Thanks a ton to the three reviewers. You guys rock my world. Tell my what you think of this chapter, too! THANK YOU SO MUCH to whoever C2ed this story! I love you! (This is my third story in that archive. I feel loved.)
He followed in her wake, down the deserted halls, and silent corridors.
They met no one, all the household servants having fled for the night, probably Walter's doing. Hah. Good man. The entrance was empty, and their steps rung in the enormous room. He walked down the stairs behind her, grinning at her momentary pause of surprise. Integra said nothing, however, stopping dead in her tracks in front of the door. It was his turn to take the lead. One of her small gifts to me. How considerate.
He threw the front door wide, clomping down the steps to stand in the sweet night. She followed him without question. Alucard had decided where they were headed as soon as he had awoken, and now set off down the garden path. He could sense her confusion, and offered no explanation. He never chose the same place, and she would soon see where they were headed.
Soon her pace increased, and she moved to walk beside him. He treated himself to a quick glance, burning the profile of her face into his mind. How she has grown… Images flashed through his mind, a slideshow of her maturing over the past fourteen years. Their feet had strolled down these same stones before, some years ago. She had been so much smaller then, so much more innocent. Gone now, all of her illusions, except for good and evil. Perfect, just perfect. He wondered, though, if she wished for that simply purity, the normalcy she had lost.
They continued on in silence, each lost in their thoughts, until he saw fit to break it.
"Do you regret it, Master?"
Integra halted in mid-stride, then turned to face him. The pale curtain drifted to a halt, a golden cape upon a most deserving creature.
"Regret what?"
He bore into her with a searching, serious stare. "Regret who you are. Regret what you must do. Regret what you must be the Master of." Her eyes slipped out of focus, as Hellsing's celebrated director seemed to search for words to express her thoughts.
"No. I am Sir Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. I cannot imagine a life as anyone else, in any circumstance. This is who I am. I could wish for nothing more, no greater honor." Her cerulean eyes shifted over to study the Manor, visible through the black outlines of the trees. "Part of the price of being the woman I am is the horrors I must face, for my country, Queen, ancestors, and myself. Each of the heads of Hellsing was born to be a leader, and it is the lot of the leader to endure many sorrows." Here her mask of indifference slipped, and for a moment, the servant could see the despair in the heart of the Master, but only for a moment. It was gone in the flicker of an eyelash. However, he would remember. He never forgot. "I have come to accept this. I realize, that in my future years, I will continue to be required to persevere, and will probably never find true peace." Here she paused, and her voice grew soft. "I could not see myself doing anything else. In any case, I wouldn't know what could possibly give me true happiness, if it was offered to me."
Neither could he. Alucard tried to see her, in all her glory, the content wife of some upper crust well-to-do, taking pleasant drives in the country and doting on her children. No, that would not please the Iron Maiden, nor would it be fitting of her magnificence. What would? He would dwell upon this later, in the dark confines of his stone chamber, passing the endless hours in thought. For now, however, this exchange was much more interesting, and he was particularly eager to hear the last piece of her answer. So we shall see what is in the mind of Lord Hellsing.
Integra brought her gaze back to him, locking her eyes with his. "I am the Master because it is what I must be. It is part of myself… You have been my greatest challenge, Alucard, and will continue to be so. However, you have done my bidding with loyalty, and I could not ask for a better servant. No, I do not regret releasing the monster from his prison." She turned her back to him, continuing along the path, pale mantle fanning in her wake. He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. She does not regret. A life of suffering, horror, death, and betrayal, and she does not regret. He followed after her, admiring her effortless gravity, her form set afire in his vision by the sparkling moonlight. You would be proud, Abraham. Your blood has awoken in the most marvelous manner. Pity you cannot see it.
"Do you regret it, Alucard?" He grinned wolfishly as his own query was turned upon him. "…Regret who you are. Regret what you have done. Regret who you must be the Servant of?" He did not stop as she had done, but they continued their journey down the worn footpath, laced by delicate moonbeams through the bare trees. She glanced at him over her shoulder, imperative countenance demanding an answer.
"No. I am Count Vlad Tepes III, Dracula, and the Impaler. I have seen ages, and will see ages. Nothing would give me more pleasure. I have the liberty of fulfilling my lusts, blood, and," He smiled, tracing her hidden curves with his mind, Which I one day wish to have better freedom to explore, "… otherwise. What more is there?" The No-Life king took the brief luxury of inhaling the cool night air, fresh and crisp. His master continued at a set pace, silent and seemingly impassive. "I have bowed to many Hellsings in my time, Master. Many were weak, trembling cowards, crumbling in the face of the duties and sorrows of a leader. These men were unfit to scrape my boots. Long did I yearn to slay the incompetents and free myself, only to be restrained by the seals." He considered his next words carefully, running them over in his mind before letting them leave his lips. "Only two Hellsings have put fire in my veins, battle in my heart, purpose in my days. Abraham Van Hellsing was one, and you, Miss Hellsing, are the other. I have had and still do, the honor of serving both. No, Integra, I regret nothing."
She offered no answer, but from her bearing, his careful scrutiny could easily detect that she was pleased. So she should be.
13 years ago-
He leaned over her desk, flaming red eyes tracing her features. Her tie was crooked, her hair hung limp, and her grip on the pen almost threatened to shatter it. Alucard's elbows were planted on her desk, just above the top of the paper she was studying. He sat, patiently, waiting for her to snap. Not much longer now.
"Alucard! Could you be any more disturbing?" She fairly snarled at him, owlish spectacles slipping down the bridge of her delicate nose. Narrowed blue eyes spat sparks at him, and her brows were furrowed in agitation.
"I haven't done anything, Master." He smiled, the picture of innocence spoiled by ivory fangs.
She buried her face in her hands, moaning in agitation. "I… just go away, Alucard, I'm very busy." The pen in her hand left a line of blue on her cheek, unnoticed.
He decided to ignore her, only able to by the lack of force behind the order. "It seems to me, Master," He flipped the paper over with two fingers, eyes locked with her newly-uncovered ones, "that you simply need a break."
"I don't need or want anything of the ki-," He cut her off by licking his ungloved finger and running it along the line of ink, which came away as it had never been. She froze, shocked, and he heart the pace of her heart speed up. Master likes me, does she? Cute. Sir Hellsing quickly suppressed her feelings, opening her mouth to yell.
"Ink," he explained, holing up the blue-smeared finger with a satisfied smirk. "As I was saying, I think it would be best if you had a bit of a rest."
"I'm not tired, Alucard." She reached for the paper, but he covered it with a hand.
"When was the last time you worked on your aim, Miss Director?" She blushed, ashamed.
"I don't remember. There's been so many papers… I haven't had time."
He stood, extending an inviting hand. "Why don't you make some time?" The request was soft, and she lowered her gaze to his outstretched palm. Her mind worked a mile a minute, and he stood still as a statue, waiting. Slowly, her own naked hand rose, and her fingers alighted lightly upon his.
They melted away, and the tradition was born.