Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Amriya ❯ Amriya ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Based off the manga.

Notes: No good reason whatsoever for this, except for playing around. Remembering that in Dracula, he has Romani servants who ultimately betray him (at least, that's vaguely how I remember it, and if I'm wrong ... look, AU!), and then linking that to Alucard's presence in Germany in World War II, and things just kind of snowballed. The Romani used in here is several different dialects; my dictionaries are at best poor, and I make no claim to actually speak any form of the language. Translations: 'chey' is 'girl'; 'te avel angle tute' means 'may this be before you'; and 'akana mukav tut le Devlesa' is a Lovara funeral comment, meaning literally 'I now leave you to God'. The title means 'curse'.

Probably doesn't help that I have no idea what I meant by that last line. Oh well.

(This is one of those "what was I thinking?" pieces.)

 

"What do you want of me, Romani chey?" He spoke her own language, the dialect he had learned ages ago.

 

If being called a girl when she probably measured her age in decades bothered her, she gave no sign - only smiled. "So they call you Alucard now. You were always too arrogant by half, Vlad Tepes Dracul; it seems that has not changed with time."

 

From the familiarity of her manner, it seemed he ought to have known her, but this small, unimpressive woman who watched him unflinchingly was no one he recognised. "What do you want?" he repeated.

 

The smile did not waver. "To deliver a message - or, if you prefer, a warning."

 

Flicker. Years and more ago; a frantic escape by coach, a betrayal by his trusted servants aiding - inadvertently, perhaps - in his capture by Van Helsing. Another flicker, forward almost fifty years, to war-torn Germany; he had gone behind enemy lines with a much younger Angel of Death, and found a charnel house in the course of their foray. Familiar faces watched him from behind barbed wire, grown pallid and emaciated, but he owed them nothing - they had betrayed him first - and he turned away.

 

Now he recognised her, though the years had been unkind to her. She had been one of that number, a child of his former retainers; he remembered those eerie mist-pale eyes in a dark face, the accusing glare. Back then, he had gloated at being able to return the kumpaniya's betrayal. Today he wondered if perhaps it had been a mistake.

 

"You are cursed, Dracul - cursed with all the power and skill of the clan, with a curse that will linger long after we have all died and our children's children have forgotten your very existence. Cursed in blood and sweat and spit and tears, by the iron nail and the silver cross, by every man and woman, from the eldest to the newborn babe."

 

"And what," he asked, almost bemusedly, "is my curse to be, Romani chey - death?"

 

"That would be too kind for the monster you have become."

 

But she did not elaborate, and he tossed another guess out, his manner blasé, "Eternal pain?"

 

"You will, I think, inflict that on yourself well enough." The smile had vanished; her expression was full of all the solemnity attendant to a ritual. "No: thus do we curse you, Vlad Tepes Dracul of Wallachia. May that which you truly desire always be denied you, until you have shed enough honest tears that you match how we wept in the torments you left us to. Te avel angle tute."

 

For a long moment, he only looked at her, and then he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "You curse me with that? Go home, Romani chey; I grow bored, and you keep me from my hunt."

 

"You will remember this in time," she said, quiet prediction, while he continued to laugh, and then, "Akana mukav tut le Devlesa."

 

He did not realise until much later, long after she had left, when he was alone in the ruins of once-proud London, why her last words had been for a funeral.

 

- finis -