#but we learn more about Leonore and Dettlaff

[midwinter-fox]

Learning

This is gonna be mostly backstory with some fluff. c: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, but now I have three entire chapters to edit and post at once. 

First Chapter

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The rain outside started out as a faint drizzle, but before even half of an hour passed, the heavens opened and drenched the world with a heavy downpour. Howling wind blew through the herb garden and thunder rolled in the distance, but the world may as well have been empty to Dettlaff. Leonore was pressed tightly to him, her rosy scent filling his senses as he closed his eyes and simply took her in. Her hands and arms were doing all they could to soothe him and the pain in his heart even now, hours after he spilled his tragic tale and revealed to her everything in the deepest depths of his heart. The fear and apprehension had melted away, bringing calm and quiet in their wake. This was perfect, he mused briefly, but only because the storm's song served to further lull him into a sense of security in the small woman's arms.

He had no idea when he began to drift off, nor when they laid together on the bed, tea forgotten on the nightstand. It could've been days from then for all he knew, but for the first time in centuries, he knew a true peace. A low, rumbling purr from within him intermingled with the thunder outside, but he didn't wake until the flash of lightning shone through his heavy eyelids from his window. It was then that he woke and began to move, but a dainty hand gripped his shirt, pulling him out of his drowsy reverie. His eyes, though still filled with sleep, peered down at the human woman through heavy lids, and he could feel himself begin to smile.

She was not a graceful sleeper. There was a fairly damp spot on his shirt where her mouth pressed against his chest, no doubt from drool. Her snores were only barely audible beneath the thunder and rain, but he could hear them clearly. When he brushed his clawed fingers through her brunette locks, they tangled a bit, but he tenderly worked them apart while she slept, blissfully unaware of his silent appraisal.

Though he was awake now, he couldn't bring himself to rouse her from her slumber. It didn't feel right. Instead, he looked over to his nightstand and determined he was just barely close enough to open the drawer and slip his hand inside. He withdrew a sketchbook and a piece of charcoal, determined to capture this moment since he at the very least had both of his hands free. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he shifted so he could better use his hands to draw. How long they stayed like this, he had no clue, but he was able to finish several small pieces on a single page before she began to stir from sleep. His hands stilled as she hummed and stretched against him, her cushy body still pressed tightly to his lean one, but she eventually settled back against him with what could best be described as a happy sigh. Her eyelids were fluttering open, but now that she had stopped moving, his hands resumed. After her eyes finished opening and adjusting, she remained still and quiet, perfectly content to watch him as he drew.

The first few images were small studies of her face while she slept, the Nazairi rose still somehow tucked behind her ear though it looked a little worse for wear. At one point she traced her fingertip along the outlines of her expression on the page, and he paused to allow her to do so despite the charcoal smudging slightly when she accidentally touched it. When he resumed, it was to begin a small doodle, this time of the slightly misshapen rose in closer detail. Though his hand worked, his eyes weren't entirely focused on the sketches. He watched her watching him, taking note of all of the small features that warmed his heart. The kind eyes, round cheeks, circular face and the faintest freckles that dusted across her small nose. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a chubby, freckle-faced little girl with mousey brown hair and cute cheeks. She was cute now, but seeing such innocent, almost childlike features in her made him inwardly chuckle to himself. It came out as a lazy smile and push of air from his nostrils, but she recognized it as the faintest of laughs. Her head turned so she could rest her chin on his chest, those hazel eyes digging into his blue ones with an unmistakable fondness as she spoke, voice a bit rough from sleep.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing of importance, liefje. I simply imagine you were an adorable child."

He wouldn't know. It was just a fleeting thought through a sleep-adled mind, but the term of endearment was a slip of the tongue that she ignored, though her eyes turned up in a joyful smile.

"Oh yes, I was teased about having fat cheeks in my youth. My own family would often compare me to a chipmunk."

"Oh?" Now there was an amusing thought. The mirth in his gaze was clear, as was hers.

