#radu dracula

[raointean]

Elrond and Elros and Political Hostage Situations

Okay, so I just finished the second season of "Rise of Empires: Ottoman" which covers the story of Vlad "The Impaler" Dracula (yes, that Dracula), and to a lesser extent, his brother Radu. They were given to the Ottomans as political hostages to be killed if their father "misbehaved".

That gave me Thoughts about E&E! With Maedhros and Maglor, no matter how much they actually cared for the twins, were absolutely holding them as hostages; first to try and get the silmaril back, and then to deter pursuit by Gil-Galad. If he had tried to attack them in retribution for Sirion, all M&M would have to do is hold up a twin and a knife and Gil-Galad would have to back off.

Then, when they were given to Gil-Galad, he could have held them hostage as well, or else it could easily be misconstrued as that. Gil-Galad has a somewhat shakey claim to the throne, especially if you interpret the confusion about his father as in-universe or him being an illegitimate heir. Elrond and Elros likewise have a shakey claim to the throne. They are the great-grandsons of the last high king... through his daughter.

Gil-Galad COULD hold them hostage just to keep them under control and make sure they don't try to overthrow him in the confusion during the War of Wrath. Or, he could have genuinely been trying to make sure they were okay and they just misinterpreted it.

Back to the Ottomans, I think Elros parallels Vlad. He matured faster (in my mind) and more fully understood what was going on. Because of that, he had to deal with constant stress and anxiety, which takes a serious toll on the mind.

Perhaps, like Vlad, that shaped him into a very uncompromising person. As soon as Gil-Galad let him go/sent him away, Elros declared himself king of all Men. As king, he started making some... shady decisions regarding children (conscripting young boys, trying children as adults, refusing to show mercy to children on the other side, etc.) He received no mercy when he was a child. Why should they!?

Elrond matured much more slowly (again, in my mind) and was never really able to grasp the level of danger he was in. He was just swinging from caretaker to caretaker and trying to keep his sense of safety intact.

The mind, especially those of children, is EXCELLENT at twisting the facts until things are okay. Elrond didn’t focus on the fact that Maedhros held a knife to his throat to ward off Gil-Galad, he focused on the extra rations he got that night and the fact that HE was the one to save the camp from conflict. That rose-tinted view probably prevented him from examining what happened from an objective point of view until WELL into his adult life.

Gil-Galad may have offered Elrond the position of herald to a) quell rebellious whisperings that Elrond should be king instead of him, and b) to give Elrond a place in life where he FINALLY had some leverage. Elros, in his black and white view of the world, just saw it as another means of control. That was the biggest fight he and Elrond ever had.

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

— in which Vlad Dracula savours the sweetness of a hostage’s life, yet cannot escape the bitterness of his captivity.

word count: 1,705 words

warnings: explicit and implicit mentions of violence; alcohol use

a/n: And we are back with some Vlad Dracula shenanigans! 🎉 A combination of various things (a visit to Türkiye, more research about the Ottoman Empire, and reading Mehmed II’s biography) made me abandon the previously worked-on WIPs to jump back in time a little and craft Vlad’s formative years a bit more. I was initially working on a large piece, but the piece would be large large, so I have decided to divide it into four shorter works. This is the firstborn of the cycle, and I hope you will enjoy it as much as the pain allows. Thank you for stopping by and reading! ❤️️

➨ also available on AO3

May 1443, Laskaris Palace, Nymphaion, western Anatolia, the Ottoman Sultanate

Sitting with his legs crossed upon the rich Anatolian rugs nearly feels like dining amidst the embrace of an open meadow. He can almost envision it — resting in the tall grass beneath the shadow of a chestnut tree and indulging in the creamy delight of fresh sheep cheese, a generous gift from a Wallachian shepherd. The riotous crimson hue shatters his pastoral illusion. His fingers dance upon the fabric, tracing the intricate patterns that are woven into it. Each thread reintroduces him to a culture worlds apart from his own. Getting accustomed to the daily peculiarities of his new life has been a gradual process, one that seemed frightening at first and required a certain degree of caution.

Or so he persuades himself to believe. In the recesses of his mind, he is acutely aware that the reality looks different. He has quickly begun to speak their words, think their thoughts, and dine as they do.

