Yes, Merlin fans, I'm back. Though I never really left. c:

I'm not a Twilight fan, but I wanted to use those creatures in said series for this story, even though they're so highly thought of nowadays, almost to the point that they're getting cliched. Here, there are no romances that seem like they're not going to work out but do anyways because it makes the reader inexplicably happy – and not only because I don't know how to write romance 8|

Just a heads up, this fic will be posted slowly because the storyline is a wee bit shaky, and I need time to remedy it. Seriously, it's like a wet noodle in a tempest...

Enough yammering and tongue-waggling. Enjoy The Vault of Souls.

~1~ Night Stalker

Daphne the Dagger had waited about twenty minutes by the time Vraal dubbed the moment ripe to reveal himself. There was no real reason for the wait, except, perhaps, for the sole purpose of proving his patience, and finding out the contact's own.

With the skill and grace he and his kind were renowned for, Vraal dropped over the edge of the pillar that was only a part of the abbey ruins, holding on with pale hands that could crush a human skull as easily as a seasoned fruit. With the moon as his witness, he released the ivory marble and fell three stories to the grassy ground below, his liquid black cloak bellowing out like a monstrous bat's wings. He landed with the silence and stealthiness of a feline, not even his banshee-rag cape making a sound as his knees crouched to absorb the impact.

Daphne wasn't Vraal's target in any form other than being his newest employer. If she was, she would already be dead. In fact, if anyone wanted the blood or the coin of the woman, and had the gold, Daphne would be done for by now. That's because Vraal was the best.

Being from the Black Swamps, or Wraith Marsh as they are sometimes called, Daphne had lived her entire life glancing over her shoulder for the dark inhabitants of the vast bog. Her instincts were prime, almost inhuman, so despite Vraal's legendary skills, she managed to detect the assassin soon enough.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she said, squinting into the shadows of the ruins where Vraal stood coolly. "You vampyres are fickle creatures."

Vraal chuckled, and detected the shivers rattling the Dagger's spine. "Fickle, yes. But true to their word. Always."

"I have a contract for you." Daphne reached into her water-proof cloak, her black eyes constantly scanning the darkness for danger. As she did so, the distinctive clink of disturbed coin taunted the night.

"You have the contract, but not the gold," the assassin hissed, and his feline grin spread as Daphne flinched. The woman had clearly forgotten about the ears of vampyres: keener than a fox's.

"I have the gold right here—"

"Yes, but not enough!" Vraal stepped into the moonlight, his maroon hair glinting like blood. It was an unusual colour for a vampyre, for the tone of choice was usually black or ivory white.

The Dagger held a strong composure, standing tall despite her thundering heart. Vraal could hear it throbbing away. "This is only half of what I'm offering. You'll get the other half when the deed is done, and done properly."

Vraal hissed with laughter. "Ah, a smart one. Don't see too many of those, these days." Then he got curious, narrowing his indigo eyes inquisitively. "What is it you so desire, mistress?"

Relaxing slightly, but not lowering her guard, Daphne pulled out the rolled scroll. "A thief assignment." The vampyre was almost disappointed for a moment. "I want you to steal from the king."

The interest came back, full fledged. "Stealing? From the king? What could you possibly want from a king?"

"Something that you can get that others could not," the Dagger replied. "I've tried with three assassins. All failed, though they were miraculously not caught. They all came back to me, empty handed and claiming it impossible. I killed two of them," she added for emphasis, but Vraal was not fazed. "And now I turn to you. You are a blood sucker, in more ways than one, yet I can't afford to throw my money away to so many wannabes. You're expensive, but I'll save some gold if I just hire one success, rather than a thousand failures. Do you accept?"

The vampyre watched the one known as the Dagger calmly, contemplating. The woman knew what she was doing, for sure, else she would have run away by now or enabled Vraal to slip into some loophole and make away with all her gold, free of work. He liked his occupation, of course, but sometimes it's just fun to make a fool out of people.

Eventually, as Daphne started to sweat despite the icy night air, a demonic grin spanned Vraal's handsome face, revealing the twin canines sliding down from his upper jaw.

"When do I begin?"

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

Merlin had never seen Arthur so agitated. He watched with barely concealed amusement as the king paced an endless journey of distress around the room, sometimes before the fire, occasionally near the windows, other times in circles around the table, all the while biting his nails to the quick and running his hands through his hair. It was a wonder why he didn't fall apart at the seams altogether in a tangle of anxiety and dread.

"What if she doesn't like it?" he muttered to himself, chewing off all the nail on one finger and grazing the next. "What if she hates it?"

