.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
Wolfram was in a foul mood as he stormed through the halls of the Radford palace. It was a cold castle that could not be warmed by any number of bright paintings on the walls. It wasn't cheerful and welcoming like Covenant Castle, and it wasn't nearly as beautiful as his uncle's palace. It was boring. It was practical. It was perfect for the war-mongering Radfords.
Servant's fled from his path as Wolfram made his way to his husband's study. He threw open the doors angrily, not caring who he disturbed. Dieter did not even look up. He continued to scribble something on the parchment before him.
"Can't you see I'm working?" he began, "I don't have time to entertain you." Wolfram ignored him and launched into his tirade at once.
"Those are my spell-casters you are sending to aid the rebellion in Svelera. I wish to join them."
"You will do no such thing."
"You can't keep me caged in this horrible place."
"I can and I will," Dieter replied tiredly, "You are my husband and you have husbandly duties yet unfulfilled."
"Like what!" Wolfram all but shouted, "I run your house, keep your gardens, and train your soldiers. I've renovated your stables, fired your lazy servants, hired new ones, and built you a ballroom to be proud of. The only thing you are lacking, Dieter, is a crown upon your head, and that is something I cannot do."
"You seem to be forgetting the one thing that any man or woman at your end of the marriage is expected to provide," Dieter stated calmly, still not looking up from his papers. At this, Wolfram blushed ever so slightly and scowled.
"You'd have better luck with the crown, I'm afraid," the blonde spat.
"My father seems to think a child is necessary in order to solidify our marriage. He knows we don't quite get along. Now, you probably couldn't care less, but I would like to inherit this fiefdom someday so I'll give him his heir. If you don't like it, go cry to your uncle."
"Why...you...little!" Wolfram growled furiously, giving up on his insult. That had been the final straw. He could not reason with this man. He turned on his heel and made for the exit.
"I'll see you in bed tonight," Dieter said, returning once again to his paperwork. Wolfram made sure to knock over a shelf of records on his way out.
He took took his horse out that night, riding long and hard so that he could reek of manure and sweat for his husband. They'd had sex before, he and Dieter. Only twice. Once while still at the academy and once on their marriage night. His husband was not a terrible bed partner, but Wolfram's heart had ever belonged to Yuuri and so he often made excuses not to be under the same sheets as Dieter Von Radford.
He knew his ploy had failed when he found his husband waiting for him in the stables. It was very late, probably closer to dawn than midnight. Dieter took his mount by the reins as Wolfram slid from his horse's back.
"Come to bed now. I shall not wait all night for you."
"Surely you can wait a little longer while I bathe," Wolfram told him, quite unhappy to find the man still awake. He hadn't thought Dieter serious enough about this to actually come down to the stables to fetch him.
"Then I will have you on a bed of straw," Dieter said, eyes narrowed dangerously. Stubborn, rebellious rage boiled through Wolfram's veins as he glowered at his husband. He didn't like being given orders by Dieter. They were the same age and were each of noble houses. He couldn't see himself as this man's spouse. In Wolfram's mind they were still boys attending the academy together, hauling their books to class, and sparring with swords under an instructor's watchful eye. They used to be equals...but not anymore.
Wolfram soon found that a bed of straw was a poor substitute for an actual feather bed, and wondered if the stable boys were able to sleep at all through his shrieks and loud protests. If anyone asked him why he was limping the following morning he would tell them he'd been out riding too long the night before.
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
A few weeks later, Wolfram found himself back in Bielefeld, "crying to his uncle" as Dieter so delicately put it. Though there were no tears.
"He is insufferable, Uncle. I can't stand to be in the same room with him for more than five minutes."
"You're being far too dramatic about this, Wolfram. You told me you were infatuated with him back during your years at the academy."
"We were children, Uncle. We used to bully the underclassmen together."
"Good. So just remember those times and I'm sure you can get over this nonsense. Men of noble birth wedding someone they hate is a given if they want to retain their wealth and influence. Perhaps you are just looking at this the wrong way, Wolfram. A child won't be so bad. It will starve off the boredom and loneliness that you are currently feeling."
