Disclaimer: I don't own Kyou Kara Maou or any of the characters therein. They are the property of Tomo Takabayashi. This is a work of fandom. I am not profiting from this.
For: The Conrad to my Yozak and an amazing person in general, the lovely, lovely Vain.
Notes: I advise you to read the story Moving Forward before reading this one. Suovetaurilia is a spin-off of Moving Forward, and while reading Moving Forward isn't necessary to comprehend Suovetaurilia, it will help provide some kind of context. Plus, it's a fantastic story in general. :D You can find Moving Forward, by Vain, in the Kyou Kara Maou section of this website.

Summary: On Yuuri and Wolfram's wedding night, it becomes apparent to Yozak and Conrad that sacrifices must be made to ensure the kingdom's happiness. Mentioned Yuuram; unrequited ConYuu.

Suovetaurilia
- by Simbelmynë -

"That with the good help of the gods success may crown our work, I bid thee, Manius, to take care to purify my farm, my land, my ground with this suovetaurilia..." (2)
—Cato the Elder—

"Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die!"
—American Proverb—

The laughter was like sunlight—bright and clear and reaching everywhere. Every corner of the city was full of it, from the farthest gatepost all the way up to the highest tower of Blood Pledge Castle. The main streets were decked out in the royal colors; streamers spanned the roads and dangled down like long purple and yellow vines, so that traversing the streets was like walking through a dense crepe paper jungle. It seemed that every person in the city was out tonight—the streets were packed so tight that observing them from the rooftops was like looking down on some living, breathing thing. High, high in the sky, far removed from the revelry on the ground, fireworks exploded at random, unfolding like enormous blossoming flowers.

As Yozak tried to make his way to his normal nightly haunt, he couldn't help being annoyed by just how packed the streets were. He wasn't used to sharing the nighttime with so many other people. These people were supposed to be alert in the daylight hours. This wasn't their time; this was a time for the rejects—the unsightly people that Shin Makoku wanted to forget about. Drunkards and gamblers and working women and half-breeds. The night belonged to them.

But it was a new holiday they were celebrating, and so people flocked to the streets and danced whenever they got a spare second from drinking. A decree from the castle had declared that the next twelve days, starting this evening, were to be an official, state-sanctioned holiday to celebrate the marriage of His Majesty King Yuuri Shibuya and His Excellency Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld.

Tonight was their wedding night.

Yozak cast a glance over his shoulder at the castle, sitting high and lofty in the distance. The parapets were decked out in purple and gold trappings; the state seal waved easily from every tower, and the whole palace glimmered like one of Her Ladyship Cecilie's many jewelry boxes in the artificial lights that Lady Anissina had contrived. Somewhere inside that sparkling jewelry box, nestled together like a pair of diamond earrings, Yuuri and Wolfram were celebrating their marriage in their own way and making their own memories—together. A set. A pair. A perfect, dainty match.

Yozak expertly avoided some slop on the road and ducked his head under a tankard that some drunk was waving around.

Navigating the street was like trying to force his way through a herd of cattle. Yozak couldn't have escaped even if he wanted. A woman brushed against him; a child ran through his legs; a younger man knocked into his back and squeezed around him without so much as a "Beg your pardon." Everyone was too busy to notice one more person, even if his face was somber and his eyes were heavy and depressed.

"Gods," Yozak muttered to himself as he finally reached the tiny back-alley that split off from the main road and ducked into it. "The streets haven't been this crowded since the coronation. The kiddo's damn popular.

"Well," he said quietly to himself as he made his way through the darkened alley, a shortcut that few knew, "I suppose that makes up for his shortcomings."

The alley was surprisingly crowded tonight, and Yozak accidentally stepped on a few more fingers and toes than usual. Mumbling apologies as he felt his way along the grimy wall, the redhead quickened his pace as the sound of a different sort of revelry hit his ears—a harsher, grimmer, but more intense revelry that carried the promise of liquor and sex and maybe even a "friendly" game of cards.

He carefully stepped over the legs of a giggling tramp as the little grungy tavern came into view. This was the sort of tavern that His Majesty would not approve of. The place stank of alcohol and dirt and raw, filthy emotions of every kind. Bile rose into Yozak's throat as he looked at the place, and his hands curled into tight fists. He had been to this bar many times before. It was usually the first place he came when he was looking to get drunk, since it was the only bar in the city that would let him run a tab anymore.

But he wasn't looking to get drunk tonight. He was looking for something else, something more important, and he had already checked every other tavern in the city. His gut had told him that he would find what he was looking for here; he didn't want to believe it.

Of all the taverns in this city, he thought sadly to himself as he approached the building with the broken windows, why did you have to pick this one?

A fat, drunk, balding man stumbled out of the bar and landed face-down on the threshold. Yozak laughed and yanked him up by the collar, dragging the giggling, gibbering mess away from the pathway so that it could vomit into the bushes.

