This is a mistake, Simon thought for the umpteenth time. Coming here had been a mistake. This whole trip was a big mistake, and the meeting about to start looked like it would be an even bigger waste of time. How badly he wanted to flip the table in front of him, knock a few heads and leave. But he'd put himself in this position, hadn't he? Better thing to do was to wait, and handle the situation calmly.
Right. He could do this.
Catching himself before he tapped his foot, he looked at the room around him. His young guide - Alban? - had babbled on and on about the chapter house, but to Simon, it looked just like the inside of a church - high ceiling, stained-glass windows and tall wooden stalls in place of chairs. These looked awfully uncomfortable, by the way, so perhaps he was better off standing. Anyway, nothing to write home about. At the moment, the stalls were occupied by knights in full armor; Simon smirked at this display of military pride. If this was meant to impress him, then it was a failure, but then again, so had been the whole visit of the stronghold. The one thing that had caught his interest -- the brotherhood's hunting reserves -- had been but briefly mentioned, and most members were never allowed to see them anyway.
At the center of the room, right in front of him, five men were sitting at a heavy wooden table covered with library junk -- books, leaflets, quills and bottles filled with various shades of ink. So what, Simon thought, are we here to write a book or something? He remembered very little of his childhood trips to the Brotherhood's stronghold, but nothing that felt this old and dusty. Sighing, he eyed the men facing him. They were probably important people in the order's hierarchy; they wore long robes under their shoulder plates, medals and heavy jewelry around their necks. The fact that they were sitting while he was standing probably meant that he was inferior or something, but concretely, it just put their faces at the right level for a good kick.
Now now, behave.
The man sitting in the middle was so old his skin looked like leather, brown and shrivelled; the smile he gave Simon was surprisingly genuine. "I'm glad we meet again, Simon Belmont."
Simon searched his memories for who the old man could be, but that face simply didn't ring any bell. "Sorry, have we met before?"
The old man chuckled, but the man on his right stood up, nostrils flaring with outrage. "This is Cardinal Crescenzo. Show some respect!"
"It's alright, Grand Master Lorenz, Simon was but a child when I last saw him." The cardinal's eyes gleamed with amusement as he waved appeasingly. "Time spares no man, not even us men of faith." He motioned Lorenz to sit down. "Yes, young Belmont, we have met before. I was one of your father's instructors and he was very proud to introduce you to us."
Always that tight feeling in his gut when his father was mentioned. "I thought everyone had perished in the dark lord's attack," Simon said slowly.
"Everyone that was present died, yes," the grand master explained, "but some of us were away when the battle took place. We were able to rebuild the order, one might say from scratch."
Stupid bastard was practically patting himself on the back. "Impressive," Simon commented, and he could've sworn the cardinal stifled a laugh. "And what has the order been up to ever since?"
"Fighting Evil." There was an awkward silence; Simon wondered if any of the knights wanted to laugh as badly as he did. Even Lorenz must have realized how pompous he sounded, because he added, "whenever we can, wherever we can. The vampire lord is dead and we are forever grateful for your help." Help, my ass, Simon thought, I did all the bloody work. Well, he and Alucard, but he wasn't going to mention his strange friend here. The grand master went on. "But God's work is never done and so we shall keep fighting. That is why we wanted you to meet with us."
"And here I am," Simon said with a mock bow.
"And there you are," the grand master said, with just as much sarcasm. He tapped his fingers on the table while looking at the other men sitting. "I believe Commander Iago wanted to greet you himself."
Commander Iago, sitting on the cardinal's left, was a grey-haired man whose shoulder plates looked worn, as if they'd seen actual battles -- unlikely.
"Glad to meet you, Belmont," he said gruffly. "We heard about your defeating the vampire. Good job."
Simon crossed his arms. "You sure seem to know a lot about what happened there, even though you never set an actual foot in the castle."
"Swords and prayers are crucial to do God's good works," the cardinal said softly, "but they are useless if we don't know where to strike. The Brotherhood has a good network of informants."
"Amongst other things," Lorenz added smugly.
Simon frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"The Brotherhood happens to hold one last shard of the mirror of fate," the cardinal explained. Seeing Simon's shocked expression, he clarified, "Its powers are dormant though, perhaps because the original mirror was lost in the castle's destruction."
