knight-in-shining-amor

[knight-in-shining-amor]

Alek Gwilym let out a groan of hesitation, floating to the other side of the desk to directly face Strahd. “So truly there is no non-magical way…” He muttered, admittedly fairly opposed to the idea.

It wasn’t as if magic was necessarily bad, but he didn’t know enough about it to feel safe. All arcane pulled from something that you couldn’t see, and as someone who was simply a human who was good at sturdily whacking things with sharpened metal - he knew next to nothing about it’s practice. And… In all of his time that he had spent as a ghost, he hadn’t bothered learning it. Should he have? It wouldn’t have been his style - he was much more focused on the physical and tangible aspects of life. 

But Strahd had a point. Maybe magic wasn’t tangible, but it could make tangible things. It’s just from what he did know, even the most basic of magics had a price by components, arcane focus, or in Strahd’s case - a dark deal that robbed him of nearly everything. To be allowed to come back to life, just what was it that Alek would have to pay?

“A body.” Alek huffed, repeating Strahd’s words as he folded his arms. “Well you can forget using mine. I watched it leave us a long time ago.” Quite literally, too. As a freshly intangible soul he had quite literally watched his very own body stand up, get out of the closet, and walk out of the castle before disappearing in an arcane flash. The worst part was it didn’t move as if it was undead. It moved in a way that literally felt like someone was controlling it. A different person than him. It moved like it was alive. There was no worse way to freshly enter your un-life than to experience a sight like that.

The ghost floated behind Strahd as he walked to the window. “Well yes. I’ve never actually possessed anyone, but I think - instinctively I know how to do it. I’m not sure what it would feel like - but if we have to try it out then so be it.” He was hesitant in his tone, even as he offered. There was a reason he had not tried it out until now, and it also fed into trying to avoid the arcane. Was he really so neurotic that he’d deprive himself of this much over a fear of magic?

Apparently he was.

Alek snorted at Strahd’s remarks of beauty. Of course it would have to be up to his “standards”. The blonde didn’t expect less of the man. It was true that he had seen exactly the sort of people that his vampiric lord brought to bed, and it was true that he was just as jealous about it as Strahd expected him to be.

He floated back to sit again as he watched the other pace and think. It was like this for a long while as he reflected on just what kind of a person he would end up inside. Alek knew well of the soulless population in this valley, and he knew well that his presence inside such a person wouldn’t really take much away from the population all the same. Perhaps time had hardened him to the empathy of taking life away from another. From a civilian. It wasn’t like this was a soldier at war, of any kind of enemy. He’d be taking the body of a person for the cost of their life, and yet he was strangely ok with it. 

His thoughts were cut short as Strahd’s words cut through the room, bringing him back to the present again. Was he always so prone to getting lost in his thoughts? “Oh yes, I supposed we should start, shouldn’t we, my lord? Lucky for the both of us, neither has to sleep, so where do you propose we start? I can’t physically interact with you, but if you need me to grab an item, I’ve found that I can sufficiently move them around.” 

 As if to make a point of this, he floated to the bookshelf, and plucked a book from the shelf, floating it through the air towards Strahd. He glanced at the title. “Distinguished Vintages for the Experienced Sommelier, hm?” Old habits died hard, it seemed. He chuckled to himself. “Not this one.” Putting it back on shelf, he gave a forlorn sigh. “but oh, how I wish I could still give my two cents on that topic.”

knight-in-shining-amor​:

“Valuable then?” Alek Gwilym repeated and laughed, throwing his head back as he wrapped his hands around his waist. “You didn’t know me yet then. You can’t possibly try and reason your way out of the fact that what you did was a good deed. Just accept it for what it was. Don’t downplay it.”  

He watched as a look of life flashed across Strahd’s face as he willingly indulged in Alek’s desire to reminisce. As he talked, Alek watched his dark eyes glaze over ever so slightly with the visuals of memories that the commander genuinely thought that he may have forgotten. He didn’t expect Strahd to remember all of these small things that he held so dear, and given how young they both were at the time, and how he still was able to recall all of these small details so clearly, warmed him. 

As a Ghost, he always felt like he had to cling to these memories because that’s what kept his humanity intact when unable to interact with anything else. As a vampire, Strahd was still regularly interacting with the outside world. He still had duties as a ruler, and he had projects that he would actively still engage in. He didn’t need to cling to these little details when he had more pressing matters on his mind, and yet here he was recounting them still. There was yet, even after all this time, so much humanity in him. 

As he listened to Strahd recounting his own memories, his own vision flashed to days of the past. Ah yes, that was a particularly risky endeavor. He had been captured by the enemy, already a commander at the time, they kept him alive to try and get intel. The Tergs were not light in the tortures they used to try and extract information, but they severely underestimated Alek’s will. He bid his time for nearly a month, feeding them false leads and ensuring that they wouldn’t come close to touching his general all the while concealing a dagger and waiting for the right moment to strike back. 

As it so happened, that time came when the leader of that camp was particularly fed up with his run around tactics and decided that he would be the one to deal with him. He closed himself in with him in the tent completely alone. That was his first mistake. His second was to get close enough to Alek for him to have sawed through the rope of his own accord and to leap onto him, slamming him to the ground with an indestructible grapple before beheading him with his own sword that he had threatened Alek with moments before. It was hard enough to sneak out of the camp. It was harder still, concealing the head of the very general who captured him as a present for Strahd, and somehow he managed it. Tossing the enemy’s head to Strahd von Zarovich’s feet as he came back alive and fully intact minus a new facial scar was one of his lifetime’s crowning achievements. Oh, how the enemy must have panicked, seeing their general lying on the ground with his head no longer in sight. It stayed on a pike in front of their camp for a long while after that. As it should have. As they deserved. “One of my proudest moments.” He repeated his thoughts out loud, with a certain smugness of victory lacing his voice as he touched up to his jawline where he had gladly earned the battle scar of that encounter, though it now was more or less hidden by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that he had worn the day he died.  

Nothing could change from then, not even if he wanted it to. Bring a ghost meant forever wearing the visage of your final moments. It meant always having that slash into his neck. It meant always wearing this shirt dyed red at the gut with no under armor. It was always going to be that way for him. Maybe there were ghosts that could learn to hide such appearances, but that wasn’t the case for him. He’d already tried countless times. 

“Well anyway-” He decided to input, “I’m glad that you have your “human impurities” as you put it.” He raised his hands up to make quotation marks. “It means that the man I fell in love with will always be a part of you, even though I think you haven’t actually changed that much aside from the vampire part of things, as I’ve heard you call it.” He dropped his hands, floating up to sit on the desk and be eye to eye with Strahd as he talked. “But hey- thanks for indulging me, even if I had no right to ask. And- If, let’s say, I can continue to be as I am now, talking to you like this - which is honestly the scenario I’m hoping will come about, what do we do then? Do I continue to haunt your side forever? As I am?”  He furrowed his brow, not liking the possibility of other options. “Or-” He paused, not sure if he should say it. “Or is there a way that maybe without the use of the arcane, that I could-” Oh, don’t say it Alek. You already know that this won’t end well if you start wishing for things that are already unnatural. “Be…. with you… physically again.” Screw it. He could at least hear if Strahd had any ideas. If they turned out to only rely on dark magic, then he could vehemently turn him down, as he had to know already that Alek would never go for it.

Without the use of the arcane? Strahd wanted to laugh and almost did. Alek had always been so squeamish about magic. Not all magic was a pact with dark powers. Some was rather light and good. Even some necromantic magic was used by holy men and women. He thought of Lady Ilona bringing the dead to life again. It was much too late for that. Ilona was long dead and Alek no longer had a body. The mystery of what had become of his body plagued Strahd for a number of years. It might have been terribly convenient at the time to further vilify Leo, but in the end, with no body for Alek’s soul, it left him an intangible ghost and he would remain that way so long as he foolishly rejected magical solutions for magical problems. With a small, frustrated growl Strahd tossed his hands wide across the desk. A shrug, a sigh.

“Not every bit of magic is a dark pact,” Strahd said, voice rumbling somewhere deep in his chest. He thought about what it would mean – or at least could mean – to have Alek here physically. What would it be like to hold him or, even more mind-boggling, what it would be like to be held by him. Such a thing would be worth a dark pact, but, no. There had to be other, more reasonable ways to achieve this. Strahd knew enough of necromancy to know that raising the dead was something an accomplished mage could do. Strahd was an accomplished mage, even without the influence of Death and the other dark powers which bound him here. “We have time to research a solution – neither of us are going to die again soon. What we don’t have, and what we need, is a body.”

Strahd now understood why Death had claimed Alek’s body. In order to gain something like immortality, one must make sacrifices. Strahd had sacrificed much for his immortality: Sergei, Tatyana, Barovia, and, of course, Alek. Alek had been the first thing Death took from him. Why wouldn’t he be? He was the only thing that kept Strahd poised to be a good man. Without Alek, it had been so easy to sacrifice everything else. Without Alek, Strahd had been forced to sacrifice even more. Hope. Love. Heart’s desire…

Strahd thirsted.

He licked his canines and stood, stalking over to the window, beginning to pace.

“If you’ve been a ghost all this time, surely you’ve worked out how to possess a body,” Strahd said. “There are enough empty shells in Barovia who would house you without complaint. The trouble is that not just any empty shell will do. I have seldom seen your equal in beauty in Barovia and when I have, they’ve so often had a soul and would have objected to possession.”

