that now when the vampire came visiting him at night he felt ready to open up new avenues of conversation. This time when Janos made an observation on some aspect of life, Raziel began to offer an opinion of his own which occasionally led them into a brief, slightly stilted conversation on whatever topic they had wandered into that night.

Gradually, without even realising it, Raziel began to relax in the other's presence. Indeed had he realised what was occurring no doubt he would have been furious with himself for his slip in discipline. For now despite his own beliefs, he had begun to think of the other as something apart from the rest of vampiredom. Indeed Janos was already so unlike the petty vampires that he was used to hunting that the distinction growing in his mind was almost natural. With the distinction came also a growing curiousity about the other that could not be succoured by mere observations about the weather. Thus it was that Raziel began to follow down a path that when he thought back on now, he felt a fool for not recognising for where it could possibly have been leading.

"The cold then, you do not feel it?"

Janos shifted and shrugged.

"I...do feel it. It is not so much of an issue for me however. It is necessary for my people not to succumb to extreme lows of temperature, the sky is not a warm place after all."

"How so? I do not understand. Surely one is closer to the Sun and hence closer to its warming effects when in the skies?"

"Well..."

"Ah, but of course, you do not fly during the day do you?"

"Well no, there you are incorrect. I do fly during the day. However it is just as cold then as it is during the night."

"I do not understand."

"Let me explain. As best I can at any rate. The land is jealous of the heat she receives from the Sun during the day and keeps it to herself rather than letting it escape into the sky."

"But surely the sky is just as warm throughout as it is here. Indeed is it not warmer the closer one gets to the Sun?"

"Well, that I cannot say as I have not flown even close to the Sun I can assure you. However, I can say that the further up one flies, the colder the air is, and indeed the harder it is to breathe. It seems to us that there is a blanket of thick air that lies across the surface of the land and traps beneath it the heat of the Sun. If one flies through this blanket and indeed perhaps above, then it would become more chill than the depths of winter and perchance impossible even to breathe at all."

Raziel considered Janos' words in silence for some time.

"You are quite mad, vampire."

"Perhaps."

Raziel eyed the tall form of the creature beside him. They had wandered some small distance from the encampment to remove themselves from the sight of the other Sarafan on watch and stood now beneath the boughs of an oak just beginning to show the first buds of spring bloom. He could not imagine flying, it seemed like such an impossibility to him wingless as he was. His gaze traced down over the sleek black outline of Janos' wings lying folded over his back like some great feathered cloak. He wondered suddenly what the feathers felt like. Janos must have felt the pressure of his eyes on him for Raziel caught the other watching him from the corner of his golden eye as he traced his gaze over his wings.

Janos gave him a small, unassuming smile and Raziel pursed his lips, looking quickly away as though he had never even intended to be looking there in the first place.

Some nights later he again found himself in contemplation of the other's wings. The thought of flying fascinated him. This time however, Janos caught him openly appraising his wings and Raziel could do nothing to hide the fact that would not have made him look foolish and awkward. So instead he admitted to his fascination and dived headfirst into the conversation, eager to learn more about this strange ability.

"Do you find them...heavy?" he asked, referring to Janos' wings.

The vampire chuckled softly and shook his head.

"You may as well ask do you find your arms heavy? Or your head? My wings are as much a part of me as your arms are a part of you. Unless in a time of great physical exertion, they do not feel heavy to me in the least."

Raziel nodded thoughtfully and allowed his gaze to wander over the other's shoulders and neck noting the thick cording of muscles that ran to support the bones of the wings and power their movement. His eyes came to rest on the fold of the wings, untangling the complex system of muscles and ligaments that allowed the appendage to fold in that easy manner. At Janos' open smile he took a step closer.

The vampire allowed one wing to unfurl slightly from his back affording the other a better view of the joint. Raziel leaned in a little closer, tracing the lines of muscle running under the coating of down. He glanced up at Janos' face, looking for any discomfiture in the other's features and found none. He tentatively raised one hand.

"May I?"

Janos nodded, his eyes slightly hooded. "By all means," he said softly.

Raziel tugged the glove off his right hand and gently ran the tips of his fingers over the long flight feathers. They felt dry and slightly waxy to his touch, much as he had expected. Carefully, aware of the closeness and sheer physical strength of the creature next to him, he ran the back of his fingers across the soft down of the inner wing. Janos drew in a sharp breath and Raziel flinched away slightly as the vampire's wing twitched sharply beneath his touch.

Janos gave him an embarrassed smile and shook his head quickly at Raziel's poised form.

"Sorry. That is...ah, ticklish."

"Oh. Forgive me."

They gazed at each other for a few seconds then, both sorting through the sudden awkwardness for something to say. After that, Raziel steered the conversation resolutely away from the subject of flight and of wings.

