Constantine had talked Nikola into going back to Constantinople with him. The Dracon followed, albeit grudgingly. As they travelled, they talked, and Nikola found out about an attack that Sadik had made at Byzantine.

“He is searching for people to name him, as a nation,” Sadik’s domain were in Arabia. Yet, he didn’t have a nation name. Nikola frowned. Sadik hated him ever since Ak gave up his freedom to Mongolia after Nikola refused to go and save him. He called him a kin slayer and a wretch.

“I say we recognize him as Turkey and be done with it,” the bird was common to Byzantine’s territory. A form of fowl.

“If we name him, without him agreeing to the name…” Constantine was silenced with a finger to his lips.

“I am his half-brother. If I don’t name him, who? I recognize Turkey, an Arabian nation. Tine, how about you?” Locking Sadik like that would force pain on him if he attempted to up and leave Arabia. Constantine knew from his attempt to get back Italy from the twins during the fourth century.

“I recognize Turkey, an Arabian nation,” said Constantine, then, he smiled. “He will find out about this.”

“Big deal. By the time he moves, you would have gotten your ships in order. No one can take Constantinople without making a sea blockade,” that was true and, much to Constantine’s pride, he had seen Nikola’s resolve crush before his walls.

“You will help me?” It was an unsure question and Nikola nodded.

“I promised you my love, all those centuries ago. And you gave me land, even though you didn’t have to,” Nikola leaned in to kiss Constantine. “And I cherish that.”

“And you will forgive the children?” At that, Nikola huffed.

“They took up arms against me,” and that had hurt, truly.

“By my urging and the urging of their mother. A woman you killed. Now, it is time to wash away the sin of that. Forgive your children. I already invited them to Constantinople,” Nikola nodded, guilt eating at him for all that he had done. But he found that it just couldn’t be helped. Kievan Russ knew full well what she had been doing and yet, hadn’t stopped.

“And Francis and the rest? The ones who attempted to come to Constantinople as conquerors? Can you forgive them?” Constantine frowned slightly.

“Maybe in time, but not now. The insult is too fresh, Niki. If it hasn’t been for you…” Nikola embraced his husband and squeezed his shoulder slightly.

“Tell me what happened. What ails you?” And Constantine began to speak. Of the Latins in their quarter of Constantinople. Of how the tensions were building up in his land. Of how he could no longer contain Herakles to Cyprus. How he had forgiven the now grown man and how he wished to give him Greece’s old territories, minus what was outside Constantine’s reach.

“Then, do it,” said Nikola. “Before Herakles stabs you in the back. He has been your nameless vassal for centuries. It is time you gave him his mother’s territory, Tine. I know you don’t clutch to territory when either Michael or your Emperor’s don’t demand it of you. Become an Asian and African nation. Better yet, keep just Anatolia. You have been showing the same signs as your father.”

“And you? What will you give up?” Constantine snapped at Nikola. For, Nikola had bags under his eyes, the same as Constantine.

“I will give Dacia away,” said Nikola as Constantine glared at him.

“That is a part of your dowry,” he reminded Nikola, but the man just sighed.

“Yes, and I can’t defend it. The Danube is separating my land too much. I will give it to little Romania. Francis’s son,” Constantine, raised an eyebrow at that.

“He attacks you, and you give him land?”

“Dimitri didn’t attack. He has been living near me in my lands peacefully. He looks up to me, to the both of us,” Constantine remembered happier days with his nephew playing out in the fields in front of Constantinople.

“Has he claimed the land?” For, if the child has, Nikola would stop at nothing to see him as an independent nation.

“He has,” Constantine exhaled at that.

“Nothing to it, then. We give away all our land, and then what?” Constantine snuggled closer to Nikola, wanting to feel his warmth.

“Not all. We will have enough to live from,” said Nikola, and Constantine barked a laugh.

“Reduced to nothing,” Nikola kissed his eyes.

“But happy,” corrected him, Nikola. “I have felt Herakles’s pain and Dimitri’s hope, my love. They deserve to have their land. If you want me to forgive the children, you have to give my neighbors a chance.”

They made it to Constantinople for Easter. All around, there was splendor. Michael’s dream was brought to reality, yet, he wallowed in madness. When Dracon saw his lover, a tear fell down his cheek.

Michael was asleep. In torpor. Laid out on an altar and decked in finery that was depicted all over the church. Worshipers, mostly Lasombra and other Kindred, were bowing down at him.

“Leave,” screamed Dracon. From his many icons where he had posed so that Michael could make his image into them, the kindred knew who he was. They scrammed as quickly as possible. Sending backwards glances as they did so.

“You are not an angel, Michael, my Beshter,” the eyelids of the sleeping vampire moved and Dracon took the dagger that was in Michael’s heart and took it out. “But you are my love, and I am as guilty about Antonius as you are. So, don’t do this to yourself.”

“You came back to me,” spoke Michael softly, hands reaching towards Dracon’s face. “For me and the dream.”

“The Dream will change,” said Dracon, a hand gently resting on Michael’s cheek. “And you will change with it. But we will remain here, in your city of gold. As your son lives happily with what has always been his heartland and his heart.”

“Kyla set you up to this?” Accused Michael, standing up.

“Nikola has always been a friend. Even to you,” protested Dracon, and he threw the dagger out of reach when he saw Michael eyeing it. “And you will be reminded of that when we go for a picnic with the entire family.”

Dracon smiled, Michael huffed. But the Dream did change, and Byzantine survived because of that.