Author's Notes: Just got back from Otukon. Since I was inspired by all the Hellsing stuff going on I figured, why not edit? I've taken a long enough break and I am back, baby! That and I need a reason to avoid homework.

Chapter 21: Schrödinger

Present Day
London, England
19XX
Vladimir was briefing Integra about his mission, simultaneously gloating over his success. Rothen's attention wavered, tired from the trip to and from the airport in London and the noise, noise, noise of the world when their car drove by. Walter was pretending not to be listening as he lit Integra's fresh cigar, but Rothen knew he was at full attention. Rothen's nose crinkled at the smell of the cigar, the scent of the woman's father, as it swamped the air.

The circular hell of the tower room flashed before his eyes, his own screaming echoing in his ears as he scrabbled at the walls in an attempt to escape, his claws broken past his fingertips, his hands bleeding. He had screamed so long there, his voice great and terrible and horrified in the hollow he was confined in while he felt the resonating torture his master was going through, who was unable to keep it from their link. He remembered the pain, the insurmountable pain they had both felt, wailing and cursing and sobbing as he curled around himself, trying to stop the phantom pains.

A pinch from Alucard brought him back to reality, the act so discreet even he hadn't seen him move back again. Rothen's vision was blurry, but his face was dry. The vampire never missed a beat, kept right on talking.

Are you all right?

/I remember too much of that life and not enough of this one. Dementia has been unkind to my family./

You're thinking clearly now?

/Yes./

In the middle of Alucard's speech, Rothen turned and went out into the hall, silent as the wind. There was no need to be there. He already knew.

He knew everything.

He knew nothing.

They were in bed again, as they usually were if they weren't on duty. It was sometime close to noon, but Rothen couldn't sleep. He was awake and therefore keeping the vampire awake. As much as Alucard tried, there was just too much static in the werewolf's mind to let him rest assured nothing was wrong. Rothen wasn't thinking, or he wasn't thinking clearly, but it didn't sit well with Alucard.

When Rothen was younger, centuries younger, he used to think all the time. He always had something on his mind, be it a repeating phrase or a story or a song or simply an emotion. This nothingness had never existed with Rothen before the tower, before he'd aged. He was wary of the insanity that ran in Rothen's bloodline, of the violent and now deceased relatives of his pack, the ones that had killed themselves for the Nazis back in the 1940's and earlier.

"Tell me about Anderson," came Rothen's thick voice, his accent strong in the dark as he got out of bed and paced the length of the room, "He entertains you?"

"Indeed. He's a Regenerator."

"They don't exist, farie tales."

"The Vatican insists on keeping his existence a secret. They're doing a fair job, considering his bloodlust."

"Catholic?"

"Yes, a devout one too."

"You always love a paradox," Rothen mused. Vladimir drew him toward the bed and pulled him down among the sheets. The werewolf purred when Vladimir mussed his hair and stroked his ears, a tail lazily wagged and the long feathery hair on it sailed lightly in the still air.

"Yes."

They stalked toward the throne room, Rothen gawking at the scenery as they walked past, at the expensive vases and paintings a hundred years and older, at the fine carpets and tapestries, looking as if it was their first day in existence and not their millionth. It was like the palace in Romania before it had burned, before he himself had destroyed it. It was lavish in its finery and still held the musty chill of a proper castle. He missed Romania in a vague, existential way.

The lieutenant and the pet were walking with him, watching him with varying levels of wariness. It was to be expected, as he wasn't exactly been on friendly terms with either. They trailed behind Alucard a little closer than Rothen dared. Rothen had a place to fill at the vampire's side and he respected him as if he were still the prince of a thousand vampires, he kept three steps behind him. No guards delayed them, they were expected.

Alucard threw the door open and slid in gracefully, the Knights of the Round Table already assembled. Rothen wondered why they were knights, since none of them were trim, handsome or wearing armor. His vision of knights still sprung from history. They seemed wealthy, to be sure, which was perhaps why they were knighted in the first place, and not for noble deeds.

