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It took some convincing to get Strahd to come with him to the festival but, through a combination of pleading, gentle teasing, and ‘it’ll make a good impression on your people’-ing, Sergei manages it.
Maybe it’s immature to be so excited, Sergei knows Strahd thinks so. He’s twenty-five years old, he’s the prince of this land, he’s a von Zarovich. But it’s been so long since he did something frivolous. And he does like living here, in the months since he arrived in Barovia Sergei has grown fond of the land, but there’s a constant… unease. Like there’s a storm in the distance just waiting to block out the sun.
He’s glad Strahd is here. Both in Barovia and at his side now. Sergei grew up with tales of his older brother, Strahd the soldier, Strahd the hero. Meeting him at last had been somewhat surreal. Things so normal as attending a local village festival feel like the best way to bond, to bring them even closer as brothers rather than as the ruler and the prince of the land.
That might be easier, Sergei muses, if Strahd would let them do anything but stand near the edge of the square. Sergei wants to be in the middle of things, laughing and talking and dancing with these people. Not nodding politely at their formal, slightly nervous greetings. Yes, he supposes they’re ‘technically’ royalty, but he wishes everyone would stop bowing to him. It feels so distant.
Surveying the festival rather than participating in it might also go better if Sergei had a longer attention span. He’s now scanning the crowd, looking for anyone of note just for something to do. It’s not entirely pointless, after all Strahd might be impressed if he could manage to identify the Burgomaster or a priest or someone else important.
His attention is caught by a group of presumably friends, all about his age. They’re talking and joking together, having a lot more fun than he currently is. One of them, a woman, has the loveliest hair: long, coiled, a shade of red a few hues darker than his own. She turns slightly and he can see her face now.
And the world stops.
Sergei just stands there, shining eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. He can’t look away. He’s not even sure why, he’s seen beautiful people before. But beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe her.
It’s like his whole life has been leading to this moment. Like he was never meant to be any other place or time than here, now, where she is.
Strahd’s comment of, “Don’t tell me the wine has gone to your head already, little brother?” just about makes it through, but Sergei still doesn’t respond. He can’t respond. He can’t do anything but look at her.
Because there is no-one else but her. The sea of people filling the square has melted into mist and Sergei can see nobody but the redheaded woman across from him, her emerald eyes shining even from this distance. She laughs at something her friends say and he finds himself smiling in response. She’s beautiful, more than beautiful, it’s like she’s fresh air and he’s been suffocating all his life up until this moment.
He tries to drag his eyes away. It’s wrong to be staring at someone like this, what if she notices and feels uncomfortable? What if someone else notices and thinks this newly arrived prince is some sort of headcase? But it’s impossible, like if he looks away he’ll cease to exist.
It isn’t until he feels Strahd’s hand on his shoulder that Sergei blinks, and the rest of the world starts to come back into focus. But Sergei doesn’t respond to whatever it was that his brother had said. Instead he finds himself starting to walk forward, only stopped by Strahd’s hand tightening on his shoulder.
“What in the hells is wrong with you?” the older man asks, the good humour in his voice now laced with an icier edge. “You look like a man possessed. What has got you so-”
It’s the falter in his voice that finally gets through to Sergei, and he looks up at Strahd’s face. The mighty Lord of Barovia is still too now, his attention captured by something or someone in much the same way Sergei’s had been.
But instead of looking for what has got his big brother so enthralled, Sergei uses the opportunity to slip from his grasp. Before he can put too much thought into where he’s going, lest he talk himself out of it, he crosses the village square and heads straight for where he’d seen her.
Except she’s gone. And it shouldn’t matter, just one missed meeting between two people that will have no consequences, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling genuinely saddened at missing her.
He’s shaken from that sadness, however, by the sound of someone clearing their throat nearby. With such a crowd at the festival, it’s a miracle that he even hears it. Sergei turns, following the noise, brushing a few strands of dark red hair from his eyes as the wind catches them.
And there she is, alone now, her own red locks caught in the breeze as well, looking directly at him. A smile instantly forms on Sergei’s pink lips, his cheeks going ever so slightly flushes as the woman grins back at him.
He starts to walk towards her but, in the blink of an eye, she’s gone again! Maybe Strahd was right and the wine here is stronger than back home- No, there she is! She strolls past him, just close enough to be casual but so that it’s impossible for him to miss her, sunlight highlighting her stunning features as it crosses her brown skin.
She moves past him and Sergei turns in response, laughing as he realises what she’s doing. Clearly his earlier staring hadn’t gone unnoticed; she’s playing with him now. Not maliciously though, he doesn’t know how but he knows this is more than just teasing. There’s just something in the way their eyes meet when she checks over her shoulder to see if he’s following. Which, of course, he is.