Vlad grasps the still-warm white bread, feeling its heat seep into his skin, then tears the soft, yielding dough into two halves. He sweeps the plate with a smaller piece, immersing the bread in the thick, savoury sauce of honey and sumac. Each bite becomes a small instant of bliss that transports him to a place of simple satisfaction. After a moment of hesitation, he reaches for the ground ginger mixed with honey, now solidified and cut into sticky cubes, and tosses one into his mouth. The sweetness of the honey melts away on his tongue and reveals the comforting heat of ginger that lingers in his throat like a slow-burning ember.

He realises that the memory of pork meat has not crossed his mind for several months.

The table before them is laden with an array of delicious meals, set upon silver and copper plates adorned with intricate oriental patterns. Whatever they desire lies before them, within arm’s reach — mouth-watering spiced meats, roasted pigeons and chicken, vegetables prepared in every imaginable way, the freshest fruits, and sweet delicacies in a spectrum of vibrant colours. Olive oil rests before them in jars, shimmering like liquid gold. If their thirst calls for quenching, they can reach for cups brimming with şerbet, a nectar of hibiscus or pomegranate.

He watches Radu’s small hands reach for the cup, gently drawing it closer so that not a single drop of the sweet liquid spills. Even the most insignificant movement of his younger brother does not escape his vigilant gaze. He observes how Radu’s wide blue eyes remain fixed in trepidation on their Greek teacher seated across them. Vlad’s focus then shifts to the wooden stick beside the teacher, a silent reminder of the punishment that follows every act of disobedience. A mere glance at the piece of wood sends a searing jolt through the soles of his feet. He shifts instinctively, tugging his slippered feet beneath him to seek a fragile sanctuary of his own flesh.

The Ottoman etiquette does not favour conversation at the table, yet Thomas Katavolinos dares to break the tradition. He extends a plate with figs, offering them to Radu with a graceful gesture. “Here, young man. Take some.”

Radu feels an overwhelming fullness, as if he might burst from the sheer abundance within him. With a weary shake of his head, he declines. “Thank you, efendi. I am full.”

Katavolinos smiles, bites into a fig, and returns the plate to the table. The room is swallowed by silence once more.

This is an element of the new life Vlad considers nearly impossible to embrace. He finds it insufferable solely for having it be forced upon him, so stifling and alien compared to the lively, ever-flowing discussions over meals he is familiar with from home. The guests at his father’s court have always been most welcome to sit around the massive table in the dining hall and converse enthusiastically over plates heaped with slabs of roasted pig, the crust glistening in the glow of the hearth. It has been a customary sight ever since he can remember, even before those earliest days in Târgovişte. He also recalls the nights when he would tiptoe down the stairs to spy on Dracul laughing heartily with the few dregătorii he held dear as friends. Goblets filled with wine would sit between them, and the discussions of state affairs would soon give way to nostalgic tales of their shared past when the Voivode’s fate was anything but evident.

Another memory engulfs him, a more intimate one. The Drăculești siblings gathered around their father seated at the head of the table, watching him dig into his meal after a long day besieged by duties. His authoritative voice, softened in those moments by paternal warmth, inquired into each child’s daily progress every evening that he spent at home. And you, Vlad? How are your studies of Chrysostom advancing?

He swallows the painful lump in his throat, burying the memories deep within the recesses of his mind. He fixes his gaze on Radu, tethering his focus to his brother instead. He must remain alert, and this watchfulness anchors him, bestows a sense of purpose upon him. To protect as he has sworn to do preserves his grasp on sanity.

A servant walks in through the grand doorway, pausing beside Katavolinos while cradling a large metal jug. The Byzantian waves his hand adorned with heavy rings, and the young man bows, pouring a crimson liquid into a cup. Katavolinos drinks greedily from it, and Vlad instantly recognises the rich, fruity aroma of the red wine imported from Greece.

Their teacher is yet to embrace the faith of their masters but extols the virtues of the civilised Ottomans into the young brothers nonetheless, urging them to find inspiration in their refined customs. The contrast between these and the so-called Frankish savages is stark, a chasm that the Greek mentor never fails to emphasise. Just last week, they were subjected to an elaborate monologue on the purity of abstinence from spirits. To witness him guzzle the wine with such ravenous intensity that the liquid trickles into his dark beard fills Vlad with a visceral repulsion at the hypocrisy of this man.

The words spill from his lips instinctively, a sudden revelation born from weeks of meticulous studies of the Qur’an under the ever-watchful eye of Mullah Sinan. “They ask you about wine and gambling. Say, ‘In them is great sin and yet, some benefit for people. But their sin is greater than their benefit.’”

