Moonlight Flower

Shinigami Yumi


presents


Moonlight Flower

Summary: In his fight with a certain silver-haired vampire, Leon chose to save his enemy from fading away. The two become unlikely friends, and Joachim takes Leon as his Host. The years pass as Leon continues to hunt the night with Joachim's aid while searching for Mathias. Meanwhile, Joachim finds himself wanting far more than he already has. Possible JoachimLeon, MathiasLeon and MathiasLeonJoachim later. Implied WalterJoachim. Yes, it's YAOI. You have been warned.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 3: Nocturnal Romance

Leon Belmont sat down beside his wife of two years, Helena, on the bed, reaching out to pat the short golden strands on his son’s head. Baby Gabriel was almost the spitting image of his father with his clear blue eyes and golden hair, although he had inherited most of his mother’s facial features. He smiled at the demure beauty carrying the sleeping infant in her arms. She was pretty in a sweet way with her long dark brown hair tied in a loose braid, her dainty rounded features, her soft deep hazel eyes and her gentle demeanour. Having given birth just yesterday, she was still weak and bedridden, but he was certain she would recover soon. He took her hand in his tenderly and kissed both mother and son on the cheek, bidding them good night. Gabriel barely stirred while Helena simply smiled in understanding; she had grown accustomed to his thrice–weekly monster–hunting nights.


Pulling the pale blue covers of their large bed more snugly around her, he rose and left the room to prepare for the night. Ten years had passed since the night he’d defeated Walter, and it had taken him all of eight years to forget Sara enough to truly move on. He loved Helena, not in that searing, enthralled way he loved Sara –no one could take his first love’s place in his heart–, but with a warm, tender affection, and time spent with her left him pleasantly contented, easing his heart and mind the way a medicated balm would sooth burns. A warm glow greeted him as he hooked the whip to the peg on his belt, and he smiled fondly; in a way, he supposed he never lost Sara. Sheathing his dagger at his belt, he wore the dark brown trench coat and hat he used for hunting, pulled on his studded leather boots and gloves, grabbed the bundle of supplies and water skin the servants had prepared, and made his way to the stables to mount and ride his already–saddled trusty stallion off into the night.


The sun was setting in the horizon as he rode towards the nearby forest. Following Walter’s defeat, he had returned to the Crusades, fighting for several more years before retiring from the war. Quickly realizing that they needed him on their side, the Church had swiftly ordered his title reinstated and his lands returned. Now he divided his time between hunting monsters and administrating his barony. Helena, the only daughter of a neighbouring baron, approved of this, saying that there were plenty of people fighting the Church’s war, but scarcely any helping the people fend off the wild animals and monsters that had been terrorizing them for decades, if not centuries; if he insisted on fighting anyway, then this seemed a better cause.


He slowed his horse as he entered the forest after forty–five minutes of hard riding. The sky was cobalt blue now, soon to be completely dark. The first time he’d come here ten years ago, his horse had adamantly refused to enter the woods, so he’d had to continue on foot. Now, it cantered between the trees obediently. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the clearing Rinaldo had built his wooden house in; although the elderly alchemist had not set foot in the place in the whole decade, the abode and the sparse furnishings in it still stood strong and unspoiled by time, leading him to believe that the old man must have treated the wood with some sort of preserving potion.


Sitting in the moonlight outside the house on a wooden chair facing an easel was a former enemy turned unlikely friend and the only creature of the night he had allowed to live, brushes and palette in hand. The vampire’s fair skin and silver hair seemed to possess a luminous glow as he daubed the finishing touches onto his canvas before turning to face him. He dismounted, and Joachim smiled warmly as he approached. In the ten years he’d spent as the young Nosferatu’s Host, Joachim Armster had been a constant companion and a kind of mentor in monster–hunting, betraying his own species by telling him their weaknesses. He had learned much about the Nosferatu from Joachim, including the fact that they didn’t like the cold very much and that their powers increased with time.


