Kyou Kara Maou Fan Fiction ❯ Axel ❯ The Bielenfeld Way ( Chapter 3 )

Kyou Kara Maou : Axel

 

Summary: Wolfram tells his father about his first love affair, in the dark days after Suzanna Julia died, when Wolfram turned his back on healing and became a soldier. Yuuri appears in later chapters. Side story to The Bedding of Wolfram.

 

Disclaimer: I have no rights to Kyou Kara Maou, of course.

 

Warnings: rated M for mature sexual theme. No spoilers - most of the characters / plot here never appear in the anime.

 

Please review.

 

Update: just cleaning up.

 

Chapter 3 : The Bielenfeld Way

 

The weeks, then months, passed happily. Wolfram had rarely had playmates, mostly rare visits with one or two noble children his age. Gwendal was older beyond reach, Conrad close in age, but as a half Mazoku, had grown up into a man while Wolfram remained a child. The days spent practicing with the Bielenfeld youths were some of the most fun he'd ever had. The nights he stole away with Axel were a wonderland of a different order.

 

Accidentally, Cheri supplied her own alibi for Wolfram's time with the garrison. One morning he carried some anatomy and physiology books to loan to Paol. “Ah! Are those for a special someone at the army hospital?” she asked with a wink. “You have the bloom of young love on you these days, Wolfie. Ah, my baby's growing up!”

 

“Ah, yes. I've formed a study group with some friends my age from Bielenfeld.”

 

“Wonderful! Just what you need at your age.” Cheri nodded firmly and clasped him to her bosom in an embarrassing clench. “Just don't leave your poor mother alone all the time, will you, sweet Wolfie?” So Wolfram was sure to be there for her on state occasions and most nights, and never really lied.

 

Sir Chaswick and Sergeant Buford gave Wolfram a wide margin. There was little enough for the troops to do, that ignoring the orphaned Bielenfeld baby cavalry was easiest for them. Buford started to stripe Axel's back again once, for some infraction on Mikka's part, but when he saw how completely Wolfram had erased Axel's past lashes, he decided it was safer for his career not to cross the Maou's baby boy by hurting his suspected lover.

 

And the squad's majutsu improved. After a few months, other established majustsu troops started requesting mock duels. Axel, the most mature of the group to start with, was second only to Wolfram in fighting magic as well as the sword. Wind and fire user, the pair worked particularly well in combination attacks. Wolfram himself improved most of all, working every day at his fighting skills, instead of the dilettante treatment more suitable for his rank at court. Paol's superiors at the hospital were even considering recommending Paol to the 5 year course of study at the Institute. Wolfram's healing skills, though, lay unstudied and unused, save for minor cuts and scrapes.

 

Inevitably, one day someone mentioned to Cheri the burgeoning fighting skills “Wolfram's” troop was showing. The Maou, wearing her very highest cut at the leg, lowest cut at the breast, slinky black dress, and fine jewels, marched onto the practice field. Classy Cheri didn't tear into him there, but simply bade him accompany her home.

 

Wolfram followed Cheri in silence all the way to her bedroom. She sat at her vanity and handed him a brush to do her hair. “I'm hurt by your dishonesty, Wolfram,” she began at last. “I'd so hoped I could keep you at least safe, as a courtier and a healer.”

 

Wolfram brushed her hair just as she liked it, from decades of experience. It's time, he decided. “I'm thinking of seeking a commission as a Bielenfeld officer. It's been over a year, and Lord Bielenfeld hasn't even replaced the officers of the Regiment. Bielenfeld is slipping farther and farther away from Shin Makoku.”

 

“But Wolfie, you are the liaison from Bielenfeld. Your great uncle trusts you as his representative…”

 

“I'm a convenient fiction. Lord Bielenfeld rightly sees me as your creature. Leaving the Regiment orphaned, and me as his powerless representative here, he can bow out of Shin Makoku without confrontation. To be a real bridge, I'd need a firm footing on both sides of the river, Hahaue.”

 

“But why as a soldier, Wolfie? Fire healers are so rare and precious, almost unknown outside Bielenfeld, the pure Mazoku bastion. They can respect you just as much for that.”

 

“As an officer, I'd put my life on the line for Bielenfeld. I'd have real ties, not just polite fictions. And… I want to fight, not heal, Hahaue. Please give me your blessing to seek a commission? From Bielenfeld, not Shin Makoku or Spitzweg.”