Radu’s hand strikes his thigh, but it is too late. The words have already escaped, their energy released into the air, thickening the palpable tension around them.

“I see that you have immersed yourself in your studies with great devotion,” Katavolinos draws the cup from his lips, pausing just enough to speak.

Vlad lowers his eyes, and the expression on his face reveals nothing but unblemished humility. “I always aim to please you, efendi.”

Few pupils have ever earned Katavolinos’ affection. This obstinate Wallachian, however, is one he does not like at all. He despises his brazen demeanour, despises the outbursts of temper that only few punishments can quell. He could order him to a day without food or painful beating, yet the brat would always find a way to rebel — still, he can endure it, he has grown to recognise the patterns of his misbehaviour. What Thomas finds intolerable is the sharp sarcasm that he hones with age, the mockery cloaked in innocence yet cutting deep. It demands immense self-restraint to resist the urge to seize the youth by his shoulders and beat the very soul from his being.

“Despite the advice against intoxication,” Katavolinos’ voice increases in intensity, “even our generous hosts occasionally indulge in this delight. It is not defiance against the proclamations of their faith, rather, it represents a blend of purity and pleasure. One aspect cannot exist without the other. After all, one cannot fully appreciate what is righteous without experiencing what is pleasurable.”

“I know. Mullah Sinan explained the ayah in a similar manner.” When Katavolinos is lulled into the false comfort of thinking the conversation has ended, the young hostage adds, “I am merely confused. I remember your firm cautions against alcohol.”

“What I caution you against as younglings does not apply to me as a grown man. Besides, we aim to cultivate in you qualities superior to our own.”

“Vlad,” Radu’s desperate whine begs him to stop when he sees the blaze in the Greek’s eyes that urges his brother to choose his next words wisely.

“And you were right. Alcohol is a poison for the mind. The greater the consumption, the more it weakens the intellect.”

“Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“I would not dare, efendi. But if you observe any similarities in your own behaviour…”

All that follows happens in a whirlwind of motion, so swift and fierce that not even Vlad could foresee it. The wooden stick that rested idly on the floor just a moment before now finds itself in Katavolinos’ grip. The Byzantian, no longer lounging upon the silk cushions, rises to his full height and towers over him. Vlad feels the heavy rings pressing into his skull as their teacher seizes a fistful of his hair and wrenches his head to the side. He is cast to his knees, feeling the soft slippers slip from his feet, exposing the soles to his prisoner.

The pain radiating through his feet is sharp and all-consuming, causing white flecks to dance behind his tightly shut eyes. Radu’s cries are deafening, yet they come muffled to his ears, dulled by the agony that subdues his senses. All else fades away. There is only him and the searing achiness that consumes him. When he is left alone and kneeling on the Anatolian rugs, the sharp stabs of pain give way to a deep, resonant throbbing. Each attempt to rise is met with betrayal by his own body, dragging him back to his knees.

The whimpers that invade his ears irritate him. He is almost ready to lash out at the pitiful sound. Only then does he realise the sounds emanate from his own constricted throat.

We know that the Drăculești brothers’ studies were adjusted to a similar curriculum they would be exposed to back home, especially in the studies of the Eastern Orthodox faith, rhetorics, languages, their own history and etiquette, etc. This was important to the Ottomans as they needed the possible pretenders to be prepared for their future duties in their countries. However, the boys received a dual education, studying as per Ottoman customs alongside the sultan’s sons or sons of Ottoman elites, as hostages often ended up working in the Ottoman administration. The brothers were never made to convert to Islam (because of the possibility that they might secure the Wallachian throne one day), and any references I make to their rigorous studies of the Islamic religion are my creative choice. I believe there could be a high possibility that they were taught at least the basics to understand better the sociocultural references and environment they lived in.

We do not know anything about their European teachers, only that they were most likely former Byzantine elites. Thomas Katavolinos (a Greek secretary of Mehmed II) is indeed a figure that appears in Vlad’s later life, but to deepen the plot and make it more dramatic when the time comes, I have decided to tie him into the brothers’ life much sooner. Therefore, his role as their tutor is fiction only. This is also an idea partially borrowed from the second season of Rise of Empires: Ottoman where Vlad calls both Hamza Bey and Katavolinos his teachers — it is a detail that has a lot of potential and can leave a great impact on the plot. You shall see when I get to it. ;)

Even though many people are familiar with the popular version that Vlad was tortured all the time and even imprisoned in a fortress while staying with the Ottomans, his stay there was far less horrible than this. He and Radu were treated with the dignity that was expected to be given to them as children of a foreign ruler, and so neither of them could be treated as a criminal. However, because we know Vlad was a strong-willed and rebellious hostage, he probably underwent some kind of physical punishment for his misbehaviour. Bastinado was, unfortunately, one of the most common disciplinary punishments of the era.

