Well of the Five Kings

by jinjyaa

Yuuri feared for racial conflict in his people's future. But he never dreamed that he could lose his past, and with it the Wolfram who would love him. Final chapter.

1. Cracks in the Well

Kyou Kara Maou – Well of the Five Kings

Summary: Yuuri feared for racial conflict in his people's future. But he never dreamed that he could lose his past, and with it the Wolfram who would love him.

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine. Its original creator was Tomo Takabayashi, with character design by Temari Matsumoto. The anime was produced by Studio Deen.

This is an AU of my Bedding of Wolfram / Epilogue universe. For my beloved illustrators! Schnickeldooger, who wanted an AU of an AU, and Bananam00n, who wanted to see more of Wolfred. Who is dead. But we already know my track record with the dead. Heh.

Set after The Ghosts of Trondheim. Wolfram's grandfather Wolfred appears in Shining Moments.

Please see the "homepage" link on my author profile for story summaries, illustrations, portraits, and character bios. I've added new illustrations since Ghosts, by me and Schnickeldooger! (Check out Schick's Greta's Bikini!)

Chapter 1 – Cracks in the Well

Wolfram strolled down the corridor in Blood Pledge Castle, arm in arm with Greta, laughing about Günter's starstruck new infatuation with –

Wolfram strolled down the corridor in Castle Bielenfeld, arm around Dietrich's waist. "So, Grandfather taught me another rope trick. Let's get the silk ropes out again tonight in bed, hm? C'mon, Diet, you know you want me to!" He nuzzled the taller youth's ear, chuckling.

Dietrich flushed an adorable pink, and smiled. "Mm, well… No marks this time?"

Wolfram took him by the shoulders and gave him a kiss. "I promise, Sweet Diet. None that'll show, anyway," he said with a grin.

-- Wolfram stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, sweat prickling out along his spine. Greta, caught up short, looked on in concern. "Chichiue Wolfram? What is it?"

"I – Nothing." Wolfram wiped a hand across his brow. He smiled wanly at his daughter. "I'm sorry, Greta. Perhaps I should go lie down a bit. I didn't sleep well last night," he lied.

"Oh! I hope you feel better soon!" said Greta. The teenager gave him a quick hug and kiss before they parted.

Wolfram did go to his room and lie down. But his head and heart were racing in panic.

No transition, no nothing. Between one step and the next, I wasn't just somewhere else, I was someone else! So vivid! Little Dietrich, all grown up to my age! And I…

Wolfram's face was crimson in embarrassment. Wolfram's step-brother Dietrich was only 30 years old, an angelic and earnest boy, the size of a human eight year old. The vision-Dietrich was Wolfram's own age, around 90, but unmistakably the same boy grown up into… a lovely young man. Pale blond hair with pale blue streaks, so thick and wavy as to be almost bushy, but carefully layered to thin its bulk. A subtle elfin tilt to his big green eyes, still-cute straight nose and dimples, wide generous mouth, and a slender runner's build, a couple inches taller than Wolfram. Picturing Diet that way, Wolfram could still feel the powerful physical attraction.

He gulped, frightened. Why in Shinou's name would I imagine myself as lovers with Dietrich? Imagination? It felt completely real, and I believed in it! I had every intention of doing – that – to him! And I expected him to let me!

He clearly remembered how he'd intended to tie Dietrich up. All in love and pleasure-seeking, not cruelty. And then he'd – If Yuuri did that to me, it would be… Wow, but – Did I see that in Yuuri's sex manual or something? Surely I didn't think that up!

Sweet Shinou, do I really feel that way about Dietrich? In fact, he did not. Am I some kind of pedophile deep inside? Far from it. Is this some kind of symptom, of wanting to be more dominant in bed? In fact, he always wished Yuuri would be more dominant. Should I talk to –

Wolfram blanched. He couldn't speak of a hallucination of tripping Dietrich into bed, not with Yuuri, not with anyone. Least of all with his father Manfred, sweet Diet's stepfather! Manfred was the one Wolfram usually confided in when he was… afraid he was losing his mind…

He hugged himself into a ball on the bed. Oh, Chichiue, what's wrong with me?