"Mhm. And I perfected quite the pitiful pout thanks to them. I use it to this day to get what I want."

"So you were a petulant youth."

"You've no idea. What about you? I can't really imagine you as a child, but I can only hope that your hair was just as curly."

"Hmhmm, moreso. It was a constant mess, impossible to tame."

The bright grin she shared with him made his heart flutter, even as he recounted memories from centuries passed. Mirrors never revealed to him their secrets, but he remembered days when he would have difficulty pushing his mop of black locks from his face with once tiny hands.

"You must've been tall even as a child."

"No. I was, though briefly, a runt."

"Impossible."

"It is true. My siblings dwarfed me."

"You've siblings? Are they as roguishly handsome as you?"

"Ehm.. Not in the same sense as you are thinking. I was raised amongst katakan."

The memory wasn't entirely fond, but it was what led to him having such innate influence over lesser vampires; in a sense, he was raised as one, his true parents lost to him in infancy. Despite this, he loved the family in which he was raised, dearly so. Where his brothers and sisters were to this day, he wasn't entirely sure, but he hoped beyond hope that they were well.

"I'm not familiar with what katakan are."

"They look to be large bats covered in soft, thick fur."

"Ah, was it akin to being raised by wolves?"

"No. They have the appearance of beasts, but they are capable of human thoughts and interactions. Some can even take on more human forms, though most prefer not to."

"I'd like to see some. They sound adorable."

For a moment, he paused to contemplate showing her the katakan of his pack, but he pushed the thought from his mind. It was too dangerous, he decided. No harm would befall her so long as he was with her, but it wasn't a risk he took lightly. Not a hair on her head would come to harm so long as he was alive and able to protect her.

"They can be frightening," he decided to tell her, hoping to deter her from being too curious. It was the truth, but in his mind, they were far from being mindless monsters that attacked without discrimination. "They are large and imposing. I would advise against encountering one alone."

"What if I'm with you..?"

He hummed in thought, allowing himself to entertain it fleetingly.

"It.. is possible. There are many in my pack, but I will not risk the potential for you coming into harm's way."

"Then tell me about them. I want to know everything."

That she would press him for details in an attempt to educate herself on his kind was heartwarming and meant more to him than she knew. As such, he would tell her everything she wanted to know. He recounted physical aspects of different varieties as well as details about individuals. There were many, but he cared deeply for all of them. Before long, he was giving her the names by which they called themselves, most in an ancient tongue known only to his ilk, and though there was much that he divulged, she nodded and listened intently. It was a topic on which he could speak for days, but he stopped after realizing he'd been talking nonstop for the better part of ten minutes.

"I apologize," he sighed after recalling a particularly fond memory - one that described the juveniles in his pack and how he took to playing and cavorting with them every chance he got. "I.. I did not mean to ramble for so long."

"Please, don't stop. I love hearing all about them. You speak of this pack like they're your own family."

That's because they were. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, just as they would do the same for him. It was why he hated himself after the results of the attack on Beauclair. So many were killed because of him, and it was something for which he internally punished himself every chance he got. It would never happen again, and he took the greatest of care to ensure their happiness and that they thrived outside the influence of mortals. Right now, they kept to the Brokilon Forest. The dryads permitted them to keep to the woods so long as he himself stayed clear of their territory, but in return, he also took to deterring foolish travelers from venturing into the dense forest both to protect his kin and to gain the guardians' favor. It was a silent arrangement, but he assumed it was a favored one for the fact that he had yet to receive a well-aimed arrow through his head.

"I would like to hear more about you," Dettlaff responded, hoping to encourage her to talk more so he could allow his racing heart to settle. He always got worked up when on the topic of his kin, both in excitement and pride. For now though, he truly wanted to learn more about her. It was rare that he ever took a genuine interest in another, especially a human, though he was always content to politely listen regardless of the conversation. This woman, however, made him want to listen and absorb as much as he could about her. Her genuine interest in him and his kind was returned with equal enthusiasm, though it was tempered to look like a mild but kind intrigue.