He doubted he needed to tell Alek what he did with the beauties who had souls. If Alek had watched him, he’d finally learned how Strahd once felt, watching Alek take pretty women to his tent. In undeath, Strahd did not want for the company of a consort for long. Those without souls who rivaled Alek’s good looks and charm perished upon the attempted transformation, providing Strahd with the same satisfaction one might get from a well-cut steak or fine vintage of wine. Those with souls became part of Strahd’s court and household until they bored him. He imagined he would entomb the current lot very, very soon. He might even order Rahadin to do it, except that he liked knowing that he would be sealing his commitment to Alek with his own hands. Then, in the guise of Vasili von Holtz, perhaps Strahd would tour his country with Alek at his side and collect bodies for Alek to sample. He stopped pacing and looked up, suddenly very afraid that Alek would be gone. He relaxed when he saw that his love still floated in the study.

“There is work to be done and even if we have all the time in the world, it must be done quickly. We have denied ourselves the pleasure of one another’s touch for far too long as it is.”

[knight-in-shining-amor]

“Valuable then?” Alek Gwilym repeated and laughed, throwing his head back as he wrapped his hands around his waist. “You didn’t know me yet then. You can’t possibly try and reason your way out of the fact that what you did was a good deed. Just accept it for what it was. Don’t downplay it.”  

He watched as a look of life flashed across Strahd’s face as he willingly indulged in Alek’s desire to reminisce. As he talked, Alek watched his dark eyes glaze over ever so slightly with the visuals of memories that the commander genuinely thought that he may have forgotten. He didn’t expect Strahd to remember all of these small things that he held so dear, and given how young they both were at the time, and how he still was able to recall all of these small details so clearly, warmed him. 

As a Ghost, he always felt like he had to cling to these memories because that's what kept his humanity intact when unable to interact with anything else. As a vampire, Strahd was still regularly interacting with the outside world. He still had duties as a ruler, and he had projects that he would actively still engage in. He didn’t need to cling to these little details when he had more pressing matters on his mind, and yet here he was recounting them still. There was yet, even after all this time, so much humanity in him. 

As he listened to Strahd recounting his own memories, his own vision flashed to days of the past. Ah yes, that was a particularly risky endeavor. He had been captured by the enemy, already a commander at the time, they kept him alive to try and get intel. The Tergs were not light in the tortures they used to try and extract information, but they severely underestimated Alek’s will. He bid his time for nearly a month, feeding them false leads and ensuring that they wouldn’t come close to touching his general all the while concealing a dagger and waiting for the right moment to strike back. 

As it so happened, that time came when the leader of that camp was particularly fed up with his run around tactics and decided that he would be the one to deal with him. He closed himself in with him in the tent completely alone. That was his first mistake. His second was to get close enough to Alek for him to have sawed through the rope of his own accord and to leap onto him, slamming him to the ground with an indestructible grapple before beheading him with his own sword that he had threatened Alek with moments before. It was hard enough to sneak out of the camp. It was harder still, concealing the head of the very general who captured him as a present for Strahd, and somehow he managed it. Tossing the enemy's head to Strahd von Zarovich’s feet as he came back alive and fully intact minus a new facial scar was one of his lifetime’s crowning achievements. Oh, how the enemy must have panicked, seeing their general lying on the ground with his head no longer in sight. It stayed on a pike in front of their camp for a long while after that. As it should have. As they deserved. “One of my proudest moments.” He repeated his thoughts out loud, with a certain smugness of victory lacing his voice as he touched up to his jawline where he had gladly earned the battle scar of that encounter, though it now was more or less hidden by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that he had worn the day he died.  

Nothing could change from then, not even if he wanted it to. Bring a ghost meant forever wearing the visage of your final moments. It meant always having that slash into his neck. It meant always wearing this shirt dyed red at the gut with no under armor. It was always going to be that way for him. Maybe there were ghosts that could learn to hide such appearances, but that wasn’t the case for him. He’d already tried countless times. 

“Well anyway-” He decided to input, “I’m glad that you have your “human impurities” as you put it.” He raised his hands up to make quotation marks. “It means that the man I fell in love with will always be a part of you, even though I think you haven’t actually changed that much aside from the vampire part of things, as I’ve heard you call it.” He dropped his hands, floating up to sit on the desk and be eye to eye with Strahd as he talked. “But hey- thanks for indulging me, even if I had no right to ask. And- If, let’s say, I can continue to be as I am now, talking to you like this - which is honestly the scenario I’m hoping will come about, what do we do then? Do I continue to haunt your side forever? As I am?”  He furrowed his brow, not liking the possibility of other options. “Or-” He paused, not sure if he should say it. “Or is there a way that maybe without the use of the arcane, that I could-” Oh, don’t say it Alek. You already know that this won’t end well if you start wishing for things that are already unnatural. “Be…. with you… physically again.” Screw it. He could at least hear if Strahd had any ideas. If they turned out to only rely on dark magic, then he could vehemently turn him down, as he had to know already that Alek would never go for it.

knight-in-shining-amor​:

Alek’s form relaxed from its tense state once Strahd let go of his arm, the red now soaking vibrantly through his lord’s silk white shirt. As Strahd made the quip of someone needing to disrespect him, Alek scoffed while rolling his eyes. “Strahd-” His tone was laced with a stern concern. He knew this remark at the very least had something to do with punishment that his lord thought he deserved. He was always big on following through with those sorts of things, and he wouldn’t skimp on taking responsibility for himself. With his time limited, however long that may be, he didn’t want to waste it on giving the other a lecture.

Alek knew Strahd well, and always found him fairly easy to read - for the most part. He had little tells, that maybe other people were too intimidated by him to notice. He would scrunch his note in a particular way when hearing something he didn’t like. When excited, his eyes always briefly had this spark of life in them, before in a matter of seconds remembering to act the part of a noble and bring his tone back to solemnity. Alek always found that one particularly adorable, albeit an easily missed phenomenon.

It was always easy to tell when something was bothering him, in the way he would lose himself in thought. Alek found that it was usually one particular thing at a time. He tended to hyperfixate on a certain topic and think himself in circles. He couldn’t tell what spirals his lord drew in his mind, but he could usually make a decent guess. Strahd had a particularly single-minded way of looking at things, and as perhaps more of a respect for their friendship than as his right hand, he thought of giving his perspective on subjects in prior conversations as a way of allowing him a more well-rounded view. The man could get locked on a singular thought for so long- someone had to be there to snap him out of it.

But he couldn’t read every emotion on his face, some in part because the other kept them tightly locked within himself, so closely that even though Alek had been his closest companion, he would have never been able to decipher it. But in this moment as Strahd admitted he loved Alek the same way that Alek loved him- he realized then and there that it wasn’t his lack of ability to glean that from the other that made him not see it.

No- he purposely looked away. He did so of his own accord even though deep within his gut he always knew that what he had was reciprocated. He knew what he couldn’t offer and he had used every chance he could to shove distance between them.

Strahd needed a woman. Alek was just his friend. Alek would gladly accept missions for months away from the castle to allow Strahd the chance to find someone else.

Was it all his fault that Strahd fell to this darkness as he did? If he had only been honest and upfront and just risen above his station and said something.

No. Looking into the past wasn’t going to change anything. He needed to focus on the here and now. The present- The-

He studied the other in the glowing firelight, admiring everything about this moment he had often fantasized about between them. Strahd’s skin through a reflection of the moon light flowing through the window and the firelight was a sea of pale color where warm and cold emotions mixed. His high cheekbones, dark eyes, and strong nose gave him the most regal of features no matter what expression he wore on his face. He was so beautiful at this moment. In every moment, but especially now as he stared up at Alek with his own sad longing expression.

“You will always have me.” Alek responded at last, his hand reaching up as if to touch the other’s cheek. Feeling nothing and passing through it, he retracted his hand back. “You will never be robbed of me and now- even if you won’t be able to see me again, know that I’ll still be by your side in this castle. I’m here Strahd. Don’t forget that.” He felt as though even if that came to be, maybe now when he knocked a book off of the shelf or tugged at Strahd’s papers, now he would know. Even if Strahd stopped being able to hear him once more, maybe they could find other ways-

Alek let out a soft laugh as Strahd quipped about how good he was at following orders. The rare sight of a smile on the other’s face made his chest feel like it was swelling with happiness. With adoration. He wished he knew of some way to be able to kiss him. If he had a physical form, despite past trepidations and doubts, it was all that he wanted now.

“It’s not hard to follow orders when they come from someone you love.” Love. He could say it so freely now. It was freeing, and in their current situation, damning all the same. “And besides, with an order like that on my shoulders, it doesn’t look as though I will be wrapping up any unfinished business anytime soon.”

He got close, as close as he could without accidentally ending up phasing through the other and brought his head down against the side of his chair as he continued to smile to himself. “I want this to be something to cherish. If this is the last time I can talk to you, why not spend it telling stories? I want to remember this fondly, if I can’t have anything else. Selfishly, I want that.” A pause. “Here. I’ll start.”

He moved a hand up to touch Strahd’s shoulder, and traced a line where a memory once stood. “You don’t age anymore but do you still have your old scars? I remember one being right here from one of our earliest campaigns. You took a hit for me and it was the first of countless times you would save me in battle and I would do the same for you. I wasn’t a commander yet. I was still just a mercenary trying to prove myself. I’d definitely never heard of a general who would go so far for a simple infantryman. I doubt it’s something you would even remember. The battle was so insignificant and it has been such a long time, but it was then and there that I knew I would follow you. That was the battle where I stopped being a mercenary, and started being a soldier. And where I knew I wanted- no- needed to get to know you.”

He grinned as the memories danced on the tips of his imagination. “I was such an awestruck kid back then. Times have changed so much, but I don’t think that I’ll ever stop looking at you with that same sense of wonder.”