Joachim also told him about abilities to watch out for, among which were telekinesis, superhuman reflexes, senses, strength, stamina and regeneration as well as telepathy, mind control, teleportation, pyrokinesis and the dark arts for the older, more powerful ones. There were even different species of vampires, such as a minority that neither needed nor craved blood and over whom the sun held no sway, a more vicious species that had heads and entrails but no bodies, as well as not-so-distant cousins like succubi and incubi that fed on sexual energy in addition to or instead of blood. There were also half-breeds, dhampires, produced from the union of vampires and humans, while the union of succubi or incubi with humans usually led to half-humans with strong magic powers that manifested in a variety of ways. Even the common breed, however, could eventually become immune to the sun after several thousand years. As for warding them off, garlic and salt was a myth quickly dispelled by an account of how much Walter enjoyed his garlic bread. Crucifixes and other holy symbols worked well for all those that feared the sun, but were somehow somewhat less effective against succubi and incubi.


Being the young -although ‘young’ was a relative term when used to describe the 240-year-old Nosferatu- vampire’s Host had been hard on them both initially. At his age, Joachim needed to feed a bare minimum of once a week, but the Crusades left his schedule erratic. There had been once when he was abruptly called to battle and could not visit for nearly a fortnight; he’d returned to find the other extremely displeased at having to drink from a wild animal after starving for eleven nights, only to have him visit the following evening. Leon had been pleased albeit apologetic, reassured that the vampire was a man of his word. There had even been times when Joachim had had to ‘hibernate’, sleeping for months while the knight was away on a war campaign.


For Leon’s part, running a barony or fighting battles by day and staying up all night talking to a vampire was exhausting. At times, his visit had to be made brief; at others, he would sleep in the darkness of the other’s cavernous prison, only to wake in the morning with his friend sleeping close by his side. To pass his unaging friend’s time, Leon had first brought him books, all of which had been left to him by Mathias; the count, having no remaining relatives, had willed everything to his “best friend, Leon Belmont” in event of his “death or disappearance”, leaving the blond in charge of his castle and county and everything in them. Later, Joachim had mentioned that he used to paint back when he had been human, and Leon had, of course, quickly procured painting supplies with which to further occupy the Nosferatu’s time.

Joachim dropped all his brushes into the cylindrical glass vase by his leg before setting his palette down atop it; the vase was half–filled with strong–smelling thinner for cleaning the brushes. Rising as the hunter moved within arm’s reach, he deftly tugged the human to rest one knee on the wooden chair, pulling his Host close. “You were supposed to be here yesterday,” he murmured, indirectly demanding explanation as he wrapped an arm around the other to hold him still while he opened a plump vein with his free hand.

Leon winced slightly as the familiar incision was made to his jugular. “Mmhm,” he responded absently. “Something came up.” Then a moist warm mouth was pressed to the side of his neck, and he closed his eyes, relaxing. The other smelled of musk, must and dew. Being with Joachim was somehow comforting, not quite the same as Helena with her kind and gentle endearing ways but with a kind of silent transcendental understanding, that feeling of knowing everything that mattered and accepting that. Opening his eyes to look at the canvas on the easel, he remarked, “It looks just as I remembered a decade ago.”

Joachim licked the wound shut before replying, “The Nosferatu have good memory, and I have lived here for over two centuries. I only need a reference for the scenery around it.”

It was a painting of the castle before it had crumbled following Walter’s defeat, complete with a reddish full moon and circled by bats. Joachim was a decent painter; the textures and lighting effects were beautiful and realistic. Apparently, he’d painted several of the works hanging in the castle, but it was too late by then to ask which. Now, several of his paintings adorned the walls in Leon’s own castle, a couple of which were portraits of the nobleman himself.

“You seem happy tonight, more so than usual,” the vampire commented.

He nodded. “I just became a father yesterday,” he explained with a smile.

Joachim stiffened at that. “A…son…?” he asked tentatively.

“Mmhm, I named him Gabriel. He looks a lot like me.”

The vampire pulled away to carefully lift the easel and carry it into Rinaldo’s former abode, using his powers to make the jar with his brushes and palette float after him. “You never told me you got married.”

There was a controlled tightness to the other’s voice that Leon knew meant Joachim was displeased. “It… I’m sorry. It didn’t seem important,” he answered carefully, carrying the wooden chair into the cottage.