"What would you like to know?"

"Hmm.." He had to think for a bit, but settled on starting from the beginning just as he had for her. "What of your family? Any siblings?"

"Ugh, yes. Two sisters from a different father, and who knows how many from a different mother. I had a broken home."

"Oh. I am sorry." Mentally, he berated himself for having brought up a sore subject for her, but how could he have known? A hand on his cheek brought him out of his own head, the gentle caress of her fingers reassuring him.

"Don't apologize. It wasn't horrible. I saw plenty of my sisters, but I have a Nilfgaardian brother somewhere out in the world that I've never met. I'll be the first to admit that my family was pretty awful, but I have some good memories of them at the very least. I don't really know what happened to most of them. Some of my sisters I simply stopped speaking with. My grandmother raised me mostly while my mother took to drugs and my father to drink, so I try to stay in touch with my grandmother, but my parents I couldn't care less about."

Though her memories weren't as fond, he still listened closely to each word, hanging on them so to speak.

"Have you spoken with her of late..?"

"Yes, but as she grows older, she's been getting a bit senile. She thinks the children of her village are out to get her, so she's become a cranky old crone, but she holds a sweet spot for her favorite granddaughter."

The cheeky grin she gave him made him chuckle. There was something subtly yet inherently mischievous in her that came forth at times. He was certain that though she was a young woman, she still held on to many childish qualities.

"Something tells me you were rambunctious as a youth," he commented and watched as she shrugged.

"Actually, I was pretty quiet. I didn't come out of my shell until I reached my sixteenth summer, and even then I was reserved. I'm only outgoing now because I.. Well, frankly, I got tired of being lonely."

"Lonely..?"

"Yeah.. I didn't have friends growing up. I was always a bit too odd for the other kids. Not even my own sisters wanted much to do with me, and most of the time the children my age avoided me."

"I have a hard time believing that." Of course, he didn't think she was lying to him, simply that she was such a joy to be around now that it was difficult to comprehend how she could have been otherwise.

"Believe it. I haven't always been this amazing." Leonore's brazen boast made him roll his eyes, but the grin on her face and bubbly giggle made it clear she was jesting.

"I will not disagree with your claims, though modesty is considered the color of virtue, liefje."

"Oh please, your fancy proverbs won't sway me. I know I'm fantastic." Again she laughed, and he found himself chuckling with her until she spoke again. "By the way, what is a 'liefje'? This is the second or third time you've said it."

A look of passing confusion crossed his expression before he realized that he really had been calling her that. It wasn't necessarily serious, but it wasn't originally intentional. Rather, it suited her in his mind, for she had become very dear to him.

"It.. hm, it has a number of equivalents in the common tongue."

"Is it Nazairi?"

"It is."

"Well, what does it mean?"

"Literally?"

"Sure."

He paused for a moment, then suddenly found himself a bit tongue-tied. If he was to be literal, he was calling her a lover, though it was simply a term of affection similar to how one called someone 'honey' or 'dear.' It was fairly intimate, he realized, and he had to tame the sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. The effect she had on him continued to astound. He cleared his throat lightly before he elaborated.

"It is.. It means 'lover.'"

The soft confession made her smile.

"And here I thought you said you couldn't return my feelings."

"It is used in a similar sense to calling someone 'darling.' I.. I am very fond of you, Leonore. Your love for me is gratifying, but I do not wish to toy with your heart."

"What do you mean..?" Her smile faltered slightly, making his own heart wrench at the fraction of a change.

"It is a term of endearment. Nothing more."

Silence fell between them, and though she looked like she may be hurt, she schooled her expression and brought back a genuine smile.

"That's alright. I already told you that I won't hold it against you if you don't return my feelings," she admitted, though he had already seen the pain in her eyes no matter how minute it was. Dettlaff had become increasingly more receptive to every emotion in her stare. "Besides, I was teasing you anyway. I daresay I'll have to find a suitable pet name for you in return though."