"A dog could do as much," the younger Bielefeld scoffed. Waltorana sighed and seemed to give upon comforting his nephew.
"Are you regretting your decision?" Waltorana finally asked. His look was concerned and Wolfram knew that the man did actually care, and that if Wolfram was unhappy enough, he would do something about it. Now Wolfram felt guilty.
"No," Wolfram lied, "I did this for the Bielefeld house, even knowing that I'd eventually have to...well... " Wolfram exhaled, "Forgive me, Uncle. I let my frustrations overwhelm me. You are right, I am over reacting."
Waltorana seemed content with this answer. He stood. Wolfram got to his feet as well.
"How long will you be staying, Wolfram?" his uncle asked him, deciding to change the subject.
"As long as I can," Wolfram replied. They walked down the hall toward the dining room where dinner was waiting for them.
"The king's tournament is taking place in a few days," Waltoranna reminded him.
"I know. I am forbidden from attending," Wolfram spat bitterly, "Dieter says he doesn't want me injuring myself, but really he just wants to keep me from seeing Yuuri."
"I would do the same if I were him," Waltoranna answered, "He is cleverer than I thought. Perhaps he shall be the man to tame you after all."
"No one shall tame me, Uncle. I am not a horse," Wolfram growled, "If you are not entering the tournament and I am not entering the tournament, who will be representing house Bielefeld?"
"You have several cousins entering the joust, hoping to prove their worth to me. Renald and Leon are among them. Since I have no sons of my own I must name another heir to our lands. Perhaps the man who does the best in the tourney..."
"Renald is only a Bielefeld through his mother and Leon is a bastard, are they the best we have?"
"There's Agna as well."
"Shinou save us! Let me ride, Uncle and I will show them all what a true Bielefeld is capable of!" Wolfram said heatedly.
"But you are not a Bielefeld, Wolfram. Not anymore," his Uncle said coldly, "It's time you realized that. His Majesty as well. Perhaps your absence will remind him that you are married and he will stop sending his love letters here."
"Yuuri..." Wolfram bit his lip, suddenly remembering their night in the bath. Nearly two months had gone by since then, but Wolfram had not dared mention it, fearing it had been a one night ordeal. His uncle seemed to have picked up on what had transpired, though Wolfram didn't know how. Perhaps there'd been rumors, perhaps he had watched their exchange on the dance floor. "I didn't know he asked about me. No letter has ever reached me," Wolfram answered.
"I suspect your husband has something to do with that. He knows your feelings concerning the king," Waltoranna slowed his pace and when he next spoke his tones were hushed, "Wolfram," he began slowly, "If His Majesty should take you to bed, do not be afraid to return his affections even though you are now married."
"That would be dishonorable, Uncle," Wolfram replied, fully aware that he'd already committed such a dishonor, and that his uncle knew.
"Lying with the king is never a dishonor," Waltorana said, "If you cannot become the Maoh, then you can do the next best thing."
"I care about Yuuri as a person, not his throne," Wolfram reminded his uncle. He had already done his duty to the Bielefelds. He was reluctant to let Waltorana involve him in any more of his schemes.
"All the better," replied the elder Bielefeld, "You can love the man and the king. It works out for all the parties involved."
"Except the Radfords," noted Wolfram, though he did not feel all that sorry.
"A necessary casualty," Waltorana dismissed. The two blondes entered the dining hall and took their seats. "I never thought His Majesty was the jealous type, but it appears that you are more desirable to him now that you are married. Men always want what they can't have and, as a king, there is very little that you can't have."
Servants came in through the kitchen and began serving them food. Uncle and nephew lapsed into silence as they turned their thoughts to the meal before them. They ate without speaking, and when dessert was over, Waltorana stood and placed his napkin on the table.
"I will have a word with Klaud about the situation. I'll tell him you are not ready," the man told Wolfram. The blonde sighed and set down his fork.