That week Raziel received word that his presence was required elsewhere in Nosgoth and so he packed up what scant belongings he possessed and rode south. It took him three days to reach the coven he had been sent to eradicate, a further week to capture all of the fiends, a day to torture the location of their friends out of their broken bodies and a day for the executions. He remained in the village for another three days as reassurance to the local populace that their lives were no longer in any danger before heading back to resume his watch at the vampire lord's retreat. As he rode he considered the situation that he had found himself in with the vampire lord. It had been three months now that they had been holding their midnight meetings and still he wasn't wholly certain how he felt about the arrangement. He still considered the creature to be an absolute fiend in need of salvation and ultimately destruction, but he was somewhat disturbed to discover that he no longer felt as certain about how to achieve such an end. Shaking his head furiously he cursed himself for a fool and kicked his horse into a gallop that would return him swiftly to his watch.

He returned to a camp alight with jubilation. His Sarafan greeted him with their usual adoration, taking his horse and his pack before he could even protest. A young man, new to Raziel's eyes, was pushed forward out of the crowd for his inspection. The boy looked like a new recruit, his armour was polished to within an inch of its life, his necktie was clean if a little sloppily tied and he veritably glowed with pride. He carried a longbow slung over his left shoulder.

Captain Nathanial stood at the boy's side, one hand resting on his shoulder. "This is Soldier Givens, Sir," he said. The boy saluted sharply, staring a hole straight through Raziel's left shoulder.

"This young man put an arrow into that fiend's wing and tumbled him from the sky!"

Oh. Damn.

"I see. Did you catch him?"

"Well, no, sir. The fiend was too fast for us, gone by the time we'd reached him. But nonetheless, Givens struck him a telling blow with his arrow."

Raziel regarded the boy thoughtfully as he pulled off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt.

"My congratulations, Givens. Keep this up and you may be the man to fell that beast once and for all. Next time, aim for its black heart."

He drew the boy into the circle of Sarafan and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"This young man is a fine example to us all of what courage and a clear purpose can achieve. His heart is pure and so the flight of his arrows is true. He has God's blessing upon him. Take courage from his example and know that together, holding true to our cause, we will attain our destined goal with ease. These fiends are not long for this world my brothers and sisters with fine holy warriors such as these in our midst."

He walked back to his tent with the cheers of his warriors ringing in his ears.

That night he sought the company of his men rather than taking a midnight watch. He felt that the news of Given's achievement had struck him in too much of an odd manner. There had been more than a mere hint of dismay in his reaction to the news and he sought to drown the strangeness of his feelings in tales of the raids he had carried out in the south during his absence. That night there was much toasting of the young man amidst the usual tales of daring and bloodshed told to bolster the spirits of those tired of the seemingly endless quest for a world free of the vampiric stain. Raziel smiled and laughed throughout, telling his share of tales and clapping appreciatively the stories of the others. Not once did he allow his thoughts to turn to the mysterious figure of Janos Audron. Indeed, if the vampire visited the camp at all that night, Raziel remained unaware of it. That night he slept soundly and did not awake until morning had fully brightened the sky.

The night came around again after another day of fruitless watching and waiting. His men brought two more dead vampires down from the hills, their bodies lying impaled in the back of a cart. He watched as they erected them at the edge of the lake, turning the pain stricken faces up towards the vampire lord's balcony.

That night, he decided to take the midnight watch again and see what the hours of darkness brought with them. He was to be disappointed however. The night passed without incident and without any sign of the vampire lord, not even a flicker of movement at the balcony's edge to betray his watching presence.

When the vampire still did not appear after an entire week, Raziel began to lose hope of ever laying eyes upon him again. Perhaps Givens' actions had sent the creature into a fury, but if so, it was a quiet fury. Perhaps he was more deeply wounded than Raziel had at first suspected. But then he discounted the possibility, Janos Audron was the most ancient of the vampires, no doubt his flesh closed itself within moments of having been cleaved.

And perhaps, and here the Sarafan inquisitor smiled, perhaps he was being...ignored?

He chuckled to himself in the darkness and pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders.

"Spring is in the air, and yet it is still a cold night, is it not so?"

Raziel jumped and whirled, his cloak swirling out around him with the movement.

"Dear God, vampire, where did you come from?" he demanded.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

"You damn near made me jump out of my skin!" snapped Raziel and immediately regretted the words. He had not meant to sound so familiar, or so unaware. He drew himself up, flipping his cloak fussily around his shoulders and ran a critical eye over the other. Janos was perched in the shadows on a rise of rock, seated carefully with his long legs resting on the shelves of rock. He looked relaxed and comfortable and the Inquisitor wondered just how long he had been sat there silently observing him.

Janos had leaned one elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his fist so that he appeared thoughtful and somewhat aristocratic in a way that Raziel could not quite put his finger on. He seemed somewhat tired for his features were drawn and under the blue of his skin there seemed to be an uncustomary paleness. The Sarafan squinted at him in the darkness, aware of a difference in the other's posture.

"Are you quite well, vampire?" he said at length.

"I am well."