Her attempt at being lighthearted brought him some relief.

"What would you call me?"

"A number of things, admittedly some of which are less than appropriate." When she gave him a wink, he furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Why is that?" Why would she call him something inappropriate when his own term of affection was fitting?

"Because I find myself irrevocably attracted to you, of course. But I can't go around calling you a stud in polite company, can I?"

Oh.

Oh.

Heat rose in the vampire's face, and he had to avert his gaze. She had effectively managed to leave him flustered, though a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at her flattery. It was very rare that he ever felt like that, and while it was foreign to him, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. This was, however, the first time Leonore made her sexual attraction to him known, and he wasn't sure what to do with this knowledge. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her too, though he wouldn't admit as much outright.

Sensing his unease, Leonore snorted and laughed before placing a light, platonic kiss to his cheek.

"You're adorable when you blush, you know that?"

Now she was teasing him, which only served to make him go even redder.

"I could say the same for you," he ground out through his embarrassment, though he was suddenly very aware of how they lounged together on his bed now. He laid on his back with his head and shoulders elevated by pillows, but she was still flush against him, her every curve pressed to his side. Her face was close to his, though for the majority of their conversation, she had rested her chin on his chest, looking at him when he spoke so as to give him her undivided attention. No doubt she could hear how his heart skipped a beat when she teased him so. Looking for an escape, he picked up the sketchbook that had gone forgotten, laid beside him in favor of paying attention to her when she talked. Now though, he wished to change the subject. It was a success, though barely.

"You know, that lady at the pawnshop was right when she said you're incredibly talented," noted Leonore when he opened the book to flip through the pages. He stopped at the one he'd most recently used, her charcoal face sleeping beside the margin.

"Thank you. I've spent years perfecting my art."

"It shows. Your drawings look like the works of a master."

Was she trying to tease him again? It almost seemed like it, but her words were genuine.

"It is the result of much practice and study." He was humble, though he did feel a swell of pride at her praise. When she sat up to better look at his sketches, he allowed her to take the book from his hands and flip through it herself. He sat up too and watched as she marveled at what he considered to be nothing more than messy doodles.

"These are amazing, Dettlaff. Have you ever painted anything like this?"

"I have."

"May I see??" She seemed suddenly very excited, but he shook his head, much to her dismay.

"I have none of my works. All of what I've painted were left in Beauclair or sold." He was reminded of a time when he allowed Rhena to convince him to accept commissions, though he only did so both because she suggested it and because the money it brought meant she had less need to put her life on the line as a mercenary and bandit. After she went missing, he hadn't picked up a palette since. Though the memory brought with it a fresh wave of pain, he dismissed it in favor of watching Leonore peruse his charcoal artwork.

"Do you have any paints with you at least?"

"No. After losing Rhena, I have abandoned the practice." The deep frown in response to his admission was concerning.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I did, yes. It was a pleasant distraction."

"Well then you shouldn't let her memory ruin it for you. I for one would be absolutely ecstatic to see one of your paintings. I know you try to avoid anything associated with her at all costs, but it pains me to see such a wonderful hobby ruined for you like that."

"Ah, you misunderstand." It wasn't that he disliked painting now, he simply hadn't the inspiration any more. When Syanna died, so did his muse in a sense. "I simply lack inspiration and materials. The shops in town lack the appropriate supplies for me to continue the practice as well."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll keep an eye out when I make my deliveries. If I see anything you could use, would you mind if I brought it to your attention?"

"Not at all." In reality, he probably wouldn't bother trying to purchase more materials. He had been particular when choosing his paints, sometimes even going so far as to make his own when there were none that were satisfactory for purchase. Still, her sentiment was nice, so he would humor her if it made her happy.

"Then I'll be sure to do so," she said with a smile up at him.