Joachim opened his mouth to snipe a retort, but thought better of it and held his tongue. What could he say? That of course it was important because he was in love with his Host? A fine present for papa that would be. Instead, he took a deep breath before asking, “What will we be hunting tonight?”

Glad that the other had decided not to be difficult about the issue and seizing the provided escape route, the blond answered, “I heard that a mysterious monster has been terrorizing some villages about an hour’s ride away from here. No one has seen it and survived, and all the deaths have been gruesome messes.”

It was a mercy that Joachim’s mental condition and patience had improved greatly over the previous decade, their time together having healed some of the psychological damage incurred by centuries of solitary imprisonment. He was no longer given to random outbursts of violence or lapsing into strange behaviour. Most of the time, the episodes began innocently enough; he would find Joachim huddled in a corner, spacing out, talking or occasionally even humming or singing an old song to himself softly, completely unresponsive to his calls. Sometimes, the other would snap out of it when touched, sometimes a touch would provoke vehement mutterings or a violent response, and mentioning or even the sight of an item that reminded him of a certain redhead usually led to a fit of violent madness.


In the early years, Leon had even repeatedly found the Nosferatu lost in some twisted hallucination, a figment of his sometimes somewhat fragmented imagination. In serious cases, which had thankfully been sporadic, he’d even had to fight his extraordinary friend back to his senses or, in even rarer cases, stop him from hurting himself during one of his moments away from reality. Joachim was stronger now than when he’d fought him ten years ago, and each brief battle with the silver-haired vampire had been a challenge, especially because he had to carefully refrain from doing fatal damage. Leon didn’t look forward to fighting the other now should he lose it in a fit of rage; Joachim was known to have a fearsome temper when unleashed.

“Then let us be going.” The Nosferatu strapped on the special harness with all five of his swords that Leon had ordered custom-made for him some years back. It featured three vertical sheaths in a row and two crisscrossed over those. Then he exited the house with the former knight close behind.

Leon mounted his horse in silence and let the vampire climb up behind him. He never bothered bringing an extra horse after what had happened the first and last time he’d tried; as if sensing Joachim’s unholy nature, horses seemed to dislike the young Nosferatu rather intensely, throwing him off the instant he mounted them. His horses, at least, abided Joachim as long as they rode together. Urging the chestnut stallion into a gentle gallop, he guided it towards their destination in Helena’s father’s barony. Neither of them spoke, and all that was heard was the night breeze and the crackle of dry autumn leaves being crushed beneath the horse's hooves.


Truth be told, Leon didn’t understand what the big deal was and why Joachim was upset. It wasn’t like he could have invited the vampire to a morning wedding in a church, nor was having a vampire at a wedding reception attended by several overzealous Crusaders anything but trouble. As for telling the other about Helena, he’d noticed the Nosferatu’s distinct disinterest whenever he talked about Sara; there was no reason to believe that he might have had any interest whatsoever in hearing about Helena, so he’d avoided bringing her up. Still, perhaps he should have introduced them, or at least mentioned his wife. Even if the other couldn’t attend, as a friend, he did have a right to know when his old friend was ending his bachelorhood.

“I apologise,” he said, breaking the silence just as they broke out of the forest into open grassland. “I should have told you. I’ll introduce you to Helena and Gabriel soon.”

Joachim smiled ruefully, and his hands dropped from the hunter’s shoulder to that slim waist as he tilted his head forward to rest his forehead on the back of the human’s neck. Leon had completely missed the reason for his unhappiness. “Isn’t it better if she never finds out about me?” he enquired softly, keeping his voice even despite the constricting sorrow he felt rising in his throat.

Leon shrugged. “I’ll just tell her you’re a fellow monster-hunter I met some years back.”

The vampire shook his head slowly. “Is… Is she anything like Lady Trantoul?”

Leon mentally compared Sara Trantoul and Helena Cecil with a smile. “Yes,” he concluded shortly. “They are quite alike. That is probably what drew me to her, although no one can ever replace Sara.” The whip at his side gave off a warm glow then, and his smile turned nostalgic; she didn’t deserve this fate.