 

Cheri handed him combs to arrange her hair. “…Alright, Wolfie, provided your father agrees.” She held up a hand to forestall his objection. “You'll go to Bielenfeld for training, visit with your father, and seek his opinion both politically and as a healer. And I'll bypass my brother's counsel on the issue by saying I need to give Manfred his say. Take your friends along as guards on the road, to return with you. The poor children deserve a visit home - they're little more than hostages now.”

 

“Thank you, Hahaue,” Wolfram breathed. “I'll write -“

 

Cheri spun around to clasp him and bury her face in his chest. “Just come home to me as soon as you can, and stay safe. My baby.”

 

Thus Wolfram rode off to Bielenfeld with Axel's squad of junior cavalry as escort. He carried a carefully worded letter from Cheri requesting Lord Bielenfeld give her son a commission if Manfred approved. Cheri hoped, and Wolfram feared, that the anti-political fire healer Manfred would not approve of Wolfram ditching healing. That assumption was shattered on Wolfram's first night at his father's, over a bottle of wine.

 

“Well, you're too young to be a fire healer,” Manfred said matter-of-factly. “You can do whatever you want and have time for that later.”

 

“What?” said Wolfram stupidly.

 

“What what. You know what fire healing is like. I can understand being a bit shy, but pretending you haven't noticed is like ignoring a killer Koala in the living room. Give it a half century or so for the testosterone levels to burn lower. At your age, I fought alongside Adelbert. Stayed a soldier until I lost the leg, used to give a power assist to the true healers after battles here and there. Always liked studying, of course. As for building a bridge between Bielenfeld and Spitzweg and Shin Makoku…” Manfred shrugged and applied himself to his wine.

 

“…Why didn't you marry Hahaue?” Wolfram asked. “I know I've asked before…”

 

“But the answer keeps changing?” Manfred suggested. “You're growing up, pretty vixen. It's your ability to understand the answer that keeps changing.

 

“Cecilie and I… Shinou requested the union, and neither of us would defy the temple, of course. Your soul is pure Bielenfeld. We of Bielenfeld are always reborn to Bielenfeld. It's said your soul was once Rufus von Bielenfeld himself, staunch champion of the Great One at the founding of Shin Makoku. You'd know better than I whether that's true. In any case, that far Cecilie and I could go, and no further. My uncle despises Cecilie, and especially your Uncle Stoeffel. If I were even a little closer to the succession, I wouldn't have been allowed to acknowledge you as my son. It took until you were nearly ten years old as it was.”

 

Wolfram blinked. That he hadn't known. Most of this, it was true, he'd heard in bits and drabs, but hadn't put it together and understood before now.

 

“Anyway, since we were forbidden to marry politically, to some extent your mother and I chose to remain distant. Of course,” he grinned evilly, “given our personalities, that was easiest in any case. But you were ordained by the Great One, Wolfram. And you've always been very much wanted, by Cecilie and myself.”

 

“Thank you, Chichiue.” Wolfram smiled, then grew thoughtful. “Do you believe that's my mission in life? Shinou wanted me to repair the ties between Bielenfeld and Shin Makoku?”

 

“A sadly utilitarian view of your existence, pretty vixen. Let Shinou worry about Shinou's schemes. What to make of your life is up to you, whether your relatives are lords or bread bakers.”

 

“So you'll petition Lord Bielenfeld for a commission for me?”

 

“Hell, no. You want to lead men to their deaths, you'd damn well better deserve it first. I'll recommend you for officer's training, if you want. If you want a commission from my uncle, your best bet is to train here until he gives you one to get rid of you. Cecilie has neatly hamstrung his fictions by sending back his pretty young hostages with you. Don't waste the gesture. Indeed, I hope you appreciate this situation. It's not often you get both of your strong-minded parents to tell you a decision is up to you.”

 

Wolfram laughed. “Thank you, Chichiue. Do you… ever mind? That I grew up with Hahaue instead of you?”

 

“Do you? Not fair to Wolfram… No, not really. You're my son, not my property. It's a privilege to help you grow, become your own man. It's easier for me to let go than it is for Cecilie. But know that whenever you need me, or even just want me, I'm here for you, no matter what. And Bielenfeld is truly your home, whenever you want it.”

 

-oOo-

 

The armies of Shin Makoku and the Ten Aristocrats were rather flat in structure. Mazoku were long-lived, and the military was typically a lifelong career. Officers were such by virtue of high birth and commensurate high education and connections. Ordinary soldiers found niches they liked and were good at, rather than seeking promotion. In between were a very few sergeants, perhaps one to every twenty to fifty soldiers. There was no such thing as officer's training school. To seek `officer's training in Bielenfeld' meant finding a Bielenfeld officer to mentor him. Ideally, one willing to carry his apprenticeship back to Blood Pledge Castle by assuming command of the Bielenfeld Regiment there.