"Throw that damn thing away," Simon said forcefully, Alucard's warning still fresh in his mind. "It serves nothing but itself."
"You know we can't do that," the grand master said. "If there is the slightest chance of using it for the greater good, then we must take it. Even you should realize that."
Simon ignored the insult. "Don't think you can control it. I carried a piece of it, as a memory of my father, and it almost got me killed several times."
"Indeed," Lorenz said. "We can't use it. But you said so yourself: you carried one shard of the mirror, and it showed you things. Perhaps you're the only one who can use it now."
Simon might not be the sharpest tool on the shelf, suddenly messengers from the Brotherhood showing up on his doorstep made so much more sense. "So this is why you were so eager to meet me. Even I thought you laid it on real thick when you praised my father's skills."
Cardinal Crescenzo hit the floor with his staff; the noise echoed in the room, causing everyone to jump. When he spoke, his voice was shaking with something akin to anger. "I held your father in my arms, when he was but a baby. I watched him take his first steps. I taught him everything I knew, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough," he repeated, and for a terrifying moment Simon thought he would burst into tears.
The old man tightened his grip on the staff and spoke again, more calmly this time, but looking straight into Simon's eyes. "You may feel like you've been played, but never doubt that Trevor Belmont was well-loved here."
"Alright, alright," Simon said, his hands up in appeasement. He felt mortified. "I just meant that it had seemed strange, you wanting to meet me so badly. I'm not that special."
"You succeeded where your father failed," Iago pointed out neutrally. "You defeated Dracula."
Simon shrugged. Looks like the mirror hadn't showed them anything too specific, or they would've mentioned Alucard. He felt… relieved. "Yeah, you've mentioned that before. So what? What do you want me to do?"
The grand master was all but shaking with excitement. "Try and use the mirror. See if it shows you anything."
"Just so you know, you'll regret this."
The grand master nodded curtly. Simon felt movement behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see two knights, close enough that he could feel their weapons poking at his arms. Turning to the elders, he asked, "What is this?"
"We can't risk having you destroy the mirror," the commander said. "Especially now that you've made it very clear that you dislike the idea of us keeping it."
"Let's get this over with," Simon said angrily.
Reaching under the table, Cardinal Crescenzo produced a box he must have kept on his knees during the whole meeting. Even to Simon's uneducated eyes, it was a work of art, its dark lid adorned with intricate designs and gem stones. Opening it reverently, the cardinal pushed the reliquary towards Simon with a shaking hand; the inside was lined with a threadbare, crimson fabric. And at the center, sure enough, laid a shard of mirror; larger than the piece Simon had been carrying as a pendant, but from the same dark, glassy material. Looking up, Simon wondered if these holy men knew how silly they looked with their mouths hanging open.
The silence was so thick you could've cut it with a knife. The mirror, though, remained annoyingly blank.
"Well, do something," the grand master said impatiently.
"Like what? I told you, I never had to do anything for the mirror to show me things. It just happened."
"Try and take it in your hand," Crescenzo suggested. "If it doesn't react to your presence, maybe you need to touch it to activate its magic."
Shaking his head, Simon reached into the box for the mirror shard. He expected it to feel cool under his fingers, but it was surprisingly warm. Tilting it so it reflected the candles' light, he thought, "What now?" He was used to being the center of attention, but the weight of the knights' gaze on him bothered him. All of a sudden, he longed to be -- home. The very idea made him snicker; he had no home, hadn't had one for years now. Home had been taken from him when he was just a child, and he'd never been able to create a new one in the mountains. Perhaps he'd never wanted to. But now that it was all over, now that he'd avenged his parents… what now?
A small gasp roused him from his thoughts; the mirror was glowing lightly, the way it did upon meeting the spirit in the castle. The Brotherhood elders looked about to pass out from anticipation.
What now?
Frowning, Simon looked into the mirror. He couldn't see anything -- yet… but a picture was forming. The inside of a house. Two people around a fireplace. A woman, sitting on a bank, and a little boy with his head on her lap. His heart skipped a beat -- was this a memory? He could certainly remember nights spent waiting for his father; how he'd fall asleep despite wanting so bad to stay awake, but it felt so good, so warm next to the fire, and her mother's touch on his forehead was so soothing… but no, this was different. The little boy's hair were brown, not red. His features were becoming more distinct --
Oh. Simon smiled despite himself.
