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I
Sypha knew there was still sadness in Adrian. How could there not be? While she herself had never actually had parents—her mother dying while giving birth to her, her father not surviving the winter when she had been four years old—she always had had family. Someone around. Someone who would take care of her. Her grandfather had always been there, a constant. And the other speakers? They had been like family, too. She could not even imagine how it would be to just lose everything she had ever known. She could even less imagine how it had to be to kill them herself. Of course, she didn't need to, because none of her family would even ever have the power to declare war on the world, but still.
She could see it now, as they were together in the forest, collecting some of the berries left over here. She was not entirely sure what he was remembering. His parents or those two hunters that had come here from the East only to hurt him even more, but she knew there was something. Just this sad shimmer in his eyes, as he was kneeling down to pick some of the berries.
She did not say anything. Instead, she crouched down as well, taking his hand, before pulling him in a soft hug. Because he needed it.
He did not say anything either, just returning the gesture, wrapping his arms around her and pulling in her smell.
II
Even though Sypha had never actually wished for it, Adrian had not been able to stop himself from looking it up. It turned out, finding out stuff about speaker culture tended to be hard. After all they were an oral culture and were rather protective of their oral tradition. Trevor still laughed about this one time his ancestors had gotten into trouble with the speakers over it. And without any speakers but Sypha to ask around, this surprise was rather hard to pull off. But there was this one woman in the village, Cristina, who apparently had a group of speakers camping out at her barn one winter. The old barn that was in a village that long had been burned down by night creatures. But she knew some of it—and Adrian made up the rest.
It was a vegetable stew, based on onions and root vegetables and garlic of course. Cooked for quite a while, before those sacrificial vegetables were taken out and replaced by fresh ones, with beans and chickpeas being added after it. Safron was used as a spice, too. And even more garlic. He had a bit of a chuckle over this.
There was some sweetness in this stew, too. With pears and apples being added, when available—and of course it was available still.
When Sypha came up from the library, where today she had taught the adults, who never had learned to read, she sighed, but stopped as she smelled the stew. It showed on her face that she remembered it, but she was not sure what to believe.
“What are you making?” she asked, leading him to smile.
“Olla gitana,” he replied.
She actually blinked away some tears, before coming over to him, putting her arms around him. “Thank you.”
III
Trevor still hated this. The stupid book with those stupid letters, that would somehow just blur into each other the longer he looked at them. He was still so very horrible at this—even though Sypha was by now almost a year into trying to get him to learn. He felt like the most awful idiot about it. Because even those other villagers, who never had learned it, were doing so much better than him. Sypha kept saying, it was normal for kids to learn quicker—but there were folks older than him who had learned it in like half a year.
And still he allowed for this, as they now both sat in bed to his side, while he was trying to make sense of the stupid letters. “O-once upon a time there li-lived a King…” He paused, as his focus was drifting again. “A King,” he repeated, “who had three… three daughters.” Another pause, another breath. The fairytale—because that was what Sypha had him training on, was not even very long, but it would probably take him quite a while to make his way through it. “Now it hap-happened that he had to go out… out to battle. So he called his d-dau-daughters and said to them…” He sighed once more.
“That's good,” Sypha praised him. “You are getting better.” And there it was, this tiny smile on her lips as she said it. The smile that was worth all the frustration.
A part of him wanted to grunt and disagree, because he still felt like an idiot. But instead, he just nodded and continued to read.
IV
“Oh my God!” Sypha groaned as she saw her two men, both of them dripping with mud. The mud itself was not surprising. The snow was melting after all and leaving everything out there in different states of mud. But they… Well… “What have you done? Have you joined the pigs for a mud bath?”
“Well, you see…” Trevor was looking at Adrian, who somehow had managed to not be much cleaner.
Adrian sighed. “Some of the kids had started a mud fight. And we tried to stop them.”
“And just ever so accidentally started to participate, eh?” Sypha could not help another groan. She would have liked to chide them for being menchildren, but she knew better. Neither of them had ever gotten the chance to live a full childhood. With Trevor ending alone on the street with only twelve years of age and Adrian not only growing up so much quicker than a human would, but also being kept away from other children, never getting to join other kids to play outside. “You two get in the bath now, you hear me?”
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Sure thing.”
Even with Marie cradled in front of her chest, Sypha pointed down the hallway. “Bath! I will take care of this.”
“You know I can take care of myself, right?” Trevor complained, making Adrian chuckle.
“Can you, though?”
“Of course I can, you old bastard. Took care of myself since…”
But Sypha took his hand. “But you don't need to, anymore.” She smiled. “Now, go on. I will be there in a minute.”