 

He bid the squad go home and catch up with family while he caught up with his, grateful that in Axel's case, that meant they'd both be at Bielenfeld castle for a while. Manfred came along to help. At first, Wolfram didn't realize how badly he'd need that help.

 

By the end of the first week, he'd, a) found that the only interest he shared with Great-Uncle Friedrich von Bielenfeld was painting, b) learned that Friedrich was the most passive-aggressive and evasive human being he'd ever met, and c) if there were any trained officers in the entirety of Bielenfeld other than the retired Manfred, Friedrich wasn't going to admit it. But Wolfram was, naturally, welcome to a commission whenever he'd like, delightful great-nephew that he was. Regimental commander, for instance. Surely Gwendal could train him?

 

“Well, I'll train you if I have to,” said Manfred. “That doesn't solve your regimental commander problem, though. With this leg, I'm as retired as they come.”

 

“Well, I could have Axel and the others ask around for officers - good ones. If Great-Uncle won't provide one… maybe we can pick our own. Have them ask after sergeants, too. Maybe even a good sergeant, who could be promoted to officer?”

 

“Well, you'll also need sergeants, of course. Good thinking, Wolfram.”

 

“Sergeants don't become officers?”

 

“Not in Bielenfeld, they don't.” And Wolfram had to admit, that was in keeping with bucolic Bielenfeld, the land that time forgot. A good nine tenths of the population lived on plantations, owned by minor von Whatnot. When he complained of the lack of any nightlife, Axel said people mostly socialized with their friends and relatives. (“I have friends and relatives,” Wolfram said hopefully. “He meant ones you knew from the cradle,” clarified Manfred.) The place was so insular and tradition-bound, Wolfram could imagine walking into the same corner bakery as his ancestor Rufus von Bielenfeld, and talking to the same soul Rufus bought bread from four thousand years before. (“I know that bakery,” agreed Manfred.)

 

“Chichiue… you're an intelligent man. How can you stand it here?”

 

“I partied with Adelbert practically from birth. Now, of course, I live at the Institute - that's the Mazoku intellectual crossroads of the world. However, you'll notice that is not kept here. And… sorry, pretty vixen, but it's about time for me to go back there. So, let me know if I can help…”

 

So everyone put their feelers out, Manfred escaped back to the Institute, and Wolfram settled into painting every day with Great-Uncle Friedrich, encouraging the man to expound at length about every conceivable detail about life in Bielenfeld and family history. Friedrich bonded with Wolfram by turning him on to the Bielenfeld noble style of abstract painting, rather than that vulgarly over-literal realism he'd been taught in Shin Makoku. And the honey-bee-bear excrement paints, with far more brilliant colors and quicker drying times than the tedious oils he'd learned with. Wolfram found the brighter, brasher style with fast-drying paints suited his temperament quite well. Though the paint reeked. And it did give him something to share with Friedrich.

 

It's no wonder every generation produces its share of soldiers and adventurers - anything to get out of this place, thought Wolfram. Axel spent his days with friends and family he'd known from the cradle, and the evenings, they had all to themselves. That was a good consolation prize to soothe Wolfram's impatience.

 

In another week or so, he and Axel rode out to the Institute to share their findings with Manfred and consult on strategy.

 

“Von Dienst, eh?” said Manfred, unenthused. “Nobody else?”

 

“Sorry, sir,” said Axel, “I think he's the best we've got. There's old von Tarkenburg, Sergeant Griesel, Commander Mikhail, von Probst… Lots of inspired Gratz officers, of course.”

 

“Well, that's a fallback position,” allowed Manfred. “Better than Shin Makoku.”

 

“So, do we ride for Dienst and introduce ourselves?” suggested Wolfram.

 

“Not in Bielenfeld, you don't,” came the oft-repeated refrain.

 

“You never visit a plantation without an invitation,” explained Axel. “And to get an invitation…”

 

“Let me guess, you'd need to be a friend or relative, from the cradle.”

 

“I think I shall hold an Academic Meeting, to seek advice on how to train my son as an officer, and invite them,” said Manfred. “You can demonstrate your majutsu and sword training… To coincide with the Horticultural Festival and Bielenfeld Beautiful Boy Pageant. I'm afraid that's not for another month.”

 

“To coincide with… what? You are kidding, aren't you?” complained Wolfram.

 

“Any other contestants from your squad, I hope?” inquired Manfred.

 

“Paol and Robair and Wolfram could sweep the Pageant,” Axel claimed confidently. “Pyotr and Mikka like to fiddle with potato variants.”

