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Bloom	By : chayron Category: +G to L > Kyou Kara Maou Views: 9095 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Kyou Kara Maou! It belongs to its respective owners. This fan fiction is not a commercial project, and I'm not making any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Bloom
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 10-Part 10
- 11-Part 11
- 12-Part 12
- 13-Part 13
- 14-Part 14
- 15-Part 15
- 16-Part 16
- 17-Part 17
- 18-Part 18
- 19-Part 19
- 20-Part 20
- 21-Part 21
- 22-Part 22
- 23-Part 23
- 24-Part 24
- 25-Part 25
- 26-Part 26
- 27-Part 27
- 28-Part 28
- 29-Part 29
- 30-Part 30
- 31-Part 31
- 32-Part 32
- 33-Part 33
- 34-Part 34
- 35-Part 35
- 36-Part 36
- 37-Part 37
- 38-Part 38
- 39-Part 39
- 40-Part 40
- 41-Part 41
- 42-Part 42
- 43-Part 43
- 44-Part 44
- 45-Part 45
- 46-Part 46
- 47-Part 47
- 48-Part 48
- 49-Part 49
- 50-Part 50
- 51-Part 51
- 52-Part 52
- 53-Part 53
- 54-Part 54
- 55-Part 55
- 56-Part 56
- 57-Part 57
- 58-Part 58
- 59-Part 59
- 60-Part 60
- 61-Part 61
- 62-Part 62
- 63-Part 63
- 64-Part 64
- 65-Part 65
- 17
- 18
- 19
Disclaimer: I don’t own Kyou Kara Maou! – It belongs to its respective owners. This fan fiction is not a commercial project, and I’m not making any money from writing it.
Warnings: yaoi (male x male), violence, swearing, angst, drama. Wolfram-centric, out of character, original character.
Summary: With Yuuri’s upcoming birthday, Wolfram makes his decision. Where will it lead him and what is to become of them? Should eventually be Yuuri x Wolfram.
A/N 1: Yuuri – 18 years old. Wolfram – 20. Eldara – 31. Halea – 20. Athara – 18.
A/N 2: Greta doesn’t exist.
A/N 3: European/American/Japanese standards all at once depending on the plot requirements.
A/N 4: A tendency to ignore the anime/manga and supplement the story with my own imagined facts.
A/N 5: Season III is not taken into consideration, except for the fact that Wolfram’s uncle exists.
A/N 6: The umlaut in Gunter’s name is a bother.
Bloom
by chayron (lttomb@yahoo.com), beta-read by Tia Integra
Part 18
The tailor arrived just after breakfast, as arranged. Leading the man to his room, Wolfram couldn’t shake off the feeling he had had at the breakfast table. Eldara and himself didn’t exaggerate yesterday’s incident. In fact, the blond had the impression that now Eldara’s consideration towards him grew. He might indeed be regretting his behavior. However, others, unaware why Wolfram had lashed out as he had, acted reserved around the blond. Halea didn’t speak to him at all. Von Sarda was tense, not certain how to take it. On the other hand, Athara, von Sedera, and the baron seemed to be completely unaffected. It was because the baron hadn’t been told anything, and Wolfram knew why von Sedera would be indifferent. But it would only be late in the evening until Wolfram found out why Eldara’s brother couldn’t care less.
The guard carrying a heavy chest filled with clothing followed Wolfram and the tailor into the room. Wolfram pulled two chairs away from the table and patted one of them for the guard put the chest down on it.
“Thank you. You may leave us,” Wolfram said to the guard, gesturing towards the door. Even if he couldn’t understand Wolfram, the definite action made it clear what he wanted.
The tailor walked over to the bed and placed the clothes on it. Curious, Wolfram inspected his new attire. It was his usual military jacket and trousers.
“The boots are in the chest,” the tailor said, walking over to the chairs. He opened the chest. Wolfram was again surprised by how good his language was. Upon inquisition, the duke had explained that Motan had been von Ashira family’s head tailor for a long time, and, since Eldara’s mother was a Demon, not wanting to give up her sense of style, she followed the fashion in Shin Makoku, thus Motan had needed to make himself familiar with various descriptions and instructions.
