"Hold on to me, Belmont, not my shirt."
Trevor does, or tries, grunting with his arm slung around Alucard's neck as he stands to his wobbling feet. He can't even feel irked by Alucard's tone, eager to be moving and, if he's being honest, too grateful to complain. "I really could try this on my own, you know," Trevor says anyway, receiving no reply.
Alucard's support never falters, his arm steady around Trevor's ribs. "I appreciate the care for my time," he says as they take a few steps together, "but I do have an inordinate supply of it."
Well, he's right about that. Again, Trevor lets it slide. Maybe he's getting soft here, or maybe he's become more used to Alucard's cold-shoulder retorts. He's warm against Trevor's side, and the hunter is absolutely not focused on that more than the important task of putting one foot in front of the other.
This is not awkward.
He recalls Alucard's words to Sypha, to them, the honesty in his voice with the admission that he wanted them here and despite Trevor's own previous misgivings, those moments stayed with the hunter ever since and now live free in his head to mull over.
This is not awkward.
They pass through a tall entrance to an adjoined chamber, and from there onto a long terrace overlooking the wooded pathlands. It is here Alucard eases the hunter down on a padded, upholstered bench, set in the shade and heaped with cushions.
Trevor squints, uses his hand as a shield until his eyes stop hurting from the sudden change. He blinks as the wilderness appears in tints of green and fading blue the farther it spreads, climbing up the knees of solemn mountains rising jagged in the distance. Getting some fresh air was the goal here, and the hunter takes full breaths of it.
Alucard busies himself with some bottles and flasks, then sits beside Trevor on the bench. It's quiet up here, comes the thought, but not as silent as the stifling four walls of a chamber, and days passed since Trevor was reacquainted with lucidity — a state he's apparently taken shamelessly for granted before the onset of his illness. It's strange to him to be left so weakened as to need help in this manner, stranger still to actually receive it; something Trevor remembers happening but once before in his life, a kindness he clung to through the latter years when his defaced hope in humanity was finally about to give. "Thanks," he says, shaking off the memory, because not everything must be ghosts and regret.
Alucard looks his way, an eyebrow raised; waiting patiently.
"For this," Trevor sighs, pointing at himself. "For helping me heal." He rubs the back of his head, furrows his brows.
Alucard picks a tome with a dusted blue cover from a sheltered table in the corner. He looks down at the damn thing, and there is that fucking sadness again; it's on his face, in the way he moves, in everything he does.
This is awkward.
But he's Trevor fucking Belmont, afraid of no man or beast et cetera, et cetera, and if he was unhinged enough to punch Dracula in the face he won't quail before talking about his feelings to his son.
"Neither Sypha nor I could have done any different," Alucard says, meeting his eyes and he's… he's smiling. Brief and pale, but it's there, like it was those first moments of clarity when Alucard was leaning over him, looking like something priceless had just dropped in his lap. A silly comparison, maybe, but Trevor's never been a poet, and it's Alucard's expression he still sees in those states between wakefulness and sleep.
"Still," Trevor looks back ahead, sliding lower against the bench, "I'm not dead, probably would be if it weren't for you, again, and… and, yeah." He sighs, "What I'm trying to say is," he throws Alucard a brief glance to see him staring at his feet, elbows propped on his knees, "I've lived on lucky chances for the latter half of my life. I'm surprised I'm still alive, to be frank."
"Agreed."
"Shut up and let me say this. I was used to being treated like shit by people, and after a while, it's easy to become what everyone makes of you." He feels Alucard's gaze on him, finds it easier to stare at the clouds smeared like white pastry across the sky. "From the beginning — ever since your weird entrance into our lives you both always treated me like I'm worth something, and that's… I'm thankful for that. Yeah? Wanted to get this out of the way. Wanted you to know." He falls silent, observing two eagles as they circle each other in strong, graceful sweeps against a backdrop of blue.
Alucard rests with his head on the backrest, hands clasped together over his chest, finally looking like he's got no stake up his arse. But he understands, he must. After all, his own life did a complete flip, making way for… for whatever this is. Maybe Alucard isn't sure either. But he no longer avoids their company for most of the time, no longer slinks away at night to hunt until he returns bloody and worn. Instead, he stood by Trevor and Sypha since that morning, kept feeding Trevor that horrible tasting medicine and if he left, many times they would wake late into the night and find him there, either reading or dozing in an armchair close to the bed.
