Simon found himself…he wasn’t sure what. The last time he’d spoken to Annabeth, he’d accosted her for taking Castiel away. Since then, she’d lost him too—though that had been entirely of her own doing. If Simon would have had to guess, he would have thought he would be angry. Perhaps if they’d met weeks ago, he would have stuck his nose in the air and turn away. Treated her like an outcast.

But some part of him was reminded that there was a chance—a good chance—that was about to be his fate. That where Annabeth had been labled a harlot, he’d be labled a traitor.

“I’m—well, I suppose,” Simon said, his tone exhausted, “Returned to Loren for business. I…” He paused for a moment before asking, “Would you care to come in, Miss Porter?”

He sounded surprised by his own question, but did not take it back.

Simon nodded, expecting Kelton to open the door and show Annabeth in. He did without question, though he’d heard the stories about the woman and questioned the reasoning of his master. Oh well, he eventually thought. It was rich for one guilty of high treason to be judgemental about one’s choices.

Simon would go first if only to show the way. The townhouse was not flashy, but indicative of the wealth the Haas family had amassed over the years. A maid stood waiting to take Simon’s jacket. She looked startled to see Annabeth but asked no questions.

“Thank you, Miriam,” Simon said as the woman took his jacket, “If you could have some tea drawn up for me and Miss Porter, I’d be grateful.” The maid nodded, eyes lingering on Trixie. She looked to Keton, who nodded, enabling the woman to approach.

“A sweetie for the little one, Miss?” Miriam asked, smiling brightly at Trixie, “Gots a fresh batch of cookies for the little lady, if’a you don’t mind.” If Annabeth allowed, Miriam would take Trixie and Kelton would lead them to the sitting room.

Simon would go as Kelton lead them. His assistant would place him in a chair opposite Annabeth, whispering to his mentor where the lady was placed so that he might aim his conversation in the right direction. Simon murmured his thanks and left. As soon as the door shut with a click, Simon sighed with deep exhaustion.

“I was sorry to hear about you and husband,” Simon started, his usual stiff formality gone, replaced by something a little more casual and—dare he say—vulnerable.

Simon’s hearing was more acute than most; not because of any natural ability, but because he’d had to depend on the sense in the absence of another. Annabeth’s distant tears were not kept from her voice, which softened Simon’s overly-serious features. These past few days had changed him; of that there could be no doubt.

“Remiel Allemeade is a scoundrel. There is responsibility for him to bear as well.” Simon sipped his tea. “I do hope he is leaving you be.”[/blockqutoe]

Simon grimaced. Without a doubt, Annabeth Porter’s situation was a dire one, but he’d never been one to tolerate wallowing—particularly when it was hardship one had brought upon themselves. He remembered when Romilly had lost her sister in the Eldouir’s attack on the palace. Now that had been real tragedy, and she’d handled it with such grace and dignity. How he had loved her for it.

But, Simon thought, perhaps Annabeth Andino was a cause that could be salvaged. He supposed he would have to see.

“Then perhaps this is your opportunity to learn, Annabeth.” Despite his earlier grimace, Simon’s voice was gentle. “To chart a new course. Take up a new cause.” He sipped his tea. “What is it you tried to do to be helpful?”

Simon was quiet for a moment, considering the childlike sincerity in the woman’s voice. Even after all she’d been through, Annabeth still seemed naive about the state of things. Simon, now having entirely thrown caution to the wind, decided to push even further.

“The time will come soon for us each to decide, Annabeth, what Lorendale is asking of us,” He said, with all the gravitas of a preacher at the pulpit, “It will be for us to decide whether we will choose the way of comfort or righteousness. Whether we will have the courage to confront the threats where they live. Annabeth—” Simon put down his tea.

“Why do you care to help the gifted? The likes of Remiel Allemeade? Haven’t they already done enough?”