-oOo-

Dietrich's father, Aldrich von Trondheim von Bielenfeld, stood and stretched the kinks out, after stooping so long gardening in the family cemetery behind Castle Bielenfeld. He'd been taking out the spent annuals around the graves of his late wife Glynda and Manfred's father Wolfred, taking advantage of a rare warm November afternoon. He bent down again to pick up his tools –

He bent down again to pick a late flower, and stood to affix it to Glynda's bushy long platinum blond hair. He smiled and gave her a kiss on the nose.

"Why, thank you, my love," she purred. "Hm, the graves look so much better. Did Manfred like flowers a great deal?" she asked, looking at Manfred's grave. "Wolfred plants so many flowers here."

Aldrich shook his head sadly. "I don't really know. I wish we'd gotten to know him better."

– And between one blink and the next, Aldrich was gazing at Wolfred's and Glynda's grave monuments, instead of Manfred's. He sank to his knees, staring at the names on the graves, hand to his mouth, fighting to keep his gorge down, to not vomit, not pass out, heart pounding, beating like a drum in his ears. Tears poured down his cheeks.

Glyn! he screamed inside in anguish.

She'd looked just as he'd imagined she would when they were middle-aged, beautiful and gracious and smiling, ever gardening by his side. As he'd imagined on their wedding day, that is. The insane and tortured Glynda who'd actually been his wife for a century, before she took her own life, was a bitter shadow of the poised lady who… should have been.

Wolfred! he cried out within.

Wolfred had been forty-five years older than Aldrich, the son of Aldrich's elder half brother, who died before the Aldrich was born. Aldrich and Wolfred had adored each other. His death when Aldrich was 90 had rocked Aldrich's world to its foundations, and even more so the worlds of Wolfred's son Manfred, and grandfather Friedrich. Aldrich had taken several years' leave from the army, ostensibly to start his training as Wolfred's replacement as heir to Bielenfeld. But really, he did it to stay close to his grieving father, and try to connect to the child Manfred, who refused the heirship. The child had seemed to be shutting down, drifting out of reach.

Manfred! he sobbed.

The man he'd found solace in when he was grown, when the military and Glynda and Cecilie had nearly broken the both of them. Manfred his beloved husband who was, instead of that vibrant healthy wife Glynda who never had been. To remember Manfred's grave…

Aldrich sobbed in the garden for a long time.

-oOo-

Günter von Krist was humming away happily, dusting his office, daydreaming about his encounter with the inspiring young officer Chad last night in the baths. Chad's ribs and abdominals and shapely gluteals, reminded him so of Giesela's late father Jans! Günter sighed dreamily and picked up Jans's portrait, showing vivid green hair and dancing yellow eyes. Günter was scarce aware when this reverie turned into something else –

Günter Lord Krist, renegade leader of the Krist and Khrennikov liberation guerrilla forces, stood triumphantly atop a rise in eastern Krist, gazing down at the Mizrati occupation army of… sitting ducks. He grinned darkly at Jans. Long ago grown up and hardened from the poet youth in Günter's picture, this seasoned resistance fighter returned Günter's dark grin, with feral intensity. Human bloodbath tonight! Yes!

-- Günter shook his head slightly to clear the cobwebs, and put the picture back down. How strange. Whyever would I imagine my darling Jans like that. Of course we were soldiers in the Great War, but… defending ourselves against the trolls was hardly… Jans was… The all-too-familiar bloodlust he'd felt in his vision, lain dormant in him for so many years, settled back to sleep as Günter drifted into another reverie, a memory of Giesela as a toddler catching fireflies. Jans anxiously ran around after her, begging her not to hurt them, apologizing to each insect as she released her hostages. Granted, Günter had also stood back to back with Jans as he killed Trond trolls and elves and goblins, with skill and gusto, but… This was the Jans he chose to remember, the firefly's champion. He easily set the strange daydream aside.

-oOo-

Gwendal was hiding his knitting from his wife Annissina in his office, when the experience came over him.