And that, too, is what Trevor is grateful for — all of them taking a direly needed breath together. No heavy topics. No talk of sieges. No questions apart from practical matters of the present. He rubs at his chest where it still hurts to breathe and a persistent fatigue renders him incapable of doing much, for most of the time, but the air is clean, they're not running for their lives, and Alucard is here.
"So, we're staying for a while," Trevor speaks gruffly against his own fear. For how long? They haven't discussed that, either. And how much does it really matter now, anyway? "You'll need a lot of help with this place, by the looks of it."
Alucard reaches for the water pitcher, pours and offers out a glass. His hand is pale and bony beneath the brush of Trevor's fingers, his eyes sunken in, and he still looks like something heavy and nasty constantly drags him down by the shoulders. Trevor makes an effort and doesn't comment. Nobody likes having their pain called out at every turn; they know it's there, after all.
"First, regain your strength. Then we'll see to the rest."
Trevor can't argue with that, and a few steps forward are usually better than none.
Above them, the eagles cry.
"There is… so much more preserved food here than I thought!" comes Sypha's voice, a little muffled, from the other side of the door leading to the pantries from the kitchen.
"All right." Trevor looks back at the list of quantities he's been writing, seated at the long kitchen table. He feels better with each passing day, and now can even help with some tasks without running out of breath in the first thirty minutes. Still, he wouldn't mind it if things sped up a little, either.
"Oh! And there's a room here for cold storage!" Sypha dutifully notifies him.
"So, what am I adding here?"
"At least another twenty pieces of dried meat," comes Alucard's voice, "and another ten sacks of flour."
"Christ," mutters Trevor, "was he feeding an army in there?"
Alucard's tall figure slips through the door, with a look on his face that says 'have you lived under a rock' and with his dark coat flecked with flour at the lapels and chest. There's some in his hair, too, and Trevor bites the inside of his cheek because it's a shit move to tease someone who looks like they might drop dead at any moment, but he also has a hard time associating the sight with the memory of Alucard's edgy, dramatic appearance in that Keep under Greșit.
Different sides to everyone, aren't there. He wonders idly what else there is to discover about each of them, and how well or poorly they will handle it. Together, together for now.
Alucard glides over and peeks down at the list over Trevor's shoulder. "Goodness, your handwriting is atrocious. I can barely discern parts of this."
"Next time you do it," mutters Trevor, but he leans back in his chair, glad for the proximity because he is that kind of fool. "My foremost skills, as you know, lie in other areas."
Alucard tuts — another thing that throws Trevor off balance. "This is a long list," he states as Sypha emerges from the pantries, arms full of bags with spices.
"Where on earth did you get cinnamon? It's so difficult to find, and—"
"We traveled the world quite a bit with the castle," Alucard answers, eyes still on the list as Sypha sniffs at one bag, a brief, elated smile on her face. "I think between all of this and whatever foraging we'll need to do, we should be fine for a while."
"Good, that's settled," Trevor adds as Sypha reaches them, leaning over Trevor's other shoulder to glance at the notes. She smells of mint and sage, and that odd spicy-sweet scent of that cin-uh-mun that has her so pleased.
"Trevor, is this a P or an R?"
"Ugh, you know what…"
Sypha giggles — how he missed it — and sets a placating hand on his shoulder. Having them both at his back in a situation that doesn't boil down to live-or-die dwindles the hunter's annoyance to nothing. He thinks of how siloed they were, each struggling with their own thoughts and feelings only a week ago. It's not a sudden change but a subtle one, and it's enough to matter, for now.
A breath together, indeed.
Trevor scratches his head as the three of them stand before the once-entrance-now-gaping hole leading to the Hold. It's the first time they're returning to assess the damage and get an idea of what can be done in the short term to protect the knowledge and artifacts in the Vault. Sypha knows quite a few warding spells to help in that direction, but the fighting left the place in shambles and thus in need of their attention, not to mention proper isolation from humidity and other environmental wear.
