A/N: Total spur of the moment! Jokes, it's been in my head for a while now. Inspired by the song Strange and Beautiful by Aqualung (go listen, right. now) It's beautiful... :D Anyway, yeah. I hope this is okay. I hope it explains itself. I hope it, like, makes sense...and excuse any grammar/spelling errors :L

LOVE YA! :D

Disclaimer: if I owned KKM, I'd probably have altered the genetics of some poor randomer to create a Wolfram... KIDDING, but I don't own it. Sadly D:

Four years. It had been four years (only two really, only two). It wasn't that long - in fact, to Earth's standards, he'd barely aged a year - and it had passed rather quickly, filled with tempers and tantrums and stupid moments and sweet moments and times like these.

For Wolfram, times like these sucked. A lot. They were the strangest moments, too - taking tea with his mother, teaching Greta the history of Shin Makoku, sparring with Conrart - trivial times, repeated and often endured, sometimes nostalgic little moments when he would freeze, flinch, because Gods, this is what I'd be like even if Yuuri wasn't here (and a pause, because maybe-maybe-maybe he isn't) and his mother would giggle a little higher-pitched than usual, and Greta would answer his forgotten question with a frown, and Conrart would almost deal a winning blow and Wolfram would try his hardest to recover his stupid mistake.

He'd made so many.

Maybe he should've just walked away from Yuuri at first, from the engagement. It would've saved so many things, so many feelings and dreams and logistics. It would have been so much easier to return to Bielefeld with his troops, to take up his seat as one of the Ten Aristocrats when Uncle finally handed it over, to find a lovely partner and marry them, or whoever his mother and uncle chose him to marry. He was, after all, such a prize, still, and he was so very well aware of this as much as Yuuri so clearly wasn't. (Did he know? It had been two years, and Wolfram had grown a little, did Yuuri have any idea?) But...Wolfram had spent these past four years in love, something that was rare and delicate and definitely not to be toyed with (Yuuri didn't know that either) and he wouldn't change that for the world, because it was the longest time he'd ever felt such a consistent, overwhelming, monster-bringing emotion. It had changed him, he knew, and everyone else knew. So even though Yuuri wasn't present, not now, not two years ago when Wolfram began to grow, Wolfram was glad he'd fallen in love, stayed by Yuuri's side. Because he wasn't so stupid as to ignore it, to run away.

Wolfram hated being stupid.

He knew a lot. A lot, a lot. He was smart, intelligent, clever - he'd read so much, learned so much, swapped tutors and learned again from a different point of view. People didn't think he'd be so smart, when his emotions were so stupid. But he was. He was. He knew all the Maohs of Shin Makoku, their spouses, and any children born of them. He knew how to wield all elements, even though he only possessed fire. He knew the hypothesis of healing magic, and had practiced so hard, back when he'd studied it, that he could heal most minor injuries, and at least put critical conditions on hold so a more advanced healer could work effectively. Sometimes, he helped Anissina with her inventions, or spoke with the Great Sage, who actually valued his opinions and had been the one person to show up every now and then and listen, past the two years and into the next two, even when no one else did. He conferred with Gwendal, took an active parts in meetings, sometimes taught Greta things only he knew and he was clever and he was smart and he was not stupid. But gods, Yuuri just couldn't see that, and for the past two years he'd been studying every military book he could get his hands on, anything on politics and tactics and biographies of successful rulers. Because the decision had been made, one year ago, one measly year ago, about who was the Maoh, now the old one had deserted.

Wolfram von Bielefeld, 28th Maoh of Shin Makoku, third son of the 26th Maoh Cecilie von Spitzveg, Most Esteemed Wielder of Fire.

That was his official title now. Not just Lord von Bielefeld, Consort Apparent, third son of the 26th Maoh Cecilie von Spitzveg. Of course, he had always been the most skilled fire wielder, a commonly acknowledged fact these days. As well as studying as many military-related theories possible, he'd been visiting the temple far more lately, where the Great Sage and Ulrike guided him into tapping further into his magic. He was, they reasoned, a direct descendant of the Great One, of course, and his mother was highly skilled in fire, as was the entirety of the von Bielefelds - why should he be any different? But he was powerful, so powerful, and if only Yuuri could see the way a forest could turn to ashes with a single word. Of course, Wolfram never burned a whole forest down, he wasn't that insensitive, but the Great Sage said it was possible, and that if they entered war Wolfram would most definitely be on the front lines. The human countries' leaders knew his capacity, but never told their nations. Why strike fear into the hearts of many, after all? Wolfram may be maoh, but what was to stop him from burning their countries to cinders if he felt so inclined? Nothing, because Wolfram could use majutsu in human countries now. It took effort, which was often hindered by esoteric stones, but he could.