He was in the same room of the castle, his office. But several broken windows were boarded. The drapes were discolored with age, and moth-eaten. The walls were all-over spidered with mildew, large seeping damp areas in the plaster, and outright holes in the ceiling from leaks. His usual tall stacks of paperwork, the vehicles of administration for the government of Shin Makoku, were supplanted by only a few pages. Yet Gwendal was taking a break from even that scant work, fidgeting with the tiny knitted animals he kept in his shrine atop an old cabinet. This little zoo kept his portrait of the loved and lost Annissina company. He murmured dialog between Clever Kitty and Pampered Pig and his late fiancé. It didn't matter when or whether the paperwork got done. The visiting Boy King was off on another pointless quest. Gwendal helped Pampered Pig tell Annissina about Cunning Kitty's latest mouse hunt.

Not for worlds would Gwendal have shared that vision. He locked his door and hunkered down to some serious knitting, to soothe his jangling nerves.

Cecilie, in the nursery playing with her grandchildren, suddenly found herself in the same nursery, but echoingly, heartbreakingly empty, as it had been ever since the day Wolfred arrived at the head of an army, and ripped Wolfram from her arms, and taken him away forever. The day her life was destroyed. Cecilie stared unseeing out the cracked window at the unkempt garden. She rocked ever so slightly back and forth, back and forth. She told herself she should go out and cut the grass, prepare the flower beds for the coming winter. But she only rocked and stared. She hadn't tended that flower bed in nearly 90 years. And eventually, there were no servants left to do it, either.

When she came back to herself, Cecilie didn't excuse herself to think the experience over. She was far too busy hugging and kissing Gwendal's son, placid baby Grendel, and Wolfram's youngest two, the Yuuri-like newborn Ekaterin, and Wolfram-like toddler Bertram. Indeed, she couldn't tear herself away from them. She stayed a quarter hour after they'd fallen asleep for their naps. Then she strode out to re-check her flower beds' preparation for winter. She had of course already prepared them. But her perennials were that precious to her, especially the Secret Gwendal, Conrad-Stands-Upon-the-Earth, Beautiful Wolfram, and Cheri's Sigh. Perhaps they didn't need to receive any more attention, but she needed to give it.

-oOo-

Unlike Wolfram, Efram hadn't the slightest compunction against relaying his experience to their father Manfred. Wolfram's younger half-brother, an adolescent just over 50, Efram was as effervescent as Wolfram was moody. He waited for the hubbub to die down, settling in to supper – it didn't take long, as the Lords of Bielenfeld were strangely subdued tonight – and launched into his story.

"Chichiue, I had the weirdest experience this afternoon! I was just sitting there, doodling my way through a nobility lecture, and suddenly, bam! I was here in the castle, except I wasn't me! I was in the audience room, sitting the throne, with Garena standing at my right shoulder." Garena was Manfred's secret other father, kept secret that none would know that his father Wolfred was his… mother. In a sense.

"So this Squire and plantation factor are addressing me as 'King Wolfred', and giving me this song and dance about how they hadn't really lied and underpaid their taxes." Efram laughed, and provided hand gestures to go with the dialog. "So I tell them, 'Oh, that's OK, darlings! Because I'm not really throwing you into the dungeon until you get your heads out of your asses. It's just a misunderstanding. Guards, seven nights in the grade C catered facilities below. Next!' "

The 'King' part was a bit affected, but not wrong. The monarchies of Bielenfeld and Trondheim joined Shin Makoku as allies, unlike the other domains who'd received their lands from the Maou. The two domains' rulers technically remained full royalty, simply choosing to bow a knee to the Maou. Or not, as the case may be. Aldrich's father Friedrich had been notorious for withholding taxes from Cecilie's administration whenever Stoeffel pissed him off.

Manfred snarfed his water. "That does sound like my father, doesn't it, Aldrich?" he said laughing, then quirked an eyebrow at his husband, who looked more spooked than amused by this story. Aldrich had been uncharacteristically quiet tonight. So Manfred turned back to Efram to carry the dinner conversation. "King Wolfred, huh? With Garena openly by his side? After Winterfair, let's hope you get a better nobility lecturer."

