I walked past Isaac, the still-struggling Other dangling from my grip like an animal awaiting slaughter. Its taloned hands clawed weakly at my arm, but the effort was wasted. A curiosity more than a threat now.
My gaze swept across the ruin. The wall still smoldered from fire and broken ice, the great wooden gate reduced to splinters by the wight-giant's assault. Yet the settlement within, the houses, the crude defenses, the flickering torches, still stood. Mortals had bled and died here, but they had not broken.
Snow hissed beneath my boots as I walked, and I let my eyes fall upon the Night Creature half-buried in the drifts, one arm torn away. I knew it. Isaac's handiwork, once sent against Alucard, Sypha, and the Belmont. The memory was as clear as ever, Sypha's sorcery sealing its throat, fire tearing its own body apart. I suppose this was a kinder fate, reborn in service and dying in the protection of its master.
Isaac rose to his feet behind me, steps falling into rhythm like a hound keeping pace. The rangers of the Watch stared in silence, hands on hilts, uncertain if they faced another foe. The free folk were less hesitant. They remembered me. Their weapons dipped, and their eyes lowered in subservience.
That was enough for me.
"You fought well," I said without looking back. "You and Hector. With such a ragged army."
"The threat was nothing, Master Dracula," Isaac answered smoothly, as if scorning the dead all around us. "If you had ordered us to raise a hoarde of Night creatures, we would decimate them in totality."
I hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Isaac was not wrong, but I didn't say it. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackle of fire and the faint, mournful groans of dying men.
I stepped past them, still dragging the Other in tow. Already its skin had begun to shift to a darker blue, a darker blue that my experience with the previous Other told me was a sign of loss of air. I held tight until the scrambling slowed, until the limbs fell heavy to its side and until its neck lolled.
It was unconscious, not dead, but the Night's Watch and the free folk didn't know that. Instead they stared at me in wide-eyed fear as I dragged the embodiment of their horror and fear into the light like a mere child. The moment I crossed the broken gate, I was greeted by Hector helping a free folk limp. The moment he caught sight of me, he offloaded the injured woman into another person's waiting hands before moving into a smooth bow, a smile playing on his lips.
"Master Dracula, I thought you would never return," he said in jest, and I cracked a thin smile in response before throwing the Other to the side.
"Secure the Other, Isaac." Isaac nodded at the command and moved to follow, while I turned to Hector. "I'll be waiting in my study. Get me the leaders of the free folk and the Watch. When I'm ready I shall speak to them."
"In the castle?"
I nodded sharply, my feet already taking me away. "In the great hall."
x
I sat comfortably in my study while twirling the knife of super-condensed magical ice I had ripped from the Other's waist. It was a fine blade, sharp, thin yet hard. I was curious about how it was made, and it wasn't just my natural curiosity. It was magic, magic much like the way Valyrian steel was made, which made me even more curious. There were already rumors of ice dragons in the Land of Always Winter. Did they participate in the forging, much like the fire-breathing ones were rumored to do?
A knock rang on my door before I could sink too far into my thoughts, and I called out. "Enter."
The door was pushed open, revealing the cleaned up and relaxed duo of Hector and Isaac. They came to a stop before the giant oak table that served as my desk.
"Tell me what happened since I left."
"Of course, Master Dracula." Isaac started, taking a step forward. "Shortly after you left, we were approached by a group of free folk. Their leader was Tormund Giantsbane, the father of Hector's wards." I hummed in reply. I had seen him. Red hair was not an all too common feature, and even if he didn't look like his movie version, there were only so many men over six feet in height with a mane of red hair in the North.
"They requested entrance, citing pursuit by the wights and a supposed Other. We allowed them entry, and a few hours after that a group of rangers appeared before us looking rough and haggard. Also citing pursuit by the Others and a horde of wights. We allowed them entry but not before taking something of value."
Isaac brought out the package he had carried behind him, unwrapping it to reveal a hand-and-a-half blade with smoky ripples outlined on the side. My eyes grew bright at the sight of the Valyrian steel. Isaac let out a rare smile at that.
"I remembered the fond look you had given the blade in the hands of the wight that had guarded Bloodraven." He moved to gently place it on my desk before continuing his tale. "An alliance was also promised. An alliance where the free folk would head south and beyond the gates, but I doubt the veracity of the statement. Humans, as is their wont, would say just about anything to survive."
I nodded in reply, my hand outstretched to caress the flat side of Longclaw. If Longclaw was here, then so was Jeor Mormont and Jon Snow. I had not spotted either previously while watching the fight that had led to Isaac butchering one of the rangers, but if they look less like their movie versions, it would make sense not to recognize them.
"And the Horn of Joramun?" I asked.
"Safely locked in the treasury, Master Dracula," Hector replied.
"Have you confirmed the veracity of the rumors?" I asked, blade forgotten in my hands, and curiosity in my tone.
"I have, Master Dracula." Hector continued, gesturing animatedly. "There is magic to the horn. Unfamiliar magic. The horn seemed to have been cut off a huge beast, then shaved and shaped with mundane tools. However, there is magic in the bone of the horn, as well as in the runes etched upon its form. I don't know the rune magic of these lands, so I cannot say what it does, but I am certain you would be able to."