“Would you like to try everything on, Sir?”
Wolfram nodded. He unbuttoned and took his jacket off, his shirt followed. He took one of the shirts and shrugged it on. There were three of them just like they had agreed for today. Many more were in the making, and he was going to order even more clothes.
Wolfram had gotten more or less used to the thought of spending the rest of the autumn and all winter in Kardera. If his health improved sooner, he would be able to travel sooner, but the very thought of setting his foot on a ship made him gag. The blond was worried that his adventure with the pirates would not even allow him to ever look at a ship, much less to board one. This would make his return practically impossible. He didn’t even want to think about it.
Yesterday, Wolframs conversation with Eldara bound Wolfram to believe that his prolonged stay might be not such a bad thing. It might be interesting, exciting even. They had reached some kind of agreement; one more of them, at least. He was also looking forward to today’s outing with Athara. Again, he couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy as he was aware that his curiosity was more fuelled by Eldara’s disapproval of Athara’s pass-time than at the prospect of going somewhere together with the duke’s brother. On the other hand, it was no wonder. He didn’t particularly like the youngest von Ashira. Athara seemed to him somehow impulsive and he found it hard to predict his reactions. He felt uncomfortable around the younger male. He sensed that the feeling was mutual.
Wolfram looked at himself in the mirror. The uniform fit him perfectly. Not to be narcissistic or anything, but he looked dashing. Wolfram turned around, checking himself out in the mirror again. It was a pity that there was no one he could show himself off to. Nobody cared.
The blond pouted at the mirror. He had always been particular about his appearance, but his fastidiousness had found target only with Yuuri. Yuuri found him handsome, and he liked looking good for Yuuri. Always looking his best had been his guarantee that Yuuri would not look at others and would finally fall in love with him. It had never worked, though.
Wolfram started undressing his uniform. What a shame that Athara wasn’t interested in men; if he was, he would certainly appreciate having such a gorgeous companion at his side this evening. Amused by his own thoughts, Wolfram chuckled. He had never been modest about his looks. Gwendal called this arrogance and he was probably right. He had always been aware of how people stared at him.
Wolfram laid his uniform back on the bed and went to see other clothes the tailor had brought with him. They were going to be his apparel this evening as wearing the von Bielefeld military uniform didn’t seem appropriate for an outing.
Wolfram looked at the jacket the tailor had retrieved from the deeper section of the chest. It was a dark blue, nearly black, jacket of average length. The upper part of it was of similar style to the jackets Athara and most of other men were wearing in Raizgad. Wolfram, however, was strictly against the frills on the bottom part of the jacket. It might be the latest fashion in Raizgad, but he couldn’t accept it. He had refused to wear knee-breeches as well thus the tailor had come up with trousers which were similar to the trouser for Wolfram’s uniform. The trousers were made of the same material as the jacket and were also of the same color. The shoes that went together were black, though, and with raised platforms. Wolfram had debated this but he had seen Eldara and Athara wear similar shoes and had to agree that they looked good.
Wolfram took the shirt that was offered and shrugged it on. Then he put on a short gray jacket intended for casual wear. It looked neat and was comfortable. The trousers that came with them were wider than any of Athara’s, and Wolfram could finally sit down without having to worry about them cutting into his skin in odd places. He undressed neither the jacket nor the trousers, deciding to wear them until the evening.
Content with the result, he tried on several cravats the tailor brought with him. He was supposed to choose the ones he liked best, but he found all of them acceptable, therefore, to show his gratitude, he took all of them. It felt incredibly good to be able to pay for himself.
When the tailor left, both his and Wolfram’s faces shone with satisfaction.
---
The entire von Ashira household gathered to see Neryan von Sedera off. Trunks and chests already loaded into the carriage, Wolfram watched Lennon Barista of Elkia say his farewells to his lord until Eldara walked over to the duke. Wolfram didn’t know what secret signs he had had expected to see, but their parting was strictly official. Well, of course, it had to be. The blond was somewhat uncomfortable about his piqued curiosity. The dream he’d had certainly increased it.
When it was Wolfram’s turn to see the duke off, he didn’t miss a mischievous spark in Neryan’s eyes. The duke’s handshake was firm and warm.