These were the kinds of people that Yozak called his family and friends. These were the sorts of people that called to him by name and knew his favorite drink and let him run bar tabs that he couldn't possibly pay back on time. These were the sorts of people that Yozak would never expect to find Sir Conrad Weller among. Sir Conrad Weller didn't belong here, slumming around with the dregs of society. Sir Conrad Weller belonged higher up—a cleaner street; a nicer bar; a lighter drink.

And yet, for some horrible reason, Yozak did find Sir Conrad Weller there, sitting in the darkest, dingiest corner he could find, slumped on the battered wooden table and drinking like he'd just lost the love of his life—which he really had, Yozak thought ruefully. For a second time, even.

"Evening, captain," Yozak said as he slid into the seat across from Conrad. Conrad just stared at him sullenly as he nursed a glass of something clear and so heady that Yozak could smell it from across the table. Conrad reeked of it; it mingled with the potency of his despair and wrapped around him like a funerary shroud. Yozak noticed with some cynical amusement that the other patrons, no matter how drunk they were, were giving Conrad a very wide berth.

"Yozak," he said in a raspy voice, keeping his eyes on the table, "shouldn't you be with happy people? Go home."

"Nope," Yozak said, picking up one of Conrad's empty shot glasses and sniffing it. He wrinkled his nose at the familiar smell. Gotz. Conrad must be pretty desperate to forget if he was ordering shots of the stiffest liquor in the kingdom. "How many have you had?"

Conrad sighed. "Don't know. Too many. Not enough. Can't keep track anymore." He laid his head down on the table and groaned in drunken agony. "Who even cares?"

"I care," Yozak said. He hesitated, one hand hovering over Conrad's hair before swooping down and gently extricating the remaining shot from his friend's limp fingers. "You don't sit and mull over gotz. That's just an insult. You drink it if you're going to drink it." He knocked back the shot in one quick gulp and waved off a barmaid who came to refill his glass. The redhead thumped his chest a few times to fight down the burning aftertaste. Pleasantly buzzed, he slapped Conrad fondly on the shoulder. "That's how you drink gotz, captain."

Conrad noticed that the barmaid wasn't bringing him another shot and scowled angrily at the redhead. "Call her back."

"Nope," Yozak said simply, grinning and stacking the shot glasses on the table into a little pyramid.

"Call her back."

"Nope."

"Damn it, Gurrier…don't wanna play games with you tonight. Call her back already."

"Call her back yourself, Weller. You should be able to manage that," Yozak said derisively, looking at the shot glasses littering the table in front of them. He was still smiling, but it was an ugly, spiteful sort of expression, for cry for his normal, easy grin.

Conrad glared hatefully at him and defiantly raised his hand to signal a barmaid, but Yozak's hand shot out, grabbing the other man's wrist. The redhead stood suddenly and made for the back door, dragging Conrad roughly behind him.

"What are you doing?!" Conrad slurred angrily, resisting and stumbling over his chair in a combination of surprise and intoxication. "Let go!"

"Nope," Yozak said flatly, ignoring the startled patrons around him. "We're leaving."

"Go to hell!" Conrad snarled, grabbing the table and trying to fight against his friend, but Yozak was stronger and sober. He gave Conrad's wrist a sharp tug and the smaller man stumbled forward with a long string of vile curses, most of which he had learned from Yozak.

Conrad cried out and resisted, stumbling from a combination of surprise and intoxication and grabbing everything he could lay his free hand on—tables, chairs, patrons, and everything in-between. The happy, celebratory atmosphere in the tavern was suddenly quashed, and Yozak was painfully aware that every pair of eyes was staring at him and the screaming, flailing mess he was dragging that had been the Rutenberg Lion, Sir Conrad Weller, just hours before.

"Let go of me!"

"Nope. Let's go."

"Let go of me, Yozak, gods damn you!"

"Don't make me carry you out of here like a kid, captain," Yozak hissed. "You know I'll do it."

Conrad slurred another drunken curse at him, yanking futilely on his arm again, and Yozak sighed. It really didn't pay to be Conrad Weller's friend sometimes. He dropped Conrad's arm and turned, catching the smaller man around the waist and hefting him over his shoulder. Yozak winced at the sudden weight on his broad shoulders and the smell of the gotz. Conrad let out an indignant sound like a shriek, unsuccessfully trying to twist his way out of his friend's arms.

"Put me down!!"

Yozak didn't acknowledge him any further beyond gripping Conrad's waist tighter and pinning the brunet's kicking legs to his chest. Conrad railed down blows against Yozak's back with his fist; the redhead winced slightly as he unsteadily made his way out the door, but it was more from the force of Conrad's emotion than the hurt of his fists. After all, Yozak had received far worse injuries from far worse men than Conrad Weller.

Once they were safe in the alley, Yozak dumped Conrad out of his arms onto the flagstones, earning a surprised yelp from the brunet. Conrad shakily pushed himself up and turned to curse at the redhead again, but Yozak just slapped him lightly on the forehead.

