A Reason for Hope

by Misoka Mine

Wolfram reflects on how Yuuri has given hope to Shin Makoku, and himself, despite the effects of the war. Onesided WolframYuuri

Title: A Reason for Hope
Author: Misoka Mine
Prompts: 7. Memories and 14. Childhood dreams
Pairings: one-sided Wolfram/Yuuri
Warning: yaoi and angst
Summary: Wolfram reflects on how Yuuri has given hope to Shin Makoku, and himself, despite the effects of the war.
Notes: Due to the fact that this is told from Wolfram's POV in third person, I had him use Conrart rather then Conrad. He calls him Weller out loud, but I figured he probably uses his first name when he thinks of him.

It had been an overcast morning, but the clouds had broken up and Yuuri was stretching as if he had just woken up--knowing his study habits, he might just have. Greta was talking about a book Anissina had let her borrow, about scientific progress in the past millennium in Shin Makoku. Yuuri was quite lost, but that didn't seem to deter either of them in their conversation.

"I wish I could invent something and be famous, like Anissina and the people in the book," said Greta.

"If you want to Greta, I'm sure you can!" he said with an infinite amount of faith, just as he did to everyone. "Anything is possible if you work hard enough."

Greta gave him a beautiful smile, and Wolfram couldn't help but join in praising and encouraging their daughter. "Your very intelligent and you're always helping Anissina out with her inventions. You'll soon be a fine inventor."

"When I was little, I always wished that I could play baseball, and now I have my own team! Not only do I get to play, I get to share it with others. And if I can do it, you'll be able to what you want plus so many other things," said Yuuri. Wolfram turned away so that Yuuri wouldn't see the smile that came to his face. It made Wolfram happy to watch Yuuri raise and encourage her in whatever she did, just like he did with everyone else.

Except in trying to understand his feelings. He not only didn't encourage it, he tried to not to acknowledge it at all. Wolfram often wondered if Yuuri merely regarded him as a problem that he didn't have the courage to deal with. Wolfram wondered why he still had so much faith, when it seemed like there was no hope for him at all.

Wolfram was brought out of his reverie when he realized that Yuuri had just asked him a question, and he asked Yuuri to repeat it. It was nice and warm outside without a lot of humidity, and he found myself somewhat lulled to sleep.

"I asked what you wished for when you were little," he said.

The question was not probing--if anything, Yuuri tried to avoid those sorts of conversations all together in trying to respect his and his brother's reluctance to discuss their pasts. But Yuuri, who wanted to get close to him and his brothers, would inevitably bring up painful memories. For a moment, Wolfram was unable to respond, torn about whether to tell him the truth or give him a half lie to keep the discussion from getting painful.

Wolfram unconsciously glanced at Greta, and her eyes met his. He noticed that there was a painful understanding in her eyes, far too old a look to be shining out of a ten-year-old child. Yuuri, being an eternal optimist from having lived a peaceful childhood, could not understand the concept of not hoping for the future because the present and past were so bleak, just trying to survive day by day in the midst of chaos. Greta, in her own way, was far more knowledgeable then Yuuri, having lost her innocence long ago while Yuuri seemed as if he would never lose his.

"I wanted to be a soldier," he finally said. Yuuri had not noticed the pause--it had only been a few seconds, and had probably only thought it was due thinking about the question.

Wolfram's answer was truthful. Indeed, he remembered staying up late many times during his childhood dreaming about being a soldier. He had not wanted to be a soldier, he knew, because of fame or to protect other people from harm. He had wanted to triumph over the humans so that his family could come together, so that his mother and brothers could let go over their burdens and be happy again. The dream of peace, when he allowed himself to think about it, had been far more inspiring then any imaginings of personal power. He imagined that once the threat of war was over, his family would slowly come back together again, like pieces of a puzzle.

