Smoke and the Fire Mazoku

Author's note: Involves non accurate details. Wolfram is caught smoking at a young age. And I don't know if Anissina had an elder brother who died of consumption (you'll know what I'm talking
about once you read the story). No real pairings, only very slight implications.

The story is actually based on "At Home" by Anton Chekhov; I found the characters similar and therefore changed it accordingly.

Disclaimer: Neither "At Home" nor "Kyo Kara Maoh" belongs to me.

'Lord von Rocheford sent a message about this year's summer festival, but I really didn't know how to reply, what with the Maoh being away. You have some correspondence from Yozak, Conrart; and Gwendal, your uncle wants to see you at the Voltaire castle next week. By the way, you two, I wish you'd pay some attention to your brother; he is really getting out of hand. I've seen him smoking, yesterday and the day before. When I tried to tell him something, he put his fingers in his ears and started singing loudly so as to drown my voice."

Gwendal von Voltaire, eldest brother of the young smoker in question, stopped midway in taking off his gloves, and stared straight at Günter von Christ, the speaker. Meanwhile, his younger brother Conrart Weller, finished hanging his cloak, and chuckled, saying:

"Fancy the little beggar with a cigarette in his mouth."

He was quick to get his reprimand from his former teacher.

"It seems of little consequence to you, but at his age smoking is a bad, a harmful habit, and bad habits should be nipped in the bud," said Günter.

Conrart squirmed under his glare and raised his hands in submission.

"Where does he get the tobacco from?" asked Gwendal

"From your table," said Günter with another deadly glare.

"In that case, send him to us."

"I do hope you'll knock some sense into him before I alert Lady Celi,"-one last threatening look from the nation's greatest swordsman.

Conrart looked at the door closing after Gunter and turned to Gwendal.

"Once a teacher, always a teacher. Poor Gisela!"

"I can't imagine someone as small as Wolfram smoking."

"Yeah, but what will you say to him?"

"Remember when someone in your school was caught smoking?"

"Oh yes, Gunter was so shocked that he got a nosebleed. Good thing he fainted, or else the poor kid would've been dead."

"Or worse than dead. I remember once a small child was caught smoking in the castle grounds, and our dear uncle actually exiled him from Shin Makoku."

"I suppose these things were rather common then. Seems rather strange to thing there is almost a battalion-full of Mazoku in the Dai Shimaron army, all exiled from Shin Makoku for underage smoking."

"The question still remains, Conrart, what shall we say to him to make him listen? You know how stubborn he is."

Conrart simply sighed in response, loosened his cuffs and his cravat, and sat back in the armchair in the hearth, while Gwendal stood leaning by the fireplace.

It was late in the evening; the sky was a dark, impenetrable black. There were distant sounds of marching patrol guards, and in some far off part of the castle, a certain someone seemed to be taking some time off from her regular bangs and explosions to play scales on the piano…someone whose name was softly murmured by Gwendal as he gazed into the long shadows cast by the fire…

Conrart sighed once again and leant back, closing his eyes-his mind slowly filling with light vague thoughts of someone who also played on the piano, someone who seemed to feel through music because she couldn't see through eyes…he dreamily thought of their distant exchanges, formal and far in between; and of the circumstances that prevented the encounters from being anything else…of her eyes, which so often held a mischievous glint—of the same mischievous glint that was almost ever present in the eyes of her student, his young brother's eyes.

Meanwhile the owner of the eyes in question had already entered the room and was now climbing onto Conrart's lap. He kissed his cheek swiftly and stayed there.

"You are back, Little-big-brother, Big-brother," said Wolfram, turning to look at Gwendal; then fixing his gaze once again at Conrart, his large, bright green eyes gleaming expectantly. This was a person whose gender could only be determined by his clothes-he was so delicate, fair and frail. His body was as languid as a hot house plant and everything about him seemed wonderfully dainty and soft-his movements, his bright blond hair, his glance, his velvet tunic-his very presence seemed to bring in the soft warm winter sunlight in the cold stone castle room.