Efram grinned rueful agreement. The professor was a real snooze. There wasn't a Lord at this table who wasn't way ahead of him, including the squirts – Aldrich's young son Dietrich and foster-son Trenton von Gratz. Efram figured he learned more at the supper table in a month than his yokel professor would ever know. "But what was weird, Chichiue, is that it wasn't like a daydream or anything. I wasn't imagining being 'King Wolfred'. I just was 'King Wolfred', like Efram had never existed. And then bam! No woozy bits or anything, I'm back in the classroom. And you know what's really freaky?"

Efram paused for dramatic effect, and raised his eyebrows at the squirts to draw them in. Trenton looked intrigued. Dietrich seemed to be shrinking into his chair back for some reason. Efram forged ahead. "My hand hadn't stopped drawing! So I was doodling this centaur – heck, I'd intended it to be a she, but hadn't got there yet. And there it was, in somebody else's style, really hung, er, well, definitely male!" He triumphantly produced the picture and laid it before his father.

Manfred skewered his second-born son with a look. "Is this drawing appropriate for formal dress dinner. Lord Efram."

"Ah – whoops, sorry," said Efram, trying to snatch the picture back with a grin.

Manfred slapped aside Efram's hand, to examine the picture briefly. And he frowned. That really wasn't Efram's drawing style. The linestrokes were bold and dark, strong single-stroke curved lines, where Efram would have used several light strokes of a pencil to make it around the bend. "You're making this up," he hazarded, releasing the picture.

Efram foiled Trenton's attempts to snatch the drawing under the table.

"Actually, I had a weird experience today, too, Chichiue Manfred," offered Trenton, son and heir to Brendan Lord Gratz. "Just like Efram was saying. I was in nobility – except I was listening," he stressed toward Efram, who blew him a crooked pucker mock-kiss in return. "Then bam! I was at Grandfather Stovemuessen's ranch, playing with a faun and an ogre. Except they weren't babies – it's like I'd known them a long time, and they were friends, my age, I guess. And Chichiue was leaning on a split-rail fence, talking to Lord Erick and… um, Lord Franklin."

Trenton stole a quick glance at Aldrich. It had just occurred to him, that though he didn't find his vision upsetting, it might be to his foster-father. Franklin and Aldrich had been cross-fostered best friends, just like Dietrich and Trenton. He'd died just last year. But Aldrich focused on pushing yellow peas around his plate. It was Dietrich who made Trenton jump, with an involuntary squeak.

"Uh, so yeah," continued Trenton, "and then I was suddenly in class again, like nothing happened," Trenton finished lamely. "Diet, did anything like that happen to you?"

"I…" breathed Dietrich, pressed so hard into his chair back that it creaked in protest. "I… I was walking down the corridor by Grandfather's studio…"

Aldrich, alarmed, leaned over to take Dietrich's hand.

Dietrich's face blushed crimson and crumpled. He blurted, "I was big, Chichiue, and I was walking with Wolfram, and he had his arms around me, and he kissed me, and he wanted to tie me up with ropes and do some kind of sex to me and…" And sensitive Dietrich – who at any mention of 'sex', covered his ears and squealed in protest – flew into his father's arms, sobbing.

Aldrich, Dietrich's little face burrowed under his chin, his arms well wrapped around his son's shuddering torso, said softly, "Manfred… I had an experience like this today, too. And... Wolfred… was alive." He offered no further details.

"And I as well, Manfred," offered Lord Howard, the castellan, reluctantly. "In fact… I was in the audience chamber. Watching King Wolfred throw that Squire and factor into the dungeon."

Manfred's blood had turned to fire at the gut-wrenching idea of his son Wolfram propositioning Dietrich. Sex with ropes, indeed! But at this – two strange out-of-body… episodes… of the same hallucinatory event? Manfred cooled quickly and started to think. "What time was this?" he asked, looking at each of them in turn. Where's the beginning…

Reports varied from a noncommittal estimate of half past two from Aldrich, to after three-thirty from Trenton. Efram and Howard's were synchronized, possibly also with Aldrich's. Lord Howard said his wife and son also had an experience, a bit later in the afternoon. They'd begged off dinner tonight, each saying they wanted to be alone.

Damn. These people were really disturbed by this... event, thought Manfred, looking uneasily at Aldrich, who was just holding himself together.

