Disclaimers: Nope. Don't own kyou kara maoh... wouldn't even be writing this if i did...XD
A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys. I'm glad to see that some of you are still reading this. Cursed Heart has always been one of my favourite fic to write. Because for some insane reason it's like I'm watching a movie unfold in my head when plot bunny attacks me with a chapter XD.
I'm fixing the chapters. Proofreading and polishing them a bit. I'm doing this for all my reposts. I'll be done in a week or two at most. Then I'll post the new chapters. Thanks for your patience .
Chapter 2 Farewells and Hellos
Swift, light footfalls hit the hard, dusty earth barely disturbing the quietude of the semi-deserted streets of the sleeping town. Now going straight ahead, now turning left in dark, narrow alleyways that for the time being was blessed by the moons light-bearing fingers. Agile feet belie their owner's reluctant heart. Thick, plain, drab-looking brown robes swayed rather stiffly as Wolfram von Bielefeld adjusted his hood pulling it ever closer to hide his exquisite yet sorrow laden countenance.
The young mazoku prince determinedly moved on, willing his body to take every step that will lead him away from Covenant Castle and away from the demon tribe before the sun rises.
He left behind several letters that he had written a few days before, addressed to the people closest to his heart- a certain Maou-heika included- he had poured out his deepest feelings and everything that he had wanted to say with black ink and perfumed parchments, words he couldn't find the courage to utter in person. He hoped that they would understand the choice that he had made.
He explained that he needed some time away from everyone and to confront his personal issues on his own. He also implored them not to make the king feel guilty or responsible about what he had done.
Because even after everything that had happened, his Royal Wimpiness does deserve to be happy with the person he cherishes the most. Wolfram just needed some time to get used to that. Or so he had written.
But there are two things he did not reveal in his personal letters: the curse and the gift.
The last thing he needed was Yuuri's pity. And knowing the wimp, he would probably try to nobly-and dumbly, in Wolfram's opinion- sacrifice himself, his happiness and even his love life for the sake of aiding his 'best friend'. Out of guilt, if nothing else.
Leaving the castle, the blonde kept himself in check as he walked to a rendezvous point where his father's cousin awaited him with a horse and some supplies for the journey that was secretly planned several days after the termination of his engagement.
It had been a difficult but necessary decision to make. As it was, his feet were getting heavier with each step he took, away from the place he called home. Away from his family. Away from his beloved.
And towards his freedom. Towards a lonely path to independence. He had determinedly made up his mind to be strong and pick himself up on his own, far from the shields of his name and his title and the protective arms of his family. It was time for the spoiled brat-prince to grow up.
He hastened to meet up with Shardan von Christ, the wayward eldest son of the head of a lower branch of the von Christ family. Wolfram's paternal grandmother and Shardan's father are siblings. And as godfather to the third son of Lady Cecil, he is probably the closest father figure that Wolfram had ever known (save perhaps for Conrad). Albeit, he was an absentee father as they mostly communicated through letters over the years because, Shardan von Christ was busy juggling his time travelling the countryside, performing familial duties, writing his memoirs, researching ancients mazoku cultures and of course, indulging his favourite pastime: philandering. Over the years, he tried to see his nephew whenever he could manage pull himself off some clingy wench's arm or take some time off from his clan's demanding tasks, which wasn't too often. The times they got to spend together was squandered by talking, catching up and… painting. Wolfram owed his uncle the discovery of his artistic brilliance (a/n shudders).
The young prince has always been very fond of his father's cousin growing up. His uncle was a rare specimen because he had none of the suffocating aristocratic air of the other nobles. Shardan was very casual and yet was very suave in his ways. He was not as reticent as Gwendal, nor as calmly indulgent as Conrad, and especially not as overemotional and hyperactive as their mother, but he was like a combination of all three in balanced proportions. Although it could be safe to say that his vanity may actually rival that of Lady Cheri.
As soon as Sir von Christ heard about the cancellation of the engagement, he was more than ready to go up in arms against that 'unworthy, cruel, heartless, blind beast' that broke his beautiful nephew's fragile heart. Only Wolfram's personal visit to plead for reason aborted the other's grand master scheme. With many a disappointed sigh, older mazoku turned his efforts on extending his generosity to the blonde prince, offering his home as a haven for the forlorn heart.