Nothing could prepare one for the sensation of a ghost’s touch. It was not a cold like that of a winter wind nor plunging into a frozen lake. It passed through the skin, down to one’s very soul. Strahd would have sucked in a sharp breath, had he needed to draw one. Alek’s touch as it was now was not a wholly desirable thing and yet Strahd would have leaned into it if there had been anything but air for him upon which to rest his cheek. When Alek could no longer manifest a visible form or make audible sound, Strahd would miss even this closeness. He would miss and had missed most of all Alek’s laugh. It had always eased Strahd’s weary heart to hear. Foolishly, he though he might burn at the very sound for how radiant and warm and light-filled it was. Perhaps he was not so far gone as a creature of darkness. A foolish thought, but one he entertained for just long enough to ache with joy. He ached in the burning cold of Alek’s closeness and touch, listening. He shivered as Alek traced a place few knew to look, a place with a thin, white scar from a blade many, many years ago. He’d been a young man then, a little reckless, and he had gotten between Alek and an enemy sword. He wished he could say it had been a heroic act, but as everything, it had been a calculated risk. Strahd had been certain in his own swordsmanship and had been relatively certain that saving the young mercenary’s life would indebt him to the von Zaroviches. Alek had stayed on at Strahd’s side, not only as a soldier but during the recovery. His loyalty after had been enough to make Strahd feel both proud and guilty that he had made such a calculation. How good it was to be right! How good it was to have so loyal a devotee!

How long Strahd had wondered if Alek would only stay until the life debt was repaid.

How Strahd wished he had known that he would care for Alek, would love him, when he saved him; then, perhaps, he could claim a scrap of goodness, if not altruism in the act.

It had changed the trajectory of both their lives and, in a way, brought both of their deaths. He would do it again a thousand times. More.

“It was no wonder why I stepped in that day,” Strahd said. “You were too valuable for me to lose. What struck me was the way you checked my progress as I recovered. I don’t think I’d had anyone worry so much for my health besides my own mother.”

Until then, Strahd had doubted Alek cared about much more than the thrill of the fight, the heft of a filled purse, a good time after a battle won. To think that Alek had cared about him, even then… His jaw twitched and he swallowed thickly. Then he laughed, remember the “kid” Alek had once been, though it wasn’t the first word Strahd would have used to describe him. By the time they’d met, Alek had seen many battles and done many things that Strahd’s other soldiers of similar age and rank could only dream of. He’d been handsome then and Strahd had always assumed that his boyish good looks and youthful charm would wane over time, but he instead found that age rested well on Alek Gwilym. He’d like it too much, but one could easily say he’d matured in the same way a fine wine might have. Strahd wasn’t given to poetry, but the saying felt apt. After all, Alek had often told Strahd that the best way to appreciate a fine wine was to treat it as a lover. What wouldn’t Strahd do to be able to express such love now! Instead, he could only admire Alek’s beauty before saying –

“In hindsight, I suppose I’ve always been at least a little in love with you. I used to look for that sense of admiration on your face before I looked for anyone else. You were such a sight to behold after battle, glistening with sweat and gleaming with victory. And you always were looking to me and something about that made even the losses bearable. There was that one battle – do you remember it? – where you had been taken and I thought I had lost you – or else you had finally deserted – and you strode up behind me with the enemy general’s head in your arms, as if it were a gift of flowers for me, that grin upon your face like brightest dawn. I thought the surging in my chest was adrenaline, but I should have kissed you then. I think it was the first time I wanted to. You were so proud, so jubilant, and so alive.”

Now neither of them was alive. Strahd made a conciliatory gesture.

“I always dismissed the feeling as simple admiration. I couldn’t understand why no one else was your equal.”

This was why Strahd was not inclined to reminisce. Reminiscing let to regret; regret to self-pity. He did not wish to wallow in despair. He massaged his temples.

“I do still have that scar,” he said abruptly. “Death vowed that I was not to age a day more, but he did not do me the kindness of curing me of all human imperfections. I have that scar and many others besides to commemorate our life together.”

And it isn’t enough. That was the curse – to always hunger, to always thirst, and to always want and never again be satisfied.

[knight-in-shining-amor]

Alek’s form relaxed from its tense state once Strahd let go of his arm, the red now soaking vibrantly through his lord’s silk white shirt. As Strahd made the quip of someone needing to disrespect him, Alek scoffed while rolling his eyes. “Strahd-” His tone was laced with a stern concern. He knew this remark at the very least had something to do with punishment that his lord thought he deserved. He was always big on following through with those sorts of things, and he wouldn’t skimp on taking responsibility for himself. With his time limited, however long that may be, he didn’t want to waste it on giving the other a lecture.

Alek knew Strahd well, and always found him fairly easy to read - for the most part. He had little tells, that maybe other people were too intimidated by him to notice. He would scrunch his note in a particular way when hearing something he didn’t like. When excited, his eyes always briefly had this spark of life in them, before in a matter of seconds remembering to act the part of a noble and bring his tone back to solemnity. Alek always found that one particularly adorable, albeit an easily missed phenomenon.

It was always easy to tell when something was bothering him, in the way he would lose himself in thought. Alek found that it was usually one particular thing at a time. He tended to hyperfixate on a certain topic and think himself in circles. He couldn’t tell what spirals his lord drew in his mind, but he could usually make a decent guess. Strahd had a particularly single-minded way of looking at things, and as perhaps more of a respect for their friendship than as his right hand, he thought of giving his perspective on subjects in prior conversations as a way of allowing him a more well-rounded view. The man could get locked on a singular thought for so long- someone had to be there to snap him out of it.

But he couldn’t read every emotion on his face, some in part because the other kept them tightly locked within himself, so closely that even though Alek had been his closest companion, he would have never been able to decipher it. But in this moment as Strahd admitted he loved Alek the same way that Alek loved him- he realized then and there that it wasn’t his lack of ability to glean that from the other that made him not see it.

No- he purposely looked away. He did so of his own accord even though deep within his gut he always knew that what he had was reciprocated. He knew what he couldn’t offer and he had used every chance he could to shove distance between them.

Strahd needed a woman. Alek was just his friend. Alek would gladly accept missions for months away from the castle to allow Strahd the chance to find someone else.

Was it all his fault that Strahd fell to this darkness as he did? If he had only been honest and upfront and just risen above his station and said something.

No. Looking into the past wasn’t going to change anything. He needed to focus on the here and now. The present- The-

He studied the other in the glowing firelight, admiring everything about this moment he had often fantasized about between them. Strahd’s skin through a reflection of the moon light flowing through the window and the firelight was a sea of pale color where warm and cold emotions mixed. His high cheekbones, dark eyes, and strong nose gave him the most regal of features no matter what expression he wore on his face. He was so beautiful at this moment. In every moment, but especially now as he stared up at Alek with his own sad longing expression.

“You will always have me.” Alek responded at last, his hand reaching up as if to touch the other’s cheek. Feeling nothing and passing through it, he retracted his hand back. “You will never be robbed of me and now- even if you won’t be able to see me again, know that I’ll still be by your side in this castle. I’m here Strahd. Don’t forget that.” He felt as though even if that came to be, maybe now when he knocked a book off of the shelf or tugged at Strahd’s papers, now he would know. Even if Strahd stopped being able to hear him once more, maybe they could find other ways-

Alek let out a soft laugh as Strahd quipped about how good he was at following orders. The rare sight of a smile on the other’s face made his chest feel like it was swelling with happiness. With adoration. He wished he knew of some way to be able to kiss him. If he had a physical form, despite past trepidations and doubts, it was all that he wanted now.

“It’s not hard to follow orders when they come from someone you love.” Love. He could say it so freely now. It was freeing, and in their current situation, damning all the same. “And besides, with an order like that on my shoulders, it doesn’t look as though I will be wrapping up any unfinished business anytime soon.”

He got close, as close as he could without accidentally ending up phasing through the other and brought his head down against the side of his chair as he continued to smile to himself. “I want this to be something to cherish. If this is the last time I can talk to you, why not spend it telling stories? I want to remember this fondly, if I can’t have anything else. Selfishly, I want that.” A pause. “Here. I’ll start.”

He moved a hand up to touch Strahd’s shoulder, and traced a line where a memory once stood. “You don’t age anymore but do you still have your old scars? I remember one being right here from one of our earliest campaigns. You took a hit for me and it was the first of countless times you would save me in battle and I would do the same for you. I wasn’t a commander yet. I was still just a mercenary trying to prove myself. I’d definitely never heard of a general who would go so far for a simple infantryman. I doubt it’s something you would even remember. The battle was so insignificant and it has been such a long time, but it was then and there that I knew I would follow you. That was the battle where I stopped being a mercenary, and started being a soldier. And where I knew I wanted- no- needed to get to know you.”

He grinned as the memories danced on the tips of his imagination. “I was such an awestruck kid back then. Times have changed so much, but I don't think that I’ll ever stop looking at you with that same sense of wonder.”

knight-in-shining-amor​:

As Strahd dismissed the magic crackling in his hand, Alek was finally able to allow the relief of his situation to wash over him. He didn’t actually know how many centuries it had been as he was kept in his isolation; all he knew was that a normal man would certainly have gone insane already. Now, he was just happy to finally taste the other man’s company again, which was something he’d been craving for such a long time. It was something- No- the only thing that was really keeping him moving forward. He was such a fool to love a man so much, when that man had already condemned him, and yet-

“No, I wasn’t in the study for any particular reason.” He answered calmly, pressing a hand under his chin in thought as he followed the other’s invitation to take a seat, though his form would leave no imprint. Not unless he wanted it to, but that took… energy. He didn’t want to expend any of what he had in fear that it would go away and he would lose this.