Even as he felt his unbeating heart breaking, Joachim managed to reply quietly, “I suppose it is good then. She must make you quite happy.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. Ten years together had done nothing but intensify his feelings, and what had once probably been little more than a novel infatuation had deepened over the decade into a strong love that was nowhere even vaguely near platonic. He truly couldn’t help his sorrow and jealousy.

“Hmm… Happy?” the blond mused thoughtfully. “More like at peace, I suppose, a kind of tranquil contentment. It’s almost the same feeling I get when I’m with you.”

The vampire straightened. “With me…?” he echoed, fearful of the hope he could suddenly feel blossoming in him again, afraid that it would be crushed once more but unable to help himself.

The other nodded. “Yeah… Not exactly the same, but it’s rather similar. It’s a kind of pleasant warmth that fills the chest and makes you feel like just relaxing and smiling… I’m not sure how to describe it,” the former knight explained with a slight shake of his head.

Although he knew it was probably hopeless, the words still comforted and lightened what was left of his heart. He smiled. “I think I understand. I feel that way sometimes when we’re together too.” Yes, he thought. Whenever holding you close and claiming you as mine and mine alone is not all I can think about. He let his forehead drop lightly to rest on the back of Leon’s neck again, willing unbidden thoughts away, and the remainder of the journey passed in silence.

–––===***===–––

Rustling. Someone or something was tearing through the forest even as they wandered beneath the trees as silently as possible. They halted suddenly as a loud howl rang out in the wind, echoing through the night. Joachim crouched near a clump of bushes, pulling Leon down with him.

“Lycan,” the vampire hissed, narrowing his eyes and frowning.

“What?” Leon whispered, hand ready on the whip at his side.

“Short for Lycanthrope, what you commonly call werewolf,” Joachim explained, still barely audible. “Be careful not to get bitten. The curse of Lycanthropy spreads like that of the Nosferatu.”

The knight nodded an affirmative once, then grew curious. “What if a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf?” he asked.

Without missing a beat, the other matter-of-factly replied, “He’d die.” Drawing one of his five swords, he rose. “It’s not far up ahead now. Let’s go.”

“No!” Leon reached up and tugged him back down. “I’ll go. You stay here.” He held Joachim’s gaze. “It’s more dangerous for you than it is for me.”

It took all of the vampire’s willpower not to pull his Host into his arms right then. The hunter had always treated him with such kindness and concern; he was nothing like the others; it was so hard not to love him. “What if you get bitten?” he enquired softly, closing his fingers around the warm hand that still held his own firmly as he forced himself not to avert his eyes from those gentle aquamarines. It is always too much, too much and yet not enough. Leon…

Leon smiled slightly. “Then bite me and drink of me one last time.” He rose.

Joachim stood up as well. “Then we shall go together. Since I have promised to never prey on humans, I will not live long after your death anyway.”

The blond turned to place a hand on his shoulder, eyes solemn. “That promise only holds while I am still alive. I cannot expect you to starve yourself to death simply because I am mortal. Only the other two must be kept forever.”

Foolish human, Joachim though mournfully. You do not understand at all. What does it matter without you? Aloud, he said, “As my Host, Leon, it is my responsibility to protect you.” He covered the hand on his shoulder with his own and squeezed lightly. “And as friends, you cannot expect me to watch idly as you go to your death.”

Reluctantly, Leon nodded. It occurred to him that the other was addressing him by his given name for the first time in his memory; usually, Joachim called him ‘human’ or, in front of others, ‘Belmont’. He allowed Joachim to lead him through the forest towards their target. Soon, he heard it, the rustle of swift movement through thick foliage. Then, suddenly, the sound was above him, and he barely managed to avoid getting mauled with a timely evasive double backflip. Joachim too had quickly dashed aside, leaving the monster between them, and was now hovering a small distance above the ground with his swords circling him, poised to attack. The creature was larger than them both, and there was a malicious gleam of violence in its amber eyes.