Would I?
I hummed in reply before rising up to my feet. "Take me to it."
Like always, navigating the castle was a journey in itself, but Castlevania aided me, moving and repositioning paths to make our journey smooth until we got to a treasury I had just remembered I possessed. The door groaned open, and I ignored the other displays to focus on the last case.
The Horn of Joramun was huge. More than a man could comfortably carry, which made sense that Tormund had made the one giant in his group carry it. It was bleached white, and the sight of the spiral shape made me all the more certain it was an actual horn broken off from an actual dragon. Were the stories of ice dragons true, or was this the horn of some dragon that had died in the North?
I moved closer to the glass and lifted it, placing it to the side as I focused on the horn. My hand stretched out, caressing it as I stared at the runes that seemed to glow slightly. Hector was right, I understood it. Rune language was not exactly a language, not in truth. Runes were a type of writing, engraving the essence or the meaning of particular words into written form.
Dracula's memories spoke to a time when he walked the world, learning of the various kinds of magics: human, vampire, demon, and holy. I had barely delved into it, wary of touching the chaos magic Dracula was so drawn to, but the little that bloomed at the back of my head spoke of an expanded world beyond what had been presented to us in the show. Expansive dunes, arctic wastelands, everything and more that Dracula had experienced spoke to me.
The memories were no longer as overwhelming. I feared ego death less and less with each passing day I lived as Dracula. More and more, we were truly becoming one in every way that mattered. I blinked scarlet eyes, refocusing on the runes. Less language, more the true essence of words. And I was deeply familiar with them, considering they were how I manipulated the far-seeing glasses.
"I can recognize the runes written on this. There's an Awakening rune, and around it are runes of earth and stone. Circling that and at the mouth of the horn are runes for binding and breaking, and at the tip, where air would be blown, are runes of sacrifice."
It was roughly done, and by someone with a weaker grasp of magic than I held, yet it was solid. Engraved into a dragon horn meant that it would last for centuries, if not millennia, without wearing out.
"If blown towards the walls, it would most likely destroy a not insignificant portion. In return it would take the user's life." At least that is what I assumed, a non-specified lifespan in sacrifice for its usage. That was something that didn't come as a surprise to me. I had grown to expect such things, considering the world and the way magic was intricately linked with sacrifice here.
"What do we do, Master Dracula?"
"Leave it here. Your original decision was the correct one. It is too dangerous a tool to be left in the hands of the free folk." Also, if things somehow managed to still follow canon despite the giant butterfly that was my presence, and Stannis made his way here with that witch, I would rather the horn not be destroyed in a great sacrifice to R'hllor.
I rationalized, instead of accepting the truth that I was going to be a kleptomaniac for anything magic.
"Now come," I called out, turning on the spot and moving. "There's a meeting to be had."
x
We made our way to the great hall. Castlevania shifted for me, stone groaning like a beast adjusting its weight, corridors lengthening and narrowing, torches burning higher as though feeding on my intent. By the time the doors loomed before us, the air in the room was heavy and dense.
I allowed myself to sink into the high-backed chair at the head of the hall, its silhouette jagged with shadow, its height raising me above the table like a judge presiding over execution. My fingers drummed once against the armrest, and the sound echoed through the chamber. Hector and Isaac took their places slightly behind me and to either side of the chair.
It was almost amusing, thinking back to the day I had first woken in this castle. How fragile I had been then. Panic gnawing at me, desperate to escape, heart fluttering like prey beneath a hawk's gaze. The only thing that had stopped me had been the sheer weight of Dracula's inhumanity dampening those emotions. Now there was no panic. No worry, only partially earned confidence that came from accepting my role.
The great doors groaned open.
The Lord Commander entered first, his pallor ghastly, one sleeve hanging limp over the stump where his arm had been. Behind him came Qhorin Halfhand, face like carved granite, and an unfamiliar ranger with wary eyes that never left me. On the other side strode Tormund Giantsbane, red mane wild, flanked by Ygritte with her fox-bright glare and Mother Mole, old and bent but radiating that uncanny aura of faith. Lastly, the figure in brown robes I had spotted as I rushed out of the settlement.
They crossed the threshold and faltered. Castlevania did not welcome them; it watched them. As did I. They squirmed on the spot, uncomfortable in my presence.
"Sit," I said at last, after letting them stew in an uncomfortable silence.
The word was not loud, but came out like a command, and I gestured lazily to the long table laid out before me, the gleam of polished wood and gilded cutlery mocking the mud-stained furs and blood-spattered armor of my guests.
The opulence was a weapon in itself, dazzling, disorienting, a reminder that they were vastly lesser than me, in every single way that mattered. Such subtle diplomacy was above me, but Dracula was an old hand at such.
They obeyed, though some with hesitation. The scrape of chairs against the floor echoed in the silence of the room, and eyes drifted to mine, although none met my eyes for long.
"Now tell me, what can I do for you?"