"Hm," Trevor points at the remains of staircases hanging off the walls, "We can't go down there the usual way, that's one. Sypha, could you make up some… ice stairs, or something?"
"That won't be necessary," says Alucard, turning to look at both of them. He extends a hand which Sypha takes without hesitation, realizing what he's offering.
Trevor blinks. "No way. I am not being carried down like some—"
He doesn't get to finish as Alucard takes a plunge with Sypha held securely to him, and Trevor hears a brief sigh, sees her robes fluttering like the wings of a great blue bird before she and Alucard land gracefully in front of the door to the Vault. He looks back up at Trevor, and it's too far for the hunter to make out his expression, but hell, he reckons this wouldn't be the first time Alucard had to haul him around like a sack of onions, anyway. He's also decidedly not fond of falling from great heights no matter the support, but they don't need to know that. Trevor sighs and makes a gesture that concedes defeat, calling Alucard back up.
"Sypha, a little light please."
"Since you asked so nicely," Sypha rubs her palms together, then spreads her arms out wide. The lamps of the vault come alive, revealing levels upon levels of shelves and chasing away the shadows in the immense hall.
Everything is as they left it, including the damage incurred by Trevor fighting the intruding creatures. Sypha makes her way towards a lectern, followed by Alucard.
"I'll do a quick round," Trevor tells them, a hand on the whip curled neatly at his belt as he disappears among the rows of ancient furniture.
"Look at that!" Sypha points at the giant skeleton of a creature hanging in chains from the ceiling. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" she asks Alucard, who's regarding the bones in silence; the enormous jaws, the huge teeth like spikes — the stuff of nightmares.
"I doubt it's the supernatural, in this case. To me, it looks like one of many creatures which apparently walked the Earth eons before humankind took over." He looks back at the large, dusty book Sypha's opened. "This place may have an index but it's…" he turns to a shelf, retrieving a wooden object made of pipes of various lengths and frowning as he stares at it, "... nonetheless a mess."
"You've already so helpfully pointed that out before, thank you very much," they hear Trevor's voice from far away.
"That looks like a pan flute," comes Sypha's observation, and Alucard lifts the object he's holding for a closer inspection.
"A nai, to be more exact," adds Trevor, emerging from a row of shelves and nearing them.
He takes the pan flute from Alucard, thoughtfully running his fingers over the wooden tubes of varying diameters. They're fit in a curved array, arranged by order of length from right to left. "You'd hear these at special occasions, during celebrations or on bonfire nights, what have you. The pitch of each pipe is adjusted with beeswax." He turns the instrument over in his hands, speaking as though he's reciting a forgotten lesson.
"I've heard it played before. It sounds beautiful, haunting even, if the musician is skilled enough for it," Sypha tells Alucard. "Not something one would find in a collection of monster hunting resources, though. Unless… " She seeks Trevor's gaze, "you know how to play this, Trevor?"
Trevor inspects the nai, blows some dust off the polished wood. He shrugs. "I used to. We all learned something or other to pass the time between studies and training," he says, then tucks the thing inside a pack he brought down, avoiding her eyes.
Sypha smiles. "I see," she murmurs, throwing Alucard an indulgent, knowing look as the hunter turns away.
"So, are we done here?" asks Trevor. "I think we know what we want to plan next. First, we need the ability to get down here without resorting to either of you, so…"
He freezes at the clang of objects falling from their place, striking the floors and sending loud, lonesome echoes through the cavernous enclosure. They all exchange looks of silent understanding, and Alucard's already tensed, his claws halfway out. His eyes close as he listens. "Wait... it's nothing, it's—"
Trevor's already walking towards the source of the sound, hand on his whip at the ready. "... just a cat," the hunter says, mild disbelief on his face at the movement of something dark beneath one of the stacked shelves.
It's fully grown from the looks of it, tail swishing and eyes gleaming. Its coat is black all over, and it looks rather shaggy, but from what Trevor can tell, the animal isn't wounded. It's also decidedly not shy or afraid as it languidly advances towards them.
Sypha's snickering behind him. "Our intruder! My, what a shiny coat you have there!"
The cat mews, and Alucard watches it padding closer, inspecting them with intelligent eyes. "Considering the superstitions alive and well in the area, I doubt finding a household was an option for him."