He continued. “I do what I can to keep myself busy. I was just- wandering aimlessly as you do when you’re dead, and decided to pay you a visit. I had no idea that after all this time you’d finally see me.” A pause. “If I knew today was the day, then I definitely would not have wasted my morning tormenting the walking corpses you keep around here. They are kind of like cats, you know. Drag something shiny in front of them and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of the creature crawling up the wall to grasp at a silvery corded rope that he dangled over it this morning, all the while making horrible groaning noises of frustration, thinking it to be some sort of enemy. He had no doubt the only reason he could get close to his fellow dead things was his complete lack of smell for their rotting flesh.

It was amazing how quickly he remembered how to laugh. There was something about being next to Strahd, even in both of their grief, that made him feel at peace again, but he was not blind to the other’s pain and his expression quickly sombered.

Alek did not have a heartbeat anymore, but he still felt the phantom pains of such a thing as his chest ached for the other. Strahd was not a man to ever show pain or emotional weakness, not in front of others, and him doing so now was a sign enough of his misery.

“I- well- admittedly I have no idea how long you will see me.” Alek admitted. “And you don’t have to tell me anything, Strahd. I gave you an Oath when I entered your service, remember? To serve you to my death. Well that’s what I did. I can’t exactly be mad about that, now can I?” And he wasn’t.

In all honesty, Alek had been prepared to die in battle for years, treating every day like it could have been his last. A soldier like himself took pleasures in wine, and women, and everything beautiful because the day that he indulged those pleasures could always be his last, and he didn’t want to die without some kind of fulfillment to call his own.

It stung that it was by Strahd’s hand that he finally fell, and he remembered trying to think of it as if Strahd wasn’t actually the one he was fighting in order to protect himself. But in the end, he stopped trying and allowed him to take his life because he couldn’t bring himself to go against that Oath. If he had been the one to walk away from that fight alive, he would have never been able to forgive himself. He realized that back then and never doubted that revelation or reveled in his fate. He was reminiscent of their good times. He craved the other’s company. But never did he wallow in self-pity or blame the other. And besides, after watching Strahd for so long, he knew it to be the same for him. Not forgiving himself… He had already suffered enough. Alek didn’t need to perpetuate it.

He had been around the other more than once when he had talked to him, believing no one to be there. He knew Strahd had missed his words, and his companionship, and he hadn’t given up hope on the possibility that they could perhaps amend that part of themselves if he could ever get the chance to just talk to him.

And…

It was true, in part. Though it was something that Alek often thought he was imagining, there were times where he swore that maybe Strahd did truly feel the same way he had. Maybe he too had suppressed those emotions and feelings that Alek couldn’t have possibly risen above his station to say.

And Gods, did he want to say them.

…Could he say them now?

His thoughts got cut short as he looked at the other man, brow furrowing as he got up, quickly floating over. “My Lord, your arm!-”

He reached out a hand, placing it where his nails had begun to draw blood as it dripped down his cold skin. He placed his hand on top of Strahd’s, though he had no doubt that he couldn’t feel it. Or maybe he felt a chill of ice? Hopefully enough to allow him to release his death grip on himself- “You’ve got to be careful.” He lectured, though his tone was soft. Kind. “Have you considered treating the man I love with a little more respect?”

The more Alek spoke, the tighter Strahd gripped his own arm to keep from roaring from the pain that ripped through his body at Alek’s words. Yes, Alek had made him an oath, but that never meant that he was meant to die by Strahd’s own hand! Strahd would have killed a dozen brothers to possess but one Tatyana. How many Tatyanas had he killed now to only have a fragment of Alek here? He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to regret it. He most of all did not want to cry. Alek was right. There was no way of knowing how long they would see each other now and there was no guarantee they would see each other again. If this was to be some last and final mercy of all the dark powers that held him captive, then Strahd did not wish to waste it on tears or self-pity. He wanted to savor Alek’s presence, the way Alek once savored wine, the way Strahd now savored blood. He studied the planes of his cheekbones, their bladelike precision. His nose, just as sharp, and which had always seemed too severe for his bright features, looked just as it had in life and even in death did not mar Alek’s good looks. His golden locks should have reflected the hearth fire and taken on a reddish cast, but as an apparition, light did not illuminate Alek the way it once did, but only made him seem more insubstantial. If he would only be alive or else a body like Strahd’s own which lived and did not live all at once, then the shadows and the light would play on him and carve him out like a statue. How often had Strahd touched the marble which formed Alek’s monument? He had always known he would never touch him again and that their touches in life had been almost as unsubstantial as Alek was now. He did not know why this bothered him so much now other than the way it all felt like a mockery. Here was all he had given up; here was all he could never have. Lesser men had equals. Strahd had once had Alek. And now, Strahd had nobody at all.

Less than nobody.

If Death were to laugh its mocking choral laughter now in Strahd’s ears, he would not flinch. He would understand.

He tried to focus on Alek again, but a little furrow had appeared between Alek’s brow.  Alek had always had healthy skin, a little careworn from the many years they spent together on the battlefield, but this was something new. Concern. Something was wrong. Something was-

Oh. His arm. Small rivers of blood stained the white shirtsleeve and it annoyed Strahd more that he had ruined perfectly fine tailoring more than it pained him to have injured himself. In fact, he might not have noticed until much later, had Alek not been so impudent as to chastise him. At least death did not change all things. Alek had always chastised him and Strahd had always born it, even when he would bear it from no one else. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Alek had no cause for concern. Part of the gift ensured that by morning, if not much sooner, Strahd would be healed. He was not to age one more day and even the smallest scratch was to show signs of aging and a life lived. Death would not allow him that any longer.

“It’s but a scratch, Alek-“ Strahd began before his voice cut off abruptly at the unnatural cold of Alek’s spectral hand atop his. He could not feel its pressure, but it’s mere presence relaxed the vise grip Strahd had held upon himself. He almost said something as he could feel Alek’s lecture beginning afresh.

He almost said something but he did not. In Alek’s soft scolding, there was something Strahd had heard in his tone time and again and had never been able to place. It was the something which allowed Alek Gwilym more freedom of speech than most. It had maddened him to hear it in life. Then, when Alek had died, it filled him with dread and grief that he stared into the endless void of a future without ever hearing Alek speak, but especially without ever hearing him speak like that again. It wasn’t just concern, it was-

The word Alek used could have cut Strahd’s throat. It could have cleaved his heart in two. It could have made him finally roar like a river, streaming with hot tears and grief and fury and joy, all with fathomless depths. Love. It was a word spoken in the present tense, as if it had always been and would always be and was, even now, even after every monstrous thing Strahd had done from the moment he killed Alek to this moment in the same study, hundreds of years later.

For a moment, Strahd’s eyes lit with joy. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak. Then, a thousand memories assaulted his mind – blurry memories of every woman Alek Gwilym had taken to his tent in their fifteen year tenure as soldiers together. They ran together. He frowned. Then, like a beacon, one memory pierced through. Strahd could feel the sun-warmed stone beneath his belly, scraping his arms, as he reached for Alek. Undignified and uncaring, he had only one goal: bring Alek to safety. Alek begged to be let to fall, threatened to shed Strahd’s blood so that they both would not pitch over the mountainside. Strahd heeded none of it. Even at his most debauched, Alek was one of two things Strahd would bleed for. Alek and Barovia. He had done and had brought Alek to safety, even without assurance that there would be more to gain from the rescue than Alek’s life. He had known then as they walked back to their horses and then rode back to camp that he valued Alek Gwilym and perhaps even loved Alek Gwilym, but that even hoping that he might have a chance to be loved in return was folly. Get yourself a woman, Alek had once said. Strahd had heeded that advice. He thought of the women locked in the crypts. He thought of Tatyana. Distractions, the lot of them. Better to chase something you could have than to bumble after what was never yours. Alek had never been Strahd’s.

And yet…

How often had Alek saved his life? How often had Alek lingered in Strahd’s quarters or his study with a familiarity no steward nor commander should show their lord? There had always been a quiet intimacy between them. Trust. Vulnerability. How long had they each loved the other in silence?

“Someone has had to disrespect me just a little in your silence,” Strahd countered carefully, frown tentatively flickering away. “I have heard well enough that arrogance would otherwise be my downfall. Perhaps it was arrogance to think you already knew how much I love you… And perhaps it was a miscalculation on my part to think I would be granted my heart’s desire rather than be robbed of it… rather than to rob myself of you.”

But what could they do now? Two dead men sat in the study of Castle Ravenloft, unable to touch, and only now able to see and speak to each other. Why now? What had changed? And what still could be changed to restore Alek to him? Already Strahd’s mind touched on volumes of arcane knowledge that might grant him a body. Alek would object to necromancy, no doubt, as he’d never loved magic, especially those arts considered “dark”, but temptation gnawed at Strahd in this moment. If Alek had a body, Strahd could make him like himself. They could spend this dark eternity together, side by side as they were in life, and loving as they had never permitted themselves to do. A shy smile crept onto Strahd’s lips, unbidden. He could not help himself, gazing at Alek and fighting the searing heat behind his own eyes.

“I forbid you from disappearing again,” said Strahd. “It would not do for us to confess our love only for your unfinished business to conclude and leave me alone once more. Stay with me. Consider it an order from your lord. You were always so good at taking orders…”

[knight-in-shining-amor]

As Strahd dismissed the magic crackling in his hand, Alek was finally able to allow the relief of his situation to wash over him. He didn’t actually know how many centuries it had been as he was kept in his isolation; all he knew was that a normal man would certainly have gone insane already. Now, he was just happy to finally taste the other man’s company again, which was something he’d been craving for such a long time. It was something- No- the only thing that was really keeping him moving forward. He was such a fool to love a man so much, when that man had already condemned him, and yet-

“No, I wasn’t in the study for any particular reason.” He answered calmly, pressing a hand under his chin in thought as he followed the other’s invitation to take a seat, though his form would leave no imprint. Not unless he wanted it to, but that took… energy. He didn’t want to expend any of what he had in fear that it would go away and he would lose this.