Despite the Islamic teachings against alcohol consumption, the Turks are a bit of an anomaly in the Muslim world (even though only around 20% of Turks drink alcohol regularly). It was no different during the Ottoman era. From historical sources, we know that Murad II did indulge in spirits — the information about his death varies, but one version states that he died stricken by apoplexy after a drinking bout. We also have historical information about Mehmed II’s own indulgence, one even resulting in a violent encounter with Vlad’s brother Radu.

Also, here is a useful little dictionary to help you understand some of the mentioned things! Sharbat (or şerbet) is a sweet drink prepared from fruit or flower petals, usually served chilled. It can be served in concentrated form and eaten with a spoon or diluted with water to create the drink. Efendi is a Turkish title of respect or courtesy, meaning sir, lord or master. In the Ottoman era, it was most commonly used to address a person with a higher form of education. In the context of this fic, the brothers use it as a title of respect towards their teacher. Mullah is an honorific title for Muslim clergy and is also used for a person who has higher education in Islamic theology and sharia law. They would educate the sons of the Ottoman elite in religion. Ayah is the name for a verse in the Qur’an.

[haitianempress]

Dracula a Love Story characters and their historical counterparts

Vlad - Vlad III, also known as Vlad the Impaler and Vlad Dracula (Vlad Țepeș), was a 15th-century ruler of Wallachia, notorious for his brutal punishment methods, particularly impaling his enemies. He defended his realm from the Ottoman Empire and became a national hero in Romania.

Mehmed - Mehmed II, also known as Mehmed the Conqueror (Mehmed bin Murad), was the Ottoman Sultan who famously captured Constantinople in 1453. Historically, Mehmed II clashed with Vlad Dracula during campaigns in Wallachia, adding political depth to their enmity.

Radu - Radu III, also known as Radu the Handsome, was the younger brother of Vlad the Impaler and historically served as a ruler of Wallachia under Ottoman control. His rivalry with Vlad is well-documented, as Radu supported the Ottomans while Vlad opposed them.

Sultan Murad - Murad II was a formidable ruler who expanded Ottoman control in the Balkans and fought against various European coalitions. His campaigns laid the groundwork for the later conquests of his son, Mehmed II.

Gjerg Skanderberg - Gjergj (Gjergj Kastrioti), commonly known as Skanderbeg, was an Albanian feudal lord and military commander who led a rebellion against the Ottoman Empire. Skanderbeg's legacy as a defender of Christian Europe against the Ottomans is similar to how Vlad Dracula is viewed by some in Romania. Both are celebrated as national heroes who fought for independence and freedom in their respective lands.

Erzsebet (Erzsi) - Erzsébet Báthory (Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed), also known as The Blood Countess or Countess Dracula, was a Hungarian noblewoman from the late 16th and early 17th centuries, infamous for allegedly torturing and killing young girls. She is considered one of the most prolific female serial killers in history.

[the-artifice-of-eternity]

Rise of Empires Ottoman Season 2 + text posts

[rose-vybe]

Rise of empires: Ottoman (2020) - Vlad and Dimitrie being best trolls

[nesrinslittleworld]

A thought I have to spill into Tumblr void:

What if "the most heinous act" that Vlad is referring about in Season 4 isn't actually about Lale, but... Radu?

Because History knows that these two didn't remain loving brothers forever, due to Mehmed's influence.. 🤔

(Also Mehmed appointed Radu as voievode of Wallachia when Vlad was captured by Matthias Corvin)

[tonyrossmcmahon]

Dracula and the Sultan - an LGBT romance!

How the brother of the real life Dracula ended up in an LGBT romance with an Ottoman sultan - TV historian Tony McMahon reveals all

This has to be one of the most unlikely gay relationships in history. An LGBT romance between the younger brother of the real Dracula – Vlad the Impaler – and the Ottoman sultan, Mehmed II. Dracula’s kid brother, Radu the Handsome (yes, he really was called that), overthrew Vlad with help from Mehmed. The two men had formed the most intimate of bonds in the royal bedchamber. Sultan of an…

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

The Țepeș family was nuts. One went down as “the impaler” and is the model of the quintessential western vampire. The other went down as “the handsome” and had a totally opposite but also very fucked up life. And there was at least one other brother who got buried alive but those r the notable ones

[vladdocs]

EASY POLL?

