Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Tomo Takabayashi and various publishers and studios. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warning: AU after the second season, death, angst
Note: This is my entry for fanfic100, prompt 30: death. Thank you so much to Acindra for betaing this story and making it far better
Words Never Learned
Yuuri lifted his pen, making it hover above the paper for a moment, before putting it down again with a sigh. He looked down at what he had written in the last three hours.
Wolfram was…
It must have been the silence. Usually he couldn't be left working for even half an hour without interruption.
Gwendal would bring new paperwork; Gunter would feel he had new lessons to impart to the new king; Greta would want him to play with her or read her Anissina's new story; and Wolfram, Wolfram believed every second Yuuri spent away from him was used for cheating on him.
Wolfram. His friend; his accidental fiancé.
His eyes started to water again. Roughly, he scrubbed them with his left hand.
Who was he kidding? He knew perfectly well what the reason was and it was not the silence. At least, not mainly.
The palace, which normally buzzed with activity, had fallen to an eerie silence. It was scarily easy to predict where everyone was in any given time. Lady Cheri had locked herself in her bedroom, and the maid said there was wailing and sobbing sound at night. Conrad had taken to stay vigil in Wolfram's bedroom – and he didn't even know that Wolfram had a bedroom of his own – where they had laid him at that moment. Gwendal had taken over most of the paperwork, trying to drown his anguish in it.
Yuuri was grateful that Anissina and Gunter had voluntary taken care of Greta. The girl had been inconsolable since that day. Besides, he didn't think he could bear seeing Anissina, strong, stubborn Anissina, broken down or facing Gunter's endless self blame on how he should had enforced the law on illegal hunters and the dangerous traps they set.
It was an accident, which in some ways, made it worse. Wolfram was a soldier, so he guessed in some level, even though no one liked to think about it, it was implicitly accepted that there was a chance he would be killed on duty. Yet, nobody had thought about an accident and, unlike falling sick to an incurable disease, there have been no time to get use to the idea – not that any time would be enough, no matter how long.
They were not even on patrol. Greta had heard from Anissina about a mountain near the capital, from the top of which it was said that the entire Shin Makoku could be seen. She had told Wolfram that she wanted very much to see it and Wolfram had nagged Yuuri to make it a family picnic. While Yuuri could, and often did, avoid having any time alone with only the blond as company—because it invariably ended with either Wolfram lecturing him or making plans about their (which on his opinion inexistent) future together -- the mention that it was Greta's idea was the magic word. He rarely could refuse her.
He should have forbidden Wolfram from taking the new, brown horse that morning when they found out that his usual white stallion was sick. The horse was just tamed and untrained. Still, Wolfram would have taken it as disparaging his abilities, so in the interest of avoiding a long tirade, he had kept his mouth shut. After all, he had rationalized at that time, Wolfram had been riding for years.
It was a narrow and winding track, which forced them to pass one by one. Wolfram, carrying the picnic basket, had insisted on being the one in front, saying that Yuuri was too much of a wimp anyway and what if they were attacked. He had followed behind after a few token protests that fell on deaf ears, with Greta's arms encircling his back.
One moment everything was normal; Greta was laughing and Wolfram was giving them an impromptu lesson about the trees and flowers that they found on the way. The next moment, Wolfram's horse had emitted an eerie sound, raised his front legs, and threw the blond to the ground.
He didn't think thought he would ever forget that gruesome picture; Wolfram, lying on the forest's dirty ground, his neck twisted and his hair becoming strawberry blond; Greta, screaming hysterically, kneeling near the fallen mazoku and calling for him over and over to wake up while he tried in vain to heal the blond. He didn't want to accept that with his neck broken, Wolfram had been beyond saving.
That was how Conrad, who had finally come after them when they didn't come back that evening, found them.
Now, they wanted him to be the one to write the eulogy.
"Wolfram would have wanted it, Heika. He loved you very, very much, you know," Cheri had said.
"It is only proper, since you are both his king and his former his fiancé," Gwendal had informed him.