V
When Adrian returned to the castle, he could hear Marie crying even when he had just entered the hall. It was not an unusual thing, after all, given that she still was but a few months old and had no other way to express her discomfort. But when he came up to the sitting room, he found both Sypha and Trevor with rather disgruntled expressions. Telling him that this had been going on for a while now, as he had been out there helping Greta fix the plough. He did not need to ask, what they had tried. Because the answer was most likely: Everything.
Right now, Trevor was rocking the crying child in his arms, though his posture and expression told Adrian, the man had long given up.
Adrian smiled. “That bad, huh?” He went over to his boyfriend, carefully talking the child from him, making the little girl pause for a moment at least. She was blinking at him, though only for a moment before continuing to cry, as Adrian softly caressed the back of her had. “It's alright, sweetheart. It's alright, Marie.”
“We have basically tried everything,” Trevor groaned. “She has eaten. She has a clean diaper and she does not want to sleep.”
“I know,” Adrian said, leaning his forehead against Trevor's. “Take a break. I will take care of her for that long.” He shot them a smile. “You look like you could use a bit of fresh air.”
Sypha sighed, getting up from the sofa and putting one hand onto her daughter's head. Then she looked at Adrian. “You are a lifesaver.”
VI
Standing here still felt unreal. While some of the Belmont hold had already been cleaned up last summer, there was still enough of the ruins left. One should think he could get used to being here—to it being here. But he never did. It just felt so wrong. That it was here. Like this. As fucking ruins. And he was here. All grown up. Still alive. And that there was the castle of bloody Dracula standing right next to it.
He sighed, as they were passing it. Still remembering the gorgeous estate it once had been, though he obviously never had thought about it that way as a child. He could still remember it, of course. And could remember spending early spring days like this one playfighting with his siblings and cousins.
“What are you thinking of?” Adrian asked. They were on their way over to the stables to fetch the horses. The first market of the year was gonna be soon.
For a moment Trevor just wanted to say “nothing”, but he knew it was a bad lie. A lie Adrian would look through with ease. “Just… The past. I remember how it looked. And… It is fucking sad to see what is left.”
Adrian looked over at it. “It must've been beautiful. I wish I could've seen it back then.”
A sad chuckle arose in Trevor's throat. “Well, my uncle probably would've killed you on sight, you bloody dhampir.”
Now it was Adrian's turn to sigh. “I guess.”
Trevor knew he was stupid saying things like that. But he just took the other man's hand. “You know, when everyone was still here… We would have those elaborate play battles in the yard. My older brother always willingly played the monster and we would hunt him.” He smiled remembering it. “And that could go on for hours.”
“What was his name?” Adrian asked. “Your brother, I mean?”
Trevor hated to admit that he had to think on this question, before he could answer. “Corin. His name was Corin.”
VII
It turned out, that this time of the year was rather exhausting. The fields needed to be ploughed and the seeds needed to be sawn. There were also so many other tasks to be taken care of—and she felt almost guilty for getting a pass on most of it as she was nursing Marie. The two men, meanwhile? Oh, Greta sure knew how to put them to work—and even though she found Adrian in the kitchen came late afternoon, preparing dinner for them. Trevor, meanwhile, only returned, as the sun outside had long set.
He grunted as he sat down.
“You look exhausted,” Sypha observed—because other than Adrian it always showed with him.
“No fucking shit,” he groaned, rolling his shoulders. But then he smiled. “But it's fine. It's definitely better than living on the bloody streets.”
It was always hard to see with what ease he spoke about this. About his rather sad youth and his early adulthood. And the many times he had almost died. It always did surprise her, how much softness there was in him. How easily he had trusted her in the first place.
“I know what you two need,” she said, as Adrian put the stew into bowls, serving it with lightly roasted bread.
“What do we need?” Adrian asked.
“You need an evening hanging out with Greta,” she replied. “Getting drunk.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I am sure. You two will need it.”
Adrian looked over to her. “What about Marie?”
“She was fine for the day, she will be fine for the evening.” Sypha smiled. “Just eat and then go. I am rather certain Greta still has some beer.”
“Oh, yeah, I am rather certain of that as well,” Trevor grunted.
VIII
Adrian knew that Trevor did not want to bother him. Him or Sypha for the matter. He and Trevor were rather similar in that way. Both not wanting to worry anyone else. But Adrian had noticed the way, that Trevor was massaging his right arm from time to time. Rolling his shoulder more than usual. He knew the feeling himself, of course. While the scar his father had left on him was the only scar he had ever known, even it hurt from time to time—and from his father's books he gathered, that a lot of people were dealing even more with scar pain as the weather changed, as it did right now.
He also knew something to help it, though. Some oil, to help the scar tissue relax, as well as some extract from comfrey and lavender, which was said to help again the pain. Even his father had known anything better than that for such issues. Using the strong-smelling herbs in different sorts of ointments.
The strong smell also was, what made Trevor grimace, as Adrian opened the little pot. “What the fuck is that?”