Wolfram noticed what the war had done to his family long before he noticed what it had done to him. It was not a time to focus on oneself--even in the midst of a spoiled childhood he had sensed the tension, like a buzzing in his ears that would not go away. He swam in a sea of toys, silk, ribbons, and other luxuries, but none of that had been any comfort when he did not see his mother for days on end. The brief glimpses of her were highlighted by the obvious red swelling of her eyes and the slump of her shoulders, despite her beautiful smile. Nurses and governesses weren't enough company when Gwendal was so busy that he slept and ate in his study for long stretches at a time. He remembered that any appearances Gwendal made outside of his study were to discuss politics or to talk with visiting ambassadors.

Wolfram could barely recall a time when the wrinkles had not been etched in his brother's forehead. They were so deep and troubled that they looked to Wolfram like a trenches, like the ones that had been dug outside the city walls to protect the soldiers from esoteric magic spells. He did know, however, that at his age Gwendal should have just begun training for a role as one of his mother's councilors, not one of her chief councilors and the most influential, except for Stoffel. At any other time he would have been getting married and settling down, not being eaten away by a guilt so deep that he threw himself into his military and political career, a diversion tactic that had become a habit he couldn't break even after the war.

Conrart's entire adolescence had been overshadowed by the threat of war. Conrart had been a bright and happy child, but the prejudice he suffered would have had made a more frivolous person then him solemn and withdrawn. Wolfram remembered clearly, during a meeting at the beginning of the war, seeing the look on his face during a strategic meeting when a small human village about forty miles from the border, Durnstag, had turned out to be a hide out for human army commanders. His expression had fallen, and the pain in his eyes had been unmistakable. He had probably been there on his adventures with his father--might have stayed there for the night, made friends, watched his father joke with the local men over beer--and now it was nothing more then a Target, a place where Shin Makoku could not afford to have survivors if they themselves wanted to survive.

Conrart's face had regained it's characteristic solemnity, but the nobles present had found what they were looking for; a reason to distrust the half human prince. Soon after that the accusing stares against him went from being covert to obvious, and the prejudice and hate erupted against him in an explosion of concealed malice. Not even Queen Cecilie was immune--she was accused of putting the kingdom in danger by keeping him amongst them. Some even said openly that she was a traitor to her race for having a half human son at all, and the others were so numb and angry that they either ignored it or agreed.

As Wolfram waited in equal parts anticipation and fear for him to become old enough to join the army, he watched as seemingly normal actions and routines were replaced by a nationwide effort to help the war. It even extended into the castle. Gardens withered away, or were dug out all together and replaced with gardens to try to help feed all of the soldiers. Beautiful silk sheets were cut apart to make bags for transportation. Doorknockers, candelabras, anything made of iron that could be spared, were melted down and turned into weapons for the continuously accumulating troops. Wolfram's first encounter with paints came when he was gathering anything that might be useful to the troops, and he thought the box might have been able to hold bandages. The people changed too, becoming pale and thin and silent as if they were patients trapped in a hospital with an incurable disease rather then in a castle housing the royal family and many of the Ten Aristocrat's families.

Wolfram came of age just as summer turned into fall, when the tide turned in favor of the humans. He remembered getting up early the morning of his birthday, even before the sun was up, and getting dressed. As he ate his food in solitude--the servants were busy, and anyone that was up was working--he thought about going outside and doing drills as usual. But his heart wasn't in it, and by the time everyone was up he had given up doing that and just sat on the edge of his mother's personal garden, now withered to having little chance of growing back. He sat there quietly all day, watching messengers come back and forth to discuss the war with his mother and Stoffel. It was the realization of a feeling Wolfram had tried to ignore--a loneliness so deep that it seemed as if no one had ever felt it--that kept him there silent all day.

That evening he went lethargically to the throne room and waited over an hour for a spare moment to speak with her. When the bells at the Temple struck eleven, his Mother's green eyes scanned the room for more messengers and nobleman. Even Stoffel had left, mumbling about exhaustion an hour before. When her eyes came to Wolfram, they widened in surprise.

"Wolfie!" she said, as if he had just walked in rather then waiting for a chance to see her, like the all the other noblemen had to do. The hug she gave him was strong and somewhat tight, but that was to be expected--amongst all the death did the lives of loved ones become so dear. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he steadfastly ignored the feverish flush of strain on her face. It was just like her, to look even more beautiful when she was probably close to the edge of a nervous breakdown.