Janos' gaze was steady and his voice was even; his eyes never left Raziel. The Sarafan for his part placed his hands on his hips and made a show of surveying the surrounding land. Eventually when Janos appeared to have nothing further to say, he turned his head and said back over his shoulder, "I hear one of my men struck you a blow with his arrow. I trust from your presence here that you have recovered from the incident?"

He heard Janos moving in the darkness, the graze of feathers across the surface of the rock and the tiny sounds of falling grit as he shifted the position of his feet.

"I am well."

Raziel frowned in annoyance.

"If that is all you can say, fiend, then I suggest we end this conversation now for I have no will to pursue it further."

He turned to gauge the vampire's reaction but his gaze met only the empty darkness.

"Janos?"

He peered into the darkness, tried to penetrate the gloom with his mortal eyes.

"Vampire?"

He took a hesitant step towards the rocks, aware that if he went further it would put him a significant distance away from the light of the lanterns hung around the outskirts of the camp.

"Damn you..." he whispered.

"Do you not consider it too late for that?"

Raziel whirled again to find the vampire stood at his shoulder looking down at him with a strange expression on his stark features.

"What is this?" Raziel demanded. "What game are you playing, fiend?"

Janos breathed a long sigh and clasped his hands behind his back. His eyes travelled over the other's face as he replied, "there is no game here save that of the most ancient of all. Life."

He turned and strode slowly towards the golden light spilling from the lantern at the edge of the camp. Raziel started forward concerned that Janos would be spotted by the other guards, but the vampire halted just at the edge of the pool of radiance.

"What are you doing?"

"Do you not see how we are all moved interminably forward by the wheel of life? Our births, our lives, our deaths. All endlessly repeated, on and on into the darkness of infinity. Even when we are no longer bound to the wheel still we are slaves to Fate, children of Destiny. Our paths are unchangeable, fixed to a course from which, despite our best efforts, our every futile resistance, we are unable to stray. Do you know what it is like to live forever, human?"

Raziel stared at the vampire's back with a growing sense of horror. This driven creature was unlike the Janos he had grown accustomed to speaking with of an evening.

"What has come over you, Janos?" he replied, using the vampire's name like a lifeline, hoping that the word coming from his mouth would somehow bring the vampire back to reality.

"Do you not ever think of the possibility of failure, human? Have you never considered the consequences of your utter defeat, the total annihilation of your every hope, your every dream? What would become of you people were you to fall?"

Raziel bristled.

"Why, another would step forward to take my place, and if they were to fall, another would stand forth until there were no humans left on the face of Nosgoth. Until the fight no longer mattered because there were none left to come forward," he plunged on before the other could interrupt. "And still we would be victorious for our spirit would not have failed even unto the last!"

"Dear God...have you ever listened to yourself? That I should ever sound that way...forgive me, my people..."

"What are you talking about, vampire?"

"Vampire, vampire, always vampire!" Janos whispered.

"Janos Audron!"

The vampire raised his head, turning to look at Raziel, surprise widening his golden eyes slightly. His mouth parted as though he were about to speak but no sound passed his lips. He stared for a long moment at the Sarafan, and then his shoulders relaxed, his wings falling slightly with the movement. The action drew Raziel's eyes to the vampire's left wing joint. The feathers there were kinked, falling unevenly as though some had been lost. He stored the information away for future reference and then peered closely at the other, alert for any threat.

"Are you quite finished?"

Janos shook his head slowly, his eyes falling to regard the dirt at his feet. He looked defeated. Raziel shifted uncertainly and flipped his cloak again, a nervous action that he had picked up almost as soon as he had first been given the garment when he enlisted.

"What is your name, human? You never have told me."

The question took Raziel by surprise. Upon consideration, he supposed that he never had told the vampire his name. He had imagined somehow that the creature would have already known the name of his arch-nemesis. Narrowing his eyes he folded his arms and replied coldly, "I am surprised you have not already taken that information from my mind. Is that not a power of your people?"

A small, sad smile graced Janos' features briefly.

"Child of such little faith. I am disappointed. No, I have not 'taken' that information from your mind. I was rather hoping you would tell me yourself."

Raziel frowned and looked away, feeling suddenly stubborn. There was no need for him to share his name if the vampire did not already know it. Such courtesies were reserved for human interactions. Instead he looked pointedly at Janos' wing.

"Did my man strike your wing with his arrow?" he said.

Janos sighed quietly into the darkness.

"It was a lucky shot. He hit the joint."

"I heard that he tumbled you from the sky, is this true?"

"It is somewhat hard to fly with an arrow embedded in the crook of one's wing."

Raziel snorted indelicately, "does it pain you?"

"I am well."

"Damn you, vampire! I am merely extending the common courtesy of concern! Can you not at least pretend acknowledgement?" Raziel snapped, exasperatedly.

"There is nothing more to say," Janos replied stiffly. "The wing is healed, it is of no concern."

But the stubbornness had not yet left Raziel and it rose up in him now along with a flash of anger at the other's evasiveness. He looked around and then gestured sharply to Janos.

"Come over here, into the moonlight. Show me."

