Julian [ROSALIND fan fiction]

Julian

The night was deep and black. A winter sky hung over Transylvania, heavy with the promise of snow. Little houses huddled beneath, spread like sheep over a frosted plain. Most were dark, for it was late and cold and no wise man would be found out of bed, tempting the devils that were said to run amok in the dead hours before dawn.

Julian Hershel was not a wise man.

The Hershel household was quiet with sleep, unaware that one of its sons held vigil before the darkened hearth. It was not the first night he had done so, and Julian was certain it would not be the last – not while his beloved sister was far from home, in the gravest danger any of them had ever known.

Julian rose from his chair. It was difficult enough to keep his thoughts from Rosalind during the day, when chores and business and the company of friends diverted his attention. There were no convenient distractions in the dark; only painful truths.

The kitchen quarters were large and airy. Julian's long strides ate the space in little time, the man's pacing taking him from wall to wall and back again. The lone candle left to flicker on the windowsill caught his eye every time he swung around. He knew not who had placed it there, and he dared not ask. Julian was not of Transylvania by blood, but he knew the land's customs and beliefs. Many a bereft mother waiting for a child that would never come home again kept a lantern of some sort on her sill at night. It was an arrow through the heart, that hopeful little flame.

Julian shook his head with a scowl. Rosalind was not lost. She did not need a candle to find her way back home, she needed a God-damned rescue, and it was about time that her worthless brother delivered!

It was a short walk from the main house to the stables. Julian saddled his mount with an ear out for stray footsteps, and slipped out the back gate as quiet as the shadows that hung from naked tree branches. There was no snow yet. A bitter wind dug its claws into Julian's skin, biting at exposed flesh and rattling the rifle strapped to the man's back.

Julian paused at a bend in the road. He turned in the saddle to look at his childhood home, filling his heart with the sight.

The houses grew smaller and further apart. Julian wished for haste, but he needed to be cautious while still in the village. It would not do for him to be stopped and questioned. The men who patrolled the town were good acquaintances of his father. None would allow him passage, were they to catch him in the act of sneaking out.

It was due to this vigilance that he saw the child.

Julian pulled on the reins. There was movement off the path, a shift of shadows under the sloping roof of an abandoned barn. Julian struck a match and stared into the dark.

"Anyone there?" he called.

A moment of silence passed, then a wraith of a boy stepped into the circle of light. His hair and skin were dark, as were his eyes, which watched Julian with open suspicion.

"Are ya lost, mista?"

The boy spoke Romanian with a thick accent. Julian knew him to be a gypsy and took a furtive look around, in case there was a scheme of some sort afoot. They were alone save for the bats and a distant owl hooting in the trees.

"I can show ya the way, for a few coin," the boy said.

"I am not in need of a guide," Julian responded. He saw the boy shiver where he stood and frowned, noting the boy's thin shoulders and ragged coat. "Where is your family?" he asked.

The boy's lips thinned. He said nothing, and looked about ready to bolt.

Julian contained a sigh. "Here," he said, and handed the boy a few silver coins he found in his pocket. "Take it, it's alright," he bid when the boy hesitated.