The offer, however tempting, was politely declined because Wolfram already had something in mind about what he wanted to do. Instead, the green-eyed mazoku asked for a different favour. He requested for a horse and for some provisions that he might need for a long journey on the date of his own choosing. The older mazoku, being the smart fellow that he was, had a strong inkling on what his nephew was planning. A week prior to the scheduled departure, a letter of confirmation was sent to the young Bielefeld.
Avoiding detection or confrontation of any kind, Wolfram rushed to meet his uncle behind one of the lesser known taverns in the kingdom. Rolling his eyes at the predictability of the other man, he moved toward the patiently waiting mazoku with a small smile playing on his lips.
After thanking his knight in shining armour for everything he had provided, Wolfram solemnly vowed to repay this act of kindness when he returns one day.
His uncle handed him one of the horses' reins and laughed softly at the young prince before flamboyantly declaring, "Don't be so dramatic, my beautiful silly nephew, I'm going to endow you with the company of my very fine self."
Wolfram tried to refuse the charitable offer, but the look he received from those dark sapphire orbs brooked no objections.
Mounting their horses and starting on their way, they travelled at a casual pace until they reach the nearby border before dawn, so as to avoid suspicion from the night watchers and other night frolickers. The younger mazoku tried to divert his mind from his present troubles by satisfying some of his curiosities. Thus, they spent the ride in a quiet eye-opening conversation.
"What about your estate Uncle? I know that your duties are too significant to be neglected for even a short period of time." Wolfram began his inquiry.
"Worry not, I've arranged everything. My brother is more than happy to take over for me. Too happy I should say." Was the smooth, almost sarcastic reply.
"You forfeited your right as a first-born?" Wolfram found it incredible to believe that anyone could give up such a position at a drop of a hat, and only to patronize someone else's whim.
"I prefer to call it an early retirement." Shardan merely shrugged it off.
"But why?"
There was a sigh.
"Why? That's a complicated question. But then the answer to a question that starts with the word 'why' is always complicated…"
"Uncle!"
The blue-eyed noble shifted in his horse and sat up a little straighter.
"Hmmm… very well. One of the reasons is that that I'm bored, and tired of the routine my position demands of me. And then there's the fact that I've sworn an oath to your late father, to help you deal with your personal crisis."
"Father? How could my father have ever known about Yuuri?"
"Not the Maou, Wolfram, I'm talking about your family legacy."
"How… oh father..."
"Yes, your father was my best friend. I owed him my life, you know. We used to tell each other everything and the curse was one of the secrets that he imparted to me. He was family, and I promised him that I will help find a way to break the evil spell. So for over a century now, I've researched about the curse, with your father when he has still alive, hoping to spare you from the pain of going through what every male descendant of your blood had gone through since it began. Your father feared greatly for your future and practically begged me to help you when the time comes."
"I didn't know that. I only received father's journal eight days ago. He wrote several things about this dark legacy, but many of the information written down were vague at best."
"I see. I want you to listen to me carefully. Your family history is a fascinating yet tragic one, Wolfram. I brought some of the ancient Bielefeld scrolls your late father left in my care. There was very little information about the curse. It wasn't included in any public record of your kin. It was of course, understandable that they would keep such a sensitive matter under wraps. Your father and I had to rely on private journals, personal letters or memoirs. The older texts were written in one of the ancient tongues, and your father was long gone before I was able to translate some of them. It took me fifty years before I finally reached a breakthrough. Old languages were never my forte. From what I know, the curse began before the founding of Shin Makoku. The ancient texts prove that. So far I've deciphered a place of origin. It would seem that long before your ancestors came to Shin Makoku, some generations before the time of Shinou, they lived as powerful lords of the lands just outside present day Caloria. Of old the place was called Emraud, the flourishing green valley. Now it is known as Lacrimea, the land of tears. I've been there several times after your father passed away, hoping to find some more clues. All I found were old temple ruins, but I haven't the time then to fully explore that site. I also came across the burnt foundations of the site where the ancient Bielefeld estate was reported to have once stood. I also heard a few crazy myths from the locals, stories passed down through generations that these might actually be relevant. The common factor of the tale was something about evil witches punishing equally evil warlords by ripping the evil lord's heart out and having it for dinner. But that's another story. Searching the archives, I looked up some ancient families and clans of the place, I was lucky enough to stumble upon perhaps the only remaining complete record of the ancient Bielefeld line before the flight to Shin Makoku. How it was preserved for many millennia, I care not to find out. I was only grateful to finally have something concrete to work on. That was about some time after the war four decades ago. Anyway, I found several interesting facts. During a certain period of time, the Bielefeld bloodline diminished significantly after merely three generations that all but one bearing the blood survived. The heir. After him, the Bielefeld clan started to beget only one son for every generation, a male heir in every single case, and the years of their death is basically younger than the usual mazoku life span. That was all I could gather after many years of research. But I'm not going to be beaten down. We now have a place and a time line. We can commence from there."