Janos' raised eyebrows spoke eloquently his surprise at the other's demand, but he followed the human's order meekly enough and crossed back to the rock outcrop, traversing its base to find a more well-lit spot. Raziel followed him, armed with his outrage and superiority, and stood at the other's back while he settled himself on the rocks.

"Show me the wound."

Janos complied, carefully unfurling his wing, his smile of amusement at the human's demands quickly fading to a look of studied blankness as he flexed the wounded joint.

"It pains you still," Raziel asserted softly.

Janos laughed quietly and shook his head, but not in negation.

"Your boy has a keen eye. The arrow tore the muscle, entered the joint. The ligaments have healed but they are still new and painful. Stiff. It will pass."

"It will help to flex the joint, rebuild the muscle," Raziel replied. Very gently he placed his hands on the bones of the wing, one either side of the joint. With his thumbs he carefully explored the skin around the joint. It was thickened in places, scarred in a strange way, unlike anything to which he was accustomed. Janos flinched slightly as he pressed along the thick cording of muscle that supported the joint, applying pressure with his thumb pads, working the flesh to relax it.

"You hold this wing stiffly. Relax it and it will heal faster."

The vampire's head was lowered, his elbows resting on his knees leaving his hands to hang loosely between his legs. He appeared to be enjoying Raziel's touch. The Sarafan shook his head at the sight, his thoughts awhirl. He did not know what he was doing here tending to the aching wings of the greatest enemy humanity had ever known. But it seemed like the right thing to do. Perhaps he could gain the creature's trust and somehow, someday use it against him.

"I missed your company these past few weeks, human. Where did you go?"

Raziel paused in his thoughts, and considered.

"South," he said eventually. "To meet with my brothers there."

"To slay my people," Janos said softly.

Raziel paused for a long while before replying.

"Yes. I am a Sarafan General. It is my duty to cleanse this land of the vampiric curse."

From where he stood he could just see the slight curving of the other's lips into a strange, wistful smile.

"Then we are alike, you and I."

"I do not understand."

Janos plucked his wing from Raziel's hands and shifted around to face him. His eyes held a strange intensity that the Sarafan had never before seen. It made him draw back, but Janos lifted a hand and gripped his wrist preventing his movement.

"We both seek an end to this curse that wracks my people. If only there was some way of uniting our purposes to the benefit of all, I would seize that opportunity in an instant."

Raziel was transfixed by the sudden fire in the other's eyes, Janos' grip was firm but not painful, he felt in no danger from the vampire. The thought that he was trapped and at the other's mercy did not occur to him, he remained mesmerised by the intensity of the other's words. The moonlight picked out the planes and angles of the vampire's face, he looked noble and wise, passionate in his enthusiasm.

"I fear though, my friend. I fear my time here is not long, and there is still so much left to do. But of these things you know nothing, forgive me. I am so tired."

"Do not ask my forgiveness yet, Janos. For I know not of what you speak," Raziel whispered. His voice was low and soft, he felt as though there was not enough breath in his whole body to give his voice the substance he wanted it to have. He was bereft of the strength that he needed to offer consolation to the other man. The vampire's words seemed to have a strange hold over him, more than their meaning warranted, but Raziel could not find it in himself to be alarmed by this. He did not pull away as Janos used his grip on his wrist to pull himself to his feet, rising up to stand close enough to the younger man that Raziel could feel the breath of the other's words on his face as he spoke.

"Ah but child," Janos whispered softly, "I need your forgiveness. How else can I succour my grief?"

Raziel looked deep into the vampire's eyes, his face so close to the other's that he could see the tiny flecks of silver threading like balefire through the irises of his eyes. He could smell the musky scent of the vampire's body, a dry, smoky fragrance that reminded him of temple incense and old stone rooms.

"Your...grief?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes," said Janos. "My grief."

And as he spoke, he reached down and kissed the young Sarafan softly on the lips. Raziel froze at the touch, but did not draw away. His thoughts seemed sluggish and the situation unreal. Dimly he wondered if this was some kind of spell, but he could not muster the energy to pursue the thought. He felt Janos bring his other hand up to rest in the small of his back, and marvelled at the strange sensation of being the shorter of the two, usually any intimate embrace involved him as the taller partner.

The vampire released his wrist and placed a hand under the young man's chin, tilting it upwards to deepen the kiss. Raziel let his free hand fall to rest on Janos' shoulder as though to push him away, but his confusion was too great and instead he allowed his fingers to curve into the swell of muscle at the other's neck.

This is wrong! clamoured a small, insistent voice at the back of his mind. Make him stop!

Janos broke off the kiss briefly, trailing his fingers across the edge of Raziel's jaw.

"It has been so long since anyone has looked upon me without fear in their eyes. I had forgotten the touch of another being..."

He leant in close again, brushing his lips over Raziel's cheek and then moving down along the jaw to kiss at the nape of his neck.

The touch broke something in Raziel's mind, and through the fog of confusion an instinctive fear arose.

He's a vampire! He's going to bite you, dammit!

