Disclaimer: I own nothing. I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone, but this story will not be including any new characters or events in. Layton's Mystery Journey
Alfendi Layton had always known on some level, as long as he could remember, that he somehow, didn't quite fit in with his father and younger brother.
Whenever his father, the renowned Professor Hershel Layton, introduced Alfendi to any of Hershel's many acquaintances or friends, Alfendi, without fail, had always noticed the blink of surprise, the swift comparative glance between the two. Those lacking in tact or subtly sometimes even went so far as to ask, their inability to reconcile the blood relation between Alfendi and Hershel coming through clearly in the doubt borne in the tone of their voices, as they asked, "Your son?"
Even though Alfendi had taken note of such reactions all his life, it wasn't until he reached the age of eight that he finally understood why. Alfendi and Hershel had been attending a dinner one evening, and over after dinner drinks, Hershel had introduced Alfendi to the hostess. Yet again, Alfendi noticed the searching glances of the hostess, but hadn't thought anything of it; by now he was used to, and immune to such looks.
Alfendi had been forced to excuse himself, while Hershel and the hostess were still deep in conversation, to use the bathroom. When Alfendi returned, unnoticed by either, he clearly heard the fateful question.
"So, Alfendi is adopted, is he?" Shocked, Alfendi froze, his mind working at a rapid pace as pieces of a puzzle Alfendi hadn't even known existed until now started to fall into place. The confused glances, the occasional stunned stares, the doubtful, sometimes inquistive, or almost inqustional questions or comments about him that had been posed to Hershel.
Alfendi spun around, and headed back to the bathroom, where he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Alfendi recalled the playground of his school, where the parents waited to collect their children everyday. Alfendi had never consciously realised it until now, but for every child, he could see some physical resemblance, be it obvious or discreet, between them and their parents.
Alfendi leant forwards, desperately examining his reflection for any resemblance between himself and Hershel in the mirror – and found nothing. Hershel was average height, stocky, tanned, with tightly curled brown hair, and small black eyes. Alfendi was tall, almost too thin, pale, with wavy dark red hair, and large orange eyes.
I'm adopted? I don't belong with my father?
That thought was almost more than Alfendi could bear. Alfendi adored, loved, and respected his father. The respect and admiration that literally everyone used when speaking to, and of Hershel Layton, constantly reinforced Alfendi's knowledge that his father was truly someone special, and Alfendi's sole goal in life was, and always had been, to emulate his father as much as possible, in every way.
Alfendi spent the rest of the dinner in the bathroom, just staring at his reflection. Hershel had had to come and collect him when it was time to leave.
Alfendi climbed into Hershel's vintage car without a word. Hershel got into the drivers seat, but made no move to start the car.
"My boy, are you not feeling well?" Hershel was looking at Alfendi with great concern.
I'm not really your boy, am I?
"I'm fine, thank you." Alfendi replied.
"If there is anything worrying you, I hope you will tell me." Hershel was still watching Alfendi.
"Of course, father." As expected of the son of Hershel Layton, Alfendi had near immaculate manners.
Hershel started the car, and carefully navigated on to the darkening roads. Neither spoke, the car didn't have a radio, and the silence only made Alfendi more unhappy. Too much time to think, no distractions to take his mind away. Slowly, slowly he started to crack under the weight.
"Father...am I adopted?" Alfendi blurted out, unable to stand it any more.
"My boy, why would..." Hershel trailed off, frowning. A stern note crept into his voice. "Were you listening in on the conversation between Ms. Grapetree and myself earlier?"
"Yes, Father." Alfendi replied.
"Now, Alfendi, you know that a gentleman does not listen to other's conversations without making their presence known. I'm surprised at you."
Alfendi felt a stab of anger. Alfendi wanted the truth, not a lecture on manners. Why did Father have to be so set and immutable in his ways?
"Father, please!" Alfendi had never raised his voice to Hershel before.
"Alfendi, my boy, you are, and always will be my son."
"Your biological son, or your son like Flora is your daughter?" Flora had been adopted by Hershel years ago. Although Alfendi and Flora were siblings, Flora had already been in her late teens when Alfendi was born; she was in a happy marriage, with a good job, and was expecting her first child. Flora was too busy to visit often, and when she did, the visits tended to be brief. Alfendi had never even really had a decent conversation with her, and though he would never admit it, had never considered her to be part of their family.
"You know Flora is as much as part of our family as any of us, Alfendi."
"Just answer my question!" Alfendi was screaming by now, his face bright red.
"What's gotten into you, my boy?" All traces of sternness from Hershel had vanished, replaced with his earlier concern.
"I...it's not only what that lady said! I see it! Everyone...no one believes I'm your son! I don't look anything like you! Why won't you tell me the truth!" Alfendi tried to turn his back on Hershel, but found himself restrained by the seat belt. Angrily, Alfendi slumped in his seat as much as he could, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, my boy. I didn't realise you'd noticed." Hershel's voice was quiet. "Alfendi, one day, you will understand that shared blood is not always a requirement for the warmest relationships and the deepest love. "
"So, I really am..." Alfendi trailed off, his worst fears realised.
"No, Alfendi. You are my biological son, you simply look more like your mother and your uncle, than you look like me."
Alfendi had somehow forgotten about his mother. Like Hershel, she was an archaeologist, originally from Italy and the two had met on an excavation that was that merited such importance, it had attracted archaeologists from around the globe. After something of a whirlwind romance, they had married. They had spent five years together, in that time, Alfendi, and his younger brother, Taddeo, had been born. However, his mother wasn't the type of person content to sit at home and raise her children or even to become a professor like Hershel. She loved her family, but could only be truly happy out in the field. She was constantly so busy with her work around the world that Alfendi and Theodore usually only saw her once or twice a year. When they did meet, she was so enthused about her whatever project she was currently working on, she usually dominated the conversation, and seemed to pay little attention to the little that Alfendi and Taddeo did say.
Alfendi had had even less communication with Uncle Sycamore; having only met a few times. Alfendi found him rather strange, pleasant if humourless, but with an odd liking of masks, and lurking in the shadows.
Now Alfendi thought about them both, though, he realised, he did look more like them, than he did Father. Alfendi shared his mother's colouring, and his uncle's hair wavy hair and eyes.
Ashamed, Alfendi pulled himself upwards in the car seat. He felt exhausted, and his throat felt sore from his screaming, something that the quiet Alfendi very rarely did.
"I'm sorry, Father." Alfendi said quietly. Hershel smiled.
"That's quite all right, my boy. I hope this has set your mind at ease."
I'll show everyone. I'll prove to them all I really am Professor Layton's son.