"Mother, I wanted to ask if I could...join the army" he said. The flash of pain in her eyes cut him.

"Wolfie darling, you know you have to be of age to join the army," she said.

Wolfram just looked at his mother's face, unable to hide the resentment that filled his stomach with bile. She did not catch on--he was sure that his birthday was the farthest thing from her mind. The anger did not last long, and was replaced by a calm sadness that stayed for far longer.

"Mother, it was today," he said. He spoke softly, trying his best to soften news that could not probably be softened. He knew this would add to her level of guilt, and hopefully would not break her paper thin calm.

"What was today?" she asked. She looked years younger then she had while talking with her advisors and messengers. There was vibrancy in her speech with him, in her gestures. Wolfram wondered what would happen when he left. Who would talk with her after the messengers were all gone? Who would she eat dinner with? Who wouldn't mind listen to her candid confession that the messenger around lunchtime had looked divine, and she dearly hoped he would return under better circumstances? Or would she be swallowed up in the discussions of the war, to where she thought of nothing else?

"My birthday, Mother. I came of age today," he said.

"No! Your birthday is--" she said, but then stopped. He saw the realization in her face rising like the sun, and her green eyes turned lighter in shock. She abruptly turned away from Wolfram's gaze, clutching a note from one of her generals much too tightly in her gloved fingers. The tears started silently down her face, leaving little dark wet spots on her pale pink dress's sleeve. She hid her tear stained face behind her long hair.

"I'm sorry. Happy Birthday, baby," she said so quietly he almost didn't hear her. Wolfram wanted to hug his mother, tell that he understood and that he forgave her, but that would not be proper. She had to convey an image of strength, try to make her weakness not as noticeable. "About your placement in the army; I'll have someone take care of it."

"Thank you, Mother," he said, bowing. He discreetly handed her his handkerchief, and she smiled loving at him through her tears. It nearly made him cry too.

But he swallowed his sadness, and walked out of the throne room with a neutral expression. He did not sleep well that night, sitting up all night thinking. That was bad for him, because he was informed the next morning during breakfast that he had been assigned with Troop von Bielefeld Three. His mother did not send him off, but he saw a vase of Beautiful Wolfram's in her window, the last few withered flowers left in the castle gardens. It gave him a sense of pride, and for the first time in a long time he had a sense of purpose. No matter what happened to him, he thought, he'd no longer be useless, merely sitting there dumbly waiting for the end.

Troop segregation based on class had been abandoned months after the war began, due to the desperately needed number of troops out on the field, so Wolfram fought alongside aristocrats and the lowliest beggars, forced into army service due to crimes.

They made their steady way towards Dai Shimaron, fifteen miles as day on average. The sights along the war path became the denizens and ghouls of his nightmares: men, women, and children crying over horribly mutilated loved ones, their tears leading red streams from their own wounds; women dying to protect their children from being killed or sold as slaves; corpses bloated and rotting after lying in the road for days, no one stopping to bury the dead; whole streams and rivers running red with spilled blood after a battle; whole forests leveled and burnt from fighting and fire.

When he started out, he had quite a few friends amongst his troop and the other troops they were traveling with. He could still remember some of them completely, some only their face or name, and some even were lost in his memory all together. What he truly remembered were the talks, the smell of beer and burning fires cooking whatever they could hunt out in the woods, the jokes and the laughter.

Then they went into their first battle, in a small but strategic town about six days journey from Shin Makoku. Wolfram was near the front, throwing fireballs into the thick of the enemy while trying to keep himself guarded. But no matter how much fire he threw at them, no matter how many fell to his sword, the humans took their ground and his troop was forced to retreat.

That night the rings around the fire were significantly smaller then before. The atmosphere amongst them was mostly silent, only broken by the moans of the wounded. Wolfram had tried to help heal them--anything to try to get rid of the burning on his hands at the realization that he had the blood of dozens of men on them--but he was simply too emotionally and physically tired. He was one of the few Mazoku capable of healing amongst them, and he burned with magic, shame, and regret as he watched comrades and even friends die in agony right in his hands.

