I fancied trying something different... self prompted from Smile.

For HopeCoppice and Starrrz whose brilliance at writing Vlerty has undoubtedly inspired and influenced this. I can't begin to compete with their genius but I hope this is a fair attempt.

xo

Nightmares

The Chosen One had started having nightmares, sometimes Bertrand could hear his voice crying out before he woke up in a cold sweat, no matter how fast Bertrand moved to be at Vlad's coffin side, his protégée wouldn't speak of the terrors that haunted him. That was when he could at least sleep; he knew Vlad often tossed and turned in his coffin, unable to face the dark depths which awaited him should he fall unconscious. (Temptation)

Awakening with a gasp, Vlad sat upright in his open coffin. It took him a few moments to calm down, for the images to fade from his eyes and be replaced by the mellow candlelight of his room. A shadowy figure shifted slightly on the sofa. Vlad stared in disbelief as Bertrand leant forward, his brilliantly blue eyes glittering in the dim light.

"Vlad, I think we need to talk."

Bertrand had endured as much of this as he could take. The Chosen One was fading in front of his very eyes, in the past few weeks large, purplish circles had taken up residence beneath those sapphire eyes, his skin had developed a greyish taint, unhealthy for even a vampire. Not only that but Vlad was losing weight rapidly and there hadn't been much on his frame to begin with. People were beginning to whisper, in the school, on the High Council, amongst the slayers. Miss McCauley had already called Bertrand and the Count into her office to discuss Vlad's welfare on two separate occasions. This could not be allowed to continue. The Count was of the opinion that they should drug him. After all, Renfield was on hand to supply as much sleeping potion as they required and if the boy got at least one night of sleep then maybe he would improve. Bertrand had disagreed. Sending Vlad into an even deeper sleep might only make things worse. No, if something was bothering Vlad, it needed to be talked about.

His protégée, as ever, was proving to be uncooperative. However, Bertrand wasn't willing to be dismissed quite so easily this time. He listened respectfully to Vlad's usual excuses. 'It's nothing.' 'I can't even remember it.' 'Honestly, I'm fine.' 'Really, you can go back to your own coffin now.' 'Why haven't you just bloody well fogged off by now?'

Bertrand had raised his eyebrows at that one. "Because I care." The words slipped past his lips before he realised what he had said. He was cursing himself for letting his guard slip when Vlad looked up at, his eyes large and dark in the dim light, "You do?"

The vulnerability in the Chosen One's voice was Bertrand's undoing. Oh he knew he was hard on his protégée, he knew he had pushed the boy far too hard in the past, that he did little to praise him but that was just Bertrand's way. It was his duty to prepare Vlad for his destiny. He didn't want to let the boy down. Care? Of course he cared! How could Bertrand ever begin to explain what he truly felt for the younger vampire? Ignoring his own inner turmoil, Bertrand settled for a simple "Yes," as he knelt before Vlad.

Sitting on the edge of his coffin, Vlad stared down at his tutor, his eyes searching for something in Bertrand's face. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low that even Bertrand struggled to hear him. "I dream of blood. And fire. I dream that the world is on the brink of destruction. I hear their screams as we massacre them. I see what I become." Vlad shuddered, his eyes darkening with pain and sorrow. "I can't!" With a cry of anguish, he buried his face in his hands. It didn't matter. Bertrand could still tell that he was crying. 'I'm scared Bertrand.' Vlad lifted his head and gazed down at Bertrand with such pleading in his eyes that it was too much for his tutor to bear. He found himself reaching out to touch his beloved Chosen One. With reverence, he brushed his fingers across the sharpness of Vlad's cheekbone. He was so cold, so unbearably fragile and suddenly none of it mattered. Not the demands of the High Council, or his petty competition with the slayer girl or even his disagreement with Vlad's plans for co-existence. What mattered was that Vlad, his Vlad, was suffering. "It doesn't have to be that way. You said it yourself; you will write your own destiny."

Their eyes locked, vivid azure burning into sapphire with hints of emerald and something shifted in the dynamic between them. Something indefinably important. It made their innocuous positions into something much more suggestive. It made Bertrand's gesture of comfort into something seductive. And Vlad...his Vlad, the Chosen One, was looking at him like he had just realised something significant, like Bertrand was important, beautiful even. Vlad tilted forward by just the tiniest fraction and for one brief, shining moment Bertrand thought that he was going to get everything that he had ever dreamt of.

Then the slayer girl crashed, in with her shrill accusations and girlish tears, and the moment, however illusory it may have been, was gone.