---

As Dettlaff and the mortal woman continued to converse, the storm proceeded to rage outside. It grew dark quickly, but he lit a lamp when it became too dark for her to see. Still, they continued to talk in the candlelight, but neither of them paid any mind to time nor the world around them. Eventually, Leonore yawned then looked outside his bedroom window at the rain that pelted the glass.

"You know, I should probably be heading home by now. I have more work to do tomorrow, and I fear I've only been keeping you up as well."

"Nonsense." His response was immediate, making her look at him with a cocked brow. "You will stay here until the storm passes. I cannot bear the thought of you braving the weather only to fall ill or find yourself hurt."

While his consideration for her was sweet, she didn't want to impose.

"I'll be alright, Dettlaff. My home isn't too far from here anyway, so I should be able to make it back quickly. I'll be wet, but otherwise I'll be fine."

"No." It was something by which he was going to stand firmly. There was no way he could let her leave when the weather was so foul. "Please, liefje. You may sleep here."

"Here?" she asked. "As in with you?"

"Is this an issue?" It wasn't unusual for him to share a sleeping space amongst his pack, and they often would huddle together for warmth on nights like these. It didn't occur to him that it could be misconstrued, even after she frowned at him.

"Are.. Are you certain..? I feel like that's a bit sudden, don't you?"

"Sleeping..?" The utter confusion in his eyes told her that she was horribly mistaken and he was far more naïve than she thought he would be, so after a moment she shook her head and fixed him with a smile.

"Never mind. I thought perhaps you had something else in mind."

"What else could I have meant?" He thought he'd made it very clear.

"Nothing. It's nothing, truly. If you'd like for me to sleep here with you, I suppose I won't decline. You don't seem like you'd be too keen on letting me leave anyway."

"No, I am not."

"So be it," she said with an air of finality. He was pleased she would see things his way. "Though, I don't suppose you and Regis would have a nightgown laying about..? I'd rather not sleep in the clothes I'll need to wear tomorrow, but I suppose I will if I have to."

"I apologize, but I do not think so." Still, he thought about it for a moment, and after looking her over briefly, he stood and went to a dresser that sat in the corner of his room.

The clothes inside were mostly dark colors or black, mainly because they simply suited him, and the lack of garish colors made it easier for him to remain unnoticed. He removed a shirt, one he wore fairly often, but it would do. It was long, as was his preference for he was a tall man, but on her it would probably fit like a dress. As such, he handed it to her and watched as she then stood and held it up to her short frame by the shoulders.

Comically enough, the bottom hem would reach her knees.

"Well, it'll work. Are you sure you won't mind?" she asked, giving him one last chance to change his mind.

"Not at all."

"Very well. I'm going to get dressed then."

They stood and stared at each other, neither one of them moving before Dettlaff realized she wanted for him to leave so she could have some privacy.

"Ah, right. I apologize." When he made for the door though, she stopped him.

"You don't have to actually leave, but uhm.. Could you at least turn around..?"

"Of course." With that, he did as she wished.

"You can change too if you like. I won't look."

She too turned her back to him then started to disrobe. In all honesty, he didn't care if she saw him undressing or not. He never really felt the need to hide his body save for around people he did not know. However, he didn't wish to make Leonore uncomfortable.

When he discarded his own clothing, he dug through his drawers to find the sole pair of undergarments he owned. They were a bit ill-fitting, loosely hanging from his hips despite being drawn by a tie in the front, but they would suffice. The only reason why he owned them was, in fact, for when he was forced to wash the rest of his clothes outside yet had nothing left to wear. As comfortable as he was with his body, he didn't care to show off everything to strangers whilst doing his laundry.

Inwardly, he was suddenly starting to become almost self-conscious. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't be feeling this way, but he was almost completely nude in the presence of a woman whom he desired. Realistically, there was nothing for him to feel insecure about. He was toned, well-built from spending so much of his time hunting and being generally active. Wrestling with the larger of his kin made him strong, even for a vampire. His biceps were decently thick, though not ill-proportioned compared to the rest of his body. He almost prided himself on his fitness, though that came with being a leader of a horde of creatures - the majority of which made him look quite small. Even the garkains had trouble besting him in competitions of brute strength, though one wouldn't know it by looking at him. If he wanted to, he could lift a fully grown bear single-handedly with relative ease. 

