Kyou Kara Maou: Their Unspoken Names
Warnings: RP plot ahead. Also, gratuituous invention of names and situations.
"Why are we doing this?" Shinou asked quietly, but the Sage had no answer for him.
They were all gathered in the courtyard of Blood Pledge Castle, and a roaring bonfire had been built up. Laughter and music and dancing surrounded the flames, every soldier and attendant celebrating in perfect good nature. If any of them saw the look of stone on their liege lord's face, their gazes slid by, only slightly chilled, and quickly found some more desirable sight. They wanted so desperately to have something to celebrate.
Roufas stepped forward, tipping his head high to command attention. He waved a sheaf of papers before his face and announced, loud to be heard above the revelry, "Birth records, house honors, and family tree."
He cast them into the bonfire and cheers arose as the bound parchment blackened immediately. His wife, a delicate thing shorter even than Roufas (her name, the Sage thought, was Coretta), wrinkled her nose prettily in an expression that Roufas despised -- as he would happily tell anyone who stood still long enough to listen, when deep enough into his drink. They stood together before the fire but parted immediately afterwards: Coretta to where her sisters and father waited, Roufas to where Siegbert and Katrinka argued over some point of warfare or another.
Shinou took a long swallow of his wine, and it didn't seem to be enough to shake the tense set of his shoulders. The Sage offered him a fresh cup, and took the old one. He wondered if they would burn that too.
"Settlements arbitrated," announced someone that the Sage didn't recognize. "Settlements contested." He tossed another stack of papers onto the bonfire. One lone sheaf was whisked away on the breeze, saved from the fate of its brethren, but Earhart reached up with one long arm and snatched it. It too went into the flame.
Helga stepped forward then, smirking; she posed, with one hand on her ample hip, and the other holding a bound journal. "The diary of his mother, my aunt, Marina von Spitzberg!" she announced proudly.
The assemblage cheered. Shinou's grip tightened on the arm of his chair, although no one but the Sage saw it.
After a brief pause, waiting to be certain she was the center of all attention, Helga added the diary to the bonfire. The musicians seemed to appreciate her flare for the dramatic, and swept into a jaunting tune as the flames soared higher.
"Top that, von Biefeld," Helga said smugly, as if she found the whole thing to be a contest she couldn't bear to lose.
Roufas spread his arms dramatically. "Sorry, Uncle Theodore left no such nostalgia. Boys don't keep diaries." He rolled his eyes at Shinou in the laughter that followed, as if to share in the moment of exasperation: they had always been closer, by virtue of both being male and von Biefeld, than Shinou had been with his mother's family. But halfway through the gesture the young lord did a double-take, noticing that his cousin was neither paying attention to him nor in a good-humored mood. The Sage watched Roufas falter, frozen in jocularity, and then turn back to Siegbert, seeking some reassurance.
Shinou only watched the bonfire as it fed on the past.
It was Christall who approached the pair on the raised dais, heedless of the impropriety of his action in the way that only a born soldier can be. "What is this all about?" he wanted to know, husky voice disapproving. "I was told that we were celebrating Your Majesty's coronation."
Shinou took another drink of his wine and said nothing. The Sage told him, "This is the celebration."
"Then why are we burning every sign of his existence?"
"It is an old tradition," the Sage said, voice soft. He didn't want to disturb Shinou any further. "They say that names are powerful, among the old kindred."
Christall tilted his head from side to side, easing a crick in his neck or thinking that over. "Of course, but nobody holds to that archaic superstition anymore except those who live in the past. No offense intended, of course," he added belatedly.
The Sage smiled to himself. "Yet the suggestion was made," he said. "Thus, they celebrate by protecting their new king from the ancient horrors, the way he will protect them from mundane ones... They protect him the only way they know how."
"By destroying everything with his name on it."
"By unnaming him."
Christall shook his head, baffled by the superstitions of the provincial, and turned smartly on his heel. He joined Roufas and Siegbert, and the three quickly found something to laugh about.
The Sage laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, and Shinou only shook his head, mute. They watched his childhood burn, withering and falling apart.
"Someday," the blond said to himself, "I will grow tired of being 'your majesty', of being 'the king'."
You learn to live with it, thought the Sage, who remembered being much, much younger, and his mentor burning what seemed like his every possession to erase his name from the mind of the world. It had been a long time since something so slight had been able to disturb him... But he could still recall how, in that moment, it had been the strangest sensation of his young life: the feeling that he watched his very existence fade away, and knowing that now no one would ever remember who he had been in future generations.
"I will not forget," said the Sage. He forgot nothing. Shinou laughed, almost happy, and the sound was swallowed in the celebration of his rebirth.