Abruptly, it lunged at the vampire, who immediately darted backwards into a clearing; it was swift, but so was Joachim. In the moonlight, the werewolf’s wiry but muscular form was covered in a thick layer of fine silvery–gray fur, and its slightly yellowed claws and teeth were razor sharp. Leon tore after them, but before he could lash out with the whip, it leapt at the Nosferatu again. This time, however, the other sent three of his five swords at the attacking Lycan as he darted backwards, catching it vulnerable in midair. Only a quick twist saved it from a lethal wound. When it landed on the ground, Leon quickly seized the opportunity to land a few hits in with the whip. Blood dripped from it as it quickly rolled out of range, nimbly dodging the swords Joachim sent at it, and it growled fiercely at them both as the vampire returned to Leon’s side.

“Why does it keep attacking you even when I’m a closer and easier target?” the blond asked softly, keeping his eyes on their prey.

“Instinct,” Joachim replied easily. “It’s in the blood. We’re natural-born enemies. They can’t help hating us. Vampire lords with advanced mind control powers find it easy to manipulate their primitive minds, but for Lycanthropes with free will, we are always a threatening enemy to be eliminated.”

Leon paused, then an idea suddenly occurred to him. “Why don’t you try to bite it then?” he suggested.

His silver-haired companion turned to him with a look of thinly-veiled distaste on his pale visage. “Albeit rather more potent in restorative properties, you have no idea how patently disgusting werewolf blood tastes,” he almost spat.

The hunter smiled slightly at that. “Then I guess that leaves the traditional way.”

They darted forward simultaneously to attack, Leon from the right and Joachim from the left. The knight used the whip to send it into the air, and the vampire sent a flurry of swords at it then, inflicting some heavy damage. The instant it landed, it lunged at the silver-haired one, who floated backwards and blocked the attack with two of his swords. The werewolf continued to press the assault, more ferocious now that it was wounded, and Joachim kept up his guard. Now that it was distracted by the vampire again, Leon took the opportunity to throw an attack with the cross he always carried with him. Glad that he’d kept all the orbs he’d obtained at Walter’s castle, he augmented the attack with a purple orb. The monster howled loudly in pain as the pillar of blue flames rose up to engulf it, but the blond felt a panicked alarm overwhelm him when a sharp cry followed. Joachim had backed into a tree, cradling his left arm close to his chest; the limb was smoking.

“Joachim!” Leon called out, voice anxious and concerned, as he rushed to the other’s side to gingerly take the injured hand in both his own for a closer look. The pale skin was singed and peeling, and the flesh beneath it was red and sore. He supposed that had it been a normal burn, it would already have healed, but the holy properties of his attack were probably inhibiting the vampire’s unnatural regeneration. “God,” he whispered even as the werewolf, now burnt to a crisp, collapsed to the grassy ground, and hastily apologized when the Nosferatu cringed at his word choice. “I apologise,” he said quietly, sadly. “I should have been more careful. To think…” He paused, aghast at himself. “To think that it was I that ended up hurting you instead.”

Joachim gazed at him, an undecipherable look in blue-gray eyes full of an indescribable mix of emotions. Then he pulled Leon closer with his uninjured arm, so the hunter knelt before him where he sat leaning against the tree, and opened the vein on the former knight’s neck with his fingernail. The blond relaxed in his arm as he pressed his lips to the incision, drinking only a few sips before tenderly licking the cut shut.

With his forehead resting on his companion’s shoulders, Leon asked, “Will it revert to its human form by morning now?”

“No,” the vampire replied softly, carding his uninjured fingers through short blond strands with restrained affection; it would not do to let the true nature of his feelings for his Host slip now. “It will remain in the form it died in.”

Leon nodded, somewhat relieved, and shifted so he sat beside the other, leaning against his hunting partner with his temple resting on that fine-boned shoulder and a strong arm wrapped loosely about his shoulders. He would rather not see the human that it once had been. It was sad to have to kill what could have been a good person whose worst mistake was getting bitten by another werewolf, but it was a hazard to society. He sighed, silently enjoying the serene comfort of Joachim’s company.

“By the way,” Joachim began, filling in the silence that had folded over them. “The Winter Ball of the Nosferatu is coming.” He paused. “Your former friend… He might attend.”