When he was forced to rest from healing, he went back to his tent salved in a feeling of shock. As he fell deep into sleep, he tried to recall the lessons in healing that, in the past, he had scoffed at as weak.

By the end of the war, he had been put in three different troops; all the others had been nearly wiped out, assimilated to create a stronger force, or the commanders had all been killed. He had survived, he knew, only because of his brother's training and drills. He was under Lieutenant Colonel Wargen, as his junior officer. He learned to hide his numbness and depression with a temperamental facade, an extension of his familiar childhood tantrums and later frustration from not being able to join the war, which became a permanent mask for him. Despite his aloofness he kept up good relations with his underlings.

He hated being in a position of authority, because he felt personally responsible when they entered a skirmish and some of them did not return. He had made sure only to know their names and their faces and to give them orders, but it was still enough to cut him deeply whenever they died. In learning history, he had only learned about wars by the number of people killed, and it was a painful lesson to learn that the thousands killed had families, children, and parents that would never see them again. They might not ever get news that their loved one had died, and the families would always wonder in the back of their minds if they survived after all.

Wolfram had been in the middle of breakfast, a much colder and wetter affair outdoors then it had been in the castle, when the sound of a frenzied gallop came to his ears. Fearing that they were needed at another battle, he left his breakfast and ran outside to meet the messenger. Some of the soldiers had looked up with interest, but upon seeing him going to greet her they returned back to their meal.

"The Lieutenant Colonel is in the middle of a discussion with his superiors right now, and I'm to receive any messages that come for him," said Wolfram. He took in that the horse had been worked into exhaustion, and that the messenger looked as if she had been told to get up immediately and deliver the message. He figured that he would probably have to interrupt the meeting, and he dreaded doing that.

"Your Majesty," she said, and Wolfram's eyebrows furrowed in confusion that she recognized him and used his proper title. He was so used to his rank as Captain that he felt as if she weren't speaking to him at all. "This is an urgent message from the capital. Dai Shimaron and Shin Makoku have agreed to a cease-fire! The war is over!"

The news hit him as if she had just poured water over his head, and his mouth fell open. Some of the nosier men who had been listening gave a great shout, and Wolfram shouted for order before running to the tent where the discussion was going on.

"Sir! Urgent news from the capital!" said Wolfram outside the flap of the tent.

"What's going on out there?" he asked, sticking his head out of the tent.

"The war is over! Everything has ended in a cease-fire," he said. His commander just looked at him for a few moments before telling the rest of the people with him what had just been said. They all burst out of the tent in unison, and they looked to Wolfram like a military procession as they strode up to the exhausted messenger.

The news had spread like the plague amongst the troops, and he nearly shouted himself hoarse trying to restore order, and even threatened to court martial them all if they didn't sit down and start behaving like adults. After he finally got everything settled, which was much later that night, he realized that he wasn't sore or consumed with an exhaustion brought on by depression. He had untensed like a spring gently let stretched apart back to its normal shape. He wasn't as exuberant as everyone else, but his whole soul seemed to have let go of some of the pain. As they returned home, he managed to make himself interact with his comrades. Many of these friendships also became professional relationships when Wolfram assembled his own private army a year or so after he returned home.

The castle was still standing, but that was about it. The entire city outside of it and the wall were in complete shambles. Even the castle itself showed the wear and tear of war; arrows were stuck in the mortar and around the castle, black rings on the walls showed the effects of magical spells, and it was all covered in a layer of fine dust from the collapse of the wall.

To Wolfram, however, it had never looked so inviting. His back was covered in bruises from falling asleep on wayward rocks, and he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a good nights sleep. The memories of warm food--a luxury no one in his camp had been able to afford for the longest time, due to the rain--made him spur his horse up the main road towards his home.

He quickly slowed down, though. After being away for so long--twenty months and three weeks--the whole experience of coming back home was somewhat surreal. It seemed as if he had merely dreamed of being a prince and living in a castle, and was coming to find out that it had happened after all. He wasn't met with the usual fanfare either; he was as ratty and dirty as the rest of the men and women coming back, and you couldn't have been able to tell then who he was without close scrutiny. This added to his feelings of disorientation.