“Thank you for keeping Eldara busy,” he said softly. “Your Highness is good at that; I’ve never seen Eldara so lively.”
The corners of Wolfram’s lips quirked up; he was not amused in the least, neither by the innuendo nor the teasing. “Thank you, Your Grace. But I believe Your Grace is much more experienced in the ways of keeping Eldara busy.”
Neryan von Sedera squeezed Wolfram’s hand even firmer. His smile vanished. “There’s time for practice, Your Highness. I believe a lot of it; I heard Your Highness will be staying here for quite some time. I wish Your Highness a good stay in Kardera.”
Wolfram decided to just leave it be. Neryan von Sedera was an influential man, and there was no point in getting into a conflict with him over such a ridiculous matter. Another thing was that Wolfram had suspicions that underneath that impish façade, the duke may actually be somewhat jealous. That made him chuckle inwardly.
Keeping his emotions clear off his face, Wolfram nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. Have a safe journey.”
“Are Motan’s services satisfactory?” Eldara asked after von Sedera had departed and now he and Wolfram were climbing the stairs back into the castle. Right now the blond was wearing a coat he had borrowed from Athara but the duke had noticed Wolfram’s new attire. He just hadn’t found an opportunity to comment on them yet.
The blond nodded. “Yes, thank you. He does a wonderful job.”
“Your new clothes suit you tremendously,” Eldara complimented. He laughed inwardly when Wolfram’s face lit up with contentment. Sometimes Wolfram needed very little to be happy. “The current haircut looks better on you as well.” Now Wolfram looked somewhat doubtful. “You look sharper, more…refined?” Eldara explained. He, in fact, found Wolfram more masculine instead of “more refined”. Saying that to Wolfram, however, would doubtlessly result in the blond assuming that he thought Wolfram hadn’t been masculine enough or lacked masculinity in general. That would probably be correct, as, when he saw Wolfram in Shin Makoku last, he had the impression that Wolfram was just an attractive kid but now, in his opinion, Wolfram had grown a lot. Although explaining all that would be a much greater pain than to just simply be quiet.
“Thank you,” Wolfram said, surprised by the note of shyness that appeared in his voice. He slipped past the door Eldara held for him. It was warm inside the castle and he welcomed the change. A servant hurried over to them to take their coats.
Neryan von Sedera had left after having lunch with von Ashira household. Baristas had their lunch in their chambers. It was probably some kind of protest, but Wolfram was aware that neither Eldara nor von Sedera had been bothered by their absence. It was still four hours till he and Athara would go to the place the youngest von Ashira had promised to take him. Wolfram decided to spend the next hour pampering himself in the baths.
When he was finally ready for Athara’s surprise and both of them were standing at the door, waiting for the servants to bring their coats, he could feel Halea’s and Eldara’s admiring eyes on him.
“Well, you look splendid tonight,” Halea said, casting one more gaze at the blond, who was wearing his dark-blue jacket, the shirt and trousers he had picked for the night earlier. He also donned one of the cravats that he bought today. Its whiteness contrasted with the almost black jacket and accentuated Wolfram’s emerald eyes.
“Indeed,” Athara agreed with his sister. “I’m a little worried that with such a handsome companion at my side nobody would pay any attention to me.”
Wolfram accepted the compliments as everyone did – smiled a lot and told them he was not worthy of them and asked to stop embarrassing him. He breathed more freely when he finally stepped into the cool evening air. A minute later, escorted by three guards, he and Athara were left the castle premises in a carriage.
It was dark in the town, a candlelight flickering in windows oftentimes. The main road was almost deserted excluding occasional bystanders. They proceeded down the main road, nearly reached the very end when they turned left into another street. They rode a few hundred meters further until they stopped at a two-storey building. At first glance, it didn’t look any different from the rest of the sleepy houses in the town. When the guards started dismounting, however, Wolfram noticed that all the windows were alight. Athara hadn’t explained him anything during their short trip here and Wolfram followed him out of the carriage, still uncertain what he was about to face.