"Well, what do you see? Tell us," the grand master prompted, ever the killjoy.
"People," one of the knights standing behind Simon said helpfully. "A woman and a boy, sitting around a fire."
"Ah," Crescenzo exclaimed. Then, sounding genuinely interested, "Your wife and son?"
"No," Simon said flatly.
"Is the woman wearing a veil?" All eyes turned to a young man sitting at the far end of the room. Simon recognized the messenger who'd escorted him to the Brotherhood's headquarters -- yep, Alban was definitely his name.
"Yes," the knight from earlier replied, before Simon could hide the mirror -- he felt strangely exposed.
Alban nodded. "Then it's probably widow Miller. She's a brewer from a small village in the northern lands; her house doubles as the local inn since her husband died. Simon had been staying with her and her son for a few months when we found him."
"Sweet," the grand master commented, sounding like he'd just stepped into a pile of horse shit. Simon fought the urge to kick him in the face. "Back to the mirror; did you ask for it to show you these people? Or did it just happen?"
"No matter," Simon said, looking at the mirror one last time. Selena was singing; Callum seemed half-asleep, his head moving ever so slightly to meet her touch. The sight of them shot a pang of longing through Simon. This is where he wanted to be; this is where he belonged. Too bad he'd had to leave to realize it. Goddamnit.
Shrugging, he carelessly tossed the mirror shard back into the reliquary, and enjoyed the high-pitched screaming that ensued.
Alban caught up with him at the stronghold's entrance, red-faced and panting. "Why didn't you wait for me? I've been calling your name all the way up here!"
"Take a guess," Simon said without looking at him. Now, where was the stable?
"Please don't leave just yet," Alban said, still out of breath. "Cardinal Crescenzo would like to speak with you."
"I think he just did. And now I'm leaving," Simon said threateningly, "so get out of my way or god help me--"
"He wishes to see you alone," Alban explained. "Please?"
Simon sighed. He was never coming back anyway. And the old man did know his father…
"Show me to him."
The cardinal's office was a small, dark room filled with yet more library junk; when Simon came in, the old man was standing by the narrow window, seemingly lost in thoughts.
"Ah! There you are." He sat at a small desk with difficulty. "I was beginning to think Alban hadn't been able to deliver my message."
"I wasn't sure I wanted to come." If the old man hadn't guessed by now Simon wasn't the type to sugarcoat things, well, his loss.
"Of course." Crescenzo smiled. "You really hate us, don't you?"
"The Brotherhood," Simon said slowly, "sent my father to die alone, facing a foe they couldn't take on themselves. Yes, I do hate your stupid order."
The old man nodded. "Can't say that I blame you. I, too, hated myself when your father died. As I said, I cared about him a great deal. Children are formidable like that; they may not be your blood, they find ways to make you care."
Old fool is out of his mind, Simon thought. "My father was no child."
"No, he was a grown man, but I'll always remember the child he used to be. I hope you live long enough to experience this for yourself."
Simon firmly put little Callum's image out of his mind. "You wanted to see me alone; why?"
"Ah, yes," Crescenzo said, and his expression quickly went from fondness to grief. "I wanted to ask you… did you find out what really happened to your father inside the castle?"
Simon had been dreading that question ever since he set foot inside the Brotherhood's stronghold. But there was no helping it now. "Yes. As everyone thought, he died by the hands of the vampire lord." And, seeing the cardinal frown, "The vampire told me so himself." And that's as much as he was comfortable sharing with anyone.
Crescenzo closed his eyes. "I see. It was foolish of me to hope. I was thinking that maybe… ah, it's nothing." He looked even older now; in the long silence that followed, Simon wondered if he'd fallen asleep.
Eventually, he let out a deep sigh, and looked at Simon again.
"I take it you won't join us, then?"
"You know I won't," Simon said with a shrug. "I'm not my father. I'm no soldier. I don't take orders, and I fight evil however I please."
"You've shown enough proof of that today," the cardinal said, a touch of amusement in his voice. "We could still use your help with the mirror."
Simon shook his head. "The mirror reveals only fragments of the truth; just enough to direct people's actions. To what end, I don't know, but I won't let it control me again." That wasn't exactly true. After all, he'd left Selena and Callum with every intention of going back to his solitary life, but there he was, eager to go back to them. There was no need to tell the cardinal so, though.