Despite all of this, when he looked down at himself and the dark hair that covered his chest and trailed down his abdomen, his mind wondered if she would still find him as attractive now as when he still wore clothing. The only reasonable explanation for his pointless and outright ridiculous concern was solely for the fact that he wanted, more than anything, for her to desire him too, though he would never admit it to himself let alone aloud. Once finished inwardly kicking himself for such stupid insecurities, he waited patiently for Leonore to let him know when he was free to turn back around.

"Alright," she said after a few more moments of rustling fabric. "I do have to say though, you're thinner than you appear under that frock of yours."

He turned to see what she meant and almost had to immediately look away. It was very clear she was buxom, but he didn't realize just how much so when she wore loose and billowy skirts and blouses. While his shirt was indeed long on her, it hugged the curves of her plush hips, waist, and breasts. The top few buttons were undone to allow for more comfort, leaving little to the imagination. Regardless of this, she looked, without a doubt, wonderful. Something in him growled possessively, but he swallowed thickly to push down the growing need to lay waste to the offending garment.

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.

No, he reminded himself that the storm outside was too harsh to allow for her go home on her own, and now that she wore his clothing, he would be damned if she would wear anything else for the remainder of the night.

"Dettlaff..?" Her inquisitive voice shook him from his thoughts, and he found he'd been staring at her intensely. "Is it too much..?"

"No." It's perfect. "You look fine."

Why she cared about how she looked was beyond him. After all, they were going to bed - her appearance didn't matter. Satisfied with his answer, she turned to douse the candle on the nightstand. Her blue rose was laid delicately beside the now cold mugs of tea that they'd completely forgotten. He made a mental note to apologize to Regis later for wasting it. For now, he watched as she put out the light and crawled underneath his covers then followed suit. His heart was rejoicing at having her so close, especially with his shirt adorning her body. His linens would probably smell like her after the night too, which wouldn't be altogether unpleasant.

While he laid on his back, she laid on her side and curled up, her cold feet pressed to his warm leg and her back against him. It wouldn't do, not for him. The room was chilly, and he didn't want for her to be uncomfortable. When he turned to curl his body around hers, he waited to see if she would protest. On the contrary, she welcomed the gesture and pressed back against him in response. As such, he wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her close to his chest. It wasn't long before she fell asleep, leaving him to lay and revel in her soft body until sleep finally claimed him too.

[midwinter-fox]

Conflicted

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Their kiss lasted for but a brief moment, but it felt like a sweet eternity passed between them. It wasn't heated or wanting; instead, it left them with a faint tingling in their lips, the kind that left one in a daze. So soft was it that it could be seen as platonic. By the time they parted, a deep blush erupted across Leonore's cheeks, forcing her to look down and away in sudden embarrassment.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

Dettlaff couldn't find the words to reassure her, so he instead tilted her chin gently so as to have her look at him once more. Her eyes reminded him of the Toussaintois forests in autumn - the deep green of her iris surrounded a circle of brilliant copper that enclosed the pupil. It was almost impossible to detect without him being so close to her, but now with her in such intimate proximity, he was silently going over all of the tiny details that made him grow ever fonder. The redness of her face was endearing, and he only made it deepen further when he pressed another soft kiss but this time to her brow. It was a reassuring gesture, one that made apparent that he was in no way upset by her earlier advance.

The silence between them grew, but it wasn't unpleasant, especially not with how Leonore smiled at him now. There was a painful clenching in Dettlaff's heart, one that reminded him that this was, in every way, impossible. Sadness began creeping up in him, only betrayed by the wistfulness in his eyes as he released her from their embrace. She removed herself from his lap only to sit beside him, the tin of heart-shaped cookies now in her hand to make room for her.