With a snarl he jerked his head away from Janos' kiss.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he gasped fiercely. "Get the hell off of me, fiend!"

He shoved the vampire away from him roughly and stumbled backwards, fumbling for his sword. In his haste he tripped over his own feet and almost fell; had it not been for Janos' steadying hand he would have fallen to the floor.

"Wait, I-"

"Be silent!" Raziel said hotly, "Brothers! Aid me!"

"No! Do not-"

But Raziel had drawn his sword by then and before Janos could complete his sentence, he lunged forward, intending to thrust his sword through the other's chest. With appalling ease the vampire knocked the blade aside and snatched hold of Raziel's wrists, gripping him firmly and holding him at arm's length. He was trying to say something to the struggling Sarafan but the young man would not be tamed and merely yelled more loudly for his warriors' aid.

The crashing of armour and a sudden spilling of light into the area heralded the arrival of the other Sarafan. They roared in fury at the sight of their General in the fiend's grip and charged, swords unsheathed and pikes aloft into the clearing. Janos cursed angrily in his own language and spinning Raziel around, thrust him into the wave of oncoming attackers. The Sarafan General stumbled to his knees amongst his men and tried to rise, but his cloak was caught around his ankles and it confounded his every effort. Snarling in embarrassment and rage he cried out, "Kill him! Kill him now! I want him dead, damn it!"

But by the time the Sarafan had reached him, the vampire had taken to the air and disappeared into the night time sky leaving them gawping upwards after him. Raziel finally levered himself to his feet, brushing off the concerned hands of his men and stomped over to retrieve his sword from where Janos had knocked it from his grasp.

He sheathed it, his back to the others and then quietly and firmly he spoke.

"We all of us have become too lax in our watch. That fiend has been making fools of us for too long. Tonight's incident is a prime example."

He turned and faced his assembled men as they stood silent and concerned around him.

"Tonight I let down my guard and almost paid the price for my slacking. I will not see any of you fall to the same fate. Had it not been for your swift reaction I would be dead now. I want that bastard shot on sight.

All watches are to be stood in pairs from now on, no exceptions. Givens, I want you to organise a group of archers and take to the surrounding cliffs. The first sight of him and you shoot him out of the sky. I saw where you hit him last time, you damn near crippled him. Keep on aiming for those wing joints. Get him in the water and stick him full of arrows. That is all. Return to your watches."

And now it was midwinter once more. Raziel had spent the summer and autumn since that last disastrous meeting with the vampire silently seething over his folly and revulsion. He had played the events of the last year over and over in his mind, looking at them from every single angle and with every possible nuance of behaviour examined and dissected and had come to the final irrevocable conclusion that he had been an utter fool.

It should have been blindingly obvious what the vampire wanted, after all it was in his nature. As was perversity, Raziel thought darkly to himself. It was a sin in God's eyes for a man to embrace another man in that way, and the thought of it made his hands shake in fury. That damn beast had cast a spell over him, subverting his conscious thoughts, enticing him into its fiendish web of sin until he had almost succumbed so lost in its grip had he been.

Raziel snarled up at the balcony, just visible in the dark and whirling snow. That bastard would pay for what he had almost made him do. And now there was a way to make it happen. Recent reports of a strange fiend rampaging over the face of Nosgoth in a seemingly unpredictable manner had been brought to his attention. Lord Moebius had sent a letter just last week promising Raziel a way into the Vampire's retreat if only he would bide his time and await this new abomination's arrival. The other High Inquisitors were already travelling to meet him in order to aid in the capture. The Sarafan General did not mind the extra wait. After all, what was an extra week of waiting after having already spent four years doing just that?

There had been some very specific instructions in Moebius' letter, and the promise of further power to help them subjugate the vampire. Raziel was pleased beyond measure; finally the time had come to pay back Janos Audron for the humiliation that he had inflicted upon him that night. The vampire would pay in blood and death and suffering, as was God's will.

Raziel smiled up into the night and the snow, and settled down for one last time of waiting.

-

The eons were long. So very long.

Janos Audron placed his hands on the balustrade and leaned on them wearily. Down below in the snow there came a shout from the waiting Sarafan as his presence was noted. Sometimes he wondered if he should wave at them to at least let them know he was paying attention.

He flicked his wings outwards, rearranging them more comfortably behind his back and searched the faces of the humans for the one that mattered the most. Again, he was not there. Janos supposed that this should not surprise him, after all, the human had not appeared at all for the past week. It was a strange change from the usual routine. The young Sarafan had spent the summer and autumn staring balefully up at Janos' retreat as though by the venom of his gaze alone he could cause the death of his adversary. But since the other high-ranking Sarafan had arrived he was seldom to be seen outside of the large command tent. Janos missed him.

He sighed and flicked a pebble down at the milling humans, watching as they shook their armoured fists up at him, and then turned and retreated to his inner sanctum.

A fire burned cheerfully in the grate and he wandered over to kneel before it and feed it some more wood. It would have been a simple thing to keep the fire alive with a word of magic, but the act of gathering the firewood and feeding it regularly helped to keep him sane.

