Kyo Kara Maoh, "In Preparation For, Epilogue," Yuuri+Wolfram, PG
WHEE IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER. I'm probably the only person who's super-excited about that; moving on.
To all the people who are going to dislike me after this chapter: there's an author note following that will either assuage your angst or give you some direction for the rant you aim at me ... dunno. To the rest of you (I'm not sure there'll be any "rest of you"), enjoy the story!
And to faerie_speak, katmaxwell, and wicked_pistil ... thank you guys for reading every chapter! You've made posting a new chapter every day really, really fun for me. I greatly appreciate it, more than you'll ever know. ♥
Navigation:
Prologue: Education
Part One: Experimentation
Part Two: Suppression
Part Three: Differentiation
Part Four: Tradition
Epilogue: Consummation
In Preparation For
Epilogue
Consummation
by Mistr3ss Quickly
It's not until years later, when Yuuri has truly become the ruler of Shin Makoku, his son just old enough to begin studying the art of sword-fighting, that he and Wolfram once again share a bed. Wolfram's bed, this time, in Wolfram's bedchambers, no different than they were years before, when Yuuri had sought a good night's sleep there, away from his fiancée.
The circumstances, however, could not differ more.
Yuuri settles carefully on the edge of the bed, covers Wolfram's hand with his own. Smiles his usual friendly smile and gives Wolfram's hand a gentle squeeze.
"Hi there," he says, when Wolfram greets him with silence. "Good to see you sitting upright."
Wolfram nods, eyes focused not on his King, but on the bumps under the blanket where his feet are. Drops his gaze to the fabric of his pajamas, the dark blue top that matches the dark blue bottoms, stark in contrast with his King's fair skin. Not his own pajamas, these are styled very different from his preferred style of sleepwear, but they are comfortable enough, and better suited, really, for a man of his age, of his military status.
(He'd been unconscious when he'd returned home. Unconscious as he was undressed, as he was healed and cleaned. Unconscious when his second-in-command dressed him in a set of the officer's own pajamas and tucked him into bed, faithful and vigilant until Wolfram had woken well enough to scowl at him, to order him away for a bath and a meal, to instruct him not to return until he'd had both and found himself a change of clothing.)
Yuuri shifts, crosses his legs. "I heard from Conrad," he says, quietly. "He told me what happened, told me you'd come home, injured."
(One slice, deep and jagged, across his middle. Shallow enough to miss vital organs, but only just, only enough that his men could get him back home, get him to the King and Giesela before it was too late.
A slice from a rough-hewn sword, according to Wolfram's second-in-command. A sword that still resembled the farming implement it had originally been, more so than it did a proper weapon. Common in human territory, just as common as the rebellion Wolfram and his men had been attempting to suppress, when their leader had fallen.
He'd taken it on impulse, according to those of lower rank. He'd probably taken it for his second-in-command, pushing the man out of the way just as the blade would have made contact with him, probably a killing blow, had his second-in-command taken it. Such a detail would, of course, be dismissed as rumor and therefore would never appear in the history logs, but to Wolfram's men ...)
Yuuri's lower lip is raw; he's been gnawing at it again. "I was so worried," he admits, softly. "If you'd died ..."
Wolfram spares him a glance, just long enough to glare at him, then looks away, his fingers twitching under Yuuri's palm.
"I did what I had to do," he says, simply.
He looks as if he'd like to say more but doesn't know how to say it.
A sound, coming from the far corner of the room, saves him from his struggle. Both he and Yuuri turn, watching as Wolfram's second-in-command, dressed in a fresh uniform and damp with sweat from the late-afternoon sunlight pouring over him from the window, shifts a little in the chair he's slumped in. Asleep, a small, plaintive noise comes from his throat, brow furrowing a little as he tries to find a comfortable position.
His lips move, forming his captain's name. One of his hands flexes, as if he's dreaming that he's reaching out for someone.
Yuuri smiles. "I know what you mean," he says.
Wolfram snorts and looks away from his dozing subordinate, blushing under his King's gaze. "Whatever," he says.
Then, after a moment: "I don't love him, you know," he says. "Not like I loved you."
Yuuri sighs through his nose, much as Conrad does whenever his patience is beginning to run thin, and curls his fingers around Wolfram's hand, squeezing harder than he'd done, before.
"I know you don't," he says. "But maybe someday, you might. Right?"
Wolfram closes his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty," he says.
Then he turns his face away from his King, focuses his gaze solely on Sergeant Allen's shadow, watching it lengthen as the sun begins to set behind the mountains in the distance. When Yuuri rises, he makes no sign of noticing, still and silent until the door has closed, leaving him alone with his soldier.
~* fin *~
Author's Note: No, I don't think that gay men will fall in love with one man and one man only and, if that one man doesn't accept him, spends the rest of his life single/unable to love. That's my big pet peeve with Brokeback Mountain and Dumbledore from Harry Potter. Why in all that's holy did Dumbledore spend the rest of his life single? Just 'cause Grindy turned out to be an evil fuckwad? Fuck that shit, get Albus a man to keep his toes warm at night! (Check out book 1 if you don't get that. You'll find the ref. I'm going for in the scene with the Mirror of Erised.)
So no. Wolfram does love Sgt. Allen, and I'm sure Sgt. Allen knows it. I mean, the guy took a sword to the belly for him! He's just incredibly proud and can't let go of the incredible blow to his ego Yuuri dealt in the previous chapters.