(Yes, I did give him a name. No, you can't hear it.)
"Why are we doing this?" Shinou asked quietly, but the Sage had no answer for him.
They were all gathered in the courtyard of Blood Pledge Castle, and a roaring bonfire had been built up. Laughter and music and dancing surrounded the flames, every soldier and attendant celebrating in perfect good nature. If any of them saw the look of stone on their liege lord's face, their gazes slid by, only slightly chilled, and quickly found some more desirable sight. They wanted so desperately to have something to celebrate.
Roufas stepped forward, tipping his head high to command attention. He waved a sheaf of papers before his face and announced, loud to be heard above the revelry, "Birth records, house honors, and family tree."
He cast them into the bonfire and cheers arose as the bound parchment blackened immediately. His wife, a delicate thing shorter even than Roufas (her name, the Sage thought, was Coretta), wrinkled her nose prettily in an expression that Roufas despised -- as he would happily tell anyone who stood still long enough to listen, when deep enough into his drink. They stood together before the fire but parted immediately afterwards: Coretta to where her sisters and father waited, Roufas to where Siegbert and Katrinka argued over some point of warfare or another.
Shinou took a long swallow of his wine, and it didn't seem to be enough to shake the tense set of his shoulders. The Sage offered him a fresh cup, and took the old one. He wondered if they would burn that too.
"Settlements arbitrated," announced someone that the Sage didn't recognize. "Settlements contested." He tossed another stack of papers onto the bonfire. One lone sheaf was whisked away on the breeze, saved from the fate of its brethren, but Earhart reached up with one long arm and snatched it. It too went into the flame.
Helga stepped forward then, smirking; she posed, with one hand on her ample hip, and the other holding a bound journal. "The diary of his mother, my aunt, Marina von Spitzberg!" she announced proudly.
The assemblage cheered. Shinou's grip tightened on the arm of his chair, although no one but the Sage saw it.
After a brief pause, waiting to be certain she was the center of all attention, Helga added the diary to the bonfire. The musicians seemed to appreciate her flare for the dramatic, and swept into a jaunting tune as the flames soared higher.
"Top that, von Biefeld," Helga said smugly, as if she found the whole thing to be a contest she couldn't bear to lose.
Roufas spread his arms dramatically. "Sorry, Uncle Theodore left no such nostalgia. Boys don't keep diaries." He rolled his eyes at Shinou in the laughter that followed, as if to share in the moment of exasperation: they had always been closer, by virtue of both being male and von Biefeld, than Shinou had been with his mother's family. But halfway through the gesture the young lord did a double-take, noticing that his cousin was neither paying attention to him nor in a good-humored mood. The Sage watched Roufas falter, frozen in jocularity, and then turn back to Siegbert, seeking some reassurance.
Shinou only watched the bonfire as it fed on the past.
It was Christall who approached the pair on the raised dais, heedless of the impropriety of his action in the way that only a born soldier can be. "What is this all about?" he wanted to know, husky voice disapproving. "I was told that we were celebrating Your Majesty's coronation."
Shinou took another drink of his wine and said nothing. The Sage told him, "This is the celebration."
"Then why are we burning every sign of his existence?"
"It is an old tradition," the Sage said, voice soft. He didn't want to disturb Shinou any further. "They say that names are powerful, among the old kindred."
Christall tilted his head from side to side, easing a crick in his neck or thinking that over. "Of course, but nobody holds to that archaic superstition anymore except those who live in the past. No offense intended, of course," he added belatedly.
The Sage smiled to himself. "Yet the suggestion was made," he said. "Thus, they celebrate by protecting their new king from the ancient horrors, the way he will protect them from mundane ones... They protect him the only way they know how."
"By destroying everything with his name on it."
"By unnaming him."
Christall shook his head, baffled by the superstitions of the provincial, and turned smartly on his heel. He joined Roufas and Siegbert, and the three quickly found something to laugh about.
The Sage laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, and Shinou only shook his head, mute. They watched his childhood burn, withering and falling apart.
"Someday," the blond said to himself, "I will grow tired of being 'your majesty', of being 'the king'."
You learn to live with it, thought the Sage, who remembered being much, much younger, and his mentor burning what seemed like his every possession to erase his name from the mind of the world. It had been a long time since something so slight had been able to disturb him... But he could still recall how, in that moment, it had been the strangest sensation of his young life: the feeling that he watched his very existence fade away, and knowing that now no one would ever remember who he had been in future generations.
"I will not forget," said the Sage. He forgot nothing. Shinou laughed, almost happy, and the sound was swallowed in the celebration of his rebirth.
(Yes, I did give him a name. No, you can't hear it.)