"I'd rather you didn't, Uncle. Then he will know I've been whining about his son and think I don't intend to follow through with the agreement. Besides, I doubt there is anything you could say to him to make him change his mind," Wolfram replied. Waltorana chuckled.
"Worry not, nephew. I have ways of bending men to my will." He walked to the door and paused before exiting, "I will be leaving tomorrow for the king's tourney, see that you keep yourself out of any mischief while I'm gone." His smile was sly...knowing...and it made Wolfram realize that he was in need of a new set of armor...and a new shield.
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
Yuuri watched them pass through the gates with a forced smile on his face. It seemed as though he'd just had all these stuffy nobles and knights at his castle. He was sick of playing host to this fickle horde who all just wanted to kiss up to him in the same manner as Stoffel. He was sick of the politics and the lying and the games that these people played with him.
It had all been Gunter's idea, of course. And Yuuri knew from experience that it was best not to argue with Gunter on these types of things. Yuuri knew how to please the peasants...but he had no clue how to please the lords...and pleasing the lords was essential unless he wanted a dagger to slit his throat in the night.
It was a sea of colors. Deep, Bielefeld blue, Voltaire green, Radford red, Christ white. All had their sigils on their banners and there were many many more to come. Yuuri had yet to spot the sky blue of the Wincotts, or the vibrant purple of the Karbelnikoffs, but they'd soon be here as well along with so many other, lesser lords whose names and colors Gunter would no doubt have to remind him of.
"Will Wolfram be coming?" Yuuri asked Conrad, who was standing to his right.
"No, Your Majesty," the taller man answered, "Lord Von Radford has written that Wolfram is ill and will be remaining home until he recovers his strength."
"I see," Yuuri said with a small sigh, "That is unfortunate. I'm sure Wolfram would have done well in the tournament."
"He would have," Conrad agreed, "Wolfram is exceptional when it comes to the joust. He is fearless and has always had a good seat on a horse. His swordsmanship is somewhat lacking, though I am sure he would have entered that as well, if only for a chance to face me."
Yuuri laughed as he conjured up the picture in his head: A Wolfram donned in all his armor, stubbornly proclaiming that he would beat Conrad and show the kingdom that he was Shin Makoku's bravest knight.
"Do you miss him, Your Majesty? Gunter has told me you've written him many letters begging him to come to court."
"And every time I am refused, not by Wolfram, but by his husband. Do you think Wolfram even knows that I've written to him? I do not like this man Dieter." Yuuri said, not bothering to hide the annoyance from his voice. "Don't you miss him, Conrad?"
"I do," the man replied with a small smile, "But Wolfram was ready to move on with his life and do his duty for his house. I had no right to interfere. He may be my younger brother but even younger brothers grow up eventually." Yuuri merely gave an irritated grunt at that.
The day continued on, long and boring. Yuuri never quite understood all of the pomp and ceremony of his lords. Why did they want to hit each other with swords and lances for fun? Yuuri would have much rather been hosting a baseball tournament. It would be far less dangerous for one, and it would probably be over in half the time. Besides, few people he knew well were riding and a lot of fun was lost when he didn't even know who to root for.
Unfortunately, there was a greater purpose to the tournament, though Yuuri wouldn't be announcing that until it was over.
As he sat late that night in his pavilion erected on the grounds, Yuuri was given papers detailing the entries for the first round.
"Two mystery knights have entered the tournament," Greta said excitedly as she took a seat next to him. She was blossoming into a beautiful, young woman. She was in her mid-teens now and looked every inch a princess.
"Two?" said Yuuri, unable to hide the surprise from his voice. There was only supposed to be one. "Well I guess this will turn out to be interesting after all. Which shields are theirs?" Greta leaned over the paper and pointed.
"This one," she told him with a finger on a pink bearbee, "We're calling him the Bearbee Knight." She slid her finger over to a black heart with an arrow piercing it. "And this one we're calling the Lovesick Knight."