He suddenly found a liking for the single Dane in the room, perched on her own large, ornate chair, smoking her thin cigar. She was truly the bravest of them there, raised a warrior by a warrior father and a warrior butler. He knew Walter from before the tower, knew his ability to fight and respected him as a fellow in arms.

Integra had just eared a little bit of respect, simply by sitting…One couldn't help being impressed by that.

The queen had urged Alucard closer, Rothen and Seras and the lieutenant watching quietly behind Integra's chair as the vampire removed his glasses and stepped forward, kneeling before the queen and passively letting her old, withered hands search his face for any change at all. There was none, Rothen knew, and she marveled at it in her own weary way, as the elderly tended to do.

Then her voice grew in command and ordered Alucard to report everything. Rothen's attention was again lost, his ears perked to another sound. It was moving fast, faster than most creatures could move. It was moving toward them.

And then it was there and its scent assaulted Rothen's sensitive nose. The clean dog smell of a young pup and the crisp starch of a uniform.

"Tubalcain's blood showed me the vay here," said the boy-wolf, "Really…I guess he vas good for something…"

Rothen gaped, recognizing the boy's face, the structure of his head and straight nose, the color of his fur. The boy's eyes were on him, studied him for just a split second, then turned away. The humans didn't even notice, but he did, Alucard did, even Seras had, but hadn't recognized it.

The others were in an uproar, the knights sweating in fear as the guards argued that security was flawless. There was no such thing as flawless…

"I'm everyvhere and novhere. I have a message from heir general."

The boy turned to Seras, who was still trying to decide what she'd seen was real or imagined. He murmured a quiet 'Guten tag' that made her glower and flush.

Rothen scoffed…pups today.

The boy clicked the message on, the signal low, but eventually working. A familiar human (human?) face emerged on the tiny screen, all delirious smiles. The sight of him made Rothen think of both Hitler and Napoleon and the idea made his skin crawl. He'd disliked both of them.

Alucard just smiled into the screen. "Hi there, Major."

"It's been a long time, Alucard. Being able to see you against the pinnacle of gladness."

Introductions done, the man on the screen looked slightly aside, at Integra, who was still smoking calmly, glaring at the screen behind her shiny glasses.

"So you're the enemy leader. Oh, you're the director of Hellsing. Sir Integra Hellsing, ja? The ist the first time ve've met."

"What's your goal?" Integra growled, "What leads you to engage in this daft behavior? Answer me!"

The general only smiled, "Goal? Fraulein, lovely fraulien. That ist one foolish question. If you must go that far, fraulein, ve do not haff any goal."

One of the knight got to his feet and shouted 'hogwash' and demanded to know if they really attacked for no reason.

"Silence!" the general shouted, effectively shutting the man up. The knight sank back into his chair and the general continued, "I am not speaking vith you. I am speaking vith this fraulein. It hast been so long since I spoke vith a young girl. Do not interfere vith me, boy!"

The general turned back to Integra, who was chewing angrily on her cigar but still showed no more expression.

"Settle on no means to obtaining your goals. I'm told it's a Machiavellian Rudiment but I don't really know such things. Do you see, fraulein? If you are a commander vith the slightest power of retaliation, you should know this. There ist no doubt that in this vorld, there exist groups who are determined to settle on no goals in obtaining their means. In other vords…After all is said und done, groups like us…" he snapped his fingers and in the background a swarm of vampire soldiers savagely tore apart a group of human civilians. There was to be nothing left to rise even as ghouls.

Rothen's throat tightened. This is what he had been fighting before the massacre at Samhain. This is why he'd murdered so many…they were going to ruin everything he'd done. He turned to the younger werewolf, feeling betrayed. The boy didn't even register him, considered him an elder who was nothing more than crazy.

The representative of the Vatican, a man named Maxwell snarled, "You are all insane."

The general only hummed, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"You speak of madness to me? Vatican section XIII chief?"

"Yes, I do. Not one of you is sound in the mind."