"How can you already know it's a 'he'?" asks Trevor, but Alucard's right, which is weird. Maybe to do with his shapeshifting-creature-sensing abilities or whatnot. He really should read up more on dhampir, or there's a thought, actually speak to Alucard about it, maybe. Either way, his own curiosity can wait now.
"We can safely assume there's no shortage of nourishment for him here," Alucard glances at the vastness of the Vault.
"Do we… leave him down here?" asks Sypha, picking up a few tomes that caught her interest in the meantime.
"Well, you can't really force a cat to do anything, so, I don't know," Trevor drops down, balanced on the balls of his feet. "Hey, you. Want a ride out of here with the three big lugs?" he asks the cat over Sypha's amused expression, and they all watch as the animal saunters over when Trevor rises to stand, fluidly wandering between his ankles, purring loudly with its tail curled upward.
"I think that's a 'yes'?" Alucard ventures as he picks up their pack and Sypha wraps an arm around his neck, preparing to rise back to the surface.
Trevor takes a leap of trust and lifts the cat up, who settles with zero fuss on his arm. Seems like a deal. He looks down at the stray animal, "A word of warning though: we might be more trouble than it's worth."
They begin cleaning and tidying efforts, as much as is in their power, starting with the castle — both to pass the time and to prepare for the cold season ahead. The structure is large enough to make it an impossible task for three people to refurbish in its entirety, but they can focus on the areas Alucard deemed important, ones that have seen destruction but are recoverable: a few sleeping chambers, the laboratory, the library, the main hall. Alucard also proposed he think of a means to enable easier access to the Hold, but for now, they've started with his father's former study: a chamber small enough and close enough to the kitchen area which they could use to spend the evenings.
Even here, there is no small amount of work to be done, and the place bears the marks of fighting and struggle. Alucard and Sypha have begun picking up the books scattered on the floor and ordering them back onto their shelves, while Trevor busies himself with removing the broken furniture. The cat, having followed them to the castle proper the other day with no prompting after Trevor set him down, now moves about the space with his head and tail held high, exploring and pawing at fallen objects. Sypha had named him Zori — for the brightness of his eyes and spirited flair, not unlike the fresh, rising dawn.
"Some of these books are so rare," Sypha says as they work. "Imagine the value they hold." Her eyes widen in interest and wonder. "Look, just here is 'The great cosmology' by Democritus, the full breadth of it. It was thought all of his works were lost!" She turns from the shelf, paging through the tome.
"Yes," nears Alucard, "this one is a copy of the original work, the scrolls having been lost in the burning of the ancient library of Alexandria."
Sypha looks at him, fascination alight in her gaze. "If you seek tranquility, do less - Democritus," she murmurs, staring into Alucard's eyes.
"You two are awful, awful nerds," mutters Trevor as he kneels down, staring with interest at the shards of a mirror spread onto the floor, and his broken reflection in them. He carefully picks up one piece of glass, inspecting how the light from the window falls upon it in peculiar glimmers of blues and reds.
"His work was groundbreaking!" starts Sypha, uncaring of Trevor's rolling eyes. "He proposed the theory that the Universe is made of tiny particles, working together, called atoms, which are indestructible, and have always been and always will be in motion; that there is an infinite number of them."
"Fascinating," Trevor voices, his attention on the broken pieces. "Alucard, what… is this? It doesn't look like your average mirror, and I somehow doubt it was of any use here if it were."
"Stand aside," Alucard says as he nears, and Trevor raises an eyebrow but does as he's bid.
Alucard raises an arm, fingers spread wide, and his eyes flash red for a split second before slowly, the shards rise into the air one by one, clinking and singing, fusing together and forming the semblance of a large, oval-shaped surface. They stand before it, but there's no reflection — it's all a blur, like boiling magic absorbing the pale daylight pooling through the room. "This is a transmission mirror."
Trevor's eyes go as wide as Sypha's when looking into those books. "I had no idea one still existed…" he raises a palm as though wanting to touch the surface, then thinks better of it. "Carpathian?" he looks to Alucard, who's staring at the mirror, a blank expression on his face.
Alucard nods, and Trevor tries not to think of how sickly he looks, though at one point, a topic nagging the hunter for some time now will have to be breached. He has questions — one question in particular, rather, but now isn't the time.
