A/N: sorry if my jousting lingo isn't perfect. All i know i learned from either "A Knight's Tale" or George R. R. Martin's books.
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"I didn't think I'd be seeing you here, little brother."
Dieter paused, halfway dismounted with his foot still in the stirrup when he heard that voice. He dropped to the ground and let his squire lead his horse from the lists. Only then did he remove his helmet and turn to face his visitor. Visitors.
"Markus, Nikki," Dieter greeted, "My brothers. Come to congratulate me on my win?"
"Aye, if winning against a Roshfall can be called winning at all," Nikolaus snickered. Broad, muscular and foul-mouthed, the eldest Raford son never missed a chance to taunt his younger siblings. "You'd be better off shoving that lance up your slut of a husband's arse." Dieter bristled, his face going pink.
"Watch it!" he spat. Now that he was married to Wolfram, he would no longer tolerate any slander. It made him look bad as well.
"Now, now," the second brother stepped in calmly. He was thinner and taller than the rest of them, marginally more handsome than others of their bloodline, with an eternal smirk on his face that said he was better than you. "We didn't come here to fight, Dee." Markus was the only one of the three of them that was not married. It wasn't exactly a secret, however, that his eye was on the throne, and the past few years he had spent at court, attempting to woo the king. From his attire, it also seemed that he was the only one of them that wasn't participating in the tourney.
"Then make it quick, brother. I've got armor that must be fixed before my next match," Dieter told them.
"I come with a message from father. If you are able to beat your next opponent then you will have to face Nikki. If that happens, father says you must lose. He says it would look bad to have his heir defeated by his third son."
Dieter scowled. His whole life he'd been told that he'd never get anywhere, that he'd never hold his father's lands, and that the only way to make a name for himself was to become a great knight and distinguish himself in battle. Everything changed when his father arranged his marriage to Wolfram. He had a solid position now and he was beginning to see that Nikki was rather incompetent. With these new opportunities, perhaps the Radford castle and its lands would become his after all.
"Why did you bother to show up here in the first place? Father says you should be home doing something useful," Nikki said, leaning on his sword, grinning, "like getting your husband with child. If you're not up to the task, I could always do it for you. He'll spread his legs for anyone, won't he?"
"You'll never fuck Wolfram. He is mine, and slut or not, he's a damn sight nicer than your own cow of a wife. However, you are welcome to think of him while you console yourself with your hand," Dieter responded angrily. It was Nikki's turn to scowl.
Dieter could not help his frustration. This tournament was supposed to be his victory! His glory! Nikki wasn't supposed to make it this far. How could father do this to him? If he disobeyed and beat his brother, he'd upset his father and ruin his purpose for being here.
"Fine. You'll have your victory." Dieter decided, "I'll withdraw and return home to the sweet embrace of my husband. Perhaps then we can all be happy."
"A wise move, brother," Markus said as Dieter turned and walked away.
He was still fuming when he reached the smith and handed in his dented plate along with a few gold coins, so when he found himself face-to-face with King Yuuri and his squadron of guards, he wasn't ready to spare the effort of politeness. His bow was shallow and nearly insulting.
"Wolfram may be a treasure," Yuuri began coldly, "but that doesn't mean he should be kept in a vault at all times."
"Excuse me, Your Majesty," Dieter said nothing more than that before taking his leave. Any other day he wouldn't have dared, but His Majesty couldn't possibly hate him more than he already did. A few feet away he heard Sir Von Christ mutter something about his insolence. Yuuri said nothing, but Dieter felt the angry stare upon his back.
Later in the day, Dieter returned to the lists, fully armored, and now worked into a rage. He hurled insults at his squire for his tardiness. Getting into the saddle, he let the boy hand him his lance.
"Good luck, sir," the boy told him with a sickly innocent smile.
"I don't need luck. Win or lose this round, I'm out of the tournament either way," Dieter spat bitterly. He slammed down his visor and spurred his stallion forward. He knew he should just drop out now. There wasn't even any point to this round.
Dieter had never been all that interested in the joust, though he did seem to have some talent for it. The only reason he'd joined the team at the academy was because Wolfram had been on it...he'd been a Prince back then and everyone in the school wanted to be his friend, despite his rotten personality...
But now that Dieter was staring his opponent down from the other end of the lists, he felt that old spirit of competition returning. He was to face one of the mystery knights. The Bearbee knight. Suddenly he had a reason to win again. If he could defeat this knight he would have the pleasure of unmasking him in front of the crowd.
Dieter smiled beneath his helmet. Perhaps he could still gain the recognition he came here for. He pushed his horse into a gallop.
He soon found they were quite evenly matched. The score became tied and each of them moved in position for the final lance. The crowd taunted and jeered in their excitement. Dieter noticed the Bearbee knight slip him the finger. They dug their spurs into their horses' lathered sides and everything seemed to go in slow motion. They came in contact with one another- or rather, his opponent's lance missed his helmet by a few measly inches and his own lance struck his opponent's right shoulder hard and splintered.