"I see. This is goodbye, then, Simon Belmont." The old man stood up slowly. "I'm glad I got to meet you again. You look so much like your parents; I'm sure they would be proud of you today."
Would they, really? Simon gave the question some thought while riding back to the northlands. Somehow, he doubted it. His parents had probably hoped for him to become one of the Brotherhood's leading figures, spouse to some rich merchant's daughter and father to many children. Both were dead now; what they might have wanted for him mattered no more. Besides, the Brotherhood made his skin crawl. As for continuing the Belmont line… he'd never given it much thought, but the idea of spiting the vampire lord made it that much more appealing.
The journey back, though long, was uneventful. Some would've called it boring, but Simon didn't mind the solitude. Unlike the Brotherhood messengers, he hated small talk; it was nice, this time, to be able to simply enjoy the ride and the landscapes before him. He stayed away from the cities, and slept in the wilderness, feeding on fruits and small animals. Just like old times, he thought. Yes, he'd missed this.
So it surprised him, just how good it felt to notice the shift in nature around him as he approached the northlands; the forest made way to green hills, and before long he passed the ruins of the ancient wall. "Built thousands of years ago, by this land's first inhabitants," Callum had said. Looked like your average pile of old stones to Simon, but the child had seemed so excited about it -- he'd had to pay attention. Soon the village was in sight, with its thatch roofs huddled together around the small church. Again with the warm feeling in his chest. Confusing.
At the crossroad, Simon took the path leading to the inn, leaving the village center on his right. A few minutes through the woods and he reached the house, in the middle of a little clearing.
It was still early but Selena was outside, spreading clothes on bushes to get them to dry. Simon felt his heart jump in his chest at the sight of her -- ridiculous. You couldn't get more domestic than this, more ordinary, yet he felt somehow ill at ease to be in her presence again. How would she react? He'd made his choice to leave, after all, telling himself that he didn't owe her anything. And he didn't. But she didn't owe him anything, either; she'd allowed him to stay at the inn in exchange for his help. That was it, and never mind that being around her and Callum felt like family.
To hell with it, he thought, dismounting so briskly that it caused the horse to spook. Its neigh drew Selena's attention; raising her head, she finally noticed him.
Her mouth opened in surprise, but she recovered quickly and called Callum's name. An annoyed "what" came from inside the house, to which she replied, "Someone's here for you," all the while holding Simon's gaze, her expression carefully neutral. Maybe coming back hadn't been such a bright idea either, Simon thought, but then Callum came out of the house, mumbling under his breath and dragging his feet -- until he saw Simon.
The child's eyes widened; he ran and jumped into Simon's arms. The top of his head met Simon's chin with forceful enthusiasm, and Simon was pretty sure he was now partially deaf, thanks to Callum's joyful screaming, but to hell with it. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment.
"Don't leave us again," Callum said sternly as Simon put him back on the ground. Simon didn't know what to say, so he just patted the child on the head, before turning to Selena. She was looking him square in the eye, her arms crossed over her chest. He ought to say something, right? Right.
"Um." Oh, nice one.
"Are you lost? Pretty sure the Brotherhood's stronghold is the other way around." Was her mocking good-natured or not, he couldn't say.
"The red armor just didn't suit me."
"Is that so?" she asked, brows raised in mock doubt.
"Yes. That, and--" Simon scratched the back of his head. Why was it so bloody difficult? "I thought maybe you'd like some help with things around here, and, um," — just spit it out, damnit — "I kinda missed you guys."
For a moment, he thought the end of his sentence had been lost in Callum's excited babble about how much he'd grown while Simon was away. The boy kept tugging at his arm and talked on and on and on and on, he knew his letters now, and could even read a few words and just you wait, I'll show you the book, the priest wouldn't let me borrow it but then mom asked him and he said yes, come, I'll show you. But as Simon went to follow the boy inside, he heard Selena reply quietly, "We've missed you, too." When he turned to check her expression, she'd resumed her task and was hanging table linens on low branches. He gazed at her for a moment, admiring her sharp features and vigorous movements -- oh, he was lost to rich merchants' daughters alright.
"Simon," Callum called impatiently.
Selena winked at him. "Welcome back."
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