"And you, Lord Manfred?" inquired Lord Howard. "Anything around three?"

Manfred shook his head slowly, noting that Aldrich squeezed his eyes shut briefly, as if in pain, but kept stroking and gentling Dietrich. "No. I was filling in for a colleague, giving a lecture in herbology. No breaks in normal consciousness."

The family's senior servant, the valet Thomas, hovered by the door through the last few exchanges. Manfred finally looked his way. "Yes, Thomas?"

"Yes, excuse me, Lord Manfred. I couldn't help but overhear. A number of the staff have reported similar experiences, most of them also just after three. And Lord Manfred… Many found this very upsetting. Myself included, I'm afraid."

And no wonder, thought Manfred. Thomas was a confidante, a pillar of calm support to every member of the family. He cared about all of them dearly, and they about him.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Thomas, I hope you're feeling better," said Manfred softly. "But you said… most just after three? Not all?"

"Yes, my Lord. My first experience was closer to two-thirty, when I saw… your son, in the corridor," Thomas shifted his eyes pointedly to Dietrich to make clear he meant Wolfram, with Dietrich. Manfred nodded understanding. "The second, after four, I went to the cemetery to retrieve Lord Aldrich's gardening tools. They'd been… left, after my Lord Aldrich's experience."

Manfred swallowed. Aldrich never leaves his gardening tools lying around outside. No more than I would leave my healing kit out in the rain. And… the whatever-it-is, repeated, at least for Thomas… I don't have an ending, then…

Thomas nodded to acknowledge that Manfred seemed to catch his drift. "I'd prefer to tell you what I saw in the cemetery privately. My Lord Manfred."

Manfred shook his head slightly at Thomas' hand-waved offer to do that right now in the hall. "But what you saw, it matches other… reports?" Thomas nodded. "Both times… And you say several of the staff were upset. How upset?"

"Three or four had to retire to their rooms for the rest of the day. I believe the laundry woman is under sedation."

Manfred's eyes widened. A veteran camp follower, not much fazed that worthy woman. "Axel's mother?"

"Yes, I believe her late son's name was Axel," replied Thomas, initially puzzled. "Ah, I see – Axel was friends with your son, Lord Wolfram, wasn't he. Yes, I believe she… ran into Axel."

Manfred was thinking furiously. All at the Castle – no. Efram and Trenton were at the Institute, with me. But we all ate at the Castle last night – no. Efram stayed over his mother's last night at the Institute, and she packed him lunch. Something we ate wouldn't explain this, anyway. Hallucinations, maybe, but shared ones? Hardly.

"Thomas, do you know if anyone else had more than one experience?"

"I believe the laundry woman had two, and the captain of the guard."

"And are you alright, Thomas?" asked Manfred, with a searching look.

"I am concerned. Lord Manfred."

"As am I, Thomas. If you could, please, I'd like the entire guard to attend me. No, wait – please send one ahead to fetch three fast launches to the royal pier, and hold the mid-evening cross-Donza ferry until I release it. I'll meet the rest of the guard in my office – No. Efram and I will be in the box maze in the garden. Ask them to wait for us just outside the maze. Efram, with me, please?"

"What are you going to do, Manfred?" asked Aldrich softly.

"Find the edges of this thing." Manfred stooped to kiss Aldrich. He also whispered into his ear, "Mass hysteria."

Wolfram would have rolled his eyes in exasperation, at Manfred's perennial fetish for finding the beginning and ending and edges of things. Until he'd had a moment to reflect on the second statement – mass hysteria. Even the one experience had traumatized Dietrich and Aldrich. Given Thomas' habit of soothing understatement, they were far from alone in that. And if this… anomaly… continued? Expanded? Sometimes the simplest tools are quite powerful. The quickest handle he could get on this – whatever – was to find where it ended. Then he could simply compare the inside and the outside, and figure out what was different.

Aldrich nodded slowly, and cuddled Dietrich, laying his cheek on the boy's pale blond and blue bushy hair. "Shinou be with you. Shamshesh, love."