"Commence from where?" Wolfram asked, slightly confused.
One fine silver brow rose rather dramatically.
"I will not be forsworn, my dear nephew. And now that you've opted to run away from your predicaments, you might as well do something productive with your time."
"I'm not running away-"
"You must think of your heir. You must try to spare your future offspring from this burden, unless you're thinking of ending the line with you."
The young lord paused to think.
"I-father wrote that the curse lasts about ten years. When black flames begin to materialize inside the gem it will gradually engulf the red ones. When the flame turns black, that is the end. So that means I have roughly a decade to find a way to break this curse or die a very painful death."
"You mean the black flames had already begun to appear? But you are too young…your father was around a hundred and fifty when it started."
"Well, maybe it's different with every generation."
Shardan shook his head.
"That cannot be… your father told me that the curse will only commence when an heir is about to be born."
Wolfram stiffened.
"Uh, maybe it just decided to start early."
"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Wolfram?"
Emerald orbs refused to meet questioning sapphire ones.
Silence.
"I am expecting."
"That no good, cowardly son of a-"
A horse neighed as its rider roughly yanked at the reins to make it turn around.
"Uncle, stop!"
"I'm going back to give him a piece of my mind, and my sword…"
"Please, uncle, he doesn't know."
Silence.
"He doesn't know."
"Wolf…"
"I don't want him to know. Please. Let's just go." At the sight of his dejected nephew, Shardan redirected his horse to their original route.
Moments of placating tensed nerves passed.
"You are awfully calm about all this Wolfram."
"I know, uncle… and that's what scares me."
A pause.
"So where to now my young prince?"
"To Lacrimea, Uncle. I will try to search for more answers there."
"To Lacrimea it is."
The two riders were discreetly well on their way to the borders of Shin Makoku, when the sound of another set of hooves swiftly approaching made them stop in their tracks.
For one single moment, Wolfram actually thought that Yuuri might realized that he had gone and have come to stop him and… shook himself from his reverie as a young red-haired soldier in blue uniform came into view.
'Definitely not Yuuri.' Wolfram thought sadly.
Wolfram recognized the newcomer as one of his personal guards. Rowan Marron. A loyal, dedicated soldier and a casual friend. And right now he was wearing a stricken look on his face.
"You're not going to leave without saying goodbye are you, Excellency?" he addressed the prince, his big brown eyes filling up with tears. "Because really, that would be just icing on the cake of a shitty night, when my fiancée just told me she's pregnant with another man's child, and now you're going to leave without a word as well…
"How did you-?" Wolfram was surprised. He had thought he made sure he wasn't seen or followed.
"I was on my way to the tavern to drown my sorrows and all, when I heard your voice," the guard answered. "I've been in your guards for over thirty years now, my Lord. I'd recognize your voice no matter how hushed it is. As soon as I realized your intentions, I quickly ran to get my horse and grabbed whatever I might need. "
"Rowan…"
"I realize that after everything that happened, you may not decide to stay. Everyone of us under your command hoped you would not go… but… well, now that I know you're going to leave, you must take me with you!" Chocolate eyes entreated emerald green ones.
"But what about your family, they would be worried-"
"I've no family left, sir. They all died during the war four decades ago." The soldier quietly stated.
