The Vampire & Her Witch

Baron Loghlan watched the scene before him with the eyes of a man who had seen many things in his long life, but few as profound as this. Two young men, one human and one Eldritch, holding onto each other with a desperation that spoke of bonds much deeper than friendship, and far stronger than a simple alliance or the relationship between a lord and his vassals.

Brothers, Milo had called them. Watching them now, watching the way they clung to each other while tears streamed down both their faces, Loghlan could see the truth of it. This wasn’t the casual camaraderie of soldiers who had fought side by side. This wasn’t even the deep friendship of men who had saved each other’s lives in battle.

This was family. Chosen family, perhaps, bound not by blood but by shared suffering and mutual sacrifice. But family nonetheless, with all the fierce loyalty and desperate love that the word implied.

Milo had saved Ollie’s life. Not with sword or shield or strength of arms, but with a wooden carving and all of the emotions he had poured into its making. With memories of watching his friend suffer, with hope and pride and fear all swirling together into something powerful enough to drag a dying man back from the edge of death.

And Ollie had saved Milo’s family. Had pulled Milo’s mother back from the depths of depression after she lost her son and her village. Had given them a home when they had nothing. Had become the brother that Milo needed after Milo’s first brother had been lost. Ollie could never take the place of the brother who had died defending him, but it was clear that, in Milo’s heart, Ollie was just as precious and every bit as loved.

They had saved each other, over and over again, in ways both great and small. And the bond that had formed between them was something precious and rare. It was something that deserved to be recognized and honored and held up as an example of what was possible when humans and Eldritch chose to see each other as people rather than enemies.

If there had been any doubts in Loghlan’s heart about whether it was really possible to live side by side with the Eldritch, what he’d just seen proved that not only was it possible, but that humans and the Eldritch could form the strongest of bonds with each other. Perhaps, one day, there would even be humans who married the Eldritch. Or, he supposed, perhaps that too had already happened, since Lady Ashlynn and the vampire, Lady Nyrielle, were said to be betrothed.

Loghlan’s gaze shifted to Harrod, who stood a few paces away with his arms crossed and his expression soft despite the hardness of his features. The horned warrior had done his part in all of this, too. He might not be as close to Ollie as Milo was, but he stood by Ollie’s side when he could and rushed to his aid when he was needed.

Harrod might not be ’family’ the way that Milo was, but if he wasn’t family, then he was the truest, most loyal sort of friend a man could ask for.

These three, Loghlan thought. These three young men were bound together by choice and circumstance, and by a shared struggle and deep mutual respect. A human knight, no, a human kitchen-boy, who had become both a knight and a witch. An Eldritch archer who had become a brother. An Eldritch soldier who had become a guardian and friend.

This was the sort of tale that songs should be written about. The sort of story that deserved to be told at feasts and festivals, shared around fires and passed down through generations. A tale of courage and sacrifice and brotherhood that transcended the boundaries of nation and culture, and proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that humans and Eldritch could stand together. That they could love each other, and could even become family.

Loghlan desperately wanted to tell this story. He wanted to hold up these three as examples of what was possible. He had accepted the offer of an alliance that Liam proposed before because it was the right decision. The decision that offered the most benefits to his family and his people, and that carried the lowest risk of being pulled into a war they couldn’t hope to survive, even if their side managed to win in the end.

Last night, he made the practical decision that a lord should, even though he had many reservations. Today, the number of reservations in his heart had shrunk by at least half. Now, like his son, Loghlan believed, and he wanted to share the moment that had given that belief with his people, so that they too could understand what could be achieved when people chose to see past their differences.

Harrod had horns and hooves. Milo was covered in fur and possessed a tail that could shatter limbs with a single blow. These things had led humanity to fear the Eldritch as ’demons’ for hundreds of years. But today, for the first time, Loghlan didn’t see those things as the terrifying advantages the Eldritch possessed over human soldiers.

He realized that Milo’s tail was likely the only reason he’d been able to swim fast enough to rescue his brother from drowning, and those powerful cloven hooves had propelled Harrod into the water to retrieve Lady Cerys from Milo’s arms. They were different, but those differences didn’t need to be the stuff of nightmares. They could be the stuff of sagas of heroism instead.

One day, very soon, he would need exactly that kind of example. When word of the alliance with Lady Ashlynn became public knowledge, when people began to fear and question and rebel against the idea of standing with the Eldritch, Loghlan would need proof that such alliances could work. He would need stories like this one, stories of Eldritch warriors who risked everything to save human lives, of human knights who accepted Eldritch refugees as family, of bonds that ran deeper than blood and stronger than steel.

But right now, he couldn’t tell this story. Not yet. Not when it would require explaining that Sir Ollie was a witch, that he had performed witchcraft to save Lady Cerys’s life, and that he had nearly died in the process, only to be saved by the love of an Eldritch brother who refused to let him go.

The camp wasn’t ready for that truth. Light, Loghlan wasn’t certain he would have been ready for that truth if he hadn’t first seen Ollie’s demonstration of healing with Sir Gavin the night before. The sight of a young man standing waist-deep in freezing water, his skin marked with glowing woodgrain patterns, his eyes filled with shadows as he fought against death itself... That was the sort of thing that would inspire terror rather than admiration in people who had been taught all their lives to fear witchcraft.

And so the truth would have to wait. The real story of what had happened here, of the miracle that had been performed and the price that had been paid, would have to remain a secret known only to the handful of people who had witnessed it.

But someday, Loghlan promised himself. Someday, when the time was right and the people were ready, he would tell this story. He would ensure that Ollie and Milo and Harrod received the recognition they deserved, that their courage and sacrifice and love were held up as the example they truly were.