"My father had come by this some four centuries ago, as far as I know. It was the last of its kind, made by the Carpathian scrying hermits."
"How does it work? What does it do?" asks Sypha, kneeling to pet Zori, who purrs and arches his back into her hand.
"Unlike the one from the Hold, which only shows locations based on thought and intent, this one allows matter to pass through it." Alucard places a clawed hand on the mirror, drawing a few incomprehensible runes over it. Instantly it sings and vibrates, a crystal-tinker rising in the air. "To anywhere," he says, even as the surface morphs and details change, and both Sypha and Trevor gasp as the image of houses and hills takes shape before their eyes.
"A portal," concludes Trevor, looking at the plain dwellings, the dirt road, and yellow-green hills rising in multitudes behind them. "This is really something…"
"It is," Alucard stares at the image, silent as his arm falls back to his side.
"What is this place?" asks Sypha, who's come close, a hand lightly placed on Alucard's arm.
The blank expression falls like a broken mask, and longing shines through the cracks. "Lupu village," he says. "My mother's home."
Sypha's hold on his arm tightens as Alucard turns his head, staring at the portrait of a yellow-haired woman in a violet dress, set on the opposite wall. She's smiling back at him, youthful and happy, trapped in the frame. "After she and my father began a life together, she would use the mirror to return, to treat people as was her trade, or simply if she was homesick. We needed not move the entire castle to get to places, not always. Sometimes," he pauses, gazing long at the crooked houses with thatched roofs sheltering simple folk, who live and love and die so far away, "she would take me along, for her visits." He lowers his head.
"Alucard," Sypha murmurs, her hand drifting down his arm, to his wrist. Her fingers twine with his and press tightly.
Alucard takes a deep breath; exhales. He looks down at her upturned face, and his long fingers squeeze hers back. "It might come in useful, someday," he says, no discernible emotion in his voice.
The mirror shatters to the floor in a shining heap of chipped fragments, so suddenly Trevor starts.
"Yeah," the hunter agrees, eyes drifting over Alucard, over their locked gazes, down to their joined hands. He looks away and sets to gather the fallen pieces.
"Have you seen Sypha?" Trevor enters the study after he's cleaned himself up later that evening, seeing Alucard at the table surrounded by rulers and drawing utensils, a large piece of parchment before him. Night has fallen outside, and they'd agreed to have a meal together, but the Speaker's nowhere to be found.
"She left a while ago to rummage through the library," Alucard looks up from his work. He's tied his hair back from his face with a strip of leather, and he's holding a stylus between his fingers.
"I never knew you were a leftie," Trevor comments as he nears.
Alucard can't but smile, looking Trevor up and down as the hunter approaches. "Ambidextrous, actually," he says, "like you, from what I've seen," he comments, at which Trevor shrugs. "Though I favor my right hand with weaponry."
The hunter looks better, much better than a week prior, his health having returned fully and through the murk of his own mind and its tribulations, Alucard found a relief so strong in that truth he knows not what to do with it.
"Anyway," Trevor says, "I guess I'll try the other wing," he turns, making to leave.
"Belmont."
"Hm?"
Alucard sets the stylus aside and looks out the window into the night, leaning back in his chair. "I've been sitting here for too long. Walk with me?"
He sees the reluctance, the stiffness in his shoulders as Trevor looks to the side, then at him. "Well come on, then."
They cross corridors and halls until they reach the outside world, breathing in the pine and sweet aroma of wildflowers dotting the clearing. The stars shine in their heavenly bonds. The man's heartbeat bursts strong, and there comes the unfamiliar strangeness taking over, though he easily smothers the side of him that would relish it, that would fall to its scent and bask in its taste.
He's felt nothing like it before, and shame warms his face at the thought as he ponders what his father had shared of the thirst, its iniquities, its effects.
They walk together in silence, Trevor with his hands behind his back, his knives in their sheaths at his chest and whip at his belt. Alucard's sword rests in the scabbard at his hip; no risks to be taken, and precaution trumps comfort.
Alucard glances at Trevor, who's studying his boots with great interest, a frown on his face. It heralds, he's come to know, something uncomfortable for them both, but more so for him. "Well?" he asks, stopping at some distance from the castle, his face upturned to the stars.