"Hmmm. Of all the things to put on a shield...a heart and a bearbee...what fearsome knights," Yuuri mumbled. He looked hard upon the heart shield. This was the knight that Yuuri had placed in the tournament on purpose. Once the games were at an end, Yuuri would have this knight unmasked and reveal to the crowd the purpose of the tournament. It was all planned out and no one, not even Gwendal and Gunter, knew about this secret and the rather large revelation that would come with it.
This other knight though, who'd taken the bearbee as his sigil, Yuuri did not know. A true mystery knight he was...a problem he was as well. No one entered could hope to defeat his Lovesick Knight...except perhaps this mystery man.
Yuuri pushed the paper aside. No, it would not come to that. Underneath his helmet, this unknown knight was probably just a green boy looking for a bit of glory...that or he was some peasant who who could sit a horse and hold a lance reasonably well, but wouldn't have been allowed to enter under his true name.
"Are you coming to bed soon, Yuuri? We have to be up early tomorrow." At sixteen, his daughter didn't share his bed any longer, but they usually stayed in the same room. Yuuri would still stubbornly insist on tucking his daughter into bed and occasionally on reading her stories. He didn't like seeing her grow up, and now with all these suitors around constantly begging her hand in marriage Yuuri liked to keep her close.
"Yeah, I guess it won't do to have the king nodding off in the middle of the tourney." They entered their sleeping tent with guards in their wake. Yuuri waved them off and blew out the candles in the room. He laid down in his bed and fell asleep with thoughts of Wolfram.
Morning came and Yuuri was given a hearty breakfast before being led to his seat in the grandstand. The first competitors would be mostly green knights...knights that Yuuri had never heard of before. There was some Berzen boy up against a knight from a lesser branch of Roshfall. Henri Berzen lost admirably, taking hard blows but never falling from his horse. Yuuri watched these first rounds with little interest. Nearly always the lesser knights lost to the knights from the larger houses. It wasn't until the Lovesick Knight took up his lance that Yuuri leaned forward and studied hard.
Black armor covered this knight from head to toe, heavy plate with a mask almost completely concealing the face. It was of an expensive make, Yuuri's own armorers could do no better, but it was what he expected.
The knight reined in his horse in front of where Yuuri was seated and looked up. The crowd held its breath and waited for him to speak.
"I will ride for you, my king. Make me your champion."
Just as rehearsed...Yuuri thought...But you don't have to sound so bored. At least put some effort into it.
"But I don't even know your face, Sir. How do I know you are worthy to become my champion?" Yuuri called down. The crowed snickered.
"I have loved you ever since I laid eyes on you. I beg your token so that I may win the tournament in your honor. Perhaps I will win your love as well."
Even Conrad and Gunter were speechless. They had not expected a mystery knight to be so bold. Yuuri glanced over to them and pretended to contemplate briefly.
"No knight has ever attempted to win my love in such a way," Yuuri laughed, "I find it quite refreshing." Then, he stood up quite suddenly and jumped from the stands. The crowd hushed. For all to see, Yuuri tore off the right sleeve of his shirt and approached the knight. "Very well, Sir," Yuuri said loudly. He reached up and tied the black material around black armor on the knight's arm. "You are now the king's champion."
Yuuri smiled. After remaining unwed for all of these years he, himself, had gathered an army of suitors -men and woman both foreign and domestic tirelessly chasing the queenship. The most prominent of them he had invited to this tournament and seated in the grandstand with him. He could feel their icy stares upon his back as they tittered angrily. With this action he had displeased a great number of them. Yuuri ignored them all and returned to his seat.
"You're Majesty!" Gunter hissed in his ear, "That was ill-done. You were supposed to make the Wincott boy your champion!" Yuuri settled back into his chair. Conrad kept his distance but his brown eyes studied his king hard as if searching for the truth. Yuuri could hear the words clearly as if Conrad had spoken them.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Yuuri."
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
A/N: My reviewers, who art in this fandom. Hallowed be thy name. Thy updates come. Thy words be spell-checked, on fics as they are on term papers. Give me this day much helpful feedback, and forgive me my long absences, as we forgive those who constantly have writer's block. And lead me not into frustration, but deliver me from plot holes. Amen.
