DISCLAIMER: Fic will contain yaoi in later chapters. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Also, I don't own Castlevania.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the first fic I've EVER written, so be nice to my inferiority complex. Secondly, I never actually finished SotN. Please excuse any Ooc-ness and failure on my part ;
Thirdly, I'm writing this while on holiday in an RV with my parents around constantly, so updates will be few and far between ._.

Please accept my apologies and enjoy~

Memory

He could still remember that night.

It was so clear, so perfect in his mind's eye... The night where he found himself at the gates to the castle of chaos. When he wandered with a firm, steady resolve in his heart. His mother's dying wish still burned within him, resolved anew after that dark battle in the realm of dreams. Now more than ever he would throw down this castle and take out the master that hid deep within it.... this he swore to himself.

And on that journey, he remembered the encounter. The first time they had met…

That scent had stirred a memory, even as he dashed down the blood soaked halls of the coliseum, his sword at ready, flickering in the dim candlelight as he brought monster after monster down at his feet. It bothered him, that smell. Though the air was heavy with blood there was something else. Something... alive, something powerful amidst the carcasses of the dead. He knew this scent and yet he could not place it. He recognized it, but after such a long time isolated, alone, asleep, his memory was faint and still waking despite his progress. He mused as his feet carried him forward, his blade biting deep into every creature that crossed his path. It was this musing that made him wander unaware into the sandy circle of the arena. As the ground underfoot changed, he became aware of his surroundings; turning too late to see the heavy iron doors slam behind him.

"Who are you and what are you doing here? I am lord of this castle, and you are quite the unwelcome guest..."

The sound was rich and flowing; a deep baritone, a voice unfamiliar, but the smell of his blood unmistakable.

Belmont.

What had that Reynard woman said? There was a Belmont lost in this castle, she was here to get him back... But his scent! His blood carried the same sweet, unmistakable signature as the one he had once known. The one that he had fought alongside three hundred years ago. But the castle's master? What was this fool thinking…?

He raised his eyes high into the stands, where the young man sat upon a carved chair, in a stance that seemed strangely familiar.

"The scent of your blood... You're a Belmont..."

There was a beautiful arrogance about this man... he could see that as the other stared him down, head propped on his arm, leaning casually back in that chair. Dark chocolate curls framed the serious face, tumbling over his muscular shoulders and back. There was such power in his stance, casual as it was. He found he couldn't pull his eyes away. This man was his enemy. As long as he held sway over Castlevania… he would die. He must.

But oh, what a sight he was… far away, out of reach. Proud. Fierce.

Beautiful.

He gazed on, cold and indifferent as those dark blue eyes narrowed and a smirk appeared upon those full lips. Belmont was thinking. And he had come to a decision.

"Begone. I have no time for you." That smirk had faded with his words. After a moments pause, it returned as a smile. But it was a heartless, malicious display of lips and teeth, though sensual and charming. He knew that no good would follow. This Belmont would not allow him to escape with his life…

"But perhaps you can amuse me in your final moments."

There was a creaking, grating sound as a nearby iron gate slid open, a Werewolf and a Minotaur stalking out, eying him with the intent to kill. His sword was in hand and at ready in an instant, his frown dark as he prepared to do battle with the beasts.

But once the battle was over, when they lay at his feet in the final throes of death, he turned his gaze up to the stands once more. But Belmont was nowhere to be seen.

--

He awoke alone in the darkness, heavy lids lifting to reveal deep, golden orbs beneath. A sigh escaped his parted lips as he roused himself. The lid of his casket was thrown wide open, the smell of earth and dry stone pervaded the air, but the silence was the silence of the grave. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he sat up and lanced one glove clad hand through his silvery-blonde hair, blinking a few times before surveying his surroundings.

Everything was just as it had been when he had woken two days before. The crypt he had chosen as his lair was still and silent, nothing had come down here and the other caskets remained untouched but for the dust he had gathered on his own hands as he had roamed amongst them. A slender beam of moonlight penetrated a crack in the crumbling tomb's ancient roof, telling him that the night was still young. It was this that he now walked to, in order to stare up towards the sky far above.

It was strange. He felt no immediate danger, no looming threat of his father, and yet he could not rest. Two days ago, he had taken the form of a bat and emerged from the crypt, roamed the countryside with little interruption, sought out a small town to glean what snippets of news he could. There were no threats; there was no foreboding castle of chaos waiting for him, no war upon humanity, no god of Death laughing from his spectral throne, mocking him and warning him of his father's eminent return. As far as he could tell, Dracula was still dead. But of course he would be. He would not return… not in this lifetime at least. Had he not put an end to that two years ago…?