The hunter started at that and straightened. “Mathias?”

Joachim felt a twang of jealousy at the sudden attention and silently chided himself for that foolish emotion. The two were enemies now; there was nothing to covet. “Yes, he may attend. It is a gathering for all the Nosferatu beginning on the night of the first full moon following the winter solstice and lasting for six nights, usually hosted by the elite among our kind. It will be hosted by Elune Lucienda at her castle in the far north of the continent this year.”

The former knight took all of this in and suddenly realized that he seemed to be missing a major point. “How did you receive this news?” he enquired, keeping the mild suspicion out of his voice so as not to hurt the other’s feelings.

“Older, more powerful vampires, as you may or may not know, also possess the ability to transform into bats or wolves. But even those of us who have yet to master that ability are able to understand the language of those animals.”

“I see…”

The vampire hesitated, then said, “If you would like to attend, I could… We are allowed to bring our Hosts with us.”

Leon considered this. The way Mathias was now, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to terrorize humans as part of his endeavours to curse God. Indeed, news already circulated of a dark lord and his cursed castle in a distant land. Mathias had to be stopped. At least, if he could find the older man, he would have somewhere to start. “Let’s go,” he decided then. “If we can determine where he now resides, we may hasten there and put an end to this tragedy once and for all.”

“Then you should start making preparations to travel there. It is best for you to provide the funds and allow me to make the arrangements. The Belmont name is known for hunting creatures of the night and other evil monsters; as such, your coming would be most unwelcome. You must learn to take great pains to conceal your identity and leave any recognizable weapons and crests behind.

“You expect me to spend six days and nights in a castle full of vampires practically unarmed?!” the nobleman exclaimed, flabbergasted. “And what will I do when we do find Mathias then?!”

“Fighting is banned on those six nights, much like it is on human holy days and feasts. It is also extremely offensive to assault a vampire’s Host without the vampire’s permission. You should, therefore, be quite safe. However, if they find out who you are, they may make an exception, so it is far safer for you to bring nothing by which you may be identified,” Joachim explained. “As for how you will handle meeting him, I cannot say for you. Even if you do bring a weapon, it is not as if you’d be allowed to fight him there. They would kill us for violation of the Winter Armistice.”

The hunter paused, pensive. “Mathias would recognise me,” he said slowly, the realization slowly dawning gloomily on him.

There was a long moment of silence before Joachim finally asked, “Would he turn the entire congregation on you?”

Leon shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not his style, but he has changed so much… I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever really knew him anymore…” he trailed off sadly.

“Would you risk it?”

The former knight thought about it for several minutes, perpending the matter seriously. “Yes,” he answered at length. “I have to stop him.”

Joachim said nothing to that. He supposed that, in the worst case scenario, they would at least die together, since they would kill him as well for betraying his kind. It was probably best not to let his Host in on that detail yet. It was a long time before he broke the silence. “Dawn is only several hours away.”

Brought out of his apparent reverie, Leon abruptly remembered their present situation. “How is your arm?” he enquired, inspecting the injured limb in what little moonlight there was filtering through the tree leaves overhead. It seemed to have healed almost completely already, although the burnt area was still inflamed and sore.

His silver-haired companion smiled slightly. “Much better. It’ll be alright by tomorrow.” He rose and helped Leon to his feet as well.

“I’m sorry about that.”

The other shook his head. “You did not intend it.”

“Still…”

“Do not worry about it.”

Hesitantly, Leon nodded. Leading Joachim back through the forest in the direction from whence they had come, he whistled for his horse once they had left the clearing where they had slain the werewolf some distance away. The stallion came galloping up to them shortly, and they mounted, then began the ride home. Joachim smiled happily at the thought of the Ball despite the dangers he foresaw; it was hard to sour his mood with the prospect of having his Host almost entirely to himself for close to a month, inclusive of travelling time, hanging over him. Even if they were going to their deaths, he was pretty sure the idea of suicide had never sounded so sweet.


A/N: Updating on vacation, what do you know... Tell me if you find any mistakes, since this is the un-beta-ed version. Internet brownies for your $0.02?