The door swung open before Athara could set his foot on the short stairs leading to the house. A doorkeeper, or whatever his post may be, greeted them brightly and rushed to meet them. On his way, he bowed so many times that Wolfram wondered how he managed to keep his balance on the stairs.
He chirped ecstatically in Karderian, now walking backwards back into the house as Athara and Wolfram continued advancing the stairs. He walked backwards until all three of them filed into a hall. The doorman quickly motioned for another man at the door to help the guests undress their coats.
The first thing that attracted Wolfram’s eye were two winding staircases, one on the left and one on the right, both meeting on the second floor to form a balcony. The hall itself was decorated in bright red and golden colors, striving for the sense of luxury, yet failing as some of the tapestry was faded and had blemish. The “gold” on the railing of the stairs was dim and covered in scratches. The carpeting was clean but worn.
There were three doors in the hall: one under the balcony, one leading right and one left. Wolfram could hear laughter and noise coming from the door on the left. After his coat was taken and, after he wiped his feet on the doormat, he stood beside Athara, waiting. The guards hadn’t followed them into the house, which puzzled him somewhat.
Wolfram reconsidered the doorman’s post. Wolfram thought that he may be an owner but, since Athara showed no intention of introducing them to each other, he couldn’t be certain.
The owner said something to von Ashira, and Wolfram looked at him for explanation. Athara hesitated for a moment then said something to the owner.
“I said that we wanted a separate room,” Athara explained to Wolfram as they were led to the stairs on their right.
“What for?”
“Well, I presumed you would like more privacy.”
While Wolfram organized this in his head, the owner and Athara exchanged a few more words but all the blond understood was “Sir Lanchester”, “meet”, and “alright”.
Athara and Wolfram were led upstairs and down a long corridor. They passed a few doors, all the while listening to – what Wolfram presumed were – the owner’s complaints about the cold weather. The blond now had a hunch as to where he was. He hoped he was wrong. Nevertheless, once they entered a spacious room, the background of which mainly consisted of two enormous beds, his suspicions were confirmed – he was in a brothel.
Wolfram looked around. He had been in a brothel before although the one he remembered had been nowhere as big or as clean as this one. All he could remember now were damp, moldy walls and creaky flooring. He had also seen a few tramps leaning against one of the damp walls. He had been just a child of five back then and one of the women smiled at him in, what she probably presumed, was a motherly manner. He remembered that he had recoiled at the sight of her ugly yellow teeth. She had covered her mouth in embarrassment.
The memory of why he had ever entered such an establishment at such a young age eluded him. He could only guess that he went in looking for someone or followed one of his bodyguards inside. He wouldn’t even remember the incident after all these years if not for Conrart, who had been so inflamed he felt it necessary to antagonize over it.
Once they entered the room, the owner rushed to light the candles that stood on the table in the middle of the room, then briskly walked to light the ones hanging on the walls. Athara and Wolfram were shown to a large sofa where they sat down. A coffee table stood in front of the sofa. The blond noticed a bell rope hanging close to the couch.
When all the candles had been lit, the owner addressed Athara, asking him something.
“Would you like something to drink?” Athara translated for Wolfram.
“White wine, please.”
Wolfram noted that Athara didn’t mention anything about his own choice, only translating Wolfram’s. The owner obviously knew what Athara liked, since, without further ado, he went to the cupboard to retrieve two bottles and glasses. Wolfram watched him carry everything to the coffee table and start pouring the drinks. Athara’s glass was filled with rich, dark liquor. The smell was sharp, prickly. Von Ashira took it, and Wolfram reached for his wineglass.
“For this evening,” Athara said, clinking his glass against Wolfram’s.
They drank slowly, enjoying the taste of their drinks. Wolfram eased back into the sofa, trying to relax his shoulders. It was obvious that Athara was a frequent visitor to this establishment. It was no wonder too, that the youngest von Ashira thought that his sister’s savior could use a brothel as well. He had spent quite some time in the castle, and Athara was aware that his sex life was nonexistent. The concern was both reasonable and irritating.
Wolfram found the situation awkward. He sipped his wine while considering leaving as soon as he finished drinking his glass. It was a good thing that nobody was introduced and anonymity was preserved. Nobody knew who he was. Hopefully.