He continued. “I do what I can to keep myself busy. I was just- wandering aimlessly as you do when you’re dead, and decided to pay you a visit. I had no idea that after all this time you’d finally see me.” A pause. “If I knew today was the day, then I definitely would not have wasted my morning tormenting the walking corpses you keep around here. They are kind of like cats, you know. Drag something shiny in front of them and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of the creature crawling up the wall to grasp at a silvery corded rope that he dangled over it this morning, all the while making horrible groaning noises of frustration, thinking it to be some sort of enemy. He had no doubt the only reason he could get close to his fellow dead things was his complete lack of smell for their rotting flesh.

It was amazing how quickly he remembered how to laugh. There was something about being next to Strahd, even in both of their grief, that made him feel at peace again, but he was not blind to the other’s pain and his expression quickly sombered.

Alek did not have a heartbeat anymore, but he still felt the phantom pains of such a thing as his chest ached for the other. Strahd was not a man to ever show pain or emotional weakness, not in front of others, and him doing so now was a sign enough of his misery.

“I- well- admittedly I have no idea how long you will see me.” Alek admitted. “And you don’t have to tell me anything, Strahd. I gave you an Oath when I entered your service, remember? To serve you to my death. Well that’s what I did. I can’t exactly be mad about that, now can I?” And he wasn’t.

In all honesty, Alek had been prepared to die in battle for years, treating every day like it could have been his last. A soldier like himself took pleasures in wine, and women, and everything beautiful because the day that he indulged those pleasures could always be his last, and he didn’t want to die without some kind of fulfillment to call his own.

It stung that it was by Strahd’s hand that he finally fell, and he remembered trying to think of it as if Strahd wasn’t actually the one he was fighting in order to protect himself. But in the end, he stopped trying and allowed him to take his life because he couldn’t bring himself to go against that Oath. If he had been the one to walk away from that fight alive, he would have never been able to forgive himself. He realized that back then and never doubted that revelation or reveled in his fate. He was reminiscent of their good times. He craved the other’s company. But never did he wallow in self-pity or blame the other. And besides, after watching Strahd for so long, he knew it to be the same for him. Not forgiving himself… He had already suffered enough. Alek didn’t need to perpetuate it.

He had been around the other more than once when he had talked to him, believing no one to be there. He knew Strahd had missed his words, and his companionship, and he hadn’t given up hope on the possibility that they could perhaps amend that part of themselves if he could ever get the chance to just talk to him.

And…

It was true, in part. Though it was something that Alek often thought he was imagining, there were times where he swore that maybe Strahd did truly feel the same way he had. Maybe he too had suppressed those emotions and feelings that Alek couldn’t have possibly risen above his station to say.

And Gods, did he want to say them.

…Could he say them now?

His thoughts got cut short as he looked at the other man, brow furrowing as he got up, quickly floating over. “My Lord, your arm!-”

He reached out a hand, placing it where his nails had begun to draw blood as it dripped down his cold skin. He placed his hand on top of Strahd’s, though he had no doubt that he couldn’t feel it. Or maybe he felt a chill of ice? Hopefully enough to allow him to release his death grip on himself- “You’ve got to be careful.” He lectured, though his tone was soft. Kind. “Have you considered treating the man I love with a little more respect?”

knight-in-shining-amor​:

Alek had spent so long used to being met with silence whenever he spoke, that when Strahd first reacted, it simply refused to register. In the past, he had tried all manner of strategies to get his Lord’s attention.

His first attempt was simply speaking, although it didn’t take long to figure out that not only Strahd, but in fact nobody in the castle was privy to his retorts. This didn’t stop him from making them from time to time. If he didn’t hear his own voice every now and then, he feared that he would forget what it sounded like. He didn’t know how ghosts worked, not instinctively, and it was a common anxiety that if he forgot some part of himself, would it simply cease to exist? Would he open his mouth to make one of his snarky remarks and no sound would escape his translucent lips? Such a fate was not worth the risk, and so he continued to enact as many of his living habits as his afterlife would allow.

His second attempt was short lived, which was to simply knock over something to announce his presence in the room. This never ended well as it always played at Strahd’s paranoia more than anything else. It wasn’t Alek who Strahd would suspect in the room, but this so-called “Death” that he caught him muttering to or cursing from time to time. He did not want to provoke such an entity, or draw Strahd’s attention to it - so it took only a couple failed attempts of this nature for this particular ploy to cease entirely.

His third attempt was perhaps the most practical, which was attempting to write Strahd a letter. When it came time to put his quill to a page, however, no matter how much ink he ensured was at the tip, none leaked to the parchment. This was when he knew he was cursed. Whatever arcane had damned him to this state didn’t want him to interact with Strahd, and had made itself perfectly clear.

Upon this realization, Alek Gwilym simply stopped trying.

This is why when Strahd reached his hand towards the former Commander’s, he didn’t even think of the possibility that it was because he was finally seen. Even when Strahd spoke, it wasn’t until he addressed him as ‘Commander’ that his mind snapped into focus. For lack of better analogy, it was like the hazy fog of a hangover finally lifting and the world suddenly seeming comprehensible again.

His gray eyes snapped to Strahd’s and he imagined he probably looked like a wide eyed child, staring in wonder at something that their small mind had never comprehended before - a show of lights, seeing the arcane for the first time, or the sight of presents piled up on Winter’s Crest. If he were living, he imagined that he would have taken in a shaky breath and felt the pounding drum of a heartbeat racing in his chest.

These living sensations were lost on him, but a surge of the emotional pain and longing that had built up for these past centuries were not. Ghosts could not cry and ghosts could not feel lumps in their throats but all the same these things felt as if they were occurring as he scrunched his face bracing for what wasn’t to come. Perhaps it was that and the combination of Strahd baring the very fangs that had taken him from this world that forced him to briefly look away to collect himself.

Hardening his resolve, he brought his face back to meet his Lord’s. “You’ll have to forgive me, your grace. Centuries of talking to myself has made me nearly forget the sensation of two sided conversation.” He paused, choosing his words carefully before adding, “..And centuries of being by your side, for that matter. You’d really punish a soldier for following orders even if he had gone unnoticed until now?”

He wanted to say so much more than that. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to let Strahd know the anguish of his isolation and to confide in him as he had told him everything all those years ago. Almost everything…

He wanted now more than ever to tell him what had never been said. To tell him how he had felt, how he had loved him, and how he always would. But his memory flashed to the memories on that parapet, to the both of them soaked in the rain, and of the dark aura of Strahd von Zarovich losing himself before Alek’s very eyes. To looking down at his own stomach as blood poured out, and the dawning realization that he was dying and that it was by the hands of the very many whom he had loved. A man who had forsaken his soul for another’s bride. Not for him, but for Tatyana-

He remembered this and remained silent.

He was viscerally aware now that as soon as Strahd seemed to have finally noticed him after all of these years, how his gaze had flitted to that painting of Tatyana that hung above his fireplace. They always went back to her, and he couldn’t help but feel resentment towards her for it. He knew how unfair that emotion was. Hell, he was the one who suggested to Strahd to get a woman in the first place. He knew he would never have the ability to be what Strahd needed, to be a female wife that bore an heir, and worst of all would never have the noble blood flowing through his veins that would have allowed him the privilege to have been by his side as a lover- even if he had been born a woman. He simply lacked far too much.

Alek had eyes. He saw her beauty just as plainly as all else who had seen it. It wasn’t surprising that Strahd became infatuated with her, but he had thought in the past that his honor would have prevented him from taking what belonged to his brother, because once upon a time he would have valued family over lust. But Strahd had grown weary of fighting with no reward, and at his core he was a conqueror first and foremost so he took what was wanted.

He tried to.

How could Alek have possibly known what would have come of this? And if things had played out differently, he already knew that if alive he would have played a part in helping kill Sergei and give Tatyana to Strahd without question because of his damnable loyalty. He’d hop at the first chance to appease him, and obey every order with a thorough eye for detail that the average man was not even remotely capable of, and he’d do it all no matter what he wanted because he was a soldier and following orders was what he did best. Could he have posed a suggestion to perhaps persuade Strahd in another direction? Of course, and he had done such a thing several times in a manner of speaking against the lord’s will that other men woul;d have lost their heads for. And did. Yet if Strahd held fast to his desire and the order pursued, Alek Gwilym had always delivered.

Again, brought back to the reality of the moment that he had waited so long for, he became aware of how close he was to the other man he was standing beside. Sure, he could get away with this while unseen, but something about being acknowledged brought a slight tinge of guilt for overindulging in Strahd’s presence in a way that he didn’t think would be discovered. It was intimate in a way that he had never allowed himself to be.

Not with his lord, Strahd von Zarovich. Never.

He folded his arms, floating back to his perch atop the back of the lounge chair and resting upon it. He leaned his body forward slightly, feeling as if this position could somehow shield him from the gut wrenching emotions he was currently being subjected to, and that he prayed were not as obvious as they felt. “Reminiscing is all I’ve had for the longest time.” He admitted. “That doesn’t mean that I’d make a deal to take it back.” His voice softened again, laced with the same sadness as when he first whispered above Strahd’s desk,

“I’ve seen what it can do first hand.” He admitted quietly. “All of it.”

All of it that had occurred in the Castle anyway. Year after painful year he had watched as the Castle rotted, as his Lord despaired, and as everything aged in pain and suffering. He had watched helplessly as his own body had abandoned him, as Leo had killed those who mattered most to him, and as Strahd wept quietly in his chambers alone when he thought no one was there to see. It was not things he should have been privy to, and all the more with Strahd - things he should not have watched but he could not force himself to look away.