-oOo-

Manfred dispatched the castle guard, to cast his net far and wide and fast, asking for reports, and time of incident. Up the Donza to Wincott, across to Tarkenburg and the west of Bielenfeld, by horse to eastern Bielenfeld, a fast cutter downriver to Gratz, another farther downriver to Blood Pledge Castle. And he sent to the Castletown and Institute municipal guards, and local plantations, to request details and regular updates on any and all strange reports nearby.

Manfred's office within the von Bielenfeld government, was public health and welfare. Cooperation within the domain would be prompt and thorough. And his reputation in his field was such that he could expect willing, if less practiced, cooperation from every corner of Shin Makoku, if he asked it.

Find the edges, and report back. I need to know numbers of people suffering severe reactions, overall number of experiences, when and where. When you leave anyplace, make sure they'll continue to send updates to me, of any recurrences, any signs of change in their local situation, for better or worse.

Efram's whistle failed to summon any of their nymph relatives in the box maze. That worried Manfred in itself. But more, he'd wanted to ask Garena or Tariel if they could scout for him, or at least relay messages to a few key people, like Aldrich's father Friedrich, and the Great Sage Murata Ken, both currently living in Trondheim. But the message would have to go the slow way instead.

His minions dispatched, and nothing left to do but wait, Manfred did catch up with Thomas before rejoining Aldrich and the children.

Thomas' second experience had been in the cemetery after Aldrich finally went in, to bathe and play quietly with their infant twins. Thomas said that in this second experience, he stayed in the cemetery. Even the day appeared the same, within and without the experience. He'd interrupted Aldrich and Glynda, Wolfred and Garena, visiting by Manfred's grave monument.

Thomas had gone to the garden to deliver an urgent dispatch to the Maou. Aldrich Maou.

-oOo-

No one confessed any strange experiences to Yuuri. But Gwendal, Cecilie, and most especially Wolfram, were quiet and distracted, to the point of losing their train of thought in mid-sentence. Günter was in one of his moods to rhapsodize about the glorious wonders of a salt shaker. And one by one, they peeled off on thin excuses. Wolfram declared he would spend the evening painting. Whether Wolfram originally intended this or not, those honey bear bee excrement paints were a potent husband repellant. Wolfram would spend the evening alone. Until he'd had a bath.

Conrad, Greta, and Frieda, at least, were good company. After supper, Yuuri headed out to the stables with them, so Frieda and Greta could see Conrad's new horse –

Murata Ken read a bedtime story to his daughter Lucy, a baby centaur he'd adopted here in Trondheim, during Yuuri's honeymoon last winter. Like all the reborn ghosts of that memorable vacation, Lucy had grown like a weed, even compared to a human baby, let alone a Mazoku. Just nine months old, she was engrossed in the story, which had no pictures save those in her mind. She asked questions, and guessed what would happen next in the story, though her vocabulary was still small. She'd grown physically as well. Her head almost reached Murata's ribs now –

Yuuri and Murata crested the last rise on the road to Shinou's temple from Blood Pledge Castle, the rise that obscured their view while on the path. They both sported Japanese salaryman uniform – grey polyester suit, white shirt and tie, and brown laced leather shoes, which had been well polished until they'd landed here again. They elected to spend as little time as possible in Shin Makoku, or what little was left of the destitute country. Yuuri and Murata were here only because Shinou dragged them here and stranded them. As always.

The purple-black evil roiled in the dome of powerful wards that encompassed Shinou's temple. Yuuri squeamishly hoped that anyone caught alive inside that vast dome – easily large as a city block – had died long since.

"It's leaking, for sure," said Murata, standing arms crossed, worrying a lip with his fingers. "Those shields won't hold much longer."

"Ah, so – like, there's anything we can do about it?" replied Yuuri. Yuuri was a good man with a spreadsheet. His father and brother had swung him a job at an investment bank after university. He hadn't a clue what to do about… this.

Murata-here had no other allies. He was far more forthcoming with Yuuri than the Murata-there was. "We could try the keys, but…"

Yuuri blinked. He frowned. Something… isn't right here… A wave of vertigo passed over him, and then he could remember his own history. Both of his own histories.

-oOo-

So – any interest? Is this one worth pursuing?

Please review? Reviews (even after a story is complete) fuel more stories… Please?