"Thankfully it's your God who guarantees my madness, you see. Very vell, I ask you this. Who do you suppose in this vorld guarantees the sanity of your God?"

Even Seras cringed at that. Maxwell looked as if he would tear the machine apart with his bare hands.

"Do you understand who the hell you're talking to?" the general shouted, "Perhaps it vould help if I vas vearing a black SS uniform? Ve are the Schutzstaffel of the Third Reich! Just how many people do you imagine ve haff killed? The Death's Head Division, said to operate as if it breathed combat and wiolence themselves? Ve're insane? You say this now? You're about a half century too late!"

The general took a breath and kept talking. Everyone in the room was tense, excepting that god-be-damned boy.

"Very vell! So be it! Try und stop me then, you self-styled standards of normality! But unfortunately for you, my enemy ist not you und yours. Keep your vords to yourself for a bit, section XIII. My enemy ist Great Britain! The order of Protestant Knights. Nein! It's the man who looks so joyful standing there."

They all looked to Alucard, who was laughing so hard Rothen thought he might cough up a hairball or choke or something equally uninspired.

"Fine, fine, I'll destroy you any number of times." Alucard snorted, "You really are a vengeful brood! A superb war declaration."

"Ve'll overturn unsatisfactory results any number of times. Of course, ve are the most vengeful type there ist."

Alucard drew his gun, the Jackal and shoved it into the boy's mouth. Only Rothen felt the urge to stop him. Before he could move from the spot, though, before he could tense his muscles, Integra had given the order and the wolf-boy's head was gone in a huge explosion that made Rothen's ears ring.

"Shooting the messenger. Dear me, such violent outbursts."

"Messenger? Don't make me laugh," Integra snapped, "Declaration of war? Oh, please. You are nothing more than a terrorist group. Seras, fire!"

The screen exploded with the impact of a shell from the pet's rifle.

When Rothen looked around, the boy was gone.

"Sir Hellsing, Alucard," the queen's quiet voice said, interrupting Rothen's thoughts, "This is an order. Bring them all down."

They bowed and left.

When they were in the car, Walter behind the wheel and Seras in the passenger seat up front, Rothen sat close to Alucard, still a little shaken. His tail was tucked against his legs and his eyes flickered to the shadows and watched them for strange movement. Alucard's hand found his and squeezed it gently.

You knew this boy?

/He's my kind, my species, my race of Wer./

I thought they were all dead, killed in the War.

/As did I. I've never seen one that young since then. He can't be more than a score years old…He's mature, but only just…/

Mated? the vampire asked, curious for any leverage he might have against the boy and whoever he was working for.

/I didn't smell it. He was bonded to someone or something as I am to you, but unmated. It's…odd./

The vampire sat back, surprised that the werewolf hadn't known, hadn't sensed this before.

/I know everything and yet I know nothing. I am merely the muse of my runes, a passage for their words, not the other way around./

The runes knew, but you never saw it?

/Runes may have their secrets…any outlet of the goddess will./

Does he have a goddess, this boy?

/He is without religion. He is without direction but his own demise…My kind will die out, just later than I expected./

The vampire just sighed. Rothen curled his legs around his form on the seat and laid his head on the vampire's shoulder, calm in the presence of a worthy defender. There was nothing more to be done…they just had to wait now…

Fin chapter 21

Please Review

Author's Notes: Fear the Spoon.

To My Readers:

Red-on-Black: Yes, Vlad apologized. But think about it. He was very, very in the wrong. I'm glad I didn't take it a step further and had Rothen say something like 'I told you so'.

Actually, I do that a lot in real life.

Phorcys: Well, he wasn't immediately kept in the tower, not originally, simply because there was no reason to attempt to hurt the Hellsing family while Vladimir worked for them. Later on, events will proceed and we'll get a better look at his entrapment at last.

Chinese Dragon KeeperWikipedia isn't considered a reliable source for information according to the policies of my college.

I'm geeky and have no life. It's how I keep myself entertained.