The guards recognized him, and he went rather unobtrusively to the throne room, which was where his mother would have normally been during the afternoon. Everything in the castle seemed rather enclosed after sleeping in a tent for over a year, despite the high ceilings. Except for the occasional guard, he heard nothing and encountered no one. He felt like a ghost wandering through the halls, until he was allowed into the throne room.

It looked resplendent to his eyes, which had seen nothing of beauty or art in ages. The room was buzzing with people, talking amongst each other as if it were an enormous party rather than a meeting room. Wolfram felt awkward amongst them; what must he look like to them, a stable boy? A lowly peasant that should be immediately swept away from the queen's presence? After his willing exile to protect himself from being hurt, being in groups no larger then thirty at a time, he felt as if his face had been ripped off and that he was totally open and vulnerable. He unconsciously recoiled from the doorway, swallowing his pride by getting a guard to let her know he had returned, when a familiar, deep voice called out to him.

"Wolfram! Did you just get back?" asked Gwendal, who had been standing near the door. Wolfram saw him dismiss the people he had been speaking to as if it were nothing, and Wolfram wondered if it had always been that easy. For the life of him, he couldn't remember.

Wolfram nodded dumbly, and Gwendal told him to stay there. He had said something about Mother, but he hadn't heard. He was so tired he could barely focus. It had taken all of his energy to concentrate on Gwendal disappearing into the crowd.

Wolfram had about fallen asleep leaning up against the wall--it had felt like forever, but it couldn't have been more the five minutes--when he saw out of the corner of his eye a familiar magenta dress. He instantly was more alert, and spun around to see if it was her.

Sure enough, he saw his mother squeezing through the crowd with Gwendal in tow. When their eyes met, she exclaimed his name and came at a near run. He was soon being crushed into her chest, and he could feel tiny droplets of tears on his neck. He noted somewhere in his mind that the past two times he had seen his mother, he had caused her to cry.

"Oh Wolfram, I'm so glad you're back home! And look, there isn't a single bandage anywhere. Thank goodness, the young gentlemen here probably wouldn't take too well the thought of your perfect skin all scarred up..." she said. He had always been impressed by his mother's ability to steer clear of awkward conversation and to make a person feel welcomed. He had never been more impressed with her then he was then.

"Mother!" he said, aghast, and Wolfram felt as if he hadn't left home at all.

Wolfram couldn't remember much of the conversation after that, just basic questions of where he had been and what he had done. He wasn't sure what he told Gwendal and his mother, but obviously it was enough. A short while later, she shooed him off to bed, and Gwendal followed saying something about needing to go back to his study and get something. Mother had just given Gwendal a half-lidded, knowing smile, and Gwendal had just frowned irritably. If he hadn't been so tired, Wolfram was sure he would have laughed.

Wolfram walked with Gwendal up until he came to the door of the bedroom--his room, he reminded himself. He was surprised when he felt Gwendal's strong hand on his shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you back safely." He cleared his throat, and Wolfram was much more touched by how obviously difficult for Gwendal to say rather then the words he said. "I heard you did well on the battlefield, gained respect. No soldier could ask for more...it's worth more then fame."

"Thanks, big brother," Wolfram said, giving him the warmest smile he could muster. It couldn't have been much. But Gwendal returned it with a rare smile of his own, before he turned around without another word and went towards his study.

Wolfram did not bother to take a bath, merely fell into the sheets that smelled of freshly blooming flowers and sunlight from hanging out to dry. They were the smells he remembered before the war, before the smells of ash had permeated the air. As he fell asleep he began to realize that everything could only get better from that point, and quiet tears of relief and exhaustion dripped down his cheeks as he blacked out into deep slumber.

Indeed, things did get better, but it was not the magical restoration that Wolfram had longed for. Gwendal's schedule became more sedate, but he continued to take nearly all matters of state into his hands, trusting no one else to help after watching Stoffel abuse his power.

