Chapter Text
Ardal was miserable. It was cold outside the walls, and no one would let him in. Yesterday was the annual vote for the sacrifice to the vampires. Nearly everybody had unanimously decided it would be him. Even his own parents. The only one who had voted against sending him out was his twin and best friend, Coila. And even she had put her hand down once their parents had looked at her.
It hurt, but he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t expected. He was seventeen and without a profession. He contributed nothing to the town, except to protect the people with actual jobs. He had been expecting this for the last few years, ever since even Coila and the other kids his age had begun training with the adults.
He shivered, goosebumps rising on his exposed flesh. It was cold, as the beginning of winter often was. He didn’t really want to go anywhere, so he decided to curl up against the wall, hoping against hope that maybe it would shelter him slightly from the storm on the horizon.
~ ~ ~
It didn’t help.
Ardal curled up tighter, his wet clothes leeching the heat from his already cold body.
“Máná! Máná!”
There was that little voice again. He had heard it a few minutes ago, somehow audible over the loud roar of the storm. It didn’t seem scared, just eager. It was getting slightly closer each time, but he didn’t expect to hear another voice join it.
“I see it, banríon bheag. I’ll talk to them. You stay here with Mam, alright?”
“Ceart go leor!”
All of a sudden, the other voice sounded from right next to him.
“You all right, cara?” it asked gently.
Ardal uncurled slowly, afraid of what would happen. Sitting next to him was a pale woman, her long white hair pulled back in a loose bun.
“Ye-yeah,” Ardal stammered.
“Then why are you out here?” she asked.
“The town kicked me out,” he admitted. “I’m supposed to go find the vampire coven that lives across the river… but I don’t really want to.”
The woman’s eyes hardened. “Is the coven you’re looking for the Rialóir Coven, by chance?” she queried.
Ardal felt slightly trapped, but he still felt he should answer. Maybe this strange woman would be able to help him. “Ye-yes.”
The woman stood up, offering her hand to Ardal. He took it, using it to boost himself up. The rain seemed to avoid hitting her, leaving her flowing dress dry.
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to take you there,” she sighed. “Come along.”
With that, she strode off into the night. Ardal hurried to follow, feeling afraid. After a moment the woman paused, a pair of figures rushing up to her. One was much smaller than the other, seemingly a child, but they both had white hair as well.
“Máná!” cried the smaller one, reaching out for the woman Ardal had followed. She laughed a little, picking up the seeming child.
“Alright, alright, banríon bheag. Mo grá, I need to take this cara to the Rialóir. Can you watch our banríon bheag?”
The other figure nodded, accepting the smaller figure as it was passed between sets of arms. They stepped away, disappearing into the night. The woman Ardal had been following turned back to him, a smile on her face.
“Mo leithscéal,” she offered. “My leanbh can be clingy sometimes. This way to the castle.”
She led Ardal along a faint trail, winding among the trees. Slowly, the sound of rushing water grew louder. Eventually, Ardal realized they were at the river. A bridge led to the other side, where a massive castle loomed, dark stone and peaked roofs conveying a feeling of dread.
The woman didn’t seem deterred, walking across the bridge quickly and rapping on the front door. Ardal quickly stopped behind her, not wanting to somehow anger her.
After a moment, somebody answered the door. He had gray skin, scarred deeply. “What do you need, scríbhneoir?” he spat.
“Hush, hush, Aodh,” the woman soothed. “I’ve simply got a little gift for Alban. Here he is,” she added, shoving Ardal forward with a strength she didn’t seem to possess at first glance.
The man, Aodh, Ardal assumed, quickly reached out and gripped Ardal’s arm. He, too, had an unnatural strength.
“I’ll take my leave, then,” the woman supplied, turning on her heel and almost instantly vanishing.
Ardal didn’t think anything of it, too preoccupied with the situation he was currently in. He was fighting Aodh, trying to not be pulled into the castle. He was overpowered when another person, female this time, joined Aodh in pulling him in.
Aodh huffed, turning to the woman. “Éadha, I had it under control!” he hissed.
The woman seemed undaunted, simply shrugging her shoulders in response to the man’s annoyance.
“Alban wanted to know what was taking so long,” she told him. “I thought I would help before Cathal stepped in.”
Aodh nearly growled at that name, to which the woman smiled happily, seemingly having scored a point in their verbal spar.
“Fine…” Aodh seceded. He jerked his head toward Ardal. “The stupid scríbhneoir had a human for Sire.”
Éadha seemed excited at that, looking closely at Ardal. “Ooh, exciting! Alban’s in the Grand Hall,” she added, throwing it over her shoulder towards Aodh. She took hold of Ardal’s shoulders, steering him through the winding hallways.
Eventually, they reached what Ardal assumed was the Great Hall. At the far end from where he and the other two entered, there sat a man with striking white hair. A cold laugh boomed through the room.
“Welcome, peann beag,” he told Ardal. “Welcome to the end of your life.”