But if this was the case, what was he awake for? What was his purpose here?

There must be a reason. In the past he had awoken only when his aid was required for vanquishing his father. Once that task had been accomplished, he returned to sleep until such a time that he was needed again. Thus was the case in 1476… and again, he assumed…

But why? Why could he not rest peacefully? It disturbed him and worried him… was his father to rise again, so soon after he had just been vanquished? Or was it something else? Something more terrible? More foreboding?

He closed his eyes, letting the silvery moonlight caress his face. He thought it might all have been coincidence, that if he just rolled over on his side, he would just return to slumber as before. Everything was quiet. Everything was peaceful. The threat was gone, Castlevania was nothing more than a crumbling ruin on the hillside. What could he possibly need to do? There was no threat in the air, nothing to arouse suspicion or worry. For now, everything was fine.

"Look at you." He chided himself softly, staring up at the silver orb of the moon. "You're acting like a fool… go back to sleep."

Nothing is wrong.

Nothing is out of place.

The world is at peace, just like this.

--

"Wear these… they will reveal the presence of spirits otherwise invisible to the eye…"

Holy Lenses. Yes, he remembered them. Maria had given them to him whilst he sought Belmont out. From what she had described, Belmont was an honorable man. A man who fought for good. The man that had vanquished his father four years earlier. And yet he had seen a different Belmont, a creature of evil, the supposed 'lord' of the castle. How could a man so noble turn traitor and become one with the darkness in a short span of years? It made no sense.

He had found Belmont right where any castle lord would reside; the Throne Room. He had stepped into that room with the intent to kill the man, until he saw the strange green orb floating above his opponent, saw the pulses of energy transfer between it and the other man and he thanked Maria silently for what she'd given him. Now he understood.

Despite what Belmont had said, despite his actions, he was nothing more than a puppet to some higher power…

He remembered the thrill of that battle. Facing down an opponent who hated the very creature that had sired him, a hunter of his kindred, a slayer of Vampires. Desperately they fought, a test of strength and power and agility, trying to avoid the other man's whip whilst striking out at that thing that was controlling him. There was such power, such resolve in every stroke… fighting him, yet not fighting him. This man's body was honed to the slaying of his kind, he would be lying if he said he had little difficulty in avoiding those fierce strokes. Belmont was a worthy opponent, but he could not give in and fall. Because unlike his ancestor, this man would not give him a chance to explain himself. Belmont was under his father's control. This one would kill him on the spot. And he refused to let that happen.

With a graceful leap and a final swing of his sword, he shattered the controlling mechanism.

Belmont gasped. Fell.

Without a second thought, ignoring his own wounds from holy cross barriers and divine rain, he had taken those few steps forward and caught the half conscious form in his arms. He watched the shade of the Dark Priest Shaft with contempt, knowing there was a greater task at hand. But his arms tightened around his wounded opponent and as the shade disappeared he found himself looking down at the other man's form.

Those deep blue eyes met his for an instant. He could see the pain within them, and yet at the same time he caught a hint of the other's proud, fierce character too. The words were barely audible as Belmont closed his eyes and slumped forward into his arms, but he heard them.

"Thank you."

He remembered thinking what a man this was. Despite what he had done, despite the man's weakness, this Belmont still inspired a strange feeling of admiration in him.

Hurried footfalls echoed down the hall, muffled suddenly by the lush carpets in the room. He heard a gasp and a cry, looking up to find the young woman running towards them. He gritted his teeth, remembering his task, remembering what only he could do now. Belmont was severely weakened… and Maria couldn't very well accompany him where he was to go.

"Take care of him, Maria. I must finish this…"

Even as he turned and walked away, he could still remember the way the man had felt in his arms. That strong, fierce presence, battle weary and weakened by his own hand. He could still recall the way that body had pressed to his own for those few seconds…

Golden eyes snapped open, a low growl rumbling in his throat loud enough to echo around the chamber. Sunlight was poking through the crack in the tomb's ceiling, the soft sounds of morning life piercing the silence of the dead amongst him. Only a handful of hours had passed in this most recent slumber.

"Be damned!" He snarled, sitting up and practically leaping out of his casket. His cape billowed about him as he snatched up the Alucard sword from where he'd left it propped in its sheath by the wall and strode resolutely towards the barred iron gate of the crypt. This was no coincidence. Something needed him awake and there was a purpose for him to fulfill. And if nobody was around to tell him what that was, he would go out and seek the answers for himself, just so he could lose himself in eternal slumber once again.

He hit the gate as a body of mist and set out into the sunshine.

Long chapter is long D:
Nonetheless, read and review for me? I promise I'll get better if I can only have your critiques and kind words~!