Work Text:
Vlad was certain this was how he was going to die. Burned to death at the stake in the middle of the meadow.
“Let me go. Please.” Vladimir begged, tears pooling in his eyes. His pleads went unheard, drowned out by the uproar. Surrounded by agitated villagers with pitchforks and torches chanting and yelling profanities and cursing his existence he knew it was only a matter of mere moments before they’d condemn him to a miserable end.
And all of this because somebody noticed there was no reflection of Vlad on the surface of the lake.
The coarse rope tying his hands to the pole behind him didn’t just hurt, but made his wrists bleed. Drops of blood dripped from his fingertips to the piles of chopped wood below.
Then, one of the villagers set the wood alight. The flames started spreading rapidly, like wild spirits being set free. Over the sound of hot, crackling fire, he heard a scream. A cry of anguish from the back of the mob. Helena , his mind supplied, as his thoughts began to slow. She started shoving people aside, fighting her way through the crowd, though her figure was blurry in Vlad’s eyes.
The flames licked the wood beneath him, about to overtake Vlad. Heat consumed every fiber of his immortal being, like he was being boiled on the inside. Vlad swayed on his feet, his eyes about to close. Just as the haze took over his head and body, he heard sizzling.The sound of fire being doused in water. After that, all he remembers is a warm hand caressing his face, reminding him of his mother.