[grande-caps]

Rise of Empires: Ottoman - Season 2

Quality : HD screencaptures Amount : 9.411  files Resolution : 1.920 x 1.080 px

-Please like/reblog if taking!

[thetemplarknight]

Dracula and the Sultan - an LGBT romance!

How the brother of the real life Dracula ended up in an LGBT romance with an Ottoman sultan - TV historian Tony McMahon reveals all

This has to be one of the most unlikely gay relationships in history. An LGBT romance between the younger brother of the real Dracula – Vlad the Impaler – and the Ottoman sultan, Mehmed II. Dracula’s kid brother, Radu the Handsome (yes, he really was called that), overthrew Vlad with help from Mehmed. The two men had formed the most intimate of bonds in the royal bedchamber. Sultan of an…

[chthonic-cassandra]

hello my friend! currently rereading dracula, as you know, and wondered if you have any recs for where to start with criticism about the novel? 🖤

This question makes me so happy! <3

I am dreadfully out of date on this, but I can certainly give you places to start; these are not all necessarily recommendations for criticism I like (there's precious little of that), but more introductions to classic criticism in the field.

The classics

The Norton Critical Edition of Dracula (edited by Nina Auerbach and David J. Skal), alongside the Cambridge Companion to Dracula, are both good introductions which collect representative examples of some of the most popular scholarly strains of thought on the novel. When someone asks me to recommend an edition of Dracula to start with, I always suggest the Norton.

Leonard Wolf (who was not Virginia Woolf's husband, but who was one of Anne Rice's college professors) was one of the most important voices in the critical reevaluation of Dracula which started in the 1970's. I often disagree with him (so much so that I once wrote a fic about how much I disagree with him), but his annotated edition of Dracula was my first. His important works are A Dream of Dracula and Dracula: A Connoisseur's Guide. He (along with Radu Florescu and Raymond McNally) was an important early proponent of the "Dracula is Vlad Tepes" theory, which was hotly opposed by...

Elizabeth Miller, ornery grand dame of Dracula criticism. She is extremely invested in being the most reasonable and the least prone to flights of fancy of all the critics, which means she does often say useful things, but she's also a little boring. She's best known for Dracula: Sense and Nonsense, but it's more a litany of complaints than actually analysis. Her books in general have useful primary source stuff.

Once you get into analysis of Dracula reception and adaptions, then I can with a full heart recommend David J. Skal's Hollywood Gothic, full of delightful trivia, which was truly Skal's strength.

Recommendations I more stand by:

Donald Glover's Vampires, Mummies, and Liberals: Bram Stoker and the Politics of Popular Fiction is one of the very few works of Dracula criticism that I thought actually dealt in any kind of thoughtful way with the racial politics of the book.

Christy Desmet's essay on Ophelia, Ellen Terry, and Dracula, collected in Shakespearean Gothic, was excellent and I still think about it; the whole collection is very much worth reading.

Loved Ann-Louise Kibbie's Transfusion: Blood and Sympathy in the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination, which isn't all about Dracula but obviously deals substantially with it.

As a teenager I had a lot of fun reading the uploaded issues of The Journal of Dracula Studies and sometimes fantasized about submitting something to them while concealing my age/lack of higher education to see what happened (I never did). I remember feeling very vindicated by Katharina Mewald's "The Emancipation of Mina?" but don't know how it would hold up now. I haven't kept up with the most recent issues (perhaps I will start!) but at a glance there seem to be some interesting things.

ETA forgot about Allison Case's Plotting Women: Gender and Narration in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Novel! Good Mina material, comparing her with Marian in Woman in White.

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

How fucked up people can be when someone reads the excerpt from Chalkokondyles that explicitly states things like:

“it happened that the sultan was almost killed by the boy when he had wanted to have sex with him” (explicitly mentioned r*pe attempt),

“he [Radu] fought him off and refused to consent to intercourse with him” (explicitly mentioned lack of consent on one side),

and “the sultan kissed the unwilling boy, who drew a dagger and struck the sultan on his thigh” (explicitly mentioned physical attack of the victim in order to protect himself from being r*ped),

and then proceeds to glorify Radu’s relationship with Mehmed and portray them as happily and passionately in love?