Someone else is following too, not that Sergei realises.
He’s nearly caught up, just about to move by her side and finally speak to her, when she dashes to the left, shooting a cheeky smile at her almost-companion that elicits another giggle from Sergei as he turns to watch her.
Sergei hears those friends from before calling to her. Music is starting in the square and they want to dance. And finally, after what feels like a perfect forever even if it’s only been a few moments, he hears her name.
“Tatyana, come and dance with us!”
Tatyana… Tatyana … The perfect name. In his old home a name like that would be for royalty, a fey princess or even a queen. How fitting it is for her and, to himself, Sergei repeats the name that he just knows is the most important name he’ll ever say, “Tatyana…”
“What?” Strahd has caught up. Sergei can’t help but roll his eyes to himself, immature as it perhaps is, as his big brother arrives to put a stop to the game. “Care to explain why you’re traipsing around the square like a fool?”
As if he doesn’t already know.
There’s… There’s something odd about Strahd’s tone. In the time since Sergei arrived, most ‘tellings off’ have been lighthearted - stern, yes, but with an air of fondness to them too. But now Strahd seems distracted, a word Sergei never thought would describe his brother. And his brown eyes that would usually bore into Sergei keep flicking away, towards the gathering villagers beginning to dance.
Sergei can’t help but chuckle. “Brother, if you wish to dance with somebody, you only have to ask them.”
Strahd scoffs at this, although Sergei notices that his eyes are still scanning the crowd. For a brief second, the younger von Zarovich attempts to work out who Strahd is looking at, but his attention is immediately diverted when Tatyana meets his eyes again, offering him another dazzling smile. She’s dancing with one of her friends, glancing over at Sergei every so often as if daring him to interrupt. Well, two can play at that game.
“For example,” he calls to Strahd as he moves away. There are plenty of people milling close by, all looking for an excuse to dance with the golden prince of Barovia. He makes his way towards them and offers a hand to the first person to approach him, a woman about ten years his senior with blonde hair tucked into a braided bun. Perhaps it’s a little cold, but Sergei doesn’t really care who he dances with. Not yet, anyway.
He leads the woman into the fray, one arm politely at her shoulders as the other loosely holds her hand, a modest distance between them. He half expects to see Strahd looking disapproving, but his brother is still distracted. Sergei might wonder who had him so engrossed if his attention wasn’t also diverted; he and Tatyana lock eyes again as the dance progresses.
Fate seems to be giving Sergei a helping hand - whatever local dance this is involves changing partners. But he has to be patient a little longer, the timing isn’t quite right. Now paired with a curly-headed man about his age, Sergei smiles courteously at him as they dance, spotting Tatyana swapping partners with another of her friends.
She’s mesmerising, of course she is. Coils of deep red hair tumbling around her shoulders with every turn, sparkling green eyes, freckles on her dark skin brought out by the sun, and such an incredible aura of light and joy around her. No wonder everyone in this village seems so happy, how could they not be when Tatyana lives among them?
He’s so enchanted by her that he almost steps on the other’s toes, and Sergei mumbles an apology that somehow manages to be both embarrassed and charming at the same time.
“Don’t worry,” the man assures him, “We change partners again in a moment. I’ll make sure we’re near her.”
“Ah, am I that obvious?” Sergei chuckles, that little tinge of pink back in his cheeks.
The man laughs too, but he’s looking over Sergei’s shoulder. “Yes, but it’s a good thing.” The redhead goes to apologise for somewhat using him, but the other cuts him off. “There’s really no need. Forgive me, Prince Sergei, but you are also a means to an end.” He nods his head towards the man Tatyana is dancing with.
It doesn’t take more than a second for Sergei to work it out - his current companion is looking at the man Tatyana is dancing with in a similar way that Sergei is looking at Tatyana herself. He offers him an understanding smile before letting the dance whisk them away, trusting in fate (and a little added help from his dance partner) to place them where they need to be.
The bards on the carts mocked up as a stage reach a crescendo and dancers start swapping partners again.
Just as promised, there she is, reaching for Sergei’s hand before he can even offer it to her. Their hands touch, fingers linking together as if they’ve never been apart. She grins, pulling him closer, not giving him a chance to even attempt to be formal before they’re dancing together, spinning and weaving and laughing as if they’ve known each other all their lives.
There it is again, that notion that they are the only two people in the world. Sergei can feel the breeze as people dance past them but he can’t see them, his eyes are only for her. People are watching them, he’s aware of that too, but it doesn’t matter. She’s the only one who matters, from now until the end of time.