"I'm sorry…"
"I've no family, no fiancée, and now no job…" Rowan's self-pity was quite evident that Wolfram found it in his own grieving heart to feel sympathy for the soldier.
"I cannot take you with me. I cannot afford to pay you. And there is no guarantee when I will come back, if at all."
"I don't care sir. I have nothing left here anyway. Please, let me go with you! I can fend for myself and I will not be a burden. I need to get away too..."
A third voice interrupted their exchange.
"Oh well, misery loves company my dear nephew. Let's take him with us Wolfram; he is such a cute little thing. I may find some use for him."
At the sight of Shardan's wolfishly grinning face and Rowan's wide doe-eyed pleading look, the blonde finally caved.
"Very, well. Uncle, this is Rowan Marron. One of my soldiers. Rowan, this is my uncle, Shardan von Christ."
"Call me Shardan, I do so hate formalities. It is a pleasure to meet someone almost as delicate as my lovely little nephew."
Dark russet eyes narrowed slightly.
"I assure you, my lord, I am far from delicate."
And with that, Wolfram suddenly found himself in company of two others on a journey that he had planned to go through on his own.
And somehow, he felt a little comfort touch his weary, broken soul.
For a week, the three of them journeyed over land and over water, with brief stops to eat, sleep, or get necessary supplies.
Halfway through the journey though, while passing through a vast field of wildflowers, young lord Bielefeld unexpectedly fainted and nearly fell off his horse had it not been for Rowan's sharp instincts of grabbing the reins with one hand and his superior's arms with the other.
Shardan lifted his nephew up and laid him on a bed of pink and yellow blossoms.
"What is wrong with him?" Rowan asked worriedly. "Is he ill? He's been quite pale of late; he threw up all his breakfast this morning and yesterday too."
"It is to be expected." The silver blue-haired mazoku replied vaguely. "He'll be up in a minute."
"Up in a minute?" The soldier exclaimed incredulously. "Expected? You expect him to have random fainting spells?"
"Calm down, little nanny." His companion placated softly.
"You tell me what's wrong with his Excellency." Brown eyes glared, demanding.
"How about you find out for yourself? It's fairly easy."
"How?"
Long elegant fingers took sun-kissed ones and placed them above their unconscious companion's abdomen. Words were whispered a breath away from intently listening ears
"Place your hands over here. Now close your eyes. Concentrate. That's right. Can you feel it? It's still quite weak, but it's there now."
"Oh. So that's it." Rowan finally understood and nodded.
Soft lips came in contact with slightly tanned skin in a quick barely there caress which startled the younger of the two conscious mazoku.
"What do you think you were doing?"
"Nothing…" The mock innocent face of the culprit was almost believable.
"What do you mean nothing you—?!"
"What's all the commotion about?" Bright viridian orbs finally fluttering to consciousness trying to acquaint themselves with their surroundings.
"Sire, you're awake. Congratulations… I mean…"
"Ah, so you know." Pale lips quirked in a wan smile.
"Yes."
"Hn. We should get going then." Wolfram sat and reached out his hand to be pulled up by the strong grip of his ex-subordinate.
"Are you truly alright now? Maybe we should linger a bit—"
"I'm fine now Rowan. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can rest, don't you think?"
"As you wish, Excellency."
"Call me Wolfram. There is no need for titles in this company."
"I shall try."
"Good." With that the blonde turned to prepare his horse.
As Rowan moved to do the same, he passed by the silent blue-eyed noble, and softly hissed. "You reputation precedes you, my lord Shardan. But I will not fall for your games or your bed."
He turned on his heel leaving Lord von Christ with an amused and contemplative look on his handsome features.
"We shall see, little flame."
They pressed on towards the nearest harbour and boarded the first available ship bound for Caloria.
Not having been successful in overcoming seasickness in the past, coupled with morning sickness, two more fainting episodes, the tiresome journey, the restless nights, and a grieving heart, stress began to take its toll on the young Bielefeld and he fell in and out of illness needing all the help he can get from his uncle and his loyal guard in order to survive the last remaining legs of their journey to the port of Caloria and from there, a tedious four day ride to the town of Lacrimea.
End Chapter 2
A/N: Thanks again for reading and the reviews: arte0135; Sawyer Fan; makyone.