Queen Cecilie had a remarkable change for the better. She began to indulge in all of her old hobbies, dressing up, flirting, and gardening, and she had no visible signs of all the stress and worry she had undergone. However, underneath that was a large pool of guilt that Wolfram suspected she would never get over. She had been disillusioned by the war, and no longer even tried to understand matters of state. She let her son explain the situation to her, and then made a decision based on his council. She no longer had any ideas of making Shin Makoku a better place, convinced to her core that she was too weak to do anything right.

Only Conrart did not change for the better after the war. When Wolfram came to see him soon after his return home, he hardly even recognized him. It was not because of the bandages covering most of his body, as he had expected him to be in bad shape after hearing about the battle of Ruttenberg. However, the glassy look in his eyes and the fact Conrart did not say anything at all in his presence reminded him of a corpse, just recently dead and not having it's eyes closed. Wolfram had seen men like them during the war. He knew that it was the absence of everything pertaining to the future and the past, only a painful realization that everything that he had known was gone.

Wolfram knew that Lady Julia was dead when his expression had changed slightly upon looking down at her pendant. He remembered the man he had been--he had not broken apart under the strain of being hated by nearly everyone around him, including his own brother. Instead, he had tried as hard as he could to be the best swordsman, the best strategist, and a man those under him could be inspired by. He had strived to be perfect in the eyes of those around him and he had nearly succeeded.

Upon encountering Lady Susannah Julia, who voiced calmly to whoever wished to hear her opinion that she did not believe that they were doing the right thing by going to war, he met someone he could idolize. Wolfram was sure it was love, but more then likely not in a passionate or romantic way. He had a chivalrous, courtly love for her that bordered on idolatry. It was his downfall in assuming that war could not touch a soul as pure as hers--and when it did, Conrart gave into the darkness that had been thrown at him like mud from everywhere.

Wolfram had quickly left, feeling disturbed and anxious by Conrart's emptiness. Wolfram had sat up all night, filled with regrets about his treatment of him. It wasn't until it was close to dawn that he realized that he was thinking about Conrart as if he were dead.

Over the next few months, it became apparent that he might as well have been. Conrart ate, worked, and slept, but it was all done without feeling, like an old job that he longed to quit. Queen Cecilie became overly cheerful in an attempt to compensate, but in the end it merely drove her to taking extended trips away from the castle

When Priestess Ulrike called him to the Temple and he did not return for a year, Wolfram assumed that Conrart had finally committed suicide. While no one in the castle wanted to believe that, it was obvious that no one knew where he was. Wolfram had the distinct feeling that another life had fallen through his fingers, like sand, and in hindsight he wondered if he could have done something to alleviate his suffering somewhat. But by doing that he would have had to acknowledge his brother's love for him, which would force him to admit he cared for his half-human brother despite his heritage. Wolfram, who was still emotionally exhausted from the war, found this task daunting. So he tried to not think of him at all.

It was a surprise to everyone when Conrart came back, and no one could quite believe the change that had been brought about in him. Wolfram was even more surprised at the renewed hope in his eyes, much more real then the fake smile Wolfram knew he was wearing.

He did not speak of his journey very much until he had been back home for a while. It was as if he did not know how to explain it, or that the magic would be lost in the telling. A month after he had returned however, as they were all eating dinner, he started to explain what mission he had received. He told them about the soul of the next demon king, about the place called Earth that the king was sent to, about the different people and Mazoku he had encountered, that there had been another important soul that a man named Jose had been entrusted with. Wolfram wasn't sure if he believed everything that he had said; how did anyone expect him to believe that double blacks were common in that world and that Mazoku and humans lived together in such harmony that a Mazoku might never realize they weren't human? He did see, however, that speaking about the next Demon King that he wore a smile of admiration on his face. Wolfram was reminded of when Conrart had been close to Lady Julia.

Wolfram guessed--of all the things said about Wolfram, it was never said he wasn't an astute young man--that whoever the next king was, he idolized him just as he had done with Lady Julia. He pitied the future king momentarily, because there were very few that could match Lady Julia's heart, but then forgot about his pity and the new king altogether. He didn't remember him until his Mother brought them all to the Temple to speak with Priestess Ulrike fourteen years later.

"I've decided to abdicate in favor of the new Demon King. Would you be a dear and call him here from that world of his?"