"Arthur, this is Gwenevere we're talking about. She's not going to hate anything you give her." Merlin's brow was creased, but he was smiling reassuringly. "I don't think you could even make her hate anything you give her."

"What do you know?" snapped the king. "Have you ever tried to court a woman?"

"Er, well—"

"Am I doing it right?"

"...You're asking me?"

Arthur grimaced. "You're right." Like a restless bird in a cage, the king continued to flutter about in distress, which quickly made Merlin annoyed, annoyed enough to make him want to slap him.

"Arthur, look at the damn thing! It's enough to make any woman swoon with happiness." This gift was so fitting for her, Merlin couldn't imagine why Arthur couldn't see it and stop clucking around like a restless chicken.

He sighed and helped himself to some of the wine left over from the king's dinner. "You know her, better than anyone else alive...You were sure this was the perfect gift only a few weeks ago! Why the sudden agitation?" He took a sip from the goblet, watching Arthur intently.

The king of Camelot looked to have abruptly walked into an invisible wall. He turned and stiffly placed his hands against the fireplace mantel, and stared into the snickering flames as though they hid great secrets.

He took a deep breath. "Gwenevere's pregnant."

Wine sprayed from Merlin's nose as he choked.

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

Grateful for his durable, wyvern-hide boots, Vraal slowed from his ten mile run and topped the knoll a thousand paces from Camelot, not even breathing hard. His nose twitched to catch passing scents, ears pricked for danger. There were none, so he focused on the distant citadel with growing anticipation. Camelot was renowned, a glorious city, prosperous under its young king and new queen. Being so prosperous, it would have lots of wealth, and therefore lots of guards to protect it along with the city. It all meant that Vraal was up for a real challenge, one he hadn't been able to relish for years.

The sliver of the moon squinted reproachfully at the land as the vampyre mentally ran through his plans. There was only so much he could do, for even a master like him can't predict the position of the guards in a castle without magic. All he had was superhuman strength and four hundred years of experience. More often than not, however, that was more than enough.

"Retrieve the ruby, kill no one," the Dagger had said, handing over the weighty sack of coins. "Swear this to me, to uphold until the deed is done. Swear it!"

"By the blood moon and all-knowing stars, I hereby do swear to do your bidding until the deed is done," Vraal had vowed, tracing the pentagram over the place where his heart should be. He then bit his finger and drew the very same symbol on the stone of the abbey ruins with the black liquid that was his blood. "Se noapte vegheze asupra ta, Doamna mea." The night watch over you, my Lady.

Daphne had pricked her own finger with her best dagger and added her blood to Vraal's, and the deal was sealed permanently. To break it meant death at the others' leisure.

Tonight, Vraal was prepared to hold said promise. Camelot was going to sleep, but the vampyre was just starting to rise. Now was the hour.

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

"Arthur, I can't bloody believe it!" Merlin was bouncing from incredulous disbelief to limitless joy to ominous foreboding and back again with every passing moment. He was grinning widely but wringing his hands. "A baby, Arthur. Your baby! I mean an actual child. An infant! This is incredible!"

"Yeah, incredible," replied the king softly, still watching the flames.

Merlin paused, stepping around to see more of Arthur's expression. "What's wrong?"

There was a flash of pain in the king's face. "I don't think I'm ready."

"Ready? Ready for what, a child?" Merlin now stood beside his master, leaning against the wall to see the fire light flickering warmly on his face. "What do you mean, not ready?"

"I'm twenty six years old, Merlin. Two years a king, ten years a man, no years a father." He finally tore his gaze from the flames, and looked at his servant, revealing his grief through his eyes. "I'm...afraid."

"Arthur, there's nothing to be afraid of," Merlin replied, smiling lightly, encouragingly. "No man is really prepared to be a father, not until they hold their child for the first time. You will know what to do, eventually, because it's in you, in your blood."

With the warlock's final words, Arthur's expression became solid and as unreadable as ever, and Merlin knew that he was returning to normal.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur said. "You are a good friend—" The servant grinned. "—Even if you don't know what you're talking about." The king hit him good-naturally on the shoulder and left him to heave an exasperated sigh alone.

Ψ Ѫ Ψ

Vraal was sure that if he remained crouched and immobile on the battlements, the guards wouldn't see him. If he was to wave at them and dance a jolly Irish jig, they still wouldn't see him. But he could play with his uncanny skill any other night. This night, he had a mission, a contract to fulfil.

Scaling the wall had been easy, even if it looked smooth to the untrained eye. He had covered about half the citadel, going from window to window, using ledges, gutters, cracks, anything that stuck out from the wall, watchful for restless sleepers. He had enough experience to know that alarms can travel quickly if left unchecked, and he wanted to keep the city asleep for his thievery – not that he couldn't handle a rowdy situation such as that: it's to minimize the chance of having to hurt someone to silence them, which could accidentally lead to killing them.