If she picked up on the regret in his gaze, she did not make it known. Rather, she reopened the tin to remove a pastry and hand it to him. With a soft 'thanks' he took it and broke it in half, offering a piece to the woman who already held a portion of his heart. They ate the sweets in the quiet of the herb garden, no words shared in favor of savoring each other's company. Even when Leonore's head rested against his shoulder, he kept silent and relished in the tenderness of their moment - a tenderness that he'd have to give up if he was going to protect himself from what he perceived to be inevitable heartbreak.

---

Time was not on their side. All too soon, Leonore stood and kindly excused herself, but only because she still had deliveries to tend to and not enough time in the day to complete them. Dettlaff stood to walk her to the door - after all, it was only polite.

In the foyer, Regis was tending to the broken arm of a child, worried albeit agitated parents standing off to the side to observe. The room may as well have been empty for Leonore and her vampiric companion. Quietly, they walked to the door, ignoring the looks of the mortals. When Dettlaff opened the door for her, she stopped just short to hug him one last time. Though he was electing to ignore the other occupants of the room, he was still hesitant to return the gesture, opting to instead tentatively yet amicably pat her shoulder. He couldn't help but watch her depart for a few moments, and when he finally closed the door, he inwardly sighed. The look on his face was forlorn, but Regis didn't need to see it to know how his blood-kin felt.

Dettlaff retreated to his room with the half-empty tin in hand, and when the door clicked shut, Regis finished up his work and instructed the parents on the care of their child's injury. By the time they finally left, Regis set off to find his dearest friend.

---

The knock on the bedroom door wasn't answered immediately, and for a moment, Regis wondered if maybe it would be best to simply leave Dettlaff alone for now. Just as he turned away, the door opened slowly, but upon seeing that Regis was the only one that stood there, it opened fully.

"It's just me this time," Regis said with a half smile. He couldn't blame Dettlaff for being a little more cautious this time around.

Dettlaff stood aside to let his friend enter then sat on the edge of the bed. The plain white handkerchief was once again in his hand, one of his claws tenderly tracing Leonore's name stitched along the hem with a pale blue thread. The sight was a depressing one, especially since Regis could feel everything. The aching in his chest and stomach, the racing of his mind, the plethora of conflicting emotions that threatened to break the resolve that was so carefully built through years of hardship - all of it was clear as day through the bond they shared. It was almost as if they could share each other's every thought.

"You know, my friend, I'm here for you - irrevocably so. I know you're in immense pain, so if there is anything I can do help you sort through those tumultuous thoughts of yours, please know I would do so without hesitation." Regis was always long-winded, a direct result of having so much knowledge and so little to do with it, but it was something that Dettlaff had come to appreciate, even if he only ever said very little.

"Thank you. I.. I've much to think about." The brooding man's eyes did not leave the simple square of cotton. His thoughts were attempting to take him places he dared not entertain.

Rather than try to press his friend for details, Regis sat on the bed and laid a comforting hand on Dettlaff's shoulder. He seemed to lean into the other's touch until he was all but laying against him. Regis moved his hand to wrap an arm about his shoulders; he knew that, in time, Dettlaff would open up to him, even if he had to be consoled like this for hours.

---

"How do you feel?" the gray-haired vampire asked, having not moved from his spot for a while now. He'd no notion of how much time had passed, but the sun was getting low in the sky outside the window, so he could only assume it had been at least an hour.

The question was either stupid or asked for Dettlaff's own benefit. Of course it was obvious how he felt, both through their blood bond and the emotion being etched clearly on his face. Regardless, it was answered in a low, almost pained voice.

"Why.. Why did you bring her here?"

"Well, I knew there was something wrong, and since you refused to tell me who or what could be the source of your discomfort, I saw fit to try to find the answers myself. I had seen a portion of the name on that kerchief and drew a conclusion after some careful thought. I apologize if all I did was cause you more pain - I sought to help, nothing more."