"He would have wanted it to be you, Heika," even Conrad had added.
Yuuri glanced at the mounting papers he had thrown into the rubbish bin in his frustration, all of them began with Wolfram was.
Years; it had been years since he came to Blood Pledge Castle and slapped the blond. He could no longer enumerate the journeys he had taken or the adventures he had experienced on his fingers, all the time with Wolfram stubbornly clinging to his side. So why couldn't he write a simple eulogy?
He had tried, hours before, listing all that he knew about Wolfram. It was a sad, short list, filled with selfish, bratty, and stubborn words that he clearly couldn't use in a eulogy.
He had replayed their conversations; recalled the time they had spent together. Yet, all he could unearth was the arguments and accusations, and how he had tried time and again to ditch the other boy.
The day before, he had come upon Cheri and Conrad choosing clothes for Wolfram.
He had taken the long way to his room after dinner, hoping some exercise would cease his dreams of Wolfram. Wolfram had always thrown a tantrum if Yuuri did things or went to places without him. It seemed that even now, he still didn't want to leave Yuuri alone.
He dreamed of their memories. There was Wolfram, smiling, pride shining in his eyes, looking at Greta riding on her own. There was Wolfram, angry, running after him, calling him a wimp and a cheater.
He also dreamed of the things that never were. Wolfram was laughing, throwing his arms around Yuuri's shoulders. Wolfram was playing baseball with him.
Unfortunately, every corridor in the palace seemed to hold the blonde's shadow, as well. He never realized how strange it was to be alone; without his tag along fiancé. He didn't know how often he took Wolfram for granted. Wolfram had been simply something that always there and would always be.
So he ventured to the other wing of the palace, walking the passages he had never explored. He was passing a big ornate door that was only half closed, when he heard their voices.
He never knew Wolfram still had a room. Once, Wolfram had said his room had been given to another person since their accidental engagement, and Yuuri had believed it. He never thought that maybe it was simply a lie; an excuse Wolfram had made up so Yuuri would let him sleep in the Maou's room.
He didn't know blue was Wolfram favorite color or that he preferred his old worn boots than the new ones.
Last night, he had found Gwendal fallen asleep on his desk, holding a worn, well loved bearbee doll. The picture of the sour, stoic man with a bearbee struck him as absurd. Knitting was one thing, playing with the dolls was another.
He was in the middle of the thought when he felt Conrad come up behind him.
"It was Wolfram's favorite doll as a kid. Gwendal knitted it for his fifth birthday and Wolfram carried it everywhere he went, including to his bath," Conrad said softly.
And suddenly, he felt like a stranger. Everybody had stories about Wolfram. Stories he – Wolfram's fiancé – never knew.
When he checked up on Greta this morning, he found Anissina was reading fairy tales to her.
"I thought she only read your books" he had blurted out.
"Wolfram bought them for me, Papa. He used to read it for me," the little girl had answered, before beginning to sob anew.
"Wolfram liked children, you know. You wouldn't think of it, looking at his bratty attitude and all, but he did. He also good with kids," said Gisela, who was there to treat the cold Greta got from crying all day.
He didn't know that. He thought Wolfram, being childish himself, thought of them as annoyance. He never questioned why Wolfram had seemed so good with Eru before.
He was Wolfram's fiancé, no matter how accidental. He was Wolfram's king. He called himself Wolfram's best friend.
He didn't know what Wolfram's favorite color was, or what his hobbies were. He didn't even know who the blonde's father was.
Wolfram used to accuse him of not paying enough attention to the mazoku. Now, he was forced to admit, it was a justified, well deserved comment.
Yuuri had read somewhere before, that regret tasted like ash. It was a lie. Regret tasted like salty tears and the blood his bitten lips produced in his effort to stifle his sobs.
So many times, so many opportunities, all he had wasted.
The blank paper in front of him seemed like an accusation he couldn't deny. Only one lousy eulogy and he didn't have enough words; had never learned enough words to fill it.