Eventually, he topped the last wall of battlements. The central courtyard of the citadel spread out below him. Though hidden in shadow, the horseman statue at the foot of the main stairs was sharp in Vraal's gaze. He scanned the inner windows facing the yard, counting the lit and disregarding the dark. By the snippets of information that the other failed assassins had passed onto Daphne and thereby to Vraal, King Arthur's chambers lies behind one of these windows. The vampyre had only to check a few before finding the correct one.

He clung to the sill with little effort, hanging over three stories above ground, cool as a cucumber. He peeked inside, his indigo eyes taking in the lay of the room. There was a fourposter bed, a couple of wardrobes, a changing screen, a fireplace, and a table on which lay a modest crown and the legendary sword, Excalibur, recognized by the distinctive, arcane characters graven on the sides of the blade. Both the sword and the crown indicated that this was a royal chamber.

Two men were talking near the hearth, a sandy-blonde and a raven-haired. Judging by their clothes, the blonde was the lord. It could be none other than King Arthur himself.

Vraal snorted. This was their king? He didn't seem all that impressive. Handsome, yes, but not huge in musculature. The vampyre could have sworn all human leaders were big brutes, because that was what the species looked up to.

Doesn't matter. Vraal studied the two humans' faces, burning them into his memory. Suddenly, the king hit the other man lightly on the shoulder and walked towards a cabinet. The assassin upturned his hearing, an unnatural occurrence for mundanes, and he was able to penetrate the glass, to hear the voices inside.

"...Want you to return this," said the king, picking something up from the shelf of the cabinet and turning so his back was to Vraal. The assassin's nostrils flared curiously, but he dared not move to get a better view.

"Same place?" asked the other youth, the raven-haired. Both of their voices were muffled, seeing as they were being heard though glass, but very clear nonetheless. "Why bother taking it out at all? I'm sure it's safe down there."

"Because I need to see if it's just...right, is all. What does it matter to you?" Arthur suddenly tossed his burden at his servant, who fumbled with it before catching it gracelessly. Squinting, Vraal was able to see that it was some sort of necklace. The piece was a robin egg-sized ruby, ringed by gold wings that flared out as if to fly away. If he had a heart, it would be bursting with exhilaration. That was his target. It fit the description perfectly.

"By my mother's head, this is the right thing, sire," said the dark-haired youth in reassurance, taking a set of keys from the king. "You have nothing to worry about, I swear it."

The servant was making for the door. The pair of them exchanged a few more words, but Vraal was already scaling the wall to find a way inside.

Retrieve the ruby, kill no one. That was the deal. Though Vraal liked a good slaughter, his honour was his life, his existence. Not but the power of Death himself could break his word.

"How fortunate for you, Camelot," the vampyre hissed to himself, finding an empty room and pick-locking the window. He slipped inside with not a whisper of sound, crossed the chamber and then put his ear against the door, all the while wondering how the other assassins could have failed. This was too easy! It was insulting how those posers dared to call themselves vampyres and be defeated by such a novice task.

He couldn't help but wonder what was so special about this ruby that Daphne the Dagger would go through so much trouble – and gold – to acquire. And how was it important to the king of high and mighty Camelot? It mattered little. It was not Vraal's concern. He was just a bit disappointed, that's all. This was too simple, and boring, for a master such as he.

Vraal had to wait until the servant finished promising to return the keys as soon as possible and then go down the corridor before emerging from the abandoned room. His keen ears caught every detail, from the sneeze emerging from the king's room, to the mouse pit-pattering in the wall, to the servant's steady, strong heartbeat around the corner.

With the grace and silence to make a shadow envious, Vraal tailed the youth.

They had only turned around two corners before the vampyre began to close the distance. Adrenaline pounded through his veins as he neared, the servant so unsuspecting, so helpless, so...alone.

The youth passed near a balcony and then went left to descend the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Vraal waited on the stone rail above, poised like a gargoyle, muscles tense as if to spring. The servant passed below, the vampyre dropped—

Oh dear, it seems that I have run out of space...monitor space...euh...

*shifty look spreads to foxy grin*

Cliffies. Mwa. Ha. Haaa.

I could ask you to review, but I won't. You're all intelligent beings of exceeding capabilities; you have the skill and right to decide whether if I'm worthy or not of your praises and criticisms. Again, I will say that update dates (...) are unbeknownst to me (what a great word, unbeknownst) so keep an eye out if you're at all curious about our favourite warlock, and of his predatory stalker...