With a sigh he settled himself on a chair next to the fireplace and leaning back closed his eyes. He did not want to sleep. Sleep brought with it dreams and recently his dreams had not been pleasant. He could feel them lurking at the edge of consciousness, waiting for him to let his guard down and drift into sleep where they would be prowling.

The past few years had been a hellish mixture of depression, fear and blinding hope. The appointed time was drawing near and Janos knew it. His dreams had told him so. Soon the Champion would arrive for the sword and Janos' task would be complete. Finally, it would be time to die. He had often thought how incredibly sad it was that the thought of his own death held nothing but relief for him. Once upon a time he would have been horrified, had he encountered the idea in any other person, he would have begged and pleaded with that person not to even consider such a thing possible. Life was just too precious, even a damned one such as his.

Absentmindedly, he fingered the golden ouroboros around his neck, running his claws along the fine workmanship. The symbol had once encapsulated his entire existence, but now, now it was a mockery of what he had once been.

He let his hand fall back to the arm of the chair, his heart suddenly cold. And he was so tired, a fatigue that ran as deep as his bones. He allowed his head to fall back and without realising it, slipped into a doze.

"Raziel."

From the curling darkness of his dream a figure arose. Tattered and skeletal, half-seen amidst a haze of obscuring mist glittering green and grey, it whispered the name of the Champion in an endless repetition. And just as he had every other time he had dreamed this vision, Janos felt the chill stab of steel in his breast and felt the hot spill of his blood running over his white guardian's robes.

He jerked awake with a gasp, his hand flying to his breast, his eyes searching for the crimson stain that was never there. He drew in a shuddering breath and forced himself to relax back into the chair.

It was always the same dream, but these days it came more and more frequently. Sometimes he would see the tattered figure holding the Reaver, his face obscured by the locks of his long hair, a demonic version of the paintings that adorned the walls of Vorador's mansion. Other times he saw the Champion in his full glory, his wings spread aloft and his face glowing with an inner fire. And then four years ago, the human boy had first started appearing in his visions.

At first Janos had not been able to place the young man's face, and it had come as somewhat of a shock to him to be stood one day on his balcony staring down at his usual Sarafan guard to find the face in dreams staring right back up at him. He'd had to sit down quite suddenly after that, the significance of the boy's appearance in the physical world not lost on him. If the figures in his dreams had begun to manifest in reality, then the culmination of his aeons of waiting could not be far off. And of course with them would come the instance of his death.

After that, the dreams had only become worse. More insistent and infinitely more confusing. There were times when he saw the Champion in his full glory wielding the Reaver, and times when the Dark Champion held it aloft. One time the vision showed him the Champion lying impaled on the Reaver whilst the Dark One looked on, and then the face of the Champion had changed to that of the boy who was somehow then wielding the Reaver once more. It all became a little bit too much after that.

The Ancient was of course insanely curious as to who this strange young human really was and what place he had in any of the prophesies. Janos for one certainly knew of no prophesy pertaining to a human Champion. However it did not take long for his curiosity to overwhelm his natural caution in relation to approaching the Sarafan and soon he determined that the only way he was ever going to get any answers was if he went down there and spoke to the boy face to face.

He found it laughably easy to evade the perimeter guards on the human camp, their dull mortal senses were no match for his vampiric powers, but nonetheless he spent a week or so simply allowing himself to become accustomed to the patterns of their movements and the order of their guard roster.

The first time he saw the young man up close, he was somewhat astounded. The human was darkly handsome and his obvious arrogance put a smile of genuine amusement on the vampire's lips. He spent a good hour simply observing the human, trying to get a measure of his personality just from the way he presented himself to the world. The prognosis was not good, but Janos was ever the patient, well-meaning type and he elected to give the man the benefit of the doubt. At least until he had uncovered a hint of what part the human had to play in the drama to come. Besides which, the young man really did have a charming smile when he deigned to show it.

That charm however would be a long time in appearing for the sake of one haughty and meddling vampire as Janos soon discovered. It took him months of gentle probing, baiting and careful manoeuvrings to get the man to even say more than one sentence to him each evening.

It was frustrating, but if nothing else, the aeons spent alone had honed Janos' desire for companionship to the extreme and he was not to be easily put off. As the months passed he gradually drew the Sarafan into longer discussions, and although the man maintained a show of superiority and scorn for all things vampiric, Janos could see that behind the façade he had lit a small flame of interest.

Flight, and his wings, seemed to be a topic of great curiosity to the human, and Janos endured the inevitable sidelong looks and pretended disinterest in his anatomy with good grace. When the human finally plucked up the courage to ask questions, he responded happily enough, glad at last to have some semblance of a civilised conversation.