The blond turned his head to the owner, who was talking to Athara again. They discussed something for a while, and then the man left.
“So this is where you spend most of your time…” Wolfram concluded, churning the contents of his glass.
Athara grinned at him. “Is it so surprising?”
Wolfram shrugged. “No, not at all.” He could understand now why neither Halea nor Eldara wanted to talk about what Athara did in his free time. It was, probably, a well-known fact in the town. Well, it wasn’t his business.
“It’s fun here,” Athara assured him.
“I have no doubts about that,” Wolfram said, trying to keep sarcasm out of his voice. He obviously didn’t succeed as Athara eyed him coldly. Wolfram shrugged again, sighing. “Well, I haven’t ever been to one so I wouldn’t know.”
Soon snacks, various fruits and sweets were brought in and lowered on the coffee table. Wolfram fished out an apple that looked appetizing out of the bowl and took a bite.
After the servants left, there was a knock and a wealthy looking man entered the room. He grinned brightly at the sight of Athara and fluttered across the room towards them. He said something to which Athara answered with something that had them both laughing. Obviously, the two were on very good terms. Probably friends.
Still laughing, the newcomer reached the coffee table. Now his attention went to Wolfram. The blond’s eyebrows rose when admiring eyes took him in. Athara’s friend quickly assessed Wolfram’s looks, clicked approvingly with his tongue and suddenly reached out for the blond’s face.
Athara’s whole body had leaned forward in an attempt to swat his friend’s hand away before it could touch the blond. It all happened so fast and he had been absolutely unprepared for something like this. Aghast, Athara stared at Wolfram’s fingers wrapped around his friend’s wrist in an iron grasp. Wolfram’s face radiated violence.
“What the hell is he doing?” Wolfram asked softly, his voice just a hiss. “Did he really mistake me for a whore?”
Athara glanced at his alarmed friend. “Ahm…” he muttered, slowly leaning back into the sofa. “This is Wolfram von Bielefeld, His Royal Emissary from Shin Makoku,” he introduced. “And this is Sir Dorian Lanchester.”
Dorian’s eyes widened. He blushed brightly. “Dear gods. Your Highness,” he stated in a shaky voice. Then he tugged at his hand and Wolfram let go, albeit reluctantly. Dorian spoke a nearly fluent Demon language, which soothed Wolfram’s indignation to some extent.
Dorian looked at his friend, forcing a laugh. “And I wondered how your preferences could have changed so much…” When Athara gave him a warning look, his attention returned to the blond. “Please, forgive me, Sir,” he said to Wolfram offering a small bow.
Wolfram nodded curtly, accepting the apology. Athara motioned for his friend to push a chair over closer to them and sit down. Meanwhile he got a glass for him. He filled it with the same liquor he was having and held it out for Dorian. The three of them saluted each other and drank.
Athara and his friend exchanged the information on their latest exploits, their health and then went on talking about women. Wolfram listened to them but didn’t join the conversation. He wanted to leave but it would have been an impolite gesture. It had been only with best intentions when the youngest von Ashira had specially invited him here. He would have to sit it out. Then Wolfram’s attention went to a blueberry pie on the table.
About twenty minutes later, Dorian, unnerved by Wolfram’s silence, had excused himself saying that he had to return to the friends he had left in the other room.
“You scared him off,” Athara noted accusingly when he and Wolfram were left alone in the room. He was lightly drunk already.
“Did I?” Wolfram muttered. He felt no remorse - it had been Dorian’s mistake. He was pretty content now – he had eaten almost all of the wonderful blueberry pie, leaving a small piece of it just out of courtesy for Athara to try.
Athara sighed. “Oh, well.” He leaned back into the sofa, getting even more comfortable. “So how is your hand?” he asked, looking at Wolfram’s right hand which he held his glass in.
Wolfram took the glass in his left hand and spread his fingers. Only the shallow cuts which had been reopened were visible. “It’s almost healed,” the blond said. “I can hardly wait until I am able to hold my sword again.”
Sipping his dark liquor in slow, bitter gulps, the youngest von Ashira watched the longing look on Wolfram’s face. The blond loved swords, he loved riding, and he had no sex life. He would have been a perfect brother Eldara had never had. Except for drinking. He snickered inwardly; yet no one was perfect indeed.
