Midnight Roses

Author's Note: (whistles innocently) Time for another Interlude guys.

Interlude Three: Tragedy

The black haired king tore down the long, elaborate halls of his castle, a look of terror on his face. He hadn't even stopped long enough to remove his armor or clean off the blood. As he ran down the hall leading to their chambers, he heard a loud, agonized scream. “Oh god, Elizabeta!” he gasped, comprehension coming into his blue eyes as he began to move faster.

At the end of the hall stood one of his maids, an old, wizened looking woman that had worked for the castle before he was even born. “Lord Vladimir! You cannot go in!” she exclaimed, rushing to stop him just a few feet from the door.

“I do not care for your propriety! My wife needs me!” he snarled, shoving past her and moving towards the large, oak door. A low, frightened sob could barely be heard through the thick wood, making his heart twist painfully in his chest.

“My lord, the lady is in labor! You simply cannot...” she began again, placing a wrinkled hand on his armor clad arm.

“I know she's in labor! I can feel her pain as keenly as if it were my own! I will not be kept from her,” he hissed before opening the door.

The smell of blood hit him like a truck and the sight that greeted him made him more ill than any battlefield. There, blood soaked sheets under her shuddering, spread legs, lay a very pale Elizabeta. The woman between her legs whipped her head around to glower at the warrior as he came into the room. “V-vlad,” the frail woman on the bed gasped, reaching for him with weak arms. Ignoring the glare of the midwife, the shaken ruler went to his wife's bedside.

“I am here my treasure,” he whispered tenderly, gently taking one of her hands in his and kissing the top.

“I love you Vlad,” she gasped out, her body shuddering violently as another contraction ripped through her.

Vlad could only watch helplessly as Elizabeta ebbed slowly in his arms. Only her will to birth their child seemed to be keeping her going, her breathing erratic and weak. With one last, weak cry of pain, the frail woman collapsed. The midwife removed a bloody bundle from between her slightly shaking legs, shaking her head sadly.

Feeling as if his heart was slowly being ripped out, the broken warlord looked down at his dying wife. She smiled weakly at him, sadness shimmering in her eyes. “I am sorry I was unable to bring your son safely into the world,” she gasped out, her breathing becoming more and more erratic.

“No my love, only apologize for leaving this world without your presence,” he whispered, cradling her close to him as she breathed her last. Two bloody tears slipped down his cheek unnoticed.