It’s curious, really. Sergei’s always been lighthearted, joyous, perhaps even childish at times. But he’s never been as reckless as he is now. If he had the ability to think about it, he might wonder if he was being stupid. He doesn’t know this woman, and yet he feels happy to devote his life to her, to stand at her side, to drop everything any time she needs him.
Her smile is so radiant. He’s grinning too, laughing giddily as he spins her under his arm. She’s leading the dance, and he’s vaguely aware that they’re somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd now.
Then they’re not dancing anymore, she has his hand in hers and she’s leading him through the village, out of the village, into the outskirts of the surrounding forest.
It’s a little windier here than it was in the village, though still sunny and warm. Tatyana’s curls flutter in the breeze as she takes the two of them through the trees until they reach a clearing, pink and red flowers blooming through the grass and decorating the copse.
She turns as she stops walking, and Sergei (regretfully) half expects her to drop his hand. But instead she takes his other one too, swinging their arms playfully.
“Is this the moment you tell me you were actually staring because you were annoyed at how loud we were all being?” she teases. Her voice is the best melody he’s ever heard, better than anything he could play.
Sergei laughs, his cheeks and the tips of his ears a little pink. “Never. It was nice; people can be a… a little sullen around me sometimes.”
“I’ll bet. You live in Ravenloft, right? I saw you standing with Strahd.”
Sergei’s eyebrows raise. Not in disapproval but surprise, he’s not heard anyone aside from himself and Rahadin refer to Strahd by his first name since his mother died.
Tatyana catches the surprise and chuckles, letting his hands go as she stoops in a dramatic curtsey. “Sorry, Lord von Zarovich ,” she mocks, earning an amused grin from the other. “You don’t look like a guard. Are you his advisor? I’d say a butler if you didn’t look like far too much fun to spend your life waiting on that stuffy old man.”
At this, Sergei cannot help himself. An undignified snort comes from him and he nearly doubles over laughing, Tatyana eyeing him in a mix of curiosity and mirth. “No, not a butler. And certainly not an advisor, I don’t think anyone would want that.” He could tell her outright, but it still feels like part of a game. “My name is Sergei.”
The clocks tick in her brain as she recalls where she’s heard that name before, and Tatyana’s eyes widen slightly as she realises exactly why this golden boy was stood with the Lord of Barovia. “Oh fuck…” She meets Sergei’s eyes, her cheeks flushed too now.
There’s silence for a moment, before they both burst out laughing.
“I’m so sorry,” Tatyana giggles, hiding her face with her hands. “Don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m not laughing!” Sergei cries, which is completely untrue, and he steps forward to gently lower her hands, smiling widely at her. “Well, I’m not laughing at you… Or just you… I’m laughing at both of us!”
Giving him a soft, playful shove, Tatyana steps closer into Sergei. She doesn’t drop her hands from his chest. His own hands instinctively go to her upper arms, holding her gently but close, their faces mere inches away.
This is absurd, he knows that. He’s only known her for a few minutes.
And yet that doesn’t matter. A few minutes, a few lifetimes, it’s inconsequential; he was always supposed to be here, now, with her.
And she’s looking at him exactly how he’s looking at her.
“I… I’m Tatyana, by the way, Tatyana Federnova.” She reaches a soft hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “And I don’t usually make a habit of running into the woods with strangers. Especially royal ones.”
He smiles, brown eyes taking in every inch of her face. “I’m glad you made an exception for me. And I’m not royal, not here, not now. Not with you.” He shrugs, the smile never leaving him. “I’m just Sergei-”
Sergei barely finishes the syllable before her lips are on his. One hand entwined in his hair, the other still on his chest, her lips moving over his in a harmony of nerves and excitement.
It’s not his first kiss, he’s no pariah. But it feels so new, so perfect, no kiss has ever felt like this before. It’s never meant so much before.
Naturally, he kisses her back. His hands move from her arms to wind around her, holding her close, smiling against her lips as he feels her start to giggle again.
“What?” he breathes with a chuckle, pulling away just enough to meet her eyes, the tips of their noses touching.
“This. You. It’s like… It’s like I was always meant to see you there,” Tatyana grins, her cheeks a little flushed. “I know that sounds mad.”
Sergei shakes his head, taking her hand from his chest and holding it in both of his. “No, it’s not mad.” A pause, a laugh. “Well, maybe it is, but then I’m as mad as you are.”
She kisses him again, their hands linked between them.
Though neither of them notice, it starts to rain. Light, taunting droplets patter against the leaves as the breeze picks up a little.
Tatyana pecks Sergei’s lips again, resting her forehead against his. “I… I’ve never felt anything like this before. I don’t even know you.”
Mirroring her earlier gesture, Sergei gently strokes a few strands off her hair off her face. “Does that matter?” He squeezes her hands, stealing another quick kiss. “I cannot wait to get to know you, Tatyana.”