“You have two half-brothers, don’t you?” Athara asked.
A little surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation, Wolfram nodded. “Yes, I do.”
The youngest von Ashira hummed, considering this, then offered Wolfram more wine, which the blond accepted gladly. While watching him drink, Athara wondered what exactly von Bielefeld was compensating for. Well, whatever it was, drinking wasn’t going to do him any good.
“It seems von Sarda is serious about Halea,” Wolfram noted. “I think a wedding is on the horizon.”
“Hopefully,” Athara agreed. He chuckled remembering how he had been dead set against Wolfram courting Halea. It was such a laugh when he thought about it now. “She seems to be smitten by him, too.”
They talked about this and that and both of them were getting drunker by the minute. Wolfram forgot that he had wanted to leave and talked to Athara willingly.
“I bet you get along with your brothers,” Athara said at some point, his thoughtful, unsteady gaze directed at the ceiling.
“Umm… Not always,” Wolfram said, wondering why they kept returning to the topic. “I get along with Gwendal. Conr-”
“You know,” Athara cut him off, “I got yelled at for not escorting Halea to the stupid fair. I understand I should’ve, but…” He gave Wolfram a look half-filled with jealousy and half in admiration. “He was so pissed, that bastard!”
“Well, it’s understandable,” Wolfram said carefully. “He was worried.”
“Yes, yes,” Athara nodded impatiently, downing the rest of the dark brown liquid in his glass. He reached for the bottle to pour himself another one. “I know that. But it’s always my fault! No matter what I do, it’s never enough or is always wrong!”
“I’m certain he doesn’t think that.” Wolfram got the feeling that Athara wasn’t even listening to him – it was as if he was entranced by his anger and hurt.
“Why didn’t you do that? Why didn’t you do this? He’s always discontent! I don’t remember him ever being happy with me.” Athara gave Wolfram a drunken look and raised his glass, saluting him. “He treats strangers better than his own brother. Or it’s always about Halea. I’m always just the third, foolish son.”
Wolfram looked at his glass morosely. Athara was jealous of him. Grateful to him, but jealous and bitter nonetheless. What he was jealous about wasn’t exactly clear – whether of Wolfram’s half-brothers or of him having earned Eldara’s acceptance or of both at once – but it made the blond regret his agreement to accompany Athara here all over again.
“Mister Perfection!” Athara spat, seething with intoxicated rage. “Looking down on me all the time… You can’t imagine how I hate him.”
The flow of words was unstoppable; Wolfram couldn’t discern even between them. Every time he would try to either console Athara or to put in a good word for Eldara, he was interrupted and cut off. In the end, he just listened quietly. He didn’t know how much truth he was hearing but it had become clear to him, Athara and Eldara’s relationship. And, to his horror, it sounded more and more familiar.
Athara’s voice carried so much hatred and wrong that Wolfram felt that with every sip he took his wine was becoming progressively bitter. It was obvious that nothing he would say would make Athara feel better – the loathing rooted itself in deep a long time ago.
What spilled from Athara’s mouth made Wolfram miserable, too. He knew Eldara loved his brother and wished the best for him. The way Athara felt about him was, in Wolfram’s opinion, wrong. It made him think about himself and Gwendal. Gwendal had done so much for him! All this time he had been his brother, father, friend, and mentor. Wasn’t it the same with Eldara and Athara? Why wasn’t it the same with him and Conrart?
The blond stared at the bowl of fruits in front of him, wondering why and where it went wrong. Once, he had hated Conrart just as much as Athara hated his brother. Somewhere along the way, the hatred had dissipated but the bitterness still lived. He could probably try to swallow his pride and try to restore their relationship. However, he felt that it was already too late – the gap between them would never disappear. That knowledge pained him, the feeling of failure cutting in deep. Conrart had tried, so many times, to reach out to him. He never took that hand. He knew Conrart suffered. And there had been time when he had wallowed in the knowledge of that pain.
He was older now, wiser. He knew he should have forgiven Conrart and moved on. But what was the point now? They got used to things as they were.
TBC
- 17
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Bloom