He'd tried. But Yuuri just hadn't seen.

Yuuri had gone. Gone. Two years ago, no warning whatsoever. He could return, the Great Sage (who was insisting on being called Murata a lot more now) told them eventually. He just chose not to. Why? Wolfram had asked. What's wrong? Did we do something? The Great Sage had shook his head. It was a while before he told them what happened. The Great Sage (Murata though, really, because he was the one person Wolfram was closest to, who knew so much about Wolfram and still maintained a healthy friendship with him) had sat them down, and just leaned against the wall for a while, staring out the window, before he said it. "Yuuri fell in love", he told them. "And the girl is...expecting." And no one said anything for such a long, long time, and it was agreed that while the engagement would be hereby dissolved, Wolfram would remain maoh, so as not to concern their country any more.

Gods, of course it was a girl. A pretty one, he bet. And of course Yuuri was too much of a damn wimp to tell Wolfram about it all. Yuuri did feel bad, the Great Sage explained, but he was now so preoccupied with the baby he had no time to return. And Wolfram had nodded, like a freaking robot, and carried on signing papers. He wasn't heartless, far from it, but he acted like it. Greta was still here though. She was fourteen now, and he hardly looked the seventeen that the Great Sage (all though it should be Murata, actually) told him he would be had he aged in human years. He had grown, up so that he was a few inches off Conrart, but not out, so he was still thin and 'graceful' and his cheekbones were more chiselled and his eyes a little narrower and to look at the Great One's portrait was so close to being like looking in a mirror, but Yuuri didn't know.

Yuuri had once asked him what he saw in the double-black. It was such an oddity to Wolfram, because Yuuri was so strange and beautiful and there was just no questioning it. He had soft black hair and big black eyes and smooth tan skin and he was so him and Wolfram knew they'd look so perfect together, but Yuuri had just never seen... And Wolfram had been nearly so very stupid and he was falling apart unseen and it was stupidstupidstupid and he never cried, not once, but he felt so close to it, in times like these that were fading fast because he had to find a spouse and he was falling in love and he felt so damn guilty and he didn't know what to do with it. Didn't he deserve it? Didn't he deserve love? Couldn't he just love and forget about Yuuri? Sometimes the first you wanted never came and Yuuri just wasn't coming back, and sometimes waiting was all he could do but he'd given up on waiting a year ago and now he was just waiting for the guilt to go away so he could love freely.

He wanted to marry her. She was a minor noble from the von Rochefort region, and was staying in the castle. The royal court was back to how it had used to be, an act to reassure their nation even as Yuuri didn't return, so now nobles from all over were paying to have a room in the castle, to attend balls every other night and eat delicious food their newly employed chefs worked their hardest to create. He'd met many people, mingled the way his mother taught him to, danced with effortless grace and smiled so wondrously no one could tell it was fake.

Until it wasn't. And he was falling in love, gods, why was he falling in love? But she was a strange kind of kind, and a dry kind of witty, and she played along with his games and called him out on it when he went too far. She had a temper, too, though, and one time their argument was so heated he swore and she swore and he screeched and she screeched and he landed a hit and she landed a hit until they were grappling with each other, wrestling just inside her room until they were so close and her turquoise eyes flared with someone so unfamiliar and like that they were kissing, gods, they had kissed, and it was stupidstupidstupid but his stupidest times were his happiest and when he finally pulled away he bade her goodnight and sat in the royal bathroom for three hours trying to get rid of the guilt lumping in his chest.

He told the Great Sage (Murata, now, really) because he was like a best friend, cunning and wise and he never told Wolfram he did anything wrong, he just taught him all he knew so Wolfram was intelligent and he was the best (most esteemed) fire wielder and he was the maoh now, and he was making as many treaties as possible and trying desperately to retain the peace Yuuri had made. And the Great Sage (Murata, seriously Wolfram, I'm not joking, my name is Mu-ra-ta) was encouraging him to pursue this love of his, because even if it declared that Yuuri really was never coming back, it also meant that their leader had found love, that he was united with someone who would help him run the country, perhaps provide an heir if the Great One chose not to. And Wolfram had winced at that, because he did want an heir, he did want a child, someone more lasting than Greta, because by the time Greta hit fifty, Wolfram would still only look, at the very most, half her age. He wanted a child he could hold in his arms and claim as his own. He wanted the kind of unconditional love children gave to their fathers. He wanted security. And even if she, with her turquoise eyes and silvery blue hair, with her affinity with wind (thus the silvery-ness) and her odd logic, returned the sentiment, and loved him back, would he ever truly forget Yuuri? Yuuri was his first true love, after all. His mother always said she never forgot hers. And Wolfram didn't want to forget. Forgetting was stupid. He wasn't stupid anymore.