One wrong word, one wrong move and the thing that pretended to be Alek would wish it had found someone else to taunt and torment. The magic pulsed in Strahd’s fingers as Alek spoke softly, sadly. Damn him. Few others could so easily play Strahd von Zarovich’s heartstrings with a mixture of earnestness, judgment, and grief. Strahd had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men but only this one could haunt Strahd. Not even Sergei would have had such sway. Studying Alek’s eyes, Strahd knew them too well to think it was Death with whom he now spoke. Of all his loved ones, Death had never managed to imitate Alek so well. He lowered his hand and dispelled the magic with a crackle of potent energy.

“Have you come to chastise me for your death, Alek?” Strahd asked, maybe not dropping all his defenses, though the magic no longer flowed from his fingertips. Here was poison more powerful: the bladed edge of Strahd’s tongue. “Do you think I have not grieved enough? Would an apology change anything between us?”

Strahd was not in the habit of apologizing to his victims or their families. War was war and when he had battled Alek, it had been a matter of life or death for them both. How was he to have known that Alek hadn’t meant harm? What he suspected now was that Alek had always been his lamb to slaughter by order of Death and the dark deal he had made with it. Alek had done no wrong, not to Strahd. He was a prized warrior, a valued member of Strahd’s household, his dearest friend.

His not-friend. His. Entirely his.

If Death had wanted to rob Strahd of everyone he ever loved, it had done a fine job by starting with Alek Gwilym, especially in the moment in which Strahd drained Alek’s life. Alek had been poised to warn him of Leo Dilisnya’s attack, promised to always help him even with his dying breaths. Loyalty had been Alek’s undoing as blindness had been Strahd’s. Did the lamb not trust the shepherd who took it for butchering? Strahd gestured for Alek to sit, though he doubted ghosts could know comfort or discomfort in any physical sense, if his necromantic experiments were to be any indication. He took his own place, folding his arms over the desktop and digging his claws into his own flesh to keep from trembling or, worse, crying. Still, for all the control Strahd had over his own emotions and expressions, nothing quite quelled the grief painted in his eyes and bitter smile.

“If you’ve been here every moment since your death, then you’ll know most anything I could tell you. That’s just like you, though, isn’t it? You always had a way of routing out secrets. I have no notion of how long you will remain here – it varies with your kind – so I will not waste your time telling you things you know already, including, perhaps that I mourn you still.”

There was a crypt with no body beneath Castle Ravenloft, dedicated to Alek’s memory. A death mask in his likeness had been made and it had taken half a dozen artists to render Alek properly. The sweet-smelling votive candles lacked ties to any faith, as neither Alek nor Strahd were pious men, and as such, felt like the last holy place Strahd could enter without the oppression of holy magic or the burn of radiance scorching his skin. It was just as well: entering was already painful. He tried to visit the crypt regularly. Indeed, he visited more often than he visited even his own consorts, and spoke to Alek in the unguarded manner with which he had once regarded him. If Alek watched, he had heard, perhaps he had even tried to answer. Suddenly Strahd felt very violated. He had not uttered the word “love”, not even to an empty room within his own walls, but love was laced in his every word to Alek’s memory, especially as chasing Tatyana proved fruitless and he began to understand the true nature of his curse. Alek was so good at gleaning hidden meanings in omitted words. He had to know. He had no right and every right to know. Strahd should tell him himself. Instead Strahd wished he’d never erected a monument to the man, that he had become inhuman enough to forget what love felt like and inhuman enough to cease loving. He had wished for love, sacrificed love, and in the end was left with a ghost and a living dead girl and his own, never-ending life without love. He dug his claws deeper into his arms, no doubt drawing blood now.

“What would you have me tell you, Alek?” His voice was hoarse. “Since there have been so few secrets between us, even in death, you can ask me anything. I’ll answer.”

[knight-in-shining-amor]

walkingshcdow:

Strahd should not have scrambled to his feet. It was unbecoming of a general, a conqueror, a king to start so like a frighted child at the sound of a ghost’s voice. This was not a voice anything could have prepared him to hear. His feathered quill shushed to the floor, dripping ink in a place that Strahd would not notice for days or even weeks. Standing straight, he looked into Alek’s eyes. How close his face was. There was a certain impudence to draw so near, a certain over-familiarity. If it had been anyone else…

It wasn’t though. But it might be. Death had imperfectly imitated Alek’s voice once before. Why would it not try again? Strahd scrutinized the ghost of the man before him. Except the slight translucentness to his form, this was unmistakably Alek. He stood a breath away, a stab away, a bite away, a-

Strahd swallowed very hard as his mind touched the one thought he never permitted himself to indulge in. He’d never been a man to indulge in frivolity, not even in his own fantasies. It would have been a fool’s errand to imagine kissing Alek Gwilym, even in life. For one thing, Alek’s scores of women along the campaign trail indicated where his predilections laid. For another, though Strahd was lord of all Barovia and could have had anything he had desired, it would not have satisfied him to command Alek to come to his tent. Alek was a loyal soldier and would have done anything from duty, nothing from love. And, besides, love alone did not get the brats Alek insisted would be needed to run Barovia after Strahd’s death.

Perhaps he had allowed himself to indulge in frivolous thought experiments a time or two.

His death had never come and he had made a deal with Death for his heart’s desire. For so long, he had thought that his heart desire had been Tatyana and that, one day, he would be guaranteed to win her when Death had its fill. Then, he’d thought it might be his eternal prime, his dark gift of vampirism. Now, a new thought intruded upon him in his panic. Had Death not given a heart’s desire, but taken one instead?

If that was so, then there was no reason this was the real spirit of Alek Gwilym. Surely, Death taunted Strahd still. Surely… Surely-

Alek moved. Strahd reached a hand to begin an arcane sigil should Alek prove to be Death in disguise. Instead, Alek seemed almost shy and drawn in on himself. Death would never have been shy. Neither would Alek, for that matter. Alek had always been so bold. It was what Strahd had admired most about him in the end, not only that he was a bold and brave soldier, but that he was brave enough to be the one thing Strahd had ever considered an equal. Even in deference, Alek would not shrink away from him so. What, then, was this perfect lookalike? What fresh hell had Death unleashed upon him, if not itself and if not Alek? Or was this some altogether different malady, not a shade, but the result of a bad meal, the centuries’ march against his flesh, the madness of grief? Strahd did not lower his hand, nor did he make the sign of power. Strahd listened.

“You’ve… watched me? Why?”

His voice was a low, hoarse hiss. He had no guarantee this was not some clever, potent magic which stood before him. He had no guarantee of anything at all, but Alek would be obligated to answer and anything imitating him would be obligated to taunt Strahd. A word into the sending stone around his neck and Rahadin and his choir would fill the room with defensive screams. Strahd did not utter it, though. A word from this apparition would overpower Strahd’s good sense and convince him he stood in the presence of his right hand once more. He did not even lift his eyes from Alek’s gloomy form. If this was Alek and he had seen everything, what could Strahd say to him, except that if he had only listened to Alek, maybe… That was the key, wasn’t it? When visited by a ghost, one should listen. Strahd waited. Strahd listened.

Strahd prepared himself for the rage to come when he had his proof this was not Alek Gwilym. It would be his last fight against Death and though he did not anticipate living through it, he would fight the way a man who had already lost everything might. Harder still. If something dared to imitate Alek, even if it was Death itself, Strahd would be sure that it suffered as greatly as he had to have lost Alek to begin with.

It took but a moment of recognition, of interaction that made it so that Alek watched Strahd scramble to his feet in apparent surprise when he spoke once more. It was in that moment that it was completely confirmed for him that whatever had held him at bay and away from the world now tethered him in that dark place no longer.

There was a sense of relief that wanted to wash over him, but all the same could not yet be afforded. He was no master of the arcane, but he knew Strahd far too well to let it go unnoticed that he was preparing to attack if necessary.

It wasn’t surprising, and all together expected. Alek would have told him as an advisor to never trust at first glance. To never let go of suspicions of things that deviated from the everyday. He remembered over and over again being the one to investigate every worry that Strahd used to have in the kingdom as his emissary. It was his secret and precious second mission alongside the collection of those blasted tomes. He’d always have his ears open, playing to the man’s paranoia and in part, to his own. Even the thought that he too could have been a Bal’Verzi assassin so long ago when they had first claimed this castle had never bothered him, aside from the fact that the real one would still be walking, and could have still gotten to Strahd, who he was sworn to protect.

Most of all Alek remembered the scene where he lay dying, hearing his own voice echoing around him along with others and all the same not. A mocking tone in his own tongue, and yet things he would never say. He remembered the tremendous pressure of what he could only assume was this very same entity trying to pry it’s way inside of him, and how he had to gather what will he had left to keep it at bay. It was something that he reflected on often and he wondered if that was the Death that Strahd had spoken of so many times. If Alek were in his position, he would find himself doing the very same defensive behaviors being showcased before him.

It was because of this that the hiss of Strahd’s voice did not cause Alek to flinch, when it quivered with a dangerous darkness that should have affected most others. What he was afraid of wasn’t physical. In that category, Strahd had already done the worst that he could to him. Of that he was certain. What he feared was that now, coming out of this period of being alone, he would say something that he would deeply regret.

The truth.

“The truth is-” He paused, eyes tracing over every detail of how the other stood, wishing this didn’t have to be so - wishing that he could touch him and leap into his arms instead of this tension that could be the only thing afforded in this situation.