"Yes we are, and we need to talk to you. You see, we know you have been naughty, and that you have turned into a bad child."

Wolfram huffed loudly, then turned his head away-"I am not a child!"

"Ok, a bad young man, then."

Wolfram seemed to consider the statement, then find it acceptable. He stared steadfastly at Conrart; then turned his gaze to the fire and shrugged his shoulders.

"But what have I done? I didn't fight with Gisela once, and I didn't set anything on fire the entire day."

"Gunter said that you have been smoking, is that so?"

"Yes, I smoked once. That is so."

"There you go. Now you've done three naughty things-smoked, taken tobaccos off your big-brother's table, and told a lie. Gunter saw you smoking twice." Conrart couldn't help a chuckle escape him, as Gwendal cleared his throat and moved away to the windows.

Conrart was having a hard time. He knew he wasn't explaining things right- he was actually talking like his detested uncle, making accusations like that. However, he went on.

"Yes, you see, it was very wrong. I did not expect this from you. Firstly you should not be taking things off your brother's table without his permission. For instance, mother has her own-er-things, and we shouldn't touch them, should we? You have your paints and toys, and I shouldn't take them should I?"

"You can take them if you want to," said wolfram, raising his eyebrows. "I don't mind if you take them, Conrart, its only Elizabeth who would spoil them, I know you wouldn't."

"That is not what I meant…"

Thus Conrart went on, trying to think of something his brother might understand, some way he might be affected.

Wolfram's eyes rested on his brother's chest, and he listened attentively-he liked to converse with his brother in the evening. Then he rested his elbows on the arm of the armchair and gazed intently at the fire. He sat up once again, twirled his fingers and summoned a flame.

"Little-big-brother, what is fire made of?"

Conrart waved his hand over his brother's and extinguished the flame.

"In the next place, you have been smoking. That is very naughty indeed. If Gwendal smokes, it doesn't mean that we all should. Tobacco is very bad for health," before continuing, Conrart stole a furtive glance at Gwendal, who coughed; "and it gives weak people consumption and other diseases. Therefore, it is especially bad for you, as you have not grown strong yet. Miss Anissina's big brother died of consumption: if he had not smoked, he might have been living today."

Wolfram looked thoughtfully down at the carpet, and sighed.

"Miss Anya's big brother used to play the violin to me. Mr Fan-fan has his violin now."

Wolfram sighed once again and sat up, then leant against the armrest, and became lost in thought. Sadness and something akin to fear appeared in his great, unblinking eyes; he was probably thinking of death, which such a little while ago had taken his father. Death carried fathers and brothers away to another world and their children and violins stay back on earth. He wondered how it would feel if his big brother went away from him. He would go far away, in heaven, somewhere near the stars. Heaven was a beautiful place, so dead people would be happy, wouldn't they? But can they bear the separation from their children and violins?

Conrart saw that wolfram wasn't listening. He knew that his brother didn't really understand any of the accusations against him, but Conrart didn't know what he would understand either. He picked wolfram up, stood up himself, and placed him back on the chair. Wolfram immediately leapt up and went to the side-table and began scribbling on some paper kept there especially for him. Conrart sighed, went up to the fire and stood looking at it.

"Lasagne cut her finger today while she was chopping cabbage," he said, addressing no one in particular. Gwendal in the mean time walked over and knelt down beside wolfram, so he could see what he was doing.

"She screamed so loud that we were all frightened, and ran to the kitchen. Sangria told her to dip her finger in cold water, but she would only suck it. How could she put her dirty finger in her mouth! Big brother, that wasn't nice, was it?"

Then, he went on to narrate how Anissina had made a new invention, and was so happy about it that she ran into the study where Miss Julia was teaching him, and started dancing with her.

