agoodyarn | Loss, and Gain and other Equations: for Sypha

Loss, and Gain and other Equations: for Sypha

It's been almost a year since everything happened.

Since the castle was nearly destroyed. Since the Belmont, his wife's soul, and his son, as well as Death his-fucking-self were destroyed. Since he'd been left with the Speaker woman and what he had thought of only as the last Belmont for several months until his birth.

Of course, once Simon was born, it was a very different story, one that he feels equal parts joy and sorrow about, one that has haunted him and given him the first sparks of life all in one. For he loves the child, this scion of a family dedicated to his death. And he has come to see how clever, how delightful, how beautiful his mother is.

She lacks Lisa's delicacy, her gentleness, but not her kindness. A comparison feels wrong, but it feels dishonest not to as well. And he has no doubt, given the child that frequently sleeps in his arms, that she looks to him and wonders about Lisa, about Adrian, and about how the man who'd given her this child would do in this position. It is... difficult and precarious and yet he cannot say it is without joy.

The first joy he has felt since he returned to Wallachia. Even if he feels such guilt for it.

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Sypha thought she knew what to expect of being a mother. Hers raised her without the help of her father, but she hadn't realized until Simon was born just how much she'd been a child of the whole tribe. Her, he has her, and he has Dracula - Vlad.

And she has the two of them.

No, nothing like she expected.

But there still comes an evening when she looks up from her book, and sees Vlad in his tall chair before the fire, Simon so small against his chest and utterly limp in trusting sleep, and she's happy.

"Do you want me to put him to bed?"

"That shouldn't be necessary," he says, his voice so low, utterly relaxed, clearly at peace. There's a fondness in his eyes as he glances up at her, curious to know if there's anything she wants him for, but then his eyes fall on the deep red curls.

"Unless it is?"

He doesn't look as if he'd be bothered if it is, however. Nothing is really bothering him right now.

Closing her book on a thread to keep her place, she comes to lean against the wing of his chair, putting a hand on Simon's back.

"He sleeps better for you than he does for me."

"Probably something to do with the fact that I don't get overly warm. I recall being told that can be a very comfortable thing to sleep near when one dislikes being sweaty."

He looks up at her fondly.

"Shall we put him to bed?"

She touches the back of her fingers to her boy's cheek, still totally slack with sleep, and nods, leaving Simon in his arms rather than risk waking him by taking him herself. She glances at the window, which at this height shows only stars.

"I think I forgot to have dinner when I fed him." Which would not be the first time. There was a book.

"Then perhaps once child is cared for, I will prepare something for the mother," he says, low enough not to disturb the little one on his chest as he starts to rise and head for his nursery.

"Are you very hungry? I brought in a boar for supper tomorrow but I could butcher some of the hind for something sooner."

"The hind would be nice. I wasn't thinking of anything fancier than bread and some of that hard cheese." She has to move quick to keep ahead of his long legs, taking some of the soft toys out of Simon's crib so he can lay him down.

She doesn't offer to make the meal, even if she's the only one who needs it - they both know he's better at it.

"The hind it shall be, then," he says as he gently lays the child in his crib, reaching down to lightly place the blanket over his body. When he's done, he waves a hand over the crib in a familiar gesture; Sypha knows that no matter where in the castle they might be, Dracula will hear the barest sniffle, and she's been taught the spell herself.

"Those traders who came into the nearby town a week or so back; they brought a few decent spices. I'll have to see what I can come up with."

She bends to kiss Simon's curls, twisting the air in the room with a gesture of her own to direct the slight draft away from him. Straightening, she steps out of the nursery before answering him.

"I talked to them. They told me they came across a Speaker train a few weeks ago, coming down out of the mountains."

"A good sign," he says thoughtfully. Then he's moving, slow and careful and quiet, out of the room before he speaks again. Once they're clear-

"You are welcome to invite your people to this place. I have ever welcomed Speakers. Most people seem to feel we're on the same side, after all. And they seldom fail to provide interesting conversation."

She nods, eyes distant for a moment as they walk.

