Last of the Belmonts (A Castlevania: Season 1 and 2 Fanfiction)

Chapter 3: The Exiles

Alyx Belmont's POV 

I sat across from Trevor in the bar, listening carefully to the words of the occupants standing at the bar only a stone's throw away from us. 

'It's all about these old families, like the Belmonts, who control all the power and go to war with each other,' one of the men said, saying our family name like it was a bad taste in his mouth. And who's caught in the middle?' 

'We are,' another of the men said, and the man who was first speaking echoed his sentiment. 'Because we don't matter. Do you know why? Do you know where you come from?' he asked the other man. 

'Well, out of your aunt, according to you,' the man said. 

'You came from shit,' the other man barked, jabbing a finger into his chest. 'I came from shit. We all came from shit. We just work for a living every day of our lives. We just work to keep those bastards in food and wool. Slaves! That's what we are. Slaves to great old families and their games.' Trevor finished off his mug of ale and stood up, coming over to the bar. 

'Sorry, can I get my ale?' he slurred. 'It's just that I think I'm sobering up.' I sighed softly, smacking my face with my palm. 

'All right, all right, but I want to see some coin from you now,' the bartender said. Trevor rustled around, and I stood up to come over to him, but then the bartender barked, 'Oi! What's that on your shirt?' 

'Oh... my shirt,' he replied drunkenly, pulling out his purse full of coin. 'Just one more tankard, eh? Something to keep me warm while me and her find a tree to sleep under.' He grabbed, pulling an arm around me with a slurred laugh. I awkwardly smiled. 

'He drinks a lot more than I do, you'll have to forgive him,' I said. 

'That's a family crest. I know it,' one of the men said, stepping forward, looking between the two of us. 

'I don't,' Trevor sighed. 'Just one more drink and then I'll leave, all right?' 

'That's a Belmont crest,' the man snarled. 

'Really?' I said, unamused, but I heard Trevor drunkenly laugh again. 

'Look, here's the money,' Trevor said, pushing the bag towards the bartender. 

'You're Belmonts, aren't you?' the man growled. 'House of Belmont, Family Belmont!'

'Never met them,' I said nonchalantly. 'Look, just forget it. We'll go.' Trevor took my arm, and we began to leave, but then the man shoved Trevor. 

'No! You're a Belmont!' Trevor stumbled backwards. 'This is all your fault!' 

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Trevor said, deadly serious as he straightened, still slightly too drunk for his own good. 

'Yes, you do,' two of the men said, ganging up on us. I spread my fur cloak to the side, resting my hand on my sword. 

'Everyone knows the Belmonts dealt in black magic. The Belmonts dealt with monsters,' the first man said. 

'The Belmonts fought monsters, son...' I snapped. 'So I'm told.' I drew out my sword. 'Now let us through, let us leave, before I cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs.' '

'This is just an old shirt,' Trevor said, trying to defuse the situation. 

'The Belmonts were excommunicated by the church,' the man said, 'banished, disowned, their lands taken because they were evil. Evil. And now Dracula's hordes are abroad in the land. And whose fault is that?'  

'Well, it ain't mine,' Trevor slurred again. 

'The Belmonts traded in black magic, and now black magic is all over Wallachia. I think you know exactly whose fault that is.' 

'I'm leaving, okay?' Trevor said, putting his hands up. 'I'm - we're - leaving now.' I sheathed my sword and began to follow him out. 

'So you can lead your monster friends back here?' the man growled. 

'So I can find somewhere to piss and somewhere else to sleep,' Trevor retorted. 

'No, you can sleep right here,' the man said bitterly. 

'You haven't got your shovel,' Trevor replied calmly with a cocky smile, to which he earned a fist slamming across his face. I punched the man back, to which he grabbed me by the throat and tossed me with ease. I stumbled, trying to get up, but another one of the men loomed over, landing a solid kick in my side. I coughed, getting up, and landing a few solid punches, but earning a slice from a knife across my upper arm, before I was thrown again, and landed at Trevor's feet, struggling to get up. 

'Confess, and I'll make it quick,' the man said. 'What's your name?'

'Jesus of Nazareth,' Trevor said, making a lame attempt at a joke. 'Look, I'm carrying a short sword and a whip.' He was kneed in the balls, and he fell to the floor. 

'Try again,' the man snapped. 

'Trevor Belmont. House of Belmont,' Trevor wheezed through pain. 'Last son of the Belmont family. Happy now?' 

'No,' the man growled. 'What about you, bitch?' he spat, glaring at me. 

'Fuck off,' I growled, and I landed a punch in my stomach for that. 'Fine. Alyx Belmont. House of Belmont. Last daughter of the Belmont family. I'm his sister. That enough for you, you fat, sleazy fucker?' One of the other men punched me across the face, and I laughed, spitting out blood and a broken tooth. 'You hit like a child.' The men started to fight Trevor, and I got up, joining in the fight, dealing with them with ease. 

Moments later, we both stumbled out. 

'Oh, Christ,' Trevor muttered, and he bent over and violently vomited into the dirt. 'I hope you all bleed out,' Trevor growled. 'Through your arses!' We began to stumble away. 

'Every last rat bastard one of you,' I snarled. 

The next morning... 

We both awoke, clutching our heads in blinding pain from the amount of alcohol we'd drank and the fight we'd had last night at the tavern. We came to the top of a hill, overlooking a large-ish city. 

'Bloody Gresit,' Trevor growled. We looked at each other. 'Last stop between us and starvation. Next town's 40 bloody miles away.' 

We entered the town of Gresit, and it was dead quiet, save for one or two snoring guards, and a few ramshackle tents. Coming over a bridge, we saw the mass grave that had been stationed there. Coming to the square, we stopped at a stall where a woman was cleaning a butcher's knife. 

'What will one coin buy me and my friend here?' Trevor asked.

'Bit of dried goat,' the woman replied. 'Haven't seen you two around here before. 

'We're just passing through, thanks. I'll take it.' 

'You want to pass through quicker.' 

'Yeah, I guess you've got some troubles here,' I remarked. 'Is there a defence effort?'

'Don't need it. We've got a tribe of Speakers in the city. Once we've done what needs to be done, the demons will leave us alone.' She passed the bit of dried goat to Trevor, and he flipped the coin onto the table with ease. We walked around the city square, speaking to more vendors and passersby. We came to another stall. 

'There's an old story. The Sleeping Soldier,' the man at the stall said. 'They say he was a great hero hundreds of centuries ago, but now he sleeps under the catacombs.'

'What for?'

'To wait until he's needed again, of course. I think he'll come back.'

'Really?' 

'Oh yes. But keep it quiet. The new bishop hates the old wisdom. Dracula's men come at night, but the bishop's men come in the middle of the day. You know what I mean?'