Gwendal took one of wolfram's drawings and looked at it. It was houses with a triangular roof, with smoke rising out if the chimney in zigzags, like lightning, and rising till the edge of the paper. There was a soldier in stick figures next t the house, holding a bayonet resembling the figure four.

"A man cannot possibly be taller than a house," Gwendal objected.

"No, big brother, if he were little his eyes wouldn't show; how would he see then?" Wolfram replied

"Is that so," his brother said softly, rising and walking over to Conrart.

"He isn't listening, Conrart. Looks like Günter will have to tell Mother after all."

"He has got a world of his own, his own requirements, and his own priorities. I guess the only reason he doesn't understand him is that we cannot think like him; we cannot think simply anymore."

Gwendal remained silent, wolfram continued sketching, and Conrart went on brooding. Then, the door opened softly, and a pristine figure of a woman made its way into the room.

An almost inaudible gasp escaped from Conrart-"Julia…"-it was just a whisper but it did not go unnoticed.

"Conrart, I did not know you were here; please forgive me for this untimely intrusion of coming in unannounced at his time of the night."

"Miss Julia!" said wolfram, standing up excitedly.

"Good evening, Wolfram; are you here too," smiled the newcomer.

"It is no matter. Er, here let me help you."

Conrart went towards her, slightly blushing, and guided her to the couch. However, she remained standing.

"I am afraid I cannot stay long; actually I had only-"

"It's alright little big brother, I'll get Miss Julia's books." Wolfram ran out of the room, shutting the door after him with a bang. Conrart sighed. Gwendal had already exited.

"You seem worried," said Julia, smiling slightly and gesturing to Conrart to sit next to her on the couch. Conrart sat, and said:

"Yes, I am rather. Gunter saw wolfram smoking, and nothing we say can make him understand that he shouldn't be doing so."

"Your brother Gwendal smokes, does he not?"

"Here you are, Miss Julia!" Wolfram ran back into the room with a leather bound volume and a file, and handed it over to her.

"Thank you, Wolfram," smiled Julia, as she took her books. "Well, I suppose I must be leaving now."

"Are you leaving already, Miss Julia? Won't you tell me a story, please? Please, Miss Julia?" Wolfram clearly wanted what he asked for.

"Alright then, I will tell you a story; but after that, we go straight up to bed, right?"

"Right!" screamed wolfram enthusiastically.

Wolfram always loved Julia's stories. Most of them were on the spot improvisations, although many of them were also stories of her own childhood pranks. They were, however, always original, which was why she always had her student's full attention.

"Once upon a time, there lived an old, a very old queen. She had long golden hair, and had been ruling her country for longer than anyone could remember. She lived in a palace of crystal that shone like a million diamonds. This palace stood in a big garden, with oranges, bergamot pears wild cherry trees; and tulips and roses and lilies blossomed there; and brightly coloured birds sang. On the trees, there hung little crystal bells that rang so sweetly every time the wind blew, that no one ever got tired of listening to them. There were huge fountains, whose water reached up to the highest poplar trees, and there was grass as green as one could imagine.

"Well, the old queen had three sons. The youngest of them was very small, as young as you are. He was a good boy-he was as nice as he could be in every way. He had only one failing-he smoked.

"Because he smoked, the youngest prince fell ill of consumption and died at the age of twenty. Then one day, foes came and attacked the kingdoms, and the two other princes died fighting. The queen was killed; and her palace and garden was destroyed. There are no more birds there anymore, no flowers and no cherries…"

The story seemed to have made a deep impression on Wolfram. Once again sadness and something resembling terror crept into his eyes, and he gazed into the distance and said in a low voice:

"I will not smoke anymore…"

Then, he got up and bowed.

"Good night Miss Julia, brother. I shall go to bed now." He turned and left the room.

Julia rose as well. "I must be leaving too. Won't you accompany me to the carriage, Conrart?"

Slightly dazed, Conrart nodded, and took Julia's hand. Together, they left the room too.

Pray forgive me for boring you with my pointless drabble. Please leave a review. Thank you for reading.