Janos grew to look forward to the night time meetings as the highlight of an otherwise tedious existence. And all the while the dreams came, and as time passed, they began to grow more horrifying to the one experiencing them. Now his dreams were haunted not only by the two Champions and his human companion, but these days also by terrible images of fire and pain that left him waking in a cold sweat and swiping at imaginary flames. Other times he would find himself walking through the corridors of his retreat and strangely it would be snowing inside, the flakes dropping softly to the marble floors. He would walk and when he looked back over his shoulder he could see his footprints stretching back through the corridors where he had passed. And it was the same every time, there came a point in the dream that he knew was coming; he looked down at his chest and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was dead. For there, staining the white cotton of his robe, was a deep bloody blossoming of crimson around a gaping hole where his heart should rest. He awoke from that particular type of dream choking and convinced that he must still be dead. Which was silly really, because in a way, he was.

Through all these dreams, especially those of fire and death, the face of the beautiful young Sarafan appeared again and again. Sometimes he stood reaching through the flames to grasp Janos and pull him forward and up. Other times Janos found himself alone in the dark and around his neck the arms of the human, whilst in his ear the man whispered the name of the Champion.

With a sigh of frustration Janos rose to his feet and paced away from the fire. Everything after that had gone wrong, he thought sadly. The dreams had kept him awake at night, he feared to close his eyes lest the flames envelop him, or he had to experience the terrible numbness of a heartless existence in his palace of snow. He had become desperate and his only solace had been the young human. The Sarafan was naturally unaware of what he had come to mean to the ancient vampire, and for a while Janos had been willing to let matters remain that way. But soon, without his really even realising it, Janos came to view the human in a slightly different light.

Had he been his usual self, or perhaps had he been viewing the situation relating to two other completely different individuals, Janos may have seen the explanation for the shift in his feelings towards the young man somewhat differently. His explanation would probably have included thoughts on sleep deprivation, desperation for help with a burden that over the aeons had only become heavier, and allusions to the enforced loneliness of his existence. However, Janos was not able to see things from this perspective, standing as close to the situation as he did, and so his thoughts on the matter were more than a little influenced by the continued bombardment of eerie imagery that his dreams exposed him to. Without conscious thought on the matter, he began to see the human as some sort of personal saviour.

And so began Janos Audron's obsession and his dilemma. For the human was a Sarafan warrior priest, an...Inquisitor. The word had a horrible sound to it that set Janos' teeth on edge, but he refused to allow his thoughts to pursue the idea for fear of what he might have to consider if he did. Instead he made do with his all too short midnight meetings with the young man, admiring him safely from a distance, whilst in the day he retreated to his inner sanctum and wrestled with the moral dilemma of the situation. There were so many things he wanted to explain to the Sarafan, stories of the history of Nosgoth and the vampires' place in it, and the true purpose of the Pillars. But these things he kept locked inside, too afraid to jeopardise the fragile relationship that he had managed to build up with the other man.

And then one day, the human simply disappeared. Alarmed beyond what was strictly realistic for the situation, he had flown out, in daylight no less, to the Sarafan camp to try and pick up the human's location from the minds of his warriors. Of course they had shot at him, something that he had not even considered to prepare for. Previously they had never had warriors with bows, his Retreat was simply too far up the side of the mountain for them to shoot at him. To be fair, they had only managed to land one arrow on his person, but that one arrow had been quite enough. The pain of the notch of steel thudding into the crook of his wing had locked the joint in place leaving his one good wing scudding helplessly, and one- winged creatures rarely flew for very long.

His magic had saved him before he was sent crashing down into the ice, and his hurried teleportation spell left him stumbling in agony and the after- effects of too sudden a transport into his study. Furious with himself and the world in general, he'd pulled the arrow out and hurled it into the fire.

For the next two weeks he hardly slept at all. The dreams were waiting for him as soon as he closed his eyes, with their fire and their pain. There was no respite from them, even during the day his mind was awhirl with the injustice of the world, with thoughts of damnation and betrayal, Hylden and Ancients and his own desperate inability to truly affect the outcome of the whole great mess. Even his faith in the Champion sometimes betrayed him and afterwards he was left sickened and weeping for his weakness.

On the twenty-first day after his departure and fourteen days after Janos' encounter with the bow wielding Sarafan, the young man returned. Janos watched him surreptitiously from his balcony, but did not show himself. His relief at the human's return sent him into another fit of despair and anger at himself and rather than succumb to the desire to visit the man again, the vampire stayed resolutely in the cold comfort of his chambers.

Bereft now of his concern for the whereabouts of the young man, Janos had one less reason keeping him from sleep. Added to his already stretched reserves, this lack of a valid excuse left him considering once more the merits of sleep. Hoping that the sheer weight of his fatigue would guarantee him a dreamless night, the vampire settled himself in his chambers and lay down to rest.

As soon as he closed his eyes and abandoned himself to slumber, the dreams pounced, treacherous claws bared and ready to sink into his unconscious mind. He awoke an hour or so later, dripping a cold sweat and trembling with suppressed tension, and wandered desolately out to his balcony where he sat for the remainder of the night jumping at shadows.