And that's how the Great Sage (if you don't call me Murata right now I will physically harm you, maoh or not) convinced him to love her, because loving is not stupid, and hiding from your love because of the past most definitely was. So he offered to court her, and she agreed, and she did make him smile and sometimes she was rather idiotic and chaotic and catastrophic, because her temper was rather dangerous, even if she was a wind-wielder. Other than that she was calm as could be, just odd, witty and gods, she could make him laugh.

It was a week before the wedding (a wedding! A wedding!) that Yuuri arrived. Yuuri came back. After four years of desertion. Wolfram didn't see him at first. The Great Sage (honestly Wolfram, if you don't call me Murata before the wedding I swear I'll object) found out first, brought him, apparently. Wolfram only found out while he was in the gardens with his soon-to-be wife, with his fiance, who had a ring on her fourth finger on her left hand (a tradition the Great Sage (Murata, not kidding) had introduced him to), a ring made of pure diamonds, eight of them, set together in a flower. It had been costly, but it was worth it to see the look on her face when she'd received it. She was so beautiful in that moment, and he was so happy, and gods, he was marrying her, and then Yuuri had just walked in on them in the garden, with her head on his lap, talking as they often did, and Yuuri had looked so surprised, and looked older (how much time had passed?) and had requested a private word.

It wasn't scary. It almost made him feel stupid, but he wasn't stupid, not at all, so he held his head high like the maoh he was and the maoh Yuuri could've been and spoke with him. He told him what happened after he left. he told him he fell in love.

Yuuri told him about his own wife. Short, apparently, with brown hair and dark eyes. She sounded average, but Wolfram supposed that whoever Yuuri chose must be special. But she wasn't as special as she was. After all, humans couldn't wield wind. Or fire. Or water. Could Yuuri still wield water?

He'd asked. Yuuri didn't answer. He wondered if Yuuri even knew.

He stayed to watch the wedding. The Great Sage (I swear, I will have you so drunk tonight you will call me Murata) did the service, Ulrike standing dutifully behind him to fill in the gaps. Greta had looked so beautiful. Yuuri had looked so distant. Mother had looked so happy. Conrart so proud. Gwendal so...not unemotional. And he'd kissed her, in front of Yuuri and (okay, fine) Murata and Mother and Uncle and Elizabeth and everyone, and he honestly felt he could take on the world and that night Murata did get him quite drunk, but he was good with alcohol, no one guessed it but he wasn't stupid, and alcohol wouldn't make him.

Yuuri stayed only two weeks. His son was nine years old. His wife was pregnant again. Their friends were having a strange party (Christmas, Yuuri had said, and Murata explained it was somewhat like Winter Solstice). Wolfram just nodded. He missed Yuuri. He did. It had been strange seeing him again. Apparently he was thirty-four. Wolfram only just looked seventeen. Amelia von Bielefeld, nee von Rochefort, was a few years older, looking more eighteen. They were so young, Wolfram knew, but they had lived so long. He was eighty-eight, now. Am was ninety-three. Yuuri said he probably wouldn't come back, and if he did, he would bring his whole family back, his wife and son and whatever child was coming next, his brother and his parents, although they could be dead. It sounded so strange, so foreign, and he hugged Yuuri goodbye and it felt nice but it also felt strange, so he decided that maybe he had been being stupid the whole time, because maybe he wasn't in love with Yuuri anymore.

The country was, but the country had a new ruler now. And he swore he could be the best ruler they'd ever have.

A/N: so! Did anyone like Amelia, as briefly explained as she was? I hope she's okay :L i hope you're all okay with Wolf loving someone else... screw Yuuri, he deserves love! :D Hm. Yuuri is such a wimp though. Jeezoo. Love Murata :D to be clear, he and Wolf are just good mates. Just so you know. And hey, maybs Wolf will get the heir he wants... :D Also, I'm totally in love with the idea of Wolf looking like Shinou. I don't know why. I have problems?

So yeah. If you want to retain your life, you should review... :D Also, they'll make me smile and smiling is good for the soul! (or so I'm assuming)

You know you want to ;) (JOKES! You don't have to! But hey, cyber cookies?)