"Well, what?" Trevor turns to him.
"What did you want to ask me about?" Alucard crosses his arms; he could be mistaken, but most often than not, it hits the mark.
Trevor shakes his head. "No, I don't know what you're… no, you know what? Yeah, I did have a question."
Alucard braces himself. But they stayed. They stayed. Unbidden, his thought flies back to another starry night, to the hunter splayed beneath him, to the balm of his words and the warmth of him, the wet silk he's scraped with his teeth. "Tell me."
Trevor takes a deep breath; his heartbeat quickens, and Alucard braces himself; the scent of his blood is powerful, heady as it swirls around him, and for a moment he forgets the crime and the spill of his elder's blood, the mirror and even his mother's last words to him in a dream of flame.
"I know little about your…" he stops, looking Alucard over, sighing. "You barely eat when we eat. You look like shit."
Alucard nods, though his heart drops to his feet. How does one admit to choosing death over harming another? How does one make it believable? The question comes from an honest place. He can't fault it. Trevor Belmont fears him not, that much he knows. Still.
His eyes see through the darkest night, and now Alucard garners the unease on Trevor's face, as one who feels guilt even as they deal the blow. "No, Belmont, I do not require human blood to survive."
A pause. Silence. A shift. "But you do... uh, need it, sometimes?"
Alucard looks towards the castle, and from the distance he sees Sypha there, on the long suspended bridge, gazing out with her arms folded over the balustrade. Trevor looks too, following the direction of his stare. "It would speed the healing process if gravely wounded, and it would enhance my powers, to an extent." He falls silent for a few beats of the hunter's heart. "But, to fully answer your question, I don't depend on consuming blood. Not as a full-fledged vampire would."
"All right," Trevor says, and asks no more on the matter.
Alucard breathes; easier. "May I ask you something in turn?" he starts as they walk back towards the castle together.
"Mm. Like for like. Sure, shoot."
"While you were ill, you kept repeating names of… people."
A sigh. "Such as?"
Alucard runs his tongue over his teeth. "… Amelia?"
Trevor says nothing for a long, long while, and Alucard doesn't press him. Perhaps he should not have asked. Old pains scar, but they're still there, their presence lingering like black oil on the limpid surface of water. Curse him, he should not have asked.
"Amelia was my eldest sister."
Alucard looks back at the hunter, taking in his hunched shoulders, the heaviness settled over his bearing.
"She was the first to pick up the profession, went on many hunts with my father Gabriel, taught the rest of us most of what she knew when he couldn't."
"How many siblings did you have?"
Trevor sighs. "There were seven of us. Four sisters. Amelia." He kicks a pebble with his boot. "Lidia." Another pebble. "Mona." Silence. "Miriam. And two twin brothers, Simon and Andras. I was the youngest of us. I could barely snap a whip."
"And neither of them—"
"Dead," Trevor mutters. "All of them. Before I fled here."
"I'm… I am sorry," Alucard murmurs. Curse him, curse him, curse him.
"Doesn't matter," says Trevor, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice gravelly and curt. "Not anymore. The robed bastards with blades and decrees ensured that. Can we talk about something else now?"
"I did not mean to pry, Trevor," Alucard says, as the man's dread and hurt seeps through him with the force of a tidal wave. He didn't mean to, but he did; how strange the realization of loss, to see beyond his own guilt and the trappings of his own pain, to learn of what others lived through, what they've seen and survived. And the hunter's wounds and sorrow, so similar to his own, grip him and coil about his heart like smothering, hungry serpents.
Trevor stops in his tracks. "Wait…"
Alucard turns to him. "What?"
"Say that again."
"... I did not mean to—"
Trevor groans. "No, you arse. My name."
"Oh." Alucard blinks, taken aback by his own realization. He licks his lips. "Trevor."
The hunter nods, and looks up, at Sypha on the long, ragged-edged bridge uniting two wings of the castle. He glances back at Alucard. "Keep using it."
Alucard says nothing; they both look away from each other, their smiles shielded by the dark, their flimsy hopes flowing, led astray by the nightwinds.
"Will you fetch her, or should I?" asks Trevor finally.