And Radu was thirteen when this happened. Fucking. Thirteen.

[qqueenofhades]

Can you recommend a random and obscure historic event or time period for me to go down a rabbithole researching? A lot of the stuff you talk about is very interesting and I’d love to have something like that to learn about

Nonnie, I have a great rabbit hole for you: the Balkans/South and Eastern Europe between about 1450-1500.

You have tons of super interesting historical figures/events:

Vlad Dracula The Man Himself, and all the very Vlad Dracula-like things he was doing, great if you enjoyed Dracula Daily and want to learn more about the man behind the myth;

Matthias Corvinus (the Raven King) and the mystery of his lost library, as well as all the subsequent Slavic folktales about him as a King Arthur-like figure (readers of some of my fics will remember our magical friend Matthias, ahem);

That time Matthias Corvinus threw Dracula in prison for fourteen years and whenever visiting clergymen were getting a little too pompous or full of themselves, he would trot out Dracula and scare the shit out of them;

Sultan Mehmed II, the conqueror of Constantinople, and his lover Radu the Fair (who was also Vlad's brother); allegedly Mehmed tried to seduce Radu, Radu panicked and stabbed him, then later decided that he was into it after all and they were together for years, especially as Mehmed supported Radu's attempts to unseat Vlad in Wallachia;

Renaissance artists and literature, religion, mysticism, magic, astrology;

The complex interplay of Muslims, Christians, and Jews in the Balkans, and the constant struggle between Ottoman and Christian political control, along with their related cultural legacies;

So much political intrigue and various battles, some of which continue to shape regional memory in complicated and interesting ways (i.e. did you know that they still ring the bells in Belgrade at noon, as a commemoration of John Hunyadi's 1456 victory over Mehmed and co?)

The rise of Rodrigo Borgia (Pope Alexander VI) and the rest of his scheming clan in the endlessly dramatic city-states of Italy;

The start of the so-called "Age of Discovery" and the conquest of the new world;

Anyway. I may or may not have written several episodes of a historical TV series set in this period. For reasons.

Have fun!

[ghostofbran]

                                   Radu Ioan cel Mare

Letzter Sohn des Drachen • Instandsetzer der Burg Bran • Notorischer Einzelgänger • Since 2013 • Eigenkreation • Romanschreiber

Der letzte Tag im Oktober war für die meisten Menschen ein Grund zu feiern, für die anderen war er wiederum ein Grund sich fürchtend in den eigenen vier Wänden zu verkriechen. Für Radu war dieser Tag immer nur sein Geburtstag gewesen. Doch an diesem einen letzten Tag im Oktober war es ungewohnt einsam gewesen. Das Tagebuch seiner Mutter lag in seinem Schoß. In der Mitte des Buches befand sich ein Brief mit seinem Namen drauf. Wollte er diese Zeilen lesen? Oder besser gefragt: Konnte er diese Zeilen überhaupt lesen? Seine Mutter war für ihn seine ganze Familie gewesen. Sie war Mutter und Vater. Sie war Hoffnung und vollkommene Geborgenheit. Sie war das Lachen und die Sonne. Doch jetzt war nichts mehr von dem da; keine Sonne, keine Hoffnung, keine Geborgenheit und keine Mutter.

Irgendwann musste es so kommen; das hatte er gewusst. In seiner kindlichen Vorstellung hatte es immer die Frau gegeben, die an seiner Seite war. Auch ihre Krankheit hatte ihn niemals an seiner Hoffnung zweifeln lassen. Und jetzt saß er hier, mit der qualvollen Realität konfrontiert. Erst jetzt, Tage nachdem die Maschinen keinen Herzschlag mehr aufgenommen hatten, Tage, nachdem Aurel ihm eine Hand auf die Schulter gelegt hatte und Stunden nachdem der Sarg in die tiefe Erde gelassen wurde, saß er hier und realisierte, dass seine Mutter nicht mehr da war. Das einzig Verbliebene lag in seinem Schoß. So erblickte er das lila gebundene Buch und öffnete die Schnalle. Das Bündel an Papier dehnte sich etwas aus und förderte den Brief zu Tage:

                                           Puisor mea Radu,

Das kleine Küken Radu. Er war schon lange ein Mann, doch in diesem Moment fühlte er sich so verletzlich wie das kleine Küken, für das sie ihn immer gehalten hatte. Und so groß der Schmerz in seiner Brust war, wollte er genau hier sein. Nicht bei Aurel, der großen Liebe seiner Mutter, der immer wie ein Vater für ihn gewesen war. Nicht bei Tasha, die ihn seit der ersten Klasse ständig mit Stiften bekritzelte oder nicht bei seiner Mutter, dessen Grab noch immer viel zu frisch war.