“It's for your scar,” Adrian said. “Well, the big one.” It was after all kinda silly to talk about the scar with someone who did not have a single body part not adorned by at least two or three scars. “I know it is hurting.”
Trevor did evade his gaze. “It's not that bad.”
Sypha, who was already lying in bed, reading a book—still so very clearly determined to at some point read each and every book in the castle and the Hold, groaned. “Trevor, can't you just accept when somebody does something nice for you?”
Trevor sighed. “I… I guess I can.” He leaned over to press a short kiss on Adrian's cheek. “Thank you.”
IX
“See, it is not just an ordained weapon,” Trevor said, as he was oiling the leather of the whip—something that needed to be done once every few weeks to keep it even. “It is said, that the soul of a saint is sitting inside of it.”
“That's kinda dark,” Sypha remarked. She was just playing Sheep and Wolf with Adrian, as she was decidedly better at the game than she was at chess. “The poor soul being unable to move on.”
“Well, it is said, that she chose that fate to allow us to fight Dracula.” Trevor looked at the whip, at the Belmont crest at its handle. It was kinda a miracle that he had not lost it over the years, that nobody had stolen it. Maybe just a bit of fate had been involved here.
“That is rather specific.” There was a bit of bitterness in Adrian's voice. Understandable, even if Trevor hated to admit it. After all bloody Dracula had been the guy's fucking dad.
So he sighed. In the end it was not as if the whip had done a lot against Dracula, had it now? Nor had the Morningstar. It was basically just as if he had been stung by flies. No real damage. “Maybe it is just a stupid little tale. Family legend or something.”
Now Sypha looked up from her game. “Well, the weapon is still… It is your legacy.”
“It is,” Trevor said, continuing to oil the leather.
“What about the other weapons?” Adrian asked. “I mean, you kinda have a whole armory down there? What about the Morningstar, for that matter?”
Trevor smiled, understanding the gesture. “See, legend has it, that the Morningstar has been created by a German alchemist about three hundred years ago. It is also said that the steel was forged with the bonedust of a saint…” He stopped himself. He actually had never thought about the amount of dead saints involved in their collection. But, thinking about it, there were even more of the sort.
Adrian just looked at him—and Trevor looked back, before they both started to laugh.
X
Sypha woke up because of Marie, who was starting to whine, as clearly the hunger was setting in. It was routine by now, as it happened every night and every few hours. Without even thinking about it, Sypha lit the candle with a spell. Only then did she notice, that Adrian was awake. Even now he was trying to hide his tears from her, wiping them away as she turned around. This stupid, stupid man. With one hand she ran her fingers through his hair, before getting up to get Marie out of the crib.
With the baby girl in arm, she settled back into the bed, allowing the child to latch on, while once again she used one hand to caress Adrian.
His nightmares had gotten better over the past few months, but better was an improvement of having a nightmare once a week instead of a semi-nightly basis. And he just closed his eyes, continuing to cry.
Trevor, meanwhile, was still not a solid sleeper, having learned from his life on the streets to always keep one eye open—metaphorically. So her nursing Marie was enough to wake him up. He, too, noticed Adrian's trembling shoulders, and just like Sypha, he did not ask, just putting his arms around the other man and pulling him close.
XI
Adrian had not been looking for it, yet he noted the woad as he saw it on the market. There actually was dyer at the market, selling all sorts of dyes and basis. He knew Sypha wanted to get new clothes made, given that her robes were certainly getting worn—and he also knew she wanted to keep it blue, as it was still the colors of her people. So, he did not even think about it before buying the dye. After all she had once more stayed behind in the little village, given that she herself was feeling a bit under the weather.
He also did not think much about buying those candles made from bee's wax, as Trevor kept complaining about the smell of the candles made from tallow. And while they still did not necessarily need candles, as most rooms had electric lights, candle shine was much easier to sit with than the dazzling electrical lights. While he was at it, he found that the bee keeper was also selling some mead—which was rare around these parts, and most certainly something that would make Trevor's day.
Even though he was not entirely certain where the Belmont had gone again—just hoping he did not get himself into trouble.
XII
Trevor was a simple man, really. He knew he was and he had no interest in being more. And being here, with them, it was just so much more than he could've ever hoped for. Those shared little gestures, those touches, those kisses, it meant the world to him and they knew it. And of course, this was great, too. The sex. Just feeling them close. Hearing their voices, their moans. And cuddling up to them afterwards, their bodies still hot and sweaty. He loved feeling them close. He loved their warmth and their smell.
And as he wrapped his arms around both of them, knowing fully well that his left arm would get all tingly rather soon, he kissed the stupid dhampir's shoulder. “I love you,” he muttered, drinking in their smell.
There was a small chuckle from both of them. “We know.”