That make things clear enough? I hope so. And if not ... at least the arc's over now, yes? :3
~*~*~*~
<< Previous section
To all the people who are going to dislike me after this chapter: there's an author note following that will either assuage your angst or give you some direction for the rant you aim at me ... dunno. To the rest of you (I'm not sure there'll be any "rest of you"), enjoy the story!
And to faerie_speak, katmaxwell, and wicked_pistil ... thank you guys for reading every chapter! You've made posting a new chapter every day really, really fun for me. I greatly appreciate it, more than you'll ever know. ♥
Navigation:
Prologue: Education
Part One: Experimentation
Part Two: Suppression
Part Three: Differentiation
Part Four: Tradition
Epilogue: Consummation
In Preparation For
Epilogue
Consummation
by Mistr3ss Quickly
It's not until years later, when Yuuri has truly become the ruler of Shin Makoku, his son just old enough to begin studying the art of sword-fighting, that he and Wolfram once again share a bed. Wolfram's bed, this time, in Wolfram's bedchambers, no different than they were years before, when Yuuri had sought a good night's sleep there, away from his fiancée.
The circumstances, however, could not differ more.
Yuuri settles carefully on the edge of the bed, covers Wolfram's hand with his own. Smiles his usual friendly smile and gives Wolfram's hand a gentle squeeze.
"Hi there," he says, when Wolfram greets him with silence. "Good to see you sitting upright."
Wolfram nods, eyes focused not on his King, but on the bumps under the blanket where his feet are. Drops his gaze to the fabric of his pajamas, the dark blue top that matches the dark blue bottoms, stark in contrast with his King's fair skin. Not his own pajamas, these are styled very different from his preferred style of sleepwear, but they are comfortable enough, and better suited, really, for a man of his age, of his military status.
(He'd been unconscious when he'd returned home. Unconscious as he was undressed, as he was healed and cleaned. Unconscious when his second-in-command dressed him in a set of the officer's own pajamas and tucked him into bed, faithful and vigilant until Wolfram had woken well enough to scowl at him, to order him away for a bath and a meal, to instruct him not to return until he'd had both and found himself a change of clothing.)
Yuuri shifts, crosses his legs. "I heard from Conrad," he says, quietly. "He told me what happened, told me you'd come home, injured."
(One slice, deep and jagged, across his middle. Shallow enough to miss vital organs, but only just, only enough that his men could get him back home, get him to the King and Giesela before it was too late.
A slice from a rough-hewn sword, according to Wolfram's second-in-command. A sword that still resembled the farming implement it had originally been, more so than it did a proper weapon. Common in human territory, just as common as the rebellion Wolfram and his men had been attempting to suppress, when their leader had fallen.
He'd taken it on impulse, according to those of lower rank. He'd probably taken it for his second-in-command, pushing the man out of the way just as the blade would have made contact with him, probably a killing blow, had his second-in-command taken it. Such a detail would, of course, be dismissed as rumor and therefore would never appear in the history logs, but to Wolfram's men ...)
Yuuri's lower lip is raw; he's been gnawing at it again. "I was so worried," he admits, softly. "If you'd died ..."
Wolfram spares him a glance, just long enough to glare at him, then looks away, his fingers twitching under Yuuri's palm.
"I did what I had to do," he says, simply.
He looks as if he'd like to say more but doesn't know how to say it.
A sound, coming from the far corner of the room, saves him from his struggle. Both he and Yuuri turn, watching as Wolfram's second-in-command, dressed in a fresh uniform and damp with sweat from the late-afternoon sunlight pouring over him from the window, shifts a little in the chair he's slumped in. Asleep, a small, plaintive noise comes from his throat, brow furrowing a little as he tries to find a comfortable position.
His lips move, forming his captain's name. One of his hands flexes, as if he's dreaming that he's reaching out for someone.
Yuuri smiles. "I know what you mean," he says.
Wolfram snorts and looks away from his dozing subordinate, blushing under his King's gaze. "Whatever," he says.
Then, after a moment: "I don't love him, you know," he says. "Not like I loved you."
Yuuri sighs through his nose, much as Conrad does whenever his patience is beginning to run thin, and curls his fingers around Wolfram's hand, squeezing harder than he'd done, before.
"I know you don't," he says. "But maybe someday, you might. Right?"
Wolfram closes his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty," he says.
Then he turns his face away from his King, focuses his gaze solely on Sergeant Allen's shadow, watching it lengthen as the sun begins to set behind the mountains in the distance. When Yuuri rises, he makes no sign of noticing, still and silent until the door has closed, leaving him alone with his soldier.
~* fin *~
Author's Note: No, I don't think that gay men will fall in love with one man and one man only and, if that one man doesn't accept him, spends the rest of his life single/unable to love. That's my big pet peeve with Brokeback Mountain and Dumbledore from Harry Potter. Why in all that's holy did Dumbledore spend the rest of his life single? Just 'cause Grindy turned out to be an evil fuckwad? Fuck that shit, get Albus a man to keep his toes warm at night! (Check out book 1 if you don't get that. You'll find the ref. I'm going for in the scene with the Mirror of Erised.)
So no. Wolfram does love Sgt. Allen, and I'm sure Sgt. Allen knows it. I mean, the guy took a sword to the belly for him! He's just incredibly proud and can't let go of the incredible blow to his ego Yuuri dealt in the previous chapters.
That make things clear enough? I hope so. And if not ... at least the arc's over now, yes? :3
~*~*~*~
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