“Die Trauer wird vergehen.” Diese Worte hallten in seinem Ohr wider, doch es war keine Stimme, die sie sagten. “Die Zeit wird dich heilen und die Narben in deiner Brust zur Stärke wachsen lassen.” Und wieder konnte er diese Worte spüren, aber nicht hören. Seine Brauen zogen sich zusammen und seine Stirn zog sich kraus. Ein Blick über die Schulter versicherte ihm, dass keine Menschenseele in diesem Raum war. Er saß völlig allein in dem verlassenen Schloss, das er seit Jahren instand hielt. Die kleine Luke im Dach gab ihm einen ungehinderten Blick auf die Karpaten. Sie linderten nicht im Geringsten seinen Schmerz, machten ihn aber ertragbar. “Du hast mein Blut, mein Junge. Du wirst auch meine Stärke haben. So wie ich sie hatte, als der Boden dieser Außenmauern mit dem Blut meiner Familie getränkt wurde.”

Wieder wusste er nicht, wieso ihn diese Worte trösteten. Worte von niemandem, Worte, die leer waren. Für den Moment glaubte er seiner Trauer zu erliegen und sich diese Worte selbst zuzuflüstern. Erst als der Schatten hinter ihm auftauchte, stutzte er ein weiteres Mal. “Es soll nicht erneut mein Blut sein, das diesen Boden tränkt.”, diesmal hörte er diese Worte. Ruckartig drehte sich Radu um und erblickte einen schwarzhaarigen Mann, der ihm direkt in die Augen sah. “Komm, mein Junge.”, wieder hörte er diese Worte, die direkt aus dem Mund von disem Mann kamen. Von dem Mann, den er unzählige Male auf den Gemälden in diesen Mauern gesehen hatte – von Dracula höchstpersönlich.

Blinzelnd versuchte Radu die Augen zu öffnen. Die Sonne schien ihm genau ins Gesicht, als ein ziehender Schmerz im Rücken weckte. Hatte er die ganze Nacht dort gelegen? Der Boden knarzte unter seinem Gesicht, als er sich vom Dachboden erhob. Zunächst setzte er sich auf, sondierte verschlafen die Lage und merkte, was für ein Glück er gehabt hatte. Die Luke war noch immer offen und seine Beine hatten gerade eben noch genug Abstand zu jener gehalten, dass er nicht aus Versehen seine letzte Bewegung ins Nichts gemacht hatte. Alsbald sein Verstand wieder völlig einsetzte, sah er sich hektisch um. Was war passiert? Alles, was ihm Anhaltspunkte für gestern Nacht gaben, war sein Körper auf dem Dachboden und das Tagebuch seiner Mutter, das gut einen Meter von ihm entfernt lag. Instinktiv griff er danach, sah auf die aufgeschlagenen Seiten und klappte es zu und ließ somit auch den Brief seiner Mutter in der Mitte des Buches verschwinden.

Ein Schnauben versuchte die Erinnerungen von gestern zu dementieren. Hatte er geträumt? Als er kleiner war, hatte er sich immer gewünscht, dass sein Vater irgendwann in der Tür stehen würde und tröstende Worte für die Jahre voller Sehnen an ihn richtete. Jetzt, im Alter von 24 Jahren, hatte er mit seiner fehlenden Vaterfigur bereits abgeschlossen. Aurel hatte diese Lücke immer nach besten Gewissen gefüllt und wenn er aus dem Herzen heraus dachte, würde er auch niemand anderen an dieser Stelle akzeptieren. Ein Grummeln folgte dem Schnauben. Er war traurig. Seine Mutter wurde gestern beerdigt. Alles, an was er sich erinnerte, war ein Traum. Eine andere Möglichkeit hatte es nicht gegeben, zumal die lückenhaften Erinnerungen nicht zusammenpassen. 

[rose-vybe]

✨DIMITRIE - Rise of empires: Ottoman (2020) ✨

(Vlad Dracula's right-hand general)