That was it. Dieter blinked. It was over. He had won. The crowd cheered and booed him depending on where they had placed their bets. He stopped his horse and spun around, excitement gripping him. He saw that the other knight had fallen from his horse. A large splinter was lodged between his chest and shoulder plates and he writhed on the ground, perhaps in a terrible amount of pain. These things sometimes happened. Dieter watched as he pulled the wood from his chest with shaking hands and blood flowed from the wound. A stretcher was already arriving for him, but first, Dieter would have the honor of removing his helmet.
"Stop!" the king called from his grandstand. His face did not look happy. A hush fell over the crowd as the king spoke a few sentances to the judge. Then Dieter heard the words he had been dreading.
"Disqualification on the grounds of unchivalrous conduct! Victory goes to the Bearbee Knight!"
The King and Dieter locked gazes and became clear that Yuuri was doing this just to spite him.
"So this is how it's going to be, is it?" Dieter whispered to himself.
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
Yuuri judged the man's reaction from his seat, his arms crossed and a satisfied smile on his face. Dieter stormed furiously from the lists, robbed of any honor or glory he might have taken home. Yuuri knew he shouldn't have done that. The joust had been fair. Dieter had won. But Yuuri simply could not get over this childish hatred for the man. He'd taken Wolfram from him and now was refusing to bring him to the castle. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to make his life hell.
It had been a tough call. This Bearbee Knight was an excellent jouster who'd smashed his competition in every match until this one. Letting him advance this round would put him in the semi finals and if he should win again, he would go up against Yuuri's Lovesick Knight for the championship. But of course he'd just been badly wounded. He would lose in the next round.
With so few knights left in the tournament, things were moving much more quickly. By the end of the day the Bearbee Knight took up his lance once more and defeated the other Radford son against all odds. As he trotted off the field, Yuuri noticed the man swaying in the saddle. If there was going to be a proper match tomorrow the knight would need his wound tended to.
Yuuri summoned Giesela.
.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
Wolfram made it back to the sorry tent he had pitched on the far edge of the grounds. He had taken one of his uncle's stable boys to squire for him, but had warned the boy to stay out of sight as much as possible, just in case he was recognized. Wolfram dropped his bearbee shield onto the dirt and had the boy help him with the rest of his armor. He managed to tie and feed his horse, but not much else before collapsing onto his bedroll. His right arm had become nearly useless by now and every time he attempted to move it, he triggered a searing pain from his chest wound. He'd come this far, and yet there was no possible way he'd be able to defeat that other knight tomorrow and claim the championship.
"Goddamn Yuuri!" Wolfram cussed furiously, "Why do I do these stupid things for you!" He rolled onto his side, holding his poorly bandaged chest until the pain ebbed, "Goddamn husband," Wolfram added when he remembered who was responsible for his injury. Perhaps it was for the best. When this charade was over, Dieter would be taken with guilt and pity and perhaps spare him some punishment for entering the tourney.
Wolfram fell into a light, feverish sleep, unable to move or stay comfortable with his chest aching so horribly. He dreamt of Yuuri...of hearing his voice call out to him, when he realized that he was not dreaming. Someone was outside his tent.
"Sir knight, are you awake?"
"I am," Wolfram replied hoarsely, remembering just in time to make his voice sound unrecognizable while struggling to hide his nakedness with his blanket, "May I ask who is intruding upon my sleep?" He reached for the helmet at his bedside.
"Your king," Yuuri's voice answered, "You did well today, Sir knight. I have brought you my finest healer to see to your injury. Allow her to look after you. She will not reveal your face to anyone. You have my word."
Wolfram smiled to himself. He'd missed that voice. He wanted to burst out of his tent right now and tackle the man to the ground, hold him in a fierce embrace and call him a cheater and a wimp like he used to...so long ago.
"My king is most noble and gracious," Wolfram accepted, "And my injury is far too great to turn down such a kind offer."
Giesela swept into his tent and stood paralyzed when she looked upon his face. She quickly got over her shock and went to him. Her eyes said that she was not pleased and she ripped off his blood-soaked bandages with little mercy. Wolfram hissed in pain.
"What do you think you are doing here, Your Excellency?" she whispered furiously, "This is going to cause quite the scandal once you take off your helmet. Your own husband's lance..." Wolfram only grit his teeth in response. "His Majesty would be beside himself if he saw you like this."
Wolfram's eyes began to droop as the Giesela's healing powers closed his wound and eased his pain. She moved on to the rest of his body, tending to his scrapes and bruises. His eyes shot open again when her hands moved down towards more sensitive parts of his body.
"Hey!" he protested, but she pulled the blanket off of him anyway to search him. A look of worry crossed her face when she examined his nether regions.
"Have you lain with anyone recently?" her hand moved over his lower abdomen.
"Only my husband," Wolfram answered, a blush rising to his cheeks as he realized her train of thought, "But I take the potion every time."
"Perhaps you forgot once," she replied, "because you are most certainly with child."
It was as if someone had slapped him across the face.
"What?" Wolfram sat up with some difficulty and inspected himself, his left hand running over his flat belly, "No. It's not possible. I've been so careful." He couldn't feel anything. Perhaps she was lying to him. She placed her hand over his in an effort to calm him.