Alucard glances up to where Sypha lingers. "I'll meet you upstairs," and he doesn't wait for an answer but takes flight, rising towards the bridge.
He lands carefully on the iron and stone-wrought platform; she's there, on the bridge, but not alone. Alucard sighs, shakes his head and breathes deep, presses his eyes shut. When he opens them, his father yet stands behind her. He always looks the same, when he appears: the red gaze, the endless regret, the bleeding heart and remnants of clarity in his wretched stare before the end and the ashes. It's always the same.
He wavers. The apparition never speaks, merely watches him, watches him with sadness and love and remnants of frayed dignity. It's always the same.
Alucard approaches.
He keeps his eyes on Sypha, her silhouette silvered by the night, a specter of flesh and bone. Someone he trusts; someone who trusts him, who always accepted him as he was, what he was, without scorn or fear. Who'd sought him for an idealistic quest, only to find…
He stops next to her, placing a hand on the stone edge; their eyes meet and Alucard watches her, watching him. She can be sweet and she can be ruthless, Sypha can blast the world to smithers and can lure his demons away with her song. Another outcast, another life threaded with his by fate or chance — he's long stopped caring which.
"What are you thinking?" he dares, leaning forward against the balustrade.
"I'm thinking…" their elbows touch as Sypha rests with her arms crossed over the edge, "I'm thinking about my tribe, and how they're faring. How I miss them."
Alucard stares down at the world below. "You were always together. This must be hard for you."
"No," she closes her eyes, allowing a sharp gust of air to flay at her face. "It was my choice to stay. One I do not regret."
"I am…" she's fire where Trevor is stone. They work so well together, he can hardly separate them in his mind. "I am grateful you stayed," he says, because he is. God knows he is. Hell would, too.
Sypha looks to the darkened scenery, then back at him. "I can say the same about you."
Alucard hesitates; did she really think him lost to her? Had he been such a source of worry that she fretted for him while he was chasing his own tail and drowning in the murk of his misery? He glances at his father's wraith, still lingering, silent and gray next to her. Alucard closes his eyes. When he opens them, the specter is gone. "I have been distant, I know," he says. "But believe me, Sypha, it is not because of—"
"No, it's all right," Sypha turns to him then, stops his poorly knit excuses with a slender finger to his lips. "Please don't. We're trying; let us keep trying. No more. No less."
Alucard nods slowly, watching her blue fire-stare as her finger slides from his lips.
Sypha turns away and rubs quickly at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she sniffs, "aren't I horrible? Standing here whining about my living family."
"Competing in misery, are we?"
Sypha groans. "That wit. As much as you bemoaned him, you're too much like Trevor sometimes."
"Oh, no, anything but that," Alucard parrots mechanically, and they both mellow, shoulders falling until they're leaning into each other on the stone balustrade.
The sky is awash with fading stars now, flickering as the wind whistles around them, coiling about the castle spires.
"Hmm," she turns her face to the heavens. "Look at us." A smile. Bittersweet. "The prince and the nomad."
"Do you miss the road?" asks Alucard. He would come closer, he would wrap his arms around her and tuck her against him like those nights spent in that wagon cart; something holds him back.
"No," Sypha says. "Contrary to what you might have learned, we don't move around as often. We could stay years in one place if there is a need."
"Is… that how you view remaining here?... Well," he frowns, pondering as his fingers grip the balustrade tighter. "I suppose it is. You are still bound to your creed."
Sypha lets her head fall over her twined arms before she looks his way again. Her eyes are soft, her face reminding him of saintly figures depicted in stained glass, looking upon mortals with care and love and understanding. But this — the things she speaks without speaking — this is truer and more honest than they could ever be. Her hand reaches up, cupping his face and he does not move away, doesn't think he could. "Nothing binds me to you, but my choice, and yours, son of Dracula. Remember that."
Alucard swallows.
"Tell me," she insists, "tell me you will remember."
"I will," he sighs. "I will," he whispers, as though the darkness were a spy hearing their every word, and as before with the hunter, her scent fills him, teasing and strong and painfully alluring, pressing down with the guilt of his yearning. He takes a step back from her. "Let us return. Trevor will be waiting."
AN: Thoughts? Love to hear them