To say that they were surprised and somewhat incensed would have been an understatement. While they waited for him to arrive, it became known that she had bought a yacht for a "free love" trip she was planning after the new King came. He had not been aware that his mother was planning to abdicate, and obviously neither had Gwendal, because he later heard her complaining to him that he was giving her a massive amount of paperwork out of spite for her abdicating.

Wolfram never heard him deny it.

When Conrart and Gunter came back with the new king, it became apparent that he was not ready for the job. He was hardly a boy, and a rather clumsy and stupid boy at that, thought Wolfram as soon as their first meeting had ended. Wolfram had been irritated by Conrart's statement that, according to human and demon differences, that they were similar in age. There was no way that a little boy still wet behind the ears was in any way comparable to him, he was sure of. Getting engaged to him only added to Wolfram's arsenal of reasons to dislike him.

However, as he came to know him he realized that there was something in his personality that made him a better leader then his mother, then any ruler in thier histroy except for Shinou. He reread his old biographies of the demon kings and queens of old, but he was sure that Yuuri was made of something that had never been seen in a king yet. He was personable to everyone, aristocrats and commoners alike. Yet there was an underlying current of power so strong that it had its own will, and it balanced Yuuri's more forgiving nature.

Yet despite his all too easily given trust and his powerful store of magic, Wolfram knew that Yuuri was giving something even better back to his country. He was giving them hope, and not just hope that war would be avoided for the moment, but true hope that possibly the threat of war could be avoided all together. He told a war-torn nation that he would eliminate the prejudice, and he had in just a few months made great strides towards that. Even the grudges that ran deep amongst the Mazoku themselves, like Gegenhuber's exile, were smoothed out by his search for the truth.

You'd never know it by looking at him, thought Wolfram as Yuuri made a silly irritated face at having to go work with Gwendal again.

Wolfram knew that he, and perhaps everyone else around him, had all wished for peace and normal, happy lives. Even more then the war ending, even more hopeful then Conrart finding his will to live again, Yuuri's transportation to Shin Makoku had brought about a new age for them.

In his own way, Wolfram realized that he had been wishing for someone or something like Yuuri all along.

"Wolfram!" called Yuuri, who was standing in the courtyard entrance with Greta. "Are you coming?"

"I'm coming. Don't be impatient. It isn't becoming, wimp," he said without any bite in his words. He saw some dark blue buds in one of the circular flower stands. It was a new breed his mother was developing.

He thought about telling Yuuri his mother was planning on naming it after him.

"Hey, I'm not a wimp!" he declared, and Greta smiled in amusement.

Greta went down the hall in the other direction, heading towards Anissina's laboratory, while they both walked in the direction of Gwendal's office. Yuuri was uncharacteristically silent, and Wolfram didn't feel the need to break it. Yuuri seemed to have something on his mind, as was evident by the distracted expression he was wearing.

"What do you think about going back to that village and having a picnic again?" asked Yuuri, as they turned into the main hall.

Wolfram shook his head. "Gwendal has been knitting a lot lately, so he probably has more work then usual, and with Gunter being away on his trip we are very understaffed."

Yuuri nodded. "So you couldn't come either?"

"No, my responsibilities stay the same whether or not things are piling up in the castle," he said. He glanced at Yuuri. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, Greta is wanting to go back, and I thought it would be good for you, me, and Greta to go together," he said. He looked happy as he talked about Greta, and Wolfram felt a faint longing to be part of that circle of love he gave to his family.

"Sounds like a family outing," said Wolfram.

"Yeah, it kind of does, doesn't it?" he said, smiling happily at Wolfram.

Wolfram didn't know what to say, but luckily he didn't have to because Yuuri finally stopped stalling outside Gwendal's study door and walked in. Yuuri didn't seem to notice Wolfram's surprise.

"See you later," said Yuuri, before closing the door behind him.

Wolfram, as he slowly walked away from the door, realized that he had more hope for Yuuri eventually returning his feelings then he cared to admit. It was hard not to put his faint trust in him. After all, he had made a seemingly impossible childhood dream come true. Why not wish for just a bit more?