He’d gone over the scenario of when he could finally talk to Strahd thousands of times, and somehow every conversation that he had drafted was coming up blank.

Of course it was.

“The truth is that I was by myself for a very long time, and your presence was the only thing that could bring me comfort.” There it was. The truth he didn’t want to say. He grimaced. “I didn’t know that would mean that I’d witness you in an emotional place you didn’t want others to see. Forgive me, my lord. If you need to punish me for it, then I would understand.”

Followed by such a selfish thought - “Maybe I can finally be put out of my misery.”

Confronted so directly and with no preparation he’d been so stupid as to admit that he found comfort in the other’s presence.

Comfort!? Because that would go over so well–

It’s not like he would fight him. He couldn’t. Never again. Nor had he really tested any combat capabilities that came with this form, whatever it was. A ghost? A poltergeist? A spirit? A specter? Who knew there were so many names for different incorporeal creatures. To Alek they could have all been the same thing and he would never know the difference.

Had he really fallen so low that he was wishing to be destroyed? When had he ever been so much of a coward? He was someone who fought armies, toppled a civilization, had to be fearless for as long as he could remember in the face of any foe, and here he was fighting his most terrifying foe yet.

Raw unbridled emotion.  

Without the ease of his vices to lean back on, it was so much harder to run from all of the things that plagued his soul. He couldn’t distract himself by bedding with women. He couldn’t numb his thoughts with wine. He couldn’t work himself to death and never allow himself to stop long enough to think.  

No. He had to sit here, face to face with the rawest of pain and wait for the inevitable moment of the other man finishing him off for good.

How pathetic he had become. It infuriated him.

A starter for the lovely @walkingshcdow who I’m so excited to roleplay with! 

___________________________________________

There were distinct downsides to being dead, and monotony was one of them. This was the thought that passed through Alek Gwilym’s mind as he passed down one of the many long corridors of Castle Ravenloft for what had to be the hundredth time that day. 

Without realizing it, he had ended up floating along the same path he used to patrol when alive in his days as castle steward. Despite the time that had passed, he didn’t have to think too hard on it to imagine the hustle and bustle of servants dashing through the corridors to get some parcel where it needed to be, or to be assigned the unluckiest impossible task of dusting the place. 

This castle had not seen such liveliness in centuries, and being bound to its walls Alek wondered if the outside world knew of that liveliness of the past as well or if for them too, it was lost to time. Given the rumors that he had heard murmured by the occasional Barovian mob who dared to enter the castle, or the righteous insults delivered by a pack of gung-ho adventurer’s dead set on murdering Strahd - he doubted it.  Everything in this land, just like his lord had become weary and depressing. 

If he were alive, perhaps he could abate such feelings with the sensation of alcohol tickling his brain and warming his bones, but the dead got no such luxuries. Should he ever have the chance, the ability to appreciate a bottle of wine like he used to would be first on the long list of things that he yearned to experience again.

The thought crossed his mind of going into Rahadin’s office and blowing his paper’s off of his desk while he was working, just to watch his puzzlement and annoyance as he had to pick them all up, and he let out a soft chuckle. Of course, no one had been able to see him since the day that he died, and the dusk elf would likely haven’t a clue how a breeze got into the lower levels of the keep. Then again - far stranger things had happened in this castle than a mysterious breeze so it was more likely that the current chamberlain wouldn't think too much about it and would simply go back to working while in a worse mood than before. 

It wasn’t worth the trouble in the end, but he desperately wished for something to break his silence, and in doing so crafted all sorts of fun little pranks to play on the current residents here. He understood now why poltergeists were always portrayed as such troublemakers in stories, because in an eternity of solitude you became desperate for absolutely anyone to notice you. Truly, this was a hell of its own design. 

Alek had never been a pious man, and in the past he had often wondered that if he had maybe prayed a little more often, then maybe he wouldn’t have been stuck here in this form. 

No. This was a punishment for staying silent. For falling in line despite his own beliefs. 

He stayed far too silent on his objections to Strahd’s wish to study the darkest part of the arcane, and he stayed silent on how he truly felt about him. 

Strahd von Zarovich had his curse, and this was Alek Gwilym’s. 

Now, every day he had to see the face of his king, general, and the man whom he had secretly loved look straight through him. To not notice that he was here, and in fact, had never left.

He was in the study now where Strahd was quietly working. It was one of the spots in the Castle where if looking, Alek always seemed to be able to find him. He perched himself on the back of one of the lounge chairs, his weightless form not indicating it at all as he stared unabashedly at Strahd with a distinct longing. 

The once man-now vampire had remained the same for centuries. Visually anyway… Ever since Alek’s murder, Strahd’s skin had turned a deathly pale and where his ears were once round, now they came to an almost elven point. The most prominent change was -

He wanted to look at his fangs, but ended up fixating on his lips - those damnable lips that he should have kissed forever ago, now drawn into a thin line of concentration as he sat writing there at his desk. 

Slipping silently off of his spot atop the chair, Alek floated to him, putting out a hand as if to touch them, knowing full well that even if he could make contact that he wouldn’t feel it and neither would Strahd. 

“What have we become, my lord?” He whispered softly, looking down at the other man with a sad smile. “Just a couple of old fools lost in our curses. What I wouldn’t give for just a single day that was like old times.” 

With a sad sigh, he sunk down, folding his arms across the desk, and with nothing else to do, he watched with a reminiscent wistfulness as Strahd worked. 

[knight-in-shining-amor]

Alek had spent so long used to being met with silence whenever he spoke, that when Strahd first reacted, it simply refused to register. In the past, he had tried all manner of strategies to get his Lord’s attention.

His first attempt was simply speaking, although it didn’t take long to figure out that not only Strahd, but in fact nobody in the castle was privy to his retorts. This didn’t stop him from making them from time to time. If he didn’t hear his own voice every now and then, he feared that he would forget what it sounded like. He didn’t know how ghosts worked, not instinctively, and it was a common anxiety that if he forgot some part of himself, would it simply cease to exist? Would he open his mouth to make one of his snarky remarks and no sound would escape his translucent lips? Such a fate was not worth the risk, and so he continued to enact as many of his living habits as his afterlife would allow.

His second attempt was short lived, which was to simply knock over something to announce his presence in the room. This never ended well as it always played at Strahd’s paranoia more than anything else. It wasn’t Alek who Strahd would suspect in the room, but this so-called “Death” that he caught him muttering to or cursing from time to time. He did not want to provoke such an entity, or draw Strahd’s attention to it - so it took only a couple failed attempts of this nature for this particular ploy to cease entirely.

His third attempt was perhaps the most practical, which was attempting to write Strahd a letter. When it came time to put his quill to a page, however, no matter how much ink he ensured was at the tip, none leaked to the parchment. This was when he knew he was cursed. Whatever arcane had damned him to this state didn’t want him to interact with Strahd, and had made itself perfectly clear.

Upon this realization, Alek Gwilym simply stopped trying.

This is why when Strahd reached his hand towards the former Commander’s, he didn’t even think of the possibility that it was because he was finally seen. Even when Strahd spoke, it wasn’t until he addressed him as ‘Commander’ that his mind snapped into focus. For lack of better analogy, it was like the hazy fog of a hangover finally lifting and the world suddenly seeming comprehensible again.

His gray eyes snapped to Strahd’s and he imagined he probably looked like a wide eyed child, staring in wonder at something that their small mind had never comprehended before - a show of lights, seeing the arcane for the first time, or the sight of presents piled up on Winter’s Crest. If he were living, he imagined that he would have taken in a shaky breath and felt the pounding drum of a heartbeat racing in his chest.

These living sensations were lost on him, but a surge of the emotional pain and longing that had built up for these past centuries were not. Ghosts could not cry and ghosts could not feel lumps in their throats but all the same these things felt as if they were occurring as he scrunched his face bracing for what wasn’t to come. Perhaps it was that and the combination of Strahd baring the very fangs that had taken him from this world that forced him to briefly look away to collect himself.

Hardening his resolve, he brought his face back to meet his Lord’s. “You’ll have to forgive me, your grace. Centuries of talking to myself has made me nearly forget the sensation of two sided conversation.” He paused, choosing his words carefully before adding, “..And centuries of being by your side, for that matter. You’d really punish a soldier for following orders even if he had gone unnoticed until now?”

He wanted to say so much more than that. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to let Strahd know the anguish of his isolation and to confide in him as he had told him everything all those years ago. Almost everything…

He wanted now more than ever to tell him what had never been said. To tell him how he had felt, how he had loved him, and how he always would. But his memory flashed to the memories on that parapet, to the both of them soaked in the rain, and of the dark aura of Strahd von Zarovich losing himself before Alek’s very eyes. To looking down at his own stomach as blood poured out, and the dawning realization that he was dying and that it was by the hands of the very many whom he had loved. A man who had forsaken his soul for another’s bride. Not for him, but for Tatyana-

He remembered this and remained silent.

He was viscerally aware now that as soon as Strahd seemed to have finally noticed him after all of these years, how his gaze had flitted to that painting of Tatyana that hung above his fireplace. They always went back to her, and he couldn’t help but feel resentment towards her for it. He knew how unfair that emotion was. Hell, he was the one who suggested to Strahd to get a woman in the first place. He knew he would never have the ability to be what Strahd needed, to be a female wife that bore an heir, and worst of all would never have the noble blood flowing through his veins that would have allowed him the privilege to have been by his side as a lover- even if he had been born a woman. He simply lacked far too much.

Alek had eyes. He saw her beauty just as plainly as all else who had seen it. It wasn’t surprising that Strahd became infatuated with her, but he had thought in the past that his honor would have prevented him from taking what belonged to his brother, because once upon a time he would have valued family over lust. But Strahd had grown weary of fighting with no reward, and at his core he was a conqueror first and foremost so he took what was wanted.