Some days later, his head pounding with fatigue and his daytime thoughts beginning to confuse even him, he once more admitted to himself that rest was in order. He lay down at the end of one spring afternoon and closed his eyes, too tired to even pray for dreamless sleep. Of course the visions returned once again, but this time they were clearer and more coherent than ever before.

His palace of snow did not feature this time at which he was rather disappointed, that dream had at least been peaceful in its own way, but instead he found himself talking to the Champion. The vampire appeared young and beautiful, graceful in his every movement and form, a beauty to behold and Janos felt a pang of acute loneliness. It had been so many centuries since he had spoken to one of his own kind, looked into the clear and rational gaze of another true vampire with whom he felt he could speak reasonably and honestly. In his dream he had wept and the Champion had put his arms around him and held him close, his wings enfolding them both in a circle of benevolence. And then the dream had changed once again and Janos had found himself lying on his back on a cold, hard surface. Flames leapt up around his body, wrapping around his limbs like arms and he was profoundly aware of a great numbness in his chest, the mind's dream representation of great pain. He could feel his own blood pooling around him and it horrified him. He tried to rise but he had no strength with which to pull himself out of the encircling flames. Somewhere in the background someone was screaming his name over and over.

And then out of the flames there appeared the face of his human saviour. The young Sarafan stared down at him, his eyes dark with knowing and seemed to be speaking, but Janos could not make out the words. And then the man stretched out his hand through the flames towards the vampire. Janos reached up and tried to grasp the other's hand, in the desperate hope that if he could just take hold of it, then everything would be all right. But already the dream was fading and with it the vision of his saviour's face.

Janos had awoken to a room made chill by the death of the fire in its grate, and looked around blearily. It was spring and yet the night air was cold, made colder still by the surrounding stone walls. Suddenly he had been seized by the need to see the young human in the flesh, and snatching himself from the bed, Janos had folded his robes over his shoulders and hurried out into the night.

To his utmost relief, the young man had been out on his watch alone and apparently waiting for Janos to arrive. Calmer now that he was assured at least a brief conversation with him, the vampire settled himself on a rock outcropping and took the time to compose himself before he made his presence known.

He had so desperately wanted to discover the man's name, but he did not dare impose his mind gift on his own saviour and so he refrained. The human had only flashed his dark eyes at the question and refused to answer. Once more there had been discussion of his wings and Janos had found himself acutely embarrassed to discover that the word of his ungraceful felling by one of the other Sarafan had already reached the young man's ears. His embarrassment had soon turned to other feelings however when the young man insisted on tending to his wing with his own hands. Janos had bowed his head at the gesture, humbled and deeply touched. It had been so long since anyone had placed their hands on him in tenderness.

After that, events had taken a turn for the worse.

He remembered the look of shock on the young man's face when he had bent his head and kissed him. If he were to be really honest, Janos had not been expecting the turn of events himself, but at the time it had felt like the natural progression of the situation. The young Sarafan was like a cool balm to ease his fevered mind and touching him gave the Ancient a focus that he had not been able to achieve for weeks.

He had been heartbroken and shocked when the young man thrust him away. Through his confusion he could see the fury reflected in the Sarafan's eyes and feel the bitter touch of revulsion at the edge of his mind. Horrified, he had reigned in his mind gift, afraid that somehow he had unwittingly influenced the other with his own desires. But the young man had been inconsolable and Janos had been forced to flee in shame back to his Retreat.

And here he had remained for the past seven months.

Sadly he wandered back to the fire and absentmindedly threw another log into the grate. The months had been cold and lonely, even in the heat of summer a chill had been upon him both in body and soul. He had never returned to the camp, too ashamed and too torn to try and repair relations with the young man. He had the instinctive knowledge that the relationship he had once enjoyed with the human was gone for good.

Janos rose from the fireplace and brushed off his robes. Settling his wings he wandered out to his balcony and stood, his arms folded, looking out into the cold midwinter. Snow was falling thick and heavy and the Sarafan camp below was unusually quiet. There was no sign of his young human, or indeed any of the other Sarafan officers that had recently arrived. Janos frowned and dismissed his thoughts.

He had so very nearly been lost after that last encounter with the young human, almost bereft of his hope. But recently hope had sparked anew. He had felt a change in the land and a shift had occurred in his dreaming visions. The Champion was coming.

When he had first understood the new meaning of his dreams, excitement had rushed through his limbs like liquid fire, igniting his fading hope and filling him with new enthusiasm. For soon, and this he knew for both the Prophesies and his dreams spoke of it, he would be set free. It had been so very long, such an immense sacrifice and such a terrible burden that he had been carrying for his people for so many aeons. He was glad that the Champion had finally arisen, he was not sure for how much longer he could have gone on.

Janos Audron was tired and cold and very, very old. It was time to die. And yet, he still had faith. Faith in the Champion who even now approached to complete his destiny, faith in the Prophesies that spoke of hope still, and faith in his young human saviour who would somehow, must somehow, find a way to save this tired old vampire.

Janos Audron smiled up into the night and the snow, and settled down for one last time of waiting.