The rain picks up and, eventually, the two red-heads notice.
“We should get back,” Sergei sighs, keeping hold of one of her hands. “Else I’ll get a lecture from the ‘stuffy old man’,” he adds with a grin.
Tatyana snorts, her cheeks flushing again. “For the love of the Morninglord, do not tell him I said that.”
“Lady Federnova, you have my word.” Sergei gives a mock bow, earning a giggle from Tatyana as she starts to walk them out of the clearing. “You know, Strahd really isn’t that bad. He’s just a little… serious, sometimes. I think he forgets he’s allowed to be human. I’m sure he’ll loosen up soon.”
The rain eases up as they approve the village. Were either of them paying attention, they might notice how the rain never quite seemed to make it to the town itself. But they’re too wrapped up in each other, laughing and joking and smiling and talking together.
As they return to the village square, Tatyana leads him over to her group of friends, and he waves off any formal greetings or bows, introducing himself as if he were another villager. Sergei, not Prince von Zarovich. Someone they can laugh and have fun with. Someone she can always be comfortable with.
It’s only now, realising that he never actually told Strahd he was leaving the village, that Sergei remembers to look for his brother. He’s not difficult to find, still towards the edge of the square, Rahadin and some guards not far away. Sergei smiles, assuring Strahd that everything is fine.
Except Strahd isn’t looking at him. And, finally, Sergei realises exactly why Strahd had been so distracted.
His brother is looking directly at Tatyana.
Over four hundred years later, Sergei von Zarovich lies cold in a marble tomb. The Lord of Barovia is no longer his brother. He is no longer even human. He is a devil, a mist, a monster, and he hunts for his property still.
That day in the square seems like it was only yesterday, and like it was millenia ago. The day he decided Tatyana Federnova belonged to him, as all of Barovia belongs to him. The day Sergei stole her before he could even claim her.
She is stolen every single time. A man, even one as twisted as Strahd, can only endure so much. That woman is his, and he will stop at nothing. A new name doesn’t matter, nor does a new… person? No! Ireena is Tatyana and he will force her to see that, to see who she truly belongs to.
That cursed non-detection spell on the paladin, Griffin, makes it harder to spy on her whenever she is with the whole group, the group of strangers who were supposed to aid him in catching her. Instead they keep her from him.
Especially that boy. That fucking boy who has the gall to look so like Sergei. Who has the nerve to look at Ireena Kolyana as if she is not already marked by the great Strahd von Zarovich. Who was willing to stay behind so that his friends might live… It might be admirable if it didn’t fill Strahd with such rage. Such jealousy.
Why will she not just accept what he wants her to make her fate? To deny him is foolish, especially for that wretch. The boy could be dead and cold and out of the way if she hadn’t stepped between them.
If Ireena hadn’t nearly stolen herself for Llewellyn the way Tatyana had for Sergei.
It’s been a while since he let them go they escaped. They’re probably back at the Burgomaster’s house. The boy was injured badly, it’s maddening how close he was to finishing him off. With any luck, he’ll have died on the way back to Vallaki. No, the Cleric won’t let that happen.
It’s becoming annoying, how much they all care for each other.
That’s a problem for later, Strahd decides. It shouldn’t be too difficult to start pulling them apart.
Llewellyn, however, is a problem to focus on now. It was amusing, at first, watching him tail after Ireena Kolyana as if he could ever matter to anyone. That amusement had quickly turned to irritation, then to disbelief, then to rage as it seemed she not only didn’t mind, but appeared… warm to it. To the Bard himself.
How intrigued Llewellyn is by Sergei is also… interesting. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told them about his brother. The way Llewellyn looked at him as he held that Tome… No . He won’t think about that. The boy has to go. But Ireena has complicated things, shown how much she’ll fight for him and the others.
Again, Strahd curses that she won’t simply accept what he wants.
As effortless as ever, Strahd prepares a Scrying spell. He can see her, so the Paladin must be elsewhere. Probably with the Cleric and the Warlock; they always seem to be together, almost a family .
Ah, there she is. Llewellyn is there too, of course. How is she not fed up with him? Strahd smirks to himself as he sees just how worse-for-wear he looks.
But the mirth drops as he hears what they’re saying.
And thunder begins to crackle across the land.
“Ireena… I love you.”
Telling his friends was one thing, but this is quite another.
And she doesn’t reject him. Doesn’t dismiss him. A roar of fury erupts from the Devil as he watches Ireena smile, watches her tell the boy that she knows, that it’s a reason ‘to keep fighting’. Fighting him.
She’ll lose, they all will. He’ll make sure of it.
The Bard can live, for the moment. There are other ways to deal with him.