"It's still early, Wolfram. At this stage it is very easy to miscarry. You've put yourself at great risk riding in the tournament...and now with your injury...you are lucky the child has not been harmed."
"Lucky?" Wolfram asked, "Lucky?" he let out a short bark of laughter, "Dieter's lance should have pierced my heart. That would have been lucky. I don't want to have his child!" he said with despair. Giesela looked at him sadly. She'd known him since he was a baby and had always looked after him.
"Forfeit the match tomorrow," she advised, "Your body can't take another beating."
"No!" Wolfram growled in reply, "I will ride tomorrow! Most likely I will lose, but at least I will keep my honor. If it costs me this child then all the better. It will cause my husband twice the grief."
"You could die," Giesela reminded him quietly, "A miscarriage is dangerous. You could bleed to death inside and there would be nothing I could do to help you."
"Thrice the grief," Wolfram answered stubbornly. Giesela gathered her supplies and stood.
"I cannot tell you what to do, Your Excellency," she said, "But I beg you to think about the rest of us who care about you and who would not want to see you hurt or dead."
"Thank you, Giesela," Wolfram said, already laying back down under the blankets. Giesela left his tent and Wolfram found himself alone with the silence once more.
Dawn broke much quicker than expected. Wolfram had hardly slept the night and his eyes were red and swollen with fatigue when he finally stumbled out of his tent. His right side was so sore that putting on his armor took twice as long as it should have. His squire was forced to do everything else, even fetch his food and water.
Getting into the saddle was excruciating, the ride to the lists even more so. The crowd swelled around him, cheering as he rode. A peasant woman showered him with petals when he passed her. People chanted his alias. Across the field, he caught sight of his opponent moving into position.
Somewhere in the din of noise their arrivals were heralded and the start of the championship round was announced and he felt the lance placed in his hand.
Wolfram barely paid attention. His eyes focused on two petals that had fallen into his lap. He knew the flowers they had been plucked from. One had once been part of a beautiful Wolfram and overlapping it...was the petal of a Yuuri's naivete.
Wolfram's heart seemed to stop for a moment as he remembered...
The old herbal remedy used to prevent pregnancy was only effective if it was taken within a couple days after intercourse. Wolfram had been careful to take his potion every morning after laying with his husband...
...but he hadn't thought to take it after that one night with Yuuri.
Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he was flooded with relief. He was carrying Yuuri's child. Yuuri's. Not Dieter's. He had to tell him...tell Yuuri that he loved him and that he was having their child. This silly tournament didn't matter any more.
But it was too late. The Lovesick Knight had already surged forward and was coming at Wolfram with his horse at a full gallop. Wolfram's own horse responded, trained to know he must run as well. Wolfram dropped his lance and snatched up the reins to yank on the bit, but it was futile. He had enough time to look up and watch as his opponent's lance made contact with his right shoulder. The pain was blinding and the impact nearly threw him from the saddle. Wolfram fought to keep his seat and his consciousness as his vision swam before his eyes. He managed to pulled his horse to a clumsy stop in the middle of the field.
"I forfeit!" Wolfram shouted with what voice he could muster. The noise from the crowd was deafening at his announcement, but Wolfram was beyond caring. He dismounted and found his legs were shaking too badly to support him. He fell onto his hands and knees, panting.
"The winner is declared! The tournament goes to the king's champion, the Lovesick Knight!"
More noise from the crowd. Wolfram wasn't sure what he should be feeling right now. Worried? Relieved? The sound of spurs clinking drew his attention and he was suddenly staring at a pair of black armored legs. The other knight hoisted him to his feet and forced Wolfram to face all who were in the stands. The helmet was pulled from his head and his golden hair tumbled out over his face and down to his shoulders.
"Wolfram...Von Bielefeld?" the knight beside him gasped in disbelief.
"Wolfram Von Radford," Wolfram corrected bitterly. He was led off the field while the people jeered and murmured at his loss. Wolfram glanced at Yuuri who was high up in the grandstand. The king had stood and his eyes were wide with shock. His mouth hung open. He must have never suspected, even when Wolfram so obviously put a bearbee on his shield. His Yuuri...so painfully oblivious. Wolfram wanted to kiss those lips shut and reprimand him for being so dense.
Once the lists were clear, the king came down to present the prize to his champion.
"Sir Knight," he said loudly, and the crowd hushed once again, "Please remove your helmet so that I may give you your reward." The knight obeyed, reaching up to take off the cumbersome head protection. Long, golden brown hair flowed forth and a familiar face emerged, one that Wolfram had known since childhood. The knight was a woman. And she bowed deeply to Yuuri.
"The only thing in the world that I desire is your love, Your Majesty."
"Then you shall have it," Yuuri responded, "Rise, Lady Elizabeth." She did so, and when she stood facing her king, Yuuri slapped her hard on her left cheek. Then he placed a golden crown upon her head, the tourney prize, and pulled her in for a long kiss.
The crowd went wild and Wolfram's world went black.
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A/N: Hmmm...Yuuri what are you up to?
For those of you who keep asking me about Tainted...eh...It's been so long I don't really remember how I planned to end it. If I write the final chapter(s) and they don't turn out well would you be angry? QQ