 

“That'll help,” said Manfred. “Wolfram, you might as well re-form the squad here in the meantime and get on with your training, with them, and under me, for now. You are now officially an officer cadet. Congratulations. And hopefully… we'll capture von Dienst next month. God help you.”

 

Wolfram's first officer's training assignment was to write to Cheri and uninvite her to the annual Horticultural Festival - her favorite event of the year. He tried to soften the blow with a detailed sardonic account of the diplomatic situation, and one of his gaudy new abstract paintings. He refrained from mentioning that he was a contender for this year's Bielenfeld Beautiful Boy, lest she be doubly disappointed at the disinvitation. He devoutly hoped she didn't share the letter with Stoeffel and Gwendal. Stoeffel would demand his butt back at Blood Pledge Castle yesterday, and escalate hostilities with Great Uncle Friedrich. Gwendal, he feared, would never, ever consider Wolfram a real officer.

 

-oOo-

 

“What in hell made you choose von Dienst as our best choice for an officer!” Wolfram hissed at Axel in bed a month later, having met the gentleman that day. The squad was staying at Viel's family inn at the Institute, Axel with his own room as usual. Which Wolfram visited almost nightly. “The man's the worst lech I've ever met!”

 

“Did he touch you?” Axel asked, surprised and concerned.

 

“No… He just… ogled me.” Axel ogled Wolfram, every inch an ogle, until Wolfram laughed. “OK, OK, it's tolerable. But why?”

 

“He's bizarre, but he's smart. Every conflict he's been in, his troops come through with less than half the projected casualties. His ogling is legendary, but they say he never touches his troops… um, nobody mentioned junior officers. He's fair, makes sure his men get the best of everything. He has contingency plans for his contingency plans, and doubles them on his supply lines. The guy's just brilliant, Wolfram. And he puts it all into thinking about his troops and his objectives, constantly. Sergeant Griesel's been with him from day one, knows him perfectly, compensates perfectly. People say sergeants just don't come any better. Of course… we talked to troopers, not officers. They don't have to talk to von Dienst every day like you would. But be fair, Wolfram - you met the other candidates today, too.”

 

Wolfram had. Von Dienst was an incorrigible lech whose conversation featured sexual innuendo about plant breeding, hence Manfred's choice of venue. Granted, when the conversation wandered to military, majutsu, or healing topics, Wolfram gained a usable insight every five minutes. But then von Dienst shot it all to hell by waxing poetic about crossing Wolfram's cheeks and peach fuzz. But von Tarkenburg was already ancient when Manfred was a boy, and his memory freely mixed the centuries. Commander Mikhail seemed inclined to give ten lashes as a preventative measure, fifty if someone looked at him funny. Von Probst seemed timid and indecisive, and catastrophic casualty records proved he was worse under pressure. And the best of them, Sergeant Griesel, was a Bielenfeld-style cradle buddy of von Dienst.

 

“Why doesn't this domain produce any good officers?”

 

Axel gave him a harsh look for that. “It does. It did. They died, Wolfram. Or were forced to retire, like Manfred, or Friedrich's son Aldrich, and even von Gratz, in a way. The Bielenfeld Regiment went through five officers and seven sergeants, and four regiments' worth of men, before Friedrich simply refused to waste any more Bielenfeld lives on Stoeffel's wars.”

 

Seeing Wolfram felt targeted by his vehemence, Axel softened this with kisses to brow and nose and mouth before continuing. “Friedrich's a canny old woman. I bet he figured those of us stuck in Shin Makoku were safer as unused orphans than under Mikhail or von Probst. Von Tarkenburg deserves to enjoy his senility in peace. And von Dienst… I think he held von Dienst in reserve, because he was the only good one left. That's what I figure, anyway.”

 

Wolfram snuggled his face into Axel's collarbone, and said quietly, “You sound like you agree with Friedrich's choice, Axel. Are you sure you agree with what I'm trying to do?”

 

Axel didn't answer immediately. He held Wolfram tight and nuzzled his hair, thinking. “Yeah, I do. Bielenfeld can't just… duck out of Shin Makoku. We founded Shin Makoku. And you'd make an excellent officer, I'm sure of it. Like at that party for Brendan von Gratz. Somehow… we've got to heal this last war, put Shin Makoku back together again. Hey, I'm just a trooper, and my little corner is just a bit part in that big thing. You got a bigger bit. I think this is the right thing to do with our bits. If you want to be a soldier. If that made sense.”

 

-oOo-

 

I love reviews… Please?