"Shut up and calm down," the redhead chided, taking a few steps back and giving Conrad some room to breathe. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I can't believe you did that," Conrad muttered, glaring angrily at the redhead. "I can't believe you just humiliated me like that…Yozak…"

"I warned you," Yozak said, shrugging; then he pointed at Conrad accusingly. "And you were doing a fine job of humiliating yourself before I showed up. Now, you wanna tell me what you were thinking, crawling into a bottle of gotz like an idiot?"

"No," Conrad said, looking away and trying to stand. Yozak approached and pushed him back down.

"Sit. Then you wanna tell me where my captain is? Because my captain would never do something like this." Yozak gave Conrad's shoulders a shake, trying to get the brunet to look up at him. "Hmm? Gotz doesn't like you, captain. Gotz isn't your friend. I am."

"You're not!" Conrad shouted, lunging forward; but Yozak had anticipated that and kept his strong arms firmly locked in place on Conrad's shoulders. The brunet struggled against him, swearing again, but Yozak just kept his arms firmly in place, watching Conrad's distress with hard eyes. On a few occasions during their struggle, Conrad tried to stretch out his arms to seize Yozak's throat, and on each occasion, Yozak smacked his hands away. Eventually, Conrad stopped struggling and went limp, crying quietly into his chest. Only then did Yozak let him go. The brunet collapsed onto his knees, his eyes pinned on the worn flagstones under his knees.

"Get up," Yozak said quietly. "Get up and quit being stupid."

"You don't understand, Yozak," Conrad coughed weakly into the cobblestone. "You couldn't possibly understand. I…I love him…and he…he never…never even noticed me…ever…you don't understand how…how much that hurts…being there, always being there, but never being noticed…never being seen…"

Standing a few feet behind Conrad, Yozak winced.

"He…" Conrad sat up, sobbing and hiccoughing openly and not trying at all to hide his agony. "He…never even…looked…I love him, Yozak, but…he never noticed me……"

Yozak knew who Conrad was talking about, of course. Everyone in the court suspected on some level, but no one dared to approach Conrad on the subject. Everyone suspected—no one knew. No one knew the whole story. Even Yozak wasn't sure he knew the whole story—but he knew that the kiddo's soul was Suzanna Julia's, and he knew Conrad well enough to make a few educated guesses. Seems he'd been right all along. Not that this was much of a surprise.

"And now he's gone!!" Conrad screamed, pounding his fist against the pavement so hard that Yozak heard bones crack. He rushed forward again and pulled Conrad's shoulders back, restraining him. For a few futile minutes Conrad fought against him, struggling, wailing, and screaming, but Yozak held fast to him, bracing himself against his friend's body and holding the convulsing man so hard that his knuckles turned white.

Eventually, Conrad's wild thrashing calmed and he stilled, dropping his head down into his chest.

"Gone…" Conrad moaned into his chest. "Gone…Yozak…he'll never love me…he's…"

"No," Yozak agreed firmly, releasing his friend suddenly and turning away. "He won't." The redhead stared impassively at a pile of trash in the corner, unable to look at his sobbing captain. "So? Hope you're planning on picking up and moving forward, because you're in for a rude awakening if you think I'm going to let you sulk in this alley like a coward."

"Be quiet," Conrad murmured miserably into his knees, but there was no force behind the order. There was nothing left, just the broken plea of a broken man. "Just be quiet…you don't understand…"

"I don't, huh?" Yozak asked the pile of trash calmly, but his voice wavered slightly. Luckily, Conrad was too drunk and wrapped up in his own despair to notice.

"…just be quiet…"

"Is that an order?"

"It is!" Conrad snarled, curling back up into himself.

Yozak closed his eyes and sighed. "My, my, my…that's an abuse of power if I've ever heard one…" But he did as he was told and leaned against the wall, not speaking, simply watching.

They stayed like that for a while: Conrad weeping quietly into his knees, consumed by his grief; Yozak standing by, silent and on guard. Whenever revelers came to see what the trouble was, Yozak shooed them away quickly. When the alcohol and the force of his emotion became too much for Conrad and he vomited, Yozak held up his head and wordlessly got him water to cleanse his mouth; and when Conrad had finally wept his last tears, Yozak wrapped his arms around his Conrad's shoulders, dragged him to his feet again, and brought him home, supporting him every step of the way.

-Fin-

"And behold joy and gladness, slaying oxen, and killing sheep, eating flesh, and drinking wine: let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we shall die."
—Isaiah 22:13—

- Notes -

(1) The suovetaurilia was a Roman custom which was performed both annually (each May, on the festival of Ambarvalia) and before some state functions. Its intent was to bless and purify, and it consisted of the sacrifice of a bull, a goat, and a ram to the god Mars. The suovetaurilia was also utilized as a purifying ceremony, and was performed after botched rituals to assure that the gods in question were not insulted.

(2) From Cato's De Re Rustica, "On Agriculture." Emphasis added by me.

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—Simbelmynë