What Regis didn't know and Dettlaff couldn't bring himself to admit was that it did help, though not in the way that was probably intended.

"You were not wrong in thinking she was the source," Dettlaff mumbled, fighting his sudden desire to say her name. "She is.. Hmh.. I cannot find the words for it. Our meeting was brief, unintentional. I tried keeping distant, but she seeks to get.. close."

How close, he was unsure, but if their kiss was any indication, it was much closer than he felt comfortable with being. Rhenawedd - Syanna, he had to remind himself - had killed the desire in him to love, no matter how strong the desire was. He had no notion of just how desperately he craved the affection he once had until that woman collided with him in the marketplace. While unintentional, he saw now that it wasn't unwanted, but what he wanted was something he dared not reach for.

"Dettlaff," Regis sighed, "your fears are not unfounded. You went through a terrible ordeal - one I myself would be hard-pressed to heal from, even after having regenerated from being melted into little more than a smear. As your friend, however, I would suggest that perhaps it isn't an entirely bad thing to allow yourself a companion that isn't myself or your pack. Leonore has a kind heart and a sweet disposition, something you lack in your life. Were I in your stead, I think I'd allow her the chance to get close, though only as close as comfort would allow. Perhaps if you tried speaking with her about your insecurities, she would be willing to understand."

"She knows what we are."

"Oh?" Suddenly, there was a newfound curiosity in Regis' voice, though he tempered it so as not to overwhelm his friend with questions. "I'm assuming she took it well considering your embrace before she departed," and the fact that she did not scream or flee, he thought.

"I suppose," hummed the other in response. Was it truly such a good reaction though? After all, she saw vampires as little more than fairytales, a horrible misconception in his mind. She described vampires the way one would recall a roguish prince, and that was something he was not. "She is deluded by fiction. Vampires to her are mysterious and alluring, not the monsters they truly can be."

"Is that so bad?"

"Is it not?"

"Perhaps you can educate her. After all, you had the courage to reveal your true nature to her, so the only logical course of action is to ensure she knows what it means."

"And if she fears me?" The thought left a sour taste in the back of Dettlaff's throat.

"It's possible, but another possibility is that she won't. Would you rather allow yourself to wallow in the potentially bad prospects that may never come, or take the risk in the hope - an entirely plausible one - that she'll only further accept you for who you are? After all, you know firsthand that not all humans fear that which is so unlike them."

It was true, Dettlaff had to admit, but the apprehension in his gut wouldn't allow for him to be swayed so easily.

"I.. I do not know.." The unease was apparent in his voice, but Regis simply nodded in understanding.

"Take your time. It isn't something that needs resolving now. In fact, I see no harm in allowing yourself some time to adjust to this newfound relationship. Maybe spending more time in her presence and learning about her will help ease the doubts that are holding you down. An outing might do you some good." When Dettlaff looked at him with incredulity, he shrugged. "Fresh air and the company of friends can do wonders for a troubled soul. I would know, after all. You've heard the stories I’ve had to tell. Tomorrow I've a need to go into town and browse the apothecary for some additional supplies. I neglected to ensure I got everything I needed through Leonore, but now it seems it will give us the opportunity to get you out and about." Dettlaff didn't have a chance to object before Regis gave him a friendly pat to the shoulder and stood from the bed.

"I'll give you some time to think on it. In the meantime, I would try to push the more worrisome thoughts aside for now. Let fate do its bidding - perhaps the topic of vampiric nature will come up naturally so you don't have to look for a way to bring it up yourself."

"Regis, wait." Dettlaff stood just as Regis' hand reached for the doorknob, giving the graying vampire pause. There was a moment of silence as he sought to find the best way to express his gratitude, but he didn't have a way with words like Regis did.

"Thank you. Truly, I.. I could not ask for a better friend." He was gifted with a warm smile in response.

"I feel much the same way, my friend." With that, Regis left to allow him time to think. It would be a while before Dettlaff left his room again, so lost he was in both what was to come and how it felt to be close to someone again.