He tried to.

How could Alek have possibly known what would have come of this? And if things had played out differently, he already knew that if alive he would have played a part in helping kill Sergei and give Tatyana to Strahd without question because of his damnable loyalty. He’d hop at the first chance to appease him, and obey every order with a thorough eye for detail that the average man was not even remotely capable of, and he’d do it all no matter what he wanted because he was a soldier and following orders was what he did best. Could he have posed a suggestion to perhaps persuade Strahd in another direction? Of course, and he had done such a thing several times in a manner of speaking against the lord’s will that other men woul;d have lost their heads for. And did. Yet if Strahd held fast to his desire and the order pursued, Alek Gwilym had always delivered.

Again, brought back to the reality of the moment that he had waited so long for, he became aware of how close he was to the other man he was standing beside. Sure, he could get away with this while unseen, but something about being acknowledged brought a slight tinge of guilt for overindulging in Strahd’s presence in a way that he didn’t think would be discovered. It was intimate in a way that he had never allowed himself to be.

Not with his lord, Strahd von Zarovich. Never.

He folded his arms, floating back to his perch atop the back of the lounge chair and resting upon it. He leaned his body forward slightly, feeling as if this position could somehow shield him from the gut wrenching emotions he was currently being subjected to, and that he prayed were not as obvious as they felt. “Reminiscing is all I’ve had for the longest time.” He admitted. “That doesn’t mean that I’d make a deal to take it back.” His voice softened again, laced with the same sadness as when he first whispered above Strahd’s desk,

“I’ve seen what it can do first hand.” He admitted quietly. “All of it.”

All of it that had occurred in the Castle anyway. Year after painful year he had watched as the Castle rotted, as his Lord despaired, and as everything aged in pain and suffering. He had watched helplessly as his own body had abandoned him, as Leo had killed those who mattered most to him, and as Strahd wept quietly in his chambers alone when he thought no one was there to see. It was not things he should have been privy to, and all the more with Strahd - things he should not have watched but he could not force himself to look away.

A Vampire and a Ghost

A starter for the lovely @walkingshcdow who I’m so excited to roleplay with! 

___________________________________________

There were distinct downsides to being dead, and monotony was one of them. This was the thought that passed through Alek Gwilym’s mind as he passed down one of the many long corridors of Castle Ravenloft for what had to be the hundredth time that day. 

Without realizing it, he had ended up floating along the same path he used to patrol when alive in his days as castle steward. Despite the time that had passed, he didn’t have to think too hard on it to imagine the hustle and bustle of servants dashing through the corridors to get some parcel where it needed to be, or to be assigned the unluckiest impossible task of dusting the place. 

This castle had not seen such liveliness in centuries, and being bound to its walls Alek wondered if the outside world knew of that liveliness of the past as well or if for them too, it was lost to time. Given the rumors that he had heard murmured by the occasional Barovian mob who dared to enter the castle, or the righteous insults delivered by a pack of gung-ho adventurer’s dead set on murdering Strahd - he doubted it.  Everything in this land, just like his lord had become weary and depressing. 

If he were alive, perhaps he could abate such feelings with the sensation of alcohol tickling his brain and warming his bones, but the dead got no such luxuries. Should he ever have the chance, the ability to appreciate a bottle of wine like he used to would be first on the long list of things that he yearned to experience again.

The thought crossed his mind of going into Rahadin’s office and blowing his paper’s off of his desk while he was working, just to watch his puzzlement and annoyance as he had to pick them all up, and he let out a soft chuckle. Of course, no one had been able to see him since the day that he died, and the dusk elf would likely haven’t a clue how a breeze got into the lower levels of the keep. Then again - far stranger things had happened in this castle than a mysterious breeze so it was more likely that the current chamberlain wouldn’t think too much about it and would simply go back to working while in a worse mood than before. 

It wasn’t worth the trouble in the end, but he desperately wished for something to break his silence, and in doing so crafted all sorts of fun little pranks to play on the current residents here. He understood now why poltergeists were always portrayed as such troublemakers in stories, because in an eternity of solitude you became desperate for absolutely anyone to notice you. Truly, this was a hell of its own design. 

Alek had never been a pious man, and in the past he had often wondered that if he had maybe prayed a little more often, then maybe he wouldn’t have been stuck here in this form. 

No. This was a punishment for staying silent. For falling in line despite his own beliefs. 

He stayed far too silent on his objections to Strahd’s wish to study the darkest part of the arcane, and he stayed silent on how he truly felt about him. 

Strahd von Zarovich had his curse, and this was Alek Gwilym’s. 

Now, every day he had to see the face of his king, general, and the man whom he had secretly loved look straight through him. To not notice that he was here, and in fact, had never left.

He was in the study now where Strahd was quietly working. It was one of the spots in the Castle where if looking, Alek always seemed to be able to find him. He perched himself on the back of one of the lounge chairs, his weightless form not indicating it at all as he stared unabashedly at Strahd with a distinct longing. 

The once man-now vampire had remained the same for centuries. Visually anyway… Ever since Alek’s murder, Strahd’s skin had turned a deathly pale and where his ears were once round, now they came to an almost elven point. The most prominent change was -

He wanted to look at his fangs, but ended up fixating on his lips - those damnable lips that he should have kissed forever ago, now drawn into a thin line of concentration as he sat writing there at his desk. 

Slipping silently off of his spot atop the chair, Alek floated to him, putting out a hand as if to touch them, knowing full well that even if he could make contact that he wouldn’t feel it and neither would Strahd. 

“What have we become, my lord?” He whispered softly, looking down at the other man with a sad smile. “Just a couple of old fools lost in our curses. What I wouldn’t give for just a single day that was like old times.” 

With a sad sigh, he sunk down, folding his arms across the desk, and with nothing else to do, he watched with a reminiscent wistfulness as Strahd worked. 

[knight-in-shining-amor]

A Vampire and a Ghost

A starter for the lovely @walkingshcdow who I’m so excited to roleplay with! 

___________________________________________

There were distinct downsides to being dead, and monotony was one of them. This was the thought that passed through Alek Gwilym’s mind as he passed down one of the many long corridors of Castle Ravenloft for what had to be the hundredth time that day. 

Without realizing it, he had ended up floating along the same path he used to patrol when alive in his days as castle steward. Despite the time that had passed, he didn’t have to think too hard on it to imagine the hustle and bustle of servants dashing through the corridors to get some parcel where it needed to be, or to be assigned the unluckiest impossible task of dusting the place. 

This castle had not seen such liveliness in centuries, and being bound to its walls Alek wondered if the outside world knew of that liveliness of the past as well or if for them too, it was lost to time. Given the rumors that he had heard murmured by the occasional Barovian mob who dared to enter the castle, or the righteous insults delivered by a pack of gung-ho adventurer’s dead set on murdering Strahd - he doubted it.  Everything in this land, just like his lord had become weary and depressing. 

If he were alive, perhaps he could abate such feelings with the sensation of alcohol tickling his brain and warming his bones, but the dead got no such luxuries. Should he ever have the chance, the ability to appreciate a bottle of wine like he used to would be first on the long list of things that he yearned to experience again.

The thought crossed his mind of going into Rahadin’s office and blowing his paper’s off of his desk while he was working, just to watch his puzzlement and annoyance as he had to pick them all up, and he let out a soft chuckle. Of course, no one had been able to see him since the day that he died, and the dusk elf would likely haven’t a clue how a breeze got into the lower levels of the keep. Then again - far stranger things had happened in this castle than a mysterious breeze so it was more likely that the current chamberlain wouldn't think too much about it and would simply go back to working while in a worse mood than before. 

It wasn’t worth the trouble in the end, but he desperately wished for something to break his silence, and in doing so crafted all sorts of fun little pranks to play on the current residents here. He understood now why poltergeists were always portrayed as such troublemakers in stories, because in an eternity of solitude you became desperate for absolutely anyone to notice you. Truly, this was a hell of its own design. 

Alek had never been a pious man, and in the past he had often wondered that if he had maybe prayed a little more often, then maybe he wouldn’t have been stuck here in this form. 

No. This was a punishment for staying silent. For falling in line despite his own beliefs. 

He stayed far too silent on his objections to Strahd’s wish to study the darkest part of the arcane, and he stayed silent on how he truly felt about him. 

Strahd von Zarovich had his curse, and this was Alek Gwilym’s. 

Now, every day he had to see the face of his king, general, and the man whom he had secretly loved look straight through him. To not notice that he was here, and in fact, had never left.

He was in the study now where Strahd was quietly working. It was one of the spots in the Castle where if looking, Alek always seemed to be able to find him. He perched himself on the back of one of the lounge chairs, his weightless form not indicating it at all as he stared unabashedly at Strahd with a distinct longing. 

The once man-now vampire had remained the same for centuries. Visually anyway… Ever since Alek’s murder, Strahd’s skin had turned a deathly pale and where his ears were once round, now they came to an almost elven point. The most prominent change was -

He wanted to look at his fangs, but ended up fixating on his lips - those damnable lips that he should have kissed forever ago, now drawn into a thin line of concentration as he sat writing there at his desk. 

Slipping silently off of his spot atop the chair, Alek floated to him, putting out a hand as if to touch them, knowing full well that even if he could make contact that he wouldn’t feel it and neither would Strahd. 

“What have we become, my lord?” He whispered softly, looking down at the other man with a sad smile. “Just a couple of old fools lost in our curses. What I wouldn’t give for just a single day that was like old times.” 

With a sad sigh, he sunk down, folding his arms across the desk, and with nothing else to do, he watched with a reminiscent wistfulness as Strahd worked.