"My grandfather told me that, that some tribes used to winter with you. When I was a little girl, I thought it was a sort of fairy tale, like playing dice with the devil."

"It's one of the better games to play with him," he says absently as they continue walking, "but it's certainly no fairy tale. I'm ever eager to meet and discuss with other minds focused upon the importance of learning and knowledge."

She makes an agreeing noise, though her gaze goes somewhere far away, a cloud across her expression.

"If they pass by, we will see."

He pauses to glance over.

"You have concerns?"

She tilts her head, considering her answer.

"Selfish ones, maybe.

"It is my duty to tell them everything I witnessed. Everything I did. We did. And why."

He doesn't speak for a few feet before he says, quietly-

"If you wish it, my doors will remained closed to them. I can provide them shelter elsewhere. They do not have to come here."

Her shoulders rise, then fall with a gusty breath.

"Everything that we saw and learned and went through- it's important. It is exactly what Speakers exist to preserve and pass on. I have been- trying to prepare my account."

Without success.

That makes him pause a little longer.

"Perhaps we can welcome them next year."

He acknowledges the importance of their mission. He'd never stand in the way of the Speaker's preservation or knowledge, or their acquisition of it. But he is well aware that they can wait a year for that particular knowledge with no harm done. And he would not see harm done to her.

Sypha rubs her face, pressing her thumbs up beneath her pale brows for a moment.

"It's stupid," she says bluntly. "But I don't want to tell them about it here." Not with the missing arm the castle still hanging above them.

He pauses to look over at her for a long moment before shaking his head, very gently.

"It is not 'stupid' as it has nothing to do with being smart. And everything to do with the pain you feel" he pauses before changing it to-

"The pain we both feel recounting and remembering those events."

"I could have worked harder to be ready." It's a weak protest. Even between the two of them, they don't talk about that day.

She exhales, her shoulder brushing his arm, and rubs the bridge of her nose.

"It's a big castle. Let them stay. Maybe I'll work up the courage."

"Ah yes, between bearing a child, caring for an infant, and your work with me to restore the castle," he says dryly before he nods to her request.

"As you wish, my Sypha."

And he pauses as he realize what he just said.

"Sypha."

She pauses too, and while she keeps her face still, color kindles in her cheeks, the curve of her ears.

She looks sideways at him, meeting his eyes before she lets herself smile.

"How long has that been trying to slip out?"

"I, uh... have not kept track of it, as such," he says as his eyes go everywhere else but her.

She moves closer, hooking her arm into his, with a chuckle that's more a shiver of her shoulders than a sound. It's not romantic, but it's closeness. And infinitely better than the hollow feeling that had been rising, talking of the Speakers.

"Come and make a girl dinner."

His hand will rest lightly on her arm in reply. She's gotten used to the lack of body head; there is, at least, a solid bulk to him.

"Yes, dear," he says, only a bit of a tease.

She shakes her head, amused.

The kitchen is still one of her favorite rooms in the castle. Perhaps it's a holdover from a childhood spent balancing the kettle on stones, but the massive hearth and the heavy cast iron stove are both icons of luxury to her, as are the long counters. She hops to sit on one, legs crossed at the ankles.

"I am not sure I buy that you are a 'yes dear' kind of man."

He considers her as he pulls the meat from the fridge.

"Yes, dear," and there is very much a twinkle to his eyes.

The fridge is still something of a marvel, though it's been months now since he caught her putting different things in the freezer to see what would happen.

"A tease, yes, I already knew that."

"Is there not the greatest logic in agreeing to the most simple and reasonable requests made by a companion one values and appreciates?" he offers as he starts chopping up onions and some root vegetables. He doesn't get his hands dirty, allows the knife and the other implements to move on their own, fueled by his power. He likes to keep his hands clean when he doesn't need to feel the ingredients.

She's seen that often enough that it just gets an envious glance - she has a lot of precision in her magic, but not that sort.

"I am not sure logic is a part of this." One leg bounces, and even sitting here on the counter, she has to look up at him.

"If not logic, then by what other means do you have the King of all Vampires making you dinner?" he asks with a very wry sort of smile.

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Loss, and Gain and other Equations: for Sypha

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